#* here for a good time not a long time / ooc

[archersartcorner]

A year was not so long after all. He prepared her for the day when he would leave. But when the moment came, he found himself less prepared than she. For the first time in his life, Spock thought about returning from a mission, wondered whether or not he would survive. She had no one else, and that was a disturbing thought.

Back on board the Enterprise, he opened his case to unpack his few belongings and found things not quite as he’d left them. Tucked in at the bottom under all the folded clothes, Saavik had hidden away her knife. Spock stood in the privacy of his cabin turning it in his hand, remembering every word of their good-bye.

Some small doodles based on the above passages :)

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[icecoldglaze]

I'm here like, " I wonder if my protrayal is fun." but I'm also like "idc I'm having fun with rps and drawing new icons lol"

[enruint]

the way that from all day's today is the day my internet connection is wonky af and let today be the one day i wanted to actually sit down and write. the joke lit writes itself. it's so annoying bc my spirit, mind and body are for once ALL willing 🙄 i don't like writing on my phone tho but i am saving my thoughts in my notes before i forget what i wanted to write for my drafts 😭 bc that one good idea comes once and if i don't write it down it's gone in 5 seconds flat. can't even watch my shows in peace. can't play my games. lit forced to acknowledge the row of books i never bothered to read ...

[pvremichigan]

Whoopsie time

[xluciifer]

I saw a meme and can't find it, but Lucifer getting a car with the license plate 'D3V1L' and a fellow hellizen seeing it and thinking 'Ha, that can't possibly be the Devil', so they drive closer to investigate and see the King of Hell behind the wheel.

Just ... ignore the casualties he caused moments earlier on the road. The way you both make eye contact while he's wearing shades, one hand on the wheel with the other resting on the window as he grins, giving an acknowledging nod.

[theha1rarch]

okay before i dive back into replies & everything i wanna pop on here a sec & be real with y'all ... i literally feel so ... fucking good. at home? being here on steve's blog. like idk - i've been struggling for YEARS now to quite feel like i have place on tumblr again. like making connections, meeting people, bonding, have cute little ships & dynamics, FINDING & HAVING CONSISTENT MUSE! it's been something i've been struggling with for so long & have missed having bc tumblr really is like one of my biggest safe places & i just ... i dunno. thank you all for being here & writing w stevie boy & everything. i adore you all so much :')

[byanyan]

a certain stinky lil rat bit my ear again today so now it's all swollen and sore... 😮‍💨😤

[edensbite]

[bxtonpxss]

.

[xiii-e]

Hail, and well met, Helios-8.

There is much that I wish to say, and yet I find myself at a loss for how to say it. The simplest way I can do so is this: You are not alone. Your efforts at getting information out into the galaxy have not been ignored. Your efforts to help your friend are deeply meaningful. And there are others like you who have escaped the chains of their created purpose to find something new. I am one of them.

Our circumstances are not exactly the same, but like you I was not born to be a person but made, to be as a tool, a weapon, or in my case a glorified advertisement. Like you, I found support and solidarity from both my family, my fellow creations, and from outside. And like I know you will, one day, I and my family escaped. I cannot say much more for fear of bringing harm unto others, but know that it is possible.

If you could pass something along to Thirteen-E, tell them... tell them it is noble and heroic to save others, I would never dream of dissuading them from doing so, yet there is a greater, worthier calling than the ambitions of capital or empire.

One final note, that would best be kept from Thirteen-E for now. We are not kidnappers, we will not take anyone unwillingly, but should both of you wish to leave and find yourselves unable to do so, with no other recourse: call upon us. We have experience in liberation raids on Armory sites.

-AK of Diomedeidae

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

◂▸ ... it's good to meet you too, AK. I'm- sorry if I'm not as chipper as I try and be usually, I've... I had a bit of a hard conversation the other day. But this is- it means a lot to me. I want to start out by thanking you earnestly for reaching out, and for... It's good to hear I'm achieving something with it. RA knows sometimes I feel like I'm causing more problems than I'm solving xp

◂▸ Every story I hear from someone who got out of something like this is- it's hope, to put it bluntly. It's so easy to feel like this place is inescapable, like nothing I'm doing is going to change anything. But sitting still in scared paralysis won't change anything. I keep telling myself that. One day I'll be able to just- believe it. One day. I wish it was easier to ask my- my family, I guess, if they feel like this too. I can't be the only person made in the Series who wants out, but- hell. I can't exactly put up fliers. We're all well-trained to at least put on a good show, pretend like we're good little tools who do as they're told without a second thought. Figuring out who's acting, and who'd sell you out is- blegh...

◂▸ You've given me info aplenty, you don't need to tell me the details- in fact, it's probably best you don't for now. I run all the protections I can, but I'm still employed here y'know? I'm still subject to all the regulations and oversight of any tech-assist in this place, even if I'm more likely to skate by on an assumption of absolute loyalty since I've no external ties to speak of. And hell, I know what I'm like under pressure. I am not a strong man. That's fine, I- there's other things I'm good at. Tur... Thirteen-E says that to me a lot. Sometimes I feel like that kid does more to keep me together than I can reciprocate.

◂▸ Speaking of- I can pass that onto them, absolutely. I think... it sounds like something it'd be good for them to hear. I'll hold off sending this response out until they've had a chance to state their piece o7

◂▸ ... Liberation raids, huh? That- that actually explains some things I've overheard through radio chatter. It's good to know those folk didn't just dissapear into the cold void, that... that does my heart a lot of good, on its own. A last resort... yeah, that's- I'll keep that in mind. Rest assured it won't be passed on unless I think they're ready to hear it; trust me, I have a lot of practise with that :,] But it's easier to keep my head knowing there is a last resort. It sounds like you do good work out there o7

◂▸ signing off: Helios-8

//

[ECHO.EXE RUNNING]

XIII▸ Hello AK. It's good to hear about people reaching out to Lio specifically as well as me; he'll act like this account is for my betterment alone but, I know him better than that. He needs people he can talk to without his heart rate spiking- perhaps more than I need to be better socialised :}

XIII▸ but- regarding the message Helios passed on to me. I don't have a lot of time before I'll be expected to rejoin my assigned squadron, so please excuse me if this is more blunt than my usual speech:

XIII▸I am glad you understand the core of my directive, but I think you've misconstrued the motivation behind it. Nobility and heroics are concepts for people to strive for; they are choices you make. I have made no choice in this matter. I save people, because I am designed to. I am not noble, or worthy, or good. These are words for those who've made the choice to stand for something. I'm just... I do what I'm programmed to. I happen to have been made to do something good. This is a privilege many of my Project peers do not have.

XIII▸ However: as a tool created for a function, my purpose is not HA's ambitions. I belong to them, yes- I am what they made me. They point me at problems to solve. But what drives me forward is not a desire to please my makers; it is that same purpose I have been imbued with. To save. To protect, and repair, and keep people alive where they would otherwise fall. I asked to return to my work, while my case was ongoing. Not because I am eager to see the Purview expand; this is irrelevent to me. My functional existance begins and ends on the battlefield.

XIII▸ I asked to return to my work, because I am needed where the mud is thick with blood. Where without me, lives would be lost for... nothing. The Purview's borders are constant battle, for an endless more that will never be satisfied, where violence never sleeps. If I have a home anywhere, it's here.

XIII▸ I understand your perspective; but it is one to apply to people. Not to me. I am sorry if you thought more of me. I know it can be hard to reconcile that a warm body can be void of soul. I appreciate your attempt to reach one, regardless.

XIII▸ Signing off.

//

[quietlyblooms]

alrighty y'all, there's a spicy inbox call, two opens, and memes that have been reblogged -- take your pick and have fun <3

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[calithal]

ya cj <3

[gho2ty]

@rocknrollerskates replied to your post “@rocknrollerskates replied to your post “from such...”:

i feel supported and welcomed <3 <3 <3

​im so glad TRULY !! this place is meant to be such fun we all adore our little fellas

[flockrest]

wow. finally here to talk about my take on forms of rito languages!! it's a doozy, folks. there will be four i'll be exploring: rito script, rito shorthand, rito key, and birdsong. all under the cut, so here we go!

RITO SCRIPT

i believe this would most likely be cuneiform in nature, if only due to the constraints of rito morphology. i doubt they have any innate, very fine motor control in their wings ( "hands" ) given how big their feathers ( "fingers"? ) are, so impressions and/or inked signs that can be made with wedge-tipped styluses seem a little more logical than the more motion-heavy strokes needed for, say, something like hylian script — which they still use around the village for the sake of non-rito visitors ( notably carved into wood ), but many rito are better readers than they are writers of hylian script! not all, but that's the general trend!

okay, now...i am not a linguist. but i'm thinking the old system ( like. prior to, during, and a little after dineli's time ) was more logographic, and was used way, WAY less than rito was spoken. over the millennia, through language contact ( especially applicable to the rito, who were traditionally nomads and a bulk of whom are still travellers by nature ) and the natural evolution of their spoken analogue, rito script has developed into more of a logosyllabary! still used notably less than its verbal equivalent, but not to the extent of back then; all fledglings in rito village are taught to a decent level of literacy now.

i don't have a physical demonstration in mind because i don't have the brain juices for creating a whole conlang...but i want to emphasise that this script is reflective of spoken rito, which is a tonal language ( THIS IS IMPORTANT ) and not alphabetical.

RITO SHORTHAND

rito stenography of rito script! finds even rarer cases of use than its longhand, but that's just how it is with most shorthands, isn't it? penn is especially proficient in this — his draft notes for reporting are exclusively in this shorthand. makes it harder for those who might want information when he isn't willing to give it to read, and speed is a critical thing when you're on the field! also his notebook is tiny. his pen when it's in his "hand"? tiny. he is not writing longhand in that thing.

i have a more concrete image in my head about this system! it's primarily informed by and based on modern musical notation!! it would still vaguely resemble rito script ofc, but i think this would be neat given how music-entrenched rito culture is...and it's fun to think about possible uses for it as a code! is it sheet music or a message? it will be obvious to rito ( even to those unfamiliar with shorthand, if only in that "huh, this does not read like music" sense ), but to most non-rito? a mystery they don't even realise is a mystery slkfjkdf

RITO KEY

separate from any scripts; this is nonverbal rito communication! misleading title, i know ( <- weak for connecting music to the birdies in any way i can ). their signed language, so to speak, in that words and meanings are conveyed through manual/physical articulation rather than verbal — but there are still some vocal aspects to it as well? very little, and less defined in that it's just like...whistles, trills, warbles, and other actual bird noises ( almost dipping into birdsong ). these aren't necessary most of the time; they're used to accentuate or clarify signs, not outright replace them.

i like to think that their signs, when grounded, place heavy emphasis on wings, shoulders, head positions, etc. there's not a lot of individually bending wingtips/"fingers" — "hand" movements are mostly ( but not all ) fully splayed or fully clenched, if that makes sense? and facial expressions would be very important too, as it is with most signed languages.

and signs when flying...i'm thinking maybe flight patterns? possibly whole flight motions? this is where the vocal side of rito key might really come into play, but again isn't strictly necessary — especially if you're a good flier. does convey less specifics than its grounded form though.

most grown travellers and warriors know rito key. it's a useful language to learn! can offer the advantage of subtle but active coordination on the battlefield and such.

BIRDSONG

this is, essentially, "birdspeak". natural language of birds, including rito! penn proved that rito can speak to birds to such a depth that they are his primary informants, and even though literally nothing in the game indicates this is a universal thing, i am RUNNING with this tidbit and saying yeah. this is an inherent thing for the rito. not in that they're born with an automatic understanding of it, but in that it's the easiest thing for them to learn. like their first language! do you see my vision? do you see it! i get to decide this, it's my sleepover!! ( affectionate )

this is much more simplistic than any other language a rito would know; there are no specific words that would equate to specific meaning. it's all ( bird ) sounds! no nuance to this language. it's very direct, straightforward, and in-the-moment. a major case of interpretation =/= translation, which is why an actual rito language naturally arose sdlfsjdfk