#tw starvation mention

[antiendosystemterms]

Starving alter

An alter formed from trauma related to starvation or not having enough food to eat.

((term made by us. Flag made by us.))

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Random Imagine:

Imagine it was Eclipse in a newly built body to have gone to the daycare to harass Sun and gets shot with the barrel.

Eclipse has just enough nanobots to reform as a kitten. Sun simply tosses him from the daycare and Eclipse lives within the vents for a while, eating whatever he can grab from the kitchens and simply trying to survive within the PizzaPlex’s vents.

One day the vents over the theater go crashing down due to a prank from Monty and Lunar finds a malnourished, injured, feral Kittenclipse in the wreckage of the vents and gets him cleaned up and bandaged up.

Sun and Moon find Lunar curled up hugging Kittenclipse while Eclipse is asleep and Lunar is petting him and asks him how he found that particular kitten and explains that that’s Eclipse and to toss him out of the daycare again before he wakes up.

Lunar retorts that Eclipse may have been horrible but certainly didn’t deserve to be as neglected and abandoned as Sun, showing him how skinny and hurt he is, in tears showing Sun he can see Eclipse’s ribs and spine. He’s too tiny to defend himself, the world is too dangerous to throw him out!

While they’re arguing, Eclipse has a nightmare that turns into a panic attack and begins crying and making pitiful little yowls, which Moon picks up on and holds him, gently waking him up and trying to calm Eclipse down. Moon shuts down their argument rather harshly but shows them the terrified kitten having a panic attack, telling Sun they absolutely weren’t throwing out a helpless kitten no matter who it was.

Moon infuses him with more nanobots and gets him back into a normal body but it takes a long time for him to recover from months as a cat and he still retains many of his cat habits like sleeping in the vents, getting food from the kitchen disposal, rubbing his head on his things to scent them, hissing, purring, and even curling up on people and sleeping.

[dumbass-extraordinaire]

You Say You’re Ok (You’re Faking, Fucked Up)

Bart Allen has perfected his happy-go-lucky persona.  After the Reach are defeated, little by little, his facade starts to crumble.

     Bart is fine.  Why wouldn’t he be?  He made it to the future, he stopped the Reach, he even has an honest-to-god best friend.  Everything is great, crash-tastic, amaze-balls, totes coolio!  So he’s fine.  Really.

     So what if he has a few nightmares?  That’s totally normal-like, everyone’s a little screwed in the head.  Especially superheroes.  It’s like in the job description or something.

     So, really.  He’s fine.

...

     It starts like this.  Bart and Jaime are playing Mario Kart in Jaime’s room after training.  It’s late, and Bart is kinda sorta exhausted, but he loves playing Mario Kart with Jaime so he doesn’t complain.  Not even when Jaime kicks his ass on Rainbow Road.  

     But then, uh oh, Bart falls asleep and he isn’t in Jaime’s room anymore.  He’s back in the future (can he still call it the future if it isn’t ever gonna happen?) and the Reach has him wearing an inhibitor collar.  

     It’s one of the ones that anchors into the skin of his neck, too.   Even with his speedster healing he still has scars from the little needle-blade-clamp thingies that kept the collar attached to his neck.  Sometimes they itch.  Sometimes they burn.  He’s good at ignoring them, mostly.

     But right now he’s back in a collar and he feels so so so heavy, like he’s got lead weights tied to his limbs and he’s panicking and he wants it offoffoffrightnowpleaseohgod.  He claws desperately at his neck, blind with panic.

     “Bart! Bart, stop, listen it’s just a dream!”  Someone is calling his name, and then his wrists are pinned and nonononono that’s bad he needs to get the collar off and he feels badheavywrongwrongwrong.

     “Hermano, please it’s me, it’s Jaime!  C’mon, man, wake up!”  The voice is there again.  Bart’s eyes fly open.  Jaime looms over him, holding his wrists against the floor.  His eyes are wide with fear and liquid with concern.

     “Jaime?” He croaks.  His throat and neck feel raw and tender, and the wood floor is hard and cool against his back.  He smells blood.

     “Yeah, ese,” Jaime says and his body sags, tension bleeding out of his frame.  He lets go of Bart’s wrists and sits back on his heels.

     Bart blinks up at him, “I- uh, what happened?”  He coughs, and the metallic taste of blood coats his throat.

     Jaime exhales, running a hand through his hair, “You fell asleep on the floor in the middle of the last round and then you must’ve had a nightmare because you started freaking out and scratching at your neck.”  Jaime looks shaken.  “I had to grab your hands, hermano, you drew blood.”

     Bart bolts upright, “I hurt you?!” he asks, frantically scanning his friend for injuries.

     Jaime shakes his head, “No, you were hurting yourself, I’m fine.”

     “Oh, okay,” Bart relaxes, “That’s good.”  He didn’t hurt Jaime.  Jaime can’t heal like Bart can, so as long as he only got himself, Bart isn’t all that upset.

     Jaime stares at him like he’s grown a second head.  “No, Bart.  Not good, es muy malo.  Dios mio, you nearly ripped open your windpipe!”  Jaime looks distraught, like someone kicked a puppy or something.

    Bart tilts his head, confused, “Yeah, but I’m fine.  It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.  You don’t need to freak out, I’ll just heal like I always do.”

     Jaime gapes at him, “That’s not better.  Just because you can heal doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter if you get hurt.”  He seems to process the other part of Bart’s response, “And what do you mean, it’s not the first time this has happened?”

     “I get nightmares sometimes, it’s no big deal,” Bart fidgets, wiggling his fingers, uncomfortable with Jaime’s overreaction.  Everyone has nightmares.  Bart’s fine, he deals with them.  

     He can tell Jaime is going to say something, so he cuts him off, “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

     Jaime’s voice softens, “Bart, correcamino...” he trails off with a sigh.  “At least let me help you get cleaned up.  You’ve got blood on your neck and hands, it’s not sanitary.”

     Bart nods, “M’kay.”  He still doesn’t look Jaime in the eyes, staring at his shoulder instead.  Jaime gets to his feet and extends a hand to help Bart up.

     They shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, and Jaime rummages around underneath the sink for some hydrogen peroxide and a small towel.  Bart hops up onto the counter, swinging his legs like a little kid.  He likes the thump thump thump of his heels knocking against the counter.  Jaime huffs a small laugh at this, and something inside Bart’s chest settles.  He feels safe here with Jaime.

     The older boy straightens up, setting the items on the counter next to Bart.  With Bart sitting on the counter like this, they’re eye-level with each other and nearly nose-to-nose.  Bart stares into Jaime’s warm brown eyes.  Jaime stares back.  I could kiss him, Bart thinks.

     Bart clears his still-sore throat, breaking the tension.  “Hey, what does it mean, that word you called me?  Core-ay-cah-meeno?”

     Jaime cringes at Bart’s butchered pronunciation, then rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, “Oh, it means roadrunner.”

     Bart grins, warmth blooming in his chest, “I like it.”

     Jaime coughs, “Oh!  Uh, good, that’s good.”  He trails off, seemingly embarrassed.  Bart thinks he can see a hint of red in Jaime’s dark cheeks.  His stomach flip-flops.

 ...

     The next time, they’re on a mission.  It’s not going great, to say the least.  The bad guys have some Apokolyptan tech and Jaime’s getting his ass kicked worse than Bart while playing Mario Kart.

     Not that Bart is doing much better.  One of these sadistic asshats snapped his right tibia in half and the jagged edge of the bone is sticking out of his skin.  It hurts like a bitch, but Bart has plenty of experience ignoring intense pain.  He looks up just in time to see Jaime get thrown into the wall Bart’s leaning against by a blast of energy.  He slides to the floor, unmoving. 

     Bart sees red.  With an animalistic snarl, he grabs his broken leg and forces the two halves of his tibia together with a wet snap.  His vision goes white with pain, but he grits his teeth and focuses his breathing as he lets his meta healing work its magic.  He needs to get Jaime out of here.

     Turns out, he doesn’t need to worry.  The boom of Jaime’s sonic canon echoes through the abandoned warehouse and the bad guy goes flying.  Thank god for Khaji Da.  Once the bone has fused enough for him to move, Bart scrambles over to Jaime.

     The older boy is staring at him with wide eyes, “What the fuck, Bart?!”  Jaime tries to get up and yelps, clutching his side, “Madre de Dios,” he hisses.  Then, “No shit, Khaji, I got thrown into a wall.”

     Bart is frantic, “AreyouokayohmygodJaime!”

     Jaime looks up at him, “Yeah, just cracked a couple ribs and bumped my head.  What the hell was that with your leg, Bart?”

     Bart flaps his hands dissmissively, “I just forced the bone back together so it would fuse faster.  It’s an old trick I learned in the future.  Pretty crash, right?”

     Jaime just stares at him.  “¿Está usted loco?” he says incredulously.  “Bart that is not crash!  Hermano, you could seriously mess your leg up with a stunt like that,” he says, sounding horrified.

     Bart waves away his concern, “It’s fine, dude.  I’ve done it like a million times.”

     Jaime gives him a flat look, “That doesn’t make me feel better, ese.”

     Bart sighs, “Look, I’m good, okay.”  He stands up and balances on his injured leg, “See, all better!”  He wobbles, wincing as a bolt of pain shoots through his still-healing leg, but manages to not fall on his ass.

     Jaime looks unimpressed.  “Promise me you’ll at least get it checked out in the med bay,” he pleads.  “It would make me feel better to know you’re really alright.”

      Bart’s heart does a funny little squeeze at Jaime’s obvious concern, so he agrees, “Fine, mom, I’ll go to the med bay when we get back.”

      Jaime looks relieved and Bart doesn’t know what to do with that.  No one’s cared whether or not he gets hurt in a long time.

...

     It all comes crashing down at a party at the Outsider’s headquarters.  They’re eating pizza and messing around.  It’s all fun and games, until it isn’t.

     Jaime’s gone to get them more soda and Bart is scarfing down his fifteenth piece of pizza when someone grabs it out of his hands.  “Dude,” he says indignantly.

     Brion is holding his plate, “You need to slow down.  You are going to get a stomach ache my friend.”  

     Panic pools in Bart’s gut, “Give it back.”  It’s irrational, but even after all this time, Bart is still possessive over his food.

     Brion laughs, like this is funny.  Like taking Bart’s food is a joke.  “No, no, you have eaten enough.  I will be taking this.”

     “Hey, man, knock it off,” Vic says.  

     Brion laughs again, then hiccups.  He smells like beer.  “No, no more pizza for the kleiner schneller,” he says, and ruffles Bart’s hair.  His fingers are clumsy and they tug just enough to set Bart off.

     Panic shoots through his veins, turning his blood into ice water.  Surging to his feet, Bart grabs Brion’s wrist and judo-flips him faster than the prince can blink.  He’s breathing hard and his skin is crawling with phantom fingers.  The room has gone silent and everyone is staring at him like he’s lost his mind.

     “Brion!” Violet yelps, their aura flaring as she rushes to their boyfriend’s side.  She inspects him for injuries before turning their dark eyes onto Bart.  “Why did you do that,” she demands.

     Bart doesn’t answer them, still trembling with adrenaline.  He runs out of the room as tears prick at his eyes.  What the fuck is wrong with him?

     “Bart?” Jaime is back with the sodas, but Bart just pushes past him without a word.  “Bart, wait, what’s wrong?”  

     Bart stumbles through the hall and into the training room; he collapses onto the mat, crying.  Why can’t he just be normal for one goddamn night?  Why is he so fucked up?

     Jaime isn’t far behind him, rushing through the door with the sodas still in his hands.  “Bart!” Jaime calls out his name, voice laced with concern.  He stops in front of Bart, “Bart, hermano, what’s wrong?”

     Bart hiccups, trying to get his emotions under control, “It’s stupid.”

     “It’s not stupid if it’s making you this upset,” Jaime insists, sitting down next to him on the mat.

     “Brion took my pizza,” he wails.  It’s stupid because that’s not even what he’s upset about, not really.  It’s not what set him off, what turned him into this feral, snarling animal that lashes out at everyone around him.

     Jaime cocks his head.  “I don’t understand,” he says slowly, “I mean, that’s a dick move, but why are you so upset?”

     Bart takes a shallow, shaky breath and doesn’t look at Jaime.  “If I did something bad, would you hate me?” he asks.

     Jaime puts his hand on Bart’s shoulder.  “Hermano, I could never hate you,” he says, and his voice is so gentle that Bart’s chest aches.  Then Jaime tilts his head, “Hey, what’s going on with you?” he asks, concerned.  “Y’okay?”

     “I just,” he gulps, “He touched my hair and he took my pizza and suddenly it was like I was right back there all over again and I freaked out.”  He flaps his hands around agitatedly.  What he has with Jaime is so good and he doesn’t wanna fuck it up by saying too much.

     Jaime sucks in a breath, “Bart, what do you mean by ‘back there’?”  His voice is tinted blue with concern and his hand is still heavy on Bart’s shoulder.

     Bart doesn’t look at him.  His skin is crawling and everything is too bright and too loud and toomuchtoomuchtoomuch.  He scratches at his forearms violently, trying to get rid of the buzzing under his skin and in his ears.

     Jaime grabs his wrist, “Bart stop!  You’re hurting yourself!”

     Blind with panic, he snarls, “Don’t touch me!” and flinches violently away from Jaime.  Jaime blinks at him, eyes wide and shocked, and Bart feels like an asshole all over again.

     “Bart,” Jaime says carefully, like he’s soothing to a scared animal, “Please talk to me.”  His hands are raised in the universal gesture for “I come in peace”.

     “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

     Jaime shakes his head.  “No, don’t be, ese.  I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.  Lo siento, chiquito.”  Jaime is so good it makes Bart want to start crying all over again.

     “It’s just,” he starts but the words stick in his throat.  He tries again, “Y’know how in the future everything was super moded?”  Understatement of the century but it’s whatever.

     Jaime nods.

     Bart licks his lips and continues, “Well food was always really hard to find and some people would always have more than others.”  He bounces his leg, “And, um, I was always so hungry.  There was never enough to eat for normal people, so I was constantly starving.  Speedster metabolism and all that shit.”

     “I’m sorry,” Jaime says, sounding like he means it.

     Bart shakes his head, “Not your fault.”  Jaime looks like he’s gonna disagree, so Bart looks him dead in the eyes and says again, “Not your fault, Blue.”

     Jaime nods, “Okay,” mouth quirking.

     Bart inhales shakily, “And, um, so like I said there were people that always had more food than others.  And they would be willing to share, if you did them a favor.  And sometimes I would get so hungry and I just...did them a favor.”

  ��  Jaime makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Bart, you mean...”

     Bart nods,  “Yeah, uh, exactly what it sounds like,” he says, refusing to look at Jaime, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes.  His hands are shaking and his chest is tight, “So sorry!  You’re best friend’s a slut!”  He laughs, high and shaky, and starts crying again.

      “Dios mio, Bart, no,” Jaime sounds heartbroken, “Mierda, chiquito, I’m so sorry.”  

      Bart sniffles and asks, “You don’t hate me?”

      “Why would I hate you?” Jaime sounds genuinely confused and also a little bit like he’s crying.

      “Because I’m dirty and fucked up,” he says hoarsely, “I’m damaged goods.”

      “That’s bullshit,” Jaime snaps angrily.  Bart looks up at him in shock, eyes wide.  

      “You did what you had to to survive; the pendejos who decided it was okay to take advantage of a starving kid, they’re the ones who’re fucked up.  Not you,” Jaime says, voice steely with conviction.

      Bart blinks dumbly at him, shocked.  “You really don’t hate me,” he says wonderously.  He feels floaty and not all there, like when he’s running as fast as he can and his edges go all blurry.

      “I told you, I could never hate you,” Jaime insists fiercely, and Bart wonders how he could’ve ever been afraid of someone like Jaime.

      “Can I- can I have a hug?” he asks, and he hates how pitiful he sounds but he just wants someone to hold him and tell him everything’s gonna be alright.

      “Shit, of course,” Jaime says, and wraps his arms around Bart.  Bart buries his face in Jaime’s neck and it feels like coming home.

      They stay like that for a while, Bart clinging to Jaime like he’s drowning and Jaime’s the only thing keeping his head above water, which is truer than he’d like.  Eventually, Bart pulls away; his breathing is still shaky but he’s no longer crying.

      Bart exhales and smiles at Jaime.  “Y’know,” he says, “You were the first person I ever really trusted after I got here.”

      “Really?” Jaime asks, surprised.  “What about Barry?  Or Jay or Wally?”

     Bart chews his lip.  “No, see, cause I trusted them not to hurt me and stuff, but I didn’t trust them with my past.  I still don’t, to be honest.  You’re the only one who knows just how bad it actually was.”

     “Oh,” Jaime breathes.  “Wow, that’s...you’ve never talked about it?  At all?”

     He shakes his head.  “They know bits and pieces, but not the whole thing.  I didn’t want them to look at me like I’m just some tragic victim.  I mean, it was shitty, but I survived it.  It didn’t kill me, I’m still here.”

     Jaime nods, “I can understand that, I guess.  But Bart...I think you should talk to someone about it.  It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, correcamino.”

     “I know that,” he snaps defensively.  “Sorry, sorry.  It’s just, I don’t wanna be pitied.”  He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. 

     “Black Canary’s a licensed therapist,” Jaime offers.  “It’s pretty much her job not to judge or pity people, ese.”

     Bart considers it.  “Maybe,” he says, “I just don’t know if I’m ready to talk about it with someone else.”  He shrugs, picking at his jeans.

     “Well, I’m here,” Jaime says, his gaze steady and his voice kind, “For whenever you need to talk.  Even...even about those favors.”

     Bart glances up at him, “You don’t wanna hear about that.  It’s gross.”  I’m gross, he doesn’t say.

     Jaime shrugs, “Doesn’t matter.  You ever need to talk about it, I’m here.  I’m not going to judge you or pity you or anything like that.  I’ll just be here for you, whenever you need me.”

      Bart stares at the training room floor.  After a moment, he speaks.  “I freaked out because Brion ruffled my hair.  He kinda tugged at it, and that...it felt like before.”  His throat closes up and he stops talking, glancing at Jaime out of the corner of his eyes.

      Jaime exhales sharply, “That sucks, hermano.”  He says it frankly and without condescension.  “That really, really sucks.”

      Bart squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing at his face with the heels of his hands.  “Yeah, it does,” he says, voice cracking.  He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, so he switches topics.  “Did I ever show you the scars on my legs?” he asks.

      Jaime shakes his head, “No,” he says, voice cautious like he still thinks Bart might run away.

      Bart kicks off his shoes and rolls up his jeans, angling his left ankle towards Jaime.  “There, see it?” he says, pointing to the neat lines of raised skin running horizontal across his ankle and calf with surgical precision.  “I’ve got matching ones on my other leg.”

      Jaime looks both horrified and fascinated, like he’s looking at a car wreck.  “How?” he asks, “Why?”  He makes an aborted hand motion, like he wanted to touch the scars but thought better of it at the last minute.

      Bart catches his hand, “You can touch them, it’s okay.”  It’s okay, he tells himself, it’s just Jaime.

      “You sure?” Jaime asks.

      Bart nods.  He trusts Jaime; he trusts him with his past and he trusts him with his scars.  He trusts him so much it’s honestly kind of scary sometimes.

      Hesitantly, Jaime reaches out and runs a finger along one of the scars.  His touch is feather-light and impossibly gentle.  Bart shivers.  After a moment, Jaime pulls his hand back, looking thoughtful.

      “What happened,” he says, more of a statement than a question.

      Bart shifts, “I was the last speedster, and the Reach wanted to know how my powers worked; what the limits of my healing were.  The Reach scientists would do experiments on me,” he taps his fingers in a staccato rhythm on his thigh, “That’s how I knew my bone would fuse on that mission.  They tested it.”

      “Bart...” Jaime trails off, like he’s not sure what to say.  Bart supposes that’s fair.  How are you supposed to respond when your best friend tells you that he had his legs broken repeatedly for “science”?

      “The scars are from when they would cut my hamstring and my achilles tendon to see how fast I could heal and if I could still run while injured,” Bart recites clinically, “I can, by the way, I’m just a lot slower.”

      “Jesus,” Jaime breathes.  His voice cracks, “God, Bart, that’s horrible.”

      Bart shifts, uncomfortable with the emotional intensity, “Well, if you look on the bright side, it’s not like any of it was permanent,” he says, trying to lighten to mood.

      Jaime gives him a flat, unimpressed look, one that says you are so full of shit but I’m not gonna call you on it right now.

      “I’ve got other scars, too.”  Bart’s never talked about this before, and now that he’s started it feels like he can’t stop.  

      The words just keep spilling out, “On my neck.  They’re from the inhibitor collars, the ones in the future.  They had little blade thingies that would stab into the skin, tomakeithardertogetoutofthem,” he gulps in a breath, the words blurring together at the end.

      Jaime buries his face in his hands, muttering in rapid-fire spanish under his breath.  He’s speaking too fast for Bart, with his limited understanding of the language, to catch anything other that a few swear words but the guilt in his tone comes through clear as day

      Guilt pools in Bart’s stomach.  Of course Jaime, with his too-big heart, blames himself for this.

      Bart reaches out and puts a hand on Jaime’s shoulder, “It’s not your fault, Blue.  None of it is.”

      Jaime leans into his touch, “I’m still sorry,” he says.

      “Don’t be, Jaime.  I never blamed you, not for a second,” he says, and he means it.

      Jaime inhales and sits up, “I don’t know why I’m freaking out, this isn’t about me.”

      Bart wraps his arm around Jaime and rests his head on his shoulder, “It’s fine, dude.  I just told you a bunch of really heavy stuff, so I think you’re justified in getting worked up.  It’s nice to know that someone cares.”

      Jaime wraps his own arm around Bart and squeezes him tightly against his side, “Of course I care.  You’re my best friend and I hate that any of this happened to you,” he admits, voice thick with emotion.  “You didn’t deserve it, Bart, I hope you know that.”

      Bart doesn’t wanna start crying again.  He’s so tired of crying.  But Jaime’s words grip his heart like a fist and squeeze.  For the second time that day, Jaime holds him as he shakes apart, whispering comforting spanish into his hair.

      Bart gasps, trying to regulate his breathing, “I’m just sick of this shit.  I’m sick of feeling like I’m flying apart.”  He grips his hair and rocks in place, an aborted scream clotting in his throat.  

      Jaime pulls him into a fuller, bone-crushing hug, “Hey, hey, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” he says, “Nadie va a volverá a tocarte.  No se lo permitiré.  Te lo prometo, chiquito.”  He presses a firm kiss to Bart’s temple.

      Bart pulls back and stares at him, eyes wide.

      Jaime scrambles away from him, “Shit, shit, sorry!  I should’nt’ve- lo siento,” he babbles.

     Bart giggles, slightly hysterical, “It’s crash.”

     “No, I’m sorry!  I overstepped,” Jaime’s still babbling.  “Dios, soy un idiota.  ¡Por qué hiciste eso, maldito bobo!" he mutters to himself, smacking his forehead.

      “Jaime!” Bart snaps, grabbing his friend’s hand, “I said it’s crash!”  Jaime still looks conflicted, so Bart continues, “You didn’t make me uncomfortable, you just surprised me is all.  I promise.”

      “You sure?” Jaime asks, deadly serious.

      “I’m sure,” Bart insists.  Not letting go of Jaime’s hand, he flops backwards onto the mat.  “Ugh, my brain’s all cottony from crying,” he complains.  “I don’t wanna go back to the party, I fucking judo flipped Brion and now everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

      Jaime snorts, “No shit, did you really?”

      “Yeah, dude.”

      Jaime lays down next to him.  “Hey,” he says, “If you’re feeling up to it, we could go get milkshakes?  Would that help?”  He sounds tentative, unsure of himself.

      Bart turns his head towards Jaime, “Y’know what, that actually sounds really nice.”

      Jaime smiles and gets to his feet, “C’mon, hermano,” he says, offering Bart his hand.  Bart takes it, pulling himself to his feet, and doesn’t let go.

[catsofimperium]

My Starlight

Darian had originally met his husband during a diplomatic mission. He was to escort the goddess’ daughter to the highest ridge in the Kingdom of Nocturnis, close to the Celestial Plane. On said ridge, they were to rest before traveling to the plane itself in the early morning’s light. Darian ensured they were within the small village’s walls, checking the security and that the queen was safely within her resting spot for the night, before retreating to his own. The strain from a long day’s travel did not make it difficult for Darian to fall asleep shortly after doing so.

However, in the middle of his rest, wings wrapped around himself to maintain his long fur’s warmth in the far colder environment, Darian heard something. A horrific cracking sound, only identifying it as the snapping of branches once the panic had subsided from being suddenly stirred. He listened to it, ears raised high, and waited for it to quiet before stepping from his bed.

The wood creaked beneath him as he slunk to the entrance. He kept his wings folded tightly against his form and his paw pads firmly to the ground so as to not attract anything with their light.  

Looking out the door of the cottage in which he resided, he could see a faint glow. It was too far away and hazy, snowflakes landing on Darian’s eyelashes, see the source. Though the way it kept bobbing up and down appeared unnatural to him.

Against his better judgment, he lifted up into the sky and followed that glow. The night storm was calm enough to allow him to peacefully glide down to the paths and cliffs below. The glow was heading away from the village and yet, one couldn’t be too careful. 

The object of that glow had stopped upon hitting a rock, its already dull nature becoming even more so at the contact. Darian landed a couple of feet in front of it, taking slow steps forward to investigate the object of his chase. 

When Darian found the Stell, he had been thrown against the rocks, covered in scratches and bruises from what the Lucern could only assume was a rather rough fall. The Stell left a heavy imprint in the snow, the trail following him explaining the constant bobbing.

Yet, no matter how much the Stell pleadingly looked up at the sky, his glow remained the same. Darian had never seen a Stell of his coloring, in fact. 

The Stell’s body was a deep, dark blue, resembling the night sky of that region. Yet, his constellations, stripes, and spots were pure black in hue, as were his eyes, both constantly shifting, though Darian imagined it was just a trick of the light. The lack of coloring extended to the tips of his tail, ears, and paws, only visible thanks to the snow.

Darian examined all these details before taking a deep breath. 

At times, killing was a mercy, especially when a cat could no longer do what came so naturally to it. When a Molten no longer spewed, or a Stell no longer glowed, as a few examples. It was likely that, without his interference, this Stell would be left to stare at the sky, waiting for his injury to come back only to starve in the process. Darian steeled his will, taking a step forward and unsheathing his claws. 

Yet, at his continued approach, the cat’s eyes suddenly snapped to him. Darian took several steps back as the Stell swiftly stood, legs trembling for a moment before crumbling into a sit. Darian considered offering his help and yet, the Stell did not make any more attempts, simply licking at a few of his wounds with a sparkling and translucent tongue. 

Darian cleared his throat as he let his claws become docile, though the cat did not look up.

“Do you perhaps need medical assistan-” 

Darian was cut off when the Stell’s stars began to glow, eyes mimicking them as they oozed with power. Both cast a dark light on their surroundings, stretching out to touch the darkness around them. The shadows it touched shifted, before lifting off the snow beds they occupied. 

They surrounded the Stell in a swirling display before hugging around his wounds in the form of bandages. They were wrapped tightly across the Stell’s fur, remaining in place, even as the Stell stood once more with shaky limbs. The glowing died down, Darian having stumbled against one of the rocks. 

“Y-you’re a Shade,” Darian said, glasses falling down his snout as he observed.

The Stell nodded, not so much as twinging at the magic now rubbing against his body. It was undoubtedly shadow magic, meaning the Stell must be a shade and yet, the Stell did not look corrupted like all the others did. 

He didn’t have a coat of black, nor did his head carry a horn, what was usually considered the parasite that made said magic flow through its victim’s veins. Darian had it ingrained into him since he started working with the goddess what shades looked like, so, where this cat fit within those confines left his brain feeling baffled.

It showed in the way he had sat there, feet sticking out, tail stuck up, and mouth slightly agape as he just stared. 

The Stell gave Darian a once over. Darian stood stock still as the cat did so, before giving him a sniff with his black nose and making a face. Darian didn’t imagine he smelled the best thanks to the long trek, though he was quite certain the sweet scent of the goddess’ realm still remained underneath all that filth. 

The Stell never spoke and yet, he didn’t have to. Darian had spent enough time in the moon’s temple to know how to read constellations. The ones that made up the strange cat’s body had read “Selene”. 

That gave Darian some confidence, clearing his throat and pushing himself up onto his paws. He turned the other way, lifting his head and letting his glasses shine in the moonlight to  display some authority. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Come along now, Selene. There’s a village just up ahead. We should have medicine for you there, if you’ll even need it…” 

The Stell put up no argument, other than a quiet huff, limping along with eyes wide and ears alert as Darian guided them back up the mountain.

@caxycreations

[stellocchia]

grimwalker c!tommy?

Yes!

Just to clarify, this won't be a toh AU. Dream simply found how to make grimwalkers in the dsmp and he got worse.

Also, as a quick explanation for anyone who doesn't know what grimwalkers are: they're clones. Artificial beings created in the image of whoever's genetic material someone uses.

---

The problem with eternal life was that there was no way to force someone to stay alive.

Revival was a useful temporary solution, but even that had its limits, and Tommy was a determined little fucker. Dream would have almost admired his determination if it wasn't for the fact that it was always used against him. He had to resort to locking Tommy into a padded room and leaving him sedated most of the time, as well as force-feeding him, as the boy tried more than once to starve himself.

But one day Dream found something. An old book talking about something called a 'grimwalker'. It was supposedly a way to create a better version of your late loved ones.

Initially, he simply dismissed it, he left it at the bottom of a chest gathering dust. But then Tommy did something stupid. The white walls of the cell were soaked in thick red when Dream found him.

Dream couldn't let him go. He never could.

So he picked up Tommy's body carefully and brought him to his library. He spent days trying to find anything useful when he stumbled upon the book once more. It took some more months afterward to find all the ingredients the book required.

The new boy looked very similar to Tommy, not identical though. His eyes were pink instead of Tommy's baby blue, and his nose was slightly crooked. Aside from that though, they were identical.

He lacked his memories and his spunk though. Still, they were similar enough that Dream didn't mind it. It was actually somewhat... better. He got to mold him into his perfect little brother. One that would never try to escape from him again. And, even if he did, he could always make him anew!

[sunlitmcgee]

teaser #1/? for HWHBH chapter 95

TWs: Emotional/Physical/Mental abuse, forced physical contact, forced eye contact, hair being pulled, implied/reference starvation, isolation, loneliness, injury, manipulation, general exile-arc content.

Please tell me if I missed any! Going to tag @proudfreakmetarusonniku since I said I’d send you some of these. Was originally gonna do it in an ask, but this makes TWs easier and lets readers see it directly from my blog! So yeah!

Teaser below the cut!

 “Come on, Tommy.”

 “It’s cold.”

 “Yeah, but once you get up and stop being such a bitch about it, I’m sure you’ll warm right up and be ready to have a lot of fun. Need help?”

 “No. It’s cold.”

 “And you’re gonna do something about that how?”

 “Gonna stay here and stay warm and stay the fuck away from you, that’s how. Just…just fuck off, okay? I-I don’t need…I don’t need you to baby me or some shit. I’m fine. Just…j-just…j-ju-just please, don’t, just don’t. Don’t go….”

 There was a rustle of the tent’s thin cloth being parted as Dream paused before he pulled away.

 “Are you gonna come out and stop being so ungrateful, Tommy?” 

 The wind that whistled outside made Tommy’s blood run sharp and cold. He shivered just from hearing it. He nodded.

 “Use your words.”

 He flinched.

 “Yes, Dream.”

 The man gave a content, satisfied hum as he held out his hand. Tommy looked at it, hating how he tensed as soon as it got too close. He could smell something sour as Dream’s fingers closed like a vice around his frail wrist.

 Frail.

 That’s how he was.

 Frail.

 Tommy felt thin and frail and gray and lost as he was pulled with great force from under the tattered blanket’s thin cover and out from the tent’s grayish light into the cold, lifeless dawn of ever-silent Logstedshire. He stumbled, feet bruised, blistered and uneasy on the cold wet clumps that were made of the field’s rotten, dark, brown and dying grass. A small sound escaped him. A tiny shout or perhaps a little wince.

 He nearly fell forward, but was quickly caught.

 Dream’s hand was fast to grab his shoulder tight. Tight enough to where his muscled fingers pressed down on fragile bone that was visible beneath the boy’s taut white skin.

 Tommy felt his shoulder threaten to crack and jolted away with a sudden, startled burst.

 “F-fuck off!” He managed to screech out.

 Smack.

 His cheek stung before it quickly began to feel numb. Dream’s hand was soon there to grab at his hair so he was forced to crane back his neck. All he saw was bone white and small black dots along with a thin, drawn on grin.

 “Are you good?” Dream asked, breath hot as his voice was dark and coarse. Like thunder rumbling at the edge of the vast, empty sea. It smelled like rotten peppermint.

 “Mhm!” Nodded Tommy.

 “Use. Your. Words.” Dream’s grip on the teen boy’s hair grew tighter than tight as he squeezed it firm and yanked on it harshly to put a strain into Tommy’s already shrunken voice.

 “Yes!” He finally blurted. “Yes, we’re good, we’re fine! I’m fine, I-”

 Dream didn’t let him finish. He just gave an annoyed grunt followed by a hard shove that sent Tommy stumbling back so his back would hit the tent’s wooden support pole. The impact was harsh. His back began to throb with yet another tender ache that pulsed and would not leave. It wouldn’t leave. He’d grown so frail and so tired, that now when he started to hurt, it just faded into the background and hung there, hard and heavy and wet.

 His shirt was torn where it wasn’t soaking wet. So were his pants, whatever little remained. He didn’t have any shoes. His feet were caked in a mix of blood and dark brown goo that made it difficult to walk as Dream gave a nod of his head and led him towards the island’s small shore.

 “Are you excited?”

 Tommy knew better.

 He nodded, and was sure to use his words.

 “Yeah!” He said, weakly excited. “I am! You remembered to leave all those invites, didn’t you? You said that you would hand them out an’ leave ‘em for everybody. Y-you did that, right? That’s what you said that you’d do…”

 “I did what I could.”

 “B…but did you leave them?”

 “I gave them all to Ghostbur and told him to leave them in a chest outside the home of whoever they were addressed to. He says he got them all delivered, and I gave the one for Tubbo to him directly so that he wouldn’t miss it or accidentally throw it away while he’s doing all his paperwork. He has a lot of paperwork, Tommy. It isn’t easy for him, being L’manburg’s president.”

 “Ah,” Tommy understood what Dream was really trying to say.

 It isn’t easy for him to run an entire nation. He’s got important stuff to get done. Stuff that really matters. Stuff that isn’t you.

 “So…so you did do it, then?”

 “Yes, that’s what I literally just said.”

 “Sorry! Sorry, I was just checking.”

 “I know what you were doing, Tommy.”

 The water down by the beach let out a soft splash as it lapped against the dully colored grains. Tommy went silent, back turned against the frosty breeze that shifted the cold, mid-autumn air. He really didn’t know what he was doing just then. But it was better to be safe, and kinder not to ask when already he was the cause of so many annoyances.

 That’s what you promised that you’d do was, for Dream’s sake, left helpfully unsaid. Tommy didn’t want to be too ungrateful. He didn’t want to cause any more bother or be an even bigger problem than he already had been. He knew that being needy had already cost him all of his old quote-unquote “friends”, and the last thing he needed was to drive Dream away and make himself end up all alone.

 But that was a sad, pitiful thought.

 That wasn’t the sort of thing he should be thinking. Not today.

 Today, he wasn’t going to be all alone!

 Today he would have Dream and several others, who he’d been allowed to invite for a little party down on the beach! It was going to be fun! There was going to be music, and cake!

 Tommy suddenly felt fully awake when he thought about the cake. “Did you remember to bring the cake like I asked?”

 His excitement waned when Dream’s voice snapped.

 “Yes,” Dream said, “but you aren’t going to get any if you keep on bitching like that.”

 He spat it out in a harsh, tight hiss. Bitching. That’s all Tommy did, wasn’t it? Bitch and moan, whine and complain. That’s why he was out here, really. Because he didn’t stop his whining so he could listen and be good for Tubbo.

 Maybe I’ll be good enough to go back to L’manburg once he shows up for the party.

 It was a frail little thought. A small one, weak and dumbly hopeful. Tommy knew it was better not to share it when Dream was already getting annoyed. He decided to make up for it by picking up his feet to hurry along at an even pace as they passed a few tall, log torches that were topped off by burning netherrack, turned to the right, and headed downwards along the thin dirt path that led to the island’s shore.

 A gull cried out. It was the single loneliest sound that he had ever heard. A sharp, sudden, squalled scream of life that echoed hollow across an inky dark sea, the water of which hugged the side of a place that was cold and gray. Empty. Dead.

[sxnburst]

FOOD FOOD YUMMY FOOD

First things, first. I mentioned that there is one food that Sun is allergic to and that’s bananas. Sun can’t really digest bananas all that well, so eating them will give him some bowl movement struggles. It’s like a lactose intolerant person drinking whole milk or any dairy that they shouldn’t touch. It’ll give him one of two things. He’ll shit his brains out or he won’t shit at all....For days. The immense pain can be...well, painful. 

Will he still eat a banana if given it? YES. For crying out loud, he’s like my dog. Lulu is allergic to chicken BUT DAAAAAAAAAAAMN IF I AIN’T CAREFUL, SHE’LL EAT A BONE OR SOMETHING THAT’S OUTSIDE. 

ANYWAY----

Bottomless pit. That’s what Sun has. He will eat anything and everything. Rumor has it that Sun has eaten a rock in the past. This was during his time with Bentley. It’s a sad story so I won’t go into details, but yes. He’s eaten a rock. He’s eaten A LOT of concerning things in his past during his time with Bentley. From dog food (his main), to rotten veggies, to just leftovers that people were too full to finish. At least Bentley didn’t believe in food waste -.-. Those were the days he ate good. 

With being WELL underfed and nearly starving, Sun is able to eat SO SOOOOOOOOO much and not get full. You will never see him throwing food out either.

How is he with spicy food?

Awful. He’s AWFUL with them. Can’t even handle a jalapeno. but he loves them so much! HE LOVES FOOD OKAY? HE WILL SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES!

PS: Sun cannot cook for the life of him! DO NOT LET HIM IN THE KITCHEN BY HIMSELF.

[antiendosystemterms]

Tw for food talk/starvation talk/not ED but unintentionally restrictive

hey can we get a term/flag for an alter that formed due to the trauma of not having enough to eat/the feeling of starving?

Sure! I tried my best! Here

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Solar Flare: Food time.

Eclipse: *sits nice and pretty waiting for him, tail wagging happily*

Solar Flare: Good boy. You did well today, you get three batteries as a treat for killing three people. And actual food as well since you’re behaving so well for me.

Eclipse, looking over the batteries and moldy food: Thank you!

[critterz-bugz]

I swear no one in this system knows how to take care of themselves. I'm like the only one who actually knows how human bodies work— like these bitches seriously would've starved if I didn't point out there was ham in the fridge.. god damn

[thefreezingclans-clangen]

Welcome to the Freezing Wastes

This account will be delving into the tales of the five split clans: Frozenclan, Mothclan, Lilacclan, Trickleclan, and Hushclan.

General Settings

No resetting moons; whatever happens, happens.

Whenever a clan reaches 50 or more cats, I will either activate mass extinction events or do death rolls. I will make a poll to decide on which each time.

None of the clans have automatic deputy choosing on.

The relationship settings that allow first cousins and mentors and apprentices to be mates are turned off for every clan.

Experience based graduation is enabled, and apprentices will have to complete a "trial" before earning their names. These "trials" will be based on dice rolls or lone patrol outcomes depending on the clan.

Additions

The drawings will be separated by weeks, so at least four drawings per moon. If nothing of note happened, I will check the thoughts of the cats to ensure there are still drawings.

On the end of the second week of the moon, the spiritualist of the clan must go to Sun's Landing, their spiritual site, to meet with the other spiritualists, lest they begin to lose faith. As they lose faith, so do the other members of the clan, and each half-moon they go without meeting with the other spiritualists, another non-spiritualist in the clan will lose faith. If all the cats in a clan lose faith, the clan will disband, and be lost.

On the end of the fourth week of the moon, the clans will gather together at Dawnclan's old camp to socialize and ensure that the other clans are still around. If a clan has disbanded, all of the other clans will have a random number rolled, that can be up to half of their total population, that will indicate how many cats in one of the remaining clans have lost faith. All clans roll for this, aside from Hushclan, even though the other clans will roll faith loss for Hushclan's disbandment if it happens.

Each week, the healthy cats must go on at least two hunting patrols. If they are unable to do so, I will generate a number equivalent to the number of cats in the clan to see how many go hungry. If a cat who is a kitten, a sick cat, or a senior goes hungry for 3 times, they have a 50/50 chance of dying for each consecutive week that they continue to go hungry. Otherwise, it will take 5 times of going hungry for starvation rolls to start. If a monarch with kits younger than 2 moons goes hungry, their kits will begin to go hungry as well. Additionally, if there are no nursing cats while there are kits under 2 moons of age, they will go hungry regardless of hunting rolls.

If a cat with short fur joins or is born into the clan, they will have a d20 rolled for them each moon. If it is below 10, they will get hypothermia, below 5, they get frostbite, and if they roll a 1, they will freeze to death. In "greenleaf", 5 is hypothermia and 1 is frostbite, with no possibility of death by freezing.

This eternal cold... Something about it isn't natural. There is a chance for outsiders or non-founder kits to have something strange about them. They may not even be cats at all.

The herbalist of the clan will need to have at least one non-healing role cat to accompany them while they gather herbs, to ensure they get back safely. If there is nobody who can accompany the herbalist, there is a chance that they might go missing in the snowy wasteland...

Warnings

It is very likely that this account will feature animal death, illness, and suffering. I will tag each post I make with the relevant tags. My warning tags are structured as such: tw trigger

If there is something that you think I should tag that I didn't, please make sure to send me an ask that points out the post and what I need to tag it with.

Links

The Beginning of the Story (The Ever-Creeping Freeze)

[silver-heller]

HI BESTIE!

So, I'm curious. What do you think about the Diable Mordecai was given and everything Serafine said? Do you truly think Mordecai is trapped in the illegal or bootlegging business because of this? Why or why not?

(Happy June btw! 🤍💚💛🖤)

Ooo, okay but I am in love with this question (AND HAPPY JUNE TO YOU TOO! 💛🤍💜🖤 )

So, I want to analyze the words Serafine specifically said along with the context clues she gave, since I think that's extremely important here in the context of the AU (and just really interesting in general). And, though this is discussing it as if these spirits are real within the story, to be clear, in the AU, it is neither confirmed nor denied.

God Dammit Atlas

First off, let's not miss the symbolism between this spirit and Atlas. A lot of the things Serafine says are how I write Mordecai's view on Atlas in the AU. A light in the darkness, someone that traps others into one path that is "in the shadows", and is a mysterious figure connected with the idea of danger.

His Direction?

But, getting to the point, Serafine refers to the path Maitre Carrefour put Mordecai on as "his direction". This isn't really specific, like, at all. We see Serafine make a few assumptions about that (which I will delve more into later), but I do think it's important to establish upfront we're discussing the desires of a rather powerful entity that could have who knows what intentions, and this is coming from Serafine, who is extremely over confident in her ability to understand this.

But, there is one thing we know for sure. If this entity does exist, within the context of the AU, it took mercy on lost and lonely minors twice. It put them within the care of questionable parental figures, which, on the outside, shows a leaning towards a criminal lifestyle for them both but, this is only a surface level viewing of the situation. This shows some sort of emotional care on the spirit's part, meaning it isn't completely off base to say it may factor in the emotional needs of those it leads.

So, considering all of this, let's explore which each path actually entailed for the two.

Before Mordecai was saved he was already involved in the illegal trade, specifically gambling, where he was constantly and physically abused. If this spirit only cared about keeping Mordecai (or anyone for that matter) in the illegal path, I think it would have pushed Mordecai to stay in the gambling business despite how miserable it made Mordecai.

But it didn't. It put Mordecai in the care of Atlas. Now, thinking about everything Mordecai went through because of this, though there are certainly negatives (and the bag of snakes that is Atlas), it's quite interesting to think of all the positives;

Mordecai no longer had to withstand physical abuse and was taught how to defend himself.

Mordecai was put in a comfortable financial situation, giving him the free time to explore more of his hobbies and take time for himself.

He entered a queer friendly environment (the Lackadaisy).

He met Viktor and Silver, both whom he fell in love with.

He meets Rocky, who soon becomes a best friend to him and a great asexual ally.

He ends up meeting Serafine, who understands his supernatural struggle and they become extremely close.

Serafine's story is extremely similar, as being led into this life actually had a lot of net benefits for her as well;

She was able to stay with her brother and developed a deep, platonic bond with him.

She was taught to be strong and free, something that greatly empowered her.

She felt a connection to nature and herself that has sprouted body positivity and an emotional genuineness within herself.

She started working for the Marigold and experiencing exactly the type of thrills she wanted.

She developed a community that supports her.

She ended up with enough of a rep and the budget to express her gender identity in anyway she pleases.

So really, looking at it, it could be argued the spirit's path is really all about power. Or, more of, giving people the power and connections needed to be safe and themselves in this, unfortunately, extremely cruel and unaccepting world.

In Favor Of The Spiritually Inclined

Considering the AU introduces a supernatural element as far as Mordecai is concerned, along with developing these for Serafine and Rocky, this can't be ignored either. In the AU, none of these characters necessarily have to do anything to be connected with the supernatural and its path. For all of them, in one way or another, it has just become a part of their day to day life. For Mordecai, it haunts his dreams constantly, for Serafine, it is her whole religion and life purpose, for Rocky, it has effected how he views the whole world and the people around him.

Looking at it, Mordecai, Rocky, and Serafine all had moments where someone came into their life to save them from becoming trapped in terrible situations. This is a very specific pattern that is (mostly) only specific to them, from situations that could have specifically led to death (shot, psychical abuse, starving to death), to being minors when these occurred, to the figures that saved them becoming very important familial figures in their life (Atlas, Freckle, Maman Eulalie).

So, another potential angle that could be argued is that these three are like children to the spirit due to their natural connection to the spiritual, which has caused them all to have its general favor regardless of what path they take.

The Plan To Rescue Silver

However, another angle that can't be ignored is how intertwined Mordecai's path is with Silver, and how that will (hopefully) ultimately lead to Silver finally having peace after all the trauma he has endured.

In a lot of ways, Mordecai is set up to have a good chance at a relationship with Silver. He's already there by the time Silver is rescued, conveniently both being one of the strange figures Atlas took an interest in (so much so to include both in the trio Atlas focuses on the most heavily), due to not being saved earlier he also has his own trauma and can sympathize, the personality he ended up developing due to being raised by Atlas works quite well with Silver's, along with being one more inclined towards privacy and secrecy, so on and so forth.

So, hey, maybe Mordecai was destined to become the knight in shining armor that would take Silver into the shadows where he could finally find peace. One never knows.

They're All Creeps, They're All Weirdos, WHAT THE HELL ARE THEY DOING HERE!?

So, this is the point where we really get into Serafine's language concerning the spirit. The most important lines that stuck out to me are these;

I think it's important to establish that what Serafine specifically says about leaving the spirit's path is, "You are obliged to him only, always. Or else you are lost again. Alone in de dark, not sure if you comin' or goin', dead or alive..." and "So don' cross him or he'll eat you from inside out."

In my opinion, none of this specifically details that Mordecai has to stay on whatever path this spirit may or may not have put him on. It would be preferable if he did, yes, but "death" isn't really a consequence here, in my opinion. The closest thing is Serafine's warning, but "crossing" someone, in my opinion, more entails actively screwing them over rather than disobeying them. So either way, I don't think that'd be the "end" for Mordecai.

"But you are where you suppose to be, here - where he wanted you, so we can take up de path together."

Yeah, you know my Mordecai x Serafine ass was going to bring up this line. In the AU Serafine and Mordecai's lives end up intertwining and greatly effecting each other, it's them against the world sort of vibes, and it could be argued any path with them together is the right path.

But, let's check off the sort of "requirements" for being in the "shadow" of this spirit.

"Off trodden paths, away from street light, where all's dim and dangerous."

"Where the strange animals are. Where people like us live."

People like us is very vague and I love that for the AU ngl.

Hm, well, who do I know who is constantly shown as strange throughout the AU, has been constantly ostracized for it, and, regardless of what they do, would probably lead a very private or strange life in the shadows? Who went off the intended path of their life, lives a murky existence, and is constantly in danger for one reason or another?

Oh right, literally every single member in the Lackacrew!

Yep, so this section was basically to say, all of that before? It doesn't freaking matter because, the fact the Lackadaisy, each other, and the illegal trade was in their paths to begin with means their past will always make them end up as strange little dudes in the shadows that will always be at risk of their illegal life coming back to bite them (okay, so, the other things still matter but...). They could literally do anything but still live within the spirit of secrecy and danger because that life has effected them permanently in ways that will never leave them, never.

Conclusion

In the AU, I would very much argue Mordecai becoming involved in bootlegging was indeed part of his journey, but it wasn't the end destination. I think Serafine is so adamant about seeing it that way because, for her, it really is. I think, overtime, she will become more open minded about what Mordecai's path might entail and why.

[area51-narutorun]

I’m reading a book about an gorta mór for history class and i’m not exaggerating when I say it’s made me break down and cry several times already

[electrozeistyking]

Hello, welcome to The Rare Bites AU! I was going to draw J and V, but my eagerness to show this to you was far too strong. Here's some notes on it:

-the disassembly drones are pretty much starving and scrawny. uzi hates that her colony basically lied to these guys because they're only attacking because they're desperate to feed. she's like "DAMN WE'RE A BUNCH OF FUCKING LIARS HUH."

-j, n and v are some of the rare few disassembly drones that reached close to adulthood. they're all shaky and weak by this point, but still strong enough to take down a worker if they absolutely pushed themselves to do it. their population has been shrinking for years, due to starvation, overheating and killing their own young.

-"And our parents are leaving these fuckers to starve over one stupid deal they failed to uphold and won't even tell us about?! Like, come on! If these guys were human, they'd be all bony and shit! That's gross! What the fuck is wrong with us?!"

-n unwittingly reveals how bad their situation is by announcing that j and v might kill him in order to feed themselves when they find out he's had more than enough to drink (uzi's like "damn" and gives him some extra oil canisters. the workers have enough as is, so she doesn't bat an eye over having to give any up to disassembly drones).

-because these three don't really have a major reason to hate each other, i like to imagine that n, j and v basically fell asleep in a very shaky cuddle pile in order to feel less alone in this cruel world, and eventually begin to include uzi. at that point, they feel safer and start gaining weight and showing their true personalities. :3

-long story short, they start off in a bad place but then everything gets better because of uzi's input. :3

[sunlitmcgee]

on the bright side, thanks to that 1 asshole commenter, i keep thinking about ctommy post exile eating so much food at techno's base that he then lays down and curls up and goes to bed all snuggy cozy.

Heartbreaking image when you consider it stims from an unspecified ED and prolonged starvation.

Cute image because ohohohoho, sleepy snuggy chom.

The duality of inniter on full display

[xxno-thoughts-just-chaosxx]

Prisoner AU: Page 9

Three Days - Three Dinners pass.

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