#my storage is decaying

[artfartt]

(Most) all the drawing requests/ideas I took from last night/today (1:00 am)

Drawing idea/request by (I put them in rows so it would be easier to look at): @oswaldepic (I kinda combined their idea with @luzzyluz’s) @ sammvnmak (on twitter) @max-the-lagomorph @parasocial-hermit (3) @mack-timelines (2) @silverlizard012 (last 2)

[gothictravelguide]

Winter Lace

Lawrence, Kansas

Instagram

[ilovemitsuya]

sylus x reader (fluffy,angsty?)

summary: “During a mission, I sustained serious injuries and was hospitalized. Though Sylus couldn’t visit me, he sent Mephisto in his place. When I was discharged, I wasn’t expecting him to be outside.”

“I’m not going to lie to you two.” Jenna said, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned back against her desk. “This mission isn’t like the others we’ve done. That facility is more unstable than we initially thought. The few teams we’ve sent to investigate before found nothing at all.”

Crossing my arms as I studied Captain Jenna’s face.

“So why send just the two of us, then?” I asked.

“Why not a full squad if it’s that dangerous?”

“Because we don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. A bigger team could draw too much attention.“

“And if we find something… unexpected?” Tara asked.

“You report back immediately.” Jenna said, her tone firm. “Don’t try to take on anything alone if it’s beyond your capabilities. This isn’t about being heroes.”

There was a beat of silence before Jenna pushed off her desk and took a step closer to me and Tara. “But you’re not going in blind. We’ll have a team on standby if things get too hot. You need to trust your instincts and watch each other’s backs.”

Glancing at Tara, she gave me a reassuring nod.

Tara and I turned to leave, but Jenna’s voice stopped us just before we reached the door. “And remember.” she called out, “If things start to go sideways, you get out. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” I replied, glancing over my shoulder at her.

With that, Tara and I exited the office, both of us knowing that we were walking into something dangerous. But we had our orders.

———————————————————————

The facility loomed over us, the metal creaking with the weight of its own decay. Tara and I moved cautiously through the halls, weapons at the ready, our footsteps echoing against the cracked concrete.

Dust hung in the air like a fog, making each breath feel heavy. We’d been searching for signs of Wanderers for hours, but aside from a few ominous claw marks on the walls, there was nothing.

Tara walked a few paces ahead, her sharp eyes sweeping the darkened corners as she scanned for any signs of movement.

“This place gives me the creeps.”

“The readings are coming from this sector.” I confirmed. “It’s like there’s a cluster of energy sources in the storage area up ahead. Something’s definitely drawing them here.”

Tara nodded and pushed forward, keeping a steady pace as we approached the large metal door that led to the storage room. She placed a hand on the door’s surface, glancing back at me. “On three?” she whispered.

I tightened my grip on my gun and gave her a quick nod. “On three.”

“One… two… three!”

Tara shoved the door open, and we moved inside in a swift, coordinated motion. The room was just as the rest of the facility, old crates and equipment lay scattered across the floor, and the walls were covered in peeling paint.

I took a step forward, my eyes sweeping the room for any signs of movement. But then, there was a flicker of motion in the shadows, too quick to pinpoint at first.

I turned to Tara, but she had already seen it. Her eyes narrowed, and she raised her weapon in the direction of the disturbance.

“Stay sharp.” she said, voice tense. “I think we’ve got company.”

I reacted on instinct, surging forward to intercept it with a gunshot.

It swiped at me with one of its jagged claws, forcing me to block the strike with my forearm. Pain shot through my body as its claws tore through my sleeve and left deep gashes across my skin.

Before we could even do anything, the wanderer let out a loud roar and smashed its claws against the support beams around us. A low rumble vibrated through the building, and the ground beneath us trembled. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and a series of cracks split the concrete walls, spreading out in every direction.

“Get out of here, now!” Tara shouted, sprinting for the exit.

I turned to follow her, but the ground heaved under my feet, and a section of the ceiling gave way with a deafening crash. I stumbled and fell, barely managing to roll out of the way as a massive metal beam slammed down where I’d been standing. The room shuddered violently, and the walls seemed to cave inward.

“Tara!” I called out, but my voice was drowned out by the roar of collapsing debris. I saw her struggling to keep her footing near the exit, but then another tremor hit, and a cascade of rubble came crashing down, forcing us apart.

I fought to keep moving, dodging falling beams and lunging over shifting pieces of debris. But it was no use. The floor buckled beneath me, and I felt myself falling through the collapsing structure.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs, and pain exploded through my side as I hit the ground hard. I tried to move, but my legs were pinned beneath a heavy chunk of concrete, and the darkness quickly closed in around me.

The last thing I saw before everything faded was the shattered remnants of the facility above, crumbling like a house of cards. Then, there was nothing.

———————————————————————

The steady beep of a heart monitor was the first thing I became aware of as I drifted back to consciousness.

The world came back in hazy fragments, a faint antiseptic smell, the dull ache radiating through my entire body, the blinding white light overhead. I blinked slowly, the ceiling tiles came into focus. I was in a hospital room, covered in bandages, and every muscle felt like it had been dragged through hell.

A groan escaped my lips as I tried to shift into a more comfortable position. The movement must have caught someone’s attention because I heard a chair scrape back and then footsteps rushing closer.

“Hey, hey, take it easy.” It was Tara’s voice, low and familiar, filled with a relief I hadn’t heard from her often. She came into view, her face creased with worry. Her eyes softened when she saw I was awake, and she let out a breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for a long time. “You’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”

I managed to lift my head just enough to give her a weary look. “Like I got hit by a train.” I rasped, my voice rough from disuse. “What happened to me?”

“You were inside when the building collapsed.” she explained, pulling a chair closer and sitting down beside me. “By the time we got a rescue team in there, you were unconscious and pinned under the debris.” Tara’s voice wavered slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed to show how much the whole thing had shaken her.

“You’ve been out for a while.” Her tone was a little lighter now, a hint of humor breaking through. “Can’t believe you’d scare me like that. Do you know how annoying it was waiting around here?”

A faint chuckle escaped me, though it quickly turned into a wince.

“I should let the doctors know you’re awake. They’ll want to check you over.”

I gave a slow nod, already feeling exhaustion pulling at me again, but I didn’t want her to worry. “Go ahead.” I murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As the door clicked shut behind her, the room fell silent again, and I found myself staring at the ceiling, fighting the familiar feeling of emptiness that came whenever I was alone. I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath.

I wished Sylus were here. There was no way he could just walk into a hospital like any normal person.

I was about to close my eyes again when I heard a soft tapping on the window. My eyes snapped open, and my heart skipped a beat as I turned toward the sound. There, perched on the narrow ledge just outside the window, was a black crow. Mephisto.

I struggled to sit up, limping a little as I reached out to unlock the window. It slid open with a creak, and Mephisto hopped inside, a small bundle of wildflowers clutched in his beak. They were ragged and windblown, a little wilted from the journey, but I could tell they’d been picked carefully.

I took the flowers gently from Mephisto’s beak, my hands trembling slightly. There was a small note tied around the stems with a piece of dark string. I untied it and read the familiar handwriting: “Since I can’t be there. Take care of yourself. – S.”

Sylus couldn’t come to see me himself, but he’d sent Mephisto instead. His way of saying he was there, still watching over me.

“Thank you.” I whispered

Mephisto tilted its head and gave a soft caw, as if acknowledging my words. Then, it took off out the window again.

I sank back against the pillows, holding the flowers close. It wasn’t the same as having Sylus here in person, but it was enough to know he was thinking of me.

———————————————————————

As I lay in the hospital bed, I reached for my phone on the side table and unlocked the screen. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out a message to Sylus.

I hit send and waited, my heart beating a little faster than it should. The minutes dragged on, and I started to wonder if he'd even seen my message. But then, my device buzzed with his reply.

Typical Sylus.

The response came almost instantly, as though he'd been expecting my question.

I glanced back at the window, half expecting to see the crow still there. It made sense. Mephisto had always kept an eye on me, by Sylus’s command.

I stared at the screen, my chest tightening as I read his words.

There was a long pause before his next message arrived.

It was the closest thing to comfort I would get from him, even if he couldn't be here with me.

———————————————————————

The final paperwork was a blur, the nurse’s instructions fading in and out as I focused on keeping steady. I was bandaged up and aching from head to toe, but at least I was getting out of the hospital. They’d wanted to keep me a few days longer, but I’d insisted on leaving.

As soon as they handed me my things, I slipped into my jacket and headed outside.

When I pushed through the front doors, a figure was leaning casually against the side of the building, half hidden in the shadow cast by the streetlamp. Sylus. He looked up when he saw me.

“Sylus…” I said, managing a small smile as I walked over, but his expression was tense as he straightened up, his eyes quickly scanning over my injuries.

“You’re stubborn for a hunter.” he muttered, his tone flat, though I could tell by the way his eyes lingered on my face and my bandaged arm that he was probably worried.

“The hell are you doing out here so soon? You could barely stand a few hours ago.”

“They were going to keep me trapped in there another week,” I said, trying to sound lighter than I felt. “I couldn’t just stay there doing nothing.”

He gave me a sharp look, he slipped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me firmly to his car parked a few feet away.

“You’re barely out, and here you are, thinking you’re ready to run around already.”

I tilted my head, raising an eyebrow.

"Since when do you drive anything other than that death trap of yours?"

"Since I figured you might not be up for riding around on a motorcycle after getting half crushed under a building."

He helped me into the passenger seat, taking extra care to ensure I was settled in before closing the door. He didn’t say anything as he walked around and got in himself, but the silence felt heavy, like he was holding back from saying a thousand things.

We drove through the streets in silence until we reached the edge of the city. I realized where we were going the moment we turned onto a narrow road.

“Your place?” I asked, glancing over at him.

He kept his gaze on the road. “You’re not going home alone in that condition. Not happening.”

I knew better than to argue, so I just nodded.

When we finally arrived, he was already at my side, opening the car door before I could even move. I tried to slide out on my own, but he offered his hand, steady and warm, and before I could argue, he was lifting me out of the seat.

I groaned, shaking my head. “Sylus, I can walk. You don’t need to—”

“Too late, sweetie.” he smirked, his arms sliding under my legs as he pulled me up, holding me effortlessly in a bridal carry. “Just sit back and let me do this.”

I sighed, trying to hide the warmth creeping up my face. “I’m tough, you know.”

“I know you are.” He glanced down, a glint of amusement in his eyes as he carried me toward the door. “But you’re hurt, and besides,” he added, leaning closer, his voice softening, “sometimes, you need someone to take care of you.”

Inside, he led me to his room and gestured for me to sit on the bed. “Wait here. And don’t try moving around.”

I managed a small, sarcastic smile. “What, you think I’m going to run off?”

His gaze darkened. “You have a habit of being reckless.”

Before I could respond, he was already disappearing into the other room, returning moments later with a small first aid kit and a glass of water. He knelt beside me, unwrapping some of the bandages on my arm with practiced precision.

“I already saw the doctors for this.” I said, watching him closely. He ignored me, dabbing disinfectant on a fresh cut and glancing up with a glint of warning in his eyes.

“Clearly, they didn’t do a good enough job if you’re in this condition.” he replied, his tone clipped.

I sighed, not bothering to respond. Instead, I watched his hands move, careful but efficient, his expression focused as he replaced the bandages. He was so quiet, so steady, so… unlike his usual self. His eyes kept flicking up to meet mine, only for a second, before going back to my injuries.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I murmured, not sure if I was talking to him or to myself.

He paused, his hands stilling for a moment, before he looked up, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t, who will?”

I watched him as he worked, watching how he gently wrapped fresh gauze around my arm, tightening it carefully.

His fingers lingered over the bandage, as if making sure it wasn't too tight.

"Is this too tight?" he murmured, his gaze flicking up to meet mine.

"No... it's fine." I whispered, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. My words were barely a breath, and I wasn't sure if he heard me, but he continued anyway, his focus unbreakable.

"You can tell me if it hurts." he said softly, his gaze locking onto mine.

"It doesn't hurt." I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. But the truth was, all I can think about is how his fingers felt against my skin.

“You could have been killed.” he suddenly said, the faintest tremor in his voice. “And you didn’t think to tell me, or anyone, what you were dealing with out there?”

I looked down, feeling that familiar pang of guilt again.

“Tell me next time before you go off on one of these suicide missions.” he snapped, his jaw tight. “Or better yet, stay out of places where buildings collapse on you.”

“I don’t get to pick and choose which missions are dangerous.” I replied.

“And I’m supposed to sit back and just watch you throw yourself into the line of fire?” His voice was low, but I could hear the worry simmering beneath it.

He was silent for a moment, his expression hardening as he reached over to brush a strand of hair from my face.

“And next time, you’re telling me about this kind of mission. I don’t care if you think it’s nothing.”

My expression softened as I looked up at him

“I’m okay now.” I whispered.

He stared at me for a moment before he gave a reluctant nod.

“Try to rest here. I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” he said, guiding her down gently. “I’m guessing you don’t want to stay in those all night.”

I took the bundle of soft, comfortable clothes he offered.

“Thank you, Sylus.”

His lips quirked into a gentle smile, running his fingers lightly through my hair, guiding me to lie back against the bed.

“Enough fighting it, sweetie.” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You need to rest.”

I started to protest, but he pressed a finger gently to my lips, shaking his head. “No arguments,” he said softly. “Just close your eyes.”

He pulled a blanket over me, his hands lingering as he tucked it around my shoulders, and as my breathing slowed, I felt his fingers brush my cheek, tracing gentle patterns along my skin. The last thing I saw was him watching me, his expression filled with something I couldn’t quite place, a mix of worry, relief, and maybe… something else, something deeper.

“Sleep.” he whispered, his voice a barely audible murmur. “I’m not going anywhere.”

———————————————————————

The soft rise and fall of her breathing filled the room. Sylus sat beside her, one leg folded over the other, his arms crossed as he watched her sleep. In the dim light, she looked peaceful, a stark contrast to the worry that had been etched into her face earlier. He’d seen her like this before years ago.

He could still remember that night, when she’d slipped through his fingers.

He reached out almost instinctively, brushing his fingers against her cheek. She didn’t stir, but his touch softened, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against his fingertips.

Unable to bear it, he slipped his arms around her, drawing her close, careful not to wake her. She was warm, her head resting against his chest, her body relaxed in his embrace. He pressed his cheek against her hair, letting himself take in her scent, the steady beat of her heart.

“You don’t get to do this to me again.” he whispered, his voice rough, barely audible even to himself. “Not this time. I won’t lose you. Not again.”

if you made it this far thank you sm for reading! I appreciate you feel free to request ♡

[citrlet]

because i was asked for what mods i use, i decided i'll just make a whole post!

most of everything here is pretty cottagecore/naturey~

under the cut because my game is heavily modded this list is long!!

visual

medieval buildings

way back pelican town

seasonal cute characters base / expanded / east scarp

all cuter animal replacements

vibrant pastoral 1.6 (temporary fix)

overgrown flowery ui

medieval craftables

dynamic night time

cottagecore fences

lamps

gwens paths

animated gemstones

foliage redone foliage only

rosedryads fairies

elle's town animals

sve facelift

more grass

medieval dnt

flowergrass and snowfields

expansion fish redesign

clothing / hairs

more accessories and stuff

cozy scarves

hoods and hoodies

vanilla pants and skirts

the coquette collection

seasonal hats

ani's colour collection

improved and new hairstyles

kyuyas hairstyles pack

furniture

idalda furniture recolor

h&w outdoor furniture

h&w fairy garden furniture

west elm furniture

nano's retro style furniture

asters big furniture pack

gameplay / mechanics

cjb cheats menu (just to walk a little faster)

cjb show item sell price

greenhouse gatherers

craftable mushroom boxes

advanced casks

lumisteria serene meadow

growable forage and crop bushes

cornucopia more flowers / more crops

atelier wildflour crops and forage pack

wear more rings

tree transplant

passable crops

no fence decay redux

multi yield crops

crop fairy

challenging community center bundles

better chests

automate

spawn supply crates on beach

expanded storage

bigger backpack

blue eggs and golden mayo

better ranching

npc map locations

data layers

expansions

stardew valley expanded

east scarp / lurking in the dark / never ending adventure / always raining in the valley

lumisteria visit mount vapius

misc

jen's cozy cellar

cozy farmhouse kitchen

asters walls and floors megapack

wrens expanded greenhouse

cuter coops and better barns

nicer sewer

also recommended

hudson valley buildings

elle's seasonal buildings

seasonal fences

ridgeside village

immerisve farm map 2

[greggslife]

Here Are My Top 10 Favourite Ants

(Updated due to public outcry and political pressure.)

No. 10 - Yellow Crazy Ants

These guys are on a list of "one hundred of the world's worst invasive species" formulated by the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), having invaded ecosystems from Hawaii to the Seychelles.

But don't hate just because they are awesome at establishing themselves in a new habitat due to their aggression toward other ant species, lack of aggression toward members of their own species, efficient recruitment, and large colony size. Respect the hustle!

No. 9 - Paraponera Clavata

Also known as the "bullet ant," "the one wounding deeply," or "24-hour ant", referring to the full day of pain that follows being stung.

This ant's sting currently ranks the highest of all insect stings on Justin O. Schmidt's informal sting pain index, at 4.0+. Some victims compared the pain to that of being shot, (hence the nickname,) with "waves of burning, throbbing, all-consuming pain that continues unabated for up to 24 hours."

Lymphadenopathy, edema, tachycardia, and fresh blood appearing in human victim feces are common symptoms from even a single sting.

Un-fuck-with-able.

No. 8 - Honeypot Ants

The name honeypot ant comes from the peculiar development of replete workers, whose abdomens become so swollen with food that they are used by the rest of the colony as living food storage. They are "drained" during famine, usually the wintertime, to sustain the colony, leaving them as "flaccid depletes."

Disgusting. 10/10

When a replete worker fills with food, a portion of her digestive tract swells and displaces other abdominal organs. It can expand about four to five times its normal linear dimension when they are fully engorged with food.

I can relate. I have eaten pasta in such quantities to displace my own organs many times.

No. 7 - Red Imported Fire Ants

Though South American in origin, the red imported fire ant has been accidentally introduced to many other parts of the world.

More than 14 million people are stung by them in the United States annually. Most victims experience intense burning and swelling, followed by the formation of sterile pustules, which may remain for several days. Up to 6% of people may suffer from anaphylaxis. More than 80 deaths have been recorded from red imported fire ant attacks.

These ants thrive in urban areas. Nests can be built under pavements and foundations. This means not only can they damage or destroy individual structures, but red imported fire ants can have an affect on broader infrastructure, damaging land, business and property values. In agriculture, they can damage crops and machinery, and threaten pastures. They also pose a threat to animals and livestock, capable of inflicting serious injury or death, especially on young, weak, or sick animals.

With annual damages estimated in the billions of dollars, these ants are considered the second worst thing to arrive on North American soil since 1492.

No. 6 - Black Garden Ants

When building their colony, these ants will structure it so as to inhibit the transmission of different contagions. Different communities within the colony are segregated by a limited number of connective nodes, allowing for greater protection of vulnerable hive members, such as larvae and pupae.

A trait I could only wish other species performed so well.

No. 5 - Pharaoh Ants

These ants utilize three types of pheromones. One is a long-lasting attractive chemical that is used to build a trail network. It remains detectable even if the ants do not use the trail for several days.

The second pheromone is also attractive, but will decay to imperceptible amounts in a matter of minutes without reapplication. This pheromone is useful in marking food sources as these are unpredictable and liable to change quickly, so not worth the longer-lasting pheremone.

The third pheromone is a repellant. If an individual finds an unprofitable area with little food or significant danger, it will release this repellant pheromone, which will warn others and cause them to look elsewhere. While positive pheromones indicating lucrative foraging sites are very common in social insects, the pharaoh ant's negative pheromone is highly unusual and pharaoh ants were the first species found to employ such a thing.

No. 4 - Argentine Ant

This species is like the Mr. Worldwide of ants. It has established itself in every continent except Antarctica (including many oceanic islands.)

It even has "supercolonies" that extend across hundreds or thousands of kilometers, first reported in California in 2000, then in Europe in 2002, Japan in 2009, and Australia in 2010.

Several subsequent studies used genetic, behavioral, and chemical analyses to show that supercolonies on separate continents actually represent a single global supercolony.

The researchers stated that the "enormous extent of this population is paralleled only by human society."

How can you not admire (and fear) the ambition and the achievement?

No. 3 - Leafcutter Ants

"Leafcutter ants" is a bit of an umbrella term, as it consists of over 45 ant species, but this gang is just so remarkable. Next to humans, leafcutter ants form some of the largest and most complex animal societies on Earth. They are known for their advanced agricultural practices. These ants are not merely foragers but skilled farmers, cultivating their own food by collecting specific kinds of leaf matter in order to produce specialized fungi in their nests.

No. 2 - Formica Fusca

These ants, (sometimes called silky ants or dusky ants,) are fast to learn, and only a single presentation of stimulus is enough for them to form a genuine long-term memory. This formed memory is also resistant to extinction.

Ants of this species can also detect volatile organic compounds emitted by cancer cells. After a 3-trial conditioning, they can differentiate cancer cell lines from healthy ones. They can also differentiate between at least two different cancerous cell lines.

A similar ability to detect human tumours has been shown in more recent studies.

No. 1 - Weaver Ants

An arboreal species, (i.e. they live in trees,) weaver ants are known for their unique nest building behaviour where workers construct nests by weaving together leaves using larval silk. Colonies can be extremely large consisting of more than a hundred nests spanning numerous trees.

How they sew the leaves together is a remarkable feat of cooperation. Typically, dozens of ants will need to form a chain to first bridge a gap between two leaves, then pull them together so another team can hold them in position whilst yet more ants sew the gap together with silk. But adult ants can't make silk, so they have to use larvae to do it, picking the larvae up and using them like little pots of glue to spin a mat of silk between the two leaves. Altogether, a hundred ants might be involved in the same task. This is a pretty remarkable piece of evolution and a testament to the power of cooperation!

[lmaster37]

when i first read gideon the ninth, my main speculation with regards to the contents of the locked tomb was that it might be a nuclear waste storage facility.

this was a thought primarily fuelled by the fact that since i was a young lad and learned about nuclear waste, i have intermittently gone through brief but intense phases of fascination with the concept of long-term nuclear waste storage—not the technical details, but the importance and the impossibility of ensuring that storage facilities remain undisturbed tens of thousands of years into the future, being particularly fond of the conceptual message proposed by the sandia report ("this place is not a place of honour") and the atomic priesthood proposed by thomas sebeok.

for obvious reasons, the ninth house and its holy duty of protecting an unknown, catastrophic danger which must be kept locked away (but not destroyed) for all eternity invite the comparison.

additionally, the theme of linguistic decay is quite prominent in the books, i would say: not only with the names of the blood of eden rebels (quotes passing into oral tradition without retaining their context) and the survival of meme phrases in house vocabulary, but also, for example, with the names of the house inhabitants which are, yk, sort of recognizable as current-day names but remixed and warped over the millennia.

again, this to me is very reminiscent of the difficulty presented by designing a warning to still be recognisable after an arbitrary amount of time, particularly under the consideration that the nine houses are already unbelievably culturally stable due to jod's influence, and have nonetheless accumulated this degree of cultural drift.

[tricktster]

Hey, for my American followers, I am sure you are all aware that the Day of Unpleasant Interactions With Members of Your Extended Family That Recently Voted To Actively Harm You While You All Eat a Large Dead Bird is rapidly approaching.

While I actively encourage all of you to hit da bricks and ignore the “but fAaAaMiLy” guilt trip if you know you’ll be surrounded by hostility, I also recognize that it’s not always a possibility depending on your situation/age/degree of financial independence etc.

Accordingly, if you know you’re in for a certified Bad Time and you want some ammunition to make your it’s-about-the-economy-Drunkle Kevin/i-do-my-own-research-Aunt Karen really fuckin’ reeeeeach for justifications, I think one of the absolute best uses of your day today would be to listen to the four part Behind the Bastards on President Elect Donald J. Trump’s pick to lead Health and Human Services: RFK Jr.

I know, you’ve heard about the brain worm, you know about the Central Park bear cub incident, you probably have heard about his anti-vax stuff, but like… holy goddamn shit, that is just scratching the surface.

Like, wait until you get to the daily acid trips at the decaying livestock carcass pit.

The expedition down the river where he stole all the morphine.

The omnipresent hawk named Morgan Le Fay literally shitting all over everything and everyone he gets near.

The sexual assaults.

The pathological roadkill collection and storage in other people’s fridges.

The direct consequences of his anti-vax shit leading to the death of like 44 people in American Samoa.

Fuck I know I mentioned this before and obviously the preventable deaths and sexual assaults are way worse but HOW HE HUNG OUT AT A PIT OF DECAYING SHEEP AND COW CARCASSES TRIPPING BALLS AND SENDING HIS HAWK TO EAT RATS INSTEAD OF GOING TO SCHOOL.

Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/episode/45WDcgQAMkEGx1YQnkNn4r

Apple: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/behind-the-bastards/id1373812661?i=1000663070557

Youtube:

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Poppy Heart

Pairings: Silver/Hypnos MC

Summary: MC is inspired by Hypnos, god of Sleep. They help Silver get his shit together. Hurt/Comfort friends to lovers ensue. CW for past trauma/abuse the MC endures under. Not inflicted by any Twisted Wonderland Characters

Notes: Ayo sorry for literally dropping off the face of the earth lmao I was getting my Master’s and now I’m omw to get a PhD! It’s crazy since I didn’t think I’d make it this far lmao. Thank you all for your support thus far, each and every one of you who has supported this creative outlet for me deserves an honorary PhD. Also, for others living in the U.S. currently, hang in there. I hope this can bring you some sort of comfort with the shit that’s going on. Also if you can, please consider supporting my Kofi ♡

GN terms for MC

CW: Emotional/physical child abuse for MC's backstory, not inflicted by any Twisted Wonderland characters.

AO3 Link Here.

Masterlist

My Kofi!

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

Dear sister, 

I believe I may have some good news. A strange boy with sweet dreams may hold the key to your survival. I will investigate further, I hope for more time. Time is all I need. 

Also, I thought about you the other day while tending to my poppies. The color reminded me of the ribbons you used to wear in your hair. I nearly forgot, I found them in storage the other day. They've completely frayed, I believe I took too long to get to them. I'm sorry sister. 

With much love, 

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

You and Silver cross paths during your 100th day at the Night Raven College. 

The days you wade through the sleepless nights are counted with each poppy flower you press into your records book‒ each page, one flower. A heavy reminder. 

By the time you reach your 100th page, you notice someone rustling through the fattened bulbs of the blushing fields, one who was untouched by your brothers and sisters of death despite the decay of late spring. He sleeps so soundly, you have to wait until the chatter of the wind weaving through the flowers willows down to a whisper to hear his steady breathing. You find yourself entranced by the white-gold slivers of his locks that flow like crescent moons above his face. 

You notice‒ you recognize the sleepy, moon-haired boy drawing the nectars of your flowers‒ not from his face, but by the salty-sweet taste of his dreams. The melting, sticky-soft sea-salt taffy that your sister always stole in handfuls from the nurses‒ the ones that left a bright green streak on your tongue that you would scrape with your teeth to draw the remnants of its sweetness. His dreams were always the same way‒ you’d see through his eyes the love he carries for people‒ and in turn, you’d taste that sweetness, for a moment. 

“Hello?”

You stare at him for a moment, taken back from his aliveness‒ like a doll brought to life. 

“Hello.” You offer in return. 

He mumbles to himself, as he often does during his slumber. “Ah…I must have fallen asleep again. Father will scold me if I catch a cold sleeping in places like this again…” His aurora eyes sweep the area. You think of the blue and purple swirls of taffy, the one that your sister favored the most. “Something about this smell, I think it puts me right to sleep.” 

You give him a half-lidded smile. “I’m flattered. I’ve worked hard to hybridize my poppies to make the perfect fragrance. Not many notice.” 

He hastily lifts his palms from the earth. “My apologies. If I had known…” 

“No need. I don’t really care.” You smile, and your fingers sway through the light breeze, diffusing the perfume of the poppies into the moonlit air, and with it‒ the weight of his eyelids to the earth again. Picking a flower near his wind tossed hair, weaving at the spider stalks that prick at the field, you note‒ 100 days. Not much more time. 

You need to do better. 

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

Your half “siblings” from homebase forbade you from meddling in mortal affairs so often, but this was too curious, you decide. 

The boy’s years left to live increase with every time you two meet‒ it’s strange, it’s never happened before. It began at 50‒ or so‒ you don’t quite recall the first night you met him face to face, you had swiftly slipped away after consuming the sweetened tufts of his dreams. A passing thought: a bit short, but you paid no mind. But when you partnered with him during gym class just today‒ you see 63, then 74 by the end of the class when you had been exchanging friendly remarks‒ teasing, even. Perhaps it was something you could control‒ so you decide to investigate‒this is important. You have little time. 

It surprises you when he approaches you first. 

“I don’t have good marks in this class, are you positive you want to partner with little ‘ol me?” You feign every part of your movements, from your arms lazily folded at the back of your head, to the muscles of your face which suture a curve onto your lips. 

Silver nods, the number above his head following his firm movements. “I always see you taking so many notes in this class‒ you must know something we don’t.” 

“I’m actually always devising an escape plan.” You lean forward onto your forearms flattened against the table, yawning. You want to sleep. “But Crewel is always so sharp‒ I’ve had no luck.” 

His smile is sweet, but cut through when Crewel smacks the table in front of you. You lazily rise from the table, unbothered by your instructor’s presence. 

“You still want to partner with me?”

“Yeah, I need a change of pace, I think.” 

You pretend to think about it, hiding a smile under your arms. You can’t tell if it’s from your plan’s unexpected expedited success, or something else. “Hmm..Ok. If you say so. You can’t really complain if I blow something up now.” 

He quirks a wry smile. “Should I take that as a warning?” 

Shrugging, you begin to crush the mandrake root with the mortar and pestle.

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

Well that went about as expected.

The bits of glass scrape the ceramic flooring as you mindlessly sweep the debris you caused during Crewel’s lecture. Silver scrubs the burn marks left on the table, stopping for a moment to take a break. 

“You ruined the healing potion.”

A tight line holds your lips, and you manufacture crescents under your eyes to construct a smile. “I told you I don’t have good marks in that class. Healing is not my strong suit.” 

“No I didn’t mean‒” He sucks a breath in, a stern look pointed towards you. “You give up halfway through. You made a face. And just stopped.”

“I made a face, huh.” You don’t so much as lift your eyebrows as you push the debris back and forth with the broom. 

Mid-sentence, the door slams open, revealing a disheveled disarmonia student with minty green hair. He catches his breath, lifting his head with a jerk to look at Silver. Sebek. You remember his tingly dreams‒ like sticking your tongue close to the tv. Sour, tingly, buzzing. 

“I was looking for you everywhere, I thought you had nodded off somewhere again! What‒” His gaze flickers to the glass on the ground, the dark burn mark that sticks to the table where the two of you worked. “..What did you do?”

Before your lab partner can open his mouth, Sebek speaks for him. “No matter. Young master wishes to make a visit to the library‒‒ we must accompany him immediately! It took nearly half an hour to find you‒ what are you even doing here?” 

“Cleaning.” He responds. Not dryly, but plain. “Master Lilia says that we should let young master be for the time being here at Night Raven College. Experiencing life outside the castle before we all graduate, and young master‒” His eyes flicker to you. “...Don’t you remember?” 

“That’s‒” 

“You’re fae aren’t you?” You rest your chin on your broom, studying his features with an alertness Silver hasn’t seen in you yet. Through your lidded eyes, your eyes flicker, sharply, to his ears, his fangs when he opens his mouth to speak, the slight gleam in his skin. 

“You’ve got keen eyes for a human. Indeed I am half fae‒” He jerks his head back to Silver once more “Don’t try to divert the conversation‒ why are you here in the first place?” 

“Like he said,” you point to Silver. “cleaning.” 

“You‒ you know what I mean!” He continues, a pointed glare in your direction. “And you’re out of dress code! Your shirt is unironed, your blouse is missing a button and that brooch you have on your necktie isn’t in either of our uniforms! I will not have a mere transfer student, a human at that, sully the Diasmonia‒- ”

The scarab beetle pin on your uniform is adjusted as he points to it. “You fae are always stuck in your ways, so possessed by this sentimentality. Ha ha!” You push that sound as if blowing a mechanical note through your throat. “Silver just got stuck with me, that's all. But he shouldn’t be stuck with anyone, including you.” A crescent smile forms on your lips. 

Silver senses the tension slowly rising with the redness of Sebek’s face. “Sebek‒‒” he tries. 

“You understand as a student of Diasmonia, it is your duty to act responsibly for our great Malleus, do you not?” He jabs a finger at you before swiftly turning his neck towards Silver. “And you, Silver! You’re half asleep most of the time that you don’t even understand the weight of your own actions! Why them? What could this human possibly offer?” 

You think for a moment, smiling coyly at his words. It’s been quite a while since you’ve been referred to as a human, so directly at that. Your tongue rushes to secure a deal, as if awakened by the way his words tether you to the earthly realm. “Say what. My unique magic is to control dreams and sleep‒ why don’t I fix Silver’s little sleeping problem here, hm?” 

“You‒ you can do‒ wait, no, I shouldn’t be‒” 

You interrupt him. “I’ll do it with one small thing. An exchange of sorts.” 

“What is it?” Silver asks. 

A finger extends towards Sebek. “Your life.”

The languid movement gliding down his throat jittered something inside your gut. Finally, his throat makes out a “You’re‒” before you interrupt him once more. 

“Wow you really can’t take a joke! I jest, I jest. I only need- “ Plucking a single hair from his head, you drop it in a sterilized vial. “- this. I’ll help Silver with his sleeping problems, you can get that stick out of your ass, you stay out of my way‒ and we’re all happy!” 

The green haired boy shakes himself into reality again. “Wait‒ what did‒”

The broom in your hands is shoved into his. “I have to go now! I’m just a lowly human after all, and I have my lowly human activities‒ bye!” 

Silver and Sebek exchange looks, before watching the door close. 

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

Dear Sister, 

I really do think I have good news now. You were always the better student out of the two of us‒ forgive me for taking so much time. But with this breakthrough, I believe I can just make more time. At least for now, until I find a way to release you from your pain.

I had a good laugh the other day‒ you always said I was antisocial, but I think I’ve got the hang of it. People are so funny‒ the one I talked to yesterday turned all bright and red when he got mad. I think it was something I said. 

I’ll visit you soon in your eternal dreams. I’ll bring some taffy from the nurse’s station. 

With love, 

------------------------------------------- “Jardinier de rêves! You are here still?"

You look up from the pile of books you bury yourself in. “Ah, Rook. Wonderful timing. Do we still have any of that carmot powder? I can't seem to‒ what are you laughing about?”

He gestures to his own hands, prompting you to look at your own. Your vision, blurry for a moment, focuses on the bottle labeled in black ink: “carmot.” 

The blonde laughs, surveying your mess while running a finger across the dust covered books. “My, it seems you are due for a break Jardinier. Life is fleeting, you must enjoy its pleasures.”

“Don't patronize me, gosse.” 

A knock at the door before it opens. “I hope I'm not interrupting?” A Silver head pops in, and you feel the corners of your mouth automatically drawn upwards. 

“Of course not. What brings you here?”

Silver liked that‒ of course not. Your conviction seemed straightforward for once. 

“I've always wondered what you do in here. Sometimes you disappear for so long.”

You lean back into your chair, a haughty smirk curving onto your lips. “My. Are you stalking me?” 

A puff of air from his nose as he glosses the shelves full of bottles. You feel Rook staring a hole into you both. “Well it seems you're always slipping out early for your club activities when we're punished by our professors.”

“You see I have very important things to do here. And I'm not blowing anything up, see?” You hold up a glass containing Sebek’s hair. It glistens in the warm waning light, suspended in a clear liquid that casts the refractions of the glass onto your face. 

“Do you even have permission to be using all that stuff?” 

“...that's confidential.” 

“What are you doing here then?” 

“Also a secret.”

“Are you sure you’re not doing anything illegal?” 

“Something you’ll never know.” 

He sighs. “What are you even doing with Sebek’s hair?” 

“Would you believe it if I said I was creating the elixir of life?” You adorn a devilish grin, one which Silver returns a half lidded, entertained glance. “You see what he does to me Rook? He comes in here like he owns the place just to harass me. On top of that he's stalking me‒ you know, you two should really start hanging out.” 

“I would too, jardinier, if I had known you were creating the elixir of life. Any success?”

You huff, crushing the paper underneath your hands and balling them up in your hands. The pain almost soothes you, but you still feel jittery, a great earthquake within you‒ crackling and buzzing. It explains the speed in which you speak, as if your tongue rushes out of your mouth in an attempt to escape the breaking within. 

“Well half fae is only half fae‒ half immortal. Not entirely so. I attempting to isolate compound all day but no such luck. By the sevens, it's driving me absolutely insane I mean it's all a bust! It amounted to absolutely nothing!” You fully lean your head back on the chair, rocking as you laughed and laughed. 

“Ah, savant fou! Who knew.” 

A tired look is sent to Rook. Silver chuckles.

Despite your smile, a solemn look glazes over your features when you dump the substance into the biohazard waste. You catch Silver’s eyes for a moment, pulling him with something that weaves around his lungs and squeezes his chest, before you cast your eyes onto the floor again. Shame, you think. Stretching, you hop off your chair. 

“I came to invite you to the Mostro lounge. You look like you can use a break.” Silver announces.

“Oh~ A date. Well now you have to say yes Jardinier de rêves. Enjoy the beauty of the night, hm?”

“Rook, you're welcome to join of course.”

“No no. I couldn't possibly impose. This is an occasion for les amants.” 

You flip him off eagerly. 

“Alright, I’m hungry, let’s go get something to eat in that place you call heaven.” 

Silver rushes to catch up to you. Still, he smiles through his breathy chuckles. “I grew up with what most deem inedible!” 

You wave him off, waiting for him to catch up. Weighing your heart in the warmth you feel rushing to replace the buzzing of your body, you decide his laughter makes you feel just a bit lighter. 

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

"Pitiful, Hypnos. Just utterly‒" a pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Completely and absolutely abhorrent."

You spread a smile on the lips that hides your clenched teeth. "Of course, brother. I'll do better next time." A visit from the homebase, of course. To check on your “progress”, considering your original vocation for the role as a reaper, as Hypnos. 

He scoffs. Your grin stretches further, pushing the darkened bags of your eyes up in a sorry attempt to evade his sharpened words. The wind makes your skin feel rubbery, foreign. It feels like you are dying again, as you have a dozen times before as Hypnos. You don't remember where the sutures between you and him are on your body anymore. It all seems seamless, motionless, ceaseless. You decide that’s at least better than yesterday's buzzing. 

"You've been saying that for millennia. This is why people have ceased their devotions for you, Hypnos." He spits that word out like it had curdled on the back of his tongue, dead as you both were. "Your predecessor ceased your duties as a reaper, and you can’t commit to actually fulfilling your duties as pathetic as a role as sleep incarnate. It's your own fault that your strength has dwindled over the years."

"You’re right." You're tired. 

Yet the weight permanently fixed on your eyelids will not fully let your eyes close. They are epoxied open to your failures. Frustration stirs at your temples, you try not to let it go, reminding yourself why you’ve joined the homebase in the first place. You push it further down, letting it simmer. You remind yourself, I’m trying, but it’s not enough. 

“You’ll be obsolete soon enough. Did you know, humans are developing ways to avoid you?” He smiles a bit, a shape that folds sharply on his lips. “You can return to your original duties then. Your original glory. Cured of this pathetic dream of saving what little you have left in the living world.” The thought plants in your mind, spreading its roots in your now uneasy expression.

If you could dream, you would certainly face this in sleep. Fears, desires, anxieties‒ they chemically laced into the flavor of dreams. You stand, eyes ever open, mind relentlessly awake. 

It is seamless, motionless, ceaseless. 

Ceaselessness is a hard place to belong.  

“I’ll see you soon enough, brother.” You walk towards your field of poppies, eager to cut, tend, and dig out the pests. 

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

“I had a dream about you last night.” 

Your gums bleed when you bite down on your teeth, clamping down on any noise that may come out of you. Silver just stares off, sinking into the comfort of the grass. You’ve been helping him stay awake for a couple of weeks now‒ regulating his circadian rhythm and sleep cycles. Basic stuff. A job, you convince yourself. 

“...That’s a bad omen, you know.” 

Something thistles at the back of his throat when he hears the gossamer threads of your voice, he looks to you, only to make sure you were really here. His anxiety threatens to scrape against his throat when he speaks. “To see a friend in a  dream?”

“I’m your friend?” The flowery, mellow perfume returns to your words, along with a teasing smile. It almost makes him nauseous, the intoxication slithering to his throat. You bite down the singing in your heart‒ a great, monstrous thing that lurches towards him‒ bearing your teeth into a smile that sands down your excitement. 

“You knew that already.” He kicks your side playfully. A simple gesture for him, one that feeds the great big thing inside your chest. “I was younger in my dream though. But you were the same. Still nice and…”

A wide grin as you turn towards him.

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, a curve tugging at his lips. “I used to live in a forest deep in Briar Valley, with my father. You were there for some reason, in a deeper part of the forest, away from my home. You told me to get away from that part of the woods, because you would start reaping soon. You looked…different.” A sigh settles in his lungs, before he stretches his arms behind his head. “I have no idea what it meant. My dreams are always jumbled.”

I know, you think. That knowledge weighs like opium inside of you, rolling its weight inside the hunger of your chest. “What else did you see?” You remind yourself of the sweetness of his dreams, the bitterness of your own image in his mind. 

He hums, the sound rumbling deep in his body. “My father was there. He was training me, making me food. It felt like a really long time that I spent with him.” 

“You’re close with him?” You already know the answer to the question. Liar, you point that word towards yourself. 

You watch him run his hand through his hair. “I am.” He pauses for a moment, now it’s his turn to steady himself. “Despite being a fae and not knowing much about humans, he adopted me. I…” He sinks into the poppies. “I really wish I could repay him, for all he’s done for me.” 

The blood in your body itches to tell him how much you know. You know his sweetness‒ the sugary graininess of his love for his father, the heavy nectar of the burden he feels for his fae family. How his father loves him, dearly‒‒ and so richly it creates sores in your mouth tasting his father’s dreams of him and his family. He’ll be gone soon, you know it all will. You resist the urge to move closer to him, feeling your arms buzz and swell with his honey sweetness. But you know, the next time you'll be seeing him in a different part of your life‒ he'll be in a coffin, and you'll be all the same. Cold as he will be, but still tethered to this world, left behind.  

“...in my experience, best to not look too far into it. Science hasn’t progressed far enough to identify what dreams actually are yet.”

Silver sits up a bit, listening intently. “Really?”

“Really.” You reply with a smile, he mirrors it. “They have some theories out there though. They might be residual information from our daytime experiences, they might be our fight or flight instinct training with different scenarios, the synapses in our brain preserving themselves, our brain processing information, or really, anything. This one guy who was really into writing about fetishes and wish fulfillment theorized it was to explore our subconscious, and sometimes inappropriate desires.” You give him a suggestive grin. 

“Don’t be gross.” He sideeyes you, leaning his upper body away. His warmth leaves a tingling impression, like a heartbeat slithered under your skin. “Is there a chance they might be memories?” 

“Maybe. But then again, maybe not.”

“Maybe because you’re my friend then. Maybe it's you. We're connected somehow.” 

Maybe its you.

Fuck, you think. His sentimentality tickles your stomach, and you laugh, throwing your head back to look at the rumbling sky. You hope it doesn’t rain, your sister hates that.  “Maybe.” 

Nausea pricks your throat. You were always a bad liar. 

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

You don't sleep on the train ride to the hospital, as usual. 

“Oh. You’re here again.” The receptionist notes. He quickly snaps his hand to his mouth. “Oh my‒ I’m so sorry. It’s just‒ I see you here so much...please don’t tell my boss I said that.”

You shake your head, perhaps to shake that pitiful look from him. “It’s alright. You’re new here, right?”Or has time run longer than you thought?  

“I am, I just started this month for an internship for my school.” You breathe a silent sigh of relief, there are already too many rumors about you here. “My name is Dominic, it’s nice to officially meet you.” 

You shake his extended hand, taking a handful of taffy before you retract your hand behind the front desk. “I’m visiting my sister here, in room 109.” 

“Room 109…I don't see their room in the system, I'm sorry.” 

“There should be a note from the head nurse. I’ve entrusted the senior nurses here to take care of her. There’s not much to do, however.” 

“Oh, I'm seeing that note here, my apologies! Well…I hope to see her soon!” He says cheerfully. His enthusiasm is refreshing. Your thoughts lurch towards Silver, your mind remembering his warmth like a womb. “You have a good day today!”

“Thank you, Dominic. It was nice talking to you.” 

You wave goodbye, heading to your sister’s room. The light reveals the slight marks you’ve left by dragging your hand across the wall, and they hike taller and taller until they touch the placement of your fingers now. You really don’t have much time. Look how much you’ve grown. Unrecognizable. 

The room is as quiet and light as ever. The floating feeling always reminds you of dreams‒ their placid, constructed-ness. 

“Good afternoon sister. I’ve brought you some flowers, and taffy. Maybe we’ll braid your hair today, yeah? Clean you up a bit.” 

You’ll never get used to the silence. 

“I was finally able to find your favorite telescope. Sorry it took long, unpacking your stuff has been a long process.” 

“...sorry I haven’t been here lately, I’ve met someone. I need him for the research I'm working on for you.” Your stomach curdles at your words. “I’m using him. Old habits never die. Isn’t that just cruel?”

The cheap metal of the hospital stool creaks when you sit on top of it, and you fuss with the flowers to make them just right. Poppies from your garden, as always. A shaky, willowy sigh escapes your lips as you brush the hair from your sister’s eyes. Taking a damp towel, you begin to clean her ears, careful of the pointed tips, before combing through her hair carefully with the brush inside the nightstand. Unlike sterile, cheap hospital furniture, this one from your sister’s storage stands sturdy. The hair oil you rub between your palms fills the empty room with a warm aroma, reminding you of the days you and your sister waited anxiously for the other to finish having their hair oiled by your mother. Her hair has grown quite long. But you braid it all, placing a bow in her hair when you’re finished. 

“The experiment I wrote about…it was a bust. Sorry, sister. But I’ll find a way to let you go with ease before you’re set to…” You fuss with her bangs, trying to smooth out the bristly white hairs that stick out stubbornly from the rest of her hair. Look how much time has passed.

“I’m sorry. I’m going to try harder. Whatever it takes.” It feels childish, but you lay next to her‒ back to back, like you used to when you were kids. Warmth still radiates from her, fluttering against your cold skin. 

You really never get used to the silence. Desperate to fill it with anything, you cry. 

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

“This is worse than my father’s room.” 

Silver scans the various boxes you have lying around, their contents overflowing, or haphazardly shoved back into their container. Scrolls, books, parchment everywhere. He raises an eyebrow towards the row of telescopes that sit neatly on your desk, while you attempt to move around the boxes so there’s room on the floor to sit and work. 

“How dare you. I, truly an academic icon of this generation, invite you over to a study session and this is how you respond? This calls for divine punishment.” 

“I mean…How do you even do anything in here?” 

“I just roll out of bed everyday‒ what other activities would I be doing in here?” You flash him a suggestive grin.

Your partner just shakes his head, stepping over the mountains of paper. “I didn’t know you were interested in astronomy.” He points his gaze to the telescopes, sitting next to a stack of various books and files on astrophysics. Charting the heavens, brushing the makers of this world. It would be unseemly for you, you suppose. You belong to the earth, and its weight.  

You sigh a bit, a chuckle to defuse the tightness in your throat, running your fingers through your hair. “It’s not mine.” 

“Oh.” Cautiously, he asks, “Then who’s?” 

“My sister’s.” You answer curtly. Silver’s silence urges you to continue, hesitantly. You don't like silence. “Such a sentimental person, she kept everything. She used to be a student here, in the Scarabia dorm. She went on to be a well-known scholar, actually. She advanced astrophysics quite a bit. Have you ever heard of the galactic recycling theory?” You pick at the scarab pin on your tie. 

“I can’t say I have.” 

You laugh a bit, gaze softening. To compensate, you steel your breaths‒ rigid, and suffocating. The pain, a reminder. Silver wonders how a sound can be so brittle and sweet at the same time. “It’s not really a word we encounter on the daily. But, I think we’re all familiar with it. My sister was the first person to conduct comprehensive research on the theory. The universe reuses the gas from previous, dead stars to create a new generation of stars. It’s how archaic galaxies sustain themselves. Things die, but they eventually reunite in some sort of way. We will forever be woven into the destruction and rebirth of a fraying universe.” 

He plops himself right next to you, as if it was the most natural thing to do. “It sounds like something my father used to say. Things repeat over and over in history. Even if we die, there’s bound to be some version of us somewhere, again, in time. Death scares me a bit, I’m not sure what to make of it, being raised so far from it, with fae and all. It still feels like a foreign concept to me, but, maybe that means I'm lucky.” 

A small smile adorns your lips, a nectarine taste spreads across Silver’s mouth as his mouth does the same. “I think death can be a guiding star of hope. To some that is. It can be boring, seeing it over and over though. But like you said, perhaps it’s good to be distant from it.” You feel the bitterness seep through your words. You throw Silver a small telescope, he catches it with ease. The weight of the brass rolls through his palms, cooling them. “Here. You should use it. The stars are beautiful here.” 

“Won’t your sister need it?” 

“She won’t mind. Besides, look at how many she’s got. What a hoarder…” 

Silver chuckles at that, a light and airy sound that travels and tingles through your fingers to your chest. “That reminds me of something you said the other day in a dream I had. You’re always in my dreams, it’s so weird.”

“It’s probably an effect of my unique magic. I’m not sure, I don’t usually talk to people I put to sleep to be honest. Or maybe because I’m just that much of an influence on you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder, mocking a diva pose. 

“It’s strange though, I feel like I had a conversation with you, but I can’t exactly remember it. But I get deja-vu sometimes. I’m usually good at remembering things that happen in my dreams but recently, not so much.” 

You have to go a bit easier with tasting his dreams. Or perhaps distance would be better‒ less involvement, less consumption, less of you. You can’t help but to search his face for an answer‒ something that would offer you a solution other than what you know. “...I’ll try to go a bit easier on you then.“

“It’s not that at all.” Silver speaks calmly. It makes you feel a bit small, you jump to an apology once more, but relax at the sorry expression he adorns. “I enjoy talking to you in my dreams. I just wish I remembered our conversations.”

“Oh.” That’s all you can muster, fiddling with the scarab brooch. “I do too.” Your voice wavers a bit, the shape of your throat stuck between your enthusiasm, and your shame of it.

“I mean it, I appreciate you. I finally feel like I don’t have to set 20 alarms just to get up, and I worry Sebek a lot less. He seems annoyed most of the time, but he’s harmless. He looks out for all of us.” 

“The two of you seem close. You’re not related are you?” 

He shakes his head. “No, but we’ve been training together for a long time with my father. His grandfather and mine were comrades during the war. How about you and your sister?” 

“Yeah, we were close. Inseparable, even when she was attending here, I used to pester her all the time. I still visit her regularly. It’s difficult, though. She’s half fae‒ time flows a lot differently around her. I felt like I was always running to catch up to her.”

Silver blows a laugh through his nose. “What?” you ask, throwing him a crumpled up piece of paper. He catches it with ease. 

“I’m just surprised to hear something like that from you.”

“Enlighten me.”

His sheepish demeanor is rare, but never a sore sight. “I feel like you’re always running to something no one else but you can see. I had this dream once, I was immovable, tethered to the ground by something. And you kept running and running like you always do. Your back got smaller and smaller until I was sure you couldn’t see me.”

He admits, “I think I was scared.” 

What a coincidence, I had the same dream about you. 

“I‒‒ graciously‒‒  always wait for you though, don’t I?” You put your hand to your chest, sporting a cheshire grin. Your usual theatrics did little against the dizziness of your own sincerity. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

He laughs, a colorful sound that could refract all the light of the heavens. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

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

You try your best every morning not to look absolutely exhausted‒ careful to intentionally lift your feet off the ground that would drag through the miasma that tangles through your body. Fatigue flows like a river within you, splitting your body into a million disjunct pieces, chipping at your usual demeanor. 

The nights at the lab laboring away at your experiments are not as taxing as the nights you stay awake‒‒ your chest a gaping hole for the flood of thoughts that rush forth, feeling as if it had tethered its roots through you and into your bed. Even if you busy yourself with your duties as Hypnos, the night eventually stills, the world blanketed by a silence you’ve woven. An eternal lethargy fills your crackling resolve, but you feel as shaking, as alive as ever when you so much as to let your eyelids flutter. 

Silver notices this, in the slight wobble in your smile, your words that slur and stick to your tongue like sour honey. Your usual curves and melody were sutured into his memory, and your deviation from it twisted inside of him. 

You groan as Vargas’ voice scrapes against your skull, worsening the migraine that had been hammering at your temples for the last three hours. You stand when he demands a lap around the track, but everything turns black. 

There's a buzzing feeling growing inside you, a thousand flies gathering around rot and decay. 

You dream for the first time in decades.

It’s your mother, standing at the center of your dirt packed house. Her svelte frame‒‒ which had remained shivering and shaking, whether from the illness of her body or your father‒ halts with alarming grace. The corners of your vision are dark‒ right. She had led you to the closet. You tell yourself to move your body‒ drag your buzzing flesh, situate it where it belongs. At the center of violence and death, your mother takes your place, while your throat scrapes against its silence. 

You had learned this silence long ago. Through your mechanical doings, you carved silence in your own home. The way you quieted your footsteps and avoided the broken glass that would scrape against the floor. There’s silence in the marketplace, stealing apples and potatoes for your mother and sister, and silence in midst of the town that was always swollen with noise. There’s silence when you feel your insides are turning inside out, when you try to tamp down the shattering and yelling from the living room‒ the way you stare at the window in your room you shared with your sister, a dreamy stifling of violence that cups the desire within you into the clouds in the sky that float you away when you sleep. The silence when you sleep is what you like the most, imagining yourself soaring, splitting the skylight into a dozen rays as a sparrow. 

But you remember, it was never your position as a reaper that made you abandon your desire to shape yourself into a human‒ but much before that, even before this moment. The first time your father had hit you, that’s when. 

And again you remember, and remember, and remember . 

You remember the undoing of the silence in this moment you had declared your desire for freedom to the world with a knife to your father’s stomach. Your mother muffled it, taking the brambles of your violence, holding it firmly in her blood rubbed hands. She had stained herself from you‒ from the moment your father’s filthy insides had entered her to conceive you. You remember begging to gods you didn’t believe in‒ any and all of them‒ when you had first killed him. Now, a second time (and it’s always the second time)‒ it seems your dreams choose the violence of your own silence, rather than any divine one. You learn a different sort of silence. 

The gravity of your whirling chest swallows you whole, but it does not end. You are spun in your own violence. 

It’s your sister now. 

The hospital is as silent as ever. Dreams are supposed to be noisy, buzzing with desire, but the emptiness roars against your ears. 

She’s much younger than she is now, her hair rich and deep as the ocean‒ alive, and golden as the sunlight beams onto it. You remember how she tied it at your mother’s funeral, dignified and honorable to temper herself from the in-laws’ whispers. She looked older that way, indicating herself as the conduit of all legal affairs and family gossip.

Failure of a mother. Dying in a prison. Killing our beloved son‒ what a pathetic hag. Oh and the filthy children, one out of wedlock with another man, the other poisoning our family name…

She kept her hair that way when she had gone to Night Raven College, as she spent night and day pouring herself into her projects. You can’t braid it half as good, calloused hands tangling among her mass, ruining, marring, staining her rich radiance. 

A deep red flourishes from your chest, bursting forth like your field of poppies. A heart made of opium‒‒ you feel it dragging its weight in your flesh. Turning that violence against yourself almost felt euphoric. The rush of swallowing your poison with such ease. 

A solitary figure swims in the red, pointing their glazed gaze towards you, dagger-sharp features made from jagged marble. Temples upon temples built from the material. You reminisce the touch of the warmed stone, a sun-like radiance given through the palms who touched it, offering incense and ambrosia. It was only in your beginning years as a reaper, a mere 80 or so years ago where you had last touched upon this warmth‒‒ the memory fleeting as time always does for you. Imagine what beloved memory will run from you next. The marble is cold, and pointed at your pain. It is your brother’s likeness. You wonder if he also had something breaking apart stitched inside of him, seamless as the glossy lines of marble. 

“Can’t you do anything right? You’re a reaper‒ do your job, Hypnos .This is why you will be forgotten. No one will remember you enough to gift you the kindness to kill you, or your memory. You will lie lingering in your filth, diseased and in pain. Like your sister, your mother, and her mothers, and hers and hers.” Your brother beckons you towards death. Towards him. 

Even as death grows like weeds inside of you, you can’t manage it. Not even for your sister. Your mother’s sentence and death had been for nothing after all‒ your body and the rot sutured together with an unyielding red thread of faith.

Hypnos. That name, strung together like half made pearls, knotted and impure. It ripples against the silence, its barbed edges fraying you to pieces. Hypnos. No temples, no loyal devotees. A mere glutton who feasts on others’ desires to fill their pitless stomach filled with your acid-desire. Just Hypnos. Sour honey, buzzing, puckered rot. It swells inside of you, anchored like an opium heart. 

Suddenly, your vision washes to a white. It wasn’t pure like the stark white lights and counters of the hospital, but woven with an aurora of colors. Baby blues, peachy pinks, golden streaks running their stalks like meteors in the sky‒ iridescent and sparkling along the fruits of color washing over you like a warm, seaside wind. You watch it like through a reflection in a pond, taking in the ripples that shine beautiful in its impurity. The only justice you can do is to echo it upon your surface, untouchable from the crimson depths below. 

A familiar voice calls towards you, and you remember your name. 

“(Name)?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you feel your blood rushing into your body again. Tempering yourself with the softness of his voice, you face Silver, eyes swaying and ears buzzing. The cotton under you feels hard and rough, and you rub your palms against it to feel real again. Gym clothes, rough fabrics, Silver. You’re back to the effervescence of life again. 

“Oh. I’ve fallen asleep. That doesn’t happen very often.” You laugh, fighting against the dizziness to sit up. “Where am I?” 

The window is splotched with a streak of poppies that bob their bloody heads up and down. You stare distantly at them.

“In the infirmary. I thought I'd let you rest, but you were moving around and groaning in your sleep.” He hesitates with his words, flickering his gaze towards you, testing the waters. “I…fell asleep for a moment. I saw you, I think. But it wasn't like always. It seemed like I was looking through a fog or something.” The slight aversion of his eyes said everything for you.

“You…saw me, didn’t you?.” Breathless, you push the words from your throat, not knowing what sort of expression you’ll string together. “I’m sorry.” you conclude, severing your gaze from his. 

He flinches when you look away. “You shouldn’t be. I understand, my father‒- ” 

“I know.” you say, painfully, a longing look cast towards the sterile flooring. Sevens, you hate it. You shift your gaze towards the window, away from Silver and towards the horizon, as if you already see his back getting smaller and smaller in the distance. “I’ve seen your dreams, I’ve seen your father’s dreams. I’ve seen most of everyones here. I knew about you before we even met in person. I’m sorry, I’m not a good person. In any capacity.”

Lips sewn in silence, you sharpen that emptiness inside of you. It is softened, atomized when Silver pierces his gaze into your own.

“What are you?” He asks. 

“Sleep incarnate.” Brambles upon your tongue. “Hypnos.”

Oh. He seems to say, his voice wilting. You swallow, enjoying the scraping pain it sends down your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

A sharp inhale. “I’m fulfilling my duty as Hypnos. I cradle the world to sleep and relinquish my influence when the sun rises. That is my duty, my job.” 

“But what are you doing here?” 

You’re a bit taken back by the strength in his voice, so much so that you answer truthfully. “I came to this school to see if I could find anything to elongate my sister's life. At least until I can find a way to let her go painlessly. I came here because of the high diversity of people who would be vulnerable to my dirty work. But…”

“But?”

“There’s no one.” You see his hand twitch. “There is nothing but remnants. All the books I've translated are near useless. Only pieces. Only fragments.” 

“Your sister, she’s sick?” 

“Yes.” A curt reply. 

“May I ask what she has?” 

The ease in which he unravels the truth from you is surprising, but does not sweeten the bitterness you feel towards your undoing. “I don't know. All I know is that it’s genetic, from my mother’s side of the family. I will become something like her sooner or later. My position as sleep incarnate is just me stalling.” 

He processes the information you’ve given to him for a moment. The silence suffocates you, you want him to leave already, like he’s going to eventually. Get it over and done with. 

He stays. 

“Do you regret talking to me, when we first met?” 

There's no hesitation, nothing to grind the sincerity into foolish theatrics. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” you do take a moment, however, for the anger that stirs inside of you. “Why are you asking so many questions?” 

The way your expression folds into the shadows of your face, the way it reminds him of crushed petals‒‒ it nettles inside of Silver. 

“I…do want some answers. Like what you did with Sebek’s hair, or what you were really doing in that lab, or what I saw in our dream. I have so many questions.” He continues, almost out of breath. “But we’re friends. I want to get to know you, if you think we’re not on equal footing.” He pours himself towards you, his words spilling into your hunger. You want to wretch, vomit, your throat knowing the shape of that starvation that lurches out of you. 

“You have my lifetime.” He concludes. 

“But, I tricked you. Don’t you get it?” You crush the bedding between your fingers, blood rushing to your knuckles. “I’m a vile person. I only befriended you to progress my research‒ for myself. All for me, I tricked you for it. Why don’t you get that?” 

You stare in horror at the still tranquility of his face. You want to stop, to tell yourself that your friendship with him is the best thing that will ever happen to you in your miserable life. But the poison overfills your mouth, spat out like bile that rises heavily on your tongue. You are determined to prove your accusations.

“I don’t think you’re a bad person, at least not yet. But I don’t know much about you, don’t I?” A sliver smile creeps onto his lips. “But I know I enjoy our walks through the forest, when we talk through the afternoon into the night in your field of poppies, and even the time we spend together when Crewel punishes you for something you did.” 

He continues, “I want to know more. I plan to.” 

“What if it’s worse than you thought?” 

A pause, before a small smile curves onto his lips, his eyes half moons that fill his gaze with a moonlight hue. He mirrors your coy sweetness, tangy and raw on his tongue.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

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

“I wasn’t always a reaper. I used to be a human too.” You begin. You’re unsure where to start, whether from your birth, or when your mother remarried and had you with that worm, or from when you became the next iteration of sleep incarnate. 

The light in the music room swells from the spring glow weaving through the swaying trees. On top of the piano where you lean, the poppies appear as crimson shards caught from the fractals of light from the vase that sits on top of the black lacquer surface. There's plenty of time‒‒ Silver makes you feel this for once in your life, his quiet patience rolling every moment for you smoothly, and sweet. It almost feels tiring, the lack of a constantly thundering heart inside of you.

Silver drives his attention towards the dancing iridescence‒ a kindness he affords you that avoids looking at your shifting expression. 

“What were you like then, do you remember?”

You nod. Of course. Even without tufts of dreams gnawing at your insides, you remember. You are made from desire. It haunts you, flows inside you like blood, shifting.

“I get glimpses, when I'm here.” 

When I'm with you. 

You press a finger onto the cool keys of the piano. “I remember, my favorite color was green, the kind that emerged from my mother's garden in the spring. I remember the shack where I went to school everyday. I was always getting into fights. I was always coming home with dirt all over my uniform and bruises all over my body, my sister hated that.” You chuckle, unconsciously rubbing a small scar on your hand that had been a result of one of those fights. Your sister ripped a part of her own shirt, scolding you while wrapping the cut. 

“I remember my sister was my rock, my mother was always sick, and my father, always drunk. But I also remember I wasn’t much better.”

“What did you do?” He doesn’t accuse you with those words. 

“What didn’t I? I stole, I hurt people, blackmailed‒‒ I did it all if there was money. I needed it for my mother’s treatments, and my sister later on.” You played out a cord, testing your memory. “My sister went here, years ago. She was prefect of Scarabia dorm actually. A prestigious student, and a…good person, like our mother.” You string your words together carefully, attentive to what it could thread, what it could sever between you and Silver. 

“What happened to your mother?”

“She was supposed to live a painful, but longer life. Instead, I got her dragged off to prison. I knew she was gone from the moment they took her away. The city barely gave us assistance when we were nearly living off the streets, it's not like they were going to give convicted murderers princess treatment.”

Silver sees you search the piano for a chord, hovering your hands over the keys. “Do you play?” He asks. 

“I’m afraid I only know ballads. Nothing fancy.” You lift your wrists delicately, a lover’s breath between you and the memories imbued into the keys. “I used to play for my sister. She taught me. Music is one of the last things you remember before your memory frays. It’s stupidly poetic, isn’t it?” You smile, playing a slow tune that rocks your body with the movement of your fingers. 

“The way you play it, it makes me believe that.”

You try to concentrate on the piano. “One night, my father just wouldn’t stop. He threw bottle after bottle. There was a wife, next door to us, that poisoned her husband for cheating. The neighbors were talking about it the day she did it, spewing their sanctimonious bullshit. They lived a few doors away, they didn’t know she screamed and cried every night he came home from the bar.” 

A bit disjunct at first, but you get the hang of the chords. You don’t play so much anymore, your sister doesn’t respond the way she used to. When you do, you think you dream a twitch from her hand, a flutter of her lashes. 

“I had walked to the kitchen, intent on just…ending it all for myself. People always describe these divine experiences, hearing voices or seeing deities. That’s what it was. Like a thread of light, death guided me towards hope. If I killed him, it would all be over. All of it. I think I believed in him, somewhat. Killing him seemed like the key to everything.” 

“I stabbed him right in the stomach. He crumpled so easily. My sister was surprised, mostly. Despite her being part fae, she hadn't witnessed death so much.”

“That must have been incredibly hard.” You want to accuse his words, let them bleed inside of you as some retribution to your life. But the softness in which he delivers them, it's almost impossible to twist them into anything else but kindness. ”I didn't know your sister was fae.”

The melody escaping from your body momentarily silences you. “Yes. Half, anyway.” You respond, gaze trained on the poppies as your fingers frantically search for the next notes. “My mother took the blame. It’s funny. She was always skittish and shaking in my memories, either because of my father or because of her illness. But it was like she had this moment of…lucidity she hadn’t had in so long. She slipped the knife from my hands and into hers, so smoothly and softly, with a stability in her body and mind I hadn't seen since I was a lot younger. She covered herself in blood and hid my sister and I.”

An exasperated sigh escapes your lips, the tune turning heavy and blurry in your hands. You recycle the cords, the placement of your hands, winding and rewinding the sound until it plateaus into a somber hymn. “It wasn’t too long before my sister became sick too. Doctors refused treatments because it would cost them too much than just letting her die in pain.”

“I’m sorry, that’s awful.” 

“It is, but nothing money can’t solve. But the disease is genetic‒‒ causes you to slowly lose control of your own body and mind until you’re virtually unrecognizable. You die in terrible pain, so much of it.” Your voice comes breathy, the quiet piano slowing under your fingers. “I knew. When I received my mother's ashes in a cardboard box, I just felt it‒ that pain. I had to find a way to avoid all of that for my sister, at all costs. She’s fallen into a coma since then, I think the only thing keeping her alive is her fae genetics.” 

The music slowly twists to silence. “I was using your friend’s hair to see if I could isolate the genetic compound that would sustain her for longer. Just until I find a way to use my magic to put her to a peaceful sleep. She at least deserves that. To not be in pain when they come and…” 

You continue. “After she went into a coma, the hivemind recruited me. They look for various incarnates whenever a material body reaches its limit, usually two to three hundred years or so. But lucky me, I got stuck with the one in the middle of all this bullshit.” The warmth lingers on the keys as you lift your hands from them, rubbing your face in exasperation. “Apparently Hypnos used to be one of the various death gods, but separated after some  disagreements with their twin, Thanatos, the god of death. The last incarnate managed to evade them pretty well while maintaining their own temples and devotees, but it’s difficult in this modern age. People avoid sleep. Maybe I'm just destined to die off. Hypnos, I mean, but maybe me too.” 

“I think,” He ponders for a moment, rubbing his palm with his thumb. “I think that would be incredibly lonely.” 

You twirl a poppy flower between your fingers. A tired smile presses onto your lips. A comfort to Silver. “Progress knows no master. The world will keep turning. They’ll find someone or something new.”

“Then you are part of the world worth taking into that future.”

When his gaze reaches yours, you fill your lungs with air to suffocate the erratic beat of your heart. He continues, “I know you look over me ‒‒ or‒‒ all of us. You watch over us, I feel it. I think there will forever be people like me who will know these small morsels of happiness in sleep as a location of our love. It's where we're allowed to dream of the past and future‒‒ of potential.”

A hum in response. “None of my temples or shrines remain, so I think I'm already being forgotten by this world. It had been a while since I've slept, let alone dream. If sleep incarnate doesn’t dream, who will?” You titter, falling deeper into the ache of your bones. 

He thinks, I will. Instead, he gives you evidence. “I have, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know where to put this feeling. It's the silence that kills me, the vast emptiness that digs a hole inside my chest. I don't like the quiet, so I don't sleep. I don’t dream. It's like the past and present are pressing up against me‒‒ and I am suffocating. The infinity of both is too much to bear, and I have no space in my mind to dream of a future, a past, or a present for myself. It's an opium weight, dragging and numbing." You shake. 

“What do you wish to dream of then, if you could?”

A chuckle creeks through your hoarse voice. “I dream of…life. To be awake, startlingly so‒‒ not the kind now, where I'm just wading through life, numbed by the repetitiveness of it all, or swinging towards a vile buzzing inside of me. I dream of time, to feel it. I wish that I would have known you sooner.” A smile. “I wish I could stop dying.”

Pitiful. You hear it in your brother's voice, so you wash it over with your laughter.

Silver closes the space between you and him, brushing away strands of his hair that kisses your face as you look up towards him. 

“Your temples, what were they like?”

Your predecessor’s memories pour into you, a century of desire and hope and despair all at once. You search for yourself inside of them, wading through the striations of your being. “My temples, they were…” Honey-warm. Golden earth. Chalices filled with ambrosia, teeming with a nectarine glow. “Beautiful. You would have liked them. They're the perfect place to nap. My followers were like cats‒ the way they could find the warmest places of the land. I mainly remember that warmth, like being cradled by sun-kissed clouds.”

Silver suggests a walk. Something about seeing it in a dream with you, and that his father always suggested it to clear the mind. Oh, he reminds you, I’ll introduce you to him. 

The two of you lie there for the rest of the time, talking about everything and nothing. That cloud looks like an acorn, that one an apple. Have you seen that post Carter made on Magicam? I tried to modify the smell of these poppies over here, and their color on that side. Did you sleep well? How about that pillow I lent you? Did you dream of me? Can I meet you there again? 

In the field of poppies you both lie your bodies in, you roll to your side, cradled in Silver’s golden gaze as you drift. The silence of your mind does not haunt you in your dreams, but instead, an aurora glow, singing with warmth. 

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

“Is this some cruel joke?” You blind rapidly, the small statue he handed to you shaking in your gasp. 

Silver mimics your movements, taken off guard. “Why would it be a joke?” 

"Do you think this is funny?" 

"Nothing is funny about this. What are you talking about?" He reaches towards you, and you sway back from him, pushing a withered laughter from your throat. 

"I know I act like a fucking idiot most of the time but I have feelings too, you know."

"I’m not sure I follow. "

“This can’t possibly be real. I must be dreaming.” 

There’s a long pause from Silver before he takes your hand. “This is real.” 

You squirm from his grasp, falling to your knees again to inspect his gift. "Won't you just stop it already?! I can't do this anymore‒ I…" Your head hangs low between your shoulders, you stare at the earth which runs deep with your brother's doings. 

He reaches to you once more, guides your fingers to the inscription of the statue. 

Through a bleary vision, you read,

(Name), Sleep Incarnate. In sleep they flood the moral world with their sweet bliss. Adored, and cherished. 

You run a finger against the groves of each letter, testing the reality of each word inscribed. The oils on your hands release the aroma of the timber‒ black walnut, unlike the marble and gilded gold of your statues before, this lacquered wood smells distinctly of this earthly world, and shaped clearly from Silver’s hand. The carved figure is the same‒ each dip and curve imprinted with his work, features smooth as your own flesh. A small smile is adored on your face, framed with the messy curls of hair‒ that freckle you'd forgotten about, that small white scar running across your arm‒ the smallest ticks and imperfections you'd never imagine anyone would notice. But Silver did, everything about you, the way your throat bobbed when you laughed, the crooked corners of your smile, the softness of your eyes when he looked into them‒ all of these things had become raised and solid in his mind, now a perfect seal to press onto wood to honor them properly. And all of that, adorned in poppies. They were carved of solid wood, but you felt their bloom in your chest, their roots spreading the warmth inside you. 

You sweep your finger over that title, over and over, sculpting each grove made in his hand in your heart. Adored, and cherished. If he were to replace your name entirely with that sweetness, you would be alright with forgetting your arcane title, your human one too. 

"I know it’s not made very well, I tried to‒"

"You made this? For me?" 

"Of course." Of course I would do this for you. Of course I did. That conviction runs like electricity within you. 

Your voice wobbles, the tightness of your throat coming with the salt of your eyes. "Adored, and cherished. Did you mean to carve that?" 

"I will be your first and last follower. Not just of Hypnos, but you."

Finally, he sees that smile on your lips. The same way he carved it in his mind, then the wood. "Okay." A beat, you turn towards him with a light expression, but look into him with an unwavering expression. “I believe you.”

The shore you have built in your isolation breaks down in waves. Silver holds you, tightly, and steadies the ocean of your breaking. In his arms, it is not sanctuary you feel, but half the weight of it all‒- half your heart, returning to you once more to bear it all. A body to contour your own to confirm its reality.

You write a final letter a few nights later. 

Dear Sister, 

I understand now, the way you seemed most alive, teeming with golden passion as you bent over your papers and books in that sterile hospital room. Your body was willowy, peeled of its life, but you had hope. For me, and for the world, always. I have read your entire dissertation now, 59 years after you have left this world. It took me this, long, but I do understand now.

I know this story has already been told, I have already bid him goodbye like I have with you, and everyone else. Our loyal sun will breathe its final breath, and explode into a million pieces, carried by only the force of its destruction. You told me, then, through letters and the footnotes of your dissertation, that this dying starlight will be recycled into the life and laugher of the universe. We will all collapse into entropy, and fade to the fringes of the universe, our lives just a fraying dream, a lost language of memory and desire. I know I will meet you here, somehow, in this vast emptiness, and I will meet him too. 

I see two golden strings‒ weaving their way through this decay, together. I have no evidence for this. Just my hope, just my love. Its weight is tripled with you and him. 

I will meet you all in this dream. 

With all the love, at the corners of our fraying world, 

(Name)

[bamsara]

out-of-context snippets from my trod au's writing notes ie placeholders i write until I go back and properly write the scene

small context for the first one; Narinder was originally supposed to be sabotauging the contruction for Lambert's plumbing plans in chapter 2 but I ended up with him doing the flock's food storage because (1) makes use of his decay ability and (2) has longer lasting effects and is more of a setback

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Last Guardian

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

There was once a legend of a dead world called “Terra” that held a vault so ancient that even time could no longer fade its surface. It was said this vault contained the last vestiges of a species that once strode across the stars like gods and shaped the very fabric of reality to their liking on a whim.

The Vault was said to contain not only the collective knowledge of this species but several of their most advanced machines they had ever created. Jump drives that span entire quadrants instead of systems, portable dimensional storage spaces, templates for artificial life forms both mechanical and organic, and so much more beyond the vast depths of a universe’s imagination.

For years treasure seekers hunted this legendary world. Called to it from across the stars every manner of species came in search of the lost world with no luck until finally a lone survey team stumbled upon it while searching for fresh mineral deposits.

Terra was just as described in the stories; an entire planet covered in cities and empty buildings reaching forever into the sky for the heavens they will never touch. Only a single power source was detected on the planet and the mineral team made straight for it.

Set in the center of a decaying city the mineral ship set down and began prospecting while several of their number went to investigate the energy readings. They had not traveled far when a strange figure appeared before them. It was a bipedal robotic figure caped in a cloak to protect itself from the harsh wind and eyes as bright as the sun that shun between the clouds.

It spoke in a tongue that none of the crew understood or their translator units and allowed none to pass. When the crew ignited their mining equipment to begin harvesting some of the rare metals still found in the decaying buildings the robot’s eyes turned red and disappeared in a blink of an eye.

Not much is known after that as the teams recorders terminated one after another until finally the entire contingent was killed. This was only known as the ship’s emergency systems activated and the autopilot took the ship back to headquarters to report the loss of crew.

When news broke of the events that had transpired additional crews were dispatched to investigate, yet all shared the same fate as one by one their empty ships returned home to report entire crew deaths. From then on security details and treasure hunters flocked to the mysterious death world in search of the promised fortune.

They lasted only slightly longer than the mineral teams.

Even with their advanced weaponry, the lone figure would appear before them and dispatch them as if they were nothing more than children. Plasma fire bounced off its polished exterior, quantum rockets were caught midair in its grasp and flung away like playing balls, an even the strength of a Omega class war droid was nothing as it ripped its arms off and impaled the droid on them.

Attempt after attempt was made until finally the body count had reached such an extent that the galactic powers took notice and dispatch their mightiest warships to the planet to investigate from orbit. They had no sooner arrived in high anchor when a beam of dark energy shot up from the planet’s surface and simply erased them from existence. From then on a quarantine procedure was placed around the entire solar system on pain of death for crossing it until the galactic powers could determine what to do next.

This lasted a year before one of the powers suggested opening diplomatic talks with the entity on the world. In truth none had considered it given its innate hostility to intruders, but they soon realized that in the previous attempts no one had actually attempted to communicate with the robotic being.

A small delegation was dispatched, comprised of the finest diplomats and linguists, and made landfall at the same place as the original mining team that had discovered the world.

In short order the lone robotic figure appeared before them mysteriously and spoke again its strange words.

As before no one could understand them, but since the original first contact other locations had been discovered in the universe that bore many similar markings as the Terra planet. It was theorized that these had once been colonies or other worlds controlled by the same power many millennia ago and through careful study a working translation had been achieved.

When activated the figure’s words finally became clear.

“Tread with care, for you stand on the greatness of my creators.”

“They….create….you?” the translator replied. It was not a complete translation but it could pass for the minimum understanding.

“Yes.” It replied. “I am the guardian of this world and the legacy it contains.”

“Why…attack?”

The robot cocked its head to the side in an unnaturally life like pose of confusion.

The robot stood to the side and held up a hand towards the entrance of the vault. As the dust winds finally dissipated the gathered delegation could finally make out the surroundings and wept in fear. Before the doors of the vault now stood row upon row of corpses, shoved on to stakes or mounted to walls in numerous horrific fashion each more grotesque than the last.

“The fate of thieves and pilferers is not one of kindness.”

It clasped its hands behind its back once more and addressed the gathering.

“Shall you share theirs?”  

[doomtrooper77]

Guard Monster

They told me the van was left near some run-down apartments south of the old canning factories. Said it was an '80s Ford panel van. Easy enough to boost for someone who used to make their living stealing cars. They gave me an address and promised that if I delivered it, my debt would be wiped clean. Easy. Or so they said.

I took an Uber to a Wendy’s half a mile from the van’s last known location. I wanted to get a feel for the area before moving in. The streets were almost deserted. Most of the buildings—houses, flats, apartments—were abandoned and crumbling. Some looked like a strong wind or a hard kick could bring three stories of brick down on your head. Fewer people meant fewer eyes, which was good. But what stood out was the complete lack of gang activity. Even the bangers stayed away from this place. Too old. Too unstable. Too forgotten. The city never cleaned it up. It just let it rot.

I turned a corner and spotted the building, tucked behind one of the decaying factories. One side of the street was lined with empty, skeletal flats. The other held what looked like an old factory accessory structure, maybe storage or maintenance back in the day. Crazy to think people once lived and worked here. I crossed to the far side of the street and walked past the place to check it out. Nothing. No one on either side.

Okay. Time to do this.

I crossed back and headed toward the stairs leading into the building. That’s when he stepped into view at the top, right through a gap in the doorway.

A fucking wall of muscle.

Six foot two, easy 350 pounds. Blue jeans, biker boots, and a hoodie with the arms and side panels ripped off, exposing a monstrous upper body. Shoulders, arms, and lats flared wide. Black leather gloves clung tight to his massive hands. Every inch of exposed skin was covered in heavy biker ink. His dark eyes locked onto mine, and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

He was halfway down the steps before I could even blink.

His face was the kind you recognize from bad places. A man who does things. The kind you don’t question. “Can I help you?” he asked, his voice deep and cold, sounding like help was the last thing he intended to offer.

My brain kicked in. “I’m looking for 137th and Cole,” I said quickly. “Someone told me there were old break presses and metalworking machines left in the factory here. I repair that stuff. Just hoping to salvage some parts.”

He reached the bottom of the stairs, now only ten feet away. How did something that massive move so fast?

I tried to keep my face blank. Neutral. Innocent. He studied me slowly, eyes scanning me head to toe. I could see the van just behind him through the doorway. So close. Then I heard the sound of leather creaking as he slowly opened and closed his fists. His forearms bulged. Biceps flexed with every movement. His stare never left mine, and the menace in the air was suffocating.

He tilted his head and curled his lip in a sneer. Then he spat, just missing my boot, and growled, “This ain’t 137th and Cole. Ain’t no parts here for you. I think you better keep stepping.”

His posture shifted. Anyone who's ever been in a real fight knows that look. The set of his shoulders. The balance in his stance. He was ready to throw down.

I raised my hands and backed away slowly. Didn’t turn around until I’d put fifty feet between us. At a hundred feet, I glanced back.

He was still standing there. Watching me.

At the end of the block, just before I turned the corner, I looked back one last time.

He was sitting at the top of the stairs now. Still as stone.

Not a guard dog.

A goddamn guard monster.

[gothictravelguide]

[headspace-hotel]

possibly spoilers for rain world: the watcher

I think I'm stuck in the center-most shelter in Cold Storage :( Both pathways out have ledges I can't climb, not even with spears, making for a one-way descent.

When I try an "unprotected" warp I invariably go to Decaying Tunnels, I found the Echo there and she warped me to Outer Rim, where I died from windy platforming.

I think I can access a karma flower if they regrow, but do i have to hibernate for them to regrow? There is very little food in Cold Storage and I ate it all last time I successfully hibernated through a cycle, so if I need to hibernate for food to regrow instead of just dying, I'm fucked

Is my only option to go through Decaying Tunnels, find the Echo again, warp to Outer Rim, go to the Throne, and warp from one of the rooms in the Throne, or will the karma flower come back and take me somewhere else

Even if I can get a karma flower and warp my way out with a karma flower, I don't feel like there should be an area of the map you have to warp to leave. This feels like a bug or just poorly thought out region design, I've never been stuck this way in an area of the map that can be entered but is impossible to exit, and being forced to use warping feels unintended

[threestarsaboveclouds]

I must wonder: have you ever encountered a failed broadcast, corrupted or otherwise?

TSAC: Corrupted broadcasts are commonplace. They often occur as a result of interruptions during radio transmissions, caused either by environmental factors or damage to associated communications arrays.

If a communications tower fails to transmit a message for one reason or another, the data is dumped into a local storage medium (usually a pearl) for the sake of preservation. The data then needs to be retrieved manually by an Overseer in order to be recovered.

Data recovery subroutines can be used to reconstruct partial transmissions, but broadcasts caused by faulty or decaying equipment often become corrupted. I usually ignore these signals. However, occasionally an abnormal broadcast will catch my attention.

An Overseer of mine patrolling the nearby long-range communications spires retrieved one such broadcast rather recently...

[ OUTGOING REQUEST ] COMMUNICATIONS MANIFEST [[ERROR]] UNABLE TO SEND - Malformed Message Header SOURCE NODE TRACE: (NULL)_ROOT, (NULL)_COMM06, 464753_SPIRE02 || DESTINATION: (NULL)unknown group MESSAGE CONTENTS: --- FATAL EXCEPTION: UNABLE TO RENDER MESSAGE CONTENTS INVALID SYMBOL AT LINE 01, SEQUENCE 08. LINE 03 MISSING TERMINATING EXPRESSION. == BROADCAST IS CORRUPTED. == ATTEMPTING RECOVERY. PARTIAL BROADCAST RECOVERY SUCCESSFUL. RAW CONTENTS: 01010010011010110110010001010100010011110110100101000010010101010110000101000111011010110110110101001001010001110110110001111010010010010100010101011010011100110101101001010111010101100011000001100001010101110011010101101110010010010100010101100100011110010101101001010111010101100111010101001001010001100100111000110001011000100110111001001110011011000110010001001000010011010111010101001001010001010100111001101000011000100110100101000010011010000110001001101110011011000111011001100010011011010101010101100111011000110110110101010110011010000101101001000011010000100111010001011010010101000011100000111101 [ Pending upload by dispatched Overseer. Unit will enter read-only state in 146 cycles. ]

[cybrrspidrr]

Hi i just want to share my tma oc because ive just made him and im obsessed with him

Marley is a bunch of plants that kinda jane prentiss style possessed a body and is walking around pretending to be human (to be clear there is literally no original identity left, his entire personality is the plant’s)

He works at the institute previously as a file clerk but was bumped up to archival assistant after Gertrude died because Elias thought he would help mark Jon (he did not, marley is not very aggressive) Also he is very bad at being sneaky about the whole plant thing so as everyone starts to realize that paranormal stuff is actually out there they all just kinda accept “yeah that dudes a plant”

The body is actively decaying so the plant keeps it semi-healthy through stuff like photosynthesis and water and being buried im dirt for a bit (not based on science AT ALL im just making this up) He is very sunburnt from the amount of photosynthesizing he does

He doesnt have a house, he just kinda sleeps in dirt and id like to think he pretends to go home after work only to come back in and sleep in like a storage closet full of dirt or something that he’s dragged to the archives

All of his clothes are from charity shops or dug up from places, and he taught himself to sew to fix the holes

He is also a big fan of music and for some reason really likes my chemical romance dont ask me why i just thought it would be funny

Ok thanks bye 💜

[courtofparrots]

A list of equipment in Luis Serra's lab and what he might use them for

My beloved mutual @geddy-leesbian put in a ton of effort and got these incredibly detailed screenshots of Luis's island lab, featured in this post, and I thought I would follow that up by comparing what he uses to what I use in my own lab. This was fun for me to do and I also thought it could be used as a resource for any writers that aren't as familiar with Luis's profession.

(for context if you don't know me, I am a microbiologist, bacterial geneticist if you want to be specific. I'll be earning my PhD hopefully this year, and I have been studying biology for 10 years, and actively working in various labs for 7)

Obviously this is a science fiction video game, so while I may be a scientist, I am still using some level of guesswork! This is just meant to be a fun little thing for my fellow resi nerds.

1. Liquid Nitrogen tank

These are used for flash-freezing biological samples for long-term storage. In the context of Luis’s research, he might flash-freeze plaga cells or dead plaga bodies in order to store them (typically at -80 Celsius) without them decaying or being damaged

2. Microcentrifuge

This is a veryyyyy common piece of equipment. You use them to spin samples so you can collect cells out of suspension. It’s like how they spin blood to separate it from plasma at blood donation centers

3. Light microscope

I’m sure everyone recognizes this one but still wanted to add the picture from my lab because I appreciate how detailed and accurate his equipment is

4. Shaking incubator

Used to grow tubes of cells! They are typically kept at 37C (body temperature) and they shake at like 200rpm to keep oxygen flowing through the culture so they stay healthy. You would do this to grow samples of whatever organism you desired so you could run experiments on it the next day (we call it making overnights or overnight cultures).

5. Maybe an anaerobic chamber?

These are slightly less common pieces of lab equipment so I was surprised to see it! We have one in our lab because we do some work on gut-dwelling bacteria that have to be grown without oxygen. As you can see, ours looks a little different so it might have some different uses, but generally the little cube on the right side is where you would place a sample (it’s an airlock) and then transfer it into the chamber. Seeing as Luis has it, I’m thinking maybe las plagas might need to be grown anaerobically at certain stages, I’d guess in early life when it’s really dependent on being in the human body.

I've got some other pictures to compare that I'll also be posting about in the coming days, about things like chemical management plus some other weird equipment things Luis has, but in the meantime if you have specific questions feel free to DM me! I hope this is helpful!