#loaf speaking from the void

[loafthecat]

In case anyone asks

She is me, and that is only half a joke.

….yes…….i might relate to gangle…..just a lil….only a smudge…..

[chasingstardustandmoonbeams]

could you maybe do winter prompt 8 with john carter? maybe not eating the dough (maybe the reader could sneak a few bites before he gets Concerned), but just general, playful fighting with the ingredients (e.g. flour, since it's such a messy pain in the-) and the like?

i'll thank you a thousand times over if it's possible !!!

Sorry this took a bit longer than I had intended. I hope you still enjoy it! Here’s to hoping more people watch The Pitt and then start watching ER! I’m always here if you have another John request 💕

Word Count: 836

———————————

You never claimed to be a patient person. In fact the concept of delayed gratification was practically null and void to you. Why wait when you could have it now and enjoy it just the same?

This of course was the only thought in your brain as you zeroed in on the cookie dough. John was busy trying to measure the flour for the next batch to pay you too much attention. Leaning against the counter you looked down at the freshly mixed bowel in front of you. It called to you like a siren of sugar. 

Grabbing a nearby spoon, you scooped up a bit of the dough before eating it. Closing your eyes you savored the taste. John was a lot of things, but expert baker was not something you would have pinned him down for. But oh, did he know what he was doing. 

“I know I did not just see you eat some of the raw cookie dough.” 

You turned wide eyed to John. He was trying his hardest to give you a stern look, but he was failing miserably. His arms crossed over his chest and a dish rag hanging from his shoulder, he tried his best to give you a disappointed look, but the smile tugging on the corner of his mouth told a different story. 

“And what if you did?” You prodded, a wide grin plastering across your face. 

John couldn’t fight the smile on his face any more. He rolled his eyes at you, placing the cup of flour on the counter. He leaned closer to you now, readjusting his sweater sleeves to sit more comfortably above his elbows. 

“You know better than to eat raw cookie dough,” he sighed before a laugh escaped him. His brown eyes were trained only on you now. Warm and playful, the quintessential John Carter.  

“Yeah, but it looked so good, John, I couldn’t help myself,” you reasoned, “Besides how was I supposed to know you were such a good- no - great baker?” 

John’s face flushed at your words, “Don’t try and sweet talk your way out of this.” He stood tall in front of you, swallowing a bit to steady his nerves. 

“Me? Sweet talk? John Carter, I would never. I speak only the truth.” You enjoyed watching the blush creep up his neck as you leaned closer towards him. 

“Oh, you do, do you?” He was grinning at you now. He raised his eyebrows at you, challenging you. 

“Mhmm,” you replied. Your smile only growing more broad. “Your hands aren’t just good for saving lives.” 

John let out a laugh at that, shaking his head at you as he looked down at the floor. 

“Really, you have a whole other career opportunity waiting for you. Maybe then you’ll let me enjoy a few harmless spoonfuls of cookie dough.” 

“You’re something else, you know that?” He let out another low laugh. 

 “John?” You whispered, leaning in closer towards him. 

“Yeah?” He asked, his face drawing closer to yours. 

“I loaf you,” you breathed out before dropping the cup of flour over his head. You blinked as the flour rained down on you, but you recovered quickly letting out a laugh. Grabbing the bowl of dough and running. 

“Hey!” John yelled after you, chasing you around the kitchen into the living room. 

John caught you by your waist, both of you managing to lose your footing in the process and tumbling gracelessly on the floor. 

The bowl tumbled to the floor, the dough still clinging to the side of the bowl. John was sprawled on the floor next to you, his face and hair covered in flour. 

“Did you just say you loaf me?” He laughed breathlessly. 

“Yes, I do. I loaf you John,” you laughed, “You really know how to whisk me off my feet.” 

“Oh God, that was worse,” he let another laugh. 

“You loaf it,” you smirked back at him, savoring John’s carefree attitude.  The week had been so hard on him at County, you were just happy to see the smile return to his face.

“I do, I loaf it,” he hummed, his face inches from yours, “But I love you more.” 

It was your turn to feel flush now, John’s nose nudging against yours before he kissed you. It was slow and soft. As if John wanted to truly relish in the moment. 

As John pulled away, you let out a sigh, “You’re lucky I love you to get all that flour all over me,” you teased. 

“Oh, you? You’re worried about the flour?” He laughed lowly. “Gee, I wonder whose fault that is.” John rubbed his cheek against yours smearing flour across your face. 

“John!” you squeaked out between laughter. 

John held you by the waist on the floor as he climbed on top of you. He shook out his hair raining flour down on top of you. 

There lying helpless on the floor you cemented that there was nowhere on Earth you would rather be.

[koyaildoesstuff]

Cozy Cuddle Week 2025

@rivendellwatch @finrodsketchbook

Fic inspired by this post

I couldn’t get it out of my head of this happening, so I had to write it.

Melkor/his meow meow Tevildo (Mairon)

Set in Angband, so it’s angbang

cat on his lap

Melkor was ready to snap at the next person who was stupid enough to cross him. His brother’s damned creation with Ulmo, rain, had somehow found its way to Angband. He couldn’t go outside or do anything without being reminded of Manwë. It drove him crazy. Worst of all, his precious little flame had disappeared. Mairon wasn’t in the forge, or the throne room, or even the little library Angband had. All Melkor wanted was his precious love, and all he was getting was everyone he didn’t want to talk to.

He huffs, electing to head back to his chambers. At least there, he wouldn’t be able to hear the rain that resounded in the throne room. He tried to reach out to Mairon through their ósanwë bond, but the Maia had closed him off. Melkor could of course force his way in, but he didn’t feel the need to. He just wished his little flame would stop hiding from him.

Melkor reaches his chambers. The fire is lit, as always, but some tea has been laid out on a tray next to it. He scans the room, feeling his love’s presence, when he sees him.

“Tevildo, precious, that’s where you were.”

The black cat blinks up at him from where he was curled up on the middle of the bed. He stands up, and stretches, before trotting over to the edge of the bed. Melkor strides over, and holds his hand out for Tevildo to rub up against. Melkor lets his precious feline scent him, before he scratches behind his ears, and pets down his entire body. A purr erupts from Tevildo, who jumps down from the bed, and over to the fireplace, looking back at Melkor expectantly. The Ainu chuckles at the purring void, and walks over to the tray, and drinks the tea Mairon had set out for him. Tevildo curls up into his lap as he drinks, staring up at him lovingly. Melkor scratches his chin, and Tevildo’s purrs don’t stop.

Melkor finishes his tea, and Tevildo jumps down before Melkor could say anything. He trots over back to the bed as Melkor sets the cup back on the tray. He pulls off his shoes, regal robes, and crown, which rests on the bedside table. He lays down on the bed, and his precious curls up onto his chest in a loaf. Melkor pets him, before speaking.

“Thank you my precious little flame. You knew exactly what I needed today.”

Tevildo deloafs to lick Melkor’s face. He rubs up against his nose as well. Even though this is still Mairon, he is very much a cat. The feline instincts take over, with Tevildo being more in control than Mairon. It is a vulnerable position that only Melkor has seen.

Tevildo starts to purr again as he lays back down, resting his head on Melkor’s chest. Melkor breathes deeply, the stresses of the day finally releasing. His precious was lightly kneading his chest, and there was nowhere else Melkor would rather be.

Melkor closed his eyes, hands still resting on and petting his furry flame. Eventually, Tevildo feels Melkor’s hands still on his fur, and his breathing indicates that he had fallen into meditation.

Good, it worked. Melkor was no longer thinking about his brother. Tevildo had done his job. His weight was calming to Melkor, and Melkor’s hands were a calming weight to him. He closes his eyes now too, content that his fire had fallen into mediation. It was his turn now, and he finds himself in slumber quickly as well.

For the longest time, I thought Mairon and Mirdania’s names were Marion and Miranda. That’s all I’m going to say.

Deloaf is a verb now because I say so. I’m writing with Tolkien characters, that means I can just make new linguistics up right?

Borahae peeps 💜

[mothiir]

list of astartes ocs

here’s a brief little summary of my ocs, because i often lose track of them and thought that you might like to know more about the boys. NSFW stuff included, so stuck it beneath a cut. this is just the space marines — taleath will get his own post because he’s my favourite (don’t tell the others). Happy to answer asks/write stuff about them

Vanatas Borjigin

The self appointed leader of the trio. Turned into Astartes later than generally recommended, so has a decent memory of his life before; of raising a batch of squalling sisters, of scavenging for meat in Nostramo’s rancid streets. It gives him major older sibling energy, even now.

Taller than Shrike, shorter than Zakyr, with bone-white skin and void-black eyes. Wears his long dark hair in a ponytail more often than not; a severe hairstyle that accentuates his raptor-sharp cheekbones. He has the usual scars you’d expect an Astartes to carry, but due to the implants being carried out well into his teens (rather than in prepubescence) the surgery scars are far more prominent than normal, standing out liver-purple across his abdomen. 

Prone to fainting fits, in which he collapses, jaw tight against the screams welling in his throat, his skull singing agony. Blood drips from his nose and his eyes, and when he wakes he babbles nonsense — and yet the nonsense always seems to come true. That’s right: our boy Van is cursed with the gift of prophecy — something he is at pains to hide from the rest of his brothers. Zak and Shrike know, but they keep his secret. Normally, Vanatas can tell when one of the attacks is coming, and it gives him just enough warning to hide, or for one of the other two to shove him into a cupboard to stop someone seeing.  

He is mean mean mean to you. He really likes it when you cry, whether you’re begging for mercy or for him to slow down or please Mr Night Lord not back there — and he always gets a bit feral when you start getting weepy. He’s the most likely to treat you like a serf-shaped fleshlight, grabbing you with very little warning, yanking your skirt to the side and sinking in with a low, contented groan. 

Despite the above, he’s normally the one ensuring you’re functioning as well as possible. He remembers to feed you, shouts at the others when they’ve let you go too long without sleep, and even gave you painkillers one time, after Zak had been a mite too rough. Maybe there’s a shadow inside him, a whisper that remembers what it is to care. And maybe not. Who knows. 

Zakyr Lamnidae 

Large, even for an Astartes. Almost eight feet tall, all bulky muscle, and — as you might imagine — almost constantly hungry. The other two taunt him for being a lardass, but he always ends up with the best bits of any meal they’ve stolen (or hunted). They never say that they are doing this, nor does he acknowledge it or thank them. It is just how it is. You hide Van when he starts bleeding from the eyes; you give Zak the fat-marbled rump of an unfortunate heretic. Yum. 

Has the same black hair, black eyes combo as Vanatas and ninety per cent of other Night Lords. He wears his hair short, shaved at the sides, and has a distinctive scar on his cheek that crawls across his jawline, and down onto his throat. It looks almost like it was caused by the talon of a great bird — or maybe a set of claws, swift as lightning? Either way, he’s not saying how he got it. If you ask, he and Vanatas start getting a bit twitchy. Some secrets are best kept quiet. 

He was in the dungeons for stealing a loaf of bread. He was six years old and starving. That’s how he ended up getting shipped out to be a neophyte — this isn’t a story he tells much. He just sees it as a great amusing irony. Imprisoned for the most base of offences, and now free to commit far worse ones. That is justice, isn’t it?

Is the most intelligent of the three, if we class intelligence as ‘book smarts’. Speaks fluent Gothic, as well as a handful of other languages, and can threaten to flay someone in upwards of twenty three tongues, including some xenos ones. Is a truly excellent artist, and absolutely would not have given the poor serf that abomination of a tattoo. Back when they were neophytes, and thus not even allowed to smell women, he did very well for himself by drawing — uh — ‘special pictures’ for other Astartes. He likes drawing the serf, and has a sketchbook full of paintings that run the gambit from surprisingly beautiful to absolutely obscene. No one is allowed to touch that sketchbook — not since Van borrowed it and returned it with the pages sticking together. 

The others are doing their best to learn Gothic, and to teach you Nostramon. Unfortunately, it’s a slow process, so Zak often finds himself conscripted in for translation. The deal is simple: he will translate, but he gets to join in. 

As for the NSFW stuff — he can be very lazy in bed. He likes being ridden, because he does enough physical work in his day job and damn it he just wants to lie back and watch a pretty girl cry as she tries to get his dick inside. Is that too much to ask? He knows, theoretically, what a clitoris is, but good luck getting him to touch it. He likes degradation, but in his sadistic hedonist way he likes to get you to degrade yourself. He’ll whisper in your ear what a horrible little slut you are, spreading yourself for the legion, and get you to repeat it back for him. It’s also how he’s teaching you Nostramon. You have a very niche, very detailed vocabulary. 

He will threaten to get you pregnant at least once a week. If you hadn’t seen Vanatas and him get in a literal fight over it, you would believe the threat - he sounds so sincere. He will be buried balls-deep in your warm innards, cooing about what a shame it would be if he came inside, how awful it would be for you. It’s a game: you’re meant to beg him not to, to offer to suck his cock, or offer up your arse. And you probably should play it. If you don’t, he starts getting a bit huffy, and no one wants that. 

Shrike Melloria 

The man is an Emperor-forsaken pervert.

Right, you probably want more detail than that. Shrike is the youngest of the group, and was born in jail. His mother was a whore; his father some unknown vagabond. When the ships came for new recruits, they grabbed up the infant because, well, what else were they to do with him? 

The words ‘boyishly handsome’ aren’t usually used to describe a Night Lord — but Shrike manages to justify their use. Yes, he’s a seven-foot killing machine — but he also has golden hair, and eyes that are more very dark blue than black. He is pale, like all his brothers, but in a way that suggests he would tan under sunlight, rather than incinerate. Give him a paint job and a week on a farm, and he could pass for an Ultramarine (as long as he didn’t open his mouth, or come into contact with any civilians)

In battle, he is a stone-cold sniper; a prodigy. There’s very little that can escape his reach. As a consequence, he’s less scarred than your average Astartes, since the enemy doesn’t normally have a chance to reach him. In another, more foolish, Legion this might be seen as a mark of cowardice — but Night Lords are pragmatic, and Shrike’s strategy gets the enemy just as dead. 

Right, now the good stuff: he is a toxic mess of a man, clingy and snuggly and nuzzly, even while doing the worst possible things to you. He’ll fuck you full, almost render you speechless from fucking your throat, and then coo about how pretty you are while scooping his cum from between your legs and jamming it into your mouth. His brand of dirty talk is cloyingly sweet, while also being absolutely horrifying: “Sweet little fledgling, open wide for me! There we are, now that’s all you’re getting —“

Vanatas has explained to him multiple times that serf cannot survive on jizz alone, and yet he still considers trying it. 

Breeding kink like whoa. Doesn’t actually want a baby, but loves the idea of making you so completely his. Would be the worst father imaginable. Is being slipped birth control by both of his brothers just in case he gets any ideas. 

Yes, he did the tattoo. No, he did not ask permission. Yes, he considers you his wife. No, the others do not agree. No, divorce is not an option. Yes, of course Vanatas and Zak have elaborate ‘let’s cuck Shrike’ role play. 

So, these guys aren’t nearly as fully formed as the Night Lord Idiot Trio, but throwing them in here to remind myself to write something later. Here are my Black Templars: 

Ezra Rothenburg 

Captain of his squad, a venerable dilf veteran of countless campaigns. Tall, broad, grey-haired, with a bouquet of scars, including one that stretches across his lips, giving him a permanent sneer. 

Blessed by the Emperor and most devout in obeying His Commands. Those that know him note that the Emperor’s Commands tend to coincide with what Ezra was planning to do anyway. 

Can and will fake visions to get the more fanatical of his brethren to fall in line. The way he sees it, the Emperor would have struck him down if He disapproved. He has not, so He must be on Ezra’s side

Isaiah Bodenstein von Karlstadt 

Primaris Marine. Big boy. Very sweet and earnest and utterly devoted to the Emperor and his captain, in that order

Himbo energy hides a mind like a whetted knife

[horriblengrossstories]

(I wanna stop asking dumb questions but I can’t… I just feel like I’m bothering you by asking so many things) anyway—what about an MC who overthinks everything and just tenses up with any kind of affection? (like that time a friend told me they liked me and I just froze like a stiff loaf of bread). I’m sorry but MC is 100% becoming a reflection of all the silly stuff I do.Can I keep asking anonymous questions? They actually cheer me up a lot, but I’m scared I’m annoying you with all my self-projection onto MC 😭

-🍰

My Peeps, this is a self ship blog!

You are supposed to project. You're allowed to ask as many questions as you want, especially if they bring you comfort. That’s literally what this space is for :D

Mutt is a mirror. She’s you. She’s me. She’s every little feral, frozen, overwhelmed, traumatized, giggling mess that survived long enough to still love things. Still ask questions. Still be here.

So yes send 100 anonymous asks!!!!

Send self-insert overthinking loaf-of-bread brain headcanons.

Tell me how you freeze up when someone is nice to you. I get it. That’s Mutt Core.

That’s exactly what Derek likes to squish with his scary warm hands.

Fandoms don’t die because people stop liking things they die because people get scared to talk, to be weird, to be wrong, or to just exist loudly. And when it turns into a purity test or a popularity contest instead of a playground? People stop playing.

It’s not a fandom anymore. It’s a museum.

Everything’s behind glass. Don’t touch. Don’t speak. Don’t question. Don't ship that. Don’t write that. Don’t be that.

And suddenly the thing that used to bring joy starts feeling like a trap.

So yeah. Let people be cringe. Let them post 3am thoughts about their blorbo’s skincare routine. Let them write 200k word fanfics about trauma bonding in a dungeon. Let them project, confess, self-insert, cope.

Okay rant over, time for the headcannons.

The first time Mutt freezes when he touches her? Derek’s like a shark smelling blood in the water. Except instead of attacking, he gets playful.

“What, that too much for you?”

“You survive me dragging you by your hair and calling you a mutt , but I touch your face and you go full rigor mortis?”

The New Game: “How Much Can I Make Her Malfunction”

Brushes her hair out of her face while staring dead in her eyes.

“There she goes. That look. Like I’m short-circuiting her little mutt brain.”

Tells her she did good and means it. She physically seizes. He laughs.

“What, you allergic to kindness? Wanna go back in the cage or are you gonna sit still and take a compliment?”

Pulls her into his lap, and she sits like she’s been petrified by a witch curse.So he pets her head. Over and over. Until she starts blinking again.

Whispered praise. Not dirty talk. Just affection. It’s more powerful than anything else.

“Good girl being all mine.”

Sometimes he’s patient. Sometimes he just holds her frozen form and murmurs dumb things like “relax, idiot, I’m not gonna bite… unless you ask real nice.”

[Birdie here again I’m 25 and I’ve seen so many fandoms die not from lack of content, but from people being too afraid to interact.

Like… people wanted to talk, but felt like they couldn’t. Felt like their takes weren’t good enough, or their art wasn’t perfect, or they’d be “problematic” for shipping the wrong thing, or they’d get ignored if they weren’t in some clique.

And so they stopped posting and stopped having fun.

And the fandom didn’t explode or implode. It just… quietly dried up.

I don’t wanna see that happen here, not to this blog.

So like the weird post. Reblog the same art four times! Send unhinged asks. Project onto characters.

To Be cringe Is To Be free.

-Birdie 🐦

Ps.All I ask is that people understand this space takes time. I make things when I can, when I have the energy and I can say no to any request, for any reason. No hard feelings, but no pressure either. Please don’t idolize me. I’m just a little punk bird yelling into the void, same as you.

Love the characters. Love the mess. Love the art.

[soft-bellied-tannies]

Chubtober is here!

Hey friends, it's been a while! Life is hard and jobs suck, but it's Chubtober and I'm going to do my very best to keep up with it all month. Hopefully, it revives our little community a bit because I miss seeing the activity. Feel free to send prompts whether it follows the Chubtober prompts out there or not! I tend to do my own things this month as long as I'm writing. I hope you enjoy! :)

Read here or on AO3!

This one is from the Farmer's Market prompt on fatguarddog's 2024 Chubtober prompt list.

---

It all started when Jin became a talented sourdough home baker. What began as a simple hobby developed into a lucrative small business. He had a standing booth at the weekly farmer’s market next to another small business owner. Jimin was also a baker, known for his aesthetic desserts and breakfast pastries. 

They had neighboring stands every Saturday morning without missing and became very popular stops for young locals and families. One of those regular customers quickly became Jin and Jimin’s favorite - Yoongi. The pair would consider him one of their biggest supporters, always purchasing multiple items at both stands. 

A loaf of bread, a pack of bagels, cinnamon rolls, “flavor of the week” cakes, cookie samplers, new pastry flavors. Yoongi’s haul was always impressive. Jin and Jimin were both incredibly grateful and also assumed that Yoongi must live with family or have a pack. They considered he may even bring them into his office or host a Sunday morning brunch after the Saturday farmer’s market.

But in reality, Yoongi was single, lived alone, never willingly hosted anything, and mostly worked from home. His hauls were solely for him because Yoongi thought the bakers deserved it. A handsome, funny man who could bake delicious bread and a cute, charming omega who could create beautiful desserts were a dual-sided attack on Yoongi’s willpower. 

In his first week of meeting them, he bought a bit of everything just to support the duo thinking he could freeze the extras or give some to his elderly neighbors. What Yoongi hadn’t expected was their stuff being so delicious that it was now all he craved and always needed in the house. On top of that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, Yoongi certainly had a crush on both omegas. 

After a few months, Yoongi was surprised to see two additional people with them. Jimin had an alpha at his booth named Namjoon who always had plants and flower arrangements while Jin brought Taehyung, a beta who grew up on a farm that produced fresh dairy products and fruits. 

Yoongi had more than enough money to throw around and started developing quite the appetite so he started buying from all four of them. His already big hauls of baked goods turned into him bringing home huge hauls from the two booths that were of course still right next to each other. He tried to ignore the feelings of disappointment at both omegas seeming to have partners, but their baked goods certainly filled the void of his emotions. 

Jin and Jimin loved talking with Yoongi, asking his thoughts on recent new items, and taking any suggestions he had. They never ventured into more personal topics, but Jin and Jimin both started to notice that Yoongi only carried his own omega scent and that he only talked about himself or his neighbors enjoying their food. 

Their small talk always filled the space while Jin and Jimin would pack his things nicely in cute bags with little notes, but after Yoongi left, the omegas would speak between themselves about how sweet Yoongi was. 

However, one thing they never discussed was the clear fact that Yoongi was getting a bit softer. He certainly had fuller cheeks and a little belly that seemed to start becoming more noticeable with his rotation of farmer’s market outfits. If anything, they thought Yoongi looked much healthier now than when they first met him.

After a few months, Jin and Jimin begin to question if it’s just softness. When more of the gain was enough to be noticeable and it was settling more on Yoongi’s belly, they had a passing moment of thinking Yoongi could be pregnant. Maybe all of this has been a pregnancy craving and that is what made him such a dedicated customer.

But as omegas, they knew the other signs and nothing else was seeming like pregnancy. He had this round belly that started to show more at certain times. They debated asking, but it felt so invasive and rude to assume. Then another two or three weeks passed of Jin and Jimin talking about it after he left their booths and Yoongi’s next stop was a local brewery’s booth where he took a couple of samples. It confirmed for Jin and Jimin that he was simply gaining weight and to them, it almost felt satisfying to know they were providing for him in a way.

While the other two were finding themselves so endeared with him, Yoongi was admittedly a bit dejected to find out that both omegas seemed to have committed partners, but that certainly would not stop him from supporting them. It also may have to do with the fact that he can’t imagine going without their delicious food. They were sweet to him, always gave him a little extra for free, and genuinely seemed to care about how he was doing each week.

Somehow, Yoongi missed all the signs that it may be more than both omegas having their own partners. Being raised in a family that was “traditional” meant that he saw mates as monogamous couples. He didn’t put together that the four of them were clearly a pack.

He simply reasoned in his head that they were just really good friends. When Jimin hopped over to Jin’s booth to ask for something and kissed him on the cheek in thanks, it was a friendly gesture. When Taehyung hugged Namjoon while fondly watching the omegas make a joint sale, Yoongi thought it was nice that alphas were so affectionate in their friendships.

When two other “random” guys showed up at their booths and Jin introduced them to him, Yoongi again somehow missed the way Jin comforted a shy alpha named Jungkook or how the beta named Hoseok immediately moved to help Jimin restock one of his display shelves. 

It was clear Yoongi was starting to place some distance between them after a while. He didn’t want to embarrass himself with the weird flirting that sometimes developed on his end so now he just stopped to buy his usual order and stayed long enough for them to pack it up. Granted, that was still quite a bit of time since Yoongi started with just a tote bag thinking he would try the market once to see if there was anything he wanted and has since upgraded to a cart solely for his bakery hauls. 

The pack started to catch on that Yoongi was slightly oblivious and even more lonely considering how he’d missed all their hints at more than a customer relationship. When he started to pull away from engaging with them, they were disappointed but decided not to push him and just remain hopeful that they could get through to him at some point. 

However, taking it slow went out the window when Yoongi missed two weekends in a row. He hadn’t missed since the first time Jin and Jimin met him and they were genuinely worried about him. They even considered trying to find him online or reaching out through their digital payment system, but they decided to be patient. 

After those two weeks, Yoongi showed up looking tired and pale. He had clearly lost a little weight and lacked his usual pleasant demeanor. Something about Jin and Jimin being fellow omegas made Yoongi comfortable enough to explain that he caught the flu that somehow developed into an unexpected heat. 

The other two omegas were worried, almost horrified, at the thought that no one was there to take care of him. They had yet to confirm if Yoongi lived with anyone or had a pack, but the lack of other scents and always coming to the market alone made it likely that he was alone. 

Both immediately offered to come by later with some soup and more substantial food so Yoongi could actually rest. Yoongi wanted to say no, but the fact that they were so kind and seemed so safe allowed him to say yes. And as much as he wanted to deny it, Yoongi did feel his omega immediately preen at the idea of being taken care of by the other two.

When they dropped off food, Jin and Jimin were able to confirm that only one scent was present at his place and it was fairly standard furnishing and decor for a single person. They decided right there to make a more concerted effort to get closer to him even if Yoongi only wanted to be friends. He still hadn’t seemed to pick up any of the hints from the pack, but they were not quitters.

The following month left Yoongi feeling torn as the sweet bakers from the farmer’s market were slowly becoming his friends who he could rely on to bring him delicious food and genuine conversation, but the struggle to keep his attraction to them at bay was growing in tandem. And this emotional turmoil seemed to distract Yoongi from the fact that his growing attachment to these new people in his life was not the only thing growing. 

Every time Yoongi told himself to again put distance between himself and them, maybe even skip the farmer’s market one weekend, was overshadowed by their kindness and desire to connect with him. The biggest gesture came as a surprise to him. 

Jin and Jimin show up unannounced one day with two weeks' worth of meals in hand as their heats were approaching. They warned him that they wouldn’t be at the next market and made him meals on top of extra baked goods plus some flowers from Namjoon and a whole bundle of stuff from Tae’s family farm. They left multiple bags on his counter before hugging him and heading home, leaving him to unpack the surprises.

Yoongi found that they wrote little notes for everything about the best ways to reheat or prepare to make it last longer, with an extra little letter from them saying they would miss him which left him feeling butterflies, a blush high on his cheeks from a simple note. He was beyond crushing on them at this point. Yoongi was in love. 

That thought terrified him as they were taken omegas. Yoongi couldn’t possibly impose on any relationships. He wasn’t even sure how he could face them again at this point. The embarrassment of becoming lonely enough to rely on vendors at the farmer’s market turned friends for comfort pushed him toward one answer. He needed to try dating again. 

His omega mother had been trying to set him up for years and he’s finally going to let her do it. He can’t crush on these mated omegas forever. Yoongi made sure to emphasize that his mom should pick a beta who was calm and accepting. He wasn’t asking for much. 

However, Yoongi should have sent his mom a new picture to use since she clearly sent her friend’s son one of his graduation photos. The beta arrived outside the restaurant to meet Yoongi and the awkward look up and down made the omega feel exposed and judged. He knew the picture held a much slimmer, more confident Yoongi and the date readily reminded him of that. 

Riding home in the taxi left Yoongi feeling drained and anxious, maybe even humiliated. The beta had raised a brow at him ordering pasta instead of a salad and all the conversations led back to if Yoongi had any physical hobbies. He felt judged and forced to think about his weight gain which was a topic he kept shoved in the corner of his mind more and more lately. 

His solution now? Continuing his normal routine of visiting the farmer’s market and forcing his omega to realize that Jin, Jimin, and the others with them were going to remain friends - that’s all. And maybe he would let himself fantasize about living in a comfortable cottage with Jin and Jimin, eating their delicious food and feeling content. What was the harm in that? 

Yoongi decided to rip the bandage off the following Saturday, telling Jin and Jimin about his disaster of a date, but the reaction he received was completely unexpected. The omegas were clearly putting on a fake smile for him, seeming bothered by the fact he went on a date even before Yoongi shared the outcome. It seemed to boost their mood that it went terribly and they expressed their sympathy, saying some people were just assholes and he deserved better. 

Jin added two extra cupcakes to his box of pastries to “lift his spirits” and Jimin drew little hearts and smiley faces on all the labels. Neither of those things was particularly out of the ordinary, but Yoongi felt it was a little more charged than usual. He couldn’t seem to let go of how disappointed they both seemed when he said he went on a date and then relieved when he explained that it was bad. 

Then Jin and Jimin both start dropping by with food more and more, asking him to test new recipes for the market or simply offering to bring by dinner since they “made too much”. Their meal drop-off chats grew longer and longer until Jin and Jimin started offering to cook dinner at his place, hanging out and sharing the meal with him. It always came with an excuse like the planned meal would be better fresh or they were over near his place anyway since they needed to pick up the ingredients. 

Yoongi had started to ask if Namjoon and Taehyung were okay with them spending so much extra time with him, thinking they should be at their respective homes for dinner instead. It still hadn’t occurred to him that they were all in a pack together and sometimes he even felt like Jin and Jimin were doing this almost as a charity to him than friendship. 

However, the other two constantly reassured him that they wanted to be there, that their mates were perfectly happy to let them be there, but that they would leave him be if they were overstaying their welcome. The only excuse Yoongi could even think of was that he shouldn’t be eating so much hearty food since his pants needed to be sized up, but his omega shut that down before any denying words came out. 

Almost six months and 50 pounds later, Yoongi finally realized they were a pack. Jin and Jimin were over once again, cooking in his kitchen and feeding him random bits as they went. Everything was going as normal until Jimin slipped up and cut his hand. It was a minor cut, but it was bleeding quite a bit and as his omega mate, Jin naturally was very worried. 

Jin asked Yoongi for bandages as he ran Jimin’s hand under the faucet. Yoongi hurried off to his bathroom to find his first aid kit while he heard comforting whispers from Jin. As he returned from the bathroom, Yoongi was surprised to see Jimin calming Jin with a kiss, telling him that it was just a small cut. 

Yoongi felt stuck, confused at that level of intimacy between close friends. He had seen them affectionate before, but this felt well beyond acceptable friendship especially when they both had partners. As he sees Jin then lean in and scent Jimin much more deeply than a friend would ever consider, Yoongi couldn’t resist speaking up about how they were even closer than he realized. 

The other two omegas were clearly confused yet seemed to understand there was somehow a miscommunication going on. Jin simply said, “I mean, I feel like most packs are this close, but if we are making you uncomfortable, we can definitely leave. Just say the word.” 

Yoongi’s racing mind came to a screeching halt, berating his childhood mind for limiting him to traditional thinking and holding him back from knowing so much more about these wonderful people. His omega was screaming at him that there was a chance for them now. 

Jin and Jimin saw the moment it clicked for him and felt hope building up for their pack too. They decided to pause, asking Yoongi to let them wrap up Jimin’s hand before taking him to their pack home as they wanted to have an open conversation with everyone. Yoongi was shocked once again to find out that there wasn’t just a tiny chance for him, he was wanted by their pack. 

The lingering insecurity of his weight gain and clear lack of knowledge of pack life started to brew up anxiety, but his omega shut it down real quick as he watched Jin and Jimin pack up the dinner they prepared for him to take back home with them. 

Yoongi played through all their interactions since he met them at the farmer’s market and had the staggering realization that they obviously won’t care about the weight gain. Jin and Jimin had been feeding him for months, giving him extras, and making him huge, delicious meals. It wasn’t charity and it wasn’t pity. 

Jin and Jimin had been courting him all along and they were very good at it. Yoongi had a feeling that if courting was this successful, mating would be even better.

[atoriv-art]

asks

putting these above the readmore because otherwise i will be speaking into the void

fave. grouping these together to say: i do read fanfic on occasion but it's usually filtered through a friend of mine who reads far more than i do! ie, she reads stuff and sends me what she likes

however she did say that i could tell people to link me things so she can read through them. so feel free to link me whatever in the replies/asks/idk. no promises i will be the one reading it LMAO but we have very similar tastes in characters/pairings and also the types of fics we like 👍

i actually gravitate towards gen fics which are a dying breed lol but you can link whatever you want <3

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anyway. under the cut: misc asks, sasuneji 💕, also a tiny hyuga ramble

this is so late LMAO sorry, its all in my old blog @atoriv-moved ! haven't deleted any of it so if anything happened it's tumblr's fault. i miss kingdom hearts i need luxu to be in things again so i can go crazy :/

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thank you so much!!! 😭😭 it always makes me happy to hear the emotional weight of my work comes through! it's what i'm always trying to improve to make the little scenes in my head real :)

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thank you!!!! i never know what to say to these but they always make me smile 8)

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thank you so much!! honestly noses still give me trouble sometimes but as someone who is particular about trying to properly translate 3D shapes, especially of the face, in my rendering it's probably one of the most important landmarks :P and i think you can enhance a design sooo much with them, despite my struggles they're one of my favorite things to draw now!

i totally encourage you to start drawing again if you want to! but i'm biased of course hehe

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cute i never know how to answer these... maybe a little boring but i'm of the opinion sasuke is the clingier one in the rs :)

he's a very loving person but because of both his personality and collection of issues he struggles to fully articulate his thoughts in a manner that doesn't come off as rude or detached, but imo sasuke esp once he's out of his spiral would hate to have his love go unexpressed. so i think him having trouble with words and making up for it with flopping onto the people he loves like a large dog is sooooo cute, and i always think about how clingy he was as a baby.. he is made for latching onto people and wiggling them with a 😐 face

neji on the other hand is Weird About Intimacy since he's trained himself to be self-sufficient, and is hyperaware of how other people might perceive him due to him having to calibrate himself around his family. neji is very principled and especially when he's older won't let his anxieties keep him from doing something he believes in, but it gets a little more complicated when it comes to his personal relationships because for 90% of his life he had no hope of fostering those. so he ends up in a weird middle ground where he Does allow himself to express some of those feelings, but not fully, and often in a very self-conscious manner. his default answer to vulnerability is fluffing up like a cat because that's what's he's trained himself to do lol

so with these two in particular i think it'd combo into a lot of "flopping onto you like a weighed blanket because you're upset and i don't know what to say but i want to be here for you" situations, especially with sasuke doing it to neji because neji struggles with verbally articulating when he needs comfort like that. i think it works wonders for them because sometimes words get really messy when you have their combination of issues... it doesn't mean they can't talk through their problems of course, it just means that if something can be solved by the cat loaf maneuver it will be :)

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not reading too much into it at all, i love it! i like how much people talk about my kabuto hahaha i really want to draw him more often, i think he's a way more interesting character than he's given credit for (and this is coming from someone who really didn't like him at first :P), and his hairstyle change is one of the most obvious ways to explore that visually imo!

tysm for this, i really enjoyed reading it!

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i do! i wish more was done with her because i'm really fascinated by the implications of how she's presented, and how she could've shown that being the favorite child of someone like hiashi isn't necessarily a good thing! i always thought she seems like she's a little dissociated from life outside of the clan, which is really fun to work with (and definitely sucks for her because the clan is Not good lol)

i haven't gotten through the arduous task of watching all naruto filler (lmao) but one of my favorites is the one about hanabi and her relationship with hinata, especially the first half, episode 389 i think? i'm really obsessed with the way that episode shows what day-to-day life was like for the kids and the way the hyuga structure themselves, and how it creates distance between them. i'm pretty sure it implies hanabi (pre-plot) didn't know who neji is, for example? which i get isn't canon but i looove that thought. and on a less deep note hanabi is one of the few characters who gets a design i actually like in boruto! i think she looks soooooo cute

since i spend a lot of time thinking about them i actually am fond of all of the hyuga to some capacity, hiashi definitely in a "wow this guy sucks so much it's impressive" way but still lol i think his relationship with his brother and how it informs how he regards neji is very fascinating, or at least the directions it could have taken (if kishi cared at all.) are!

see my problem is that i wish naruto was about weird families and their issues (i am also obsessed with the suna family <3), but it is a shonen anime made for normal audiences

[basic-x-witch]

The Twin's Gambit

Chapter Nine: The Truth Comes Out

Warning: this chapter features heavy subjects, such as death and child harm

Rook woke up the next morning to an empty bed; Emmrich was nowhere to be found. Taking a deep breath, she reassured herself that he had always been an early riser and was probably waiting for her downstairs. She got out of bed lazily and threw on a pair of casual Nevarran slacks and a low-cut tunic. As she leaves their bedroom, she is met with the scent of fresh coffee. She descended the stairs to see Emmrich and Lucanis already sitting at the table, enjoying a small spread of fresh fruit and what looked like a freshly baked loaf of banana bread.

“Ah, good morning, dearest,” Emmrich says, his voice surprisingly chipper, considering what had transpired the day before.

“What's got you in such a good mood?” Nym jests with just a hint of her usual sass. 

“Well, I’d be delighted to explain once Nyxahlia joins us, dear.” He smiles and pats the empty spot next to him on the sofa.

“Speak, and I will be summoned,” Nyx joked as she walked in the room, hair in disarray and dressed haphazardly. “I’m about to curl to up on Lucanis like a cat, and if any of you make fun of me, I will scream.”

Emmrich and Rook smile at her as they sit together on the velvet green sofa. One hand is on his staff, and the other wraps around Rook’s waist. Emmrich clears his throat before he begins talking.”So, as I had mentioned yesterday, I believe I have discovered a way we can help Nymphadora with her current issue. She was able to discuss what she believes is happening to her in relative depth last night.” 

“That's not the only thing that was in relative depth last night,” Nyx deadpanned, as she took Lucanis’ cup and took a sip. “Oh, that’s foul, actually. You can have that back.” She handed the cup back to him, and he had to fumble to hold it out of the way as Bishop plopped herself in his seat.

Emmrich flashes an unamused look at Bishop, as Rook couldn’t help but laugh at her sister's quip.

“Very humorous Nyxahlia… may I continue, please?” The older man deadpans back.

“Of course, esteemed professor, please carry on. That was funny, right Lucanis?”

“Sure, love,” he replied agreeably. “Go on, Emmrich.”

“Thank you, Lucanis. As I was saying, from what I understand, Nym’s subconscious has been greatly wounded by her time trapped in the Fade prison. In all honesty, it should have completely destroyed her psyche. Due to it having been created to hold the gods and not a typical mortal being. But as we are all aware, our dear Nympadora is an incredibly stubborn woman. It would seem that by sheer power of will, she managed to keep the damage to a minimum.” Emmrich recounted his findings as he rapped his fingertips against the neck of his staff.

“Congrats on continuing to have an indomitable spirit, Rook,” Nyx joked, turning in her seat to toss her legs over Lucanis and prop herself up on the arm of the chair.

Rook smiled and gave a faux bow towards her sister. “Why thank you, Bishop,” she teased.

“If my hypothesis is correct, based on what we know thus far is that when Nym blacks out, her subconscious is essentially trapping her in the memory of her time trapped in the fade. Giving way for negatively charged spirits to take advantage of the fact that she is capable of conducting herself into a conduit for spirits. In the case of what occurred yesterday, I believe her mind was overtaken by the raw essence of a spirit or perhaps a demon of rage, spurred and drawn to her by the emotions the memory of the void evoked.”  

Nyx’s face dropped. “Sounds sort of like Lucanis’s mental ossuary, but with a bigger physical manifestation factor.”

Lucanis had gone pale. “That was…not great.”

“My memory of the blackouts, if that's what we are going to call them, is rather fuzzy now. But what I do know is that though I am still able to perceive what is happening, my vision is still able to be distorted to a certain degree. For example, Nyx, when I attacked you, my mind was being tricked to believe that you were Solas…” Rook said, looking at her sister before shifting her gaze to Emmrich. “Or in the dining hall, I was fully convinced that I had been blighted…and that if you had touched me Vhenan….” her voice becomes small as she trails off.

“That aligns with my experience, too. Spite thought he was still in the ossuary for weeks, even though he was aware of all of you as well. And sometimes he would think that Bishop was Compassion for days at a time,” Lucanis chimed, his hand holding a vise grip on Nyx’s leg. 

“So, what do we do?” Nyx asked.

“Emmrich and I were brainstorming on possible avenues we could take, and he suggested that we attempt to do what you did with Lucanis,” Rook says. 

“We could try. I would assume a twin bond would be comparable to…you know…this,” Nyx gestured vaguely in the air between her and Lucanis. “I just don’t understand how you guys intend to get us from point A to point B. Rook, you’re not an abomination like me and Lucanis.”

“Well, we were thinking that perhaps if we induced a blackout, you could possably ‘possess’ me with your connection to Despair before another spirit gets the chance,” Rook says matter-of-factly. 

“No. I won’t.” Nyx refused to look at any of them. “You’ll have to think of something else. It won’t work.”

“Nyx, you can’t possibly know that for sure…” Rook looks at her sister dejectedly. 

“I said no. You don’t get it. I don’t have a connection with a despair demon. I am a despair demon. There’s..nothing but despair in me. If I ‘possessed’ you, Rook, anything that wanted could come along and take my body, and I’d be stuck. I won’t do it.”

Rook looked down at the floor, She felt her heart sink slightly; she felt selfish for even suggesting such a thing now that it was out in the open. “Nyx im sorry…we didn’t know…”

“If I was normal…if I was like Spite and Lucanis, I would try it. But…Spite and Lucanis are still themselves. There’s a demon and a human. But I’m just one. I’m basically no different than Manfred. You couldn’t have known. It’s a secret. Only two other beings in the entire world know, outside of this room.”

“Vorgoth and Myrna….” Rook says quietly. Of course, their ‘parents’ knew, and of course, she had been left out of the loop... again. 

“Don’t let your mind go there, Rook. It’s a story that no one would want to grow up with the burden of knowing,” Lucanis told her, sounding even more morose than his usual tone. 

“Nyx..please just be honest with me…what else did they keep from me…” Rook asks, an audible shake to her voice.

“It’s not… I don’t want you to know. You don’t want to know. You’ll spend the rest of your life wishing you didn’t.”

“Nyx thats bullshit and you know it….I have a right to know. Contrary to what our Aunt might think, I was just as much their child as you were…”

“Then find someone else to tell you. I’ll never tell that story again.”

“Nyx…who the fuck is going to tell me the truth if you don’t!? Our dear ‘mother’ and ‘father’ don’t even acknowledge my fucking exsistance! If I had stayed trapped in the void they wouldn’t have even noticed I was gone, not sparing me a single thought, other than perhaps a fleeting moment of gratitude that I died to insure your safety!” Rook raised her voice, her eyes flickering the familiar lyrium blue color, but it seemed oddly under contol. 

“Bishop, she should know. It will be okay.” Spite spoke so softly it was almost indistinguishable from Lucanis’ own voice. Nyx deflated. 

“Fine, but you have to make a blood oath that you’ll never tell anyone else, living, dead, or otherwise, as long as Myrna or I live.”

Both Emmrich and Rook look at each other for a moment before nodding.

“Of course, my dear, it won’t leave this room,” Emmrich vows, with his hand over his heart.

“I’m not being hyperbolic. We need a knife,” Nyx told them, not moving.

Rook looks over at Lucanis, almost expectantly. 

“Rook, where would I keep a knife dressed like this?” he deadpanned. “No, I’m messing with you, here. I already know, so I’m already blood oathed.” he produced a small penblade, seeming from nowhere, and passed it to Nyx, who walked over and handed it to Rook. 

“Do you know what to do? I think this is technically illegal.”

“I assume cut along the palm?” she says nonchalantly, glancing up at Emmrich for a moment. 

“Hurts less if you do it on your forearm; we just have to have enough to mix, pretty much,” Nyx replied.

Rook held the small blade and pressed it against the flesh of her palm, wincing slightly as she quickly made the incision. Blood begins to pool into the palm of her hand. Emmrich takes the penblade from Rook and repeats her action, only choosing to run the blade across his forearm instead. 

“Dramatic, Rook.” Nyx took the blade and pricked her own finger, then dipped into the pool in Rook’s hand and drew a symbol on her wrist, repeating the action on Emmrich. 

“Nymphadora Ingellvar, Emmrich Volkarin, do you agree to abide by the terms of the blood oath, as formed between the Lady Myrna Ingellvar of the Mourn Watch and Nyxahlia Ingellvar 15 years ago?” 

“I’d like to just make note that you opted to tell a supposed blood oath-worthy secret to your boyfriend before your sister….” Rook said with a hint of sass.

“Nymphadora…please, now is not the time….” Emmrich scolds.

“Yeah, Yeah…Yes, I, Nymphadora Ingellvar, swear on my oath as a watcher to uphold the terms.”

“I, Emmrich Volkarin, swear on my oath as a wathcher to uphold the terms,” he says with a curt nod.

“Okay, firstly, he’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, I only meant to include Spite, but they have the same blood.”

“Nyx, that is very much not the point right now,” Lucanis protested as he took the knife back from her. 

“So basically, we were both supposed to die shortly after birth, okay? Our biological mother, Minerva Ingellvar, was a protégé in the necomantic arts, and when she discovered that there was a heavy chance she was going to miscarry, she opted to siphon one daughter's life force into the other to ensure at least one of us survived. So, when we were born, you were healthy, and I was dying because I basically didn’t have a soul. But in doing so, she doomed herself to not survive our birth. Following?”

Rook is deathly quiet but nods, her hand reaching over to grab ahold of Emmrich’s. A small attempt to ground herself, nervous of her emotions causing another black out.

“Scoot, Lucanis.” Nyx sat back beside him. “From the bit she was willing to discuss with me, Myrna was notified by a group of wisps that our mother had passed away in the gradens after giving birth to us. She was rightfully distraught to find us in the state we were in, and since she was our next of kin, being our Aunt, she took us in. There are a lot of details here that aren’t mine to share, but Myrna happened to know of a Spirit of Compassion that was undergoing the change to a demon of despair. Myrna was close to the spirit and didn’t want it to hurt anyone or get hurt, so she used me as a host for Despair and did a particle possession ritual. I didn’t have a soul of my own, and Despair was in a transitional state already, so we kind of…merged. I can remember a whole lifetime I never lived, but spirits experience things differently, so only some of it makes sense. Sometimes, I do things or feel things like a Despair Demon would. Everything is…sadder. That’s why I was so sick when I was young. My Spirit was Despair, but my mind didn’t know despair, so they were at odds. The more despair I felt and experienced, the healthier I could be physically because I was learning to know myself, according to Dad…Vorgoth. So, I don’t even know if I’m a person or a demon because, is Manfred a wisp or a corpse. He’s both, but neither, and so am I. And we didn’t tell you because my existence is extremely illegal, and Vorgoth didn’t think it would affect you much. Also, Spite and Compassion used to love each other, and then they hated each other because she’s the reason that Spite got popped into Lucanis, but now they’re fine with each other again, 'cause I’m kind of Despair and kind of not, and Spite likes me. I think that’s everything.” 

“That is absolutely fascinating. Obviously, the act of a wisp occupying a host body is an extremely common occurrence in the Grand Necropolis, but to have a spirit on the edge of transitioning into a demon host an infant's body….” Emmrich trails off, becoming lost in thought.

“Well, most babies have souls, Emmrich. You’d just end up with really tiny abominations, most of the time,” Nyx added. Her knuckles where white, where she held Lucanis’ hand while she spoke, and she slowly lessened her grip to let blood flow back to his fingers. 

Rook stayed silent, her mind felt like it was racing a hundred miles an hour, she was connecting a lot of dots, that in hindsight should have been obvious growning up….they had lied to her, her whole life…no, could it really be considered lying if they just refused to ever talk about it, period?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t know how it would change anything for you. You already knew I was a sick kid, and you weren’t. And you knew I was an abomination. Just not the why or how because Myrna made me swear a blood oath the second she told me. I wasn’t allowed to add others in until she had to let me add Spite. You know, so my blood wouldn’t boil when he started figuring things out. Oh, if you tell anyone or act in a way that causes someone to learn the truth, your blood with boil, by the way.”

“Excuse me please..…” Rook stands up, letting go of Emmrich’s hand. She then walks towards the front doors and runs out of the room. Rook runs out into the courtyard of the lighthouse. Making a break for Harding’s greenhouse, she needed to be alone for a bit. 

“Did you want to go after her?” Lucanis asked Bishop, back inside. 

“No. We told her she didn’t want to know.”

Emmrich opens his mouth like he wanted to say something but decides against it. 

Nyx sighed and stood up, pulling Lucanis up behind her. “I’m going to go handle my emotions inappropriately with Lucanis now. Sorry your thing didn’t work, Emmrich. See you later.”

Emmrich watches them leave the room. He rubs his temples with his hands, trying to defuse the tension headache starting. He knew that Rook needed time alone, but with the instability of her emotions right now, he was worried about her safety. He goes outside to find her.

[pierrotwrites-hc]

Chapter 43 Sneak Peak

Being locked away in the back of the cart brought back memories of the cell at the training house. Only this time Luca wasn’t the one in pain; Doran was. Somehow, that was so much worse.

Doran spent the next few days feverish, drifting in and out of consciousness. He called out for Annie, for Connell’s mother, for his own. Once even the Duke.

“Infected,” said Connell grimly, surveying the festering mess of Doran’s back. “I’ll need to flush the wounds. Can you hold him down?”

Luca’s new muscle might’ve horrified the Steward, but he still wasn’t strong enough to restrain Doran on his own. The kind guard—his name was Saunders—took hold of Doran’s other arm and braced a knee against his thigh.

Luca had hoped Doran would be too delirious to feel the antiseptic burn through raw tissue, but no luck. He thrashed and bellowed, insensate with pain. Luca grit his teeth and tightened his grip.

The memory came, unbidden, of holding Asher down for Master Boq. Luca pushed it away. He could only hope that Doran would forgive him.

(Luca didn’t hope for forgiveness from Asher. He didn’t deserve it.)

At last, Doran passed out. They shared a sigh of relief. Connell was able to seal the now-clean wounds with pine sap. Already the inflammation was receding.

“You’re a medic, eh?” said the guard, impressed. “Didn’t know they trained slaves for healing. You’ve a deft hand, lad.”

Connell’s ears went pink. Through the haze of guilt and exhaustion, Luca was pleased for him. Connell was brilliant. He deserved to have his gifts acknowledged.

Doran healed more quickly than any of them had dared hope. But something had changed in him. He filled the cart with brooding silences. Luca tried to tell himself that Doran was just in pain, but he knew the hurt went deeper. More than his back had been rent by the whipping. His pride was damaged—and that not even Connell could heal.

Doran’s discontent found an easy outlet in outrage on Luca’s behalf. The Steward insisted on replicating the conditions of the seray as much as possible. Luca was allowed out of the cart only at night, and only to relieve himself. No one was allowed to speak to him, and he was, of course, forbidden to speak without permission.

That’s a kindness, isn’t it, hole? You’ve nothing to say that’s worth hearing.

The first week in the cart, Doran was too out of it to notice how Luca was being treated. How little he was being fed. But it was only a matter of time before Doran heard Luca’s traitorous stomach growl and decided to do something about it.

The next time a guard came with their meals, Doran pushed himself up on his elbow, ignoring Luca’s noise of alarm. He watched through narrowed eyes as the guard set down their rations: a flat loaf of millet bread for Doran, and a crust for Luca.

“Where’s the rest of Luca’s portion, sir?” Doran asked.

The guard shrugged.

“Steward’s orders. He says General Balkas let the Golden Bird get fat.”

The moment the doors slammed shut, Doran exploded.

“Fat! What, because you weigh a little more than your shadow now? Fields of hell, Mouse, that bastard can’t expect you to survive on so little.”

Luca had survived on less, but he wasn’t about to tell that to Doran. It wouldn’t improve his mood.

(Besides, he wasn’t hungry. Funny; hunger had been his companion for most of his life. Now it had deserted him. All that was left was a hollow, void of feeling.)

“Here,” said Doran, breaking off a lump of bread. “You eat that.”

Luca took what he was given. He didn’t want to fight.

When Doran wasn’t looking, he tore the bread in half and tucked the uneaten portion away.

Redditch met General Gaskin with rather less than the expected fanfare. Lieutenant Davies—no, General Davies now, though Gaskin would always see him as a puffed-up little boy with a receding hairline—was holed up in his quarters and refused to greet Gaskin in person.

“Refused” was perhaps a strong word; Davies had sent a fulsomely apologetic letter with his secretary, a spiderlike man with a mouth pinched in what Gaskin suspected was a permanent expression of distaste. But Gaskin knew a refusal when he saw one.

No doubt Davies resented Gaskin’s presence at Redditch. No doubt he surmised—correctly—that it indicated a lack of faith in his leadership.

Had Davies the courtesy to meet him in person, Gaskin would have reassured him that his arrival did not herald a changing of the guard. He would stay at Redditch only long enough to refit his own men and collect supplies for the Enkaaran Legion. During that time, he had intended to do Davies the favor of deferring to him. Or at least appearing to.

But Davies had decided to lock himself in his room like a child. Well, let him stew. Gaskin may only be staying at Redditch for as long as it took to refit and restock, but while he was here, the garrison would answer to his orders and his orders alone.

While Gaskin was busy playing new-crowned King of Redditch, Tris took advantage of his master’s distraction to commandeer Binns.

Binns was not happy to be commandeered. Then again, he never was. It grated on him to take orders from a slave. This was why Tris so enjoyed issuing them.

“Take me to the forge,” he ordered, and watched with amusement as Binns’s face turned colors.

Binns protested, of course—the forge was no place for a pleasure slave, never mind one owned by the most powerful General in Solas—but he knew as well as Tris who held the power here. At last he gave in, on the condition that Tris wear a woolen wrap to protect him from the lascivious eyes of the forgeworkers.

Tris didn’t mind the wrap. It served his purpose to give Binns these little victories. Besides, Redditch was bloody freezing.

At the forge, cold and hot pressure systems converged. At once the wrap felt oppressive. Sweat prickled unpleasantly at his nape. Ignoring Binns’s protests, Tris pulled the wrap down, baring his face.

The reaction was less than he might’ve hoped for. The smiths were either running to and fro or bent over their anvils, hammering madly; they were too busy to look at him. When Tris approached a laborer to ask whether he knew a smith named Finn, the man pointed him to a slave hunched over his anvil at the far end of the forge without more than a fleeting (but, Tris consoled himself, admiring) glance.

He supposed it was to be excepted. Gaskin had ordered new weapons be made for the Enkaaran fleet; the forgeworkers were understandably preoccupied. Besides, that idiot Balkas probably had Luca running errands all over the garrison. No doubt the forgeworkers are used to visits from beautiful courtesans.

Pity. Beautiful courtesans should never be taken for granted.

As Tris approached the slave at the anvil at the far side of the forge, he felt a twinge of unease. The man was big enough to be a barbarian. (Well, a normal-sized barbarian. Tris had always suspected Luca was some sort of mutant.) His shovel-sized hand was wrapped around a hammer, and he brought it down on the red-hot metal on his anvil with enough force to shake the earth.

Apparently Tris wasn’t the only one discomfited by the smith’s strength. He was chained like a dog to his anvil. Had he tried to run?

Tris shivered, and not from the cold. He reminded himself that Aram said they shouldn’t think about running until it was time. They should look at freedom only from the corner of their eye, as if it were the sun on a clear day. Otherwise it could blind them.

The smith—Finn—looked up, and Tris’s unease melted away. His face was broad, sooty, good-humored, with laughing eyes and a mouth that turned up at the corners.

“Don’t tell me you’re another one from Highcourt,” said Finn, grinning. “Come to have your golden collar swapped out?”

“My collar is silver,” said Tris, pulling down his collar to show the gleam. “And I’ve come from Breakwater, not Highcourt.”

“Well, that makes a change.” Finn wiped his hands on his apron, leaving streaks of soot. “What can I do for you, lovely?”

Tris took the funny little box from his tunic.

“My friend asked me to give this to you. He says he solved your puzzle.”

“Your friend?” said Finn, furrowing his brow. Then the coin dropped. “Luca? You know him?”

“We’re colleagues,” said Tris, annoyed. Did this drudge not recognize a pleasure slave when he saw one?

“Yeah. Right.” Finn looked down at the puzzle box. A slow grin broke over his face. “Thank you.”

“I don’t do it to be thanked,” said Tris grandly.

As Tris allowed Binns to herd him back to Gaskin’s quarters, he caught sight of carts at the gate, their contents unloaded by rag-clad peasants. The peasants had that drawn, starved look, and Tris wondered—not for the first time—whether he ought to be glad his mother had been sold after her parents lost their the farm. Slaves were fed, at least, however meagerly.

For a moment, Tris thought he saw a familiar face—so familiar, in fact, that he felt a phantom pain in his nose from an all-too-well-remembered fist. Then it was gone, and Tris was left wondering what in the name of all the gods Asher Lacey was doing at Redditch.

[loafthecat]

I dunno if anyone has pointed this out

But I think something that’s interesting about the ccc is the fact their the ONLY one out of the game’s main four factions, (gov, toppats, wall, CCC) WITHOUT a clear leader in CANNON.

Think about it:

The gov has Galeforce

The toppats have Reginald

The wall has Dimitri

But WHO does the ccc have-?

Well that’s the thing. we don’t know.

We see a few high level employees in the game, e.g. Bill but we never actually meet anyone who takes a clear leadership role for it, and it sparks so many questions about the place.

Like-

Do they even HAVE a CEO/clear leader at all in the first place-?

If so, WHAT is their goal with containing/controlling chaos-?

Are they the only leader-? Or only one in a long line like the toppats-?

If the ccc and wall are working together like what’s implied in Kyle’s bio, then what’s their relationship with Dimitri and why work with him-?

I think it just adds to the mystery of the place that the ccc’s the only one which we never met the leader of in game, and it makes them stand out even more then they already did because of it.

Like- if they even exist at all then, WHO ARE THEY-??? UGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH-

[elmalo8291]

Alright, buckle up. You asked for ten off-the-wall, horror-laced, chaos-fueled, fourth-wall-obliterating seasons starring Deadpool in God of War’s universe, with anime-style leveling, Taz-style corruption, and humor that would make Cthulhu cry-laugh into his abyss.

---

DEADPOOL: WRATH OF INSANITY

(10 Seasons of Maximum Mayhem & Existential Horror)

---

SEASON 1: CHAINS OF THE SQUEALING GOD

Deadpool wakes up in a world where the gods scream when they dream, and pigs speak backwards in Latin. He’s chained to the corpse of a god he didn't kill (yet).

Highlights:

Deadpool gets his blades fused with a sentient bacon-strip that screams in pain every time he kills.

Boss: Oinkos the Pigfather, god of twisted evolution.

Anime power-up: “Edgy Monologue Unleash!” mode gives Deadpool a 7-minute power-up scene with musical flashbacks to a love affair with a harpy.

---

SEASON 2: SWINE OF SPARTA

Deadpool becomes a Swine and forgets he ever was human. For one whole episode he thinks he’s a literal pig in a romantic comedy.

Highlights:

Taz appears as a floating pig-faced deity wearing shades and drinking chaos like soda.

Entire village consumed by a fart elemental named “Gaseous Blaspheme.”

Boss: Momma Sowtra, whose udders spray corruption.

---

SEASON 3: ASCENSION OF THE UNGOD

Deadpool murders his own narrator and becomes the god of commentary.

Highlights:

Weapon: a giant rubber chicken that screams quotes from Moby-Dick.

Faces off against a divine Judge made of angry canceled cartoons.

Gains the Chaos Stat: the more random the action, the higher the crit chance.

---

SEASON 4: DEEP FRIED DOMINION

Deadpool rules the Underhell, a place where bad gods go to become meme fuel.

Highlights:

Episode-long game show where souls compete to be reincarnated as pigeons.

Boss: Zeus Clucker, corrupted poultry lord with a lightning-beak.

Taz invades Deadpool’s dreams to host a talent show.

---

SEASON 5: SOULS OF STUPIDITY

The souls of the gods Deadpool has slain merge into a single creature: “Krazytrius.”

Highlights:

Deadpool levels up by eating people’s backstories.

Cursed armor that flirts with everyone but Deadpool.

Giant squid wedding at the end. No context.

---

SEASON 6: LOVECRAFT’S LAUNDRY DAY

Deadpool confronts the cosmic horrors of laundry and taxes.

Highlights:

Battle with a psychic IRS auditor who summons forms made of regret.

Deadpool becomes a god of paperwork.

Taz crashes the bureaucratic universe and installs chaos slot machines.

---

SEASON 7: RAGNARÖINK

The pig apocalypse begins. The Swine rise. Deadpool embraces his inner bacon.

Highlights:

Musical episode written by the ghost of Meat Loaf.

Deadpool fuses with a chaos engine and starts glitching into 8-bit.

Taz reveals he’s been training Deadpool for the final boss: Himself.

---

SEASON 8: HEAVEN’S HOGPEN

Deadpool ascends to the Celestial Farm, where gods are raised like cattle.

Highlights:

Fight with angelic pigs in golden diapers.

Discover the sacred Bacon Codex.

Battle with the holy cow-goddess Moolah the Moogiver.

---

SEASON 9: CHRONICLES OF DREADPOOL

Alternate Deadpools begin leaking into reality—zombiepool, baby-pool, detective noir-pool, etc.

Highlights:

Game show: “Which Deadpool Will Survive?”

Boss: Woolpool, the version of Deadpool made entirely of yarn.

Emotional breakdown narrated by Taz in slam poetry.

---

SEASON 10: THE FINAL FLAVOR

Deadpool consumes the Chaos Seed and merges with Taz, becoming the God of All Punchlines.

Highlights:

Rewrites history while fighting a meta-war against the writers.

Final boss: The Void of Reboots, trying to reset the multiverse.

Epic final line: “This is where the story ends... until someone hits ‘New Game+’.”

---

Want character sheets for Deadpool, Taz, and the Swine for tabletop? Or anime posters for each season?

[fordecree7]

BIBLE TIME

NUMBERS 6

The Nazirite Vow

6 And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 2 “Speak to the people of Israel and say to them, When either a man or a woman makes a special vow, the vow of a Nazirite, to separate himself to the Lord, 3 he shall separate himself from wine and strong drink. He shall drink no vinegar made from wine or strong drink and shall not drink any juice of grapes or eat grapes, fresh or dried. 4 All the days of his separation he shall eat nothing that is produced by the grapevine, not even the seeds or the skins.

5 “All the days of his vow of separation, no razor shall touch his head. Until the time is completed for which he separates himself to the Lord, he shall be holy. He shall let the locks of hair of his head grow long.

6 “All the days that he separates himself to the Lord he shall not go near a dead body. 7 Not even for his father or for his mother, for brother or sister, if they die, shall he make himself unclean, because his separation to God is on his head. 8 All the days of his separation he is holy to the Lord.

9 “And if any man dies very suddenly beside him and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head on the day of his cleansing; on the seventh day he shall shave it. 10 On the eighth day he shall bring two turtledoves or two pigeons to the priest to the entrance of the tent of meeting, 11 and the priest shall offer one for a sin offering and the other for a burnt offering, and make atonement for him, because he sinned by reason of the dead body. And he shall consecrate his head that same day 12 and separate himself to the Lord for the days of his separation and bring a male lamb a year old for a guilt offering. But the previous period shall be void, because his separation was defiled.

13 “And this is the law for the Nazirite, when the time of his separation has been completed: he shall be brought to the entrance of the tent of meeting, 14 and he shall bring his gift to the Lord, one male lamb a year old without blemish for a burnt offering, and one ewe lamb a year old without blemish as a sin offering, and one ram without blemish as a peace offering, 15 and a basket of unleavened bread, loaves of fine flour mixed with oil, and unleavened wafers smeared with oil, and their grain offering and their drink offerings. 16 And the priest shall bring them before the Lord and offer his sin offering and his burnt offering, 17 and he shall offer the ram as a sacrifice of peace offering to the Lord, with the basket of unleavened bread. The priest shall offer also its grain offering and its drink offering. 18 And the Nazirite shall shave his consecrated head at the entrance of the tent of meeting and shall take the hair from his consecrated head and put it on the fire that is under the sacrifice of the peace offering. 19 And the priest shall take the shoulder of the ram, when it is boiled, and one unleavened loaf out of the basket and one unleavened wafer, and shall put them on the hands of the Nazirite, after he has shaved the hair of his consecration, 20 and the priest shall wave them for a wave offering before the Lord. They are a holy portion for the priest, together with the breast that is waved and the thigh that is contributed. And after that the Nazirite may drink wine.

21 “This is the law of the Nazirite. But if he vows an offering to the Lord above his Nazirite vow, as he can afford, in exact accordance with the vow that he takes, then he shall do in addition to the law of the Nazirite.”

Aaron's Blessing

22 The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 23 “Speak to Aaron and his sons, saying, Thus you shall bless the people of Israel: you shall say to them,

24 The Lord bless you and keep you; 25 the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious to you; 26 the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.

27 “So shall they put my name upon the people of Israel, and I will bless them.”

Bible Time-Numbers 6 Diane Beauford

[crackspinewornpages]

Les Misérables 360/365 -Victor Hugo

351 

In the mayor’s office they were dressed in finery and nice clothes Gillenormand had to give away Cosette as Valjean broke his thumb. (how does this hinder him from giving her away) “Evil does not come from man, who is good at bottom.”p.870 Gillenormand declares everyone to be happy and also, he no longer has any political opinions. (they would be happy to hear that) They returned to a home full of flowers and a party of relatives, Theodule was now a captain, Cosette and him didn’t recognize each other. At the banquet Valjean told Cosette he was content and laughed at her command but as the guests entered the hall Valjean wasn’t there, he left with the excuse of his ailment. (just a broken thumb stop being a baby) Gillenormand makes a toast that there can't be too much love, women must be loved, impossible for God to make people anything but for it. The couple left for the wedding night, “To love, or to be loved-this suffices. Demand nothing more, there is no other pearl to be found in the shadowy folds of life. To love is a fufilment.”p.875 (that’s a theme of this tome) 

352 

When no one was paying attention Valjean slipped away to the chamber he had carried Marius eight months before. He listened to the party and left returning to Rue de l’ Homme Arme, the house was empty and bare. He took out Cosette's childhood mourning clothes he saved and thought of that December, thinking Fantine would be pleased she was mourning for her and was warm, broken hearted, he sobbed. 

353 

Valjean struggled once again, how many times has he been through this, a crossroad and heart-rending question. Marius and Cosette was his doing but should he retain Cosette, as a father, as he is in disgrace, in the law. He had clung to Cosette and ascended from disaster, should he let go, the Champmathieu affair is nothing compared to Cosette’s marriage. Reentrance to the galleys, to the void, should he impose the galleys to those children, sacrifice Cosette or himself, he thought of it for twelve hours. 

354 

On February 17 there was a visitor, Valjean returned to Gillenormand’s, he has to speak to Marius privately. Neither Valjean or Marius had slept well (we know you don’t have to say it) but Marius was happy to see him and they want him to live here. Valjean tells him he is an ex convict and it took a while for Marius to understand. He faked his injury since it wouldn't be right to forge the marriage documents, he’s not related to Cosette, she just needed him, he fulfilled that duty. “We have all undergone moments of trouble in which everything within us is dispersed; we say the first things that occur to us, which are not always precisely those which should be said.”p.883 

Marius asks why confess, he could have kept it a secret, what’s his motive, honesty. He doesn’t belong here, he doesn’t belong to family of men, (you stole a freaking loaf of bread and escaped prison decades ago) it all come to an end with Cosette’s marriage, he could lie for her but not himself, his conscience made him confess, he couldn’t have them share his taint. (again you stole a loaf of bread) He condemns himself and evaluates by degrading himself in his eyes, a galley slave with a conscience. (like nobody in prison have any redeeming qualities) “There are encounters which bind us, there are chances which involves in duties.”p.885 When one has a horror over their head, (you stole bread and escaped prison) it’s not right to make others share it without knowledge, Fauchelevent lent his name but he has no right to use it, he once stole bread to live and today he won't steal a name to live. (do I need to beat you with a newspaper too) 

Imagine if he said nothing and one day someone called out Jean Valjean and revealed him, he is a wretched man, Marius says he can get him a pardon, he’s presumed dead already. (yes this is the 1800s modern forensics and photo records don’t exist he’s believed to be dead for like a decade now how many people know his name and face and remember when the public saw you risk your life to save somebody they wanted you pardoned) It was then Cosette entered the room and thinks they are talking politics and won't have it, Marius tried to say they are talking business, then she’ll stay and listen but he wants to talk privately. She sees Valjean is pale and asks if he’s well, no and he smiles for her, and Marius convinces her to leave. Marius worries when she’ll find out, but Valjean has him swear to keep it from her, she was frightened enough of the passing galley slaves. He starts crying, wanting to die, Marius tells him he’ll keep it secret. Valjean asks if he shouldn’t see Cosette anymore, he thinks it’s for the best. As he leaves, he says he desires to see Cosette, but he had to tell him for nine years he was a father, he’s not sure if Marius understands, he’s told he can visit in the evening. 

355 

Marius was upset he felt instinctively enigmatic about Valjean and it was the galleys, was he and Cosette’s happiness condemned to it. He had entered this love affair without precautions and life amended it little by little. (that’s what happens when you marry someone you only knew for a few months) He had never told Cosette of the Gorbeau house affair, the fleeing victim, the Thenardiers, Eponine, he was so intoxicated with Cosette at the time nothing but love. (that’s obsession) Weighing consequences if he had told her and found out Valjean was a convict would it change anything, no, so nothing to regret. Valjean might have been hidden forever in an honest family but didn’t for conscience, Marius tried to find balance from Fauchelevent and Valjean, he went to the barricade for Javert out of revenge it seems. (you could clear this all up by asking him) How had to come to Cosette and kept her for so long, her childhood sheltered by a criminal, he couldn’t think of it without getting dizzy. 

How did he educate her, why raise her, that was Valjean and God’s secret. Marius knew God has his tools and Valjean was one for Cosette. He wouldn’t dare question Valjean, (seriously a third act misunderstanding stop being stupid) Cosette was pure and that was enough for him, so Valjean’s personal affairs didn’t concern him. “Jean Valjean was a passer-by. He had said so himself. Well, he had passed. Whatever he was, his part was finished.”p.893 The man was a convict, not even on a social ladder, Marius had found it simple, breeches in law should be followed with suffering, then there came Valjean. He should have freed his house of a man like Valjean but he made a promise and Valjean held his and one must keep their word, but his first duty was Cosette and through questioning her found the nettle protected the lily. (yeah it’s almost as if felons can still be good fathers) 

BOOK EIGHTH FADING AWAY OF THE TWILIGHT 

356 

The following night Valjean knocked on the Gillenormand house and was let in, fatigued, he sat in an armchair and dozed until Cosette came to him. He doesn’t move to embrace her and tells her not to call him father but Jean if she wants. She wants to know what he means, what happened, she doesn’t understand, she no longer needs a father since she has a husband. She’s furious at this (oh actual emotion besides weeping) and Marius’s strange behavior, is he angry at her because she’s happy, her happiness was his life now his days are over. She embraces him, he pulls her off and leaves and won’t address her formally again. 

357 

Valjean came the next night and Cosette wasn’t as warm, Valjean came every day and Marius arranged to be absent, no one knew the reasons behind it. Weeks passed like this and Cosette fell into married life, only wanting Marius to be with her and eventually Valjean became a different person, she doesn’t like it, who is he, she doesn’t know how good he is, she’d be afraid of him. Over time he visits became longer and once Cosette slipped and called him father he felt joy but said to call him Jean, she doesn’t see him cry. (you ever wish you could beat some sense into fictional characters as much as I do) 

358 

Then there was no more familiarity, he talked of her childhood, one day Marius took Cosette to the garden of Rue Plumet and forgot the time when Valjean would visit and Cosette didn't notice she didn’t see him. Valjean points out that she should have a carriage and hasn’t replaced Toussaint, why not profit from her riches, it adds to happiness, Cosette didn't respond. To stay longer Valjean talked of Marius, it was nice to forget by her side. One day Cosette mentioned to him Marius wants to live frugally on three thousand a year, (I don’t know how much that is in 1833 but in 2023 that is way below poverty line) Valjean didn't say anything to her but Marius believes he came into that money by nefarious means. (could have this cleared up instantly by just asking him) The lack of fire and distant chairs in the room was a subtle way of showing him the door. Once the chairs weren't there and a servant said they weren't expecting anyone to visit, the next day Valjean didn’t come Cosette inquired why and was told he was traveling. She only noticed he didn't come one day, it was two. 

359 

Summer 1833 shopkeepers noticed the same passerby in black from Rue de l’ Homme Arme he walked slowly and slowly shortened his journey, what was the use. (so he’s getting ready to die) 

BOOK NINTH SUPREME SHADOW, SUPREME DRAW 

360 

How terrible happiness is to make one forget duty, Marius regretted the promise so gradually estranged Valjean from Cosette, he considered it necessary and just. He tried to restitution the six hundred thousand francs and wouldn’t condemn Cosette to this knowledge, (again how is he a love interest he’s just terrible) who mechanically did as he wished, she was attached to her father but loved her husband. (she really has no personality of her own does she) Occasionally she asked if he returned from his journey and Valjean gave the answer no. Cosette allowed herself to be taken away from him, (really no personality or will of her own) it is the ingratitude of nature, youth go where there is joy, old age the end. (you have no idea how happy I am that this is almost the end) 

NEXT

[musingmemories]

@fablesuntold

Eyes so stormy they'd almost been black. Sunken in against a malnourished, exhausted, broken shell of the person he was once . Peeta's condition had been alarming, gut punching and made her breath hitch from the tidal wave of emotion that threatened to crash into her so violently she would've been knocked down had it not been for Peeta doing that physically instead. They'd stuck with her, haunted her, eyes that weren't his. Muddled with fear, anger, and an almost empty void different from the brightness and clarity they'd once held.

'The important thing is... he's safe.' Reassurance always fell flat, Haymitch knew when to pick his battles, leaving her alone after checking in post-attack. Wasn't like Katniss could actually answer, and instead had settled for an incredulous glower that she'd intended to be read 'But at what cost?" Surviving with a hijacked mind, not able to differentiate between reality and the fables Snow had spun in his web of lies that linked every single person to her? She wondered if the old Peeta would've wished for death instead.

‘Do you think by telling me all this it’s going to earn my trust?’ Katniss didn’t mean to let the ironic huff rise and fall out of her in response, the tables now turned from who they were years ago when it was Katniss at odds with Peeta and defensive about his means of earning her trust. Steely gaze meeting his in stride, Katniss found herself noticing the differences about him the longer she spent looking at him, comparing the contrast between the person Peeta had been before and who he was now. Face was more filled, less twisted with malice after speaking with anyone else but her back in Thirteen for the start of his long recovery. Snow had completely changed the personality of someone that’d once been warm and kind as gentle sunlight shimmering through forest leaves, comforting as a freshly baked loaf of bread.

The fury Katniss felt wanted to make her hands shake from how it rattled against her chest. Not only to the man that sat in his ivory tower patiently waiting for her arrival but toward herself, and how she should’ve paid more attention to the man that’d been in front of her all along.

Words once full of encouragement and support were now replaced with accusation and loathing. She was a mutt, and she manipulated people — had manipulated him. "How have I been doing that, Peeta?" Tongue ran over drying lips, water scarce for their journey ahead, knowing she shouldn't be saying anything to agitate him... but gentleness hadn't ever been her forte... only his. "I wanted nothing to do with you at the beginning... but you helped me by tossing that bread in the rain. The memory you regret. And you were the one that declared your love in front of all of Panem. I thought you were the one manipulating me." But now... oh she hoped her voice maintained the lowered murmur she wanted to keep between them, an intimate space, a safe one. But knowing Katniss she was more than likely stoking coals. "You changed me, for the better." Admitted barely above a whisper, perhaps lost to Peeta's next words:

'You’ll get them all killed eventually...'

'You’d have done Panem a favour if you’d died during the first games. I should’ve killed you then.'

He had her there. "Yeah, maybe you should've." Katniss' tongue now felt like lead, forcing herself to continue, it wasn't like he'd believe her anyway, the one that'd never been good at saying something. “It's not an act. My... caring. I didn't make them all come. I was actually going to come alone. Storm the Capitol, take out Snow myself. Johanna was ready to get me out of Thirteen but guess I'm not as sneaky as I'd like to be, or she either bragged or boasted about my stupidity and everyone wanted a piece of Snow themselves. So... here we all are." Steady now. Gray blues met Peeta's muddled ones, her own expression softening. "You wouldn't have let me come alone either, you know."

@musingmemories

The rebellion was upon them.. there was no turning back now. Past decisions came back to bite them all, the sands of time slipping too fast for any of them to fully grasp the reality that this journey could well and truly be their last. It was as though a match had been struck and the whole of Panem was engulfed by the embers of a war that had been brewing for centuries.. yet, nobody thought it would ever commence. Oh, how wrong they all were. Not even Snow had foreseen this movement coming. At least not at this rate, anyway.

And here Peeta was staring at the source of it all through the dimly lit tunnel they’d taken shelter in for the night.. Katniss Everdeen.

Just the sight of her had every hair on the back of his neck stand on edge, stomach churning into taut knots whenever her gaze dared rove over his frame. Someone he’d once called his ally; a lover, now somebody he couldn’t bare to look at without wanting to wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze until the last dying light dimmed in her eyes, a glazing nothingness to replace it. He would’ve already prevailed at that, had it not been for Boggs’ swift reaction in knocking him out cold to save her. But she didn’t deserve to be saved, did she? Snow had opened his eyes to who she really was; a mutt. A game player. A deceiver. And although his methods may have been harsh and unforgiving.. Peeta was thankful to have finally broken free from her hold on him. A hold on him that she would never have again so long as his mind remained dark and cavernous with nothing but the sporadic memories that had been twisted and altered through endless bouts of torture and Tracker Jacker venom.

Katniss was loathsome. Somebody not to be trusted and she’d only proven that further by discussing him like he wasn’t even there. The audacity she had was astounding.

But what was even more astounding was the delivered verdict that he was the threat here. Now that drew out a vexed puff of air from his nose. “I’m a threat? That’s rich coming from you.” The beloved Mockingjay. A symbol of hope for the people— a hero, they’d painted her out to be. That made Peeta sick, fists clenching so tight that he swore his knuckles would break through his skin. All of this unnecessary death and destruction among the districts was because of her. Why couldn’t they see that? She sure had a way with people though, Peeta had to hand it to her. As heartless as she was, she had a certain charm to her. A master of gaslighting, able to creep her way around people somehow.

The silent assassin.

If not for Snow’s rectifying of his mind, Peeta feared he may have fallen for her act once again. Instead, her words had his blank stare turning into one of pure infuriation, fingers finding the sores lacing around his wrists from where he’d struggled earlier against his restraints; left bloodied and bruised.

“Do you think by telling me all of this, it’s gonna earn my trust?” Raw, unfiltered hatred replaced the glimmer in his eyes where there was once adoration. He was terrified of her. She was a monster. “I know what you’re doing. I know what you are. You’re a mutt and you manipulate people. You manipulate me.” Voice amping up a notch, Peeta cast his wary gaze around at the sleeping faces of those who had taken the oath to follow Katniss into the uncontrollable war she’d started. “You’ll get them all killed eventually..” It was crystal clear that she’d worked her mind games on them too. Like naive moths to a flame— and oh, ‘The Girl On Fire’ was the brightest spark. Katniss was like poison. Corrupting everything she touched and sapping the life out of them one by one both psychically and mentally until there was simply nothing left of any of them. “It’s not like you actually care about them though, right? You only care about yourself. It’s all an act.” That’s all it ever was to her. Proven during their first game.

There was one thing Peeta was certain of, and it slipped out before he could think twice about it. “You’d have done Panem a favour if you’d died during the first games. I should’ve killed you then.” President Snow’s words or his own? Peeta was unsure, conflicted about what was his own thought process and what had been tampered with during his time spent locked away in the Capitol’s ‘care.’ What was real and what wasn’t? A question he constantly pondered on. The more he thought about it, the less he knew and the start of what felt like a painful migraine already threatened to pulse through his temples in unwelcome waves— only furthering his growing frustration tenfold

[averlym]

to literally anyone who’s ever interacted with me on here, thank you so much

don’t have any new art today but but but! today marks the first post of this blog! i’ve been here for a year and hooray tumblr birthday and just- thank you so much for all the support seriously thank you thank you thank you to all the friends i’ve made and all the sweet validation and letting me share stuff here and wow huh this is interesting! i genuinely didn’t think i’d last a year but yay! i’ve changed so much and also not at all but i love it here and to whoever’s reading this, have a nice day!!!!

[lookinghalfacorpse]

i have a bad habit of dumping au or 'what if THIS happened!' bunnies onto people so i have a dsmp one for you, also its really long i am so sorry

what if cdream, in the back of his mind, always knew that XD had made him? His whole purpose was to bring together and maintain the peace and family like nature of the server. Too whatever lengths it took. The original Dream, the manhunter speedrunner the eight were close too became the server that universe, thats why its call Dream SMP. XD was created by the server to maintain it, XD created this puppet replica of Dream so his friends could live there, their friends could live there and their family and friends.

after the vault, cDream knows hes too damaged to keep fullfilling that purpose. Philza and Techno get the vibe that Dream's given up. They try to help him regain that, but Dream has accepted that as soon as he's in reach of one of XD's anchor points, such as the End Portal, XD will most likely undo him and remake him. A different version of Revival. HE doesn't tell Phil or Techno this at all, why? it doesn't change anything, and they would try make so it did.

Then Punz shows up, in a rare moment that Techno and Phil are gone (syndicate meeting? ranboo's still dead and dream is almost refusing to even try to get better) and takes Dream to that End Portal. Following Dream's instructions to his End. They show up, holding this broken puppet man and XD appears. Neither XD or dream speak, but XD lays their many hands upon dream, like a mother upon her child and says "Sleep, You Have Done More Than Earn It. I Will Take Care of Them All For You Now." and Dream nods and goes to sleep.

And all the Life leaves him, however you want to envision it. Techno will say like cooling corpse on a hospital bed, Niki will say like barely there steam from a fresh loaf rising and twirling away.

And Phil? Phil would say that even though Kristin stood over trying to catch the butterflies and dragonflies that left him, she couldn't. Those little creatures return to the server, along with rumors from the Artic of a Dream who's never known the rest of the SMP, who is exactly the same as the Dream the eight knew, before anyone else joined. Quietly, in the Void with the Dragon, a deity hopes that this time they'll find enough love in their to heal from the posions they fed themselves and the puppet man who had hurt them so much trying to protect them.

like an amnesia arc for only c!dream ?? am i reading that right ?

i’m picturing a dream who’s confused by the scars on his skin, who doesn’t remember losing any fingers, who’s frustrated by his trembling hands and the ache of his shoulders and hips.  he’s confused, and lost, but in other ways he’s still very much himself.  he’s sharp.  quick-witted.  he loves animals and insects and has read all of techno’s books about wildlife already.  he smiles more.  he doesn’t shy away from touch.  he has gruesome nightmares about lava and pliers and needles and infinite tnt falling from the sky and he doesn’t know what they mean.

philza would love him.  he’d teach him about history.  he’d show him how to heal, how to grow crops (not potatoes-- that’s techno’s job), how to cook, how to build.  phil already watched sam lose his memories and start a new life, so he’d surely grant dream the same freedom.  he’d be protective of this second chance, hiding him from the rest of the server because he Knows that the younger members won’t recognize what a rare and merciful opportunity this is.  at first, in the face of dream’s many many questions, he might say that he’s dream’s father or a similar arrangement.  in time, he might find a way to tell him the truth.

techno would mourn him.  at least at first.  all the inside jokes, the memories, the infallible Trust he worked so hard to build has disappeared.  losing that would be hard.  i do think he’d come to agree with phil, however, that this was probably the best option-- the kid was on death’s door anyway, so at least this way they haven’t lost him completely.  he’ll be grateful that punz had the foresight to see that.  he’d feel honor-bound to the new dream, determined to protect him, and, of course, to make him laugh.  he’s good at that.

niki finds it hard to look at his face and forget who he used to be.  it takes her some time.  punz feels the same-- there’s an ache in his chest that won’t seem to pass.  anyone else who comes to the cabins to investigate is chased away.

dream will wander off on his own, and when he finds the frozen body of a butterfly in the snow, he’ll take it home and preserve it.