Kandata



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  1. Public Bookmark 13

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    Dottore and the segments perform the evaluation of the effects of long-term consumption of the Elixir of Immortality on Feofan.
    A surgery that brings forth a feeling Feofan rarely experiences.
    Fear.

    ((A take on the last experiment mentioned in Anomalous Tree Marrow I))

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    26 Jul 2026

  2. Rec 61

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    “With any elemental power source, one must always expect side effects.” Il Dottore begins undoing his harness. “I had prepared for kuuvahki poisoning, or even balemoon corruption. But, of course, the Moon Sisters themselves—beings original to this world, and who naturally will influence the next. I hadn’t fully considered—It’s a fascinating phenomenon, rather like mitochondrial nucleic acid—”

    He continues rambling, infatuated with his own voice. Feofan, meanwhile, is struggling to speak.

    Between the Doctor’s thighs, perfectly at eye level, is a pussy.

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    25 Jul 2026

  3. Rec 51

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    “Surely this is a little tasteless,” 25 says.

    “What,” 8 asks, “you don’t like popsicles?”

    “Let me have this,” 45 mutters with an expression of blistering focus.

    Feofan ignores them, sending his undivided effort towards the young man currently biting through an ice cream cone as though it owes him money. Feofan’s full charm, he’s been told, is not unimpressive. He licks a streak of blue from his wrist. It’s unreasonably hot for Snezhnaya, and 18 seems to be suffering from heatstroke, or some kind of temporary blindness, or possibly an aneurysm.

    "What’s your favorite flavor?" Feofan asks conversationally.

    18 gets up and sits down further away.

    All of Zandik’s clones get along with Feofan except 18.

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    25 Jul 2026

  4. Public Bookmark 10

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    "See, this is exactly why you shouldn't bother with field-based duties. You can't possibly get stabbed if you stay put in that cozy lounge of yours."

    35 patches him up, among other things.

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    25 Jul 2026

  5. Rec 33

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    “You know,” Zandik tells him, mirth in his eyes, “you don’t have to do this every single time I’m nice to you.”

    “I know,” says Feofan. “But I want to.”

    And then he cups Feofan’s cheek and strokes his thumb back and forth over his cheekbone, gaze softening, so—naturally—Feofan unbuckles his belt.

    Or: The harbinger Pantalone has all the mora he could want at his fingertips. Twenty-year-old Feofan, on the other hand, is somewhat more amenable to letting himself be spoiled.

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    25 Jul 2026