#ilium asks

[ilium-ilia]

listening to searows for the first time and GASPING bc this is exactly what I'd hear if I had the power to turn reading your stuff into music.

that is such a nice compliment oh my gosh thank you.

i actually have a whole playlist dedicated to In Limbo. there are some songs that very much remind me of certain aspects of the story on there ugh.

This is what Simon was listening to in Terminus's basement

This whole song is just... Aelin and Chip

This is Chip and Simon

And so is this

And this

Chip's theme song

Chip and Marco

This is what would play during [redacted]

i also wrote a song on piano for Chip that's representative of like... her theme. i posted it once upon a time ago on here but i've edited it heavily since then. maybe i'll record it again and post it but i feel like no one is interested in bad piano playing lmfao.

[jarondont]

Gone

Um ... an angsty Eurylochus x Ctimene oneshot, bc why not

For the best experience, listen to sad Titanic instrumentals in the background

Also, here's a little piano thing I thought of for Ctimene, with Ody's guitar motif and Eury's Luck Runs Out motif

Under a small cliff in a hidden cove just beside the harbor stood a majestic olive tree, similar to the one in the palace courtyard—its roots buried sturdily in the ground; its branches wedged into the rock behind it. Its leaves rustled in the wind, blending with the gentle crash of waves along the shoreline. Sunrise stretched its rosy fingers over the horizon and spread its light over the wine-dark sea, bathing the world in a golden hue.

Two figures sat at the base of the tree, their fingers laced together like the branches above their heads. One, a man, was tall, broad, and sturdily built. The other was just the opposite—a woman, short and lean. Neither of them spoke—they simply sat in each other’s company, savoring every moment, wishing they could stay like this forever.

They couldn’t; they knew that. As they sat, the dozen ships at the harbor were being loaded with food and weapons and supplies, almost ready to set sail for the shores of Ilium. The crew was slowly trickling onto the decks, although no one was present to give them orders. The captain likely was saying goodbye to his own wife. But as soon as he returned, they’d leave. And they’d need their second-in-command.

For now, though, Ctimene just wanted to hold on to her husband for as long as she could.

“Ctimene,” the man mumbled.

“Hm?” came the reply.

“I must go.”

Ctimene hummed again, tilting her head to rest on his shoulder. “Not yet.”

A beat passed. “Kit, I really must—”

“Please, Eurylochus, just a little longer.” Her voice cracked slightly from the tears that she held back, forming a lump in her throat.

Eurylochus sighed. Ctimene glanced down at their intertwined fingers as he traced his thumb in circles over the back of her hand. It tickled a little—to anyone else, the caress would seem surprisingly gentle for hands as strong as Eurylochus’s … but Ctimene could feel the tension in his touch. She looked up to meet his eyes, but his gaze was lowered to his lap, dejected.

“How long will it take, do you think?” she asked quietly, part of her not wanting to know the answer.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Could be … could be anywhere from a year to …” He faltered. “I don’t know.”

Something stung in the corners of Ctimene’s eyes, then made its way down her throat and into her heart until it felt like it was burning. She glanced away, her grip on Eurylochus’s hand tightening slightly, desperately.

“Where will you stay in the meanwhile?” he asked, trying to change the topic. “Will you stay here, or go back to Same?”

She shrugged. “I’ll go back, I guess.” But it won’t be the same without you. She swallowed, blinking away her tears.

A pause, then Eurylochus started, “Kit—”

The bell rang out from the harbor, echoing along the cliffs—one bell, two, three.

Eurylochus’s fingers quickly untangled themselves from Ctimene’s. “The captain’s ready,” he muttered, then began to rise from his seat.

But Ctimene grabbed his wrist, her tears finally spilling. “Don’t. They can wait a few more minutes, can they not?” “No, Kit, I need to go—”

“Please,” she sobbed. “Don’t leave me.”

Sorrow washed over Eurylochus’s face. He knelt down beside her and ran his calloused fingers over her cheek, rubbing away her tears with his thumb. The action only made her cry harder.

“Kit, look at me.” She already was—taking in the slight furrow of his eyebrows; the way the sun reflected off his otherwise deep brown eyes, making them shine like pools of gold; the small dip on his right cheek that she’d often kiss, the dimple deepening as his smile widened. She took in everything, wishing she could somehow imprint this moment into her mind forever.

He held her hands in his and helped her up, his teary gaze trained intently on hers. He began, “Whatever happens in this war—”

“No.” She knew what he was about to say. “No, Eurylochus, no—”

“Whatever happens,” he continued, shaking his head, “promise me one thing.” He took a steadying breath. “Promise me you’ll stay strong. Promise me you won’t lose yourself in longing. Promise me you’ll always hold on to whatever hope is left, Ctimene, because I will, too.”

She was silent.

“Promise me, Kit.”

She exhaled a sob. “I promise.”

A rueful smile danced across his face as he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. “Wait for me,” he whispered.

“I promise,” she repeated, not breaking his gaze as he slipped his fingers out of hers and began slowly back-stepping to the harbor.

She watched as he turned to keep walking, his sandals kicking up small clouds of sand.

“Eurylochus, wait.”

He stopped in his tracks, spinning around as Ctimene threw her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his. She closed her eyes, teardrops escaping their corners and flooding down her cheeks. Eurylochus returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around her waist like an anchor, never wanting to let go. In that moment, it was just the two of them—no war, no ships, no leaving people behind. Just them.

But even the strongest anchors must be drawn eventually.

Ctimene pulled away just enough to meet his eyes. “You will come back, Eurylochus,” she insisted. “You will come back, and then we will have our forever.”

“I—” His golden-hued eyes glinted with tears. “I promise.”

With that, he left.

Ctimene didn’t leave the cove until the bell clanged again and the dozen ships pulled out of the harbor. The men—soldiers—raised their arms as final goodbyes, standing at the rail and waving to the crowd of people at the shore. Be safe, Ctimene wished them, and come back home. We will all be waiting.

Then she caught sight of two figures on the leading vessel—one with a billowing purple cape, still facing toward the crowd of people, waving to someone. And the other—Ctimene bit her lip to keep from crying. He was waving to her, she realized. She waved back, her eyes stinging as she shed a tear. The man nudged the shorter one with the cape next to him, drawing his eyes to where she stood on the beach. She waved to them both, watching their figures shrink smaller and smaller as the ships sailed away.

“I will wait, agapitos,” she whispered. “I promise.”

––––––

One year passed. Then two. Three.

Any word from Ithaca? She’d ask. Are they back yet?

No, they’d reply, not yet.

Another year. Another. And another.

Have they returned?

No. No one has.

Again, the seasons cycled through, marking another year. And another. And one more.

Where are they? Surely the war’s over by now.

It isn’t. Not yet.

How much longer would this war last? How much longer must those soldiers suffer? How much longer must friends, lovers, families stay apart, desperate to see each other again?

How much longer until Eurylochus came home?

All these questions Ctimene pondered as crashing waves of dread slowly eroded away her patience.

But no one ever knew the answer.

The tenth year—the war was over. Achaea had won.

They’re not back yet.

Another year. Two, three, four, five.

Every morning, she’d sit by the shore, her fingers tracing small patterns in the soft sand as she stared out across the wine-dark sea. Maybe it will be today, she hoped. Maybe I will see a black ship on the horizon, finally home from Troy.

She’d occasionally see something, a small fleck somewhere on distant waves. She’d spring up from her seat and squint against the sun, trying to see it better. Sometimes, it would be a ship, and her heart would flutter like a freed dove as she almost dared to hope it was him.

Almost.

Usually, the ship would sail on, not even making a turn for Same. And if it did dock at the shores, it was never his. No, it was always a trading ship, a fishing ship, or some other unknown vessel that would slam its anchor straight onto Ctimene’s heart.

But she still waited. She had made a promise, after all.

The next five years went by all the same. She’d watch, she’d wait, and she’d hope, but that was all she could do.

So, when she finally received some news, her heart was ready to burst out of her chest.

It started as a whisper, winding its way through the ears of people until it eventually reached Ctimene’s.

Odysseus has returned.

They made it … after all this time, they finally made it home!

Immediately, she ordered a ship made ready for her. She was going to Ithaca.

The journey only took a few hours, but it felt like an eternity. The whole time, her mind was consumed by a mixture of excitement, joy, and … fear. Though she tried to suppress it, part of her couldn’t help but wonder—what would Eurylochus be like after all this time? Would she still be able to love him? Would he still love her? Twenty years away from home … had he—had he kept his loyalty? Or had he severed his ties with Ctimene and taken another lover?

His face flashed through her mind’s eye. No. No, he would never—he had promised he’d make it back, and they’d have their forever.

He’d promised.

As soon as her ship docked in the Ithacan harbor, she hurried toward the palace, weaving her way through the streets as quickly as she could. Her heart and mind raced as she imagined everything she’d wanted to say to him for all these years. So many things.

Eurycleia was the first to greet her at the palace. “Ctimene—” she began, then paused. Her cheery grin fell suddenly. “Oh, child …”

“Where is Odysseus?” Ctimene asked, too impatient to notice the nurse’s change in mood.

“In the hall,” Eurycleia replied. “But, Ctimene—”

But she had already taken off.

She found her brother at the foot of his throne, fiddling with his bow. As soon as he looked up, they both froze.

Scars lined his face in places they hadn’t before—the bridge of his nose, his right cheek, his left eyebrow. His eyes had dark circles underneath, as if he hadn’t gotten proper sleep in days. And his shoulders were tense, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

Other than that, he looked like the same Odysseus she remembered.

“Ody,” she breathed, and threw her arms around him, collapsing in tears.

“Kit.” He dropped his bow and returned the embrace, his tears wetting her clothes. “I missed you,” he sobbed, holding her tight.

He was home. He was safe. And he was alive. Ctimene was overjoyed.

But still, something—someone—was missing.

“Brother,” she began, pulling away, “where is Eurylochus?”

Odysseus froze.

“Brother?”

His eyes grew wide and darted in every direction before finally focusing on the ground. He mumbled something under his breath, but Ctimene couldn’t hear it. “What is it, Ody?”

He took a few panicked breaths. “I’m sorry.”

Sorry? Her eyebrows pressed together. Why was he sorry?

“Odysseus—”

It hit her like a spear, piercing her heart, deeper and deeper, until the only thing she felt was blinding pain. Her breathing hitched as dread engulfed her, swallowing her whole. That … that couldn’t have happened—it couldn’t—

“Odysseus …” She struggled to keep her voice level. “Where is Eurylochus?”

No response.

Her tears were no longer of joy—they streaked her face like rivers of sorrow and horror, burning against her skin. But Odysseus was still silent.

“Where is he?” she demanded, shooting up from her seat. “Where is he?”

Odysseus wouldn’t look at her. “I was going to send you a messenger … Kit, the rest of the crew—” his voice cracked. “I had to. I’m so sorry.”

He “had to”?

“‘Had to’ what, Odysseus?” She could barely even breathe now. “What did you do?!”

But he just squeezed his eyes shut, not speaking anything more.

“SAY SOMETHING!”

“I can’t,” he gasped. “I’m sorry.”

No. No. He was lying—he had to be lying—

Finally, he looked up. “I’m sorry, Kit—”

“Don’t call me that.” She backed away, almost stumbling. “Don’t—don’t—”

She stared him right in the eyes. “You’re a murderer.”

“Ctimene, please—”

She turned around and ran.

She burst out of the palace, tearing through the streets and down to the harbor, desperately yet hopelessly searching for her husband. Maybe he was waiting here. Maybe he was boarding a ship for Same. Maybe he’d surprise her, spin her around and kiss her cheek, chuckling and telling her it was just a trick.

But he never did.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, but more kept falling. “Eurylochus?!” she called out to the sea. “Agapitos?!”

She was only met with the crash of waves and the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

Her chest heaving, she stumbled along the shoreline, yelling out his name until her voice was hoarse. Every passing second added to the searing pain in her heart, scorching her from the inside. She screamed, she cried, and she ran, until she found herself in an area she recognized in a memory from twenty years ago.

A hidden cove, surrounded by tall cliffs, with an olive tree—now half-dead—pressed against the rock.

Promise me you’ll always hold on to whatever hope is left, Ctimene, because I will, too.

Images flashed through her mind—a sunrise, intertwined fingers, and two shimmering pools of gold. She reached out to the visions, desperate to grab them and hold on before—

Gone. It was all gone.

He was gone. Truly gone.

Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the sand, letting out a strangled cry that sounded almost inhuman. “Eurylochus,” she screamed, “Eurylochus!” His name echoed along the cliffs, surrounding her, as if it was the only word the world knew how to speak. “You promised, Eurylochus, you promised! You promised you’d come back—why didn't you come back—” Her voice failed her, and she clawed her nails into the sand, wishing she could dig her way to the Underworld and bring him back.

“Come back,” she croaked, barely louder than a whisper. “Come back.”

She vaguely felt an arm wrap around her and heard a thump as someone kneeled in the sand next to her. She leaned her head on the man’s shoulder, too tired and miserable to pull away.

“I’m sorry, Kit,” he whispered, and she felt his tears fall on her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

But no amount of apologies could ever repair the gaping hole in her heart where he used to be. Nothing could.

“He’s gone, Ody,” she cried, burying her face in his clothes.

“I know,” he choked. “I’m sorry.”

And there they sat, together yet completely alone—a captain who had sacrificed everything for love, and a princess who had lost everything she loved.

[thehypnone]

Bones in Traction

WC: 3k

Relationship: Dewdrop/Rain, Aether, Mountain, Cirrus, Aurora, Aeon, Swiss

Tags: Transmasc Dew, Disabled Rain, Transmasc Rain, Grinding, Size Difference, Size Kink, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Come Eating, Orgasm Denial, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Sex, Fluff, Biting, Marking, Cunnilingus

Ghoul sexualizing Dewdrop's pointy hips in different ways. That's it, that's the fic.

Notes: Commissioned by @everybodyshusband!!! Most of the ideas come from this post, especially tags by @iamthecomet @foolish-iscariot @littlemoon-beam @ghoul-slime @kelthebarb @jesusbutbetterrr and felix himself. also @delusionalbitchinthehouse asked to be tagged :3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Dewdrop’s hip bones are very prominent; it is no secret.

There aren't many options for them to be hidden—baggy pants or an oversized hoodie only, really, if he actually does want to hide them. It’s rare, the need to do so nagging at him when the mean voice in the back of his head tells him he’s too skinny; unworthy of even being called a ghoul.

Most of the time, though, they’re put on full display and Dewdrop’s pack can never get enough.

Rain is an avid enjoyer of many things sexual; there’s not many things he wouldn’t do. Because of that it surprises people to find out he has a soft spot for simple…grinding. Half the toys he owns are colorful fantasy grinders of different designs and densities; there’s just something about dragging his wet cunt back and forth over them that makes the water ghoul go a little stupid.

His body doesn’t always agree with him, though.

Sometimes he just can’t muster up the strength to work for an orgasm in such a way, sometimes the pain radiating from his joints and muscles is too strong for him to move. Laying on his back and using his hands to reverse-grind doesn’t scratch the itch quite the same, and sometimes even that is too much for him.

That’s when Dewdrop comes in.

“How do you want me, fish boy?” he asks, pressing himself against Rain’s body gently. He delivers a soft kiss to his cheek and nuzzles into it, waiting for instructions. Dewdrop can brat alright but he knows when to be a good boy and help his water ghoul.

“Can you–” Rain sighs, “your hips?”

Dewdrop doesn’t reply verbally; he just nods and slides down the bed. They are way past having to explain anything like this to each other. Rain watches with a desperate look as the fire ghoul gets rid of all his clothes—every little patch of newly revealed skin makes him breathe a little heavier.

Rain lets his legs fall to the side to accommodate Dewdrop. He knows what to do by now; he grabs them gently and pulls them up to hook around his waist. The water ghoul sighs in relief at having his legs elevated and heated up by Dewdrop’s fire ghoul body.

He stretches up to kiss Rain on his parted lips as he angles himself properly. He drops his hips slightly until the left pointy part of his ilium bone presses against the water ghoul’s damp cunt.

Rain sighs at the contact but it quickly turns into a moan when Dewdrop starts to move; dragging the sharp bone over his mate’s chubby clit.

“So good, baby, thank you,” Rain whines. His chest warms up when he sees the contented little smile on Dewdrop’s face—the fire ghoul is always happy to please his mate and get praised in return.

Once he gets Rain off, he’ll work his own cunt over the water ghoul’s thigh and make their sheets that much wetter.

Aether and Mountain are equally insane about Dewdrop’s size in comparison to them.

The latter goes crazy for the way Dewdrop looks—as if he could be snapped in half any second. It’s only the appearance, of course, but if Mountain thinks too much about it his pants will get tight anyway.

The quintessence ghoul is similar, albeit for him it’s more about being able to feel Dewdrop in that slightly strange way. The way pale skin stretches over sharp bones all over the fire ghoul’s body makes Aether’s eyes roll back into his head.

Dewdrop’s hip bones, specifically, have the most power over both Aether and Mountain.

“You’re so small, firefly,” the quintessence ghoul grunts, slowly fucking in and out of Dewdrop’s ass. Both his holes are drooling, dripping onto Aether’s cock and easing his slide. He’s so thick the fire ghoul feels filled to the very brim, unable to take more or even breathe. “So little under me, look–just look at these.”

These are, of course, Dewdrop’s hip bones. Aether grabs them, all but pinches them between his thumb and pointer finger on both sides. It feels weird, it always does—especially if he squeezes.

It’s so fucking weird, just…just holding his bones like that.

Dewdrop knows the concept shouldn’t be as hot to him as it is.

“Our little fire lily,” Mountain sighs, running his fingers through Dewdrop’s sweaty hair where he’s pillowing his head. His other hand is wrapped tightly around his own cock, stroking to the same rhythm that Aether fucks the fire ghoul in.

They’ve been at it for a while—like always, without rush. The urgency only comes when all their noises rise in pitch and volume.

The quintessence ghoul drags one of his hands from Dewdrop’s hip to his clit and rubs him to completion. He moans through it and squeezes Aether’s cock, bringing him to the edge, too.

He pulls out with a grunt just as he’s about to cum, making Dewdrop whine in overstimulation. The quintessence looks down at where the nearly purple head of his cock lays against Dewdrop’s pale skin and gives exactly one hump against one of his hip bones before he’s cumming. His cum fills the little divots by the bone and Mountain drools from where he’s watching Aether’s cock spill. He speeds up the movements of his hand around his cock and waits for the quintessence ghoul to go down from his high.

“All for you, Mount,” Aether tells him and backs up. Mountain trills happily, low in his throat, and slots his cock against Dewdrop’s shin. His head goes to the fire ghoul’s hip and he shoots the moment he lays his hand over it—it’s the way its shape fits in his palm. He leans down as he shudders through the aftershocks to lick up Aether’s cum.

“Such good boys,” he praises the both of them.

In no time Mountain will fall asleep with his cheek slotted perfectly against the curve of Dewdrop’s pointy hip bone. Aether’s hand will lay over the other one as the fire ghoul snores between them; all blissed out and happy.

Cirrus sees the fire ghoul’s bony hips as just another way for her to be cruel.

She will get him worked up with quiet words and little passing touches, promise to fuck his brains out with her biggest strap, but then–

“Cir–Cirrus, please,” Dewdrop begs. Again. “Stick it in somewhere that matters, fuck.”

“Oh, spitfire, but this is working so well!” she laughs. It’s cruel. It might be working for her considering the attached vibrator buzzing against her clit and the dildo snug inside her, sure, but the fire ghoul is in misery.

Cirrus thrusts forward again, bumping the head of the strap-on against the arch of Dewdrop’s hip bone. She didn’t put any lube on it so she could really rub the fake cock against the fire ghoul’s sensitive skin, and, indeed, she’s been torturing him for long enough that the usual pale gray turned into an irritated pinkish one.

Dewdrop has to admit Cirrus is creative when it comes to finding new methods to torture her pack.

The exaggerated noises spilling from her mouth as she works herself over on the toys against and inside her are making the pit in Dewdrop’s stomach deepen, as he only lays there with no stimulation whatsoever. He can barely bring himself to beg anymore, but he’s getting closer and closer to the point of a real sexually-frustrated breakdown.

Cirrus, as on cue, turns off her vibrator before throwing her legs over Dewdrop’s and crawling up his small form. He looks up at her with a somewhat terrified expression—one can never know what she’s really up to.

Cirrus straddles his chest and shoves another pillow under his head to get a better angle before grabbing his jaw and squeezing to forcefully open his mouth. Not like he wouldn’t open it willingly—of course he would; he and his oral fixation.

“There we go, all wide for me,” she coos as she pushes her strap into his mouth.

“That’s not–what I–meant!” Dewdrop gurgles around it, spitting out the words when Cirrus pulls back in between her thrusts.

“We gotta get it wet if you want me to stick it anywhere else, spitfire,” she sighs. The fire ghoul can’t argue with that, unfortunately. He may be plenty slick on his own, but he definitely does not want to find out what Cirrus could do to him with a dry dildo.

She fucks his mouth for a little while, cooing over him and petting his messy hair. All Dewdrop can do is stare up at her with glassy eyes and fight his gag reflex.

In no time at all Cirrus pulls out and gets off of him entirely, though. Dewdrop whines at the loss of contact, but the ghoulette returns soon enough. She grabs his ankles in one hand and lifts his legs to take a good look at his holes. Dewdrop whines at the strain on his muscles as she all but bends him in half.

“Now,” she hums, considering, “where do I stick it in, hm?”

The fire ghoul has no doubt there is a long night ahead of him.

Aurora likes to feel Dewdrop’s hip bones pressing into her soft tummy when he fucks her.

The two small ghouls love to explore many different positions, but both their favorite is a simple missionary with Aurora on the literal and technical bottom. Dewdrop clad in nothing but his harness with a decently sized pink dildo attached—the ghoulette’s favorite. 

Sometimes her own hip bones will grind against his. It’s not a pleasant feeling in the slightest because of how thin the skin between them is, but it shoots something hot down both their spines anyway.

And makes Dewdrop speed up his movements to throw them over the edge.

The fire ghoul loves wandering his hands all over Aurora’s body when they have sex, especially her tits. They’re not much bigger than his own, but he doesn’t mind. Neither of them does. 

Dewdrop adores laying one hand on Aurora’s own sharp hip and the other on her boob, but his favorite is simply planting his face between them or sucking one of them as his hips work. He’ll knead and suck and bite a little, leaving fang marks and hickeys all around the ghoulette’s breasts. She’ll return the favor sometimes, but it’s Dewdrop that simply has to have something in his mouth at all times and, well, who wouldn’t want pretty ghoulette tits in their mouth?

The fire ghoul mouths along the column of her throat, going down from her lips to his prize. Aurora sighs and moans and whimpers sweetly under him and it’s all music to his ears.

“Fucking me so well, Dewy,” she sighs, arching her back into Dewdrop’s touch some more, pressing their hips closer together. A quiet trill escapes his mouth at the praise and her hand gently combing through his hair as he slides back in at a perfect angle to hit the ghoulette’s sweet spot. They have each other all mapped out, outside and inside, by now.

Aurora digs her claws around Dewdrop’s ilium on both sides. She knows they’ll leave little indents, maybe even tiny wounds if she manages to pierce his skin. She’d like that and the fire ghoul would, too—she gets jealous seeing all the marks on his hips from other ghouls. Swiss’ work is always so clearly recognizable; she wants something that screams her.

She’ll come up with something, sooner or later, but for now she’ll wrap her arms around Dewdrop and squeeze to bring him closer; to feel his hips digging into hers.

Aeon’s eyes sparkle at the sight of Dewdrop’s hip bones for an entirely different reason than most of their packs’.

To the young quintessence ghoul they are just…cool.

His own are quite prominent, too, but he’s not interested in them in the slightest. No, it’s Dewdrop’s hip bones that he loves. Aeon has never explained it; said he doesn’t know how. He just loves touching them whenever he can.

In the morning when Dewdrop comes down to the kitchen with a low slung sweatpants and stretches with a yawn.

During a rehearsal when he simply has to rub himself against the fire ghoul’s back and shove his hands under his arms and guitar just to squeeze them.

In the evening when they fuck; no matter the position Aeon’s hands will always find their way to Dewdrop’s hips.

At night when they sleep, cuddled up—all but tangled—together, the quintessence ghoul holding them like a beloved stuffed animal.

“Why do you love them so much?” Dewdrop asks one time. He and Aeon have been watching a movie in his bed; it has ended ages ago, but neither had or has any willpower to move away and put something else on. They’re snuggled up, both purring loudly, so it’s understandable.

Aeon, of course, sneaked his hand under Dewdrop’s sweatpants a while ago and has been absentmindedly rubbing his hip bone all that time.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “but they’re a part of you so…that’s enough for me.”

If the young quintessence ghoul can feel how Dewdrop’s body gets hotter at his words, he doesn’t mention it. It's insane how much love Aeon still has inside him.

“I love you, too,” the fire ghoul says, trying his best to hide how flustered he is. Aeon hums in acknowledgement and leans up to place a lazy kiss just under Dewdrop’s jaw. They’re both so warm and soft, any more movement feels like too much.

It’s quiet—apart from their purring—for the next…while. Time doesn’t matter in the slightest, they’re enjoying the laziness.

Aeon is a sweet ghoul, despite everything that has happened to him. He’s not even aware how admirable he is; having gone through so much and still being capable of affection, of laughing and smiling, of purring in another’s arms.

Dewdrop doesn’t praise him nearly enough, scared of his own feelings, but in moments like this he has no filter.

“You’re so brave, bug,” he mumbles. Aeon perks up with a little questioning hum, but the fire ghoul doesn’t offer an explanation; he just goes on. “So sweet and caring and soft. I love you so much, you know that? I know I’m harsh sometimes and I blame it on my past, but–but you are the purest creature there is. I was scared to let you in, but now I can’t imagine my—our—life without you here.”

Aeon’s stunned. It’s not the first time he’s been told similar things, but he’s never gotten better at accepting them. His purrs get lower and deeper and he snuggles in even closer to Dewdrop, wrapping himself all around him and digging his fingers into his hips.

Maybe it's just Aeon’s love language and one does not question that.

Swiss gets absolutely feral about Dewdrop’s hips, as he tends to do about many things that wouldn’t be typically considered sexual. He always blames it on his multi ghoul nature.

Anything that comes to mind that could be highlighted about the fire ghoul’s hips—Swiss loves it. The way they feel against his own stomach when they fuck, the way they feel under his hands when he eats the fire ghoul out, the way they look when he lays breathless in their nest.

When in an unexpected heat on stage once, Swiss dared to run up to Dewdrop and put his hands on him as he rubbed his cock against his ass. To most it looked like the multi ghoul was aiming for Dewdrop’s junk—whatever the fans think he’s got—but the truth is he craved to grab his hips.

Yes, Swiss really enjoys them and, most of all, he loves marking them up.

He’ll take any opportunity to suck at the thin skin covering the bones and turn them purple, to pierce it with his fangs and watch a thin trail of blood flowing down the sharp side.

“Swiss, Swiss, oh–fuck,” Dewdrop moans, clenching on the multi ghoul’s tongue. Swiss’ big hands are placed over his hips; using them as handles and to keep the other from wriggling too much. He hums against the fire ghoul’s cunt and it goes straight to his clit—making his first orgasm of the night wash over him. “Cumming–oh, fuck, shit, ah!”

Swiss smirks—always proud of himself. He’s going to give Dewdrop a moment for the overstimulation to pass, for him to rest a bit before they go again—it was only the beginning, Swiss didn’t even touch himself yet. This gives him a perfect little moment to move up and put him mouth on Dewdrop’s hip bones instead.

“There’s my girls,” he mutters before kissing first one and then the other pointy bone. Dewdrop would laugh or roll his eyes if the aftershocks of his orgasm weren’t still making him tremble. Ages ago he would have thought that by ‘my girls’ Swiss meant the fire ghoul’s tiny tits, but…well.

Swiss latches his mouth onto one of his hip bones and sucks, teasing it with his fangs and tongue, and scratching the skin around them with his stubble. Dewdrop squirms under him, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. Swiss doesn’t care much; it’s his play time.

By the time he leaves one side of the fire ghoul’s hips a deep red and purple and moves on to make the other match, Dewdrop is wiggling for an entirely different reason.

“Okay, fuck, enough,” the fire ghoul breathes out, “‘m ready, get it in. Fuck me.”

Well, how could Swiss say no to such a pretty request? He grins and obliges; only once satisfied with how his hip bones are looking, though.

Everyone’s love for Dewdrop’s hip bones is certainly a little strange, but what matters is that it comes down to one thing: the whole pack loving their fire ghoul just the way he is, even if he doesn’t always love himself.

[babyrdie]

[All excerpts used are from E.P Coleridge's translation]

Okay, I've talked about the romantic dynamic between Iphigenia and Achilles in a less popular tradition (compared to the tradition that's all farce and nothing but deception), but I also like their dynamic in Iphigenia in Aulis because I feel like it, to some extent, has to do with the way Iphigenia is both humanized and objectified by the context that's imposed on her. I usually see their relationship being used to make a point about Achilles, but I think it's possible to make a point about Iphigenia as well.

Achilles is willing to cooperate with Clytemnestra from the beginning after they both discover Agamemnon's plan, and he doesn't need to be convinced to help. But they don't have the same goal, not really. Clytemnestra wants to save Iphigenia, but Achilles doesn't seem to be thinking about Iphigenia specifically. In fact, he seems to be thinking about his honor. When Clytemnestra begs Achilles to help her, he responds:

Achilles My proud spirit is stirred to range aloft, butI have learned to grieve in misfortune [920] and rejoice in high prosperity with equal moderation. For these are the men who can count on ordering all their life rightly by wisdom's rules. True, there are cases where it is pleasant not to be too wise, [925] but there are others, where some store of wisdom helps. Brought up in godly Chiron's halls myself, I learned to keep a single heart; and provided the Atridae lead well, I will obey them; but when they cease from that, no more will I obey; [930] no, but here and in Troy I will show the freedom of my nature, and, as far as in me lies, do honor to Ares with my spear. You, lady, who have suffered so cruelly from your nearest and dearest, I will, by every effort in a young man's power, set right, investing you with that amount of pity [935] and never shall your daughter, after being once called my bride, die by her father's hand; for I will not lend myself to your husband's subtle tricks; no! for it will be my name that kills your child, although it does not wield the sword. Your own husband [940] is the actual cause, but I shall no longer be guiltless, if, because of me and my marriage, this maiden perishes, she that has suffered past endurance and been the victim of affronts most strangely undeserved.

So am I made the poorest wretch in Argos; [945] I a thing of nothing, and Menelaus counting for a man! No son of Peleus I, but the issue of a vengeful fiend, if my name shall serve your husband for the murder. No! by Nereus, who begot my mother Thetis, in his home amid the flowing waves, [950] never shall king Agamemnon touch your daughter, no! not even to the laying of a finger-tip upon her robe; or Sipylus, that frontier town of barbarism, the cradle of those chieftains' line, will be henceforth a city indeed, while Phthia's name will nowhere find mention. [955] Calchas, the seer, shall rue beginning the sacrifice with his barley-meal and lustral water. Why, what is a seer? A man who with luck tells the truth sometimes, with frequent falsehoods, but when his luck deserts him, collapses then and there. It is not to secure a bride that I have spoken thus—there are maids unnumbered [960] eager to have my love—no! but king Agamemnon has put an insult on me; he should have asked my leave to use my name as a means to catch the child, for it was I chiefly who induced Clytemnestra to betroth her daughter to me; [965] I would had yielded this to Hellas, if that was where our going to Ilium broke down; I would never have refused to further my fellow soldiers' common interest. But as it is, I am as nothing in the eyes of those chieftains, and little they care of treating me well or ill. [970] My sword shall soon know if any one is to snatch your daughter from me, for then will I make it reek with the bloody stains of slaughter, before it reach Phrygia. Calm yourself then; as a god in his might I appeared to you, without being so, but such will I show myself for all that.

That is, Achilles openly admits that if Agamemnon had asked to use his name and justified it as necessary for Troy to be taken, Achilles would have accepted. He would have been willing to deceive Iphigenia, an innocent maiden who was eager to marry, if it meant that he would go to Troy to achieve his beloved glory. He himself makes this clear in “he should have asked my leave to use my name as a means to catch the child, for it was I chiefly who induced Clytemnestra to betroth her daughter to me; [965] I would have yielded this to Hellas, if that was where our going to Ilium broke down; I would never have refused to further my fellow soldiers' common interest”. Achilles, in literature, is usually presented more as strength than cunning and, in fact, tends to oppose deception. But the Achilles of Iphigenia in Aulis, when he says that he would collaborate with this cunning plan, immediately argues that the reason is that he would be motivated by “my fellow soldiers' common interest”. Sure, one might think that Achilles doesn't seem like someone who would do something he doesn't want to do for the sake of his soldiers, but this Achilles is young and inexperienced (see how he interacts with Clytemnestra in their first meeting, he is even shy to be alone with a woman). He's not the same Achilles we see in The Iliad, an adult in the last year of the war. The Iliadic Achilles is already established in the army, the Euripidean one isn’t and he needs to secure his position. I can believe that he would actively participate in this deception.

Achilles isn’t helping Clytemnestra because he would never sacrifice an innocent maiden, he is helping Clytemnestra because he has been insulted —“Agamemnon has put an insult on me.” It isn’t the aggression directed at Iphigenia, but the insult directed at him that angers him deeply. Because by disregarding Achilles’ consent to the plan, he feels as if he is ignored, as if he doesn’t matter enough to be considered, as if he has no identity at all: “So am I made the poorest wretch in Argos; [945] I a thing of nothing, and Menelaus counting for a man! No son of Peleus I, but the issue of a vengeful fiend, if my name shall serve your husband for the murder.” And if there is one thing that Achilles values, it’s his identity. For it is this identity that brings with it his glorious and famous lineage (so much so that, when denying his identity to himself, he says “no son of Peleus”), that makes him the infamous son of Thetis the Nereid, that makes him a prince, that makes him a descendant of the mighty Zeus, that makes him a pupil of the wise Chiron, that makes him the prophesied warrior. The honor that he values ​​so much is linked to his identity as a person because the achievement of this honor has as its reward the immortalization of Achilles in future generations. A name — one of the strongest identity characteristics — that will be remembered, as well as what comes with it. And what does Agamemnon do when he uses it like this, without considering how he might feel? He transforms Achilles into a tool, a passive object.

But while Achilles is offended by the idea of ​​him as a person being disregarded and instead used as a tool, he unconsciously does something similar with Iphigenia. To him, she initially has no identity. Throughout the play, before the end, several characters interact with each other, but Achilles and Iphigenia aren’t one of these pairs. He hasn’t spoken to her, he doesn’t know her. To him, there is no “Iphigenia the person” there is “Iphigenia the tool in the plan”. He only knows her in the capacity of a passive object, and in this imagery there isn’t enough in Iphigenia to be a motivator for Achilles any more than his wounded honor is. Even when he talks about the sacrifice, Achilles talks about how it affects him “never shall your daughter, after being once called my bride, die by her father's hand; for I will not lend myself to your husband's subtle tricks; no! for it will be my name that kills your child, although it does not wield the sword”. Even when it comes to Iphigenia, Achilles seems to be motivated primarily by himself. Iphigenia is almost like a footnote, just a motivating object of his narrative.

In contrast, when Iphigenia refers to Achilles, she is seeing him as a person. More specifically, she sees him as a potential fiancé, even after she knows about the deception, so much so that she refers to the plan as “our marriage.” One could perhaps say that Iphigenia also doesn’t attribute an identity to him, since she sees him only in the role of this scenario (i.e., fiancé) in the same way that Achilles saw her as “bride”, but I don’t think that’s the case. She is embarrassed by the possibility of seeing Achilles, and why would she be embarrassed if it weren’t because she fears his reaction? And for Iphigenia to fear Achilles’ reaction to the discovery that Iphigenia genuinely thought they were going to get married is because she considered him enough of a person to assume that he might have conflicting feelings about the situation. Iphigenia could have just thought “he was deceived too” and that was that, but implicitly she also thought about how the deception would affect him:

Iphigenia calling into the tent. [1340] Open the tent-door to me, servants, that I may hide myself Clytemnestra Why seek to escape, my child? Iphigenia I am ashamed to face Achilles. Clytemnestra But why? Iphigenia The luckless ending to our marriage causes me to feel abashed.

At the end of the play, however, Iphigenia subverts the passive position imposed upon her. She accepts being sacrificed and, in a way, does so in an attempt to regain her agency. Rather than it being something that was done to her, it’s something that she did. Speaking about her decision, she says:

Iphigenia Mother, hear me while I speak, for I see that you are angry with your husband [1370] to no purpose; it is hard for us to persist in impossibilities. Our thanks are due to this stranger for his ready help; but you must also see to it that he is not reproached by the army, leaving us no better off and himself involved in trouble. Listen, mother; hear what thoughts have passed across my mind. [1375] I am resolved to die; and this I want to do with honor, dismissing from me what is mean. Towards this now, mother turn your thoughts, and with me weigh how well I speak; to me the whole of mighty Hellas looks; on me the passage over the sea depends; on me the sack of Troy; [1380] and in my power it lies to check henceforth barbarian raids on happy Hellas, if ever in the days to come they seek to seize her women, when once they have atoned by death for the violation of Helen's marriage by Paris. All this deliverance will my death insure, and my fame for setting Hellas free will be a happy one. [1385] Besides, I have no right at all to cling too fondly to my life; for you did not bear me for myself alone, but as a public blessing to all Hellas. What! shall countless warriors, armed with shields, those myriads sitting at the oar, find courage to attack the foe and die for Hellas, because their fatherland is wronged, [1390] and my one life prevent all this? What kind of justice is that? could I find a word in answer? Now let us turn to that other point. It is not right that this man should enter into battle with all Argos or be slain for a woman's sake. Better a single man should see the light than ten thousand women. [1395] If Artemis has decided to take my body, am I, a mortal, to thwart the goddess? no, that is impossible. I give my body to Hellas; sacrifice it and make an utter end of Troy. This is my enduring monument; marriage, motherhood, and fame—all these is it to me. [1400] And it is right, mother, that Hellenes should rule barbarians, but not barbarians Hellenes, those being slaves, while these are free.

So Iphigenia is actively trying to gain an active role — I am resolved to die; and this I want to do with honor, dismissing from me what is mean“. She doesn’t want to be Iphigenia, the object, she wants to be Iphigenia, a person with an identity. In the same way that soldiers are motivated to fight out of pride in their Greek identity, Iphigenia is motivated to sacrifice herself out of pride in her Greek identity — “and my fame for setting Hellas free will be a happy one“. Not only that, but her action is motivated by glory to some extent, in a similar way to how Achilles himself is motivated — “I give my body to Hellas; sacrifice it and make an utter end of Troy. This is my enduring monument; marriage, motherhood, and fame—all these is it to me“. In the same way that Achilles will have his identity immortalized, so will Iphigenia, and she knows this when she says “to me the whole of mighty Hellas looks; on me the passage over the sea depends; on me the sack of Troy”. By equating her voluntary sacrifice with the sacrifice of soldiers who are willing to die in the field, Iphigenia regains her autonomy by getting closer to their imaginary. Indirectly, Iphigenia secures her identity in a way that makes her close to Achilles, since, after all, he also accepted death.

And it’s in this identification that Achilles begins to see that Iphigenia isn’t just someone he needs to protect, but someone who has desires of her own. Desires that he admires, in fact. He didn’t admire her before because, before, Achilles didn’t know her…but now that he feels he knows her, he thinks she is worthy of it. Iphigenia, then, takes on a humanized role in his mind:

Achilles Daughter of Agamemnon! some god was bent [1405] on blessing me, if I could have won you for my wife. In you I consider Hellas happy, and you in Hellas; for this that you have said is good and worthy of your fatherland; since you, abandonIng a strife with heavenly powers, which are too strong for you, have fairly weighed advantages and needs. [1410] But now that I have looked into your noble nature, I feel still more a fond desire to win you for my bride. Look to it; for I want to serve you and receive you in my halls; and, Thetis be my witness, how I grieve to think I shall not save your life by doing battle with the Danaids. [1415] Reflect, I say; a dreadful ill is death. Iphigenia This I say, without regard to anyone. Enough that the daughter of Tyndareus is causing wars and bloodshed by her beauty; then be not slain yourself, stranger, nor seek to slay another on my account; [1420] but let me, if I can, save Hellas. Achilles Heroic spirit! I can say no more to this, since you are so minded; for yours is a noble resolve; why should not one speak the truth? Yet I will speak, for you will perhaps change your mind; [1425] [that you may know then what my offer is,] I will go and place these arms of mine near the altar, resolved not to permit your death but to prevent; for brave as you are at sight of the knife held at your throat, you will soon avail yourself of what I said. [1430] So I will not let you perish through any thoughtlessness of yours, but will go to the goddess with these arms and await your arrival there. Exit Achilles.

Achilles describes her as someone who has a “noble nature” and a “heroic spirit,” thus acknowledging Iphigenia’s autonomy. For Achilles, Iphigenia is “noble” and “heroic” because she chooses to sacrifice herself for the sake of the Greeks, something that requires courage from her, and if there is anything Achilles admires, it’s this. She takes an action worthy of recognition. Iphigenia is no longer passive, she is active, and Achilles’ attitude changes to match. Throughout the play, whenever he talks about saving Iphigenia, he negotiates this with Clytemnestra. Before Iphigenia declares that she will be sacrificed, Achilles is actually talking to Clytemnestra and in fact doesn’t even address Iphigenia directly, even though she is there. After her declaration, however, even though Clytemnestra was present and disapproved of Iphigenia's thinking, Achilles addresses Iphigenia (and not Clytemnestra) directly, and although he tries to convince her to give up (claiming that he would try to protect her), he still respects her decision. In fact, he puts the decision in her hands by saying that he will wait for Iphigenia to decide whether or not she wants him to intervene. Thus, Achilles acknowledges Iphigenia as not only someone with an identity, but someone with desires that he cannot override [note: I obviously don’t think that Clytemnestra's disapproval of this is the same as her overriding Iphigenia's desires. Since Achilles isn’t intimate with Iphigenia, it’s certainly much easier for him to accept her decision to die than it is for Clytemnestra, the mother who loves her immensely. But Clytemnestra's taking revenge, however, was overriding what Iphigenia would want].

Of course, one could argue that Achilles accepts Iphigenia's decision because her being sacrificed is to his advantage, as it will allow him to go to Troy. But I disagree. After all, he literally offers to try to prevent this, if Iphigenia so desires. He is willing to go against the will of a goddess, Artemis, and the entire army (as Achilles makes it clear that they tried to stone him for speaking in favor of Clytemnestra and Iphigenia) if Iphigenia wants, and indirectly, he is willing to delay his achievement of glory (since the sacrifice is necessary for him to go to Troy). In fact, Achilles explicitly states that he has come to be seen as someone who is enslaved by marriage. In other words, his reputation has been damaged and he has been viewed in a pejorative manner, but that still doesn’t stop him from offering Iphigenia the option of rebelling against the will of the majority:

Clytemnestra In danger of what, stranger?. Achilles [1350] Of being stoned. Clytemnestra Surely not for trying to save my daughter? Achilles The very reason. Clytemnestra Who would have dared to lay a finger on you? Achilles All the men of Hellas. Clytemnestra Were not your Myrmidon warriors at your side? Achilles They were the first who turned against me. Clytemnestra My child! we are lost, it seems. Achilles They taunted me as the man whom marriage had enslaved. Clytemnestra And what did you answer them? Achilles [1355] Not to kill the one I meant to wed— Clytemnestra Justly so. Achilles The wife her father promised me. Clytemnestra Yes, and sent to fetch from Argos. Achilles But I was overcome by clamorous cries. Clytemnestra Truly the mob is a dire mischief. Achilles But I will help you for all that. Clytemnestra Will you really fight them single-handed? Achilles Do you see these warriors here, carrying my arms? Clytemnestra Bless you for your kind intent! Achilles [1360] Well, I shall be blessed.

Even Achilles’ marriage proposal is different. Previously, he had constantly thought of Iphigenia as a “bride” and had taken the marriage for granted if he could handle the situation. And since Achilles hadn’t even met Iphigenia at the time, his motivation for the marriage wasn’t her per se, but rather to reverse the plan into which he had been unwillingly included. And how can a false marriage be reversed if not by making it genuine? In a way, marrying Iphigenia would also be placing himself as responsible for her, in the ancient view of husbands as responsible for their wives. In this sense, Iphigenia was once again passive. But after her declaration, Achilles, instead of taking the marriage for granted, proposes to her. He leaves the decision to marry Iphigenia up to her—“Reflect, I say; a dreadful ill is death”— and if she doesn’t want it, he will accept. And now he desires Iphigenia as his wife in a genuine way because he recognized in her someone with an admirable personality— “But now that I have looked into your noble nature, I feel still more a fond desire to win you for my bride”. Achilles no longer wants “Iphigenia, a passive object” that he needs to protect if he wants to protect his honor, he wants “Iphigenia, a person with an identity and an active one” because he thinks that having a wife like her would be a blessing — “some god was bent [1405] on blessing me, if I could have won you for my wife”. Achilles even talks about a possible marriage as he serves her in “Look to it; for I want to serve you and receive you in my halls”. She is no longer a symbol of his wounded honor, she is a symbol of glory and if there is one thing young Achilles desires it is glory. She's not a part of the scenery, she's a character.

But Iphigenia chooses to sacrifice herself and Achilles clearly doesn’t contradict her on, as a Messenger actually makes it quite clear that Achilles had an active role in the sacrifice as he spread the water and referred directly to Artemis:

Messenger [1540] Dear mistress, you shall learn all clearly; from the outset will I tell it, unless my memory fails me somewhat and confuses my tongue in its account. As soon as we reached the grove of Artemis, the child of Zeus, and the flowery meadows, [1545] where the Achaean troops were gathered, bringing your daughter with us, at once the Argive army began assembling; but when king Agamemnon saw the maiden on her way to the grove to be sacrificed, he gave one groan, and, turning away his face, let the tears burst [1550] from his eyes, as he held his robe before them. But the maid, standing close by her father, spoke thus: “O my father, here I am; willingly I offer my body for my country and all Hellas, [1555] that you may lead me to the altar of the goddess and sacrifice me, since this is Heaven's ordinance. May good luck be yours for any help that I afford! and may you obtain the victor's gift and come again to the land of your fathers. So then let none of the Argives lay hands on me, [1560] for I will bravely yield my neck without a word.” She spoke; and each man marvelled, as he heard the maiden's brave speech. But in the midst Talthybius stood up, for this was his duty, and bade the army refrain from word or deed; [1565] and Calchas, the seer, drawing a sharp sword from its scabbard laid it in a basket of beaten gold, and crowned the maiden's head. Then the son of Peleus, taking the basket and with it lustral water in his hand, ran round the altar of the goddess [1570] uttering these words: “O Artemis, you child of Zeus, slayer of wild beasts, that wheel your dazzling light amid the gloom, accept this sacrifice which we, the army of the Achaeans and Agamemnon with us, offer to you, pure blood from a beautiful maiden's neck; [1575] and grant us safe sailing for our ships and the sack of Troy's towers by our spears.” Meanwhile the sons of Atreus and all the army stood looking on the ground.

[But the priest, seizing his knife, offered up a prayer and was closely scanning the maiden's throat to see where he should strike. [1580] It was no slight sorrow filled my heart, as I stood by with bowed head; when there was a sudden miracle! Each one of us distinctly heard the sound of a blow, but none saw the spot where the maiden vanished. The priest cried out, and all the army took up the cry [1585] at the sight of a marvel all unlooked for, due to some god's agency, and passing all belief, although it was seen; for there upon the ground lay a deer of immense size, magnificent to see, gasping out her life, with whose blood the altar of the goddess was thoroughly bedewed. [1590] Then spoke Calchas thus—his joy you can imagine—“You captains of this leagued Achaean army, do you see this victim, which the goddess has set before her altar, a mountain-roaming deer? This is more welcome to her by far than the maid, [1595] that she may not defile her altar by shedding noble blood. Gladlyshe has accepted it, and is granting us a prosperous voyage for our attack on Ilium. Therefore take heart, sailors, each man of you, and away to your ships, for today [1600] we must leave the hollow bays of Aulis and cross the Aegean main.” Then, when the sacrifice was wholly burnt to ashes in the blazing flame, he offered such prayers as were fitting, that the army might win return; but Agamemnon sends me to tell you this, [1605] and say what heaven-sent luck is his, and how he has secured undying fame throughout the length of Hellas. Now I was there myself and speak as an eyewitness; without a doubt your child flew away to the gods. A truce then to your sorrowing, and cease to be angry with your husband; [1610] for the gods' ways with man are not what we expect, and those whom they love, they keep safe; yes, for this day has seen your daughter dead and living.

Thus, I genuinely think that Achilles' change in thinking in relation to Iphigenia follows her characterization in the narrative, which changes from passive to active, from a narrative motif to a structured character. This post is, of course, purely my own interpretation, but I feel like Iphigenia is rather unfortunately ignored among the interactions/relationships Achilles has and I don't understand why. I think it's important! Not only is Iphigenia important to Achilles' character, but Achilles is also a narrative element in Iphigenia's character.

[diazsdimples]

🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️🧗‍♂️ please 🙏

15 sentences for you!

Feeling slightly sheepish, Buck sinks into the chair, his hand immediately finding Tommy’s. The doctor positions herself so she can see both them and Eddie, but she addresses the latter as she talks. “Mr. Diaz, your injuries are extensive. Your CT, MRI and x-rays have shown us that you have a right ulnar fracture,” she gestures to his right arm, bandaged and held close to his chest, “fractures of your 6th and 7th ribs, as well as a fracture to your L4 vertebrae and a fracture where your ilium and ischium meet in your pelvis. We’ll plaster your arm, and at this point we do not believe your rib or spinal fracture will require surgery, as they’re both hairline fractures and can hopefully be managed with regular analgesia.” That’s…. not as bad as Buck was expecting. Based off what he’d been told, he’d come in expecting Eddie to be circling the drain, and his heart rate had galloped up a few beats per minute when the doctor had referred to Eddie’s injuries as “extensive”. No surgical intervention and some pain relief seems almost too good to be true, and Buck braces himself for the other shoe to drop. The doctor, however, hasn’t finished, and she holds up a hand as Tommy opens his mouth to ask a question, his eyebrows pulled together in an adorable furrow. “I’m afraid that isn’t quite it. Often with pelvic fractures, there can be some internal bleeding associated. The medics that bought you to us reported that your abdomen was rigid, and your pulse was racing and blood pressure was low – all classic signs of internal bleeding. The CT scan revealed around 1.2 litres of blood in your pelvis, Mr. Diaz, which I’m sure I don’t have to tell you is not where it’s meant to be. We would like to take you to surgery immediately to stabilise the pelvic fracture and cauterise the bleeding.” Internal bleeding, fuck.

Make Me Write - Disaster Date Edition

[sweetteaanddragons]

And How Can Man Die Better: Director's Cut

I had lots of worldbuilding thoughts that didn't make it into the story for @saturniiids beautiful artwork, so have them here! (Spoilers ahead.)

"Thorin had never met a hacker quite so dedicated to pretending to be on the legal side of the fence as Master Baggins. It was reassuring, really; it spoke to a level of discretion he appreciated."

As you might have guessed, Bilbo is actually 100% sincere here. Thorin remains blissfully unaware of this throughout the entire story.

"They knew they had already been earmarked for Mahal; that he needed their service in his great foundries and machineries to make his constructs for the Last Great War. What would become of them all when the end days came and Dagor Dagorath struck if they had denied him the souls of centuries of dwarves? The government had not been impressed with this argument . . . " The government here is Sauron. Also his minions, but ultimately Sauron. The dwarves do not, of course, know this - he's switching between his personas as Annatar and the Necromancer - but unsurprisingly, Sauron was not impressed by the argument that the dwarves needed to be allowed to go to Mahal's Halls so they could create weapons to use against him and Morgoth at Dagor Dagorath. If the dwarves had realized, they would have tried a different argument.

"The government had not been impressed with this argument, any more than they had been impressed with the dwarves’ furious insistence that Mahal was not, of course, in any way connected with one of the Forbidden Ones. Who was this Aulë others spoke of? Certainly they knew him not. They followed Mahal and Mahal alone; surely they could not be faulted that his name and that of one of the Forbidden Ones rhymed." Sauron is genuinely unsure if the dwarves telling him this - perfectly straight faced - are as unaware of the truth behind this as they were with their previous argument or not. A lot of knowledge has been lost! (A lot of it has been deliberately suppressed.) They might not know - or they might, and they might be laughing at him.

Most of the dwarves genuinely don't know and are making this argument with indignant righteousness. There are a few (like Balin) who know better. Regardless, they end up having to follow Mahal in secret because all mention of any of the Valar, much less any devotion to them, is being violently suppressed by Sauron, who is violently afraid that the Valar are going to show up to topple his little house of cards. The Valar showed up because the mortals were penitent last time and because the mortals asked for help; he can't risk that happening again.

The Valar are, unbeknownst to him, very aware of what is going on and very eager to intervene, but toppling his house of cards is exactly what they're worried about; Mordor has so consumed everything that they aren't sure how to save people without accidentally destroying the planet in the process.

"Just as they were also faulted for just how many dwarves had been, tragically, dying in conflagrations so intense that no brain matter was left for Dol Guldur." Dol Guldur's brand of afterlife nastiness in this story was borrowed from the Mechanism's album, Ulysses Dies at Dawn. Like in that world, all brains are plugged into a horrible mass computer system after death; any attempt to render your brain unsuitable for this is punished horribly.

But if there's anything that could make a brain truly, entirely, unpunishably unsuitable, it seems like being consumed by fire would do the trick.

"The concrete didn’t switch to marble; there were no trumpet calls summoning them home. Still. He almost thought he could feel it, like a buzzing in his chest." And here we have the first mention of the buzzing that we will eventually learn is the madness-inducing tone coming from Smaug! This was also inspired by Ulysses; Erebor takes the place of Ilium. This seemed particularly appropriate to me given the gold madness that awaited Thorin in the original.

"In the old days, Balin had told him once, their people had buried their dead in stone. Fire had been too impermanent a monument . . . 'From the fires of Mahal’s forge we came,' Balin said quietly. 'And to them we pray to return,' the rest echoed." I thought a lot about the dwarves canonically having to burn their dead after the battle of Azanulbizar; how it was against their traditions, but they did it out of need and made it an honor.

In this AU, I imagine this necessity initially was deeply upsetting to the dwarves that took it up, but by the time the story takes place, they've successfully mythologized it to make it acceptable to themselves.

"The City had not always just been the City, of course; once, before it had conquered and bargained and slowly consumed all else, up to the top of the breathable atmosphere and down to the roots of the earth, once there had been other cities and so it had needed a name.

Once, it had been Mordor."

In this AU, Celebrimbor helps Annatar create a wonderful potion of immortality for their mortal friends. Why shouldn't they be able to delay the Gift of Men for awhile as the Numenorians already do?

The Numenorians, of course, are enchanted by it and use it to extend their own very live longs (and, like in Ulysses, this has unfortunate consequences for the world around them). There's the potion for those who can afford it . . . and Annatar's promise that eventually, even the very poorest will be guaranteed to live forever.

Hello, Dol Guldur.

Annatar uses the potion to seduce some countries into willingly joining his banner and sets out to conquer the rest.

Celebrimbor, once he realizes how it has all gone wrong tries - and fails - to stand against him.

Somewhere in this AU, Pharazon is very much still alive and enjoying his wealth and power.

“'Skulls are intact,' Fili said quietly. 'Most of them.' It was true, he saw. Some few were smashed, but that was easily enough explained, whatever they had been fighting. Most were intact. Which meant that even after the Necromancer had won, he had not sent in drones to collect minds for Dol Guldur. Not even from the bodies that had not been burned." So, in Ulysses, some people's minds are deemed unsuitable for harvesting due to insanity. To keep this from seeming like a preferable alternative that people might be tempted to feign or induce, these people are forcibly kept alive through immortality inducing drugs . . . but kept in absolutely horrible conditions. Presumably, though, this did not happen to the people of Ilium who were driven to kill each other through Ulysses's weapon.

 “Hobbit ears must not be as keen as their dwarven fellows.” Which Bilbo will have ample cause to be thankful for shortly.

"The next door was the one Thorin had been unable to find anyone qualified to open on his own; the one he had nearly despaired of until he had once again stumbled across Gandalf, who had hemmed and hawed over the danger of the journey before admitting it might be worth the risk and saying he knew just the man for the job." Gandalf is still one of the Istari in this AU; five undercover Maiar sent by the Valar to try to figure out a way to help. As per canon, Radagast has gotten sidetracked by his absolute horror over what has become of most of the plant and animal life in this world spanning city, Saruman is slowly being corrupted by fear and the promise of power, and the blue wizards are . . . somewhere. Gandalf has lost track of them.

He, however, is still desperately trying his best.

"'Of course outside of one of their terrarium blocks you haven’t got much of a prayer of getting anything to grow.'

'Not much of a prayer!' Master Baggins said indignantly. 'Why, all you have to do is - '"

As you might guess, there aren't any Ents left in this AU. There are, of course, still hobbits; they weren't particularly seduced by the lure of immortality, but they were conquered easily enough. Their knack for growing things has fewer opportunities by far, but they still grow what they can.

There was so much blood on his hands. Obviously, Thorin and his nephews ended up mortally wounding each other. Their brains are scrambled enough though that they can't remember who struck which blows. At this point, only Mahal could tell them - and he definitely has every intention of keeping that to himself.

“Thorin, are you - I promise it’s just me, totally harmless - “ The trap was calibrated for dwarves. Bilbo was totally unaffected except for having to run from everyone.

"Thorin, at least, would die sane. Surely Mahal would accept Thorin’s tribute at least, and if he did - surely Thorin could convince him. They had died in Mahal’s service; surely Mahal could find some purpose for them even if they had not died sane. Surely there must be something he could offer to convince -" Thorin is aware that Dol Guldur does not accept the insane, and he assumes that Mahal's Halls will be the same. The dwarves' understanding of their Maker has been corrupted over time; mostly, they assume that working in Mahal's Halls will be much like their current (horribly inhumane) factory jobs. This is still preferable to Dol Guldur, because Dol Guldur is awful, and also because they are genuinely convinced they are needed to prepare for the apocalypse.

The dwarves are, of course, very wrong. Mahal accepts them regardless of their condition - and in Fili and Kili's case, they were fine once the sound's ability to influence them ceased.

Dwalin was there, blood thick on his own hands, but Dwalin was there, and Dwalin understood. I regret to inform you that Balin was also a casualty of this AU. And probably some of the others.

Fili: . . . and with a productivity increase like that, you really can't afford not to assign the three of us together to whatever doomsday weapon you want worked on.

Kili, in iglishmek, from where he's currently smushed against Mahal's shoulder: Do you think it's working?

Fili, from the other shoulder: I don't know. I've never had to give this speech to a supervisor that was hugging me and crying before.

Mahal is just. So happy. Whenever any of his children manage to find their way home.

[thevoidscreams]

Room for growth

Chapter: 1 Warnings: none so far (Lorgar might get a bit clingy in the future)

"Do you have more of this series here?" The voice, buttery, rich and warm, washed over me, and I hummed into my tea. Turning, I saw Lorgar holding the first book in a series I had enjoyed as a teen.

"Finished already?" It had taken me days to get through the first book, but Lorgar had only had it since that morning. It was just getting to early evening.

His cheeks tinged red, and he set the book down on the end table by the comfortable recliner I'd gotten for him off Craigslist.

"It was quite a good read, I will admit. Perhaps a tad bit predictable... but I can see why you enjoyed the story so far."

That made me smile. I got up to go to my room, the books were all in boxes in the back of my closet.

The apartment wasn't very big, especially with two people now. But with the new position I'd taken at work. The idea of actually owning a house was looking like a really good idea.

Especially with all the financial aid the government had recently rolled out to families with Astartes and Primarchs in their homes. I had loved having him in my home. Even before the financial aid. Bringing him into my home had made my life fuller. It had made me wonder if maybe Lorgar would enjoy having one or two of his sons to keep him company when I was away. And as I understood it, primarchs were meant to be with their astartes.

I brought out the second volume and went back to the living room.

"So Lorgar.. can I ask you something?"

The short, tan warrior looked up from the place he'd settled and smiled at me. "Of course."

I fought the urge to go to him and scoop him up in a hug. Gosh, he was cute. I mean, if he'd been a normal man, I... I shook my head clear off that notion quickly.

Lorgar waited patiently for me to continue, his vibrant violet eyes watching me.

"You know how I recently got that promotion? Well, with it came a significant bump in my pay, and I was doing the budget yesterday. I think we could stand to have a few more house members. And if we're going to be looking for a proper house here in the near future, I thought that having more rooms might mean we could bring home some of your sons. If you're alright with the idea. I think it'd be nice for you to have some of your gene sons with you."

Lorgar all but leaped out of the chair to bowl into me. Nearly knocking me from my feet.

"That would be wonderful! My hearts have been so heavy without my beloved sons. This would bring me no end of joy." He exclaimed, his face buried in my stomach.

I wrapped my arms around him and froze slightly. As an odd sensation of what I dared to call wrongness rolled over me.

Lorgars' face was buried in my stomach. Just above the highest point of my ilium.

Lorgar sensed something immediately and retracted. "My apologies, I did not mean to cause you discomfort."

I felt a deep need to rectify the situation and did so, taking Lorgar by the shoulder. "Hey, no, I was just startled is all.. are you.. taller?"

Lorgar looked at me quizzically, then down at himself and seemed just as confused as I was.

"I am.. unsure."

I ran the tip of my tongue over the back of my teeth and sank deep into thought.

It was obvious he was, now that I really looked at him. When he'd first come to live with me, his head only reached up to the bottom of my hips. The top of his head had been just a hair above where my leg connected.

"Well. I'm sure it's nothing. I'm gonna get dinner going."

Lorgar nodded, and he gently took the book I'd been holding. He seemed equally lost in thought.

Dinner was quieter than usual, and I spent the time on my phone, googling.

'My primarch is taller than I remember?'

The search came up with multiple results of other adoptive families worried that their Astartes had suddenly shot up a few inches in height.

So I wasn't the only one.

I scrolled till I saw a blog posted by someone I had been following for a few months.

[Hey yall, I gotta say I think Sanguinius and his sons are getting taller!!?!?! And I know I'm not tripping cause the beds I had made for him and his three sons (even if they hardly use them) are actually a bit cramped for them now. Am I the only one having this problem? If he gets any taller I might be looking at having to buy a new house. I don't have the space for three full sized astartes and ESPECIALLY not a full sized primarch. 😑 😰

But I won't give up on my family. I love them so much even if I have to buy a mansion to keep them with me. Please does anyone know what's going on?]

I went to the message tab and found a ton of replies of concerned astartes families sharing much the same sentiment.

I looked over to Lorgar, who was eagerly consuming his second plate of dinner. He ate a lot for someone his size already. I bit my lip.

I'd already offered to bring one of his gene sons into my home. I couldn't take that away from him now.

The next tab I opened was my email and began one to my social worker, Tabitha.

[Hey Tabitha,

I recently found myself with a new position at work in a decent pay increase. I know Lorgar has been lonely while I'm away, and my boss has been cracking down on people bringing astartes (and primarchs) into the office during our busy season. I wanted to know if you could connect me with a potential WordBearer who is in need of a placement. I can provide any financial documents you need just as I did before.] I sent it and got up to put my dishes in the sink. "How's the dinner Gar?" Lorgar hummed around a mouthful of food, nodding his delight of the dish. His violet eyes glittered in appreciation. "Glad you like it."

"May I have the rest?" He asked, always polite when asking more of anything, as if he understood just how much mire he required and felt guilty about it. "Of course you can." And I for my part found it impossible to deny him. After dinner I decided to head to bed early. In the shower I thought about all the posts, that I'd seen and began to worry. After toweling off and getting dressed in something comfortable I got into bed and opened the realtor app on my phone.

I needed a better house, something that Lorgar would be comfortable in, I scrolled for what felt like an hour, ruling places out as I looked for the perfect spot. The door creaked open and I lifted the corner of the blanket, Lorgar got into bed and got comfortable next to me. He rarely used his own bed anymore.

"I emailed Tabitha. I asked her about any of your sons that might need a placement."

Lorgar wrapped one arm around my chest and hugged me as best as he could. "Thank you."

I kissed the top of his head gently. "Of course. You don't need to thank me Gar."

"But I wish to, so I shall." He peaked at my screen. "What are you looking for?" "A new place. If we're expanding our family we may need more space."

He nodded. "That is true. I know you will find us the best space for our family." He yawned and rested his head on my chest getting ready to nod off. "Our sons will need plenty of room." It took me a minute to register his words. As I inspecting the land size of one property that looked promising. "What was that?" I asked. But as usual he was asleep almost immediately. I envied that ability of his. "Must have been a slip of the tongue." I reasoned, it happened occasionally.

I set my phone down and plugged it in. I had the next day off and wanted to take Lorgar out to mingle with his brother. Magnus and his placement family lived nearby and Magnus's placement person had called, asking if we could meet up as his brother was missing him. It was going to be a surprise, but I also wanted to ask If they'd noticed anything about Magnus that was unusual as of late. Yawning I turned into Lorgar, hugging him close. It would be a tomorrow problem.

[tideswept]

For the title game, can you try: child of the cosmos

Sure thing!

Small, silly fic where Obi-Wan realizes that Anakin's Force signature audibly sings and visibly glows when he's in places like Ilium, attuning with and causing Force-sensitive crystals and creations to activate and reverberate.

And this kind of terrifies him, because what in the world is he supposed to do with a child like this? How can he teach something that he can't even begin to understand? He might or might not believe in the prophecy of the Chosen One itself, but there's no denying that there's something about his padawan that exists outside of the established understanding of what the Force is and isn't.

(Terrifies him, yes, but also makes Obi-Wan weep. Because this is also just Anakin, who is painfully human and brash and keeps making friends with the mouse droids, and in those moments where there's such a strong presence of the Force that he can feel the echo of it shaking his bones, Obi-Wan can't help wonder if there won't come a day when being a child of the cosmos will tear Anakin apart.)

oops killed the silly part dead, didn't I?

📚 [send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it;]

🍓 [quick jump to ask inbox]

[saucyjothoughts]

💜At anatomy lecture today we were learning about muscles. And it come to my mind (yes during lecture) that would the boys allow me to use their body as a tool to learn where are certain muscles are. Touching their muscles and asking them to flex it so I could feel how the muscles move under my hand. Skin to skin contact so I can feel the muscles without any layers. Of course after helping me study they would have their reward 😏.

I don't know if you're studying anatomy for biology reasons or art reasons, sweet 💜 boo, but I just had to run with this concept.

(mostly sfw under the cut)

"Pervert," he teases you.

You're in the university library with him - the cute one who does sociology - while your mutual friends are in lectures and you two have a free hour.

"It's for research," you inform him. You really don't know him that well and now you think about it, this is probably the first time you've been alone together without the buffer of your friends.

But that isn't what Bojan is referring to. You're ignoring the book and watching slow-motion, zoomed-in videos of men playing rugby on your phone. Muddy, rippling, sportsmen's thighs under tiny shorts.

In front of you is an open copy of a heavy book, the page featuring a sketched torso with all of the muscles labelled.

'Anatomy for Artists.'

"Research? Of course." He looks at you in a way that makes your heart flutter.

"It's very important to study."

As it turns out, he does really mean it. He's in your DMs before the end of the day.

"You should come to one of my MMA sessions." He probably doesn't really mean it. He's probably just being nice, trying to make a friend in this new city away from home, full of adventure and fear and promise. "Do some research in the flesh."

And when you study together, he lets you see exactly how skin moves over muscle, how the human body bulges and flexes and sags and creases, hair and freckles and dimples and veins. He lets you study a little at a time, hitching the sleeve of his t-shirt up so your paintbrush can outline the deltoid, the tricep, the brachioradialis, the extensor carpi ulnaris; elegant sweeping strokes of deep red that he says feels good on his skin as you paint him. You're thinking about pectoralis major. But you're not brave enough to ask him for it. Not yet.

Your study sessions have moved. You don't use the library anymore. Bojan thinks it will be more useful if you can see him when he's pumped, after his training, so you join him at the gym with your sketchbook. His skin looks good (he's worked up a sweat) and he takes his shirt off to show you his biceps, his armpit hair, then turns around so you can see his back. He sweeps his hair away when you ask for the angle of his neck and writhes slowly when you want the movement of the scapula, the ilium.

"I'm probably too soft for you to get a good idea of abdominals." He's apologising, self-conscious about his love handles. In your eyes, he's a perfect specimen (when did he become perfect to you? It happened so naturally) and his shyness is endearing.

"I'm sure there are plenty of abs I can see around here," you tease, making a show of looking around the gym at the other guys.

No.

He takes your wrist, pulling your attention back to him.

"You didn't let me finish."

He's sweaty, and you're close enough to smell him, musky and masculine.

"You probably can't see, but you can feel."

He pulls your hand close to his body and you touch your fingers to him. Around his navel, over that little trail of hair, and he flexes his core as you push your fingertips through the softness of his flesh to feel the strength beneath. Rectus abdominis.

Why are you suddenly struggling for breath when you aren't even the one working out?

He asks you if you want to have the next study session at his place. You do. You desperately do.

His room is cosy. There's a nice view from the window and you skim through his record collection and the whole place smells of coffee and Bojan.

He offers you his chair and you're spreading out the media you brought onto his desk while he prepares to pose for you.

"You know, if you wanted..." There is hesitation in his voice. "You could draw all of me."

Your mouth is suddenly dry. You just nod.

Slowly, he peels away the last of his clothing until all he's wearing is the chain around his neck.

He reclines on the bed, fully on show, the lines of him looking beautiful in the window light.

You pick up your sketchbook, and draw.

[girafficparka]

Untitled WIP I’ve been working on off and on to help with writers block for a different fic. I kinda really liked it so here ya go!

Inspiration: mass effect 3 owes me a decent shep/garrus/kaiden love triangle, and I plan to collect.

~~~

“I don’t know what you’re in the mood for tonight, Shepard. But Vega insists that we watch something called…Hard Death?” Garrus was saying as he entered her cabin. He was reviewing the title of the vid on his omni-tool. “Scratch that. Die Hard. He said it was a traditional human holiday vid, so I thought…Shepard?”

He stopped short when he looked up and caught Shepard staring at him, silently, from her couch. Humans weren’t exactly the easiest species to read - they were expressive, but often he could never figure out what each of their hundred of expressions meant - but he’d like to think he knew Shepard pretty well. She looked…stricken.

“Shepard?” he repeated, fully entering her cabin and approaching her. He went to sit next to her but she held up a hand to stop him. He paused at an awkward angle, halfway between standing leaning down to sit next to her. She stood up, standing in front of him with her hands fidgeting before her. He had never seen her look so…nervous.

“Shepard,” he repeated, for the third time, his voice soft. Confused. “Talk to me.”

“I…I have something to tell you and I don’t…want to.”

Well this was new. Shepard wasn’t afraid of anything, least of that being talking.

Thoroughly confused, he asked, “Ok?”

Shepard stared up at him and pulled her lower lip into her mouth, biting it. He’d seen her do that before, in a very different circumstance. Here it was just further proof that she was worrying. Panicking. “You are starting to freak me out a little bit here, Shepard.”

Shepard released her lip with a POP and raised a hand, running it through her fringe - er, hair. Judging by how it was sticking up she had been doing that for awhile.

“Are you hur-” he started, reaching out a hand to touch her face.

“Kaiden came by. A little bit ago.” Garrus’ hand froze. He didn’t know why, but the way she had said it…made him feel cold. He waited for her to continue, dropping his hand. Shepard’s green gaze followed it’s movement before she dropped her own hand from her hair. Her eye flicked between his for a moment before she let out a harsh breath, turning away from him to pace.

“He…said he wants to try again. After that bullshit he pulled I almost threw him out. But…he seemed…sincere. He kept bringing up Ilium and the SR1 and…uggh.”

Garrus remained silent, and frozen, where he had paused near the couch.

“I didn’t tell him yes. But I did…agree to a date. One date. We never got closure after…I died. Not really. And I wasn’t sure if we - you and I I mean - were still, I mean you’ve been back no the Normandy for a month and we haven’t even talked about…oh my god, I’m rambling. I never ramble.” Shepard stopped her pacing, turning to look at Garrus. “If you tell me not to go I won’t go.”

That pulled him out of stasis. “What? Why is that my decision?”

And it was an easy decision.

No.

Don’t go on a date with Kaiden spirits fucking forsaken Alenko. He had his shot, and he blew it. It was Garrus’ turn now. But what had he been doing with ‘his turn’? (and how pissed would Shepard be if she could read his thoughts right now). Movie nights, quips across the battle field, platonic if lingering touches as they hung out in the battery. She was right, he’d been back on board the Normandy for a month and he had nothing to show for it. He’d had a chance - a hundred chances - to bring up how he felt about her but he hadn’t. She’d always seemed so stressed, so harried. He hadn’t wanted to burden her, to pressure her. He’d let her take the lead on their reconnection. She’d been friendly, so he’d been friendly. And every two minutes there was some damn crisis - a dalatrass to bribe, a galaxy-changing medical marvel to facilitate. He’d wanted to be the calm at the center of her numerous storms. And now it sounded like she’d been waiting for him to-

“We were, you know, together recently. So I thought-”

“Seven months ago.” Garrus clarified, unsure why he was bringing up the time frame.

“Huh?”

“We were together seven months ago. And we thought we were going to die.” What was he talking about? Why was he saying this?

Why did he sound so cold?

His tone tripped Shepard up. She suddenly looked less frantic. She stopped wringing her hands, and was looking at him with an expression he could not even begin to interpret. “You’re right. We didn’t make any promises to each other. You aren’t…responsible for me, nor I you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you about this. I guess I just…wanted to make sure you and I are…good. If I do this - the date with Kaiden, I mean.”

Garrus needed to swing by the medbay - there was a pain in his gut that had to be from something physical - a bullet wound his medi-gel had somehow missed?

Tell her to not go out with him. Fucking idiot, tell her!

“We are good Shep. You go on that date - or not! Whatever…whatever you want. We are good.” Shep? Where the hell had that come from. “If that’s all, I got to go - guns to calibrate, you know-” Garrus began making his way back through the door. He paused at the doorway just as Shepard called.

“What were you…saying about a movie?”

“Uh, oh that? Nothing. I’ll tell you later. See you in the morning, Shepard.” And before he could say something embarrassing, or pitiful, he left.

As he made his way to the elevator he stumbled. He felt off-balance - like the artificial gravity had abruptly been turned off. What had just happened? What the hell had just happened? He felt a sick, heavy feeling rolling along his veins, originating from somewhere deep in his gut. As the doors slid open on the crew deck, Garrus had had the chance to examine the sensation coursing through his body, finally setting in his chest like a heavy weight.

Jealousy.

~~~fin, for now~~~

[ilium-ilia]

Oh my god, this is so horribly embarrassing for me to admit, but so, so funny.

I have been offline tumblr for a LONG time because my bachelor's degree is kicking me in the ass. But before it did, I was crazy obsessed with Of Sea Foam and Iron. Anyways I left for awhile and logged back on, read all my favorite stuff and saw a lot of my fav writers were also inactive.

I was sad and then went to check yours. Unfortunately, I had literally no clue that you had deactivated your cordeliawhohung account and was DEVASTATED. Like literally inconsolable, I was so sad I could only read parts of your fanfics I had remembered to reblog😭

I went offline again for a few months and only recently had it occurred to me to just look for other accounts before I found this one. And remembered my ao3 account. Not my finest moments...

Love your writing and I hope you are having a lovely day, so sorry for clogging your inbox with this, but I thought I'd share😭❤️❤️

The TLDR of it all because this is long; I thought I lost you and your beautiful writing forever until I had enough wherewithal to just look elsewhere.

LMAO this is too funny

I had deleted that blog after a bad bout of plagiarism. Which somehow followed me to this blog too but turns out people tend to not plagerize your stuff if you publicly call them out when they block you over it lmao.

I plan on being here to stay this time and I'm glad we found each other again (: hope your schooling is going well <3

[whispersfromtroy]

SONG NAMES:

1. Whispers in the Night

2. I Didn’t Sign Up For This

3. I’m Too Young for This

4. Paris, You’re So Extra

5. Troy: The Worst Vacation Ever

6. Don’t Make Me Talk to Paris

7. Who Needs a God When You’ve Got a Curse?

8. Epic Fail (The Trojan War Was a Scam)

9. The Price of Glory (Spoiler: It’s High)

10. War, Love, and Really Bad Decisions

11. Hector, What’s a “Warrior’s Code”?

12. How Did Paris Even Survive This Long?

13. Troy? Oh, Is That Still a Thing?

14. Cassandra’s 100% Accurate (But Who’s Listening?)

15. I’m Not a Therapist, Cassandra

16. This Is What They Don’t Teach You in School

17. Troy Was Fine Until You Showed Up

18. My Brother, My Enemy

19. Clytemnestra’s Revenge (She’s Not Playing)

20. Helen’s Reign (But Don’t Ask Her About It)

21. Hector, You Were Too Good For This

22. What’s the Deal with Achilles?

23. I Have No Chill

24. Paris, You Really Need a Hobby

25. Dad’s Going to Be So Mad

26. Paris’ Drama 101

27. Gods, Why Do You Hate Me?

28. I’m Done With Prophecies

29. Ghosts of Ilium

30. I Can’t Escape The Past

31. The Turning Point.

32. Penelope’s To-Do List

33. Paris, I Swear I Didn’t Order You

34. Sleepy Confessions

35. From Dusk ‘Til Damn

36: Broken Dreams

37: Wounds and Scars

38: The Gods Don’t Care About Your Feelings

39: Father’s Shadow

40: The Island

The songs are labeled like chapters because the songs are called “chapters”

[mineralsrocksandfossiltalks]

Fossil Friday: Brachiosaurus altithorax

Another well known sauropod, Brachiosaurus has captured the imaginations of many for over a century with its incredible size.

Found in 1900 by Elmer S. Riggs in Fruita, Colorado near the Colorado River, the name Riggs chose means "arm lizard with a deep chest." Apt name if you ask me.

Riggs worked for the Field Columbian Museum now known as the Field Museum of Natural History of Chicago. Riggs was actually looking for Eocene mammals when he was informed of the dinosaurs near Grand Junction. Little did he know he would find the biggest dinosaur to date!

As you can see, there really isn't a ton of material found from Brachiosaurus. In fact, most of what we know has been extrapolated from the African cousin, Giraffatitan which was believed to be a species of Brachiosaurus until 1991.

Despite the apparent lack of material, what has been described has come from Colorado, Oklahoma, Utah, and Wyoming. The holotype skeleton (the first one) consists of a right humerus, a right femur, the right ilium, the right coracoid, the sacrum, 7 dorsal vertebrae, two caudal vertebrae and several ribs.

In 1883, Marshall Parker Felch who worked for Othniel Charles Marsh, found a sauropod skull in Garden Park, Colorado. It was incorporated into the Brontosaurus skeleton at the Yale Peabody Museum but in 1975 a couple of paleontologists said it was closer to Camarasaurus than an any diplodocid skull. One of them brought it to the attention of Kenneth Carpenter, a well known paleontologist in Utah and Virginia Tidwell. In 1998 they tentatively assigned it to Brachiosaurus sp. as there are no overlapping elements with the holotype it's impossible to determine if it belongs to B. altithorax.

There are some possible dorsal verts from Dry Mesa Quarry, Colorado, possibly a nearly complete juvenile from the Bighorn Basin of Wyoming, and possibly a foot from the Black Hills in Wyoming.

As you can see, finding more Brachiosaurus material would be awesome and we believe we may have one in our bonebed.

This rib alone is about 3m and still diving into the hillside. Hopefully, we will be able to get it out this year.

This could potentially be part of the scapular coracoid. Again, it's diving into the rock so it is difficult to tell. But the sucker is pretty big.

We also pulled out an articulated sequence of caudal vertebrae from the same general spot that all these bones are located. Fingers crossed that a skull is in there somewhere waiting for us to find.

Thanks for reading and tune in on Monday for a bit of focused talk on Macronarian sauropods like Brachiosaurs!

[violethowler]

After finishing my re-read of Light Bringer, I have a new theory:

That our boy Darrow O’Lykos, master of hiding his plans from the narration, already knows that Lysander has Eidmi.

During my re-read, I noticed how Darrow was already started to unravel Atlas’s involvement in Volsung Fa’s invasion of the Rim. But the instant that Diomdes confirms that Atlas was responsible for the massacre at Kalyke, Darrow immediately knows exactly what Atlas is planning with the Obsidians and how Lysander factors into it, because in his own worlds, “I know Atlas.”

This implies an incredibly deep level of familiarity with and knowledge of Atlas’s tactics and how the Fear Knight thinks. That just the unconfirmed claim, with no proof whatsoever, that Atlas is was in Ilium, is enough to make the metaphorical lightbulb go off over Darrow's head and give him such accurate, precision insight into the purpose of the Ascomanni invasion of the Rim.

And if Darrow knows Atlas that well, I think it’s very likely that the fact that there was no sign of Atlas during and after the fall of Volsung Fa would’ve been a big red flag that Atlas had other objectives and plans going on besides the Obsidian invasion. Especially because Darrow openly calls Atlas a student of history, and Atlas learned about Eidmi from historical records in Octavia’s vaults – vaults which Darrow and Virginia had unrestricted access to for at least 6 years before the start of Iron Gold.

And then Pytha’s testimony of Cassius’s death and him killing Atlas would’ve given him even more clues. Because Darrow was expecting Cassius to kill Atlas, since that was what Diomedes asked of Lysander as part of the terms for an alliance against Atalantia (mirroring Darrow bringing Fa’s head). So, the fact that Pytha would’ve told Darrow how Lysander and Cassius fought Atlas together only for Lysander to kill Cassius after Atlas was dead would’ve hinted that Cassius learned something in that hangar that Lysander wanted to keep quiet.

So, it’s entirely plausible that Darrow was able to put those pieces together and figure out that Atlas unearthed the Eidmi before Cassius killed him, and included a warning in his transmission home at the end of the book telling Virginia that Lysander has it now.

[pineapplezdrawsometimes]

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[tendertenebrosity]

Hey! I know some writers do an “ask my OC” thing; but if you don’t feel like answering in character, totally ignore this!!

Helis, think of all of the horrible stories you’ve heard about Toralda. Ilium can do all that and MORE. Forever. No one would come to rescue you. Sure, Illium tolerates you now, but don’t you think that soon, he’ll get sick of you? and you’ll make quite a good living punching bag. Or, he could just give you to someone who wants to torture a beast🤷🏻‍♀️

Also, love this story!! I hadn’t read it in so long and stumbled upon it while going through my liked posts.

Helis gives you an incredulous and somewhat wild stare.

"What - what are you trying to do, exactly? You think I don't know all that? I know there's worse people here than Illiam. Even if... Are you just trying to make me feel worse on purpose? Why?"

They straighten their shoulders. "A-anyway. I do think that Illiam's not... look, he's an asshole, but I don't think he'd do that. He keeps me around because he feels like it's his responsibility in some weird way. And he's... he thinks he's a responsible person. He's not going to get rid of me. He's not."

Thank you! I haven't thought of these guys in a long time either, to be honest!