#SAP for Metals and Mining

[ingenx]

In conclusion, SAP Intelligent Asset Management (IAM) is a transformative solution for organizations seeking to optimize their asset management practices, particularly in metals and mining. With SAP for Metals and Mining, businesses can unlock the full potential of their assets, improve maintenance processes, and drive sustainable growth. Embracing this comprehensive solution enables organizations to stay ahead of the curve and achieve long-term success.

[yandere-wishes]

જ⁀❤ ︎ Yandere! Orion Pax x Reader VS Yandere! Optimus Prime x Reader

જ⁀❤︎ Old Friend by Mitski (Sped Up) and John Wayne by CAS

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ Orion Pax ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is sweet, saccharine, bright. His smile holds nothing but promises of hope and luster. Sometimes you forget to breathe when he stands too close. Sometimes you forget just how easily the sun burns.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's all too luminous for a mech all so small. And yet, between his soft rays and even softer words, you can't help but wince at the prick of his abnormal obsessions. An obsession with a buried past, an obsession with a truth too shrouded to see, an obsession with you of all things...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You notice the radiance and desperation when he holds your hand. Metalic digits scraping yours as he walks you through the mines. You can almost see how badly he craves more. A desperate need to do more, understand more, to be more. You see it again when he's pulling Jazz from the rubble of a collapsing mine, see the too-blue flicker in his optics as he shoves rocks and debris.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion is too shy to kiss, too shy to ask for attention. He smiles and looks away, optics burning holes into the Energon veins. You wonder what he sees? If all the information he's rapaciously absorbed bleeds from his optics into the world around him. What does Orion see? You need to know.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're always blinded by his light. Maybe it blinds him too. You feel a little too powerful for a second as you pull him into a kiss. Quixotic little robot trying to conquer the sun.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You taste Cybertron under his tongue when you kiss him. Idealistic, perfect, too foreign to be true. One too many puzzle pieces too lost and fractured to understand. When he places his servos on your shoulders, you swear you feel the warmth of Cybertron's core melting into you, burning and thawing all in an effort to love.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ He's so desperate to save the world, so sure he can do it. He's so tiny you think as he runs his hands over the hologram map. So small and innocent. For such a big cruel world.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion's obsessions only grow after his transformation. The T-cog only feeds his mania, feeds his flawless hope. His light is getting more blinding now. Burning like the sun, he's going to destroy himself you think as you reach out for him...

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ Orion dies. The little rowdy hopeful mech you always knew is thrown into the world's core. You scream after him, cry after him. Back then it had never occurred to you that he may have been better off dead. It's Optimus that reemerges from Primus's domain, Optimus not Orion. The light has reached its nuclear apex. You can't even look directly at him. Optimus is an angelic blur of hope and luster.

‧₊˚ꨄ︎˚₊‧ You're starting to miss Orion...

・┆✦ ʚOptimus Primeɞ ✦ ┆・

ᯓ★ You still taste Cybertron when he kisses you. Sugary and sweet like weeping tree sap. He's seen the world end more times than he cares to admit. You've watched him rip his own spark out more times than you care to admit.

ᯓ★ He still bleeds light, radiance glowing from scratched blue metal as he walks along the overworld wreckage. Only now...now you cover your eyes, the light has become too smoldering, suffocating. Just like the precious prime himself.

ᯓ★ Optimus's spark beats in rhythm with yours. You feel his every pulse, feel the Martix's weight bleeding into you. Optimus likes to keep you close, too close. You feel his warmth until you can't breathe. Until his essence is pulsing around you keeping you grounded as it seeps into your frame. It's such a strange thing to feel a spark crack and bleed every single day. To feel as he annihilates himself over and over again, leaving you to writhe in agony.

ᯓ★ Optimus is always gentle, he treads you so tenderly it almost hurts. He feels like everything he touches starts to break. D-16, Cybertron and finally you. That's why his kisses are feather-light. His digits slide tenderly up and down your frame...funny he used to be bolder when he worked in the mines.

ᯓ★ Sometimes when Optimus kisses you, you can feel him feeding you information. Small balls of light exchanged between tongues all harbouring promises of a light-drenched Cybertron, of a victory parade. Of Optimus holding you so tightly in his arms for as long as he's online

[teacasket]

pink champagne

genre: fluff au: non idol au warnings: alcohol word count: 0.5k   pairing: gn!reader x bang chan a/n: happy 2024, everyone!

A new year, a new city, a new friend. This is how trouble begins, you think, as you follow Chan through the crowds. Sequins and lamé glitter under the golden lights of crystal chandeliers, and premature confetti covers the floor. Waiters in dark, clean-cut suits carry trays of champagne, while guests drink, mingle, and take pictures in front of the famed staircase.

You climb up that very staircase, earning yourself a few disgruntled cries and disdainful looks. Chan mutters an apology but darts upwards before they can say anything. On the other hand, you linger to take in the beauty. They don’t have historic hotels or fancy parties like this where you're from.

The guests on the stairs scan you up and down. Sneakers and a warm coat aren’t wrong for this party, but scuffed canvas and loose, fraying threads are. You squeak out a jumble of incoherent words and run up after Chan.

He waits for you by the elevator and graciously gestures for you to head inside first. The doors shut, and the long ride to the topmost floor starts.

“Told you the lobby would be worth it,” he says, smiling as if you were against the idea in the first place.

“Shut up. You sure we can get on the roof?”

He pats his bag, heavy with illegally copied keys and other secrets. His friend used to work at the hotel, or so Chan said. You didn’t bother asking for more detail.

On the highest floor, he leads you down hallways of closed doors before stopping in front of a metal door with the words STAFF ONLY painted in red. He slides in his key, and the lock gives. When he pushes it open, you brace yourself for an alarm, a security guard hurtling through one of the dozens of doors, anything that signals that you and Chan aren’t permitted onto the roof, but there's nothing.

You tentatively step out, and the winter chill saps all of the warmth from your skin. Your breath makes wispy, summer clouds in the winter air as you take in the city below you.

Music and shouts intertwine like a sonata. Faraway windows glow, shining like the stars above, and crowds swell and ripple like a silver snake. There is so much light, it threatens to drown out the night.

“I love it,” you declare, spellbound by the view. You sit beside Chan, close enough to feel his leg shift as he involuntarily leans closer. “Thanks for bringing me here.”

“Yeah, no problem. Oh, I got a surprise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out an unopened bottle of pink champagne. “Friend of mine stole it on the last day of work. He said it was expensive, so it’s probably good.”

“Is this the same friend who used to work here?”

“Maybe. Watch out.”

It doesn’t open with a pop and a flying cork but with a light hiss that is barely audible over the sudden thundering of fireworks. You stare in awe as the sky lights with gold and white, so blinding you have to look away. If you reach your hand up, you swear you could catch a spark in your palm.

“Happy New Year,” Chan says. He takes a hearty swig of champagne, exhaling with pleasure as he holds out the bottle to you. “Hope it’s a good one.”

“Me too. Happy New Year.”

As you put the bottle to your lips, you think this is what fireworks must taste like.

if you liked this, maybe you’ll like one of my older pics also centered around chan and new year’s: ringing in the new year

[your-nanas-house]

May I please request Willy Wonka falling in love with Jewish baker fem!Reader by their exchange of their respective foods (him: chocolates; her: baked goods) as well as love of dancing & literature and Willy proposes to her by quoting two of her favorite Jane Austen novels: “You pierce my soul. I have loved none but you. My heart is, and always will be, yours”? (I’m a romantic sap.)

Made for each other

◇ Pairing: Willy Wonka X Jewish baker!Reader

◇ Warnings: fluff, romance, shitty writing, love

◇ Summary: Willy is smitten of the jewish baker.

◇ Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. It's so short sorryyyy. 😭

Willy really didn't know if it was her looks and pleasant aura that made him fall head over heels... or the sweet scent of her masterpieces created in the little Jewish bakery of hers.

But he honestly didn't cared, he just accepted things as they were.. allowing himself to day-dream and be his little silly self in love.. secretly at first but seen his extroverted persona, it took him little time to approach the woman.

Gosh, she sure was stunning with her love for dance, her passion in literature and her talent in cooking.

She was like.. sweet honey mixed with a tiny bit of liquorice, dark chocolate and a hint of a beautiful.. flower, one that could match her beauty and that delicious smell.

Willy couldn't really resist, his whole self was attracted to her like a metal attracted by a magnet or.. music for a giraffe.

They just clicked together so well, balancing their relationship easily while taking care of each other, supporting their business which because one as soon as Willy managed to create his fabric.

Magic... that's what they created together; magic... of a silly young chocolatier and a young jewish baker.

His friend Noddle saw it as well, reason because she was the main cause that put the fixed idea of marriage in Willy's head. A symbolic and actual bond that would make their relationship become serious.

The issue?... the proposal. Well it wasn't actually a problem for him since his theatrical side came out easily as soon as he saw in front of her.

His chocolate eyes staring deeply in hers as he kneeled down slowly after a whole performance dedicated to her.

"You pierce my soul. I have loved none but you. My heart is, and always will be, yours" he recited as he pulled out a box of chocolate, opening it to reveal a simple but eccentric proposal ring.

"Be mine forever—"

[lucagray813]

Very niche exploration of how Elementals function in the Monkey Talk AU. Little guys that are very prevalent on the island during MS, MD time when it was teeming with mythical creatures and demons. This is not at all important to the overall plot, just a bit of worldbuilding. Elementals have only ever been mentioned in passing with no detail about what they are.

The Elements in this AU are based on Wǔxíng and are Earth, Metal, Fire, Water and Wood.

Thank you @sweetsrirachasauce for prompting this essay.

---------

The purest forms of an elemental are almost completely indistinguishable from their element - to the point where your average person could mine a Metal Elemental, have it forged into a sword and not realise there was something special about it, a very skilled blacksmith would know however and depending on how superstitious they were, refuse to work with it.

If you did manage to get a hold of an Elemental and knew what you were doing they can be all sorts of use for magic.

The purest forms generally can't be found outside of their element - Wood Elementals (TE) will be attached to trees and look like small branches, Metal Elementals (ME) will be attached to unprocessed ore and look exactly like that ore, Earth Elementals (EE) will be found buried deep underground and look like stones, Fire Elementals (FE) look like flames and only exist within fire, and Water Elementals (WE) are near translucent wobbly spheres that can be found in bodies of water.

But things get a little bit more interesting when a little bit of soul has been introduced. The more soul, the less pure the Elemental but the more complex the creature.

Simple FEs will travel to find more fire, or other FE's, if the fire they were occupying goes out. They burn little trails across the terrain as they go - they are rarely capable of starting big fires by themselves but it's not impossible given the right conditions.

Simple EEs want to be as deep in the earth as possible but have very limited movement, made even more difficult if they are in the form of an awkward stone, their only real way of moving is to vibrate/shake. If they have sharper edges and the ground below them is soft then it can be enough for them to sort of "burrow", if they're rounded it might cause them to roll around instead. Once deep enough they lie dormant.

Simple TEs form symbiotic relationships with certain bugs to create literal stick instincts. The TE will provide a home as well as nutritious sap for the bug, and the bug provides transportation if the host tree of the TE is dying. The bug will break off the TE by chewing along where it is connected before carrying (or wearing it) to another tree where the TE will attach itself.

Simple WEs are drawn to movement - while pure WEs just move passively with the water around them, simple WEs actively seek out whirlpools, rivers, currents. Simple WEs will merge to create bigger Simple WEs but they are often separated into smaller forms again by powerful forces such as whirlpools.

Simple MEs have different properties depending on the metal they are made of - Simple MEs want to be a stable, solid form and will strive to find the conditions this is possible. When in a molten form they will "slither" as best as they can in that form in the direction of the correct temperature and pressure to become solid.

Simple Elementals are also useful for magic but some have historically been used as guides/indicators for particular conditions. For example, some water demons have been said to use Simple WEs to avoid dangerous waters and fruit farmers have used Simple TEs for monitoring the health of their orchards.

Like MEs, other Simple Elementals have variant forms.

Simple WEs can exist in solid and gaseous states - taking the form of ice and clouds respectively.

Like Simple EEs, Ice Elementals have limited mobility but they do have the advantage of being able to slide and depending on whether there is still liquid at their core they do have some control over this. Once they are completely frozen however movement can slow to the speed of a glacier.

Similarly to Liquid WEs, as Clouds they seek out movement - hurricanes, air currents, etc. but they are often caught up in the water cycle relatively quickly and turn back to water in the form of rain. If they fall on land, rather than water, they will move as a unit of droplets until they find a body of water where they can reform as a wobbly, rounded 3D shape.

Simple TEs variants are tied to the type of tree they are - i.e. oak, elm, pine, etc. - and generally they can only attach themselves to a tree of the correct genus however grafting onto different types of tree has been witnessed but it has been theorised this is a temporary measure, a pit stop, to finding the correct family of tree.

Simple EEs can take the form of various gems. The gems function much like Stone EEs but are generally considered rarer, and more valuable. Many claim that these Gem EEs have other special properties to them, but evidence to support this is inconclusive.

Another form of the EE is the Mud EE. Many tiny Mud EEs generally form colonies that are as a unit mistaken for one Mud EE. They are generally unable to move on their own, attaching themselves to burrowing insects and animals in order to seek out healthier soil to inhabit. It is considered a good sign if you have Mud EEs present in your garden. Some even believe they can improve the quality of soil and as such they are much sought after.

It is considerably difficult to identify Mud EEs however due to their lack of independent movement or distinctive features but there are numerous stories and myths with advice on how to spot one - some say you can use worms to track them, others insist that if you touch wet earth and the dirt immediately slides off your hand and leaves it clean then you've just touched a Mud EE.

Simple FEs have been known to burn unique colours and at different temperatures and these rare flames have often been valued as a part of sacred rituals for various peoples throughout history.

Complex Elementals are broken into many subclasses but at a high level are defined as Elementals that possess additional appendages and/or features that could be classified as organs - these do not have to share any resemblance to that of organs typically found in demons, animals or humans but some do and at that point there is some debate as to when a Complex Elemental is considered a demon, or if they even should be.

Examples of a relatively simple Complex Elemental include a Mud EE that has an approximation of arms that it uses to move by dragging itself across the surface or a fire elemental that physically "eats" the fuel needed to sustain it.

Some argue that a clear distinction between whether someone is a Complex Elemental or a demon is their ability to produce offspring, although this has been highly contested, but it does appear to be true that Pure and Simple Elementals cannot do this.

No-one knows what causes Pure, Simple and many Complex Elementals to form, though there are many myths and legends that purport to have the answer.

Some say they are blessings, or even the children, of the Spirits of Wǔxíng left behind to reward those that live in harmony with the elements and/or to repair damage that has been done by a lack of harmony.

Some suggest that they are kin to the Spirits - that the Spirits are no more than Complex Elementals themselves - and help maintain the very balance that all life depends on.

But no-one had ever credibly reported seeing these Elementals form. Plenty had seen them "die" - their forms disintegrating as their energy was used for a spell or potion but there seems to be no need for concern that they may become endangered.

Elementals have a wide variety of myth and superstition surrounding them and despite evidence that they have been around for millennia we still know so little about them.

Many people suggest that demon equivalent Complex Elementals, particularly those capable of speaking human and demon languages, may have the answers - either on a "biological" level that can be studied or as something they intuitively know and keep secret from the world. Many Complex Elementals have suffered in the name of "discovery".

The prejudice towards and exploitation of Complex Elementals is a topic all of its own however.

[diorzs]

young sylvia has freckles in the vol 10 extra pages right,, so i assume she still has them... sylvia with freckles,,, aurhrhg

imagine counting them to fall asleep,,,

the brainworms are becoming too strong 😭😭

# FRECKLES

pairing(s) — sylvia sherwood x gn!reader

genre(s) — fluff fluff fluff

cw. nothing!!

masterlist. note : this is the cutest thing ever enough!! lol …. guess whos alive ….

the breeze of the chilling winter air made me cringe, i never really adored the season full of holidays and slippery paths. shaking my head at the thought, i attempted to hug myself to warm myself up. i looked up slightly, was it really snowing right now? “god, i hate winter.” i muttered to myself, ungrateful for the white fluff that graced my concrete sidewalk and stairs. though, i was glad to swing open my apartment door, letting the warm air engulf me as i climbed up the stairs to my floor.

“finally home.” i smiled, hanging up my coat and kicking off my boots at my doorway. i walked to the kitchen, noticing my cat’s eyes slowly blinking open, before she followed me to the kitchen island. “hi celia!” i softly whispered, petting the white cat. i quickly grabbed a mug, “maybe i should make some coffee..” i trailed off, unbeknownst to the excited footsteps behind me. “coffee sounds good!” a pair of arms wrapped around me, “holy! ‘via don’t do that again oh my god.” a sheepish smile came onto the familiar face of my wife. “sorry! i was just excited about you coming home..” i only fondly smiled, kissing the cheeks of my lover, as i finished making my coffee.

i sat down on the comfortable couch of our shared living room, careful to not spill any coffee. “so…?” the redhead started as i ran my hands through celia’s fur. “so?” i asked, a playful lilt to my words. i sipped on my coffee before continuing, “i’m surprised you didn’t trash my apartment whilst i was gone.” i smirked slightly, chuckling at the pout sylvia had on her face. “me too, to be honest,” the spy sighed, grabbing the remote sitting on the coffee table. “how about a movie?” i only nodded, continuing to sip my coffee peacefully.

i laughed loudly, amused at the terrified expression sylvia had plastered on her face. “it isn’t funny!” she exasperated, slapping my arm. i only frowned teasingly before breaking out into another fit of laughter. once we died down, i rested my head onto her shoulder. she only responded by placing her head atop mine. “don’t jump or else i think my head might fall off,” i said playfully, she only scoffed jokingly, turning her attention back to the tv.

the rhythmatic sound of the clock ticked away, it being the only sound in the apartment. celia was softly snoring, whilst me and sylvia only kept quiet, scrolling through our phones. the coffee i had sipped, which was long gone now, was wedged between my thighs. the tv was its usual color of jet black, turned off hours ago due to complaining neighbors. i heard sylvia giggle at who knows what, and so i slowly got up. stretching, i picked up my mug, making my way through the living room and to the kitchen. i carefully placed the mug into the metal sink, fetching myself and my wife a snack.

“ooh! thank you, love!” her bright smile shone through the darkness of the apartment as she grabbed the bag of chips i was previously holding. “it’s no problem,” i muttered, chuckling at her childish reaction. i turned to her, kissing her cheek, watching the red bloom on her face, and beneath her freckles. “you’re such a sap!” she whispered to me, annoyed. “i only kissed your cheek!” i whispered back defensively. “still!” she playfully groaned, stuffing her face into my shoulder. “just eat your chips before i do,” i said, shoving her off of my shoulder jokingly. “rude..” she mumbled, i rolled my eyes, but smiled contently.

smiling, my eyes wandered to sylvia, fast asleep after giggling and laughing with me for the past hour. “‘via…’via…” i whispered, shaking her awake softly. she groaned in retaliation, “..what?” her eyes fluttered awake from under her glasses, i smiled admiring her for a few more moments before responding. “let’s go upstairs, i’ll take celia with me, but we should be heading to bed soon,” she only whined, rightfully annoyed, but proceeding to walk to our shared bedroom. “c’mon celiaa, please don’t scratch me…”

i ruffled my hair with the towel, attempting to dry it to no avail. “‘viaaa!” i said in a singsong tone to try and wake her up even though it was late. i heard a distant, “yes?”, and shouted for her to meet me in the bathroom. her hair was messily in a ponytail when she saw me, and i only smiled, gazing at the woman i fell in love with. “come here, i’ll brush your hair and wipe off that mascara.”

“helloooooo? come to bed…what are you even doing?” she said, whining for me whilst i finished pulling up my shorts to sleep. “i’m right here,” i smiled, tucking myself into bed alongside of her. we stared at each other for a little while, before bursting out into a fit of giggles. after hugging my stomach from laughing, i held sylvia tight, gazing at the ‘imperfections’ (as she likes to call them) on her face.

“what is it? why are u looking at me like that?” “no reason, i just love your freckles.” i confessed, kissing her face all over. “s-stop! they-they’re not even cute!” she sputtered in between kisses. “well to me they are…how ‘bout i count them until we both fall asleep to prove how much i love them?” “w-whatever you say” she stuttered, and i kissed her forehead.

“one..two..three…” and slowly, we both drifted off to sleep as i counted her freckles.

posted — 06 / 02 / 24

© diorzs all rights reserved 2024

[mara-tevith-solo]

Sing a Little Song For Me

Photo not mine

Part 9 of the drabble set

Warnings: blood, lots of blood, canon levels of violence, threatening of a minor, threatening of two minors, Neytiri doesn’t bluff my dude, death, dead bodies, respect for the dead, choosing sides, betrayal, justified hurt and anger, relationship shaming, ANGST, cursing, near drowning

Pairing: Colonel Miles Quaritch x Na’vi/Avatar named f!reader/oc

Words: 3.6k+

Rated 18+, I’m serious!

Taglist: @seashelldom @perseny @tinyfairies​ @kimqueenofhell​ @blueberry-thrawn​​

I couldn't bare to do it, I couldn't bare to hurt them as I slaughtered the humans, sinking my knife into soft flesh as far as I could, not caring if that meant my fist and arm were going through too. And it seemed that they shared similar sentiments, never shooting at me. But they didn't stop the humans from shooting at me, didn't try to defend me. I could understand why, I was killing their comrades. They'd said several times in the short weeks that the humans were on their side. So, when Jake and Neytiri joined the fight, I didn't defend the Recoms. Sides were drawn though the friendships remained. I ducked and weaved with Neytiri, protecting her back from the humans as I continued to play Reaper, my forearms eventually stained so thickly that my freckles could not been seen shining through.

 I mourned every single Recom, going so far as to remove the arrow from Z's head carefully after getting separated from Neytiri, closing her remaining eye and sending a prayer to Eywa for her. A soldier in an skel-suit attacked me out of nowhere, throwing me away from Z’s body with an angry cry. I crashed to the deck several meters away, honestly slightly impressed that they’d managed to do it. They were forcing me back down to the ground before I could get up, a metal fist socking me in the mouth hard enough to send my head cracking down with a hiss. 

A ped stomped down onto my stomach, forcing the air from my lungs “I hope you die!” The human snarled as they continued to stomp like they were trying to make intestine wine. I managed to grab their stomping leg and pull as I rolled away, taking them straight off balance and onto the deck, back up on my hands and feet before they could even get a word out. I was swift as I stabbed my knife into their chest, not even giving a second glance as I stood and proceeded on, ignoring the pain as best as I could. There were more important things to worry about, I couldn’t slow down.

I wished things could have been different as I shuffled through stacks of cargo and bits of flaming debris, free hand resting on my stomach just enough to sooth the persistent ache, wished that there was no war, no need to fight between each other. That Miles wasn't after a vendetta. I hated it. I hated it. Mansk was still breathing though leaned over at an odd angle as I passed, on my way to Tuk, meeting Jake there "Where's your sister?" He asked her softly as he cut her loose.

"That way." She whispered, pointing back the way I'd come, though I hadn't seen Kiri. Nor Miles for that matter.

"C'mon." Jake ushered us both away from the moonpool, the both of us making a barrier around Tuk so that she was between us and well protected.

Seeing him appear from around the pillar as though we'd called his name was stressful in and of itself, his little smirk as soon as he registered the attention he had was just icing on the shit cake. But the cherry? Kiri mortified as he held her in front of him by her kuru, his knife so tight to her throat that blood was already beginning to mix with the sea water and sweat was the damned cherry on top. "Kiri!" Tuk cried in alarm as she clung to Jake, the both of us instantly reaching down to push her back.

"Miles, what are you doing?" I asked him as betrayal and fear sapped the warmth from my being, looking between his eyes and Kiri's. I sadly recognized the man standing there, recognized the smug victory simmering in his smirk as he looked between the two of us. Jake was snarling and shaking beside me, wanting to save his daughter but knowing charging in would make it so much worse.

"Weapons down." He ordered firmly, his resolve not even flaking under my silent pleading.

"Kill him dad!" Kiri begged as the knife bit down further, making Jake growl as his own resolve deepened.

"Weapons down!" Quaritch barked angrily as he readjusted his grip to show off the original cut on her throat. "You already lost one kid today, do you really wanna lose another?" Jake hissed angrily, tail nearly hitting Tuk in its wilds arcs, his ears back flat against his head as he realized that Miles wasn't going to keep bluffing him. "Do not test me!" He growled as Jake began to charge, weapons up and ready. Jake stopped as more blood began to trail down Kiri's throat, my heart racing as I watched, keeping Tuk where she was safe and accounted for because I knew that she would try to leap in if allowed to, she was Jake's after all. He did as ordered roughly, the knife and tomahawk shattering the groaning silence of the ship. "Now kick them away. You too, Princess, weapons away." His eyes finally met mine, softening ever so slightly as I obeyed, tossing my knife into the water. There was so much apology in his face that I didn't want to see, couldn't stomach seeing as he continued. "Now," He continued as he let go of her kuru and pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt "Cuff yourself, Sully." The orange slap cuffs landed on the deck and slid another foot, waiting threateningly, patiently, for him to comply. "Cuffs on! Now!" Miles pressed angrily, his small modicum of patience wearing dangerously thin.

"No." Kiri sobbed softly as Jake picked up the cuffs.

"You son of a bitch!" His voice cracked as the first one slapped into place, still shifting foot to foot. I realized, in that moment, that either Miles was so self confident that he didn't feel like he had anything to fear from me, or he was just that sure that I wouldn't actively fight him. That I'd submit to him easily. It was kind of insulting, I'm not goin' to lie. Though the guilt hurt, knowing that he was somewhat right.  

"Runnin' outta time here, Corporal." Quaritch said as he adjusted how he held Kiri, much more threatening as his eyes flashed dangerously in the artificial light.

"No! No! Don't hurt her! Ok? Don't--" Spider darted out from behind some cargo, trying to placate the large man.

"Stand there!" He ordered raggedly, his temper getting the better of him, sounding like his old self in that moment. I instinctually flinched back from him, taking Tuk along with me without even a glance at Jake. "Don't move, not a step!" He pointed at Spider, his attention now split more thoroughly.

"Don't hurt her." Spider begged again, not hearing Neytiri until it was too late. She placed her knife against his throat with a growl, flashing her teeth at Quaritch angrily and it felt like the life had been sucked out of me, my heart plummeting to the ocean floor as Spider moved with her.

"Neytiri don't..." The words died in my throat as she glared at me, pain and hate shining through before she fixed them on Quaritch again. He swallowed heavily as he surveyed the situation, regret and fear thick in his eyes as he glanced between Spider, Neytiri and I.

"Release, or I cut." She ordered coldly.

"You think I care about some kid?" He asked, acting like he was unaffected but it was plain to see he was lying. "He's not mine." He insisted poorly, his mouth screwing tight, his eyes wide as they flashed towards me quickly, and his ears fully out and focused on Neytiri. "We aren't even the same species."

"Just don't hurt her!" Spider begged Quaritch, not stopping to think about himself.

"Mom, please don't hurt him!" Kiri begged as well. Neither of the kids cared about their own safety, they only wanted each other safe.

"Both of you, put the knives down!" I ordered, holding my hands out to try and placate them both "Please, our kids don't need to be in the middle of this!" Quaritch side eyed me as soon as I sniffled, his own poor resolve breaking further.

"Release, or I cut." Neytiri promised, not even sparing me a glance. A tiny hand grabbed my tail for security the moment I stepped forward, wanting to protect Spider, Tuk whimpering in fear behind Jake and I.

Quaritch said nothing, his hold on Kiri slacking ever so slightly though his knife stayed firm against her throat. "Let her go." I begged him, taking another half step towards him. He flinched at the movement, his focus still on Neytiri but his hold strengthening again "Please, Miles, let Kiri go. She'll kill him! She'll kill Spider!" I was ugly sobbing but I didn't care, I needed to make him understand that she didn't bluff, not with humans, especially not him.

"A son, for a son." She vowed, her eyes widening with anger at his inaction, at the fact he thought she was bluffing.

"Please, don't hurt her." Spider plead again.

She dropped the blade before any of us could react and cut Spider across his chest, making him cry out in pain, making me lunge forward a step before she placed the knife back against his throat, glaring at the both of us "I cut." I gripped my mouth as tightly as I could, trying to control my sobbing as I watched the stalemate helplessly, Jake gripping onto my forearm to steady and restrain me, no doubt feeling as helpless as I did.

When Quaritch made no motion to comply she raised her knife and pushed Spider away from her, loosing a battle cry as she prepared to plunge the knife into his chest. I screamed, pulling against Jake's hold, reaching for Spider like I could save him from so far away "No!" Quaritch finally conceded, pulling his knife away from Kiri's throat and pushing her away from him.

"Kiri!" Tuk called as Kiri backed towards us cautiously, not turning her back to Quaritch as she stayed as low as possible. Quaritch and I both watched Neytiri as she hesitated to let Spider go, my ears pinning back as a sudden rush of anger filled me, though there was nothing I could do while she still had him.

When she did finally let him go, Kiri was calling his name, the two teens instantly gravitating towards each other like magnets, grabbing onto each other in relief "Spider, get them out of here." Jake ordered, letting me go as he moved to close the distance between his family and himself. I felt like I was going to collapse on the deck from the stress and relief, my heart thundering wildly in my chest.

"I owe you a death." Quaritch promised Neytiri angrily as the Sullys began backing into the ocean, the woman snarling angrily back at him as though daring him to try it again.

"Mom! Come on!" Spider called, snapping me out of the post-adrenaline high haze and back to that moment. Miles's attention snapped to me, wondering what I'd do once made to choose. Which side would I cement myself to? He looked so hopeful that I'd choose him, that I'd stay with him and ask Spider to come with us. And oh Eywa did I wish that I could have. I wanted nothing more than to be able to live my life with him. Even if we had to live as Outcasts in the place the eye does not see.

"Ani, what are you doing?" Jake asked, trying to keep his tone gentle but there was a bite to his words that made me feel foolish and stupid. Like I was a hopelessly romantic teen secretly dating the Mayor's douchy son again. He had seen me wanting to pull away from the family, had seen my desire plain as day. He reached for me again but Miles practically lunged as he stepped towards us with a warning snarl. Jake snarled back, his ears pressing back against his head as he in turn warned the bigger male "Are you seriously going to choose him over us? Your family?"

"Jake, you don't understand. He's changed." I argued, pleading with him to try to see things from my perspective. Proving Miles right.

"He just had Kiri under his knife!" He yelled in disbelief, like he couldn't believe that he was hearing me defend his enemy.

"The old him would have killed her with a smile on his face! The old man would have let Spider die!" I argued back, my own ears pinning themselves to my skull. His ears sprung forward as he stared down at me with wide eyes, shocked that I really was defending Miles. Defending him to his face.

"Sullys stick together, Ani." He was grasping at straws and he knew I knew "I know you love him, but he's hunted this family down, made us leave our home."

"You left my son to die. You convinced me that he was safer with the RDA, that I’d just kill myself trying to free him. Your mate had him under her knife, she was going to kill him no matter how I begged." I argued, glaring up at him with tears in my eyes.

Shame drew his eyes away as he realized that I was right, that I felt justified in my defense "The devil doesn't bargain, Ani. I don't know what he promised you, but it's all a lie. I know that you haven't mated with him, I know you know I'm right, even if you don't want to admit it to yourself!" His words were like knives to my heart, hitting true as I ducked my head from the hurt. Miles had never promised me a damn thing besides redeeming himself to me and to do everything he could to protect our son and I. He'd told me the truth... or at least... I believed that he had...

I looked to Spider, my eyes focusing on the bleeding cut across his chest, at the fear and uncertainty in his eyes "Mom?" Spider asked, his voice softer, begging me to not choose, or at least to choose him. I ducked my head from Miles, unable to look at him anymore, unable to face his justified betrayal as I began closing the distance between my family and I, staying out of his reach and not turning my back on him. I tried to keep my sobs under control, going so far as to bite down on my left hand so that I didn't put my teeth through my lower lip.

He held out his arm to stop me, a silent plea to stay, but I continued my path back to my family. This made his blood boil, angering him further, his ears flush with his head and his knife held in a more threatening position "You're not leavin' are ya, Jake?" He taunted bitterly, turning broadside to me like he still had nothing to fear from me, like I still wasn't a potential threat to him. "Knowing I'm out there? Knowing that I'll never stop? I'm coming for you, and when I do, I'll kill your whole family." He promised, growling the last word to solidify his point.

Jake and I shared a quick glance, him making sure that I was still with him, that we were on the same page before we started the all too familiar dance "Then let's get it done." He didn't give Quaritch a moment to think before charging, letting me hit the bigger man first before coming in. I went low as he went high, kicking his knee out at Jake went for the head with a piece of luggage and then quickly grabbing his weapons as I went in for another punch. The two men grappled for a moment, each trying to get past the other's guards before I leapt up on Mile's back, arm around his throat, legs tight around his ribs, teeth going for his throat.

He growled as he kicked Jake towards a piece of sliding machinery before grabbing a fist full of my hair and trying to dislodge me before I could sink my teeth in. "We could have been a family." He snarled with effort, control of my head slipping through his fingers as he tried to go for a better hold. "You, me, and the kid." He continued, whipping around, trying to use my awkward position to throw me off as Jake looked for a new in. "But you betrayed me for them!" He got ahold of the bottom of my kuru and pulled, visibly flinching when I cried out in pain as I fell.

I kicked his knee again before pulling myself backwards, even though it meant getting ocean water up the nose "You betrayed any idea of our family when you let our son get hurt for your pride!" I snarled back as I stood, ignoring the hurt that shown in his eyes with my words.

Jake kicked him into a sub as it began sliding with the increased tilt of the ship, taking off his vest as Quaritch charged towards us again, knife raised and ready until Jake managed to disarm him. Before he could strike back I bulldozed into him, my shoulder straight to his diaphragm, sending the both of us vaulting into the rising water, both of us getting our breath knocked out of us by the impact as I punched and kicked as hard as the water would allow. He still only moved to subdue me, snarling as my hands slipped from his every time, even as he flipped our control points so his back was towards the surface and I was towards the deck. One of his massive hands gripped my right thigh and pulled me flush against him, his free arm circling around my back and pinning me to his chest. I was so angry I sunk my teeth into his flesh where ever I could reach, getting a mouthful of his shoulder as he audibly cried out even though it cost him precious air. His hand was fisted tightly in my hair as we both broke the surface, keeping me from removing my teeth from his shoulder and finding a new place to bite as I sucked in greedy gulps of air around his blood as it filled my mouth. "God dammit woman!" Quaritch cursed loudly as he pulled me off, shoving his watch between my teeth when I snapped at his face.

I growled angrily as I tried to sink more than my bottom teeth into his wrist, my tail nearly creating a current in the water from how hard it was flicking around. The face of his watch shattered under the pressure, leaving a couple flecks of glass to lodge into my tongue. I yipped loudly in pain as I pulled away from him, not caring that it took him a second to let go of my hair, or that Jake immediately took over the fight as I immediately began taking the glass out of my tongue so that I didn't accidently swallow any of it and cause more problems for myself. I had to race to catch up with the two when they were finally out, the taste of the mixed blood rolling around my mouth no matter how much I swallowed. I reached the two right as they had to go under, Quaritch almost immediately getting Jake in a choke hold with his legs, smiling evilly as he attempted to kill the other man.

My fist wiped the smile right off his face as soon as it connected, his eyes focusing on me before his hand snatched my throat and used it to pull my back tight against his chest, his fingers applying pressure to my arteries as though he only wanted me to go unconscious. I kicked and struggled and scratched at him, not wanting to go down without a fight. Darkness was quick as it began enveloping my vision, my hands not wanting to work properly as my fingers filled with lead. I couldn't struggle, I couldn't fight, I was stuck there as he pressed his cheek against my temple, anticipating my death like a bittersweet victory. Death didn't quite come, the ship landing on the ocean floor sent out a shockwave that dislodged both Jake and I from Quaritch, letting me drop into the murk as the two men continued to fight, Jake's arm wrapping around Miles's throat before my vision faded to black.

When I came to, a bloody Miles was leaning over me, one hand cupping the back of my neck, and the other centered over my heart. He looked so relieved as I blinked up at him slowly, my brain filled with so much fog that I could barely tell you what 2 plus 2 was. "Just breathe, Ani, that's it. Just breathe." He smiled, a bright, genuine expression as hot tears fell down onto my face. Every gulp of air felt wet and raw, like I had in fact swallowed the glass.

"Is Mom ok?" Spider asked, though he sounded so distant. I tried to sit up at the panic in his voice, but my little strength left me even time I barely managed to pick my head up.

I blinked up at Miles weakly, my vision beginning to fade again "I need to bring her back to base. She went too long without air." I could barely hear him, could barely feel his touch against my cold skin as he struggled to hoist me up with him as he stood. "Come with me, son." He begged after managing to get me up on the back of an Ikran. Spider hissed at him angrily "Spider!" He tried, though my guess was that it was useless as he got on behind me, pulling me flush against him. "Stay with me, Ani. Just stay with me." He pleaded softly as the Ikran took to the air better than I had expected. The last thing I heard was the rumbling call of Thor, his strong wing beats disturbing the air from nearby as Miles turned towards him.

[ingenx]

In the age of Industry 4.0, digital transformation isn't an option; it's a necessity. SAP technology provides the backbone for manufacturers and mining companies to not only survive but thrive in this rapidly changing landscape. Let's embrace the technology that will shape the future of these vital industries

[conalnghing]

An Acting Snail religion post because i wont be avaliable for the the next week:

Misc. Info

The Acting Snails believe in 3 main gods:

The God of the Skysea, in charge of the Skysea (ofc) more info on this in this post:

The God of Tubers, in charge of everything under the ground and especially tubers like potatoes, yams, cassava, and to some extent ginger (which may not be a tuber idk)

And the God of Snails, which is in charge of procreation and organisms in general.

This time, were going to focus mainly on the God of the Skysea. They are the creator of both the Net and the Great Opaque, (details in the post i linked before) which they must expend some concentration to maintain.

If either fails, a great disaster will happen. If the Great Opaque fails, the souls will rush into the world below and fill every object with life, even normally inanimate ones such as rocks and corpses. If the Net fails, the souls will escape to outer space above, and every organism born after that will be soulless.

Soulless plants will have plasticky, waxy and unnaturally green leaves, and their fruit will be oversaturated but tasteless. Soulless animals will be unconcious and unmoving, and their eyes glassy like a corpse. The only sign of life is their heartbeat and breathing. However, if they are fed and hydrated enough, they will age and die just like the normal animal.

But anyways, more on the God of the Skysea:

The God of the Skysea

Heres a traditional depiction of them:

As you can see, they are made of fog and air, and fog is constantly flowing out of their nostrils, mouth (creating the trunk like thing in the picture) and pores on their skin.

The spirally-maze patterns on them are an abstracted depiction of wind, a common pattern in art depicting the God.

Their most notable feature is their 8 arms, which they use to constantly maintain the world. The story goes that 2 of their arms are dedicated to searching for rifts in the Great Opaque, 3 dedicated to maintaining the Net, and 2 dedicated to grating magic to the people, leaving one arm to themselves.

Their tenples and their worship

Here is a stele dedicated towards the God of the Skysea:

The stele is made of volcanic rock, mined and carved by artisans on the Southern Islands I mentioned before.

The first thing you might notice is the use of 3 colors on the stone: orange, light orange and dark red. The actually reflect the importance of different carvings on the stone.

First, the orange is a pigment of yellow ochre. The spirally, maze-like patterns from before are drawn in orange, and a hand also made with yellow ochre. This is the hand of the God of the Skysea, reaching out from the clouds to help the devotees who offered this stele to them. This pigment is of least importance, as it is easily found, prepared and can be rubbed off easily. So, it is normally used to draw patterning or images used to inform other people reading what the purpose of the stele is.

Second, the blood red pigment is made of either hematite or red ochre, mixed with tree sap. It acts like a glue more than a paint binder, so the patterns must be drawn onto the stele fast after the ground hematite is mixed into the sap. In this particular stele, it is used to draw a picture of a cloudy sky (the {{{s represent abstracted clouds) and rain falling from it, and is used to make it clear what the devotees hope the God of the Skysea does: bring rain for their crops and drinking water. This pigment is of secondary importance, as it is a bit rarer. The red color and metallic smell also play a part in it, as it is similar to blood, considered as a holy substance granted by the God of Snails during birth. (this is not true. Blood is created by bone marrow just like in our world, but it is a cultural holdover from ancient times.) It is used to draw important images used to clarify what the stele is for to the gods reading it.

Third, the light orange pigment is a mixture of ash and yellow ochre, mixed with water and pressed into carved grooves in the stone. On this stele, it is used to write the words:

God of the Skysea (lit. Skysea God)

This sentence is used to indicate the recipient of the stele.

The next sentence says:

The light at the end of the dark passageway, the God of the Skysea (lit. cave light Skysea God)

This sentence is used to praise the God a little, to make them favour the devotee sending the stele a little more.

The next sentence says:

Give us (lit. give me all)

The "me all" part of the text is a compund word that means "us". It's use is to tell the God of the Skysea what the devotees want.

The nest sentence says:

Potable water. (lit. food water)

This sentence is used in conjunction with the picture in red, to clarify what the God of the Skysea should bring down.

The last character is:

Written message. (lit. carving)

This character is used to clarify that it is not supposed to be read out loud, and insead read by using clues from both the pictures and words.

hope you guys liked this short religion post before another geography one!! byeee

[gloriousmonsters]

Mememememe I want to see

please enjoy a selection from you're on a path in the desert, chapter 2: 'The Ancient', brought about by wondering what ganondorf's motivation is and being honest and brash enough he kind of likes you and is like 'sorry, kid' while murdering you to attempt a breakout in the first chapter. narrated by Zelda, starring Link and Ganondorf.

--------

You're on a path in the desert. Or... it's more of a beach, isn't it? You can hear the sea. Small crabs scuttle and hide among rocks smoothed by eons of lapping waves; the pristine sands glitter, here and there, with old coins and jewels set in tarnished metal. Pirate treasures, as if a ship was wrecked here long ago. A lonely blue sky arches high above, unmarred by a single cloud. A path of scattered white rocks, like sun-bleached bones, lead toward the edge of the water. At the end of this path, a man with evil eyes is imprisoned. A king. You, hero, must slay him; or it will be the end of the world.

Voice of the Curious: He didn't seem that bad!

- Yeah, he wasn't as bad as she hyped him up to be.

- Bad? He was very bad! I'm completely on board with the 'slaying' thing now.

- Hang on, how are we here? Didn't we die?

> I see what you mean, but he did very much kill us. That was a thing that happened.

Voice of the Curious: I guess, but he was so... sad. He just wanted to escape. He seemed like he'd been there for a really long time.

> He did.

Excuse me, who's this? And what are you saying about dying? Please don't tell me—

Voice of the Curious : We died and we came back to life!

- More or less.

- I died and it was terrifying and now I'm me and also this other part of me and they're both me and I don't know how that works or what's going on and I'm going to start crying probably

> This isn't the first time we've been here. Your 'man with the evil eyes' was the one that killed me, not the other way around.

He's not mine, and... It wouldn't be the same, the other way around. You need to slay him, not kill him.

- I get it. I'm a human, and he's a monster.

> Semantics.

Very important ones. Listen to me, hero. I hoped that this wouldn't happen, and I didn't want to scare you with the possibility. But please believe me—we're walking a fine line, now. All is not lost, but every failure widens his chance at escape.

Voice of the Curious: Really?

I do not like how you said that. This... voice, whatever it is, it seems very young. Don't let naivety influence you, hero. One failure means he's already found a chink in your armor—it is even more imperative you keep your guard up. Whatever he said, whatever he did, put it out of your mind. Focus on this. He is evil, and he will destroy everything if he escapes. You are the hero, the only one with the power to stop him. I—everything depends on you.

Voice of the Curious : That's a lot of pressure...

- I love pressure.

- I hate pressure.

 > Are you really sure I can do this?

Yes. You’re the only one that can. 

Voice of the Curious: Wow, she sounds... so serious. I don't know if I trust her, but I think she likes you.

Ha. That's... You matter a great deal to me. By definition, of course. You’re the hero, you matter to everyone. But we don't have time to sit here and talk about our feelings, whatever they might be. Your quest is the same, hero. It's time to go forward.

> (proceed to the prison)

N: At the edge of the water, the path of rocks continue—for a little while. Soon they're fewer and farther between, and in their place are footholds of debris, half-rotted hulls of wood, old chests rammed up on some invisible sandbank below the water. There have been many wrecks here, and as you pick your way forward, you see the largest of them up ahead. Splintered and broken, its massive hull impaled on the tall and jagged rocks that rise from the hidden seabed, like towers of some sunken castle. The rest of it is remarkably intact, but it looks ancient. Weathered, by years that have sapped color from cloth and wood and leached memory from material. Every detail blurred. The figurehead is faceless, nearly formless, like the... like the image of a loved one long forgotten.

> Are you all right?

Your path ends—or rather, takes a new form—at the side of the wreck. An old rope ladder leads up the barnacle-encrusted side. The old wood creaks as you ascend, but even that sound is... muted. This ship isn't just wrecked, it's becalmed. The muting of that sound makes you acutely aware of the absence of others. No birds cry in the sky; no fish splash in the water. The land behind you is already lost in a hazy fog. This is a lonely place.

Voice of the Curious: She's making it sound so depressing. It's sad, but it's also sort of cool, right? It's like an old pirate ship! It doesn't feel like a prison, it feels like... like a hideout!

Please be quiet. It's a prison. It might look... odd, but it's a prison.

Voice of the Curious : Do you think there's treasure?

...No.

Voice of the Curious: ...You want there to be treasure too, right?

I'm not interested. We have a very important job to do. To your left, across the weathered deck, a door leads to the fo'c'sle. It's not locked, but it's encrusted with barnacles, warped in its frame. Beside it, a sword is embedded in the wall, as if left there after a battle long ago. It gleams with its own light—

Voice of the Curious: It's not glowing, though. It's just a sword.

It's not—but... Ah. Yes. Well, it doesn't need to glow, does it? It's the hero's sword. It's made to kill evildoers and monsters. It's meant for your hand, and your hand alone. Take up the sword, hero. You'll need it if you want to save us all.

- But it's not glowing. Didn't you say it was important it glowed?

- What if I don't want to save everyone?

> take up the sword

- don't take up the sword

Sword in hand, you force open the door, rusted hinges screeching as you shove your whole body's weight against it. Before you is a sheer drop, lightless, only the first few feet visible in the foggy sunlight that filters past your shoulders. A rope ladder hangs over the ledge at your feet, vanishing into shadow. The air is musty, damp, and smells of moldering spice and rotting silk, wood permeated with gunsmoke and worried by the icy teeth of the ocean over the course of centuries. If this is the prison the king's been confined in, killing him will be a mercy.

His voice echoes up from the darkness, tired but commanding.

The King: I knew you'd return. Come here, boy. Let us speak face to face.

Voice of the Curious: He remembers us! And he sounds... older. I mean, he was already older than us. But he sounds much older now. 

Of course he's old, he's been in prison for a long time. Don't dwell on it or wonder about it, the more time and thought you give him the more dangerous he is. Just get down there and accomplish your quest.

> proceed down the 'stairs'

After what feels like half an hour of nerve-wracking descent, feeling for foot and hand-holds in the darkness, light begins to bloom below you. When you come to the bottom, a few minutes later, you find yourself facing another door—this one richly carved wood, remarkably well-preserved considering the state of the ship. It's hard to make out much in the light filtering through the cracks around it, but you can see intricate, geometric patterns, and the snarling face of a boarlike beast carved huge in the very center.

Voice of the Curious: What—

You waste no time fooling around and asking questions, and open the door. Striding within, you find yourself confronted with a surprisingly lavish room, dimly lit by old oil-lamps. Rich rugs cover the floor; a huge bed stands in the back of the room, partly hidden by curtains, and a huge desk carved with intricate details dominates another side of the room. Tapestries, paintings and maps nearly cover the walls, save for a section that seems dedicated to a number of weapons—at a glance you see twin swords and a trident. Everything feels a little... oversized, as if you're a child venturing into the room of an adult. When you look closer, you can see signs of wear and age—cracking paint, books with pages puffed by soaking and drying out, scratches in the fine wood and dust on the tapestries—but the overall effect is still opulent, overwhelming. This feels right for a prison meant to confine a king; it would be suitable for an emperor, confined to his office by the new regime, allowed to keep a pretense of dignity.

But across the room from you, there's a strangely bare section of the wall, interrupted by only two things: A porthole filled more by spiderwebbing cracks than glass, showing only blank darkness, and the King, who stands tall and studies you thoughtfully with pale gold eyes.

The King: You approach me, yet again, with your blade in hand. Interesting.

He's a big man, broad and heavy, a physique that might impress as brutish or sedentary if not for the way he holds himself. Straight-backed, imperious, with a hint of a fighter's grace in the way his stance shifts as his eyes track the step you take forward. There's no gray in his hair, or deep wrinkles on his face, but something about him gives an impression of great age and greater weariness. His face is craggy, but his eyes are delicately lined with black; he wears a topaz on his brow, and fine robes that inspire ideas of entrenched and confident authority. As he seems to reach an internal resolution in his appraisal of you, his teeth bare in what is hard to determine as a mocking smile or a grimace of pain.

The King: I suppose that if you try to kill me this time, it will only be fair. But I'd rather we talk.

Voice of the Curious: Ooh, talk! Yes! I want to know what's going on! Just, um, maybe we should stay at a distance.

Remember what you're here for. Don't listen to him, or him. Please, hero. Kill him now.

- slay the king

- kill him?

- You killed me last time, I'd like an apology before we do anything else.

> All right. Let's talk.

[could-they-be-a-pro-wrestler]

ROAD TO FICTIONAL WRESTLEMANIA

KARL HEISENBERG ADDRESSES HIS OPPONENTS AHEAD OF THEIR SHOWDOWN:

(ABW Backstage Interview with Karl Heisenberg)

(The scene opens backstage at WWE Monday Night Fresh. The camera zooms in on Karl Heisenberg, clad in his usual mechanic’s outfit with his trademark hammer slung over his shoulder. His glasses gleam under the lights as he lounges against a metal crate. Heisenberg is scheduled to face Cal Kestis, the United States Champion, and Jack Marston in a triple threat match for the title. The interviewer, holding the mic nervously, steps in)

Interviewer: Karl, in a few weeks at Fictional Wrestlemania, you’ll be stepping into the ring with the United States Champion, Cal Kestis, and Jack Marston. What’s your strategy going into this match?

Karl Heisenberg: (chuckles) My strategy? Oh, I don't need a half-baked "strategy." See, I don’t do “plans” like some religious nut with a glow-stick fetish or that wannabe cowboy freak trying to live up to daddy's reputation. I am the plan, sweetheart. I show up, I break things, and I take what’s mine.

Interviewer: Well, Cal Kestis is known for his agility and he’s successfully defended his title in the past. And Jack Marston has that gritty resilience we’ve seen in past matches. You really can’t count them out of anything. Don’t you think you’re underestimating them?

Heisenberg: (mockingly laughs) "Agility"? Oh, don’t make me laugh. Cal Kestis is a D-tier fighter, at best, who thinks just because he prays to “The Force”, he’s got what it takes to be a champion. He only won the United States Championship out of sheer stupid luck. In fact, the only thing he has going for him is that Goth girl, Merrin, who follows him around and makes sure he doesn’t lose. Yeah, “real impressive”. Oh, “so scary”. Let me tell you something about Cal Kestis—he's a boy playing hero in a galaxy that never wanted him. He thinks his religion, The Force, gives him power, but I've got real power, honey. My skills don’t come from cults or Daddy’s sad legacy like Marston over there. I built my power with my own two hands. You know, the kind of thing real men do.

Interviewer: Since you mentioned him, anything else you want to say about Jack Marston?

Heisenberg: Jack? Oh, that poor sap. Daddy’s little desperado. He’s spent his whole life trying to prove he’s more than John Marston’s shadow, but newsflash, kid: you’re just as boring as your old man. John was nothing more than a championship thief, and his son? Jack’s not even that. You, Jack, don’t even have an iota of the already-minuscule charisma and talent that your father had. You’re just a sad little wannabe cowboy. Now let me make one thing clear; Cal is a religious nut and Jack is a cowboy reject. Me…I’m a f****** storm…and Cal and Jack are walking straight into it.

Heisenberg smirks, leaning closer to the mic.

Heisenberg: Marston can bring his plastic revolvers, Kestis can bring his “Force,”…and I’ll bring my hammer and a whole lot of pain. I don’t care who’s in my path, I’m gonna crush anyone who stands in my way. That United States title? That’s not Cal's to defend or Marston’s to dream about. It's gonna look real nice around my waist when I'm done with those two clowns.

Interviewer: (looking a bit uneasy) So you're confident that at Fictional Wrestlemania, you’ll be walking away with the United States Championship?

Heisenberg: Confident? Nah, that’s too small a word. I’m certain. There’s a difference. You see, they’re gonna be walking into the ring thinking they’re the main character. They’re thinking of cementing their legacy. But me? I just want to tear them apart and have a good time doing it. I’m the one-man wrecking crew they didn’t know they needed to fear, but after Fictional Wrestlemania…they’ll never forget.

Heisenberg adjusts his glasses, the sinister grin never leaving his face.

Heisenberg: And when I walk out of that ring with the United States Championship, it won’t be because of destiny or honor or any of that crap they keep preaching. It’ll be because I am the future of this place. And the future? It belongs to Heisenberg.

He turns and walks off screen, leaving the interviewer visibly relieved as the camera fades out.

[man-n-space]

Twin Aster Etymologies #1

Preliminary abbreviation list

CC Common Caber

CT Classical Ĝare n Tim Ar

PB Proto-Beheic

PTa Proto-Taltic

Describing Taste in CT

esëgó 'sour' gesóh 'spicy' ĝïĝno 'bitter' î ásał 'salty' (< ásał 'table salt') î ḫíh 'cool, mentholated' (< ḫíh 'to wash, to clean') î lugna 'metallic' (< lugna 'metal') î rega 'earthy, plant-like' (< tega 'humus') î rïí 'sweet' (< tïí 'sweet flavor/taste') kíhĝí 'savory, umami' rohtor 'astringent'

The particle î in CT is a general adstantivizer, essentially turning a noun into a verb or adverb. We have five derived and five atomic terms for the ten tastes CT distinguishes. (I'll try to give the etymons but the site I think I need to check some of them is down so take these with a grain of salt until they're back up.)

First, the atomic terms:

esëgo 'sour' ~ PTa *etʲɤlɔ 'id.'

gesóh 'spicy' ~ PTa *letʲɔt 'pepper, seasoning'

ĝïĝno 'bitter' < PB *ŋeuŋʔnɔʔ 'foul'

kíhĝí 'savory, umami' < PB *kepŋehe 'enough, satisfied, weighty, able to stand on its own'

rohtor 'astringent' < PB *ɹɔbdʲɔɹ

esëgo and gesóh appear to have been borrowed from either PTa or a closely related language.

Next, the bases of the derived ones:

ásał '(table) salt' < PB *hajalʔ

ḫíh 'washing, cleaning, cleansing' (zero-derivation of ḫíh 'to wash, to clean') < PB *qewʔ 'wet, make wet'

lugna 'metal' < PB *lokna

tega 'soil, humus, earth' < *dʲɛga 'muddy ground, mud'

tïí 'sweetness, sweet taste; flavor' < CC tŭi 'sap, tree sap'

Rîs ('Summit') Constructions

CT featured an operation called rîs 'summit' that performed as something of an elative, superlative, or augmentative. It was accomplished via prepending the plural to the beginning of the noun.

ĝuáí 'target, goal, designee' > uĝáíĝuáí 'wanted man, target of assassination order, entry on a hit list'

hes 'root' > eashes 'building foundation'

kámgo 'drive, impulse, force of will' > ágmaogámgo 'zeal, devotion, passion, fury'

kámr 'city' > Ágmrgámr 'City of Cities (Tim Ar capital city)'

łaös 'help, aid, assistance' > ałösłaös 'welfare, the dole'

łimo 'hero' > iłmołimo 'savior'

maran 'man' > amranmaran 'commander-in-chief; executive'

norág 'nation' > ontágnorág 'confederation, alliance, union'

nug 'volcano' > Unanug '(name of volcano)'

sihtí 'death' > isarísihtí 'drawing, quartering, and burning'

If the noun takes a discrete plural in ~ ar, prepend the ar:

éamr 'father' > aréamr 'founding father, dynastic founder'

ísúl 'coarse sand' > arísúl 'glass (as substance/medium)'

oḫí 'ditch' > Aroḫí '(name of valley complex in the Burning Mountains)'

oisog 'passage, text' > aroisog 'chronicle, annals, records'

Derived terms only apply this function to the derivizing particle:

áh dúhłë 'meal, course' > aráh dúhłë 'feast, large meal gathering'

ḫág mektéḫ 'difficulty' > áhaḫág mektéḫ 'insurmountable obstacle'

káud húga 'key' > águdkáud húga 'master key, skeleton key'

sêm riên 'smithy' > esúmsêm riên 'armory'

Sêm here is notable as it can also be used to designate deposits or caches of natural resources; typically, the rîs forms in these cases indicate mines or other refinery operations: sêm lïhis 'salt deposit, salt flat' > esúmsêm lïhis 'salt mine', sêm lugna sígna 'uranium deposit' > esúmsêm lugna signa 'uranium mine'.

[dreamweaved]

@devilspurs asked: atticus knows he's a heavy being, with all this metal melded to his body. he knows it could be uncomfortable, but the fact briar has never complained once makes him think the halovian is a little weird for itㅤ-ㅤyet despite this glaring factor, briar still insisted on cuddling. with an ear pressed to his husband's chest, atticus softly speaks, " i love the sound of yer heartbeat. "

it was hard to explain it. atticus' weight grounded him, both physically and mentally. truthfully yes, the heft of him was a bit much for too long. but briar enjoyed the comfort it provided. much more it seems, than his love knew. moored as he was in his contentment, his delight- the solid feel of his body was hardly noticeable. focus drawn entirely on the smell, and sound of him so close.

briar is... mostly bare now save a loose fitted shirt, and casual pants. dressed down, knowing the two of them haven't anywhere to be for some time still. fingertips freed of their usual adornments run smooth lines through the other's hair. and, with a small breath, he allows his eyes to drift shut. to savor the moment, and soak in this brief lapse in their otherwise chaotic life. ( he knew what he was getting into with him, it was an accepted fact of life. ) and when atticus speaks, briar's hand moves to tuck a bit of hair behind an ear.

" it's believed that ... " a gentle tone, thumb brushing the shell of his ear. head kept back against the cushion of the pillow behind him. " that when two people are in love, their heartbeats synchronize. " call him a sap, but the thought was a romantic one to be sure. and he loved romance; loved to see it, to read about it, to feel it. " the body knows before the mind does. "

his hand stops, and he goes silent for a moment. evens his breathing to allow him to listen for a moment. it made him happier than he could ever put to words to hear it. to know that this too, is yet another thing about him that's loved so openly.

" well mine definitely knew. " he admits then. " maybe not right away but, i felt it as soon as you took me from that place. " palm brushes now against the nape of his love's neck, and he considers for a moment encouraging him to move so he could have a kiss. but, feels content to chatter away- to spill his heart's contents, and let himself speak his mind. " something in me changed, right down to the core of who i am. it was like a puzzle, finally being finished. like the harmony i strived for every day was achieved at last. and the more time i spent with you, the harder and harder it got to imagine myself anywhere else. " and, as his words taper off a bit, his body slumps some. if only to feel the weight atop him grow heavier too.

" you make me happier than i've ever been in my life, atticus. " finally, a small gesture to ease him up. just enough that he can curl both arms around his shoulders, to kiss his nose and gently bump their foreheads together. " me, and this heart of mine. you make us both, very happy. "

unprompted / oh my g od

[workersolidarity]

🇺🇦🇷🇺 EVEN WITH HIGH CASUALTY RATES, UKRAINIAN SAPPERS RETURN TO WORK CLEARING RUSSIAN MINES, REUTERS CELEBRATES.

In an article posted to Reuters by Vitalii Hnidyi, the author writes about Ukrainian sappers who have lost limbs while doing de-mining work and have since returned to the battlefield to clear more minefields.

The article celebrates the amputees of Ukraine, now in the hundreds of thousands by some estimates, a pattern we have seen frequently in Western news outlets as Ukraine's Counteroffensive failed on a massive scale.

During the 5 months of the Ukrainian Counteroffensive, tens of thousands of Ukrainian soldiers were killed or severely wounded, with little to no territory taken.

Now Russian Forces are back on the Offensive as Ukraine's Western allies become distracted by the conflict in the Middle East, focusing on Israel as Ukraine loses the little ground they gained during their offensive.

Still, Western news outlets try to put a positive spin on these developments by celebrating Ukrainian amputees forced back into the war by circumstance.

The Reuters article covers the experience of a Ukrainian sapper, named Andrii Ilkiv who was clearing a mine field in the Dementiivka village of the Kharkiv region in December, 2022 when a buried mine exploded, blowing one of his legs clean off.

"At first you don't feel pain, and you can use this moment of numbness to perform first aid – put on the tourniquet, before the state of shock comes over you," Ilkiv told Reuters.

"I lifted myself up, looked down, one of my legs was gone... they started pulling me out, I tried to help with my good leg, moved bit by bit and managed to get myself out without triggering two mines that were there."

But despite losing his leg, Ilkiv has returned to work as a sapper, continuing his work clearing mine fields for the Kiev regime in the Kherson and Kharkiv regions.

According to the Reuters article, Ilkiv's mine-clearing Unit, comprised of approximately 100 sappers, has seen four of its team killed, and 16 wounded by errant mine blasts.

Ilkiv told Reuters he was one of 14 sappers injured in blasts who've returned to work on prosthetic limbs to continue clearing mines, but is confident he can continue his work.

"Of course, obviously there's fear when you return, when you stand next to a minefield there's fear, but on the other hand you know that with the help of a metal detector, a sapper spade and special equipment, you can move, and conduct demining work," said Ilkiv.

Ilkiv said he told his shocked wife that there was still much clearance work to be done and that he wanted to return to sapping. "She was a bit surprised, shocked. But she has accepted it," Ilkiv said.

According to the Ukrainian authorities, some 174'000sq km of its territory is still strewn with mines and other potentially dangerous unexploded ordinances as the Russia-Ukraine conflict rages on with no end in sight.

Still, Ukraine's Western allies refuse to accept defeat, and insist the Ukrainians fight on to the last man. In pursuance of this goal, Western countries' news media faithfully publishes articles that try to put positive spin on the horrendous losses and casualties Ukraine has suffered, but little can change the facts on the ground, and the fact is, Russian Forces are on the offensive and already beginning to take territory.

One can only assume we will continue to see more articles that will attempt to illicit pitty on Ukrainian casualties while insisting the Ukrainians can still win the war.

WorkerSolidarityNews will continue to cover the events of the Russo-Ukrainian war as it develops.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[rottencranberry]

like real people do by hozier

@sillylovesongsfest

a slightly suggestive fragment of the maiden neera she/her and her resurrected, insatiable lover vritra they/them.

artwork—summer by pierre bonnard ca. 1898

Hidden within a fog that had thickened the forest, Neera waited with bated breath for her lover. As she tightened the comfort of her cloak, her bottom lip jutted and trembled at the sudden gasp of wind. It was unusual for Neera to be left alone for so long, and doubt began to coat the inside of her stomach. Like an affliction with no cure.

If it was but a fortnight before, she would not have been suffering so—from the fear of the unknown.

The moment now sullied with doubt, Neera turned to leave, but alas! Much like a snake darting to its next victim, a calloused hand latched onto her naive arm and blessed the skin with the lips of her lover. Nibbling with an animalistic desire, Neera felt Vritra graze her frigid spirit with pointed teeth.

“Honey,” Vritra’s voice purred with great fervour, reverberating against Neera’s outstretched hand. Another wet kiss planted itself deep into her palm.

“Vritra!” Neera tsked the warmth of delight that welcomed her beloved. Her legs quivered with relief as the craving for their familiar touch swelled. “Where have you been?”

Although Vritraʼs lips parted, the only answer that came was the flick of their tongue and a cunning grin. Vritra embraced her with their gaunt body, shivering with need as they wrapped their arms around the stifled woman. Neera gasped as the hood of her cloak was abruptly blown away, pulling down to reveal voluminous tufts of black waves that were still wet at the tips. Vritra’s eyelashes fluttered as they breathed in the sticky scent of myrrh—rich and spicy against their twitching nose. They inhaled the curve of her neck like it was a forbidden smoke before shamelessly licking the sap that was Neeraʼs pheromones.

“Vri-!” Neera’s next set of words ceased to exist as Vritra lightly bit down into the side of her neck.

“Neera, do you wish for me to be your fool? If you want—I will plead, no, beg for your attention.” Vritra pulled back before placing a provoked kiss against a strand of Neera’s hair, eyeing her pained expression. They whispered a desperate request, “Please, honey, I need your sweet lips on mine.”

Their lips connected to form a chaste peck—embarrassment suddenly flooding Neera’s veins as she thought back to the unspeakable things that she had to do just to feel the touch of Vritra’s love again. Through a hooded gaze, Neera watched as Vritra fumbled with her cloak, their hands tugging and tearing at the layers that separated the pair. A distinctive, metallic scent wafted towards Neera as she stared down at her own.

Vritra had never once questioned why Neera’s usually well-kept fingernails were now raw and cracked, but it was becoming harder to ignore the hint of dried blood that had stained her fingertips. Much to Neera’s disappointment, scrubbing seemed to be of little use, and she was growing increasingly nervous. How very charming of her lover to play along. Vritra pretended that it was thanks to their efforts alone that allowed them such an experience—another chance at life—that they had crawled restlessly from their grave without aid. Only those on the other side could attest to Neeraʼs mournful cries, and her sinful actions that followed.

“Dear?” Vritra called through a rough, rasping tone. While looking up at their beloved with glowing, crimson eyes that demanded attention, they pleaded, “Must we dwell on the past?”

Even in times such as these, Neera could not help but remember the horrors that continue to creep up from below—the image of beetles feasting and phorid flies scuttling with anticipation. Although they recognized her sullen gaze, Vritra could never bring themselves to ask, especially during their stolen moments alone. Neera did not feel that it was a fleeting sensation. Instead, it was dreadful, how such powerful paranoia sought after her.

“Will you-” Neera swallowed the lump in her throat, “-make me forget?”

Neera felt Vritraʼs chest heave with excitement, pressing themselves against their lover’s ribcage. While there was a flutter of electricity between them, Vritraʼs heart was still, pumping with infatuation rather than survival. Neera’s hands reached out to touch the face of their beloved, shuddering at how their cheeks were cold yet blushing with desire.

Vritra leaned in, kissing the runaway tears that trailed from their lover’s eyes. “Yes, honey, I will.”

The cloak that once hid Neera away was now unashamed as it spread out underneath the lovers. Neera found herself curling into Vritra’s lips, swallowing the taste of their panting and basking in the feel of their wandering hands. Beneath their entwined bodies, thrived families of bugs and forgotten memories, concealed by the yearning of two animals feeding off one another. The remnants of their forbidden love had dug their way up from the dirt—writhing with an ache so strong.

Despite it all, an innocence blossomed between them, masked by the scent of their vigour and condemned acts. Their lips moulded together before pulling apart, their tongues connected by a thin string of saliva. Although Neera knew it was wrong of her, she could not help but stare into the lascivious gaze of her revenant. Through the night, they kissed with much passion. Like real people do.

[hirazuki]

Clematis or marjoram for Melkor?

Thanks!

Clematis | Mental Beauty | Your mind vs. my mind

•────────────────────⋅☾ ☽⋅────────────────────•

He descends the stairs to the lowest level; the long hall at the bottom takes him lower still, past the smithies and furnaces, the vast storerooms and the deeper mines and the opening to the caverns below the mountains, where molten rock sits spewing fire up at the shielded sky.

The light underground is warm, here, in Angband -- candles and torches and liquid flame; a merry union with the air that lives inside the fortress. It is a far cry from the cold cradle of Utumno, subterranean dark swathed in blue-green lucency, the seat from where poison and peril once flowed out to stain all the land, and fear walked abroad in his name.

It sickens him.

It is not Utumno the Deep-hidden (and fear no longer leaves his side), and in the moments where spite threatens to soak his thought and touch wholly, as a corpse-sack laden with gathered blood, he craves to strangle it: choke it all out until everyone is suffocating from ash and from ice, as though that would recall old power; as though it would bring back a time when the pain was a sleepless, aching thing in his mind and soul only. Now, it is in his skin and in his bones, tightly sewn into this charred flesh he cannot shed, which, to all of Angband, he pretends does not bother him.

He walks, and his steps fall with less thunder and more substance together than they once did -- as they do yet with each passing day -- and he pretends that this does not bother him either.

Melkor slows, feet edging the doorway to his destination: a yawning room, empty save for the single lantern burning low on the floor, the shadows it casts, and the elf in chains, shackled to a wall.

Maedhros -- Maitimo; Nelyafinwë -- the first son of Fëanor and newly vested High King of the Noldor. The commanding piece on the battlefield against his own.

Anger blazes anew in Melkor, as fresh as the blood that blackens his ever-blackened hand from where he had stuck it through an orc, mere moments ago. The creature had fallen to the ground in a clatter of iron and ivory, to join the already-rotting answer to his missive.

So, the elf is not to be bartered. Nor sapped for information: he knows nothing of import; Melkor has already wrung him dry. 

What, then, is to be done with him?

Melkor longs for the release, however temporary it will prove, that he knows violence will bring; to rework flesh and mind and spirit until they are recognizable only with mounting horror as a guide, fragmented visions in broken glass.

And it has always served well, as example and as warning.

However... there is something to be said about a much different kind of blow dealt to his enemies, the damage wrought by murmurs and mistrust, were their king to return to them one day, visibly -- inexplicably -- untouched, where all others have come back disfigured.

Mairon had advised the latter, before leaving -- dutifully, reluctantly -- on his orders to scout the new elven camps with his wolves, tongue tinged with something that on anyone else would have been nothing short of insolence and insubordination.

Mairon is right, of course.

How very like his own self of older days his lieutenant has become, all fluid grace and pretty words (though with an orderliness, a precision, a lack of waste, that he himself, naturally, has never possessed), while he --

Melkor clenches his jaw, and tastes metal in his mouth.

He knows what is happening to him.

Do they think he does not? Do they think he cannot see? His moods, fey and mutable always, yes, but in both directions, now grow ever more dire with no recovery. Irascible. Implacable. Insatiable. He sees it, knows it, fears it, with the bloodless terror of clinging webs and unlight, the daily dread of recognizing a dozen glinting eyes and undying hunger across a mirror, and yet is powerless to stop it.

He desires the light as he hates it, needs it as he cannot abide it, and now that he possesses it, finally, and in a manner that he can keep it all to himself, he cannot possibly cast it aside, no matter that it is the source of his decline.

They would like the jewels gone; the orcs and the balrogs, the werewolves and trolls and vampires, the elves in his service; all his servants; Mairon, most of all -- and this he knows, too.

They shield their eyes with downturned faces before him and disguise it as reverence, scuttle down dark passageways like rodents before a flood, resentful of the violation he has brought to the underbelly of Arda -- nay, to its very womb -- and the war that it has spurred to these shores.

There is no question that the assault the caged treelight wages on their senses is unbearable.

The assault it wages on his own is tenfold thus.

The glare blinds him, everything bleeding in a white haze of indistinct shapes, and the weight bows down his head, until the very idea of rest is but a distant dream of shadows among pitiless light; a memory of breath above water, above crushing rock.

To bear the Silmarils is excruciating. How to let them go, when to bear their loss would be even more so?

How to see them fall back into elven hands?

Melkor has always begrudged the elves their existence, but his hatred of them was not always such. He had entertained himself with them, in the beginning, when all they had known was stars and dark, slumbering woods and the shadow-shapes that walked in the hills. But the war that led to his wreck and ruin was made for their sake, and this he will never forgive. After Angainor, after three ages in Mandos, after Fëanor and the accursed creations of his hands -- he has nothing but hatred left.

This one, though, he thinks, regarding red waves spilling over bare skin like open wounds, glistening dark in the candlelight, this one is different.

Mairon has the right of it -- this one, Fëanor's eldest that burns with the same fire as his sire, yet more tempered and therefore more dangerous, is of rare value, despite his apparent worthlessness as leverage. He may benefit greatly from a different touch than the heavy hand of slag and slaughter that has become Melkor's fare.

Surely, he remembers how; he's not so far gone as that.

He may not be able to discard this body anymore, but he can still craft illusion -- and so he wraps an image around himself that hearkens back to shapes of old, larger but not too large, imposing yet sinuous, like black smoke coiling in the air, hair dancing around his head in tendrils with the languor of oil in water. He keeps his face constant, eyes glowing like the ice of the northern wastes, but little else: hands and limbs, all materialize and dissipate in dark mists as he pleases, as needed to caress, to cajole, to taunt.

Melkor is not certain what he is aiming to achieve with this, how this will aid in his deciding the fate of Fëanor's son; but, then again, there never has been much purpose beyond impulse. It is his nature, after all, and he merely follows it.

He allows himself a prick or two; a scratch, here and there, carved so shallow that not even his lieutenant can complain.

There is no response to his attentions.

It is only a matter of time before he teases the elf with those much-sought after jewels that live upon his head, the first time since donning his crown that he has removed it, in an effort to provoke a reaction -- any reaction, to break that stony composure that has quickly turned from amusing to aggravating until it crumbles like dry clay beneath his gaze -- and he presses them against his face, in the space between eyes and jaw.

Maedhros screams.

He recoils as he is burned, viciously cracking his shoulder on the wall behind him, and the acrid stench of seared flesh fills the air: it is a scent Melkor knows well.

They stand there in stillness, elf and Vala, one heaving with enough force to empty out his innards, the other regarding the iron in his hand, both silent; both surprised.

It is Melkor who recovers first -- and he laughs.

"Oh, this is precious," he finally breathes, returning the crown to his head and shedding his guise in his elation.

Maedhros is hissing and swiping -- like a cub, belonging to one of those long-fanged beasts of horn and plated bone that he had fashioned in the dark beyond the Lamps, that has been deprived of its morsel -- and saying something, but Melkor is no longer listening.

He runs his hand through hair red like blood, tangling his fingers in the strands, claws grazing skin gently, the urge to harm sated -- briefly; a mere flake of snow before open flame; never fully -- by this new knowledge. For no thing he can visit upon the spawn of Fëanor could ever surpass this.

It has been a terrible game, this affair of theirs, he thinks -- Fëanor's mind against his own -- absentmindedly continuing to stroke the elf's head, as though it is one of Angband's cats that he is soothing through a restless night.

But, however this ends -- whatever becomes of him; no matter if they throw down his towers, wrench the wretched West from its dim horizon to these far shores and hew his feet from under him -- he is secure in the certainty of one single thing:

His mind has already won.

• ────────────────────────────────────────── •

Anon, I hope you like this!!! Thanks so much for sending this in and giving me a chance to show my actual serious take on canon-verse Melkor instead of the humorous comic version I keep throwing at all of you ♡