She/her | 30 Any and all asks about donations will be blocked and reported Asks Are open Artist, writer, and lover of RuneScape, Halo, and Warhammer 40k Also known as Momrad
Hi decided to actually make a masterlist because it's probably for the best.
Things to know: I will write from a mainly female pov/perspective and it will for the most part be monogamous hetro relationships (in the terms of genitals) I won't do fxf or mxm or trans because that's not how I grew up and I'm god awful at writing homosexual sex (genderbend I can do)
Another no: Adultry/cheating/spouse(or partner) thievery
Asks are open
Come buy me a coffee
Number of asks waiting to be answered: 15
My Ao3 (I havent updated a story on there since like 2016 I'm scared to even let ya'll see it but I might post the AU on there)
So I mainly write Halo, Runescape, and Warhammer 40k but here I've only been posting my Warhammer 40k and D&D au
So expect a lot of polls because it helps focus my ADHD ass
Also Fanart is ALWAYS allowed! Just Tag me!
PLACE WHERE YOU CAN ASK TO BE PUT ON TAG LIST
Poll Storage
Pheromone Spray part 2
First Kiss part 3
WIP poll
Help momrad focus on what to write
Ones ready to be typed
Adhd helper poll
WIPs
Fics to Ao3
Stuff that's not on the masterlist will usually be listed with #momrad's drabbles or #momrad's blurbs
Warhammer 40k
The D&D AU
The Yandere Black Templar and Flesh Tearer
The Yandere Space Marine Masterlist
Story Vault until I know where to put these stories/how to categorize them
This is not Canon mini masterlist
Primarchs masterlist
Leandros
Eyes of the Emperor
Alone Together
No Prayer at Midnight
Pretty Derby 40,000
A song in the dark
Across time
Female Primarch Names
Pokemon
A fraction of my love for you
Warhammer 40k & COD
The COD Integration mini-masterlist
Demon Prince/Bloodthirster Graves
The 40k au
How does Horangi spend the thrones? Horangi focused
Lieblings König focused
Spirit Halloween Ghost focused
Hey Kiddo Price focused
Where do babies come from reply
Hail to the King Black Templar König
Everyone is space elves
COD
The mud pit cope fic
Hot Chocolate cope fic König focused
Missing the Bairn cope fic Soap focused
Zombie cope fic Ghost focused
He scares me Nikto focused happens before the Soap one
It's a wonderful life CODHoliday2023 fic angst-comfort Ghost
Age hcs/boys ages
Random romantic thing I wrote
Tanz mit mir Regency Au songfic
Halo
Most of it is on my Ao3
Random
The eventual bringing over that one non con I wrote pending
I have to edit it
The #I wrote something for my tumblr can help too
Sentience base off of lancer but I really just like the Balor
Baby fluff
barn anon/Tales from the Barn/Space Marine Husbandry Sentience
I will rename this when I can sit and think of better titles for them
Space Marine Husbandry Sentience Plot Beats
Space Marine Husbandry Sentience Mini Master List
51 more Space Marine Husbandry Sentience & Tales from the Barn
Hey Look another Space Marine Husbandry Mini Masterlist
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Author's Note: Thanks to Egrets and C-u-c-koo for letting me borrow their characters and helping me with writing this behemoth of a fic! This was so much fun to write!
Author's note 3: @egrets-not-regrets characters: Lati Emon, Korio Runa Vespertine & Ghilius
Trigger Warning: Intense violence, stalking, death, and psychological horror. Minor Character death.
Summary: In a fog-bound town, Atlas faces a ghostly predator who kills with surgical precision—not to terrorize, but to test, manipulate, and erase, leaving survival itself a question of purpose.
They did not interrogate him in the tide next to the body of the Watcher’s latest murder victim.
Siros would not allow it. “Too Open. Even if the Killer isn’t watching us- which they very well might be, we don’t want the baseline humans to stumble on this and make assumptions.”
Lati carried most of his weight, silent and inexorable, while Ghilus watched their rear like a coiled blade waiting for an excuse. Korio scouted ahead, never more than a shadow between rain-blurred rocks.
Atlas walked beside Siros.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” the Chaplain murmured without looking at him.
Atlas exhaled slowly. “He knew the trap. Or suspected it.”
“He suspected something,” Siros corrected. “That means he’s been learning. That makes him dangerous—but also predictable.”
They brought the Harvester to an abandoned boathouse perched just beyond the tide line. Its roof sagged, its walls warped by salt and years of neglect. Siros chose it precisely because it was unremarkable. No echoes. No dramatic silhouettes. Just damp wood, rope coils, and the sea breathing beyond the walls.
The Harvester was chained to a reinforced piling driven deep into the stone beneath the floorboards. When they finished, he sagged slightly—not in defeat, but calculation. They have him bound- having prepared to capture him or another more deadly Astartes as they chain him.
Siros removed his helm. That alone changed the room. The Harvester is bruised- but healing from his scuffle with them. His eyes are a dull grey, his skin color a deep tan, with close cropped tightly curled hair in box braids.
“Speak,” the Chaplain said calmly. “And you live.”
The Harvester laughed weakly. “Your kind always says that.”
Siros tilted his head. “And yet you still breathe.”
Silence stretched. Rain ticked against the roof. Somewhere outside, waves struck rock with patient inevitability. There is an undercurrent- violence, bloody, cruel torture could happen. Siros is silently pulling out a wrapped leather cloth back that he’d tucked away in this boat house. Slowly unravelling it and showing of the sharp implements of brutal torture. Ghilius looks at them and smirks as he grabs a boning knife and looks towards their captured target.
Atlas stepped forward, datapad already active. “You’ve been harvesting gene-seed along this coast for decades.”
Atlas knows that physical torture only works on those who would easily fold to such things. And pain is something that all Astartes have learned to endure. Otherwise they would have died as aspirants. He’s not- if torture is needed, he will step back and allow Siros and Ghilus to work their wretched art.
“Someone had to,” the Harvester rasped. “Waste offends me.”
Lati’s gauntlet tightened audibly.
“You did not kill them,” Atlas continued. “But you found them. Repeatedly. Often enough to establish a pattern.”
The Harvester’s eyes flicked to him at last. Sharp. Assessing. “And you think that makes me responsible.”
“No,” Atlas said, his voice deep, eyes a dark churning blue. “I think it makes you observant.”
Siros smiled faintly. Atlas- is not being entirely truthful with what he said. There is at least some culpability with the Harvester for his actions. For not reporting the pattern. For not stopping- trying to stop the Killer from slaying those unfortunate to get ensnared into the crosshairs of the brutal hunter.
The Harvester swallowed. “He kills for ritual,” he said at last. “I harvest because I must. Those are not the same sin.”
“You know where he hunts,” Atlas pressed.
“I know when,” the Harvester replied. “Winter. Storms. Transitional tides. When the sea erases witnesses and fear keeps others indoors.”
The Harvester coughed. “No name that I know. He predates the habit. He doesn’t take trophies- well not many at least. He doesn’t announce allegiance. He kills because he has always killed.”
Siros’s voice dropped. “Legion?”
A pause.
“... I don’t know,” the Harvester said carefully. “Perhaps he once had a legion, but not any more.”
That landed harder than a confession.
“He watches you,” the Harvester continued, eyes lifting—not to Siros, but to Atlas. “You especially. You learn too quickly for someone this young.”
Atlas felt the weight of that scrutiny settle into his chest. He lifts his chin at that, he’s had the murderous intentions of First Born marines on him before. It’s a weight that he’s managed before. He … he can handle this.
“He’s already chosen his next correction,” the Harvester whispered.
Silence again.
Then Siros spoke. “Where.”
The Harvester smiled, blood on his teeth. “Somewhere one of you feels safe.”
Lati’s helm tilted minutely. A gesture so small it could have meant nothing. Harvester noticed anyway.
“You felt that,” Harvester murmured. His voice was weaker now, but sharper for it. “That moment where the answer almost formed on its own.”
Ghilus scoffed. “He’s stalling.”
“No,” Siros said quietly. “He’s teaching.”
Harvester’s gaze slid back to the Chaplain. “You asked where,” he said. “But where is only relevant if you intend to arrive after the event.”
Atlas stiffened. “Then tell us before.”
Harvester let out a breath that might have been a laugh in another life. “You already have,” he said. “You just don’t trust the conclusion.”
Atlas frowned. “Explain.”
“Why?” Harvester countered. “So you can decide whether it aligns with your doctrine? With your chain of command?” His eyes glinted. “You’ll act faster if you believe it was your idea.”
That landed. Not as insult. As method.
Siros folded his arms. “You assume too much.”
“I assume patterns,” Harvester replied. “And yours are obvious. You isolate threats. You sanctify response. You believe clarity comes from hierarchy.”
He shifted against the chains, metal groaning. “He believes clarity comes from conflict.”
Atlas felt something cold trace his spine. “You speak as if you’ve studied him.”
“I speak as if I’ve studied myself,” Harvester said softly.
The room went very still. Rain pattered against warped planks. The sea breathed.
“You don’t warn authorities,” Atlas said slowly. “You don’t intervene. You don’t confront him. You recover what’s left and disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Because you believe—” Atlas hesitated, then pushed on, “—that interference would disrupt a larger outcome.”
Harvester’s smile was thin. Satisfied.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re thinking like it’s contagious.”
Ghilus snarled. “Enough riddles.”
Harvester’s eyes flicked to him. “You rush,” he observed. “You’d make a fine blunt instrument. Someone else would decide where you struck.”
Ghilus bristled, claws flexing.
“And you,” Harvester continued, turning his head toward Lati, “wait. You endure. You bear the weight others cannot. You would hold a line even if you didn’t know why it mattered.”
Lati did not move.
“That is not flattery,” Harvester added. “It is classification.”
Atlas felt it then—the creeping sense that this was not an interrogation anymore, but an audit.
“You still haven’t told us where,” Siros said.
Harvester’s eyes returned to him. “I told you when. I told you how. And I told you why he will succeed.”
He leaned back against the chains, breath hitching. “The rest is a variable you must supply.”
Siros’s gaze hardened. “And what variable is that?”
Harvester looked at Atlas again.
“Trust,” he said. “Specifically—who you extend it to when the moment comes.”
Atlas opened his mouth, then stopped.
“Because he won’t strike where you are strongest,” Harvester continued. “Or where you are vigilant. He’ll strike where you believe the structure itself will protect you.”
A pause.
“A place with rules,” Harvester finished. “With procedure. With oversight.”
The implication settled like ash.
Siros straightened slowly. “You’re suggesting an internal breach.”
“I’m suggesting inevitability,” Harvester corrected. “You cannot guard every door. You can only choose which ones matter.”
Atlas stared at him. “Why tell us this?”
For the first time, Harvester hesitated.
Just a fraction.
“Because,” he said at last, voice low, “once I believed that if enough pieces survived, the whole could be rebuilt.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I no longer believe that,” he admitted. “But I still believe in outcomes.”
Siros studied him for a long moment. Then: “You expect us to fail.”
“No,” Harvester said. “I expect one version of you to fail.”
That was the tell.
Atlas felt it click—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.
“You’re not aligned,” Atlas said quietly. “You’re… partitioned.”
Harvester’s eyes opened. Grey. Ancient. Amused.
“There it is,” he murmured. “You do learn quickly.”
Outside, the storm shifted again. Somewhere far from the boathouse, a decision finalized itself. And Harvester, chained and bleeding, smiled—not because he was free… but because the game was still unfolding exactly as intended.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Author's Note: Thanks to Egrets and C-u-c-koo for letting me borrow their characters and helping me with writing this behemoth of a fic! This was so much fun to write!
Author's note 3: @egrets-not-regrets characters: Lati Emon, Korio Runa Vespertine & Ghilius
Trigger Warning: Intense violence, stalking, death, and psychological horror. Minor Character death.
Summary: In a fog-bound town, Atlas faces a ghostly predator who kills with surgical precision—not to terrorize, but to test, manipulate, and erase, leaving survival itself a question of purpose.
They did not interrogate him in the tide next to the body of the Watcher’s latest murder victim.
Siros would not allow it. “Too Open. Even if the Killer isn’t watching us- which they very well might be, we don’t want the baseline humans to stumble on this and make assumptions.”
Lati carried most of his weight, silent and inexorable, while Ghilus watched their rear like a coiled blade waiting for an excuse. Korio scouted ahead, never more than a shadow between rain-blurred rocks.
Atlas walked beside Siros.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” the Chaplain murmured without looking at him.
Atlas exhaled slowly. “He knew the trap. Or suspected it.”
“He suspected something,” Siros corrected. “That means he’s been learning. That makes him dangerous—but also predictable.”
They brought the Harvester to an abandoned boathouse perched just beyond the tide line. Its roof sagged, its walls warped by salt and years of neglect. Siros chose it precisely because it was unremarkable. No echoes. No dramatic silhouettes. Just damp wood, rope coils, and the sea breathing beyond the walls.
The Harvester was chained to a reinforced piling driven deep into the stone beneath the floorboards. When they finished, he sagged slightly—not in defeat, but calculation. They have him bound- having prepared to capture him or another more deadly Astartes as they chain him.
Siros removed his helm. That alone changed the room. The Harvester is bruised- but healing from his scuffle with them. His eyes are a dull grey, his skin color a deep tan, with close cropped tightly curled hair in box braids.
“Speak,” the Chaplain said calmly. “And you live.”
The Harvester laughed weakly. “Your kind always says that.”
Siros tilted his head. “And yet you still breathe.”
Silence stretched. Rain ticked against the roof. Somewhere outside, waves struck rock with patient inevitability. There is an undercurrent- violence, bloody, cruel torture could happen. Siros is silently pulling out a wrapped leather cloth back that he’d tucked away in this boat house. Slowly unravelling it and showing of the sharp implements of brutal torture. Ghilius looks at them and smirks as he grabs a boning knife and looks towards their captured target.
Atlas stepped forward, datapad already active. “You’ve been harvesting gene-seed along this coast for decades.”
Atlas knows that physical torture only works on those who would easily fold to such things. And pain is something that all Astartes have learned to endure. Otherwise they would have died as aspirants. He’s not- if torture is needed, he will step back and allow Siros and Ghilus to work their wretched art.
“Someone had to,” the Harvester rasped. “Waste offends me.”
Lati’s gauntlet tightened audibly.
“You did not kill them,” Atlas continued. “But you found them. Repeatedly. Often enough to establish a pattern.”
The Harvester’s eyes flicked to him at last. Sharp. Assessing. “And you think that makes me responsible.”
“No,” Atlas said, his voice deep, eyes a dark churning blue. “I think it makes you observant.”
Siros smiled faintly. Atlas- is not being entirely truthful with what he said. There is at least some culpability with the Harvester for his actions. For not reporting the pattern. For not stopping- trying to stop the Killer from slaying those unfortunate to get ensnared into the crosshairs of the brutal hunter.
The Harvester swallowed. “He kills for ritual,” he said at last. “I harvest because I must. Those are not the same sin.”
“You know where he hunts,” Atlas pressed.
“I know when,” the Harvester replied. “Winter. Storms. Transitional tides. When the sea erases witnesses and fear keeps others indoors.”
The Harvester coughed. “No name that I know. He predates the habit. He doesn’t take trophies- well not many at least. He doesn’t announce allegiance. He kills because he has always killed.”
Siros’s voice dropped. “Legion?”
A pause.
“... I don’t know,” the Harvester said carefully. “Perhaps he once had a legion, but not any more.”
That landed harder than a confession.
“He watches you,” the Harvester continued, eyes lifting—not to Siros, but to Atlas. “You especially. You learn too quickly for someone this young.”
Atlas felt the weight of that scrutiny settle into his chest. He lifts his chin at that, he’s had the murderous intentions of First Born marines on him before. It’s a weight that he’s managed before. He … he can handle this.
“He’s already chosen his next correction,” the Harvester whispered.
Silence again.
Then Siros spoke. “Where.”
The Harvester smiled, blood on his teeth. “Somewhere one of you feels safe.”
Lati’s helm tilted minutely. A gesture so small it could have meant nothing. Harvester noticed anyway.
“You felt that,” Harvester murmured. His voice was weaker now, but sharper for it. “That moment where the answer almost formed on its own.”
Ghilus scoffed. “He’s stalling.”
“No,” Siros said quietly. “He’s teaching.”
Harvester’s gaze slid back to the Chaplain. “You asked where,” he said. “But where is only relevant if you intend to arrive after the event.”
Atlas stiffened. “Then tell us before.”
Harvester let out a breath that might have been a laugh in another life. “You already have,” he said. “You just don’t trust the conclusion.”
Atlas frowned. “Explain.”
“Why?” Harvester countered. “So you can decide whether it aligns with your doctrine? With your chain of command?” His eyes glinted. “You’ll act faster if you believe it was your idea.”
That landed. Not as insult. As method.
Siros folded his arms. “You assume too much.”
“I assume patterns,” Harvester replied. “And yours are obvious. You isolate threats. You sanctify response. You believe clarity comes from hierarchy.”
He shifted against the chains, metal groaning. “He believes clarity comes from conflict.”
Atlas felt something cold trace his spine. “You speak as if you’ve studied him.”
“I speak as if I’ve studied myself,” Harvester said softly.
The room went very still. Rain pattered against warped planks. The sea breathed.
“You don’t warn authorities,” Atlas said slowly. “You don’t intervene. You don’t confront him. You recover what’s left and disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Because you believe—” Atlas hesitated, then pushed on, “—that interference would disrupt a larger outcome.”
Harvester’s smile was thin. Satisfied.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re thinking like it’s contagious.”
Ghilus snarled. “Enough riddles.”
Harvester’s eyes flicked to him. “You rush,” he observed. “You’d make a fine blunt instrument. Someone else would decide where you struck.”
Ghilus bristled, claws flexing.
“And you,” Harvester continued, turning his head toward Lati, “wait. You endure. You bear the weight others cannot. You would hold a line even if you didn’t know why it mattered.”
Lati did not move.
“That is not flattery,” Harvester added. “It is classification.”
Atlas felt it then—the creeping sense that this was not an interrogation anymore, but an audit.
“You still haven’t told us where,” Siros said.
Harvester’s eyes returned to him. “I told you when. I told you how. And I told you why he will succeed.”
He leaned back against the chains, breath hitching. “The rest is a variable you must supply.”
Siros’s gaze hardened. “And what variable is that?”
Harvester looked at Atlas again.
“Trust,” he said. “Specifically—who you extend it to when the moment comes.”
Atlas opened his mouth, then stopped.
“Because he won’t strike where you are strongest,” Harvester continued. “Or where you are vigilant. He’ll strike where you believe the structure itself will protect you.”
A pause.
“A place with rules,” Harvester finished. “With procedure. With oversight.”
The implication settled like ash.
Siros straightened slowly. “You’re suggesting an internal breach.”
“I’m suggesting inevitability,” Harvester corrected. “You cannot guard every door. You can only choose which ones matter.”
Atlas stared at him. “Why tell us this?”
For the first time, Harvester hesitated.
Just a fraction.
“Because,” he said at last, voice low, “once I believed that if enough pieces survived, the whole could be rebuilt.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I no longer believe that,” he admitted. “But I still believe in outcomes.”
Siros studied him for a long moment. Then: “You expect us to fail.”
“No,” Harvester said. “I expect one version of you to fail.”
That was the tell.
Atlas felt it click—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.
“You’re not aligned,” Atlas said quietly. “You’re… partitioned.”
Harvester’s eyes opened. Grey. Ancient. Amused.
“There it is,” he murmured. “You do learn quickly.”
Outside, the storm shifted again. Somewhere far from the boathouse, a decision finalized itself. And Harvester, chained and bleeding, smiled—not because he was free… but because the game was still unfolding exactly as intended.
it also tickles me to think about the 5D chess that dating between chaos/renegade warbands must be. if you’re both leaders of your warbands you can just merge em, but even that would probably have Ramifications. but if you’re not? buddy, either you’re moving in with your boyfriend, or you’re doing a long-distance relationship WHILE your commander tries to leverage it for political gain, AND your brothers doubt your allegiance probably, AND maybe your boyfriend’s commander tries to poach you. nightmare! compelling, though
May I suggest invoking the old tradition of kidnapping your spouse? Very romantic by CSM standards. You can even keep them tied up in your bedroom for a few days to get used their new living quarters.
'a chrysanthemum brooch made of gold, platinum, and diamonds features a creative use of mississippi river pearls in a design by paulding farnham of tiffany & company (c. 1904)' in pearls: a natural history - american museum of natural history + the field museum (2001)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Author's Note: Thanks to Egrets and C-u-c-koo for letting me borrow their characters and helping me with writing this behemoth of a fic! This was so much fun to write!
Author's note 3: @egrets-not-regrets characters: Lati Emon, Korio Runa Vespertine & Ghilius
Trigger Warning: Intense violence, stalking, death, and psychological horror. Minor Character death.
Summary: In a fog-bound town, Atlas faces a ghostly predator who kills with surgical precision—not to terrorize, but to test, manipulate, and erase, leaving survival itself a question of purpose.
They did not interrogate him in the tide next to the body of the Watcher’s latest murder victim.
Siros would not allow it. “Too Open. Even if the Killer isn’t watching us- which they very well might be, we don’t want the baseline humans to stumble on this and make assumptions.”
Lati carried most of his weight, silent and inexorable, while Ghilus watched their rear like a coiled blade waiting for an excuse. Korio scouted ahead, never more than a shadow between rain-blurred rocks.
Atlas walked beside Siros.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” the Chaplain murmured without looking at him.
Atlas exhaled slowly. “He knew the trap. Or suspected it.”
“He suspected something,” Siros corrected. “That means he’s been learning. That makes him dangerous—but also predictable.”
They brought the Harvester to an abandoned boathouse perched just beyond the tide line. Its roof sagged, its walls warped by salt and years of neglect. Siros chose it precisely because it was unremarkable. No echoes. No dramatic silhouettes. Just damp wood, rope coils, and the sea breathing beyond the walls.
The Harvester was chained to a reinforced piling driven deep into the stone beneath the floorboards. When they finished, he sagged slightly—not in defeat, but calculation. They have him bound- having prepared to capture him or another more deadly Astartes as they chain him.
Siros removed his helm. That alone changed the room. The Harvester is bruised- but healing from his scuffle with them. His eyes are a dull grey, his skin color a deep tan, with close cropped tightly curled hair in box braids.
“Speak,” the Chaplain said calmly. “And you live.”
The Harvester laughed weakly. “Your kind always says that.”
Siros tilted his head. “And yet you still breathe.”
Silence stretched. Rain ticked against the roof. Somewhere outside, waves struck rock with patient inevitability. There is an undercurrent- violence, bloody, cruel torture could happen. Siros is silently pulling out a wrapped leather cloth back that he’d tucked away in this boat house. Slowly unravelling it and showing of the sharp implements of brutal torture. Ghilius looks at them and smirks as he grabs a boning knife and looks towards their captured target.
Atlas stepped forward, datapad already active. “You’ve been harvesting gene-seed along this coast for decades.”
Atlas knows that physical torture only works on those who would easily fold to such things. And pain is something that all Astartes have learned to endure. Otherwise they would have died as aspirants. He’s not- if torture is needed, he will step back and allow Siros and Ghilus to work their wretched art.
“Someone had to,” the Harvester rasped. “Waste offends me.”
Lati’s gauntlet tightened audibly.
“You did not kill them,” Atlas continued. “But you found them. Repeatedly. Often enough to establish a pattern.”
The Harvester’s eyes flicked to him at last. Sharp. Assessing. “And you think that makes me responsible.”
“No,” Atlas said, his voice deep, eyes a dark churning blue. “I think it makes you observant.”
Siros smiled faintly. Atlas- is not being entirely truthful with what he said. There is at least some culpability with the Harvester for his actions. For not reporting the pattern. For not stopping- trying to stop the Killer from slaying those unfortunate to get ensnared into the crosshairs of the brutal hunter.
The Harvester swallowed. “He kills for ritual,” he said at last. “I harvest because I must. Those are not the same sin.”
“You know where he hunts,” Atlas pressed.
“I know when,” the Harvester replied. “Winter. Storms. Transitional tides. When the sea erases witnesses and fear keeps others indoors.”
The Harvester coughed. “No name that I know. He predates the habit. He doesn’t take trophies- well not many at least. He doesn’t announce allegiance. He kills because he has always killed.”
Siros’s voice dropped. “Legion?”
A pause.
“... I don’t know,” the Harvester said carefully. “Perhaps he once had a legion, but not any more.”
That landed harder than a confession.
“He watches you,” the Harvester continued, eyes lifting—not to Siros, but to Atlas. “You especially. You learn too quickly for someone this young.”
Atlas felt the weight of that scrutiny settle into his chest. He lifts his chin at that, he’s had the murderous intentions of First Born marines on him before. It’s a weight that he’s managed before. He … he can handle this.
“He’s already chosen his next correction,” the Harvester whispered.
Silence again.
Then Siros spoke. “Where.”
The Harvester smiled, blood on his teeth. “Somewhere one of you feels safe.”
Lati’s helm tilted minutely. A gesture so small it could have meant nothing. Harvester noticed anyway.
“You felt that,” Harvester murmured. His voice was weaker now, but sharper for it. “That moment where the answer almost formed on its own.”
Ghilus scoffed. “He’s stalling.”
“No,” Siros said quietly. “He’s teaching.”
Harvester’s gaze slid back to the Chaplain. “You asked where,” he said. “But where is only relevant if you intend to arrive after the event.”
Atlas stiffened. “Then tell us before.”
Harvester let out a breath that might have been a laugh in another life. “You already have,” he said. “You just don’t trust the conclusion.”
Atlas frowned. “Explain.”
“Why?” Harvester countered. “So you can decide whether it aligns with your doctrine? With your chain of command?” His eyes glinted. “You’ll act faster if you believe it was your idea.”
That landed. Not as insult. As method.
Siros folded his arms. “You assume too much.”
“I assume patterns,” Harvester replied. “And yours are obvious. You isolate threats. You sanctify response. You believe clarity comes from hierarchy.”
He shifted against the chains, metal groaning. “He believes clarity comes from conflict.”
Atlas felt something cold trace his spine. “You speak as if you’ve studied him.”
“I speak as if I’ve studied myself,” Harvester said softly.
The room went very still. Rain pattered against warped planks. The sea breathed.
“You don’t warn authorities,” Atlas said slowly. “You don’t intervene. You don’t confront him. You recover what’s left and disappear.”
“Yes.”
“Because you believe—” Atlas hesitated, then pushed on, “—that interference would disrupt a larger outcome.”
Harvester’s smile was thin. Satisfied.
“Careful,” he said. “You’re thinking like it’s contagious.”
Ghilus snarled. “Enough riddles.”
Harvester’s eyes flicked to him. “You rush,” he observed. “You’d make a fine blunt instrument. Someone else would decide where you struck.”
Ghilus bristled, claws flexing.
“And you,” Harvester continued, turning his head toward Lati, “wait. You endure. You bear the weight others cannot. You would hold a line even if you didn’t know why it mattered.”
Lati did not move.
“That is not flattery,” Harvester added. “It is classification.”
Atlas felt it then—the creeping sense that this was not an interrogation anymore, but an audit.
“You still haven’t told us where,” Siros said.
Harvester’s eyes returned to him. “I told you when. I told you how. And I told you why he will succeed.”
He leaned back against the chains, breath hitching. “The rest is a variable you must supply.”
Siros’s gaze hardened. “And what variable is that?”
Harvester looked at Atlas again.
“Trust,” he said. “Specifically—who you extend it to when the moment comes.”
Atlas opened his mouth, then stopped.
“Because he won’t strike where you are strongest,” Harvester continued. “Or where you are vigilant. He’ll strike where you believe the structure itself will protect you.”
A pause.
“A place with rules,” Harvester finished. “With procedure. With oversight.”
The implication settled like ash.
Siros straightened slowly. “You’re suggesting an internal breach.”
“I’m suggesting inevitability,” Harvester corrected. “You cannot guard every door. You can only choose which ones matter.”
Atlas stared at him. “Why tell us this?”
For the first time, Harvester hesitated.
Just a fraction.
“Because,” he said at last, voice low, “once I believed that if enough pieces survived, the whole could be rebuilt.”
His eyes closed briefly.
“I no longer believe that,” he admitted. “But I still believe in outcomes.”
Siros studied him for a long moment. Then: “You expect us to fail.”
“No,” Harvester said. “I expect one version of you to fail.”
That was the tell.
Atlas felt it click—not fully, not cleanly, but enough to hurt.
“You’re not aligned,” Atlas said quietly. “You’re… partitioned.”
Harvester’s eyes opened. Grey. Ancient. Amused.
“There it is,” he murmured. “You do learn quickly.”
Outside, the storm shifted again. Somewhere far from the boathouse, a decision finalized itself. And Harvester, chained and bleeding, smiled—not because he was free… but because the game was still unfolding exactly as intended.
Fandom needs to go back to it’s roots of shipping without any expectation of canon agreement, shipping characters that have never even met, shipping characters from entirely different properties that came out decades apart, shipping just for fun, and generally speaking mostly not bothering the creators about it. Put fandom back in the shadows, being profitable has only made everything worse as grifters saw easy marks and forcing creators to play pattycake with fandom has led to so much open resentment.
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Bought my uncle a burger and milkshake in exchange for letting me disrupt the holiest day of the week, NFL Sunday Football, so I could install a Pi-hole and free the household of ads...the thing abt the specific boomers I live with is they told me not to trust people on the Internet but they do not understand the algorithm or online advertising and think that Facebook has their best interests at heart. And every time I have tried to explain to them that no, blorbo from my dashboard is not selling my kidneys on the dark web but Google from your capitalism is definitely selling your web searches to every advertising company on the planet, they think I am paranoid. How could their personal friend Mark Zuckerberg want anything bad to happen to them etc. I am fighting battles I did not know existed!!!
Update I have had Pi-Hole successfully installed for two (2) hours and have since learned that 40% of the web traffic in this household went to advertisements. FORTY FUCKING PERCENT. We live in hell. This is the greatest gift I have ever given my family that they will not understand or acknowledge or feel any gratitude for.
Update #2: it was rising all night but the number it finally settled on was...60%. 60% of the web traffic in this household went to advertisements. I can't tell if this high number is bc I live in Silicon Valley and probably am subject to the Algorithmic Internet in ways people outside of Silicon Valley are not or it is normal to have 2/3rds of your web traffic be ads, but it did make me set up a recurring donation of the EFF lmfao.
Okay I have had multiple people ask, so here are the useful websites that me and Beryl used to muddle our way through:
Using Pi-hole and Raspberry Pi (on the Raspberry Pi website, really good overview of what Pi-hole does)
Tumblr-archived Twitter thread about one household's experience with Pi-hole (this is what sold me on it. Also the tweets were published in 2022 and Pi-hole is actively being developed, so I think some of the teething problems he mentioned might have cleared up or are at least being addressed.)
Pi-hole website (gives broad strokes of the software and imho is not actually that helpful, however this proves that I am not making shit up)
Pi-hole documentation (read prerequisites carefully, you do NOT need the newest model of Raspberry Pi to run this thing!! You don't even need a Raspberry Pi at all, you can run it on a bunch of Linux systems however I'm very stupid when it comes to Linux and when my options are install and learn a whole ass new OS or spend $$ on a Raspberry Pi and hook it up to my TV with a wired mouse and keyboard I will unfortunately be spending money)
Privacy International's guide to setting up Pi-hole on a Raspberry Pi (bro this one saved our asses)
You guys can ask me questions if you want but I guarantee I will not know the answers bc I don't know shit about fuck, I just followed the directions and reaped the rewards. It did take us 2 hours to set up bc I'm bad at following directions (and it's kind of complicated if you've been out of the software game for a while like I have), and you do have to be sososo brave about fucking around with your internet provider's configuration. So make sure you eat before you do it!! However it has been so worth it for me so far, given that now all my devices at home are running faster and I'm not seeing any ads while web browsing. We will see what complaints my family comes up with, but I love it so far.
Also!! if you've never heard of Raspberry Pi, which I realize are not all of my followers are lost in the Silicon Valley sauce so you might not have, here's is their website and their page for using Raspberry Pi at home.
(And here is the Electronic Frontier Foundation, a nonprofit that fights for digital privacy, free speech, and innovation, if you, like me, were presented with cold hard data about your personal internet usage and suddenly realized that our internet is fully a dystopia. haha.)
After a few months with pi-hole, I recently switched to AdGuard Home. It was recommended/is co-promoted in a pi-hole discord server, and it seems to be blocking a bit more successfully/consistently for me than the pi-hole did.
I also use Blokada on my phone when I'm not home and have the Windscribe browser extension which includes 10GB of free VPN traffic and has uBlock integrated into it. (AdGuard does technically make things that do this but I like those better; ymmv).
It all takes some setup and tinkering, but I highly, highly recommend taking steps to clear out some of the internet garbage and protect your info.
Always remember that the EU did a study in 2013 about the effects of piracy on media publishers and found that there is no correlation between piracy and sales! (And then they tried to hide that study bc that's not the result they wanted)
So piracy is at worst not even a problem, and at best it's free advertisement.
Source: (the link to the actual study is in the article)
In 2013, the European Commission ordered a €360,000 ($430,000) study on how piracy affects sales of music, books, movies and games in the EU
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