#doom platoon

[evielmostdefinitely]

Pls do something with peacekeeper!Coriolanus I have yet to see anyone do that trope + I feel like he’s more mean and protective in that era

mastermind |peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: based off above prompt, but wanted to tweak it a teeny tiny bit so this is how coriolanus meets capitol!reader. the plot of the original film is altered a little to fit this.

contains: tw- violence, guns, shooting. dark, protective, manipulative coriolanus. not super heavy, but there are some kinda darkish themes so read at your own discretion.

“Snow,” Commander Hoff’s gruff voice rang through the doorway, hitting Coriolanous head on, his heart lurching with fear. They found out about Lucy Gray, that she’d escaped after Mayfair and Billy’s death. Or maybe worse, maybe she hadn’t headed north, maybe she’d told them. 

His mind raced as he took a step forward, helmet in hand respectfully, hoping Hoff wouldn’t see the way his hands trembled. “Commander, Sir.” Snow held his head high. If this was to be the end, he wouldn’t go out crying. Not like Sejanus- no, Corio would have pride. 

Hoff set the papers down on his desk with a huff, head jerking back for Coriolanus to come towards him. “Snow, I need you to escort Miss Duke to the Mayor’s office.” He nodded towards the corner. “I guess with the recent tragedy of his daughter, Mayor Mayfield’s mind has been elsewhere. He didn’t get his quarterly tesserae count turned in. The Capitol sent Miss Duke to get them, so make sure she gets there.” 

Coriolanus’ eyes wandered to you, standing in the corner properly, hands clasped elegantly in front of you. A shining beacon in the dark skies of the coal country, a glimmering ray of good after all the bad Corio had. He could tell you were from The Capitol, though you tried to dress more humbly for the visit to the district, he supposed. 

You gave him a smile, and for a moment, Corio’s heart leapt with excitement. That familiar rush of heat returning, coursing through his chest. “Private Snow will take you there, Miss Duke. He’s one of our best. On his way to officer training in Two. You’re in good hands.” Commander Hoff nodded. 

You thanked him quietly, kitten heels clicking across the hardwood floors. Coriolanus followed you, trying to keep his stoic expression, though his eyes wandered to the swell of your ass, hugged perfectly in your dress. 

“Snow,” Commander Hoff called before he left. “A word?” 

The icy chill of fear flooded back into Corio’s system, gripping the knob. You didn’t seem to notice, nodding politely, shutting the door behind you. 

“Sir?” Coriolanus swallowed the lump in his throat, approaching the desk slowly. 

Hoff leaned back in his chair. “You know who that is, right?” 

Coriolanus blinked. His mind had been so occupied with his impending doom, his fate had seemed to turn and tread on the worst sides of things, he was so sure it would continue. “Miss Duke?” 

Hoff blinked at him, laughing softly. “Yeah, Duke, Snow.” He pressed. Coriolanus felt dumb, small like he did when he talked to Highbottom. “Snow, does the name Atticus Duke mean anything to you?” 

Coriolanus' eyes widened lightly, turning towards the door in surprise. “Atticus Duke? The-” 

“-The man who owns half of Panem?” Hoff snorted lightly. “Yeah, that’s his youngest out there. Only girl, alright?” 

Coriolanus felt his curiosity peek. He’d been wallowing in the loss of Lucy Gray, he didn’t even put it together. Thinking you were just another Capitol girl. Not the Duke Heiress. 

“Yes, sir. I-I see that now.” Corio nodded dumbly. 

“Good. So you know that her father paid for the destruction of the rebellion? That he funded the Capitol? And that if these people see her, those fucking Rebels are likely to want to hurt her?” Hoff pressed, his eyes narrowed in seriousness. “And that if something happens to her, our entire platoon will be hanging from that tree- or worse?” 

It shouldn’t have made Coriolanus as excited as he was. The thought of having that much power. He could easily have that level of control, have people quaking with fear- even the powerful ones, trembling at his feet the way Atticus Duke did. Oh, how he envied it. How he craved it. 

“Yes, sir.” Coriolanus nodded. 

“Snow, listen to me.” Hoff sat up straight, leaning over the desk. “If any of them get close to her, no mercy- do you understand?” 

Coriolanus nodded again, spine straightening with authority. “I have others trailing and leading the both of you- crowd control, but I wanted her to feel safe. Feel welcome. So I stuck her with you. Figured a familiar face from the Capitol would put her at some ease. Keep her from telling her father something that would have him questioning my rank and order around here.” 

“I understand, Commander.” Coriolanus said firmly. “I’ll keep her safe.” 

“Wow,” You muttered, looking around the cobbled street. The Peacekeepers ahead of you barking orders, scaring off any pedestrians wandering about. “Is it always like this?” 

Corio blinked, his gun cradled in his hand, finger on the trigger- ready. “Always like what?” 

“This,” You waved around you. “It’s very…” 

“Depressing?” Corio muttered, a grumble, eyes scanning the perimeter in front of him over the gray skies and smog filled air. 

“Yeah.” You smiled softly. “I pictured it… prettier?” 

“It’s the coal district, Miss Duke.” Coriolanus said, the barrel of his gun pointed for backup at a scurrying coal miner. 

“So that’s what makes it so sad?” You challenged, brow raised. 

Corio didn’t answer. He knew what you were implying, and he wouldn’t humor it. Instead, his eyes scanned the street. “May I ask why you’re here?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. 

“What?” Corio snapped, harsher than he meant to. 

“Why you’re here?” You repeated. “I, uh, I don’t want to sound rude. I just- I saw you on the games. You were the mentor who won. I just, I figured you would be at University with the others.” 

“I made an enemy. A powerful one.” Corio quipped shortly, jaw set. He couldn’t let his mind race and spiral, not now. He needed to stay focused. 

“Oh,” You muttered, looking down at the wet, broken road. “I’m sorry.” 

Corio’s heart skipped, maybe with joy, maybe with fear. “May I ask you why you’re here?” Coriolanus asked, eyes cutting down towards you. 

“I have to get the count for the tesserae.” You motioned towards the Mayor’s office before you. “I have to take them back to The Capitol.” 

“Yes, but,” Corio paused, scanning the area. “You’re- Surely, you don’t need to do that, Miss Duke.” He muttered, voice dropping to a low octave. 

You blushed, sheepishly looking towards your shoes, ruined from the muck in the road. “So, Commander Hoff briefed you on me?” You grinned. 

Coriolanus didn’t answer. “I already knew.” He lied easily, eyes cutting to you. “We’ve met before. In passing. I was Sejanus’ friend.” 

“Oh,” Your face fell. “Right. I-I am so sorry for your loss. It was-” 

“-Yes.” Corio nodded, the bile rising in his throat. “We-We met at the Academy’s Ball two springs ago.” 

You turned, looking at him fully for the first time. He tried not to blush, icy eyes meeting your own for a moment. “That’s right.” You grinned. “You-You had longer hair. Tigris’ cousin?” 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded. 

“She was apprenticing for my aunt.” You smiled softly. 

Corio looked at you, his rigid posture slacking just for a moment, relaxing in your presence. “Why aren’t you doing something like that?” He asked, brows furrowing for a moment. “Or in University, yourself. Surely that would be… more appropriate than this.”

You bit back a smile, chin ducking down. “Maybe.” You shrugged. “I like this job, though. I get to see the Districts.” 

“Why would you ever want to do that?” Corio snarled lightly. “I can’t wait to get out of them. Get away from these people.” He muttered bitterly. 

You blinked at him, eyes narrowing lightly, stopping before the steps of the Mayor’s building. “You seemed quite fond of that song bird you helped win.” You countered. “And she was among these people.” 

Coriolanus was stunned, mouth opening stupidly, before swallowing his jumbled words. Instead, he offered you his arm politely for you to steady yourself on while you climbed the steps to the Mayor’s office. 

Coriolanus waited outside the office at attention while you collected the tesseraes for the quarter from a distraught, and clearly drunken, Mayor Mayfield. His slurred speech, pores sweating out whiskey soaked odor. 

You took the envelope, thanking him before quickly slipping out. Coriolanus stood beside you, falling back into step with you, the other Peacekeepers joining around the two of you. 

“You’re returning to The Capitol today?” Corio asked, though his eyes stayed straight ahead. 

“They asked me to stay the night.” You answered simply. “Something about a train leaving in the morning?” You looked at him carefully. You knew he was to join you with the others. You’d given the orders from Dr. Gaul to Commander Hoff that morning.

Coriolanus frowned, turning to you curiously. “Tomorrow? Why would they make you-” 

The ravenous bark of Peacekeepers in front of you made you jump, a deranged looking man, covered in soot from the mines, charging at you with a vengeful pace. You froze, clutching the envelope in front of you like a shield, glued to the concrete in pure fear. 

“Gimme that envelope, you stupid bitch!” The man roared, mere feet away from you. “Get my daughter’s name outta there! Take it out!” 

You flinched, bracing for the impact of him hitting you, his body hurling towards yours. It never came. Instead, a shot behind you had a gasp tearing from your lungs. The bullet so close to your own head, you heard it whizzing past you like the June Bugs that flew in the fields in the countryside of the district. 

The man grunted, a bloody gurgle, a crimson patch seeping through his stomach. The other Peacekeepers seized him, shouting and grabbing at him, hauling him away roughly. Your hand trembled, pressing to your lips. Coriolanus stood behind you, gun lowering, finger still on the trigger. 

His face was hard, stoic, eyes narrowed dangerously- furiously. “Come on.” Coriolanus muttered, a hand gently on your back, guiding you forwards. The crowds were peering, poking around at the sound of gunshots, the groans and screams of the man. “We need to get you to the Commander’s Quarters.” 

“Snow, hey, look we-we didn’t see him-” One Peacekeeper jogged frantically, hands trembling in fear. “He just- He came out of nowhere. I’m so sorry, Miss.” 

“It’s alrig-” 

“-Come on.” Coriolanus hissed, cutting your apology off short. “We need to get her back quickly. Can you manage that?” He snapped at the other boy. 

The other boy faltered for a moment, scrambling back into line. You were still shaking, pushed into Corio’s side far closer than what would be appropriate for two strangers. “He-He was just saying sorry.” You muttered, your own eyes scanning around you. 

“He nearly got you killed.” Coriolanus snapped, his eyes hard but they never met your gaze, scanning around you protectively. “His carelessness nearly cost you your life.” Cost us all our lives, Corio thought. 

You didn’t respond, only stepping with his quickened pace. 

“Are you alright?” You asked Coriolanus, peeking around the corner of the train station towards him. 

He was surprised to see you, though he supposed he shouldn’t have been. He assumed the ‘Princess of Panem’ would have her own private carriage on the train, not subjected to riding with him. 

“I think I’m supposed to ask you that.” Corio gave a half smile, a tone much lighter than it was before. 

You blushed, looking down. “I’m alright.” You sighed lightly. “I told your Commander that. I promise I don’t need an escort back to The Capitol.” 

Coriolanus looked down at his bags. “I’m not- I’m returning to The Capitol as well.” He said, chest boasting at the words. 

“Oh?” You lifted a brow. “No District Two?” 

“No,” Corio shook his head. “I’ve been asked to return.” It was vague, and he knew it- knew it piqued your interest. 

“Well, congratulations. I’m sure your family will be excited.” You smiled politely, lifting your own overnight bag when the train doors opened. 

“Here,” Coriolanus stopped you, reaching for the strap of the bags. Your hands brushed in the smallest way. Overlapping as he took the bag politely, a surge of electricity jolted between both of you, rapid sparks that would crescendo in the days, weeks, years to come. 

You blushed, turning your head to hide the way it flustered you. It was so embarrassingly juvenile, his eyes sparkling, lips tugging in a grin when he looked at you, pinky grazing over your knuckle just for a moment before he held the bag. 

“Allow me.” Coriolanus was smug, proud, pulling the bag up. He let you on first, placing the bags away, eyes cutting towards you. You were stealing a glance at him, turning after being caught sheepishly. 

You had the window seat, looking out at the smoggy station. “Is this seat taken?” Corio asked, hand resting on the arm of the seat next to you. 

You shook your head, moving your hands to your lap. You were so poised, Corio knew it had been drilled into your head since you were young, just as it was to him. His mind raced with excitement, the idea of getting you to be so improper, defile you. 

“Do you know your orders once you return?” You asked, looking at him carefully. The trains whistle trilling in the background. 

“I’m not sure.” It was a complete lie, he only knew a fraction of what awaited him when he returned. All the more reason he needed an ally, a powerful one at that. 

“Why?” Corio pressed, leaning forward to look at you. His dog tags hung loosely around his neck, draping over his underclothes of his uniform. It made your heart race. 

“I was just curious.” You shrugged, swallowing gently. 

“You were wanting to see me again?” Corio pressed, boldly. His heart skipped when you whipped around, staring at him with a wide eyed expression. 

“W-What?” You choked out, trying to remain calm, composed, but your heart was beating so fastly you were sure it would burst. 

“Were you wanting to see me again?” Coriolanus hummed, shifting in his seat to turn towards you. You were pressed against the glass, pinned by his gaze. “Because I was hoping to see you again. If you’d have me.” 

“You would?” You squeaked, sure that your fluster was apparent all over your face. 

“If you’d let me.” Corio purred smoothly. ���I’d like to take you out sometime. Get to know you better. I’m very,” His fingers brushed over your own hand, satisfied at how you shuddered. “Interested in getting to know you.” 

You swallowed. No man had ever been so direct with you. He’d saved you the night before, so effortlessly. The feeling of his bicep around you, shielding you away, strong and steady. It had you sneaking your fingers between your thighs later that night shamefully at the thought. 

“I-I would like that.” You nodded, mind screaming when his hand held your, cradled with such care, you almost forgot how brutal he was yesterday. 

“Tomorrow?” Coriolanus asked, head tilting to the side. He wanted to set the date before you forgot, before you had time to ask around about him or think too much about his actions before. 

“That-That would be lovely.” You nodded, tongue swelling thickly in your mouth, heart hammering as he pushed closer and closer. 

His hand cradled your jaw softly, thumb stroking over your cheek bone. “May I?” Corio hummed, eyes lustful. 

You nodded. You weren’t quite sure why, you’d certainly never done something like this before. But then his lips were on you, hand cradling your jaw, moving to the back of your head gently. He migrated into your chair, somewhere between the Districts, hands on your back, pulling you in closer and closer. He kissed you like a man starved, possessively and passionately all at once- it made your head spin. 

It dawned on Coriolanus, what Dr. Gaul was talking about. Sacrifice, while brutal, was necessary. Losing Lucy Gray, Sejanus, without that would it have ever brought you to him? He would be in the woods, starving with a girl who nearly used him to survive, or hanging from a tree next to Sejanus. Certainly not sitting side by side in the train car, stealing small smiles and gentle kisses with you. His fate had turned, re-routed and he could see it now- his future, his empire with you. 

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow x oc #tbosas #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #peacekeeper!coriolanus snow x reader #peacekeeper!coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow x female!reader #coriolanus snow x capitol!reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #tbosbas x reader #tbosas x reader #tbosbas fic #tbosbas fanfiction #tbosbas #lucy gray baird #the hunger games #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coryo snow #president snow #hunger games #lucy gray #coriolanus snow x you smut

[thekristen999]

Seven Sentence Inspiration Sunday

I'm writing a lot of intricate, crazy action at the moment, so it's a challenge to share anything from the last 5k words. So, have a new, extended piece of an earlier scene in the Sci-Fi of Doom story! that I am still working on until the end of time. :-P

...

“Did you ever handle your weapon outside of basic?”

“I was a Staff Sergeant conducting medevacs in multiple hot zones. What do you think?”

Buck groaned internally at the attitude. Because nothing pressed Eddie’s buttons like being talked down to. A by-product of his childhood, Buck suspected. 

But the bravado left an impression on Wilkes who regarded Eddie in a whole new light. A light that Bobby didn’t appreciate based on the way crossed his arms in front of his chest his implication crystal clear. He’s, my guy. Not yours. 

“Did you arrive with a full platoon?” Eddie asked.

“Half.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “How many squads?”

“Three.”

Nerves filled Buck’s chest as Eddie’s expression went from incensed to solemn. “Where’s the rest of your men?”

“I don’t know, Staff Sergeant.”

Buck found himself stepping in front of Eddie, which he knew was unprofessional and inappropriate, but he hated the way Wilkes addressed Eddie. Like he’d already drafted him.  No one was drafting Eddie into this…this whatever this was. Not after learning that most of the colonel’s men were either missing or dead. 

“Everyone just calm down,” Bobby warned. 

Buck didn’t move away from Eddie, acting as a barrier between him and Wilkes, his intent clear: back away. 

Before the situation could escalate further, they all flinched as one at a noise above them.

Something was inside the ceiling making a banging, rattling sound.

Wilkes and his men pointed their rifles at the noise. 

tagging with those who might be interested or want to share words.

@dangerpronebuddie @mellaithwen @homerforsure @renecdote @diazsdimples @exhuastedpigeon @spaceprincessem @spotsandsocks @ci5mates @thebestbooksaround @the-likesofus @elenaazra @hippolotamus @andavs @elvensorceress @wildlife4life @eddiebabygirldiaz @tizniz @steadfastsaturnsrings @favouritealias

#seven sentence sunday #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #kristen999writes #sci-fi of doom story

[evolutionsvoid]

The growing colonies of the Arimakki mar the land and map, like gaping rotten wounds. A pockmarking of steaming blisters and lesions, where mines and tunnels have grown feverish and foul. Efforts to prevent them from leaving their origin point have failed, resulting in multiple colonies spread across the region. Since containment has failed, the Church and its followers soon turned to extermination. Platoons armed with yellowflame descended upon these hives, purging them away with searing, cleansing bile. For small infestations, these attacks proved successful, able to easily flush out the mines and burn away all that was rotten. But the larger colonies proved stubborn and numerous, their numbers seeming to never end. What was worse, as the efforts to purge these parasites increased, the battles with the Arimakki became fiercer, and the cleansers' successes started to fade. It appears the Arimakki know now that they are unwanted, that their "host" has rallied its defenses. Not only are they more willing now to attack and throw down, but it seems even more strains of these parasites are rearing their head. Ones better suited for fighting and defending their hives. This suggests the Arimakki are adapting, or they are all too familiar with being unwelcome. Whatever the reason, it has made life for all even more hellish, and efforts to suppress these colonies even harder.

Arimakki Neru: An odd but deadly specimen of the Arimakki, whose many writhing tendrils are steeped not only in Feverish Sweat but a potent toxin as well. They bear no claws or spikes, but a single strike from one of these tentacles upon exposed flesh can cause incredible agony and damage. The burn and effects of Feverish Sweat still take place, but their toxin has a necrotic touch. As the skin swells and reddens from the searing sweat, lesions of hardened black develop and eat away at the body. A feverish rot that can claim entire limbs, and spell certain doom for those struck in vital areas. The Neru bobs and dances upon its tendrils, and whips them into a fury when it detects a foe. While they have a dangerous touch, they rarely appear during battles between a colony and yellowflame cleansers. They do fight, and they will defend a colony, but it appears they are not a specimen of defense. Rather, they appear to be retaliation and reseeding. The Neru shows up in areas where the Arimakki have been purged, where small hives have been burned clean and the parasites driven away. Weeks after the battle has ended and life tries to reclaim this land, a Neru may emerge from the ground, ready to kill and restart the colony all over again. Perhaps eggs are laid and hidden, a dastardly trap for those who dare destroy a colony. Vengeance that a slithers from the ashes and reminds the world of the Arimakki's power.

Arimakki Janpu: A frustrating type of Arimakki, who defies shields and barricades. Their legs are built like springs, allowing them to leap incredible heights. Their outstretched arms end in toothy suckers, to latch on and drain fluids from foes. They also can spray Feverish Sweat on enemies, unleashing it while they jump overhead. These Arimakki are used to thwart defenses and shield walls, to simply hop over any obstacle a foe may place before them. While they are not the greatest in physical combat, the mere act of surrounding an invading force from both sides is enough to decide many battles. Their mere appearance is enough to strike fear and doubt in folk, as they see these infuriating parasites bouncing above the hordes of brethren with glee, their arms stretched forth eager for flesh. When not in battle, these Arimakki still jump about, finding it absolutely thrilling. Even if they are in confined tunnels where such height isn't possible, they will still gently bounce on their spring legs and bobble about. Knocking one out of the air or hitting them hard enough to send their bodies flying is apparently a fun thing for them, as any foe who pulls off such a feat will have that same Arimakki chase them down to do it again, no matter what.  

Arimakki Ya: A slithering Arimakki specimen that spends most of its time outside the colony and sitting up high. Their massive eyes make them obvious look outs, and they constantly scan the horizon for prey or foe (though technically these are both the same thing). When danger arises, they not only call the hive defenders to action, but partake in the battle as well. Their puckered maws are capable of spewing a noxious torrent of rotted juices and Feverish Sweat. They can barf it forth in a wide wave to cover more foes, or may tighten their orifices to snipe from afar. These Arimakki are deemed top priority to take out, as they will ceaselessly pepper one's forces with this boiling spray, making it difficult to tackle more melee parasites. If the fight gets up close, they use their many tendrils and worms to whip and strike foes. They can also throw themselves upon the floor face down and slither away at frightening speeds. In typical annoying parasite fashion, these Arimakki like to run from approaching foes when an opportunity arises and find a new spot to spit at them from. One can detect the presence of a Ya by listening for gargling or whistling.

--------------------------------------------

"Even More Arimakki"

"Now wait there! Those don't look like legitimate Hara No Mushi from the Harikikigaki!" I hear your words, and indeed, these fellas aren't based on actual Hara No Mushi. That's because I decided to make some of my own! The Arimakki need more to their ranks, so time for me to dream up my own wretched parasites! But these fellas aren't pulled from thin air, as I actually based them on particular parasites, diseases or what nots. What could they be? I am sure some of you can figure them out pretty quickly!

#hara no mushi #parasite #bug #worm #monster #creature #fall of ichor #art #drawing

[justforbooks]

The actor Ian Lavender, who has died aged 77, played the awkward, impulsive Private Frank Pike in the long-running BBC comedy Dad’s Army, and was the last surviving member of the cast who portrayed Captain Mainwaring’s Home Guard platoon.

Most of the part-time soldiers depicted in the series, which ran from 1968 to 1977, were exempted from call-up to the army during the second world war because of advanced age. Pike, their junior in most cases by several decades, had been excused because of his weak chest, and always wore the scarf insisted upon by his widowed mum, Mavis.

In spite of their foibles and foolishness, Mainwaring’s pomposity and the frequent slapstick sequences, the heroes of Dad’s Army were courageous men prepared to give their lives to protect their country, and it was this innate nobility that lifted the series, written by David Croft and Jimmy Perry, to greatness. At its peak it had more than 18 million weekly viewers, and is still regularly rerun.

There were many catchphrases – Lance Corporal Jones’s “Don’t panic!”, Private Frazer’s “We’re doomed!” and Sergeant Wilson’s languid “Do you think that’s wise, sir?” – and the best-remembered belongs to the gangster movie-fixated Pike, though he did not utter it himself: Mainwaring’s weary “You stupid boy!”

Pike was also involved in Dad’s Army’s most frequently quoted joke. “What is your name?” snarls the German U-boat commander who has been captured by the platoon. “Don’t tell him, Pike,” shouts Mainwaring. There was often great subtlety in the inter-platoon relationships, best exemplified by that of Pike and Wilson (John Le Mesurier). Wilson, whom Pike calls Uncle Arthur, is Mrs Pike’s lodger, and is forever fussing around the boy, making sure his scarf is on tight and gently steering him away from danger. It was not until the end of the final series that Lavender asked Croft if “Uncle Arthur” was actually Pike’s father. “Of course,” replied Croft.

Born in Birmingham, Ian was the son of Edward, a policeman, and Kathleen (nee Johnson), a housewife; his mother often took him to see pantomimes, variety shows and Saturday morning cinema, which gave him his first ambitions to become an actor. After performing in many school drama productions at Bournville boys’ technical school he was accepted, with the help of a grant from the city of Birmingham, by the Bristol Old Vic acting school. Clearly far from being a stupid boy, he passed 12 O-levels and four A-levels. “The only reason I don’t have a degree is because I went to drama school,” he said years later.

He made his first television appearance soon after he graduated from Bristol in 1968, playing an aspiring writer whose family want him to get a proper job, in Ted Allan’s play for the Half Hour Story series, Flowers at My Feet, with Angela Baddeley and Jane Hylton.

In the same year, he was cast as Pike, joining the seasoned veterans of comedy and the classics Le Mesurier, Arthur Lowe (Mainwaring), Clive Dunn (Jones), John Laurie (Frazer), James Beck (Private Walker), Arnold Ridley (Private Godfrey) and Bill Pertwee as Air Raid Warden Hodges. Janet Davies played Mrs Pike.

While Dad’s Army catapulted Lavender to national fame at the age of 22, the role of Pike haunted him for the rest of his long career. Not that he had any complaints.

Asked in 2014 if he got fed up with a lifetime of having “stupid boy” called out to him in the street, he replied: “I’m very proud of Dad’s Army. If you asked me ‘Would you like to be in a sitcom that was watched by 18 million people, was on screen for 10 years, and will create lots of work for you and provide not just for you but for your children for the next 40-odd years?’ – which is what happened – I’d be a fool to say ‘Bugger off.’ I’d be a fool to have regrets.”

After Dad’s Army, Lavender made further television appearances, including Mr Big (1977), with Peter Jones and Prunella Scales, and in 1983 he revived Pike for the BBC radio sitcom It Sticks Out Half a Mile, a sequel to Dad’s Army, but it was not a success and lasted only one series. In contrast, the original series, with most of the regular cast, had been rerecorded for radio from 1974 to 1976 and proved very popular.

He was also in the BBC TV series Come Back Mrs Noah (1977-78), co-written by Croft; and played Ron in a new version of The Glums (1979) for London Weekend Television, adapted from Frank Muir and Denis Norden’s original radio scripts of the 1950s. There were more smallish television parts in the 80s, such as two episodes of Yes, Minister, and bits in Keeping Up Appearances, Goodnight Sweetheart, Rising Damp and Casualty. He starred in the unsuccessful BBC series The Hello Goodbye Man in 1984 and provided the lead voice in the children’s cartoon series PC Pinkerton in 1988.

He was also in various quiz shows, including Cluedo (1990). On Celebrity Mastermind, broadcast on BBC1 on New Year’s Day 2009, when the presenter John Humphrys asked him to state his name, a fellow contestant, Rick Wakeman, shouted: “Don’t tell him, Pike!”

In addition to co-starring in the first film version of Dad’s Army (1971), he appeared in various low-level British sex farces of the 1970s, including Confessions of a Pop Performer (1975), Carry on Behind (1975), Adventures of a Taxi Driver (1976) and Adventures of a Private Eye (1976). He also starred in the thriller 31 North 62 East (2009). “I was close to getting two very big movies in the 70s,” he said without rancour in 2014, “but in the end they said: ‘We can’t get past Private Pike.’”

Lavender’s second best-known role was his delicate and sympathetic portrayal of Derek Harkinson, Pauline Fowler’s gay friend, in the BBC soap EastEnders from 2001 to 2005, and again in 2016-17.

In addition to various live Dad’s Army productions, his stage work included the Royal Shakespeare Company’s The Merchant of Venice, directed by Peter Hall and with Dustin Hoffman as Shylock in 1989, touring as the Narrator in The Rocky Horror Show in 2005, Monsignor Howard in the London Palladium production of the musical Sister Act in 2009, The Shawshank Redemption at the Edinburgh fringe in 2013, and his own one-man show of reminiscences, Don’t Tell Him, Pike.

Lavender had a great admiration for Buster Keaton, and was an expert on the silent comedian’s career. In 2011 he introduced Keaton’s Sherlock Jr (1924) at the Slapstick silent comedy festival in Bristol, and commented that finding Keaton’s grave in the Fountain Lawns cemetery in Hollywood had been one of his life’s special moments.

In 2016 a new cinema version of Dad’s Army was released, with Toby Jones as Mainwaring and Bill Nighy as Wilson. Private Pike was played by Blake Harrison, and Lavender was promoted to play Brigadier Pritchard. In a touching in-joke, his younger face was also seen on an advertisement poster in a street scene.

Lavender is survived by his second wife, Miki Hardy, whom he married in 1993; by his sons, Sam and Daniel, from his first marriage, to the actor Suzanne Kershiss, which ended in divorce; and by two granddaughters.

🔔 Arthur Ian Lavender, actor, born 16 February 1946; died 2 February 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Ian Lavender #in memoriam

[aviatorzk]

Cadet camp - not so much fun

When I was 16 things got a little out of hand – and beyond my control.

I mentioned before that I was introduced to a high officer, an admiral of royal lineage, and I impressed him, on my knees, in perfect uniform, perfect obedience. He suggested that I might like to attend the elite cadet camp. I was doomed – but there was no way to wriggle out of it.

I tried to, at first, and my Dad put in a word too, for the simple reason that I was going to enter my final year in school, and my parents had already been assigned to a new posting. They had asked for a reprieve of one year, so that I could finish my school and get my international bac. I knew that I just had two semesters of school ahead of me, exams after that. I had already decided I would take cadets a bit more easy, just do my own drill team, no instruction of younger platoons.

However: the kind gesture of the admiral meant that instead having a vacation I had to go to camp. I loved being a cadet, but this was not what I had in mind.

The elite camp was where you wanted to go if you were very serious about joining a military academy and starting a real career in the army. I had no such intention – but I could not say no.

Of course people were very positive about this camp. A major honour, they would say, other kids had loved it, and it had done them a world of good, and wouldn’t I like to take the cadet training to another level? Get really serious about it all?

The camp was a six hour bus drive from where we lived, in the hills, in jungle terrain. It was wet and hot and humid. And it rained. And we had to wear ugly green shirts.

It was, in a word, hell. It was boot camp. It wasn’t training for young cadets: it was training for junior officers. They would get some practice disciplining a platoon of kids to an insane level. What made it even more insane was that these juniors were supervised by a bunch of senior officers. They seemed to use the camp as a retreat, and we were the entertainment.

Every morning we had to stand at attention, with a loaded backpack, while they had breakfast, as a kind of honour guard. We were then dismissed, to begin drill.

Off for a 25k march through the jungle. Bizarrely we had to do that in full uniform, with a tie.

The camp rules stated that we were cadets, and had to be in ‘regulation appearance’, which also meant that we were to undergo inspection of our appearance at any time by any superior. I thought I was used to a bit of supervision, but this was another level.

The rules also stated that we were not allowed to speak. That was normal, during drill, but here the poor cadets were not allowed to enter into conversation at all. Not during the day, not at night, not during lunch and dinner. We just exchanged meaningful glances.

A bit of lunch, and field dril. With harness. No matter that the ground under our feet was muddy and slippery. March. Left turn. Salute left. Salute right. Again. Again.

Always with that harness and the backpack – which would be loaded some more, if we had not met expectations. And then that endless rain.

I have never felt such sheer blank wipeout exhaustion.

The only thing that kept me going was a deep realisation that this was not for me, I was going to leave soon, it was just that stupid moment of enjoying the system just a little too much, bowing just a little too easy to inane authority.

I was at the camp for four weeks. I lost 10 kgs.

At the end, the officers took me apart, commended me for my efforts, and offered me a place in the State National Military Academy. A four-year program.

I had the good sense to smile and say ‘Thank you, Sir. I’ll certainly consider that, Sir.’

(All images are AI-generated)

[terminusest13]

Hey! I love your "Zapper-Master" Mod. If you're still doing Doom Mods, Zapper-Master should totally be brought back & have the Power Glove as a Melee Weapon >:)

I'm moving more into full games and TC rather than mods, but this would be a wonderful idea if I ever pick that back up again. A platoon of gadgets to act as weapons would be fun--Power Glove as melee, Zapper as pistol, Super Scope as SMG/charge blaster...

Dunno what the others would be. But sounds like it could be a basis for a fun mod!

#dave-lizard-dem-tekno #ask

[crucioslut]

Narcissa eyed Bellatrix with a wary expression, her otherwise perfect complexion drawn with frown lines as she watched her sister attempt to drink away a stubborn virus that had the sadistic enchantress's throat in a tight knot for weeks now. Narcissa exhaled deeply as thunder clapped in the distance, partly buffered by the marble walls. The sisters were sitting in the soft-lit sitting room, illuminated only by the enormous fireplace and the beams of moonlight pouring in between the curtains. She bit her bottom lip as Bellatrix rested what was now another empty tot of fire whisky down on the coffee table. "Another," She demanded, did not ask. "Bella," Narcissa tried carefully. "I don't doubt your ability to outdrink a platoon of men, but you are still bone-thin from Azkaban, be reasonable. Won't be good to the Dark Lord if you choke in your sleep from alcohol poisoning." Leaning back in her arm chair, she tried to offer her sister an understanding look. Voldemort had told Bellatrix that she could not leave the Malfoy Estate, with or without him until her cough was gone. And it was dangerous to get potions with the ministry now breathing down their neck since her husband's arrest.

There was little that Bellatrix hated more than being sick. Over days the witch had tried everything, but this virus was stubborn and unrelenting, letting her know it intended to run its full course before any recovery would take place. Thankfully, Bella did not become ill often. As it were, her head pounded and her chest rattled with every cough, pointed aristocratic nose cherry red. She felt pathetic and useless, disgusted by the fact such an affliction could render her such a whiny pup. An affliction that would make a couch potato of an every day muggle. And yet, there she was, wrapped in a blanket on the sofa shivering beneath its engulfing warmth.

It had only been a month and a half since Bellatrix had given birth. Because of this, the Dark Lord was still more-or-less excluding his greatest asset from combat, and just when it seemed she may finally get in on the action again, of course. The fucking illness. The whole situation leaving Madame Lestrange absolutely miserable.

Bellatrix turned towards her sister, scowling faintly whilst looking Narcissa dead in the eye and summoning the house elf to fill her up once more. As if to spite her, Bellatrix downed the round of firewhiskey, slamming her glass down.

"Oops. You were saying, Cissy?"

Bella lay down to sprawl her achy bones out over the sofa. "Alcohol is a disinfectant," she muttered, face down into the throw pillow, knowing well that wasn't exactly how it worked.

She twisted around like a cat to face her sister once more. Bella began to laugh, then dissolved into a coughing fit. "You cow. Don't act as if you suddenly care about whether or not I'm useful to the Dark Lord. You've never once supported this. Your involvement goes only as far as your husband's, which isn't far, in fact. He's useless." She hissed her last words as her blood boiled at the thought of Lucius Malfoy currently leading the missions. They'd be doomed.

"It's you isn't it? Hmm, Cissy? Making me ill. So you can keep me around for longer." Bella felt a small smirk tugging at her unusually pale lips while teasing Narcissa. Getting a rise out of her was so entertaining, and the ice blonde made it so easy.

"That's always been the root of your anguish. The Dark Lord taking away everything you love from you.. one by one. Your sister, your husband, and now, your little boy... I sincerely hope for your sake my sweet Cissy, that the poor baby doesn't take after his daddy."

As soon as Bella watched the color drain of Narcissa's face, indicating her emotional response to Bella's words, she moved herself back to create a tiny bit of extra room on the sofa she lay.

"Come, Cissy. Come now.. come lay with me." When narcissa hesitated, Bellatrix rolled her eyes.

"You can cut the theatrics. You know you want to."

#narcissa #narcissa malfoy #bellatrix #bellatrix lestrange #cissatrix #harry potter roleplay #she sure did turn that focus around on her #the ol switcheroo

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Wilfred Owen: the man not the memorial

All a poet can do today is warn.

- 2nd Lieutenant Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC (1893-1918)

The body of Wilfred Owen’s work is generally regarded as a memorial to the atrocities of war. Often heralded as one of the finest poets of the First World War, Wilfred Owen has become a symbol to many of 1914-1918 encapsulating a sense of futility (the title one of his more famous poems), anger, and despair at the suffering endured by the soldiers during the Great War, or indeed any war before and after.

Poems like ‘Anthem for Doomed Youth’ convey the intense futility of it all, for “what passing-bells for these who die as cattle?”, whilst he evokes the disturbing psychological impact of the fighting in works like ‘Mental Cases’ where “these are the men whose minds the Dead have ravaged”. The canonisation of such works has preserved Owen as a symbol of the First World War and a reminder of its horrors.

This is not without challenge of course. Owen’s was only one voice representing one point of view and cannot be seen to capture the myriad of views and feelings of all the combatants and his generation, but at the same time that is not sufficient reason to dismiss his work as irrelevant to the study of the War.

More interesting to me is the feeling that Owen’s poetic legacy has put aside the man that was Wilfred Owen. Every schoolchild knows at least one of his poems but know very litte of his life as a man and as a soldier. It is easy to forget that he too was a flesh and blood man fighting in the trenches, with his own hopes and fears, uncertainties and complexities.

Born in 1893, Owen was teaching English to children near Bordeaux, France, when war broke out in the summer of 1914. The following year, he returned to England and enlisted in the war effort. On 21 October 1915, he enlisted in the Artists Rifles Officers' Training Corps. For the next seven months, he trained at Hare Hall Camp in Essex. On 4 June 1916 he was commissioned as a second lieutenant (on probation) in The Manchester Regiment. By January 1916 he was on the front lines in France. As he wrote in 1918, his motives for enlisting were twofold, and included his desire to write of the experience of war: “I came out in order to help these boys - directly by leading them as well as an officer can; indirectly, by watching their sufferings that I may speak of them as well as a pleader can.”

On April 1, 1917, near the town of St. Quentin, Owen led his platoon through an artillery barrage to the German trenches, only to discover when they arrived that the enemy had already withdrawn. Severely shaken and disoriented by the bombardment, Owen barely avoided being hit by an exploding shell, and returned to his base camp confused and stammering.

A doctor diagnosed shell-shock, a new term used to describe the physical and/or psychological damage suffered by soldiers in combat. Though his commanding officer was skeptical, Owen was sent to a French hospital and subsequently returned to Britain, where he was checked into the Craiglockhart War Hospital for Neurasthenic Officers in Scotland in 1917. There he was officially diagnosed as suffering from neurasthenia (‘shell-shock’). 

It was there he famously met Siegfried Sassoon and his poetry took on a new direction and life. Owen spent the first part of 1918 in England training and recuperating. He did a short spell working as a teacher in nearby Tynecastle High School, he returned to light regimental duties. In March 1918, he was posted to the Northern Command Depot at Ripon. A number of poems were composed in Ripon, including "Futility" and "Strange Meeting". His 25th birthday was spent quietly in Ripon Cathedral.

In recent years much work has been done to restore Owen’s humanity, most notably Dominic Hibberd’s 2002 work Wilfred Owen: A New Biography, which, whilst clearing up other details of Owen’s life, confirms that he was gay. On one level that shouldn’t matter. But interestingly facts like this could cast some of his poetry in a new light, with particular regard to the vivid and sometimes shocking sensuality and even excitement that is undoubtedly present in poems like ‘The Sentry’, where “thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping/ And splashing in the flood, deluging muck”. An idea of the attractiveness and lure of war could possibly develop from this interpretation, particularly as Owen, like his friend Siegfried Sassoon, returned to the front line after absence.

Indeed whilst Owen's work rises above that of many contemporary poets, the circumstances surrounding his death at such a young age (25), and the news of his death, has added to the powerful emotions that surround Owen. Rejecting offers by his friends to pull strings and arrange for him to sit out the rest of the war Owen chose to return to the front to help the men he felt he had left behind. Owen’s battalion was part of the spearhead used to break the final German defensive line after a series of Allied advances following success at Amiens in August 1918. On 1 October 1918, Owen led units of the Second Manchester's to storm a number of enemy strong points near the village of Joncourt. For his courage and leadership in this action, he was awarded the Military Cross.

Owen was killed in action on 4 November 1918 during the crossing of the Sambre–Oise Canal, exactly one week (almost to the hour) before the signing of the Armistice which ended the war, and was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant the day after his death. A key problem was to overcome the Sambre canal defences and gain the Eastern bank, and on 4th November at 5.45am Owen was involved in the attempt to cross. The exact details of that morning are hazy, and all that is known is that Owen was seen leading and encouraging his men in the early part of the struggle, but was killed, possibly as he crossed the water on a raft, sometime between 6 and 8.00am. Famously the telegram notifying his family of his death arrived mid-day on November 11th as the celebrations around the Armistice rang out.

These are facts known to all of us. But what I found really eye opening was going to the place where he spent his last night before his death. It puts a different perspective on Wilfred Owen, not the poet, but the man and the officer who cared deeply for his men under his command.

Owen and his platoon had spent the previous night in the cellar of a Forester’s House in the wood outside Ors. Ors is mere two hours’ drive from Calais in the Nord-Pas de Calais region. It’s a small village and if you walk across the canal you can church bells tolling. To right and left the countryside resembles a French Impressionist painting. The waterway is lined with tall, leafy Poplar trees; there are meadows full of cattle, the hills beyond roll into the distance - an idyllic scene, glowing in the spring sunlight. It’s hard to conceive of the ghastly sights, sounds and smells that once shattered this tranquil landscape.

When I was driving with friends around there we visited key sites that marked the First World War. When we got to Ors we came across Forester’s House, now a memorial to Wilfred Owen. We were told by that by some villagers that a great number of British visitors came looking for Owen’s grave and the exact spot where he had been killed, and asking to visit the cellar of the Forester’s house. And so a grassroots campaign amongst locals began to raise funds to commemorate Wilfred Owen properly. British artist Simon Patterson along with French architect Jean-Christophe Denise took seven years to design a suitable memorial - by re-designing the building into a place for reflection and meditation - which eventually opened in 2011.

The tiny cellar remains bare and untouched, but the 18th century house above has been transformed into a 21st century sculptural object, its entire brick facade painted stark white to resemble bleached bone, the original roof encased and glazed to form a face-down open book. The gutted interior is now a sanctuary, lined by translucent glass panels, each etched with fragments of original text from Wilfred Owen’s best-known and much-loved works, complete with his corrections, scribbles and crossings-out. The drafts bear testament to the poet’s struggle with the barbaric absurdity of war: “My subject is War, and the pity of War.” Included are lines from Dulce et Decorum Est, Anthem for Doomed Youth, The Dead Beat, Strange Meeting, and Spring Offensive; each poem backlit by waves of coloured lights activated by the recorded voice of actor Kenneth Branagh playing inside the room. Branagh’s stirring readings pitch the poems across the open space. They rise and fall from the walls and reverberate around the roof lights, before flowing out into the l’Évêque forest beyond.

It’s an impressive memorial and a powerful place, made all the more effective by being so simple. Unlike other war museums, there are no artefacts, no tanks, no weapons or uniforms. It was created as: “a quiet place that is suitable for reflection and the contemplation of poetry,” gently glorifying the art that has come out of the chaos and tragedy of war.

It’s all the more remarkable that the local French took the initiative because Owen was pretty much unknown in France - but today his poetry has been translated into French for schoolchildren to learn and reflect upon the pity of war.

We visited the cellar and I tried to imagine what Owen’s last night was like. I could empathise from my own experience of the battlefield out in Afghanistan waiting to leave on a night time or day time mission in my helicopter. As any soldier will tell you,  everyone has their own coping mechanism to deal with the pre-mission nerves and unspoken anxieties. Some hide it better than others. I tried to imagine Wilfred Owen’s state of mind.

Thankfully we can have a good idea because he wrote a letter. Billeted in the cramped, smoke-filled cellar of a forester’s house in woods near Ors in late October 1918, Owen took time to write to his mother. His mother was to receive his letter on 11 November, 1918, the day the Armistice was declared, along with a telegram informing Susan and Tom Owen that their beloved son had died in action seven days earlier. The words of that last letter home are carved now into the stone wall of a curved walkway that leads to the brick-lined cellar of the forester’s house.

Entering the cellar, you are struck by how crowded it must have been that night when 29 soldiers were holed up here, smoking like chimneys.  As you begin to absorb the surrounding a recording begins of Kenneth Branagh reading Owen’s last letter to his mother.  It is observant, amusing - and deeply moving. Owen’s letter was designed to reassure his mother, saying nothing about the impending attack, but instead poking fun at his comrades that he cared deeply about.

To Susan Owen
Thurs. 31 October [1918] 6:15 p.m. [2nd Manchester Regt.]

Dearest Mother,

I will call the place from which I’m now writing ‘The Smoky Cellar of the Forester’s House’. I write on the first sheet of the writing pad which came in the parcel yesterday. Luckily the parcel was small, as it reached me just before we moved off to the line. Thus only the paraffin was unwelcome in my pack.  My servant & I ate the chocolate in the cold middle of last night, crouched under a draughty Tamboo, roofed with planks. I husband the Malted Milk for tonight,  & tomorrow night. The handkerchief & socks are most opportune, as the ground is marshy, & I have a slight cold!

So thick is the smoke in this cellar that I can hardly see by a candle 12 ins. away, and so thick are the inmates that I can hardly write for pokes, nudges & jolts. On my left the Company Commander snores on a bench: other officers repose on wire beds behind me.  At my right hand, Kellett, a delightful servant of A Company in The Old Days radiates joy & contentment from pink cheeks and baby eyes. He laughs with a signaller, to whose left ear is glued the Receiver; but whose eyes rolling with gaiety show that he is listening with his right ear to a merry corporal, who appears at this distance away (some three feet) nothing [but] a gleam of white teeth & a wheeze of jokes.

Splashing my hand, an old soldier with a walrus moustache peels & drops potatoes into the pot. By him, Keyes, my cook, chops wood; another feeds the smoke with the damp wood.

It is a great life. I am more oblivious than alas! yourself, dear Mother, of the ghastly glimmering of the guns outside, & the hollow crashing of the shells. There is no danger down here, or if any, it will be well over before you read these lines.

I hope you are as warm as I am; as serene in your room as I am here; and that you think of me never in bed as resignedly as I think of you always in bed. Of this I am certain you could not be visited by a band of friends half so fine as surround me here.

Ever Wilfred x

At dawn on 4th November 1918, the bodies of hundreds of soldiers littered these fields. Bludgeoned, blinded, blown to smithereens, their hopes and dreams ended in the first minutes of brutal engagement as they floundered through a blasted land, thick with mud, blood and the gory detritus of war. They lost their lives horribly in a futile attempt to claim a few extra inches on the map of Europe at a time when both sides knew the First World War was over, and to carry on fighting was a cynical, cruel waste of time and the lives of men wanting to go home alive to their loved ones.

After the action, shocked survivors found a pair of standing bodies - an English Tommy and a German Fritz - welded face-to-face in death by the impact of their bayonet charge. On that day, England lost more than its fair share of brave men. In their midst lay a poetic genius whose compassionate and skilful writing still stirs the souls and breaks the hearts of millions of readers almost a hundred years after his death. After all these years, Wilfred Owen’s bleak words: “I am the enemy you killed, my friend,” continue to carry across borders and speak to nations about the foolishness of war - its horror, grief and waste - and the terrible impact warfare still has on the world today. Second Lieutenant Wilfred Edward Salter Owen MC now lies alongside 30 of his fellow soldiers buried beneath pristine rows of crisp white headstones inside the compact War Graves Commission Cemetery at Ors.

Any doubts of Wilfred Owen’s incredible bravery arising from his mental breakdown in 1917 can be quickly dispelled by his decision to go back to France. It is this little detail that is so often overlooked that truly lends pathos to the war poetry of Wilfred Owen. This is central to Owen’s complex identity that is lost by the reductive perspective of him as this mythic anti-war herald, and not as a man of immense sacrificial courage and an unspoken sense of personal duty to others.

Owen is not the only poet of the war era to suffer this arguable ‘dehumanisation’. Of course it is important to recognise what these figures reveal about war and its impact, but we must not lose sight of the men behind the symbols and thereby rob them of their humanity and thus their very human sacrifice. When we remember those who have lost their lives, our thoughts must be of the men, not just the memorials.

#wilfred owen #owen #poet #poetry #first world war #war #great war #remembrance #remembrance sunday #armistice day #britain #british army #france #soldier #battle #memorial #commemoration

[kerorowhump]

right like living on that tiny uncomfortable edge between being successful enough that they don't kill you de-age you and replace you with a clone but not SO successful that you actually invade earth and lose all your earth friends and your comfortable place all while your platoon berates you because you're not doing a good enough job. that "I'll find a way to make both work" doomed by the narrative kinda thing. that either way it ends in self-sacrifice in order to protect both your friends and the place you've grown to love and maybe even call home. borrowing time with them all while you're working this flimsy balance that isn't meant to last. having nightmares about your superiors demanding more from you

or your friends leaving you, which is an all too real threat for a failing leader.

constantly finding excuses for why conquering earth isn't that important

or wanting to protect it deep down

There IS no way to make both work. But does he know? is he just buying time?

#keroro #musing #headcanon

[lordoftherazzles]

PLOT BUNNY #2 ↳ HEARTSTONES

Summary: It’s believed that dwarves are blessed in one of two ways: by their heartstone, or their heartcraft, both a calling of the soul. When Thorin is convinced he has neither, a quest for his happiness takes him far beyond the Misty Mountains to the West. It’s within the West that Frerin is convinced they’ll find Thorin’s calling. Be that a happiness of the heart or the craft.

If you want to see this fic in the future, be sure to like, reblog, and/or comment! Feedback is welcome, and I can’t wait to see what fic wins the raz2k!  Check out the MASTERPOST to see the other plot bunnies!

Heartstones and heartcrafts were the ultimate callings to any dwarf. It was a gift given by birth in order to find your place in the world, be it a place of one’s heart or within a form of creation, it was a high honor, just as it was unthinkable to be without either. 

Each race had its own name for it, but it was most commonly known as Ones among the dwarrow, and soulmates to others. Heartsongs for the elves, heartblooms to the hobbits of the Farthings, and for the most oblivious of races, heartfelt for men. It was fairytale fodder in the eyes of many, but sacred to others–such as the dwarves where heart and craft were praised in many aspects of their lives.

Thorin was close to giving up on the idea that soulmates truly existed, whether it be of the heart or of the craft, he had yet to feel that special something that other dwarves raved about. Typically most dwarves minded their own business when it came to the beautiful discovery of one’s heartstone or heartcraft, but for a Prince of Erebor like Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, to be without both? It certainly spurred no small amount of conversation, much to the dismay of the Line of Durin.

“And once we get just beyond Bywater that’s where we’ll meet our escort, supposedly,” Frerin chipperly spoke up, breaking Thorin out of this cycle of doom and gloom roaming about his mind.

There was nothing quite like being seen as a disappointment in the aspect of both love and craft, which were things that dwarves were very passionate about. Of course, Thorin could have fibbed and latched onto his talent for the forge, but to be untruthful about something so sacred in the world of the dwarrow, would be a punishment in itself to live with that lie.

“I will continue to insist that this trip is pointless. Just because you found your Kurdu'aban(heartstone), does not mean mine is out there,” Thorin lamented before feeling a playful clap on his shoulder.

“Trust in me, brother, your One is out there. Once we find the stone they are equivalent to, then it will be much easier to recognize them. It’s how it happened to me! And for Dis, if I recall. How long was it before she saw her first sunstone? Then came Vili shortly after.”

Thorin’s eyes rolled, remembering just how excited Frerin had been to find his heartstone. A dwarrowdam from Ered Luin who had been visiting with a caravan of merchants, ready to peddle their fine silks and threads. Needless to say, the dwarrowdam in question became a permanent fixture in Erebor and was to be wed to Frerin in due time.

“Fjola insists there are caves in these parts that are untouched by dwarven hands, and if there is a chance at discovering your gem of heart, then we must take it. Father wants you to be happy, as do all of us–”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps everyone is tired of hearing about Thrain’s oldest son as being Iklalu'kurdu(cold of heart)?” Thorin grouched, instantly souring Frerin’s mood as they walked, a small platoon of dwarves at their heels that were likely listening carefully, but finding it easier to not butt into the conversation more than anything. “I have been through the various guild halls more times than I care to count. No craft calls to my heart, regardless of skill. Nor has any gem mined out of the mountain…or any one person…”

“That’s what this quest is all about! Don’t think of it as us being in search of a title or a release from one, but…for your happiness. Everyone deserves that, don’t you think?” Frerin’s tone was low and calm, just as it was sincere. He might have been an eccentric sort on most occasions, but when it came to the happiness of his family, he would always be there to boost them up. “And if all else fails, we head north and pay a visit to our distant kin in Ered Luin.” 

The grumble that sounded off from Thorin was enough to spur a sigh from Frerin, shaking his head and giving up on the idea of cheering his older brother up for the moment. Instead, he focused on flashing a grin over his shoulder towards a few of the dwarves following behind.

“Have any of you been to the Shire before? I’ve heard many rumors and don’t want to cause too much trouble, but I have to say…I am genuinely curious…”

It was Dwalin who scoffed first, and Bofur who chuckled second among several other mixed feelings sounding off.

“Oh, aye! I’m sure at least half of the rumors are true, and one I can absolutely guarantee is their Longbottom Leaf is quite the prize!” Bofur cheered, ironically a pipe wedged in the corner of his mouth as he bumped elbows with his brother and cousin. “And the food, you won’t believe the kind of worship these little lads and lassies have over their meals. I wonder if Leanna is still baking that blackberry pie of hers…”

There were several other things discussed among the group of dwarves when it came to hobbits and the supposed rumors. Just like there were no doubt rumors of dwarves, elves, and men that circled around these parts. All Thorin could do was continue to remain quiet and grumble whenever something mildly irritated him. It wasn’t that he was jealous or unappreciative of the efforts put forward by his friends and family, but he had very little faith that they’d find something.

This long journey would be a waste, and then to show back up to Erebor without any decent news? How could he face his father? Or even his grandfather? Both had insisted that Thorin was fine the way he was, but gave blessings and assistance to put him on the path to finding his one true desire–with little success thus far.

All of this work for nothing, regardless of how anyone insisted, Thorin wasn’t sure he could shirk the guilt in favor of acceptance of himself. He was dubbed as being cold of heart, and he certainly felt like it more often than not. The thought made his expression sour which hardly went unnoticed.

“Thorin?” Frerin piped up, hooking his hand around Thorin’s elbow and starting to pull him aside. “We’re taking a break! Rest your legs for a few minutes, alright?” Continuing to drag Thorin along to the side of the path, away from prying ears, Frerin’s brows knit together. “Tell me what’s wrong, Nadad(brother).”

Of course, Thorin remained rather closed off for the moment. His arm yanked away and folded across his chest, his gaze never meeting that of his brother’s, and his mouth tightly clamped shut.

“It’s not just about the heartstones is it?”

For as tightly wound as Thorin felt, practically coiled in on himself emotionally, the words fell out of his mouth without much thought. “What happens if there is nothing? I care not for what others think, if they wish to continue whispering that I am Iklalu'kurdu behind my back, then so be it, but…” Thorin’s eyes dropped with uncertainty within them that felt as painful as it looked. “Everyone has something…and those who have nothing are miserable. It’s a wretched feeling that the universe has decided you are…binzirikhul(unwanted)...how am I to be seen as anything but cold of heart? To being the disappointment of our line. Every great king has a calling…”

“Thorin…”

“I want to make them proud. Father, grandfather…and those who are no longer with us. I want to feel…something. Something other than this rotten swirl of self-doubt and self-loathing. I want to belong somewhere and not feel like such an outsider amongst my own.”

“You have my word, Nadad, we will find your happiness. We won’t stop searching until something, or someone calls to your heart, just as you deserve.” A small grin began to spread across Frerin’s lips as he could see the dismay slowly melting away from his older sibling. “Whether we find the gem that calls to you here or not, we will keep searching. You deserve every ounce of happiness the world has to offer. And who knows, perhaps the hobbits here can teach you a thing or two about that.” 

It was a far stretch, but Frerin would take whatever positive thoughts he could muster and shove them at Thorin relentlessly.

“I suppose we can consider this an educational experience if anything…” Thorin muttered low but wasn’t completely dour in tone. “We should keep moving, our escort may become less enthusiastic at housing a few dwarves if we fall off schedule.”

“Right you are, Brother! Though from what I’ve heard, Mister Baggins is quite a respectable sort, so I have no doubt in my mind that he will be a most suitable host for two princes of Erebor, even if we are running a tad behind. Just you wait and see.”

#raz2k #bagginshield #thilbo #thorin oakenshield #frerin #bilbo baggins #technically #hobbit fic #hobbit fanfic #bagginshield fic #soulmate au #the company of thorin oakenshield #razzywrites #fic: sneak peek #razpb

[earlymidsomermurders]

Hello! What do you think is the most ridiculous murder in Midsomer? Let’s forget the creepy, the scary, the masterful plans… just what is the most ridiculous?

YES ridiculous Midsomer killings!! There are so many: the legendary wine catapult (Hidden Depths), the headless motorcyclist (Midsomer Rhapsody), death by drinks cabinet (Destroying Angel), the dryer of doom (Midsomer Life), whatever Small Mercies has going on, gazpacho bloodbath (A Tale of Two Hamlets)........... but nothing. Nothing beats Shot at Dawn. That one murder with the antique machine gun rigged to the garage door?? The way the guy dies a stupidly tragic gunfire death that puts Willem Dafoe in Platoon to shame?? In his chinos. On his front lawn. And it’s clever too: he is the “too soft” head of a local military dynasty in an ep about military sentimentalism. Malcolm Sinclair remains my fave returning guest on the show, he is full of touching comedy and he COMMITS to that scene. Most ridiculous murder hands down. It’s stupid, it’s meta. Peak Midsomer.

#midsomer murders #ask #ridiculous murders #malcolm sinclair #people putting enrichment in my inbox i love you

[famprined]

Dooming my ww1 platoon cuz I'm too busy throwing it back to the beat of the morse code retreat order to tell anyone.

[evolutionsvoid]

Honestly, never thought we would have made it this far. Figured we were all doomed, that our deaths would have come weeks ago. Somehow, though, the days ticked by without any diseased buzzards dropping on our heads or a cancerous mass devouring the whole base. The world is in shambles, that is still very much true. What communications we got over the miserable days have been lonely cries in the dark and desperate pleas for help. Both were equally depressing, as there was just nothing to be done. There are countless people out there seeking refuge, as their homes have been trampled by the titans, but where could they go? The great abominations go where they please, and it is only a matter of time before some super-heated worm decides to burrow through your new home. For those calling for aid, who will come for them? No military force even really exists anymore, as everything we have has been burned and destroyed in our attempts to slay even one of these titans. What medical supplies and food still remains is hoarded by those who have them, seeing no point in sharing when there is no guarantee of getting more. We once had the power to do something about this, but those days are long gone. After all, it was our might and genius that caused this whole mess. All we ever did was kill one giant leviathan and unleash its mutagenic blood upon the world. The plague of A.N.A is all our fault, and it seemed we would never get the chance to redeem ourselves. All we could do was sit in our crumbling base and wait for the end. Fate is truly an odd thing, no one knows how the die will roll. We all thought our time was up, that hope was a thing of the past. The people who stayed here only did so because they had nowhere else to go, the researchers kept working because that was the only thing left to do besides die. Our useless band of folk were more like squatters then heroes, preferring some place warm and lit before a giant spike ball crushed us in its migration. Some time ago, there was the foolish belief that A.N.A. had a secret for us to discover. Some kind of weakness we could exploit and finally put her children to rest. Our research gave us nothing, and in some cases it just made more monstrosities. The few scientists who stuck around toyed with our last samples to keep themselves distracted, and to satiate their own curiosities before death claimed them. No one expected any breakthroughs or miracles. What would we do with one even if we got it? Even if we discovered a weapon that could be used against the titans, who would wield it? Every country had pretty much sealed their borders and now pray for the titans to walk the other way. There is no squadron of jet fighters to blast the monsters to smithereens with our new miracle weapon. No platoon of brave soldiers to carry the super bomb that will evaporate our nightmares for good. All our weapons our gone, all our warriors have fled to home. Calls to action have grown silent, while we now just get messages of desperation and loss. We offered what comforting words we could, but little else. Our own supplies were dwindling, and it was only a matter of time before one of the titans finally walked our way. We had nothing. That became even more apparent when one of our labs exploded on accident. One of the researchers broke down during their futile studies and pretty much trashed the lab. Their frenzy set something off and the place went up. We extinguished the flames and boarded up the holes the best we could, and pretty much left it at that. No one really even blamed the guy, as we all had one of those days where our minds just gave up. The samples of A.N.A. we had in there as well as the poor lab animals were lost in the incident, but we didn't think much of it. The days of playing hero were long gone, it was best to just seal it away and face reality. The disaster zone was ignored for quite some time, until someone started hearing noises coming from the sealed off area. With everyone's nerves frayed, we chalked it up to paranoia, especially since we got word that a giant obscene beetle was stomping in our direction. Reports from all around were saying Minceskro was headed our way, bringing their swarm of horrid bugs along. Once we heard that, panic set in. Everyone was just running around, either pretending we could survive this arrival or foolishly believing we could escape it in time. Neither option would really work. Our buildings were in shambles, it would never be able to keep out the ravenous swarms. Our vehicles were few and the remaining gas was meager. Some people could flee, but to where? Even if they outran the living hive, they would just be joining the sea of lost refugees, forever searching for safety. There were arguments, fights, breakdowns, all the horrid emotions that come from such a revelation. People were at each others throats, while others just sealed themselves into various corners and cried. It was getting to the point where it was looking like we wouldn't even live long enough to see the wretched bug when the lab exploded again.

The whole building shook like there was the greatest earthquake of all time happening. The sound of crumbling brick and screeching metal filled the air. For a moment, we all thought that another titan had beaten Minceskro to their prize. The current bet was Melalo making another crash landing atop a community of unfortunate souls. But when the dust settled and we all emerged from our hiding places, we found something else standing amongst the rubble. When we first gazed upon it, we found no hope or comfort. It wasn't one of the titans we knew, but that only meant a new monstrosity had been born. It looked like that laboratory freakout must have caused various A.N.A. samples to infect one of the test animals. With the mutagen in their body, they would have easily survived the disaster and had been growing ever since we boarded the place up. This destruction was just the result of a massive growth spurt, the violent emergence into their true form. Fate was kind to us, as this creature was easily the smallest of all the titans. If it had been as large as the others, our whole base would have been flattened. Despite our miraculous survival, things were not looking good. Sooner or later the thing would wake up from its slumber and unveil the newest way for A.N.A. to ravage the planet. The new beast looked like one of the toads that was kept in the lab, so the bet was that we would all drown in poison or something. All we had to do was wait. Some folk took a vehicle and peeled out that very night, but the rest stayed and simply stared at the great beast. It was probably because we all accepted our fate and decided to stop running and hiding. Let us die together in the place that we once called home. But we waited and waited, and no death came for us. This newborn didn't awaken, it hardly even moved. Its eyes did not open, and it almost looked like they couldn't even do that if it wanted. It breathed, it snored, but it did little else. Further investigation showed that its limbs weren't even capable of movement, as their feet was just a sprawling web of flesh that coated the earth. If this beast wouldn't move, then perhaps its lethality would come from deadly gas or clouds of A.N.A. filling the air. None of that happened either. Days went by, and the creature still slumbered.       We all began to think that this newborn was simply a dud, a failed creation of A.N.A. Funny how we considered the fact that it didn't horribly kill us a "failure," but our minds weren't in the right place. Everyone was just bewildered by this development, finally seeing one of these titans up close and in the flesh. We were so wrapped up in it all that we didn't even notice that the time table for Mincerskro's arrival came and went without an appearance. It was only long after the fact when someone realized the horrid beetle never showed up. We all scrambled to our dusty stations and tried to get a read on where it was now. From what few reports we could get, it seemed the massive bug had suddenly changed its mind and veered its path far away from us. This was a brief moment of relief for us, as that meant we wouldn't be eaten alive by mutated insects. This meant that we had more time to poke and prod this new creation until another titan showed up to finish the job. We spent quite some time musing over this great toad, wondering what it could do and why it had been born. What researchers remained did their best to study it, with a slightly renewed hope of unlocking the secrets of A.N.A. Perhaps this sleeping amphibian could give us some answers, or even clues on how to deal with the titans. With dwindling supplies and time, we wondered if we would live long enough to solve this mystery. It turns out, our starved broken selves had already been given an answer, but we were too absorbed in the new beast's presence to notice it. The realization came when someone made a comment on the toad's slumbering state versus the other rampaging titans. Talk of how the other beasts would rip this little thing to shreds, and how it probably wouldn't even wake up then. When someone mentioned that the titans don't invade each other's territories, it finally hit us. Minceskro didn't just change its direction at random, it avoided us because this new being had been born. The abominations don't fight each other, they don't even get close. Something keeps them apart, for what reason, we don't know. It could be that they are territorial, or they don't see a point in fighting. Plenty of earth to ravage, no need to bicker over who gets to stomp what city. The toad's presence might be giving off that same cue, some kind of signal to keep the others away. There was no real way for us to test it, but we clung to that hope for as long as we could. As time rolled by and our studies continued, we started getting the inkling that this was true. The other children were not coming close to this region, always forging a path that steered around rather than through. Was it really because of this sleeping toad, or was it pure luck? Didn't matter, we were alive. Eventually, we started to spread word of this miracle, that we now had a safe haven from the titans. With the slumbering toad keeping the whole area free of destruction, there was now somewhere for people to find shelter. At first, no one really believed us. Some called us traitors for harboring this thing, and others called for its death. In time, though, enough desperate people heard of this slim hope and started to make their way here. We opened our doors and offered what little we had left to those who came, happy that we could at least give some comfort to others. In the beginning, things were tight and tough, as supplies ran low and more mouths arrived. It started to seem like a bad idea to bring all these people here, until more started to arrive with their own offerings. As word spread further, and our survival continued, more folk started to believe this was truly a safe haven. They brought everything they could and shared it with the others. Our base started to grow into a village, than a town, as more refugees came in and brought their own gifts with them. Days went to weeks then to months, all without a titan coming to spoil the fun. It seemed our froggy friend was actually serving as our guardian. We soon found out that they could do more then just that. During initial studies of the immobile toad, we found that its many warts wept with a golden fluid. We assumed it to be poison and stayed far away. The researchers found it to be filled with A.N.A. though it was in a form they never seen before. It was not the same as the mutagen, but it was A.N.A. no doubt. We didn't think too much of it, just avoided making contact with it. With refugees showing up and shelters needed, we busied ourselves with that instead of worrying about this golden ichor. The discovery of its properties only came when one of the refugees made an insane decision. They had come with a group who had fled from Tcaridyi, the great worm having drilled its way through their tent city and bathed itself in the nearby lake. The poor soul had been inflicted by the beast's irritating hairs, the crimson shards stabbed into half of his body. His whole right arm was swollen to disgusting levels, and the fever he held was dangerously high. Amputation was on the table, but his burning body gave the impression that his days were quite short, regardless of what we did. He spent most of his time in the medical area of the camp, with everyone pretty much waiting for him to pass. One night, though, his fever and burning flesh drove him to madness, and he fled from his cot. Desperate and dying, he wandered to the sleeping toad and started yelling for its help. No one really knows what he was thinking, perhaps the delirium making him believe that the savior that gave him shelter could cure his sickness. Whatever madness struck him, it caused him to drive an arm into one of the warts and spray himself with the golden fluid. Man drenched himself head to toe with the stuff, much to the horror of everyone around. We busted out the hazmat suits and dragged him away to quarantine, terrified of what he just unleashed. It would be just our luck that one crazed person would ruin it all for everyone. However, the toad never woke and the coating of A.N.A. led to something far greater. Everyone expected him to die, to melt into some puddle of goo. But when one of the helping hands went in to check on them, they came stumbling back out in utter disbelief. We figured it was a scene of wretched gore that caused this reaction, as they just kept saying "Ana, Ana" as they pointed at the quarantine wing. When someone else dared peek in on our crazed patient, they too were just as shocked at what they saw. The man was getting better, the swelling having died down drastically and his skin returning to a healthy hue. Temperature checks revealed that his fever was fading, and that his vitals were reaching normal levels. The burning hairs of Tcaridyi were plaguing him no more, and the golden A.N.A. fluid brought no other damage with it. We wanted to believe that it was the ichor that cured him, but we didn't want to say it. There was no real way to prove it just yet, and we didn't want to give the sick refugees a false hope. Even more, we didn't know what side effects would occur. Perhaps he would survive this fever just to die to something even more horrible hidden with the fluid. We had to do more tests, but we weren't sure how to proceed. We couldn't just do human testing, that was immoral. However, that decision was torn from us once word leaked out of this miraculous liquid.

 People with dying friends and families nearly trampled each other to get hold of some of this juice, and didn't think twice before smearing it on wounds and infected sites. We had to seal off access to our beloved toad and keep constant guard to ward off desperate families. We didn't like the idea of people bathing in this unknown ichor, and also we didn't want our one guardian to be torn apart by frantic believers. In short time, though, we couldn't deny its effects. People exposed to this fluid were getting better, the death sentences granted to them by the other diseased titans were now being lifted. When we saw what was happening, we couldn't keep it back any longer. This was another great hope, another chance for survival. Even if something horrible happened in the long run, we couldn't afford to deny this hope for others. A new procedure was set in place, with trained folks safely harvesting the fluid from the toad and giving it out to the patients in the medical ward. There was healing, there was hope. With word of this lifesaving ichor, even more people poured in, and even communication lines opened up with other places begging for samples. Our sleeping toad friend started to gain quite the following, and eventually the people gave her a name. "Queen Ana" was quite the choice, but it was fitting with her (assuming she is female) appearance and what was in the fluid that saved so many lives. The demand was so high, there was worry we would drain our beloved guardian dry. She certainly needed to replenish the nutrients we took from her, but we didn't know how. The other titans didn't really need to eat, but she was obviously different from them. Her mouth didn't look like it could open, and we weren't even sure what to feed her. She wound up solving that problem herself. One day, the skin on her chest began to slough off, revealing a nest of unsettling holes. We feared she was sick or dying, until things started to emerge from these cavities. They looked like tadpoles, but their fins fluttered like wings in the breeze. They crawled out of her in droves and took to the skies, dancing away like fairies.

We were baffled by all this, but some stuck around and revealed their purpose to us all. These offspring glided their way to those who were sickened by the other titans and landed upon their bodies. Tendrils latched onto skin and they started to feed. No one even thought of stopping them, never considering a malicious intent. The tadpoles just drained some blood and then flew on to the next patient. Days later, those touched by these creatures were regaining their health, the disease seemingly sucked out of their bodies. As for the young, once they were filled up with blood, they fluttered back home to Queen Ana and crawled back inside. Soon after, they would emerge empty and take to the skies again. It seemed that they were feeding the Queen, pulling the sickness in with blood and giving it to her instead. The many that were carried away on the winds would eventually return, drop off their cache and head back out. The healing touch was now spreading, and soon other places found relief in their presence. Even now, Queen Ana still sleeps, despite the city growing around here. With the titans kept at bay, we now can actually build something that will stand. So many people and resources continue to pour into this sprawling community, turning this rundown tent town into the last bastion for humanity. The study of Queen Ana and her fairy-like tadpoles have continued with greater purpose. There is the hope that this cure can be used to further ward off the titans and their pestilence, and that maybe its regenerative properties can be used to heal the broken land. Some think that we could replicate Ana, and create more guardians and thus more havens. Of course, we are all hesitant on that last part, lest we repeat past mistakes. But the thing that matters most is that there is hope, there is safety, and there is home. With Queen Ana with us, maybe, just maybe, we might make it after all....   ------------------------------------

“Queen Ana”

A while back I did the kaiju versions of the Children of Ana, and originally I was done there. But then @iamthekaijuking pointed out that Queen Ana herself has a form of a golden toad, and thought that would work as a kaiju as well. I liked the idea and decided to go for it, so we got one last entry here! I will note that the demon father probably won't get a form, since I have not seen any mention of what he looks like and technically his role was filled by the dead leviathan. And this new entry at least gives some hope to the poor world I created to suffer at the hands of these diseased titans.

#frog #toad #monster #creature #kaiju #children of ana #queen ana #art #drawing #trypophobia #body horror

[the-fallen-ones-posts]

I amar prestar aen. Han matho ne nen. Han mathon ned chae. A han noston ned 'wilith.

The world is changed I feel it in the water I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it.

It began with the forging of the Great Rings. Three were given to the Elves under they sky. Seven to the Dwarfs in their mountain halls. And nine, nine rings were gifted to the race of men, who, above all else, desire power. For within these rings was bound the strength and will to govern each race.

But they were, all of them, deceived, for another Ring was made. In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret a master Ring, to control all others. And into this Ring he poured his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life.

One Ring to rule them all.

One by one, the free lands of Middle-Earth fell to the power of the Ring, but there were some who resisted.

A last alliance of men and elves marched against the armies of Mordor, and on the very slopes of Mount Doom, they fought for the freedom of Middle-Earth.

Victory was near, but the power of the ring could not be undone. It was in this moment, when all hope had faded, that Isildur, son of the king, took up his father’s sword.

He stomped on Narsil and the sword broke under the boot, with his right hand and the one ring he held the mace, with his left he grabbed Isildur by the neck and he lifted Isildur high up in the air and Sauron transformed back.

Isildur was like a punching bag in Halbrand's left arm and Isildur looked with big eyes, "huh? What the fuck. This cannot be true. The last trace of humanity. There you are. You're back, it's been years ago. Halbrand. The last platoon of humanity that you lost on Numenor is back. The last trait of humanity in you is back", Isildur hung like a sip of water in Halbrand's left arm and he threw Isildur crushing and thundering like a small stone into the ranks of the Dunedain and Elves, "FUCK OFF BACK TO ARNOR! Fuck off back to Annuminas and bang your whore, you little bunch of shit", roared Halbrand.

"You're a virgin and i'm not haha haha what a loser. Kneel! On your knees. Kneel before the Elves and cry for your life Mairon. Tremble in FEAR Mairon! Submit to Vilya!

KNEEL DOWN! LET IT BE FEAR", roared Elrond like a maniac. Elrond shot a whirlwind with Vilya at Halbrand and the one ring shattered the whirlwind with a thunderclap.

"The one ring answers only to Halbrand alone he has no other master", said Talion and Khamul laughing.

A gust of wind came towards Halbrand and the ring formed a sphere and the gust of wind was smashed in all directions, "Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrâkatuluk agh burzum ishi krimpatul.

One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them. One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness, bind them", roared the one Ring and Elrond and the elves covered the ears and the one ring, the orcs, Halbrand, trolls, Nazgul, laughed aloud, "Buy earmuffs when you have a problem with Black Speech."

The most epic fight: The one Ring versus the airy one Vilya. The Fallen One versus The Lord of Rivendell

"I DEMAND YOU TO KNEEL MAIRON. GIVE ME THE ONE RING. THE HOUSE OF ELROND SENDS HIS REGARDS!

I will humiliate you completely!

I SAID KNEEL A NO WILL NOT BE TOLERATED I'LL DRAG YOU THROUGH VALINOR", Elrond and Vilya shot a tidal wave of galloping horses at Halbrand and the one ring broke it apart with a bolt of lightning. Galloping water horses darted at Halbrand and the one ring formed lightning and crushed it, "oh come on boy, you know what half-elf, you can hope, fear, think and believe what you want, Peredhel.

Oh come on boy you know how me the elves would never kneel to me and I never kneel to you. Damn proud that i'm still a virgin you are probably contagious with STDs and your Dad was a hypocritical asshole! Do you know that i hate that name? I hate the name Mairon.

Phew Mairon, Annatar, Gorthaur, Sauron, Zigur i tremble in fear, no not really.

•Memories of bygone ages, fragments of the past: A good man can fall

The beginning of the days

I have been awake since before the breaking of the first silence. In that Time I have had many names.•

Call me the fallen one call me the biggest loss with the heavenly hosts, i was the biggest loss, I never wanted to be a Maiar either. In heaven and here on Arda it would have escalated when Melkor had immediately declared war on everything and everyone.

A good man can fall I was a good man for over a thousand years before I fell in the first age, Peredhel, the breaking of the first silence, the beginning of the days, half-elf. The good man has fallen, I was a good man for over a thousand years when I came to Arda, half-elf! Perfectionism is just as unattainable as buying earmuffs because you have a problem with black speech, Elrond Peredhel, son of the hypocritical asshole Earendil!

My name is Halbrand!

I'm not a puppy you can take for a walk I am no mutt for hypocritical elves because you don't like something", roared Halbrand back.

Isildur landed right in Elrond and both men were thrown against a rock by the immense force and the rock broke apart through the tremendous force, "that was a lesson for me, ouch my back oh that was memorable for the rest of life now I can't sit for a week that was a lesson for this stupid, spoiled Dunedain", said Isildur and he rubbed his back.

"Hypocritical Elves. Your and Galadriel's double standards and immortality Elrond it stinks after dog shit you little, hypocritical bastards", screamed Isildur and the Dunedain and Elrond and the elves didn't say a word.

"Get out of my country! GET OUT! OUT! Everyone of you OUT! I SAID OUT! You have no reason to be here", roared Halbrand.

"Away in rank and file. No Dunedain will approach your land I'm not challenging you Halbrand i'm no better than you, the eyes of the Dunedain are not upon you. Halbrand you have my word no Dunedain will approach your borders within 100 miles.

I am not threatening or challenging you thank you for everything you gave it was more than just real Halbrand you're a real man you did nothing wrong. I don't blame you for anything. Nobody has permission to judge you you were a gray hero. You are on your own side. This is "fucking" Halbrand the best man of all.

Back to the borders. You're due Elrond for your mistakes, I can drag you through the streets of Annuminas too Elrond. That is just hatred which Halbrand has for the elves, you are not innocent.

Go to a doctor when you have a fucking problem Peredhel that goes for you, the wanker Celeborn, the motherfucker Finrod and the hypocritical Noldor Princess Galadriel that goes for all four of you you four are not as important as you think you are and Valinor is not innocent!

Isildur vs. Elrond

"You'd throw me into the fires of Mount Doom when you had the chance you hypocritical pig. Elves are a bunch of hypocrites", roared Isildur and the Dunedain. Elrond and the elves didn't say a word, "fuck."

Everything you want is war it's a fact", called Isildur and the Dunedain and they retired in order and Elrond and elves didn't say a word. Isildur and the Dunedain waved goodbye to Halbrand, and Halbrand waved back. Elrond rubbed his head, "fuck."

Elrond eyed Halbrand and Halbrand waved him away, "move your ass! Get your ass off my borders and put your penis in your bitch Celebrian! Get out of my country you little hypocritical asshole! You have no reason to be here move your ass away from my land what is so hard to understand about a no! Get earmuffs when you have a problem with black speech! Go to a Doctor when you have a Problem! Get your muzzle out of my sight before I punch it! I SAID GET OUT YOU LITTLE BASTARD. IT'S MY LAND! IT'S MY RING! What is so difficult to understand", screamed Halbrand like a deafening jackhammer that knees wobbled.

Elrond and the elves didn't say a word and walked away. A single tear ran down Elrond's face, "fuck."

Halbrand watched them go until they were gone, "go be free", said Halbrand and all Orcs, Wargs, Haradrim, Rhun soldiers, Trolls smiled, "you were always the best we always loved you. We'll never forget you Halbrand", and all of the Orcs, Wargs, Haradhrim, Rhun soldiers, Trolls smiled and walked away from Mordor. Halbrand put a hand on the nine Nazgul with the one ring, "Go my brothers and sisters. Go. Find Peace. Find peace! I redeem you my Brothers and Sisters."

The nine ringwraiths, Sauron's mouth, the Witch King, Khamul, Talion smiled and they crumbled to dust, "Farewell Halbrand. We always loved you brother. You were the best leader, general, king, chief, warrior, lord, commander, politician of all. You were the best of all it is so much more than just real this is far from over.

Halbrand pulls himself to Justice, Damage repaired, a good deed, something more than just real

On a scale of 1 to 10, you are an 11 you're the best. You're awesome. We will never forget you Halbrand.

Mordor remembers Halbrand. You helped enough and you gave enough. You are far smarter than Melkor or Manwë could ever be. You are far smarter than Melkor could ever be. Melkor would try to kill you first of all when he came back. Shit would have been up in heaven and earth when he had declared war on you all right away.

The student has far surpassed the master Halbrand. Girls, grab a guy who does craft. Very stylish jewelry if you ask me", and the nine ringwraiths, Sauron's mouth, the Witch-King, Khamul crumbled to dust.

The nine rings of power fell to the Ground powerless and Halbrand threw the nine rings of the Ringwraiths in the fires of Mount Doom and Halbrand closed the Black Gate with magic.

Halbrand went back to Barad-Dûr alone and ate clams when a tidal wave came at him and he smashed it, "get out of my land Artanis! GET OUT!"

"You're a virgin Sauron and i am not haha ​​haha ​​haha haha. What a loser. You don't even know how to use your penis. Haha haha. You're just a loser nothing more, pillow fucker. I'm so much better than you. What a loser. I'm a Goddess and you're nothing haha haha I'm perfect. You can't anything Sauron. Wimp. I'll make you the laughing stock in Valinor haha ​​haha, wimp what a loser I'll go to Alqualonde and make you a laughing stock Mairon. I can have anyone, I could easily kill you you little pillow fucker i can find you anywhere. I can kill you with your own arm Gorthaur. I would take any other guy but you, little wanker. Just a loser in life, you and your smelly ring. I could cuckold you with anyone. I'm so much better than you. You're just doomed. Violence against men is always justified. I love it when men suffer and beg. A dog kicked your ass haha ​​haha ​​haha ​​haha what a big loser. FEAR ME BASTARD! Kneel and suck my boots!

FEAR ME, LOVE ME AND DISPAIR BASTARD! Wallow in the dirt in front of me!

I SAID FEAR ME, CRY FOR YOUR LIFE! MY WILL, LET IT BE FEAR! I'M QUEEN!

Feel the foundations of the earth BASTARD!

Submit to me!

Give me the one Ring! FEAR ME.

INSTEAD OF A DARK LORD YOU HAVE A VERY ANGRY SHE-ELF", screamed Galadriel like a maniac.

"Submit", screamed Nenya madly, "huh? Wait. Hold on. Hold my ale. Wait let me think for a second. How about a...NO. NO", said the one Ring and Halbrand sipped wine and shoved Galadriel's magic away.

The earth trembled and a massive water wave rushed towards Halbrand and the one ring shattered the wave with strikes of thunder.

The most epic fight: Stronger than the foundations of the Earth: Pure disgust and hate:

The greatest loss in the heavenly hosts

vs.

The Lady of Light.

The one Ring vs. the watery one of Adamant Nenya

A tornado rushed towards him and the one ring smashed it with a bang, "fuck off back to Lorien you little whore, I never kneel before you, cruel bitch. My knees don't bend that easily, madwoman! The Silmaril also seem to have driven you insane in the head like your hypocritical Uncle Feanor, Artanis!"

Galadriel screamed, "I SAID FEAR ME! KNEEL AND KISS MY BOOTS. LET IT BE FEAR. I'll fuck your head until you're dumb I'll wash your head until you're stupid in the brain you little brainwashed whore. Kneel before the elves! KNEEL INFRONT OF ME AND CRY BASTARD", yelled Galadriel and Nenya's magic, Galadriel and her luminous form shot at Halbrand, and Halbrand and the One Ring's power pushed it away.

"ON YOUR KNEES BASTARD", screamed Galadriel like a madwoman. Galadriel and Nenya shot a pillar of flame from Laurelin and Telperion at Halbrand and the one ring shattered it with a thunderbolt.

"I KILL YOU YOU LITTLE WANKER", Heavy magic clashed, Galadriel shooting magical storms at Halbrand and he formed a magical mirror, "Thirst cannot be stilled by drinking seawater, can it Artanis, of the hypocritical House of Finarfin", said Halbrand.

"I kill you Bastard I am queen, I am goddess", screamed Galadriel like a maniac. Galadriel shot magical whips at Halbrand and he shattered it with magical shields and reflected it back and Galadriel landed on the ground, "YOU! You're no Queen you're just a whore that's what you are you're just a smelly cow, nothing more nothing less. You will never be a Queen you're no more than a cruel, mad bitch who would fuck with anyone.

And damn proud that I'm still a virgin and you and your whore daughter Celebrian aren't. No need to catch STDs from you, smelly whore.

By the love to the All Father Eru Iluvatar, please let the Maiar of the 3 Age eat his clams in peace. I want to chill, Artanis!

And you have no business here at all. You out of all of them.

I said leave me alone! You're hypocritical, you keep threatening me. Your appointment with the doctor has long expired. Get out of my borders with your smelly magic and your hypocritical ring Nenya you smelly Noldor Princess, that you not choke on your own double standards borders on madness and stupidity Altáriel of the hypocritical House of Finarfin. I worked until i was very old i have more money than you and your hypocritical Friend Elrond.

You're a hypocrite like your smelly brother Finrod and stupid uncle Feanor you are a madwoman probably the silmaril drove you insane in the head too because of your ugly bloodlines and legacies, SMELLY COW!

You'd have to choke on your own bullshit you babble. Smelly, hypocritical Lady of the Galadhrim. Get out of my Land Altáriel. You have no reasons to be here let alone having to constantly challenge or threaten me. AWAY FROM MY BORDERS. Nothing is your business! Leave me alone!

Little, smelly, hypocritical cow.

I would let you win I would throw myself into Mount Doom with the ring, Galadriel. I am not on your side, you are cruel and insane Altáriel you're just a bitch nothing more, and you have never been on my side. Enough said.

So you have your way, i can say and do what i want someone would always say it's wrong. I'll let you win in the end. As soon as this is all over, I'll throw myself into Mount Doom", said Halbrand and Galadriel teleported away.

Halbrand ate clams in Barad-Dur and drank wine and read in books and got into bed, and he fell asleep peacefully, "I think in the next years I'll ride east and look around a little and see if things can be changed", thought Halbrand and he fell asleep.

Lorien

Galadriel roared insanely angry in Lorien, "I'M QUEEN! QUEEN! QUEEN! MY WILL! MY WILL ALONE! I WANT TO BE A QUEEN!"

Haldir, Celebrian, Celeborn and the Galadhrim shook their heads.

"It was a draw, he's equal to us we're not stronger than Halbrand. He won against the last alliance, he disbanded the nazgul and released the orcs, haradhrim, trolls.

That's a problem with the Noldor, the pride and hypocrisy.

And now let's take a close look at the politics, visions, magic and we tug at the rat's tail and we'll see what could happen. Now we're going to address J.R.R Tolkien and Peter Jackson directly.

By the love to the All Father Eru Iluvatar we have to completely touch this whole framework and listen closely to what's being said and we cover it all so that everyone is hit. And now let's take a look and we wiggle this a bit.

So what happened now? How could he be standing there where he was? Yes, that was an attack on freedom. Land has been snatched, Mordor, Southlands. Freedom was attacked really hard. War-torn country. Freedom was banged really hard in the ass without lube to the bitter stop. We could also have attacked Dol Goldur or Angmar to change something.

This makes Halbrand a gray hero or an anti hero, anti hero does not have a happy ending, until another evil creature would come with a own evil will, until a villain or new powers, new magic, new monsters would emerge - he is neither good nor bad.

And that means let the good win -

A gray hero is not a PRO HERO - That makes Halbrand grey, a gray hero or an anti hero that means, conversely, there is something good in him and it can be many things that are as wide as a bouquet of flowers - maybe crack; disturbed or unserious. It creaks there a little bit in the beams.

And all for a woman she's is just a hypocrite like her brother Finrod - until the last trace of humanity was gone. Something in him says this is wrong. Something says he can heal and he can change a little thing and he disbanded the Ringwraiths there he dragged himself to justice a good deed, he apologized, he released the orcs, trolls, wargs and the others, also a good deed and something more than just real. He must accept that he committed these acts.

Yes a hero on his own way.

Yes betrayal, yes genocide, yes evil deeds.

Yes a good man can fall.

It was the energy - "i will show them" - and Halbrand showed what can happen - a power vacuum; - fight for land; wheels of power - and a power vacuum can create terrible things. And in Arnor, for example, there more and more hill people split off from the Dunedain. When the Nazgul and Orcs say they loved him in their own way, you can't change that Altáriel and the Ringwraiths are gone.

A place in world history, Halbrand won against the last alliance, he helped in politics, metallurgy, warfare, leadership and we have to make the best of it.

There are many political problems, gray or narrow-minded politics abound. There are enough issues that need to be changed otherwise we will have civil wars again, which will degenerate into world wars.

And we can be glad Melkor hasn't shown up yet and he will and then we all have real problems, Melkor is Palpatine the two are of a class and are probably best friends the two probably have a beer together every night and laugh up the sleeve.

Melkor is evil personified.

Melkor is Lucifer.

Melkor says - "I'm the villain and I don't give a shit".

It's the energy - "Did you ever hear the tragedy of Darth Plagueis The Wise?"

It's the energy - "The boss is screwing you and he's screwing you really hard. The boss is the heavyweight. The boss gives you a really bad time. The boss is really shoving shit in your face. The boss is ready for Champions League."

It's the energy - "Here we have the big boss and with the big boss you can't eat cherries with him. The big boss plays really bad. The big boss is really heavy."

You know, Lady Galadriel, you would have to travel to the other continents alone to see what things needed to be done differently. That energy speaks volumes and shows the whole truth. Why this energy - I can make him worse? Why this energy - I'm fed up with the dark Lord instead you have a very angry she-elf? Why this energy - i go west and i will remain Galadriel? Why this energy - I can kill him with his own arm? Why this energy - he deceived me and as an excuse he was hot? Why this energy - I'm a crazy, spoiled Noldor Princess and I force everyone to love me on their knees? Why this energy - I could also cause genocide? Because she's a hypocrite and she's horny to be a Queen. I would like to see stories reversed roles. Halbrand is not needed, he has a place, but neither are you needed Galadriel, you have a place but you will not be a queen Galadriel.

He told you that he can't help you. Halbrand told you that he cannot help you he told you that he committed bad deeds. Believe what you like Galadriel, you are a grown woman. Galadriel if you didn't want to get on that ship to Valinor then you would have had to leave Lindon then you would have had to go away if you can't change something right away or you don't like war, you would have to go away for a while and you would have had to look elsewhere in Middle-earth. You are a murderer, Galadriel, as are all of us, most likely some Elves wanted to be Orcs.

That helped the metal industry.

It is possible to manipulate, it cannot always be manipulated, the emphasis it is possible and that means you should have left Numenor and looked for clues in other places Galadriel. He hid because he never had the true power. If Halbrand had been on another raft or ship - and you would have met the other people on the other raft and you would have been a dead woman Galadriel, you didn't come because of Halbrand or Sauron but because you couldn't change anything at the moment. You are important Galadriel, but not as important as you think, you still need to know where your freedom ends and someone else's freedom begins, wars break out for that as you can see.

You see, Halbrand would throw himself into the fires of Mount Doom with the one ring. You see he would put himself in the line of fire between Melkor and Eru and would accept Melkor killing him.

Galadriel you are immortal what more do you want? You are capable of entering the minds of others Galadriel. This choice between immortality and mortality stinks of dog shit because that's not a choice. Do you think it's cool to be immortal or to have a long life? Because it isn't it is also an assault on liberty. This immortality is madness and stinks to Heaven. When you laugh at someone making mistakes or gossip behind someone's back then you are a whore Altáriel. This immortality is not healthy, it is false and hypocritical Finrod claims it is sane to be immortal and that is not true he's a hypocrite and so are you Galadriel your brother shouldn't be surprised that Halbrand killed him And now you and your brother can start crying in Valinor Halbrand did something for the economy of Numenor when he stood in the forge and swept, you, Elrond and Finrod cannot say that", said Haldir and the Galadhrim and Galadriel hissed like a mad snake, "I'M QUEEN! QUEEN! QUEEN! QUEEN! QUEEN!"

"Whoever says I'm a king or queen isn't a king or queen", said Celeborn and Galadriel punched Celeborn in the face with brutal force, "I CAN HAVE ANYONE I JUST SHOWCASE MY PUSSY WHILE YOU ONLY HAVE A PUNY PENIS", Celebrian punched Galadriel in the face, "do it again i want to see it again hit him again and you're in real trouble!"

"Your unwashed pussy stinks of seaweed. That would be new to me that you can have anyone. You're a loser at fucking. You're just a cruel bitch. Spoiled brat like Finrod, Elrond and Melkor. Melian should have banged Halbrand that would have been cool Melian should have married him after Thingol watched the flowers grow from below", said Celeborn laughing and spat on her feet and everyone laughed aloud over Galadriel. Celebrian laughed aloud over her.

Rebellion

•The hypocrisy of Elrond, Finrod Felagund and Galadriel to be immortal

•The Hypocrisy and Mistakes of Manwë and Eonwë, the Hypocrisy of the Valar

•Melian's police state

•Mortal men doomed to die

•The Kingslaying

•War crimes

•Pride and Prejudice

•Attack and threat to freedom, equality, domestic politics and foreign policy

Haldir shows Galadriel her mistakes, crimes and the limits

The General of the Galadhrim vs. The Lady of Light and Finrod Felagund

"I'm saying I wish I wasn't immortal, I'm saying I wish I wasn't an Elf and I'm not saying I want to be an Orc, Snaga or Uruk you can think what you like Lady Galadriel. And i don't care what you think.

Make out of it what you want LADY GALADRIEL. You won't be able to find out, Lady Galadriel, if some Elves didn't actually want to be Orcs because those Orcs are long dead LADY GALADRIEL! Grab it and make something out of it that is the position you are in as the Lady of Light and as Lady of the Galadhrim.

Free will belongs to Eru Iluvatar and not to you, Manwë, Eonwë, your brother Finrod or Elrond. The free will belongs to the All Father only Eru Iluvatar can give free will", said Haldir and the Galadhrim, "I WANT TO BE A QUEEN", screamed Galadriel like a madwoman, "Nobody needs hypocritical shit just like her hypocritical brother Finrod", said Celeborn, Celebrian and Haldir.

Galadriel didn't say a word and grabbed wine, "i need to get drunk and then i go to a brawl I also want a brawl like Mairon did on Numenor."

"He's proven his worth. Halbrand has given enough, showing what he can and can't do. I don't understand why you keep challenging him. That's enough to start wars as you can see. You are no better than him. Why are you racist towards Halbrand, you are absolutely racist towards him. Yes you're a hypocrite like Finrod. This immortality stinks to high heaven. I'll tell you something Lady Galadriel, I wish I was alone like Halbrand, I wish I wasn't an elf, Lady Galadriel. The assault on liberty through Sauron was one thing, but it was also an assault on Halbrand's liberty when the last Alliance attacked he was a Student of Aule and Melkor that doesn't mean he was a friend at the same time of Melkor. The biggest war of all approaches and we all have to prepare for that and Halbrand started it.

The Rebellion in the sky Galadriel in heaven and here on Arda it would have escalated when Melkor had immediately declared war on everything and everyone, Galadriel.

I wish Eru would remove that immortality Eru would have to remove the immortality for this we would all have to pray to him who are immortal that he removes it, and there Halbrand can help and it wouldn't even be for free for him, that we don't want the immortality but that we want to see our end in the near future.

Melkor would try to kill Halbrand first when he came back and I say he would try and Halbrand knows that. You are not as smart as you think you are Galadriel. The student was always stronger than the master. Melkor could never be where Halbrand stood. Everything is connected Galadriel. War bad, and sometimes you don't have a choice.

Melkor cannot stand where Halbrand stood. This is Halbrand's position as a former student of Melkor.

We all get real trouble when Melkor, Ancalagon, Gothmog and Ungoliant return one day.

Halbrand was stronger than Melkor at any point in his life and Melkor didn't realize it because now Melkor realizes that Halbrand, and we must start calling him that, was always stronger and that means Halbrand protects, and that makes him a knight, and that's also a good deed and something more than just real, he draws Melkor's attention completely and that means you still have to take action against Melkor otherwise you're a bloody hypocrite. Melkor will show up somewhere and we have to realize that he can't hunt Halbrand right away events will occur now. Melkor is a term he shared in the knowledge of the other Valar, Melkor was selfish he is evil personified. Halbrand draws Melkor's eyes completely on himself.

"When Morgoth was defeated, it was like a big fist around my neck was gone."

The big Boss, The Corrupter, Lucifer, This guy is really heavy, this guy plays in the Champions League, this guy pours you shit in the face, the snake, the greatest villain that ever existed, evil personified, this guy and Palpatine are best friends, here you have to really muster something to defeat and kill this guy

versus

the former Student: Which of the two men is smarter

Mirkwood

"They're coming. With the one ring and the three elven rings he can destroy Eru", said Celeborn and he, Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir, Tauriel and the Galadhrim looked to the sky.

Valinor

Galadriel, Melian and Finrod ran to a window, "fuck."

Lindon

Cirdan, Gandalf and Galdor looked to the heaven, "oh damn shit."

Rivendell

Elrond, Glorfindel, Celebrian looked up at the northern sky, "oh no. No no no please no."

Annuminas, Arnor, northern Kingdom

Isildur, Elendur, Valandil and the Dunedain ran to the king's court, "Please no."

East sea

Halbrand looked to the sky, "YOU! I've got completely different words in my head you spoiled brat! I have really hard words in my head. You're just a child throwing a tantrum Melkor, I have really hard words for you, you stupid bunch of shit", said Halbrand and the one Ring.

Eru Iluvatar, Melian, Eonwë, Aulë, Tulkas, Ulmo and Manwë laughed aloud in Valinor, "that's it."

Jet-black chains broke apart with a clatter across his back. Ankle shackles jumped out of their moorings and the chain snapped apart by inky magic. Wires with iron chains sprang from his ankles. Handcuffs fell to the floor with a crash and a crack ripped through the void, "TO WAR! I'll rape and kill you Halbrand. I'll kill you first my former student. I will kill you all. Kill them all", roared Morgoth like a maniac in the shallows and from the primeval depths rose Ungoliant, Glaurung, Carcharoth, Gothmog and Ancalagon.

The master was always far surpassed. The disciple was always stronger, smarter and wiser than the master. The student was always more important, smarter and stronger than the master. The student is stronger than Earendil the Sailor.

There is a difference between strength and power

The apprentice was stronger than Melkor at any point in his life and Morgoth didn't realize it

After everything that's happened, everything that's happening right now after the power vacuum, Melkor would try to kill Halbrand first. Most likely some Elves even wanted to be Orcs.

The student has far surpassed the master and Halbrand would destroy the one ring when Melkor was weakened and dead and that would destroy Mount Doom, the Black Gate, Barad-Dur and Mordor and that are cool and good deeds and good deeds are so much more than real but you can't force it right away Galadriel and that's maybe the best he can be.

Morgoth would never try to kill or capture you or Elrond first, never ever Galadriel. You undermine Halbrand and that's enough to start wars Galadriel.

The disciple is far stronger, smarter and wiser than the master.

Halbrand is the lesser evil because he's on his own side that's what you need to understand Galadriel. You have to understand Halbrand is alone.

Melkor would try to kill Halbrand first and then shit would really take off, Morgoth would never kill or capture you first Galadriel, never. It's called feud.

Halbrand would never fight Melkor at your side Galadriel. Halbrand is on his own side. Halbrand is constantly being challenged by someone. You're no cooler than him. Isildur is no cooler than Halbrand. Elrond isn't cooler.

Elrond would throw Isildur into the fires of Mount Doom if he had the chance, Galadriel.

We've all been in Middle-earth too long, Galadriel. We all, all elves, should have gone to Valinor for some time. Halbrand, Celeborn, Elrond, you, me, others, we've been on the continent too long Galadriel.

Yes Middle-Earth is my home like Valinor but we were too long here.

Middle-Earth is my home but so is it by Halbrand. Manwë made mistakes this immortality stinks to Heaven I wish I wasn't an elf.

We all get in real trouble when Morgoth or Ungoliant come back one day, then Valinor would be due and rightly so", said Haldir and the Galadhrim and Celeborn nodded, "yes."

Celebrian nodded.

"That's the whole point he was a good man for well over a thousand years before he fell in the first age, you almost think he's been a good man long enough when you look at this shit.

Evil has been in the world since the Ainulindale, Melkor was defeated and Halbrand never had the true power so he went into hiding and it makes perfect sense that he doesn't want to be a Maiar. The Kraken of Moria, for example, is self-contained.

He'd rather throw himself into the fires of Mount Doom with the ring when it's over. That has to be thought about. He'd rather shout out to Eru that he doesn't want to be immortal when it's over and Eru Iluvatar would fulfill it, free will is with the All-Father alone, Eru loves him, Eru will probably be proud of everything Halbrand has achieved.

The beginning of the days the breaking of the First Silence when he came to Arda with the Valar and the other Maiar, yes a good man can fall and yet he was a good man for thousand years before he fell in the first Age.

Halbrand is not Lucifer or Satan he is set a few floors below. Melkor is Lucifer or Satan.

Maybe he doesn't want to be a Maiar.

He would destroy the Ring as you can see when it was over, but he would also throw himself into the fires of Mount Doom, and that's not right either I definitely don't want to see him throwing himself into the fires of Mount Doom this is my opinion, it has to end somewhere, an unjust peace is far worse.

Most likely some elves wanted to be orcs, you won't be able to find out anymore because these orcs or elves are long dead.

Feanor killed a lot of people.

The elves have made many mistakes. We wouldn't know him when he were perhaps the most outstanding blacksmith, politician or jeweler in the World on the other continents and he had never been a Maiar, that also has to be considered, we can't twist the shit how it fits. This isn't just a battle between good and evil it's so much more than just real.

I don't want to be immortal either. I don't want to be an elf either and I'm not saying I want to be an orc.

Everyone should do what they want, I would very much like to die sooner or see my end sooner.

The Valar are a bunch of hypocrites. Melian was a bloody hypocrite. I would also like to chill out.

Halbrand would throw himself with the ring into the fires of Mount Doom when it was over.

Eru Iluvatar

I definitely don't want to see him throw himself into Mount Doom I would throw up it's just my opinion you can all think what you want, I don't give a fuck, think what you want you are all adults, that also has something to do with acceptance. The elves are not that important, after the fight against Melkor all elves should have gone to Valinor for a certain time, all elves and not some. I would also like to be alone as he is I would have no problem being alone or dying alone Elrond fucks and kisses terribly, I would also like to have decent fucks. I wish I was still a virgin I wish I wasn't a mother, I'd like to fall in love properly Elrond just fucks horribly that is very terrible I would like to have sex more often. Elrond is terrible in bed I would like more sex too. I'd like to just go out there and see what's in store for me I would just like to wait and see what happens I never wanted to be an elf either. He has more money than everyone else he worked until he was old. He never took a day off and was always working it's more than understandable that he wants to chill out, I'd like that too. He dismissed the orcs and disbanded the nazgul, very good deeds.

Look how much money he's got in his pockets, he's filthy rich by heavy metal industry. He probably has more money than anyone in the known world.

I'd love to have more sex, I'd love to have sex with a stranger. I would like to have a sex relationship, one night stand. He's extremely old and can tell he's a virgin I wish I was alone like he is. There's no fucking in this world, it's always about power", said Celebrian and Celeborn, the Galadhrim and Haldir nodded.

"Damn it! Fuck! Crap! DAMN SHIT. I want to be a Queen", Galadriel smashed dishes at the trees in Lorien and Celeborn, Haldir and the Galadhrim ducked their heads, "away from here there is war out there.

I wish I was alone I wish I was still a virgin the sex is cruel, you fuck terribly you are terrible and cruel in bed do you know that Galadriel.

Those are lies you're not better than him, you're not that important that would be news to me that you can have any woman or man you're cruel, mad and hypocritical Altáriel.

You are an absolute loser at fucking Galadriel. I would like to have a reasonable fuck", said Celeborn and Galadriel didn't say a word and Haldir and all of the Galadhrim laughed aloud over her and Galadriel grabbed wine, "crap", and Celebrian, Haldir and the Galadhrim laughed aloud over Galadriel.

Celeborn annuls the marriage. Celeborn says marriage never happened and Galadriel could do a handstand and couldn't change it

"I wish I was as smart, powerful, and strong as Halbrand was it was more than just real. The way he threw Isildur into the ranks of the Dunedain and Elves with his tremendous force was cool. Nothing is his fault he won against the last Alliance the Nazgul are disbanded", said Celeborn, "and I'll tell you something Altáriel, the hatred against the dwarves is just and legitimate, you are not as important as you think you are Galadriel. Finrod made mistakes, Galadriel. He would rip your head off if you visited him in Valinor, Valinor is not innocent. Finrod might protect things too, and he doesn't do it because he thinks it's cool to be immortal. Elendil, Gil-galad, they made mistakes. Manwë, Eonwë they made mistakes. Halbrand is on his own side he told you to leave him alone that he can't help you. I wish I could have given and helped with as much as he did", said Celeborn, "Oh by the way Galadriel, I'm annulling the marriage. The marriage never took place Galadriel. You are not as important and smart as you think, I hereby annul the marriage it never took place Galadriel."

Galadriel screamed and she smashed dishes, chairs, china and plates at the Mallorn trees, "fuck, fuck, fuck. DAMN SHIT!"

"I won't help you with anything anymore when you want to spend time in Valinor in the next years find the ways, powers, resources, protections, or magic for it and you will find ways to get to Valinor for yourself and others I know this because you are extremely magical and resourceful Galadriel.

Valinor is not innocent. We are now divorced people, i am free, i am not yours, Haldir is not yours. We're now divorced people Galadriel i'm not yours and i'm not a malewife. If you want to stay in Valinor forever fine, but then leave him alone.

I finally want to fall in love properly. It's enough I've had enough. He doesn't have to prove anything. You're free Galadriel but so is Halbrand and you have to understand that you don't have to deal with him, but he doesn't have to deal with you either. Halbrand is not yours and you're not his", called Celeborn through the trees and he walked away with Haldir and the Galadhrim, "Yes, I definitely need to spend some time in Valinor over the next few months and years. I will find the magic to get there. Talk to him or don't. He has a place as soon as Melkor is back. Halbrand would throw himself into the fires of Mount Doom, Galadriel, think about that. Talk to him or leave him alone. You were never on his side and he was never on your side you made mistakes Galadriel, you're not stupid but you're not as smart as you think you are, it's enough Galadriel. He'd would rather call to Eru Iluvatar that he doesn't want to be immortal.

He would let you win he would throw himself into Mount Doom Galadriel.

Go to Valinor for some time Galadriel, find a way that's your job as Lady of Light, and come back in a few years or stay in Valinor forever but leave him alone.

Halbrand wears strength and darkness equally like you. You would smile and laugh as soon as he would throw himself into Mount Doom and that's not right either", said Celeborn and walked away with Haldir and the Galadhrim and Galadriel screamed like a madwoman through Lorien.

"Everyone is replaceable Galadriel.

I would love to have seen her feud with someone else. Machiavelli, because this good versus evil stinks to high heaven.

One would almost think there should be sex more often. One would almost think there should be more political marriages and relationships.

Games for power, politics, leadership, survival, warfare, a power vacuum.

I'd like to see role-reversed stories, I would like to see stories.

Yes, he committed terrible deeds yes a good man can fall and he was a good man for over thousand years before he fell in the 1 Age.

In another world Halbrand would be the greatest goldsmith, jewel designer, ring maker, successful businessman. In another world where there is no Dunedain, Dwarves, Elves, Orcs, Balrogs or Maiar. In another world he would have been happily married long ago. In another world he would have loving and supporting parents and siblings.

Men tend to go head to head in war. Men can be deeply romantic. Men tend to butt heads like bulls.

Women tend to be the snake. The woman tends to pour poison into wine. In this world, sex is practically non-existent, very sad.

There is no such thing as sex on a throne or bastards, illegitimate children in our world", said Haldir.

Celebrian, Celeborn and the Galadhrim nodded and Galadriel didn't say a word and grabbed wine.

#charlie vickers #halbrand #isildur #elendil #gil galad #morfydd clark #galadriel #sauron #rings of power #lotr #the lord of the rings #aragorn #frodo baggins #haldir #legolas #melkor #ungoliant #ancalagon #celebrian #arwen undomiel

[aviatorzk]

Slightly less fun (3)

One occasion I remember was very special, because the admiral himself was there, the highest ranking officer in the land, and he was also related to the royal family, or something. So everybody was on his very best behavior, and I was specifically instructed to first stand at attention before him, then someone would say my name and rank and platoon

Then I was to kneel and bow my head, until the admiral spoke or made a gesture or something.

I remember that well not just because of the honour of meeting someone high up like him, but because he actually chatted to me for 15 minutes or so. He was clearly pleased with me, complimented me on my uniform, asked where was I from, what was my family like, what did I like the most about the discipline, and so on. I would just sit there on my knees, head down, trying to keep still.

He then ‘suggested’ that since I was clearly such a fine cadet, he could arrange for me to spend some time in the elite army cadet summer camp. When he said that, I could here people around whispering ‘that it was a real honour’, that ‘they had sent their son there too, it was the best thing ever for a boy’, ‘So-and-so’s son had been a lot of trouble but he had come back a completely wonderful cadet’, and so on. This was very alarming to me, because even though I was a devoted cadet, I was never going to enter into the Malaysian armed forces, as I was a foreigner and I was likely to move to another of Dad’s postings in a few years.

But this was an offer that could not be refused. So when the admiral asked me outright ‘We shall make arrangements for this summer then, won’t we, cadet?’ all I could say was ‘Cadet is deeply honoured, Sir, and will do his best to do you proud, Sir’.

And I was doomed. I was good at drill, I was an immaculate school cadet, but the summer cadet camp was eight weeks of nothing but the kind of insane strictness I had encountered before entering the reception. But that’s another story.

(All images are AI-generated)

[cwarscars]

GET TO KNOW ME: TOP 10 MOVIES.

━━━ list your top 10 favourite movies and tag friends to do the same

1. robocop (1987) 2. the shawshank redemption (1994) 3. twelve angry men (1957) 4. the sword of doom (1966) 5. the happiness of the katakuris (2001) 6. hardware (1990) 7. dawn of the dead (1978) 8. casablanca (1942) 9. the warriors (1979) 10. platoon (1986)

tagged by : i stole this from @omniterror while i salivated over her choice in films cause hot DAMN tagging: @stingslikeabee @poeticphoenix @midgarwhispers @futurespacess @ubcs @infernocharged @shinrasfirst and everyone else, let me judge yo taste in films owo

#(ooc) #(mun) #me fuckin absorbing movies #were seeing the flash tonight #we last saw spiderverse and before that beau is afraid #beau is afraid was a solid 8 or 9 for me #spidervse was like a ...5 or 6 maybe? #but damn man i love films #(queued)