#Last Flight Out

[coreglia]

Last Flight Out

We All Have One In Us “It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters, in the end.” Ernest Hemingway On the way to the airport, a harvest moon illuminated the early morning sky, aglow with shades of dusty rose, sienna, and cerulean. There was something efficacious about the moon that morning. It felt like a promise. I could feel its gravitational pull all the…

[fisherrprince]

UMINAOSHI - KHUX Multiple Animator Project (MAP)

⚠️ glitch/flashing images warning! ⚠️

Thank you so so much to the 13 animators who collabed on this project! It was such a blast and it came out so pretty, and it was such a pleasure to work with y'all :]

[buglaur]

i love the seasonal outfits mod so much

[funishment-time]

not DR by the way but do any of you all play Flight Rising? i'm just getting back into it. do you want to be my friend and send me Archaeology Research Notes 2 catch up from a few years of not playing................

[worstloki]

I actually think it would be so funny if Thor adapted to Midgardian clothing and such, wearing t-shirts and jeans and after Asgardians start settling on Earth that's generally what has to happen. But Loki keeps wearing his complicated leathery Asgardian clothing for the apparent sole purpose of jump-scaring any visitors to New Asgard

[nightingaletrash]

So here's a thought: griffons have a natural, inborn hatred of the Blight that is so overwhelming that they can't be put through the Joining. They will tear themselves apart before they accept it. Even Isseya's modified Joining couldn't make them accept it - the griffons simply became hyper aggressive and would fight to the death, no matter how badly wounded they became. They cared only to kill darkspawn, even at the expense of their riders.

Griffons are also hybrid creatures of cat and bird. You know who loved to create hybrid creatures? Who's whole deal is creating beasts and monsters? You see where I'm going with this.

So what if the griffons were created specifically for the purpose of fighting darkspawn? Like a sort of frontline defense to fight the physical symptom of the Blight, and their rejection of the Taint was a means to ensure that they wouldn't then be corrupted in favour of the Blight.

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about price putting his hat on the boys' heads

cw war guilt, self harm through working out

it's only happened once or twice with each of them, only when they're on the brink and safe enough for price to let himself soften

🧼

the first time it happens to soap is on his first demo mission as a corporal; the first time he's been in charge of the planning the rig and the first time he’s close enough to see the human fallout of the explosion he worked so hard on and realises how often it means a slow and messy death

he knows they're the enemy; knows if it wasn't them, it would be him, then the long line of civilians at his back that he stands so strong to protect. he knows that

but that doesn't stop the screaming echoing in his mind, doesn't rid the memory of burning bodies trying to crawl away from their signed deaths

signed by him

he's sitting on the concrete outside the barracks, trying to get the cold to leech the remnants of the fire from his blood that his ice cold shower couldn’t douse. he jumps at the feel of a leg pressing against his side and looks up at price as he leans back against the wall, his hands cupped around a cigarette

soap flinches at the sparks coming from his lighter and looks away, his knees creeping up tighter to his chest

"it gets easier," price rumbles above him, exhaling a long breath and the comforting acrid scent of smoke spills around him

he shifts uneasily and pretends it's not to get closer. "i don't think that makes me feel better, sir,” he admits

"never said it would," he shrugs with the ease of a man who's had this same conversation a hundred times and will have it a hundred more. "just that it does."

soap sniffles then growls at himself, harshly scraping his wrist over his face

a light weight drops on his head and he stifles a gasp as price's hat falls low over his reddened eyes, hiding him from the prying gaze of the world

"you'll be alright, son," he promises and soap's lips tremble. he presses them tight together and follows price's hand as he guides his face into the side of his knee, cupping his jaw and holding him close as he shakes apart

"you'll be alright."

🧢

gaz doesn't crave softness when he messes up; doesn't want forgiveness or assurance. he wants blood; blood shed for blood that shouldn't have been lost

the punching bag is shining by the time price walks into the gym; shining yet also muted where his blood’s had the time to dry and stain, his knuckles torn to shreds

gaz' fist almost slips off the bag and he clicks his tongue. "you gonna keep makin' that a biohazard or do you want to do something actually worthwhile?"

his lip kicks up in a snarl and he sends a glare over his shoulder. "what?"

"think medical's got enough bodies, don't you?" he asks and a dangerous stillness fills the air

gaz shoves off the bag, knuckles dripping onto the mats. "you wanna add one more?"

price quirks an eyebrow, so nonchalant that it just makes him angrier; blood boiling in his veins. "come on, then."

he stalks onto the sparring mats and price barely blinks before he's attacking; throwing wild punches, eyes a hundred miles away

back in beirut

where they had to pull their team out in pieces because gaz missed the suicide bomber launching himself out of the rubble

price dodges each desperate strike, loose and sloppy and nowhere near gaz’ usual level of skill. he doesn't hit back once and gaz' faces twists with each miss, sweat flying off him as his grunts turn into growls, turn into screams as he throws himself at him

price ducks and snatches his hat off his head, slapping it into gaz' face to blind him and drives him back into the mats

he gags as his lungs seize, his air is forced out of him; leaving him to heave harsh breaths that stick in the fabric of the hat. the humid dark closes in on him, forcing him to focus on his breaths so he doesn't throw up or pass out; forcing him to stay within his body instead of drowning in another country

price's hand is heavy behind it, keeping it trapped over his face. "are you done?" he asks, not even breathless

gaz pants, his whole body tingling, and his fingers dig harder into his face

"are you done?" he insists

he swallows dry, suddenly aware of the exhaustion sapping at his limbs, the pain in his hands, the tightness in his throat. "i'm done," he rasps

price relaxes but doesn't remove his hand or push him to get up. they sit on the mats for a while, price's weight and the dark anchoring gaz to the here and now

💀

contrary to popular belief, ghost doesn't hate family days

he doesn't glare at the droves of civilians entering the base, doesn't stand as a spectre of death and grief over the rookies running into the arms of their families on one of the most important days of their career. he doesn't begrudge the safety and love they feel from coddling mothers and embarrassingly proud fathers, from laughing siblings and sticky-fingered children

he remembers his own graduation too well to want to take it from them

he stands in his dress blues through the speeches, his neck gaiter hiding less than he'd like but at ease with the compromise he and price reached. he looks over the tearful family members as name after name gets called, takes careful note of the ones who are clapped for less than the others, and lines up with the other officers as they wait for the tap out

one by one, the graduates get released by their loved ones; no longer standing attention as a recruit but embracing them as a private

just as he's done every year, ghost checked their records to ensure they all had someone coming for them; he's never let a single one stand in the field waiting for someone who will never come. it's rare that his diligence is necessary but he's never let them feel any shame for it; telling them to keep their heads high as he pats their shoulder

he's not needed today and he watches as they're slowly released and disperse, all with a reminder of why they've worked so hard and who they’re here to protect

it's quiet on base that night; soldiers take any chance to celebrate and a graduation is nothing to sneeze at. ghost stands out in the field, out in the gentle quiet. his hands sit folded behind him as he looks up at the stars and he doesn't flinch as a voice sounds behind him

"been a long time since you could be called a rookie," price says, falling into place beside him

ghost hums. "longer for you, i’d say."

he huffs a laugh. "cheeky shite," he snickers. "that hasn't changed; bloody twig of a thing too big for his boots, angry at the world and ready to prove it wrong."

"plenty changed to make up for it," he huffs, his breath disturbing his gaiter

"lot more's stayed the same," price counters and steps in front of him, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he squares his shoulders

"lieutenant riley," he starts and ghost almost rolls his eyes. "you've shown exemplary courage in the face of adversity, gone above and beyond the call of duty and expressed great leadership in your dedication to your team and the men in your charge. congratulations, soldier; you've earned it."

ghost swallows thickly and refuses to admit to the shine threatening his eyes. "thank you, sir."

price smiles and plucks his hat off his head, placing it on his and pats his head; brushing his thumb over his temple

"come on, son; you've waited long enough."

[spotaus]

The brothers meet again

Ohhh my gods, this one was so daunting (I don't like backgrounds 😭) but it was so fun!!! This scene is going to be like. The really fun dramatic one when I get around to writing it, but for now here's a piece for it instead!!

Very quick explanation for those who haven't seen my insane rambles: Dream was about to kill Killer (finish him off) when Nightmare bursts out of hiding to get between them!

Now, bonus stuff!

^ He's actually very handsome <3

^Thinner version with a crop I like better??

^ I had to check sizing a few times (but Killer is angled so idk if it really helped?) And I just thought this was REALLY funny

^ Just the twins!

[cinnamon-flame]

Last drawing before artfight starts! It's a vacation Abberation!

[pain-in-the-butler]

yesterday was the 15th anniversary of me officially being in the fandom!

here's to fifteen years of forcing people to read my kuroshit 😌

[magpie-trove]

Gotta be dramatic for a moment

[olessan-lokenosse]

1 decade of Flight Rising

As of the time of posting, my account is exactly 10 years old...

[flightdescending]

repostoberr. this one is called... Vertical Format Illustrations. mostly from 2016 or 17, the last one is 2020 i think

[chososcamgirl]

short and sweet update if anyone even cares…

[lunaia-fr]

Hee hoo, another hatchery post, a brand new pair this time 🥴

Triple spruce

[one-letter-virus]

A showdown cut short

Blacked out for 4 hours and there was suddenly a Gabv1el in my windows notes. Enjoy. Nothing suggestive, fluff, themes of death. No beta we die like the council. ���˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊˚ ✧ ━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━ ✧ ₊˚

The archangel screamed as he fell.

Screamed as his body suddenly dropped like a rock, and quited as a jagged ice shelf knocked the air out of him on his descent.

His body landed below with an unceremonious thud. He knew it was coming, of course he knew he had limited time. That’s why he was battling the infernal machine, taunting –no, begging- for it to strike all the fire into his dying coil one more time. He wanted to leave on one satisfying final note, a gunshot singing him into the void.

Instead he now laid uselessly in the snow, halo and wings gone along with his power to do anything but wait for it’s vulture and saviour to arrive. Atleast it was quick. Reliable as allways.

Even amidst the howling winds of treachery, the symphony of mechanical clicks and whines was unmistakeable to Gabriel, as it skidded to a sudden halt upon reaching it’s destination, dousing Gabriel in the process with kicked up snow.

Gabriel couldn’t find the energy to even wince at that.

Instead he shifts, trying to find the Machine’s cyclopian gaze, then clings to it as the yellow light of his lighthouse penetrates through the curtain of falling snow.

It wasn’t even pointing any of it’s guns at him. It must have known, that in the flurry of their fight it was not it’s own blow to have felled the angel. Then, it must now know that drawing any weapon was unneceseary. „This is it then.”

He laughs weakly after a pause.

„This is dissapointing for to me too, you know.” He makes an attempt at sitting up, straining all of his quickly dissipating energy to get on all fours. The highest dignity he can offer himself is to stand like an animal. Shakily at that too. How humiliating.

Then, mechanical hands carress and reach under his arms, and the machine gently helps him up into a sit, supporting his weight by letting him lean against it’s frame and holding his head as it rests on one of it’s shoulders.

Gabriel finds himself awing at the springs and joints visible up close at it’s neck, ever so slightly moving even at rest, subtletly he had thought to be only possible to the fully organic. And the machine is deceptively warm too, and Gabriel shivers now that it finally registers how cold he is without his light. He greedily soaks up the warmth now surrounding him, hoping it takes a little while before the machine’s coolers really kick in.

„Thank you Machine.” He sighs.

„For everything. For… opening my eyes and making me feel truly alive, to whatever you are now doing.” Comfort. It was comforting him.

„Hah… what even compells a machine like you to hold an enemy like you do now?”

The machine doesn’t answer. As expected.

„Is there a reason you are denying me answers on my deathbed Machine?”

The Machine still doesn’t answer, but tightens it’s grip on Gabriel. Something clicks in it’s chest. Then it clicks again, and again untill it breaks into a high pitched screech like air forced through pipes. It has to be the most miserable sound Gabriel has heard in a while.

„Stop that insufferable sound you metallic bastard, I’m trying not to go deaf in my last minutes” He huffs, and the high pitched noise stops. The way it’s camera now droops down to the side makes it’s sadness clear. Gabriel reaches out an unsteady hand, cupping it’s camera in it’s palm like a head, gently trailing a thumb across it’s lens.

„You were created voiceless, weren’t you?” He asks as the machine presses it’s camera deeper into his hand. For a war machine, it sure seemed like it could be very affectionate. But then, out of the two of them, it wasn’t the one to deviate most from it’s intended purpose.

It seems to ponder for a moment, then uses one of it’s mismatched hands to point at a small dent in it’s chest. It takes a while for Gabriel to put two and two together.

„Foolish machine. You removed a feature of yourself without realizing the loss. What even prompted you to do such toughtless thing?”

Gabriel hisses as the machine pushes it’s camera suddenly hard enough against his hand that the edges of it’s plating creates a cut, and a few drops of blood trickles out. Normally such minor injury would have closed up again near instantenously, but of course he needs a sweet reminder of his vaning strength.

It points with the clawed red arm at the small wound.

„Huh? Blood? You… removed it for fuel reasons?” He recieves an affirmative nod.

„Was it worth it?” The machine stares at him for a long while then slowly shakes it’s head- really, it’s akwardly gyrating it’s camera from side to side in a deliberate arc.

A painfull flash in his chest causes him to hiss, a reminder of his time coming soon to an end. Thankfully the sensation seems to ebb quickly. Or, he’s simply too distracted now by a machine shoving it’s tubular head into his neck right under his chin. The force behind the aggresive nuzzling is enough to draw a couple of giggles from Gabriel without any edges scraping him. As it finally slots in, Gabriel’s previously outstretched hand falls on the machine’s back, resting between it’s wings.

He decides to gently pet it. The Machine’s wings twitch in response, and it’s hold relaxes then hurriedly tightens again to not loose balance.

Gabriel experimentally moves onto one of the wing blades itself. He hesitates with how close his hand falls to one of the Machine’s stored weaponry. The machine must have been aware how easily he could now grab it and use it's own arsenal against it.

But instead of being issued any warnings, something inside the machine kicks off at the touch, and starts producing a low rumbling, purring sound. It seems to practically melt as he tenderly draws his fingers across it’s magnetic surface.

It’s at the same time that Gabriel feels fascination at experiencing the machine’s anatomy like never possible before, the bittersweet realization that the machine only allows him to handle it’s weapon storage because he’s actively dying and incapable of posing a threat, and the awe over the machine acting in a frankly adorable way at his clumsy petting.

The low rythmic purring continues as the machine moves one of its many arms to reciprocate the gesture. Gabriel’s breath hitches in his throat as fingers graze the exposed skin at his waist, and crawls upwards along his spine in under his armour. He draws the machine even closer as he can feel it’s hand leave to curiously fiddle at straps keeping the piece secured on his body. It’s not like he will ever need it’s hard protection ever again.

Gabriel finds himself wondering for a split second why or how the Machine could possibly do all this for him, and then he quickly finds that it doesn’t matter now, only that it simply does- it couldn’t answer him anyways even if it wanted to.

He lets the pleasant sensation completly wash over his psyche as the machine has finally loosened the piece enough to push it’s blue hand between his shoulder blades.

Even if fate had denied Gabriel the pleasure of ending his life in blisfull ectasy as his insides gets shot out in a beutiful rainbow of viscera, he had in the end found a worthy alternative.