#monsoon gale

[polyg0re]

“GET’CHO FUCKIN’ DOG, BITCH-”

(Character on the floor is @crescentmon’s Gale, character on the right is Karakaze)

#my art #mgr #metal gear rising #metal gear oc #monsoon #monsoon mgr #Gale #Karakaze #art for frens

[karniss-bg3]

Gods and Goddesses usually have some type of portfolios attached to them. I love the idea that last anon had with your femme!Tav helping out Kar'niss molting... What about any events after that moment? What kind of Goddess do you think he would see Tav as? It's interesting too how every deity he has worshipped has also been feminine coded---if Lolth demanded cyclical strife and the Absolute demanded utter subjugation to feel her embrace...

What would he see that good-aligned Tav as? A goddess of mercy? A martyr? A saviour?

OoOOoo y'all out here feeding me filet mignon. *rubs hands together*

A good-aligned female Tav would be a radiant force, a beacon of brilliant light shining across a dark and stormy sea. Kar’niss is trapped in a violent monsoon, assaulted by ferocious gales and unforgiving rains, scarcely treading the water that holds him hostage. Kar'niss has no shortage of dark clouds brewing above, a swirling miasma of trauma and abuse that follow him around anywhere he goes. At first she would struggle, running into invisible walls at every turn. She may even witness Kar'niss being swept away by the tides of his own self-loathing, bashed against the jagged rocks of the shoreline, so close to salvation yet always just out of reach.

She would be the only one who could provide a lifeline to prevent him from being swept out to sea by the torrential waves slated to drown him at a moments notice. Little by little she would pull him closer to safety until the line inevitably comes under pressure and snaps, yanking Kar'niss away mere inches from grabbing her outstretched hand. This push and pull would be a constant point of contention between the pair. It would become easier to find compromise as Kar'niss learned to trust her incandescence to be a good thing rather than another woman poised to strap a yoke around his neck.

Until one day after months of strife and struggle, Kar'niss breaks free from the cyclone of doubt and conjures every ounce of strength he has left to reach for that hand of mercy. His palm claps into her own to hold on for dear life, the sea threatening to take him back at every turn. She yanks him away from the whirlpool he'd been trapped in for so long, dragging him to sandy shores where he might know true respite. The thunderous clouds that had suffocated his vision for eons finally part and reveal a beautiful landscape once obscured from his sights. Rolling hills of green, lush fields of wildflowers, towering oak trees thick with supple leaves, things that had been there all along but he could never see. Exhausted, worn down yet relieved, he finds the courage to look up at his savior, the one who never gave up on him even when all hope seemed lost.

From his lowered position on the sand he sees her. She is not shrouded by the crimson tendrils of Lolth, nor is she consumed by the dark violet fog of the Absolute. Rather, she is bathed in golden light, aided by the rising sun over the horizon. Her expression is warm and inviting, her touch is delicate and gentle, her honeyed voice akin to an angelic choir, unworthy for the ears of mortal men. She is salvation incarnate, mercy untold, love everlasting. Her very aura radiates warmth and security, hypnotizing him, drawing him to her like a moth to the flame. Her glowing silhouette burns into his retinas to cement her as his new Goddess, his only path to ascension and acceptance.

She has done the one thing neither Lolth nor the Absolute dared to—love him. She loved him without strings, she loved him without the demand for subservience, she loved him regardless of his misshapen form, she loved him through his trauma, and she loved him when the storm was at it’s worst. Her beacon never flickered, never waned, never threatened to extinguish even through the heaviest downpour. Her strength motivated Kar’niss to find his own, to pull himself from the riptide that thrashed him around his entire life. Kar’niss would follow her to the ends of the earth and back again. His sweet nightingale of benevolence and truth.

His Majesty.

#baldur's gate 3 #kar'niss #drider #bg3 #karniss #baldurs gate 3 #answered #my writing #kar'niss x tav #female Tav #I think I blacked out because I read the ask and when I blinked again I had a wall of text #where did all that come from? #inspiration is a hell of a drug

[inkmeadows]

Summer rain

You wished for gentle spring

But I was endless summer rain

I wished to be the one

To make the flowers in your

gardens of love bloom

But I drowned them

in my sorrowful monsoon

I wished to be your spring

But I was endless summer rain

I wished to be the outdoor breeze

that put your mind at ease

But I was a dangerous gale

that put you through ail

I was not your spring

Rather I was summer rain

If I was spring

Would you have liked

Summer rain

Or would we be alike

The moon and sun

May appear in a sky together

But they are never

Side by side

I wish for you to find

Your gentle spring sun

And for me to be the

Endless summer rain

Beloved by another

You wish for a gentle spring

And I am an endless summer rain

25-12-23

NooreenV

#poetry #poem #original poem #original artist #new voice #love #tragedy #right person wrong time #literature #rainyday #rain moodboard #sombre #love poem #love poetry #goodbye

[spotsupstuff]

There are scary things, up there in the sky.

The birds whose screeches make my skin crawl, their shadows shunning me under the cover of trees. The sun, the moon and the armful of stars, all so terrifying from their thrones beyond the atmosphere, scrutinizing our struggles in these lives. And then the metal "gods". Those that pull sheets of clouds over the celestial eyes, keeping us for themselves and the ground, I suppose.

Selected few get to live on top of these mock gods. We toil away to create them, we toil away to supply them. All we get in return are the monsoons. Our hands bleed for them, and then our backs.

A lot of my family hates them. I cannot fault them. I consider that maybe I should fault myself.

Myself, who finds it invigorating to dive into the ticks of these creatures. I yearn to understand them, figure out why would they be so cruel as to beat us down each evening.

I search and I find it all when I am gifted the opportunity to learn. Sent away far north, into the insides of one of them, every piece of him industrialized beyond recognition- when compared to the farm fields I've grown within.

I learn what makes them tick. That they are a colonies themselves, hiding behind a face of an individual. I learn that they also breathe- and how. That it isn't their fault, that one of their exhales sends angry gales to sweep through streets such as where I've grown.

Predictably enough, considering how I've been raised, I end up forgiving them all.

With possibly a blessing from the forgotten and forsaken Gods, I manage to absorb all the information within myself seamlessly. It is a great achievement! All the people sing to us, who made it through. They praise our sleepless nights, the effort we put into knowing how to be kind and patient with things far too different from us. The teachers say the struggles won't stop here. That the job will be hard, possibly even maddening, if our charge turns out to have not been... *disciplined* enough, yet.

I didn't like the edge to those words. Haven't we just learnt that they are all living beings? Just as much as us? That what we are meant to be are doctors, consultants, caretakes- friends?

A hail comes to me from my home- the facilities, not my family. That they've heard of my successes. That they are proud of me- I've never heard any of these long long names, I don't even try to lead my life in favor of the religion and still- they are proud of me. The old Iterator Mechanic has retired and they search for another one. It would be a great honor for the colony, if its new Mechanic was one of their own.

I am not one of them. I refuse to be.

But of course, I accept. I hadn't expected to find a job that quickly- not to mention with such position I'll be able to visit my family. I haven't seen them in too long.

On my way to Ales, I stop by.

And there's cheering for that I've come back- somehow so much warmer than the one over my academic success. Hands leave their kind marks on my skin, fingers comb through my hair. Arms trap me in heartfelt and teary embraces. I could not imagine myself fighting it at all.

The calendar tells me that I have few more days to spend here. I spend all of them by someone's side- by my mom's, granda's, any of my siblings'- I give a kiss to my father's grave and wish him luck, wherever his spiritual journey had whisken him away to.

And as I'm drinking steaming tea at a window, watching the damning rain- breath- fall, one of my younger brothers approaches me with a mask in his hands.

"So you may fit in with those living above clouds, sister!" He tells me excitedly.

It's made of wood and not bone. Painted gold, in the shape of a face of the feeble bird I'm named after. It's too on the nose. It doesn't obey the holy dress code.

I put it on with pride. I wouldn't have it any other way.

#rw #oc tag #oc: three sparrows #my writing #wooooooooooooooooooooooo Sparrooooooooows #Sparrows studyin in Boreas' city making sure to always throw him a middle finger when one of his overseers shows up cuz hes MEAN- #-to the engineer students. hes an ASSHOLE. he doesnt WANT THEM HERE #the base design for ancients is finished so now im off to draw the ancients from the murals and then design 💞💓Her💓💞

[tippytopdays]

This is so not a story and absolutely more than a ramble but it was a thing I started and never finished for @monsoon-of-art 's mer au a very long time ago and while it is the furthest from my best it is something I'm still proud of so have it

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She was so small.

He’d never stopped thinking about it. Frail little limbs on an equally delicate body. When he’d first seen her, all those weeks ago, he’d almost mistaken her as being sickly. That she was just another human far too weak to survive so far from land.

But then he’d drawn closer, guilt niggling his insides like sharks to a carcass, and he’d seen her clearly.

She was a child. Someone far too delicate to be in a storm like what had torn through the surface that night.

He could not, in his own conscious, leave her to the elements that day. 

The claws tipping each finger were kept far from her body. Rain pelted his coat when he surfaced; merely a taste of the monsoon above his head. He had to act quickly before it set in again lest it take them both, or swipe her from his hands in it’s terrible gale.

Catching the girl before she sunk to the bottom was the easiest part. She’d easily rested within his palms, too exhausted from surviving to even notice what was going on. What truly concerned him then was where he would let her be after he’d saved her.

The shore was closest, but the most dangerous. Humans could easily spot him if lightning were to continue to strike as it was, thunderous bolts shaking the sky every few moments. Surely they would catch him first, maybe flay him alive if they wanted his tail, but if he were to ever be found at all then the entire clan was at risk. It wasn’t an option no matter how much safer it could be for the girl.

He’d considered one of the docks yet chased it off just as quickly. Similar problems resided as any dock was too close to the human settlements. They’d find him in moments; and if he were to factor in the small child in his hands, they’d claim him as a monster. He couldn’t risk the chance.

There was only one other option; the hidden bays.

The sheer cliffs off the edges of the beach were not ideal for most mers; too many sharp ridges and toothed rocks to land against. If one were to reside for too long the tide would ship out and leave them to the elements until it returned at dusk. It was, for any mer’s worth, one of the worst places to be, especially one of his size.

And he still found himself jerking his way in, dragging his lower belly across the stony floor by his fins. It hurt like Hell with every step, small yet jagged stones digging into his skin like knives. Though his hide was thick it didn;t stop from feeling like he was trying to walk across a beach made of coals.

Claws dug into the wall as he hauled himself up. The lowest caves, while easier to reach, would fill with water near instantly in the monsoon bearing over his head. In this moment, her survival meant more than his own comfort. What was a few scrapes to a young life living on? Merely a small distraction, one he ignored readily.

What he hadn’t been expecting, was for her to wake up.

He’d been in the midst of placing her within the cave, desperate to keep the bitter rain off her soaked form, when she coughed loud enough to startle. Water burbled out of her mouth in foaming clumps into his hands. The sudden heat of it terrified him, as he’d forgotten that she’d once been completely submerged for an undefined amount of time. Forgoing all efforts for the cave he tugged her closer

The shadow of his cap covered the entirety of her in his palms. Lightning flashed overhead with wrathful intent, casting his shade across the water as he looked down. She struggled to right herself with hasty coughs to clear the water from her system. One arm braced her upright, hand against his palm as she scrubbed her eyes.

It hit him then, just how small she was. How delicate her frame would be between his fingers, easily snapped in twain if he so inclined. The thought of bones breaking under his strength ripped a gasp from his chest, unbidden.

She was looking up at him. Slate eyes wide and rimmed with red. Foamy spit dusted the corners of her lips from when she’d expelled it from her body.

And she’d backed away. A gasp tore out of her mouth, shaky limbs dragging what she could of herself back into his fingers. Her wide eyes were frantic as they glanced between the wall of his claws and the face hat hovered out of her reach, shrouded in a storm’s glow.

He recoiled. She was afraid, terrified that he would harm her. He’d tried desperately to get her to safety before she’d awoken but he’d been too late. The decision to come to the caves must have taken too long to make. 

Some part of him wished for Irida; she was far more skilled in younger pups than he was. THough he was patient he floundered whenever one needed comfort. The same situation he found himself in now.

Yet, it pulled at something within him. Terror glazed eyes wound invisible strings somewhere deep within, where he;d long since abandoned exploration. Hands fluttering against his palms, unsure where to grab, ignited a light behind his eyes.

The croon was out of his mouth before he could stop it. 

Her eyes snapped up, staring at him. Neither fearful nor calm; a strange mix of fascination and wariness.

He couldn;t help it. The sound tore out of him again at the sight. 

Her head tilted. Confused, a bit curious. Hands that clawed for freedom clutched for stability.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That's all I had. Nothing I wanted to finish either so you'll just get this half finished thing, sorry.

#pokemon legends arceus #warden ingo #trainer dawn #my writing #more stuff for monsoon yayyyy

[loremaster-lavellan]

The Snow Prince - Prologue

(Read the blurb here if you'd like an idea of the overarching story)

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

“Now that my brother's dead, it’s quite possible I’m the last of our kind.”

“And I’ve contributed to your extinction…”

“There’s no need for that kind of talk. I said it was possible.”

1E 143

Save us.

That is the message from the mainland. It is hand-delivered by every blood-stained refugee who collapses on the shores of Solstheim and drags themselves to the gates of Palace Moesring.

Save us.

At first they are few. They come from Skyrim with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the horrors of bloody conflict reflected in their eyes, tales of how the Atmorans slaughter their kin and burn their villages. Then there are more, flooding the island’s shores and seeking sanctuary in the palace, all desperately seeking a way to emerge victorious from the inevitable.

Ysgramor is coming.

Save us.

Deep inside the palace, the Snow Prince plots with his warriors, priests, and mages. They agree on one thing: they cannot win. Ysgramor and his armies have already decimated the Falmer forces; all that remain are on Solstheim. But they will not go down without a fight. They will not let the Atmorans have everyone.

Save us.

Four-hundred elves and as many supplies as they can carry are divided between four ships. The rest remain on Solstheim with only their weapons, their spells, and grim determination to take out as many of their enemy as they can before their end. The Snow Prince is among those who stay.

Save us.

In the dead of night, no fanfare or lanterns to see them off, the four ships and their passengers depart from the northern docks. They are headed for an uncertain destination. The islands the scholars say should be out there haven’t been seen for centuries, and what lies beyond the horizon of the greater northern sea is a mystery, but there is no other choice.

On board the first ship is the Princess Consort, wife of the Snow Prince. At her command are the forces of magic, tongues of flame and monsoon gales, and a mastery of them to rival her husband’s, but she does not stay with him. Asleep on her breast is their infant son, a gift from Auri-El more precious than all the aid the princess could provide her husband in battle. The Prince will lead his last army against the Atmorans, and his heir will lead their people to a new future.

Save us.

Dawn breaks on Solstheim. The ships are long gone. On the southern horizon are the sails of different boats, menacing vessels with unfamiliar sails heralding nothing but the bloody end of an era. The Falmer who stayed behind ready themselves. They cast their spells and conjure elementals, sharpen their swords and rig the very mountain to collapse. The Snow Prince prays to Auri-El and readies his spear.

“Save us.”

“I am.”

4E 201

Vyrre, Knight-Paladin of the Chantry of Auri-El, stands vigil. Within their chambers his wife, the Snow Princess Ysvena, is delivering their firstborn, and as the father it is expected Vyrre keep watch at her door. On his knees, one hand clutches his amulet of Auri-El, and his lips form a whispered mantra, a constant prayer to the God of the Sun. From dawn until dusk until dawn, he does not eat, drink, or sleep. He is stoic and placid, the picture of vigilance and devotion. He stands between them and every ill-meaning spirit which would bring misfortune.

When gray morning light shines dully through frosted windowpanes, the midwife at last emerges and beckons for Vyrre to follow. His prayers conclude, and he out-strides the midwife through the chambers and into the bedroom. There he finds Ysvena alive, their newborn swaddled in her arms, and his composure nearly breaks at the sight – he must hold it a little longer. Ysvena passes the baby to her husband.

“It’s a boy.” Her hands linger on the swaddling. Vyrre would stay, longs to stay, but there is still the presentation to do, and an entire kingdom waiting to celebrate.

Arch-Curate Sidazius waits at the grand terrace doors. He is a devout man of unshakeable faith, respectable and honored, and Vyrre’s superior until he married the Snow Princess, but something intangible sits wrong with the Knight-Paladin. There is no reason to distrust Sidazius, but his solemn vibrance feels . . . thin. Regardless, today they are both subordinate to the infant sleeping in his father’s arms. Side by side, they walk out onto the terrace. The crowd gathered in the courtyard below, many of whom also spent the night in prayer, waits with bated breath.

“Auri-El shows his favor!” The Arch-Curate’s voice carries carries across the crowd. “The Snow Princess has born a son! In the light of Auri-El, let this child be named!”

Vyrre steps forward and raises his son above his head, presenting him to the sky and his subjects, and as he does the gray of dawn gives way to morning light. A ray of sun pierces hazy clouds and shines upon the new prince, and his father cries out, “Ydhedhor!”

PART 1

#skyrim #snow elves #falmer #fanfiction #the snow prince #my oc's

[skylarstark4826]

It was a little after mid-afternoon, more like creeping into evening when the first breeze came through, its whistle penetrating tiny cracks in the heavy wooden door. But it was ignored as the air had been brisky all day. He sat enjoying the warm homemade brew from his fruit trees. The second rattled the door with a wailing and a much stronger force than the first. It was the third one shaking the cabin with a loud moaning sound that gave him some concerns.

He sat his mug on the table, rose from where he was sitting, opened his door and stepped out onto the porch; peering out as one more strong gush sailed by. He walked several yards from his hut to the beach, looking into the distance as far as he could see. He is a creature of the sea who could feel the mounting moisture in the air and the troubling of the sea.

Closing his eyes, he became one with his surroundings, feeling it and knowing; a storm was coming, and it was massive. He turned away and started back towards his home and continued to the back to secure his animals. His two goats and three chickens he had in stock. They were not for consumption; but purely for the products they provided. He knew they would be spared the brunt of the onslaught, as his well-built shanty would take it on.

He proceeded to close the shutters and secure them with strong boards across them. Then he entered his hut, shutting and re-enforcing his door with a heavy plank placed in hooks on either side of it. He threw more wood inside the fireplace; he need not worry about electricity going out, his kerosene lamps will do the job. He thought of any and every possibility to prepare himself for the onslaught of the incoming monsoon.

She sped around in the jet boat testing it out pondering if she wanted to purchase it or not. The captain on the ship was getting antsy with the shore alerting him an unexpected storm surge was approaching at enormous speed. He radios her to bring it in so they can head back to shore before its arrival. She wanted to take one last maneuver before coming in. Her mistake; as a rogue wave fueled by the storms advancing power lifted her in the air and rolled on with her riding the wave far away from the huge ship. Everyone was in shock as they watched helplessly, as she was carried away and vanished before their eyes.

Reluctantly, the captain had no choice but to think about everyone else on his vessel and their safety. He ordered the ship back to port before they were overtaken by the storm. They will search for her once it passes over and hope some way she will survive.

He must have dozed off after he ate dinner and had sat before the fireplace, listening to the winds and thunder as it hit the island with its mighty strength. But that’s not what had awakened him. It was the screaming of the wind, sounding so much like a woman, it was eerie. He perked up when he heard it for the second time; it was distinct to his sharp ears; a woman’s voice calling for help.

He sat up to hear better, confused to who would be out in such a mess? They again, it came. He jumped to his feet and raised the heavy board up then opened the door searching frantically in every direction to see where the plea for help had come.

When the wave carried her away, she fought to ride it out to a safe place. She saw the island in the distance and geared her boat towards it as the first of the storm hit the winds helping her along. She crashed but saw the hut before she was knocked unconscious.

When she woke her small boat acted as a shield, protecting her from the fierce gales and torrential rains. She decided to scream out for help hoping whoever was inside could hear her over the surge and thunder. She saw the door open relieved and called out with the last of her strength before passing out.

He rushed to her aide with the wind's aide, the return will be the challenge. He got to her and picked her up, struggling to get back to his hut and their safe place as he fought through the gushes. Finally, making it back, he entered the haven and kicked the door shut. He laid her down before the fireplace then went to secure the door once again.

He came back to check on her and looked at her before the light of the fire and recognized who she was; the Wakandan general he fought when their two nations were at war before the alliance was formed. He hadn’t seen her since, and often wondered about her reaction when she awakens and sees him.

After the treaty between Wakanda and Talokan; he ventured out on his own. He wanted to see what life was like living on the surface world as his ancestors once had before their evolution. With deep thought he wondered what the purpose of the war, from its beginning; and felt it was an unnecessary one. He needed his space and left that world behind for the time being.

With a closer look, her lips were trembling, as well as her body. He bent down to assess the situation further. Her body temperature was dropping from being out in the weather. He has no idea how long she had been exposed to it. He had to act fast. She may not like what he must do, but her anger and being alive was the only choice for the action he was going to make.

He went and retrieved a heavy blanket, removed her clothing and his also. Then he laid down next to her pulling her into his body and covering them; sealing the warmth from him and allowing it to be like a heater. As much as he tried not to notice, he had to admire how beautiful and sleek her form, her skin was so soft, next to his. If this wasn’t a means to save her life, he could fall for her.

Amid waiting for her to respond to his heat, he fell asleep only to be awakened by her stirring in his arms. He looked over at her, she was resting calmly; more relaxed. He decided it would be best to remove himself now that the crisis had passed. He placed one of his shirts on her, then covered her up again, letting her continue resting before the fire. He put his clothing on and took a seat in his chair watching her carefully. The wind outside was going strong with thunder and lightning adding to it.

It was hours before she began to move again, but this time she woke up dazed. She looked up from under the cover and stared into his eyes. He became alarmed as she said nothing at first but look at him. He thought maybe she was trying to come out of the residue of her sleep.

“You saved me,” she finally spoke, rising up into a sitting position.

“Yes, I heard your screams for help,” he replied. “I was brought out of my nap thinking it was the wind at first. Then I realized it wasn’t and came out to see you.”

“Well, thank you,” she said, then saw she was not in the outfit she had worn. She gave him a look and sighed. “I must have been drenched.”

“More than drenched, you were almost freezing from the cold,” he explained. “I had to warm you with my body heat.” She stared at him knowing what he was saying. She turned away shyly.

“You are Talokanil, right?” She looked back at him.

“Yes, I am,” he said, nervously. She leaned in to get a good look at him.

“I know you,” she straightened up. “You are that big warrior from the bridge and ship. We fought.” He waited for her to verbally attack.

“Yes, I am,” he confirmed. She nodded in response, looking about assessing his dwelling.

“You live here?” She came to her feet admiring his home.

“Yes,” he answered. “I have since after the alliance.” She begins to walk about. He stood keeping an eye on her, knowing what she could do. Even with the treaty between their nations, scrimmages have occurred. Not many and none ever severe though.

“So, this is the afterlife you have chosen for yourself?” She looked at him. He was bigger than she remembered, and very handsome. But there definitely was something different about him. He wasn’t intense as before, more tranquil.

“This is the life I choose for myself,” he confirmed.

“I am no longer in Wakanda,” she told him. “I was stripped of my rank and out of my division.”

“But you were fighting on the ship,” he was confused. “Something the Princess created. I occasionally help when needed, but mostly I am here and there.”

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” he asks, seeing as they may be holding a conversation.

“I would like that,” she told him. He went to get her something to eat and drink. She sat back down in front of the fireplace and covered her legs with the blanket. He returned with fruits and nuts, and a cup of juice from his making. He placed them before her then he sat back in his chair.

“Thank you,” she says, and began to eat and drink. She hadn’t realized before, but she had not eaten since breakfast. He saw she was indeed in need of food and liquids.

“So, tell me, how is it working out being away from all you ever known?” He asks because he needed to compare what he felt with someone who is experiencing the same.

“About what you’re feeling,” she told him. “It is a whole new world, except for you its seclusion and for me it’s exploration. How is that working out for you?”

“I would not be truthful if I say I do not miss my home, nor my friends,” he said sadly. “And that at times it gets lonely.” She looked at him and saw him in a different light. He was who he was, an open book. He didn’t have to help her after seeing who she was, but he did even take drastic measures to save her, not knowing how she would react to it.

“Yet, you are not going back to that life,” she says.

“No, this is my home now. And with all that, I am content,” he replied.

“Even the lonely part,” she was curious to if he would ever want someone to share his life.

“If someone were to come along who was that perfect fit for me,” he stared into her eyes. “I would in a heartbeat.” She wanted to turn away, but he had locked their eyes and she felt the electricity flow between them. And it wasn’t from the storm outside but the one brewing inside.

“Thank you again, for saving my life,” her words could hardly come out as his eyes fixed on hers. “And for keeping me warm, the food and beverage; your clothing and shelter.” She rambled on.

“Of course,” he spoke, a smile graced his face seeing this great warrior so gentle and soft. He released their gaze and relaxed in his chair.

“That storm came in so quickly,” she looked towards the door. He became interested in how she got caught in the storm.

“Where were you?” He asked.

“I was on an island not far from here,” she started. “I was test driving that boat you found me under, to see if I wanted to buy it. The captain warned me the storm was coming and to return, but I wanted to take another run when a rogue wave came along and swept me away. The storm came afterwards.”

“I see,” he says. “Luckily it brought you here.” She laughed.

“That wasn’t luck,” she says. “I drove the boat towards the shore seeing the island. It was pure desperation.” He smiled hearing her laughter. He was enjoying her opening to him and being so comfortable.

“So, this nearby island, where you were planning to buy the boat,” he leaned in. “Was it a place of residence or exploration?” She stared at him, getting the sense of interrogation. She knows the drill as she has done it many times. The person gets comfortable with small talk, then the real questioning for information proceeds. She pulled the cover off her lap, then came to her feet with plate and glass in hand. He stood as well, confused with her sudden change of demeanor.

“I better take these and wash them,” she told him. He stepped towards her cautiously, not wanting to be intimidating.

“No, you won’t,” he said. “You are a guest in my home and will be treated as much.” He reached for the items, their hands brushing against the other. She felt this gentle surge of energy flow through her body; she inhaled deeply; her eyes automatically went to his. No, he was not the same warrior she fought those two times. He was very subdued and gracious.

“Twice before we had intimate moments,” she says. “And I am guessing one of a very in discreet nature here.” She was not showing any way of being modest, knowing he had seen her body. She knew he did it to help her.

“I understand the intimacy with sharing the heat from my body to comfort you,” he stated. “But what other time were we? Did I miss something?” She laughed lightly.

“Our battles,” she informed him. “We laid hands on each other in the most intense way, other than making love.” Now it was him, shying from the last part.

“I better go wash these,” he said and scurried away. She was getting to him as she did after the bridge fight. No one has ever been able to match his level of skills as she had that day. She went browsing around his place, peering into his bedroom.

Inside of it was a hammock hanging from two strong beams in the ceiling. Nothing more than a bamboo chair and a door she wasn’t sure where it led to, and she dared not to cross the threshold of his private space. She did notice around the wall were paintings.

“These are the stories of my life,” he came up to stand behind her seeing she was fixed on it. She jumped back and into him, startled. He gently grasped her arms; she wasn’t surprised how carefully he held her. She turned to him staring into his eyes, searching in the coral-colored orbs. She found solitude in them.

“Would you mind telling me what it says?” He felt a twinge in his heart, he wanted her at that moment; she was making it hard for him to resist, but he did.

“Sure,” he said and led her into his room. No one else had ever been inside there.

He described to her each image and what it depicted. His birth, his family, Namor and Namora, him becoming a warrior, his battles, their fight on the bridge and the one on the ship. She chuckled at the one on the ship and how he showed her kicking him off, and him flying into the sea. His eyes cut over to her noticing her reaction to that one.

“You laugh?” He asked.

“I am sorry, but you painted it,” she reminded him. He smiled.

“Yes, I did,” he says. “Did I lie? Or is that not how it happened?”

“No, that is awesome and exactly what happened,” she confirmed. “But you are brutally honest.”

“Is there any other way to be?” He asks. “I mean if you want to be true to yourself, that is.”

“No, to be honest with one’s self, the truth is important,” she walked out the room back to the fireplace. She was feeling fatigued. “You asked if I was visiting the island or living there.” She sat down, covering her legs once again. Away from the fire, the other parts of the cabin were freezing. He stood by the chair, sensing her getting tired.

“I did,” he says. “And you were stating something about being intimate, I get the feeling there was more you wanted to express.” She stared into the flames.

“We never formally introduced ourselves,” she says. “By our names that is. Mine is Okoye.”

“I am Attuma,” he came around the chair and sat. “Your name matches you, it’s beautiful.” She looked back at him.

“I am not sure if I am visiting or if it’s my home,” she was being honest. “Being truthful with myself, I do not know much of anything anymore. I feel like I’m just drifting along with no purpose.”

“You're searching for that, a purpose,” he reminded her. She looked up to him.

“At least you found your peace, not many do,” she told him.

“Yes, a lonely discovery,” he chuckled.

“What a pair we make,” she laughed at the irony of them meeting while fighting for a cause not of their making. Both meet again, but now with their freedom to do whatever they choose. His, a life of seclusion and hers, one of a wanderer.

“And what is wrong with us as a pair?” He asked not pulling back. She stared into his eyes, a sensation flowed through her, as she saw in them the truth. She looked away and sunk down halfway beneath the cover. His feelings for her were deep and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that. It’s been years that she has interacted with any man on this level, not since her ex-husband W’Kabi.

“I am little tired,” she told him. “I think I will get some sleep now.” She lay down facing away from him. She heard him get up and leave but returned minutes later.

“Here,” he said. She turned to see him holding a big plush pillow. “I have a couple of these and used them when I lay before the fireplace. You will find it comfortable and help you rest.” She took it and adjusted it.

“Thank you Attuma,” she smiled. It pleased him to hear her say his name.

“You’re welcome, Okoye,” it gave her warmth to hearing him call her by her name. “Have a good night.” At that moment, a thunderclap sounded sending a huge vibration through the building. She jumped; never has she liked the sound from childhood. He notices as she tries to cover her fear.

“Please don’t leave me,” she looked to him.

“Sure,” he said taking a seat in the chair.

“No, I mean come lay with me,” she reiterated, pulling the cover back. He let out a loud sigh, then came down to lie next to her, but placed the cover back over her.

“I will not be doing this with you, Okoye,” he expressed.

“But I want it,” she says to him.

“What about what I want?” He asked. She tilted her head, bewildered.

“I thought you wanted me,” she replied. He looked past her into the flames.

“You have no idea,” he told her. “And that is something you need to figure out.”

“You are confusing me,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes, why deny it?”

“What you see in my eyes is deeper than what we can do tonight,” he explained. “I do not want one night with you, I need forever. But that is not what you can give to me.” She sat pondering the words he spoke. They went deep inside of her.

“I see,” she finally says. “Will you still stay with me, at least until I fall asleep. The thunder sound is my weakness.” He moved to her side the cover between them.

“Yes, I will,” He laid his head next to hers on the pillow. “And until you awaken.” He spooned her as they watched the flames in silence. She felt he had rejected her, and her eyes began to water. The tears trickled down her face, he knew she was crying. He gently turned her on her back staring her in the eyes.

“You have no idea how long I waited for someone to come and live a life with me,” he says. “Never in my dreams did I know it would be you. I am not rejecting you, In yakunaj; never would I ever. You think this is what you want, but it is not. There is more that you need and that is what I will give you. Whenever you are ready, I will be here waiting. That’s how sure I am of us.” She will have to decide if she wants a life with him, or an adventurous life. She returns to her side and allows him to hold her, as they continue to gaze into the flames in silence. Outside the storm raged while a different situation developed inside.

As the morning came along with the storm moving on. Okoye woke to the aroma coming from the kitchen. She got up and checked her clothing, they had dried during the night. She was anxious to get back and resume the life she had mapped out for herself before encountering him. She took off his shirt and put on her outfit. He came out of the kitchen with plates and set them on the table.

“You’re up,” he said looking at her and seeing she’s had changed back to her clothing. “Do you have time to eat, before you leave?”

“I have to get back to my--,” she was going to say life, but refrained. “I have to let everyone know I am alright, before they panic.”

“And how do you propose to do that?” He asked. She thought it out.

“I have a radio on the boat, I can fix it and give my location,” she explained. “That is if you do not mind someone else knowing you’re here.”

“I do not mind,” he says. “But first we eat then I will help you get home.” Reluctantly, she agreed.

They sat and ate breakfast mostly in silence with a few words passing between them. She was in urgent need to get away from him, why? She couldn’t quite figure it out. Maybe he posed a threat to the lifestyle she had created for herself? Or maybe she wanted him to make wild love to her in a way she knew no other could. But he refused to do so without a commitment from her and she did not want to give up this freedom she had enjoyed for the past several years.

Most of her life before W’Kabi's treacherous ways and the Queen’s demotion, she has dedicated her life to him, and to her country. That dedication flew out the window with the two lost. These years she has done as she pleased, never second guessing anything she has done or said. Until that damn storm blew her here, to him. Now, she is questioning if she has been truly happy.

“I will see if I can repair your boat,” he interrupted her thoughts. He had finished and was on his feet. She went to hand him her place as he gestured for it. “I am not much of a mechanic, we Talokanil are not in need of your sea vessels. But I am a builder and can make it float.”

“I have a radio on board, I can give them the coordinates.” She informed him. He took the dishes and went into the kitchen. He thought the storm had brought about the mood of the night. But awakening up to her at his side, sleeping so peacefully sealed his fate. She was his one, but she had to decide that he cannot force her.

They left his hut and walked down the beach to the boat. It was upside down, but he was able to push it over. She checked the radio to see if it was still intact; it was. He was examining the outside to see if there were holes are cracks, when a voice came through the radio. His heart ached knowing soon she would be gone from his life.

“Hello, is anyone there? This is Okoye and I am stranded on an island,” she called.

“Okoye?” the man’s voice sounded out.

“Yes, it’s me,” it was the captain. They had started out early searching for her.

“Give me the coordinates and we will come for you,” he told her. She started to give it to him but paused. She looked up at Attuma, who had finished assessing the damage and was staring out to sea. He had made a life for himself here; she did not want to disrupt it any more than she had.

“Give me a moment captain,” she says to him. She went to stand beside Attuma, touching his arm. He looked down at her. “I do not want them to know this place. Can you push my boat in that direction far from here?” She asked out of courtesy; she already knew the answer.

“I will call one of the Orcas to do it,” his voice had a hint of sadness. He chose not to help her go back to something he knew she was not happy in.

“Attuma,” she came to stand directly in front of him, gazing into his eyes searching for what she saw the night before. She found more than she could bear and turned away; looking towards the life she would resume once she had gone. “Thank you for saving me and your hospitality.”

“Did I, Okoye?” He said, then plunged into the water swimming out and summoning a killer whale. He came back and helped her into the boat, pushing it far enough for the whale to carry it out to sea. She never took her eyes off him as he grew smaller with the distance growing between them. Once she could see him no longer, did she turn around and sit looking straight ahead, tears flowing freely.

Attuma turned to go tend to his animals with one last backwards glance into the empty spot her boat once filled. His eyes cast to the ground he had hoped some way it would have had a better outcome. He took a deep breath then continued with his life as he knows it.

Okoye’s heart was breaking, and she couldn’t quite understand. They had last tried to kill each other with their encounters. After the treaty, they hadn’t thought or seen each other. So, how this instant attraction could develop for one another is beyond her comprehension.

As the island vanished behind her the ship came into view. Seeing her drifting the captain stressed towards her, eating up the gap and came along beside her. She was assisted onto it and her boat secured to its side. The captain sought the island she spoke of but did not see it in sight.

“I have tried to locate an island in this area but saw none on the map,” he told her once they were on their way, and she had settled in.

“Island?” She stared at him.

“Yes, you said you were stranded on an island,�� he reminded her. She took a few steps away from him, eyes fixed on the direction of where it would be. Where he was.

“I do not remember, captain,” she played it off. “I may have thought so, but no; I was in my boat.”

“That would have been impossible,” he lightly protested. “The gales alone would have shattered the boat and killed you.” She looked back at him.

“And yet, here I am, safe and well,” she says to him. With a hard grunt he took his leave. She stared off into the distance, to him and wondered how he was handling it all.

Several days had gone by without any contact from her. That night he had brought out his heavy liquor and did himself a favor to dim the pain. He got drunk and regretted it the next morning. He was out back, gathering eggs, goat’s milk and vegetables from his garden, fruit from his trees; when he heard a rumbling noise from the front.

He slowly made his way to see what the cause of the sound. It was a boat nearing the shore at a high speed. He fears they would crash the way they were approaching. Then they did a side swipe and slowed down, as they beached it. One look and he recognized the driver. She stepped out, eyes pinned on him, just standing there. She wasn’t sure if she would be welcomed the way she had left. But she was willing to take the chance.

He slowly started towards her; his body language told her all she needed to know. She ran to him and jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and arms about his neck. His arm encircled her small waist, pulling her into him, and his hand cradled the back of her head, resting the side of his face against hers.

“Ta sajbe'en in wóotik (You came back my darling),” he whispered in her ear.

“Je'el in yaakunaj ka'a (Yes, my love I came back),” she confirmed. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy, knowing she had not lost him. She moved her head back to look him in the eyes. She placed his face between her hands. “I missed you so much I couldn’t do anything. I thought I had waited too long to come, and you would not want me.” He shook his head.

“I will always want you,” he confessed. “No matter how long it took for you to realize we belong together.” With that, he removed his mask and did what he had wanted to do; and kissed her deeply for the first time. She whimpered from the intensity of it.

He was her lifesaver, and she, his breath. This will mark their life of compromise. He was not alone anymore, and she had found what she had been searching for. He carried her into his hut and made love to her as she wanted, but more so as she needed.

#okoye x attuma #attuma x okoye #attoye #attuma and okoye #general okoye #mcu okoye #black panther okoye #attuma of talokan #mcu attuma #okoye #attuma #black panther #black panther wakanda forever

[cozyenigma]

Where We Are Now (Part 2)

(hey remember how I said the first one was a victim of my too much gene? I come to you again in the dead of night with a monstrosity)

Word Count- 2557

Request?- Yes!

First Part Here!!!

Summary- Things go from bad to worse and get a bit more complicated where a certain engineer is concerned.

Warnings- none

If space faring had taught you anything, it was rolling with the punches. It was what you were good at.

The food stores would keep the fledgling colony going for a while, long enough to get the farming and shelters established anyway. Or at least that was the hope. Your crew had really thrown their all into it and things were finally looking up.

Until they weren't.

Turned out the climate of this new world wasn't exactly the same as the one you'd left. Grey storm clouds had rolled in overhead. Thunder and lightning had the colonists scattering, back to shelters that weren't meant for the gale force winds bearing down on them. Most survived with only a leak or two. Others, more hastily built, collapsed entirely.

Celci mused at one point on the similarities to monsoons but you were hardly listening.

Now most of the souls you were in charge of were back on the Invincible two. The interior was powered up and alive again with the crew organizing temporary accommodations and tending to the injured. And you? You were supposed to be used to this. You should be in the thick of it, helping. Leading. The sights and sounds of the ship made your bones itch so badly all you could do was sit on the sidelines and breathe.

The sensation of everything moving on without you wasn't new but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"Here."

You jumped as a cup was practically forced into your hands. It was warm, as was the blanket thrown over your shoulders. Mark was suddenly at your side. Armed with a coffee of his own, his eyes were on the people still flowing past you.

The warmth was grounding. That anchor made it easier to process the rumblings of the people around you.

Your fingers drummed against the cup. "Thanks."

The silence felt wide between the two of you. Even with the bustle all around it felt thick, uncomfortable.

"It's not your fault, y'know."

Scratch that.

With a heavy sigh, you watched the steam curl up from your cup. The idea of asking what he meant crossed your mind but you didn't feel like tip toeing through this minefield.

"It's gotta be someone's," you shrugged.

Though you appreciated the sentiment, this feeling was one you were used to. It's gonna come down to someone when everything falls to pieces. Mark's eyes were on you only for a moment then back to the crowd.

Gunther had been the one to section out the ship for the colonists' refuge. The operation wasn't the most organized but it worked. Despite it all, your crew was making it work.

"You can't outmaneuver a monsoon," Mark said after a moment, "or whatever the hell Celci said it was."

"Either way. Shelters need rebuilding. The crops are gonna be a wash at this point."

You just barely suppressed the urge to slump where you were sitting. Two, almost three months of work. Gone. The winds would wipe the fields clean and then what? Your colonists would starve. God, what could you have done differently? Maybe a better location for the settlement. Somewhere with a more temperate climate…    

Warm fingers were around your wrist. You shot a wide eyed look at Mark and then down at your own hands. Without even realizing, you had abandoned the coffee and your fingers were ghosting over where the crystal used to be.

Before, you used to be able to tell when he had something on his mind. More often when he had an idea involving explosives of some sort. Now though? You couldn't tell what was behind that look. Something almost angry, you thought.

"Then we'll just build it again," he murmurs.

There's a beat of hesitation, Mark's eyes drop from your hands. It seems slow and careful as his fingers squeeze your wrist just slightly.

"You're not in this by yourself."

Your throat tightened up. It only took a small tug to pull your arm out of his grip. Instead of fumbling for a proverbial reset button where there wasn’t any, you kept yourself busy by holding the coffee cup close.

“I should make sure no one’s hurt,” you murmured, getting to your feet again.

“Captain-“ he huffs, calling you by your name as you disappear into the crowd,

You don’t look back and the coffee goes cold long before you even take a sip.

True to form for this damned voyage, things only went from bad to worse.

Like you guessed, by the time the storm had died down the majority of what you and your crew had built had been swept away. Morale wasn’t doing much better. The only thing left after all that effort was some mud and rubble, the land being scraped clean like the planet hit a big red reset button.

“We can’t keep going on like this,” Celci stated the obvious.

The crew was all gathered in the mess hall. Meager rations and weak coffee abound in the informal meeting.

“How’s the hydroponics?” You asked. The paper cup was already creased in your hands.

Celci sighed and shook her head. “It was never meant to sustain a colony of this size for the long term. We can get by with some rationing for a while but it’s not going to get us that far.”

“Gotta fix the solar panels for power too,” Burt added. His normally even keel is betrayed by a deep furrow between the brows.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. One of the first mates piped up about redoing the farming plots but it all washed in one ear and out the other. Everyone had their own ideas, some more vocal than others. The only one who hasn’t spoken much was Mark. Sat to your right, he’d been oddly withdrawn since the meeting started. Instead of pitching a fit with Celci, which you half expected on any given day, he seemed happy with just watching the conversation unfold and swirling his half empty coffee.

“I’m just sayin,” you tuned back in as Gunther set a rather hefty looking pistol on the table, “we got plenty of food out there. Just gotta go get it.”

“Oh and I’m assuming you’re the first to volunteer to eat alien wildlife?” Celci scoffed.

Gunther shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Sure as hell beats eatin' grass."

"Do we have a way of seeing if the animals are safe to eat?" You cut in before another round of arguing can start.

There's some shared glances and shrugs. While there was some testing that could be done, the alien physiology made it so nothing could be a guarantee. The memory of that space drive through Wug took you through sprung up suddenly.

Yeah that one might've been a hard sell even now.

"Okay, we'll do our best to rebuild here," Gunther groaned and you steadfastly barreled on, "and I'll lead a team out to see what we can find. Flora or fauna."

That one got you some looks. While you wanted to make sure the recovery went smoothly there was much more that could go wrong with the away team. That's where you needed to be.

"Volunteers?" You asked, casting your eyes around the table.

Predictably, Gunther didn't need much convincing. "I've been needing some target practice."

A few other hesitant hands went up. It wasn't much but the dread at the back of your throat lessened as you counted them up. Then, seeing a hand to your right, it came right back again.

Mark had his hand up. Looking far more serious than he usually did, or at least more than you remembered, it was clear convincing him otherwise was out of the question. You tried not to think about it too much.

The plan set, your crew dispersed with a long day ahead of them tomorrow. Before you went to turn in for the night, you caught Mark before he left. All you wanted to do was ask why.

"Well. Coulda been worse?"

His eyes fell as he answered simply, "Been through a lot together. Why stop now?"

-----

The glare you shot Mark's way could've stripped paint. It was true but only just barely.

The little excursion you, Mark, Gunther, and a handful of others went on could only be described as disastrous. Turns out the monsoon season for this planet wasn’t over yet. Your small craft, only designed for scouting and exploration, didn’t last long when rain and lightning rolled in. The poor visibility led to a rough landing. The damaged ship along with the storm hampered communication back. With no signs of the storm stopping and injured crew, you had little choice but to brave the weather and try and get a message out.

Mark, of course, insisted he come with. Gunther stayed back with the ship and crew as the two of you set off. The raincoats you had kept out most of the water but could only keep the chill at bay for so long.

“Captain!”

It must’ve been an hour or two in when you heard Mark call out over the roar of the rain. He was pointing to a cave. Set in the side of a craggy cliff, it provided just enough cover to keep dry and make a fire.

So here you were. At rock bottom again, on the borderline of hypothermia as your crew was waiting on you back at the ship.

"Really," Mark said, shaking out his dripping boots, "it could've been worse. Lucky we came across this cave. Real good set up."

He flopped back down onto the floor, gesturing further back. "I can see it now. Lounge back in that corner, mini bar on the far wall. Only downside is can't get much in the way of windows or natural lighting-"

"Mark."

Your voice cut through his rambling, the echoes petering out under the oppressive rain.

Though the fire helped, it wasn't much. You knew the crew back on the away craft didn't even have the luxury.

Mark was drumming his fingers against his leg. Sure enough, the silence only lasted a couple seconds more.

"We'll wait till the storm lets up and then we can get a signal at the top of the hill. Haven't gone too far from the rest of the crew so it shouldn't take too long," he gave you a smile over the campfire and it was so earnest it ate at you.

"Look can you just- stop," your ire only grew at his confusion.

"Stop what?"

"Stop trying to spin this into something- I don't know. Just stop pretending it's all gonna be okay, alright? Just stop it."

His brows furrowed as he sat up further. "I'm just trying to make a plan-"

"You're just trying to make me feel better."

"And that's- bad?"

"I don't want it," you snapped. "The situation is fucked, Mark. FUBAR. Just- can we just stop pretending?"

Mark huffed. "It's not like you to just give up. On anything. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't need your help."

There's a moment of silence. Mark's jaw works as he looks you over.

"I thought we could work together again. Like old times. Are you- do you still blame me?"

You distracted yourself by poking at the first. "I could ask you the same thing."

"What the hell does that even-" Mark threw up his hands. "You've been ignoring me, my ideas, everything, since we got here. I am trying to make this okay again but you won't let me!"

"I can't, okay!" The cave threw the shouting right back at you. "I don't- I don't know what I did to make you guys not trust me anymore." You cut Mark off as he tried to interrupt you, "And don't act like you do. I can tell. No one does. Most of them don't remember but I do. They do, on some level. And now we're here. Cold and starving and this isn't working!"

You slumped, covering your eyes. "We went through all of this, all the loops and deaths. For what? There's nothing here."

Despite everything you went through this, sitting here in a damp, cold cave, felt like rock bottom. No more jumps. No more second chances. Was this what your crew mates felt like after you jumped? Being left in a doomed timeline?

You didn't realize you were crying until you're being pulled into Mark's arms.

Being just as wet and cold as you were, it was a pretty miserable hug by most standards. You still clung to him.

"Nobody thinks less of you for this," he murmurs. "You're doing all you can. You don't need some magic rock in your arm to be a good captain. That's all in here," gentle fingers tap against your temple, "and letting yourself rely on the people around you."

"But-"

"You can't do everything. No one can. It's either let yourself be helped or drown. No in betweens, captain."

Mark pulled back then, eyes darting across your face. "And if you do drown, I'm going with you."

His gloves were off so it was just him as he wiped the tears from your cheeks. His hands were more callused than you remembered.

"God," you got the rest of them yourself, looking away from him, "you can't tell me I'm a good captain as I'm losing my shit, Mark."

"Watch me."

Normally you wouldn't just let him manhandle you around but- you found yourself tucked into his side and closer to the fire.

"C'mon," he said, voice more gentle than the words, "all the stuff we went through and you're gonna throw in the towel over some rain? Not on my watch."

Damn him. Damn him for being so- him. And for nearly making you cry all over again. You turned your head, half burying your face in his uniform. It smelled of dirt and damp but you didn't pull back. Not for anything.

Mark perked up a bit as you mumbled something into the fabric. "What was that?"

Again, barely loud enough for him to hear over the downpour outside, "I don't deserve you."

For a split second he seems shocked. Then, his usual crooked lil smile. "Well considering my qualifications most people don't but I think we make a pretty good match, Captain."

"Pretty good match, huh?" You repeated, eyes on the fire.

Later on, as you relived the memory in your head over and over, you weren't sure who made the first move. If it was Mark who nudged your chin up of you who pulled him down to your lips. It didn't matter. The results were like lightning as you both tried to put words into the kiss. It all tasted like campfire smoke and smelled like rain.

Outside, when the weather cleared, you'd have to figure out your next steps. Get your fledgling colony back on its feet and keep moving forward. Always, inevitably, forward.

But for now?

Right now it was just warm hands, fast words, and even faster lips. It was like fate in motion. It was definitely something Mark would make fun of you for if he ever heard you describe it like this. Still, you didn't care. You had a head engineer at your side and that was all that mattered.

#space mark x reader #iswm #writersofmark #youtuber ego #space mark #head engineer mark #reader insert #markiplier ego x reader #ego fanfic #My writing

[hellonoblesky]

ok turtle how could the Archons be portrayed in Khaenri'ahn history/mythos

Gabriel. I love you here's my incoherent ramblings (Under the cut because ummmmmm. Haha. It's long. It's so long. And I am so insane.

OK SO FIRST OF ALL, we know that Hilichurls don't worship the gods, obviously, they're Khaenri'ahns, they've worshipped the sheer elements and forces of nature alongside the Ley Lines ever since the nation was founded with the ruins of Vindagyner (and some other nameless places we don't have proper documentation on just yet). That's a given.

The Khaenri'ahn religion/general belief system doesn't worship a single figure but rather the forces of nature itself. It has always been like that, with a focus on the actual people learning the elements by force of will rather than being granted the powers by a higher force. And it's a VERY VERY starkly different belief system from the rest of Teyvat, which all operates under the belief of higher-up or more powerful beings!!!

This is important.

Because Khaenri'ah was founded on what I like to call the Godless Nations, most notably at the moment: VINDAGNYER (the previous civilization on Dragonspine).

Vindagnyer, which grew so powerful on it's own that they harnessed the power of the ley lines, the very BLOOD OF THE WORLD, that they ascended to Celestia with no assistance, that they were technologically advanced to create floating guards with LAZERS. Vindagnyer, was by all counts, a highly advanced society!! And !! This civilization existed around DECABRIAN'S ERA!! And likely only fell around the time of his fall!!!

But WHY did Vindagnyer fall?? It was because of Celestia. Celestia dropped the full Skyfrost Nail on the mountain and FREEZING A WHOLE CIVILIZATION while Venti rose to the seat of Archon and the long-standing war between Decabrian and Andrius abated.

We know from the Scribe of VIndagnyer that he went to join the then still new Khaenri'ah, still just a nation in the early stages of forming, and he went there SPECIFICALLY because it was a nation founded separately from the gods. That is important.

So taking into account that Khaenri'ah was founded with The Scribe, who was, again, a SCRIBE, I think it's likely that the Anemo Archon, just, as a figure in general, because I doubt Khaenri'ahn society at any point in time has really known much about the passing of Gnosi from Archon to Archon, is depicted as harsh.

Harsh as a biting wind, a creature of hail and monsoons swept sideways, of cold air and roaring noise. The Anemo Archon, in Khaenri'ahn history, is more creature than being of intelligence (all the archons likely are). He is a thing of wings and glinting gold, a thing that shoves you off balance, could send you tumbling to your doom with a breath, could knock things away and send them shattering in an instant. He's not the God of Freedom, he's the Creature of The Winds. The Fangs of the Tornado. He's the Blizzard's Gales and the Monsoon's Driver. He's the Hell of Hurricanes and he has no mercy.

No, the Anemo god is a Creature. A beast. A thing like a fox, curious, and sometimes approachable, but still with claws and teeth and a swift dashing bite.

Zhongli, or rather, Morax, however, I think is seen very differently.

After all, much of the history around the Anemo Archon is of him lifting Mondstadt's people to freedom, it's contained to his nation, and his nation doesn't carry as much history with wars as Morax's does.

But Morax fought the Archon War.

And Khaenri'ah was founded around the time of/give or take a little bit before the Archon War.

And a nation not ruled by gods, to people who were suddenly caught amidst god at war? It probably sounded safer than worrying about whether your entire village would be raised or flooded or burned in the flick of a wrist or the slash of a blade.

So those who fled the nation that would later become Liyue would tell stories of Morax the Warrior. Morax the Dragon. Morax the Blade. Morax who stood stern, Morax who controlled the rumbling stone and whose spear cut the sky until the stars seemed to fall.

To Khaenri'ah, Morax is a general. A General of the skies and a General of the Stone. He is a man of harsh judgment and loyalty like an attack dog. He is a beast all Claws and Eyes and Fangs. He is not the kind and fair ruler Liyue knows, he is the harsh finality of the executioner. He is a beast of war and battle and bloodshed and though he may be regarded as smart and with tactical prowess in Khaenri'ah, he is Not regarded as a man of benevolence. He is regarded as a man of War.

To the people of Khaenri'ah, the Geo Archon is the God of War. Their legends and stories don't speak of his contracts, or his defense of Liyue, they speak of his battles, of his bloodshed, of those he killed.

The Electro Archon(s) are probably beings of much less legend in Khaenri'ahn mythos

They're probably seen like a vaguer version of Zhongli. Shut off, but prevalent in battle. Strong with the thunder, with the blade, blood on their hands and violet glare in their eyes.

But they're not important in Khaenri'ahn history or mythos.

Of course they aren't not when Khaenri'ah is much MUCH more familiar with the Snake God of Enkanomiya, Orobaxi, as it's entirely possible ( and In my opinion LIKELY) that some Enkanomiyans moved to Khaenri'ah instead of moving to the surface on Watatsumi island, as they wanted to continue living underground/in similar conditions.

And Orobaxi is spoken of in fond tongues.

A gentle snake, a being who listened to the people it protected, a thing of the deep earth, bathed in the Ley Lines, slithering in power. Orobaxi is held in reverent tones, as to the people of Khaenri'ah he was no high-and-mightly god, he was the defender of their neighboring underground nation, he was the snake of Enkanomiya, the serpent of the ocean's depths. He was no god of war, he was no creature of gales and blizzards, he was Orobaxi, the Serpent of Coral.

The Dendro Archon was one spoken of almost fondly.

After all, she was one of the Ley Line's beings, she wasn't a separate thing, her consciousness spanned the world, and it's entirely likely she communed with Khaenri'ahn sages through the roots of the Imurnsil.

She was the voice of gentle guidance. The Celestial assistance of the Trees. She kept out of Khaenri'ahn affairs, generally (not her nation, far from her business, but she liked Knowing), but she was referred to as more of a whisperer in the roots, a little skitter of curiosity.

Of course, those are all PRE-CATACLYSM.

Post-Cataclysm, Venti's image as a harsh wind of gales and blizzards and knives of air solidified with the Khaenri'ahn hatred of Celestia, Morax became the Warring Butcher of Stone, blood on his blade and no mercy in his eyes. In Orobaxi's death and the fall of Makoto during the Cataclysm, the Electro Archon became a figure of Khaenri'ahn victory, but also one of Khaenri'ahn loss. She's both a dead God, Dead at the hands of the Abyss (which is good or bad depending on what part of current day Khaenri'ah you ask), and a mourning one, one seen screaming in loss on the battlefield, a body cradled close to her chest. And the Dendro Archon became a disregarded myth. The whisperer in the Ley Lines became the whispers of the Abyss.

OH and also I have a strong theory that most of Khaenri'ahn mythos and history is passed on in pictographs and stories told by mouth so regionally they have different perceptions of the gods these are just the general ones :)

#THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING. IM SO INSNAE RIGHT NOT #turtledove answers #genshin impact lore #genshin lore #genshin theories #genshin theory #genshin impact #khaenri'ah #khaenri'ah lore #AUGH THE INSANITY ABOUT IT IS SOOOO REALLLL

[mistressemmedi]

Potential rain? I don't want rain. I want a monsoon. Gale force wind. A whole ass hurricane. I want Monaco to be obliterated from this world

#I'm so angryyyyyyy #f1 #monaco gp 2022

[delugenal]

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 since the last drop of summer fell from the sky, but the humidity outlived the monsoon that ushered it. without the dance of the most free-spirited element to cleanse the city of its morose cousin, a dense layer of moisture clung onto sun do like a shroud, converting its bustling thoroughfares into inescapable saunas. a single step across a threshold drenched the most wispy of seasonal fabrics into a sodden film that adhered like a second skin. walls provided no shelter as oppressive vapors collected in rooms, forming condensed beads on stone and wood.

      even the airy architecture of the palace offered no sanctuary, the peaks of its grandeur barely visible above the coagulated mist. yet without any off-shore wind or mountain blessing, the spacious scenery offered a teachable opportunity.

      rain was overly cautious selecting a spot. thousands of common years at the palace meant he didn’t need to see through the opaque to know where the gardens’ most fragile antiquities were hiding. but there was no such thing as misplaced paranoia when it came to relics older than earthrealm’s first sapient beings.

      bordering satisfaction, the hydromancer posted himself on the edge of an ornate pond. the rustle of his boots on the ivory stone outlining the water’s edge was an inaudible wisp in the heavy air. undulating scales of molten gold flashed through the grey whenever the pond’s occupants broke the surface. the only other life daring stifled lungs aside from himself, and the young woman nearby.

      dark eyes partially obscured by the shadow of hood considered her thoughtfully after one last visual rove around the informal arena for an elusive accident waiting in the fog. ❝ what will you be, princess, a breeze or a gale? ❞

@kitsuan

#hoo sorry this took a bit #i caught something at the wedding i was at #and my brain has been mud #so hopefully whatever the heck i wrote resembles language #pre-mk1 tbt. #kitsuan / 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. — 01 #kitsuan #what you have chosen is at hand / 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫. — starter

[theothernaomigoestown]

Siamang Fun Fact #5

Siamangs live mostly in Indonesia and Malaysia in Monsoon Forests (in my top 5 favorite forests) They're extremely territorial and roam an area of 50-60 meters(~0.03 miles) and are found in the trees at a height of 25 to 30 meters (80-100 ft)

Look at this guy, he's a real one. Much nicer than Gale.

#siamang #siamang gibbon #moonsoon forest #can't belive that's not a tag yet #forests #trees #wtf are meters #fuck gale #me and my homies hate gale

[kiyfra]

Time for WIP Wednesday! Here’s a snippet from the upcoming chapter 3 of Scorpio. PokéRus AU belongs to monsoon-of-art.

It was time to continue his search.

He lurched dizzyingly before taking off, the strong winds sufficient for carrying him, despite how raggedy his wings were. Powerful gales tried to take him every which way across the mountain in a roundabout path, sometimes petering out and leaving him to clamber over crumbling cliff faces.

He spent hours struggling against the wind and his own ineptitude in his haphazard search, pain and exhaustion ready to force him to collapse wherever he happened to be standing.

A bolt arced about a yard above him and he cried out in surprise and alarm at the crack of lightning temporarily blinding him. Unnaturally cold static radiated off of the electric discharge that threatened to tear apart what little of his mind remained.

He suddenly felt very small, a weak pitiful creature tossed about in the air and at the mercy of a being far beyond his comprehension. A dark snake-like being that had dragged him away from his home into its realm of swirling black skies and desolate islands. Malevolent red eyes glared at him as he screamed and fell while unseen claws violently scratched away at his mind.

#wip wednesday #pokerus au

[impishbiscuit]

wip wednesday

Tagged by both @scorpioink77 and @ravenstrange so I hope this is what yall wanted!

The most unusual thing about the certified disaster that is Mindoir is the rumors coming from captured batarian prisoners from West Edge, a rapidly growing large town on the northwestern shoreline of the bigger of the planet’s two continents. West Edge is known for fertile soil, kind winds, and the cold, rocky shores of the bay it was built on. Its isolation is partial, protected from the harshest gales by tall crags a few dozen kilometers to the east of the city, and wide swaths of something like pine forest blanket the surrounding area for almost as far as the eye can see. It’s a relatively cold haven on a hot planet. If it wasn’t for frequent rainstorms and long monsoon seasons feeding the many watersheds of the planet, Mindoir would no doubt dry out. West Edge, on the other hand, would likely remain lush.

West Edge, with its silver-barked pines and cooler weather and mountains, bears a striking resemblance to some of Earth’s more temperate climates, a small, rocky haven on a planet with wet, sweeping plains and rainforests aplenty. It’s a town with potential to be a tourist destination in the future, a perfect spot for resorts and hiking and outdoors adventures, a welcome respite to both off-world visitors and other residents of Mindoir—or it had potential, more accurately.

And now Anderson is hearing rumors that West Edge is haunted.

“Dare I ask why the batarians think West Edge is haunted?”

The private shuffles in place, eyes flicking downwards. This is the first time he’s been at a batarian raid site, and what a doozy of a first time. Anderson would almost feel sorry for him if he didn’t feel worse for the colonists. “They, er, say that buildings and their equipment keep catching on fire. Sir.”

Anderson scoffs. “I’ve seen their maintenance protocols. I’d be surprised if this doesn’t happen frequently.”

“Several of them also say they saw a ghost, sir.” The private winces, ducking into his shoulders and clearly knowing how ridiculous this sounds.

“So batarians also get schizophrenia,” Anderson comments with nothing more than a raised brow, though his mind whirls. One batarian hallucinating a manifestation of his own guilt is one thing; multiple saying the same is suspect.

A ghost, though? Anderson can’t help but wonder if there’s a bug in the translation software.

Tagging @wanderingaldecaldo and @steelphoto but very gently.

#writing tag #wip wednesday #me fanfic #mass effect fanfic #to be continued tm

[henriediosa]

ano pa ang kaya ko?

i had a lot of trouble with this one, but i'm really happy with it at the end. i finished it a few days before the official tagalog translations went up, which gave me an opportunity to think about the places where we made different choices. i gave myself the liberty of not having to worry about mouth flaps or simple language here, and i'm doing these translations to practice writing in literary tagalog; the official translation has other priorities. the world is wide enough.

my other encanto translations (so far: the family madrigal, waiting on a miracle, and we don't talk about bruno)

if you liked this and you would like to see more of it, you can leave me a tip and help support my writing through my ko-fi!

lyrics and an english back-translation under the cut.

[isabela at (mirabel)]

ngayon ko lang ‘to napatubo matinik, baliko 'di man pantay, hindi perpekto, may gandang angkin at akin ano pa’ng kaya ko?

it's my first time growing this thorny and crooked though it might not be balanced or perfect it has its own beauty and [that beauty is one that is] mine what else can i do?

(okey! 'lika na, 'lika na) (yakap! 'lika na, 'lika na) (ate! 'lika na, 'lika na)

(okay! let's go, let's go) (hug! let's go, let's go) (big sister! let's go, let's go)

nakaposas sa’king rosas ang prinsesang flor de mayo linugar at pinupwesto delicadezang inensayo

chained to my roses the flor de mayo princess put in her place and put into position a practiced demureness

paano kung pinalago ko ang tunay ko na damdamin? (ano’ng iyong sinasabi?) paano kung payag ako na di perpekto palagi at ako’y nagpabaya? hahayaan ba?

what if i let my true feelings bloom? (what are you saying?) what if it was okay with me to not always be perfect? and i let myself go? would it be allowed?

parang habagat, jacaranda umaakyat (ang taas!), umiikot (ay naku!) palma de cerang sumisira sa hadlang sa’king takbo ano pa’ng kaya ko?

like the monsoon, jacaranda climbing (so tall!), encircling (oh no!) palma de cera destroys the obstacles as i run what else can i do?

pwede bang magpasibol ng rocio del sol? basta lang mag-ingat at baka makagat ka nito nakakakilig sumubok ng bago di lang pampaganda, sawang magsinungaling

can i spring up sundew? just be careful, it might bite you it gives me butterflies to try new things no longer ornamental, tired of lying

(lagi kong inisip pagiging marikit ang buong buhay mo) kay lalim nitong ugat (di ka lang naman pampaganda,) (ang ganda na makita kang) (masaya,) malayang lumikha! ‘lika na, tayo na, sige pa!

i always thought your whole life was about being pretty how deep these roots are! of course you're not just ornamental, and it's beautiful to see you like this, happy, free to create! let's go, let it be us, let's keep going!

parang habagat, jacaranda umaakyat (ang taas!), umiikot (ang galing!) palma de cerang sumisira sa hadlang sa aking takbo (ano pa? ano?)

like the monsoon, jacaranda climbing (so tall!), encircling (so skilled!) palma de cera destroys the obstacles as i run (what else? what?)

paano kung punong-punong damdam ko ang bawat momento? (iyong-iyo ang momento!) paano kung iyong ako na gusto ko'y di perpekto? mamahalin mo rin ba? (oo! tabi, paraan na siya!)

what if i fully felt each moment? (the moment is all yours!) what if the me that i like isn't perfect? would you still love me? (yes! step aside, she's coming through!)

bonggang-bonggang tabebuia (ayan na siya at kanyang 'buia!) nagbabago (binago mo) ang kulay ko (ang isip ko) mahal kong mira, pinakita mo sa'kin ang kaya ko ano pa’ng kaya ko? (ipakita mo) ano pa’ng kaya ko? (lahat ay kaya mo) lahat ng kaya ko!

fabulous tabebuia (here she is with her 'buia!) my colour is changing (you've changed my mind) mira, i love you, you have revealed to me what i can do what else can i do? what else can i do? (show us you can do everything) all that i can do!

#encanto #translation #tagalog #what else can i do

[sasorikigai]

"i would do literally anything to keep her safe ." Liv @ Scorpion for MK2021 movie verse 👀 she means his daughter

↪     𝑯𝑶𝑳𝒀 𝑾𝑨𝑹  . || @somniaxperdita || accepting 

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || Thought of Koharu Hasashi encapsulates Scorpion; how they bring a smile to his severe, blackened face. But he wonders. Wonders if she even could remember the tragic occurrence which separated them until now. How he had been empty and devoid of life, with knowledge long past expired, him standing erect amidst the rapid maelstrom of hellfire, hollow and still, but afflicted with tenebrous darkness and despair. The suffocating air breathless and frozen with the vicious death of his rapid exsanguination. Fate had been so cruel, swift in its deliverance, all beginning with the sinking of his heart upon the shattering entombment of Harumi and Satoshi. The memory of them still oozes precious blood, and tears through Scorpion and brings a claustrophobic inferno towards him. Despite a resurrected life opened up like a present, with the proverbial Light inside of him expected to remain resplendently bright and intense, his head feels hazy and his soul empty, as immeasurable and indefinite draining, with all the bleakness and desolation affecting him. 

How it had been brutal to love, but even more brutal to die; and brutal beyond the reaches of (in)justice to die with such terrors of carnage and humiliation. The disturbances within continue to stir and threaten to sever every fiber of his being, gradually pulling him apart. Maybe this is why Scorpion repeats the history of violence and vitriol vengeance, because all the world has taught him is a constant mockery, preaching war after war while he strenuously battles his own psychology. His bones continue to erode and hone, as his everburning hellfire seeks to defeat and capture those that haunt him in the repeated vicious cycles of nightmarish, prophetic massacre of his clan, drawing further great pain, sadness, and grief. 

Like a flower in the unforgiving desert, Scorpion had to learn to adapt to grow in the cruelest weather, holding onto every drop of rain as hope just to relentlessly and passionately live. How he still makes an effort to bloom beneath the blazing sun, matching his vigor and intensity, and show the world of all the colors that live inside of him. The whorl and churn of his inferno contained beneath his piercing gaze speaks of this indescribable, unfathomable resilience as he returns his attention towards the Sun Goddess, despite feeling something that bites at his heart and his tender stomach that still bare his crude scar. Despite desperately wanting to hold Koharu in his arms, Scorpion never dares to commit to such tender, intimate act. For there is always a lump in his throat that doesn’t go away, there is always a tear in his eyes threatening to fall, and there is always a word on the tip of his blackened tongue that never comes out. He simply does not wish to go back to what buried him beneath the drowning torrent of hellfire, and dig his soul out of the impervious dark. 

“And I cannot let myself plunge down the wrong path, as I feel I am finally starting to get back on the right one,” for he had finally breached through the unyielding chrysalis of time, hatching in requiem to burst of gray and all the hues of death, and now, Scorpion seeks a continuum, an ever-evolving self that will retain multitudes of brilliant colors of life through rebuilt Shirai Ryu. 

“Despite wanting to raise her as my own, I still find my regret being twinged with the gale of a monsoon, begging remembrance, for Death’s frayed limbs and torrential crimson still pervade my conscious. I do not wish to affect her and further aggravate the mire of her youthful scars by reminding her of their constant presence.” Which is him himself. Scorpion now finds something unfamiliar swell in him; some cacophony of sounds, the rise and fall of the fathomless sea, indescribably dark and swirling, and he cannot bear to look at the Sun Goddess, nor conjure such precious image of his daughter. “I urge you to take well care of my daughter. I shall also inquire of Lord Raiden’s role in this to give you aid.” 

Forever bound, feeling as if his heart had been crushed together like layers of sedimentary rock, Scorpion retreats behind the torrent of columnar hellfire, hiding his presence behind a wispy silhouette.  ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion) #✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv) #✗ successions of binding music (olivia winter || somniaxperdita) #(HE SAD) #somniaxperdita