#mercy sees the mainland

[makerofmadness]

she’s a scorpion thing now i think. spider. idk.

KILL WHITEBOY KILL YOU’RE ALMOST THERE

seriously though like this is epic mostly because of the music

SHE’S DEAD

“I’m sorry, Po” MY BOY HAD TO KILL HER TOO NOW

“We could’ve worked together, we could’ve built a better world” FXCK YOU-

one of the dialogue options is just “Shut up” tho like-

YES KILL HIM K I L L

the good ending

the military has arrived

yes, Miles. Noo-Noo did this.

OH GOD THE MUSIC WH-

DAMMIT. 

“Dear god...” YEAH DEAR GOD

THE PISS BABIES GOT OUT THEY’RE EVERYWHERE

“We must fight” I love the Guardian so much /p

welp, that’s the end i think. ‘cus the dlc got cancelled apparently (goddammit). heard ZeoWorks made some kind of afterseries though, maybe i’ll check that out 

[kiatheinsomniac]

──── 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: a commission from the wonderful @magical-warlock who is always a pleasure to work with!! 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Kassandra of Sparta x Reader 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: canon-typical depictions of violence and injury

You check on the bread in the fire oven to watch it steadily rise, seeing how it bubbles up towards the sky and begins to toast golden, covered in some aromatic herbs that you know will go excellently with the dips that you have already prepared in the kitchen, covered by a cloth to protect them from any stray insects that might find their way into your home while your attention is elsewhere. The weather has warmed significantly as of late and so you don’t really have it in you to work over a hot stove for long and cook with whatever meal you would have going in the pot or pan. Today, dinner would just be bread with an assortment of meats, cheeses and fruits - you had not the energy for much else with the hot weather making the air hang heavily all about you, making your moves slower, sluggish, sweat glistening upon your skin. 

You make your way over to the basin in order to dip your hands into the water, rubbing its coolness over your wrists, chest and the back of your neck in an attempt to cool your body. Oh, how you couldn’t wait for this heatwave to pass over so that the weather can return to its habitual state. You could only pray to Apollo and Helios that they would soon show mercy but in the meantime you praise Artemis and Selene for the kindness and reprieve of their feminine and silvery moonlight as opposed to their counterparts whose sunlight beat down on you like the brunt of a mighty warrior’s shield. 

You hum a little tune to yourself as you work around the kitchen, preparing food for when you know your sweetheart will be done with her contracts. You used to worry for her safety but Kassandra is the toughest woman you know: she stands for no disrespect, she’s built like an Olympic champion. You hope that her skills will one day get the two of you off this island once she has saved up the money or made the right connections. The two of you whisper about it at night beneath Nyx’s blanket of stars, the glittering stars of her creations the only witnesses to the fantasies that you share between your lips. She promises that she will give you the life you deserve, beyond the limited borders of Kephallonia, that she will get a boat large enough for the two of you to sail to the mainland on. She will buy land and you will tend to it while she works on contract to bring home money to you, eager always to come home to her beloved wife; for she promises the two of you will marry and all the Gods shall bear witness and drink to your union. 

You smile fondly to yourself as you recall the memory, the sounds of crickets chirping in the nearby foliage, the soft crashing of waves on the local shore of the island, the salt carried in the breeze. You wonder if you will one day live so far inland with your love that you will smell the spring blossoms more so than sea salt, that Persephone’s return will fill the air more than Posideon’s rule. 

Kephallonia’s statue of Zeus is mighty but you have heard travelling merchants talk of temples upon great mountains; to Athena, to Aphrodite, to Apollo. You gaze upon the blue sails of Athenian ships and you wonder just how busy the city of scholars may be, you wonder what Sparta’s wall-free borders must look like from a distance. You think of exploring markets with your love, with Kassandra, knowing that no matter where you are, no matter where you go, you will feel hope so long as you can hold her hand, feel your fingertips caress her callouses as she squeezes your palm and fingers in return. So long as she is by your side, you know that she and her glinting, broken spear shall defend your life.

You have known that spear for as long as you have known Kassandra as the two of them are inseparable – she even sleeps with it upon the bedside table. You have joked time and time again that it will soon fuse with her palm if she does not allow herself a break from time to time. That is something you often worry about when it comes to the woman who has possessed your heart: Kassandra is an incredible fighter, the best you have ever seen – you’d put drachmae on it – but she didn’t know when to rest at times. You do not worry that she will be outmatched but you do worry that she will walk into a fight disadvantaged by fatigue, thirst or hunger. It is why you do your best to assure that you keep her well-fed and rested whenever you can, to entice her to stay longer with food, gifts, open arms and the warm embraces they can give. She is determined to leave and create a better future for the two of you but that future cannot exist if she works herself to death before it can be realised. 

Once more, you wander over to the oven in order to check on the bread, covered in aromatic herbs and turning a beautiful gold beneath the fire. Everything else is ready and waiting in the kitchen, as are you, for Kassandra’s return. You close your eyes and a smile dances gently upon your lips as you think of your love, of the lives ahead of you beyond the shores of this little island. It’s always wonderful when your misthios comes home. She always has a smile on her face as she shows you the drachma she’s made. You both pour over how it brings you a little closer to the mainland, a little further from Kephallonia and you’d enjoy seeing her muscles unwind and relax as she sat down and ate with her. This is the image you have in your mind when you hear footsteps approaching the door. 

But the little fantasy of your habitual domestic life is shattered when she’s leaning on the doorframe for support and there’s blood all over her.

“Kass!” You lunge forwards to help catch her, looking over her shoulder to assure that she hasn’t been followed; though, deep down, you know that she never would have come home if she knew that she had enemies on her tail, even if she were in a worse condition than she already is. It had happened only once and she swore to you that she would ascertain it would never ever happen again. “What happened?! Come, sit!” You find yourself panicking but try to get a hold of yourself. Your other half is the one who’s strong for you all the time but now it’s your turn to be strong for her. 

“They brought a lot more friends with them than I had thought.” She winces as she takes a seat. You could wash up the pillows later but for now you had to stop the healing and get her cleaned up. You keep a box of medical supplies for the instance in which this very situation comes to be. You take out strips of fabric to use as bandages and add pressure and you bring the basin over to the table nearby Kassandra so that you can begin cleaning away some of the half-dried blood in order to get a better look at what you’re working with. 

But her armour was in the way and so you began to pull at the straps and buckles methodically to cast it all aside. The metal rattles against the hard surface of the floor as it piles up; like the pillows, it too will need to be cleaned later. “So eager to undress me, γλυκιά μου (my sweet)~” She flirts and you can only return her bloodied smile with a half-hearted glare. How can she joke in a time like this when you’re fretting over her health? She only gives a little laugh at your sharp look and, as much as you had been angry a moment before, it calms you down. If she’s alright enough to make jokes then you don’t need to worry so much and, instead of panicking, you can carefully focus on tending to the misthios who has stolen your heart.

The faintest of smiles ghosts across your lips that had previously been curled down in an anxious frown, quivering with worry for Kassandra. She knows you better than anyone else who walks the world – she knew that some humour would make you relax, would make you realise that you could calm down and approach this with a much more level-headed manner. She trusts you with her life, she trusts you to nurse her back to health so long as she can drag herself to your doorstep. You endeavour to prove that her trust in you and your abilities is not misplaced. 

You begin by wetting a clean cloth and trying to wipe away the dried blood from her olive skin, already littered with scars that spoke of her history like the etching of legends upon stone tablets. Her muscles glimmer with the water-thinned blood as you diligently clean her up. Once you determine that her wounds are no longer bleeding as much as they initially must have been, you set to mixing up a balm with some ingredients that you have on hand in order to help the healing process. You apply the sticky honey mixture to her wounds and then wrap them in bandages to keep them clean. 

Your anxiety completely dissolves as you walk through this process with her and she looks at you with the warmest brown eyes you have ever bore witness to. As you kneel by her side, wrapping her bicep in bandages, your head dips down to sweetly kiss a large scar that runs over her shoulder. As you tie off the bandage, you lift her forearm to your lips to kiss yet another scar there. You reach for another bandage but are stopped by Kassandra’s alloused and worn palm upon your soft cheek, turning your head so that she can take in your face. 

You must be her very own Hellen of Troy, she decided long ago when she first met you. Kassandra sees you as a blessing from Aphrodite herself who surely must have sculpted you in her image so that you can walk this world as a testament to the existence of the goddess of beauty, only able to exist thanks to her divine hands. Now, the roughened pad of her thumb tugs gently at your pillowy bottom lip, feeling the warmth of the mouth that had just pressed the tenderest kisses to her peach-coloured scars. 

What did she do to deserve such a thing as sweet and beautiful as you in her life? What had she done that the gods had decided to usher you into her life as a gift of the divine, a sample of ambrosia in this mortal world? The corner of her scarred lips quirk up into a smile and your eyes flit between hers as you try to figure out what’s going on in her head. Kassandra then leans in and kisses you lightly, almost experimentally. She treats you like you could crumble to dust should she be too harsh on you. But once her anxieties seem to quell, she pressed her mouth to yours with much more surety and kisses you in a way that gives you just the briefest glimpse of the bottomless well of passion she harbours in her heart for you. 

You pull away by only a few inches afterwards, your warm breaths mingling, Kassandra’s eyes glued still to your mouth, wanting your lips swollen gently with her kisses so that she can leave a lasting part of herself upon you if only to be able to say that she was lucky enough to be born in the same era of one so brilliant as you who had stolen her heart right from the vault of her chest. You can’t help the soft giggle that slips past those very lips her eyes are fixed upon. You will yourself to pull away so that you can continue to patch up your lover. 

When you are done securing her in honeyed balm and clean bandages, you strip the pillows of their cases and begin heating up water in the kitchen so that you can clean them. Her armour can be cleaned and polished in the morning, you haven’t the energy to do that tonight too. 

“Come, I was preparing dinner before you arrived.” You beckon your misthios into the kitchen where the bread is finished baking and has now cooled and you have a variety of cured meats and some cheese with sliced fruits and a salad prepared. Again, it is not the most extravagant meal but the heat of the season has made you more lethargic than usual and so you didn’t have it in you to cook over the searing heat of a fire. 

Kassandra sits right by your side, her toned thigh pressed to yours beneath the table as she begins picking at the food you’ve prepared. It might not be a full-on meal but she’s beyond thankful for anything you make for her, especially after the day she’s had and how incredibly you’ve just handled patching her up after she stumbled through the door so wounded. You’re the beat in her heart, the breath in her lungs, the very electricity dancing through her every nerve and she might survive without you but she knows she could never live. 

She recounts her day to you and your heart stutters as she gets to where she suddenly realised how outnumbered she was. She managed to get away – as you know with having her sitting and telling her tale to you over dinner – but she hadn’t got rid of them all and so she wanted to see you on your guard when she is to go out in the days to come in order to eradicate the loose ends of her contract so that she can collect her money, your money, she insists as everything of hers is yours. 

She watches you with enamoured eyes as you clean up after the two of you, like you so often do. She rises from her seat as you finish up and tucks some hair behind your ear, pressing her lips to your forehead. 

“Go relax for a while, γλυκιά μου (my sweet).” She insists, her words mumbled against your brow as her nose nudges against you and her hands gently caress the swells of your hips beneath her palms. “I’ll run you a bath, you deserve it. Let me look after you now, alright?” Your brow furrows slightly as she pulls away a little to look down at you part your lips to protest – Kassandra is the wounded one, not you. Her finger presses to your mouth. “Shh. Let me pamper you? It’ll make me happy to care for you as you’ve done for me; as you’ve always done for me.” You release the softest of sighs. 

“Very well. Don’t strain yourself though, ok?” She affirms your condition with a nod of her head and you go to relax in bed for a while, curling up on your side. You can hear Kassandra moving around to prepare your bath for you, water sloshing and drowning out the more distant sound of the waves crashing upon the nearby coastline of the island. The scent of lavender faintly wafts into your nostrils as you lay with your head upon the plush pillow, your arms tucked under it to cradle it around your head as you lay on your belly with your body turned slightly to one side. You face the door so that you can watch your lover when she walks through it to fetch you. 

You had been terribly worried when you saw her covered in half-dried blood as she staggered through the door and, in the moment, you hadn’t realised just how much you were panicking until you looked back on it now. But you have patched her up, shared a meal with her, are now relaxing in the bed you share while she returns the favour and draws a bath for you. After a short while, you hear her footsteps patter into the room and she perches on the edge of the bed next to you, her weight making the mattress sink down. 

The misthios leans down over you and presses her lips tenderly to your forehead, beginning to pepper kisses in trails like waterfalls from your temples down to your cheeks, keeping an even balance on either side of your face: first the left and then the right. The corners of your mouth tug up into a smile as your eyes slip closed and you simply enjoy the feeling of her soft, scar-dissected lips pressing to your skin, her breath fanning over your face in gentle exhales. Her fingertips dance across the curve of your jaw, so gentle it almost tickles and you feel one of her arms slide behind your knees. Her other strong arm works its way beneath your shoulders and you let out a breathy laugh as she hoists you up in her arms. 

Kassandra knows you’re strong and capable enough to manage yourself but she always loved to show you that you should never need to use those capabilities of yours, that she will always be there for you. Never again would she allow a situation to come to be wherein you need to defend herself without her there standing in front of you to protect you. Her hands glide over your body to unfasten your clothes, letting them pool in a puddle around your feet. She spends a moment grazing her fingers across your skin as though it were the finest foreign silk or velvet that she had ever been given the privilege of feeling. Her lips graze across the slopes of your shoulders as her hands caress the plains of your waist. You feel the warmth of her muscular body press to your back for a while and her nose nudges against your neck, her breath and eyelashes tickling you slightly. 

“I love you…” She breathes out, unsure what else to say. The words cannot quite carry the weight of her emotions, taking only a small portion of them and carrying them over to you but she cannot find a single comprehensible way of phrasing just what you stir up in her. She does not think that any set of words in her vocabulary can possibly be strung together in a way that can contain her love for you. 

She pulls a stool up beside the bathtub and helps you ease into the warm water. The heat soothes your muscles and melts away much of the tension that you hadn’t realised you were still carrying in your body. Kassandra coaxes you to lay back in the water, hair fanning about in tendrils around your head and framing you like a halo. The word ‘smitten’ does not quite describe how she looks at you. She looks as though you are the sun Helios pulls across the sky, the moon Selene draws across the night, the stars Nyx cast into the sky, the Spring beauty announcing Persephone’s return to her mother. She cannot picture a greater beauty for her mortal eyes to lay upon in this realm. 

Delicately, she wets your hair and caresses her fingers across your scalp, massaging in nourishing oils and layering your hair in soaps. Consistently, she plants kisses across your face and smiles down at you. Kassandra leads a life that is full of action and violence; so long as she has a contract, her days are fast-paced and with little rest. That is, right up until she comes home to you. The moment you are in her vicinity, life slows right down and it seems she is finally able to catch up and catch her breath. You are her sanctuary and should anything fatal ever befall you, the Greek world shall see Kassandra possessed by Nemesis herself to see that your justice is realised. 

Her calloused fingers smooth over wet, scarred skin just beneath your right collarbone. It was the sort of scar that would never fade, that would persistently push the misthios to assure your safety. She was careful today in making sure she would not be followed home but it was a behaviour she had learned as a result of her past mistake. Once in the past, she had not been so careful and as you tried to assess her wounds, the door had been broken in by those who had harmed Kassandra. She had watched in awe as you took up a spear and shield that your lover had previously only thought of as being for display right up until those men were sent running, stumbling over their feet due to their injuries. It was the one time that you had defended Kassandra against danger and not the other way around and she would never forget it. 

Her throat tightens slightly as she recalls how the spear sank into your chest and in that split second when she couldn’t quite see where you had been hit, she worried that your heart had been pierced, her heart, the one you had given her. Thankfully, you had managed to put enough distance between yourself and the assailant that it didn’t go right through you but the scar was deep, prominent and the wound had wept with great amounts of blood. Kassandra could not recall a time in her life that the coppery smell had ever made her feel as ill as it did when she worried she was about to lose you, her other half. 

Now, she leans down and presses her lips to the wound in the most passionate of kisses, her soft mouth pouring her love over your marred skin. She swallows hard as she withdraws slowly, so overwhelmed by the feelings you stir up within her that she’s beyond sure Eros has shot arrow upon arrow into her back in order to possess her with the profoundest love she has for you. 

“So many legends are full of lovesick fools,” She begins in a quiet but sincere voice, “and I once sneered at them for their stupidity. But now I understand. I’d go to the Underworld for you, I’d launch a thousand ships for you, I’d face the trials of Psyche. I could say I’d die for you but I’d rather live for you.” A smile and a little giggle plays upon your lips as she pours her heart out to you like this. You reach your fingers out of the water and stroke some of her hair behind her ear, wetting it in the process just so you can get a better look at her sun kissed face. 

“When did you become a poet, hm?” You muse. 

“You bring it out in me.” She returns your smile and leans in so that your breaths mingle once more. Your other hand reaches out of the water so that you cup her jaw in one palm while the other rests at the nape of her neck, keeping her close to you. Meanwhile her palm has pressed over your scar from the spear while the other is cupping your cheek, the pad of her roughened thumb caressing over your soft skin in the tenderest of touches. 

“I love you.” Your words fall out on a breath, barely above the volume of a whisper. 

“I love you doesn’t even begin to cover it.” She flashes you that smile which makes your heart stutter and your belly fill with butterflies every time as she pulls you in closer and your lips melt into a warm and sweet kiss. You yearn for this moment to last forever and yet you cannot wait to tend to her all day tomorrow so that she can heal and the two of you, hand in hand, can take another step closer to the life that you will have beyond the borders of this island. 

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[logogreffe]

Afternoon in French

Afternoon in French is après-midi (after-noon). Is it une après-midi or un après-midi ? Well, we don't know ... Here are some articles in French discussing the topic X , X. I use un and une interchangeably with "après-midi", so I did a little poll to ask the French speakers of Tumblr and here are the results :

Note : "L'heure est grave" is an equivalent of "the situation is critical"/ "this is a crucial moment". You're supposed to use it when people have to make a really important decision (life saving) but I use it ironically to ask the dumbest things ever : L'heure est grave : tu veux manger du riz ou des pâtes ? // The situation is critical : do you want to eat rice or pasta ? The result : As you can see "un après-midi" won. But I have to admit that I've messed up this poll by not adding the third option "I use both", since some people, like me, use both un and une. Here are some funny tags :

Translation : " both, I'm bi " Note : "chuis" is how some people pronounce "j'suis" = je suis = I am

Translation : " The word après-midi is non binary and it's its right. Since everybody around me uses it in the masculine form, I take (malicious) pleasure in using it in the feminine form to restore the balance " Note : "prendre un malin plaisir" = to take pleasure in doing a "bad" activity Je prends un malin plaisir à l'ignorer chaque fois qu'elle me dit bonjour // I take great pleasure in ignoring her every time she says hello to me. Some people explained when they use "un" and "une" :

Both those tags are saying that une après-midi should be used when you're refering to a duration. -> Ça a duré toute l'après-midi // It lasted the whole afternoon. But we should use un après-midi when talking about a date/part of the day. -> On se voit cet après-midi ? // Will we see each other this afternoon ? Finally, some other examples using un and une après-midi : Reminder : Après-midi is often shortened as "aprèm" orally and in text messages (informal) Vous êtes libre cet après-midi ? // Are you (formal) free this afternoon ? Note : You can tell that the "vous" here refers to the formal "you" because "libre" is in the singular. T'es libre cet aprèm ? // Are you free this afternoon ? J'ai passé l'aprèm à lire au soleil. // I spent the afternoon reading in the sun. Bon après-midi ! // Have a nice afternoon ! Note 1 : Because "après-midi " starts with a vowel and "bon" ends with a consonant, you have to faire la liaison. In the end "bon après-midi " will be pronounced the same way as "bonne après-midi ". (Same thing with "cet après-midi", it's pronounced the same as "cette après-midi" ) Note 2 : "Bon après-midi ! " can ONLY be used when you or the person you're talking to is leaving ! You can NOT say " Bon après-midi ! " to say " Good afternoon ! ". There is no equivalent of "Good afternoon" in French (In Mainland France at least), you'll have to say "Bonjour" or "Bonsoir" and pray that the person you're talking to will say the same thing. (This is a really awkward moment that the French have to go through on an almost daily basis. So even if it's really late and someone says "Bonjour" please just repeat after them and don't say "Bonsoir". This is this equivalent of saying "akshually according to French etiquette paragraph 48 since it's past 6pm you should say bonsoir ".) Conclusion : You can use both un or une with après-midi ! And as we've seen, orally, people will not be able to tell the difference between cet / cette après-midi or bon / bonne après-midi. PS : Merci à tous les gens qui ont voté, commenté, tagué et reblogué mon sondage !

[melishade]

In the War Timeline, I bet that the Decepticons that deflect are either Knockout, Breakdown, or both because they're partners in crime. I really love these guys

Previous Episode of the War Timeline

Time to rewind a little bit to the beginning of this timeline.

So the Decepticons make themselves known by talking out Zeke Jaeger, killing a good portion of Marleyan military, and taking Marleyans and mainland Eldians as prisoners/titan experimentation at multiple locations around the continent. Breakdown and the vehicons are tasked with keeping them in line and to kill anyone that tries to defect.

Now Breakdown is considered one of the more sociable Decepticons. He's willing to talk to and praise the vehicons for their good works. The vehicons do come to him with their concerns about this new world, the lack of technology, and the grotesque humans that can turn into titans. They prefer Earth because it had more accommodations to their needs, but this world doesn't have jack shit. They thought that they didn't like humans before, but now it's worse. They think that the Eldians are just disgusting monsters. But the Eldians are considered a more valuable commodity so they are kept in slightly better conditions than the Marleyans (ironic, isn't it).

But Breakdown does his best to reassure them that this is just a pit stop. They will be able to return to Earth, and with some new powers to boot. The Autobots wouldn't be able to stop them and the war would be over.

However, Breakdown ends up starting to feel sympathy for the humans, specifically the Eldians. Not the Marleyans. Breakdown and the other vehicons need to make sure the Eldians remain alive for army usage. The vehicons are thinking that it's better the humans than them. They've hated the way that the Autobots have gunned them down without remorse. But Breakdown has to help one of the Eldians who's sustained a physical injury while working. Specifically a warrior cadet. Specifically Colt Grice. He's the only one that old enough to handle the work, and is forced to do so or his family and friends get turned into titans. They're being held somewhere else for the time being. Colt doesn't know where.

But as Breakdown patches him up, Colt is looking at him with contempt. Breakdown threatens his life, but Colt doesn't care at this point. At least with Marley, there was a chance at a better life. But being a prisoner of the Decepticons was a guaranteed death and torment. Breakdown is definitely feeling guilty about that, and lets him go, still threatening his life if he acts out of line.

The longer Breakdown interacts with the humans, the more guilt he begins to feel. He sees the way that they try to help one another but are immediately forced back into line. He sees the way that some squabble amongst themselves for resources. He sees how absolutely miserable they are. And how it reminds him about how he was treated in the caste system. Breakdown finds himself sneaking in extra food for the first human he really interacted with, Colt. And Colt doesn't know why he's trying to be kind to him. They're just going to kill everything, regardless if they were Eldian or Marleyan. Colt finds himself still accepting those acts of kindness, because he needs to live long enough to find his family again.

Breakdown also notices the way that Knockout is trying his best to detach himself from the experiments and the sounds of the humans' screams and pleas for mercy as they are turned into titans. Knockout tries to make those snide comments he usually does when dealing with humans in the past, but Breakdown could tell that it was starting to get to the vain doctor. Breakdown notices the way that Megatron has started to become more and more obsessed with the power of the titans, even trying to mold it with Cybertronian material. It disgusted a good portion of the Decepticons, but none of them spoke a word, lest they receive punishments for it.

Then Megatron sends Airachnid to the island by herself. They all know full well that it's a suicide mission. They didn't intend to help her or get her back. Breakdown brings it up and retorts about the fact that they have no second-in-command now, and Megatron automatically appoints Dreadwing without a second thought. Megatron also reminds Breakdown and the others of Airachnid deception to overtake the Decepticons, and the only one that really stopped her was Soundwave. His tolerance for them was starting to run thin.

Megatron then tasks Breakdown and Knockout with retrieving the titans that were on the island, based on Soundwave's intel. They only manage to get two out of the three, distracted by the way that the humans were putting up a fight, and that the Autobots were actually here. They all knew that the island was going to be targeted next, and once Megatron got the powers of the Founder, this world was pretty much doomed. Some were elated at the idea, but others were not. Breakdown conveys his concerns to Knockout as Ymir is spying on them in the vents, but Knockout reasons that they have nowhere to go and that the two of them would be hunted down. Their safest bet was to be on the winning team. Knockout kisses Breakdown on the cheek before leaving the room, completely unaware that Ymir snuck down to steal one of the energon vials.

But one day, he hears Colts complete story through their talks, about how their uncle was trying to restore Eldia, and how he and his brothers became warriors to protect themselves. They were willing to shorten their lives to keep their families safe and oh...oh Breakdown can't fucking take it anymore.

Breakdown pulls Knockout to the side and begs his partner and conjunx to come with him. They need to go now! Knockout reminds him about Soundwave. The vehicons! Him! What about the two of them?! At that moment, Mikasa blows up the engine room and the ship is going down. Breakdown offers his servo to Knockout and begs him to jump out with him, but Knockout doesn't take it. And Breakdown leaves without him. After the ship crashes, Megatron demands to know the status of their forces. For Breakdown's sake, Knockout lies about Breakdown and says that he ended up dying in an explosion caused by the crash. The vehicons are in remorse, but Megatron doesn't seem to care, wanting to get attended to for his wounds from Ymir and getting the chance to get his ship up and running again. Dreadwing knows how close the two are, and has a feeling that Knockout is lying, but without any evidence, and the semblance of honor that he has, keeps his mouth shut.

Meanwhile, Breakdown drives as fast as he can to the Decepticon camp that Colt is being held at. With the Decepticons in disarray, now is as good a time as any to break them out. He knocks out the two vehicons that were there, but doesn't kill them. He doesn't have the heart to kill them. They didn't do anything wrong. Breakdown frees the humans and grabs Colt, telling him that he's going to help him find the rest of his family. Colt is stunned and asks why he's doing it, but Breakdown says that he's starting to feel empathy for the fleshy humans. Colt doesn't know if he should, but he needs to find his family, and goes with Breakdown to find the others.

(Did I take a page out of Good Omens? Maybe. But wow, juggling this many characters in the War Timeline is tricky as fuck.)

[amity206]

Sky Worldbuilding: Food in the Golden Wasteland / Seafood

The (probably) last of the Sky food series! (I will be doing more if people would like to see additional things however, my asks are open) We’ll be going over Golden Wasteland and seafood!

Read on below the cut!

Before the Storm, I imagine the people of Golden Wasteland would have eaten a LOT of seafood. Now, the only play to get decent, non-polluted seafood here is the Treasure Reef.

The fish in the mainland are pulled up sickly, almost rotting living things. The Roamers say it’s a mercy to put them out of their misery and onto your plate. Due to the heavy pollution, all meat has to be cured with light before it is eaten, and spices are used to mask the bitter taste left over from the darkness.

Spices keep well, so they’re used a lot in Wasteland cuisine, along with imported rice from other realms. Small taverns in the safer parts of Wasteland serve up these dishes to nervous travelers and battle-scarred Roamers. These taverns are the best place to find a Roamer or other veteran to guide you through Wasteland, as they tend to congregate here to swap stories and rest.

Mushrooms are one of the few things that can actually manage to grow here, so wanderers often collect these for food. Crab eggs are also edible (they lay a lot of them).

Seafood in Prairie is often combined with vegetables and fruits, to make things like ceviche. Fresh greens are often added to seafood dishes in Sanctuary Islands, and the food is much safer to eat.

[lorellaishc]

Stormy Reconciliation

(( DWC February 2024 Day 5, Notorious/Altruistic, CW: non-pg13 language, @daily-writing-challenge ))

There were many ruined towers and structures throughout the Azure Span, but on this particular night a light shone from within. Seven primalists huddled around the fire, seeking relief from the cold winds that howled just outside. Their leader, by virtue of being the only one to have any idea what to do, looked at his fellows. Two dwarves, a draenei, and three elves, all so small compared to his tauren form. He'd sat himself closest to the entrance in case the skin they'd hung over it failed, to spare them the worst of the cold, even as he lamented that none of them were fire adepts. Not that many of them had survived the utter defeat of Amirdrassil.

"What are we supposed t' do now?" one of the dwarves asked, idly prodding the fire with his skinning knife. "We're scattered and routed, the incarnates have abandoned us, and we're as good as dead if the dragons catch us."

One of the elves, a chubby sin'dorei whose cheerful smile the tauren dearly missed seeing, sighed. "It's not the first time I joined a movement that fell apart. If we can get back to the mainland, we can disappear into the crowds, find our way into some sort of life, keep the hope alive."

"Does anyone know how to build a raft? Maybe we could cross the sea to Lordaeron, or Northrend?" the draenei asked, eyes glowing in the gloom. The silence that followed answered her question.

"Even with our shared power over the waters," the tauren rumbled, "the seas around the isles are treacherous indeed. We'd be as dead as if we'd been caught by the dragons."

"This is such bullshit!" the other dwarf shouted, her voice echoing off the stones of the tower. "We gave up everything to join the primalists, to fix the world, and now we're just sitting here waiting to die! It makes me want to-"

Her rage was cut off by a sudden burst of freezing air that knocked the skin from the doorway, and nearly bowled over the tauren. He rose on his hooves, squaring himself between the doorway and his charges. If nothing else, he would try to buy them time to run from the figure who now stood before him, a manifestation of deepest cold, her eyes glowing with her terrible power.

Vyranoth.

The Incarnate of Water and Frost sized the primalists up, making them feel like hogs in the presence of a butcher. Their fire was snuffed by the aura of sheer cold that surrounded her as she stepped slowly into the chamber, and the chill began to pierce to the bones. The draenei's knees buckled as she fell prostrate to the ground. "Honored Incarnate, please forgive our failure! We gave our all, but it wasn't enough to stop the titan's puppets! Please, show mercy on your loyal servants!" she cried, forehead touching the ground. The others followed her lead, leaving only the tauren standing. Vyranoth eyed them all, then locked her gaze with him.

The tauren held his ground. "They refuse to believe it, but I don't. You have joined with the Aspects. You have abandoned the cause, Aspect of Storms." he all but spat her new title.

Vyranoth narrowed her eyes. "The cause was corrupted by the rage of my brothers. My ideals, our ideals, have not changed. Only the methods by which we shall achieve them."

"Then make it quick. We have suffered enough in this wretched land." he shot back, ignoring the frightened gasps of his followers.

Vyranoth raised an icy brow. "You misunderstand, mortal. I am not here to kill you."

"Then you would see us in chains, to impress your new fellows? I would rather die tha-" the tauren's proclamation was cut off by a blast of cold air that flowed into his lungs, staggering him.

"That is ENOUGH, primalist." she shouted, before closing her eyes and exhaling, releasing her icy grip on his breath. "I am not here to harm you. I am here to help you. You all joined my sister, joined our cause, to protect this world from the influence of the titans. I would have you continue your work anew, as my loyal aides."

"… what?"

"The aspects are no longer empowered by the titans, mortal. It is Azeroth itself whose power flows through them.. through me. We now work together to ensure the safety of this world from all who threaten it. There is much work to do, and I would offer you a place in my service to do it."

Vyranoth stepped forward, keeping her gaze locked on the tauren's. "I remember you, Ulrok. I remember the passion in your eyes as you swore yourself to us in the wake of Raszageth's fall. I would prefer not to lose such a valuable ally as you, and those who you have taken into your care."

Ulrok snorted. "Do we have much of a choice?"

"There is always a choice," Vyranoth replied, inclining her head. "If you wish to return to the lands of your origin, I will see you reach them safely. Though I cannot speak to the welcome you might receive when you get there. I have pledged so to all who once served us. But I would rather seek to regain your trust, your loyalty. I will need many eyes and many hands to hold the aspects to their grand declarations." Vyranoth held out her hand, mist flowing off it, to Ulrok.

He did not move at first, studying her face. It was then that her expression softened, ever so slightly. "Please," she said. He was stunned to hear it from her, and thus the first hand to take hers was the small blue one of the draenei who'd risen to her hooves.

"I will join you, Lady Vyranoth. Thank you for this chance to redeem myself," she said, her smile genuine as the tears of relief on her face.

Ulrok sighed, and reached his hand out as well. "Very well, Aspect. We've come this far, after all."

"And we're with you, big bull!" the dwarven man said behind him, sentiment echoed by the others as they rose.

"Um, Lady Vyranoth, now that that's done, could you possibly lead us somewhere warm, that maybe has some food?" the draenei asked, timidly.

Vyranoth looked down at the woman, and for a moment, the primalists might have thought they saw the barest twitch of her lip into a smile. "Very well. You are little use to the cause frozen and starved after all. Come." she said, turning and exiting the tower, before recovering her full draconic form, stretching an icy wing to allow them to climb on, and fly towards a new tomorrow.

[cptslibrary]

Day 9 - Brainwashing Begging

Whumpcember Day Nine - Alt prompt: Begging Fandom: Peter Pan CW: None, Hurt/Comfort, Gender Neutral Reader

“Father, please, please. I’ll do anything.” James was kneeling by the bed. Guilt was consuming him. After a nasty fight, you had left the cabin and the ship, and the Captain wasn’t sure you were coming back. It was late in the night, and he didn’t know where you’d gone. You knew how to fly, and he barely knew the mainland anymore. If you left, he wouldn’t be able to find you.

“Please, have mercy. This once. I’ll change.” James was crying, fat angry tears. He hated himself. How could he be so cruel? You had made him feel alive again for the first time in what felt like forever. When you left, he told you to stay gone. What if you thought he meant it? He had, at the time. What if this was the final straw, and you decided he wouldn’t be able to apologize enough?

His head fell into the mattress and the words were muffled. “Please let them come back. Please…” 

You opened the door. You had fought with yourself on whether or not to return, if this madness was even worth it. He had been so hurtful, and you had told yourself that you would never find yourself in this position. What if he rejected you again? Told you to leave with your tail between your legs? You’d never recover. 

Your fears melted when you saw James’ tearstained face swing up from the mattress. He rose to his feet and moved towards you in a flash. He placed his hands on your arms but seemed to restrain himself from more. The tears were still flowing, and you felt your own eyes grow hot and prickly. 

“Oh, my darling,” he said with a shaky, breathy voice. “You came back.” 

You tentatively placed a hand on his cheek, wiping a tear with your thumb. “You missed me?” 

He gave a watery smile and snuffled an affirmative. 

“You said I wasn’t pretty enough for all this,” you ventured, as those words had been echoing in your head. The fear and sadness that immediately flashed across James’s face was worth it, as he immediately pulled you in for a near-suffocating embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it,” his eyes were pulled wide, though his chin was tucked behind you and you couldn’t see his face. Your hand had moved to his hair. “I’m obsessed with you, my darling. I just wanted to hurt you… and it’s not fair. I’m sorry. You’re the most beautiful thing in the world.” You could feel his body, wracked with tension and sobs. 

You moved a hand comfortingly across his back. He seemed to relax a bit, but the sobbing only slowed. “James… I believe you. I’m sorry too,” he moved his head to look at you and shook it in protest. 

“Never apologize to me. You came back.” His face creased at those words and once again you were reminded of how desperately he had been praying. You buried your head in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He was stuck in a loop.

You smiled, tears running down your own face, and moved him and yourself to the bed. You both settled in for a long goodnight of soft kisses and more apologies, cuddling into the wee hours of the morning. 

[dontbotherwiththepronunciation]

☕️ OTP: Nameless ladies

(Yes, I am targeting you with this) ≖‿≖

Your emoji looks like Nanami smiling before realising she is adopted.

2.

Th€yne? Thram$ay? Gre¥$now? Nah man, let's Stan the true unproblematic hot Ironborn x thirsty Mainlander OTP:

Captain of the Myraham's daughter x Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter.

I want them to hook up. Let the captain of the Myraham's daughter live her erotic saltwife fantasy with the one (1) woman in Asha's crew that we know of, the one ironborn hot murderous pirate who would actually understand the struggle that is to act as a narrative prop for some authorial entity to showcase one of the Greyjoy's siblings lack of ideological integrity.

I have been marinating in my own theories with little to no contact with the fandom since 2016. I have a lot of weird non-sensical thoughts that might be overreaching in their significance but you know that already and the worst possible thing that could develop from posting this is that people will laugh at it.

I think that Kyra and Urri serve as similar narrative props for Theon & Aeron, I think Jeyne & Falia also serve as similar narrative props for Theon & Aeron and I also think that the Captain of the Myraham's Daughter & Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter serve as similar props for Theon & Asha.

In Theon's case the concept of the captain of the myraham's daughter has already been discussed countless times and in all honesty I don't have much to add to it. Yes, he does treat her rather disrespectfully, he does take advantage of her in a way, he doesn't really care for her physical pleasure, he is dismissive of her uneasiness and has a few unkind thoughts about her which made him so loathsome, but all in all I wouldn't call him abusive or violent. Just disappointing.

There is something unbelievably funny about how bad that sexual encounter goes though. The captain of the myraham's daughter is endearingly enthusiastic about the concept of thraldom and salt wives and even begs Theon to take her with him, something he denies her.

Why though? He has been romanticising the Old Way (Or what he thinks he understands about this idolised and romanticised view of the Old Way) the entire journey and if he truly considers himself to be one of the exemplary Ironborns who would take what they wanted with no qualms, why does he leave her there? She could have even served as an example of virility or status, a mark to say "I am Ironborn. I haven't forgotten our history and culture."

But no, he just leaves her there to the mercy of an angry father.

I know she has been read as a narrative vessel hundreds of times and she is one, but the message behind her presence varies depending on interpretation and, to me, this could be (among other things) a way of displaying Theon's subconscious lack of ideological compromise, which we see often through the text (his reaction to the raids on the stony shore, his disappointment at how commonly the other Ironborn treat him, Smiler, etc.)

To me Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter is also evidence for an ideological divide concerning Ironborn culture and tradition, but she is there to signify Asha's, not Theon's.

Ironborn culture is so interesting to me and I tend to think of it more fondly than I'm probably supposed to because of hundreds of reasons I've already told you about and one of those is that it allows women more liberties than most of Westeros but still chains them to a place of submission compared to men. A woman might be the captain of her own ship, which would make her a queen if going by Theon.

"If every captain was a king aboard his own ship, as was often said, it was small wonder they named the islands the land of ten thousand kings." (Theon | ACOK)

I think on the video games they could even become priestesses for the Drowned God, so if going by that as canon world-building (we shouldn't but it would be cool) they could also find a place in religious organisations. They can be stewards. The only two female stewards we have met in asoiaf are Iron Islanders (Manifesting for Noseless Jeyne to become Pyke or Harlaw's steward at the end of ADOS).

And yet...the most gender-non-conforming Ironborn woman we've met, asides from Asha...doesn't even get a name.

It seems curious to me how Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter is only known as that: "Hagen's daughter" and this coming from ASHA out of all characters who is actively struggling with her culture's sexism in order to get the seastone chair for herself.

Most Iroborn characters are referred to by mentioning some physical feature or disability accompanying their name, but in her case, instead of her name, we get her father's name used with a possessive apostrophe.

The main difference between Asha's character archetype and Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter's, is that one of them is lowborn and the other not, which could be a way of highlighting how class differences still exist among Ironborn, who consider themselves to be equals in their superiority of other races but still have a feudal hierarchy, but in all honesty the class issue is (in my opinion) overshadowed by how both characters identities are so depending on their fathers.

The text often remarks on Asha as someone who was "groomed" (the very use of that word in fanon text already has some unconscious troublesome connotation I don't agree with) into her personality by her father.

This girl forgets herself. Balon let her believe she was a man." "Balon’s sons are dead. All I see is Balon’s little daughter!" (Aeron | AFFC)

Never do they ever speak of her as "Asha" when it is about her wanting the crown; it's about Balon's daughter. (In a way it reminds me of the Northerner's going to save Arya and also not referring to her as such. They speak of "Ned's girl")

But anyway, I never really expected them to refer to Asha as Asha, but I would have hoped Asha would have been conscious enough of her struggles to recognise her fellow warrior woman as more than just her father's shadow.

Whenever people speculate on how Asha's interactions with other gender-non-conforming women (ex. Brienne, Arya) might look like, I just think of Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter. and wonder whether this comes from a place of class privilege or unconsciousness against the thing she is consciously fighting against.

I have no idea what Asha's endgame might look like and usually, I like seeing her as Theon's puppeteer, but if we have to witness her settling to be the unofficial ruler or perhaps not even a ruler at all, it would be sad to see her haunted by her father's shadow. It also makes me wonder whether she really ever had a chance at the Kingsmoot.

Whatever, another possibility I like to fantasise about is simply that Asha and Hagen's beautiful red haired daughter hooked up, dated, had a messy breakup and now Asha is trying to distance herself from her.

That's a funnier alternative. Would also add angst and maybe some comedic potential to the nameless ladies OTP.

Ship, ship, ship, I ship.

[nossbean]

Ooh, I'd like to know more about Lion Husband!

Yaaay! this fic is one i am super excited for whenever i have time enough to get deep enough into it! It's also one I've posted several snippets of over the last year and a bit. So for years I've wanted to do a fairy tale something, anything, and one day when driving, Crane WIfe 3 by The Decemberists came on shuffle. I'd heard it roughly 634 times before but this time something about it struck me about help and harm and need and desperation.

In this, Jaime inherits from his mother the ability to turn into a lion, whose various body parts can be repurposed: his claws turn to swords for Tywin's conquest, his roar turns to command for Cersei's ambitions, fur from his mane turns to protection for Tyrion. Each of these things hurts him, takes it out of him. And indeed, when he loses a hand in battle, the requests for yet more claws, for yet one more roar, bring him to the brink of death. He stands at the edge of a cliff one day, morose, when the sea rises to take him.

He is found, a lion with a lost paw, on the shores of Tarth. Brienne is Evenstar before she's ready -- her mother, the former Evenstar, was lost in a storm at sea. Tarth is in a bad way financially, raids along its coast, and isolation and the refusal of help from the mainland make for leaner and leaner years.

Jaime can make means, if only the demand is made. Brienne will never, ever, ask of anyone that which they cannot give without harm to themselves.

Here's the rough first part of chapter one, when Brienne is woken to see what's been found on the shore (cw: description of an injured animal)

“My lady.” 

Brienne opened her eyes to near pitch. The sharp crack of winter rain sounded on the windows, followed by wind shaking the shutters as vigorous as a giant of old had taken hold.

They’d need replacing by next winter. Her stomach clenched. Another expense. 

Perhaps they might simply fill in the windows. They could reuse stone from the crumbling watch tower, employ labourers from the village — a better use of funds —

“My lady,” a more insistent whisper through the door, accompanied by a quiet knock. Not the storm that woke her then.

Brienne sat up, pushed away her covers. Clenched her teeth against the immediate chill. “Yes?” she called, glancing to the fire. There wasn’t a glowing cinder to be seen, she’d been hoping she’d get at least another night from the last log. 

“You’re needed at the bay, my lady.” Urgent. Pia was rarely ruffled. She referenced the bay near the Hall, not their main port, so the problem must not be a threat to the Isle for once. Small mercy.

Brienne glanced again at the windows. Perhaps the barest lightening, around the edges. The bay was treacherous enough in a storm in daylight. “A light, please,” Brienne called, then squinted against the soft spill as Pia opened the door. “Then tell them I’m coming. Thank you, Pia.”

The lamp light was reluctant on Goodwin, highlighting only the flat of his cap and the hunch of his shoulders, stooped under an outcropping at the bottom of the path, smoking. He looked up as Brienne stepped from the muddy slip of the path to the packed wet of the sand, scowling disapprovingly from under his patch. “Thought you’d want your say,” he said by way of greeting. “Figured you’d not let me live it down, if I just did what was needed.”

Brienne smiled a little against the icy wet wind on her face. Goodwin was gruff, and moody, and his face was craggier than the stones he leaned on, and Brienne met his grey eye and he smoothed the edge on her worry, conjured the gentlest brush of warmth back into her belly. “I see. Thank you.”

Flicking his cigarette to be taken by the wind, he grunted and looked away from her thanks before pushing away from the stone face, a protected corner where only the bravest of rain had dared find him. Goodwin tugged impatiently at the lantern pole stuck into the sand, stomping forward with nary a glance when the lantern swung wildly with new freedom. He said, “It’s over here.”

Brienne fell into step beside him, never quite shedding the feeling of being seven and looking up at him with nervous wonder as he handed her a training sword. Goodwin was half a foot shorter than her now, and getting shorter every year. 

“What is it?” she asked.

Goodwin gestured, and Brienne followed his motion. In the gloom, a huddled mass, the errant peak of shuttered flame when one person or other moved. Strange, a low rumble from the same direction, though this storm had yet to offer thunder. Brienne squinted as the winds turned, buffeting her back, but all she could see was the shadowy shape of people in heavy coats, shifting uncomfortably and staring at something on the ground between them.

“Move it!” Goodwin barked and a path cleared. Their nervous energy seeming to catch at her just as the wind whipped at her coat, tried its best to steal away her scarf. Brienne forced herself tall, her shoulders back, her strides even, as she made her way between them, the last person moving aside —

“Is that — a lion?”

He was enormous. 

He was heartbreaking. 

He was lying on his side, fur so sodden Brienne felt the cold damp as though it burrowed into her own bones. She gestured to one of the women and she handed over a lantern Brienne swung forward to get a better look. Those ribs. Prominent, shadows draped between each bone, slipping to pool into the hollow of his belly. His hind legs fell loose behind him, and taken with the rattle of each breath, sadness tunneled in Brienne’s aching chest.

His long tail flicked and she gasped — hadn’t realised he was awake — looked back to his head and swallowed. Half his face was pressed into the sand, clear paths where the tide had washed over him, then made quick work to escape back to the sea. His one visible eye watched her. Furious, and hurt.

She hadn’t realized she’d taken a step towards him until his sharp teeth bared, the low rumble she’d mistaken earlier sent from his chest to roll over the sand and vibrate from the soles of her feet to deposit ice in her belly.

“You’re safe,” she told him quietly from around new fear, and took another step. Regretted it as he drew a heavy breath which shuddered and filled his belly, grotesque, before he raised his head. It took so much obvious effort and determination that Brienne winced, before he looked at her directly, bared his teeth fully, sharp and long and dangerous still, and snarled, freezing her in place. 

“Best to put it out of its misery,” Goodwin muttered at her shoulder. Brienne whipped her head to scowl at him, and the lion acted almost as though he understood, his snarl louder, sharper. “It’s lost a paw, Brienne,” Goodwin said, quieter now. Brienne looked back, startled. The lion shifted, again as though he understood, but no, it must just be instinct to hide an injury. Too late though, Brienne saw how he leaned heavily on his right elbow, where his leg ended only in a bloody stump. She saw it now, too, in the lantern light and the slow greying of dawn. The sand under him was deeper, darker. A flicker of flame provoked burgundy. 

“Bleeding out,” Goodwin added meaningfully. “What is a lion without a paw?”

“Still alive,” Brienne said, turning to face him fully. Goodwin sighed. “Are you helping me bring him?”

“Aye,” he said, violently stabbing his lantern into the wet sand. “You know what to do.”

Brienne’s hands tightened to fists and she nodded. Turned back to find the lion’s eyes trained on her. A clever cat, she thought, taking a step forward. Seemed almost to despise her. She smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t be the first,” she told him. The lion’s ears flicked, eyes narrowed. She wondered what colour his mane might be, dry, and in the light. It hung now, in sodden clumps around his face, looking heavy and uncomfortable. “To think me unnatural,” she whispered to the question she imagined he might ask. She’d had too little sleep, assigning human responses. But if someone had asked her now, she’d have said confidently that the lion had narrowed his eyes at this. 

She took another step.

The lion’s eyes dropped to her feet, and then his teeth appeared again as he looked up. 

“I haven’t got much to offer you,” she went on. The lion’s ears flicked again. “Only kindness.”

Goodwin was quick and exacting and if Brienne imagined some hint of terror in the lion’s eyes just before his head dropped, it was only that, her imagination.

Endless WIP meme

[americanwh0resstuff]

God knows I tried

Chapter IV

Paul shifted on Liz's slightly messy couch, watching her walk over with two wine glasses, he looked around, seeing the photographs and papers scattered across the room.

"I'm sorry for the mess..." She motioned to a small printed picture on the table. "I was thinking of blowing that one up for the funeral."

He took the photograph in his hand, an old black and white picture of a young woman, hair in curls blowing in the wind as she sat on the dock, the belle visible behind her. Liz frowned slightly, sitting down next to him and looking at the paper in his hands.

"She was so pretty, when I was a kid people would always tell my friends how they looked like their parents, I never had that, and god do I wish I looked like her..." she trailed off, smiling softly.

Paul lifted his glass, holding it up to her.

"To your mom."

———

A few days passed, it was now Tuesday, the day of her mothers funeral and the day before Ash Wednesday, Liz and Paul had agreed to hold the service today, as her mother loved baking, and today they could celebrate by eating her recipes and sharing happy memories.

Liz got to st Patrick's early, setting up the white roses and lilies, and chrysanthemums, her moms favourite, at least she said, although Liz always had a sneaking suspicion that she only said that cuz they were cheap…

Earlier that morning Sarah had brought the casket in along with some morticians from the mainland, sharing a cup of coffee as Liz watched over her mother, checking to see if her makeup was just the way she wanted, moving loose strands of curls from her face, it was eerie, yet relaxing.

Now it was silent and empty in the sanctuary, she walked up to the open casket, sitting down on the steps in front of it.

“I’m so sorry mom…” she paused “-I should have been here…” The familiar tidal wave of catholic guilt came crashing down, tears threatening to stream down and ruin her makeup.

Guilt for not being there for her mother, guilt that almost everyone in this town was prepping for the funeral in one way or another, Annie, Riley’s mom, had offered to make all of the recipes from the small notes left by her own mom. Erin and Riley were out picking up the printed off memorial cards, and of course, father Paul had been cleaning the church since the early hours of the morning, he’d even left a flask of hot coffee on the front pew with a small note.

“Liz, I hope this brings you at least some comfort,”

He wasn’t there when she arrived, probably trying to give her some space while he prepares for the ceremony.

—————

Now she stood at the doors of the white run down church, the bells tolling above her, deafening.

Father Paul had already greeted her, a calming hand on her shoulder, Liz thought it lingered just a little too long, but she was grieving, obviously overthinking everything.

She stood there, deadpanned, as the congregation pass by, father Paul greeting them one by one

“May the father of mercies be with you, the god of all consolation, be with you.”

After all church goers shuffled in, father Paul motioned for Liz to walk with him to the front pew, watching her take a seat before taking a knee at the steps, then moving to behing the pulpit.

He spoke loud and demanding, yet it simply flew over her head.

“In life, Margaret Bates, cherished the gospel of Christ, may Christ now greet her with these words of eternal life.”

The crowds of mourners respond,

“Come, blessed of my father.”

Elizabeth didn’t even open her mouth.

She sat in silence, not paying attention to the sermon, her eyes were fixed on the large cross behind father Paul, or I guess passed it. It wasn’t until she felt his hand in her shoulder that she snapped out of it.

“Liz, it’s time for your eulogy.”

He shot her a sympathetic smile, taking her hand as she stood up from the pew, letting him lead her to the pulpit.

She cleared her throat, her hands gripping the hard wood before her, legs shaking like jelly as she looked upon the crowd. It took her breath away, such a small community, but the church was full, so much so that the doors were left open, people standing outside to pay their respects.

“I-wow, I just want to thank everyone for coming… my mother was a quiet woman, but I guess she made her mark…” Her eyes shifted across the papers before her, she’d made some notes on key things she wanted to say, but her mind just wandered.

“My mother never had kids of her own, but she took me in, showed me love, took care of me and never made me believe that I couldn’t do anything I set my mind to, she supported me no matter what, pushed me to set my standards high, she told me this island was too small for me, but now looking at everybody here today, I can see that I have all I could need…” She paused, suddenly feeling her stomach drop, feeling all these eyes on her, it was like the air was stagnant.

This was ridiculous, she gave lectures to hundreds of students, taught classes to some of the brightest minds about the most complex theories, but now, just speaking about her own mom, she felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

She turned her head to see father Paul looking at her, giving her a soft smile.

She took a deep breath.

“Shoot for the stars, worst case scenario, you land on the moon.”

The rest of the speech felt like a blur, her eyes glued to the back of the church as she spoke from the heart, it was only when the lump in her throat became too uncomfortable that she stopped, thanked the congregation and took her seat back in the pews.

As father Paul finished his blessings he encouraged everyone to go to the rec centre, enjoy the home baked goods and share memories, it was time for the burial, and her final wish was to be alone with her daughter, the thought of which made Elizabeth feel guilty and grateful.

[monsterritory]

What are some of your feelings about awamdream? Any writing about it or drabbles? The ppl need food

Ask and I shall feed you. Also you are so in luck I was literally just thinking about them.

Every Dream ship has a very specific dynamic in my head, and I think AwesamDream is the most versatile of them. Because depending on your mood, you could either have Sam hating Dream so much that he loves him, or loving him so much that he hates him. I see him as generally obsessed with Dream. It was probably just an innocent, platonic lil crush before the prison. 

But Pandora's Vault introduced Sam to the concept of Dream beaten up and crying under him, and something inside of him switched when he felt like he was in control of somebody else. Ironically this is what Dream feels towards Tommy, which Sam despises him for. How dare Dream obsess over another man? Only Sam is allowed to do that. When Dream stalks and daydreams about hurting Tommy - it's wrong and obsessive, but when Sam does it to Dream - he's not doing anything wrong because he is a good guy and therefore incapable of being wrong. 

More under the cut.

Sidenote. The Drunz dynamic in my head is unwavering trust and loyalty. They can trust each other like nobody else. They have killed and revived each other for science, and for kinks. They feel confident putting their lives into each other's claws and being at each other's mercy. But at the same time they have a very healthy amount of life outside of each other, making them a perfect match, spare for the fact that they don't live together. 

But let’s say for the sake of this AU I’m crafting here that they do. 

Dream moves in with Punz after he escapes. Not into Punz’s house - into a new base far away from the Mainland. Dream is very traumatized, and Punz wants nothing more than to help him. They don’t even have to try hard - they just treat Dream with human decency again, and it slowly starts to remind Dream that he’s a person with a right to be loved. 

(Another sidenote. My Dream is an impala hybrid, Punz is a coyote hybrid, and Sam is a creeper/mantis hybrid). 

It takes a few months and Dream realizes that he’s doing so much better than he did before. That is until he comes downstairs to find Punz arguing with Sam. God knows how he tracked them down, but the matter of fact is he is here, and Punz is yelling at him to leave before they kill him. 

Dream stays hidden by the doorway, listening to what they’re saying. 

“You got some balls showing up here without any armour. You know I could just take your last life, right here, right now?” 

“I know, I know. I'm not here to fight or harm anyone. Punz, I just need to see Dream. I need him back.” 

“Sure, let me go get him.” Punz jokes, sarcastically, “Do you really think he’s gonna go back to the prison just because you’ll ask him to?” 

“This isn’t about the prison!” Desperation is apparent in Sam’s voice. “It’s about me. I realized… I need him.” 

Punz continues telling Sam to leave, but then Dream interrupts the conversation, saying that he’s actually willing to give Sam a chance. It’s just that… 

“I’m not the same guy that escaped that cell.” Dream says to Sam. “I learned what I’m worth now. If you want to be with me - it’s Punz you’ll be competing with for a right to even be around me. And Sam, I promise to you, there will be many hoops to jump through, and there will be rules and expectations you haven’t even dreamt of.” 

Sam nods his head enthusiastically. He’ll do anything. He thinks he’ll die if he doesn’t get to touch Dream again. 

His desire to hurt Dream has grown into a desire to protect him over the course of the months that they spent apart. To hold him in his arms, and maybe it’s the Warden side of him that has merged in a tango with the side of him that’s obsessed with Dream. He wants to be the right kind of Warden this time. 

During the same scene I imagine Sam tries to touch Dream - not with any malicious intent. He just misses him so much. Maybe Dream walks past him, but trips over something on the floor, and Sam catches him before he falls, gripping his hand by the wrist. Dream ends up pushing him off, startled, then suddenly yells for him to leave, now, right now, immediately. Punz stands between them, emphasizing how important it is that Sam leaves now. 

Sam doesn’t get it. Until he hears ragged breathing come from Dream. He’s having a panic attack, from something as small as having Sam grip his hand so that he doesn’t fall over. 

He may know better now, but some traumatic events are still too freshly engraved in his brain. 

Sam can’t help but feel hurt. He’s finally seeing just how deeply he fucked up the man he just realized he loves with all of his soul. 

His path to earning Dream’s trust again would take at least a 300k hurt/comfort slowburn. But this is all you’re getting from me tonight.

[makerofmadness]

RUN AWAY IS STARTING HELL YEAH LOVE THAT SONG

ALSO UH PO’S HERE-

guess someone got her down from that tree

THE FINAL BOSS

“Po, kill...” that line tho-

teletubby fight

seriously though Run Away slaps listen to it right now

this one doesn’t have lyrics tho :(

SHE CAN PUNCH THE GROUND AND ROCKS SHOOT OUT

why is her health bar so big though

SECOND PHASE-

AND NOW THE LYRICS START????-

also po’s a necromorph know and GOD WHAT THE-

OK SHE HAS FIRE ATTACKS NOW  HARNESSING THE ELEMENTS LIKE DEDEDE BUT LIKE THAT FXCKING SCREAM ATTACK-

just screams and shoots darkness at you or something-

OH CRAP THE FINAL PHASE-

[autumnslance]

Prompt #30: Sojourn

When Zahra Murheen was very young, her dancer’s feet itched to see new lands and meet new people. So she joined a trade trip across the strait to Corvos, despite her mother’s protests.

“You’ll understand, when you’ve daughters of your own,” her mother sighed, but didn’t stop her. How could she, when she had wandered far in her own youth? Zahra was yet untethered to hearth and home. Now was the time to allow her traveler’s heart to wander free.

She traveled through Corvos, Dalmasca, and Nanxia, in those halcyon days when Garlemald was yet a northern nation no one knew nor cared much about.

She fell in love with her brother’s friend, traveling the trade routes with them, and eventually returned home, belly beginning to swell with their first son, the rumors of coming war on the mainland whispering behind them as they returned to their bright island, foreign travels complete.

This was home, and while glad to have seen more, she was happier to remain.

—

When Emelia Ranaz was young, her bard’s heart yearned to see new lands and meet new people. She convinced her cousin to take her along on his trade trip to Eorzea. She heard the land was soaked in aether due to the source of all magic flowing from the lake near its heart. She heard that true bards sang among the trees of its giant mystical forest.

Zahra sighed, but did not try to stop her youngest daughter; how could she, when she too had traveled in her youth? Emelia scorned the attentions of the suitors who tried to woo her; she was yet young, untethered and free to live for herself.

“Do not worry for me, Mama,” Emelia laughed on the docks of Yedlihmad.

“How can I not?” Zahra asked, kissing her cheek. “You’ll understand, when you’ve daughters of your own.”

—

When Zahra Ranaz was in her late middle years, she waited at the gates of Davarresh, watching the western road. The sun sank low beyond the mountains, its last orange light dazzling her eyes. But she continued to watch, waiting on her nephew’s cart and the precious cargo it carried.

What should have been a brief journey had become nearly thirteen years of letters and a life lived far away, in a cold northern land where the people saw dragons as enemies instead of divinities. Where her daughter, who here had scorned every would-be lover, had built a family.

A selfish part of Zahra was glad her daughter was coming home, bringing her children with her. But Merciful Sisters, that her baby had to know such heartbreak to make it so!

The wagon came into view, and she trembled in anticipation. They were still yalms away from the gate when a familiar—yet not—woman leapt from the front seat and dashed into Zahra’s open arms.

“Mama!” Emelia sobbed into her shoulder; relief, happiness, and grief striking her all at once.

“You’re home,” Zahra whispered, holding her tight. “Your journey is complete, my love.”

—

When Aeryn Striker was young, her adventurous spirit wished to travel to new lands at her brother’s side, beginning with the realm of their birth.

Her mother wouldn’t let her.

“You’ll understand, when you’ve daughters of your own,” Emelia said, through the tears and shouting on both sides.

Zahra would not interfere, but privately felt Emelia was wrong. After all, hadn’t they both traveled in their youths, learning more of the world and themselves?

Yet Zahra’s adventures in Ilsabard and Othard had turned out differently than the idyllic years Emelia had spent in Coerthas—a life ripped away by an ancient war that she had spent everything to get her children away from.

And now they wanted to return to that chaotic land.

Emelia had a daughter of her own—and feared for the heartbreak of losing her, for the heartbreak her girl might suffer in her journey. She couldn’t stop Zaine—that boy lived to be contrary in his oddly affable way—but she could stop Aeryn.

Zahra was disappointed when Aeryn gave in to her mother’s demands, hoping that despite everything, her granddaughter found her happiness someday.

—

When Emelia Eadir passed away, Aeryn left on her own adventures. Older than her grandmother and mother had been, yet still untethered to hearth or home, oblivious to the advances of would-be suitors. She left to find her brother, but her dancer’s feet and bard’s heart also ached to learn new songs, to meet new people, to see new sights.

Zahra said her goodbyes, watching as the cart carried Aeryn west to Yedlihmad.

She had the feeling that this journey would not be a short one.

—

When Zahra Ranaz was very old, her granddaughter returned to Thavnair.

It was only for a visit.

This was no longer Aeryn Striker’s home; she was yet untethered to any one land or location, her adventurer’s spirit leading her from one place to the next, as free as the wind and water she had ever been attuned to.

If she was tied to anything, it was to the people she traveled with, a family of circumstance and choice, their bonds stronger for it.

They came and went as need and whimsy both took them, helping anyone they could, saving the world through actions small and large. And when their great mission was finished, they scattered across the world, physically separate but hearts ever aligned, always ready to answer each others’ calls.

Zahra smiled; her own traveling days were long behind her, yet hearing Aeryn’s stories—hearing stories of Aeryn—she felt that old itch in her own feet. Or perhaps simply a feeling akin to it, willing now to merely sympathize and live vicariously through those tales.

She watched as Aeryn strode away, to wherever her next adventure took her, not knowing when she might return—and at peace with that.

With the western sun in her eye, Zahra offered a prayer on Aeryn’s behalf:

“May your journey never end.”

[issagleysuniverse]

A sample of Something I'm Writing, Looking for Feedback

The Great Freeze began almost 15 years ago, Caused by forces men tried to understand, but didn’t realize they caused themselves. At Least that's what the remnants of the ‘media’ think. In the span of almost 15 minutes, A normal day went from 60 degrees and sunny, to a bone chilling -40 degrees, and it's only getting colder. Countries like The United States Tried to install counter-measures against The Great Freeze, but the men working on the projects froze to death before they even got the materials unloaded, those that didn’t freeze got torn to shreds by something out in the negative hellscape. Few people managed to get off of the mainland, hoping that sunnier pastures were for them. They never made it off the boat. The best thing for us to do is either wait, or join our Kin in the piles of white death on the ground. I write this not as a warning, since that has long passed, this is effectively my obituary. I was attempting to gather wood for a fire, since when the freeze hit, I was locked out of the warm bunkers, and I broke my left leg when snow gave way to a subterranean cave. Surprisingly, the cave around me is warm, and not the hypothermic type. I cannot see my breath down here. I pray I’m alone whilst writing this but, the darkness around me of what looks to be a former city street could be watching me. I doubt I will be found but if I am, this is my story. Locked out of a relief bunker, I managed to do pretty well for myself, making my way to what was New York, Now a Frozen over artificial mountain range of snow,metal,bodies,and glass. I wanted to go north to Canada, but with the ice on the road, my car’s gasoline tank freezing the precious fuel left inside, I wasn't going anywhere. Part of me wanted to give up, but the little voice in the back of my head kept me going. I decided to take shelter in an old office building, since it was at least going to be reliable for a few years. At this time there were people like myself still outside, either scavenging, killing or freezing. Some folk just started to wander, a glazed look in their eyes as they shuffled. I paid them no mind at the time but that quickly changed when they started getting aggressive. The world almost seemed to just stop when snow began to fall, even the animals didn’t want anything to do with the cold. All sorts of life just seemed to quiet down, as to not let the frost find them. Of course, the frost always did find them. It was cruel, reports of deer dropping dead in the middle of city streets from hypothermia, and birds falling from the sky, into the permanent frost below. That was when we were still getting relief packages. Then the second wave of bad news hit: unlike the aggression shown before, folks began to almost relish the thought of bringing someone else down with them into the snow. Even the Animals get like this. These things which I have called “Frost binders” haven’t been seen in a long time, mostly because their entire MO was suicide with extra steps, but Frost Binder encounters still are a common enough occurrence. Now I just see it as mercy killings.  I managed to get out of the city about 10 years ago. Once I started to notice something odd, the buildings around me began to groan and creak in an agonizing way. I managed to find a garage containing a freshly fueled, Thawed car, and left before I could find out why the buildings were singing their song. I went south and found myself passing Philly. I didn’t stay long when I heard that bands of marauders had broken open the relief bunkers and massacred the inhabitants. I tried to keep the car going but it broke down right outside Aberdeen. I decided to set up residency here, and decided to use an abandoned little cabin right by Swan creek. I managed to get a few blankets and food from what once was a nearby market, now a frozen shell of what it once was.

[melishade]

What about Optimus prime landing at the sea port when Grisha and his comrades were going to turn into titan and Eren Kruger would turn into Attack titan? Would there been any change to the timeline?

See, this is something that I can work with. Because it includes members of the cast including Grisha, Keith, and a younger Erwin, Mike, and Hanji. It will be tricky but here we go.

So Optimus gets dropped off near the port where the Restorationists get turned into titans. He sees them get turned into titans excluding Grisha. So Dina is already a titan and walking about. Optimus hears Grisha crying out, begging to not be thrown off the wall to be fed to the titan still lingering at the bottom. Optimus reacts before Kruger can and fires at the top of the wall. The blast blows Kruger, Gross and Grisha back, and Gross ends up falling off the wall in response. Optimus then sees Gross getting attacked by the titan below, and before he can react and stop the titan from eating him, the humans are firing at him with their pistols. Grisha is scrambling, trying to get to cover, Optimus is shielding himself from the attacks, and Kruger, not seeing this outcome with the Attack Titan's power decides to make the most of it. If there was a chance this could be utilized, then he needed to take it.

Kruger transforms into titan form and kills the humans on the wall in one fell swoop. Optimus can't help but stare in shock at the titan transformation, and the Prime sees Kruger turn his attention to the ship and attack it. Optimus scrambles to the other side and is mortified to see Kruger killing all the humans, crushing them into bloody paste and throwing their bodies into the sea. Optimus can't help but aim his blaster at Kruger as he's ready to kill the last Marleyan soldier, forcing Kruger to pause in his assault. Optimus demands that he let the human go, but Kruger refuses to. He speaks in titan form, explaining that they turned innocent humans into titans for eternity, with no hope of every regaining their humanity. Kruger asks Optimus if they deserve mercy for that. Optimus retorts that every sentient beings deserves an opportunity for redemption. Kruger retorts that they just attacked him, but he was willing to advocate for them? Kruger proclaims that sentimentality would kill all three of them. They do not have time for mercy, and if they let him go, he will no doubt tell the Marleyans back on the mainland, and all three of them would be killed. He had no time, and he had to be ruthless to save them all. Kruger crushes the Marleyan and throws the body into the see. Before Optimus can fire, Kruger pulls himself out of his titan form and looks Optimus in the eye, challenging Optimus, demanding to know if the titan would kill him. Optimus is hesitating and Kruger is annoyed at him, flat out calling Optimus a hypocrite. He tells him he's too merciful in a cruel world like this, and that accepting his help to save the Eldians would be a waste of time. Optimus demands to know what he is talking about, but Kruger coughs up blood in response. Optimus then sees Grisha running to Kruger, his arms still bound behind his back. Kruger ignores the concerned looks and cuts his binds, and Optimus sees the lack of fingers on Grisha and is mortified.

Kruger, still wanting Optimus as an ally, explains his story. All of it. He's laying his sins to bear while also explaining the situation. And while Optimus is just getting a dump of information without him having time to properly process it, Grisha is grappling with the fact that Kruger is ordering him to carry out his mission and steal the Founding Titan with his power. Grisha doesn’t want to, and Optimus is retort king to give Grisha a choice, but Kruger reminds Optimus of the situation and reminds Grisha of the people that he had lost. Grisha must take on the mantle so their sacrifices are not in vain. Optimus proclaims this is just nationalism; Kruger proclaims it is a fight for freedom.

This does take a while, but it is something that Grisha ultimately accepts, still motivated by Kruger’s words. Optimus knows for a fact that Grisha is going to be in over his head and inexperienced out of his mind, and tells Kruger that he will be guiding Grisha towards a path of peace. Kruger proclaims that Optimus has no ability to dictate that. Optimus sees the ritual, and is now left with Grisha as the new titan shifter.

Optimus takes Grisha to the walls for his own safety. Grisha firsts asks to find Dina in Titan form so that she’s put out of her misery. Optimus and Grisha do go searching in the fight, but they do find her, and Optimus puts Dina out of her misery with Grisha’s pleading, saying he didn’t want her to suffer a life like this, and he didn’t want to burden her with the power of the titans.

However, the two do need a plan to get into the walls, since the Walls have no memory of the outside world and it would cause panic if they saw Optimus. Grisha decides to fake amnesia, and say that Optimus saved him from titans. Optimus would be able to provide the cover story for them both, and the walls would be more trusting to Optimus if they hear he saved a human from a Titan threat. They arrive at the walls, and there is much more visible and audible panic and surprise coming from the Survey Corps and everyone else.

-A few notes:

-Grisha is under much more scrutiny, since Keith isn’t able to cover up Grisha being outside the walls. The people from the inner city are monitoring him, specifically Uri, but can’t reach him because Optimus is guarding him and keeping him safe.

-After a public trial and some major convincing from Keith and rookie Erwin about the advantages of a powerful titan on their side, Optimus and Grisha are placed under the Survey Corps watch. Grisha ends up becoming a medic for that branch in the military.

-Keith can’t help but feel hopeful at the prospect of a Titan that protects humanity. It’s ironic, but he believes they can make real change. Meanwhile, a rookie Erwin sees Optimus and realizes that his father’s theory is holding more ground and support.

-Fun fact: Hanji doesn’t like Optimus, at least not yet. Hanji has stated that they used to hate titans before kicking the head of a dead one and finding it to be light and hollow, but that doesn’t happen yet, so they look at Optimus with contempt for the time being.

-Mike isn’t buying Grisha’s amnesia story.

-Grisha’s entrance into the walls, does bring the disease like in the original story, but this time, him curing the disease is where he first met Carla. Not at the bar that he and Keith were at. Their relationship develops differently as a result.

-Optimus questions how Grisha intends to find the royal family and implores him to try and find a path to peace through cooperation.

(The thing is with this story, it can take a lot of different turns. Kruger might’ve been killed by Optimus. Optimus could have arrived too late. Etc. But this would be an interesting timeline to tackle. Optimus and Grisha working together, Hanji not liking Optimus, Grisha having a much more difficult time finding the royal family, Dina not existing, etc. We’ll see where this one goes.)

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

May I Have This Dance?

Requested by @fatherpaulsimp whom I thank dearly.

Apparently the american way to dance blues is much different from what they teach you in the czech voluntarily mandatory ballroom dancing classes? I only know that, though, so...

Here’s the song, amazingly sung by The King

May I Have This Dance? - 1K

You would never have guessed how many things were stored in the small rectory. When Father Paul asked you to help him sort through Monsignor Pruitt's things you were obviously more than willing to help. The old priest would be staying on the mainland in a nursing facility and so Paul wanted to move some of his things there to make him feel more at home. When citizens of Crockett Island learned that they wouldn't be getting their Monsignor back some of them decided to visit him in his new home. One of them was Bev, obviously, but then there were Annie and Ed, Erin and also the Scraboroughs. Leeza was very excited to visit the old priest, as she hoped he would remember her and see that she didn't need her wheelchair anymore. You actually saw the family come back on the Belle, all of them had puffy eyes and big smiles on their faces. He remembered.

Now though, you sat cross-legged in the rectory living area going through a box after box Father Paul produced from god knows where. There were trinkets, old postcards and newspapers. You put some of the more touching cards to the side, surely Monsignor Pruitt would like to read them to remind himself that he was very much loved. And then something caught your eye. On the very bottom of the box were some stiff pieces of paper - and on closer inspection you found out they were actually cases of LP records. "Hey!" you called out to Paul who also was elbow deep in another box. "Wouldn't take the Monsignor for an Elvis fan!" You waved the record above your head. Father Paul just smiled at you and carried on with his work.

On the cover there was a list of songs the record contained. You were delighted to find one of them was 'You don't have to say you love me'. Immediately you started to look for a record player with your eyes, and after a while, you finally spotted it. It was sitting on a low shelf in the rectory study area.

You checked the electronics out - it was an older model, the cover was a bit dusty, but after you plugged it in you saw that the turntable was spinning. "Paul," you called over your shoulder. There were footsteps behind you: "What is it?" he asked, crouching down beside you. You grinned at him and took his hand without thinking: "Dance with me, please?" The priest looked at you strangely for a bit: "what, really?" "Yes! Please, I love this song!" You tried your best puppy eyes at him, hoping he would take mercy on you. He had the audacity to actually throw his head back and chuckle: "Okay. But, well, I have no idea how to dance." Your eyes shone as you took a hold of his hand, stood up, and pulled him up with you. "That's absolutely fine, this is very simple-" You immediately got to explaining to the priest how to move into the rhythm, when to walk and when to spin you and, after you were satisfied with his understanding, you put the record onto the turntable and gently put the needle on it.

When you put his right hand onto your waist and took hold of his other hand he seemed to be blushing a bit.

When I said, I needed you

You said you would always stay

You started the basic move and he followed, looking at his feet, trying to match the rhythm and remember what you taught him while avoiding stepping on your toes.

It wasn't me who changed, but you

And now you've gone away.

Don't you see that now you're gone

And I'm left here on my own

Then I have to follow you

And beg you to come home.

He was getting better at this. Father Paul actually stopped looking at his feet and moved to gaze into your eyes, moving slowly and rhythmically. He span you when he was supposed to spin you and he did so quite gracefully. It was your turn to blush, as his eyes were so intense, you felt your legs tremble a little bit. You failed to notice that he was rather closer to you than he was when you began dancing.

You don't have to say you love me

Just be close at hand

You don't have to stay forever

I will understand

He truly was leading now, leading you and spinning you and you couldn't help but submit to him while letting yourself get lost in the music. The song was beautiful, and Presley's voice was beautiful, and your dance partner was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. "I can't believe you haven't done this before," you said after he actually improvised some move, spinning you into the other direction and twice as fast. He only smiled softly and kept dancing.

Believe me, believe me,

I can't help but love you,

But believe me,

I'll never tie you down.

Feeling nearly faint you held onto him, by now you were so close your bodies were almost touching. God, you wanted to kiss him, he was looking at you like you were the most amazing person in the world and your gaze fell onto his perfect cupid's bow. You leaned into each other even more and were now flush against one another. You could feel every move he made before he made it, and he was solid and warm, and his right arm was wrapped around your waist holding you tights. He foregone the spinning part some time ago, choosing to sway you softly instead.

Right as you were sure you were actually going to kiss him though,

Left alone with just a- just a- just a- just a-

"Oh," you sighed softly, not yet quite back on earth, "it's busted." Now Father Paul and you were standing still, yet holding onto each other, impossibly close. Against your chest you felt the rapid thumping of both of your hearts. Looking into his eyes again, you saw such softness and fondness it could have made you cry. He was smiling now, his hold of you tightening a bit, this was no longer a dancing stance, he was embracing you.

"I'll get us a new one."

Thank you for reading and thank you @fatherpaulsimp​ again for requesting. You can read this story and the entire collection on AO3. I adore feedback.