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#he is more than just bread

meddlingstarks · 1 year

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Can you believe they had the nerve, the gall, the gumption to cut when book Peeta says “You here to finish me off, sweetheart?”, one of the most iconic lines that established his flirty personality and cute banter with Katniss?? He’s literally in immense pain, dying from a leg injury, buried under a wall of mud that’s infecting the wound, and still has the energy to tease her. Not to mention the innuendo, come on.

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breadandblankets · 1 month

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the signal, because he only works in the day time is probably the most filmed and photographed vigilante in gotham if u think about it. everyone has a phone and everyone is out, he's probably up there with the superfam for number of people point phones at them (at least on the east coast)

there is only so many ways duke could play this, one: he starts glowing at all times in a way that messes up photographs or two: form an alliance with oracle, you don't make fun of signal's fails or else you get an equally embarrassing photo shared around

#duke thomas #its not like he has More goofs than the average vigilante its just that he is Seen more #to be fair a signals whole thing is to be seen #batfam #bread talk #im thinking blorbo thoughts this afternoon thank uuu

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wyvernquill · 2 months

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One more snippet of the Dreamling Anastasia AU

...in which we witness Hob and Murphy's very first conversation (spoiler: it doesn't go well). Please enjoy!

Link to the Masterpost!

(Tag list, let me know if you want to be added or taken off: @10moonymhrivertam @martybaker @globglobglobglobob @anonymoustitans @sunshines-fabulous-legs @dreamsofapiratelife @malice-royaume @kcsandmanfan @acedragontype @okilokiwithpurpose @tharkuun @silver-dream89 @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch)

---

For a moment, the scene unfolding before Hob makes him think he’s stepped into a fairytale - or perhaps a sweet and strange dream, haunting you ever so gently even after waking.

Once upon a time, thinks Hob, there was a Dream King draped in a cloak of midnight, and he held court over the ravens in a silver-winter forest under heavy, snow-laden boughs…

But then he blinks, and the silly, fanciful vision fades. The cloak is but a dark coat three sizes too large and marked by at least ten years’ worth of dirt and wear, the forest only a small and pitiful park fenced in by roads, and the snow a dirty grey, barely more than half-melted sludge where countless feet have trodden it down.

And the Dream King is only some beggar called Murphy, of course, uncanny resemblance be damned.

But there are ravens. Birds of all kinds, really, the sounds of their wings and their various songs nearly managing to drown out the noise of the city around them. Yet Hob is a practical man, and knows that they gather around their ‘king’ only because they’re clever little buggers waiting to be fed, and not thanks to any strange magics.

(Magic died when humanity rose up and brought the Endless low; and what little survived has fled, concealed itself, and would know better than to enchant a hundred or so birds in broad-if-cloud-dimmed daylight.

Magic died with Dream of the Endless, and all that is left are shadows and cheap facsimiles.

Magic died, and nothing will bring it back.)

And yet… there’s potential there, Hob thinks, as he watches Murphy draw his giant coat more tightly around himself, shivering but still holding his head high and proud, surveying the assorted fowl around him as if they were his subjects. There’s a sharp, delicate arrogance in his bearing that will serve their deception well.

And. Christ alive. He does look like him, doesn’t he. Like the Sandman himself, made flesh and bone and sweat and dirt. Made human. If Hob didn’t know, with absolute certainty… he could swear...

Ridiculous thought. Dream of the Endless would never sink so low as to get himself thrown out of a pub swearing and spitting, human or not.

Murphy’s eyes suddenly snap up, and Hob flinches instinctively, contemplates ducking behind the next tree or the column advertising the latest local plays - but the man’s gaze passes over him carelessly, long neck craning out from the ratty scarf wound around his throat as he scans the sky.

It’s the raven. The large, coal-feathered beast Murphy had with him at the pub, with the clever glint in its eye - and in its claws, it holds a whole loaf of bread, clearly pilfered from some bakery or street stall.

The raven drops the bread into Murphy’s lap, and then lands on his shoulder, cawing and nudging its beak against a sharp cheekbone in a strange avian gesture of affection.

Murphy rasps some sort of acknowledgement in his dark, hoarse voice that Hob is too far away to parse, stroking a finger along the bird’s side, before turning his attention to the bread.

His spindly, dirty fingers tear into it with the hungry desperation of a man who remembers with precise clarity when his last meal was, and also that it’s been far too long since then, and Hob’s stomach gives a sympathetic pang. He’s been there. Not so much recently - but he knows the slow gnaw of starvation, and will never forget it.

(He hasn’t gone hungry since meeting Gilbert, who’d rather skip on his own technically unnecessary meals if it meant his young human companion could eat his fill. Sometimes, Gil even hands Hob fruits he’s seemingly conjured up out of thin air, which are never as filling as the real thing, but taste heavenly enough to stave off hunger for a few more hours at least.

There must be some dream-magic there, something to do with Gil being, in all technicality, a meadow - but Hob doesn’t think about it too much. It’s sweet, the actions of a friend who truly cares, and that’s enough for him.)

Murphy raises the first morsel of bread up to his mouth…

…and feeds it to the raven.

Hob blinks.

Watches, as the man takes his own bite, chewing ravenously, and then tears another bit off the loaf, throwing it to the ground, birds immediately flocking around it, picking for their share.

The process repeats. Murphy goes through the entire loaf that way. One bite for the raven who stole the bread, one bite for Murphy himself, and one for the flocks of birds around him. Halfway through, the raven refuses its bites, presumably full, and from then on it’s one bite for Murphy, two for the birds. It’s already not the largest loaf, and a third of it is hardly enough to sate a grown man’s hunger - strangely selfless, this Murphy character. No wonder he’s thin as a rake.

(Then again, Hob supposes there’s strategy in it, teaching the birds that they’ll be well-rewarded for any bounty they bring him.

Altruism, or shrewdness? Hob wonders.)

Soon, there’s nothing left of the bread. Murphy still looks hungry, but it’s an exhausted, resigned hunger that’s there to stay. Hob doubts the man can remember a time he wasn’t hungry. This city is not kind to the starving, to the poor - Murphy might get a place in a workhouse, if he tried, but Hob doubts that quiet pride still shining through the veil of hunger would let him. And besides, they’re dying institutions, these days, workhouses - the modern world is turning up their noses at anything that might help the destitute, even as it churns out more and more of them. It’s a dark and miserable time they’re living in, and none of the glamorous parties the rich so love to throw these days will convince Hob otherwise.

But, well. If their scheme goes off without a hitch, then at the very least the new ‘Dream of the Endless’ will never go hungry again. Hob’s doing a public service here, if you look at it from the right angle - though he’ll be the first to admit that his main motivation is anything but selfless. Immortality is too rich a prize to pretend he doesn’t want it with every fibre of his being.

And he’ll not get it standing idly by and watching, that’s for sure.

Hob straightens his coat lapels, takes off his hat to comb his fingers through his overlong hair, places it back at a jaunty angle - and walks over to finally officially make this Murphy character’s acquaintance.

“Afternoon,” Hob says, still a few steps away, smile widening into a grin when Murphy’s gaze immediately fixes itself onto him, cold and filled with the sharp suspicion of a man most people go out of their way to ignore, and who does not trust direct address.

(The eyes give him away. Dream of the Endless had eyes like midnight stars, the depths of space and the glitter of distant galaxies eternally reflected in them. Strange eyes, inhuman eyes, endless eyes.

Murphy’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue-grey, slightly sunken in their sockets, and perfectly ordinary.

No matter - they will already have to sell some cock-and-bull story about Dream having been forced into human form, the eyes will be the least of it.)

“What do you want?” Murphy growls, and that is perfect. The voice. Easily his best asset, besides the overall look. It’s right, scratchy and roughened by disuse, but just as deep and sonorous as Dream of the Endless's was. The harsh tone and tendency to curse like a sailor Hob witnessed at the inn will need to go, to be sure, this man speaks too much like a London gutter rat and not enough like the Lord of Stories - but, well, nothing a few lessons can't fix. Nobody else ever got the voice even remotely right, and this’ll already give them a lot more to work with.

“A moment of your time, m’lord. Nothing more.” Hob affects a cheeky bow, and does not waver under the cold disdain he receives in return. Mr. Murphy’s not a fan of teasing and gentle mockery, evidently - unfortunately, that is about 50% of Hob’s personality. They’ll get on just splendidly, won’t they. “Hob, at your service. Are you aware your lady sister is looking for you?”

A quick blink, even as Murphy’s entire scrawny body and haggard face goes very, very still.

“...I do not have a sister.” He says, only the slightest edge of uncertainty and confusion wavering in his voice. And then, “piss off, Robert Gadling” he adds, uncouth and vulgar, a scowl scrunching up his face. Oh, they’ll need to train that out of him, most certainly.

(Hob has not introduced himself as Robert, and certainly not as Gadling. That Murphy has named him thus nonetheless goes over both their heads.)

“No?” Hob smiles. “You’re not Dream of the Endless, then?”

Another blink - and then Murphy laughs, a horrible dissonant sound that seems like it ought to hurt his throat, the raven on his shoulder letting out a single caw alongside him.

“Are you drunk?” He snorts. “Dream of the Endless is dead. Every child knows it.”

“Every child believes it to be so. There’s a distinction.” Hob tries to take a step closer, but the sea of birds at their feet steadfastly refuses to part for him, so he thinks better of it. “You look exactly like him, you know. You might well be.”

“And you would know that, would you?” Murphy raises an arch eyebrow. “I think I’d remember having once been the personification of dreams.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Memory can be a funny thing.” Hob shoots back. “We don’t remember being born, do we? And some lose track of even more than that. How’s your recollection of your childhood, hm?”

Ah. Jackpot. The moment he speaks of remembering and childhoods, Murphy looks away, uncomfortable. Hit a sore spot there, has he? Memory issues. How interesting. How perfectly convenient.

“...you’ve had your fun now,” Murphy rasps, shifting uneasily, no longer so willing to defiantly meet Hob’s eyes. “I want no part in whatever game you’re intending to play with the London Poor, Gadling. Fuck off, before I make you.”

“Now, now, I really do think we’re on to something, here.” Giving up, Hob knows, is for fools who don’t really want to become immortal. “I’m quite certain-”

“Fuck. Off.” Murphy repeats, and turns his pale, unfortunately-human eyes on Hob again.

So do nearly a hundred birds, feathers ruffling and beaks clacking. The raven on Murphy’s shoulder caws, low and threatening.

Hob swallows, and takes stock of his options. Wonders if tactical retreats might not be just the thing for intelligent men who don’t want to die by bird before ever getting to take their stab at immortality.

“I’m only saying-” Hob tries instead, because he’s a reckless idiot.

Murphy’s eyes narrow, and he spits out a throaty sound like a command, the flock of birds rising as one, led by his personal raven jumping into flight with a sharp battle cry.

Shit.

Gilbert glances up when Hob returns covered in feathers and bird droppings, skin smarting where sharp beaks have pecked at him until he fled.

“I take it young Mr. Murphy was not particularly amenable to your proposal…?” He asks, delicately, lip twitching around a politely-repressed smile.

“Can’t say he was.” Hob shrugs easily, only wincing slightly at the way the movement pulls on his skin. “But I think I can convince him, Gil. Given enough time.”

“If you say so, young friend.” Gil, for his part, does not look particularly convinced either. He rarely is, when Hob first pitches his ideas, but he always comes around.

And so will Murphy.

Hob knows it’s only a matter of time… and, perhaps, some clever bribery.

#WyWrites #dreamling #the sandman #anastasia dreamling au #i had this already written so i figured i would just throw it out too #there's one more bit i've got parts of written but i can't make promises #we will see how it goes!#murphy has trained all his birds to steal and shares generously with them #honestly he may be a better boss to these birds than he was for the dreaming...#matthew in particular does deserve bread though. as a treat.#hope you enjoyed their meet-ugly!#(though honestly murphy is quite right not to trust hob)#(a scoundrel like that will just make you fall in love with him and then break your heart)#(but at least he'll help you reconnect with your identity and family so that's nice I guess)

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wall-e-gorl · 7 months

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Starfall ocs! Simon (37ish, he/him), a traveling faeblood baker who sells "lucky bread", and Sons (16, she/her), whos name is totally Sons and is totally just his assistant and not someone who needs to get from point a to point b quickly and discretely.

They have a horse and cart that has a furnace on it, and they carve runes into the bread they make and sell it to passers-by as they travel, claiming that the bread will bring them luck. It does not, but it sells for a pretty penny to those who believe that it will. They dont have permits to do this but the idea is that they wont be stopped or found by those who enforce permits anyways.

#my art #starfall podcast #the bread is legitimately good.#im imagining it sort of like a mafia front situation? if it were a traveling front + morally good? smuggling runaways to better situations #via illegal-ish bread cart?#i dont know where Sons is running from or to nor what her name really is but i DO know that shes quickly become attached to Simon #she tore up her old clothes to hide better and kept some scraps to make friendship bracelets <3 #and Simon doesnt Want to admit it. but hes caring for the kid more than usual. hes wearing the friendship bracelet. hes this close to just #adopting her on the spot

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chthonic-dreams · 4 months

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why didn't aphrodite give jason some pretty clothes. she just gave him a boring ass haircut an' cleaned up his previous attire. i'm very pissed about that one, chief.

#pjo fandom #hoo #jason grace #like c'mon. you don't have to make him out to be more white bread than he already is-#this↑ isn't jason slander btw. he just hasn't found his sense of self outside of the damn SPQR military.

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miekasa · 1 year

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mie im so sorry i just keep sending you stuff i swear this will be the last onw for awhile

nanami, the handsome, but moreover, respectable and good man of the town, the owner of the bakery in the capital. every mom in town is literally pushing their daughters into his presence, just hoping that he might notice them. he doesn’t, though, as his greatest love in his current life was baking and taking care of his ancestral family business.

nanami who returns from a neighboring country after a year long apprenticeship and god… he’s even more skilled but also even more handsome; broader, taller and somehow even more charismatic. the knights believe that the rigorous curriculum he endured makes him a perfect candidate for you. you are both acquainted, through the countless times you had visited his bakery to have a taste of his town-renowned pastries. they’re so full and smooth, so obviously crafted with love and care. it’s nothing surprising though, as he’s so pleasant himself, the gentle and fleeting touches between you two when you visit him in the silent and dark hours of the early morning, away from the eyes of the court, always make you unusually bashful.

you think nothing of it until a knight hands you a list of the most eligible men in the country and abroad; accomplished and noble men alike, but at the bottom of the list lies nanami’s name. you must admit, he’s quite dear to you, and he would make a fine consort.

— doc dad levi anon

Hehehe. First of all, I’m sorry you sent this in literally MONTHS ago, and I let it rot in my drafts. Finally stumbling upon it again, and I would like us to consider: it’s Satoru, your head knight and personal advisor, who pushes for Kento to be a candidate. Kento is well-loved, strong, determined, skilled, and most importantly in Satoru’s eyes, seems to care for you, and not just the throne you sit upon.

Satoru also knows a thing or two about the elders of your cabinet, and when you give him a look when you see Kento’s name, Satoru does a terrible job of hiding his grin, “What, do you not approve?”

You frown, “That’s not the matter, and you know it, Satoru. He doesn’t deserve to deal with the council’s disapproval if I were to pick him. He has a life of his own, one that I will not uproot for trivial reasons, nor for you to entertain yourself by upsetting the elders.”

Satoru hums at your explanation, carefully taking the scroll from your hands and rolling it into his. He lets that smile creep back onto his lips when he eyes your furrowed brows, expertly flicking the end of the rolled paper in the middle of your forehead.

“You ought to be greedier, my princess,” Satoru chuckles, “And have a little faith in me. I was left in charge of your list of bachelors, but those old idiots approved of every name—I didn’t even have to make a case for him—I’d say it’s a sign! He’s quite handsome, don’t you think? Other princes are boring and desperate, plus think of all the fine sweets he could teach the kitchen staff to make!”

You should punish him for hitting you, but you can’t seem to care, only letting his words swarm your mind. So, you heed your advisor’s words, and luckily, Kento makes time for you, graciously allowing you to visit the following week, long before the bakery is to open for the day. You have to question him honestly, unable to drink the tea he’s brewed until you ask, “Did Satoru put you up to this? He can be protective and intimidating when he wants to be, but you needn’t fear if he’s threatened you. I’ll ensure you’re left alone, and I apologize on his behalf if he—”

You pause, only because you believe this is the first time you’ve heard the baker laugh. It’s light, warm, steady, even. You know Kento to flash an earnest smile from time to time, an enamored one when he’s teaching Yuuji a new technique that he masters quickly, a gentle one when feeding the birds stale crumbs—but true, ringing laughter is new to you.

“I was neither threatened, nor coerced, by Gojo,” Kento clarifies, reaching for a wooden jar of honey to his left, “He proposed the prospect to me a little over a year ago, and I informed him that I would be willing, so long as I had your mutual approval.”

“A year ago?”

Kento nods in confirmation, sweetening your tea to your liking before closing the jar, “He told me it would likely not come to this, but that your elders have been planning to arrange a contest for your hand, should you not choose a suitor within their preferred time frame.”

You nod slowly, grimacing slightly at the reminder—you know it’s only thanks to Satoru’s pestering, and quite frankly, frightening reputation, that they have not had you to take a husband by force. Still, it doesn’t explain why Satoru would be informing Kento of such sensitive information long before an official call for eligible bachelors.

“He is the one who arranged my apprenticeship, and who provided for Yuuji in my absence, but I accepted both of my own volition. Just as I have accepted the honor to court you, if you’ll have me,” Kento finishes stirring your tea before placing it carefully in front of you. When he looks up, he can see the steam of the hot water dancing in front of your face, swaying slightly when he speaks, “And I am prepared to fight for you hand, and your freedom, if it comes to it.”

#anonymous #i call it mastermind: 8k words / royal au / gojo has eyes everywhere / kento can knead more than dough w those arms amen #ok but hear me out: most everyone has no objection to kento but it does stick out that he's the only man without a royal lineage on the list #gojo keeps pushing that that's a non-factor (and actually a PLUS) but ur mi #*but ur military advisor suguru is not nearly as convinced. thinks a commoner would have even more reason to exploit you for your status #in short gojo thinks u should marry kento sweets and bread aside / suguru thinks u should marry another royal and boost both kingdoms' power #oh oh oh ive got it kento brings bread or something as a courting gift and one of suguru's proposed bachelors 100% poisons it to frame kento #bc he knew (and everyone knew) kento seemed to be favored over the other bachelors #and now suguru has reason to lock up kento; gojo thinks something fishy is going on; you just wanna see nanami #and megumi is lowkey just happy his dogs didnt have any bread this time 💀#or no wait maybe someone poisons kento's gifts but the dogs have it instead of u and they get sick and megumis like someones trying to kill #yes i WILL find a way to worm satoru into this!!!!! he will NAWT be left behind!!!!#nanami x reader

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breadandblankets · 2 months

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one of the fun things to do when writing Duke pov is that he lies to himself, and sometimes that makes him a huge fucking hypocrite. Duke will tell it like it is to every single person around him and then tell himself the sky is green. He is honest and truthful except in his own head lmao

Dude will 100% tell a teammate to take a rest take a break their over working themselves and then just take up their slack like he wasn't already holding the earth, the moon, and also maybe pluto on his shoulders

#batfam #duke thomas #bread talk #yall are more than free to disagree with me this is just my reading #dude will overwork himself cause who else is going to do it #and that is something we talk a lot about in duke fan circles i know but i love it so much #also i think for some parts duke Knows that he's lying to himself #he's extremely self perceptive and he has his own personality picked apart in boxes However he is still going to do it #someone get this kid some fucking sleep PLEASE

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vivelarevolution13 · 16 hours

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One endlessly good man who is still just a man being made into a legend he didn’t want as a side product of attempting to do the right thing (and pulling it off by sheer luck and an overabundance of balls) in order to be used for propaganda by people who always have something to gain from him and then being attacked for that same legend by those same people because it was meant to be an easily manipulated myth. It wasn’t meant to be a prophecy, it wasn’t meant to be true. All the butterfly story really is is just that, a story. That’s not how the world actually works and nobody can be that good anyway, right - but if somehow this one nobody man really is just naturally that good despite the way of the world around him, what does that mean for them? What does looking in that mirror make them? What light does his presence cast them in but an ugly shadow? So they try to tear him down to prove that he’s just a man and he is - he meddles and oversteps and fumbles his way through the shadowy workings of politics like a blind man, letting his faith in the good of people get in the way of good judgement - but he’s the kind of man that keeps choosing to be good and true over and over despite his doubts, despite what the world throws at him, that in doing so he inevitably inspires the people around him to do the same.

listen just. hold on. hold on I need a minute I am. thinking

#would be better if david was even marginally more interesting than a loaf of plain white bread but.#listen he’s alright I just need him to get fucking angry! I need him to get a little angry and rattled and proactive as a result of it #but other than that #I really keep falling for the same thing over and over and over again goddamn it #nbc kings #david shepherd #max.txt

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xomoosexo · 6 months

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Speaking of the pjs can we talk about Dreams ass? Normally he's a little flatty patty but has he been doing some squats? That was a cute little toosh

um yeah sure why not

#i think he has a respectable amount of ass #i think he just normally wears pants that dont show it off too much #its definitely more than face reveal era tho but he was an uncooked bagel back then his bread hadnt risen yet:/#askies

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lucalicatteart · 1 year

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Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 5: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

The winning option of yesterday's poll was that the adventurer should choose a suspicious egg as his gift ….

"He carefully plucks the egg from the gift pile, wrapping it in spare fabric and tucking it away inside a small wooden box within his backpack for safety. Not really wanting to stick around and get accidentally pulled into scary underground tunnels or something, he shakily bids the Well Creature farewell, and continues on through the forest, just following whatever he can find that looks vaguely like a path.. He makes an occasional stop to pick up a cool rock, harvest berries, or let the cat play in the grass, but mostly just wanders aimlessly, lost in daydreams and contemplations of how his New Fun Life Of Spontaneous Adventure is going so far......

Eventually, the forest tapers off into a more open area of land, hosting what seems like a humble little village. By this point, it's nearly nightfall, which reminds him that he's actually quite afraid of the dark, so he scrambles about town for a moment until finally finding the local Inn. After nervously stumbling inside, he rents the cheapest room available, then sits alone, snacking on some free leftover food scraps and plain water. It's been a tiring day, but in the spirit of becoming an adventurer and pushing himself to have as many experiences as possible, he figures he could hang around downstairs a little longer, perhaps get one more thing done before bed -- What should he do?"

#paventure posting #polls #choose your own adventure #Sorry I have the opposite problem to people who make characters who are too overpowered and good at everything lol #Everyone has to be fumbling around in roles that are not actually suited towards them that much (like a wandering #adventurer who is also afraid of the dark . not generally all that brave. instead of a trusty steed or something useful #he has like 5 coins and a piece of bread and a little cat. etc #) but that's the point! He wants to get out and try. He doesnt' actually know much what being an adventurer entails but he still wants to #go and adventure and see the world. leave whatever his old life was behind and just let himself be led by whatever paths happen #to present themselves to him - in the hopes that at some point along the way he'll end up with something fulfilling or know #where he actually belongs. blah blah generic adventuring stuff. so on and so forth. He can't have too specific of motivations really #just by the nature of everything he does being randomly voted on lol. So just 'generally seeking to be on a journey' works.#I wonder if that's the fantasy world version of a mid-life crisis. People reach a certain age and are just like 'I'm going to leave #my village and wander around and see what happens!!' and sometimes it works out and they become a famous #cartographer or a well known knight or work their way into a job in castle or etc. etc. and then others just return home after #like a week or something with no money and a broken arm lol #ANYWAY #I wanted to have so many options since an Inn is a good place where many branching paths could come from like. there could be such a #variety of people to talk to and things you could do there. but I'm still trying to limit it to 6 or less options each time #I wanted to have a second mysterious hooded figure described as trying very hard to look much more mysterious than #the first hooded figure but there isn't room for that with the text limits lol. but I thought it would be funny with like.. the fantasy #trope of there always being some shadowy guy in a corner in a tavern or something. but then you look and there's another even more shadowy #guy. then you look in the next corner and there's an even MORE shadowy guy. and sometimes they all stare at each other from #across the room. one of them pulls their hood down a bit and the other does it and they keep doing it until their faces are so covered they #cant see anymore. etc. etc. ANYWYA Ghbjhb #yeah! day 5!

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