#he whoops out a war cry

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

[csprint]

Can you write SVT members you think would jump in a fight with/for you? Who’s getting their ass beat and who’s not helping?!

Thx.

kookinglikeachef: With all of the bickering and unserious fighting they do, I expect them to turn into MMA fighters for you. This is all jokes!!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Definitely jumping in:

Seungcheol

Is always ready to square up when it comes to you. Will not let anyone lay a single fingernail on you. In fact, you can’t even help. He’d shut your ass up and tell you to go somewhere while he handled the mf trying to put hands on his baby.

Joshua

Looks pretty and soft but he’s stomping bitches into the dust for you. K.O.’s left and right. Will not hesitate to fuck someone up. He’s a little unhinged.

Woozi

TRUST. HE IS DOGGING ANY AND EVERYBODY TRYING TO STEP TO YOU. Height is nothing cause at any time of the muthafkng day he’s never letting these heaux forget. PLAYTIME BEEN TF OVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Getting your shit rocked together:

Jeonghan

Girl.. he brought his emotional support sword to the fight. Endearing but just take your L.

Jun

If he sees you losing, he’s going in like he Bruce Lee. Gives you a little advantage to get your two piece combo in. Both still walking away a little banged up but the aftercare and nursing each other’s wounds would be so good!

Hoshi

Makes sure you don’t get snuck. Ready to go to war to defend you when your hair is getting pulled and in return he’s getting flamed up as well. Tries to save your hair extensions and you’re both laughing about the situation afterwards.

Seungkwan

He’s probably the reason you’re in a fight because he looked at someone the wrong way. His strength is verbal (talking shit). I’m sorry but both of you got busted up.

Crying, shaking, and throwing up:

Dokyeom

Running around trying to stop people recording. Tries to calm you down but can’t even calm himself. So flustered and afraid you might hit him as well.

Mingyu

Pathetically on his knees begging you to stop. He doesn’t like when you’re angry and is trying to control his anger at the same time. Eventually grabs you and throws you over his shoulder as you continue to cuss the other person out.

Dino

Whether you’re beating ass or getting folded like an omelette, the fight has ruined him. He’s got nothing left. He’s drained. Mentally, emotionally, and dehydrated from crying. There aren't any words. His hands are fucking shaking. He needs to lie down.

Not helping at all:

Wonwoo

Does not know what to do. Wondering if he should break up the fight but you’re handling your own. Would be too worried about you to ask why you were fighting in the first place. Takes care of any wounds you may have gotten.

Minghao

Please. Why are you embarrassing him?! Yes, he can wreck bitches but you’re being scowled at right now. He might just beat your ass when you finishing whooping the other person. Takes you home to meditate all that negativity away.

Vernon

Genuinely has no idea what’s going on. He’s just watching and recording in amusement. Every five seconds he’s yelling: “oh shit” when you get smacked up. Doesn’t realize it’s you who’s fighting until he tries calling you to tell you all about it and the ringing is coming from the person in a headlock. Immediately jumps in to pull you away and hides your face from anyone else who might be recording to save you from further embarrassment. You’re also very pissed at him, btw.

[cosmerelists]

If Stormlight Characters Read The Stormlight Archive

As requested by @imtheseventh :)

Let's say Stormlight Characters got their hands on The Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson--you know, the book written about all of their lives. What would they think of Sanderson's depiction of them?

[SPOILERS FOR STORMLIGHT ARCHIVE THROUGH RHYTHM OF WAR!]

1. Navani

Navani: Say, Dalinar... Navani: Why is Evi's name replaced by Shshsh in all of your POV chapters? Dalinar: ... Dalinar: Ah, so here's the thing...

2. Adolin

Adolin: Shallan, wait! Adolin: This is feeling like a flashback chapter about your life. Adolin: Don't read it to me. It feels weird to find out this way. Adolin: I'd rather wait until you're ready to tell me. Shallan: Ah, so you want to stop listening whenever my past comes up? Shallan: That's exactly what I used to do! High five! Adolin: I don't Adolin: I don't know that this is a high-five moment.

3. Shallan

Shallan: L-Listen, Jasnah... Shallan: I SWEAR I was neither thinking about nor looking at your boobs quite as much as the book makes it sound.. Shallan: I think this Sanderson guy was just projecting! Jasnah: I believe you, Shallan. Shallan: Y-You do? Jasnah: I have to assume he wanted to establish my beauty but felt that it would be less salacious to have it filtered through another woman's perspective. Shallan: Y-Yeah, that makes sense... Jasnah: After all, if you loved my boobs that much, I don't know why you sat there and doodled Captain Kaladin instead of them... Shallan: WHELP TIME TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT

4. Syl

Syl: ... Kaladin: Hey, are you okay? You seem...down. Kaladin: And are you wearing trousers?? Syl: Was...was there something wrong in how I dressed? Kaladin: No? What do you mean? Syl: Like, was it immature? Kaladin: No? Syl: Then why does this Brandon guy call my dress "girlish" like 19 billion times?!? Hoid: Oh, don't worry about that! Writers get weirdly fixated on words! At least you weren't always doing things maladroitly, ha! Syl: ...What? Hoid: Whoops wrong series!

5. Gaz

Gaz: Look...I know I wasn't the Almighty's most perfect guy, but.. Gaz: Could he maybe have written me as slightly LESS of the embodiment of a sniveling cremling?? Gaz: Like, give a guy a break! Vathah: What, too much realism for a fantasy? Gaz: You shut up!

6. Sadeas

Sadeas: I was so upset...so flabbergasted...when Dalinar outmaneuvered me in that disadvantaged duel... Sadeas: But it was all just LUCK?! Sadeas: He didn't maneuver for SHIT! Sadeas: He just happened to have EVERY SINGLE PERSON WITH SUPERPOWERS on his side and they were ALL stupid enough to get INVOLVED Sadeas: It's so much worse now!!! Ialai: At least their dark-eyed captain ruined it at the end. Sadeas: Ugh, yeah, thank the stars for THAT.

7. Kaladin

Kaladin: I actually hate this. Lyn: Why? Kaladin: Hearing about all my friends dying...again...having my actions framed as some type of "heroism"... Kaladin: T-That guy writes me like I'm the hero! Lyn: ...I am fairly certain that you are. Kaladin: Ughhhh...

8. Lirin & Hesina

The Way of Kings sits before them Hesina: ... Lirin: ... Hesina: ... Lirin: ... Hesina: Do you want to go & cry forever over our boys? Lirin: Yes please.

9. Moash

Moash: Wow. Moash: After hearing all about King Elhokar from the perspective of the people who actually like him... Moash: I gotta say... Moash: I was totally right! Moash: That guy is SUCH an asshole!

10. Dalinar

Dalinar: ... Dalinar: ... Dalinar: ... Dalinar: I just can't believe that he STOLE Nohadon’s TITLE.

11. (!) Bonus Vin

Vin: KELSIER WHAT THE HELL

[tsuutarr]

I'm back because I really like your writing but could I get a reader x Kiawe where reader is from paldea and they have a tinkaton and act like a tinkaton? Maybe they absolutely WHOOP his ass in a battle and he ends up crushing on the chaotic girl?

I'm actually a tinkaton trust me.

(thank you for coming back <3 It's so fun to write requests because it helps me write prompts I wouldn't otherwise!! This was so fun haha I hope the reader is chaotic enough here!)

Word count: 1560

Contents: gn/fem! reader (reader's gender isn't really mentioned here) x Kiawe

Kiawe has always considered himself disciplined. To prove it, he takes his training seriously, waking up early to advance both his dancing and Pokémon battling abilities. Usually, his morning jogs throughout Akala were quiet, the sun still waking up from its sleep. Sometimes, though, there would be ruckus, whether it was due to a lost tourist or a Team Skull grunt or something else.

Today evidently falls into the “sometimes” category of his run as he spots you with… some pink Pokémon with a hammer. Judging by the colors… maybe the Pokémon is a fairy type? Or a steel type? He’s never seen it before, though. Regardless, if you’re a lost tourist, the least he can do is help, so he calls out to you, “Hey, do you need some help–”

“Okay, Tinkaton, I think this a great place! Use Gigaton Hammer!”

With a war cry, the pink Pokémon smashes its hammer in the ground, creating a giant crater in it.

“Look at that! Your move has gotten even stronger!” you praise, making your Tinkaton do a little happy dance. You grin at your partner, before kneeling down, observing the earth. “Okay, let’s see…” You pull out some scrap looking metal, turning it over in your hands and observing it. “Yup! This is like Corviknight metal! Now we can make your hammer even bigger… heh…”

Your Pokémon screeches in glee at your statement.

Kiawe blinks, confused, but decides to jog up to you to see what’s up. While digging in Akala island isn’t… forbidden, there are spots where it’s more permissible than the side of the road. Before he can get too close to you, though, you lunge at him, knocking him off his feet. You point at him with a miniature hammer, reminiscent of the one your Pokémon carries.

“Who’re you?” you ask, eyes narrowed into slits.

Kiawe, still stunned, sits up. “Kiawe,” he finally says. “Akala island’s trial captain.”

“Ooh,” your eyes light up at that and you tuck away your hammer into your belt. You offer him a hand. “Sorry ‘bout that! Thought you were trynna steal from us.”

Kiawe takes your hand, letting you pull him up with surprising strength. He looks you over – slightly frazzled and messy (though kinda cute) – and decides that you’re delusional if you think anyone will ever want to steal from you. “Don’t worry about it,” he finally says, before drawing your attention to the crater. “And if you’d like to dig on Akala island, we have some spots you dig in.”

“But they might not have Corviknight scraps.”

“Corvi–what?”

“Corviknight,” you respond. “They’re this huge,” you spread your arms wide, “bird Pokémon! Tinkaton likes to fight ‘em and get their metal for her hammer.”

The Pokémon by your feet gleefully agrees.

“Okay,” Kiawe says slowly, “But you’re damaging public property. You could go to jail.”

“Who’s gonna make me?”

“Me.” Kiawe stands up a little taller, trying to make himself look bigger.

You just grin at him. “Not if you can’t catch me.”

“Wait–”

Before Kiawe’s aware of what’s happening, you’ve sprinted off. Oh, Arceus.

You’re so weirdly fast and agile that Kiawe has lost you. So, instead of running on foot, he opts to ride his Charizard in pursuit of you to cover more ground and give him an aerial view. What he didn’t expect, though, was a huge hammer hurtling towards him and Charizard. Charizard manages to dodge the throw, but the hammer boomerangs unexpectedly, managing to hit Charizard’s tail, shocking the poor thing and forcing Kiawe to land.

“Tinkaton, I told you not to just throw things at people!” you cry out, making Kiawe aware of your presence. Huh, so he ended up landing exactly where you are.

Your Pokémon lets out an indignant sound at your scolding, crossing her arms and turning away. You huff in frustration, before turning to him and frowning.

“Okay, you little rascal,” you hiss. “You led him right to us! We’re gonna talk about this after running, okay?”

“Battle me.” Before you can take off, Kiawe’s voice booms out, making you pause.

“Huh?”

“Battle me,” Kiawe responds, widening his stance. There’s a fire in his eyes that blazes passionately, which surprises you. He seemed so stoic before, so you’re not sure where this sudden passion is coming from. “If you win, I’ll turn a blind eye. But if you lose, you’re coming with me peacefully.”

“...If you’re so desperate to get wrecked by us, I guess you can be my guest,” you respond, your Tinkaton excitedly bouncing beside you. You grin. “One on one?”

Kiawe nods, pulling out his Alolan Marowak. Seeing his Marowak’s bones makes Tinkaton vibrate with even greater excitement and he thinks he hears you whisper, “No, you can’t steal the Marowak’s bones,” to your Pokémon. Your Pokémon seems to huff indignantly, making you shake your head with a sigh, instead opting to get into your battle stance, commanding your Tinkaton forward. “Tinkaton, sweet kiss!”

“Marowak, dodge it!” 

“It’s going to the left, brutal swing!”

With a thwack, Tinkaton’s hammer reaches Marowak, sending it flying through the ground.

“Recover yourself, Marowak, flame wheel!” At Kiawe’s command, Marowak uses its momentum from Tinkaton’s hit to roll into a flame wheel.

“Dodge it!” you order, but Marowak is persistent in its pursuit, making you groan. “Fine, use brutal swing again!”

At your order, Tinkaton flings Marowak like a golf ball with her hammer, making Marowak fly into the air.

“Nice!” you begin, but a bone boomerang hits Tinkaton’s head, making you frown as the boomerang then returns to Marowak. “Pretty smart.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Kiawe responds, excitement thrumming through his veins. The more he battles you, the more he feels energized– you’re an extremely skilled trainer.

“You’re the one who hasn’t seen anything yet!” you exclaim with a toothy grin. “Tinkaton! Metal claw to the ground!”

Kiawe is momentarily confused, but then realizes that you’re setting up a dust cloud, obscuring his and Marowak’s vision. He coughs, his eyes narrowing as he covers his mouth. You can’t see either, right?

“Tinkaton! Sweet kiss! Then follow up with brutal swing!”

There’s another thwacking sound that proves that Tinkaton can, indeed, see through the dust cloud. When the dust cloud settles, it’s even more evident as his Marowak lays on the ground tiredly.

“Thank you, friend,” Kiawe says, recalling his Marowak. Adrenaline still runs through his veins and he finds it severely unfortunate that he can’t battle you anymore. “You’re very skilled,” he finally says, trying to hide his disappointment that the exciting battle is already over. He approaches you as you high-five your Pokémon, making you warily look at him.

“You can’t catch me,” you say simply, “‘cause I won.”

“I didn’t approach you to catch you,” he huffs out a laugh. You’re kind of like a wild Pokémon in some ways, he realizes. “I just wanted to congratulate you for winning. You’re a great battler!”

“Huh, I didn’t think you could emote that much,” you respond, looking pleased at his compliment. “Tinkaton’s really strong though, so it’s no surprise we won. You’re pretty good too!”

“My Marowak and I still have much to learn,” Kiawe bluntly says, though he’s still grateful for your compliment. “Still, the dust cloud was a smart move– how were you certain your Tinkaton could see through the sand?”

“Oh, she’s part steel type.” 

Tinkaton waves her hammer around to emphasize your point.

“I see. I’ve never seen your Pokémon before. It’s quite a strong one.”

“Well, I’ve a few others you’ve probably haven’t seen before. I haven’t seen a Marowak that looks like yours either… so…”

Kiawe looks at you curiously.

“Wanna battle some more?” You give a big grin as your Tinkaton cheers from beside you, eager to demolish more Pokémon.

For the first time since you’ve met him, a large grin spreads across Kiawe’s face as he puffs out his chest. “You were on fire just now in our previous battle. I hope you can keep that fire up in the next one!”

“Hah! Of course I can!” you beam, making your face light up in a manner that Kiawe finds kind of cute. “You think you’re able to keep the fire up?”

“Who do you think you’re talking to? Of course!”

“Then let’s have a bet,” you cross your arms, “If I win, you take me out to dinner! If you win, I’ll make you a Paldean sandwich!”

Kiawe grins at that, finding your proposal cute. “Fine by me. I’m sure your sandwiches taste good.”

You ready a Poké Ball with a grin. “Too bad you won’t taste it.”

When you release your Pokémon, he half expects the battle to start right then and there. Instead, you bring out a large bird Pokémon, before hopping on the bird Pokémon’s back with your Tinkaton.

“But this place’s too boring to battle in again. Let’s go to another battle area! See ya!” you zip off, leaving Kiawe in your dust. He blinks, surprised at the turn of events, before he bellows out a laugh at your behavior. You’re strong, you’re cute, and you make life seem a little more blazing. He hopes you’ll stay for a bit longer (maybe a lot longer) so he can get to know you a bit better–

Wait.

“Flying on your own Pokémon is illegal in Alola!”

[bigassmoonchild]

Tears

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You'd never seen Simon cry. He was the scary Ghost, and Ghosts didn't cry. Maybe he had just grown too comfortable with you, because it didn't take long to be pushed back an arms length.

Content Tags: Fluff, Simon Simping, Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Reader Simping, Crying, Senseless Worry, Fear, Fear of Death, Thoughts of Death (NOT suicidal ideation), Hurt/No Comfort, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I am so sorry about being awol this week, my heart condition and migraines have whooped my ass. I wasn't expecting how this would turn out, but I enjoy it a lot. Mostly internal thoughts, some interactions here and there. Anyways, here's part 15!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

The few days you spent back home, it was slowly getting better. Your father had accepted Simon, your mother was spending a lot of her time doting on you and Simon, but Clint was still gone. Nowhere to be seen, no one had heard from him.

Arthur still stayed quiet, but you remembered him as the gentle boy he once was. He'd always been that way, especially after everything your father had done when he presented. No one talked about it anymore, but your brother still stepped on eggshells around everyone.

Simon had grown to enjoy spending time with the pack pups, reminiscing on his time with Price's own. Even then, he'd never considered that he would have any of his own. It was terrifying. Clair had pulled him away, baring her teeth and threatening a few different deaths if he'd so much as hurt you.

How dead he'd be if she knew.

And that's all he could think about, watching as Clair doted on her own Omega. Watching as she loved and cared for her pups. Seeing her act like an amazing Alpha, one he'd never thought he would be. Him? Someone's Alpha? It scared him, even so long after it had occurred.

His mind was constantly warring with itself, the old him trying to get him to run, dump his savings onto you and disappear into the wilderness. The other part of him, though, saw you as you existed. In the mornings, hair a mess and eyes still tired. After sex, your eyes slightly glazed over and skin heated.

He could see you, puffy eyed as you admitted your fears to him that first night back. He heard the sobs you gave him, oh so many time.

Simon saw the fire in your eyes as you snapped on him.

And he loved you all the more for it. You were his Omega, his precious mate. What he could consider the love of his life. And yet he looked at you, admiring your older sister with a look in your eye that seemed almost... regretful.

It was then that he really thought. Deeply, on all the past conversations. He had seen a similar regret in your face while driving back to the hotel, eyes still puffy from the crying.

Price, speaking with him one night. "How many people would wish to be mated like that?" Price had once asked him. "She is living, breathing and eating with a man she does not know. You can't make this any more difficult than it is," but this had been the first few weeks of your mating.

Were the two of you still strangers? Or acquaintances now? He didn't even know your favorite color, let alone simple facts about you. And now, as he lay next to you, he feared that perhaps everything had gone too quickly.

Even as he felt your fingers grasping at his sleep shirt, feeling the press of your swollen belly against his side. Everything had happened so quickly, and he hadn't been there for the first, what? Six months? He knew, almost inherently, that it was a poor representation of him.

His Alpha groaned, baring it's teeth at the thought that he was a bad Alpha. Even as he stared at the ceiling, eyes cast over, thoughts prickling over everything. The distaste at the back of Simons throat was strange. His eyes burned, and he blinked his eyes clear.

What the hell? Tears?

Simon was able to get your hands untangled from his shirt, shifting out of bed carefully and finding his way to the bathroom. Shutting the door carefully, he flicked on the light and found his reflection staring at him.

The vision blurred, staring through himself rather than at. He couldn't see himself. Not Simon, barely Ghost, but rather the monster he often thought of in the midst of missions. A killer, someone who took lives, not create. He was a monster, claiming you without permission, and he could feel the heat of his tears pouring down his cheek.s

The door opened, and he couldn't think. Barely heard your voice, calling out, wondering why the hell Alpha smelled sour and was crying. Your arms wrapped around him, pressing a gentle kiss against his back.

You could feel the hiccupped breaths he was taking, you could see the distant look in his eyes through the mirror and his scent was horrid. It smelled purely of distress, pain, even hints of anger. Not the scent of Simon.

Grasping his hand, he followed mindlessly as you dragged him back into the main room, gently pushing him onto the bed. Standing between his legs, you ran your fingers through his hair.

"Simon," you whispered, carefully. "Love, what's wrong? Your scent is so strong, but it isn't you. What's wrong? Please, Simon," and you whispers continued. His eyes remained blank, gone. Even as thoroughly exhausted as you were, you could feel fear twinging in your gut.

You'd never seen Simon like this, but you'd seen soldiers coming back from intense battles who looked like this. Not your Simon, not him. No, maybe there'd be days that he would grow quiet and slightly distant, but he never looked like this.

Even as your hands found his cheeks, your lips pressing against his head, you heard nothing from him. You moved, reaching for the phone you'd tucked somewhere before collapsing into bed, and felt his hands grasp for yours.

His fingers entwined with yours, tugging you closer to him once more. Simons arms wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest. You could hear his sobs, muffled by your body, but you could feel his shoulders shaking.

Pressing your lips to the top of his head, you slowly rocked the two of you side to side. You stayed there, listened, held him. His sobs hurt you, nearly scared you. Such a strong man, an amazing Alpha, broken down into tears. And from what?

You thought, and thought, and thought. There was nothing, you realized, that you could think would cause this. You couldn't remember a thing that happened today that would make him break down. Maybe it had been Clint? Your family initially not accepting him, hurting him?

No. He wouldn't even think about that kind of thing. Sure, he'd had a reddened cheek for some time afterwards, but nothing that would cause him to cry this hard.

Your lips pressed against his head once more, squeezing your arms around him tighter. He sniffled, sobs breaking down into just some hiccups. You could feel your shirt wet, from his tears. You could see your silhouette from the light in the bathroom. The darkness wasn't all encompassing, not in the little hotel room you had.

It was like a gentle blanket, hiding the two of you from the rest of the world. You could feel Simon pull his head up, resting his chin against you while looking up. His eyes blinked long and slow, they were reddened and puffy. His skin was slightly blotchy, but pale from the near hyperventilation.

Neither of you spoke, your fingers brushing the stray tears away before cupping his cheeks. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you gave him a little smile.

"What's wrong, Si?" You broke the silence and he shook his head. His eyes had closed, some more tears breaking free. He tried tugging you closer, your belly stopping you from getting as close as the two of you wanted.

It seemed funny to you. The pup, now seemingly forever separating the two of you just a little. More than you'd been prior to it's conception, it had now separated you. The closest you'd ever get to him would be looking in the same direction, just a step ahead of him. The pup would separate the two of you forever, maybe never gaining that distance back.

But you'd do it all for the loving smiles and little touches you got from him. You'd do it all again if it meant you'd stand right where you were, and you would never change your path. You'd take the same steps every single time if it meant you'd be standing where you were.

And you hoped he could feel it in the way you pressed your lips to his head, squeezed him a little tighter. You hoped he could feel it in the way your fingers ran through his hair, the way you'd always be right by his side.

Maybe he would never know. Even as he tugged you into bed, pulling your back to his chest and burying his face into the nape of your neck. Even while his fingers intertwined with yours, cupping the little pup resting just inches from your hands.

You could only hope, as the two of you woke, he understood how much you truly loved him as you helped clean his face up. Dried tears were a bitch, you knew. You could see the pain in the way his eyes shut a little tighter when the sun rose just a little more. You truly could only hope he would understand how much you loved him as you shut the curtains and curled back up into bed with him.

Maybe, just maybe he would realize how much you loved him while watching his interactions with the family pack pups. Seeing him allowing the little girls and boys paint his nails or play fight with him. Seeing how he treated your mother with such respect, allowing your siblings to do as they pleased to him.

And on the plane home, you could feel him squeeze your hand gently. "I truly love you, Simon," you whispered. "I wouldn't give up a single decision I've made," and he rested his head on yours. "If I had to do it all over, I don't think I'd do anything different," and you could feel his cheek shifting against your head.

"I love you, sweet Omega," he whispered in turn. "With all my heart, I truly mean it when I say I would do anything to make you happy," and his lips pressed against your head. You sighed deeply, allowing sleep to take over you.

Simons fingers brushed along your back, gently shaking you awake. You didn't want to go back, you realized. You wanted Simon all to yourself, maybe have a nice little home in the country. Maybe watch your pups just exist out where they wouldn't have to fear anything.

Keeping Simon to yourself, he would never almost die again. You would never lose each other to the trivial ideations of war. You'd never be given subsidies for his death, and you would never have to plan a funeral for the man you loved.

You wouldn't have to worry about anything if you were able to get him to retire. Maybe the two of you could open a shop, or a little clinic. Help people who needed it the most, ensure everyone was taken care of.

And in the car, you finally spoke up. "Will you stay in the military once the pup is born?" You asked, voice growing quiet. His eyes flashed over to you, his brows furrowed under the balaclava.

"What d'you mean?" He asked. "Obviously I'll get leave to be with the two of you, but I can't just leave my job," he spoke, carefully. You hummed, staring through the windshield.

You didn't look at him. "What if you die? The pup will never know you, it'd be safer to-"

"To what? Go work an office job?" He sounded surprised. "Lovie, working in the military gives me the money we'd need to take care of the pup. This is my life, I can't just drop it all of a sudden. Price is able to balance it all, I can't see why I won't," you looked at your hands, playing with your fingers.

"I'm just worried, s'all," you whispered and you could see him shake his head from your peripheral.

"You needn't worry, I've survived this long. I'm not leaving my job, not for..." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. You could feel your chest tightening, the dream of the nice little home in the country vanishing just as quick as it had come.

He wouldn't give up his job. Not for you, not for a pup. You were dumb for even thinking it. The car was silent the rest of the drive, you had grabbed your bag as soon as he'd parked and walked yourself back onto the compound.

You would have a lot of work to catch up on, and Simon left you to be. You had entered your office, just staring at the sad little desk and papers stacked on it. You truly were stuck in this life, and you slowly grew to realize you didn't want to be just a doctor.

You'd signed up to be a combat medic, not sit safe and sound in the compound. Had you truly given up your dream? Just for an Alpha, and now his pup? Was this what it meant to be an Omega?

There was no one you would tell that you sat at your desk, door locked and quietly sobbing. You were just so tired, and you wanted to be heard. You knew, unconsciously, it was a big ask of him but you'd hoped, genuinely, that he might hear you out and understand.

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[amxrany]

!! CHAPTER 7 / DIASOMNIA ARC SPOILERS !!

WE CAN GET THROUGH THIS GUYS LET'S GO (Part 4):

While Silver is in the darkness, he then sees Lilia's old memories. The first one is of Lilia visiting Wild Rose Castle after a peace treaty was made, this takes place 300 to 400 years after the events of Meleanor's death

While walking through the abandoned castle, Lilia hears a cry in the throne room. He rushes there to find a baby, and not just any baby IT'S BABY SILVER WHICH REVEALS THE FIRST CG IN THE GAME 🥹

(SILVER BEING TWISTED FROM AURORA IS REALLLLL)

Of course Lilia wondering why the hell is there a baby in the abandoned castle uses his Unique Magic on it. Thus revealing his UM "Far Cry Cradle", this allows him to see the past memories of someone who gets hit with the spell. This is how he finds out that the baby is actually the son of the Knight of Dawn and Princess Leah, while the war was happening 3 fairies blessed the baby by making him sleep through the war, even if it will last 10 to 100 years (well it went beyond 100 years). Once the little prince finds someone who loves him (or in other words true love), he will awaken from slumber; AND IT WAS LILIA WHO APPEARED WHICH CAUSED BABY SILVER TO WAKE UP WHICH IM JUST AAAAAAAAAA 😭😭😭

We can't forget that present time Silver is watching all of this happen, and noticed Lilia having mixed feelings about the whole thing. He (Lilia) tries to kill the baby after finding out he was the child of the enemy, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Lilia then asks himself if he can even love a human being? After losing his loved ones to them, and everything that happened. Which causes Silver to scream at Lilia that he doesn't deserve love (STOP SILVER IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT)

Lilia then tells baby Silver that the day he finds him will be his birthday (which is May 15th), and blesses him. This explains why Silver has silver hair despite being born blonde. Lilia also names the baby Silver because of the moon that shines through the night, which serves as a light to light up the path

We then move to another flashback, now this time it features Malleus. We see the cottage that present time Silver grew up in (which is like the cottage from the movie)

While Lilia is singing a lullaby to baby Silver (the same one Meleanor sang to egg Malleus), Malleus comes in cuz he overheard from the fairies that Lilia found a human. Then Malleus proceeds to call baby Silver A NAKED MONKEY CREATURE NAHHH 💀🤚

We also have to remember that Lilia didn't know shit about taking care of a human, much more a baby, so he visits Baul's daughter and son-in-law (Sebek's Mother and Father) for advice. Lilia then tells Malleus he's going out to get baby supplies and leaves Malleus with Silver, but Malleus is afraid that he might destroy Silver if he holds him (aww that's cute 🥹) but Lilia still leaves him behind regardless

Baby Silver wakes up to Malleus and starts crying and Malleus is now wondering if lullabies can help put it (yes he referred to the baby as "it") to sleep. He then hums to the baby the only lullaby he knows, which is the same lullaby is mother sang to him (I forgot to mention that whoops). This is the same lullaby Malleus sang when he placed the sleeping curse on everyone in part 3. Baby Silver falls asleep to it and Malleus is relieved, hoping for Lilia to come back soon but also wonders where he heard that lullaby before

We then see more flashbacks of Silver growing up, from his first time walking and his first words (which is "Dada/Father")(Edit: got this wrong by accident sorry guys). We also learn more about faes from here as well, it takes 30 years for a fae child to learn how to walk, but for the case of Malleus it took him 20 years to have a 2 legged form

Malleus then asked Lilia why he decided to take the baby in and Lilia respond that Malleus's father, Leverne said that Fae and Human should learn more about each other, thus learning a language that humans can understand. Lilia wants to learn how to love humans through Silver, but Malleus is like "but what if you can't", he replies with "let's not jump to conclusions"

STOP YOUNGER SILVER CALLS LILIA "TOTO" MY HEART CAN'T HANDLE THIS. WE ALSO FIND OUT THAT THE ACORN BRACELET WAS SILVER'S GIFT TO LILIA (since it symbolizes living a long and healthy life). He (Younger Silver) also says "I love you Toto!" (Guys what if this my last straw 😭). One more memory we see is Silver running away from home after finding out him and Lilia aren't related (in reference to his 1st birthday card)

Back to present time Silver, he thinks that he doesn't deserve to be called Lilia's son because his true origins is that of the son of the Knight of Dawn, this causes him to take on his biological father's form and General Lilia appears before him, saying he's the enemy (BUT IT'S ALL NOT REAL)

Thus a battle between the two begins, until present time Lilia suddenly appears; telling Silver to stand up and stay alive 😭

This end Silver's segment of the story, but we can't forget about Sebek, Yuu and Grim

Next: Part 5

Previous: Part 3

[jjsstars]

random school bus graveyard headcanons

// with aiden/ashlyn & ben/taylor & logan/tyler <3 //

warnings: weed/smoking, swearing

[cut off cause this got rlly long whoops]

Ash is bi & Aiden is pan

Taylor & Ben are both asexual but also hopeless romantics

Tyler is bi & Logan is gay

Taylor does Ben’s nails on weekends

Tyler tries to teach Logan how to play baseball (he’s semi successful)

Ash is paramore fan (p sure this is just canon atp)

Aiden loves all those dystopian movies and forces Tyler to watch them when he finds out he’s never seen them (ie hunger games, the maze runner, divergent etc.)

Aiden’s best subject is math and his worst is English, Ash is the same way

Taylor’s best subjects are science & math, her worst is art (she just can’t draw okay)

Tyler’s best subject is gym but as far as academics go he’s pretty good at history, he sucks at science tho

Logan’s best subject is obvi science, he honestly does good in everything, but he doesn’t like language that much

Taylor carry’s extra ear plugs/headphones/notebooks & pens for Ben & Ash (or anyone who might need them)

Tyler can braid better than Taylor can (he would do her hair growing up)

Aiden & Ash are adhd vs autism

Logan and Taylor hold hands when they’re anxious

Aiden can play the guitar & drums

Ben can also play the guitar but he prefers acoustic whereas Aiden likes electric

Tyler can play guitar but he prefers to play the trumpet (he’s rlly good)

Taylor can sing but she only does around Ben - he totally doesn’t cry nope totally not -

Ash can play the Harp (stealing that from someone else’s hc post <3) but she can also play violin & piano (multitalented queen)

Aiden & Ash link pinkies while sitting on the bus if Ash is feeling particularly pda strong

the whole group goes to cheer on Tyler’s baseball games

Logan now has a first aid kit in his locker from dating Tyler and being friends with Aiden

Aiden has a medical card for medical weed and he definitely abuses that shit

the first time Ashlyn gets high it relaxes her so much she’s convinced she’s dying for a hot minute

Logan & Taylor don’t like being high, Ben is indifferent to it, Aiden, Ashlyn & Tyler enjoy it throughly

It calms Aiden & Tyler down a lot

Taylor & Ben are the only ones capable of sitting in a chair like a normal person

Aiden & Ben smuggle good food into the hospital for Tyler

Tyler gives Logan forehead kisses

Ben kisses the top of Taylor’s hand

Aiden kisses the tip of Ash’s nose - Ash kisses his cheek

everyone is always finding Ashlyn hair in everything cause she sheds so much

Logan & Ben are Star Wars fans

Aiden is the first one to get his official license - to everyone’s horror -

Tyler is the last one to get his license (he’s so mad about it)

Ashlyn still sleeps with a stuffed animal and has a tote of them in her closet — she hides this for months until Ben finds them one day and casually adopts them all with Taylor

Aiden runs like a space heater as does Taylor

Ash & Ben both run superrrr cold

Logan and Tyler have normal temperatures, the freaks /j

Ben carry’s an inhaler because Aiden got asthma attacks as a kid - he hasn’t had one since he was like 7 but Ben likes to be prepared

If he gets hyper focused enough Aiden will go non-verbal / won’t acknowledge the outside world to the point of Ben having to write down responses for him

Aiden & Tyler can skateboard

Taylor can rollerskate & she teaches Logan how to too

Ashlyn is a god at ice skating

Ben prefers to stay on his own two feet thank you very much

Tyler’s terrified of dogs and screams for Taylor anytime one comes near him

Animals naturally love Ashlyn, Taylor’s jealous

Aiden is one of those people that will spend five minutes in a backyard and pick up three frogs, a lizard, a scarily big spider, two beetles and point out where a snake is

birds really like Ben - he doesn’t know why

Aiden & Ben are really good at art, but with totally different styles

Ben prefers realism and charcoal pieces

Aiden prefers more stylized art, markers & paints

Aiden did graffiti for a while and still would if he ever had the time (stupid phantoms) - when Ash finds out she lets him tag the buses in the graveyard and he’s so excited about it

Aiden & Tyler play basketball together on the weekends while the others watch/mess with them the entire time

If Tyler’s being particularly cocky about winning against Aiden then Ben will step in cause he’s naturally really good at basketball

Taylor and Logan always giggle watching Tyler’s face fall seeing Ben stand up

Ashlyn doesn’t mind when Aiden loses because then she gets to use it as an excuse for them to go get ice cream to “make the loss easier” (aiden knows she does that every time because she also asks to go out for ice cream if he wins to celebrate)

Taylor lets Aiden try on her lip gloss once and now he has his own collection and keeps some on him at all times — mostly just clear ones or sparkly light pink ones that aren’t super noticeable but still leaves a shine

Tyler uses like ten separate hair products daily - him & Ash take the longest to do their hair out of the whole group

[literatemisfit]

Thoughts on my second viewing of Macbeth at the Harold Pinter Theatre, Thursday October 3, 2024

For posterity.

(SPOILERS ON EVERYTHING)

Okay I cannot describe to you how much I absolutely ADORE the folk dancing scene. So playful, so rugged:

It begins with the cast (sans Macbeth) spinning in two circles hand in hand and laughing, then Macbeth joins to stand in the centre (back) opposite Lady Macbeth (front), they join in the middle and put each others arms around their shoulders, hands held on shoulders, and then they hop and march, turn, hop and march, turn, then all chaos breaks out (my favourite part of the entire play maybe???) and Macbeth and the others all shout and howl and whoop as they spin fast fast arm in arm in circles, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth meeting in the centre to spin, then returning to their respective circles to spin fast fast, then returning again and again and then:

Bam. Everyone freezes as Macbeth and Lady Macbeth stare each other down in the centre, lights whitish blue on them as they share in their plot secretly, everyone else slow-motion clapping as they stand chest to chest and then:

Zzzzip. Everything speeds back up to normal time and they spin and howl and whoop as if nothing happened, showing that the freeze frame was a mental picture, the exact thoughts they are having as they are outwardly acting happy and normal.

David's WOO! with finger pointing up as he shouts red-faced and rough and aggressive is maybe one of my favourite things he's ever portrayed. I'm just so happy to watch them play within the play.

Tonight was different from opening night. The actors played more with the rhythm, speaking more slowly, pausing in different places and emphasizing different parts of the speeches. It was completely fascinating to watch, having just seen it done differently. And David's performance was so much more emotional than opening night, I think. The slanted eyebrows and big sad eyes were more prominent, his voice cracked more, his eyes were maybe even more teary, his speeches turned to whines and wails in his grief.

The boy was played by a different actor. Both of them are good, though I found the first one to be more energetic and wild like the cast. This time around, the entire cast seemed a little slower with pacing, less "On It", which maybe was because I had already seen it and knew what to expect, or maybe in line with them speaking slower, the rhythm of movement maybe also changed.

Because the rhythm of the words was slower and more experimental, it felt like the emotion was more palpable and the words felt more conversational and real, coming from humans rather than a slightly more formulaic rhythm of lines being said as they're written. Not that it was ever that stiff or strict, but there definitely seemed to be a loosening of the rhythm and there was freedom there to play with it and feel it out.

The second witches scene. Fuck. I completely forgot that they grab him by the hair and drag him down (how could I forget that???) before they make him convulse and whimper and moan and shake and tremble, then they drag him to the other side of the stage, feet dragging on the ground, before they surround him and one witch slowly slowly approaches his chest and YANKS outwards making him cry out and bringing him back to consciousness.

David also had shaking hands during at least one scene where Macbeth was frightened and tense, which I thought was a great acting choice: showing some weakness, some fear, some un-put-together-ness as he's trying to prove himself to be manly and brave and unbeatable.

I also think that maybe - just maybe - David made a mistake tonight. After he washes off the blood from his face and hands (opening scene) after returning from war, he puts all the rags back in the bowl before handing it all over to Ross who brings it off stage. Well, tonight David had one of the rags wrapped around one hand for the entire following scene and I didn't notice him wrapping it but I think he may have left it behind? It added nothing to the scene, just wrapped it around his hand as he bowed to the King, stood to attention with the others, and was ushered offstage to warn his wife of the incoming guests.

I felt the Banquo's Ghost breakdown scene was even more pathetic and emotional, his legs getting caught under him as he writhed and kicked to run away from the imagined spectre, ending the scene a bit crooked and not looking so comfortable.

The self-harm scene. I don't know how I forgot about it but gosh it's good. He's so desperate, so guilt-ridden, so willing to accept pain and punishment for the crime he committed. Same as the emotional, distraught lilts in his voice during this speech, so moving:

No son of mine succeeding. If ‘t be so,

For Banquo’s issue have I filed my mind;

For them the gracious Duncan have I murder’d;

The word "murdered" was almost cracked, almost whispered, for how much shame and guilt he displayed tonight. It really hit me. Similarly when he talked of Duncan sleeping peacefully when he never would "Macbeth shall sleep no more" he whines desperately.

The Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow speech: I thought he might actually cry. Then at the end, bitter shame and anger on the words "signifying nothing" almost spat out in a growl with how much he resents the meaninglessness of his actions and of his own existence.

This time around, it was delightful to hear the audience gasp when Macbeth snaps the young boy's neck, "you were born of woman" /snap/. So badass.

The slap slap slaps on Macduff to taunt him in the last scene. Macbeth's final moment of fear "I'll not fight with thee" then Macduff calls him a coward and he squares his shoulders and goes on to fight, and win, and taunt, and die.

Still no blood on the stage during his death. I wonder if they plan to bring that back? Also still no lifting-david-by-the-witches which I assume they've just removed from the scene although I do wish I had seen it.

It was so fascinating to watch the same play, only two days apart, and to realize how they were both exactly the same and surprisingly different. Live theatre is alive, and it moves and changes and breathes life and lives on, to be repeated and yet reinvented night after night for audiences who (most likely) would never know it.

David was right, theatre is alive, it's there and then it's gone. Just as we cease to exist, so does a performance the moment it comes to an end, never again to be repeated exactly, only the same but somehow entirely different.

[from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras]

Turning Points

Pairing: Éomer x reader (who doesn’t want to imagine themselves hanging out with Éomer??). Plus an Elfhelm cameo because I love that dude.

Summary: Éomer’s lifelong best friend reckons with how much and how quickly his life has changed as a result of the war and wonders what that means for the life she had hoped to have with him.

************

The clear, deep sound of horns rang out in the distance and alerted all of Edoras to the imminent arrival of the army, home for the first time since that urgent, panicked ride to Helm’s Deep more than two months ago. Although word of their subsequent deeds and victories in Gondor had already reached the city, many details were yet unknown, and the mood of those who gathered in the streets was celebratory but tinged with anxiety as hopeful eyes prepared to scan the returning éoreds for a first glimpse of deeply missed loved ones.

The terrace in front of Meduseld quickly filled with people, and you slipped easily into the crowd as the first few companies of horsemen began to climb the hill. The riders smiled broadly at the cheers and flowers that rained down on them, though some still bore clear evidence of painful wounds and fractures. Others led behind them riderless horses, the mounts of those soldiers who would never return. You whispered a quiet prayer of gratitude, knowing from the messengers who had gone back and forth from Minas Tirith that both of those most precious to you were safely in the host.

No sooner had you finished your prayer than a cry went up from the crowd–“Hail, Elfhelm, Marshal of Edoras!”—and your father came into view. As gregarious as he was popular, he played shamelessly to the crowd, doffing his stallion-crested helmet and waving a shield that had clearly been confiscated from some defeated Haradrim commander. When his eyes finally landed on you, he gave a joyful whoop and sprang from the saddle. Throwing the helmet and shield aside, he ran to you with the speed of a much younger man, and the strength of his embrace forced the breath from your lungs. He spun you around several times as you kissed his sunburned cheeks, and when he placed you on your feet again he grasped your shoulders and gazed for a long moment at your face.

“Many nights have I dreamed of just this view,” he said. “There is no finer one in all of Middle Earth.”

You gave his hands a squeeze. “I have not known a moment’s peace since you left. Now that you are back, I may never let you leave again.”

“I am at your command, my lady,” he said with a smile and an exaggerated bow. “But I do not flatter myself so much as to think that I am the only one you have been missing. The royal household will be arriving soon, and I am certain you are as eager to see the new king as he must be to see you.”

Your heart leaped in your chest at the mention of Éomer, but this was not the time or the place to open the gate that held back those feelings. “For my part, I shall certainly be glad to see him home and safe. But a man such as Éomer has many friends, and no doubt he desires to see them all.”

He burst into laughter. “Do you speak such nonsense on purpose, or have I really raised you to be so naive? I know that you do not admit it to others, and perhaps not even between yourselves, but I have watched the two of you for many years now and I know love when I see it. Let us not pretend you are just one friend among many, a single star in a crowded sky. You are his sun, just as he is yours. I may be old, but I am certainly not blind.”

Your face flushed in pain and embarrassment. If your father had perceived all of this, likely others had, too. It was true that you loved Éomer, and you had always believed he loved you back. You felt his devotion in the way he trusted you and watched out for you, in the look on his face when you walked into a room. But neither of you had ever stated it outright. Perhaps you had been wrong all along, reading a great deal too much into a cherished friendship. Or perhaps what he felt was no longer relevant given his new responsibilities and duties. Either way, when Éomer married another in a few months' time, your crushed hopes would be on display for the whole city to see and discuss.

“Things have changed, father. You know that. The Éomer that I have known all my life was Éomund’s son. He was not heir to the throne of Rohan and certainly not its king. His life is very different now from the one we might have expected just months ago when Théodred was still alive.”

He sighed. “Much has happened, I concede. He has gone from nephew to heir to king. He nearly lost his sister. He comes home with much to reflect on. But his heart itself has not changed.”

“Has it not?” Despite your best efforts, your voice broke and tears began to slide down your cheeks. “Then what of the news that has already made its way back here in advance of your return? Amongst word of your victories and the death of poor Théoden, it also said that Éomer is to marry the princess of Dol Amroth. They say she is considered a proper match for a king of the Mark, and that none less than the new king of Gondor himself proposed it. If I have heard this, surely you have, too.”

Your father reached up to gently brush a tear aside. “Anyone who would claim that you–the finest woman in all of Rohan–are not a proper match for our own king does not have sense enough to offer an opinion on the subject. I have heard this talk of Dol Amroth, it is true, but I have not heard any of it from Éomer’s own lips. And I will not believe it unless I do. His choice was made long ago. You will see.” He put a finger under your chin and tipped your face up to him. “Now, I would stay here and debate this with you all day if your mother were not surely waiting for me at home. And if she thinks I have not hurried there with sufficient speed, she will soon accomplish what all the swordsmen of Harad could not!”

You smiled in spite of yourself and kissed him one last time before he remounted his horse. He gave you a wink as he rode on, and you dried your eyes before turning back to the procession of riders making their way forward.

Before long, the king’s banner appeared at the bottom of the hill. Even at that distance, it was easy to identify Éomer among the many men of his household–you would always recognize his frame and the way he carried himself even if he were not wearing his distinctive horse-tailed helmet and sitting astride Firefoot, who had now been arrayed with a saddle and bridle that sparkled with the gold of a monarch.

As he came into closer view, you could begin to discern the new trappings of royalty–the beautiful green cloak trimmed with shining gold embroidery, the neatly braided hair, the fur-lined boots. But underneath these superficial changes, he still looked like your Éomer. The same man who shared with you a lifetime of confidences and mischief and private jokes. The one who cried in your arms when he missed his parents. Who doted on you whenever you were sick and angrily confronted anyone he thought had hurt your feelings. Who stole your breath every time he turned his hazel eyes and dimpled smile in your direction.

His company dismounted near the bottom of the terrace, and he moved toward the stairs, trailed by attendants, guards and throngs of well-wishers eager to greet their new king. The clamor presented a perfect opportunity to slip away now that you had confirmed with your own eyes that he was safe and unharmed. It was the coward’s way out, but even one more day before you had to directly confront your new reality would be a gift. Just as you began to turn away, however, the sound of his voice carried over the tumult, calling your name.

You froze in place as he approached, feeling immediately uncertain of everything–how to stand, where to look, what to do. A lifetime of affectionate greetings and easy companionship had not prepared you to meet under these circumstances, not as intimate friends but as ruler and subject. Beloved and left behind. Hearing nothing but the sound of your own blood pulsing in your veins, you bowed and looked down.

“Hail, Éomer King.” When you finally raised your eyes, you could see uncertainty written on his face as well. He took another step toward you but stopped, and tentatively reached out a hand before dropping it back to his side. He looked in both directions, where dozens of attentive faces observed his every move.

“I am glad to see you,” he said quietly. His eyes sought yours, and when you allowed them to meet he gave you a soft smile. “I have missed you.”

“I…I am much relieved to see you home. These have been long and anxious months.”

Before either of you could speak again, an armored man at Éomer’s side cleared his throat and nodded in the direction of Meduseld. “You are expected in the hall, my lord. There is much business awaiting your attention, including messages due both to Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth.”

The mention of Dol Amroth sent an icy stab of pain into your chest, and you shrank back several steps, seeking a swift retreat. “Go ahead, my lord,” you managed to say. “A king’s duties must come first.”

His thick brows drew together and he frowned slightly, but eventually he nodded his assent. Your feet carried you away and down a maze of small streets and back alleys, picking up speed as you got further from the crowd, until at last you reached the edge of the city and disappeared into the surrounding fields and paddocks. You cast yourself down in the tall, sweet-smelling grass, shedding tears until you had none left and then staring up dolefully at the flat, blank sky. No matter how you considered and reconsidered your position, only two excruciating choices seemed to lay before you–either to find a new way to love Éomer, shorn of all romantic possibility and content to exist on the terms available to you, or to lose him entirely from your life. The first option felt beyond your strength, but the second was utterly unthinkable.

Uncounted hours passed until it began to darken and torches and candles sparked to life in the distance. Miserable and cold but not yet ready to join the revelry of your family, you wandered back to the city and found yourself headed to the old tack room at the marshal’s stables. Ever since childhood, the abandoned little storage space had served as a private spot to meet your friends, talk or simply to think, and during the war you had spent many hours there alone ruthlessly poring over your fears and concerns.

Throwing open the door and expecting to find it empty as always, you instead walked straight into Éomer, practically bouncing off his chest as he stood just past the threshold. Gone were the outward adornments of royalty, and he looked as you were accustomed to seeing him—simple clothing, well-used boots, hair in loose waves on his shoulders. “Éomer! I mean….I’m sorry. Excuse me, my lord.”

He grimaced a little. “Please, that is not necessary here. Not when it is us. I would like one piece of my old life that is familiar, someone who will still treat me not as king but as myself. I thought you might be here and hoped we could talk as we always have.”

He sat on an old saddle trunk and looked up at you expectantly. Here now was the first opportunity to test your strength—to be there for him simply as a friend and see if you could endure it—and so you nodded and sat next to him.

He was quiet at first, looking around the room and seeming lost in thought. The issue of his pending marriage felt to you like a heavy, palpable presence in the room, but you did not have the heart to raise the subject yet. Instead, you clasped your arms around yourself and waited for him to speak, to give some indication of what he was thinking.

“Do you remember my fifteenth birthday?” he asked suddenly.

“Your…fifteenth birthday? Yes, I think so.” Fragments of distant memories quickly reassembled in your mind. “That was the night you dragged a stolen cask of ale in here, wasn’t it? And then you drank more than half of it all on your own.”

“Which meant you had to spend the rest of the night holding back my hair while I experienced the consequences.”

You smiled. “Yes. Though I experienced some of your consequences, too, if I recall. Those shoes were never the same again.”

He snorted a laugh, and for just a moment things felt almost normal again. Easy and light, as they had been when you were just those two coltish teenagers, having fun and testing the limits of your adolescent independence. But as the laughter faded, the awkwardness returned and his face turned serious.

“I am sorry about this morning.” He shook his head slowly. “That was not how I imagined our reunion, but everything has become so difficult and formal now. I have few moments to myself or chances to do as I once would.”

You could hear in his voice the strain of this adjustment to always being the focus of attention, to being one who is honored and deferred to instead of one who is engaged with. No wonder he was thinking of earlier, simpler days. You longed to comfort him, to take his hand or sit with your head against his shoulder. “Do not apologize,” you said instead. “I understand that you have new demands on you. I regret only that I was not able to tell you how sorry I am about your uncle. I will miss his kind heart.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I take comfort in knowing that he would be proud of what his death achieved.”

Another small silence ensued before he looked up and smiled at you. “But now I must apologize again,” he said, “for I have not yet asked after you. Please, tell me how you have been since we last saw each other.”

You gave a dismissive wave of your hand. “There is not much to tell, at least nothing to stand alongside the great tales we have already heard of your heroic deeds.”

“I do not ask for great tales,” he insisted. “I want only to hear about you and what I have missed, great or small.”

“Well, what you missed were endless hours of inventories and supplies and checklists and stockpiles. Many of the men who typically see to those basic concerns were injured or killed at Helm’s Deep, or they were called away to your muster. So I filled my days with work that they would have done…tracking stores of food and medicine and equipment, ensuring they were sent where they were most needed, planning for replenishments when stocks ran low. It was nothing I have ever done before, obviously, but I am careful with numbers and can keep good records, which is most of what was required.”

He chuckled. “Old Elfhelm has always been so proud that his daughter is one of the few in Rohan to read and write. I heard him bragging as much to one of Lord Elrond’s sons back in Gondor.”

You smiled and shrugged. “That certainly sounds like him. He has never lacked paternal enthusiasm. Or the confidence to share his enthusiasm with literally anyone.”

“That is true, but he is right to be proud. You should be proud as well. Hunger and disease often follow in war’s footsteps, even for the victors, and that has not been allowed to happen here despite the destruction of so many villages and farms and the absence of so many of the normal laborers. That is a service any king would value.”

Your cheeks bloomed a bright red, and he smiled at your discomfort with praise. In truth, though, you were quite proud of what you had accomplished, and it was only hearing the praise from his lips that sent waves of warm color to your face. “Thank you,” you mumbled at last.

He seemed on the verge of speaking again, but instead he leaned back against the wall and contemplated the floor for several long moments. His knee jogged quickly up and down, a nervous tic he’d had ever since boyhood. Before you could ask what was troubling him, however, he looked up with an unsettling intensity.

“May I ask you something? And you will respond to me honestly, no matter what?”

His earnest tone sparked a flare of anxiety in your chest. Was this the moment when he intended to tell you of his engagement? When you would have to somehow react to this news with the graciousness and dignity you knew were required? “I will certainly try.”

He took a deep breath and winced slightly in anticipation of speaking. “I have spent many hours now reflecting on things that Éowyn related to me before I left Gondor. How she did not feel that she was able to live the life she wanted when she was here. That she could not be who she was meant to be simply because she was born a woman. I am ashamed that I was blind to the causes of her unhappiness and that she did not feel that she could confide her true feelings to me earlier. But having failed her then, I worry now that I may have failed others in my life as well. Others who are equally important to me.”

He suddenly turned and grasped your forearms, repositioning you both so that you now sat face to face rather than side by side.

“If you have ever felt that same unhappiness or believed that I was not willing or able to understand your feelings, will you now forgive me? I would not want anyone else to suffer as Éowyn did, and least of all you.”

Your heart broke a little at his words. It broke for Éomer, who would sooner give his life than intentionally hurt someone he cared for, and it broke for Éowyn, whose full feelings had never before been revealed to you. But, hearing now how she had felt, something in her words resonated with a deep part of you, reverberating off a chord you had not always been consciously aware of. You thought carefully for several moments before responding.

“If you ask me whether I ever resented you or the life that I led, the answer is no. I have always trusted in you above all others, and my life never felt anything but normal to me. But I, too, have reflected on these last months, and perhaps I can now better understand Éowyn’s mind.”

He nodded, encouraging you to continue.

“Amid the tragedy of these days, I found some purpose and meaning in the work I did. It was gratifying to feel truly useful for the first time. I did not know it before, as you do not know to miss something you never had, but once that instinct is awakened it is difficult to ignore. It seems it was awakened in Éowyn long ago. But, for myself, I cannot deny that I will now be deeply saddened to lose my sense of purpose once the men are all returned to their old duties and the help of a woman is no longer accepted.”

“Maybe that is not what has to happen,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I would not come to a new understanding of the world, to learn a necessary lesson at a steep cost, only to ignore that lesson and rule my kingdom as though I do not know any better. This will not be a land that I want to rule if half the people must always limit their talents and hopes to fit within the meager bounds afforded to them by the other half.”

His words hung in the air as you struggled to make sense of what you had heard. A chance to share in the great works and deeds of the kingdom, just as the elven women had always done in their own lands? To learn and achieve and stretch yourself in ways that had never before been possible, and not just when dictated by the necessity of war but as a part of everyday life? You had scarcely the courage to even dream of such a thing, but now it was being offered to you. And you knew you wanted it. “I will be the first to stand behind you in any such effort,” you say at last. “But what you suggest is a radical departure from the way that things have been for all the years of our history, indeed from the way that they have always been in all the lands of men. There may be strong opposition to change.”

“I do not fear a difficult task if I know it to be necessary. I will see it done.” He paused and gently picked up your hand to hold it between both of his. “Though I would be aided by the help of a capable queen. One who will rule with me, not as a token or a symbol, but as a true partner.”

His touch sent a jolt of lightning through your arm, and you looked down at your hand to watch his thumb run lightly back and forth over your wrist. It left a trail of fire on your skin. “I…Well, I do not think I understand. Surely you mean Prince Imrahil’s daughter?”

“Imrahil’s daughter?” He looked startled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because news of a royal engagement travels quickly, perhaps faster than you realize. Half of Edoras has already heard about you and the princess of Dol Amroth.”

“Then half of Edoras has heard wrong.”

A small gasp escaped your lips before you could act to hold it back. You looked up into his eyes and drew a shallow breath. “Then…then you have changed your mind?”

“I have not, but only because it never needed changing. I am certain that any daughter of Imrahil is a good and worthy woman, but I declined that match when it was suggested. Any report to the contrary is the result of confusion or rumor. It is true that I am ready for marriage, but I do not wish to bind myself forever to someone I barely know. To someone whose heart and mind I do not yet fully understand. Not when my own heart has long been reserved for one who I already know to be the best of women.” He drew your hand up and pressed it tightly to his chest, where you could feel the steady, strong beat of that heart against your fingertips. “If she will have me.”

All the world seemed suddenly still, as though you were balanced precariously on the crest of a hill, waiting for the last tip forward that would send you rushing headlong down into a new and joyous life. You opened your mouth to respond but found that no words would come. Instead, you raised a hand to his face, lightly tracing your fingers along his jaw before sinking them into his dark golden hair and pulling him toward you for a kiss that had been decades in the making.

It was worth the wait.

[annci]

Headcanons that fit bosnia, or atleast i think so‼️‼️ (i know what im saying, trust)

Help im sorry that it’s so long, i had a bunch of stuff that i wanted to writef

1. Is genuinley the stupidest person alive. Once when srpska was younger he asked for help with his math homework, bosnia couldn’t solve it and they both began to cry

(Mind you, srpska was 10 back then)

2. Has changed names way to many times. He went by Stjepan during the Bosnian kingdom, changed it to Husein during the ottoman empire, but then he settled with Enis once ww2 started

3. He was a partisan

4. Genuinley HATES it when herzegovina begins to talk. since he’s afraid that she will outsmart him, which she obviously will. But also since he thinks that her accent is ”weird and to complicated”

even if it’s not

5. Same thing goes for sandžak, he genuinley can’t stand sandžački

6. Which is the stupidest opinion ever because he speaks Sarajevski. He uses “ba” and “bolan” a lot, he thinks that it makes him look smart but it doesn’t

7. Has a short temper, will genuinley tell you to kill yourself if you breath to loudly next to him

8. Still proud over the Bosnian uprising, even if it didn’t achieve anything other than losing the autonomy and getting betrayed by his own people.

(When Husein kapetan got betrayed by Ali paša rizanbegović)

9. loved turkey during the early stages of the ottoman empire since he got pampered by him since bosnia was considered a beg.

But that changed once turkey confiscated his property. (A beg is a noble person, who owned a shit ton of land)

10. Swears that hes a devoted follower. But yet he smokes, drinks and rarely goes to the mosque at all.

11. Which is funny because he got imprisoned for preaching about Islam when he was younger, during 1946. But he grew less and less religious as he got older

12. Smokes a lot, like genuinley a lot. It’s a surprise that he hasn’t gotten lung cancer

13. Got his ass beaten by the Imam once when he was a child. Ran home crying and got his ass beaten at home for crying, and for getting in trouble with the Imam

14. I genuinley don’t know how to explain his voice, but imagine him sounding like dražen žerić

15. I see sandžak and bosnia as a father and daughter duo. Even if he finds her annoying, since they don’t understand eachother due to the accents. She has a mix of ijekavica and ekavica (sandžački) while he uses ijekavica. She uses words like Hastal and Hadalj, which he dosen’t understand

(And because the majority of the people are ethnic bosniaks)

Bosnia would start to find her annoying after WW1 due to him spending so much time with her. He was there with her from the Bosnian kingdom, eyalet of Bosnia and until ww1.

16. He knows how to play the šargija, he’s surprisingly good at it

17. He absolutely ADORES safet isović and himzo polovina. He thinks that he can sing as good as them (he can’t)

18. Got pretty fucked up after the yugoslav wars, it’s clear as day that he has some sort of PTSD but refuses to admit it. Because he’s stubborn as hell

19. Weird ass headcanon, but I truly believe that he has some sort of cabin in Bjelašnica and he sometimes stays there during the winter, with his little hunting rifle that he has

20. He’s actually quite alright at cooking, he’s not the best but his food is edibile

21. Lacks emotional awareness and empathy

22. probably whooped srpska’s ass once or twice when srpska was a child and visiting bosnia’s house with herzegovina. Bosnia got his ass beaten by herzegovina when she found out

23. Which is funny since he was great towards sandžak since he saw himself in her, but saw either serbia or herzegovina in srpska

24. Belongs in a fucking mental hospital and should never be allowed to see sunlight

These things are canon because i said so and im literally Alija nametak

[mohgreal]

IMO the biggest sign of the shittiness of Miquella's writing is the fact that his actions between the Caelid War and Mohg's death are so inconsistent and unexplained that half of the "lore fandom" still believes he's a selfish power-hungry godhood seeker even though he explicitly has to abandon his fears and doubts to go on that path, his own mind describes godhood as eternal torment, Ymir and Trina both describe him as making a terrible sacrifice out of guilt, and he sounds absolutely terrified of his inevitable godhood in the final cutscene where he's kneeling in resignation (literally stuttering and baby-talking in Japanese and sounding like he's going to cry in the English voice acting). There are three entire characters who exist for the near sole purpose of saying "Miquella really doesn't want to do this but is resigned to having to to atone for his mother, making a noble but misguided sacrifice" and it still didn't drown out the obvious questions like "wait so what was the vow?", "what was the timeline and reasoning for Mohg's kidnapping, and was that his or Mohg's idea?", and "why didn't he tell his sister and her army anything and leave them to rot in a dead tree and blow themselves up?". One of the most popular interpretations is that he really really just wanted Radahn's bussy (probably because "Radahn is my consort" is literally all he says when he's actually on-screen).

Honestly people praising Miquella's writing in the DLC (especially anything having to do with Mohg and Radahn) feels like gaslighting. This is easily noticeable when you notice that the people praising its "brilliance" have completely contradictory ideas of what actually happened or what the story was trying to say. I've heard everything from "Miquella is tragically noble but misguided" to "Miquella is mentally handicapped" to "Miquella is a victim of fate who is cursed to fail no matter what he does" to "Miquella was an evil scheming mastermind whose nobility was a carefully crafted facade" to "Miquella is a dumb, impulsive, spoiled little brat and cautionary tale against nepo babies", and all of these are supposed to be Genius Writing[TM] despite all these directions being so underbaked that people can think his story is literally the opposite of any of the above…

it also killed the fan interpretation. i used to really really like the idea of it being a misunderstanding where mohg kidnaps miquella for his own dynasty and malenia attacks caelid thinking he stole miquella and you cant even argue that i just "wanted my own au to be canon" no. i just wanted it to make sense 🙏

also the "character existing for the sole purpose of X" in the case with the DLC being just to say something about miquella is so fucking dumb. i get fromsoftware never had very in depth characters but its getting far too obvious to the point its comical;

SOTE also does screw up the entire timeline because the writers didn't know their own lore as proven by me many times on this trashy account whoops

also I agree on the "glazing miquellas writing" part because if you can take so many directions with a character that contradict each other, thats not even interpretion anymore that's straight up having your fans make the character for you 😭

getting a monthly anon rant is always a good thing. sorry if this post is as underbaked as sote's writing its the middle of the night cause my insomnia is always awake

[eddysocs]

Bet On It — Hawkeye Pierce x OC

Summary: When Josie scoffs at one of Hawkeye's pranks, it starts a prank war between them that the whole camp starts putting money on.

Word Count: 1,355

Warnings: Just good ol’ fashioned tomfoolery

A Challenge Is Issued

As BJ flopped down on his bed, the tent was filled with the sound of a fart, and Hawkeye lost it, whooping and wailing with laughter as BJ ignored the silly little whoopee cushion prank, and Josie continued filing her nails as if it hadn’t happened, at least until Hawkeye quieted his riotous laughter. Only then did she give away how she felt about the childish move.

Hawkeye praised himself for a job well done, but Josie let out an audible scoff, loud enough to be heard over his self congratulations.

Hawkeye went quiet the moment he heard it and turned to her, eyebrows raised. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

"Come on. Where’s the creativity? The finesse?"

BJ grinned now, clearly enjoying where he suspected this was about to go. "She has a point. I was expecting more from the great Hawkeye Pierce."

"Excuse me, but who made you the arbiter of pranking genius," Hawkeye shot back, folding his arms.

Josie shrugged. "I’m just saying, for someone who’s supposed to be the prank king, this is pretty underwhelming."

Hawkeye straightened. "Oh, so you think you could do better?"

"Without breaking a sweat," Josie replied, a bit too smug for his liking.

BJ leaned back on his cot, his grin widening. "I think you’ve met your match, Hawk."

Hawkeye narrowed his eyes at Josie, his brain already working on a retort. Then, with a sly smile, he said, "Alright, Collins. Let’s see what you’ve got. Starting tomorrow, we’ll find out who the real prank master is."

Josie tilted her head, pretending to consider. "Fine," she agreed casually. "But don’t cry when I leave you in the dust."

"Oh, it’s on," Hawkeye replied, already cooking up some of his best prank ideas yet.

The War Begins

By sunrise, the 4077th was already buzzing with anticipation. News of the impending prank war had spread like wildfire, and the camp’s personnel began taking bets on who would come out on top. Klinger acted as the unofficial bookie, his clipboard overflowing with wagers.

"You’ve got this, Josie," Margaret Houlihan said, slipping Josie a confident nod as they passed in the mess tent. "Someone needs to knock Pierce off his high horse."

Josie grinned. "I’ll do my best, Major."

The first strike came during breakfast. Hawkeye had replaced the sugar in Josie’s coffee tin with salt. The moment she took a sip, her face twisted in revulsion. Across the room, Hawkeye doubled over in laughter.

"Well played," Josie admitted, setting the cup down and wiping her mouth. "But that’s just round one."

Later that day, Josie retaliated. While Hawkeye was preoccupied at lunch, Josie slipped out, donned a pair of surgical gloves and whipped up a homemade concoction of itching powder, rubbing it onto Hawkeye's soap.

She was back in the mess tent before Hawkeye finished eating, and she grinned to herself. He would be having a very unpleasant shower that evening, and she’d come out on top for the day.

As evening rolled around, Josie found out just how right she was. Hawkeye came out of the shower, towel around his waist and itching himself silly. "Collins," he bellowed. Josie didn’t even have to make an appearance, she simply sat in her tent and laughed. Round one was hers, and everyone knew it. Some more members of camp even started putting their money on her.

The Escalation

As the week progressed, the pranks became increasingly elaborate. By the end of the second day, the camp was in an uproar. Hawkeye had rigged Josie’s tent door with a bucket of water, drenching her as she stepped outside that morning.

Josie retaliated by filling Hawkeye’s boots with mashed potatoes. Determined to act unfazed, he wore them into the mess tent at dinner time, causing the place to erupt into laughter when he pulled out a spoon and started shoveling the potatoes out. Day two had gone in his favor.

But the stakes continued to rise. Josie replaced the gin in the Swamp’s still with water, much to the horror of both Hawkeye and BJ. Hawkeye countered by sewing the sleeves of Josie’s scrubs shut, leaving her fumbling for scissors before assisting with her next surgery.

The camp was in hysterics. Even Colonel Potter, who usually turned a blind eye to the unit’s antics, couldn’t hide his amusement. "This is the kind of nonsense that keeps morale up," he said to Radar, "but make sure those two stop by my office so they don’t get to taking it too far."

"You got it, sir!"

When the message got to the two of them that Potter wanted to see them, they thought their war was about to come to an early end, and so they resorted to swatting at each other and blaming the other for going too far and landing them in hot water.

As it happened, that wasn’t exactly the case. "I know you two think this is all in good fun," he said, "but if this war of yours interferes with patient care, you’ll both be scrubbing the latrines for a month."

"Yes, sir," Josie and Hawkeye said in unison, though neither had any intention of backing down.

The Big One

The turning point came on a humid Thursday afternoon after nearly a week's worth of pranks, big and small alike. Hawkeye had been unusually quiet the day before, which immediately put Josie on edge. She knew he must be planning something big.

The trap was sprung during lunch. As Josie sat down with her tray, the bench beneath her collapsed, sending her sprawling to the ground, her food on top of her. It may have been hardly edible, but she’d rather eat it than wear it. The mess tent broke out in laughter, with Hawkeye leading the charge. She’d have to be more careful if he planned on pulling anything else today.

"Nice try, Collins," he said, smirking like he’d won, as he offered her a hand.

Though she accepted his help up, Josie wasn’t defeated. That night, while the camp slept, she executed her coup de grâce, with a little help from Radar and cooperation from BJ.

When Hawkeye woke the next morning, he found himself surrounded by chickens. Dozens of them, clucking and flapping in the confined space of the Swamp. His cot, his belongings, even his beloved Hawaiian shirt were covered in feathers.

"Collins," he shouted, stumbling out of the tent, a particularly disgruntled hen nearly tripping him up as he did so.

Josie stood outside, arms crossed, a triumphant grin on her face. "What’s the matter, Pierce? You look a little…ruffled."

The camp was bursting at the seems with laughter this time, with Klinger nearly choking on his cigar as he counted the chickens as they poured out of the Swamp. How she’d managed to get a dozen of them in there was a feat not even he could imagine matching.

"That’s it," Hawkeye declared, raising his hands in surrender. "I concede. You win."

"Glad you see things my way," Josie replied, smirking as she walked away.

Aftermath

By nightfall, the prank war had become the stuff of legend, something the members of the 4077th would tell to their children years from now. Josie Collins was crowned the unofficial prank master, her victory celebrated with cheers and a round of drinks at Rosie's.

"Admit it," Josie said later that night, sitting with Hawkeye by the still, feathers still littering the Swamp. "You didn’t think I had it in me."

Hawkeye took a sip of his drink, a begrudging smile on his face. "I’ll admit, I underestimated you. But don’t get too comfortable, Pussycat. Next time, I’ll be ready."

"Next time?" Josie raised an eyebrow. "You’re a glutton for punishment, Hawk."

"Maybe," Hawkeye said with a grin. "But at least I have a worthy adversary."

Josie clinked her glass against his. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

As the moon rose over the 4077th, the two pranksters sat in companionable silence, plotting their next moves, because in the chaos of war, a little laughter went a long way.

Forever Tag: @baubeautyandthegeek, @kmc1989, @curious-kittens-ocs, @fanficanatic-tw, @gcthvile, @immyowndefender

[theoceanoasis]

Your writing is so lovely, ahhhh.

Can you imagine a scenario where Ratbat gets attached to Hot Rod after he's saved by him one day? He actively looks for Hot Rod during battle and Hot Rod panics when he sees a sparkling out on the battlefield so he does what he can to protect Ratbat.

Soundwave sees this and takes Hot Rod back to Decepticon base, thinking this is the best way to keep Ratbat from slipping out but whoops! Soundwave fell in love with how doting and kind Hot Rod is to his cassette, despite being the enemy.

Bombs dropped around him and he dove for cover. Curling into a ball he hid inside one of the many abandoned buildings waiting for the bombers to leave.

He didn't know how long it had been but he'd just stood up when he heard a sparkling cry. At first he thought he was hearing things until he heard it again.

He looked around in shock wondering what a sparkling was doing in a place like that.

He frantically looked around calling for the little one and following his cries. He frantically dug through the rubble and pulled out a little sparkling that looked like a bat.

He cradled the little one in his arms and looked around for some kind of creator. When he didn't find one he decided to take the little one with him, refusing to leave him there any longer. It wasn't safe for a sparkling and he'd never survive on his own.

He didn't even make it out of the city before Soundwave grabbed him. He struggled against him doing his best to protect the sparkling as he fought the Decepticons third in command. The entire time his spark was racing wondering what he was doing all the way out there.

The sparkling cried out for his sire and he gave him a confused look when Soundwave snatched him away with a growl.

He turned around ready to attack the Decepticon and protect the sparkling with his life when he saw the sparkling cuddled against Soundwave chirping warmly.

Soundwave glared at him pulling the sparkling closer and he glared back.

"Why did you leave this sparkling in the middle of a war zone he could have been killed?"

He hissed and Soundwave growled clenching his hand into a fist.

"Don't you dare act all high and mighty Autobot. Not when you kidnapped my sparkling and put him there."

"I didn't do anything. I'm the one who found him abandoned in those ruins which your people were dropping bombs on."

"Seekers."

Soundwave seemed annoyed and Ratbat chirped cutely drawing both their attention. The little sparkling managed to slip out of Soundwave's hold and fly over to him. He pet the sparkling and carefully held him while Soundwave watched.

"Ratbat return we must leave immediately."

Ratbat hugged him and then flew back to Soundwave who turned away from him.

"Since you rescued my sparkling and I know you didn't take him I'll let you go this once."

With that Soundwave transformed and took off leaving him alone. He sighed and walked back to Autobot base the entire time thinking about Ratbat. Even though he'd only known him for a short while he already missed him. He was also thinking about the Autobots who took Ratbat and if Soundwave was telling the truth he was going to get to the bottom of it.

It wasn't until months later that he saw Ratbat again. They were in the middle of a battle when he heard a familiar sound.

He looks over and found Ratbat flying towards him. Someone tried to shoot the little sparkling and he stopped them without thinking.

Rushing to the sparkling he pulled him into his arms. His spark was racing as the little sparkling looked up at him with big trusting optics. Around him the war raged on and he held Ratbat close so he could protect him.

It was too dangerous for a sparkling to be in the middle of a battlefield and he looked around searching for Soundwave wondering where he was.

Ratbat clung to him as he looked for his sire trying to return the missing sparkling worried he'd get hurt.

He ended up running into Soundwave who nearly sound blasted him in a rage, until he noticed Ratbat. He looked at the sparkling in shock who snuggled against him looking happy despite the circumstances.

"Lost something?"

"Where did you find him?"

Soundwave snapped and he glared.

"I found him wandering around the middle of a battlefield all alone. Why is he out here it's no place for a sparkling?"

"He's been escaping recently."

"Escaping?"

"He's been looking for something which has been you apparently."

An explosion went off nearby and Soundwave pulled him closer shielding the both of them. Ratbat made a sound of alarm and he quietly soothed the sparkling.

He heard Megatron call retreat and he went to return Ratbat when Soundwave grabbed him.

"What are you doing?"

He looked at him in surprise.

"Ratbat seems to like you and you obviously like him."

He struggled in his arms trying to get away.

"Doesn't mean I want you to kidnap me."

"Ratbat will keep escaping in order to find you and this time we got lucky but next time we might not. If this is the best way to keep him out of harm then so be it."

Soundwave knocked him out before he could argue against kidnapping him and he was taken to the Decepticons base.

[undertheorangetree]

Our Gentle Sin

Dunholm

Summary: Drunken nights lead to a new lesson. 

Warnings- MDNI 18+ NSFW. Female reader. Cunnilingus. Fingering. Mild exhibitionism. Porn without plot.

Author’s Note- This is technically a second chapter/sequel to The Inn because I had some more thoughts. Again this is only the first 600ish words. Link to the full story below!

find the series masterlist here

dividers by firefly-graphics

The sound of raucous laughter fills the Dunholm courtyard so loudly she thinks she can hear it ringing through her ears. She sits perched on a low bearing wall next to Sihtric, occasionally snatching the mug of ale from his hand- her own long since emptied- as they watch some war game the Danes are playing. Finan has joined in, his arm wrapped around the neck of some big bearded man as he tries to take him to the ground. She cheers louder than she should, spurred on by the excitement of the others, and she slaps a hand against Sihtric's shoulder when Finan finally manages to take the Dane to the ground. They grabble for a moment while she and Sihtric shriek at him, demanding that he finish it, that he win, and they only grow louder when he does. She feels Sihtric's hand grip her arm hard as he cheers and she throws both fists in the air, whooping loudly. Finan pulls himself from the dirt, turning to join them in their victory cry from where he stands, which only makes them both cheer louder.

"Having fun?" A voice by her ear asks and she gasps, turning quickly enough that some ale sloshes from the mug and onto the ground.

Sihtric groans as half his drink is lost, but she could not care less.

"Osferth!" she all but cheers, wrapping one arm around his neck in a messy embrace. He laughs in her ear, one of his own arms coming around her waist. She pulls back, one hand still anchored around the nape of his neck, and grins. "Where were you? I was just going to come find you."

Admittedly, she may be a bit drunk, but he does not seem to mind, grinning broadly at her. There is something hazy about his eyes, however, and if she looks close enough, she thinks he may be a bit drunk as well. It wouldn't be surprising if he was, everyone in the fortress now must be at least a little drunk. "Looking for you, lady."

There is another look in his eye as well, one that she is still not entirely familiar with, that she likes to believe is reserved only for her. Longing. Want. Desire. It almost looks out of place on him, with his piety and his little crucifix, but she is in no position to judge him. Not when she feels the same way. She has begun to see it on him more often now that they have become more intimate, bedding one another but not quite. Desperate kisses and hands shoved down trousers, grinding down against one another whenever the time or circumstance allowed for it. Though the look in his eye is not yet familiar, she feels as though she is beginning to know it well.

Sihtric is trying to make it seem as though he is not staring at them. He is still facing forward, pretending to watch the wrestling, but she can see him watching them out of the corner of his eye. A small smile is tugging at the corner of his mouth and she knows that he will say something sooner rather than later. Perhaps she is drunk, but she is not so drunk that she cannot notice that.

Her fondness for Osferth, and his own for her, is no secret, but she would rather they not be forced to endure any teasing this evening. Her hand drops from Osferth's neck, taking his hands instead. "Come with me."

His grin widens when she pulls him away, half stumbling over his feet. They make their way through the crowd, half dodging drunken northmen until they have found a private stairwell within the castle. It's quiet, the sound of those outside muffled by the strong stone walls, the only light coming in through a small window near the roof, leaving a sliver of moonlight on the steps.

Read the rest here :)

[tonydaddingham]

LWA: To expand on @robinwithay's point some more, I am thinking again about Crowley's equivalent to Aziraphale's stubbornness when it comes to rejecting Heaven. Crowley just will. not. learn. that actions have consequences, and that the responsibility lies with the agent, not some nebulous figure out there somewhere. What's striking, in fact, is that "actions have. consequences" is the closest thing the GO universe has to divine providence in action: when Crowley does something, it comes back to bite his occult arse, without fail, every single time. Shut down the cell phone network? Great, can't call Aziraphale. Make yourself look good to Hell? By golly, Hell is going to give you all the sweet assignments. (From their POV, anyway.) Turn a freeway into a demonic sigil? Whoops, it's on fire when you need to cross it, and also a lot of people are dead. Moreover, not only does the universe keep pointing this out to Crowley, but so do the other characters. In S1e1 alone, Hastur, Aziraphale, and SATAN FOR CRYING OUT LOUD all call him out on the whiny "why me?!" business, and Hell does it again in "The Resurrectionists." ("Off my head on laudanum. Not responsible for my actions!" HELL: Oh honey, no.) Arguably, "why me?" is the /one/ question to which Crowley gets a definitive answer, and he consistently refuses to listen to or learn anything from it.

Gaiman's very deliberate decision to prolong and inflate this aspect of Crowley's character is fascinating, because the Nuremberg Defense moment in the novel is there to put an /end/ to it. I keep harping on the Nuremberg Defense issue because in 1990, that was /topical/, not historical: at the time of publication, the most recent high-profile example of someone Nuremberg Defensing himself out of Nazi-era war crimes was Kurt Waldheim /in 1986/. Pratchett's and Gaiman's point in the novel is that Crowley's--and, more so than in the series, Aziraphale's--refusal to take responsibility for what they've done as Hell's and Heaven's agents leads inexorably to them thinking like, you guessed it, Nazi-era war criminals. But as of the end of S2, Crowley has still not come around to the moral epiphany about this that in the novel, Aziraphale has /first./ Instead, Gaiman's substitute for the Nuremberg Defense, the child murder subplot in S1, is averted in such a way that Crowley doesn't learn anything from it.

Further to the point that @robinwithay and others who responded made, you know who did learn something from the child murder subplot? Aziraphale. I said in an earlier ask that in S1, Aziraphale's own failure in the subplot is that he winds up deferring to Crowley's judgment, despite his own clear discomfort, because he cannot turn to Heaven for moral authority. "You can't kill kids" is not represented as a divine or infernal universal mandate--it's a /human/ mandate that transcends both. (That's entirely in keeping with the point, made in both the book and the series, that humans are capable of both far greater good than angels and far greater evil than demons.) In S2, Aziraphale does what he /should have done/ in S1, and says "no" to Crowley's proposal that Gabriel just be abandoned somewhere. I think people sometimes forget that Crowley, for all that he asks questions and nudges Aziraphale along out of his allegiance to the Heavenly party line, is not the series' moral arbiter. Aziraphale knows that Gabriel is facing "something terrible" and is not sure whether or not he's still "awful," but he does what S2 itself shows by the end to be the right thing. Doing the right thing sometimes means telling Crowley "no" and sticking to that no, just as, in S1, the moment Aziraphale hits on the right question to ask at the airfield, he moves /away/ from Crowley to stand with Adam.

good afternoon LWA!!!💕

okay so i feel some frank warning is due for anyone else reading my reply, especially if you're new around these here parts: what follows beneath the cut is going to be crowley-critical. it's not meant in bad faith, but recognising character shortcomings is important for all characters involved. there is (quite rightly) a lot of critique in relation to aziraphale in the fandom, and this is not in ignorance or denial of that - there are certainly points where aziraphale's actions throughout both seasons are called out, and i agree with a number of them - but a) that's not what im talking about here, that's a different post, and b) similar analysis of crowley is (as far as ive seen personally in the months ive been active) not as common - hence the post. if that's not your bag, fair enough, but take heed!!!✨

can't believe a fandom-specific cw for this is necessary but. here we are

(because i get asked this a fair amount - AWCW: Angel Who Crowley Was) (and just now recognising the grammatical error in this, ah well we move)

the part of crowley's character that does not accept consequences, and seemingly refuses to learn from them, is one of the most intriguing for me. as well as all of the instances that you've listed, this is something that we see as being so inherent to him that it even predates the fall; it's not a trait that is specific to crowley-as-a-demon, but to crowley-as-crowley. for all of the understandable reasons that AWCW felt he should ask questions, should challenge why his hard work and creativity was going to be put to waste as if it were nothing, he outright dismissed aziraphale's frankly prophetic advice that directly delivering criticism to the almighty, even if meant with the best of intentions, might spell for trouble... might even spell for AWCW's own personal ruin.

slightly unrelated, but another note: the mindset of, "if i were in charge", however much it might have been meant offhandedly or innocently, even connotes an incredible amount of hubris that, whilst not wholly condemnable in itself, gives an interesting insight into how crowley views himself from before the fall and going into present day.

AWCW's questions may come from a place of innocence and collaboration, and may speak to how much trust he placed in god/heaven to hear his questions with patience and understanding, but it still remains highly likely that he dismisses aziraphale's warning. and the reason he ignores it, most likely, is because it is not what he wants to hear, nor does it (in his eyes) benefit him to exercise caution. one could go a step further and suggest that this indicates a fatal "crowley knows best" mentality, which the rest of the two seasons doesn't exactly negate. and look - that's fine, ignoring advice is hardly an indictable offence, but if what you're doing goes to shit? that is on you.

shifting into speculation-mode in the absence of any confirmed account of the fall itself, we can presume that AWCW's questions fall on deaf/reticent/dismissive ears, and that will just as likely have left AWCW with a sense of frustration and resentment. i continue to be a really hopeful advocate of AWCW having had a lucifer-parallel narrative; that after what was essentially a dismissal, he may have precipitated (at least) the inception of the fall by way of knowingly or unknowingly planting the seeds of rebellion amongst the eventual-fallen... e.g. "they're not treating us fairly, all of our effort will be for nothing, all in service and deference to 'human beings', i tried to speak to god about it but they won't even hear me out."

i don't think he will have led the rebellion, that doesn't quite seem appropriate to his character, but certainly that he may have sparked the initial machinations, and then - by furfur's account - participated in the war. this, again, would fall in line with crowley's ongoing tumultuous relationship with consequences-borne-from-his-actions.

crowley's unreliable narratorship of his own fall is, by definition, untrustworthy, and as such it's not a given that he was unimpeachable in any participation of it. "i didn't mean to fall" would definitely suggest that it was not his intention, but if we return to the Dead Whale Theory, this is a dead whale that crowley has failed to fully accept, or learn from. he seems - when we consider how he inhabits the role of god (as he sees that role to be, anyway) in how he treats his plants in s1 and the goats in s2 - to be very much of the opinion that he is entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.

and in some respect, he's not wrong - asking questions is not a bad thing, it's a very good thing, and his willingness to do so is one of crowley's greatest assets - but his refusal to heed advice in favour of his own agenda, refusal to accept the answers given even (especially?) when he doesn't like them, to have potentially sparked dissent that led to a war (which he fought in), and his lack of accountability for the results, is where he falls down. im not going to go so far as to call it narcissistic behaviour, that feels a bit extreme, but there are... similarities. he doesn't learn from the whole fiasco in any manner that would indicate self-reflection, and instead seems to have walked away from the fall with his clear-cut conclusion that heaven was wrong, and are in fact The Bad Guys.

certainly, GO proposes that heaven isn't the traditional definition of truth, light, and good that aziraphale hopes that it is intrinsically... but crowley still hasn't reached the point of understanding the rest of what the narrative is saying.

heaven and hell are not always good and bad respectively, but they are not always bad and good respectively either. it's not a simple, 'we're turning this on its head' concept. it is altogether a veeeery grey system that simply exists, and it exists in the way that it always has done since the fall (possibly even before, in heaven's case). it is instead your choice whether or not to be part of that system, if you do not think it is right. if you continue be a part of that system, even if there are stakes involved that would make it difficult or compelling for you to remain and act within that system, you should at least recognise the consequences of your actions, accepting your part in it. this goes for all angels and demons, not just aziraphale and crowley. 'just following orders' may be understandable in some circumstances (e.g. threat to life of yourself or others), but does that mean that you are absolved of all responsibility?

we are, collectively, quick to point out that aziraphale has not fully learnt this, but it's clear that crowley has not either. it also suggests by extension that aziraphale is not always wrong, just as crowley is not always right. where actions-and-consequences are concerned, i'd tentatively wager that aziraphale at least demonstrates a bit more understanding of this than crowley does. aziraphale has been shown to recognise when he is wrong, accept it, and make efforts to correct himself or remedy his erroneous actions moving forward. aziraphale hides the antichrist's location from crowley and holds out hope for a higher power to see reason/do the right thing, but when aziraphale gets the confirmation that heaven isn't going to do the right thing by stopping the apocalypse, the first thing he does is call crowley to tell him about adam. you also then have, as you said, aziraphale physically and figuratively moving to stand with humanity; good and bad are just names for sides, and 'human incarnate' equally embraces both concepts (in their truest meaning) and yet similarly rises above both. this is the side to back; 'our side', to aziraphale, doesn't mean just him and crowley, but humanity too.

alternatively (really grinding at the fall thing here, sorry), even if AWCW did not willfully participate in any goings-on of the rebellion, and the fact that he fell was an incident in which he was blamelessly implicated/scapegoated... well, even then, that does not give him a free-pass for him to continuously believe that he is innocent in all matters that follow. sure, he may have been blameless in the fall, but does that mean he's therefore beyond reproach or above accountability for... everything he does/says that occurs afterwards?

setting up the perfect environment for armageddon? tempting aziraphale to kill the antichrist? giving a group of humans live firearms in order to make a point? abandoning aziraphale and retracting 'our side' when aziraphale asked him for help with hiding gabriel? withholding information from aziraphale that directly concerns him and his safety? i said it in a separate post (mainly because it would have made this one a really ungodly length), but my point remains the same; regardless of his part or not-part in the fall, crowley's character does not develop in this arena, despite incredibly formative experiences that might in fact impart an important lesson upon him*.

*and that lesson - again! - is not that he shouldn't ask questions, but instead that his actions may prove to have consequences that he does not like or want, but must accept anyway, taking accountability for his part in them.

not changing does not mean that he is perfect from (before) the beginning, but instead suggests that he is very comfortable being the same person that he's always been... and in some ways, it's commendable to remain true to oneself, but it's equally not conducive to growth... and crowley still has a lot of growing to do (he has grown since s1: his kindness for one thing absolutely has!).

crowley does not seem to recognise where his lack/refusal of development may have contributed to the breakdown in his and aziraphale's relationship by the end of s2, even if that lack/refusal is not directly referenced in the final fifteen. by this i mean: crowley appears to have a very clear expectation of how he believes aziraphale does - and perhaps should - think and behave. crowley, to crowley's mind, he has the right of it ("crowley knows best"), and that includes him thinking that aziraphale will act in the way he has come to expect as a result of his influence on him. crowley has poked and prodded aziraphale away from heaven's rhetoric and dogma* about what good and right is, which aziraphale desperately needed... but does that mean that aziraphale should replace that belief system with Morality According To Crowley? instead of developing his own ...exactly as aziraphale demonstrates in the final fifteen?

when aziraphale doesn't do what crowley thinks he ought to, instead of crowley considering that his perspective of aziraphale may not actually be reality, he takes it as a betrayal and a rejection of crowley himself. though we won't really know until s3 (and possibly not even then) what crowley was really thinking during the final fifteen, it isn't too impossible a notion that crowley now thinks that aziraphale has chosen heaven over him, and loves heaven more than him. which... after everything that he has seen aziraphale go through, battle, and come to terms with, does he truly think that little of him? that aziraphale would think that little of crowley? if he does, that's an incredibly sad and disappointing prospect. perhaps bold of me to say, but sometimes it seems that there are some specific similarities between crowley and heaven in how they individually view and treat aziraphale.

*whilst crowley encouraging aziraphale to think outside of heaven is a good thing, and aziraphale definitely needs it, it does elicit out a couple of concerning traits from them both that, whilst may be borne from respective senses of powerlessness, they manifest onto each other.

crowley has a hero/saviour complex, which aziraphale encourages. aziraphale encourages it - by his own admission - because he thinks it makes crowley happy. however, what is not clear is whether aziraphale recognises that in allowing this, not only does it potentially suggest that crowley benefits from perceiving aziraphale as incapable of protecting himself, and any ability to protect himself (or indeed crowley! 1941!) threatens what crowley thinks is his place in aziraphale's existence, but also that aziraphale himself is projecting what he doesn't get from heaven/god onto crowley.

it similarly isn't clear whether crowley realises that not only he has been - in part - substituted for god/heaven in aziraphale's eyes because he provides the love, acceptance and confirmation of worth that aziraphale has craved since time immemorial, but also that in keeping information from aziraphale that directly concerns him, crowley is nurturing an environment where aziraphale will make decisions according to the limited information he has. we even have a suggestion of this in the final fifteen: to aziraphale's mind, it won't be crowley that protected him from heaven's threat of erasure from the BOL (ie. crowley didn't tell him), it was the metatron. (and if aziraphale finds out about/puts together, in s3, the sheer amount and scale of information that crowley kept from him, there is going to be the hard conversation of whether trust between them can exist as it has before, built over thousands of years).

just as crowley has an arguably skewed perception of aziraphale, aziraphale has a skewed perception of him in return (the levels of codependency are off the charts, lads). it's not a unique observation to say that they both need this break in order to renegotiate within themselves how they view each other, but it's no less true for being repeated.

[talxe]

Reading the Iliad, Book 14 thoughts

This is my first time ever reading it and I know next to nothing abt greek mythology so if I interpret anything wrong by all means pls correct me

Im reading the Robert Fagles translation

Honestly not much happened

Nestor is still recouping, he's chilling in his tent drinking wine

NESTOR THE TROJANS ARE IN THE DAMN CAMP

He finally hears the cry of war and grabs a spear/shield while leaving his tent

When Nestor gets outside he's just met with a shitshow lol

He meets up with the heroes of the Greek side (Diomedes, Agamemnon, ppl like that)

And those guys are kinda just standing around

Agamemnon straight up admits that Hector scares him because he wants to burn their ships. He also fears the rest of the Argives hating him as much as Achilles does

Once again Agamemnon goes "Fuck it we should go home."

Odysseus DOES NOT TOLERATE THAT GOING HOME SHIT THO and scolds him bc the leader of their army probably shouldn't be talking like that

"My bad." - Agamemnon

Diomedes hops up and gives us another "My father, and my father's father, and his father's father" speech bc everyone in the Iliad has to list their entire family tree each time they speak

So Diomedes poses a that they should support others who are uninjured and can still fight since they themselves cannot

Poseidon pops up to tell Agamemnon that Achilles is probably jumping for joy at this moment bc the Greeks are losing and that makes Achilles super un-cool lmao

Sooooo Hera decided to seduce Zeus

Using the weakness of men against themselves I love to see it honestly

Hera gets all dolled up and enlists the help of Aphrodite

But she does this by lying to Aphrodite. Hera spins this story abt her needing to play matchmaker for another two gods so she needs Aphrodite to make her look really hot

She gives Hera a breastplate that will make Zeus sleep with her

Hera stops to talk to the god of sleep

Why is he just called sleep and not Hypnos?

Anyway she asks him to put Zeus to sleep so she can help the Argives

Sleep goes "Absolutely not, I played this game before and almost got my ass whooped if it wasn't for my mother."

Hera offers one of the three Graces to marry him and sleep folds

Sleep and Hera speed over to Mt. Ida which is where Zeus is

Her plan works and Zeus starts listing off all the women he's slept with during their marriage??????

And ends the list by saying "I've never felt such lust before but now I do♥️"

Thanks?

Can't believe Hera didn't lose her fucking mind

They end up banging inside of a golden cloud

Sleep makes Zeus fall asleep afterward. Ig he had to sit there and wait until they finished

Sleep speeds down to Poseidon and basically tells him that whatever move he needs to make to aid the Argives, now is the time to make them. So he ushers the Greeks into battle

Hector and Ajax (greater) start going at each other, Ajax throws a rock and Hector is described to be "sent whirling" when it hits him and he loses consciousness

The Greeks try to take this opportunity to kill Hector but his Trojan buddies drag him away

LMAO ig the rock made Hector spin so much that he vomits "Dark clots" (blood) when he wakes up

Peneleos (Idk he's not important) just full send charges and throws his spear at some guy

Which ends up striking him below the eye and popping it out of its socket

Im abt to fucking cry

Ajax (lesser) had the highest kill count of the day