#signal airship

[strqyr]

sometimes you spent too much time on trying to figure out a distance between two places just to figure out how long it would take to travel from point A to point B via different methods.

other times you take the closest real world equivalent that you're most familiar with and call it a day.

in completely unrelated news i have decided (after giving up trying to measure things based on what we know of lake matsu's size) that the distance between vale and patch is the same as the distance between helsinki and tallinn and that a ferry ride between the two would take about two hours.

[lesinquietes]

In which Alucard and his Deity!Darling are on a mission together, and he loses control when she gives him a glimpse of submission🪽✨

18+ (minors dni) // light almost-smut, yandere

Limerence

Alucard pins you beneath him, catching you by surprise. He clutches your wrists with rough claws. When you fall, it’s behind a set of bushes. Before you can sputter and protest, airships, no doubt seeking Hellsing presence, whizz by above you. Their bright search lights are fixed on the path you were once walking. If you would have stayed there, they would have caught you. Given the urgency of your matter, that wouldn’t have been preferable; there’s no telling how many soldiers they would have sent.

Gathered in such an intimate position, he’s shocked you’re not fighting him. He supposes you’ve learned to pick your poison. He doesn’t mean any harm to you… yet.

He waits for you to ask him to get up. You don’t. The ships have long passed. He wonders if you’re simply frozen with anticipation. He knows what that’s like, to be tantalized by the moment.

“That was close.” You mutter eventually. “They’re getting more desperate.”

“They are.” He agrees grimly. “Their interference would have been a nuisance.”

His piercing orbs trace your jawline, watching as you swallow whatever else you wanted to say. Such a pretty throat you have. The blood there is celestial. He’s never tasted the nectar of a deity before. He wonders if it’s toxic to a creature like him. If so, then maybe he was meant to perish like this, at your whim; maybe you were meant to die together.

He refuses to allow his impulses to overwhelm him. You’ve been warming up to him lately. While your edges remain quite sharp, they’ve significantly softened since your first encounter. Without the proper signals, he won’t completely cross your boundaries.

Meanwhile, you adjust beneath him. Inspecting his pale face, you think he’s rather handsome. In the moonlight, even more so. His glasses are off, revealing irises with subliminal messaging, coaxing you to submit. You huff. Vampires are a cocky breed. You’ve encounter his kind in the past. They were the same as him — snarky and sure of themselves… until they weren’t.

You’ll show him. He may be the father of all vampires, but you’re certain you’ve handled worse threats. Contrary to what he might believe, you’re not one to be dominated.

“I could have handled myself.” You whisper, eyes peering into his. “But… thank you.”

He pauses. Your energy is shifting. You’re receptive to him. After endless nights of watching over you, having you grow used to his presence, ensuring that you miss him when he’s not around — are you finally ready?

“You could have handled yourself.” The vampire echoes. “Is that why I was the one to act?”

He dips down, smooth black locks tickling your face. Brazenly, his lips brush against yours. He closes his eyes for the serene moment, taking you in. He’s amused that you don’t pull away. Yes, perhaps you want this, too.

“My sweet Goddess.” He purrs. “Have I not shown you that I’m capable of protecting you?”

You stir restlessly. He notices your thighs rubbing together, unconsciously creating friction in your lower region. You don’t seem to have any control over your physical form. Humanistic sensations are afflicting you. Lust is meant to be a foreign concept to higher beings, isn’t it? You’re reaching for a forbidden fruit.

“You… have done your best.” You admit, frowning gently. “I thanked you, didn’t I?”

“Thanked me!” He scoffs incredulously, planting a ginger kiss to your jaw. “The woman of my deepest fixations need not give me gratitude; she need only give me a fair chance.”

He indulges in your beauty, trying with every fibre of his undead being to avoid stealing a glance at your neck. His mood is different than it was a moment earlier. He wants to feed on you while he fucks you. The urge is damn near unable to be repressed.

“I want to claim you.” He confesses, voice husky and baritone. “But… I shouldn’t.”

He tries to believe what he says. He really, really does. Except he can see the panic rising on your features, and it’s driving his animalistic senses up the wall. It’s the first glimpse of your anxiety. You, a gorgeous creature, trusted a starving vampire to get this close to you.

The vulnerability you’re exuding is intoxicating. It’s making his head spin. He inhales your natural scent. His long tongue flickers out to lap upthe subtle layer of sweat on your quivering throat. That’s enough deliberation. That’s enough abstaining. He’s going to do it. He can’t stop himself.

Maybe you really are a witch, casting spells to lower his locus of control so you can vanquish him when he’s preoccupied. He chuckles darkly. That would be fun. He’s always preferred a mate he can play with prior to totally dominating them.

“My dear… you’re irresistible.”

Alucard’s fangs protrude, and he gradually sinks down to the area above your collarbone. Softly, you moan. He hums approvingly when you bear your neck for him. His mesmerizing orbs become predatorial. He’s dreamt of this moment. He going to guide you into the afterlife with him, and make you his first wife in decades.

At the last second, the tides shift.

From the heavens, a ray of light rains down on him. He notices a second too late. By the time he retracts, and leaps back from you, one of his long legs is trapped in the beam. It severs instantly. Although he doesn’t feel it, there’s a humiliation to the act which causes him to howl.

He skids to one knee and bares his teeth. With a gloved hand, he wipes the drool that dropped from the side of his mouth — evidence of his lust for you. He’s speechless. Rage and vigour twist in his chest.

You’re hovering a few inches above the ground. A bright light pours out of your eye sockets and mouth. You’re grinning at him.

“You didn’t actually think I’d willingly let you turn me, did you?” You snicker cruelly. “Foolish Dracula.”

He growls lowly. You know what it does to him when he hears you utter his name — his true alias from days of old.

“Tempting little witch.” He snarls, fangs protruding from his ajar mouth. “Why do you give me the illusion of possessing you, as if I have not spent countless nights resting on your limerence?”

He lost sight of himself. His safety ought to override his impulses. But in that moment, when he saw how submissive you — a powerful Goddess — were being to his touch, he was a slave to desire. You could have killed him with your offensive light. That excites him. You really are capable of eviscerating Anderson, aren’t you?

You return to the ground. The whiteness beaming from your eyes and mouth also tapers off. You’re back to how he recognizes you in no time, except the smirk hasn’t left your features.

“Can I rely on you to keep your mind on the mission, thirsty corpse?”

He wonders what it would be like to overpower you now. You wouldn’t let him win easily. In fact, he doesn’t know the extent of your strength just yet. You stand a good chance of destroying him. He’ll have to be patient if he wants a shot at obtaining you.

He’s coming around to the idea that it wasn’t the time to turn you. Integra would have been pissed. She was lenient when he turned Seras, but you? And in the middle of a crucial expedition, no less? She wouldn’t have shown him mercy this time. But… part of him doesn’t care; part of him — a deep, hushed voice at the back of his mind — urges him to do it anyways, that a mighty king is more than deserving of an all-powerful queen. It’s you who incites the covetous side of him.

“You can.” Alucard snickers humourlessly. “Until our work together is complete.”

Previous l

[its-your-mind]

Some Thoughts on the importance of physical touch and connection for the Hells: A reflection on the new animated intro.

In general, I think the Hells are a really strange and special group, especially for a dnd party. They pretty much laid all their baggage on the table within the first week of meeting each other (What the Fuck is Up With That?) almost as a litmus test: "hey, here's all the shit that comes with being me, last chance to run away if that's too much."

and none of them did. and they all kept choosing to stay, even as shit got even weirder and more and more disturbing answers came to light. I think that continued choice from all of them - to stay - is what makes the bonds between the Hells so deep and so special.

okay trauma analysis and party dynamics is a DIFFERENT POST but it was all RELEVANT INTRODUCTION bc the CHOOSING TO STAY and the KNOWING EACH OTHERS' SHIT are like. key components to understanding why I am so feral about this. okay hopefully you will understand. the body of my essay is below. it has pictures. it got... too long. so. it went under a read more. yw. anyway click below if you want a very detailed analysis of an animated intro that is literally only one minute and thirty seconds long

For the first bit, character intros for Fearne, Orym, Imogen, Ashton, there’s no physical contact.

BUT. First intro of hells as a team. Ashton Trauma Flashback interrupted by laudna approaching slowly from beside him with her hand gently in front of him to signal her presence without startling him, and THEN just talking at them. Bringing him out of those flashbacks. Reminding him where he is and who he’s with.

And tbh? For Ashton? Touch is always iffy, so this is almost a more understanding and kind way to bring them out of the flashback. Just physical presence is good! UNLESS. (unless) first actual touch. Fearne stealing their coin purse, so gently that they don’t even notice it (FLIRTING THROUGH THEFT callowmoore my beloved)

(also grabbed the cap that shows her with his coinpurse these fucking ANIMATORS)

okay pt 2 FLYING OFF THE AIRSHIP

Ashton's first instinct and priority is grab laudna’s hand bc he KNOWS she is made of paper mache and he is ALWAYS watching out for her out of the corner of his eye bc she is breakable and he’s not gonna let her break bc he KNOWS what it’s like to be breakable and need someone to catch you when you’re falling but ANYWAY. he grabs her he uses his hammer as a fulcrum to throw her at Imogen

because OF COURSE he knows that the safest and most comfortable space for laudna is in imogen’s arms. and the two of them wrap their arms around each other and hold tight Superman style bc ofc they do and once laudna is in imogen’s arms she’s absolutely delighted by this whole situation bc OFC SHE IS

(tf do you mean I can’t add more than ten images on mobile UGH fine I’ll finish writing then draft and move to PC the images are IMPORTANT TO MY POINT anyway insert lesbians here) (note from future mind: I have decided that these pic descriptions i left for myself to grab the right images are fucking hilarious so they’re staying in yw)

Then fearne (who had been on her way in that direction already) swoops under Ashton to catch him as he flips over from the momentum so he can land on her giant bird back and she can fly him away.

(Pics: It’s fine to touch Ash if you’re saving their life)

(also not pictured: chet staying on the ship but losing his hat, orym grabbing it out of the air, imogen casting fly on fcg right before she catches laudna, fcg flying over to grab orym) All of this happens in six seconds by the way. One round of combat. These animators are fucking incredible.

BACK TO CHARACTER INTROS laudna who is ofc alone and in the dark at the bottom of the Sun tree, reliving her past…

(Pic: sad lonely laudna)

right up until Imogen puts her head on her shoulder, and the darkness burns away into light. She doesn’t say anything, or talk with laudna - all it takes is that physical reminder that she’s not alone anymore, that there is warmth, that she is surrounded by a family who loves her so much they chose to turn down comfortable beds in a lord’s manor so that they could join her in sleeping at the bottom of the Sun Tree. (Fav lil detail - fearne wrapped around Orym like he’s a teddy bear, and holding tight to laudna’s blanket to make sure she can’t go anywhere.)

(Pics: THE POWER OF LESBIANS AND FOUND FAMILY)

fcg. Fuck. Starts with their flashback, with their red eyes and their buzzsaw, but almost immediately we see Ashton reach out to grab their shoulder and Orym whip out a vine to tie up their saw.

(pics: reaching out even if it might hurt youuuuu)

Imogen goes on her knees and wraps her arms around FCG’s other side, and the rest of them all gather around him, holding him to keep him and each other safe, but mostly just grounding him in the present by surrounding him physically until the flashback fades and he’s once more aware of his surroundings.

(Pics: what the fuck they just need to be held)

(once shit has calmed down fearne uses this opportunity to pick Ashton’s pocket again. Flirting through theft).

(Pic: fearne is a menace to society)

final fight scene. fuck yes.

(Pic: IT’S THURSDAY NIIIIIIIIIIIGHT)

This is mostly just giving all of them room to be badasses (as they deserve) - but there are some things!! First!!

(pics: THESE WITCHES BE BITCHES minus fearne sry fearne we miss u but you are on fire and laudna is made of wood currently)

Imogen and laudna casting spells back to back, trusting each other to take care of what’s on their side. Inseparable, even in a battle where their party has scattered to fight other enemies.

BUT. The BIG thing though in this sequence. Maybe my favorite part? Idk I don’t have a favorite. But!! Orym. taking out four of Otohan’s shadow knights. then facing off against her personally!! And it’s one-on-one, because this was Orym’s task alone - to find the person who attacked his leader and killed his family. He’s angry, but mostly he’s honed-in and focused and determined. This is his mission.

(Pics: WHO’S JUST A LIL GUY NOW HUH)

But then, when Otohan pushes him back…

(Pic: fuck. shit. fuck. im. fine. anYway. them.)

FCG and Ashton are there right behind him, and they put their arms out and catch him so he doesn’t fly back any farther. And there’s this look of surprise on his face, because once he lost Will, he never expected there to be anyone else standing behind him, ready to catch him. And yet, here they are.

(Pics: fuck yes fuck yes fuck yes GOOOO ORYM!!!)

They give Orym a push forward and follow behind him, and he walks back towards Otohan with confidence. Lil grin on his face, brisk walking pace - he even does a little fancy sword swoosh! Because maybe he’s not strong enough to take out Otohan on his own. But the thing is, he’s not alone anymore.

(Pic: THEY.)

None of them are alone. And whenever any of them forget, or slip into old habits and memories, the rest are right there to reach out a hand to remind them.

Building a family out of broken pieces is difficult even without an apocalypse. But the Hells have shown each other, over and over and over, often with their actions even more than their words, that they really are dedicated to this family that they've built together. This intro fucking slaps so hard and the animators deserve so much praise for how incredible this intro is

[starvine]

☾ ⋆* kiss it better

pairing: neteyam sully x fem!omaticaya reader

genre: fluff, angst

synopsis: all you wanted to do was serve your people. however, when you get injured, your mission is cut short. neteyam insists upon patching you up and decides to explain his concerns for your well-being and future together.

warnings: battle stuff, guns, blood, battle injuries, medical jargon, stitches, minor swearing (?), allusions to mating/sex ig, aged-up neteyam

word count: 7.9k

notes: IT’S HERE! i’m very excited to have started writing again, and although i’m very casual about when i write, i hope to be somewhat consistent lol. enjoy this for now, i have more planned for the future! i hope you all enjoy, pls reblog/comment/etc if you feel so inclined <33

The air was tense today, thick with disciplined focus as you keep your ears alert for any incoming airships. Reeking of smoke and burning metal, a scent that is foreign and unpleasant to your nose, you remain aware of everything and anything. Gray clouds billowing and a pungent smell that cling to the back of your throat like a hand with a vice grip—nothing was natural. 

Tilting your forehead forward, you hope your visor, decorated with teeth and interwoven pieces, will shield your eyes from the wind. You hold your bow tightly, the wood smooth against your fingers as you use your other hand to guide your ikran swiftly through the air. 

“Calm, calm,” you soothe her, tapping your fingers along her strong neck. 

You’re anxious today. Not because of the imminent arrival of the Sky People, their ships ready to fire metal bullets at you at any second; you’ve dealt with that many times before. No, the reason you’re nervous is because of Neteyam. 

Today is Neteyam’s first day participating in the raid—well, his first raid on the ground with his father’s permission—rather than being a part of the aerial surveillance team. You tried to insist that you should accompany him, but, due to his wishes, you remained in the air beside his mother. 

 “Do you see anything yet?” Neytiri’s voice asks over the intercom. 

Bringing your fingers to your throat to press the responding button, you reply, “Nothing yet.” 

“I’m going to fly down to help gather some of the gear. You stay here,” she orders, raising her bow to signal that she and her ikran were descending. 

“Let us know if you spot any bogeys. We’ve got some heavy-duty gear and need as much time as possible,” Jake informs you over the intercom. 

“Roger that, sir,” you say, steering your ikran closer to where the enemy would most likely be approaching. 

Ears twitching back and forth, you attempt to pick up the whir of an aircraft amongst the orders commanded, the creaks and minor explosions occurring from the Meg-Lev train your people have intercepted, and the wind blowing past you. You hope that maybe you could track a scent, sniffing the air a couple of times to no avail. It’s all smoke and metal. The skies were calm, except for your ikran’s screeching, however, they couldn’t be for long. There was no way those demons would allow your people to escape that easily. 

“Hey,” Neteyam breathes over the intercom, a slight huff of your name. You could hear the smile on his face. “How’re things looking up there?” 

“What happened to using my code name?” you question, peering over your ikran in an attempt to find him along the ground. “I’ll tell you if I see anything. I know how to do my job, you know.” 

“Just double checking,” 

You scoff, guiding your ikran to the right. “Maybe you should focus on gathering all of the gear instead,” 

“Oh, really? Maybe you should-”

Suddenly, your ears flex forward, focused on the faint whirring of something mechanical and man-made; something that was not naturally occurring within your world. 

“Airships spotted! Everyone, move!” you shout over the intercom. You yelp out into the open air, pumping your bow in tandem with the three shouts you release to alert your fellow brothers and sisters in battle. 

Just as people begin clambering for their ikrans and direhorses, the two Scorpions start firing. The relentless pop of military guns fills your ears, causing your tail to swish frantically and your ears to perk forward. 

Using a high pitch, you signal for your ikran to dive, swooping up and under the two fighter pilots. 

“Do not engage! I repeat, do not engage! I want minimal casualties today,” Jake commands over the intercom, the background full of shouts and grunts. 

“Jake, I’ve got to take out these two airships. They’re already taking down ikrans,” you spoke, peering up at the airships as you stealthily soar below. 

Just then, Neteyam responds. 

“No! Listen to my father, do not engage. I can lead the people to safety,” 

“There won’t be any people to lead if I don’t take these airships down.” 

Neteyam groans your name in warning, the sound of shouts heard from all around. “Would you listen for once?” 

Jake barks your name, frustrated and frantic. “Get out of there! Get back to the High Camp!” he orders. You begin mapping out the plan of your attack. “That is a direct order!”

“I’m sorry, Jake,” you respond, ignoring all that comes after. 

Your ikran shoots straight up into the air, coming close to the tail-end of the Scorpion gunship. You arch over the top of the gunship, upside down and looping over to the front side. The sun high in the sky and its beams creating a glare on the glass makes it difficult for you to spot the pilot. Upon finding his location, you draw the string of your bow taught, ready to fire. 

“Incoming! Enemy on-”

You shriek upon release. The arrow flies straight through the glass, nailing your target right in the chest. 

The gunship begins to tilt forward, preparing for its decline. As a hunter and warrior, it was your duty to pay respects to the creatures you killed in order to sustain the way of life. Kneeling over them, declaring your thanks, and wishing for their safe return to rest amongst the Great Mother was a sacred practice. However, as the gunship crashed and blew up in flames, hot and angry, you felt no thanks or remorse. They did not deserve to rest peacefully, and they didn’t even deserve to die on the Great Mother’s sacred soil. Their spirits deserved to walk alone, isolated and cold from the warm glow of the afterlife. 

“You skxawng! What the hell are you doing?” Neteyam screams. 

Looking around, you see the green back of his ikran, its rider perched on top with no visible concerns except for the fury etched on his face. 

“I got this! It’s just one more,” you insist, positioning an arrow on your bow, eyeing the last gunship. 

“May the Great Mother help you when I knock-” and with that, he’s easily ignored. 

The wind whips past you, high and soft, almost like a whisper from Eywa that she too felt the tensions of battle. You would do anything to soothe her pain. She could not endure the suffering of this war much longer. 

Tightening your grip on your ikran, her blues providing a stark contrast to the grayness of the military equipment, you attack from the rear yet again. Guns firing, you duck, placing yourself as flat as you can get against her back. However, once you approach the opening of the ship, where all of the massive guns were placed, you sit up, firing quickly. 

The scream and weak grunt you heard confirms that it was a successful hit. Loading your bow with another arrow, you soar underneath the aircraft, looping around until you have the high ground. Securing your aim, your fingers release the string until the arrow flies straight into one of the Scorpion's propellers. A small explosion soon turned into a large one, the ship dipping to its left and falling from its dominant space in the sky to the dirt. 

However, so were you.

You must’ve underestimated how close you were to the ship, your eagerness to protect your people and the Great Mother clouded your judgment. 

The sound and burst of light, as well as the force, must’ve spooked your companion as she, too, seemed to have lost her place in the sky. She tumbles towards the ground, shrieks and roars released into the open air. Jaw clenched, you tried to convince her to gain control to no avail. 

“Come on!” you shout, knuckles turning a pale blue with the tight grip you had. 

As you neared the ground, panic began to set in. Your ears lay flat against your head in an attempt to not become overwhelmed by the wind, you tried to think quickly. 

You could stay with your ikran, but you would both get injured; you could also disconnect from her and leap from the group, in hopes of only injuring yourself. 

Deciding on the latter, you had one plea for the Great Mother: 

“Please don’t let Neteyam kill me.” 

Disconnecting your kuru, you leap the rest of the way to the ground, the shock of the force of your fall causing you to fall instead of landing perfectly on your feet. The ship crashes a couple of yards in front of you, the force of the blast propelling you forward. 

Rolling and skidding along the dirt, pieces of gravel and discarded glass and metal tear at your skin. Red begins to bubble up along the surface, the violent opposite of your blue skin. 

Tumbling down a hill, you lose your grip on your bow, the wood being left behind in your trail. The burning sensation of your flesh being scraped away keeps you alert, blindly clutching at anything to break your fall. 

Eventually, you slow to a stop, landing on your stomach with a mouthful of dirt. Spitting and coughing up the soil, you take a minute to catch your breath. With a slight raise of your head, you look at the ship as the flames crackle and cause a film of sweat to break out on your skin. That hunk of metal was truly ugly against the backdrop of the forest. 

You begin to slowly sit up, a sharp pain coming from your side. A cut, not deep enough to need stitches, slowly oozes blood down your left rib, crimson staining the skin. It looks swollen, screaming to be disinfected immediately. Reaching behind you to check for any more severe wounds, you arch away from your nimble fingers just upon a light graze. The heat from the explosion must’ve irritated the skin, causing soreness and slight bubbling in some places. 

Minor scrapes along your knees and elbows from what you could see and feel, makes you thank Eywa for her protection and the benign wounds. Stumbling onto your feet, you catch sight of something unnatural. 

A small piece of metal protrudes from the side of your thigh, embedded into the flesh. Staring at the shrapnel, you’re reminded that your world doesn’t just belong to you anymore. Even if the Sky People were to disappear and return back to their planet, the scientists would remain here. Their clunky gear and massive structures would continue to reside amongst the nature of Pandora. 

Something about that notion makes your heart sink. 

You lightly touch the silvery metal, trying to gauge how deep the foreign object must be. It felt stiff and unwilling to relent to your touch, confirming that it was not something you could brush off. Taking a step forward, a broad, aching pain festers throughout your leg. It hurt less if you put less pressure on the limb, however, that would be hard to do on your journey back to the High Camp. 

Picking up your bow from the ground, arrows broken and scattered around, you slowly mount your ikran, muttering expletives to yourself at the pain that dwelled throughout your entire body. 

Neteyam was surely going to kill you. 

Upon your arrival, after an arduous flight back home, you slowly slid off your companion onto the uneven rock. Blood oozed out from around the metal, the object having dug deeper into the surface the more you moved. With one hand clutching your rib and another trying to steady the object, you hoped to stumble into a healing area before you were noticed by a Sully. 

Turns out, you’re not as stealthy as you thought. 

“She’s back! She’s back!” a high-pitched cheer sounded, a small girl bouncing towards you. Tuk’s big grin slowly faded into a look of concern and worry as she sized up your injuries. “Mom! Kiri! She’s hurt!” 

The younger girl prances over to you, lifting your arms and examining your body from front to back. You feel the small girl brush against your tail, which was agitatedly flicking back and forth. 

With a sigh of your name, you see Tuk’s mother and elder sister approach you, war paint still decorating Neytiri’s face in vibrant greens and yellows. She gasps upon spotting the dirt, blood, and bruising that has blossomed across your skin, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as her eyes fill with worry. 

“We must get her to grandmother,” Kiri announces to her mother, clutching your upper arm as softly as she could without hurting you. 

“There’s no need. I can do it myself,” you try to assure her, taking a fumbling limp forward. 

“There is a piece of metal sticking out of your leg.” 

You glance down, almost as if you hadn’t noticed it at all before. It was a futile attempt, especially as you used your fingers to brace the object, preventing it from moving too much. “There is?” 

“Damn, bro!” Lo’ak exclaims, waltzing up beside you and trying his best to not laugh at your given failure. “Looks like someone got their ass handed to them by some Sky People,” 

Hissing at him, you weakly push at his chest to show him that you weren’t interested in his jokes right now. 

“Lo’ak!” his mother scolds, hitting him upside the head. 

“What?! What I’d do?!” 

Then, the two people you desperately wanted to avoid came into view: Neteyam and his father. Jake had a stern, militant look on his face—a facade that seemed to follow him everywhere he went. Neteyam’s face was set into a deep frown, a look that was a delicate cross between his mother’s and father’s disappointed faces. 

“Well, would you look at the time? Looks like I better start tending to-” you attempt to walk away, only to be kept in place by Neytiri’s firm hand on your shoulder. It’s not like you’d be able to escape them as quickly or swiftly as you would typically be able to. You–apparently–had a piece of metal sticking out of your leg. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Jake scolds still dressed head to toe in his fusion of Omaticaya and Sky military gear. “Disobeying direct orders? That isn’t something I expected from you.” 

Casting your eyes downwards, you hope your flat ears and limp tail would get you out of this scolding quicker than it would’ve if he was scolding Neteyam or Lo’ak. Typically, avoiding his gaze would show that you felt regret—which, in this case, you didn’t really—and he’d let you move on. However, it’s hard to keep your eyes fixed on the ground when someone gets into your line of view. 

Neteyam crouches down, face coming into view as if he’s trying to catch your fake performance. Instead, he places two hands, worn and calloused from all of the years of fighting and defending his people, onto your cheeks. He tilts your face upwards so he can view you from his natural height, allowing him to view each scrape and bruise in proper lighting. His lips twitch into a grimace, thumbs grazing over a small cut that must be on your cheek because, although there’s a faint sting, there’s no leaking blood. 

Now, everyone knew about you and Neteyam. It’s not like it was kept a secret. Wherever you went, he followed; whatever he was doing, you were right there beside him. In the years to come, you would become his mate and that was an unspoken decision between you and him. Well, there was also an unspoken rule between Neteyam and the rest of the boys his age to not even glance at you, or else he’d have their tails. However, no matter how much people smiled softly whenever you’d exchange fond glances or spare looks when you two ran off alone, it wasn’t like you publicly displayed much physical affection. Nonetheless in front of his parents. 

He unloops your visor from behind your ears, handing it to his brother without his gaze leaving your face. As soon as his hands leave you, they return just as quickly. His fingers smooth over your face, confirming that you’re breathing and here in front of him—something he’s very grateful for. Your stupidity—not so much. 

“You’re such a skxawng,” he chides, tilting your face towards his. 

“Yeah, yeah whatever. It’s not like I’m the one who took down—not one—but two whole- ow!” you yelp, stumbling forward towards the young man. 

Tuk looks at you guiltily, one finger outstretched as if she was prodding at something. 

Kiri steps forward, pushing Tuktirey out of the way in order to re-examine your back. 

“We should take her to grandmother,” she insists, “now.” 

You roll your eyes, trying to continue with your act of not being nearly as injured as you appear, but the longer you stand, the more it becomes not true. As the adrenaline wears off, the soreness and incessant throbbing grow throughout your muscles and bones. Your rib and leg are still oozing blood, warm and tacky against your skin. Neteyam loops an arm around you, careful to avoid the blisters and welts that decorate various places on your back. 

His free hand reaches for the hand that hangs limply over his shoulder, intertwining your fingers and giving them a light squeeze. “It’ll all be okay,” 

“Yeah, I know. Just ‘cause I’m walking a bit funny doesn’t mean I’m dying,” 

You could say that then, but you sure as hell can’t say that now. 

If there was one thing about Mo’at, it was that she couldn’t care less if her remedies stung like a bitch as long as they cured you thoroughly. So now, as she smears a paste along your back—the sensation as bitter and frigid as the Northernmost part of any mountain—that bites at your skin, you kind of wish you were dead. Or at least knocked out. 

This isn’t even the worst of it. 

Once the stinging fades more into a relaxing cool, Mo’at instructs you to lean backward so she can assess your torso. The older woman crouches next to you, hands hovering over the wound as if Eywa was sending her a direct message on the best way to heal you. Neteyam sits on the other side of you, clutching your hand with a grip that seems more like it’s to reassure him than you, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face. 

Neytiri stays close to her mother, observing or advising what she believes to be the next course of action—just as a tsakarem should do. Kiri stays by your feet, grinding and mashing up various plants and syrups that could be used to aid with disinfecting your wounds. Lo’ak and his father stay near the door, ready to leave if someone else should need assistance with anything to do with the war effort. However, as everyone stays well within their place, performing their necessary task, Tuk couldn’t seem to sit still. 

“Is she going to need stitches?” Tuk asks, peering over her eldest brother. 

Neteyam removes his hand from your hair, slightly readjusting the younger’s weight so she doesn’t put too much pressure on him, in turn, putting pressure on you. 

The Tsahìk doesn’t look up from your wound, eyes brightening as if Eywa had finally delivered her guidance to the woman. “No, she will just need to rest. I would advise very minimal movement for at least seven days,” the woman says, being handed a bowl of yellowish sap. 

“Seven days? But I need to be out there, it’s my duty to fight,” you plead, growing restless and inching upwards. 

Neteyam pushes you back down, delicate but firm fingers pressing against your sternum. “Down,” he murmurs. 

“It is not my fault you did not listen to orders,” the older woman retorts, using a brush-like leaf to observe the consistency of the paste before lowering it toward your injury. 

“Yeah, well it’s not my fault that I just happened to save- oh, Great Mother! Holy sh-” you yelp upon Mo’at contact. 

Neteyam presses a hand over your mouth, sending you a stern glare. “Not in front of the Tsahìk,” he hushes, palm warm against your lips. 

You groan against his hand, face twisting and back arching in pain. Unlike the gel thinly spread across your back, there was no relief from this paste. Mo’at continued to slather it all across your skin, insisting that the more you move, the more it will hurt. You squeeze Neteyam’s hand, feeling the bones shift with how strong your grip is. If you’re hurting him, you can’t tell. The look of pain on his face seems to be linked to his feelings about your injuries, your pain. Always the doting lover. 

Once Mo’at wraps the injury, using both Na’vi and human medical wraps, she places a palm over the injury, thanking the Great Mother. Then, she looks at your leg. 

Your leg was held down by Kiri throughout the excursion, as she didn’t want the shrapnel to lodge itself deeper into the skin and muscle. At the base of your leg, a piece of twine is firmly wrapped around the skin to lightly restrict blood flow. The skin was not pinched, nor did you lose feeling in your leg as you would’ve if the twine was used as a makeshift tourniquet, however, your thigh still resisted against the band. 

You haven’t cried yet, however, just with her eyes boring into your leg you feel as if you’re about to sob. 

“Please don’t take it out. I don’t- I don’t want to have to do this anymore,” you begin to blubber, looking at Neteyam as you try to sit up. 

“Shh, shh,” he placates, stroking your cheek. “It’s okay. I’m here, I promise I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

“I’ve been hurting this whole time,” you groan, “what the hell have you been-”

Then, the last two people you want to see walk into the room: Norm and Max. 

“I grabbed them as soon as I heard,” says Spider, following close behind. 

“No. No, no, no. Get the hell away from me,” you say, instantly shooting up and trying your best to scoot away, even as Kiri still holds down your leg. 

Neteyam says your name so sweetly, so full of fondness that a chill is sent up your spine—a chill that isn’t caused by the cooling medicine or a shock of pain. “He’s here to help.”

“I don’t want him here,” you spit, speaking Na’vi to the boy sitting beside you. 

“We have no choice,” he reasons, his voice dropping an octave. “They will be much quicker with their equipment than with ours. I promise that my grandmother will heal and treat you, but we need their help to make sure that there’s no extra damage that is beyond what the eye can see.” 

You shake your head, refusing to listen to him and averting your gaze. 

His lithe fingers reach for your chin, turning you back towards him. There he goes again; always making you feel like the blushing fool, especially in front of his family. 

“I will not let them hurt you.” 

What a fucking liar. 

Taking a team of three women plus Norm to hold your leg down, Max begins to lower his tweezers toward the piece of metal. With the first tug, you begin screaming. The pressure and the resistance between Max’s tweezers and the artificial shard against your tender skin and muscle caused your free leg to kick, hands tightening at your sides and clinging onto Neteyam. The fact that your whole body was tense, each muscle spasming, probably didn’t help what was already a difficult procedure. 

“Damn, she’s strong,” Norm comments, adding more pressure in an attempt to hold your leg down. “Spider, help us out.” 

You continue to sob, reaching for Neteyam to claw at his shoulder. If you’re hurting him or breaking skin, he doesn’t tell you. Instead, he cradles you as you cry against his leg. Ripping your hand from his, you squeeze his leg, nose pressed against his thigh to hide your face. There’s no guarantee that half of the clan hasn’t heard you by now, nor that a few people have poked their heads in to see who the hell was screaming so damn loud. You were well known. There’s no way anybody wouldn’t recognize that it was you who was being surgically tortured. However, if you could save some dignity by hiding yourself against Neteyam, you would do just that. 

“I’m never letting them near my body again,” you weep, gripping tight to the blue skin beneath you. 

Neteyam rakes his fingers through your hair, hands petting any inch of skin that has brought you comfort over the years. He knows you like the back of his hands. Playing with your hair puts you to sleep, rubbing his thumb across your cheek makes you keen, following the slope of your nose makes you smile, and touching your ear makes you quiet. Using this knowledge, Neteyam’s hands roam to any expanse of skin that he can reach. He must look mad, with busy fingers and frantic eyes, but he can’t help himself. His chest hurts when he sees you like this, and if he needs to kill someone to make you feel better, he’d gladly do that. 

“It’s almost out. We’re almost done,” he assures you in a soft tone, getting close to your ear. 

Your ears, which have been laying flat and folding over periodically finally perk up and away from your skull—a sense of relief. It’s quick-lived before they fall back against your hair, but he sees it as a small win. 

“Can you dress it for me?” you plea, voice breaking painfully. 

Who is he to deny you? 

“All done!” Max cheers, placing the flat piece of shrapnel into an emesis basin.

The clang of the metal against metal causes you to abruptly sit up. Neteyam’s hand is on your shoulder, but for the first time, it’s not to push you back down. He lets you take your time viewing the sizable gash in your leg, an injury that without a doubt needs extra aid. You whimper at the sight, not necessarily at the pain, but because you knew what this means: you would be under strict supervision at the battle scene. You couldn’t be trusted to be alone, especially as you were a great friend of the Sully’s and Neteyam’s prospective mate. 

Falling back into Neteyam, the cries you let out are softer but still cause your body to shake. Neteyam rubs his cheek against yours when you hide your face in his neck, tears causing the blue skin to become slick and tacky. He readjusts your top which has moved around during all of your painful squirming, protecting your modesty. The beads land softly against your shoulder, arms holding you snuggly against him. He tucks your hair behind your ear, giving him a view of the ear that is decorated with various pieces of Omaticaya jewelry. An orange bead, delicately dangling from your lobe, was a gift from him. 

“It makes me feel wiser during battle,” you told him once before sending an arrow straight through the eye of a fish that swam around in the pond. 

He touches it lightly, reminding you that everything is alright. 

“No! She’s going to need stitches!” Tuk whimpers, a frown deeply set on her face. Even through your crying, Neteyam catches the faintest hint of a smile. 

Mo’at begins to drip water over the wound, clearing away any blood that may have leaked down your leg despite the twine restricting your blood flow. 

It’s silent besides Max, Norm, and Jake’s mumbling outside of the tent as Mo’at preps a needle and thread. Kiri, Neytiri, and Spider have since released your leg, observing you and the Tsahìk. Just as Mo’at blesses the needle and thread, Neteyam speaks up. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Mo’at looks at her grandson, her gaze strong but understanding. The white bone needle stays pinched between her two fingers, amber eyes unwavering. 

“Neteyam, let your grandmother-“ 

“I said I’ll do it.” he hushes, lip curling in order to hide a scowl. 

His mother looks at her own, a non-verbal communication occurring between their stares. Eventually, Neytiri acquiesces, standing up and taking a step away from you. 

Mo’at hands him the needle, placing a worn but beautiful hand on your leg. 

“Return here tomorrow so I can check on the wound,” she orders. You nod, eyes still teary before the older woman stands with her daughter, ready to move on to the other warriors who need their assistance. 

Once his mother and grandmother leave, Neteyam grows restless. 

“Everyone out, please.” 

Kiri scoffs at him, still seated by your feet. “You can‘t be serious,” 

“Out! Get out!” he hisses, fangs bared at his sister and the human boy beside her. “You have done nothing!” 

“I wouldn’t call holding down her leg for nothing. I’ll have bruises for the next week,” Spider dismisses, standing up with Lo’ak, who is already headed towards the exit. 

“Out!” he shouts one final time, his siblings leaving as his tail flicks back and forth with irritation. 

It isn’t until they’re gone, that Neteyam leaves your right side, scrambling and pouncing over you in order to come in contact with your left leg. 

The tent is silent as he begins his work. The process doesn’t hurt much, a gentle prick or pinch here and there; you’re not sure whether it’s because your nerves are shot and can’t detect pain anymore or because Neteyam is good at his work. It could be both. Before you know it, the wound is closed and a row of sutures stares back at you in a familiar Na’vi sewing pattern. The skin is even, nothing too uncomfortable, and although there’s bruising, it appears to be that everything will be okay. 

You reach out to touch the stitches with a shaky hand, only to be slapped away. “Uh uh, don’t touch,” he tuts, eyes focused and mouth slightly ajar in concentration. 

He grabs under your knee, bending it at the joint in order to prop it up so he can place a bandage over the sutures. 

“To protect them,” he informs you, wrapping the gauze around your thigh.

He’s very quiet throughout, a reaction you were not expecting. Neteyam has always been logical, methodical; he never steps out of line or does something rash unless it’s for the means of protecting those he loves. Always quick to action, he’s usually the first to help and the first to reprimand someone (usually Lo’ak) for their stupidity. That would be the typical reaction. However, now he looked almost forlorn. 

Once he’s done, he fully stands for the first time since you entered the tent. He begins to rummage through his grandmother’s remedies that sit in wooden jars and crystal vials, concoctions she’s mastered after years and years of being the Tsahìk. After selecting a small wooden bowl filled with clear oil, he grabs another bowl of water and a rag and sits down in front of you. Dabbing the rag in the bowl of water, he lifts the dripping cloth toward your face. 

“What are you doing?” 

He looks at you, eyes narrowing briefly before they return to their normal, large position. 

“Your face is filthy.” 

He gently holds your chin, tilting it up towards him so he can begin wiping your face. His hold is steady but his eyes look nerved, almost as if he has too much on his mind to bear. His breathing matches yours, and he dodges your gaze although his entire being crowds your line of sight. There’s no way for him to avoid you, really. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask as he dips the rag and wrings out all of the water, approaching your face yet again. 

“Nothing is wrong,” he replies curtly, his ears twitching quickly before returning to their previous state—a telltale sign that he’s lying. 

“Oh, so you’re just going to pretend like I know nothing about you now?” you try to joke, smile falling when you notice how he doesn’t reciprocate your humor. “Talk to me,” you urge, grabbing his wrist so he can’t try to distract you or himself by caring for your wounds. 

He sighs, looking away before he slowly looks back at you. Holding your gaze, eyes squinting and lips pursing slightly. Neteyam looks at you like you’re supposed to understand him–and you do–but it’s as if he’s expecting you to know what’s bothering him. However, the problem is that you don’t. Once he comes to that realization, he sighs, still looking into your eyes. 

“I’m upset with you.” 

And there it is. Your tail swishes uneasily, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Neteyam, but he can’t bring himself to quell his emotions for your sake. He almost lost you. 

“Why are you upset with me?” 

He shrugs, almost as if he’s embarrassed or too shy to explain his feelings. Being the eldest son and the next heir, Neteyam often felt as if he had to hide his own inhibitions or concerns in order to be a good son, a good brother, a good leader. When it was just the two of you, you would often have to do a little extra prying in order to get him to reveal what was truly occupying that pretty little head of his. Even once he admitted it, it was even harder to get him to elaborate. 

“Just drop it. You should be healing,” he dismisses, trying to distract himself by wiping your face again. 

Pushing his wrist away with your fingers, you take the cloth and throw it into the bowl of water. Holding his hands on your lap, his tail swishing timidly behind him, you make him look at you by following his gaze. “I can talk and heal. The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” 

“I wish they were,” he mutters, a braid swinging in front of his face. 

“Hey,” you tuck the strand behind his ear. He leans towards your touch, almost as if he craves it, no matter how much he wishes he didn’t. “This isn’t how this works. You need to talk to me.” 

“You’ve already been in enough pain today. I don’t want to cause anymore,” 

“Quit the bullshit. I’m better now. I’ll feel worse if you don’t tell me.” 

“That’s not the way it works.” 

“Um, yes, it is.” 

“It’s not.” 

“How would you know? I can already feel my leg hurting ten times more now that you won’t communicate with me.” 

“You’re not in any more pain because of me,” he scoffs, trying to escape your grasp. 

“Ow, my leg! My leg!” you feign a whimper. He cracks a small smile, your cheeks spreading as smoothly as the war paint that still dons his face. 

Neteyam looks so beautiful when he smiles. It’s a special smile, reserved only for you; it drips of sticky honey, so sugary that sometimes you feel as if you could fall ill from its adoration. He’s soft as he looks at you, coy and all things delightful. The hands that once tried to flee your own, now reach for your wrists, petting the skin in a pattern that speaks a million languages at once. And yet, somehow, not one of those languages can truly resemble how much he loves you. He loves you a lot. 

“Please,” you whisper, “tell me what’s wrong?” 

He sighs, assenting to your pleas. With one final sweep over your face, he finally indulges you. 

“I’m not happy that you took down those ships.” 

“Well, duh,” you scoff, rolling your eyes playfully. “I know that, but I want to know why.” 

“You weren’t careful.” 

This causes a richer scoff to form at the back of your throat, a sound that makes his ears press against his braids. “I thought we agreed to take down the enemy at any and all costs?” 

“I know, and we did—we did make that agreement. I just,” he groans, trying to find the right words. Neteyam never had the right words when it came to expressing himself. “I was scared.” 

“Okay,” you reply softly, shuffling closer to him. “Why were you scared?” 

“Why wouldn’t I be scared?” he answers, tone mimicking the same quiet tone you used. “You’re mine—my girl, and- and they almost took what’s mine away from me.” 

“God, I just got so scared that something bad would happen to you. And when I saw you hurt, how badly you were in pain, and I couldn’t do anything about it I just…” his eyes are frantic, searching all across the hut for something—anything—to provide him an answer. His hands start to tremor in your hold. “I felt helpless and so stupid. I should’ve been tougher on you, or—I don’t know—had Lo’ak or even Kiri stay with you so you didn’t have to be alone. And it’s not that I don’t think you’re incapable or anything—” he excuses, causing you to smile lightly, “—but I don’t trust them. I don‘t trust them with you.” 

Smile turning watery, you reach for his shoulder, soon deciding to hold his face instead. He leans into your palm yet again, seeking the warmth that can only emanate from your hands alone. It’s the only warmth that can rid him of any chill. 

Neteyam kisses your palm, soon rolling your hand over in his, placing his lips on each knuckle as if it provides him comfort. And it does. It provides him more comfort than he could care to admit. Placing your head in the crook where his neck and shoulder meet, you place a kiss on his collarbone, lowering your lips to place another on his pec, right above his heart. The young man draws in a deep breath, holding you close to him, savoring each second, each touch. Skin against skin; heart against heart. 

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you apologize, your soft lips grazing his blue skin. He loves the feeling. “I just wanted to protect our people.” 

“I know, I know,” he murmurs against your forehead, a light kiss placed there. “I’m sorry for yelling.” 

“It’s okay. You didn’t even yell,” you forgive, cheeks pillowing against his chest. When you lift yourself away from him, he tilts his head in confusion at your smirk. “Also, we both know Kiri would be awful on the battlefield.” 

He chuckles, brushing his nose against yours. “True. She can’t even shoot an arrow in a straight line.” 

“Exactly! I don’t know what you were thinking when you said that. Lo’ak? Sure, whatever. But Kiri?” 

“I know, I know,” he agrees, voice growing softer as if his quietness will preserve this moment between you. 

His eyes become velvet—smooth and warm—the longer he looks at you and it instantly makes you melt. His lips look saccharine, a buttery spread of a light smile decorating his face which is just the absolute cherry on top. If Eywa hadn’t taken you during battle, she sure as hell was going to take you now with how crazy Neteyam makes your heartbeat. 

He tucks your hair behind your ear, his smile growing more and more with each expanse of skin he navigates. Dancing his fingertips over your jaw and across your cheekbones, he eventually cups your cheek and you just watch. If you breathe too hard, if you shift your weight, this moment could crumble. He’s looked at you like this many times before but it’s usually in the dark, under the bioluminescent blue and purple lights of the forest, where all you can see are the shadows of his face and the warmth of his tongue and the breeze of his breath. Now, you can see everything in pure, golden hues. The way his mouth relaxes, the way his eyes absorb all they can with each quick glance, the way the corner of his mouth tugs upwards unconsciously. You love it. 

“May I kiss you?” he asks quietly, thumb swiping along a stripe on your cheek. 

“Why do you ask now? You’ve done it many times before,” you wonder, eyes transfixed on the way his own mouth moves with each word he’s about to form. 

He chuckles, a sweet, melodic sound, “Just wanted to make sure you’re still down even when the sun is out.” 

This earns a loud laugh from you, a laugh that makes Neteyam’s heart squeeze and his lower stomach burn. He loves you. One day, he’ll say it. 

Once your giggles have fizzled into a content sigh, you bite your lip lightly before you release it and it returns to its normal place. Neteyam follows the movement. 

“I’m always down if it’s you.” 

“Yeah?” he smiles, breathy and lips plush.  

“Yeah.” 

With that, he seals the deal. His kiss is soft, and you don’t miss the way his eyes dip to your mouth right before the initial contact. It makes you feel hot all over. He’s gentle—he always is at first—and he’s so, so kind. He pulls away briefly, returning not long after as if he needs to be connected to you or else he would suffer. In a way, he would. 

Neteyam is sweet. He still tastes like the fruit you shared before the raid and also a little bit like blood—whether it’s from him or you, you don’t care; you’ll devour it desperately just like you want him to devour you. He traces that stripe on your cheek again, his new best friend, and follows it down the nape of your neck. His other hand trails up from the small of your back to the divot in between your shoulder blades. He uses his hand to pull you closer, seeking any contact from you that he can get. 

Your hands are a barrier, shielding your chest from his, and in a way, it upsets you but also pleases you. Nobody knows what would happen if you could feel his chest pressed against yours at this moment—not even you know. Your hands glide across his chest, lighting scraping and molding against the fine muscle that hides under his smooth skin. When a lithe finger accidentally catches against a nipple, his mouth drops open pliantly, his tongue searching for yours. 

“‘S scared they took my girl away from me,” he murmurs against your lips, his own following after yours after each word. 

“Never,” you promise, kissing him firmly, one hand gripping his shoulder to ground yourself. All of this kissing was beginning to make you feel as if you could float away. “I’m yours. They could never take me or have me. You know that,” 

“Mhm,” he hums, voice lilting towards the end as he presses his mouth to yours. It makes your back arch forward, seeking more of his skin, his touch. 

His hands are growing desperate now. Neteyam knows he has to be gentle, avoiding the damaged skin on your back and remaining weary of the injuries on your rib and leg, but he so badly just wants to pull you close to him and never let go. He wants to hold you, to feel you, to be with you in every single way he can imagine so passionately. But he can’t. He will have to wait for another time. 

You, on the other hand, may roam freely. Your hands travel down his chest, exploring the taught skin of his stomach. It seems he subconsciously flexes underneath your touch, something that is rather enticing. Reaching the plusher skin of his lower stomach, although there still isn’t much give, you trace the muscle gingerly, bordering right above the hem of his loincloth. The delicate touch of your fingers causes him to lightly moan into your mouth, a sound you gladly drink down just to feel its warmth in your stomach. 

Neteyam pulls away suddenly, a loss you’re greatly upset about until he relocates his lips under your ear, traveling down your neck. He hums against the skin, tongue swiping against it as if he’s trying to taste as much of you as he can, as much as he’s allowed. 

“You can’t touch me like that,” he says, using a hand to bring both of yours back toward his chest. You cradle his head instead, tracing a finger along his ear. It twitches. 

“Why not?” you question, voice airy. Neteyam nearly preens at the sound, tail wild. “You seem to like it.” 

“I do like it,” he insists, “I love it, even.” 

“Then why can’t I touch you there?” 

He places a wet, fervent kiss against the crook of your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat, a moan threatening to escape past your lips. 

“Because,” another kiss, “You are not promised to me yet.” 

“I just told you that I’m yours,” you reminded him. 

“Yes,” he nods, trailing his kisses back toward your jaw. “However, you’re still not mine.” 

Oh. 

“I could be yours. All you have to do is ask,” you say as if it’s not something he already knows. You hold his head in place, halting his journey upwards so you can whisper in his ear: “Ask me, Neteyam.” 

His tail swishes excitedly, something that makes you smile. Great Mother, you could eat him up. 

“No,” he responds, pulling away and facing you head-on. He has a lovesick smile on his face, a grin that nobody could wipe off as long as you’re around. “I want to do it right.” 

“Yeah?” you counter. “How would you do it?”

“Well,” he hums, kissing your lips. “First, I’d get all of your favorite foods. All of those fruits you like, season everything all nice,” he begins to slowly kiss your cheeks, “and get it all ready just for you to eat.” 

“What else?” 

“Then,” his kisses travel towards your ear, “Once you’re full and comfortable, we’ll go for a walk.” He bites your ear lobe and you press yourself against him. “We’ll go to our favorite spots: we’ll look at those flowers you like, go to the river, maybe swim a little. I like the way your hair looks while wet, you look so pretty,” he sighs. “You listening?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “Go on.” 

“Then I’d bring you to our sacred tree, just so Eywa can see us and I can see you under her light. I want to see you when I ask you. I want to see you if you smile or cry or decide that I’m not the one, I don’t care, I just want to see you,” he smiles, no longer kissing you but nudging your nose with his. 

“And if you say yes—Great Mother, I hope you say yes—I promise, I’ll treat you so well. I’ll hold you the way you ask to be held, kiss you in all of the places I already know you love to be kissed, and learn all of the new places I can’t reach yet too. I want to feel you, and see the way you react. I want you to feel me, too. I want you to see me, and I want to see you,” he whispers, voicing each wish. 

You nod, slowly and then desperately. “I want to see you, too,” you promise. He smiles that big, toothy smile. “Tell me when you’ll ask me? I can’t wait for much longer. I need you.” 

His eyelids grow heavy, skin heating underneath your palm. “I need you, too,” he gasps, leaning forward to kiss you again. “It’ll be soon, just want you to heal for now.” 

“Yeah?” you smile. “Soon?” 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Soon.” 

ⓒ starvine 2023

[annoyinglandmagazine]

First Time Reading Girl Genius Novels!

Airship City just arrived!!!! So just to clarify, I have read and am entirely up to date on the webcomic so don’t worry about spoiling anything! I’m also only really reacting to things that stick out to me while I’m reading the novels specifically, I already know the story. So without further ado let’s get into it:

Heterodyne Boys content! Hell yes!

Bill silently cleaning his weapons while Barry worries about him is so wholesome and sad at the same time. It is a tragedy that we never really get to see much of this sibling dynamic because it seems really sweet.

The thumbs up signal too, just a little snapshot of how they were before all this.

Damn the Other is terrifying, just picking all the main players off one by one until no one’s even being accused anymore because it’s so clearly something on another level.

‘It was the most Bill had spoken this week.’ This is just too depressing

It’s kind of weird to be reminded that the Heterodynes did actually win against the Other; the end to their story is just so far from triumphant it feels like a loss.

Actual descriptions of the way the locket and the Spark impacts Agatha’s mind!

The atmosphere of Beetleburg is really fleshed out which is nice.

‘Jägermonsters found everything amusing. Except when people tried to beg for mercy. That they found downright hilarious.’ Ha!

The implications that ordinary household appliances have kill modes installed that are only activated in the presence of a strong Mechanicsburg accent should surprise me more than it does

There is so much irony in Agatha hiding the fact she reads Heterodyne Boy novels from her adoptive parents Punch and Judy.

‘If a mad scientist wasn’t at war with at least two of his neighbours it was because he had his back to the sea and even then he had to watch out for an invasion of intelligent sea urchins.’ Europa really is just Like That

The fact the Heterodynes represented hope to the average people because they actually tried gives me so many emotions

Moloch’s narration is a lot more sympathetic than he comes across in the comic at the start.

The general populace automatically getting worried at Sparky tones even with no context is a nice touch

Jägers and their terrible pick up lines make a first appearance

Beetle was really very sweet to Agatha and meant well which I tend to forget because of the whole Hive Engine first impression

‘Glassvitch’s specialty was chemical engineering which minimised his experience with hysterically sobbing young ladies.’

Something, something, “science is better than emotions or people” is both extremely autistic and a very common take in Girl Genius which I love.

Klaus’ backstory is once again so depressing.

Also the fact no one took him seriously because he was an adventurer who let Bill and Barry take the spotlight and then he just came back out of nowhere, challenged anyone to try and take him on and ended up taking over a significant part of the continent, is kind of badass.

Oh Agatha, assassination attempts since he was revealed are nothing in the wide array of shit going on to make Gil the way he is; that is so far from the problem that to call it the tip of the iceberg would be assigning it too much importance

Boris being known and feared almost as much as the Baron, hell yes, that long suffering man deserves respect for his efforts.

‘He clutched the fishbowl to his chest protectively’ Gil, I love you

Klaus swinging an arm around Gil’s shoulder and patting it while smiling and calling him his son non critically might be the most affection we’ve ever seen him express.

Why do I feel like this is peak healthiness for their relationship, the bar is in the fucking basement

Klaus and Gil ‘eyed each other, as if each were embarrassed at the thought of speaking first. Finally the Baron cleared his throat and said, “Yes, Gil, what do you think of that?”

The description makes that already hilarious interaction so much better. Their whole role in this confrontation reads as second hand embarrassment at the poor planning of their enemies and awkwardness at being remotely associated with this disaster of an coup

‘Klaus looked disgusted’ yep that’s definitely it.

The Wulfenbach Empire understanding that most Sparks really only want praise, a space to work, something to challenge them and someone to make sure they eat is hilarious.

Worldbuilding in the form of universe specific bigotry is my jam. The way constructs get portrayed as comic relief in pop culture due to a culture of discrimination is ingenious. I also appreciate the touch that Klaus has strong and public opinions on this though I suppose it’s not that surprising considering he himself is one in some sense.

I think Lilith teaching music and dance is a new detail and it’s nice to flesh their lives out more, it fits what little we know about her really well.

They are such good parents and this is just adorable

That’s all for now, I’ll pick it up again later!

[retropopcult]

“Roy, come and get this ---damn cat.”

On October 15, 1910, Kiddo the cat became the first of his kind to attempt to cross the Atlantic Ocean by airship—and he wasn’t very happy about it.

When aeronaut Walter Wellman’s hydrogen airship, America, was preparing for take-off from New Jersey, Kiddo was found in the airship’s lifeboat. The wide-eyed grey tabby was not pleased about his unexpected journey, and his howling annoyed the airship’s chief engineer, Melvin Vaniman. (The duo seemed to have made-up after their spat—enough to pose for a photo together, at least.)

The America was the first airship to have radio equipment. Kiddo has the distinction of being the subject of the first ever radio communication from an aircraft in flight: “Roy, come and get this ---damn cat.”

The 71 hours that Kiddo and the rest of the crew spent in flight were fraught with storms and engine failure. After traveling just over 1,300 miles from their launch point, the America sent out a distress signal. Kiddo and the crew were evacuated via the airship’s lifeboat on to a Royal Mail steamship. The America—no longer weighed down by the boat, crew, and cat—drifted away and eventually crashed off the coast of Maryland.

According to the airship’s navigator, Murray Simon, Kiddo preferred the sea-faring portion of the journey; he described Kiddo as perched on the lifeboat’s sail, “washing his face in the Sun, a pleasant picture of feline content.”

(photograph and story courtesy of the Smithsonian)

[altocat]

other than Rosen and Rhadore what was one of the worst missions Sephiroth has ever had?

Buckle up buckaroos. (TW below the cut for graphic survival content)

During a seemingly routine mission out in the wilderness, Sephiroth's airship is sent crashing down into the snowy mountains. "Technical difficulties" was the excuse given in the aftermath. Sephiroth is fairly confident someone was attempting an assassination.

Sephiroth survives the crash, along with 30+ infantry soldiers. But they're completely at the mercy of the elements, lost in snow, unable to contact Shinra HQ for a retrieval. The signal is lost. Things are going to fall apart very, very quickly.

At first, Sephiroth elects that everyone make camp as best they can and wait for a search and rescue. It's hard going. Supplies are limited. Some are still badly wounded from the crash. Sephiroth does what he can to direct and give orders. He is unquestioningly obeyed, at least at first. He's a highly respected soldier, and didn't seem to take any fall damage from the crash at all, from the look of it.

For the first few days, spirits are high. Rescue WILL come, even if the icy winds surrounding them make it difficult. They need only be patient. Sephiroth is dreadfully lonely for Angeal and Genesis. Though he would not have wanted them to experience such a disaster, their company would have soothed his nerves.

Around the fifth day, things start to get bad. Rescue still hasn't arrived. There's still no signal. People are freezing in their makeshift shelters. And food is beyond scarce. The limited rations have very quickly dried up.

Sephiroth often goes out to hunt alone down the mountain slopes, finding barely anything. And what he DOES bring back isn't enough to feed the nearly forty hungry mouths that clamor for meat. He feeds the weak and the sickly, though he himself is gradually beginning to starve. It isn't enough. Not enough food. Not enough medicine. People start dropping like flies. And that's...when things get really bad.

Some of the more unstable soldiers take to cannibalizing each other, attacking weaker soldiers in the night and feasting on...well, whatever they can get.

Sephiroth does not participate in such barbaric actions. He immediately executes the culprits in what is essentially a mass culling, leaving the area all but bathed in red against the snow.

With only a small handful of starving men remaining, Sephiroth unhappily realizes the truth--help isn't coming. Not HERE at least. They're trapped. There's no rescue. The only way out of this mess is to take the few remaining soldiers he has and to trek past the mountains to find a better signal reach. It's been weeks now. Most of his men can barely stand. But it's the only option they have.

And so they move along, clinging to life, trekking through the mountains to reach the other side. Sephiroth himself is fatigued and starving, though curiously not succumbing to hunger and the cold the same as the others. They're collapsing all around him. It's a death march, with Sephiroth leading the head, watching helplessly as bodies fall one after the other.

By the time Sephiroth reaches the other side of the mountains...he's the only one left.

He's too exhausted to question why he managed to survive longer than the average human, why he still seems to have some energy reserves available despite no food for nearly two weeks. It can at least be said that the hunger is slowly driving him to delirium, hallucinating as he stalks step by step through the snow.

Faces flicker across his vision against the sea of white. He can see them, beckoning to him, crying out. Old loved ones. Memories. Fuzzy against the backdrop of snow. But calling to him. Genesis and Angeal. Glenn, Matt, and Lucia. Professor Gast. Lazard.

His mother.

Sephiroth nearly collapses when the signal beacon finally sparks back to life, the subsequent rescue retrieving a miraculously frostbite-free skeleton of a soldier, bringing him swiftly back to HQ.

Sephiroth is bedridden for several days. He heals quicker than the average soldier, making a speedy recovery. But the effects on the mind have taken a toll. He refuses missions for several months, spending most of his time alone in his room, alleviating his haunted memories only through the cocktail of drugs supplied to him.

Rumors circulate around the office that Sephiroth cannibalized his men, especially once a team moved in to salvage what remained of the bodies. Hojo finds the idea pleasing because of course he does. But the second he taunts his son during one of his lab sessions, Sephiroth nearly breaks his neck.

Angeal and Genesis stay close to him most of the time. They don't ask much about the mission, gleaning what they can from field reports. They know it was bad. They thankfully don't push Sephiroth into remembering more than he needs to. Even Genesis chills out for a bit and is remarkably gentle and coddling towards him.

Shinra propaganda turns the event into a big success story--how the courageous and noble Sephiroth beat the odds in a race against the elements. A true survivor's tale.

Hojo happily spends the next several months cutting his son open to see how the Jenova cells managed to produce such a fine nature-defying specimen of a superhuman.

Sephiroth readily chooses fire over ice to the end of his days.

[pilot-boi]

All this focus on v9 Twins lately, time to go the other direction. Leading up to Beacon Initiation, Yang is inexplicably panicking. She's a fraud, her grades(literally top marks at Signal) aren't good enough. She's a faker and everybody is going to find out. Oh god the anxiety on this bullhead is going to make her throw up, just like that weirdly familiar blonde guy. For the entirety of initiation she's fearing for her life... even if mid-way she suddenly feels more complete than ever before.

YEA

Oh my god Jaune’s Initiation jitters filtering over to Yang is such a good idea

And they’re not constant, they come in waves. The airship, Ozpin’s speech, 2 AM for some un godsly reason, the cliff overlooking the forest-

God the launch

Yang is fine when she’s launched, the joy of soaring through the air is almost enough squash the foreign feeling of panic, but that’s all thrown out the window a few seconds later when oh my gods oh brothers this is it tHIS IS IT SHES GOING TO DIE SHES GOING TO SPLATTER ON THE GROUND LIKE A PANCAKE WHY DID SHE THINK SHE COULD DO THIS SHES SUCH AN IDIOT-

And there’s a jarring jerk in her stomach like she just slammed Bumblebee’s brakes, and she lands unceremoniously in the branches of a tree

Yang has no fucking idea what to make of any of it, and it’s so strange that she just has to sit for a while and get her thoughts in order. There’s Grimm in the forest, she can’t afford to be distracted

She’s used to some anxiety before tests or stuff, even sweeps of happiness or fear during situations that don’t call for them, but this is ridiculous. She’s never felt panicky about landing strategies or like a fraud every time someone mentions they’re training to be Huntsmen

But even weirder is the feeling that… this is RIGHT. The emotions fit her soul like a glove, like a key in a lock, like two gears that were made for each other. They don’t feel intrusive in any, the way she’s felt some Semblances mess with her perception

For all intents and purposes, these feelings are HERS, and she doesn’t know what to make of them. She never has, even after feeling them for seventeen years of life

She’s pretty sure it’s a side effect of the physical nature of her Semblance, and she knows better than to ask her dad about it. He always just gets quiet and withdrawn whenever she mentions offhand an injury she didn’t get or feeling a swell of sadness while eating ice cream

The emotions cool off for a while, just a low rumbling of anxiety and fear keeping her from cracking the normal jokes she would to blow off steam. She meets her partner, Blake, and their eyes meet across the clearing. Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet

They’re walking through the forest when there’s a sharp crack of pain across Yang’s cheek. Her Aura flares instinctively, but there’s no injury to heal.

Blake is worried, but Yang tells her everything’s fine. Because it is. This sort of thing has been happening all her life

But then the emotions seem to clarify and focus into sharp relief, and it’s like a fog she never knew she was seeing through is finally blown away. (Jaune unlocking his Aura) She staggers backwards and Blake nearly has to catch her as the overwhelming feeling of right safe complete light family washes over her like a tidal wave

She has no idea why, but for some reason, her soul is singing with joy

[visit-new-york]

Empire State Building Location: New York City, New York, United States 20 W 34th St., New York, NY 10001

What was the Empire State Building built for? The Empire State Building was officially constructed to serve as a hub for corporate business offices. Unofficially, it was also designed with the intention of claiming the title of the world's tallest building. Constructed in 1931, it faced competition from other iconic New York City skyscrapers of the time, including the Bank of Manhattan Building and the Chrysler Building.

Where is the Empire State Building located? Situated in Midtown Manhattan, New York City, the Empire State Building stands proudly on Fifth Avenue at 34th Street. Prior to its construction, this location was occupied by the original Waldorf Astoria Hotel on Fifth Avenue.

How did the Empire State Building get its name? The Empire State Building earned its name from a colloquial term for the state of New York. Although the exact origin of the nickname "Empire State" is uncertain, one of its earliest documented references dates back to a letter written by George Washington in 1785. In the letter, he commends New York's resilience during the American Revolution and designates it as "the Seat of the Empire."

Why do the Empire State Building lights change? The Empire State Building's lighting system undergoes color changes to commemorate major holidays and celebrations throughout the year. This tradition, initiated in 1976 with the installation of the building's first lighting system, has continued with the introduction of a new LED lighting system in 2012. This technological upgrade allows the skyscraper to showcase a myriad of colors, enhancing its visual impact.

The Empire State Building, a towering 102-story steel-framed skyscraper, was completed in New York City in 1931, reigning as the world's tallest building until 1971. Situated in Midtown Manhattan on Fifth Avenue at 34th Street, it stands as an enduring symbol and exemplar of Modernist Art Deco design, holding a prominent place among the most iconic structures in the United States.

During its construction, an intense rivalry unfolded for the coveted title of the world's tallest building. The Chrysler Building briefly secured this distinction in 1929, only to be surpassed by the Empire State Building in 1931, reaching a height of 1,250 feet (381 meters), accentuated by its distinctive spire initially intended as a mooring station for airships. In 1950, a 222-foot (68-meter) antenna was added, elevating the building's total height to 1,472 feet (449 meters). However, a subsequent replacement of the antenna in 1985 resulted in a reduction to 1,454 feet (443 meters). Meanwhile, One World Trade Center, inaugurated in 1972, had claimed the title of the world's tallest building.

The driving forces behind the Empire State Building's construction were John J. Raskob and Al Smith. Raskob, a self-made business magnate and former chairman of the General Motors Corporation finance committee, formed an unlikely partnership with Smith, a former Democratic governor of New York. Despite their contrasting backgrounds, their enduring friendship likely stemmed from shared experiences as children of struggling immigrant Roman Catholic families. Before embarking on the Empire State Building project in 1929, Smith enlisted Raskob as chairman for the Democratic National Committee and as campaign manager for his unsuccessful 1928 presidential bid against Herbert Hoover. This defeat underscored the public's reluctance to jeopardize the economic prosperity of the 1920s by electing a Democrat and signaled an unwillingness to choose a Roman Catholic candidate who might challenge prevailing Protestant values.

After losing the 1928 election and relinquishing his governorship to pursue the presidency, Smith found himself unemployed. Whether the initial idea to construct a skyscraper on the former site of the original Waldorf Astoria Hotel originated from Raskob or Smith remains uncertain. However, they mutually agreed that it would be a sensible and attention-grabbing joint venture at the midpoint of their lives. Raskob, a crucial financier responsible for securing other investors, and Smith, a personable public figure, assumed the role of heading the project. The Empire State Building Corporation was established, and Smith, as its president, unveiled plans for the groundbreaking building on August 29, 1929, designed by Shreve, Lamb & Harmon Associates to exceed 100 stories.

Construction commenced 200 days later on March 17, 1930, amid the backdrop of the stock market crash in October 1929, marking the onset of the Great Depression. Despite these challenges, construction persevered, providing essential employment opportunities in New York City. The formal opening of the Empire State Building took place on May 1, 1931, astonishingly concluding in just 410 days. Despite the building's extensive publicity, the concurrent Great Depression significantly impacted its inauguration; much of the office space remained unoccupied, leading to the nickname "The Empty State Building." It took nearly two decades for the structure to become financially viable.

Despite its gradual start and eventual loss of the world record it aimed to achieve, the Empire State Building has evolved into a lasting symbol of New York City for both its residents and the world. Observatories are situated on the 86th and 102nd floors, with a small viewing platform sometimes referred to as the 103rd floor. These observatories attract millions of visitors annually. Since 1994, a yearly contest has granted couples the chance to win an exclusive wedding ceremony on Valentine's Day at the 86th-floor observatory.

The Empire State Building, prominently featured in some of the most romantic films of the 20th century, may have been the catalyst for the inception of the contest. Notably showcased in Love Affair (1939) and its later remake An Affair to Remember (1957), these films immortalize star-crossed lovers making plans to reunite at the summit of the Empire State Building after a prolonged separation. Sleepless in Seattle (1993), a beloved romantic comedy, directly references An Affair to Remember, with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks's characters finally meeting on the observatory deck of the Empire State Building. Beyond its romantic associations, the iconic skyscraper has made notable appearances across various cultural mediums, notably in the 1933 film King Kong, shortly after its inauguration. An exhibit within the Empire State Building pays tribute to its widespread influence in popular culture, featuring a montage of its appearances in films, video games, comics, and more.

Additionally, the Empire State Building has earned acclaim for its commitment to green architecture initiatives. In 2020, the skyscraper completed a decade-long retrofitting project that significantly reduced its energy consumption, slashed emissions by approximately 40 percent, and enhanced overall efficiency.

[ranticore]

are the hud elements in the dogfight drawing diegetic? that would be an interesting way for the dragons to provide quick notes on what they recognize in what the human sees, or vice versa, but they also do look very cool if they were just for decoration.

just decorative! i wanted to put them in to make it ring more like a plane drawing than a dragon drawing if you get what i mean (and it implies a fourth dragon whose POV we're sharing)

the dragons' vision is very poor and their electromagnetic sense is based on rapid pings, similar to echolocation, which build up a 3D image of their surroundings in their mind's eye. unlike echolocation it also gives them the ability to 'see' through thin walls and barriers (like for example the canvas skin of an airship)

there's no innate psychic or telepathic link with riders here so they can't share their vision, but they can 'flag' a target by latching onto its own unique electromagnetic signal in a way that also highlights it on the human side. they use this to distinguish friends and foes & roughly judge location and distance to nearest matriarch

[yellow-yarrow]

Music, mathematics and the Pale

This turned out to be a long post, but it started with thinking about the sound of sleigh bells that appear at different parts in the book.

We know they come from Ulv playing music and reading the pale, but what if they are part of one of Émile de Pérouse-Mittrecie's dodecaphonic works, that was remixed by Theo van Kok (or maybe by some other musician)? because it's hard to imagine electronic dance music having that instrument, and while the comte's concert scene only mentions a string section, there is classical music that uses bells.

I think it would tie in well with Rodionov saying "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom, turning all revelations into nothingness.”

But that could also refer to Zigi listening to the track titled "Grave" when he is in the airship, or how even during the end of the world the radios play his music. And at one point the Lund girl's voices are compared to the bells, plus we could say that the Ignus Nilsen Waltz (a track from the game's OST) also has some kind of bells.

to my understanding, dodecaphonic works are composed according to some mathematical logic (I'm not smart enough to understand any of this, but for further reading for those who are interested [this artilce] plus the wikipedia pages) and the person who likes the comte's music the most is Rodionov, a mathematician

I'll get back to the bells but speaking of mathematics and the pale

Joyce -"The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical -- *numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible." Abandoned Lorry - It looks like an article ripped out from a radio-enthusiast magazine. Complex mathematical equations explain the basics of something called 'the ULAN frequency system'.

"A pale latitude compressor is used to sort of... make the pale more manageable. With a lot of these, you can force a radio signal grid on the pale -- literally crunch the distance across it." (..) It's meant for forcing dimensions on something that doesn't *have* them. Needless to say, the frequencies used are... out of this world. "At the upper limit is the large prime number generator station. It's used specifically for pale latitude compression. That's why you may be hearing some numbers.

“It’s maths, right?” Jesper is sitting with his hands under his head. “Some mathematical rule explains this [the killer wave]?” “ (..) but the same non-linear effect also explains the pale. They use it in entroponetics. This is how the pale behaves when it sweeps over the world.”

Recording and playing the swallow in the church causes the building to shake, it's described as a tidal wave approaching that gives Egghead "the worst high he has ever been on". (waves and water often symbolize the pale) Soona says: "It was mathematical information -- from the anomaly -- presented as a waveform. That's what it was *technically*"

My point is, I think the comte's music doesn't just simply play as some kind of background music to the end times, he accidentally composed something that can be used to do something to the pale.

Jesper says "That’s right, [Ulv] talks with the dead. They’ll come if he plays them some Van Eyck and old Rietveld. That’s why he’s alone like that. No, dear, apparently he doesn’t tolerate Fakkengaf.” He doesn't mention Theo van Kok so maybe it's not the Theo van Kok / comte remix that has the bells, but maybe those were just a few examples that he plays? Theo van Kok was very influential for him after all.

When Harry looks at Arno van Eyck flyers, there are these checks:

Shivers - A GLIMPSE INTO THE PAST Inland Empire - And so all our lives become but a faded memory, an ephemeral vision of a Van Eyck concert flyer... blink or you'll miss it.

This could be a reference to the fact that his songs can be used to access memories in the pale?

Back to the comte remix, it's actually the remix of "one of the old overtures" and Ulv says: “Please… do not ruin… my intro,” "This is the most important… part.” as Tereesz and Khan step into his room, Maybe the intro is a remix of the comte's overture? or it's just literally the intro of Ulv's remix.

Which is the same thing Kras Mazov and the revolutionary lovers hear as the black and white memory of their deaths turn colorful. These scenes are similar to when it's mentioned that Ann-Margret Lund's hair turned grey overnight, and that "She hears music in her sleep; light from the kitchen window floods her hair and, for a moment, it looks golden again."

These remind me of the "your music will reach us from the true end, even further beyond there, where all matter is but memory. So sounds the white light that shines into every darkroom" quote.

As Nadia jumps into the water there is a mention of sleigh bells, and then above the water:

"Everything is yet to come—piccolo flutes, her favourite instruments, and brisk fanfare, what a splendid sound! The rolling thunder of the timpani, the sound of water in Nadia’s ears is like a furor, life, ovations, and warm, warm tributes"

which is very similar to

"The sun rises from the pale. The comte thrusts his hands towards the sky and the incomparable noise of time engulfs him. It’s louder still than the wind, louder than the masses of ice rubbing against each other. The man’s mouth sputters with drool, howling his favourite cadence. It’s written by him. And the voice in the pale in front of him sounds like applause, standing ovations, the stamping of tens of thousands of feet, and whistles, deafening whistles like those of fireworks, an atom that will someday be split in Revachol. The only thing in this world more beautiful than his own music is applause."

Another comparison to the pale:

"The waves of Perouse-Mittrecie are beautiful to listen to, like the ocean, mm…grave."

In conclusion: sound and mathematics definitely have some effect on the pale. The bells could be a part of the comte's music but there isn't solid proof, it's just a theory. I think Rodionov loves Perouse-Mittreice's music so much for pale related reasons.

[magical-girl-coral]

Okay, but since most ships and planes have a way to send distress signals during emergencies, what are the chances that the first thing Jimmy did after crashing the airship was making sure to destroy the black box so no one could save them?

[sweethoneyrose83]

Plague-themed writing prompts:

1. Medieval Fantasy

The Plaguebringer's Curse: A mysterious plague ravages the kingdom, and the only way to stop it is to track down the mythical Plaguebringer. Legend says they can lift the curse, but they haven't been seen in centuries.

Royal Bloodline: A plague is spreading among the nobility, and only those of royal blood are immune. You are a commoner who must hide their immunity while trying to uncover the dark secrets of the disease.

2. Post-Apocalyptic

The Last City: After a global pandemic, you live in one of the last quarantined cities on Earth. The government says the outside world is dead, but strange signals begin broadcasting, suggesting otherwise.

Plague Doctor Uprising: The world is overrun by a deadly plague, and only an elite group of "plague doctors" have the cure. They control who lives and dies, but a rebel faction rises to challenge their power.

3. Horror

Infected Shadows: A plague that only infects those who cast a shadow is spreading. The infected’s shadows detach from them at night, stalking them until the person succumbs to the disease.

The Undying Sickness: A village plagued by a disease where the sick don't die, but they transform into something monstrous. You are the last healthy person in the village, and you must find a way to stop the disease before it consumes you.

4. Science Fiction

Alien Pathogen: An alien virus brought back from an exploratory mission is turning humans into something unrecognizable. The pathogen evolves rapidly, making it impossible to create a vaccine. You are the lead scientist racing against time to find a cure.

Digital Plague: In a futuristic world where humans are interconnected via a neural network, a digital virus is spreading through people's minds, erasing memories and turning them into mindless drones. You’re a hacker fighting to keep your identity intact.

5. Mystery/Thriller

The Quarantine Investigator: A series of mysterious deaths occur in a quarantined city. The authorities say it’s just the plague, but the deaths seem staged. You’re an investigator sent into the quarantined zone to uncover the truth.

Patient Zero's Secret: The origin of the plague is unknown, but Patient Zero holds a secret that can save humanity. Unfortunately, they’ve gone missing, and you are hired to track them down before the virus wipes out the world.

6. Urban Fantasy

Cursed Bloodline: The plague only affects those with magical abilities, weakening the supernatural balance in the world. As a descendant of a powerful mage bloodline, you must find a way to break the curse before magic dies out completely.

Ghost Plague: The plague isn't a physical disease but a spiritual one, infecting people’s souls and causing them to turn into malevolent spirits after death. You are part of a secret society that hunts these spirits and tries to stop the spread.

7. Historical Fiction

The Plague Ship: In the 18th century, a ship carrying precious cargo is struck by the plague mid-journey. Isolated on the sea, the crew descends into chaos, and you're the ship's doctor trying to keep everyone alive while uncovering the true source of the outbreak.

The Alchemist’s Plague: During the Renaissance, an alchemist creates a deadly disease to wipe out the competition in a war-torn city. You’re the apprentice tasked with either aiding or sabotaging the alchemist’s deadly plans.

8. Steampunk

Mechanical Cure: In a steampunk world, a plague is ravaging the lower city. The wealthy have mechanical enhancements to shield them, but the poor are left to die. You are an inventor who has just developed a machine that might cure the disease, but powerful forces want to keep the cure hidden.

Airborne Terror: A plague that only affects those who breathe unfiltered air is spreading in a city with airships and smog-choked streets. As one of the last healthy airship pilots, you are tasked with delivering a shipment of clean air to a quarantined district.

9. Fantasy/Adventure

The Healer's Burden: You are a wandering healer with a rare gift: the ability to absorb diseases into your own body. A new plague has struck, one too powerful for even you to absorb. Now, you must embark on a quest to find a cure, all while evading those who would use your gift for their own purposes.

Plague of the Ancients: An ancient tomb has been disturbed, and with it, a long-forgotten plague is unleashed. The only way to stop it is to delve into the tomb and learn the secrets of the ancient civilization that was destroyed by it.

10. Dark Fantasy

The Warden of the Dead: A mysterious warden controls a quarantined city where the dead don’t stay dead. The plague brings people back as twisted, violent versions of themselves. You must navigate this nightmarish world while trying to stop the plague from spreading further.

Puppet Plague: A magical plague causes its victims to become mindless puppets controlled by dark forces. You’re one of the last survivors with immunity, and you’re being hunted for your blood, which is the key to creating a cure.

[strqyr]

ozpin made finding the relic at beacon more challenging. he also told pyrrha to find glynda, ironwood, and qrow and to bring them "here" right away, that the tower cannot fall.

and then pyrrha goes to fight cinder and in the process, with her semblance, tears down the gears and cogs in the tower.

similar gears and cogs that the long memory have, that activate when oscar uses it for magic / mini-nuke in V7 and V8, accompanied by golden and green lights. the same green lights that are very visible in the beacon tower that couldn't fall, but did, in a way, when the gears were torn from their places.

i don't think the tower is necessarily where the vault is located but... it is a beacon. a lighthouse. and maybe it's just me, but i find it fairly common for lighthouses to be used in stories, not to guide people towards them, but to use them in some clever way to guide the way to the treasure (or whatever it is that is sought), or even unlock the first door to it.

(there is also signal academy, that they made sure for ruby to point out could be seen from all the way up there in the airship—it being visible from beacon wouldn't necessarily be too far-fetched. maybe they're connected, two beacons to light a way?)

i wonder how easy it would be for ambrosius to recreate beacon tower's system like it used to be...

[what-the-flux]

Commander Week Day 2: Profession

(once again, typed much of this up after a work day so I apologize again if it reads rough around the edges)

There was a deafening bang somewhere behind them, followed by the shriek of tearing metal as the entire airship started to list port-side as the massive undead dragon strafed beyond Vireskk's field of vision. He got his armored feet under him as he looked outside at the gunners stationed along the modified bowsprit from his vantage in the covered cockpit. One of the Pact officers posted on the airship with him, warmaster Oort, barreled inside covered in Risen gore. His deep voice was thick with adrenaline as he said, “In the clear, but only just. There’s more of the bastards closing in.” Before he could form a reply one of the ship’s ensigns, a young human of barely over twenty, ran in and stopped short in front of him, “Commander! Warmast—Sirs!” “Get on with it!” Oort growled. Vireskk nodded at the ensign, signaling him to continue. The man, already flushed from the continuous fighting, went scarlet as he said hastily, “Sir! We took a hit in the stern and we’re losing altitude, we got a transport that’s lining up to take the crew away, but the dragon might be back any minute! Visibility is poor and we’re dropping ballast as fast as we can.” The commander’s expression was grimly set as he weathered the news. “That dragon needs to be taken down, otherwise whatever ship we jump to is just going to be another fresh kill. Warmaster,” He leveled a steady gaze at Oort, “Take what supplies and crew you can and get off this ship, now. I will help them with the dragon.” The Vigil officer didn’t budge, ready to argue as he watched Vireskk go to a weapon rack and take a sizeable longbow from it. Oort gave him a look of open incredulity as he said, “You even know how to use that thing?” The commander smiled, a wan expression as he tried to pull a pleasant memory that at this point felt like a distant, faraway thing that happened to someone else in a different time, “I had archery lessons during my aptitude exams, I was a pretty decent shot at least. We shall see how true my aim has remained.” The big asura stared at his distinctly striped face and replied, a snarl in his voice, “Do you really think this is going to do us any good? Better to take it down once stationed on a fresh ship instead.” Vir returned the gaze with a stoic one of his own. He understood the officer’s penchant for rankling at following orders sometimes so he was careful with explaining the objective. “I acknowledge the merit in your words, however you and the rest of the crew are going to need cover fire and for the Risen to be occupied while you evacuate, they might try to capitalize on your vulnerable position otherwise.” The warmaster frowned and shot back, “You need more backup on here in that case. You, those guild members and a handful of gunners providing cover?” Vireskk’s mien became intense. Though Oort was much greater in stature and build, the gravitas of the commander’s whole demeanor and voice seemed to close the gap in physical disparity entirely. “We all knew and accepted the risks the very second of the Pact’s inception. You are to oversee the immediate evacuation of this ship and to rendezvous if our task is successful, or to press on if it isn’t. You have your orders.” Every word of his command rang like a gavel, decisive and brooking no argument. The Vigil warrior went silent and appraised him with an unreadable expression for a few heartbeats before nodding curtly, pushing past the dumbfounded ensign before the latter followed him out so they could proceed with offboarding.

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Wind was howling in Vireskk’s ears as he briefly conferred with the crew that remained outside on the deck of the ship. They were still losing altitude but slower now since the power backups were still operational. The evacuation was not a moment too soon as they saw the hideous forms of multiple dragons dive towards them. The gunners in position once again with the members of Destiny’s Edge keeping an eye on the deck, the commander held up his fist and began chanting a litany that grew in power, cadence and volume, preternaturally loud and strident so that to the crew even the dragons’ roaring seemed muffled. Silvery blue flames wreathed him and all on deck, his promise to them that as long as he stood, so would they. As the on-board magitech cannons powered up he nocked an arrow, sighting down it as he pulled back. The muscle memory from his lessons was still there, but there was still a spark of uncertainty within him and he worried if he really would be of much use with it as the chaos of battle started to surround him. Magic flames came to life once more as he narrowed his focus and slipped into a meditative state, the fire dancing and coruscating around his arms in eldritch patterns until it set the arrow on fire. There! Something clicked in his mind just as a Risen dragon wheeled around in full view of himself and the broadsides.

Onboard the airship nearby that was pulling into a strafing run to assist, Oort and the others saw along with the pulses of cannon fire streaks of fiery arrows collide with and ignite the corrupted, rotting flesh of the dragons that burned pieces away like scraps of parchment thrown onto a bonfire. The monsters shrieked in rage and agony and it wasn’t long until one by one they were routed and torn apart by the collective barrage from both ships.

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Later on back in Fort Trinity after the fall of Zhaitan during all of the spontaneous revelry that had gripped the Pact collectively, the commander found himself with a short-lived breather away from the nexus of it all. Warmaster Oort, also inclined to stick outside the orbit of everything, approached him and greeted him by way of a slap on the shoulder. Vireskk smiled and hid a wince as he held a bandaged arm. The larger asura wasted no preamble and said directly, “I glitched up, doubting you back there at The Humble. I admit I’ve been carrying around misgivings about you and all this in general for some time. I think you’ve proven me wrong on multiple counts now.” Vir looked out into the sizeable group of jubilant Pact soldiers before looking back at the warmaster, “Apology accepted, that’s quite a rare and precious thing coming from you.” He chuckled lightly before adding, “I do not blame you for your misgivings though. I did have to prove myself and show just how willing I was to not simply speak of virtue and sacrifice but to put it into practice. It is individuals like you that help shake me out of habits of wanting to observe and be reactive instead of proactive. So I encourage you to continue to speak openly.” Oort grunted a sound of affirmation, the most response he’d get out of the taciturn officer. The commander gave one of his uncommon playful smiles and added, “That still doesn’t give you free pass to argue with direct orders when we’re in the middle of a combat zone, however.” He turned to Vireskk and smirked lopsidedly, the closest thing he’d come to a proper smile and replied back, “Noted, I’ll work on that. But only if you say you’ll work on your terrible aim.” They both laughed together as they returned to the celebration.

[goodcopbatcop]

[Caption: Decades of images showing the Bat-Signal's usual location, on the roof of the Gotham City Police Department Headquarters]

[Caption: Wayne Enterprises building, Wayne Foundation building]

[Caption: A bunch of airships with searchlights in a very moody gothic environment; an animated GIF of Oracle working in her clocktower]

[Caption: A bored-looking cashier taking an order at the counter of the fast food restaurant Bat Burger; Gotham City's Statue of Justice, which somewhat resembles real-life New York City's Statue of Liberty]

[Caption: Gotham Opera House, Monarch Theater]

[Caption: Battinson at a Cathedral; Batman and Robin overlooking a Cathedral; Batman and Red Hood on the roof of a Cathedral]