#divination’s flight maneuvers

[divination1330]

How to fly a tin can: the Cessna 152

I hate stalls (POWER UP BITCHES)

Power-on stalls

First, configure for (hypothetical) landing

1700 rpm, pitch for 65 KIAS, mixture full rich

Once you can maintain this, add full power and pitch up

Pitch up

Pitch up higher

Yank the yoke all the way to your chest

You’re falling (not backwards), congratulations!

Do not touch your ailerons, you’re going to stall your wings and spin. Yaw to right, get off right rudder. Yaw to left, hit right rudder.

Power is in, flaps are already up, pitch up for Vx or best angle of climb speed (55 KIAS)

Transition to best rate of climb speed (68 KIAS)

You’re at your starting altitude again! Congrats!

[kigieri]

Comfort

The Danny Ric Series🍯🦡

Daniel Ricciardo × Reader

Daniel returns home, after his last race, one last trip back to the factory and the announcement. Now they were alone, with their thoughts and each other.

A/N: Welcome! I hope you enjoy The Danny Ric Series. It is dedicated to the wonderful man that brought so much joy to Formula One and its fans.

This story on AO3.

Her head had been filled with static since Daniel had called her. There had been talks about his contract the last few races, but neither he nor she thought VCARB would drop him. She could only imagine how he must feel. The time after Mclaren had dropped him was branded into her mind. He had gotten over it slowly and his next contract had come before he could completely work through it. He had still been bitter, but getting back into a car had helped greatly. She hoped it would be better this time.

His plane had touched down hours ago. She had tidied the house and chucked most of the random pieces of memorabilia that had lain around the house into the attic. There wasn't much to begin with, a few caps and a mug or two in the cupboard, it was not really their style of decoration. His trophy case, however, had been polished and she had made sure that there was space on the wall for his last helmet.

There was a design for Austin he would never get to flaunt. He had talked to her about the race, that he was excited to have her there since she hadn't been to many this year. Now they'd have to find something else to occupy their weekends. Even though she was convinced it wouldn't take him long until he was racing again. In whatever capacity would offer itself up.

Chili stood on the stove and the table was set. Even though she would have enjoyed to simply cuddle up with him on the couch she knew he'd need a bit more than that. She had gone through every nervous habit she had before he arrived, from picking at her nails to making sure all the books on the bookshelf were standing flush to the wall.

When she heard keys in the lock she turned around to look at the door. Her hand up at her mouth once more. Daniel looked exhausted, the race, one last trip back to the factory, the announcement and the flight home had not done him any good. He turned around for a moment, waving goodbye to the driver that had brought him here. When he turned back his eyes landed on her.

His face fell, the neutral face he had put on replaced by desperation and betrayal. She walked over to him as he took off his bag, laying it on the ground. Her hands found his face and she turned it towards herself, stretching slightly to catch his lips in a kiss.

"It's good to have you home." He nodded, his breath warm again her face. "It's so good to be home." The first tears fell from his eyes and he quickly raised his hadn't to wipe them away. A sorrowful expression took over her face before she forced herself to smile. "I made dinner. How about we eat something? You probably haven't eaten anything sustaining since before the race." Her words became quite towards the end of the sentence, not wanting to start a conversation if he did not initiate it. He ignored the last part of the sentence, looking in the direction of the kitchen, even though he knew he wouldn't be able to look into it. "Chili?" He said hopefully, looking back into her eyes. "Of course. Only the best thing for my favourite man." Daniel took a deep, shuttering breath, he was overcome by adoration. The love she had for him and that she showed him so openly sometimes blindsighted him.

He was brought back from his thoughts when she stepped away and towards the kitchen. Disregarding his bags on the floor he followed her. She was maneuvering a big pot onto the table when she came back into his field of vision. It was steaming and smelled divine. Daniel stepped over to her chair and pulled it out for her. The look she regarded him with was slightly surprised but she sat down nonetheless. "Such chivalry in our own home." The Aussie sat down on his own chair before answering. "You deserve it." The smile he got in reply was worth everything to him.

They both filled their plates and began to eat. She started a light conversation, letting him in on the few things he had missed in his short time away. Afterwards she stood up and took their plates, disregarding Daniel's protest and telling him to relax. She filled the sink with water, put the dirty dishes inside and put the pot back on the counter, so the leftover could cool down.

Before returning to the table she crouched down infront of the little freezer underneath the fridge. She took out a tub of ice cream and filled two desert bowls with it, bringing them over after tidying up once more. Daniel had got lost in his thought's while watching her but accepted to offered desert, there was no more diet he had to follow.

"Should we go to the living room?" Her voice cut through the silence. He nodded, still a bit lost in his head. She squeezed his shoulder while walking past him and he got up to follow her. They sat next to each other, leaning into each other and silently eating their ice cream. After having scrapped the bottom a few more times than necessary she laid it on the living room table before turning to Daniel. He swallowed and continued to eat his ice cream which was mostly molten at this point.

She laid her head on his shoulder, simply waiting for him and after a bit more time had passed he too abandoned his bowl. They sat in silence, she began to draw invisible shapes on his thigh before switching to holding his hand and interwining their fingers.

"How do you feel about it?" Her words interrupted the quiet. He took a deep breath. "Like I'm going to puke." His words were between reflective humour and an honest confession. She hummed in response, lifting their hands to her mouth and kissing the back of his. Daniel followed her movements with his eyes. He let out a breath before continuing. "Not a fucking word. I mean yes, the writing was on the wall but still, not a word before the race. Only afterwards, one last goodbye from the team and that's it." His voice was aggravated, but there was a deep hollowness underlying his words. Disbelieve still had its grasp on him.

She turned her head to look at him. "You said Laurent told you." Daniel nodded. "He got the balls to tell me himself. And yes, they got the data and all these reasons but still-" He stopped himself from continuing, biting his lip. She squeezed his hand. "You didn't think they'd drop you like that." He nodded once more, his eyes were glossy once more. "I dont think anyone did, RedBull might be ruthless, but this was a blunder even for them. They're going to get ripped apart for it, the press already started, not including the fans." His eyes had drifted of, he was no longer looking at her, his gaze had found a point somewhere next to her head. "It won't help me..." She sat up and turned her body towards him. "Not on the surface, it won't give you back your seat, but it is important." Daniels gaze returned to her, looking slightly questioning.

"It shows that people value you, on track and off it. It might not give you your seat back, but it'll help with negotioations and other series." She could feel his hand shacking lightly and stretched over to take the other one into hands as well. "It also just shows that you are so incredibly loved. The fans adore you, they're creating tribute after tribute for you. The others have all posted something or texted you, haven't they? And you've got the press on your side. They're talking about unfair treatment and they're right! You didn't deserve that and we'll get you justice. One way or another."

Her leg pushed against his, initiating as much contact between them as possible while still being able to look at each other. "Your job right now is to ignore them all. Pretend to not give a fuck even if you do." He still looked at her without answering. "You're going to live your best life and Blake is going to try to get you one of the seats left for next year. If that doesn't happen? Indy will take you with open arms, as will any other racing series. Is that where you want to be? No. Are going to be happy there? Probably. But this fucking shit in Formula One is ripping you apart and I have spend enough time looking on from the sidelines! You had an incredible career, season after season you were one of the 20 best drivers in the world. I am so fucking proud of you!" There were tears gathering in Daniels eyes. If from sorrow or because of her words, she did not know, but she hoped it was the latter. "You're going to show them that their games may affect, but not destroy you." She leaned over and kissed him lightly. "There is so much here for you." A sweep of her hand motioned to their surroundings. "And the world has so much to offer." She took his hands again, lifting them to her mouth and kissed the back of each of them. "We're so young, there is so much left to do for us together." A slight smile found its way on Daniels face. They had talked about marriage and children, but Daniel had wished to be more present for both. Even if it wasn't by his own choice, maybe now was the time.

He swallowed. "Thank you. I, uhm... needed that. Real bad. I just can't think about not sitting in that car again yet." She nodded her head, smiling pained and her eyes became glossy too. "I can only imagine that. But we're going to try our best and you have shown that you're not at the end of your career. They'll take it or leave it, but we're not going to wait for them okay? You're not going to wait for them." Daniel looked at her, her eyes where sincere and she was almost pleading. "I can't... I can't promise that." She let her head hang for just a moment and then looked back up, she opened her mouth to answer but he shook his head. "I'll try. You're right, there is so much here for me and us." He freed one of his hands, touching her belly with his knuckle. "I'm going to enjoy whatever comes next. It's just going to take a hell of a lot of time and tears." A hesitant smile spread over her face. "Well, I can work with that." The laughter she let out was watery.

She looked over at the clock on the wall, it was quite late. Daniel had been exhausted when he came here and dinner had been comforting but long and this emotional exchange may have been what he needed, even if it confronted him with things hed rather forget, but now he was dead on his feet. She nodded in the direction of the stairs. "There is a comfortable bed waiting for you and tomorrow there are quite a few dirtbikes that need testing. Otherwise we wont know if they're still running right." They stood up. This time Daniel took the dishes to the kitchen. When he returned she had slung his bag over her shoulder, his suitcase stood next to the door, to be ignored until morning. She held his helmet in her hands, having opened the bag it was in. She stroked over the material before tightening the bag once more and placing it on their shoe rag.

She smiled at him, warm and beautiful. He walked over to her, encircling her waist with his arms and pulling her against his chest. He buried his nose in her hair, breathing in a few times, feeling her breath against his own chest. She hugged him back, grabbing his shirt in the back to pull him closer. "I love you." She smiled against his chest. "I love you too."

@kigieri 2024. All rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

[widowshill]

Things you said prompts: 10. … when I wasn’t listening? please and thank you!

thank you for your patience on this one, my friend. r/v/b ; mature content under the cut !

“Here is a talisman will remove all difficulties,” the former governess read, “and she held out a pretty gold ring.”

It was quiet, save for the steady noise of summer rain on glass and the scratch of shifting logs in a popping fire. No wind — not like the howls up on the hill. The storm had kept up all day: just like Collinsport, Burke had scoffed, to keep a steady downpour on hand for his arrival so that everything was wet and grey and bleak enough to really feel like home. Divine punishment, or something like it, in the pitiable heap of unused swimsuits and ready-folded beach blankets – suntan lotion that remained woefully unapplied by generous hands. He had enough sun in Texas, Vicki had reminded him, with a smile that awaited his arm around her waist and his promised complaint that he had no one to share it with. She’d assured him she liked sharing rain with him just as well, and that had been that. The great anger of Burke Devlin had melted away.

His chest rose and fell easy, now, and Vicki maneuvered her head to lie in the valley between neck and shoulder so-carved for this very purpose (or it seemed so) — the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne mixed with that of old, old pages. Last century’s leather. To Kitty, the inscription read, my dearest Jane. 

Vicki, indolent, traced the fine gold emboss. "'Put it,' she said, 'on the fourth finger of my left hand —'"

“And I am yours, and you are mine;” Burke, peaking now over her shoulder, finished for her. “And we shall leave earth, and make our own heaven yonder.’”

Their guest at her feet rolled his eyes while her husband, with the same smooth confidence of a sailor drawing into mooring, hooked a finger under her chin and drew her near to kiss her. Out there in the bay the boats pitched – kissed on the underside of the hull with breakers, decks slick, clung to by pairs of warm, knowing hands. Unsteady, thought Vicki, Burke’s grip tightening slightly at her waist, but safe. Anchored. Roger made a noise when the lull dragged on and Burke, bolstered immeasurably by the disapproving 'tch', took her left hand and kissed now the extravagant gold thing he had put there. 

Vicki, delighted, flushed (and ever-so-slightly now breathless) held open Jane Eyre with her right hand and surrendered the left to capture. “She nodded again at the moon. The ring, Adele, is in my breeches-pocket, under the disguise of a sovereign: but I mean soon to change it to a ring again."

A few dollars in a Portland jewelry store, for a simple little band — a few more, for the marriage license — and, as easily as that, Adele, the moon at her fingertips; what need for fairies (or for rocket ships)? Though, she supposed, Burke’s promises were more easily fulfilled than President Kennedy’s. They had only gone as far as Manhattan for heaven (which as far as most of Collinsport was concerned, had as well been on the moon) and that first-class flight was only pocket change. Rings to sovereigns to hotel suites and negligees, and back again.

None of which had accounted for Roger — who was somehow both part of the moon and its second lasso. Her former-Rochester remained now unusually silent, toying with the fine stockinged ankles in his lap, tracing patterns — drifting occasionally upwards to where she’d begun to go threadbare at the knees. He’d been considerate enough, at least, not to put any holes in them. Yet. 

Vicki, for her part, was resolved to ignore him. She adopted her best falsetto French for the little ward: "But what has mademoiselle to do with it? I don't care for the fairy: you said it was mademoiselle you would take to the moon?” 

Roger raised his head. It was mademoiselle, she thought, on her tongue, loose and soft as plucked rose petals. (He had always, so he said, liked the way French sounded in the back of her throat). After a pause, considering, he slid long, gentle fingers up the back of one leg — indulgent and slow — and raised her ankle to his mouth to place his kiss there, nigh-reverent, on old-wounded tendons. 

"'Mademoiselle is a fairy,” Roger supplied, when she went abruptly quiet —  

And her mind drifted to conjugation charts as he began to kiss his way along her calf, up her thigh, past the line of nylon where decency ended. It was growing steadily more difficult to ignore him, now, and Burke, too, gave him a knowing look, but raised no protest. 

Vicki, determined, swallowed. “Whereupon I told her not to mind his badinage; and she, on her part, evinced a fund of genuine French scepticism: denominating Mr. Rochester…” And here she slipped, and gave a (frankly) butchered approximation of the French. A true liar. Yes, she could think of a few of those.   

Roger pulled back enough that she felt his absence keenly, breath warm, close, against teased flesh, but his tone was deceptively starched. “Menteur,” he corrected — disapproving. “Again, Vicki.” 

“Un vrai menteur,” the former governess breathed again; this time, Roger hummed his approval. She was rewarded with a nip to the inside of her thigh, gentler than she was used to; perhaps because Burke was here observing the scene, or perhaps because too much pain served contrary to his pedagogical aims.  

She looked to her husband for relief but received only a smile: hungry, she thought. “Go on, little governess.” 

“Burke — ”

“You’ve got a chapter to finish, yet.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure he was listening to the Brontë anymore, that any of them were, and she felt in some distant corner of her mind that that was unfair to the author. Her gaze pinned to the page in front of her but Roger’s hands were digging now into the muscle of her thighs, and the words were swimming. Dizzy. She felt dizzy — even the English felt foreign and daunting in her mouth. Vicki closed her eyes, and thought of the cold winds of the moors, and the cold stone of Thornfield. Though where it rose grey and dark in mind’s eye it was laid with Jeremiah’s bricks — the Yorkshire wind howling with the widows’ voices. 

She cleared her throat, and found her place again. “— and assuring him that she made no account whatever of his 'contes de fée.'” 

“A translation, for your husband.” Roger’s breath was spectral, ghosting heated over saturate flesh, and she shivered. Their French lessons seemed so very distant. The dutifully-taken lists of vocabulary that had trailed off into so many lazy pen lines, conversations that had always — inevitably — likewise dissolved. But she summoned up the term from distant recesses — fairytales — and squirmed when her tutor offered her his tongue as reward.

Roger laughed in that low, wicked way he did when he was teasing her, and dug his fingers in harder to keep her still. But again Burke supplied no rescue, nuzzling at her, his grip at her rib cage iron-clad. The prince, she thought, and the wolf — the golden-haired scion with his air-light kiss to wake the princess, and the desire-wet jaws that awaited them. Though it was a monstrous prince; a cultivated, slicked-back wolf.

Whispered, now, and conscious of her phonetics: “and that: du reste, il n'y avait … n’y avait pas de fees.”

“Good girl,” came the murmured praise between her legs, and when she made a pretty whine Roger stuck his tongue inside her — at which point her noises became much more pathetic. She leaned to kiss Burke, but he indulged her only a moment before deflecting, kissing instead her cheek, her jaw, with a low growl at her ear.

“What’s it mean, Vicki?”

Charlotte Brontës opinion was now a forgotten consideration, but she would think on her later, much later, when she read the chapter again for comprehension, and if she was listening somewhere on the other side of this life, to beg for her forgiveness. 

“That even so, there’s …” She twitched again: a graze of teeth. This time, it was her husband who laughed, and brushed a work-worn thumb over the curve of her bottom lip. Her mouth opened slightly, expectantly. “There’s … I can’t think.” 

“Focus.” 

She whimpered: Roger had doubled his efforts, clearly enjoying the interruptions to this oral examination, but she tore her eyes from Burke and put her forefinger to the page nonetheless, in her very best effort to obey. “There are no fairies.”

Burke’s palms crept lower, over the curves of unresisting rose cotton, and edged up the hem of her dress further still. His fingertips danced over the bump of her hipbone, her lowest rib, there beneath her belly button, tender skin that made her breath hitch. She thought of masses of silver herring, lifted from the water in finely-woven nets — the panic as they broke the surface, gills pulsing, muscle twitching — the rope that dug destruction into skin. 

“Is that right, Roger?”

“Exactly right.”

Satisfied, Burke kissed her again, long and slow — savoring her less like a lover than a meal. Vicki closed her eyes and couldn’t see which of them it was that slid his fingers inside her, but she could feel Burke’s pleasure smiled into her mouth when she arched against him. “Are you ready to give up yet?” She shook her head. “Then read the rest.”

Mrs. Devlin was missing, perhaps, only the plaid woolen skirt and buckled flats of the dutiful student, having torn herself away from her husband with extreme reluctance and digging fingers into the leather binding so as to keep them out of Roger’s hair. To keep in good health and not die was, she supposed, was the only answer for a wicked girl so very fond of her pit full of fire, and so very content to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever. 

“Et quand meme … ” Her breathing had quickened, now, and she blinked at the swimming words on the page, forcing herself to give attention to the way her chest expanded, compressed, the feeling of sea air inside her lungs. She could still hear the rain, but it was no longer distinguished by individual drops; but instead, a hazy, dull, distant roar. “Quand meme … ”

Roger, kissing now and then at Burke’s hands, teased, and there was a stubborn undercurrent of want in his own voice, now, slightly muffled: “Do as your husband says, Vicki.” 

“Roger, please … "

He hummed his wordless encouragements, which did nothing whatsoever for her concentration.

“Il y en avait…”  Vicki trailed off, trying — and failing — to stifle a moan, as Roger’s book slid at last from her fingertips. 

Burke, thankfully, was fast enough to catch it; expert thumb sliding between pages to mark their place. And he read off the last of the paragraph in quick, disinterested succession before tossing Jane Eyre to the floor: “She was sure they would never appear to him, nor ever give him rings, or offer to live with him in the moon.”

[gynandromorph]

i respec'd uh-oh to be a bardadin -- pal 2/swords bard All Other Levels. she is severely lacking mobility in a way i feel deeply when my other melee character primarily throws for damage and my casters are obviously ranged. i don't mind that she has to get in enemies' faces; she just has no fucking way to do it. no misty step spell, no nothing. she can waste a whole turn using an arrow of transposition, but this brings up another problem with her build: she doesn't really use her bonus actions for anything except smites and jumps, and she has to be in-range to smite.

vengeance, her oath, gets misty step, but at level 7, which would deprive me of the magical secrets bards only get at level 10. the other reason i wanted to dip all the way into bard is because she ends up with more spell slots in general for smites. i tried a wizard and sorcerer multiclass, and iirc bard got me more slots because the sword bar gives me an extra attack without forcing me into 5 levels of paladin. the flourishes are nice; you can use a slashing flourish to hit 2 enemies at once, and the game allows you to apply divine smite to both of them.

technically, i could take misty step with magical secrets. if the scrolls weren't such a pain in the ass to find, it wouldn't be a huge deal. i usually jump for counterspell and haste, but i find myself not really casting haste much due to a stock of speed potions. counterspell + misty step is pretty underwhelming for magical secrets, especially because magical secrets is the ONLY way to unlock banishing smite -- a traditionally level 17 paladin spell. maybe i'll just suck it up and start remembering to chug glorious vaulting and flight potions and run banishing smite + counterspell lmao. i also handed her a bow that allows you to cast haste once every long rest, so she technically HAS access to haste already, on top of my twin hasting sorcerer and shadowheart.

i also tried warlock (i ended up opening my finished #feminism paladin file and respec'd her repeatedly to see what i had to work with, but there's no way to practice battle to test out builds) but i was really underwhelmed. even IF the extra attack from the pact weapon stacks with the extra attack from paladin, i don't even have enough spell slots to smite every hit for A SINGLE ROUND. i am firmly of the belief that the ENTIRE POINT of paladin is to do massive damage with smites. if i wanted to hit without smites, i would just play a fighter. on top of that, it has you then use your charisma modifier instead of your strength modifier with the pact weapon, which is like. can you show me the potions that set your charisma to 27 until long rest? hm?????? why would i want to use charisma for my melee damage when there are very abundant, massive buffs to strength even from act 1. and yeah i have to drink an elixir every morning but i have to rebind my pact weapon every morning anyway.

lae'zel, meanwhile, i spec'd into a throw build between frenzy barb, for the enraged throws and damage resistance, and rogue, for the extra bonus action. she would benefit from levels in fighter. it works great, i have no complaints. i miss battle master maneuvers, but i could give a couple of those to uh-oh through a feat.

jesster still a sorcerer primarily with a 2-level dip into warlock for the cantrip -- i really wasn't expecting much but it honestly fucks severely now that i have the potent robes and i think some other piece of equipment that adds charisma modifier to cantrips as well. they genuinely usually do more damage with eldritch blast than magic missile, the build they were designed for, but EB isn't out of place with the buffs for MM, and the 100% hit chance of MM is always welcome. it's a lot easier to roll with the punches even if i'm low on slots with a cantrip that can do SOME damage and it makes using haste a lot more viable. i ended up rarely if ever using darkness, so i removed it and swapped devil's sight for repelling blast. better to use a lv 2 slot on invisibility than darkness maybe.

shadowheart is the same. i'm thinking of dipping more into wizard for counterspell, which you can't find as a scroll. i would be sacrificing natural chain lightning, but it's easy enough to just. acquire a billion chain lightning scrolls -- better than spell slot chain lightning even, because you can do it multiple times. because the issue with honor mode is "whether you die or not" and not "how many enemies you can kill," i feel like counterspell is just. more important. it's Really Important to be able to instantly shut down an attack that might have shredded your entire party's HP down to 30% imo. that and shield which i've shoved on all of my party members except lae'zel.

[anotherhumanpet]

[Gloria -> Jaden] Merry Christmas! Jaden is getting a pot full of delicious soup and fresh baked bread! He's also getting a few small bags with a few gifts: a book on the history of aerial combat with breakdowns on their maneuvers, a set of grilling tools, and a mini grill that can be set up anywhere he wants. Have fun!

Oh that soup is immediately going in the freezer - right after he serves himself a bowl, of course. Home made soup is divine but unfortunately lacks the ability to last forever like a true divinity, so Jaden opts for freezer storage to make it last longer.

Besides, the boys could use it for whenever he's not available to cook dinner and save themselves from an accident or a doordashing.

He's making a note to noogie her for the book though, even if he fully intends to integrate some of the tricks of the old pros into his own flights because she's right. But she didn't need to say the quiet part so out loud either. She can spoil him with a grill though. He accepts that very much and immediately gets it set up on the back porch. One day he might upgrade to a full grill and use the mini for camping trips, but right now that is the house grill and he now needs something to grill with it.

...barbecued Christmas dinner can probably be a thing. Somehow.

[future-of-educationandlearning]

Interpreting "High Flight"

The poem you provided is a famous piece titled "High Flight" by John Gillespie Magee, Jr. It is a powerful and inspiring work that celebrates the exhilaration and freedom of flight, ultimately culminating in a profound spiritual experience.

Analysis

* Escape from Earthly Bonds: The opening lines express a liberation from the constraints of earthly life. The speaker has ascended beyond the physical world, into a realm of pure exhilaration.

* Joyful Soaring: Images of "laughter-silvered wings" and "tumbling mirth" convey the sheer joy and exuberance of flight. The speaker revels in the freedom and agility of their aerial maneuvers.

* Sublime Experience: The ascent continues, reaching heights where ordinary birds cannot fly. The language becomes increasingly elevated, suggesting a spiritual dimension to the experience.

* Divine Encounter: The final lines represent the pinnacle of the journey. The speaker has not only conquered the physical heights but also reached a spiritual summit. The act of "touching the face of God" signifies a profound connection with the divine, a moment of transcendence.

Themes

* Freedom and Liberation: The poem is a celebration of the human spirit's desire for freedom and escape from earthly limitations.

* Spiritual Experience: The ascent is not merely physical but also spiritual, culminating in a mystical encounter.

* Awe and Wonder: The poem evokes a sense of awe and wonder at the beauty and grandeur of the natural world.

Overall, "High Flight" is a timeless piece that captures the human longing for transcendence and the exhilaration of pushing boundaries. It has become a beloved poem, often recited at memorial services for pilots and astronauts, due to its powerful themes of courage, sacrifice, and the ultimate human experience.

Would you like to delve deeper into specific lines or images within the poem?

[anumberofhobbies]

By Samantha Mathewson published 3 June 2024 The experimental orbital plane, named Shenlong, which means "divine dragon" in Chinese, has been in orbit for 168 days. Space activity tracker Jonathan McDowell first spotted the spacecraft's recent activity on May 24. The new object has since been cataloged as 59884 (International designator 2023-195G) by the U.S. Space Force space domain awareness teams, SpaceNews reported. "This object could be a subsatellite deployment, or it could be a piece of hardware ejected prior to end of mission and deorbit (the space plane's first flight did something similar)," McDowell, who is an astronomer from the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics, said in a post on X (formally Twitter). "Will be interesting to see if the plane maneuvers or lands soon."

[akashasananda]

The Art of Ascension with TwinRay - Elevating Consciousness

The Alchemical Process of Ascension

In your exploration of the higher dimensions of consciousness, you embark on a sacred journey. As a modern-day spiritual practitioner, you understand that this path is not merely about personal development, but a global progression of human awareness. You are captivated by the profound concept of "Golden Age Ascension," which, in your perspective, provides the means to access your spiritual embodiment and mastery. Guided by TwinRay, you are ready to traverse the path to enlightenment.

The Golden Age Ascension is not a mere flight of fancy; it is a profound alchemical process that entails the transmutation of the base elements of your being into the divine essence that resides within. This awe-inspiring journey of self-discovery involves shedding the layers of illusion and ego, peeling them away like delicate petals, to reveal the radiant authenticity of your true self. As you traverse this transformational path, you not only become a luminous beacon of light, but also a vessel of universal love, embodying the eternal truths that resonate throughout the cosmos. With each step forward, you embrace the profound interconnectedness of all things, forging a deeper connection with the divine and unlocking the limitless potential that lies within you. So, embrace this sacred journey with an open heart and an unwavering spirit, and let the radiant light of your soul guide you towards the infinite possibilities that await.

The Role of Spiritual Teachers

On your path to ascension, you seek the guidance of master healers and spiritual teachers. These enlightened beings have traversed the mystical activations and rebirths required to reach higher states of consciousness. They are the ones who have mastered the art of healing and alchemy, and now, they guide you towards your own spiritual evolution. In their presence, you feel the threads of synchronicity weaving your destiny, as if the universe itself conspires to support your growth.

As an explorer of spiritual realms, you acknowledge the significance of both mastery gatherings and community support calls. These sessions are sacred spaces, offering interaction with fellow seekers on similar paths. These communal experiences foster introspective moments that deepen your connections with others, thereby reinforcing your commitment toward ascension. Under the mentorship of TwinRay, your spiritual journey becomes a shared journey, imbued with collective wisdom and mutual support.

In your never-ending quest for enlightenment and self-discovery, you diligently pay close attention to astrological and energetic forecasts. These profound cosmic insights, filled with celestial wisdom, serve as a guiding roadmap for your spiritual journey, helping you navigate the intricate web of energy that surrounds you. With each alignment of the stars and every subtle shift in energetic currents, you are bestowed with invaluable knowledge and intuition, empowering you to gracefully maneuver through the myriad of challenges and embrace the abundant opportunities that arise along your sacred path of growth and transformation.

The full moon signifies a significant juncture, symbolizing the merging of your internal and external realities. These periods of full moon transmissions allow for a deeper connection with the universe's sacred rays. During these astronomical occurrences, you utilize the rays' strength to magnify your intentions and actualize your aspirations. Such events provide an opportunity to directly absorb cosmic energy, further hastening your ascension under the tutelage of TwinRay.

Embracing the Kunda Rays

Kunda rays are the subtle currents of energy that flow through your body, connecting you to the vast cosmic web. By embracing and harmonizing these energies, you gain a deeper understanding of your divine path. You learn to channel these powerful forces towards your spiritual embodiment and mastery. It is through this alignment that you become a vessel for the evolution of consciousness.

Your spiritual journey, under the guidance of TwinRay, is marked by key moments of revelation and new beginnings. These instances represent the shedding of antiquated beliefs and patterns, paving the way for your authentic self to shine through. Each rite of passage brings you a step closer to the divine union you seek, symbolizing your commitment to the attainment of elevated states of consciousness. These sacred initiations are the foundation of your profound spiritual voyage.

As you progress along your path of ascension, guided by inner wisdom and spiritual growth, you begin to see the bigger picture with crystal clarity. Your individual journey, with its unique challenges and triumphs, becomes intricately intertwined with the collective evolution of humanity. You realize that the enlightenment of one soul ripples through the fabric of existence, contributing to the greater enlightenment of all beings. With unwavering dedication and profound purpose, you embark on this divine path, committed not only to your own growth and transformation but also to the upliftment and betterment of the world around you. Embracing the interconnectedness of all things, you become a beacon of light, radiating love, compassion, and wisdom in every step of your extraordinary journey.

The Art of Ascension: A Mystical Odyssey

The voyage towards ascension is a mystical endeavor, inviting you on a journey towards the expansion of consciousness. This sacred pursuit paves the way to acknowledging your divine essence and spiritual embodiment. On this route, you will meet master healers, spiritual guides, and peers who provide direction and support. You will utilize astrological and energetic forecasts, full moon transmissions, and the celestial rays to intensify your ascension. Awakening the Kunda rays within you draws you nearer to your divine trajectory, characterized by renewal and initiation. Ultimately, your commitment to ascension aids in the illumination of humanity and the emergence of a Golden Age. As you persist in exploring this route, may your consciousness rise, and may you discover the deep unity and divine union you strive for under the guidance of TwinRay.

[rk099]

Skybound Spirits: Marveling at Birds in Flight

Birds, those celestial creatures of the sky, have long captivated the human imagination with their graceful flights and ethereal presence. As we gaze upward, watching them soar effortlessly through the air, it's impossible not to be enchanted by these skybound spirits. In this blog, let's embark on a journey to explore the marvels of birds in flight, delving into their unique abilities, diverse species, and the deep symbolism they hold across cultures.

The Art of Flight

Birds are the undisputed masters of the air, equipped with wings that are marvels of aerodynamic engineering. Each species has its own distinct style of flight, from the majestic soaring of eagles to the agile maneuvers of swallows. The avian mastery of flight has inspired humans for centuries, leading to our own attempts to conquer the skies.

A Symphony of Colors and Shapes

One cannot discuss birds without acknowledging the breathtaking diversity in their appearance. Feathers of myriad colors and patterns adorn these winged beings, creating a living tapestry in the sky. From the vibrant plumage of parrots to the intricate markings on the wings of butterflies, each species contributes to the visual symphony that unfolds above us.

The Dance of Migration

Migration is one of the most awe-inspiring spectacles in the avian world. Birds embark on epic journeys across continents, crossing oceans and mountains with unwavering precision. The mystery of how they navigate over vast distances, often returning to the same nesting grounds year after year, continues to fascinate scientists and nature enthusiasts alike.

Guardians of Symbolism

Birds have held symbolic significance in cultures worldwide, representing everything from freedom and transcendence to messengers of the divine. In ancient mythology, birds were often seen as intermediaries between the earthly and spiritual realms. Even today, the sight of a bird in flight can evoke a sense of wonder and connection to something larger than ourselves.

Conservation and Preservation

As we celebrate the marvels of birds in flight, it's crucial to acknowledge the challenges they face in our rapidly changing world. Loss of habitat, pollution, and climate change pose significant threats to many bird species. Recognizing the importance of conservation efforts is not only a responsibility but a necessity to ensure the continued existence of these skybound spirits.

In conclusion, let us continue to marvel at the beauty of birds in flight, appreciating the delicate balance of nature that allows these creatures to grace our skies. Whether observing a flock of migrating geese or a solitary hummingbird hovering in mid-air, the world of birds offers a profound connection to the wonders of our planet and the limitless possibilities of the sky.

[divination1330]

How to fly a tin-can: The Cessna 152

I hate stalls

Power off-stall (slow flight included)

Configure for slow flight

Slow flight: Go to 1700 rpm, dump flaps in, adjust power as necessary to maintain constant altitude at 55 KIAS

Cruuuuuuiiiiiise, enjoy it, look out the windows while F-18s struggle to keep up because you’re so damn slow

Power off stall part, pitch up

Pitch up

Keep pitching

Hear that stall horn? Keep pitching

Now you’ve started to fall!

Pitch down and full power

(Do not, I repeat, do not use ailerons. You will stall your wings. Falling to right, release right rudder. Fall to left, add right rudder)

At 60 KIAS, go to 20 degrees of flaps

At 70 go to 10 degrees

Full out at 80

You’re alive! Congratulations!!!

[ikarosxflight]

Aqua's earnest words, filled with compassion and sincerity, echoed through Captain Pit's thoughts, causing his heart to grapple with the duality of his own humanity and divinity. As he stepped into the well-worn training hall, a sense of familiarity washed over him. This place had witnessed countless past training sessions, each contributing to his warrior growth, and fellow warriors of light honing their skills uniquely filled him with admiration and respect for the other keyblade warriors. It was always a pleasure for Captain Pit to spar amongst such a diverse and dedicated group of individuals. Sora would be no different.

Captain Pit took a moment to center himself, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply before cracking his neck from side to side. A familiar smirk graced his lips as he listened to Aqua's mystifying warning; he could feel the power the light emitted from the floor, which was enough to pump his blood. He loved surprises and mentally noted that he would thank Aqua later for spoiling them with such an ace-up of her sleeve.

'I dedicate this session in your honor, Lady Palutena, to guide my blade. I devote my blood and sweat to you, Lord Ares; let my body withstand my enemies' strike.'

As he started to bounce on his feet with precision, he silently uttered a quick prayer to his patrons, seeking their guidance and support. Opening his eyes, he took in the breathtaking sight of the icy landscape that stretched before him. The crystallized playfield reminded him of the unforgettable adventures he had experienced in Hyrule's frigid Hebra region and the intense battles at The Summit during the epic Smash Tournament. Sora's contagious laughter only widened Pit's smile; hearing a warrior with such spirit was endearing! Oh ho! What a charming little threat from Master Aqua, still giving him surprises? Good, it only fed his eagerness more!

"Keep your promises! Show me with your skills and your will to live!"

It's what a Captain expects from a soldier in training, but it's also what an immortal does to challenge mortal resolves. The relentless push for excellence and unwavering determination molds ordinary individuals into extraordinary beings, whether on the battlefield or in the face of timeless trials. As the icicles burst forth, the glint of light catches Aqua's eye, signaling her to unleash her powerful magic. In response, Pit swiftly combines his bow sword into a glorious double-bladed form, spinning it rapidly, creating a blazing ring of light that obliterates the magical ice shards. However, Sora's cunning, reflective trick catches him off guard, forcing him to quickly reposition his blade into a bow stance. With his keen archer eyes, he prepares to counter the incoming icicles, ready to defend against the unpredictable onslaught.

With determination, the Captain of Angels pulls back a neon red string that seems to manifest out of pure energy, as if drawing power from the very fabric of the universe. A divine arrow of light, crackling with energy and humming with power, is primed and ready to be unleashed. With a swift and fluid motion, Pit effortlessly and swiftly fires each and every shard, the flaring light illuminating the surroundings with an otherworldly brilliance. It's a stunning display of skill and power, but it's clear that Sora's tactical maneuver has paid off in spades.

A sane person would have made a split-second retreat to avoid the incoming comet or brace themselves, but that personally was not the Captain's style. Dismissing his weapon, with intensive inhalation and steam exhaling through his gritted teeth, the Power of Flight ignites Pit's Pegasus wings illuminated in neon blue, sparkles of blessed light charging the air between them. The battlefield was a sight to behold, with its swirling ice-cold winds and crackling energy from the boys. Pit launches himself straight towards Sora's incoming force with a mighty push from his powerful legs. Just before one of those deadly charged strikes could make skin contact, Pit, with a confident and cocky demeanor, remarks, "I like to reflect myself!"

He emitted an awful pun and chuckled as light manifested into his left arm. Quickly, he placed it in front of himself, forming the sacred treasure, the Mirror Shield. This legendary shield is adorned with intricate designs and ancient symbols. It is said to have the power to reflect physical attacks, magical spells, and curses. This shield aided him in defeating the Goddess of Darkness, Medusa, whose petrifying gaze was useless against the Mirror Shield's mystical properties.

Pit maintains unrelenting pressure, yet Sora refuses to be overpowered. The two are locked in a tense standstill, each refusing to give an inch of ground. Both combatants are evenly matched in skill and determination.

Despite Sora's impressive power and speed, Pit's strategic mind, and unwavering focus, he takes a calculated risk. He manipulates his shield, feinting a forward thrust to keep Sora drawn in. Expecting Sora to push back, Pit adeptly maneuvers a mid-air side step, guiding Sora past him, leaving his back momentarily exposed, and letting gravity do the rest.

Seizing the split-second opportunity, Pit summons the power of his sacred bow sword, and with a swift and fluid motion, he launches an extra-charged brilliant arrow of light toward Sora. The arrow pierces the air with a radiant glow, illuminating the battlefield as it hurtles toward its target.

The Captain's words would hold a warm chime in mind as Aqua begins prepping the stage. As the earned heir of the Land of Departure, it never swept across his mind to take this castle's many tricks into consideration. Being met with those cryptic words burgeoned no form of nervousness within. Rather, the eternal challenger mantle finds excitement bristling at the seams.

...

Strange.

Why did the words she draw snag at some alien part of his mind? A mild skip of static, tinges of a figure entrenched in a dark cloak reciting more of that crackling noise. It harmlessly skips from the keybearer's mind as the Master Defender begins to paint over its rightful home. Needless to say, it was an act that immediately drew an adventurer's amazement from deep within. Seeing how the sterile, professional walls transformed into a veritable domain. One that let space streaked indoors in tune with the mountainous glaciers.

"Oh get out!" Sora's voice barked with approval. Even in the name of a competition, who would be foolish enough not to be amazed? An approving chime of laughter rings from his lungs as he briefly looks around, as if Aqua was merely conjuring a vacation spot compared to any trial grounds. It was then, a glimmering gaze settled on Pit for a fleeting moment.

"Come what may. Consider this a promise that I'll have your heart racing with our brand of momentum." Comes his mortal declaration. It was merely a few heartbeats away from the Master's confirmation.

A skip and a hop, virtually gliding across the ice ensnared land would lead into immediate impalement. Wisps of glacial smoke drew up, blending a shroud around the view of what looked like Sora getting pierced from multiple angles. Yet for the astute, it'd be the sound of magic colliding against magic as his Heart sings with his potential. A honeycombed web of refractive energy being more than just a border from the attack.

"Well, as she said!"

"Let's give her a show!" Sora's face would look mirrored across multiple fragments before the Reflera spell bursts. It was an adaptive use of Aqua's introductory spell. Blazing gleams of light would howl and soar alongside any chippings of her glacial spikes, causing a shroud of shrapnel to head towards Pit in a wave. That in itself is a distraction in its own right.

DRIVE found itself beating vivacious within his being, calling to the wellspring of Light that sleeps deep within him. As Sora makes an abrupt jump over the wave, it'd be performed in the air as his figure becomes encased in golden clothes and glimmer. One Keyblade soon becomes two as the Hero gazes from above.

Master Form!

Similar to a comet wreath in light, he'd immediately make a drop towards his opponent. Those two keys in hand being swiftly whipped forward, a lightning coating imbuing them with cutting, rapidly rotating edges as a dual Strike raid intends to collide with his gut.

[mobauniverse]

Nevermore-M: Idle Immortal RPG (iOS / Android) Gameplay

🎁 REDEEM CODES 5STARRE OPEN23

🎮 DOWNLOAD 📲 Android https://play.google.com/store/apps/details?id=com.nvm.google 📲 iOS https://www.nvmrpg.com/222

🎮 SIZE 145 MB

🎮 DESCRIPTION Introduction:

Enjoy the thrill of adventure, uncover hidden truths, overcome difficult dungeons, and face constant challenges in this magical East-Asian metaphysical world, where you can fly and roam within the infinite clouds and endless deep seas. Customize your hero's outfits to show off your sense of style, make more lovely friends along the way, form an eternal alliance with them, and get in on the action in this brand-new world by taking part in the many exciting PvP events available, such as Dungeons, World BOSS Contention, Clan Battles, and more!

✦Featured✦

➤Unlimited Sword Flight With the immortal sword at your side, you can soar through the air at the speed of light, slay demons at will, and engage in the immortal air battle whenever and wherever you please, all while breaking through previously unconquerable distance barriers and opening up new possibilities for immortal cultivation!

➤Legendary BOSS Contends Legendary Bosses wielding divine set gears charge in with all their might! This is a server-wide challenge, so players from any server can join in the challenge and compete for their fair share of loot drops. Summon your friends and don't miss out on the thrill of competition and the chance to acquire the finest gear!

➤Skill Master Maneuvers The game's battle system makes use of the popular Quick Time Event (QTE) combo system, and it features tons of superb abilities that unleash an onslaught of mind-blowing scenes packed with nonstop action. But you'll need deft control maneuvering to pull off the best combos and deal the most damage possible.

➤Variety of Dungeon challenges As your quest progresses, you will venture into many uncharted regions, challenging perilous dungeons for mysterious loot. Depending on your choices, combat in each new region you discover could go one of two ways: dangerously or rewardingly!

➤Multiple options for Cultivation This RPG goes beyond the norm by introducing a new cultivation system with elements like souls, realms, deities, divine warriors, and more. Players can even choose between two separate cultivation paths, divinization and demonization, allowing for more freedom in character progression and a higher maximum power total!

➤Become the Leader of the Immortals In here, you can lead both immortals form the Western and Eastern mythology to fight against devil and rise to power in a new immortal world.

💌 COPYRIGHT MATTERS & PAID PROMOTION Email digitalcomicsuniverse@gmail.com

#gameplay #newgame #newmobilegame #mobilegaming #android #gaming #gamingmobile #androidgameplay #apk #games #videogames #gamedevelopment #mobilegame #gamedev #indiegames #indiedev #gamedesign #videogaming #gamer #androidgames #newgames

[satorugojowidow]

Kirara cursed technique explained “Love Rendezvous” -Interstellar flight-

Uses the Southern Cross constellation as a motif and assigns five stars to a target’s cursed energy. There is an order to approach from one star to other, that other is determinate by the depth of the constellation. If we name the star’s order like A, B, C, D and E, for example, the target assigned with star A can’t get close to start C, D or E without first passing by star B. If the target with star A tries to skip star B to reach star C, D or E will be repelled. That is the effect that Panda suffer when he tried to reach the door. In other hand, all the targets with the same cursed energy will be attracted in a similar effect like gravity. That is why Megumi was attracted to his divine dog.

About two targets with same curse energy (Megumi and his divine dog), the one with higher curse energy output attracts the other one. This is similar to gravity force, astronomical objects with higher mass and in consequences major gravity force would attract others. This is similar to the effect of the sun in our solar system. At the start, Megumi was pulled to his dog but when he enhanced himself with curse energy to guard against Kirara’s attacks, the dog was pulled to him.

The order of the stars is giving by the distance of Earth of each one. Kirara can switch the targets from one star to other. The stars are marked in curse energy but Kirara can mark objects by imbue with their own curse energy.

Why Southern Cross constellation?

Possibly because the number of stars was convenient to Gege. As a reference, the Southern Cross constellation is the most easily distinguished constellations as its hallmark and used a guide for navigation. The concept of “direction” of this constellation suits with the concept of the cursed technique.

About the name of the cursed technique “Love Rendezvous” -Interstellar flight

In a previous post, I mentioned some possible references:

Rendezvous pitch maneuver or backflip is how is popular called the The R-bar pitch maneuver (RPM). Was a maneuver performed by the Space Shuttle as it rendezvoused with the International Space Station (ISS) prior to docking. The Shuttle performed a backflip that exposed its heat-shield to the crew of the ISS that made photographs of it. Based on the information gathered during the rendezvous pitch maneuver, the mission team could decide that the orbiter was not safe for re-entry. They may have then decided either to wait on the ISS for a rescue mission or attempt extra-vehicular activity to repair the heat shield and secure the safe re-entry of the orbiter. This was a standard procedure recommended by CAIB for all space shuttles docking to the International Space Station after a damaged heat shield caused the Columbia disaster.

Rendezvous sync primitive. Rendezvous is an asymmetric synchronization primitive that allows two concurrent processes, the requester and the called party, to exchange data in a coordinated way. The process requesting the rendezvous must wait at the rendezvous point until the called process gets there. Likewise, the called process can reach the rendezvous before the applicant and must wait for him to arrive at the meeting point in order to continue processing. The image of waiting at the meeting point corresponds to placing a process on idle hold until the appointment is fulfilled. During rendezvous, processes can exchange data.

The data exchanged correspond to parameters of a call (from the requestor to the called process) and results of a call (from the called process to the requestor), without the need for intermediate storage.

“Interstellar Flight” and Rendezvous pitch maneuver are close related, since the second one is a maneuver for two spaceships to meet/ rendezvous.

Rendezvous sync primitive. Rendezvous is an asymmetric synchronization primitive that allows two concurrent processes, the requester and the called party, to exchange data in a coordinated way. This can be a hint of how the “marks” work to affect the capacity to move of the target.

Rendezvous not only refers to interstellar flights but also implies the idea of meet. And Kirara cursed technique works affecting the distance of the targets. Targets either are sticked to each other or pull apart.

There is a song named “Love Rendezvous” by M People. This song has this line “Kidnap me just for one night, the Earth will pass by if the ransom is right”. In the song there is an idea of escape with the love one. Since Kirara left the jujutsu high with Hakari, maybe this is a hint for the relationship.

[lostcybertronian]

Here in His Place

I reimagined Patroclus’s death scene from Song of Achilles into futuristic, spacey science fiction. Instead of wearing Achilles’s armor, Patroclus pilots his ship, the Hokumoros (swift-fated). I’m really proud of how this turned out.

Also posted on my A03.

Edit: the sequel is here: can you hear me, achilles?

---

I was never a fighter. I was never a particularly good tactician, either; nor was I a pilot, a soldier, a leader. But as I maneuver the Hokumoros into position at the head of my fleet, buried to the elbow in the pilot’s controls, head buzzing from the massive amount of input required to operate a vessel of this size, I realize in this moment I have become all these things. In all ways but one, I have become him; weapon and god, both. No longer subject to entropy but remaking it how I choose. 

    Something chimes behind me: a hailing from the Agamemnon. I know not its purpose, but it doesn’t matter. To answer would be to give me away.

    Instead I face the helm, face the assembling of Troy, its enormous flagship all but engulfed with smaller fighter craft. Flanking it are smaller ships of every denomination; allies offering aid, or mercenaries, seeking reward. From all around the galaxy, they have come to defend what they believe is theirs. What is actually ours.

    As Achilles would, I launch first, twin jets of flame searing open the cold, black void of space as I surge forward with the smooth click-whir of well-oiled machinery. My vessel is smaller than one would expect of a prince, allowing it greater speed and maneuverability, yet it is still far larger than the crafts my soldiers pilot. I close faster on the approaching forces than anyone, unleashing a round of blazing torpedoes that tear into metal and fuselage as a sword would into the soft flesh of men. I am gone before they offer retribution, diving with a flash of Phoenix-emblazoned gold-- despite Achilles’s adamant protests to stay at the fringes-- into the midst of my enemies, mouth gaping into a silent scream.

They become nothing but so much debris in my wake as I punch through them, volleying round after round of plasma shots into carapaces, fuel tanks, engines. Behind me echoes muffled explosions, but I do not look back even as shock waves shudder through me, even as the broadcast frequencies fizz out with a thousand voices— some orders, some the screams of dying men. 

I do not take orders; Achilles fights for himself. I will not be among the dying; my aim is true, my resolve absolute. To my port side is the Odyssey, smashing through Trojan craft as if they didn’t exist, occasionally blotted out on my screen by the dying star of a destroyed ship. Moments later I jet away, narrowly missing the torpedo that sets my systems alight, and the Odyssey disappears into the fray. 

The proximity alarm chimes, flooding my vision, and I nearly lose my newfound divinity in my scramble to avoid collision, shifting to the right just in time for the shot to race wide and strike a smaller Myrmidon ship. The man’s panicked cry— cut off suddenly— echoed over the general channel before dropping to static.

The Glory of Troy looms before me, a behemoth of a ship that seems to engulf my entire screen, the entire sky, even. Twenty, fifty, a hundred times the size of my craft it acts as the flagship for the entire army of Troy. I act fast, blood pounding in my ears, fingers dancing nimble over the controls to bring Hokumoros into a steep upward climb that drops my stomach to my feet and steals my breath from my slightly parted lips.

The thrill is still shivering down my spine when I come level with Glory’s flight deck; it is fully manned and its captain—Prince Hector himself— sits calm in the captain’s chair. Even from this distance his utter serenity is evident; he does not shake his fist, nor does he jab meaty fingers at the Hokumoros, demanding to know why I am not already dead. His head is, instead, tilted slightly upward, as if in silent prayer.

This sight lasts only moments before I pass over the ship, rocketing away from it. Already I am urging the ship into an about-face, a savage smirk pulling at my mouth. This too lasts seconds before it is falling from my face like it had never been.

Voices on the channel now, urging me to attack. To fight. But to breach the Glory would be to endanger Hector; to endanger Hector would be to doom my beloved Achilles. 

I wrestle with the controls, suddenly overwhelmed by the tidal wave of data surging through the interface and into my head. Shots ping off the hull, and the monotone voice of the AI within Hokumoro’s software informs me that my shields have failed.

I’m barely pulling away when the ship goes dead. Systems fall silent. My mind stutters to a halt as, suddenly, there is no more data. I am floating.

With a cry I jerk, begin pressing buttons, slam the broadcast button in my haste, at the same time Hokumoros sputters a halfhearted rebirth. Divinity is wrested from my fluttering hands as my utter lack thereof is sent across the channel for all to hear.

I am not Achilles. I am merely Patroclus, here in his place.

My proximity alarm chimes, and I look up. The Glory of Troy has spun, and is facing me, blocking my view of the battle still raging just beyond. Its weapons turrets have opened, and I see a trio of flame-wreathed torpedoes racing toward me. In mere seconds, they will destroy the Hokumoros with me inside.

They are strangely beautiful. I watch as they approach, rapid, like frightened rabbits. I watch as they strike, and my surroundings begin to bloom white.

Achilles, I think, and succumb. 

[shatapatrika]

This is for a D&D fan dragon character [url] https://www1.flightrising.com/dragon/49345070[/url]

The story is a bit too spicy for the site so I’m posting it here instead

Maroz had never expected to ever run into another of her kind. Given that aasimar manifested, rather than reproducing the way other races did, they just didn’t have the numbers to congregate into anything like a society, so she had simply accepted as a matter of fact that she would proceed through her existence alone among the other races.

She’d been contracted as a bodyguard for some spoiled little princess as a favor - her parents had owed a debt to the Goldwood family and had sold the Syet’s services for a period of time as a means of paying them back - and she encountered another aasimar as he was attempting to murder her charge.

The first and possibly last of her kind that she would ever meet, and he was Fallen. Maroz would later reflect that there was almost a poetic irony in that.

As much as she had disliked being forced to protect Aradia Goldwood - who was the most self-centered, stuck-up teenaged brat she had ever met and considering her own family this was truly saying something - Maroz was nevertheless a paladin and her oath dictated that she fight the greater evil.

The battle had been oddly thrilling. The second she had locked eyes with his glowing golden gaze, something inside of her came to attention, and she could tell immediately that he’d felt it too. It was as if their shared celestial heritage had reached out across the divide between them, and despite being able to quite literally smell the stench of a demon’s claim upon him, she still found herself wanting to draw out the fight as long as she could.

They were nearly evenly matched - it was something of a first for Maroz to actually have to look up slightly to meet someone’s gaze, and the power of his blows when they crossed weapons was strong enough for her to consider drawing another.

She was slightly hampered from having to defend her idiotic charge, who had not run off like Maroz had instructed but instead stayed a short distance away, watching the fight with tears in her eyes. Maroz kept trying to draw the other aasimar further back but he always managed to maneuver closer again.

When she saw him reach into his boot and pull out a weapon that practically radiated hellfire, Maroz panicked, and her celestial power manifested in a pair of luminous wings. The intense brightness made her opponent recoil, and she took the opportunity to grab her charge and leap skyward, praying to Tyr with all her might that she could use the wings to fly.

He must have been listening closely that day for the wings not only held them both aloft but lasted long enough for her to fly them to the safety of the Goldwood manor. They had no sooner alit upon one of the battlements when the wings flickered and faded away.

Maroz set Aradia on her feet, and the girl collapsed into a sobbing heap. Sending another prayer up for patience, Maroz finally managed to coax the story out of the girl.

The assassin had been operating under the guise of courting Aradia - sending small gifts and letters to woo her out from under the keen eye of her father, and Aradia had finally agreed to meet him earlier that day, having no idea she’d be meeting a killer instead of a lover. If it hadn’t been for Maroz’s divine senses warning her of danger, Aradia would have perished at the assassin’s hand.

The name he’d given Aradia was Arkos Aurum, which almost certainly had to be a fake name, but after doing some digging and asking around, Maroz discovered that the arrogant fool was, in fact, using his own name rather than an alias. He was the favored assassin of a fire demon by the name of Mephistopheles, and given that he’d killed most of the people he came in contact with, it probably didn’t matter if his marks knew his name or not.

No one seemed to know where he resided, although if he was in a demon’s pocket he probably had access to the kind of transportation magic that would let him come and go as he pleased. Maroz was startled to learn that his parents had both been aasimar as well, which was very unusual indeed.

She’d taken the pertinent parts of what she’d learned to her employer, and Lord Goldwood had turned a pastier shade of white than he already was at the name of the demon.

Maroz had been curious why the assassin had targeted Aradia - spoiled brat she might be, but as far as Maroz knew the girl had done nothing to draw the attention of a demon. Her father, on the other hand, was clearly a different story.

He’d gone into debt to Mephistopheles seventeen years ago trying to find a cure for his beloved wife’s barrenness, and had fallen behind on his loan. Not out of lack of funds, as his wealthy estate spoke volumes about the state of his coffers. No, he’d decided that he’d paid enough coin to a demon and didn’t want to “endanger his immortal soul” any further than he already had.

Hence him calling in his favor with the Yarkays for protection.

Mephistopheles had apparently decided that if Lord Goldwood wasn’t going to pay for the results he’d gotten, he shouldn’t get to keep said results, hence the assassin targeting the daughter rather than her parents.

After taking some time to meditate and ask Tadriel for guidance, Maroz concluded that, stupid though Lord Goldwood had been to renege on his deal, Mephistopheles was the greater evil here, and his assassin wasn’t going to accept defeat so easily. Maroz had never fought a higher demon before, and she certainly wasn’t going to do so alone, so she contacted the head of her order and laid out her dilemma. They agreed to send several paladins in the area to her location, so they could convene and make a plan of attack.

In the meantime, Maroz had to fend off Arkos three more times, each battle harder and more furious than the last. She discovered that he was indeed a warlock the night he managed to portal into Aradia’s bedroom, which raised some interesting questions about just how far he’d gotten in his seduction of the girl.

Surprisingly, though, he preferred to use his weapons rather than his magic - Maroz sensed it might be something of a point of pride with him. She had no such qualms and used every spell she had the strength to use in order to keep him at bay.

He also never reached for that hellfire dagger again, never mind that it probably would have won him the fight, which told her there was something more going on than him attempting to complete a job, so despite her common and divine sense both screaming at her to reconsider, she tackled him back through the portal he’d made.

“Close it,” she hissed, rising to a crouch above his prone form with her sword at his throat. His golden eyes blazed in frustration before he finally closed them and complied. Maroz backed away and let him rise to his feet - a risk, to be sure, but taking a quick look around, she saw they were in what appeared to be his bedroom, and she’d noticed how meticulous he seemed to be about his appearance the one time she’d ruined what had apparently been a favorite coat of his, so she doubted he’d want to risk a fight amidst such a significant collection of his finery.

She held her sword at the ready, just in case.

“You can put that away, I’m done fighting for now,” he grumbled, brushing himself off and straightening his clothes. He tsked when he noticed a tear in one of the cuffs of his shirt, and without so much as a by your leave he whisked it off and tossed it into a corner of the room, which held a pile of what were probably similarly damaged articles of clothing.

Maroz cursed her pale complexion as she felt her entire face flush hotly at his boldness in undressing in front of her, but she didn’t dare turn her back. Unwittingly, she felt her gaze drift along his well-muscled torso, and cursed inwardly at having to face such a handsome opponent in this way. He smiled slyly when he noticed her discomfort.

“Shy, are we? I didn’t realize the paladin orders were requiring a vow of chastity now,” he murmured, and looked her up and down with a lingering glance, which made her blush even harder under his frank administration. “Pity, our little brawl has me all fired up and it’s been ages since I tumbled someone strong enough to give me that kind of a run for my money.”

Maroz stuttered for a second before finding her tongue.

“Oh, teenagers aren’t enough [i]sport[/i] for you, assassin?” She hissed, starting to bring her sword back up, because shirt or no shirt, she wasn’t going to stand here and take that kind of attitude from a man who went around seducing children.

And she wasn’t some blushing virgin, no matter her current countenance, but who wouldn’t be at least a little uncomfortable in the face of such an absolute lack of propriety?

“No need for that judging tone, my dear, the job is distasteful but we all do what we must to survive. And please, call me Arkos.”

“I’m not your dear, and I’ll call you by name when I’ve sent you to-”

“Hell?” He chuckled. “Been there, done that, got the singed clothes to prove it. The brimstone stench never does come out of leather,” he sighed in remembered dismay.

Then he leaned forward - when had he gotten so close?! - and thrust a hand against the wall she’d put her back to, caging her in. His other reached up and placed a finger against her lips, silencing her protest.

“Shhshsh, we’re about to have company, and not the polite sort either. Drop your sword, play along and we’ll both survive.”

With that, he grabbed hold of her and switched their positions, with her now laid out along his body and her hands braced against the wall, the sword clattering to the ground, while his hands migrated, one straying to her waist and the other drifting up to grab her neck and direct her into a passionate kiss.

Her eyes went wide with shock as he moaned loudly, and for all that the sound was theatrically exaggerated, they were pressed so tightly together that she could tell there was nothing fake about his… enthusiasm. Maroz let out a muffled noise of protest when he grabbed her bottom and dragged her closer, hitching her leg over his hip, but that only gave him further access to her mouth, which he plundered with shameless abandon.

Her pulse was pounding in her ears, her blood felt like it was on fire, and the longer he kissed her, the harder it became to remember why this wasn’t something she should be doing. She’d felt drawn to him from the very beginning, but never had she imagined that attraction would take such a physical form. She was shook by the strength of her body’s visceral reaction to him, the sheer amount of [i]want[/i] he’d unleashed in her, and ultimately she found herself giving in. He ground her body slowly against his, then faster, picking up a rhythm that had both of them moaning in tandem, until the door to the room was violently kicked open, startling them into breaking the kiss.

Maroz started to go for her sword, which had landed on the ground a short distance away, but Arkos’ warning squeeze on her neck reminded her that there was a part to be played here, and she reached instead for a near-forgotten memory of finding one of her ditzier siblings in a similar situation.

Slumping against him, she arranged her features into a pout and languidly turned her head to look at the intruders.

It took everything she had not to visibly react to seeing a demon standing slightly behind two very large thugs. She lowered her lashes, and said in a drawl, “Honey, you didn’t mention this was gonna be a party, I’d’a dressed up different. I know you like all that role-playin’ stuff but you gotta tell me these things ahead of time so’s I can… prepare.” She turned back to Arkos and all but purred the last word into his face, walking her fingers up his naked chest before wiggling them meaningfully at him. She silently relished his poleaxed expression before he managed to recover his smarmy façade.

“No, my dear,” he smiled reassuringly at her and stroked away the stray hair that had come free from her braid during their embrace, tucking it behind her ear. “Tonight’s party was only meant for two, don’t you fret. I know you charge extra for… extras.”

The two thugs growled, but the demon chuckled, a soft sound that raised the hair on the back of Maroz’s neck. Arkos soothed her wordlessly, rubbing his other hand up and down her back, and she realized she’d started to stiffen up, body unconsciously reacting to a threat, and she forced herself to relax against him again.

“It never fails to astonish me how you half-breeds always seem to manage to find one another, despite the incredible odds,” Mephistopheles said, tone dripping with gleeful malice. “And I would be downright shocked at discovering one had turned to whoring but then again, I do know Arkos, so.” There was a rustle of fabric, and Maroz could practically see the nonchalant shrug that accompanied it.

Arkos laughed, a short, bitter bark of a sound.

“Yes, you do know me, but I’ll thank you not to recount all my sins or we’ll be here the rest of the night, and I only paid for a few hours.”

“You’ll pay for more than that if you don’t start doing your [i]job[/],” the demon hissed, his civilized demeanor dropping away like the discarded mask that it was. Maroz could feel the temperature of the room start to rise, and she began mentally running through the invocation for a magic circle. Her best bet was probably to cast it around Mephistopheles rather than the two of them… it wouldn’t be enough to stop the thugs since humans weren’t the intended targets of the spell, but if she couldn’t hold a demon with it then she didn’t deserve her rank as a paladin.

To her surprise, though, Arkos laughed again, and this time there was true amusement in the sound.

“Have I ever once failed you, Mephisto?” He said chidingly. “I’ve always gotten the job done, regardless of whatever it takes, or how long it takes to get it done. This one’s just… taking a little longer than I expected, is all.” He shrugged, in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way, and to Maroz’s amazement, Mephistopheles seemed to be appeased by this statement.

“True, very true. You are… annoyingly thorough about your work when you decide to be. Just don’t let anymore… distractions get in the way. This job is an important one, I’m under pressure myself here so I’d appreciate a bit more speed in the execution. Apparently there’s a prophecy involved and one of the higher ups would prefer it not… come to fruition, as it were. Frankly, I was hoping to find you with the girl so I could at least report that there was no need to worry about her getting pregnant by some holier-than-thou twit of a knight… ah well, no sense in a demon hoping for a miracle, eh? Eh?”

His thugs startled into awkward laughter, and Arkos chuckled along as well. Maroz gave a nervous little titter, and clutched onto Arkos a little more tightly. It was looking more and more like this encounter somehow [i]wouldn’t[/i] end in bloodshed and hellfire, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down. A little difficult to maintain said guard given that she was unarmed, pressed face to naked chest with one… sort-of enemy and her back to three more, but well. She’d had worse odds.

“It seems like I’ve got other fish to fry tonight since you’ve once again eeled your way out of trouble, but remember that I’m the reason why you can afford fancy clothes and exotic bed warmers of all persuasions.”

“How could I possibly forget, my esteemed patron?” The smarminess practically oozed from Arkos’ voice, but rather than irritating the demon, he seemed instead to take it as his due.

“See that you don’t. Come along, minions.” Maroz didn’t hear him leave, but she could definitely hear the thugs as they stomped out of the room, dragging the door closed behind them.

She and Arkos waited for what felt like an eternity before he finally sighed in relief.

“Good gracious, that was close. Thought I’d finally used up the last of my luck, but the gods apparently aren’t through with me yet, because they sent me you. You are a wonder!” He grabbed her by the hips and swung her in a circle, laughing delightedly before falling backwards onto his bed and dragging her on top of him and into another kiss.

Maroz, who was over six feet tall, was understandably taken aback at being hoisted up so easily, like she weighed nothing to him. She blushed faintly at the praise, and blushed some more at the position they’d ended up in. They broke apart for breath and she stared down at him. He was so beautiful, his eyes shining in joy, that it was hard to remind herself of the circumstances that had brought them both here.

And though it almost pained her to stop, to watch the joy dim as he read her decision in her face, she couldn’t in good conscience go any further than she already had.

The smile he gave her as she got up from the bed to fetch her sword was so brittle she half expected it to break off of his face, a fragment of a mask, but what was underneath?

Regret?

Perhaps.

Neither of them said a word as she left.

Maroz knew better than to think she could, what, save him? Pffft. Arkos had made his choices long before he met her. It was the height of egotism to think meeting her might somehow cause him to rethink those choices, never mind make different ones.

No. He’d made his bed, and she wasn’t about to share it with him, no matter how pretty he was.

But the key to the gate of the Nine Hells she found in her pocket later made her wonder if she’d made a difference in him after all.