twitchtips

[twitchtips]

I still can't believe that Suzanne Collins left Gregor without anybody who could truly understand what he went through. Katniss had Peeta and a sweet epilogue about their future family. Gregor lost Ares and his childhood and was left hanging in an empty playground knowing he'll never recover ughhhh

[twitchtips]

It's in the details.

Hamnet/Mareth

inspired by @aldoodles

The descent into Regalia’s lower cells always felt like falling into a place the city tried to forget. There were no royal banners here, no gleaming torches lit in welcome. Only stone, sweat, and silence.

Mareth kept pace with the guards, his boots echoing down the spiral stairs like drumbeats. He didn’t ask questions. His father had taught him better. Orders were to be followed, not understood.

Still, the details haunted him.

Assigned to the queen’s son.

Solovet's only son.

Six months in solitary confinement.

He hadn’t asked what Hamnet had done. No one had offered.

The guards ahead reached the final door—a thick slab of iron-banded stone. One gave a curt nod, then pushed it open with a groaning shriek of rusted hinges. Cold air flooded out, clinging to Mareth's skin, damp and sour. It smelled of mold, piss, and something sourer still. Not death. But close.

He expected something princely, still. Even after everything.

What stood—no, hunched—inside the cell stripped that hope away.

Hamnet clung to himself like he was trying to hold the pieces together. Thin arms wrapped tightly around narrow shoulders. He wasn’t tall. Not anymore. He looked like a boy who’d stopped growing the day he was thrown down here. His tunic—once likely white—was sallow, torn, and stained. His knees were red and raw, his feet bare. His ribs showed through his skin like the outlines of a broken cage.

His eyes darted up at the sound of the door.

They met Mareth’s—briefly—and Mareth felt a cold that had nothing to do with the cell. There was no recognition in them. Only the vague, flickering presence of someone who had learned to wait for pain. Or worse.

Behind Mareth, a presence materialized with a sharp click of boots.

Solovet.

Her hands were folded behind her back. Her chin lifted, her tone dry and unimpressed.

“Well,” she said, looking down at the hunched figure of her son. “Are you feeling more cooperative now?”

Hamnet didn’t respond. His grip on his shoulders tightened. Not in defiance—Mareth would recognize that. No, it was shame. Cold and shame wrapped around him like chains that hadn’t quite been removed.

Solovet’s nostrils flared, subtly

“Your stench is ghastly.” she said, bluntly.

“You will wash. You will eat. Then you will be escorted to the hospital.”

Her gaze flicked toward one of the guards, then briefly passed over Mareth.

“See that his quarters are cleaned and prepared for his arrival,” she added.

Then to Mareth, fully, sharply: “You are responsible for him now. See that he does not return to this state.”

It wasn’t maternal. It wasn’t even cruel. It was clinical. Like she were speaking of inventory. A weapon misplaced and recovered.

She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and strode off, her cloak trailing behind her like a verdict.

Mareth remained.

He hadn’t moved since the door opened. His hands were clenched at his sides, the cloth bundle of fresh clothing under one arm, a soldier’s straight posture at war with the turmoil now curling in his chest.

Hamnet hadn’t moved either. Not even when the guards re-entered to help him stand.

He flinched when they touched him.

Mareth stepped forward suddenly. “I’ll do it,” he said, voice firmer than he felt. The guards exchanged a look, then backed away with a shrug.

Mareth knelt and held out the clean garments, but didn’t reach for him.

“I am Mareth,” he said quietly. “I have been assigned to you.”

Hamnet’s eyes twitched. He didn’t speak. His fingers slowly released their grip from his shoulders, as if it took effort just to uncurl. He reached for the clothes with trembling hands.

They didn’t touch.

Not yet.

But something passed between them.

Mareth wasn’t sure what it was.

Only that this—this ruined, quiet boy—was now his to protect.

[twitchtips]

It's in the details.

Hamnet/Mareth

inspired by @aldoodles

The descent into Regalia’s lower cells always felt like falling into a place the city tried to forget. There were no royal banners here, no gleaming torches lit in welcome. Only stone, sweat, and silence.

Mareth kept pace with the guards, his boots echoing down the spiral stairs like drumbeats. He didn’t ask questions. His father had taught him better. Orders were to be followed, not understood.

Still, the details haunted him.

Assigned to the queen’s son.

Solovet's only son.

Six months in solitary confinement.

He hadn’t asked what Hamnet had done. No one had offered.

The guards ahead reached the final door—a thick slab of iron-banded stone. One gave a curt nod, then pushed it open with a groaning shriek of rusted hinges. Cold air flooded out, clinging to Mareth's skin, damp and sour. It smelled of mold, piss, and something sourer still. Not death. But close.

He expected something princely, still. Even after everything.

What stood—no, hunched—inside the cell stripped that hope away.

Hamnet clung to himself like he was trying to hold the pieces together. Thin arms wrapped tightly around narrow shoulders. He wasn’t tall. Not anymore. He looked like a boy who’d stopped growing the day he was thrown down here. His tunic—once likely white—was sallow, torn, and stained. His knees were red and raw, his feet bare. His ribs showed through his skin like the outlines of a broken cage.

His eyes darted up at the sound of the door.

They met Mareth’s—briefly—and Mareth felt a cold that had nothing to do with the cell. There was no recognition in them. Only the vague, flickering presence of someone who had learned to wait for pain. Or worse.

Behind Mareth, a presence materialized with a sharp click of boots.

Solovet.

Her hands were folded behind her back. Her chin lifted, her tone dry and unimpressed.

“Well,” she said, looking down at the hunched figure of her son. “Are you feeling more cooperative now?”

Hamnet didn’t respond. His grip on his shoulders tightened. Not in defiance—Mareth would recognize that. No, it was shame. Cold and shame wrapped around him like chains that hadn’t quite been removed.

Solovet’s nostrils flared, subtly

“Your stench is ghastly.” she said, bluntly.

“You will wash. You will eat. Then you will be escorted to the hospital.”

Her gaze flicked toward one of the guards, then briefly passed over Mareth.

“See that his quarters are cleaned and prepared for his arrival,” she added.

Then to Mareth, fully, sharply: “You are responsible for him now. See that he does not return to this state.”

It wasn’t maternal. It wasn’t even cruel. It was clinical. Like she were speaking of inventory. A weapon misplaced and recovered.

She didn’t wait for a reply. She turned and strode off, her cloak trailing behind her like a verdict.

Mareth remained.

He hadn’t moved since the door opened. His hands were clenched at his sides, the cloth bundle of fresh clothing under one arm, a soldier’s straight posture at war with the turmoil now curling in his chest.

Hamnet hadn’t moved either. Not even when the guards re-entered to help him stand.

He flinched when they touched him.

Mareth stepped forward suddenly. “I’ll do it,” he said, voice firmer than he felt. The guards exchanged a look, then backed away with a shrug.

Mareth knelt and held out the clean garments, but didn’t reach for him.

“I am Mareth,” he said quietly. “I have been assigned to you.”

Hamnet’s eyes twitched. He didn’t speak. His fingers slowly released their grip from his shoulders, as if it took effort just to uncurl. He reached for the clothes with trembling hands.

They didn’t touch.

Not yet.

But something passed between them.

Mareth wasn’t sure what it was.

Only that this—this ruined, quiet boy—was now his to protect.

[twitchtips]

sometimes there's a little thing you read in a book as a kid and then suddenly decades later you look back and go. oh shit. guess that was a little bit foudational to my moral philosophy

[twitchtips]

When hope is literally all we have 🤣

[twitchtips]

I just woke up from the most vivid dream that there was a Gregor movie on the way. I watched a trailer for it. It was animated in a very stylistic way, but they made it a musical? With singing and dancing?? I remember thinking, "Hm doesn't seem tonally correct to have big dance numbers in this but I guess it doesn't look too bad." I was so excited. It took me like 5 mins after I woke up to fully comprehend we weren't getting a Gregor movie.

[twitchtips]

Howard and Dulcet are definitely one of those pairings for me that like probably only stood next to eachother once (and didn’t even in canon lmao)

but they’re both so kind and care so much about other people and are so good w kids that I could see them being a good pair platonically or romantically (also I imagine howard uses a cane on days when the post-plague fatigue gets bad :o) )

[twitchtips]

@ryebreadgf / The Truth About Grief, Fortesa Latifi / bone deep, m.v.e / Sidewalk, Richard Silken / unknown / 60 hours, m.v.e / @itsblackleader / Salt, Nayyirah Waheed / @heavensghost

[twitchtips]

Not me listening to the Code of Claw audiobook for funzies on a Sunday afternoon and still being depressed about it 24 hrs later..............

[twitchtips]

women & bitches love my cavern

[twitchtips]

Guest Spotlight: Scentseer

This week, for our final guest spotlight, guest writer @twitchtips!

[twitchtips]

"My daughter turned out fine" Your son ran away to the jungle to escape the atrocities you made him commit

[twitchtips]

Suzanne Collins, Gregor the Overlander / Neal Shusterman, UnSouled / Chris Hedges / Nelson Mandela / Suzanne Collins, Gregor and the Code of Claw

[twitchtips]

when sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions

"Someday will come a time when Solovet does not hold such power over us." The mere mention of her name makes Mareth go cold. The day after Hamnet was confined, Judith made Mareth promise not to confront Solovet again. She said she wouldn't be able to bear it if he got locked up too. Mareth doesn't reply, but Judith goes on anyway. "She reigns at present because the war demands it of her, demands it of us." Judith puts a finger in Luxa's hand, and the baby squeezes it. "But lately I have been trying to imagine an Underland without need of her. An Underland in which my daughter may reign without relying on figures such as Solovet." Mareth isn't sure such a thing is even possible. It's hard to imagine—even harder to believe in. "We must have hope," Judith tells him. "We must allow ourselves to dream of a happy future." When Mareth finally speaks, he does so with a wry grin. "It is almost as if Vikus himself is in the room with us."

Rating: Mature

Relationship: Hamnet/Mareth

Characters: Mareth, Hamnet, Andromeda, Perdita, Solovet, Vikus, Hamnet's Bond, Perdita's Bond, Judith, Luxa's Father, Nerissa, Hazard, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Characters

Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Pre-Canon, Mareth POV, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, The Jungle, The Dungeon, The Garden of the Hesperides, Abusive Parents, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Character Death, Angst, Secret Relationship

Summary: Thirteen years before Gregor arrives in the Underland, Mareth joins the Regalian army.

Read on AO3: Part 2 / The Dungeon / Chapter 6 (Words: 5,575)

[twitchtips]

they may be doomed by the narrative but atleast they had gay sex

[twitchtips]

[twitchtips]

Rip Hamnet, you would have loved Sufjan Stevens