#URN number

[lilgynt]

my mom found the thing that started the fight that got me kicked out. so i was right. in my fantasies this happens and it’s great in real life im gonna jump her

[whothehellisoli]

cemetery’s are a waste of space made only for the living to project their grief onto

cemeteries aren’t creepy they’re actually devoted to memory and rest and love and humanity

[just-jordie-things]

headcanon request: how would the jjk guys react if someone's trying to flirt with them but they're already in a relationship with their s/o?

YES i love some light jealousy teehee ___

GOJO SATORU

has no chill if someone's flirting with him. or worse, he thinks someone's flirting with him, but they're just taking his order, or letting him know his shoe is untied.

he's literally "I'M MARRIED"

(for the untied shoe one, he definitely trips when he runs off)

he's so annoying abt it fr. always throwing "i have a wife" (even long before you're married) around even when unnecessary

and ppl do flirt with him, he's gojo, but sometimes... he's just a lot.

even if someone looks at him too long, he's wrapping his arm around you and loudly announcing "in front of my wife? you're lucky i'm holding her back!"

and you're just standing there bewildered with the box of cereal you were about to toss into the cart and wondering who the hell he's talking to- and when the hell did he propose??

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI

for the most part he doesn't really notice when someone's flirting with him. i think it would take some very obvious hints.

so say someone is really trying to get him to catch on, pulling all the stops- fluttering eyelashes, unnecessary touching, one too many comments about his eyes, and finally, slipping a piece of paper into his hand with their phone number.

megumi can accidentally be a little cold.

he scowls at the phone number before crumpling the paper and dropping it.

"i don't want that," he's completely expressionless when he speaks, and honestly, the flirt-er is lucky he said anything at all rather than straight up walking away. "i have a girlfriend"

and then he walks away.

and when he meets up with you again he's a little more affectionate than usual, holding you a little longer, pulling you closer when you settle on the couch or bed or wherever, kissing you a few extra times for good measure.

don't get him wrong, it's not out of guilt or anything. he just wants you to know that he thinks of you when you're apart, and that he appreciates and loves you to death. nothing could ever change that.

ITADORI YUUJI

i don't often add him to my brainrot posts but i SHOULD and i had the most brilliant thought for him specifically

if he's getting hit on, he'll shut it down casually enough, and just blatantly tell them they're not his type.

and then he'll just start listing everything about you. and lover boy is BABBLING ok, no one could shut him up

he's describing your hair your eyes your nose your hands your style- and once he gets thru the physical stuff, it gets random

he's talking about your hobbies, your weird interests or collections, how sometimes you're a bad driver but you try your best lmfao he gets on such a tangent i don't think he'd even realize his tactic for defusing the flirting is just confusing the other person to the point of no longer wanting to give him their number

and once he's done with his dreamy little speech, he just goes "like my partner!!" all excited and bubbly

he's always rushing off to meet up with you then, having got himself so eager to be around you some more

OKKOTSU YUUTA

he's polite, but firm. he can also be a little quick to say he's taken, but it's only because he wants to let people down easy!

he's very kind when urning down phone numbers or flirty advances, always giving a gentle smile and saying no thank you, or actually i have a girlfriend. and he never apologizes when he says the second one, but that doesn't mean he's cruel! he's just thoughtful and respectful of you!

yuuta's a total gentleman.

but. god forbid. if he gets one of those nasty ppl that pull the "your girlfriend doesn't have to know" bullshit. oh boy. he does not handle that well.

toxic!yuuta jumps out a little!!

for as polite as he can be, he can get nasty when provoked just right, and someone disrespecting you? his beloved?

first it's a lecture- how dare you suggest such a thing? do you often try to break up people's perfect love lives?

then it's standing up for your honor- do you know how wonderful and lovely my partner is? you couldn't even understand the lengths that their radiance extends to. this part usually gets a little messy. he can get carried away when talking about you.

and lastly, he gets personal. deeply. personal. if they're having a not-so-great hair day, or if their attempts at slipping him their number were particularly weak, he's pouncing on that. he sniffs out weakness like a goddamn Chivalrous Boyfriend Bloodhound and sinking his claws in. i think yuuta could be really mean if he wanted to.

but that's kinda hot tho

INUMAKI TOGE

definitely the funniest of all of them. bcuz if he's getting hit on, he kinda just... stands there.

._.

CAUSE HE LITERALLY CANT SAY ANYTHING ???

sure, he could play it off like he doesn't understand what they're saying, or even type a little note in his phone saying he has a partner... but...

toge definitely prefers to stand there, completely blank faced, and stretch out the discomfort as long as possible.

sometimes people just scowl and walk away, finding it rude

one time tho someone actually started tearing up and completely ran away

(you came back just as it happened, an ice cream cone in each hand and a confused look on your face. but there's no way your sweet, mute boyfriend made a person cry, right?)

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Run Free

art by me!

Price, Gaz, and Ghost visits the MacTavish Estate baring the news.

Word Count: 2.1k words Warning: Major character death, angst and comfort. Note : I wrote this fic a few days after I finished the campaign. I've always thought it weird why the 141 boys had Soap's ashes when I've always seen Soap as someone with a family and a had good relationship with them, especially since it's canon that Soap's cousin brought him to the SAS base several times as a kid. Here's my interpretation of that fact, on how Soap's urn ended up with the boys.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost wore their dress uniforms from head to toe, finding themselves in front of the MacTavish Estate in Glasgow. It was… big, to say the least. Soap’s family was known not only because a number of people from the family are serving in the British Royal Armed Forces, but also the fact that they are 7th generation furniture company - MacTavish Furnitures. Lots of members of the family are veterans turned businessmen, carpenters, or woodworkers. It is a common cycle of life for them.

As Ghost and Gaz stood, Price climbed the stairs and wore his beige beret, breathing deeply through his nose before letting the air out to prepare himself, lifting his hand to knock on the wooden door. The captain heard faint noises of multiple footsteps from multiple people and some voices of heavy Scottish accent from inside the house. He waited for a moment, until the door finally opened, but he found no one in front of him. 

“Who are ya?”

A little voice spoke from under him, prompting Price to look down. He found a little girl with blonde hair no taller than his knees. She’s absolutely drenched from head to toe in a blue swimming attire and had to bend her neck so high to see him. He bent down to his knees to match her height, before saying,

“Hello. I’m… My name is John.” 

“John? Like Uncle Johnny?” Her little voice said, face gleaming with happiness at the name.

“Yes. Like Uncle Johnny.” Price smiled, chuckling lightly. The girl grinned at his smiling face. “May I see your dad? Or mum?”

“Phoebe MacTavish! Get your wee feet here before I pick your legs off of that floo–! Oh, Hello there.” A new voice came from in front of him, revealing herself to be an old woman with dark brown hair, though with white strands and the same quizzical brow that reminded Price of Soap. She looked strong, nonetheless, wearing a green shirt and knitted vest with a towel hanging from one of her shoulders, obviously to dry the little girl after a session of swimming in their estate’s pool. 

Price stood back up, greeting the lady. “Mrs. MacTavish.” 

The old woman looked at his attire up and down, and Price swore that he saw the gears rotating inside her mind. She looked down at the girl and gave her the white towel, “Phoebe. Go inside and dry yourself. Find your Da, Aunt Rachel, and Uncle Hugh, too. Tell them to meet me at the front door, yeah?” The little girl nodded and ran inside, disappearing into the house as Price heard a faint yelling from the same child, calling for the stated family members. 

Now, the lady in front of him walked closer to the doorway, face to face with him. She’s undoubtedly no taller than 5’7”, a height that might have been receding as time went by, but you could spot a proud MacTavish wherever you see one. Price offered his hand for a handshake as she accepted. “Captain John Price from the 22 SAS Regiment.” 

“Joan MacTavish.” She replied. Price noticed the name as the name on Soap’s file as his guardian, with the relation being marked with ‘Aunt’. “What brings you here, Captain?” Her face looked neutral like it wasn’t the first time a soldier with a full dress uniform knocked on this wooden door. 

Just before Price could say what he wanted to say, a deep voice called to her. “Mum?” One woman and two men with a frame similar to him showed up from inside the house. One man was around Ghost’s age, one was around his age, while the woman in a bun looked older than him, though looking very vibrant and professional. All of them had the same thick eyebrows – Family traits, he supposed – and clearly looked like honourable but firm Scottish people. Upon seeing Price, though, their faces changed from confusion to realization. 

Price remembered that Soap was not the first MacTavish in the SAS. In fact, there was another member of the family, Oliver MacTavish, who died in the line of duty a decade ago. Price remembered the way Soap had told the story of Ollie, his cousin, bringing his little arse to the SAS base  - however unpermitted it was – and how Price had busted Soap multiple times for applying with a fake age. 

“Rachel MacTavish.” The eldest one spoke.

“Hugh MacTavish.” The elder man said, followed by the younger.

“Scott MacTavish. That was my daughter, Phobe.” They all shook hands with Price. 

He repeated his greeting, before Rachel started,

“I've seen the likes of you before. I recognize that beret even from a mile away." She said firmly. "Out with it."

The captain's breath hitched as he cleared his throat, preparing himself to deliver the news. And so, he began.

"On November 21st, our target had placed an active bomb inside the underwater tunnel that connects the UK and France. During our attempt to defuse the bomb, the target sneaked from behind our line of sight…"

The whole family's face changed, Joan's eyes looked glassy with tears seeming like she knew of the incoming words.

"And I regret to inform you… that Sergeant John MacTavish has died in the line of duty."

Ghost, without his mask and black face paint around his eyes, and Gaz with their dress uniforms and beret could only stand from the base of the stairs, watching and hearing as Joan's cry of anguish tear through the morning sky. 

"Oh Lord. Johnny. Johnny. My baby, Johnny." Joan repeated his name like a chanting to the sky. "Why must You take him so soon? Why must he join Ollie so soon?"

The whole family hugged their mother as she wailed, her knees looked like it was giving up. Gaz gritted his teeth to strengthen himself, not wanting to break down to cry himself. 

As the family cried, Price could only stand still, letting the news sink in for the family. His job as the leader of the team was done, at that point. He delivered the news to his family. 

"The bomb…Did he defuse it?" Hugh questioned in the middle of his sobs. 

"He–" Price swallowed, remembering the way Makarov had killed him. "We were both defusing the bomb, John guiding me along the way as he was the demolition expert."

"He protected me, Sir. Our target was about to shoot me, before John stopped him - and got killed instead. The target ran away, but me and Sergeant Garrick managed to defuse the bomb thanks to his prior guidance, saving thousands of lives underneath the 30-mile underwater tunnel." Price answered as Rachel looked up at his face, anger and denial filling her in an instant. 

She raised her hand in such a way that Price knew that she was about to slap him. Price still opened his eyes, fully welcoming the slap before her hand stopped. 

Rachel bit her lips so hard that it might bleed, lowering her arm.

"...Why does it have to be Johnny? Why do you get to live and he doesn't?" She barely whispered in a shaky voice, going back to wiping her face again. “Why Johnny…?”

And Price asked that question every single hour ever since his death. 

Why Soap, and not him?

—

The MacTavishes requested for Soap's body to be sent to Scotland, where they held a memorial at the MacTavish estate to which they promptly honoured. The number of family members participating was not that many, considering only the immediate family attended. Price, Soap, and Ghost joined them, and even escorted the family as they travelled to the crematorium.

After the whole procession finished – that took the entire day – the family finally had possession of the urn containing Soap's ashes, and they invited the three back to the estate, where they now sit inside the guest room and tea in front of them with Joan and Rachel, his urn placed on a table beside Joan.

That was the day they learned that Soap was actually the son of Joan's late husband's younger sister. Soap's mother – her sister-in-law, died when she birthed Soap, while Soap's father died during an accident in a factory before his own birth. 

Soap had been raised by his uncle's family since his infancy, growing up in the MacTavish house as a strong and firm Scott under the wing of the eldest brother, Oliver. 

"He's always wanted to be like Ollie, that wee kid," Rachel told them after holding a photo album containing photos of Soap when he was a baby in his late uncle's arms, a photo of him and his older cousins playing with mud, photos of his graduations from school, and photos of him passing the test to be a part of SAS along with his cousin, Oliver. "Said he didn't want to go to school. Just visit the army base every day. It's what he dreamed of."

Ghost, still in his dress uniform, felt the most vulnerable in that room - Without his mask, in front of Johnny's family. He also had been in agony for the past day, because he'd failed to cover Johnny's back. He had one job at that time, and he failed, catastrophically. He only sat there with his hands joined in his lap, not daring to look at the family in the eyes. 

"We're very thankful for John's service with us. He was the best there is." Gaz spoke, "John's memory will live with us."

"Thank you, Sergeant Garrick." Joan smiled as she looked up. "I heard you share the same quarters with him in the barracks. I hope he wasn't too much of a naughty boy."

The sergeant chuckled lightly at that, "Well. Soap wasn't someone who could stay away from mischief too long, but I assure you that he's an absolute joy and inspiration to be around." Hearing Joan's laughter cured a little part in Gaz, as the only thing he'd heard from her was the sound of her cry. He could at least pride himself in knowing that he could share Soap's merry nature.

As they share memories, Price finished his tea before he stood up from the sofa, followed by the other two. "Well. We must take our leave, Ma'am. Thank you for the tea."

"Anytime." Joan spoke as the soldiers started to leave the sofa, heading towards the main room and front door. 

"Which one of ya’s is ‘LT’?"

Rachel’s voice stopped the men in their tracks, particularly Ghost’s. All three men turned around, finding the woman holding Soap’s urn in her hands. Price saw how Ghost's face turned to that of a deer in a spotlight, so he put his hand behind Ghost’s back to lightly push him towards Rachel, but Ghost’s hesitancy was apparent in the way he slowly walked. 

“...That would be me, Ma’am.” Ghost’s deep voice rumbled softly as he looked down to Rachel’s height. The lady herself observed him up and down with a negative face that she could convince him that he was standing there naked. 

“Yer tryin’ so hard to make yourself look small for such a big man. It’s almost dreading.” She started, her hips shifting. “I’ve been the CEO of MacTavish Furnitures since my da’ passed away and Ollie decided to go to the army, and I read people like a book. For someone whom Johnny admired the most – and repeatedly spoke about – you don’t look like the LT I heard from him.” Ghost was starstruck at the statement. Soap, talking about him to his family? “I expected you to be cocky and exude pride in your steps, but all I’m seein’ is just a pathetic, sad bloke.” 

Ghost stood still at those comments. No one practically had ever roasted him this badly in front of his teammates. He wondered if he showed up in his other attire, she’d dare to say all this. But then again, if someone got to do it, he was glad that it came from an honourable woman of the MacTavish bloodline. 

What caught him off guard was her hands stretching towards him, holding Soap’s urn in front of his chest. Ghost looked down at the metal container, looking confused as he looked up again to face Rachel. He thought the MacTavishes were going to hold on to Soap’s urn, and they get to keep Soap’s dog tags. However, clearly, the current head of the family had other wishes.

“Take Johnny with ya. Being trapped inside this urn for eternity in this old house would be the last thing he wanted.” The woman started with a shaky voice, her eyes starting to brim with tears again. Seeing Soap’s character, Ghost could understand that completely. 

“He’s… the proudest he could ever be when he’s with ya’s." Rachel continued. 

"So I ask you, as our brother’s comrades, to hold on to Johnny – and free him.” 

Ghost’s eyes opened wide in surprise, still couldn’t fathom how fondly Soap must've talked about his teammates, especially him, to his family that they’d give him his ashes. Ghost lifted his hands to carefully receive the urn. 

After breathing deeply, Ghost stood straight, holding Soap firmly. 

“We will, Ma’am.”

—

The three of them walked towards the car parked just outside the MacTavish estate with Ghost holding Soap’s urn in his hands. They all took off their berets and entered the car, Price the designated driver, Gaz riding shotgun, while Ghost sat in the backseat. 

“So what do we do with him, Sir?” Gaz rotated his body to look at Soap’s urn on Ghost’s hands, same as Price.

Ghost contemplated in his mind, staring at the metal urn, before speaking, “Where’s Johnny’s place of birth?” 

Price answered immediately as he’s the one who took care of Soap’s documents. “Isle of Skye.” 

“Soap said there’s a beautiful cliff where he and his cousins used to go to play. Endless sea where the eyes could see.” Gaz added.

“Then that’s where we’re goin’.” Ghost spoke with finality. “And then we’ll let Johnny go.”

Price and Gaz nodded to each other. "Alright, Soap. Let's get you home." The captain started the car and stepped on the gas, beginning their journey towards the Isle of Skye.

---

I'm not okay. Thank you for reading! (T_T) reblogs and comments of your thoughts are much appreciated!

[nishloves]

blue eyes; gojo satoru

synopsis : you were someone who always admired his beautiful crystal eyes, but now that they don't shine as much as before, now that they don't hurt and have been discarded, satoru wonders if his eyes are still your favorite.

potential manga spoilers // a tad bit insecure gojo // wc: 700 // fluff // unedited.

as he carded his fingers through the stray strands of your hair, he couldn't help but twirl the fibre around his fingers, his heart melting as he peered at you— at you playing with your mobile.

it has been weeks since the events, weeks since satoru fell into your arms, your relatively small hands almost cradling him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, hell, he would never admit it but the strongest— no, satoru gojo felt safe in your arms, safer than anytime in his nearly thirty year old life.

it has been weeks since he almost kidnapped you from your duties and ran away to malaysia for a month long vacation, a special urn in his luggage with a different—bluer set of goggles adorning him.

as he smiled at you texting to others about how you both have been well these past few days, his gaze couldn't help but admire you; your soft smile, the curve of your cheeks, the way your lashes fluttered at an interval of approximately four seconds and the way your eyes— eyes...

eyes.

he pursed his lips almost involuntarily, his hand which was tracing circles over the small of your back stopping momentarily, his thoughts speeding a hundred miles per second. you loved his eyes, never let him feel as if they were a curse, he remembered the way you would gaze at those crystalline blue miracles which refracted faintest of light— a shimmer which isn't present now, a shine whine is duller now, a look of youth— a twinkle that is lost— would you look at his eyes the same? now that they aren't as special as before? would you—

"satoru?"

honey. like mellowed honey, he decided that, that was the best representation of the way his name rolled off your tongue.

"yes darling?" he asked, tilting his head to look at you, only to find you gazing up at him— more specifically at his eyes, observing you syncing your own blinks with his.

"baby?" he asked again.

you could only smile sheepishly as you buried your face in his chest, your cheeks burning pink.

"sorry, it's just that— you're so pretty, your eyes are so beautiful, i'd stare at them for ages if I could."

he almost gasped, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped, looking down at you; his brows furrowed and an almost— almost pleading look in his eyes.

"still?" he asked.

"what do you mean still?"

"you love my eyes that bad?"

you giggled, as if it was the funniest question your fiancée had ever sked you.

"obviously! they are your eyes! my favorite shade of blue, with perfect lashes— on my favorite person, I'd love them for eternity."

he smiled, so bright that his eyes twinkled— not in the way they used to but somehow prettier.

he had a thousand words to say— no, maybe a million, a billion or even more than that. his thumb traced your cheekbone as he looked at your fondly, his lips morphed into a cheeky smile, his vessels almost tugging at his heart as he took in all of you.

but despite the infinite number of words he wanted to say—

"i know. i'm gorgeous." was all he said.

you laughed, looking back at your phone as you leaned your head against his chest, turning to look at your mobile again as satoru resumed his ministerings.

'you know,' he realised as he looked at your giddy smile.

'she always knows,' he realised as he kissed the top of your head.

[cognitiveinequality]

^^ agreed. maybe most devs reblog things exclusively from the top of their dashboards, but some of us have a history on this place and regularly go deep into the archives for things. when i’m back sifting through post threads from 2018, looking for the previous reblog the notes view is virtually impossible on all but the most niche posts

hi! just wanted to ask, maybe it flew under the radar, but why does clicking on the person whom it was reblogged from's username on desktop now take them to the user's blog instead of their reblog of the post? with the 'talking in tags' and 'prev tags' culture tumblr has, i feel like this could be a roadblock for those types of interactions. especially for blogs that post/reblog a lot a day. (just to clarify, i'm not referring to on-dash, but rather when wanting to view the previous tags through an entire reblog chain by clicking the previous person's username). thanks!

hmm, there was a change recently where clicking the whole header takes you to that post in the blog view popup, but i think clicking on the "parent" blog name (the one the person reblogged from) should still take you to their post. if it's not, then that's probably a bug. please file a Support ticket about this, if that's what you mean.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Hey Marzi could that black silk afternoon gown from 1875 that you reblogged be considered a mourning dress? I’m still trying to figure out how mourning attire worked

This one?

Could be, yeah! In a certain context only, though.

So, the way Victorian mourning often seems to have worked in practice was kind of like...having a black cocktail dress that you could wear to your aunt's funeral but also out for drinks with friends. It's very dependent on context and accessories, because black was a popular color for women's clothing in general (just like it is now).

Really, despite what listicles often want to say, there are a VERY small number of extant gowns that could only ever have been For Mourning SpecificallyTM. The rules varied, but it tended along the lines of "in the first, deepest phase of mourning, you wear only black with no other accent colors and nothing shiny or sparkly, including shiny silk-satin." People often forget the No Shiny rule in rushing to label all black dresses Mourning. Then later on, you could start adding back in shine and accent colors, generally white, purple, mauve, and sometimes red depending on where and when you lived.

Except those were also popular accent colors for non-mourning black clothing. And non-shiny black dresses existed in other contexts, too.

Yeah. You can see where this gets confusing for modern researchers.

Accessories played a big role in showing mourning- important, because the whole point of formalized mourning was to convey "be gentle; I'm going through something hard." Matte black jewelry, as from bog oak, jet, or sometimes hardened rubber later on in the 19th century, especially with certain symbols. Anything with a willow and urn motif. A hand holding a wreath. A piece of jewelry marked with someone's name and their age/the year when they died. Sometimes, but not always, jewelry with skulls and skeletons (sometimes that's just because they thought those motifs looked cool). Wearing a veil was also a great way to show mourning, in context with everything else- it's now often associated with especially widows in the mid-19th century.

(It was even harder for men at times, since black suits were wildly popular. Sometimes a black armband would be worn, or strictest matte black in all jewelry like collar and cuff studs. But I've actually read etiquette manuals that are like "it's really hard for men to show that they're in mourning; oops.")

I feel like the idea of formalized mourning is so foreign to us now that we've gotten a little bit overexcited and forgotten that, if it doesn't make sense to us to buy a whole new wardrobe when someone dies, that was probably true back then as well- and if we like black clothing in non-mourning contexts, they probably did, too. You can find advertisements for retailers selling mourning clothes, so people definitely did buy new things for the occasion at times- but they also made good use of what they already had, just like we do now. And wore those same outfits with different contextualizing accessories when mourning was over.

Oh, and the notion that there was a strict, specific term of time you HAD to mourn for different losses in your life, and everyone knew the term and was keeping score? Not as much a thing either. I've read a few books that do proscribe a specific term for different relatives or loved ones who've died, but most also specify that mourning is highly personal and the length that one might mourn varies from person to person. Also, no, widowers were not only required to mourn for a year while widows mourned for two: I found that in a couple of books, but far more that advised the same minimum length of mourning for both losses. There might be judgmental people who thought you Hadn't Mourned For Long Enough, but that's not quite the same as a strict, universally-accepted rule.

And there were all sorts of exceptions- a bride was generally advised to cast off mourning for her wedding day (although one could get married in a black dress, so I guess that just means accessorizing in a more normal way), keeping children in mourning for too long- or sometimes at all! -was believed to be too hard on their little minds during a time of stress...it was all a lot more malleable than we often think nowadays.

Hope this helps!

[babyrdie]

Bro, I love Antilochus, Patroclus and Achilles' friendship so much. I feel like their dynamic is something like Patroclus cooking, Achilles looking at him with heart eyes, and Antilochus looking at both of them as if they had set the stars in the sky. Something like:

Patroclus: 😑

Achilles: 😍

Antilochus: 🤩

Antilochus being always so happy about them. Hell, he loves and admires these guys SO MUCH. He doesn't even mind being the third wheel. Like yeah, Achilles has been silent for about 10 minutes now just staring at Patroclus while Patroclus explains about horse care and Antilochus is the only one actually asking Patroclus questions, but still! Patroclus also doesn't care that Achilles clearly isn't listening properly and is just looking at him like a besotted idiot, Antilochus won't shut up (like father like son, I suppose) and that's great. As for Achilles…well, he's got his handsome man to stare at and he's got a close friend who admires him, is there anything better for a person's ego??? As if my god Agamemnon forgot to invite me to the party, I'll cry into my man's muscular thighs and have my hair stroked by him while my other best friend keeps repeating how I'm completely right to have fought with our leader and reaffirming what a great guy I am.

I like to imagine that Antilochus was always so excited, happy and blushing at every compliment that people at the camp began to theorize that they were a trisal or something. But no, he just loves and admires his friends too much. Likewise, Antilochus isn't a lover of Achilles, but that doesn't change the fact that Achilles loves him very much, so it is only natural that Antilochus' death causes Achilles to take revenge on him by killing Memnon and that Antilochus is also included in the urn in which his and Patroclus' ashes are. It's no wonder that in the versions where Achilles is in Leuke, Patroclus and Antilochus are there. When Homer describes the dead at Asphodel, Patroclus and Antilochus appear close to Achilles. And there was a temple of Achilles that also had dedications to Patroclus and Antilochus. These three have SO much friendship potential... Patroclus and his two excited and fast guys, Achilles and his two doomed best friends, Antilochus and his two brilliant and scary friends.

Bonus/Details:

Fun fact: In the part where I said that I imagine Antilochus can be quite talkative because I have the headcanon that he resembles Nestor in this, I actually used a popular Brazilian saying, but I changed it because I wasn't sure if it would make sense in English (I wrote like father like son). But for those who are curious, the saying is: son of a fish, baby/little fish is. It may have variants, for example: son of a shark, baby/little shark is. It's to indicate that someone resembles their parent, and I found it funny because the animals used are aquatic and Nestor is a grandson of Poseidon because his father, Neleus, is a demigod of Poseidon with Tyro. Consequently, Antilochus is a great-grandson of Poseidon. Suitable animals for them, I would say!

About the invite: The thing about Agamemnon forgetting to invite Achilles and Achilles getting angry is real, although there is no mention of Patroclus or Antilochus in this. It's in frag 1 of The Cypria, which says: "Next they sail as far as Tenedos: and while they are feasting [...] Here, too, Achilles quarrels with Agamemnon because he is invited late."

About horses: In Philostratu's Heroica, Antilochus's description says "He gave me the following details about Antilokhos: He was most fond of horses and hunting with dogs, even using times of truce in the fighting for hunting. At any rate, Antilokhos frequented Mount Ida with Achilles and the Myrmidons, and when he was on his own, he would hunt with the Pylians and Arcadians, who provided a market-place for the army because of the great number of animals caught. He was noble in battle, swift-footed, quickly moving when armed, easily understood orders, and did not lose his pleasant manner even in battle", so now I have a headcanon of that he would be 100% focused on Patroclus's wise words about horses, especially because Patroclus can handle a pair of divine horses.

About Leuke: In one version of the myth, Thetis asks Poseidon to create an island just for Achilles. Poseidon does so, and after his death Achilles doesn't go to the Underworld, but is taken by Thetis to this island named Leuke. In addition to Achilles, other characters listed in the myth include Antilochus, Patroclus, the two Ajax, and Achilles' wife (who varies between Helen and Iphigenia, but is usually Helen). In a more unusual version, Achilles has a son with Helen on Leuke, but Zeus kills him (Photius preserved this specific version, if I'm not mistaken). The oldest recorded source mentioning this version is the lost epic Aethiopia, but it was mentioned in later literature, continued to exist even in the Roman period and even encouraged a cult of Achilles on an island that has been identified as Leuke. According to a Roman source, the cult of Achilles in the Black Sea also included a cult of Patroclus. According to archaeological discoveries, it included Thetis as well.

About the dedications: The temple of Achilles which also had dedications to Antilochus and Patroclus also included Big Ajax. It was mentioned by Strabo: "Near the Sigeium is a temple and monument of Achilles, and monuments also of Patroclus and Antilochus. The Ilienses perform sacred ceremonies in honour of them all, and even of Ajax." .

[muddyorbsblr]

feels like mine pt2

See my full list of works here!

Summary: On the worst day of his life, Tom receives an offer impossible to refuse: getting you back. Well, almost…

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: major character death; possibly a wonky timeline (the math wasn't and still isn't mathing in my pea brain); probably a wonky depiction of soulmates [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: sad meow meow hours

Three days ago…

After a good dozen takes on the same sequence from a variety of angles, Tom finally had a moment to himself, giving his assistant a signal to retrieve his phone so that he could give you a call. You'd been apart for nearly a month at this point and he missed you terribly.

The only remote relief he'd get was hearing your voice as often as he possibly could. You'd tell him all about the plot of the book you were reviewing, or what details you could divulge on the shows you were working on. Considering that you often had ironclad NDAs for them these days, you'd usually tell him of the former as it was less of a minefield.

Once his assistant handed over his phone, however, his heart caught in his throat at the screen that greeted him. Over a dozen missed calls from an unknown number in the last few hours, preceded by a text message from you.

Tom, sweetie, I'm in the hospital. It's no big deal, just a little road accident, don't worry about me. I might not be able to answer your calls for a while, since they're taking me in for surgery in a few minutes. I love you. Always.

With trembling hands, Tom returned the call from the unknown number, his heart so heavy in his chest it was a struggle to even breathe right. The next words felt as if they passed through him in a blur; he could only pick up on bits and pieces from the other end.

Drunk driver. T-bone. Internal bleeding.

And the worst words of all. I'm deeply sorry for your loss.

He took the soonest possible flight back to London, everything around him seemed a blur until he finally got to the home you two shared, his and your mothers waiting for him inside. That was the moment he finally broke, dropping to his knees and breaking out into sobs, the horrible reality cruelly sinking in once he saw their completely distraught faces.

They took your body to be cremated that day, allowing him a few minutes to say goodbye before they began the process. Your mother advised him against looking into the body bag, insisting that he wouldn't want that as his last memory of you, that he should at least get to live on with his final memory of your face being that of the loving, beaming wife he knew and loved.

The next time that you came out, it was in an urn, weighing just about the same as a baby, and he cradled you as such. For the entire car ride back to your home until he settled you in his study.

"We didn't have enough time," he said through his tears, stroking the golden urn as if he was stroking your hair. "We should have had more time."

At that moment, a voice pierced the solemn silence of your home. "I'm sorry for your loss, Thomas."

When Tom turned to see who the unwelcome visitor was, he couldn't find any words to say except one. "Impossible."

"Quite possible, really," Loki shot back, stepping into the study with palms open in a sign to tell your husband that the god meant no harm. "Anything's possible in this multiverse, I'm slowly coming to find. And in that realm of possibility, I have something to offer you."

"All due respect, I want nothing that you can give," Tom declared sullenly. "You can't give me my wife back."

"And what if I said that I can? Well, in a way."

That suddenly got Tom's full attention, placing an arm in front of your urn as if he was still trying to protect you. As if that could really do anything against a god. "I'm listening," he said cautiously.

"I've recently learnt that in every universe, there is an iteration or an echo of me, and a corresponding iteration of Y/N. In this universe, Thomas, you are my echo. In every universe, Y/N's echo is destined to fall in love with mine, and in almost every universe, that love is reciprocated," the god began to explain, creating an illusion with a wave of his hand of your wedding day.

It was nearly enough to mesmerize Tom completely, almost losing himself in the memory. In happier times. "Hang on, what do you mean almost every universe?"

"Ah, yes. That part. Well, you see, Thomas…in the universes where my echo takes on your form, world-famous actor, hordes of adoring men and women and everyone in between at his feet, getting an entire crowd to fall silent with a finger to his lips--"

"I get it, I get it, can we keep it moving, please?"

"Right then. In the universes where my echo is…Tom Hiddleston, while it is a guarantee that Y/N will love Tom, it is not a guarantee that Tom will love Y/N. There are universes where Tom barely even knows of her existence. She's in the hordes, a part of her soul knowing that she's doing exactly what she was designed to do, but confused as to why she feels as if a part of her is missing somehow."

"That's--" Tom's words choked off in a sob at the back of his throat, a new type of sadness overcoming him as he imagined a world where he never even knew you. Never loved you. "That's miserable."

"It is," the god agreed. "My offer to you is that I can reach into one of these universes where her love for you is unreturned, and I can bring her to you. Fulfill what her heart yearns for, and in return, you have an echo of your wife. Have the time that was stolen from you so harshly. So unfairly."

Tom considered the offer carefully, only moments passing before he had his first question. "What of her universe? Her family?"

"In these worlds she doesn't have much of one. For the most part she's alone, and has learnt to fend for herself in lieu of a support system." Both their hearts broke for those iterations of you, the thought of you taking on the world without anyone by your side was nearly enough to bring both men to their knees. "If you were to accept, then it would be a simple enough spell with barely any ripple effect to nullify her existence and memories of her from the minds of those still around to remember her."

Every part of him wanted to jump at the offer. To accept it without thinking. Getting another chance to spend a life with you? There should have been no hesitation at all. Except…

"If she's anything like my Y/N, she'll be smart enough to ask questions. Why her life's different from what she knew before. Whose remains are in the urn in my study. What do I tell her then?"

"That is entirely up to you." Loki's answer was not in the least bit comforting. "You can conjure up a story that she will be inclined to believe, or you can tell her the truth. Alternatively, I can offer you an easier way out of this as well. Surrender your late wife's remains to me and I can keep her somewhere safe. That way you can live on with creating your new life with this echo of your Y/N without being as tethered to your past; after all, if you wish to start this life with her, then she deserves to have you love her to the fullest extent you can afford. She deserves not to be loved half-heartedly by someone still clinging to the ghosts of his past."

Much as he agreed completely with the sentiment, Tom found himself hesitating at the thought of simply surrendering your ashes to the god. He knew what the trade would mean, and that he in turn would have more time with a version of you; however, a part of him still protested.

For would this not be a dishonor to your memory? To simply let go of you and the time he'd gotten to know you and fall in love with you in exchange for something that might not even live up to his memory of you?

And on the other hand, he thought about the version of you that was doomed to live your life with an unrequited love. The knowledge that your souls were only partly intertwined in that world had him hurt for that iteration of you. You did deserve to be loved with the same magnitude that you gave love. And if he could give that to you, then the only way that he could do so was to accept that this wouldn't be a life wherein he picked up where you and he left off. He would be building something new entirely.

It was a near impossible choice. But ultimately he knew which way he would go.

Loki's offer meant more time with you. It meant having you again. Even if it was an echo of you. At its core, it was still you.

Right?

"What would you do?" he asked the god.

"If I lost my Y/N? I'd turn the multiverse inside out to have her again. Rearrange the Realms itself until she was by my side." He paced the room as he continued his answer. "Any version of her." A smirk tugged at the onyx-haired man's mouth before tilting up his chin, assuming an all-knowing stance. "But seeing as you are an echo of me, you already knew that this was the answer, didn't you? You simply needed to hear it outside of your own thoughts. Solidify your decision."

Tom could only nod, the depth of the situation still tremendously lost on him. All he knew was that if he did this, he would have you back.

He placed your urn on the desk, pushing it towards Loki. "What do I do now?"

The god held out his hand. "Firstly, your wife's ring. I'll need it when I find an echo of her that leads her life all alone. It will be her first tie to this universe. Your universe." Tom placed your wedding ring into his hand. "Secondly, you grieve. You've suffered a great loss, and what I am to do is not a replacement of your late wife, and should not be treated as such. Mourn your loss for the next day. Then after tomorrow night, go about your morning routinely, as if she were alive."

Tom nodded again. "How will I know that it worked?"

Loki only shrugged at the actor. "Have faith. Faith that you'll see your wife again the morning after next."

With that, the god disappeared, taking both your remains and your wedding ring with him. And Tom heeded the advice, crawling into the bed you shared with him, all the memories of the life you built together and the possibilities of the life you were yet to build overwhelming him. The weight of your lost future all but crushing his heart into a million pieces.

And he wept himself to sleep.

Today…

On the second morning after Loki's offer, Tom rose from your shared bed and listened to the god's instructions from days before. He laced his shoes up, went on his usual morning run, changed into business casual attire as if he was scheduled for a Zoom call in a short while, and proceeded to start preparing a breakfast for two.

Once he had coffee brewing, he started preparing a lavish breakfast for you two to share, starting with a fruit platter. "Have faith," he whispered to himself, making the last second decision to make it a touch more decadent with a small bowl of Nutella to dip the fruit into.

If this truly was going to work, he would spoil you at every turn moving forward. Never another minute squandered, nor another craving denied.

"Have faith," he whispered again, putting on an apron to prevent any spills from ruining his white dress shirt and proceeding to slice up the fruit.

Then he heard the bedroom door open. And for the first time in days he felt the tiniest glimmer of hope.

He waited until you made your way down the stairs, fighting every urge to meet you halfway and take you into his arms. He knew you needed to acclimate into this life you'd been suddenly thrust into; Loki had done his part, now it was his turn to ease you into your new reality.

Your footsteps got closer and closer until finally they stopped just outside the kitchen area. That was the only time Tom allowed himself to turn around and look at you, relief flooding his system once he laid his eyes on you. In the silk navy blue nightgown, wearing your wedding ring.

He finally felt like he could breathe again.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

A/N: *peeks from the corner* I promised I'd have a sequel for 'feels like mine' up, and here it issssss 🫡 This isn't 'sworn fealty' after all 🤣 (in all seriousness though I will be working on a sequel to that I just have 0 idea when)

And technically this isn't a sequel but more of a prequel to part 1…all I can promise you is that there is a part 3 and it's spicy 😳👀 Dunno when that'll be out tho because I'll be returning to the requests pile but we'll see where the vibe takes me

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemis @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified

[nina-renmen]

Warning: HEAVY ANGST, mentions of death, pregnant reader

She was so happy. She knew Soap would be too. All ever Johnny talked about was wanting to have a baby together. Y/n saw the ring by accident. Soap had hidden it in the back of the closet, she knew he was going to propose when he got back from his deployment. Makarov was his current target. During their late night talks he’d lay his head on her lap, spilling his heart out. He’d talk about his regrets, how he wish he finished off Makarov when he had the chance.

So where did it all go wrong? Oh….yes. When y/n reluctantly let her loving boyfriend leave their shared house. She had a bad feeling about it, but he reassured her. He whispered sweet nothings to her, telling her he’d only be gone for two weeks.

Yeah right, what a joke.

Two weeks turned into three, and three weeks turned into a month. Soap stopped calling and now y/n sat in her bathroom. A positive pregnancy test in hand. What was she to do? Soap hadn’t called her in over a week. The worst things began to play in her mind but…no. Simon promised her he’d look after soap.

Which is why when a knock came at the door she stood up quickly. Rushing towards the door, the positive pregnancy test forgotten, she only wanted her significant other back. She wanted to hear his stupid laugh again, and hear his dad jokes that made her groan in annoyance.

But when she opened the door there stood Simon, Soaps captain and Gaz. A solum look on their faces. “Where’s Johnny?” Y/n asked. Her stomach dropped when Gaz shook his head. “What do you mean?” Y/n asked with more emphasis. She felt as if something was lodged in her throat. “Where’s my boyfriend? Where’s Johnny?”

With steady hands Simon pulled out an urn, followed by Price taking out his uniform with his badge number and mask.

“No….” Y/n could feel her eyes water. “No, this is a joke right? I-I promise I won’t be mad.”

“I’m so sorry y/n.” Price was the first to speak up. “There was a bomb….and then Makarov came out of nowhere and…..” Price didn’t need to finish his sentence. Y/n took the urn from Simon’s hands. Her arms wrapping around it. “No….You promised you’d take care of him.” Tears slipped out from her eyes, she couldn’t stop them. The only person that could was no longer with her. “No….No I told him not to go. I told him I had a bad feeling.” Y/n hiccuped. Gaz steadied her as the house was filled with y/n with y/n’s sorrowful cries and wails. The house would now be forever cold, the pregnancy test would lay on the bathroom floor for hours. And to think y/n would be so happy….happy for Johnny to come back home.

[theficpusher]

If This Is To End In Fire by Jiksa | E | 4306 Apocalypse makes it sound a lot more glamorous than it actually is.

It's Been a Minute Since I Called You by winterschild | nr | 5336 “Hi, mum. It’s been a minute since I called ya. I know you won’t get this, but I’m going to leave a message anyway.” He didn’t want to feel alone. In order to cope with grief, Louis has been paying for his mum's phone so he can leave her voicemails to calm him down. One day, when he forgets to pay her bill, the number disconnects and is later given to Harry Styles, a baker with a kind heart. On a drunken night, Louis leaves another voicemail, but how will Harry respond to this man, who sounds so broken? OR This is a self-indulgent, Louis centric fic about grief and a very kind person who takes concern for the small Doncaster boy with a somewhat broken heart.

Always Keep You Next To Me by lululawrence | nr | 8325 Louis jumped when the passenger side door opened and Greg somehow folded his entire lanky frame into the car. “Hey, thanks for waiting for me,” Greg said with a small smile before buckling up. “Do I get the honor?” Right. Louis couldn’t drive safely with Will’s remains in his arms. It was just ever since his mom had handed the urn over to him last night, he hadn’t been able to bring himself to let it go. He’d even curled up around it on Will’s childhood bed as he called his cell over and over again, just to hear his voice once more. Fuck. When Louis' twin dies, Louis decides to take the birthday road trip they were meant to take together with Will's best friend Greg instead. As they both mourn Will's death and celebrate his life, Louis and Greg become closer and maybe start to heal a little bit too.

Keep Driving by dead_tobeginwith | M | 11726 The first time Louis picks him up, it’s raining. He slides into the backseat smelling like hospital, like plasters and cleaning products and burnt coffee. He shuts the door and leans against the window, folding his arms protectively across his chest. He sighs heavily and closes his eyes. There’s a crease between his brows. It must have been a long day. Louis feels it when one of his knobby knees starts bobbing an uneasy rhythm. Bad news, then. Or waiting for bad news. Sometimes purgatory is the worst kind of hell. Either way, he says nothing. Louis watches his breath fog the window in the rearview mirror. When he drops him at the station, there’s a little frowny face fading in the misted glass. _________ OR Louis works as a driver contracted through the local cancer institute. All of his clients are associated with the hospital—mostly patients and their families heading home. One rainy afternoon, he picks up Harry.

You Might Want to Marry My Husband by Rearviewdreamer | nr | 24528 When Harry’s husband dies, he asks one thing of him; to find love and happiness again without him. It’s a request that Harry is happy to disregard, until he meets the one person who is impossible to ignore.

like a timebomb ticking by infinitelymint | M | 31734 Louis loses everything. Harry's still there.

we should open up (before it's all too much) by disgruntledkittenface | M | 43129 “I’m not–” Harry breaks off, his voice strangled as he clutches his phone in his hand. He takes a breath and looks up, trying to keep the tears threatening to spill over at bay. “Louis, I’m not very good company these days. I–” “Harry,” Louis interrupts, his raspy voice soft and soothing. “I get it. Sometimes it’s just easier to be alone, yeah?” Harry nods, blinking back the last of his tears. “But it can get lonely,” Louis states. Harry nods again even though it wasn’t a question, finally looking back at him. “So why don’t we try being alone, together?” Struggling with grieving and depression since his dad died, Harry has never felt so alone. It’s too much to cope with on his own, but he feels like a burden when he tries to open up with people. Then he meets Louis.

Plant New Seeds in the Melody by 28sunflowers | E | 58700 After losing his husband in a tragic car accident, the last thing Louis needs is to keep running into popstar Harry Styles, who David was quite fond of. Obviously, that’s exactly what keeps happening. But as their unlikely friendship blossoms, Louis realizes that, maybe, having Harry in his life was the only good thing that came out of his adverse circumstances. Harry could be just the right person to help Louis find trust and intimacy in someone new.

shelter as we go by fondleeds | nr | 75094 Louis looks at him like his words might break him, glass about to splinter, one wrong footfall away from shattering into a million tiny pieces. “Hey,” Harry breathes, and he knows, meeting Louis’ eyes, that his words could break him easy as anything. He almost wants Louis to bring his boot down. - AU. Nova Scotia, 1968.

[will80sbyers]

STurn (around look at what you see!)

or, the post where I speculate about Finn's playlist STurn being a series of hints for Mike's arc in season 5 and how this brings us to Byler endgame in the finale!! This is all speculation for fun, I don't know if it was intended to be a playlist about byler but there are so many things that make me think so and we have too much free time before season 5 so why not talk about it....

WARNING: It's gonna be long lol

Reasons why I think this playlist is about st5:

The name, obviously with ST in it but it also can be used as a play of words with '' turn around look at what you see '' or ST urn which is pretty clever if it's intentional, and I think Finn writes songs pretty often so he would play with words like this IMO

The third song is called '' After the Earthquake '' and the s4 earthquake was pretty important - I also have a theory that there are going to be other earthquakes in season 5 because the two worlds are merging with each other

It seems Finn has a habit of making playlists for the characters he plays and leaving them public

The songs were added 2 weeks ago and this means he was actively filming when he decided to make that

Reasons why I think this playlist is related to Will specifically:

Many of the songs and their meanings make more sense for a queer storyline, and Mike can only have that with Will

The cover of the Beatles song has them all with the same haircut as Will that everybody makes fun of online and I think he may have put it because of that also, I would tbh

The possible ''Turn around and look at what you see'' was sung before the scene in season 3 where Mike and Will are sharing a sweet moment about d&d and there were already plenty of speculations in the byler fandom about how that song was choosen for them... - Rhymes that keep their secrets / Will unfold behind the clouds / And there upon a rainbow / Is the answer to a neverending story

The last song is the same last song in the playlist that was made for Will by the writers during season 2 ... so many ''coincidences''

Now let's start to see what I can theorize from the lyrics of some of these songs...

I already made posts about some of the songs, and it's pretty clear that some of the songs have an obvious queer meaning like the song number 7 :

"Don't ask me to explain" by Of Montreal was written by a bisexual person and has clear hints about sexuality and I quote from that site

« The lyrics of "Don't Ask Me to Explain" by of Montreal present a complex and multilayered exploration of identity, sexuality, and social norms. The singer of the song struggles to connect with others and feel authentic in their own skin. They question whether it's possible to truly know someone else and love them when they are hiding parts of themselves. The line "Who are you hiding you from, across the table with a penny in each eye?" suggests that the person they are speaking to is not being truthful or open with them, and they are struggling to understand why. The singer also shares their own desires and fears, confessing that they would like to marry all of their close friends and live in a big house by the sea. This unconventional desire goes against societal norms and expectations, which is reinforced by the line "I'd really like to, but I'm just too shy". The singer is torn between their desires and the fear of social rejection and judgment. The line "Who will be watching my body when I sleep? Who will I believe in?" indicates a sense of vulnerability and a lack of trust towards others. The chorus repeats throughout the song, serving as a refrain and emphasizing the singer's refusal to explain or justify themselves to others. They feel that they should not be forced to explain or apologize for their desires, beliefs, or identity. Overall, "Don't Ask Me to Explain" is a powerful and introspective song that invites the listener to reflect on their own struggles with authenticity, identity, and societal expectations. »

I think this song fits perfectly for my interpretation of Mike as he doesn't yet know that Will is not being honest with him, and he doesn't get why Will is lying, he can't fully fall for him before he knows the secrets Will is hiding, he's also afraid of going against social norms, but the song to me seems to talk about someone that fights against it and overcomes these fears and wants to be authentic to themselves and that's why they are asking the other person to do the same, I think it conveys a longing feeling like the person wants to let themselves fall for this other person, but the other person is hiding themselves, and they want both of them to be honest about their feelings. In my opinion this song is about Mike wanting to love Will but waiting for him to be honest before that can happen, because he can't fall in love consciously if he doesn't even know it's a possibility- that's why he needs to discover the lie about the painting, but most of all Will must confess his feelings!!!

Here's the line to line meaning, and I'll add byler context lol obviously you have to adapt to the situation, there is not a literal correspondence like I said for the other analysis of the playlists, it's just the general meaning because the songs were not made for byler but in another context, so the details can't be perfect - you just adapt the general meaning with what fits when you choose songs for it:

How will I ever know you enough to love you

If you're hiding who you are?

Don't ask me to explain.

Who are you hiding you from,

Across the table with a penny in each eye?

Don't ask me to explain.

Will must be honest with Mike about who he is and his feelings so that byler can happen, the line about someone hiding from them when they are sitting across the table from them so they can look at them face to face makes me think about the fact that Will in the van lied to Mike to his face directly.

I'd like to marry all of my close friends,

And live in a big house together by an angry sea

in the context of byler this can be interpreted as in Mike's desire to live with Will that's one of his closest friends and live together even if outside the sea of ''normal'' people are angry at them, they are sheltered in the house

Am I the devil's marbles, don't move on without me

Who will be watching my body when I sleep? Who will I believe in? How am I supposed to let it show when I don't even know?

I think in this part the singer is showing that even if they want this person and love them, they are disrupting the peace with their request to be honest and even if they don't want them to move on they are saying that they can't show their love when they don't even know how they feel themselves, could be applied to both Mike & Will

Besides, I don't want to be the one whose coming out first,

I'd really like to, but I'm just too shy

Don't ask me to explain

The singer is asking the other person to ''come out first'' because they are too shy/scared to do it first, obviously it's about asking the other person to come out with their real feelings, but it's clearly a queer phrasing about the ''coming out'' because the song is talking about a queer relationship... and since the person that wrote it is bi I think we can say that with 97% of probability lol

It's so easy to lie to myself

And pretend that I could love you, but I can't

I think this part is about how the singer wants in part to just love them and let go of the need to make the other person be honest, but they can't be truly themselves and be in real love unless both of them are honest, so ''they can't'' just let go of this need, and they keep asking the other person to take that step with them!

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But let's go back, the first song in the playlist is Ballad of a Texas King by Cut Worms and this song fits Mike's fear of the unknown and the changes he will go through in season 5 - his personal arc even not counting Will in the equation, Mike is scared of things changing around him... (this song also briefly mentions California)

As the writer of the song said in his personal site:

On “Ballad of a Texas King” Clarke sings, “Hey kid come along… something is wrong… I believe you know… All this to say, only one way that this can go…” It’s as if he’s reaching out to his younger self, letting him know the changes are inevitable. How do we hang on to a dream? How do we not lose ourselves in a world that is lost? The only way out of a nightmare is to keep going.

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The second song is the one with the cover that reminds us of Will lmao - '' What you're doing to me'' by the Beatles

This song is in the same context as the others about asking your lover to stop lying so you can be with them - Mike asking Will in this context, Mike is his true love

I've been waiting here for you

Wondering what you're gonna do

And should you need a love that's true - It's me

Please stop your lying

You got me crying, girl

Why should it be so much to ask of you

What you're doing to me?

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Song number 3 is "After the earthquake" by Alvvays and I found this online that it's interesting not only for the references to someone in a coma and the earthquake but metaphorically it could be applied to Mike finding out about the painting lie and his world being turned upside down, maybe by a fight with Will that doesn't get resolved because something happens before it can be...

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Song number 4 is Promises I've Made by Emitt Rhodes and I think this could be Mike still pining after Will even after they have their fight, if the fight happens before the time jump maybe he spends one year with Will trying to distance himself/or just not trying anything because he thinks there's no point and Mike trying to repress all his feelings for Will, or alternatively we can say he already started this process after season 3, and he's trying to just repress it but can't

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Song number 5 is '' Angst in my pants'' by Sparks

But when you think

But when you think you've made it disappear

You're sure you made it disappear

And you've still got angst in your pants

I hope it doesn't show

It'll go away (go away)

It's just a passin' phase

It'll go away (go away)

I hope it doesn't show

It'll go away (go away)

Give it a hundred years

It won't go away

pretty self explanatory, Mike is trying to repress his sexual feelings for Will and trying to convince himself ''it's just a phase'' and he's not queer... personally I feel like the song IS about queerness because it's from 1982 and there's a literal man dressed as a woman, like.... pls

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Song number 6 is ''The Better side'' by Audiotree and The Slaps and I couldn't find the text online so I have transcribed it myself but if there's some lyric wrong let me know because I wasn't sure for some words:

You're never gonna see the sun

you're never gonna see me run

and I say oh baby don't make me stay out too late

imma go into sleep I know you'd cry

and I'm trying to keep you by my warmth

You're never gonna see my eyes

You're coloring other skies you want to

and I say Oh baby don't make me do the falling when I'm drinking of you

you're on the better side

you're always the better one for me

I'm trying staying alive, keep my head on the better side when you're far away and you're horny as hell

and you're all that I need

I'm not gonna miss you anymore

I interpret this as Mike pining for Will again and how Will is the better choice for him and the one that he truly needs

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Song number 8 is ''What do you want me to do?'' by Pointed Sticks

This song makes me think about Mike & El and I think it could be sort of a break up song between them although I don't think it's literal but more ''angry after a break up scene - vibes''

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Another song that I think is about Mike x El is ''Substitute'' by The Who, song number 9 :

I interpret this song as a guy that tried to change himself for the girl he likes but he's never enough for her even changing everything about himself - so not a real relationship based on knowing each other deeply and he's tired of pretending to be someone else

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Song number 10 is ''The Rebel Kind'' by Modernettes

I think this song is about someone embracing ''being different'' and wanting to stick with the ''rebel'' kind, the people that rebel to society's standards and expectations, Mike wants to be part of that no matter what happens

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Song number 11 '' Block Rockin' Beats'' by The Chemical brothers... is almost without words but it's funny to me how you could put duffers instead of chemical there lol anyway it could be just a vibe song to prepare for the finale, maybe something action packed happens and this song is good for a fight scene...

right before the ending that as we said before is the same song that Will's playlist had at the end... song number 12 is a love song, a winning the love of your life song!!!

''Just what I needed'' by The Cars has the vibe of a song you would hear at the end of the movie right after the main couple finally gets together and they are happy!

'Cause when you're standin' oh so near

I kinda lose my mind, yeah

oh so you mean...

you'll go crazy (together) ?

[five-rivers]

adequate peace

Phic phight for Lumi!

.

Human language lacked the words to adequately describe the physical appearance of the King of Ghosts.  This was sure to be a temporary deficiency.  When a human lacked the vocabulary to describe something, they either generated new words or stole them.  Still, for the moment, the deficiency persisted.  

A human attempting to describe the Ghost King might, after a struggle, settle on vast.  This, on top of being inadequate, would also be incorrect, a product of human conflating of importance and size. Serpentine might also be chosen, or mustelidine, for the King's relative length and width, although those were largely a matter of perspective.  Some humans might focus instead on individual, more easily grasped, features, such as the hair, which was the color of sunlight falling on snow after being cast through ice, or the eyes, which were the glowing green of uranium glass under blacklight.  Still others might fail to register those at all, and have difficulty perceiving the King in the proper dimensionality, resulting in things like limbs appearing to clip through wall, or even in the King being invisible, imperceptible, but doubtlessly present.  

Those with somewhat greater measure of wisdom might instead attempt to describe the King's regalia.  The cloth cut from dazzling night, clinging to every curve, flowing, diaphanous, silky, folds and layers holding secrets unknown and unknowable.  The crown, a blazing circlet, a corona of light, the sun, eclipsed.  The ring of office, adorned with the skull of a lesser, and therefore conquered, creature.  The staff, like a tower, like a needle, like the slender trunk of a sapling, not fully grown, but rich in potential.  The sword, sharp enough to cut the fabric of spacetime, light enough to hold in one hand, a perfect void, made to divide both what was and what was not.  

Or, to protect themselves and their sanity, a human may choose to focus on the King's surroundings, rather than the King's person.  The throne, which cradled the King’s body, grave, urn, and memorial, bones on an altar, a sacrifice.  The great cathedral of the King’s receiving hall, the branches of which reached up to the cosmos, the roots of which reached down to the shadows of subconscious thought.  They might look out the windows, and gaze upon the kingdom, that great kingdom of the dead, that kingdom which everyone would be a citizen of, soon or late.   

But even those were not comfortable to contemplate.  Not for long.  

It was easier by far to examine, and therefore describe, the King’s mental state.  There was nothing esoteric about it, after all.  

Mental breakdowns were perfectly within human understanding.  

Danny had been crowned only hours ago.  If he’d had a choice, he wouldn’t have been crowned at all, but as Skulker had told him years ago, the Ring of Rage and the Crown of Fire contained entities with a will of their own.  Danny had been chosen, and they weren’t going to take no for an answer.  

Thus, his current predicament.

As soon as he’d been crowned… as soon as the stupid thing had touched his head…  It was like his body evaporated off of him, and into this.  This thing he could barely understand, but could feel so, so much.  This thing that was him, undeniably and completely, and which was so alien, so divorced from what he understood to be himself, that he couldn’t even begin to think about it.  

He wasn’t bigger.  He wasn’t smaller.  When he counted his limbs, he had the right number.  When he touched his mouth, he had only one.  One mouth, one nose, two eyes, two ears.  Nothing had been removed.  Nothing had been added, except for those infernal crown jewels  That’s what he felt when he checked.  

But he could see forwards and backwards, both down and up.  His lips were closed but he was singing, speaking, babbling, screaming.  He could feel feathers as they brushed against the throne and through the walls of the keep.  Scales scraped against stone.  Stars and nebulae tangled in his horns and antlers.  

He didn’t have any of those.  His skin was intact, fleshy, and pink.  His skin was stretched to infinity, and transparent as glass, galaxies swimming beneath it.  

He couldn’t breathe.  He had to breathe.  He was breathing, but the aurora spilled past his lips with every gasp.  

In his mind’s eye floated the Earth.  A blue pearl against the black.  The Infinite Realms stood out like emeralds on a chain, each one precious.  

He curled in the great cradle of his throne, trying not to feel, trying not to think.  He was not.  He could not. 

Three years since he had really been human, and he’d never expected this.  He’d never dreamed of this.  He’d never wanted this.  

Like this, he couldn’t even pretend to be human.  

He clawed at the Ring and Crown, but even with so much power, what could he do against the very things that granted that power?  They didn’t go away, even when he reached for his living half.  They clung.  They constricted.  They were weights and chains he wanted to cast off.  

“Daniel.”

No, said Danny, although he didn’t know how.  His word echoed.  

“Daniel, you will injure yourself.”

He sobbed.  

“Please, Daniel.”  A cold hand wrapped around his wrist.  It was a hand that was three hands.  Or, rather, three versions of the same hand, layered upon itself and twisted through time.  

“I don’t want this,” said Danny.  

“I know, Daniel.”  Shifting robes tickled the edges of wings that were not there.  A tail curled at the base of the throne, and another hand laid itself against Danny’s knee.  “You are overwhelmed.”

Until Clockwork had said it, Danny hadn’t known it was true.  But there was so much here, and all of it was him.  

“You do not need to stay here,” said Clockwork, gently.  There was kindness there, and a thread of something like possession.  The words came from a well of great experience, deep and dark.  “Look up.  Anywhere you can see, you can go.  Go, and find peace from this.”

“But not forever,” said Danny.  

“Nothing is forever,” said Clockwork.  “But once you find peace from this, you may someday find peace with this.  It is a long road–” here, Clockwork placed a hand on Danny’s cheek, “--but know that time is on your side.”

Danny bit his lower lip, teeth both flat and fanged, and a motion like a nod stirred the inky fabrics of his cerements.  He looked up, and all his eyes were filled with stars. 

[shadowscommand]

uhhmm drabble about ghost and mace after soap's death. ao3 link 857 words. here it is on Tumblr tho

Ghost is notorious for changing phone numbers. This wasn't the case originally, when his mother was still alive and needed a way to contact her son easily. That was years ago. Now, Mace keeps the same number, and about once a month he receives a text from Unknown asking if he's too busy to talk. He’s always honest, either ignoring if he is busy or sitting with his phone in hand teasing Ghost for a second before calling.

Today, he gets the text in the middle of the day while he's eating lunch. Mace texts back once, “I'm eating.” Ghost doesn't wait for a back and forth before calling him.

“Oi,” he says as a greeting. He sounds gruff, but he always sounds gruff.

“Hey.”

Mace listens as he inhales and exhales what he can only assume is cigarette smoke. “What're you eating?”

“Rice and lamb.” Mace continues before Ghost can give more than a soft grunt in reply, teeming with need to pick at Ghost for a moment. “You're not too busy with that new guy to talk?”

"He died.” Ghost says. Blunt, even, said like he's eager to get this discussion over with already.

"Oh.”

"Mh.”

"I'm, um,” Mace struggles a bit. He looks at the phone out of the corner of his eyes, keenly aware this conversation could spark an argument quickly. “I'm sorry"

"S'okay, it's not your fault. It's Price's." Ghost sighs, almost immediately. Mace can hear a light clunk as the phone is set beside him. It's silent for a bit before there's a softer sound, and Ghost sounds further away when he speaks again. "I don't mean that."

"Yea," Mace agrees. He knows.

"I was there, too. It's just as much my fault."

Mace can hear it now, the haggard edge to his voice. He's been awake too long, probably, if Mace knows him right. He forgoes reassuring him, instead replies with his tone gentle, "what happened?”

"Just… It was quick. Price was grabbed, Soap was trying to help, he got shot. It did help, but," Ghost pauses. Mace can picture Simon, looking left and right at nothing, eyes unfocused.

"He didn't make it," Mace provides.

The phone is picked back up. Mace can hear as Ghost exhales against the microphone, his voice tense from the latest drag of his cigarette. "Right through his temple."

"Mh," Mace nods though Ghost can't see.

"Quick, at least."

"Did you go to the funeral? Has he had one yet?”

Ghost scoffs. "In my mask?"

"You could take it off,” Mace replies, tone still gentle, still trying to urge him out of this shell of his.

"Fuck. You." Mace can tell he'd brought the phone closer to his mouth. He pulls away again "Gaz and Price went. Gaz said it was nice. They took a bit of his ashes– well, his mom insisted they take some."

"Mh.”

"Had his urn."

"You saw it?"

"We spread them."

"So you did go to his funeral.”

There's a pause and Mace can see Ghost’s eyes rolling in his mind's eye. "Yeah, sure, our own funeral."

“That's nice. That's good,” Mace is genuine, glad Ghost is allowing himself closure this time.

“Sure.”

“It is,” Mace reiterates.

“I literally agreed with you,” he snaps back, already tired of this.

“Okay” Mace says, even and neutral. He stays quiet and Ghost follows suit, passively holding the phone in his hand while he smokes.

“M’still in Scotland.”

“I'm still in Urzikstan.”

“Shame,” Ghost replies.

“Yeah,” Mace agrees. “How long have you been there?”

“Just a night,” Ghost says as he rummages for something. It's all muted to Mace, Ghost’s cheap phone having a cheap microphone. Mace knows he'd say the same for his, so he keeps his phone to his ear, tucked between his head and his shoulder with no complaint.

Ghost stays quiet, huffing and messing with either wrappers or papers in his vicinity. Something plastic. Mace eats his food, only a little too cool now. Neither one of them hangs up, or wants to, despite the stretch of silence going on long enough for Mace to finish the plate, take it and the phone down to the kitchen sink, and go sit outside himself.

“Are you in a room?” he decides to ask, finally.

“Car,” Ghost sounds distant again. Mace can imagine he's set the phone on the dashboard.

“You spend the night there?”

“Yea.”

Bad for your back, Mace thinks fleetingly.

“Don't fuckin’ say anything,” Ghost says, seemingly hearing his thoughts.

“I didn't.”

“Good.”

“I didn't,” Mace laughs, soft and under his breath. “No need.”

Ghost snorts. He fidgets with the phone again before slamming a door and starting the car. Mace can hear the phone get set into a cupholder. “Wanna hang up?” he asks.

“Why? Are you goin’ somewhere?”

“Sounds like you are.”

“I’m just drivin’ back. I’ve got a fuckin’ stand to put my phone in; you’re not hangin’ up.”

“Oh,” Mace replies. Not a cupholder. “You want company while you drive?”

“If it won’t kill you.” Ghost huffs out air.

“Nah, baby,” Mace reassures him, deftly ignoring the bite in his voice. “I’ll be here.”

[lurafita]

Please adress any concerns to Ragnor Fell

Ragnor, portalling into the loft, waving a bunch of little paper notes: "Magnus! Why am I being attacked with fire messages demanding a formal apology?"

Magnus, lazily reclining on his couch and reading a book: "I needed a special urn for a spell, and had to break into a few places to get it."

Ragnor: "If you needed a *specific* urn, why did you have to break into *several* places?"

Magnus: "Because the mundane museum I first broke into turned out to be displaying a fake. So then I had to break into the villa of the woman who donated the piece, thinking she would still have the original. However, she had sold it at the black market about 2 years ago to settle her late father's debts. When I tracked down the black market buyer, it just so happened to be a vampire clan leader of some renown, who in a marvelous twist of fate, also turned out to have had romantic relations with the poor woman's father, and had bought the urn from her specifically to help her out of her father's debt. He had arranged for a seelie to make the fake that had been donated to the museum, so that Ingrid, you know - the woman from the villa with the debt, who by the way, makes the most delicious pastries, - could also claim some tax benefits. And in another not as marvelous turn of events, this particular mundane museum was patroned by Richard Nimbus. You surely remember the old coot from our last meeting in the spiral labyrinth, right? Anyway, all three of them then took great pains to voice their displeasure with the way I chose to acquire the urn. Even though I assured them I was going to return it unscathed after my business was finished."

Ragnor: "Number 1: They are right and you are a menace. Number 2: Why in magic's name did they send their complains to me?"

Magnus: "During their long and boring triad, the question about 'who raised me' came up, so I referred them to you."

Copied out of discord where the wonderful Mika Mewtwo inspired the post.

[gant-eyed-warden]

I love this new game, can I play?

As a bonus, I'll draw the winning object. :)