#If I have a 'dark' scene I'm writing I put on Seas. If I'm just writing normally I have Skies. MotR for rewriting is working.
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
iamthepulta · 1 year ago
Text
I hope the Failbetter studio knows how important all the FL game soundtracks are to my writing process. It's gotten to the point I won't be able to write at all if I don't have one of them on in the background. Skies is the most common, but I'm rewriting with MotR and it's the perfect middle between Seas' moodiness and Skies' subtle phosphorescence.
If I end up writing Ellenville, 90% of it will probably be written to the Seas soundtrack. Most of the Liztlie AU has been written to Skies.
5 notes · View notes
nilsavatar · 1 month ago
Text
All's fair in war and love
Parings: Neteyam x Fem!Sarentu
Tumblr media
Genre/Warnings: NSFW/MDNI +18, no use of Y/N, ANGST, SMUT in the end, love bites, sexual tension, P in V, manhandling, fingering, praising, cursing, pet names (tìyawn, yantu, yawne, love, sweetheart), dirty talk (Neteyam has a breeding kink as request by Anon), edging (orgasm denial), soft-dom Neteyam. All characters are AGED-UP. Neteyam is a bit cheesy, but from the way he shows how much he cares for his family, it's in character to be a romantic in a love context.
!DISCLAIMER! Presence of dark and sensitive explicit themes: destruction by explosive devices, massacre, and murder (the protagonist and Neteyam kill soldiers). Please do not read if these topics are not for you.
Summary: The story takes place in one of the final stages of the video game Avatar: Frontiers of Pandora, in one of the most poignant and heartbreaking moments of the plot. Following a heavy earthquake at the Well of Souls that hit the Zeswa hunting party, Sarentu, who will take the name Ateyana here, travels to the site in search of survivors. Finding that many have perished, she decides to find the source of the devastating tremors. Quakes that are not of seismic origin, rather human. With vengeance in her heart, she goes to the military outpost seeking justice. There she will be joined by her lover, Neteyam, and together they will fight for Pandora. But also for themselves.
Little note: This story should have come out months ago - many months ago, way too many. Writing it was a source of great frustration for me. I found myself having a precise idea that I couldn't put into words. The biggest challenge was the action scene that you will find as you read, and, honestly, I don't even think it came out that well. It was the first time for me to deal with this type of narrative. Even if I'm not at all satisfied with the result, it feels right to publish it, for those who have been waiting for it. Anon who requested it, those who answered the poll to choose Sarentu's name, @akari-rosefield who DMed me for updates. This fic is for you.
Word Count: 9k
Masterlist - Request a fic
“Yana!”
Shouts. Shouts and gunshots. The alarm siren.
“Ateyana, we must move!”
A male voice. Nor? The noises mingled with the high-pitched whistle that filled her ears, her eyes blinded by too much light blocking her view. A wall of intermittent red cleared up only by the white of bullets and the few monitors still working.
“Telisi, Yefti-.” “Come!”
Somebody pulled her by the arm. Her legs ran as if pulled by a force she thought lost. The images blurred until they took on the contours of a face she knew. Eyes that were large and bright, but distant as if hiding a secret, now wide with terror.
“It’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid. It’s gonna be like falling into a deep sleep. When you wake up, it will all be over.” “It burns.” “I know, dear, it’ll pass now. Just close your eyes and start counting down from ten. Ten... nine... eight... seven...”
The woman’s voice became distant like a ghost's, her eyelids heavy. The fire coursing through her veins gave way to a sudden cold; a searing chill that numbed her feet, then her legs, and slowly worked its way up her entire body.
“... six... five...”
Surrounded by darkness, all she could hear was the capsule hissing shut, protecting her from everything but silence.
Tumblr media
Neteyam remembered his first meeting with Ateyana well. The excitement and commotion that her entrance to Awa’atlu had triggered, on a par with a resurrected spirit — the dawn of a new day. It felt like déjà vu, but in reverse: this time, the Sullys were not on the side of the outsiders falling from the sky, and instead of suspicion, there was a mood of celebration. On the back of her ikran, she wore with ease the hallmarks of the clans that had touched her, each symbolizing a stage in her rebirth; the teachings of their ways. The sea breeze sighed through the soft kinglor silk of her robes, the feathers of the stiff Keme’tire cloak vibrated with every breath, while the colors of the Zewsa shone brightly in the sunlight. Her eyes even deeper and more orange by the sharp contrast with the white, purple, and fuchsia that tinged her skin. So unusual was her appearance, yet harmonious, paired with the banshee that sported the same fanciful pattern. “Look! Look at her face!” “The mark.” The young warrior's gaze followed the whispers around him and settled on the girl's left cheekbone, cut by a crescent moon and four drops just below the eye.
Sarentu. The lost clan.
Neteyam had only heard of them in his grandmother’s stories. The old woman had a sad smile as she talked about the lost storytellers, who were distant cousins of the Omatikaya and descendants from Entu, the first Toruk Makto; diplomatic wanderers who preserved the oral memory of clans’ history, carriers of Eywa wisdom. A beloved People whose terrible fate was known to all Na’vi. Exterminated by the RDA. The same organization that kidnapped their children to raise them as deviant soldiers, alienated from the Great Mother, from all that made them pandorians. Kids who disappeared twenty years ago as a result of the attack on the Tree of Souls and the dismantling of the TAP program.  Or so they thought, for one of them had just dismounted her dragon, its wings still rustling with the sound of powerful beats.
Making her way through the crowd, the plaintive wails of the baby cradled in her arms acted as a herald of the tsahìk's arrival. Loran, younger brother of Ao'nung and Tsireya, born shortly after the RDA attack that nearly killed the Sullys' eldest son, seemed to have absorbed the heartbreak of his People, the turmoil of those dark times, for relentless was the torment that plagued him until he fell asleep.
The girl stepped forward, kneeling as she made a small bow before her forehead. “Oel ngati kameie, Ronal eo lu Metkayina Tsahìk.” The woman smiled, and her calmness seemed to ease the breathlessness of her son, who stared at the visitor with large, tear-filled eyes. “Ateyana te Hìtaì Kataru’ite.”
For a split second, her gaze flickered. It had been so long since she had heard her full name spoken aloud. The mention of her family, specifically her mother, sent a shiver down her spine. With a long history of being used as an experiment, trapped within the confines of sterile concrete walls, she had come to see herself as nothing but a test subject. A lab rat. A cluster of inconsequential cells employed to experiment with a substance and observe its reaction. Or worse, treated like a monkey that was given logic games to assess its intellectual growth. With each class, each shower in disinfectant, because the stench of Na’vi was unbearable, every trace of her natural self slipped away; depersonalized from everything her name stood for to the point of hating it. Ateyana, Spirit of the Dawn. It sounded like a joke, the sense of hope that her name carried. In the RDA compound, scientists educated Sarentu children in math, English, weapon use, and also introduced them to human literature and history. A series of conflicts, wars, colonization, and destruction caused by the idea of taking things simply because one had the power to do so. Throughout those years, she couldn’t ignore the eerie parallels between them and the indigenous communities who had been eradicated in certain areas of Earth. The name of one population in particular had stayed with her, as it bore a striking resemblance to her own. The Yana, a population decimated by the California genocide unleashed by the Gold Rush, ceased to exist in 1916 when the last descendant perished in a Rancheria.
Right from the beginning, she saw that historical reference as an omen of what was to come for her and her people, now down to just five survivors. Whether through brutal erasure or assimilation into other clans, the Sarentu would disappear.  She made a decision that day: to only go by Yana. She abandoned her full name and any other nickname despite her sister’s disapproval, and adopted what everyone now regarded as a diminutive, oblivious to its true status as a legitimate name. 
A name that signified the final chapter of their lives.  Hers and those who shaped her into the resentment and anger-filled young woman she is today. And with almost absolute certainty of all those who would accompany her in her revenge.
“For a long time, we believed in the defeat of your people, but our hope for your return never wavered. The Great Mother could not fail those she had delivered her word to. We have missed you.” Ronal caressed her cheek, her thumb feathering the raised outline of the mark. A moment of weakness that surprised those present, accustomed to the woman’s stoic and fearless nature. “Come, you need rest. You’ve been through a lot, and your eyes tell me there is much to discuss.”
The girl nodded, her heart full of gratitude at the warm welcome, a gesture she hadn’t anticipated (the tsahìk's reputation preceded her). A fleeting warmth that would soon fade.
Tumblr media
2174, PANDORA, RESISTANCE HQ, KINGLOR FOREST
“We have located the epicenter of the quakes near the Celebration Arches”. Priya’s finger pointed on the map to the demarcation point between Aranahe and Zeswa territories; just beyond the network of caves that connected the Kinglor Forest to the Upper Plains.
“Ayvitrayä Ramunong (Well of Souls),” Jake’s voice belonged to a hiss, recalling vividly the last time he had admired the magnificence of rock arches growing up from the underground, driven by the incredible magnetic force. A shell that enclosed within it a dense, lush vegetation protecting the Tree of Souls. Two decades earlier, the RDA had destroyed the Omatikaya’s most sacred site. Although the basin was at the foot of the Hallelujah Mountains, right in the Flux Vortex’s heart, their attack wiped out the clan’s memories and, almost, their spirit. Something similar was happening here. He was certain of it. The tremors recorded were too cadenced and regular to result from seismic activity. Humans orchestrated it. 
“Drills.” “That's what we suspect.” “Unobtanium?” “We do not detect a relevant presence of unobtanium in the subsoil that would justify extraction. On the other hand, it is rich in carbon-fossils.” “Oil?” “Let's call it that.” “What's the point of extracting it? We have abandoned fossil energy sources for more than a hundred years.”
We have. At his side, Neytiri clutched the handle of the bow she had not laid since their arrival, her eyes darkened by the battle paint that adorned her face. Sometimes her husband still spoke as if he were one of them. After all, a part of him always would have been. Just look at the military waistcoat he wore like a second skin, the rifle always at hand, despite Eywa's abhorrence of metal weapons. The man spoke before his mate did, “We must act, but we need to be smart.” “Anqa is already on site examining the situation. Yana is with her,” she added, noting the friend's apprehensive look at the mention of one person alone in that dangerous place. “What?” The tone in Neteyam's voice was caustic; a venomous hiss barely vented between clenched teeth, but he did not have time to question the girl's presence in the field any further, as a loud din echoed from the two-way radio on the table.
“Anqa! Anqa, can you hear me? What's going on?” The purple-haired ecologist was terrified. -The RDA… Arches…! Blew up! Zeswa… the signal was disturbed. The hunting party… Everything collapsed. The arches collapsed…- Neteyam snatched the transceiver from her hand to bring it to his mouth with cold timbre and a blank stare. “Where is she?”
No further explanation was necessary for Anqa to understand to whom that male voice, she had come to know all too well, referred. Despite the number of forced interactions with the young Na'vi, despite the operations they had collaborated on side by side, it seemed impossible for her to get used to the chill that ran down her spine whenever she heard him speak with that tone. Especially at times like these. Netayam was frightening when altered, a worthy son of his mother. His lips pulled downward in a thin line, his teeth clenched to the point that his jaw snapped, the tips of his canines showing in tacit menace. His eyes fixed and alert, serpentine, his nostrils flared, and his lungs swelled to a peak and then deflated into severe rumblings in the deepest part of his throat.
-She went looking for survivors.-
Adding nothing more, the young warrior pushed the device against Priya's frail chest, who could barely stand on her own strength, and took wide strides toward his ikran; his parents at his heels. Jake grabbed him by the arm as the boy adjusted the throat-comm around his neck and set it to the frequency matched with his girlfriend's.
“Where you think you’re going?” “To get her.” “You stay here. We’ll go.” The son ignored those words by loading the bow onto the animal’s back. His mother called him back, in tune with his father’s admonition. “I won’t say that again.” “Fine. ‘Cause I won’t sit on my hands while the girl I love is in danger. I’ve never done that with my siblings, and I’m certainly not going to start now.” Jake stepped back as his son pointed his fingers to his own chest, right at the level of the scar that marked him; the everlasting reminder of when he was dying in his arms. “I’m the one who has to keep her safe. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her.”
“Just as I couldn't live with myself if we lost you.”
Neteyam’s gaze straightened, “I wouldn’t change a thing, even if saving Spider meant giving my life. I am ready to die for those I care about.” “I know, son, that’s what scares me.” He took his face with a palm and brought it close until they were face to face, “Bring her home.” “Yes, sir.” “I expect a mateship ceremony when this whole thing is over.” The boy chuckled, “Yes, sir.”
Tumblr media
Yana looked at what was left of the watercourse leading to the heart of the prairie, almost totally dried up except for a few puddles here and there — the water within them of an unnatural greenish hue with purplish reflections and dense consistency. Her vision was blurred by the cloud that had risen after the collapse, and made it difficult for her to breathe; the air tainted by smoke, dust, and pollutants intoxicated her lungs. Around her, the high rock walls were lined with rubble, uprooted trees, and … bodies.
Of winzaw (arrow deer), pa'li and Zeswa.
Most of the hunters had perished crushed by their own mounts, others by boulders or sudden impact with the ground. All were covered in the grayness of ash and death. The only color was the red dye they dyed their hair with, which, mixing with the blood, stained the rocks.
-Tìyawn (love)? Tìyawn, do you read me? “Teyam?” -Thanks, Great Mother, you’re doing okay. Anqa gave us a heads-up about the blast. Where are you at?- “I'm going up the river. There's so much death here. So many killed, so much life…,” her voice died in her throat, ”… destroyed. I'm going up to the drill now. Stop this from happening again.” -No way. Call off the ikran and get back here. Now. We need to regroup. We can't afford recklessness. Do you hear me, Yana? Do not attack!- “I will carry the pain to the ones who caused it.” -Ateyana…!-
Neteyam's inhaled voice died out in the metallic noise of the interference caused by the flow. She was alone. Not that it made any difference. Even though she knew she was hurting him, she would have ignored his intimate but selfish request. She would never have turned back, at the cost of annihilating him in the soul. The Zeswa had welcomed her as a clan member returning from a long, grueling journey. They had raised the festival kites to honor the rebirth of the Lost People; they had taught her their way. She would not abandon them to their grief. The Sarentu were once a peaceful tribe of storytellers and diplomats, they weren't warriors, the Sky People had made them so. Who forced them to take up arms, paint themselves in the colors of war, and swell their chests with battle echoes. If there was one valuable lesson she had learned from human cruelty, it was that there are circumstances in which one must be stained with sin to achieve the goal. Yana was willing to do that, too. She was willing to be abandoned by Eywa and the Na'vi to save Pandora. To give up her integrity and love. To force Neteyam to remain without her. Therefore, even with a grasp gripping her heart, before advancing on the path that had formed in the ruins, besides checking the state of her bow, she counted how many munitions she had in the rifle she carried. As the invaders used to say: all's fair in war and love.
Tumblr media
“Fuck!” imprecated Neteyam, pressing the side button to change frequency and connect to Anqa’s throat-comm, his voice sharp. “Anqa, do you copy? I’ve lost signal with Yana. The flux is making the instrumentation crazy.” Static crackled in his ear before Anqa’s voice came through, laced with tension. -Copy. What do you mean, lost signal? Where was she heading?- “She moved into the rubble,” Neteyam said, his frustration barely contained. “Trying to avoid being spotted by soldiers on her way to the drill.”
The woman’s silence spoke more than a thousand words, as heavy as the burden that gripped their hearts. If flux interference was disrupting communication with the Sarentu, it could only mean one thing: she was at the center of it, right in the collapsed area. Then Anqa replied, her tone edged with worry. -Damn, girl. She always does this.-
“I’m not leaving her out there,” he said firmly, his eyes scanning the horizon as he tightened his grip on the banshee's reins. Anqa’s response was swift, resolute. -I’m not suggesting you should. But don’t go in blind, Neteyam. We need you in one piece, too.- “She’s taking out that drill whether we’re ready or not,” the warrior shot back. “You know her—she’ll make the shot even if it kills her.”
A heavy sigh crackled through the comm. -Alright. Listen, head toward the north ridge. The flux is thinner there. I’ll try to guide you remotely with what’s left of the scanners. And, Neteyam?- “Yeah?” -Don’t let her do anything stupid. We need her alive for this fight.- He smirked faintly, though his heart was pounding. “She’s not the only stubborn one here, you know.” -Clearly. Watch your six out there. Out.- The communication fell silent, and Neteyam nudged his mount forward, his gaze narrowing on the jagged horizon.
Flying over the area, he spotted the yellow-and-white-banded Scorpion below him, close to a tall tree growing crooked, almost horizontal, on the top of a hill. A lone stone arch remained intact to shield it. As he imagined, he found the tawtute at the foot of the gigantic tree admiring its leaves turning to fall; the disconsolate expression of someone who had already experienced that same desolation on their skin.
His blood froze when he saw Telisi catch up to her with her typical awkward walk, and rub her muzzle against the woman's cheek as if seeking comfort. Determination burned in his chest as he murmured to himself. “Hold on, love. I’m coming.” With a sharp whistle, his ikran spread its wings, and they dove into the flux-laden skies.
Tumblr media
With each step, the dust thickened, and her heart bounced in her chest in rhythm with the increasingly deafening thumps of the drill. Slow and steady, the thuds that sounded by the second seemed to numb her. But even as her feet stumbled over the craggy ground shaken by the vibrations, she did not hint at stopping her progress. Gradually the path became more impassable, where the gorge had filled with giant boulders and uprooted trees, blocking access. She could have scaled what remained of the arches to get an aerial view of the surroundings, but climbing to the top would have meant exposing herself to the aim of snipers and automatic machine guns. Surveillance at that extraction site had to be on high alert, she was certain.
As she advanced, a faint glow hit on her right, warm and clear. Sunlight. A passageway free of disaster. She approached it cautiously. The entrance was just big enough for her to crouch through and gave access to a cave; the ceiling smashed by the earthquake into a natural skylight. Yana hesitated before entering; the air was cleaner but venturing inside a rocky way could be dangerous, even fatal with those continuous tremors running through the underground. A collapsing wall could easily have turned that cave into her grave. But the alternatives were few, and between standing in the mist that prevented her from seeing potential enemies and making her way through the shadows, she chose the one that would give her an advantage. When it comes to Na’vi, the sun is always expected to cast banshee shadows over the heads of their enemies, or the patter of galloping hooves to announce their arrival. It would not occur to anyone to look down, to guard ravines and underground passages to quell any surprise attacks. The People were skilled hunters who never mixed such skills with the art of war. But Yana was not just Na'vi now. Certainly, her DNA was, but a substantial enough part to create ethical contrasts in her person was human.
Penetrating inside the cave, she could ascertain that the main exit had, in fact, collapsed. The only other point of access was the skylight itself, but to reach it she would have to rely on the strength of her arms to climb. With no small effort, she reached the top, and the mammoth, frightening figure of the drill appeared before her, the building structure circling it like a barrier. A stroke of pure luck: as she ascended the passage, she had come right to the heart of the Alpha platform; the auger staring her straight in the face as if to give a defiant welcome.
“Priya? I'm at the drill. Tell me how to tear it down.” -I hear you. Destroying the drill-core will leave that monster useless. It's protected, but cut the control wires, and you should get an opening. Hurry, it's the RDA. Nothing's ever enough.- “Consider it done.” With those words, the tsamsiyu (warrior) took her leave, before turning off the transceiver and penetrated inside the platform, filled with enemies armed to the teeth. But she wasn't afraid. She possessed the skills to accomplish the mission without having to engage in open confrontation. With patience and calculated movements, she would have tampered with that contraption. What could go wrong?
The military base sprawled across the battered terrain like a metallic parasite, its angular structures jutting out from the ground, illuminated by harsh, artificial floodlights. Sarentu advanced through the shadows to make herself invisible, her breathing controlled, every step deliberate. She crouched low behind a jagged fragment of collapsed rock, her body blending with her surroundings. She inhaled deeply, her ears twitching as she listened to the heavy footfalls of a nearby patrol. Her bow was slung across her back, and a quiver of arrows hugged her side, a blade ready in one hand. She slipped between the patrols, weaving through their blind spots, and approached her prey. The monstrous drill, the beating heart of devastation.
The machine seemed alive, a colossus of metal and energy, digging relentlessly. The hum of its turbines vibrated in the air, an almost hypnotic rhythm, but the girl could afford no distractions. The base was heavily guarded; squads of soldiers moved in coordinated patterns, their exosuits clanking softly as they patrolled the perimeter, a mechanical dance of strength and control.
Moving with feline grace, she watched them for several minutes, mapping their movements. Three guards on the raised catwalk, two near the energy core, one stationed at the control room door. The others roamed unpredictably. She’d have to move fast and strike silently. Stealth was the key, and a strategy formed in her mind as she did so, accurate and deadly.
Her chance came when two soldiers paused to speak, turning their backs to her. She darted forward, her feet barely making a sound on the uneven ground. With a lightning gesture, she drew an arrow and stuck it. The string of her bow was stretched in deafening silence. The first shot struck the guard in the throat; the second fell before he could scream. When the third turned too late, her blade flashed, slipping through the crevices of his armor, her palm plugging his mouth before he could react. He collapsed with a muted thud. Yana dragged the bodies into the shadows, methodical despite the adrenaline coursing through her veins. No mistakes, no hesitation.
The main control panel was located in a cabin protected by armored walls and a digital keypad lock, where the last soldier was typing distractedly. Taking cover behind a stack of crates, an arrow flew, quiet as the whisper of the wind. The lone guard fell onto the controls, his hand smearing blood on the screen, as the rustle of the drill grew louder. She pushed him aside to access the panel that displayed data incomprehensible to anyone but a skilled technician, but she had no need to decipher it, SID would have taken care of it—a portable interface capable of decoding the security frequencies of enemy forces.
After a few seconds of work, her eyes lit up as the device emitted a soft beep of success, unlocking the door. The cabin was cramped, lit by cool neon lights, and the control panel dominated the room, its screens and switches monitoring every aspect of the drill.
The hanged plans showed how the core was protected by an electronic security grid, making it inaccessible without a specific command. Quickly, she navigated the panel menus, bypassing the access codes with her device. Her experience enabled her to locate the sequence that activated the turbines' maintenance mode, which was necessary to temporarily expose the core for technical interventions.
The next step required rigor. Yana pulled out a small vibration-cutting tool and began to disassemble the panel's side plate. The metal shell was resisting, but with a sharp blow, she managed to remove it, revealing a tangle of wires and circuits. She quickly identified the wiring for the core cooling system, a critical component in keeping the turbines stable. By cutting a single blue wire and replacing it with a connector she modified, she created a controlled short circuit that sent a false overheat signal to the main panel. The lights flashed, and a low alarm went off, prompting the system to automatically open the bulkheads protecting the drill core to allow for a supposed inspection.
Before leaving the cabin, the girl deactivated the hacking device, automatically erasing all traces of her digital intrusion. She remounted the panel plate and verified that everything appeared intact from the outside. Finally, she slipped between the shadows once again.
With the core now exposed, she could see it shone with an unnatural blue-green glow, pulsing like an alien heart.
“Time to finish this,” she murmured, moving briskly to it. She retrieved a bundle of small adhesive charges from her belt, aware that every second lost could be lethal. She carefully placed them in the most vulnerable spots, her hands steady despite the time pressure. The bomb timers were set on a delay long enough to allow her to move away safely. She was just finishing cocking the last one when a cry rang out behind her. “Intruder! By the drill!”
The searchlights all pointed at her, and the camp exploded in chaos. Cursing under her breath, the girl dived behind a support beam as bullets tore through the air, arrows at the ready. She shot one, then another in rapid succession, each finding its mark. She shot down the nearest enemies, but there were too many reinforcements for her to face them alone.
The situation seemed desperate. Her eyes rested one last time on the drill, then her fingers went to the detonator as she murmured a quiet prayer, ready to make a drastic decision. Just as she was about to press the button, a shadow loomed overhead. A high-pitched whistle cut through the air, followed by the shrill screech of an ikran, its wings slicing through the chaos in a bright trail. Neteyam plunged into the fray, the claws of his beast bearing down on a squad of soldiers. He leaped from his back mid-flight, landing next to Yana with a force that made the platform vibrate.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as she fired another arrow at an approaching guard. “Saving you,” replied her boyfriend, unsheathing his blade, piercing a soldier who came too close in the chest. Sarentu gave him a look full of sarcasm and defiance. Together, they fought their way back toward the drill side by side, their movements perfectly synchronized even in the crossfire. Time was against them; the charges were set, and the girl had the detonator.
“Now or never!” Neteyam shouted, shoving her behind cover as another wave of bullets ripped through the air. She took a breath, staring at the target. Everything came down to this moment. The explosion was deafening, a column of blinding flash of light rising skyward, devouring the drill. The shockwave knocked them both off their feet, flames and debris raining down around them. Yana felt the heat lap against her skin as Neteyam covered her with his own body.
“It’s not over yet!” he shouted, pulling her to her feet as the ground beneath them broke, reacting violently to the destruction. They sprinted toward the edge of the base. The warrior whistled sharply, and his dragon swooped low, its wings slicing through the smoke. He hauled her onto its back and the animal soared as the base sank into the rubble.
As they ascended, the flux pulsed ominously, a deep, rhythmic thrum that resonated through the air. From the sky, as the ikran carried them away, they watched the flames consume the drill. She turned to him, her breathing still labored. “Thank you,” she said, the word full of emotion and relief, while hugging him. He nodded in return, his gaze fixed on the horizon. That was only the beginning. The battle was not over, but for the moment, the drill was gone.
Tumblr media
The ikran landed on a rocky ledge hidden in the tops of the tallest trees, a safe place away from the chaos. The wind, charged with the wild energy of the flow, subsided. Neteyam descended first, his movements stiff and charged with tension. When the young woman set foot on the ground, she found him already distant, his back to her.
“Yawntu?” she called, her voice low, almost hesitant. He turned abruptly, and in his golden eyes shone a storm of emotion. His voice, usually calm and reassuring, was broken by a tremor of restrained anger. “What the heck were you thinking?!” She stopped in place, surprised by the ferocity of the tone. “I-”
“You left on your own, you walked into that damn field,” he interrupted her, taking a step toward her. “You were going to-” He couldn’t even say the phrase—You were going to let yourself blow up—, too painful to even think about. The trembling that still shook him was not just a momentary fear: it was a deep-rooted feeling, born of the overwhelming love he felt for her and the horror of seeing the possibility of a future without her. The scene played out in his head repeatedly, like a vortex of conflicting emotions consuming him. Even knowing she was safe now could not quell.
He felt a surge of panic when he realized she would remain in the base, risking her life to destroy the drill even though the bombs were active.  His mind, usually clear-headed in battle, filled with chaotic images: her face illuminated by flames, her hands reaching toward him as life left her, the emptiness of a world without the sound of her laughter or the warmth of her gaze. Each beat of the ikran’s wings felt like an eternity, and every second that passed was a weight piling on his chest.
“What was that all about, huh?” His chest rose and fell furiously, his breathing quickened as he drew closer to her again, towering over her with his stature. “Why didn’t you wait for backup? You always want to do everything yourself, you trust no one.” A sequence of questions and statements that sounded as if they meant something else entirely. 
You didn’t wait for me. You don’t trust me?
Neteyam fought with himself not to give in to the sense of helplessness, but with each passing moment, the girl’s silence only infuriated his sense that she had consciously chosen to sacrifice herself to destroy the drill. This tormented him, for it meant that she had decided to leave him behind.
“You were ready to die in there! Do you have any idea what that would have meant for me?!” he shouted, and, for a moment, seemed about to burst, but he held back, running a trembling hand through his hair. “I... I can’t lose you, Yana. Not like this.” Those words crashed like waves against a wall, leaving a pain-filled silence. Sarentu stepped forward, her gaze catalyzed on him. “Teyam, listen to me. I had to do it. It was the only way.” “Your life is not an acceptable price!” he replied, his voice louder than he intended. He took a step toward her, his eyes staring at her as if he feared she might disappear. “Not for this war. Not for any war.”She looked at him, surprised by the vehemence of his words. “And anyone else’s life is?” she asked, calm but firm. “If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. You know that.”
There was nobility in her intent, but Neteyam shook his head nonetheless at her disinterested altruism, his breathing still uneven. Her martyrdom might mean nothing to someone else, but to him, it would amount to the nullification of himself.
“I don’t care about someone else. I-I care about you. More than duty allows, more than I wish sometimes. When I saw you, surrounded by the RDA with the detonator in your hand, crouching in front of the ordnance ...” He shook his head again as if to banish the image, his eyes glazed over. “It was as if a part of me was already dead.” Silence descended. He ran a hand over his face, trying to regroup his thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, almost a whisper. “When I saw you wouldn’t stop ... I felt my whole world falling apart. You can’t ask me to bear it, Yana. You can’t.”
She looked at him, motionless. His words sank into her heart like knives, but she did not defend herself. Instead, she moved slowly closer until their foreheads almost touched. “You think I wasn’t scared?” she murmured, laying a hand on his chest, where his heart was still beating so fast. “You think I didn’t wonder, every second, if I could come back to you? But I did, Neteyam. I made it. We made it.” Her hands went up to graze his face, her eyes searching his with an intensity that left him breathless. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”
The Omatikaya prince felt the knot of anger and terror loosen inside, leaving a void filled only by his love for her. Saying nothing, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, breathing her own breath. His hands moved to encircle her waist, pulling her against him. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I won’t be so reckless next time.”
The young warrior closed his eyes, lowering his head to leave a kiss on her forehead. “There won’t be a next time,” he whispered. “I’m not letting you do that on your own again.” The echo of his words bounced between them, an even stronger bond forged in the fear and love that united them. “I cannot lose you,” he repeated, his voice an almost imperceptible rustle. “I can’t. You’re my everything.”
Yana replied without speaking, laying her hands on top of his, squeezing them with a gentleness that contrasted with the ferocity of their battle. When she finally lifted her face to his, her lips found his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was urgent, desperate, a reminder that they were alive, that they still belonged together.
As they lost themselves in each other, the world around seemed to vanish. There were no more wars, fears, or dangers; there was only them, two souls who had defied fate to find each other once more.
Neteyam broke away from the kiss, his breath short, his face still very close to hers. He looked at her with an intensity that seemed to want to carve that moment in time. “It’s not just fear,” he murmured, his voice rough, as if the words cost him immense effort. “It’s that without you ... I’m nothing.”
She shook her head, her hands rising to clutch the fabric of his warrior belt, pulling him toward her. “Don’t say that,” she replied, her eyes shining. “You are strong, more than anyone I know. But if you think it’s any different for me, you’re wrong.” Her voice cracked as she continued. “Every time I fly with you, watch you fight, hear your voice through the wind... it’s like the world makes sense. And the thought of losing you... it would kill me.” Her words slid between them, breaking down all barriers. Neteyam closed his eyes for a moment, giving her time to see the vulnerability he rarely showed. When he opened them again, there was a warmth in them, a promise that did not need to be spoken.
“We will not be lost,” he said, with a conviction that seemed carved in stone. “No matter what, we’ll always find our way back to each other.” Yana smiled, an expression at once sweet and wistful. “Then never let me go.” Neteyam responded by grasping her face in his hands, his thumbs tracing the contours of her skin as if he wanted to memorize every detail. “Never,” he promised, before kissing her again, this time with a gentleness that contrasted with the desperation of minutes before. The kiss intensified, fueled by something more than desire. A silent communication, a dialogue of souls seeking each other, recognizing each other. Neteyam’s hands came down along her sides, clutching her as if afraid she might fade away. The girl reacted by wrapping her arms around his neck, letting go completely.
Words became superfluous, replaced by the hushed language of their bodies and their gazes. The adrenaline that had sustained them up to that moment transformed into another energy, warmer, deeper. Recognizing their vulnerability, the go-or-nothing gamble they’d taken, they seized the present as if it were their last. They lay down on the carpet of moss that covered the ledge, the sky above them tinged with the vibrant colors of sunset. The sun’s rays streamed through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on their faces. For a moment, the world seemed to slow down, allowing them to lose themselves completely in each other, without fear, without hesitation.
His hands ran all over her body as if to imbue it with his essence. With each caress, a piece of her clothing slipped away. With each kiss, the ornamental paintings faded. “What should I do with you, huh?” He asked. “Do I need to breed you to generate some reason in you?”  She chuckled, but then said in a serious tone, “I won’t stop fighting even if you impregnate me.” “I know already, geez. That’s why I’m so into you. I still wanna see your tummy swell with my child, though. Still wanna fuck you senseless until my cum fills you whole.” A shiver ran down her spine until her toes curled, and she could already feel a small knot tightening in her lower abdomen. But her stubbornness, combined with a taste for having the upper hand, kept her anchored enough so that she would not get lost in the glee of carnal sensations. So that she would not say something she did not mean, or make promises she would not keep, in the heat of the moment. “It’s not gonna happen until we get the RDA out of here for good.” Neteyam agreed: raising a child in such a volatile, perilous environment was out of the question, “But we can always train for it. ‘Til we’re one forever.” “You mean in front of Eywa? Are you sure? You want to do this with me?” He beamed, in love. “You’re the only one I want this with. Are you up for it? When all this shit is over-” “Yes!” The Omatikaya prince gasped at the sudden answer to a question not quite expressed. “Yes?” “Yes, I will marry you as soon as all this shit is over. For what it’s worth, you are already my mate, with or without tsaheylu.” Their unconventional, colorful declaration of eternal love, though far from romantic, felt perfect for them.
Neteyam resumed kissing her everywhere. Her eyes, the tip of her nose, cheeks, neck, breastbone. Reaching her flat belly, he lingered there for a long time as if something was already sprouting inside. Strong fingers gripped her hips possessively, sinking into them until they left their imprint, while his nose tickled her navel, followed, then, by his tongue. He traced the outline there, then went up to one of her breasts and sucked greedily, his hand massaging it as if he could stimulate something else besides the nipple’s turgidity. As if he expected nourishment. When he was satisfied so, he gave the other tit the same treatment, and Yana had to bite her lip hard to keep from moaning. 
When, at last, the warrior pulled away with a resounding pop, she could sketch out a sly giggle, partly from the ticklish sensation, partly because she knew the source of so much attention. “I love your kinky side.” His face, already flushed from the exertion and impetus that was shaking his insides, turned purple at that joke. This side of him still ashamed him. A side he could not repress. And, to be fair, he didn’t want to erase it either, being linked to the unbreakable connection he had felt with Sarentu from the very first day. The way she held Loran, the way she cradled him, captivated him. The gentleness in her manner, the kindness in her eyes, despite the belligerent times in which they lived, had forged her into resentment and death. Yana exuded a warmth and fragrance that smelled like home. He fell inexorably in love with it and longed to turn the world into a safer place for her. She was his person, he knew it immediately.
She laughed again, her face slightly bent in a canny expression. “It’s cute when you get all bashful.” Stung to the core but refreshed by the challenge, he lifted her legs, spreading them apart just enough to observe how she glistened in the sunset light. A little revenge rattling in his head. “Soaking wet already? Did the raid get you pumped? And you called me kinky.”
With both forearms on either side of her face, one knee crept between her legs to make room for himself, now bent to graze his pelvis, he towered over her in all his majesty.  “You keep getting more and more beautiful,” he declared before moistening a finger and bringing it past the edge of her intimacy. His mouth stifled a sigh that faded into his oral cavity as tapering fingers flew over her inner thigh, caressing the soft skin and slowly growing a pleasant warmth. Attentive to her every slightest change of expression. A soft moan fell from her lips as he rubbed her clit, tracing tight circles, eager to make her tremble under his touch. Her hips moved unwittingly against his.  She sensed him sneering when his finger probed the dewy soil of her womanhood, the ring of muscle already yearning to capture him inside. “I barely touched you.” Provocation to which Yana couldn’t hold back and, embarrassed, she intimated him to shut up. His phalanges slowly slipped between her folds and plunged inside her, caressing the soft walls. She felt him melt into her passion, wet noises filling their ears with each languid lunge of his digits. Sarentu moved in his grip, stammering his name, her heart bursting in her chest as she closed her eyelids. 
“I’m here, sweetheart.” He cuddled her, and she moved closer to his caress, crossing her shins behind his back, her heels wedged into Venus’ dimples, inviting him deeper, harder. “Please don’t stop,” she purred in a moan. The walls sucked him in so deliciously, begging for more, and Neteyam was hardly the type to deprive a woman of her desires. His fingers curled, teasing her most sensitive spot, while his palm rubbed against her agonizing clit, causing an uncontrolled stream of meows. Each more desperate than the last, as they turned into acute wails as she neared orgasm. She gazed at him, her eyes filled with longing, “More,” but his hand retracted, slowing the pace almost to quell the spiral in her stomach, ready to snap. A whimper hovered in the air as he stopped, just a breath away from that wonderful spot that made her toes curl. He stared at her in amusement at the frustration that crippled her delicate facial features, her mouth open at the revelation.
Neteyam was making her pay for it. Whether it was for teasing him just before or for the headshot at the Alpha platform, she couldn’t tell. 
“Neteyam,” she admonished him afflictedly. “Beg.” “Wha—” “Apologize for scaring the hell outta me out there.” “Oh, come on!” she begged him, rolling her hips against his fingers, trying to chase the sublime sensation that was slowly withdrawing from her. “Apologize.” “Sorry, okay? Sorry, sorry, I won’t put myself in danger like that ever again,” she said all in one breath, reduced to a mess of sobs and soft grumbles similar to a cat’s purr. “I need you” The man shook his head, still in her hands, and a shadow fell over his eyes. “Promise me.” Yana snorted in disbelief. But if Neteyam needed to hear her say it, to be reassured, she would.  “I promise,” she sighed, drawing his face to hers and placing light kisses over his eyes, shining with desire but veiled with anguish. He slid to his side, his forehead juxtaposed against the girl’s. Yana drew the contours of his face. The arch of the nonexistent eyebrows, the feline nose, the line of the lips, the cheekbones so sharp they could slice glass. She rubbed the tip of her nose against his, at the affectionate gesture the warrior massaged her shoulders. 
“Roll over your side,” he whispered, and she complied. Once her back matched his torso, his strong arms encircled her, gluing her to him.  “I love you,” he claimed, kissing her shoulder blade. His palm traveled all the way down her body to her shanks, his digits again infiltrating her thighs, still finding traces of arousal. His fingertips collected the liquid and moved on to the stimulating lubrication of her intimacy. She trembled under his skilled hand, babbling his name as his fingers crept further, dancing in rhythm with her thrusting hips. She gasped when she felt a bulge rub against her butt. Then, without warning, his searing erection pushed its way inside her. Her mouth opened wide in a silent cry of pleasure, and her eyes rolled back as she bucked against his firm frame. Her mind clouded with the pulsing need to let the lust wash over her like boiling lava, as her vision turned white and her head grew light. 
She no longer sensed anything around her. Only Neteyam’s thrusts grew deeper and deeper, kissing her cervix at an ever-increasing pace. This would not last much longer. The man behind her knew well. In fact, his tapering fingers took to torturing her clit in concentric motions, as precise and relentless as his cock paced her back and forth, threatening to come out, but never quite.
“T-teyam,” she uttered, earning a quick bite at the base of her neck.“Let go. Almost there” It was like being bewitched by a spell. The knot that plagued her belly melted away, releasing waves of pleasure so intense they blinded her and pinned her to the bed of moss. There, impaled on her one true love dick.  It didn’t take long before the charge with which he poured into her lost its force. Neteyam was close, very close. So close that she didn’t even have time to prepare herself when, with one last, vigorous thrust, he burst free. A grunt rose in the air and an immense heat filled her.
He rested his forehead against her nape as, breathless and with a hint of malice littering his voice, he said, “I got so far down that if we were already mated, I definitely would’ve gotten you pregnant by now.” Yana started laughing in his arms. “You’re obsessed with this stuff, you know that!”He squeezed her tighter, sliding out of her. “How can I not be with a hottie like you?” She turned as far as she could to search into his eyes. Into his beautiful eyes, yellow as the winter sun, soft from exertion and surrounded by the redness of the moment. And he smiled, a full and genuine smile. A smile in love.
They remained hugged under the darkening sky, saying nothing. There was no need. Their hearts spoke more clearly than any words. Neteyam brushed her hair, studying her with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual resolve. “If this is all we have,” he whispered, ”that’s enough for me.” She closed her eyes, a smile that talked of peace and gratitude painted on her lips. “For me, too.” They remained like that, two souls entwined in a world that tried to separate them, but that night failed to do so.
“If this leads to awesome sex, I’m totally down for more trouble!” “Yana!” The sound of their laughter, carefree and light, mingled with the rustling leaves and the gentle breeze, dancing on the wind like a playful melody.
97 notes · View notes
technicolorfamiliar · 1 month ago
Text
Tumblr media
The Spy in Black Dir. Michael Powell 1939
I was going to combine this and Dark Journey in one post, but I ended up writing way more about The Spy in Black than I thought I would. I'm so, so glad I came back to this film. Rereading my initial thoughts after my first viewing, I realize clearly missed a lot because I was too hyperfocused on Connie being the way he is. But I did rewatch Dark Journey recently, and ended up liking that movie a whole lot less the second time around, so I'm not really in any hurry to post about it.
...
The Spy in Black feels worlds away from the grand, technicolor masterpieces of Powell and Pressburger. Despite the whole final act taking place at sea with the U-boats and battleships firing at one another, the film doesn't come close to the opulence of what are perhaps The Archers' most well-known and beloved films. The Spy in Black is minimalist by comparison, and yet it doesn’t feel out of place when considered among their other works.
Set mostly in the Orkney Islands, a damp and cold feeling permeates the film. That's something The Archers are exceptionally good at as filmmakers -- creating a multisensory experience for the viewer just through their visuals and sound design. Whether it's their wind battered Himalayan monastery in Black Narcissus, or the ever present rain and closeness of the sea to the little schoolhouse in The Spy in Black, Powell and Pressburger films are undeniably immersive. Atmosphere and a sense of place are key defining factors in their films even in this, their earliest work together.
The filmmakers also of course were aware of Conrad Veidt's prestige and wanted to make sure the look of the film paid homage to Connie's past work. There are scenes with deep, angular shadows for Hardt to disappear into and creep out of like in Caligari or Orlac. The title of the film has been bugging me, but now I think it's not so much about what Hardt wears as it is about him lurking in the shadows. (There's also a cute story about Michael Powell and Connie's first meeting where Powell was more than a little star struck; I believe he went on and on about Connie's deep blue eyes and his purring voice, which is understandable.)
Tumblr media
The writing suits their actors so perfectly. Compared to Dark Journey where everyone is so painfully British when they aren't supposed to be, there's something in the writing and direction that differentiates the nationalities in The Spy in Black. So even Marius Goring, who is British as can be, when playing a German naval officer isn't quite AS British as Sebastian Shaw and Valerie Hobson, if that makes any sense. It's a subtle difference, but there's something about the performances in this film compared to Dark Journey that allow for a greater suspension of disbelief.
And it's funny! Maybe not as obviously funny as Contraband, but The Spy in Black has some really finely crafted comedic moments that don't feel out of step with the rest of the film. It's not a comedy by any means; it's a drama with room for humor, kind of like real life… just with better looking people. When Hardt is wrestling his motorbike up a hill and is startled by a bunch of sheep, he baas back at them! It's a little moment that feels random at the same time it feels relatable. And it humanize Hardt, who doesn't really need the help -- he's already at this point in the movie completely endeared to the audience (or should be if you have a heart and eyes to see him). Most of the humor in the movie comes from Hardt being put in Situations.
The whole butter thing is so delightfully stupid. They establish Hardt early on as a foodie and a glutton, if only because he's been deprived of good food for great lengths of time. So when he arrives at the schoolhouse rendezvous and is checking each room to make sure it's safe, when the camera catches him in closeup staring with extreme intensity at something off screen. We're to think he suddenly sees something dangerous. The camera cuts to Miss Burnett/Fräulein Thiel/Mrs Blacklock looking confused and concerned. The music builds dramatically as they cut back to Hardt who is creeping towards the table. He reaches down, grabs something, the music crescendos, he lifts the thing to his face -- it's a giant block of butter.
Tumblr media
It's delightful, it speaks to anyone who loves food, or at least just to me. Hardt then proceeds to eat most of the butter and, like, half a ham before collapsing but not without first lighting what are clearly supposed to be post-coitalesque cigarettes for himself and Thiel. Even though they spend most of the middle of the film flirting like goddamn pros, sharing a decadent meal is the closest they get to anything explicitly sexual.
Tumblr media
Production began towards the end of 1938 and the film was released in the spring of 1939. While England didn't officially enter the war until the following fall, one would have to imagine the threat of conflict was making the general population anxious. The Spy in Black is a WWI film, set in 1917, but unlike other cinematic narratives of the 1930s centered around past wars, this film doesn’t really go out of its way to glorify the military or present a particularly nationalistic story. All the characters are heroic, all the characters are flawed, none more so than the man at the center of the film, Captain Ernst Hardt, a German U-boat captain. The balls they had to make a film with this kind of protagonist at this time. Yet the film doesn't claim to make any kind of sweeping judgement, positive or negative, about Germans. It seems more likely that with the war looming, Hardt is less of a statement about Germans in general and more like Dark Journey's Von Marwitz: both characters seem to be informing the British audience that this outsider, Conrad Veidt, this man you mainly know as a screen villain, is a good man. He's one of us, it seems to suggest.
This film, perhaps uniquely for its time, focuses on the individuals rather than the nations they represent. It seems more focused on how each of the main characters are personally affected by their actions. While the acts of espionage are played out with slick intrigue, by the end of the movie Hardt and Mrs Blacklock are both full of regret. Everything they've done has done little more than lead to the deaths of people who had lives, families, people who loved them. No amount of honor and devotion to one's country in wartime can wash the blood from their hands. In Mrs Blacklock's case, I don't believe her heart was really in it. She breaks down on the captured ferry and says, "You’re in the hands of a man who cares nothing for his life or yours. And it's all my fault. I forgot we were at war, forgot that war means that it kills every fine, decent human feeling." And Hardt himself, for all his good intentions and humanity extended to his prisoners on the ferry, loses every one of his crew, men who may have been the only people he truly cared about in the entire world. And having lost them, having not been able to protect them from the fatal depth charge that struck their U-boat, he has nothing left to live for. The machine of war, or more accurately the psychology of war, claims Hardt as yet another victim. The real villain of The Spy in Black is not the German naval captain nor his men, but rather the war itself. The Spy in Black is at its heart, under all the sexually suggestive dialogue and clever cinematography, an anti-war movie masquerading as a standard espionage thriller.
Tumblr media
Valerie Hobson apparently was hired to replace Vivien Leigh and, honestly, thank god. A hundred thousand Vivien Leigh fans would swarm my house with torches and pitchforks if they ever read this, but Valerie Hobson is a better actor and more charismatic, SORRY. She has more range and better comedic timing than Leigh (who went on to do Gone With The Wind anyway, so good for her I guess). Val is maybe more fun in Contraband, but I love that she and Connie got on so well, on screen and off, with each other and with Powell and Pressburger that they all got back together to make a second film. Watching The Spy in Black again, Contraband definitely feels like the more self-indulgent film, but I don't care. And here we get to see the beginning of that collaboration, see the sparks fly as Val and Connie expertly handle the dialogue and direction. I love their dynamic on screen; Hardt deferring to this woman that he thinks is his superior, the way she corrects his English (which was something Val did to Connie in real life that adorably carried over into the film), the way she barks at him to pick up his motorbike and go to bed, the way she looks at him at the end of the film with heartbreak in her eyes but can't bring herself to apologize or say anything at all. UGH. UUUUUGGHHHH. She and Connie have so many great moments together in this film, it's impossible to pick a favorite.
(Powell and Pressburger dared to put Connie and Val nose to nose and have him say to her, "It is evening and I am grown up, " knowing full well what this would do to unsuspecting audiences, only to -- just one year later -- go "hold my beer" and make give him even worse lines in Contraband. GOATed.)
Tumblr media
Connie genuinely seems like he's having 10x more fun on this film than Dark Journey. For one thing, he's welcomed back to England after a couple flops and a stopover in France with a more interesting, more fully realized character, one where he's allowed to bring in more of his own opinions and creative choices. Captain Hardt feels more like a real guy, he's less perfect than Von Marwitz. On this rewatch, I realized I'd forgotten how gruff and grumpy Hardt is (which, like Andersen in Contraband, I chalk up to him being hangry). As captain, he's no-bullshit but endures lighthearted teasing from his shipmates. He's allowed to have a friend! Schuster and Hardt clearly have history, they aren't new to one another, they speak (comedically) in unison, after all. I mean, Hardt brings Schuster a block of butter later in the film! That's real friendship.
Hardt makes it known that he loves food, even simple things like bread and butter. This may have more to do with the military rations being beyond bad than a pre-existing character trait of Hardt's, but it gives him color and humanity. And Hardt is just as smooth as the Von Marwitz; when the fiancé of the real Miss Burnett shows up and sees the medal ribbon on his uniform, Hardt slyly and proudly states that it's the "Iron Cross, second class." And when Miss Burnett's fiancé assumes Hardt must be a prisoner of war, the Captain replies, slowly drawling his pistol, "No… you are." And all with the most perfect, calm confidence. He's a Bad MF, no lie.
Tumblr media
So many interesting little things get revealed about Hardt pretty early on in the film. There are multiple exchanges about cigarettes being unavailable and someone offering him a pipe to which he says, "I never smoke a pipe." (As far as I see it, and I'm not complaining, but one of the only character differences between Hardt and Captain Andersen in Contraband is that Andersen does smoke a pipe lol) There are a handful of possibly queer coded things they throw in too: Schuster finds it humorous that Hardt would be reciting poetry in the dark to the lady spy he's to meet, to which Hardt says, "You think it's so funny, you know what you can do with it!" And earlier, when someone is looking for the captain, they're told, perhaps with an implied wink, that he might be found at the Turkish baths. Then there's the whole thing with Hardt literally pulling the cigar away from Schuster's mouth. I'm not saying definitively that Hardt is bi… but isn't he, though??
He is ultimately a reluctant spy; when he receives his orders to meet the German agent in Scotland, he's more annoyed than excited. He grumpily accepts his orders, but as a decorated military officer, doing spy stuff is beneath him. He insists on wearing his uniform even at the schoolhouse when he's supposed to be in hiding, because if he should die in service of his duties, he'd rather meet his end as Captain Hardt, not as an assumed identity.
Hardt is so wrapped up in his identity as a military officer that it ends up killing him. His end is tragic, nearly Shakespearean. He is not without honor, in fact he's positively full of it. He seems born and bred to follow orders, to whatever end they may have. And yet he is not a bad man. He commands authority but does not wield it with cruelty. He tells his crew to shoot any of the prisoners on the captured ferry who make noise, "with one exception" for a crying infant, and he allows the prisoners to escape on the lifeboats when the ship is sinking. Hardt cannot stop his own men from firing on the ferry, what they think is an enemy ship -- they have no way of knowing Hardt's taken over command of the ferry. Even his desperate and helpless cries and signals can't carry over the water to reach them in time. As the ship slowly sinks and everyone, including the ferry's original captain and crew, disembarks, Hardt elects to stay behind -- as his U-boat's commanding officer and with his entire crew lost and his captured ship sunk, Hardt makes the decision, in his mind the only decision, to die a captain's death at sea. The last time we see Hardt in closeup, he has tears in his eyes. We don’t see him drown, but we watch as an abandoned lifejacket floats across the frame. It's heartbreakingly tragic; we've gotten to know him, maybe even love him, over the course of the film.
Tumblr media
I know I'm going on and on about this one, and I'm almost done, but I have a few more things to say.
People loved to get on Connie's case for his English pronunciation and his supposedly heavy German accent, but he sounds amazing in this film. He plays up some German pronunciation of certain words for comedic effect (Exhibit A: "Bütter"), but his natural accent is so inoffensive here (not that it's ever that bad, even in Rome Express or FP1 imo), and it sounds like he even tried to play it down even more than usual. And if I've said it once I've said it a hundred times, he's such a fucking master of vocal delivery. Hardt's voice sits almost in the same pocket that Von Marwitz's does but Hardt is allowed to be more expressive in his range. I feel like I have a whole separate post in me strictly about Connie's use of his voice. He's a master technician vocally, and yet for as studied as his film speaking voice in English may have been, it never sounds to my ears anything other than effortless and natural.
To wrap things up: Powell, Pressburger, Connie and Val Hobson really are the dream team. The Spy in Black is yet another movie I immediately wanted to watch again the second it was over. It's a 10.
27 notes · View notes
mysticode54 · 6 months ago
Text
I stumbled across a Japanese article where Fumito Ueda, Yoko Taro, and Keiichiro Toyama had a publicized discussion about their careers and the video game industry as whole. This discussion was organized primarily to celebrate ICO's 20th anniversary in late 2021. So the folks over at Den Faminico Gamer requested concept art from all across ICO's development cycle to present throughout the 3 pages of conversation. And I don't know who was responsible for the task of transferring that, but they gave them A Lot of concept art. Many of these sheets have not been shared by genDESIGN's twitter, or really seen on any other site to my knowledge. There's some exclusive stuff in here. And even if they were seen somewhere before, I still want to translate them to the best of my ability and share the info. So I'm going to guide you through the sheets I found the most interesting. I'll also try to provide context for any cut content and musings on the lore elements being spelled out on the page. [Spoilers for ICO under the cut]
CUT AREAS
Jail
Tumblr media
[I've decided to leave the original page untouched in all my translation images, and keep all added text to the black bars at the sides. I'm also including plain Japanese text in dark grey, just so everyone is clear on how I am interpreting the handwritten notes.] This area is titled "Jail" or "Prison" and it was to be put on the second story of the East Arena. This means that, in early designs, the leftmost door was meant to be opened on arrival. It seems you would navigate the diagonal water slope, make it up to this area, and briefly move outside for the sake of slipping into one of these locked cells. After doing so, you move a shelf aside, find the sword, enter a fight, and then use the sword on the rope holding the far right arena door. Having a jail cell next to the arena is very intriguing from a narrative standpoint. Were the cells for those who broke the rules set in place by the arena's organizers? Or was the arena always intended to be sparring matches between criminals and outcasts? Why is the only way onto the balcony found through one of these cells?
Boatshed
Tumblr media
[In the black bars, text relating directly to the contents of the sketch will have drawn elements next to them, so you can better see what translation is paired with what part of the drawing. If it ever gets confusing, shoot me an ask and I'll clarify/edit the post.] The day after drawing up the concept for the Jail area, the team sketched the Boatshed, which was also cut. This area is reflective of an earlier, less bombastic ending to ICO, which Ueda briefly mentioned during Sony's "Great Scene Sharing" campaign in 2011.
Also, to be honest we weren’t planning to have the castle collapse entirely like that. We were originally thinking to have the ending of ICO be much more modest, but somehow it didn’t give you a feeling of resolution that way. And so we decided “Ok, let’s make everything crumble into the sea then.” (laughs)
The most intriguing aspect of this cut concept is a kind of Idol Fence Gate that reacts to Yorda in the same way as the Idol Doors, only in this case it is powered by a mask. The mask's face shape is somewhere between a man and a bull, with the moderately sized horns completing the animal resemblance. There seems to be a gem or circular marking embedded into the forehead as well. The text makes mention that the gate 'listens' to the mask (assuming I'm translating that correctly), so perhaps it had a specific auditory or musical cue planned for when it reacts to Yorda? But perhaps not. A concept page like this would be the perfect place to write that idea in clear detail, after all.
Heroine Room Connection
Tumblr media
This is not exactly a cut area, but it is certainly a heavily altered one. This spot would later become the floor of Spiral Staircase, where Yorda is held prisoner in the first act of the game. We can see this intention by its proximity to 'The Heroine's Room' and the series of Idol Doors set up as the introduction to Yorda's unique power. (There's even a sketch detailing how this arrangement of four idols are supposed to part when opened, and it matches up with the movement of the idols in Spiral exactly.) The most notable feature of this area seems to be a set of stairs leading up into a small room with a trench in it. In the trench is a box and a small crevice in the wall. The crevice is labelled 'Heroine', which, to me, implies that Ico might have been able to see or hear Yorda through this crack in the wall. But since this room is a dead end, I imagine you use the box in some way to activate the other set of stairs, which seem to have both a upward and downward status depending on whether you've solved the puzzle or not. This is very similar in concept to a puzzle presented elsewhere in the final game. At either ends of the room are two doorways. One direction is labelled 'Ko Building', which we will discuss later in this post. But the entrance to this room is through the Ritual Room... which we also have concept art for!
Ritual Room
Tumblr media
Similarly to the last sheet, this sketch depicts elements that would end up placed elsewhere, but the overall design of this room was cut. The Ritual Room was seemingly designed before the team had come up with the final design of the Altar Room. The Ritual Room bears many of its elements, but has a much larger scope and seems to serve as a junction between several parts of the building.
Common elements include:
The floor raising and lowering to open a path to the Stage 13 Elevator. The notes even clarify that this will only occur in the game's "2nd act". In this version of the mechanism, a handrail rises up when the floor lowers.
Capsules in which to place sacrifices. Though they aren't clearly depicted, they seem to be embedded into the ground, rather than standing up.
Restricted access to the high up Idol Doors. In the final game, they lead to The Queen's throne room. Here it leads to Proto, the earliest room designed in the game. It's unclear how you earn access to the doors, but the 'OFF' label indicates that the stairs must rise, or else it remains a vertical wall.
But one big difference that stands out is the palanquin-like structure at the center, which reminds me of the structure that surrounds The Queen's throne. Given the title of the room, we can infer this was meant to be the spot where the Queen's ritual would be held.
Notes in the margins indicate two innocuous, but fascinating things: - The note regarding what might open the Idol Doors for the village men likely marks the conception of The Queen's Sword. - Yorda's voice was meant to be heard from this room, and she would've been singing. She doesn't get to sing to herself in the finished product, though I think that characteristic fits her well.
Flowchart of the Second Half
Tumblr media
Once it became clear to Ueda that the ending had to be more resolute and bombastic, they devised the Main Gate Event and laid out a plan for all the places you would traverse on your journey to the throne room. You might notice that locations like Cliff Cage, Cogwheel, and Pipe have different prototype names and some visual differences. The first location on the journey back, later known as Cage, is titled 'Ruins'. It seems to feature a series of overhang structures jutting out from the cliff-side. Presumably, these would catch Ico after his fall. The titular cages of the present incarnation seem to be absent, but we can see them close by, in the area that will become known as Cogwheel. Instead named 'Subterranean Lake' in this document, Cogwheel seems to lack any of its characteristic mechanisms. In this sketch, one of the cages seems to have fallen from the ceiling into the water below. In the final game, we move from Cogwheel to the outer edge of the island, where Ico clings tightly to the ridges of the cliff-side. But in this concept art, all of that distance is spent on a new area, completely cut from the final release, called 'Trolley Jump'. It seems the trolley would make a second appearance in the game's puzzle design and Ico would have to build up momentum to make it over a huge gap in the tracks. The Pipe area is named 'Ravine' instead. And the metallic platform is set far lower than it is in the final game, where you can just walk across it to make it to the elevator. Here, you must descend onto it and then climb up into a cavern, once you make it to the other side. You might've also seen that the the Old Bridge is titled 'ICO Bridge' in this document. This is especially interesting to me, as the name ICO seems to serve a different purpose here than you would expect.
What is “ICO (イコ)”, really?
Kenji Kaido has stated in the Japanese Guidebook for the game that the name 'ICO' was just the title, and initially, was never attributed to the boy protagonist (Page 82). He was nameless and only referred to as 'Boy', much like the protagonist of The Last Guardian is currently. The game's filenames, the concept art, and even Kaido's own presentation of the E3 2000 demo to PlayStation Underground, back this sentiment. The term 'ICO' is never attached to the boy before June or July of 2000, when US gaming publications reporting on E3 2000's demo started conflating the title with the protagonist's name. Seeing as this is dated in March of 2000, it's safe to say the use of 'ICO' here has nothing to do with the boy. So what is it about? Ueda did also say that the name was a shortening of the term ICON... but I have additional evidence suggesting that in this specific instance, it was not serving as an abbreviation for 'ICON Bridge'. Take a look at this rough overview sketch from the margins of a different concept art page.
Tumblr media
Aside from the points that indicate land and sea, the labels that plainly stick out are "イ棟" and "コ棟".
"I Building" and "Ko Building". We saw that last label earlier in the Heroine Room Connection section.
Knowing this, we can safely infer that it's called イコ Bridge because it connects the イ and コ buildings... But then why are they split in that way and labelled イ and コ? I still don't have an answer for this, though I do feel like the divide is related to the separation of class. The イ building is dedicated to The Queen. It contains both her daughter and the sacrifices she needs to complete her ritual. It's where her throne is. It's where she resides and does her work. Meanwhile, everything on the other side of this bridge seems to have been built for a larger populous.
Benches, recreational areas, spectated arena matches, a waterfall, a courtyard, a ballroom with a massive chandelier! You don't build a front gate and a bridge to the mainland if you never wanted people to enter... This place undeniably once had people who lived and worked here. They were all designated under the コ building. I have to imagine this is why a distinction is being made, but beyond that, the reasoning for the titles remains a mystery. If someone has further insight into Japanese linguistics or culture, and have additional guesses as to why, please let me know.
Cut Boss Fight
Tumblr media
In the West Arena (labelled 'R' for 'Right' in early development), there was going to be another raised cage event. Only this time it would take the form of a boss fight with a massive shadow that overtakes the floor and splays black tendrils through the air. Interestingly, there is already an overhead bridge in this image, but rather than magically appearing in stone segments, it's instead an ordinarily constructed wooden bridge. Here, the notes detail a different kind of puzzle element: Wire. Which, unlike ropes, cannot be cut by the sword. The same note indicates that wire is holding the left and right doors in place. While the concept art doesn't detail it plainly, I believe the only way past this room would be to pull on the "Idol Handle" that the boss is covering. Wire is also presumably being used for the zip-line running across the arena, which is an interesting component to say the least. The vision I'm gathering is that you'd ride the zip-line, hit X at the right time to drop down onto the overhead bridge, run over to the balcony where the 'Cage Switch' is labelled, and activate it to impede the boss. How it is then defeated is less clear. It's also unclear where Yorda would have been throughout this encounter, or if there would be additional enemies trying to drag her into a nest. Its possible the boss itself would be programmed to capture her with a tendril, and itself act as a nest by dragging her into the depths of itself. But we have no evidence one way or the other. [Ok, that's all the stuff I have to present for now. Keep in mind that there's more to see and translate in the article I linked at the very start. This post was only scratching the surface, despite the amount of material we covered. With that in mind, thank you for making it this far.]
Support
Now is as good a time as any to mention I've started up a Ko-Fi, so people can choose to support the work I do to uncover and present obscure info like this. There is, of course, no obligation to give me anything. The tips just help me get a bit of financial security in return for my efforts.
32 notes · View notes
ringsofsaturnnnn · 1 year ago
Note
SATURN
Oh my god I love the crow club thing you came up with! It has such a dark risky air to it (like a casino, I suppose) and I love it.
I'm here to participate!
I'd like to play poker. I'll bet with the light blue chips (which you probably already knew). I'll have a shirly temple to drink please. Details of my order include: going with Armin to see snow for the first time (having already seen it yourself) and playing in it, having a snowball fight, snowmen, pictures, modern au, you can add other characters to the scenario like mikasa or eren if you feel like it (or only include Armin in the scene, that's wonderful too). Gn reader please as best you can, I'll leave the rest up to you.
That's all!
Stay safe lovely, rest well tonight <3
.˚ ❄️┊..⃗. 𝘀𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗱𝗮𝘆 ⌇
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
a.arlert x gn!reader
𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 :: introducing your boyfriend to the snow <3
𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨(𝘴) :: petnames
𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 :: ahhh this was so cute! thank you for being so patient with me, april, while i got your request done! this was my first time writing a gn reader, so i hope i did an okay job! the end got a little messy, but i tried. fluff isn’t my forte 😭
© 2023 ringsofsaturn | please don't copy or repost my works! i have not given permission to anyone to repost my works. reblogs/comments/likes are okay!
𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥
tag list :: n/a
Tumblr media
it wasn’t fair. it really wasn’t.
his ocean blue eyes were so entrancing that you couldn’t help but stare at them. letting out a soft sigh, you felt yourself get lost within the vastness of blue. if you weren’t careful, you felt like you might get lost at sea gazing into them.
“love? honey? angel? baby? love of my life?” shaking your head, you realized that your boyfriend, armin, was trying to get your attention. his cheeks were a soft pink color, a result of your staring. “oh, sorry. what’s up?” you flashed him one of your million dollar smiles, making his heart melt even more.
“i was just uhm, i was wondering. what’s that?” he pointed outside your window. turning your head, you realized that it had began to snow. laughing, you turned back to him. “min, that’s snow. have you.. have you never seen it before?” when he shook his head you couldn’t help but give him an incredulous look.
“how have you never seen the snow before?!” getting up, you immediately grabbed his hand and started pulling him towards the door. “wait! it’s cold outside! we need to bundle up!” armin exclaimed. groaning, you let go of him so you both could put your coats and hats on. armin was always so worried about you.
“okay, okay. now let’s go!” throwing the door open, you pulled him outside after you. armin was immediately shivering despite his warm hat and coat. without a second thought, you threw your head back and opened your mouth, trying to catch some of the flakes in your mouth.
“love, what are you doing?” armin laughed, his blue eyes watching every move you made. “i’m catching snowflakes.” your explained, tilting your head to look at him. “you try it!” snowflakes had landed on your cheeks and eyelashes. “uhm.. okay?” he mimicked your actions, laughing when a few landed in his mouth. “this.. this is fun!” he smiled.
Tumblr media
by the next day, much more snow had gathered. at least three or four inches.
deciding to take advantage of the snow, you hastily pulled on your coat and hat once more. armin was still fast asleep, so you decided you’d leave him be. he could join you later.
rushing outside, you immediately plopped down in the snow, laughing at the coolness that suddenly seeped through your coat. the fluffiness tickled your cheeks and you couldn’t help but close your eyes to help protect them from the blinding white of the snow.
exhaling, you enjoyed the slight sting that shot through your nose when you inhaled once more. continuing to lay there in your own little world, you didn’t even notice that armin had came outside until he was calling your name.
lifting your head, you smiled at him before waving him over. “come here! make a snow angel with me!” while he looked confused, he did as you asked. making his way through the snow, he carefully plopped down beside you. “a snow angel?” he repeated.
nodding, you explained to him what to do. “o-okay.” he followed your directions as you made your own snow angel beside him. once you were both done, you helped each other up. looking down, a smile crossed your face. “look at our snow angels!” you giggled, turning your face to look at him.
his nose and cheeks were a soft pink color as he smiled down at you. “yeah, i see them.” he murmured before pressing his ice cold lips to your cheek. squealing, you immediately scooted away from him. “min! your lips are freezing!” you laughed. armin laughed at your comment, shaking his head. “well it’s cold outside! what do you expect?”
while he spoke, you had carefully made a snowball. once he was done speaking, you threw it at his chest, listening as it hit his coat. “hey!” he gasped. giggling, you immediately took off running. “get back here!” he tried to chase after you as you gathered more snow.
the two of you ran around like little kids, smiles decorating both of your features as you launched snowball after snowball at one another. after a few minutes, you tackled armin into a snow drift. his eyes widened as you landed on top of him.
looking down, you couldn’t help but laugh. both of your chests were heaving as you looked into each other’s eyes. “i love you.” armin whispered before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. returning the kiss, you carefully wrapped your arms around him.
the two of you stayed wrapped in each other’s arms in the snow drift, content smiles on your faces. however, it wasn’t long before you were climbing off of him.
“we should make a snowman!” armin gave you a look, one that you were familiar with. “a snowman?” he echoed. nodding your head, you laughed. “here! i’ll show you how.”
it wasn’t long before the two of you had created a snowman. “and now..” you searched around to find some rocks. once you did, you arranged them to look like eyes and buttons. “we also need sticks!” you gasped before scurrying off to find some sticks. “love?” armin was quick to follow after you.
once you had everything, you reached for armin’s hat. “hey! what are you-“ looking down at you, he frowned. his light blue stocking hat was now in your hands. “give that back.” shaking your head, you placed it on the snowman’s head.
“it’s the snowman’s now!” you laughed.
“you are ridiculous, you know that?”
laughing, you turned your head to look at him. your eyes met and you couldn’t help but sigh happily. snow had began to fall down around you once again, but you didn’t notice. all you could focus on were those ocean blue eyes of his..
Tumblr media
main picture & dividers made by :: @strrynigghts
96 notes · View notes
sapphic-agent · 6 months ago
Text
I realize this is a little bit of a mixed bag, so let me explain my choices a little. I tried to use characters who had a) a solid backstory/justification for their actions/ideals, b) clear goals/aspirations, c) substantial and visible development, and/or d) a clear role in the story that was well-executed.
Lady Nagant was an easy option here; her backstory perfectly explains why she ended up the way she did and her goals aligned with that backstory. The only thing I would say holds her back is her lack of influence on the overall narrative, as well as her development not holding up as well as it should have. This was in no small part due to lack of exposure
Some nitpicking aside, I do believe Toshi is a well-written character with a great backstory and solid development. But he does lose points for the Bakugou pandering. Not because I hate Bakugou, but because it compromises his role in the narrative as Izuku's mentor. His failure to address how detrimental Bakugou is to Izuku's progress undermines his development as Izuku's mentor. There were also a lot of chances for his development to be even better that just weren't taken
Iida might be an odd choice, but honestly? He has one of my favorite arcs. Where the narrative fails to address Izuku's ideals about heroism, it perfectly corrects Iida's. And unlike with most characters, Horikoshi is actually consistent about it. Iida had the second lowest rescue points in the Entrance Exam. But we see his preconceived motions about heroism challenged in the Stain arc, his only saving grace being that his friends were determined to save him first and foremost. Then in the PLA War, he's the one who runs to aid Izuku and Shoto first. He's also the one to reach out and get through to Izuku during the Dark Hero Arc (yes, I know this scene is controversial but ignoring Bakugou's involvement, Iida comes off looking the best in terms of saving Izuku). The only thing holding his development back is lack of exposure and attention. I'm being so serious when I say he could have been the best character in MHA if Horikoshi had put a little more effort into him
Monoma is probably my oddest choice. But for what he is, he fills his role pretty damn well. He's an antagonistic jerk whose role in the story was primarily to give 1A a hard time. This wasn't changed about him either, but we also saw other facets to him. Instead of negating how "awful" he was, we saw other sides of him in addition to it. One thing I do have an issue with is that it feels like Horikoshi's insistence on making him overtly antagonistic had to do with how he criticized Bakugou. It seems like he made him overly spiteful, as Horikoshi tends to do with people who don't kiss Bakugou's ass
Anyway, those are the four I can think of off the top of my head. I'm not snubbing anyone who isn't on this poll, I probably just couldn't think of them at the time
31 notes · View notes
hadesoftheladies · 8 months ago
Text
FEMALE MOVIE/TV RECS (PART 1 / FANTASY)
got inspired from a recommendation post so decided to make a list of movies and shows with female-centric stories/female protagonists. since i can't post all of the genres in one post, i'll split it into multiple posts and y'all can save or add to the list as you wish. (disclaimer: i have watched most of these, but i only know about the existence of others. not every movie/show on these lists will be my recommendation. my recommendations will be beneath the list with reasons. also some of these are way better than others in terms of storytelling/performance--which is why i'll list my faves separately):
#1. FANTASY/ADVENTURE (LIVE ACTION)
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Common Themes of Media In the List:
-Strong female friendships
-Romance critical (or anti-romantic centrism)
-Emphasis on female-female relationships
-Warrior girls and women
-Revenge against awful men
-Distrust of male love interests
Ones I Haven't Watched:
His Dark Materials
Everything Everywhere All At Once
Paradise Hills
Crimson Peak
Outlander
The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina
House of the Dragon
The Nevers
Cursed
NOT LISTED BUT QUALIFIES
Pan's Labyrinth
Mary Poppins
Twilight
The Craft
The BFG
PERSONAL NOTES FOR THE ONES I'VE WATCHED
The School for Good and Evil
Tumblr media Tumblr media
5/10
There were many things about it that were good. The chemistry between the two leading actresses, the primacy of friendship over romance, the effects, the costume and set design, the insane cast (Charlize Theron, Cate Blanchett, Michelle Yeoh, Kerry Washington?!) and the score. Some of the performances were good, too. The pitfalls of the film had more to do with the writing and directing. Some scenes were rushed, some dialogue was embarrassingly bad, some plot points were just nonsensical and childish. The magic system was also not well executed (though I've seen worse).
It's mostly mid, but the ending is refreshing for the fairytale genre and if you like fairytale fluff, you'll probably be more willing to forgive the film's transgressions. If you can, there'll be a lot of fun left to have with it.
2. Damsel
Tumblr media Tumblr media
6.5/10
More action than fantasy and with a much smaller cast. Most of the movie focuses on Millie's character. The performances in this were pretty good, though. If you like heroines getting revenge, non-cliche fantasy stories involving princesses, and dragons, this movie is right up your alley! Also the costuming is delightful! It's predictable, but it is also entertaining.
3. Willow
Tumblr media
7/10
This show was just fun. Fantastic effects, female heroics, tomfoolery, lesbians, action, evil forces, cool costuming, lesbians, sword-play, riddle-solving, dumbass princes, sarcastic mentors, and lesbians! This show knew exactly what it was trying to be. Aside from some poor performances, my overall impressions is positive.
4. Wednesday
Tumblr media
7/10
I personally enjoy Wednesday Addams' character wherever I see her. Having a whole show of her was just a treat. I didn't care for the typical highschool-shenanigans (like the cliques) as much, but there were many enjoyable elements in this for me. Particularly, the effects, the crime, the other female characters, and the ending. It's entertaining and pretty to look at. Also I'm always on my wenclair propaganda.
5. Shadow & Bone
Tumblr media
6/10
I've read the Six of Crows duology and the first book of the Shadow & Bone trilogy, so for me this show was a let down. For new watchers, however, you'll find interesting female characters, cool effects, and an entertaining (though sometimes choppy) plot. Inej Ghafa is my queen forever, regardless.
6. Renegade Nell
Tumblr media
7/10
This is puts the fantasy in revenge fantasy. I love all the actresses from Derry Girls, and Louisa Harland is still charming in this. It's basically if Gentleman Jack (same director, I think) and Tinkerbell teamed up. Or if Little Women was also Pirates of the Caribbean but instead of taking to the sea it was highway robbery! The action sequences are so fun, the villains are nuanced (particularly the villainess) the comedy isn't overbearing (like I forgot I was watching a Disney show tbh) and the silly towel boy from Ted Lasso is here! I personally had fun. I hope it's renewed.
7. Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass
Tumblr media
7/10 (i love these so much so it's 8/10 for me)
It sucks that Depp is in this, but I can never ever forsake my girl Mia Wasikowska. I just love these movies. I love the design, the music, the costumes, the irreverence toward marriage and romance, Alice's personality and relationship with her mother, how it tackles the pathologisation of female autonomy, the performances, etc. The books are one of my favorite books of all time so there's that.
8. Maleficent
Tumblr media
7/10
I really loved the performances in this, the metaphor for rape, the satisfying revenge. I don't mind that it was cliché. I love Maleficent movies. AND the Lana Del Ray cover for "Once Upon A Dream." Also, the first one makes me tear up every time. The mother-daughter love is just so touching to me.
9. Warrior Nun
Tumblr media
(?/10)
I love the premise of this show and I can get behind the characters. The protagonist just annoyed me so much so often I have taken multiple breaks and can't remember the story. I am all for imperfect, asshole girl characters. But this protagonist was just whiny and careless beyond reason. And it was taking too long for her to get with the nuns. Like I was not invested enough in her running away arc. Like sis get your ass to the coven you are not that main of a character!
She took up so much screentime when literally every other character in the show was more interesting than she was.
At least there's lesbians.
10. Snow White & The Huntsman
(8/10)
Tumblr media
What can I say? Kristen Stewart was hot in this, as was stepmother. Effects? Stellar. Direction? Stellar. Performance? Mostly stellar. Drama? Action? Magic? All there. Thoroughly entertaining. Refreshingly anti-Disney. Unfortunately there are some annoying men involved (I'm talking about the dwarves of course) but it never gets too overbearing. This is, however, the least feminist of the entire list and scores lowest on the above common themes.
53 notes · View notes
malt-rants-and-stuff · 24 hours ago
Note
"ten seconds of summer (WHY THE BEACH?!?!?!?)" SPILL 👀
I FELL ASLEEP!!! okay wait let me set the scene here.
first of all, this is an established kagihira au. kind of. kagi doesnt know that yet. bc my favorite thing of all time to play with in stories is Time. we begin on a beach. it takes place in snapshot format. kind of. it makes sense reading it through. have some snippets.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
if you can understand what I'm going for, you may notice some spooky time shenanigans going on. don't worry about that too much. the fun bit is I was inspired by the beach that makes you old to write this. it's not very related to what's actually going on in this story, but there's a fun fact for you. the bit in the doc name about why the beach was mostly just me screaming at these characters. asking them why they've done this to me and such ahdhjs. there are only so many beach based events I can write in a compelling way guys... but anyways this au mostly focuses on kagi and Time and being in love with denial baked deep into that love. if you knew the future was "bad" but you didn't know how when or why, is there anything you can do about it? it's about kagi contemplating if it's worth the risk to try and fix what he doesn't understand(yet).
on a more meta level, it's also about the concept of the beach as a liminal space. People go to beaches, make memories, then leave. and at the end of the night its just quiet, dark, and empty out there. you walk across a beach at night once and it really helps you understand the achingly deserted feeling. especially when you can still see and hear people on the outskirts, but they won't come any closer. (<-said by a chronic night beach walker) when you leave the beach, you strip yourself of it. you wash off the sand and take off your swim clothes. you put away the towels until the next beach day. yet the taste of salt lingers on your tongue. your legs feel shaken, memories of tides pushing and pulling and bashing themselves against you feel like the present. sand sticks to the inside of your nails like it's clinging to you. the remnants of the sea mix with your hair in a way that feels vengeful, how dare you leave it behind. feet covered in sand and rocks carry you forward, yet still ache even when you leave. and one day you will return. no matter how long it takes. and the beach will be there.
8 notes · View notes
bleeding-hart · 9 months ago
Text
visuals for the marauders
putting this here so I have a reference later when I'm actually writing and posting the fanfic (rn I just have a good chunk plotted out and some scenes in my brain). Also including their pronouns so it makes a little more sense. For their clothing, it's just their choices when they don't have to wear the school uniform (I hate the uniform deeply imo no one looks as hot in robes). I am taking artistic license with their designs bc I can make them look better than their canon designs do easily. If I said something contradicting these earlier, ignore it, I've got shit memory and adhd.
Sirius (he/they/she): long hair, one of those really queer nonbinary bun type things? She wears half goth half casual punk clothing stuff (like fishnet shirts under sleeveless black hoodies/ corsets with leather band jackets, etc. Definitely a spikey black boots/spiked collar type person). Decently pale skin and really dark blueish eyes, like the night sky right before it fades to black or the sea during a thunderstorm. They do their own piercings which has given them more than one infection, but he does have some successful ones (nose bridge, eyebrow, lots of ear stuff, and snakebites). Remus will insist to do it for them if he knows that she has a new idea, and he's significantly safer about them.
Remus (he/they? He/him? Somewhat cis but has a complicated relationship with gender): short golden brown hair that's in a barely noticeably mullet style. Nostril piercing (Sirius said it would look good on him so he did it). Warm-toned light brown skin with a lot of freckles that you generally can't see, dark amber eyes. Dresses for comfort over style, which usually means t-shirts, sweatpants and beat up old sneakers. Their only very noticeable scar on their face is one over their lips and chin. They have more, but the others are more skin toned.
Peter (he/they, sometimes it): generally very cute, light skin with some freckles and messy wavy blonde hair, pale sky blue eyes. Sirius is trying to convince him to let them give him snakebites but he's very on the fence about it (he barely even wears makeup so he isn't the most adventurous about that stuff). Thick/long lashes. Tends to wear muted neutral colors. The only jewelery that he's consistent about is a leather bracelet he always has on his left wrist. Tries to not be visually noticeable, tends to hang around the back of the friend group and let the others get all the attention.
James (he/him probably): longer curly/wavy dark brown queer mullet (tboy energy) and warm brown skin. Dark golden toned brown eyes. People tend to think he and Remus are cousins or something which he thinks is really funny (he's definitely turned around and started making out with him for as a bit when someone asks them if they're related). Usually wears brown dyed or bleached jeans and reddish-brown/brown/green-brown/yellow t shirts and tops for the cohesive and effortless energy. Paints his nails bright colors whenever he can as a contrast to Sirius's chronically flaking black nail polish. Has his lobes pierced but usually just wears gold studs. Wears gold bands around his biceps so he can flex when he wins a quiddich (<- I did not check how to spell that, you know what I mean) match
Regulus (he/him): he prefers to wear more formal clothing because that's what he was raised doing and the layers help him cover up any raised areas on his binder, but when that isn't an option/he's too depressed to do anything fancy, he wears black hoodies that are significantly too large for him (barty or evan's usually). Makeup tends to give hm dysphoria, but he always fills in his eyebrows and he'll put eyeliner on his waterline when he's going to an actual event. He pierced his tongue as an act of rebellion when he was younger and now he just fidgets with it a lot, other than that he just has his lobes done (he got them as a newborn) and he always leaves them empty in hopes that they'll seal up.
I know what the others look like but this is long enough as is haha
23 notes · View notes
Text
writemas day 12+13!
writemas is a holiday themed writing challenge by the lovely @agirlandherquill if anyone is interested in joining!
...i'm back from my overextended writemas hiatus! i'm gonna try to complete as many days as I can because this is really fun and I don't want to fall behind again.
this time I used prompts from the past two days cause I missed so many lol. this scene had been floating around in my head for the awhile and I wanted to put it to words. it's the mandolinist from day 4 again since I liked them so much. I wanted to give them a happy ending
no content warnings I think? just some mild mentions of war like there was in the last one
prompts: the hesitation of touch the heat of a stare the ache of longing
The Mandolinist, Part Two
Seneraded by the drumbeat of rain hitting the rooftop of the tenement building, the mandolinist turns their key in the door and enters the foyer of the room they share with their beloved. The room is dim and hot; the kerosene lamps are unlit and the fireplace emenates the only light. They shut the door and prop their mandolin against the wall in its case. Water rivulets down their short crop of curls, glints on their harsh cheekbones. "That's some storm," Cora says, setting her book down and rising from her armchair. She never wants the lights on at night and has taught herself to read without their presence. "Soaked right through, are you?" The mandolinist snorts and shucks off their rain-sodden cloak. They chuck it in front of the fire to dry and drop themself onto the tattered Chesterfield that, years ago, they had scrounged off the streets in the wealthier district and hauled back to the tenement. "You look like you've had one hell of a day." "I'm fine. It's just the weather. I loathe it when the year is drawing to a close, and night falls so early. Everything is so cold." Cora sips from her flask of brandy and takes a seat beside them. Hesitantly, she draws her hand over their arm. They are an strange pair on the street: the quiet and guarded mandolinist. And then their beloved who has a sparrow's build: slight and quick. Loud, the proprietor of the type of boisterous laugh that turns heads in a pub. Long pale hair piled high atop her head and tied up with a kerchief. Her hands are always moving, a blur. In her better days she was a pickpocket. She always walks about with her coat unbuttoned, even on the coldest days. So open. Blind to the world's dangers. They feel her eyes on them, so they bury their face in her neck and inhale her sea-like smell: sweat and brine from a long day's work at the docks. They watch the fire lick at the logs. The world is velvet-dark and soft. None of this feels real, and sometimes they have to remind themself that it is. A part of them remains quagmired in the wreckage of the previous decade. When they wake in the wee hours of the morning, they reach to their bedside table for a gun that they melted down five years ago. In the dark, they forget where they are and they need Cora to tell them. And so she puts a name to each of the mandolinist's belongings, the things that anchor them in this world. Their voice, their rare laugh, their passion for their instrument. That smell of salt is not from fresh blood but the layer of sea that clings to Cora's body. That patter above them is not the incessant firing of artillery but only the gentle rain. Each day it gets a little easier.
a huge thank you also to my writer mutual @kitty-is-writing ! while I was procrastinating writemas I kept seeing your stories each day and they inspired me to work on mine again. great job so far
12 notes · View notes
andromeda-galaxy2877 · 11 months ago
Text
Here's little scene I wrote for this drawing my friend made! (Don't forget, if you vote for Life Goes On in the @tmntaucompetition and it wins at least once, I'll write a fanfic entirely in Pinky's POV! Aren't you at all curious about her backstory? About how her mind works? Keep an eye out for Life Goes On, and you can find out!
Go check out that post, and the rest of their account! They also post art on instagram under the same name, their art is AMAZING as you can see! @latersgayt0rs
A chill encompassed the stagnant air; there was no wind here. Everything was still, silent.
So hauntingly quiet. 
It put Leo’s every sense on edge; he would occasionally make a soft sound in the back of his throat just to be sure he could still hear. He would be awed that his hearing aids had survived the unknown length of time he’d spent in this hellscape - especially considering everything that had happened to him in it - but he felt nothing but confidence in his twin’s capabilities. He would be more surprised if they did break.
Leo let out another soft, near-silent chirp in the back of his throat. The little shape at his side huffed in annoyance and butted her head into his hip, nearly throwing him off balance. Leo rolled his eyes at the Krang hound, lifting his hand that wasn’t occupied with his makeshift spear to sign, “Sorry.”
Pinky huffed again, letting out a low rumble. Leo interpreted it as forgiveness, gently patting the top of her head.
The two of them continued their aimless trek through the Prison Dimension. They moved beyond the wall of rock and scrap metal at last, revealing an eerie view of the sea of darkness. The sky was gray and grainy- almost like static. And painful to look at for too long. Amongst the darkness were long-abandoned, broken down Krang ships and mechs. Torn apart in their brethren’s desperate urge for sustenance. 
Leo paused, facing the view quietly. Pinky walked in a circle a few times beside him, kicking up dust until she finally settled. The hound sat down, looking up at him as she awaited his next move.
But Leo couldn’t move. All he could do was stare out into that hopeless darkness, a blank feeling of despair rocketing through his heart. Even after all this time, he still hadn’t quite gotten used to it.
The loneliness.
He glanced down at the shape at his side once more. Sure, he had Pinky; she was the best thing that had happened to him since he’d gotten trapped here. Her insistence on befriending him had saved his life, in more than a few different ways.
And yet…
…Yet he couldn’t help but miss them. The figures etched on the paper he kept safely protected in his cloak.
His family. 
He felt the familiar sting of sorrow, knowing he would never see them again.
…Unknowing of the Key being placed into a port a world away.
33 notes · View notes
uglypastels · 1 year ago
Note
I reaaalllyyyy love your writing and I was wondering if i could request a OPLA Buggy x reader story? I don't know if you do male readers too, if you do then I'd appreciate it. If not you can do it with a female or gn reader <33 if you want to write it at all of course!!
Reader is a feared pirate captain and is very known amongst the seas. He kinda has a thing for Buggy and everyone knows it. That's why for the most part the clown can do whatever he wants. The two of them engage in constant flirting and playful banter, annoying each other when they cross paths at sea and reader decides that it is a good day to pretend like he’s attacking Buggy’s ship just to pay him a visit.
When Buggy kidnapped Ruffy and his crew, reader was also in town and had been watching the whole scene unbeknownst to Buggy. He only wanted to make sure that everything is alright but ended up staying, just to watch him for some more time.
After the strawhats left and Buggy had put himself back together, his coat and hat were still lying around. So, reader put it on quietly, keeping the hat in his hands something he’d do often just to piss him off and partly because he liked the smell of the coat. Finally Buggy noticed him and firstly thought he’d be one of his crew mates. He starts to tell him to get out of his light but when he hears readers voice he freezes. Reader makes some flirty comment but Buggy is already pissed off and attacks him. (Not in a harmful way, more like play fighting. He really is pissed but wouldn’t hurt reader in a serious way) reader plays along and keeps a smirk on his face till Buggy pins him on the ground. They flirtfight a bit more and then reader could cheer him up/ tend his wounds from the fight with the strawhats. Fluffy content ☁️☁️
I’m sorry that this Is so long you can change the details if you don’t like it 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️
no, but i actually love love love this whole idea. I'm not too experienced writing with male readers, so it might come out a bit gender-neutral, so you can read it as anything <3 hope you enjoy it!
warning: violence, violent thoughts, mention of [in-show] torture, flirting. slight choking. all in good fun. "sweetheart" nickname.
masterlist
Tumblr media
Hiatus
You would have imagined he would see you sitting in the audience. Clapping just a bit louder than the rest, cheering and laughing that much more. Enjoying the spectacle that played out in front of you.
God, he really knows how to put on a show. Who else would come up with such brilliant torture tactics but the Genius Jester himself? The quartering had been a magnificent event to watch, not to mention the Tank of Doom.
He had been doing so well, but of course, those Strawhat idiots had to barge in and ruin everything. You wished you could have helped him, but you knew better than to intervene in Buggy's productions. He would have never forgiven you if you came in unannounced on the stage.
So, you patiently watched until the end, slipping behind the curtains as those bratty bastards continued on ruining your dearest Clown's empire, the only thing to bring you peace being the image of one day getting your and Buggy's revenge, presenting their heads on platters.
You waited in the dark corner for the Big Top to empty, and for Buggy to make his next entrance. Knowing the Clown, he would have bitten your hand off if you offered him your help with the crates in which his body parts were locked, so you held yourself back from revealing your presence until he was nearly done.
Then, you appeared out of the shadows. It had not been your intention to step right into the light coming from the tent's entryway, casting darkness over him.
'Get out of my LIGHT!' he yelled, mindlessly throwing back one of his trusty daggers. Despite him having had no insight into your position, the blade still managed to land right between your feet.
'Now, now, Bug,' you smiled, taking a few slow steps forward. 'Is that the way to greet an old friend?'
At the sound of your voice, Buggy's head jerked back, eyes wide open in surprise, but moments later, you saw the corners of the end of the red facepaint stretch wider into a hesitant smile as he thought his body for composure.
'You?' He cleared his throat. 'What are you doing here?'
'Heard the circus was in town. Thought I'd catch a show.'
'Well, the show's on hiatus. Sorry, you came all the way here for nothing, sweetheart.' He went back to the barrels and chests in search of his leg, but he shot back up in your direction at your next words:
'Oh, don't worry, Lightbug, I got here just in time for the last one.'
'You saw all that?' As Buggy looked at you this time, his eyes travelled over your entire body, keeping his gaze down to avoid your own compassionate stare.
'I'm afraid I did.'
Something in Buggy's face twitched before he smashed open one of the last closed cases that stood around him. The last parts of him shot up into the sky and connected back to the rest of his body, which he ensured with a small shake. Remaining painfully silent, he gave you another glance, finally noticing the piece of clothing you had picked up during your wait for his arrival.
'That's my jacket,' he stated.
'I know,' you smoothed out the sleeves, 'Always thought it looked so good, I couldn't help myself but try it on when the opportunity presented itself... What do you think?' You looked up expectantly, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of the pirate, but he just gave you another multifaceted look before turning away.
'I'm not in the mood for games.'
'Well, good we're not playing, then.' You tried to step forward to catch up to Buggy, but before you had the chance to reach him, something around him moved, and the next thing you knew, he had his hand around your throat.
'Then what,' he finally turned to face you, eyes bright and large with anger, 'the hell are you doing here?!'
The grip of his fingers was stern, filled with his emotions, but still full of that gentleness you knew he only carried around for you. As he kept his hold on your neck, you couldn't speak up, and so just let him come back up to you. Closer and closer until your faces were nearly against one another. With his smell of tobacco and cotton candy filling your senses, you inhaled deeply as Buggy released his hold on you.
'You know exactly why I'm here, Buggy.'
The cracks of emotions were showing through his makeup as the muscles in his face quivered. Not another word was spoken, as the words you spoke were all that needed to be said.
There was another beat of silence as the years of memories, the good as well as the bad ones, came over the two of you like a flood. Then, breaking down the final pieces of the dam, letting it all truly flush you over, Buggy grabbed you closer, closing that final space between you, pressing his lips against yours.
Just like he used to.
Just like you never thought he would again.
the end.
Tumblr media
thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please comment and reblog with your thoughts. i'd love to hear them as it truly helps with writing motivation and inspiration.
83 notes · View notes
shark-myths · 9 months ago
Note
🍓 🥤 🌿 for the ask game!!!! <333
🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 
one of my favorite k facts tbh. i invented fanfiction at jesus camp with my new friend eden. we clutched each other on a hillside while a god rock band performed below, puffy with mosquito bites and illicit ideas, and whispered to one another of the members of our mutual favorite band, what if they kissed each other? we were 13 years old. camp was so in-the-middle-of-nowhere you could see the whole milky way at night, the thickness of it. the grass got wetter and wetter the longer you sat in the dark, hiding from the flashlights of your counselors. every few breaths you'd see a shooting star, til you were numb to marvel, til that was just what the night sky looked like and you expected it everywhere. it was magic and no one had ever thought of it before, boys in bands kissing. when we went home to our separate cities, i started handwriting fic (decorated with gel pen! this was the year 2003) and mailing it to her in hot pink envelopes. imagine my surprise when i discovered the internet.
🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love
one of my favorite fics i ever read was a girl!one direction story about squirting. here it is: you change, water sea by got2ghost
🌿 ⇢ give some advice on writer's block and low creativity
love this question, as someone who has struggled in the workplace to maintain the same creative energy i had access to in school.
for creativity: read. read endlessly. try to understand on a granular, sentence-and-word-level, why you like the things you like; what makes a line funny, what makes a line scary, what draws you in to a writer's style vs pushes you out of it. what do the books you can't put down have in common? read things that challenge you--long-form novels, old novels, things way outside your preferred genres. and try to have lots of experiences in the time you aren't writing. try new things! paint something, walk down a block you've never been on, look in people's windows, cook a new meal, get coffee at a new place, go for a drive, listen to someone else's favorite record, listen to a record you hate actually, go to a new store and just look around, touch fabrics, dance, have conversations, travel for no reason, watch videos on youtube about new skills you don't intend to master. READ NONFICTION, especially essays. try to avoid doing the same things you're comfortable with or things that feel easy for a whole afternoon. bury yourself in sensation. chase pleasure. let yourself play.
for writer's block: write anyway--in a journal, in your fragmented notes file with ideas, edit or polish something that's already written, get one sentence out. i like to set a timer for 20 minutes and give it a proper try (this means staying off tumblr and my phone) and then, if it doesn't lead to anything, i'm off the hook guilt-free, because i made an effort. try writing in a different notebook, with a different pen, in a different place, even in a different font on your computer. set yourself challenges like, write a 100 word story. write a specific type of poem like a villanelle. respond to a prompt or create one for someone else. if there's a part of the story--or a different story--that feels more easeful to write and you're just trying to get there, skip to that part. to be quite honest, writing in a notebook away from technology is the #1 thing that helps me just keep moving. it breaks me out of distraction and perfectionism cycles. it feels good to fill pages, even if it's with words you don't even up using.
the other part is, accept that our brains won't do what they won't do. great writing is not created by use of force. the biggest thing i have learned about myself is that if i can't write, there's something wrong. maybe the characters in my story aren't making sense, maybe the plot is boring and readers will be just as bored as i am, maybe i need to go back and rewrite something to end up in a better place for the next scene, maybe i need a week off from a story because i'm burned out on it and i should write something else or nothing at all. but most often there's not something wrong with the story--there's something wrong with my life. i don't have the time or the energy; i'm giving too much of the best parts of myself to the wrong thing; i'm trying to write at the wrong time of day for my energy level; i checked my email first and now my concentration is entirely shot; i need to work fewer hours if i want to write more; i need more help around the house if i want to write more; i need to just let it be dirty for a while and skip my chores if i want to write more, etc. figuring out what you need to actually feel like writing--learn to feel that again!--and making it possible to set other things, even important things, aside in order to write when you feel it, is so huge for me. making a commitment to the practice of writing and not the product of it. if you're doing that, you can relax. take care of yourself and fix the imbalances in your life. the ideas will come. writing is organic and we are organisms. given space and time, things will always change from how they are right now. let yourself and your creative practice ebb and flow when it needs to instead of forcing it to be something it's not.
thank you for the ask darling sorry i ranted at you for twenty fucking minutes!!!
20 notes · View notes
lunarfeat21 · 9 months ago
Note
HiHi, I'm back again with more inquiries about your Yan!Tugs (if your getting overwhelmed with asks please lmk)
Do the Stars have their own version of the 'Dark Room'? Or are they more lenient with y/n's behaviour?
Also, I'm interested to know the relationships. between each of the Stars and our dear reader.
and one last question bear with me are you planning on making this consept a full fledged fanfic or is it just an idea your expanding on?
Oh boy, this is my lucky week!!! ♪ヽ(・ˇ∀ˇ・ゞ)
(I'm just so thrilled and psyched you can ask me anytime!)
The Stars are more lenient than the Z-stacks, they can understand why y/n acts the way they are, and can actually put up with it.
A good ol' 'get along' shirts, fake handcuffs, and tickle attacks can keep a y/n all better (even though y/n would despise it). However, when it becomes an everyday nuisance, they would put their foot down and try stricter tactics.
------------------------
Here we have a y/n's relationship status report: (blue is positive, purple is neutral, and red for negative.)
Note: colors can interact based on interactions, such interactions will change based on behavior and decision making by both parties later in time
Tumblr media
---------------------------------------
Finally, the final one:
Yes, I'm making this a full fledged fanfic. The fic is called 'Sirens of the Crimson Sea', I'm currently making the main cover art and writing chapter one as we're speaking. I'm so thrilled as much as you are, and editing some parts I didn't like initially.
Though it might be slow (aside from editing and still thinking about drawing scenes after I finish a chapter, making silly artdump, & writing mini shenanigans relating Sirens of the Crimson Sea), procrastination would be the death of me and creative blocks.
Hell, even I decide to make a reference for y/n when I'm done with the cover lol!
Please be patient, it will come soon and I hope this answers your questions. Have a good friday & good weekend my dudes!
Tumblr media
z stack edition
16 notes · View notes
sweeteastart · 7 months ago
Note
I know the titles sound profound and all, but there is also soup and now I wanna know about soup !
But also, Drawing circles intrigues me a lot !!
Ohhhh I put off responding to this ask for so long sorry i got really shy and got stuck in my head for a moment--
MORE IMPORTANTLY IM BACK
First of all !! Have some more Soup content !! 🍲
Soup
Tumblr media
I still don't have any good writing for the boy but have a WIP oh him beint absolutely gorgeous as always. I already hear you say : who's that kid in his arms ? Welllll
THAT'S HIS DAUGHTER, LILA :D
Surprise ! Soup has a three year old daughter when he meets the Chain when he's 25 years old. I don't want to reveal quite yet who's the mother. What I'm gonna say is : Soup had an arranged marriage with some nobility in his very early twenties and had Lila soon after.
Currently, she isn't residing with either of her parents as Hyrule (the capital and the country) is dangerous for her to stay in. The kid lives with close friends of Soup from his adventurous years and he visits her as much as he can :D
Drawing Circles
The first writing centric WIP I was asked about ! I'm literally so excited but deathly afraid of sharing my writing in any capacity so be nice to me that's also the very first draft of one scene I'm sorry
!DISCLAIMER!
The TW in hashtags are about this fic !! Beware of that before reading that snippet please.
To put some context around that tid bit : The story revolved around a time loop where only Sky remembers the previous loops. In each one, an unknown entity seemed to pull the string and kill the chain one by one in a predefined pattern. Each time Sky is killed, he comes back to square one. By the time of this snippet, he has seen and experienced very nasty moments which is why mentally he isn't coping well !!
TLDR : Sky is getting his shit wrecked in a time loop where he sees and is killed again and again :)) (I love writing gut wrenching angst I'm sorry--)
Here comes nothing~
"The first sense he regained was always the same. Touch. The hero felt the rugged linen of his bedroll under his fingertips.
Second was smell. The deep scent of burning wood tinged his nose.
Third was hearing. Only the quiet songs of insects broke the all encompassing silence of the woods.
Fourth was taste. The lingering taste of blood and sour potion spread across his taste bud.
That… wasn’t normal.
He suddenly opened his eyes. Only a sky full to the brim with stars and trees shadows responded by its calm infinity to the man. Moved by a sudden surge of energy, he stood up straight as an arrow in his bed. Eyes still glued to the enigma that was the ink black sky.
It was night. The moon was smirking high in the sky but…. It never did before. It had always been day. Dawn. Five in the morning exactly. Always the same day at the exact same time.
His eyes fell back. Lost in a sea of confusion, the chosen one took a long time before understanding what was before him. Drenched in deep shadows was the campfire and…. all his brothers. Sitting. Here. Seemingly startled in the middle of a discussion. All his brothers.
He looked at Hyrule. The brown haired kid looked back at him with a weak smile. Just after this action he averted his eyes. Away from him. Straight to the dirt. Then the hero of the Sky saw a glint reflecting the light of the fire. Steel against the dark.
Immediately Sky looked around him in search of his own sword.
“Whoah ! Whoah !” tried Warriors with a rushed sword. Strangely his tone was soft yet worried. A worry Sky had never been on the receiving end of. “Don’t move so much ! Your wound might re-open !”
….. Wound ?
That’s only then he truly felt the burning, tremendous amount of pain his neck was in. It felt like a bag of bricks fell down on his shoulders. He slouched forwards, hands holding his neck.
Sky didn’t go back to day 1. Fi was nowhere near him. The sky was this treacherous black hue. Eyes glued to the grass enveloped in harsh shadows, he stayed dead silent.
He had been…. saved ?
“... Sky ?” The old man called to him. The chosen one didn't even register the word nor that he was the one it directed to.
He smiled. His brothers had saved him. His smile widened even more. They must have done everything in their power to bring him back. A snicker rolled higher and higher in his throat. Despite their efforts to save him, someone had taken hold of Fi. By now, a distorted, devoid of happiness, small laugh was breaching his lips. Twilight must have seen it. Tonitruous, painful fit of laughter took hold of all his body.
Oh… Kind and helpful brothers of his… who ended up afflicting such a tragic agony to the one they wanted to protect.
“Sky…”
A voice.
A voice was calling his name. He didn’t listen. He couldn’t listen. He was past comprehension and rationality. He couldn’t process anything else but unbound kindness and painful ignorance. Neither of which he could truly be mad at. So he clawned at the dirt by his bedroll. Like it had wronged him. Like it was the all encompassing reason for his pain. Like it was at fault for this endless hellish loop.
And he laughed. Laughed a deeply unhappy laugh. He did so with so much resolve. So much perseverance because for weeks he hadn’t been able to. Because after weeks of this never ending hell, there was no end in sight. A hell in which, even the sweet release of death was refused to him.
Arms held him away from battered and beating dirt that had the unluckiness of being by his side. A high-pitched noise escaped his mouth. He saw without seeing multiple people around him. Shapes and shadows stretching from the dim light of the campfire to the abyss of the night.
“I can’t do it anymore…” he croaked in between two giggles. By now it could barely be described as such. Maybe sobs would have been closer to the truth. Even then, it sounded barely human. Eternally doomed and animalistic. Hands cupped his face. Big and rugged. Heavy too. His eyes searched too long before falling on one single blue iris looking back to him. Not only worried. Scared. Panicked…. Knowing of a truth even he didn’t. Soon he saw his lips. They were moving but making no sounds. Or….were they ? Was it the lips that didn’t produce sounds or he who couldn’t hear them.
The fingers of the hands around his cheeks tensed. And he knew. Something in him knew it had been the latter. So he tried to concentrate. Over the physical and mental anguish and devastation of a failed restart.
“...ky…” he half-guessed, half-heard. “Foc… us … Me.”
Focus.
Focus me.
Focus on me.
And he did. He tried. His mind was a bottomless lake he couldn’t swim back up from. It was trying to drag him down. Down into the depths. He fought the grief. He fought off the need to close back his eyes and forget all about it.
“.. Me. “ it was pressing. “Please focus… Sky.” more words stuck to his brain. He needed time to understand them but they were starting to make sense."
AND THATS ALL I GOT FOR NOW-- That little bit of text made me soooo anxious for days but it's not as awful as I remember--
I got so worked up for not much lmao I hope you weren't too jumpscared by the angst my dear friend lmao I've had the idea for this fic for quite some times so I'm happy to share it
Thanks for the ask ♪♪♪♪
14 notes · View notes
little-paperboat · 7 months ago
Text
What We Owe To Each Other (1)
Calling all the Empire! I'm super happy to share that I've finally published third part of the "Forbidden Fire" series (with a heavy delay, but it's here) 💜
6,738 words later (!) I'm finally satisfied with this first chapter 🤓 And the lesson learned is? I really do have to write every day, even if it's just editing a paragraph or 50 words, because otherwise I find it super difficult to get back into it in a way that feels natural and doesn't require an entire re-write and an extra week of work 🥲
For this next part, Tav and her crew arrive in Baldur's Gate with a lot of hopes; unfortunately, reality is much bleaker than anticipated...
They have finally reached Baldur’s Gate, but the trials that wait for them are far from over. Tav and Rolan meet again; under unexpected circumstances, they both yearn for what they cannot have. (or, at the end of the world, there is hope yet.)
I'm REALLY excited for the Sorcerous Sundries arc of the fic because I've been thinking about it for suchhhh a long time ; there are a few scenes in particular that I was dying to put on paper and now it's happening :D Can't wait to see what you think! x
You can follow the tag "series:forbidden fire" here on tumblr to not miss the next updates 🌸 And as usual, abstract under the cut!
Read on AO3 (1/2)
Read Part 1: Wild Winds Are Death To The Candle (2/2)
Read Part 2: Through Shadows To The Edge Of Night (3/3)
Tumblr media
They had reached Baldur’s Gate at last. 
Upon seeing the city lights beyond the walls, Tav had almost cried, overwhelmed by the sweet relief of survival, yearning for what lay below her, for the life that was just at her fingertips; yet unable to find herself at peace. The triumph of the journey left a bitter taste in her mouth, one of ashes and blood. So much had changed since she had left the Gate, her life torn to shreds and pieced back together hastily. It had little to do with the beautiful tapestry that had been woven for her even before her birth, made of threads of gold and silver softly shimmering under the chandelier. Instead, it was now rough and uneven to the touch, dried blood staining the fabric that displayed burns and torn holes in several places.
Going through the Shadow-Cursed Lands had marred her mind, body and soul beyond recognition; the gnarled trees and horrors from the void forcefully stealing parts of her that she knew she would never get back. 
She hadn’t slept once through the night since their encounter with Ketheric Thorm. In the pitch black dark of her tent, she still heard the clattering of bones. Whenever she closed her eyes, a sea of putrid blood and the malevolent aura of the Lord of Bones manifested before her, his giant scythe slashing through her body.
She had almost died then; the cold grip of death tightening around her and choking her, ferocious and famished. She had only survived thanks to her companions’ bravery and tenacity - but the price had been paid. Things could never go back to what they were before; yet she hoped, she prayed, foolishly maybe, that walking in the city would allow her to find her missing parts, to piece herself back together. She longed to see the elegant buildings of the Upper City again, to enjoy the familiar and rich fragrance of the rich ladies’ perfumes, to finally sleep in silk sheets and comfortable beds. Maybe her family would have them all, the estate big enough to accommodate the whole gang plus the two druids, the owlbear cub and Scratch.
If her family was still alive, of course.  
And maybe… maybe she’d even see Rolan again. 
She would never admit it, especially not to herself, but his memory was what she clung to in the darkest hour of the night, his flaming eyes burning brighter than her fears. To fend off the nightmares she’d evoke the softness of his voice, the smile he had given her at Last Light Inn. Deep down, she felt guilty: his disinterest was painfully obvious, and she was pretty sure it was morally wrong to lust after a guy who wasn’t interested. 
But she couldn’t help it. 
She couldn’t forget him.
Maybe if she saw him again in the city, it could bring her closure. By now he surely had his apprenticeship, and who knows, maybe he found himself an attractive partner to go with it. She only needed to ask to be sure - to hear the final word that he was not into her; and then it would be over. Then she’d force her mind to move on and find someone else to fixate on. 
All she had to do was to reach the Upper City. 
Anything after that would be so easy, and soon, it would all be over - with or without the tiefling wizard. 
— Read the rest on AO3 :)
(c) divider by saradika
14 notes · View notes