(She/Her) Warning, this blog is 18+, will have uncomfortable and triggering themes on occasion. / This will be my fanart and fanfiction and other things i find funny dump in general.
This is a masterlist of all my written works and artwork, because my blog has so many ridiculously random posts. Any smut/NSFW fic will be labelled. You are duly warned.
Are there any Imperial Fists champions, such as someone based on the Black Templars? They're probably my favorite chapter so I think it'd be cool to see one
There is a whole litter of Imperial Fist Champions! I've been trying to draw them for awhile... and two Black Templar Champions. Here's Sigismund.
đȘ"How are you so unscarred?" â Kargos asked â "Itâs uncanny. You still wear the face you were born with."
The Apothecary waved a hand over his own features, which â like most World Eatersâ â was a map of thick stitching and overlapping scars.
"Skill." â Shrugs Kharn.
"Ha! If you say so." â Betrayer, by Aaron Dembski-Bowden.
(And a few chapters later he gets a smack to the face)
I WAS planning to fully render THIS knucklehead for today, but I woke up feeling like a Squig, and Squig can't draw. Until it goes away, here, have my rendering plan for Kharn, 2625x3500 digital sketches, etc etc, NUMBERS FOR THE COUNTER GOD
(THAT'S how he be staring at Captain Sarrin on the next morning after she shaboinks his dadâ
Hate is pointless. It blinds you to the wider truth, hinders your better judgement and is a waste of time and energy better spent on something more productive.
Despite this, Maximus can't help but hate the serf cutting his hair.
It's not their fault. To them, it's simply just another task, one ordered by lord Perturabo himself. There's no malice behind their actions and their hands are gentle, precise. Careful to cut each strand at an identical height.
But Maximus had liked his hair. The color of polished sandalwood with faint curls. Aunt Calliphone had once mentioned that he had inherited his father's hair, something which he had never seen but he could picture so clearly.
Maximus had already been growing his hair out by then. Denying the serf's attempts at more than a trim, his short locks turned into defined curls as they reached his shoulders. It had looked nice. Pretty.
He had not considered the thought that father would want it cut.
Perturabo had only just returned from his most recent campaign, one that had kept him occupied for many months, and his son had been eager to greet him, rushing through the halls to catch him before he shut himself into his office once more.
His father had not returned his greeting. Instead he had sneered and turned towards the nearest serf to fetch someone to cut his son's hair. And then he had left, without ever looking back to see the crestfallen look on Maximus's face.
There was no denying the lord of iron. Serf or son, his words were law. So what else could Maximus do other than bow his head and allow the hair trimmer to descend upon his scalp?
Besides, father surely had his reasons. A good one, too. Long hair had to have been impractical and bad for him. Which meant that this hair cut was a good thing, one meant to help Maximus in some way.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt though.
Hating the serf cutting his hair helped. It gave him someone to blame, a target for his dark thoughts. It was they who wielded the tools, they who used them. An awful person for taking this simple pride from him.
Summary: Torvan has some visitors. He is a watchful and gracious host.Â
Torvan hums along to the music that had been playing for a little over a couple of hours. The powerful sorcerer was very much aware of the fact that he had some unwanted visitors. These ones were quite bold, having arrived in a group of six, laughing and chatting as they piled out of the vehicle that they had driven here in.
They chattered and laughed and explored his domain with a naive curiosity that was nourishing in it's own way. Some of his brothers' spirits whispered and growled, displeased by the intrusion and wanting to strike swiftly and immediately. But Torvan had not survived as long as he had by being hasty.Â
He let the little morsels wear themselves out in the summer desert heat, through the dust and the mold of buildings thought long abandoned. Let them split off into groups of two as the hours crawled on moment by moment.Â
Torvan had circled back to the vehicle they had used to come here. It was made out of materials that he could tear apart with his bare hands if he felt like it. Instead of doing so, he instead plucked several long and sturdy cactus thorns and plunged two into each of the inflated tires, making sure that the gas inside of them would slowly deflate, effectively hobbling the vehicle.Â
One of the pairs of sacrifices was approaching, so Torvan cloaked himself in the warp, making himself difficult to focus on. The energy required was irritating, but the consternation and worry that wafted off of the pair in waves was delectable, even at the distance he was keeping to ensure that his presence wasn't immediately noticeable.Â
One of the mortals started to cry and shake, pointing frantically at the half-deflated tires. The other placed their hands on the first's shoulders, speaking in low, soothing tones as they approached the back of the vehicle, using a key to open it. The second person takes out some of the large packages of what smells like food provisions, setting them down in the hard packed sandy-dirt, lifting up a secret hatch and pulling out another box.
The second mortal pulled out small black squares, a tube and a mechanical pump. They proceeded to pull out, patch and began to refill one of the tires with air. By hand it was like the mortal at least an hour - and that was if they could work continuously in the summer sun that would only get hotter. Torvan planned on returning later to lame the vehicle once again, taking the repair kit and air pump with him.
He found that The second of the pairs of mortals had crossed the entirety of the abandoned mining town that Torvan had claimed as his domain. One of them was staring up at the mountain path that lead up to the mines that had once brought this town a modicum of wealth and perhaps even status in the dusty, desert region that he had found himself in. But there was not much left to mine in those mines that baselines - especially those without psychic gifts - could turn into usable materials. But oh, was there a wealth for him in this place, and in the mines further up.
A low, amused rumble left him, and he made sure that his vox projected it outward. He scraped the ground with two of his Talons, darting just slow enough that he knows that the two mortals - who had spun to see the source of the sound - could see him only as a large, dark shape. The panicked shrieking was delightful! Some mortals just went quiet, which was boring, though they also tended to go panic-still, which made hunting even easier.
He hears their ragged breathing and terrified heartbeats as they go running past him at their top speed.Â
Torvan picks up a rock, and slings it over the building he is leaning his bulk against gently and throws it, grinning as it makes a loud bang! On the tin roof.
He heard more screaming - not just from the pair who were still running, but the two who were in the building he had thrown the rock at. He chortles to himself and circles back around to the vehicle.
Excellent!
As predicted, the pair of humans who had been tending to the vehicle had left to investigate the source of the screaming.Â
Torvan extends one claw and delicately carves into one side of the vehicle in the tongue the mortals were speaking in - which he had acquired from a previous foolish traveler who had happened upon his home -Â
You should not have come here
He also deliberately pokes a hole into each of the vehicle's tires again, before circling back around to where the six mortals were clumped together in the middle of town, out in the open.
Foolish. But then again, there was nowhere within his domain that they could truly hide from him and the spirits of his brothers. Some of them wanted to run now. Others were complaining that they had spent all this time to get out here, why should they leave just because someone saw something blurry out of the corner out of their eyes, and that they'd apparently driven over cactus spines? Another suggested that they break to eat.
Torvan's grin only widens as the mortals head to their vehicle. The terror and confusion they all emanate is heady and spectacular in all of the best ways. A low, rumbling purr leaves the Black Legionnaire as they point at the carvings he had made, and others despair over the state of the tires. One tries for the repair kit-
Which only has enough additional patches to repair half of the tires. Arguments are made as to whether or not they should risk it on half deflated tires, which tires they should repair, and if the owner of the vehicle also had a spare tire, which would bring up the total number of good tires up to three. Others are arguing that they are being fucked with by vandals, and to stand their ground, or to find the other vehicle or vehicles that must be present and raid for their own supplies, head into the small town several hours' by land vehicle from this location and report what happened to the local arbites force.Â
Not that those trembling, terrified mortals would do anything. Not after he had made his point to everyone who lived in that small village year-round who their new Lord was, and how to appease him. He was a benevolent lord, and one who was generally content to let the mortals under his control to do as they pleased as long as they obeyed the few edicts he gave them and did not interfere in his rituals and fun when outsiders wandered in with arrogant ignorance.
So far, they had been obeying his orders- as they knew what would happen, should they disobey him and he found out. And he always found out. Torvan hummed to himself, listening to the small device that one of the terrified mortals had dropped, slowly moving over to it. It was pumping out music - not Slaaneshi music, for he had his faculties about him and his mind and body were not swimming in and out of the materium.Â
He bows to his brothers' spirits, who had gathered around him in a circle, and he began to dance, pulling each of them in close as he dipped, spun and waltzed with them, the music and the terrified confusion of the mortals were a heady mix. A warm, rich laugh leaves the Librarian as the mortals approach the center of town, turning his head to stare at them as he continued to dance with those whom he had held closest in life "You have wandered where you should not, little mortals." He rumbled, still in a playful and good mood. "Grovel, and you may yet live. But only one of you. The others... My brothers hunger for flesh and for spirit, and you'll do nicely." He made sure to speak clearly and carefully in the same tongue the mortals had been talking in previously.
The begging and sobbing - the feelings of agonized choice and soul-deep betrayal as each started to beg for their lives, promising obedience, promising all the wealth they possessed, the desire to "Please, please let me live!" From each of them was intoxicating!
Torvan danced his way over to the six terrified and trembling mortals "You are not kneeling in supplication. I do not believe you are serious. Entertain me, and perhaps you will live. But for your falsity you will be punished."
All six mortals collapsed to the ground, still sobbing and pleading with trembling bodies and fear-clenched souls. For three of them he broke their right legs with a downward stomp of a booted foot - their screams and agony, mixed with the fresh scent of their blood was sublime. The other three, he broke their left legs.
"Run! Run little mortals and hide away as best as you can! If you manage to evade me until the next sunrise, I will let you live. Or if you entertain me well enough and truly pledge your life-long service to me. I shall even close my eyes and give you a verbal count down."
The mortals wept and fled in every direction as Torvan gamely closed his eyes, counting down from 100. He did so love a good hunt. He's been wanting a hunt like this forever. Hopefully this group will be more entertaining than the last.
Summary: Darsas greets his beloved as she comes home⊠And the unexpected guest.Â
âHoney, my love!â Darsas warbles out, a delighted grin appearing on his face as he wanders over to the front door, having given his bonded a couple of minutes to come in through the front door and sort herself out. He paused for a moment, tilting his head a little as he took in the sight of Honey, yes. But also a baseline who he has never met before in his life. If his assessment is correct, they are a teenager, and have frozen stiff at the sight of him.Â
âHey, Darsas. Iâm guessing that my messages didnât reach you?â Honey asked, a mixture of resignation and something that Darsas couldnât readily recognize in her voice.
âNo, I have not received any messages from you all day, neither by text nor over those vocal snippets that you sometimes send me while you are driving but do not have the time for a full conversation, or if I am busy at the base with⊠Things.â Darsas answers honestly. He is very curious about the stranger, but much more concerned about his beloved. âThis is the third time in as many weeks that we have had a breakdown in long distance communication. Are you sure you do not want to borrow a wrist mounted vox? I can trade for one amongst the-â He probably shouldnât say corpse worshippers in front of the very nervous looking and smelling teenager, they were getting more anxious by the moment âThe fine people at Stoneflame base.â
Wait. Was he being rude again? He glanced briefly at the nervous baseline and said âI am Darsas of the Death Guard, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance young one. What name do you go by?â He was being nice by not asking the other to give him a name. While the ancient death guard was not generally in the business of Selling or Bartering Names, there were many reasons why Chaos marines, particularly ones as deeply gifted by their patron deity as himself was⊠Careful when it came to revealing his full Name to others. While he could not fully be bound or trapped as a Neverborn could be by their True Name, it could still cause him many. Problems in the wrong hands. âHmm. I am missing part of the greeting⊠What is it? Oh Right! Pronouns. He/him works well enough.â Darsas didnât particularly care how he was referred to, as long as it wasnât openly insulting. Gender was a ridiculous mortal concept, anyways.Â
âI⊠Uhm⊠Iâm Simon? I also use he/him pronouns.â The teenager answered, their voice small and frightened. They turn and hiss to Honey in a lower tone of voice that Darsas could still clearly hear âYou didnât say that the bonded Astartes you had looked like that!âÂ
âDo not be rude to my bonded, please. He can hear our heartbeats half-way across the house, he can absolutely hear your words right now.â Honey answers, a reprimanding tone in her voice. Her voice softens a little before asking âAre you certain you donât want to go to one of the group homes, while I help you sort out what you want to do for the next steps?â
Simon shook his head âNo, if I go somewhere like that, theyâre probably going to find me. I donât want to⊠I donât want to deal with them trying to get at me, before weâve got all of the legal stuff sorted and they canât yank me back into that hellhole legally.âÂ
Ah. This was one of Honeyâs strays that she was bringing in. âThe guest bedroom should be ready - although it may need a brief dusting. Would you like me to give young Simon here some time to settle in?â He was curious as to what sort of trouble the teenager was trying to deal with - as usually Honey didnât offer space to a client in their home unless they were either in some serious danger - as Honey knew that the many, many wards that Darsas had woven around not just the house but the front, back and side yards would keep all mortal would-be intruders away - or they were very desperate.Â
âI think about two-three hours while Simon here gets settled will help. If youâd be willing to pick up some basic supplies for our new guest, Iâd be grateful? Iâve got a list right here - oh! Simon, do you want to read over it again, and see if thereâs anything else youâd like to add?â Honey answers, offering the younger baseline a piece of paper.Â
âI⊠Uh⊠Uhm⊠Sure. Yeah Iâll read⊠The listâŠâ Simon answered, clearly uncomfortable in Darsasâ presence in a way that was⊠Unusual for this time period.Â
Darsas slowly uncurled the tiniest, least-threatening tendril of his psychic power from where he generally kept it pulled very tightly around him so as to not make everything dirty in a quarter mile radius around him, and reached towards the young baseline.Â
The young baseline had the barest beginnings of a psychic field himself. His powers were mostly dormant, his potential active ones at least, although he had several passsive abilities that would likely manifest as a high accuracy intuition and good luck. How fascinating! ⊠he was going to have to report this to the local astartes base leaders. He flinched at the briefest touch and âWhat the fuck was that?â He hissed, looking around anxiously.Â
âWhat was what?â Honey asked, genuinely confused âTake in a deep breath for me, Simon, youâre safe here.â
âI just⊠I thought I felt something try to-âŠâ Simon stopped talking, shuddering a little and trying to obey.
âMy apologies, I thought there was something⊠Unusual about you, and I did a small psychic test, which proved my suspicions correct.â Darsas apologized with a small smile.
âWait⊠As in like.. ESP? Magic? That sort of thing?â Simon asked, his eyes going huge.Â
âYes.â Darsas answers with a nod âYou haveâŠâ Hmm, he should probably not be the one to explain these things âYou have the potential to learn how to harness your⊠Mmmmm⊠Magic? But I would not recommend trying to learn on your own, as doing so can be.â dangerous, life threatening, or catastrophic depending on how powerful the psyker in question is âIt is like⊠Trying to learn a very difficult skill,. It is best, safest, to learn from those who have experience and can help you learn carefully, without over-exerting or expending yourself.â
âSo⊠So Iâm really not crazy? I didnât think I was, but-â Simon stopped talking, his shoulders hunching anxiously. âNo one ever believed me when I said that I could sense things, could hear things that others couldnât, or not as clearly. And you can help me learn how to control it?â
Oh dear. He knows how he wants to respond, but goes with what he should respond with instead âWhile I would be honored to talk on another student, I do have several I am teaching already, and most of the skills I am able to teach others like us are⊠More advanced. You would need to learn the basics, and it would be best to learn the basics from one of the other talented - ah, I believe the term is.. Espers? Who live here in Gannet Point.âÂ
Darsas would be delighted to teach this young baseline all he knows about psykers, and test what sorts of aptitudes that he had. He also knows that attempting to do so without the clearance of the alliance would get. Incredibly ugly very quickly in ways that he absolutely did not want to deal with⊠Besides, he wasnât sure if he could be a primary teacher to a psyker who did not embrace Grandfather and not lead them down that path. He firmly believed that one should be able to choose to follow Chaos. While he hadnât been given that choice, it was not a forced change that he would knowingly inflict upon others.
Simon deflated âOh⊠I suppose that makes sense. And thatâs all the stuff that I need, maâam.â He hands the list off to Honey, who gives it to Darsas.Â
âLove, would you please get these things for our guest? Simon here had to leave his previous place of residence with only the clothes on his back and his legal documents, and the latter was a fight and a half to get his hands on.â Honey asks, looking up pleadingly at him.
Darsas would have agreed to help the younger psyker anyways, but who is he to deny his beloved when she looks at him like that? He smiles benevolently and presses his forehead to hers - his version of a kiss that did not involve his larger mouth - as he did not want to further panic the much younger psyker. âAs you wish, my love. I will return with the items our guest requires. Dinner is in the crock pot.â
âThank you, handsome. See you soon!â Honey murmurs, pressing her forehead harder to his forehead for a couple of moments before taking a half step back and away.Â
Darsas nods, shifting so that the two baselines could pass around him, before he made his way out, off to hunt down some appropriately sized clothing and school supplies. He is already drafting vox-messages to the leaders of the local astartes bases as he does so, making sure that the report is as detailed and complete as he can make it.Â
Scyla hums happily to himself as he carefully works on his latest project. He had discovered that several hours walk to the south of there current home is a city called Seaside Vale - and for some reason, in several outdoor tent things, they sold something called fireworks. These fireworks were flammable shells filled with explosive components and metal salts. As far as he could tell, the metal salts were put in the explosives with the express purpose of turning the resultant explosion different colors.
Which was honestly, the least strange thing about these explosives. The fuse was so short, that they would take but a few moments before it would go off. Some of these explosives would let the explosives rocket up a few feet up into the air before exploding⊠But there was not enough fuel for it to travel any appreciable distance before exploding. In addition, while some of the largest of the explosives he had purchased could cause a decent amount of damage to a field, or perhaps one of the weaker structures that the baselines had created, most of them could do precious little to do damage, and were meant to be held in the hand while they were burned, as far as he could tell.Â
There had to be more to all of this than he was seeing, but⊠Scyla had promised not to make any more search queries that might trip local arbites into investigating them.Â
Again.Â
He was working on selling some of his bespoke planking supplies in order to get the sort of anti-spying equipment and software they would need so that he could research to his heartsâ content without tripping any silly alarms. He was a curious hydra, and should be allowed to slake his curiosity! It wasnât his fault that there were all sorts of nonsense that was classified or whatever.
Not that anything being classified had ever stopped him from searching for the answers he sought, he just needed to be⊠Careful about it. And he hadnât expected that the mortal arbites security systems to be as robust as they were-
Ah. He was getting off-track again. He mentally shook himself as he refocused on the explosive that he was dissecting. He was being careful, and had made sure that the small workshop he was working at was safe, and was making sure to be tidy and careful as he separated out each component.Â
Scyla heard the jangling of keys, and his bondedâs shuffling footsteps from the front door. He carefully set down the explosive, washed his hands and removed the thick, heavy apron he had been wearing, and walked over to where Fiore was walking in, beaming âWelcome home, beloved!âÂ
Fiore squints at him, a frown appearing on his face âWhy do you smell like smoke and acid? Please donât tell me you were experimenting with the pickles again. I told you that itâs for the best to stick to the recipes when it comes to fermentation.â
âNope! I havenât touched the pickles at all today, other than to check the bottles for any signs of trouble or problems that would need to be corrected or started over again.â Scyla answers honestly, still beaming, though he wants to pout.Â
âLook at me. Scyla, what have you been up to today? You seem pretty wired for just checking on the pickles.â Fiore asks, gently grabbing his bondedâs jaw and looking into his eyes.Â
âOh, well. You said that if I felt the desire to cause trouble at home, that I should go for a walk, so I did go for a walk and ended up in Seaside Vale! I found a tent where they were selling what I can only describe as decorative explosives. So I bought some of each size and Iâve been safely dissecting some of them to figure out how they work. Theyâre not very useful as proper explosives, which is why I am calling them decorative explosives. I canât tell if they would delight or annoy Iron Warriors. I kind of want to put one of them in front of that cranky old bastard in charge of the Ferrum Lucidium⊠But I did promise you not to pester him unnecessarily, so I havenât! Iâve been very good!â Scyla explains, practically vibrating, though he does his best to let himself still be held by his beloved. He didnât have much contact with other astartes that didnât involve him pranking them and that might not be the best thing but -
He hadnât arrived on this world with any of his brothers. He had no idea how to find any of his brothers, nor how stable nor willing to accept a new brother into their ranks they would be. He keeps hearing chatter of something called The Heresy and has seen the twisted, awful mockeries of Astartes that some of his cousins had became. Scyla can easily see that if a civil war had happened, that the Alpha legion would be on both sides -if his primarchs hadnât been the architects behind the civil warâŠ. Why they would want thatâŠ
Well. Scyla could make several guesses, each one more bleak than the last. But! The lone hydra had no desire to linger on such unpleasantries. Not when he had his bonded with him and this world was more peaceful than any he had ever had the fortune to be on. Well⊠Fortune for him. As an Infiltrator, he worked to undermine the governments and places of power of the world he was sent to that was resisting Imperial Compliance in a variety of ways, helping sew the seeds of a collapse that appeared to be internal, with the Imperium coming in to offer a helping hand in the ruins of the civilization that had once been.Â
âDecorative explos-Oh! Fireworks! You found fireworks. Oh. Youâve found. Fireworks.â Fiore responds, starting off confused and ended a rather insulting amount of terrified. âPlease tell me you havenât tracked gunpowder or whatever they use to make the explody part of fireworks all over the house.â
Scyla pouts, hurt by the fact that his bonded has so little faith in him âOf course not! I know how to ensure chemical safety, and I cleared one of the tables of my workshop and made sure to set things up so that I could dissect a couple of these fireworks without causing potential problems.â
âFine⊠Just⊠Be careful as to how many of them you take apart, alright? And please be sure to properly dispose of the components once your curiosity is satisfied. Please?â Fiore asks, his voice becoming plaintive.
âOf course Iâll be careful. I want to be careful for you, my love.â Scyla answers, his voice gentle and caring. He adores Fiore, and doesnât want to put him in danger. Not by his pranks, not with his curiosity⊠Nothing.Â
âThatâs all I ask, my love. Now I stopped off at the grocery store on the way home from work as I know that we were running low on several staples. Mind helping me getting the stuff into the house and put away?â The baseline asks, smiling tenderly.
Scyla nods, grinning âIâd be delighted to help, beloved.â He turns his head to press a kiss to the otherâs fingers that were still holding onto his face.
Fiore hums, kissing him on the lips for a couple of moments before sighing and stepping away âI got us some Ice Cream, and we should get it inside before it melts all the way.â
âYes, beloved~!â Scyla trills, trotting off to go help with the groceries, humming happily to himself.Â
Summary: Borthan, while searching for a spot for his warband to set up in, happens across a group of children in strange uniforms.
âHey mister, are you lost?â A young child called out, dressed in what was clearly some sort of uniform. What organization they belonged to, Borthan couldnât begin to guess. But they were dressed in browns and greens, wearing a dark brown vest with dozens of tiny cloth badges that had very carefully been sewn together.
âUhm.â The hydra responds, blinking in confusion. Heâd been walking for days through the forest, searching for a good secondary location for his warband to nest in, and hadnât expected to come across anyone, much less a young baseline child.
âWhoâre you talking to?â A second child asked, popping out from behind a tree. âOh! Woah, youâre so big and tall? Did you eat all of your veggies and milk to get that big?â
âProper nutrition did help me grow to the size I am now, yes.â Borthan responds, deeply confused by the question.
A third child, similarly dressed to the other two, but with slightly more badges than the second, but not as many as the first whined âBut veggies are yucky!âÂ
Four more children in similar outfits pop out of bushes, and down from trees. What in the absolute fucking fuck has he run into? âJust because something tastes bad, does not necessarily mean that it isnât something you should eat. There are many nutritious things that do not taste good. Uhm⊠Do you⊠Have an adult minderâŠ? Why are all of you dressed so similarly?â there appeared to be a range of body types, so he was pretty sure that they werenât a group of very young Aspirants - besides. There was no legion with this combination of colors that he was aware of.
âYeah, but heâs taking a nap under the big tree! Weâre not supposed to wake him up until after the alarm goes off, or someone gets hurt.â The first child explained, pointing further down what Borthan was realizing was not a game path, but something made by man, for all it was merely dirt and gravel mixed with leaf and wood litter.Â
âI⊠I see. And what are all of you doing out here?â The hydra asks, still at a complete loss. He almost asks where the big tree is, but refrains from doing so just yet. There are many large trees in the area, but he can scan for life signs if he truly is curious. The last thing he wants is too heavy a debt to pay back in anything other than the full truth as he knew it.Â
âEarning our pathfinder badges!â The group of⊠Six? Eight? Children answered at the same time, wide grins appearing on their faces.
Another of the children explain happily âWeâre taking a break because Scout Leader Travis needs a nap. He usually needs naps, because he gets really sleepy after lunch, which we had a little while ago.âÂ
âI see⊠And what do you do in order to entertain yourself while your⊠Scout leader⊠Is sleeping?â Borthan asks, intrigued despite himself. Heâs definitely going to be using the local noosephere using the image search function on the different badges that he was recording.Â
âWe canât use knives without adult supervision, so weâre not allowed to whittle⊠But we do other arts and crafts! Weâre making friendship bracelets. Wanna join us?â The first child asks, coming right up to him, bold as anything. They hold up several small plastic strings that have some beads on them, and is partially woven together.
âI⊠Sure?â Borthan answers, uncertain as the child closest to him grins widely and leads him over to the clearing where there were even more children sitting down in the dirt, or on a fallen log. Most of them were carefully weaving beads and plastic together, though there were a couple who had curled up together for a nap. The young hydra is pretty sure heâs never been more confused in his life, and that was saying something, given that heâd been trained by members of the Alpha Legion. âI donât know how to make friendship bracelets. Would anyone like to teach me?â
âSure! There are a bunch of different kinds of friendship bracelets - Some are made with string, which you can weave into simple braids like this one I have here, or you can make patterns! Some patterns are a lot harder than others. Like this one, this one and that one.â The child explains, showing him the many small bracelets they were wearing. âBut weâve got plastic string and beads today, and Iâll show you how to make different kinds, and then you can decide what colors and how many beads you want.â They reach out and pat his knee and say âItâs easier to learn while sitting down.â
Borthan caught the implied request for him to sit and he does so. âAlright, I am ready to learn.âÂ
The children all grin and move closer to him, the leading child eagerly explaining the different ways to weave the beaded bracelets together.Â
If a gaggle of Iron Warriors found a loud as fuck one-eyed forge cat You KNOW that thing is getting named Magnus The Siege Cat in 0.25 seconds. It has also caught zero rodents in its entire career but is worshipped like precious contraband nonetheless.
op you need to know this is the cutest and funniest thing iâve heard all day
i think perturabo would begrudgingly appreciate the sentiment that a few of his sons treasure the cat equivalent of his dearest brother, no one can see him when he gives the cat scratches or lets him nap on his shoulder
you will also find magnus the siege cat sleeping precariously on equipment that can no longer be used until he gets up and if you move him he will cry
What do you think of Ollanus? Older than the Emperor, likely his first friend, the first Warmaster, denies humanity's need for tyranny and betray the Emperor for ethical reasons, a millennium of wandering the world, a witness to human history and myths, who eventually comes to a peculiar interpretation of faith and lives quietly in the wilderness aka John Wick, and then rushes to save the Emperor despite their quarrel, stops him from becoming a god of chaos, and then shields him from Horus (the last warmaster) with his body and becomes the reason the Emperor gathers his strength and still kills his son. DRAMA. SUFFERING. OLD MAN YAOI. BE THE REASON YOUR HATEFUL EX DOESNT BECOME A FUCKING 5TH CHAOS GOD.
*clutches you by the shoulder*
Oh
Oh i finaly get it, sorry for not awnsering so soon cus i didnt see the vision, but a couple excerpts of Mortis later and im fucking HOOKED
Doomed Babylonian age gap yaoi, he has RANGE
all the doodles are chopped but i kindly ask you to accept them
ohhh my god I just fact-checked, Nolan actually DID cut the "Nobody" scene from his Odyssey movie. Mfer that is like cutting the Father reveal from Star Wars. Let me speak in a language you understand this is like not dressing Batman up in his suit. "It was not possible to work it in" the TikTok musical with a budget of $4 and a scratched Hamilton CD managed to work it in in SONG form, step up your FUCKING GAME
As someone who has written academic papers about the role of disguise and deceit in the Odyssey â Nobody is so damn important.
Prior to this point, when Odysseus tries to exercise Xenia (ancient Greek guest rites/hospitality code), he did what he was supposed to do. (Well, we think so anyway â notably, the most famous books of the Odyssey are told by Odysseus, who isnât exactly a reliable narrator.)
But when Polyphemus kills and eats some of the men, the game changes. The Cyclops makes it clear he has no intention of abiding by Zeusâs laws, and will cannibalize the lot of the men. So, Odysseus responds in kind â he breaks Xenia and lies. He introduces himself under a false name as part of a trick. Polyphemus then breaks Xenia again â he tells Nobody heâll be eaten last, and that is the Cyclopsâ guest gift to him.
Odysseusâ transgression is clearly the lesser one. The Nobody trick works. It gets Odysseus and most of his crew out of the cave alive.
But, crucially, before leaving Odysseus sheds his disguise. He admits his true identity, in detail, so he can boast of his achievements and add vanquishing a Cyclops to the list. And it bites him in the ass spectacularly.
The only reason why Polyphemus can curse Odysseus, can bid his father Poseidon to curse the man who blinded him, is because he now knows who did it. If Odysseus had kept his mouth shut, he might have safely made it home from there. But while a big part of why the Nobody disguise vs. real name reveal is showing Odysseusâs hubris, itâs not just about that. Itâs also about the start of a pattern that hurts him more than it helps him.
From this point in the Odyssey on, Odysseus lies about his identity constantly. And sometimes it protects him, but more often itâs a detriment or at least unnecessary. Heâs lying about his identity primarily to people who are on his side â a kindly loyal swineherd, his son, his faithful wife, his ailing father.
The last one is especially damning, because happens when Odysseus has already killed the suitors and returned home and reunited with the rest of his family sans disguises. He knows from everyone else that Laertes never betrayed him or his legacy, but was mourning his son and heartbroken for almost a decade. Odysseus has publicly declared his return to everyone else â his father doesnât know because heâs living in squalor remotely. But Odysseus doesnât tell his father who he is. He makes up a fake identity and tells a story implying Laertesâ son is dead. And when Laertes bursts out crying, then Odysseus drops the charade and finally admits who he really was.
There was no utility to that lie. No loyalty to test. No hidden threats to worry about. But Odysseus still instinctively lies to his beloved father about who he is, only dropping the charade when he sees the damage itâs doing to his relationships.
Because at this point, lying is pathological for Odysseus. He canât seem to stop doing it. Because with Polyphemus, a lie protected him and the truth hurt him. That is the point of the â Nobodyâ disguise.
