#thunder birds: soldiers of the air

[letterboxd-loggd]

Thunder Birds (Thunder Birds: Soldiers of the Air) (1942) William A. Wellman

June 11th 2022

#thunder birds #thunder birds: soldiers of the air #1942 #william a. wellman #preston foster #gene tierney #john sutton #george barbier #reginald denny #richard haydn #jack holt #may whitty #a tommy in the u.s.a. #thunderbirds

[sp1d3rzz]

The Devil's Bride

Ryōmen Sukuna

Warning!! : Mentions of death/killing, forced marriage, and basically Sukuna being an asshole and having no respect for reader.

Summary : After Sukuna reclaims his throne and becomes known as the King of Curses once again, he decides on bringing forth a Queen. You

A/N : I somewhat switch pov's during this so don't get confused. Part 2 coming soon!!

Days have passed since Sukuna has once reclaimed his throne. Yet, he seems to be bored out of his mind. There's nothing to occupy him from his apathy.

Sure, he has countless people at his feet he can order to do as he pleases. But what's the fun in that? He needs something exciting to happen. Something to fill his empty pit of boredom.

He contemplates on whether or not he should start a war, find more slaves soldiers to do his bids, or perhaps even go on a killing spree somewhere random in this dark, dark world. Better yet— why not just kill everyone??

Well, not yet at least.

His teeth grind together and his fists clench in annoyance to this endless pit of nothing he can't seem to shake off.

But just before he rips someone's eyes out with his bare nails from frustration, he forges an idea. And with that idea, comes a no-good smirk spreading across his face.

What does every king have in every fairytale, movie, and book? That's correct. A Queen.

"You." His thundering voice reaches the ears of a guard who could be approximately 52ft ahead of him. "Come here." he motions with his fingers.

Almost immediately, the soldier makes his way up the steps and to the throne of his King. "Yes, my Lord?"

Sukuna makes a simple face of boredom, supporting his head with a propped up fist. "Gather 5 of my best soldiers and find me my Queen." his eyes squint, which silently says 'Hurry it up.'

And without another word, the guard takes off to seek out to the Kings orders.

Not many people could get in the mind of Ryōmen Sukuna. To understand what goes on in that so called empty mind of his is mildly impossible. But, taking a wild guess, the soldier puts together things the King takes an interest in.

Power, Control, and Cruelty.

To find a Queen fit to the Kings likings, she must be innocent. A girl who can't stand up for herself, but when she attempts to, she cowards out.

A girl who needs someone to make the decisions for her. But also a girl who has a little spark in her soul. A spark that can carry her to victory no matter the battle.

This shall be the woman who Sukuna finds quite delightful.

The next step was finding a girl who fits this description.

While this soldier is pondering off into space, he almost forgets about his group of men. Which, he's surprised to see catch up to him with a younger looking woman.

"P-Please!! Let me go!" she sobs, loud enough the birds in the trees fly away and flee from the scene.

Tears flow down her cheeks and onto the dirt. Her clothes are scrunched up and dirty, most likely from how roughly his men handled her. And her breathing is so uneven, she might just pass out.

"I swear I'll never tell a soul—" hic! ",if you just let me go!"

There's two men on each side of her, both practically dragging her through the ground. "We found her out here by herself. She seems to be lost." The one on the left inquires.

Once she's dragged to be met face to face with the lead soldier, he grins.

She's a mess. Forehead so sweaty strands of her hair stick to it. Panting so rapidly, she might use up all the air she has left in her lungs.

The soldier takes one last look at the girl, eyes scanning her over, just to analyze how fit she is to take the role as Sukuna's Queen.

"What do you want for me?! Why– why are you doing this!" the girl begs to know any sort of information. Anything to get a grasp on herself.

No one responds.

She looks to her sides, expecting any kind of answer. But is instead met with the men completely ignoring her.

"She'll do perfectly."

Heavy footsteps echo throughout your head, which by now has been ruined with a horrible headache. Lucky you.

It's hard to tell how long you've been out for. If they've hurt you, or if you've somehow died and awoken in the after life.

The only thing you're sure of is how much pain is coursing through your body. It's to the point you're numb all over and you can barely lift your head up. Barely lift a finger for that matter.

"My lord." A familiar voice rings in your ear and back out. "Your Queen." Another one seems to say in-front of you.

In a desperate attempt to figure out what the hell is happening, you weakly lift your head, blinking a couple of times to regain your focus.

Your vision still remains slightly blurry, but you're only able to make out a set of stairs. Stairs that lead to what seems to be a throne. And in that throne, sits a man.

As you concentrate on this mysterious man, your vision slowly begins to recover.

He has spiky pink hair, long black nails, two eyes on one side, with a plated set of 2 more next to it, and 4 arms? His chiseled shirtless body seems to be tattooed with stripes and dots on each of his shoulders. No, no, this can't be right.

"Bring her here." his voice practically echoes into the air.

Your eyes widen to this sudden command, and you wiggle your arms, attempting to loosen yourself of the men who have you a strict hold over you.

Though it seems to not work, because the men ignore you and continue to their orders. Step by step, the men take you to who appears to be the lead of this whole situation. The man who looks to be the devil himself.

In protest, you kick your feet a little, trying to gain balance and hopefully escape wherever you've been brought to.

But before you can successfully break away, it's too late.

You're met with the horrifying (but somewhat sexy) face of the man who has caused you all of this misery. You scowl at him, which in return earns you a small look of satisfaction.

Disgusting.

His men hold you up to him like a piece of meat, dangling you in-front of his nose as if he was meant to devour you with one swift bite.

His eyes scan up and down your figure. Almost like he's purposely invading your personal space. "Pretty little thing, aren't you?" his words taunt you in a sense you'd never thought you'd feel.

You avert your eyes from his. Turning your head away so he's only in view of your cheek. You're mentally unable to face him.

The prideful moment you had was quickly interrupted. With one swift move of his arm, his hand snatches your chin and snaps you back so you can looking him eye to eye. "Did I say you could look away?" he growls.

His sharp nails press into your skin, making you wince. With how tight his grip is on you, it feels like your skin might tear.

His brows scrunch together lightly as his eyes lock with yours.

"I-"

"Silence." he's quick to cut you off.

Your mouth closes shut almost instantly, and your head drops once he releases you from his grasp. Pathetic.

Everything hurts so much. Your head, your body, and apparently your voice now too.

Small whispers spread around you. From one person to another, you can hear all sorts of comments the strange people are making about you.

If the men holding you up right now were to let go of you, you're sure you would collapse and never get back up again. Fall into an endless abyss and never awaken.

"Take her to the cellar. I shall deal with her later." he orders.

You groan a little when the men tighten their arms around yours. But your vision fades back to nothing as they take you away.

It's been hours.

Hours of crying, screaming, and wishing upon your own death. To end this confusing mess that has somehow been brought upon to you.

You're curled up in the corner of the cell, cold walls and bars keeping you away from whatever source of life might be out there.

It almost pitch black in the haunting cellar. The only things in sight is your arms, which wrap around your legs to pull yourself into a tight ball.

Everything feels dirty. You feel dirty.

Small droplets of damp moisture fall from the ceiling and hit the rough concrete. Your skin is hot, tingling up your bones to the point you might overheat.

Your mouth is dry, deprived from the lack of water you've had in the past week or so.

Before you were captured, you were on the run from home, escaping the endless chains of torment your parents had put you through.

It might have been a stupid decision, especially since you had no where to go at the time, but it had to happen. Your life wasn't meant to be lived like that, and neither was it for this life.

Your eyes close shut, mind struggling to block out the unbearable sound of water meeting cold, hard, ground. It itches down your skin with every fall.

Abruptly, the creak of a wooden door captures your attention quickly. Lifting your head up out of curiosity to see who's there.

"H-Hello..?" You call out, but it seems useless since no one replies anyways. Though you know someone has to be there. The evidence of lingering footsteps tells enough.

Seconds pass by to what seems to be an eternity before the footsteps stop in-front of your cage cell.

Everything, including the man in-front of you, seems so unreal.

He doesn't say anything, just stares down at you as if you were just some dirt on the floor.

"What do you want from me!" You shout at him, but it appears to get you no answer except a irritating frown.

Your teeth are gritted together, and it take everything out of you to not pounce at him. Well, not like you have the strength or energy to do so anyways.

He rests his bottom two arms on his hip, and crosses his other two over his bare chest. "Y'know, you're starting to piss me off."

A moment of silence rests between the two of you before he finally speaks up again.

"What's your name?" it's more of a demand than a question, but you don't care. You don't owe him anything.

And once again, another pass of silence flows by.

He raises a brow, giving you another chance to answer. But, it seems you wont of any use for the time being.

"Name's Sukuna, but you can call me your King."

His words catch you by surprise, lifting your eyes up in a shockingly manner. "W-What..?" you have to confirm what he just said was actually him and not just an imaginary voice in your head.

He let's out a huff, shaking his head to your stupidity. "Do you know why you were brought here?"

Well obviously not, or else you wouldn't have been taken aback to his statement. "No, I don't."

"You were brought here to stand beside me as I rule over this.. kingdom of mine."

And just like that, his words crash and bring down your whole life. Everything you've been through, fought for, and accomplished are all worth nothing. It was all useless.

"No, I refuse–"

A hand slams down on the bars, causing you to flinch. "I don't remember asking how you felt, did I?"

Immediately, you go quiet. The hurtful beating of heart being the only sound audible as he glares down at you from behind the bars.

"Tomorrow shall be the wedding. I'll have my men bring you to me first thing in the morning."

Leaving you no time to protest, question, or even give him a snarky reply, he disappears.

You're left all alone, mind now pounding with how quick this is all happening. You have no say in anything, it seems.

Nothing seems to matter when you feel your eyes flutter close. Too exhausted to reject this rest, you fall asleep.

Thank you for reading! I'll try to have part 2 out as soon as possible (which contains the smut 👀) but I hope you guys enjoyed this so far ^^ Reblogs are also greatly appreciated 💗💗

#destinedtowrite #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #forced marriage #part 1/2 #jjk x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna ryoumen x reader

[film-in-my-soul]

Can we please get an IceMav fix it ficlet? Thank you ❤️

You've got it darling ❤️

.⋆｡°✩ Of course there would be someone to mourn Maverick if he burned in, and he's waiting on the carrier for him to come home. ✩°｡⋆.

It serves Maverick right, he thinks to himself, that the adrenaline would start to wear off immediately when Hangman drops out of the smoking, smoldering, falling wreckage of the fifth-gen he'd shot out of the sky. There's the telltale decline of buzzing energy under his skin, and almost ironically, it brings with it a hand tremor and swooping in his gut that he fights down, has to fight down, when they turn around for the carrier, and he and Rooster lose an engine. Knowing they could have lost a whole goddamn wing, Maverick doesn't voice his frustration, only shrugs, gets his grip as steady as he can on the stick trying to jerk wildly between his knees, and quips to quell Rooster's growing distress. They've come so far. To fail now is unthinkable, and if Maverick has to point the nose of his bird right into the tarmac just to make it happen, well, he's not the one who has to deal with the sparks that shoot up from their lack of landing gear.

He does have to deal with the whiplash and his helmet smacking against the screaming controls, though.

It's over quick, at least, and Maverick can fight through his swimming vision and pulsing skull easily when the canopy hisses open, and the sound of high-spirited cheering and thunderous applause greets him like a hero's welcome. He hops from the wing of the F-14 and lands with legs that threaten to fall out from under him. His knees are weak, and there's a painful lurch at the base of his spine. It's at least a slight nod to his age, but mostly, Maverick thinks it has to do with a forced eject at Mach 10 and taking a missile to his tail in the middle of a dogfight. That's the excuse he'll cling to when he's chewed out within an inch of his life by the medical staff if he even makes it there before he's ripped a new one.

Between Rooster rounding on him, hugging him tight like he did years ago, when Maverick felt he was at least half deserving of it, and the sweeping relief, he's not sure it'll happen. That, and there's an unmistakable presence making its way toward him, crewmen parting with hasty salutes to create a tunnel from the observation deck gangway right to where Maverick is stood, swaying like the ocean around them must be.

Either a silence is falling the closer Ice gets to him, or Maverick's losing his hearing. It could be both if he's being honest with himself; there's already an edge of black to his vision that he's soldiering through. If he passes out now, it's not just the man coming to a stop a foot away that'll have his balls but the whole damn Navy. And while there might be a debate on the ownership of them already, Maverick's not looking for a reminder, not while he's coming off a victory that, for all he'd fronted, shouldn't have happened, not without a casualty.

"Captain," Ice says, voice rough, something sharp in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Admiral Kazansky," Maverick nods, not bothering to salute. He'd won that bet in the late 2000s, and he honestly thinks if he tried being cute about it, Ice might punch him for the trouble.

There's a moment, a stalemate, and then Ice rolls his eyes and reaches forward, dragging Maverick in by a shoulder. For as firm as his grip is, he doesn't let Maverick slam into his chest or hold him too tightly. He's probably already looked at his pre-mission physical and found Maverick lacking the constitution for it. Maverick doesn't fight it, even going so far as to press into Ice's chest, throwing rank to the fucking wind for just this moment.

He feels hot air against his ear and tries not to slump fully into the other man's embrace like he might in a more private setting.

"When you see yourself to medical and are cleared, you are going to march yourself to my quarters, and I am going to remind you about those little things called vows, Pete."

Maverick hums, risks the quickest, lightest kiss to Ice's throat above the collar of his uniform, and whispers back, "Promise?"

It almost makes the incessant twinge in his back and definite concussion worth it.

Ficlet Bingo!

#icemav #top gun ficlet #ficlet #blog game

[doobnnoob-tf2]

What do the mercs do when there’s a thunderstorm and a light outage?

Scout: his initial reaction is to panic, but he quickly calms down. he was always terrified of thunderstorms as a kid until two of his older brothers took him outside to all sit and watch one since their Ma wasn't home and he couldn't calm down. after that, he thought they were the coolest thing ever because they remind him of that bonding moment. he likes to glue himself to a window and watch it roll in, especially when they get so few out in the desert

Soldier: he will never admit it, but the power outage makes him a little nervous. it's only because it makes it hard to spot if anyone infiltrates the base. it puts him on edge and he tends to patrol the base to watch out for any suspicious activity. once he saw Scout twice in a small timeframe and accused him of being a Spy and attacked him and strapped him down to a chair for interrogation. it took Spy disguising himself as Scout and pretending to be the intruder who got away by turning back to himself next to an open window to get Soldier to let Scout go

Pyro: the moment the power goes out, they're immediately rushing to dig out the emergency candle supply to set them out and light them all over the base. everyone tries to tell them not to because it's dangerous and they never wanna listen. eventually, they're reasoned with, and they allow them to blow out the candles when someone isn't in the room they're in. the only room that's an exception and the candles are always allowed to stay lit is the bathroom. which ends up being the room Pyro hangs out in the entire time. which ends up causing many of the others to not need the bathroom anymore when in the almost-dark there's Pyro to greet them

Demoman: he's the one gathering everyone he can to tell scary stories, and somehow every time he lines up the most suspenseful scene in the story to thunder rumbling, lightning flashing, and the power going out. which makes Scout scream every time even though he'll blame it on someone else. after that, he's digging out the board games to set up in the middle of the rec room for everyone to come play while they wait for the storm to pass

Heavy: storms don't excite or bother him, it's just nature doing what it does. he understands why some of his other teammates are acting the ways they are but he doesn't see what there is to be scared or excited over. either way, he seats himself somewhere to read because he knows the power will inevitably go out and he doesn't want to be in the middle of anything else when it does. and when it does, he'll probably go help make sure there's enough light around the base

Engineer: he gets frustrated more than anything. their base's power grid isn't the best, so the power in that base goes out frequently and he has to switch on all the generators. and to make matters more annoying, the higher ups just won't give him permission to go out there and replace the whole thing. but they do give him permission to go out and fix it to get the power going again. he just has a hard time getting to enjoy it all when he has to run down the list of things to keep up with

Medic: chances are, with where his lab is located under the base and how focused he gets in his work, he doesn't even know there's a storm going on. or he wouldn't, if he didn't have several birds who all start getting antsy right before the storm. he ends up having to get all of his doves into his bedroom and spends the rest of the time with all of them huddled up against him on his bed. some perched on him, some under his clothes, all cooing anxiously as he sits in the dark and waits for someone to bring him some light

Sniper: he loves it. as soon as he sees it rolling in, he finds himself a covered spot to sit outside and watch with a 6-pack. he loves feeling the air change around him, and hearing the thunder rumbling closer and closer, and the sky lighting up with every crack of lightning. it's soothing to him. he doesn't even notice the power's gone out until much later, but it doesn't bother him. he's used to not always having access to electricity

Spy: he pretends he's indifferent, and he plays the part well enough that no one notices. but in reality, he hates thunder, it reminds him of his childhood. he bounces back and forth between holing himself away in his room when the anxiety gets to be too much and he doesn't want the others to see him, and hovering around teammate to teammate because he's desperate for some kind of grounding for himself

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro #tf2 demoman #tf2 heavy #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sharing one braincell

[mikhailwrites]

Soaring Ever Higher 3 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3 | Next chapter

Ghost still owes Trigger that drink. However, it's not so easy for RAF and SAS soldiers to meet by chance. Or is it?

Two months after returning from Colombia, Ghost finds himself in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in Scotland, to supervise part of the SAS selection in the Highlands. He actually volunteered because it’s been either that or R&R, and he hates the leave much more than dealing with recruits.  

The weather is British or, well, Scottish, he supposes. Heavy clouds hang low, crying rivers over several dozens of trekking soldiers. Ghost doesn’t particularly mind; he would take rain and cold over humid heat any day. He’s on the tail of the group. He is casually noting who’s lagging behind, who’s breathless or sweating more than they should. For once, his mind takes a break, and he can take in the scenery. Harsh rocky terrain, hillsides covered in lush green grass and hardy shrubs. Ghost stops for a minute to take a few deep breaths, to taste the rain and the air. Momentarily, he looks back, just in time to spot… something flying in the distance. A bird, eagle, perhaps. But then it gets bigger and bigger, closing in fast. Soon, it’s clear that that’s no bird, or at least not one made of feathers and flesh. It’s a… jet? Every fibre in Ghost’s body tenses and senses focus on discerning if it’s friend or foe. It doesn’t make sense for it to be an enemy this far inland. How would they get here? And why? The jet closes in, rolling between the hills at high speed, manoeuvring with practised and deadly efficiency. Ghost realises the jet is flying even lower than he first thought. He can hear the aircraft now, too. The sharp, powerful whine will morph into a thundering roar once the jet passes.

As it closes in, Ghost frowns. That’s not the Typhoon. Nor the Lightning II. It’s bigger, sleeker, and weirder. And it’s dark, almost black. With three white strikes and claws painted on the tail fin. No way. Ghost’s breath hitches as the jet passes him. One person is sitting in the cockpit, and Ghost is pretty sure he knows them.

What are the bloody odds?

Later that day, when they return, and most of the people in selection end up immediately in their bed, he goes to the canteen, hoping to catch some locals there. He’s in luck; there’s an SAS sergeant currently engaged in a lively chat so that Ghost can pick up her Scottish accent. He gets a tea and waits patiently until she disengages.

He asks about the RAF bases around and is given a name: Lossiemouth Airbase. Apparently, the gal has some friends and even family there. Military runs in their blood or something. Ghost tries his best to be tactical and friendly at the same time, and he suspects he fails horribly in the friendliness department. It’s not that he’s a bastard or cold; no matter what people say, he’s just… not as good with words as he is with actions. It’s simple, really.

“You interested in a tour?” the Sergeant asks him with an easy smile, “I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“I’d like to meet someone stationed there,” Ghost admits.

“Right! Well, you should be able to get inside with your military ID. If yer lucky, you could even catch someone driving there who could take ye,” she shrugs and smiles, unperturbed by Ghost’s presence. It’s refreshing, but it makes sense; all sort of people try their luck in the selection; she must’ve seen weirder stuff than tall, broad and brooding Ghost.

He gets a couple of days off at the end of the selection. The last part are interrogations and he doesn’t need, nor does he want to be present for that. Instead, he hitches a ride to Lossiemouth.

His military ID gets him through the security checkpoint without any issues, just like the Sergeant said it would. After that, he’s a little lost. The base is big. It's not the biggest he’s been to, but it's big enough to warrant asking for directions. He also feels different. RAF is its own thing, with its own language and culture. Even though he only wears a plain black balaclava, he gets a lot of lingering stares. In the end, he chooses his victim: a wide-eyed young man.

He asks for the Strider squadron and then, specifically, for Trigger. The man, a Lance Corporal by the insignia on his shoulder, looks up at Ghost with poorly disguised surprise. “You a friend of Trigger’s?” he asks, searching Ghost’s plain attire for any indication of rank. He has a feeling he should be addressing the man as “sir”, but there’s no proof.

“Something like that,” Ghost answers without really answering, and he doesn’t clarify on his own rank, either. These are not his men, his people; why should he care?

RAF bloke nods and points to one of the large hangs further away. Ghost thanks for the help and goes on about his business.

The day is pleasant, with clear skies and sun that’s not too hot. It's a true rarity around here. As he nears the hangar, he notices the gate is open and, sure enough, there’s Trigger’s aircraft. Ghost strides across the tarmac, eyes set on his target. A shadow passes over him, and he pays it no mind. But then he’s startled by a deafening roar. He looks up, but the plane is long gone. Bloody madmen, these fighter pilots.

The path before him is clear, so he continues, noticing four Typhoons taxying on the runway. Nearing the hangar, he notices two people there. One is Trigger; his mohawk is easily recognisable. The other is a young woman with short, dark hair, clad in a grey overall and tinkering with something on the workbench.

Ghost comes nearer, stopping right at the entrance.

“Take a look at the starboard tail; it’s been acting up again,” John tells the engineer, motioning with his hands to illustrate the issue better. “I got a feeling it’s gonna jam one of these days. Maybe the frost issue, again?”

The engineer nods, scratching at her neck. “Listen, John, I know you love her. Believe me, I do, but it may be time to let her go. The tail, the flaps, the outer cockpit glass crack... I could go on. These issues? They’ve been stacking up lately. She will let you down one day, and I won’t be up there with you to fix ‘er up.”

“I ken,” Trigger sighs, brushing his fingertips over the edge of the wing; his voice is wistful. “I ken, Avril. But what am I gonna do?”

She cleans her oil and lubricant-stained hands and tosses the rag on the workbench nearby. “Fly something else, of course. The craft doesn’t define you. Do you think the brass doesn’t like you enough to get you the Lightning? Plenty of those down at Marham base. Or, hell, maybe some hush-hush deal to get a Raptor loaned?”

“I dinnae ken,” John shrugs, “that thing in Colombia is gonna stink for a while longer. Just… look at the tail for now. Please.”

“I’ll do the thorough maintenance, like I always do, love. Don’t worry. I’ll get the old Gray Ghost here all patched up and air-worthy,” the Scrap Queen smiles. “Just don’t go feeling sorry for saving someone’s life. You’re a good lad, John; don’t let the brass scream it out of you.”

“Thanks, Av, wouldnae still be here if not for ye.”

“That’s for damn sure,” she laughs as she picks up the toolbox and stepladder and goes around the plane. That’s when she notices Ghost, still standing by the entrance.

“Uh, John… you’ve got a visitor,” she calls out.

Trigger walks up from behind the jet with a mildly confused look. The frown deepens momentarily as he takes in the visitor in question. “Ghost? How did you... what are you doing here?”

Avril eyes him with sudden recognition; there’s a subtle smile on her lips as she pretends to focus on the machine.

 “I was nearby, and I still owe you that drink,” Ghost goes straight to the point. No greeting, no explanation. Simply stating the facts.

John visibly relaxes and chuckles. “That you do, but considering I stood you up, I guess we are even.”

“Duty called. Nothing you could do,” Simon shrugs. “So, I still owe you a drink.”

“Well, who am I to say no if you insist?” John inclines his head, blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

“I insist,” Ghost nods before he changes the topic. “I overheard her, something about old Ghost?” Ghost lowers his voice. He’s still unsure if he should feel offended or not. He’s not that old, after all.

Trigger takes a few seconds to connect the dots and then starts laughing. A bright, hearty laugh that causes Ghost to smile in return. Not that anyone could see it under the balaclava. “Come ‘ere,” Trigger leads him around the plane until he stops and points at something under the fuselage. Ghost looks, unsure what he should see there. Then he understands. Behind the front landing gear, on the cover that is now open, is writing in thick black lettering: Gray Ghost. “It’s her name. And thank you for spoiling that, by the way. I was saving that piece of trivia for when we’re at least the second, possibly even third, drink in.”

Ghost’s mind is reeling both because of the explanation and implication. “So... that Ghost saved this Ghost’s arse, eh? What are the odds?” Ghost shakes his head in amusement.

“Not massive, I reckon, but it is funny,” John agrees, then, suddenly, his smile freezes, “or... it’s fate,” he says in a low voice, almost whispering. The sparks in his eyes are proof enough that he’s only joking.

“Yeah, I guess as far as destiny is concerned, I could’ve ended up worse than a destined love made of steel and having some wicked angles and curves,” Ghost snorts, placing a palm on the nose. The metal is warm as the sun shines through the open gate. “I wonder where the ring goes.”

Trigger laughs, then feigns offence. “Oi! This lass is already taken! And you don’t have what it takes to be with her, anyway.”

“Oh, and what is that? Lack of common sense and self-preservation?” Ghost mocks him lightheartedly.

“Exactly! Anyway, I still have some stuff to finish here, so how about you walk around, see our lovely home, and I’ll meet you here at…” he looks at the wristwatch, “five?”

Ghost agrees and goes on to explore the base as suggested. He truly hopes they will get to enjoy that drink this time—that, and maybe something more.

Some useless trivia for you:

Soap, or, rather, Trigger, in this case, is flying Northrop YF-23. Two prototypes were made in the late 80's/early 90's to go toe to toe with (Y)F-22, one of them was painted charcoal grey and named Gray Ghost. And yes, that is one (but not the sole) reason why I decided he will be flying this cool af, weird-ass thing.

#Johnny is sentimental about his jet #of course he is #And Johnny and Avril are terrific friends #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ace combat #ace combat 7

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Chapter 2

This boy was breathing the air without a mask. 

So far, there was only one person who could do that….

"Tell me your name, kid." The Colonel's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He wanted to be sure. Not a mirage. The Colonel didn't want false hope into thinking this replica boy was his son. 

This boy was slightly tanned. It looked unnatural. When Quaritch was a boy, he was born with pale ivory skin. But, he loved playing outdoors so that his skin tanned by the time he was right.

And the boy's dirty blonde hair had golden blonde streaks. The nose and jawline was like his old human self. 

The Colonel sank on his knees and titled his head. 

"Spider…" the boy shrugged. "Last Name."

The Colonel's breath hitched. No fuckin way. It's true then.  "Miles Raymundo Quaritch?"

The general researchers gave the Colonel legal papers of you and your kids. Like birth certificates and all that. On earth, especially America. You are the widow of Quaritch and a single mom. 

Your name was Mrs. Name Quaritch. The young widow of an ex fallen soldier killed in action. An honorable hero not only in America but on earth. 

 

His death made you more widely known despite being voted as the most beautiful woman. 

The boy clenched his jaw. Discomforted. "I hate my real name."

The Colonel felt annoyance in his chest. This little ungrateful shit is embarrassed of his lineage. Quaritch worked hard to impregnate you. He felt insecure as a human due to his old age.

 This is the thanks he gets? Did you turn his kids against him and hate him? He will punish you.

"I'll be damned…" the Colonel drawled. He felt so many emotions all at once. His heart beating bat shit crazy. He felt excited, longing, curious and loving the idea of finally seeing you after a long time. 

"Your mother and siblings must be here if you are." The Colonel stared down at his first son. Spider shook his head stubbornly.

"Where the fuck is my wife!?" The Colonel wanted to marry you back on earth with his family in Europe. But he sadly died. And he hated the thought of you being called his mistress or sex elave or whatever. He wanted to make it legal as possible. He didn't have a wedding yet. But he made you sign a marriage certificate. 

Quaritch's thunderous roar made all wildlife quiet. The birds and the small creatures on the ground. The subordinates even looked scared. Lyle was not surprised. You always managed to decompsure his boss. Fike expected this but the yelling was worse than he thought. You sure knew how to weaken a marine. 

Damn temptress woman.

The Colonel lost his cool and leadership that moment. 

The squad waited for an order. The Colonel didn't want to do it. He was willing to torture his beloved son just to see you.

The colonel realized….

He loved you more than he loved his kids. 

Since women are weakened by babies and men are destroyed by women. He will get you to come out  of hiding and into his arms.

He will trap you with kids again. Like old times.  

#yandere miles quaritch x reader #recom miles quaritch #dark miles quaritch #yandere miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #spider avatar #avatar quaritch #avatar 2009 #avatar #avatar 2 #avatar 2022

[malarkgirlypop]

MEDIC! - 5th Part (Donald Malarkey x Fem!OC)

Hello again. Well I thought to end the birthday weekend with a bang I will post another chapter. Now this chapter is very sappy in some places just giving fair warning! If anyone also wants to listen to some music while they read I have a few recommendations. I will put in bold where to start listening to a certain song, I was listening to it when I wrote it and I was a mess. I do have to give a trigger warning so I will down below. Anyway I hope you enjoy, thank you for all the love it makes me so happy. I have never posted my writing anywhere so for it to be met with such praise is really amazing. I have more to come so don't you worry! As always this is based off the HBO series and the actors who portray these characters, no disrespect to the WW2 men!

Bold in the story start listening to Killer + The Sound by Phoebe Bridgers. Also another really sad song that is good for the mood is epiphany by Taylor Swift.

Trigger warning: Sexual assault, death, violence. (I think that is all sorry if I missed any)

Snow crunches under my feet as I walk. I tread carefully, not being able to see very far in front of me due to the heavy fog that lays in the trees. In this position in the forest we are basically on top of the Germans so it is easy if you walk too far to go over enemy lines and fall upon an infantry of soldiers. I wrap my jacket around my body as heat escapes me, I search the ground trying to find a good place to go to the toilet. The forest is eerily quiet apart from the sounds of distant gunshots and explosions. There are no other signs of life, no birds in the trees, insects, or small animals that normally reside in the forest. We seem to have cleared them all out, unlike us, they know better to stay here and have found shelter somewhere else. I keep my eyes vigilant scanning the forest as I walk, turning to look behind me like a paranoid girl walking home in the dark. I continue through the snow scouting for the best spot, I pause looking up at a lifeless figure lying in the snow. My heart stops. He is definitely not an American soldier, my eyes frantically scan as I am a deer in headlights. My eyes wander over more bodies, they lie still with a light coating of white resting on their skin. Is it bad that my heart relaxes knowing that all of them are dead and I get to live another day. I stumble back from the scene in front of me, making my way back to camp. I walk for a bit before finding three men, my heart leaps in fright, “Flash.” I call to them unable to see their uniforms in the dense fog. “Thunder.” The men reply. I make my way over to them. “Hey, just to let you know just up ahead there is an infantry of German soldiers, fortunately they are all dead.” I say walking past them. 

“Emily, isn’t it?” One of the men turns to me, I don’t recognise him, I don’t think he is from Easy company. 

“Yes?” I say, I guess he knows me. I mean there wouldn’t be many other female medics in the company and gossip does spread like wildfire around here.

A sinister grin forms on the man’s lips as the two behind me stare with cold eyes. I give a small smile, making my way past the men, my gut clenching not being comfortable in this situation. In a blur I am flung back, the man seems to have captured my mouth with a cloth yanking me back by my head. My legs fly out from beneath me from the shift in gravity. I plummet to the ground landing on my back the air from my lungs being knocked out of me. The men work in quick motions, the one with the gag tying it around my mouth while the others flip me over hog tying my limbs. I writhe on the ground, the gag muffling my protesting screams. They talk to each other quietly as they flip me onto my back. 

“Shhh.” One of them whispers in my face. His nose pressed to my cheek. Tears well in my eyes, I can’t move away from the man’s breath fanning on my face. His hands come up cupping my face, he presses wet kisses to my cheeks trailing down my neck. My stomach lurches, threatening to bring up my lunch. I choke back tears, trying to squirm away from his hold. The other men take this opportunity to grab at my clothes, their filthy hands making their way under my clothes, groping and grabbing at my skin. The man kissing me rips my top open exposing my t-shirt underneath. Before they can go any further rapid gunfire echoes around the woods the gun sounds close. There is a pause before the shooting goes again this time hitting trees around us, the men duck waiting for the break in rounds. When it stops they get to their feet hastily darting out of sight running back in the direction of camp. I wriggle trying to free myself from the knots around my limbs, but the more I struggle the tighter they become. I don’t call out terrified I will be found by German soldiers. The cold nips at my torso as the men left me uncovered only in my t-shirt. Time passes as I try to figure out how the hell to free myself from the ropes. I am stuck on my side, lying in the cold snow. My teeth chatter into the gag, as I try everything to free myself from the binds. After a while I stop shivering, my eyes grow tired begging me to let them close and slip away into a never ending slumber. I can tell I am in the later stages of hypothermia. My body doesn’t ache anymore, the cold making its way through my bones till my whole body is numb. Maybe if I fall asleep here I will wake back up in my own timeline where I left. After all this time being out here I finally give up, letting my eyes close ready for the most peaceful sleep I have had in a while now. I hear the crunch of boots in snow, I don’t open my eyes or call attention to myself. I'm too tired. The crunch comes closer. 

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ!” I hear in the distance. Hands land on my body, I crack my eyes open only seeing a blurry figure hovering above me. 

“Emily?” I hear the man say, he gently shakes me but I can’t get my eyes to open. A hand taps my face and I crack my eyes open slightly. I feel the gag being untied from the back of my head. I’m grateful to be able to breathe properly as I suck in a gulp of air.  

“OMG you’re alive.” The voice is familiar but my brain is too foggy to connect the voice to the man. My weight is shifted, my head lolls back as the ground leaves from behind me. I keep my eyes closed, the tightness around my limb loosens. I am gathered into the man's arms. I feel him stand, pressing me to his chest. I hear the rapid footfall of the man as we run through the forest. I open my eyes slightly, seeing a blurry man looking concerned. I focus my eyes on the canopy above us watching the green against the white sky. What a beautiful sight to see, the contrast of the almost black green against the pure white. I close my eyes again. 

“MEDIC, MEDIC!” I hear the man yell his calls rumbling through his chest into me.

“Jesus Christ, who is that?” Someone else says. 

“It’s Emily! I found her fucking hog tied and half stripped near enemy lines.” He pants. Other hands land on my body, my eyelids being pulled open, two heads hover above me as a light shines in my eye. Hands land on my body doing a secondary survey to find other injuries. 

“She has some bruising on her torso but other than that no other injuries. But she is hypothermic. We have to get her warm, give her to me.” I hear the other man say. The grip of the man holding me tightens. 

“No, she’s staying with me.” They squeeze me into them. 

“Ok, well she has to get warm.” The other man agrees.

“Are we not taking her to the hospital?” The man holding me asks.

“No, we might lose her if we take her. We need to get her warm immediately. Follow me.” I feel us moving again as we follow the medic. We march forward, sounds of gunshots ring out, the man drops us to the floor, my head snaps back from the sudden movement. 

“Jesus Malarkey be careful, we don’t need her with a concussion as well as hypothermia.” Scolds the medic. We soon move forward again after the coast is clear.    

“Captain Winters, Sir. We need to use your foxhole.” The medic says. 

“Why what’s going on? Who is that?” Asks the Captain. 

“It’s Emily Sir. I found her tied up by enemy lines, her clothes were ripped off of her.” Malarkey interjects. 

“She’s severely hypothermic Sir, we may lose her if we don’t act fast.” The other voice says. 

“Get her in the foxhole, I will get some blankets.” The Captain commands. I hear the sound of shuffling. 

“Here pass her to me, and then you get in.” The medic says, I feel my body being moved from one person to another, I am lowered down into a hole. I feel myself being set on the hard floor. The sound of someone landing sounds next to me. I am again passed to a set of arms. 

“Take off your jacket, put it over you two. The fastest way we are going to get her warm is with our own body heat.” There is movement behind me, soon after I am pressed against a warm chest as a jacket is laid over my torso. I feel his legs on either side of mine, my face pressed into the crook of his neck. He swivels my body so my legs are draped over one of his legs, he presses me as closely as he can to himself. 

“It’s ok. It’s ok, you’re going to be ok.” He coos I’m unsure if it’s to make me or him feel better. His hand runs down my hair in a gentle manner, like putting a child to sleep. More movement sounds from above us. I want to open my eyes and look at who is holding me, to gather my bearings but my body is so slow and tired it doesn’t have the energy to do the simple task. It’s like I have sleep paralysis, I am lucid hearing everything around me just unable to move. My body is only keeping my heart pumping and nothing else, trying to conserve the little energy it has left. 

“Blankets Malarkey.” I hear a familiar voice from above us. I feel the weight of the blankets being placed on us. 

“Who did this Don?” I hear Winters asks. 

“I don’t know Sir. She was so close to enemy lines the Krauts could’ve done it.” Malarkey suspects. 

I hear footsteps coming down to our level. “Gene, she's freezing.” Malarkey says concerned. 

“We are going to have to switch between the men, have them come back to warm her up. If you sit with her too long you might also become too cold. We will do hour stints. I will send someone back from the line to take over for you.” Gene says he also seems concerned. I feel fingers taking my pulse on my wrist. 

“Her pulse is slow and faint.” Gene says anxious. “Her breathing is also very shallow. Keep her airway open, also talk to her, you don’t know if she can hear us or not, we don’t want her to panic, it could make her situation worse.” Gene instructs. “I have to get back to the front. I will send someone back in an hour.” I hear Gene leave. Malarkey gently rocks us back and forward; his breathing is more frantic than normal. 

“Emmy, you’ll be ok.” He hums in my ear. “How about I tell you a story?” He asks even though I can’t reply. “Do you know I was a volunteer firefighter? I was a firefighter when there was a huge fire in the Tillamook forest, I don’t know if you heard about it or not?” His gentle voice tells me stories for the hour. Footsteps sound from above us, I have been in and out of consciousness with Malarkey, becoming ludic through his stories he told then falling back into darkness. 

“God, so it is true.” I hear from above us. Malarkey jerks. I think he had fallen asleep while holding me. 

“Is she any better?” The man above us asks. 

“No, she is still freezing and she hasn’t woken either.” Malarkey replies. “Introduce yourself to her and talk to her in case it helps her come around.” Malarkey instructs Gene’s requests to the new man. 

“I know Doc gave me the rundown, it’s all anyone is talking about on the front. They almost rioted you know. The men all wanted to come back to be with her.” I hear his voice come closer as he lands in the foxhole. I am shifted as Malarkey moves from behind me, I am slowly lowered into a new body. 

“Hey Em. It’s Lieb.” He says from behind me. He makes himself comfortable sitting me between his legs. He has my back pressed to his chest, my head resting on his shoulder, he wraps his arms around my front pulling up the blankets to my chin.

“What happened Em, you said you were just going to the toilet? Who found you? I knew I should’ve come with you. What do they say about the buddy system? Stick to it, that's what they say, god I never should’ve let you go.” Lieb mutters in annoyance, but he couldn’t have known what was going to happen. His fingers trail small circles on my arms. 

“God Em you’re freezing!” He pulls me tighter to him trying to trap the heat between us. 

“When I get my hands on whoever did this Em. They are going to wish they were never born.” Lieb fumes. “But you gotta come back to us, ok, you can’t leave us. What are we going to do without you? I don’t mean to sound sappy but you bring so much joy Em. If you don’t make it through this, I don’t think we can carry on.” Lieb leans his head into my shoulder, almost begging me to stay. But I feel this string pulling me, telling me to just fall into the darkness, to just fade slowly. 

“Please Emmy. I don’t beg, you know I don’t! But you gotta fight this, it may seem easy to leave but stay, stay for us.” Lieb mumbles into my shoulder. After a while he begins to talk again telling me about his family, about his job he used to do as a barber. Again like with Malarkey I fade in and out of consciousness. I become lucid when my body is being moved once more. A big figure sits behind me, I know these arms. Bull curls me into his lap, unlike with Lieb he faces me towards him, tucking my head under his chin. Our chests are pressed together like the signature bear hug he is known for. 

“Oh Darlin’ you’re breaking my heart.” He whispers, stroking strands of hair off of my face. “I hate seeing you like this.” He mumbles, sounding close to tears. I hear footsteps approaching.

“How is she Bull?” Winters asks.

“Sir she is still cold, when is Gene coming to check on her next?” Bull’s voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks to the Captain. 

“He’s coming!” Winters replies. “Who’s next after you?” 

“I’m not sure Sir, Gene is just picking people at random. But the men are keeping time of the stints, so most are volunteering to come back to be here when they know the hour is almost up.” Bull replies. “I think Toye and Bill said they would come back if needed, same with Babe and Luz and a few of the other men as well.” 

“How is she?” A new voice sounds from above, it’s Nixon he sounds tired and stressed.

“I don’t think she’s any better.” Bull says worried. “She hasn’t moved a muscle, I don’t think I have even seen her open her eyes.” Bull’s warm breath tickles my neck as he speaks. 

“We should start a fire that will warm her up.” Nixon says. 

“No Nix, that's how we will get her blown to bits, we don’t need to give away our position.” Winters dismisses Nixon’s idea. 

“Gene!” I hear Nixon call. Feet land next to Bull and I. Fingers grab my wrist softly pressing into my outer arm. Everyone seems to be waiting with baited breath. 

“Well?” Bull asks. I hear a small tutt from Gene, “She’s the same as last time, does she feel any warmer?” 

“A little bit nothing drastic, she’s still not hot enough.” The concern is evident in everyone's voices. I should be better by now! I want to sit up and shake out my sore, stiff limbs but my body is paralysed. I groan internally, wake up! I beg my body but it ignores my request. Open your eyes! I plead. I focus all of my energy into the task, I can feel my eyes moving from under my eyelids but to no avail. All that energy for nothing, I slowly feel myself slipping. No! No! Stay lucid, but it’s too late my mind shuts down and blackness swallows me whole. I can’t remember how long I have been in this hole, multiple people have come and gone. Toye was after Bull. He didn't say much but his fingers traced pictures onto my skin. Bill was next and he told me funny stories from his past. Babe and Luz came after, holding me close, whispering sweet stories and making jokes. But still after each one the outcome was the same, I can imagine the small shake of his head that Gene gave each time he checked on me, the disappointed sighs after he revealed the news to each of the men.

“This isn’t working.” I can hear Nixon’s voice in the distance; he's frantic. 

“It will work, give it time.” Winters tries to convince the man but his voice isn’t as sure as his words.     

Malarkey is with me again, he snores softly while holding me close, his arms wrapped tightly around me like I am a little china doll. 

“Malarkey!” Winters says from behind us. Malarkey jolts upright.

“Yes, Sir!” He says quickly. 

“Get some rest, I can take care of Emily for a while.” Winters says coming into the foxhole. 

“Are you sure Sir?” Malarkey asks, his arms still wrapped around me. 

“I’m sure.” Winters confirms. Malarkey takes a moment, sighing, he bends his head forward pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering. “I’ll come back later ok?” he whispers to me, finally passing me over to Winters.

“Hey Emmy, you’re scaring us all to death today.” Winters says getting comfortable, holding me close to his chest. His hand rubbing up and down my arm, his chin rests on top of my head. 

“I know you’re in there Em, you’re a fighter. You always persevere, and I’m so proud of you.” Winters whispers into the night. 

“There is nothing you can’t do, I believe you can come back from this Em. I don’t think I have ever met a person like you before. Everyone seems to love you, you’re infectious.” He continues. 

“But these men rely on us. We have to rise to the battle if not for ourselves, for them. You’re a hero, you have saved countless lives both with your medicine and with your love.” Winters breath fans my face.

“So for once save yourself, if we can’t you can. I don’t want these men to watch you go Em, it will break them more than they already are, and we are all broken. This war will scar us both physically and mentally, only we know what we have been through. We will go home once we win and have to pretend this part of our life didn’t happen. Like we didn’t see our friends get blown to shreds, or see the faces of the innocent men we have killed in everyday people. We will go home and have to pretend we don’t flinch at every backfiring car and go back to normalcy. We will meet often with the men we served with, slowly watching the numbers dwindle as they pass on, until one of us is left to carry the burden of what we know.” Winters talks to the night. A sob rises in my throat but it doesn’t leave, tears prick from under my eyelids, I feel them escape and run down my cheeks, the warm tears growing cold on my face. 

“Shhhh, it’s ok Em. Take your time, at least I know you can hear me.” Winters’ finger wiping the streaks of tears from my cheeks pressing me closer to him. He rocks us slowly like I am a child being lulled back to sleep. I drift into blackness once again. 

My eyes flutter open, my eyes roam around, I stand in a familiar hallway. I recognise the faded wallpaper and the smiling faces in the pictures on the walls. I make my way down knowing where I am going. I find myself in my childhood lounge, everything looks the same as I left it the day I moved out. My late mother sits on her favourite seat looking out the window.

“Momma?” I whisper not believing my eyes, her soft brown hair falling over her shoulders as she looks away from me. She turns I almost sob, her bright green eyes staring up at me, her same sweet smile making its way onto her face. 

“Hey baby.” She says in a familiar cadence. She reaches her hand out to me. I move my feet forward finding my way to her. I kneel beside her seat, her hands find my face, cupping my cheeks in the same way she used to do when I was upset. Her thumbs gently brush away tears falling down my face. 

“I’ve been waiting for you.” She smiles tilting her head. “You look so pretty my love.” 

My lip quivers, “I’ve missed you.” I say in a broken voice. 

“I know baby, but I have been watching you and I’m so proud of all that you have done.” She places a soft kiss on my cheek. 

“Are you staying?” Her brows knit together. A sob leaves my throat. 

“No Momma.” I whimper. “I can’t stay.” 

“It’s ok, I can wait a bit longer.” She pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair as I sob into her chest. 

“You’re so brave my love.” She whispers. We sit for a while in each other's arms, but in the end I stand, giving her a final kiss on her cheek as she walks me to the front door. I step out and feel myself fall.

#oof this part got me crying #sobbing #sorry #that got heavy quick #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers #band of brothers imagine #donald malarkey #fanfic #joe toye #reading #tropes #bill guarnere #sorry for the cliffhanger #I'm mean #till next time #Somebody give me a hug #I'm not crying you are #Killer + The Sound #Epiphany #balling my eyes out

[antiresolution]

trigger warning: This au is based off the godzilla universe (specifically minus one). I focus on the aftermath of graphic disaster scenarios, so I suggest to skip if you're not in the mood!

He stumbles in the second act. 

Prisms of light scatter in Wenhan’s peripherals as he stares down at the stage floor. Red and gold pom poms and strings of glass beads hit against rouged cheeks, gouging out small trails the way careless brushes of fingertips do. The sweat curtaining his skin becomes seamless pearls blending into white face paint. 

The orchestra continues on, drowning out murmurs in the audience. They’re trained to recover from falls and mistakes like any other performer. Punishment from directors and sponsors is always more severe than a split second of humiliation. He could be up and into the next sequence within a heartbeat.

But he’d caught himself on stinging hands and knees. Motionless until the throb of the fall is a numb pulse and his tongue curls dry to the roof of his mouth. Frozen in place as ribbon dancers and masked figures in loose hanfu move around him. The slightest tremor caresses his open palms.

A guttural screech from a violin in the pit raises Wenhan’s head. Stage lights flood his eyes as he searches blindly in the audience. Dancers to his left hit the floor as the stage sways with a thundering crack and shrieks puncture the air from all sides. A layer of white dust rains down against a fleeing crowd, blanketing colorful costumes in splintered fragments. The ceiling above the audience collapses first, throwing up toxic clouds. Wenhan stumbles to his feet as his lungs shudder to breathe, pressing a sleeve to his mouth and nose as he shoves hesitant crew to the emergency exit backstage. 

Wenhan watches as a beam of overhead lights crashes down onto fleeing bodies. Snapped metal groans above from the weight of the collapsed ceiling. Shattered glass pops under his feet as he stumbles back to escape the gush of water from gutted pipes in the walls and stripped live wire. The low whine of twisted metal above ends with a sudden snap. The debris in his throat chokes him more than the pain of his legs pinned beneath steel beams. 

 He stares up at the open sky now painted in smoke and filled with the clamor of emergency sirens. A shaking hand grasps weakly at his shoulder, and he doesn’t recognize the face smeared in blood and dust to his left. A body smashed beneath slates of plaster and metal.

Wenhan stares up at the sky, holding that hand in his until fingers no longer tremble and everything is still. 

-

February 23, 2008

The WPC (West Pacific Coalition) was formally established after an unprecedented attack killed thousands in Shanghai during lunar new year celebrations. This international security effort is recognized by the governing bodies of China, Singapore, Japan, South Korea, Taiwan, Indonesia, and the Philippines. Curated teams of military personnel and emergency responders are deployed based on high risk scenarios regardless of nationality to prevent further loss of human life and destabilization of global society. 

–

Tiles bleed cold underneath knees tucked in front of an empty hole in the wall meant to house a cross. Two weeks ago, the wood had been needed to repair the roof due to a small quake’s aftershocks. Now, no one wanted to make time to properly dress the space for anyone to pray, or mourn, or curse. Rebuilding Busan’s port communities took every willing pair of military hands. Any spare unwilling ones were busy burying the dead or clinging to a warm body, leaving no room to beg God for favors. 

Yet, it’s a quiet space, even if mostly abandoned. Away from shuffling bodies of overworked soldiers and unfamiliar faces.

Taeil stares down at the spray of grey and white now dusting his army fatigues. 

“Does that work?”

The man perched over him reminds Taeil of a bird. Every feature of his is sharp. The way each angle meets the next throws shadows under dark lashes and glaring cheekbones. Simultaneously jarring and soft. The way you wouldn’t expect a row of feathers next to talons. Even the accented Korean on the other man’s tongue feels pointed. Calculated. Almost too precise to be comfortable.

“What…” Before Taeil realizes his reply is more of an exhale than an answer. “--does what work?” 

The other man pauses, but the amused twitch of his lips lingers. He mirrors Taeil’s kneel, leaning a little awkwardly to the left instead of straight. His right leg isn’t fully tucked under his thigh. The way he presses his hands together is enunciated, as if he’s trying to overcompensate for his role in a silent film. He crosses himself, gesturing wordlessly to the sky. 

Stunned silence is the weight on Taeil’s bottom lip as his mouth opens, before the gnashing of teeth beheads words dying to form. His eyes fall on the burning end of the other’s cigarette, as if he’s watching the dying ember of his own annoyance. Taeil exhales through his nose and nods his head at the smoke. “--does that work for you?”

“Only when I don’t have anything better to put in my mouth.”

“Asshole.”

“Close, but it wouldn't be my first choice.”

Taeil starts to stand, tempted to shoulder check the stranger on his way up. Rationality was never his first choice. He was always chastised for emotionally charged decisions during training. Prolonging this conversation would likely end with his fists bruised and both of them bloody. It was the first week in this base. A reputation built on nothing couldn’t be used as leverage, no matter how good he thinks that sharp nose would look broken.

“It was an honest question. Do you ever get what you ask for?”

Curled fists open and close at his sides before he turns towards the door without answering. A much larger figure fills the frame, blocking Taeil’s exit. Dark eyes glance over a familiar wrinkled face. Taeil’s posture goes rigid. He bows his head to the senior officer. 

“Ah, I see you two met.” There’s the threat of a reprimanding edge, though it seems directed at the soldier behind Taeil. “Private Yoo, this is Private Li, a pilot from Shanghai.”

Private Li was now standing as if the casual collapse of limbs on the floor had been snapped upward by a pulled string. He still leans into his left side, as if he can’t wait to drop the salute once no one’s watching. Both men meet eyes, but this time neither of them are smiling. 

“Your new partner.”

–

Wenhan tears away flyers from the front door of the barracks. The images are grainy pixels enlarged sloppily to fit its new frame of cheap computer paper. But the painted features of the subject are clear enough even from a distance. 

“What a waste. You look so pretty, ge–”

Wenhan tosses shreds of paper at the face crinkled with laughter to his left. The mandarin that rolls off his tongue is an effortless shift. 

“Then you can tape it together and jack off later.”

“Shit, hey– hey, hey,” Hong shields his face and steps out of the way of an elbow aimed at his gut. “It wasn’t me. You know who thinks pulling this shit is funny.”

Even if the construction of this military camp had been congested to a rural corner in the city, their barracks only had four bunks. Compared to other soldiers forced to sweat and curse during the summer in a room with 18 other men. 

Wenhan’s busy emptying a shelf of one of his roommates, tossing the best snack wrappers a guaranteed death payroll could buy onto the empty bunk next to it. 

“You met him, right? Did you ask why he was transferred here? What's he like?”

What comes to mind first is the silhouette of a stranger’s back. One man on his knees in an empty room already abandoned by the hands that built it. 

Wenhan blinks. A dimple forms between his brows. He smooths a thumb over his forehead as if it would iron out the mental crease. 

“Ask him yourself.”

Wenhan gains the uncomfortable weight of Hong’s arm across his shoulders and leans away from the warm breath on the back of his ear. Hong doesn’t even whisper, confident in the disguise of their native language. 

“I heard he volunteered for a suicide mission.” 

Wenhan pauses. Considering superiors kept information to themselves until mistakes rose the death toll. It wasn’t so unbelievable they would consider going on the offensive before signs of an attack in the east sea. But Hong was overzealous, often inflating the truth with his desire for grandeur. 

“I also heard he killed someone, so it was either that, or prison time.”

The mandarin comes from neither of the men, but from behind. Fluent as if it flowed from the memory of a native. He shoves his shoulder into Hong, watching the other dramatically collapse as if he’d sniped him. Taeil stands in the open doorway, wearing neither a smile or a frown. Hong still carries enough shame to apologize, while Wenhan feels the corners of his lips curve up. 

Taeil doesn’t seem offended enough to start a fight as he walks further in, prompting Hong to throw an arm around his shoulders and continue rattling off in Mandarin.

“It’s always a suicide mission. Even if it’s true– just makes you stupid like the rest of us.”

Wenhan starts to roll up one hem of his pants as Hong interrogates the other soldier. He presses fingertips into skin, where his kneecap meets the solid metal of his calf, massaging tiny circles into the joint. 

Taeil’s attention lingers on the flash of silver jutting out where one would expect to see flesh. Wenhan could recognize pity in anyone's face. But the look Taeil casts at his prosthetic is devoid of surprise or even embarrassment for having been caught staring. Maybe more like a stranger in a museum. One who could only be voyeur to a past they could never live inside of or understand. Every glance strangely intense despite the impossible distance. 

But without pity.

“Pretty sexy, isn’t it.” Wenhan kicks his heel against the solid concrete floor. “My eyes are up here.”

“I was looking at your third eye.” 

Taeil catches the extra set of blankets Wenhan throws without missing a beat.

–

No one enjoys the nightwatch at Taejongdae. 

Wenhan prefers the weight of briny air on his tongue to the suffocating anticipation of everyone at the military base. He’s empty handed for his shift, with nothing but the weight of a buzzing comm system strapped to his side and the soft glow of the lighthouse glancing over dark waters below. Weapons wouldn’t save anyone on the ground. Time was all they ever had as a counter strike. 

He walks the length of the highest cliff’s paved trail, roped in by steel fences peppered with rust. Other soldiers stationed on the southern tip of the city are wandering shadows in the night. There’s no one close enough to hear him as he hums the beginning of a melancholic note. No one around to complain as his voice rises in volume, competing against the claw of the ocean’s wind and lick of waves against carved rocks. 

Then he’s twisting on his heel, grasping the butterfly knife hidden at his side. Golden light from the silent carousel of the lighthouse spills over Taeil’s face, lighting curious dark eyes and outlining the soft slopes of his cheeks. His open palms face outward to Wenhan in surrender.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

Taeil steps closer, dropping his hands as he falls into Wenhan’s retreating pace. The only reply is the soft tone of Taeil’s singing, off key and unsure as he repeats the last line of the song Wenhan hadn’t finished. 

“If you can sing like that, why are you out here?”

Wenhan carries on in silence. The lighthouse careens over black sea water. 

“I wasn’t asking god for something.”

He turns back to Taeil. The abrupt stop has them breaths apart. He can see the dark circles pressed under both the man’s eyes. Chapped lips sealed thin. A small mole marks the corner of a tense mouth. 

“I was cursing him, actually. For giving me the grim reaper as a partner.”

The tense curl of Taeil’s mouth softens. The coil of anticipation is gone, as if a switch had been flipped. The entire man’s body relaxes. On the cusp of revealing something more, but pulling back. He sighs like a tired old dog and raises his hands to the heavens. 

It’s not the first time other soldiers warned new recruits about Wenhan’s reputation as an indirect death sentence. Some would even request to transfer before he’d meet them face to face. No one wanted to disprove potential mythology. 

“Idiot.” He barely speaks above the sound of the ocean. But Taeil hears him, kicking up rocks and dust at Wenhan’s heels as they continue up the slope. He sings in broken Mandarin at Wenhan's back.

But his eyes are trained on glints of silver and white bobbing in the black churn. The glow of the lighthouse sculpts the distant shapes into what looks like overturned buoys. He stands still, staring into the sea as if he could will away the sight of dead fish rising to the surface. Taeil calls his name, but the roar of white noise drowns out any thought or instinct. 

His comm device revives with a series of orders in Korean, Mandarin, Tagalog. Sighting along Taejongdae. Prepare for immediate impact. 

Wenhan’s collar digs into his neck as Taeil forces him into a run. White dead bellies of fish are swallowed by a rising dark form. The lighthouse fights to glow around the massive shadow, illuminating pulsing coils of scarred flesh. An aching roar ruptures the air before the tower collapses into a wave of dust and shattered stone. The ground becomes sand beneath their steps seconds after warning alarms fill the air. 

Taeil shoves Wenhan forward with desperate violence as the cliff beneath their steps crumbles. He turns back once his feet meet the solid safety of grass and arms of trees, lunging to grasp at Taeil falling into empty air. Fingers lock around Taeil’s wrist. Wenhan bites into his tongue, tasting the rush of blood and feeling the hot burn of torn muscle as he fights against the other man’s dead weight hanging over the cliff. 

Taeil’s fingernails carve bloody trails down wenhan’s arm as he struggles for a strong grip. His body drags against the ground, slowly inching over the edge.

Not again. 

His arms are shaking, tips of fingers pulsing numb. 

Not again.

#[ here's 1k+ of something no one asked for #[ in my head they DO survive because I imagine the radioactive poisoning in the movie also impacts physical capabilities #[ if im writing again its probably because i watched a good movie or read a good book #[ hi if you're in my tags ill always write something for you : )

[delightingintragedy]

Mars Correspondences

From Christian Astrology by William Lilly

(It is mostly word for word. I tried to format it to fit into a nice correspondence list, but the information itself is untouched.)

Zodiac: Aries is his Day-house, Scorpio is his Night-house. Exhaulted in Capricorn, Depressed in Cancer, Detriment in Libra and Taurus.

Nature: Masculine, Nocturnal Planet, in nature hot and dry, choleric and fiery, the lesser Infortune, author of Quarrels, Strifes, and Contentions.

Profession: Princes Ruling by Tyranny and Oppression, or Tyrants, Usurpers, new Conquerors. Generals in Armies, Colonels, Captains, or any Soldiers having command in Armies, all manner of Soldiers, Physicians, Apothecaries, Surgeons, Alchemists, Gunners, Butchers, Marshals, Sergeants, Bailiffs, Hangmen, Thieves, Smiths, Bakers, Armourers, Watchmakers, Botchers, Tailors, Cutlers of Swords and Knives, Barbers, Dyers, Cooks, Carpenters, Gamesters, Bear-wards, Tanners, Curriers.

Diseases: The Gall, the left Ear, tertian Fevers, pestilent burning Fevers, Migraines in the Head, Carbuncles, the Plague and all Plague-sores, Burnings, Ringworm, Blisters, Frenzies, mad sudden distempers in the Head, Yellow-jaundice, Bloodyflux, Fistulas, all Wounds and Diseases in men's Genitals, the Stone both in Reins and Bladder, Scars or small Pox in the Face, all hurts by Iron, the Shingles, and such other Diseases as arise by abundance of too much Choler, Anger or Passion.

Colour: Red colour, or Yellow, fiery and shining like Saffron.

Savour: Those which are bitter, sharp and burn the Tongue.

Herbs: The Herbs which we attribute to Mars are such as come near to redness, whose leaves are pointed and sharp, whose taste is caustic and burning, love to grow on dry places, are corrosive, and penetrating the Flesh and Bone with a most subtle heat: They are as follows: The Nettle, all manner of Thistles, Restharrow or Cammock, Devils-milk or Petty spurge, the white and red Brambles, the white called vulgarly by the Herbalists Ramme, Lingwort, Onions, Scammony, Garlic, Mustard-seed, Pepper, Ginger, Leeks, Dittander, Horehound, Hemlock, red Sanders, Tamarinds, all Herbs attracting or drawing choler by Sympathy, Radish, Castoreum, Aresmart, Assarum, Carduus Benedictus, Cantharides.

Trees: All Trees which are prickly, as a Thorn, Chestnut.

Beasts: Panther, Tiger, Mastiff, Vulture, Fox; of living creatures, those that are Warlike, Ravenous and Bold, the Castor, Horse, Mule, Ostrich, the Goat, the Wolf, the Leopard, the wild Ass, the Gnats, Flies, Lapwing, Cockatrice, the Griffin, Bear.

Fishes, etc: The Pike, the Shark, the Barbel, the Fork-fish, all stinking Worms, Scorpions.

Birds, etc: The Hawk, the Vulture, the Kite or Glead, (all ravenous Fowl), the Raven, Cormorant, the Owl, (some say the Eagle), the Crow, the Pye.

Places: Smith's Shops, Furnaces, Slaughterhouses, places where Bricks or Charcoal are burned or have been burned, Chimneys, Forges.

Minerals: Iron, Antimony, Arsenic, Brimstone, Ochre.

Stones: Adamant, Loadstone, Bloodstone, Jasper, the many coloured Amethyst, the Touchstone, red Lead or Vermilion.

Weather: Red Clouds, Thunder, Lightning, Fiery impressions, and pestilent Airs, which usually appear after a long time of dryness and fair Weather, by improper and unwholesome Mists.

Winds: Western Winds

Angel: Samael

Planetary Alliances: His Friends are only Venus; Enemies all the other planets.

Week Day: Tuesday

Correspondence posts for the other planets: [Sun] [Moon] [Mercury] [Venus] [Jupiter] [Saturn]

#astrology #planets #mars #planetary #planetary magic #correspondences #magic #witchcraft #witchblr #astrology witch #magical correspondences #witches #witch community #witch #astro community #zodiac #zodiac signs #astroblr #astrology facts

[phoenixrsing]

your muses aesthetic. list your muse’s aesthetic from tastes, smells, outfits, and sceneries. add as many subjects as you like, it can help with people tagging you in aesthetically pleasing things towards your muse.

tastes: traditional fire-nation cuisine. spicy fire-flakes, roasted pork, and hot tea infused with jasmine. dragon fruit, lychee, and mangoes, grilled sea pawns. aged fire nation wines with complex flavors of oak and spice. fire nation whiskey, intense and smoky, with hints of charred oak, toasted spices, and a touch of volcanic ashroasted chestnuts. green tea ceremonies, delicate jasmine tea, and rare white dragon jasmine tea leaves—a specialty of his father. rare spices from trees that are native to fire nation, including cumin, saffron, and cardamom.

smells: a scent of smoldering cinnamon, cloves, and star anise in the air. jasmine blossoms, lotus flowers, and orchids from the royal gardens. the crisp scent of autumn leaves and the smoky aroma of fire pits. herbal notes. a hint of sage, lemongrass, and mint leaves in herbal teas. sandalwood incense burning in meditation rooms. crackling hearth fires in the royal palace.

sights: volcanic landscapes. volcanoes looming on the horizon, with smoke rising from their peaks. intense flames swirling, casting shadows against the red walls. royal palace. opulent halls decorated with gilded ornaments, tapestries depicting ancient fire nation legends, and imposing thrones. fire nation technology—advanced warships, steam-powered machinery, and towering factories billowing smoke. traditional fire nation dances—graceful movements accompanied by the flickering light of torches and lanterns. colorful celebrations featuring elaborate firework displays, traditional music, and performances. endless amount of war memorials. monuments honoring fallen soldiers of the fire nation, with eternal flames burning in their honor. regal crimson robes with intricate gold embroidery, adorned with the fire nation insignia. messages of propaganda, supremacy, and strength through firebending. a recruitment poster featuring a soldier, with the caption, join the fire nation army and defend our sacred land.

sounds: the rhythmic sound of flames dancing in fire pits and torches. trumpets heralding the arrival of fire nation royalty, accompanied by drums and cymbals. war drums—thunderous beats echoing across training grounds, inspiring troops before battle. lightning crackling in the foreground. melodic tunes played on traditional fire nation instruments, the pipa and guzheng. the chirping of fire nation birds, the rustling of palm trees, and the distant roar of waterfalls. war machinery—clanking gears, hissing steam, and the rumble of warships off the shorelines. moments of quiet contemplation, where the only sounds are the soft rustle of leaves and the gentle crackle of embers. practicing the dizi, traditional flute in between training sessions.

sensations: the comforting heat of firebending flames against the skin during training sessions. luxurious fire nation silks and satins, smooth against the touch. intense warmth radiating from the earth's core during visits to volcanic hot springs. humid, sea breezes brushing against the skin from the coastlines. tactile connection—a sensation of firebending energy pulsing beneath lu ten's fingertips, responding to his every movement and command. resilient spirit and unwavering determination. a deep sense of connection to the spirits of fire. commitment to serving the fire nation. isolationism, a loneliness you cannot shake. failure is not an option. reluctant heroism, internal struggles between morality and obligations. inside of me, there are two dogs. one is mean and evil and the other is good and they fight each other all the time. when asked which one wins, i answer, the one I feed the most. ambiguous loyalties.

tagged by — me. tagging: @hotknickers, @denouemente, @linghung, @hookedswords, @dropovers, @fearbend, @kniveds, @yourideaguy, @bowbend, @rotpoetry

#[ aesthetics. ]

[thefanciestborrower]

Haha lol Ice Emperor goes Brrrr part 8

[Two more to go!] A call to Boreal, and he was sweeping through the halls again, Lloyd safely tucked into the folds of his collar. The Emperor’s original thought was to simply swallow him back down, but the boy had squeaked, and whined, and argued until Julien simply dropped the topic in favor of recalling his guards from their Lloyd-search just to send them off on a multicolor-gi-search.

The Emperor’s little… tantrum had made a mess of his halls. In his wake, the ice had grown in ever-spiraling walls, sealing off every entrance less than that of the foyer of the main entry hall. A wave of his hand was more than enough to dismiss them, but some of his soldiers were caught in the crystals. A few had become immobile, and they scurried away from him like ants when freed.

Ants?

How long had it been since he’d seen an ant? They didn’t live well in the cold. Was it ever not cold?

Had he ever seen an ant?

All thoughts that promptly vaporized as he handed Lloyd off to a servant with a few choice warnings, his ice armor forming larger, sharper plating as he stalked the hallways. Lloyd may be alright in the insulated interior of the palace, but as The Emperor stepped out onto the frozen, packed snow with the blizzard howling into his faceplate, he decided quite immediately that if the boy were to go out in this weather, he’d freeze to death immediately.

Whether or not that was true, The Emperor decided he never wanted to know.

Boreal landed at the stables of the palace with a rumbling growl. Like a storm, it rattled The Emperor’s chestplate, even as the dragon dipped his head to huff shards of ice atop his head. An affectionate sort of sound seeped out of his familiar’s throat. Like the sound of harsh rain.

A hand landed atop Boreal’s head, metal but soft as it smoothed the raised frost along his crown. “Find them,” The Emperor murmured. “Find our soldiers and bring them a message.” The engraved black ice was thick in his hand as he offered it to Boreal. “Tell them to find the ninja in colorful gis and bring them home.”

Home.

A word Lloyd used sometimes. With an aching fondness in his voice, and a softness about his eyes. It rolled off Julien’s tongue like the lightest thing he’d ever said. Like a single snowflake dancing over mountaintops. Like running through snowy forests with minute lines of black lacing each tree he passed. Like the knowledge that there was someone waiting for him when his eyes caught on the blue-white shape of a bird through the branch-woven canopy.

Boreal thrummed at him, his wings spreading in a wide arch as he reared back.

“Go.”

And in a flash of powdered white, he did, icy wings ripping through the air with a sound like thunder. Like cracking glaciers. Like…

“Shard.” The word was blood on his tongue, even as he retreated back inside the palace. It was familiar, echoing burning wood. Laughing as sharp wind whipped at his face. “Shard.” He’d heard it before. A long time ago. Sitting with his back against others’ as the moon rose high over the horizon. There, his breath had clouded warm in the night air. His voice came easy.

Frost laced his mouth guard, as he walked, and he was so consumed with the single word that he almost didn’t catch the call from his advisor.

“M’lord?”

The concept of whatever had been on his mind vanished like mist. “Vex.” Surprise colored his voice and the cant of his head. Something felt important, but the smile his advisor offered him—cheeky for all of the toothiness of it—made his mind go hollow for all save for the cry of a bird he recognized.

“Is everything alright, my lord? I saw the state of the halls.” A hand on his arm, tracing the blued lines of his armor. “I thought you were over your little… moods.”

The Emperor thought he hadn’t seen a falcon in a long time. “Vex,” the name was a whisper. Delicate as a frosted bubble. “Did I have a bird… before Boreal? Before the formlings took my memory?” Grief. The bile that rose in his throat, and the frost that coated his hands spoke of grief. What was there to grieve?

“Yes, sir.” A pause in Vex’s examination of his armor. “An ice owl, I believe. He was a grand creature.”

It was off.

Just slightly. By just enough that Julien’s mind stuttered on the information, replaying the call for him to hear as if it were permanently embedded in his brain. “An ice owl?”

Vex couldn’t have been remembering right. It was a falcon, was it not? Blue across its back in the richest of shades. No ice owl had that cry.

“Yes, sir. The largest of the clutch. He used to carry men off their mounts.”

Pressure on his arm. Just a little. Of small, hooked claws that knew just how much they could press before it had to let off. The tiniest little bird of prey he thought he’d ever seen. Metallic in the way its feathers shone.

Ice owls were too big, weren’t they?

His brows furrowed, and for a reason he could not place, the thought that came to mind was that no good falconer would take the largest hatchling.

#oh oh oh he’s remembering Vex you ass stop lying to him #I’ll punt you I really will #Dude I’m so invested now holy crap you’ve hooked me in so deep wah #vore mention #Very tiny brief mention #not my writing #submission #phyre anon #fandom sruff #n.injago vore

[sweetsbutthewayagentboothsaysit]

Jasipercabeth Power Headcannons so I can straighten my fic out

Jason Grace

-when he gets really excited, his skin buzzes with static electricity

-his hair is less styled and more frizz from the energy he radiates. like a stuck-his-finger-in-an-outlet style instead of i-spent-20-minutes-styling-this-quiff

-unlike Percy, Jason has control over the rain

-is his own fog machine

-was discouraged against using his powers at camp Jupiter but is encouraged at camp halfblood and learns all kinds of new things or relearns things that Lupa taught him

-doesn't fight in a more greek or roman way, is more wolf than human, wants to fight ferociously and tear rather than stab

-sometimes, percy will let him spar like he was raised (on all fours and with his teeth) because surprisingly, percy is the only one to understand how he was raised by wolves

-has little lightning bolts in his eyes if he gets really excited

-you can tell he’s getting mad when thunder starts to rumble. it gets louder and louder the angrier her gets.

-has lightning bolts coming off of him when he's really pissed

-is oddly respected by birds, they think he's just a giant pigeon, will bring him shiny things

-will start to fly if he’s not paying attention and usually walks on air for about an hour before he notices

-warning: will start to fly if incredibly excited

-sometimes, he’ll forget to breathe and the wind will punch him in the gut

Lesser known child of Jupiter powers:

-can tell if someone is guilty or innocent just by looking at them

-knows all of the old Roman laws by heart without ever learning them

Piper McLean

-charmspeak, obviously

-feels everything on a much higher level than normal people. like her emotions are turned up to 11 all the time and she has to be incredibly in tune with herself or else she’ll lose her mind trying to ignore her feelings or, in one instance, she’ll make herself physically sick

-amazing at hair of all types and is really good at cutting and styling despite never learning or teaching herself

-is really good at reading people and assessing personalities and vibes

-is really good at matchmaking because she’s really good at reading people

-can tell when a couple is soulmates. she can’t see a line connecting people to their soulmates or an aura or anything like that but if she meets a couple who are soulmates she can physically see that they were meant to be on a cosmic level

-her advice about relationships is never wrong, even when her advice is to dump your boyfriend of five years and get off birth control

-can turn her charm on and off but if it’s on, everyone and I mean everyone will fall in love with her. she didn’t even realize the first time she was doing it, just playfully flirting with Annabeth during archery practice and found Chiron offering her flowers while the rest of the cabins showered her with compliments and marriage proposals.

-knows which clothes will flatter someone based on body type, size and palette after looking at them once

-smells like whatever you love. Percy thinks she smells like candy and salt, Jason thinks she smells like rain and dirt, Annabeth claims she smells like books and coffee.

Annabeth Chase

-is like a LEGO Master Builder, can see what went into building a building just by looking at it

-actually has a mind palace like Sherlock except it’s less palace and more amphitheater but still contains all of the information she could ever want

-can see battlegrounds like maps and soldiers like game pieces in order to win

-she always wins

-is a master at weaving and can make a basket in 2 minutes flat

-is constantly coming up with new inventions that are amazing and actually work and she can tell you exactly how to build it but she’s not great at the actual building part

-can turn her head 270 degrees like an owl and has incredible night vision

-photographic and eidetic memory which wouldn’t be a power technically but because every single child of Athena has this, it’s a god given power

Not powers but head cannons:

-is a master at the connect two unconnected things in a minute game

-like, percy says tomato and jason says subsection 13 of section 7C from the American Book of Law, published in 2002 by Penguin House and she connects them within a minute and a half

Perseus Jackson

-anything, and I mean anything, with the slightest hint of water is considered his jurisdiction and he can manipulate the shit out of it

-is like a walking humidifier, any water within a fifty yard radius is drawn to him

-can literally feel the water running under cities and knows exactly which knob to turn to do the most damage

-when he sneezes, water bottles nearby will explode

-one time, he had a cold, and the entire water system at camp exploded before he was given ambrosia and meds

-has a sort of radio in his mind that is always on and is tuned to whatever even mildly aquatic creatures or horses are in the area

-can see latitude and longitude laid out before him like how annabeth sees battlefields

-his eyes glow a brilliant green when he’s in the darker parts of the oceans so he can see

-sometimes they glow when he’s excited and water will start to run (sinks and showers turn on, tea kettles boil in seconds, fountains start to rock a bit)

-when he starts to get mad, the ocean starts to get a little more aggressive and then it gets choppy and then it’s just raging the madder he gets

-is a natural at the ukulele because Poseidon claimed it as his instrument. it annoys Apollo to no end

-place him upside down in the deepest, darkest part of the ocean and he can tell you exactly where he is and which way is up

-if he steps in a puddle, even on accident, he simply absorbs all of the water without noticing

-the more time he has to train and chill out at camp half-blood, the more he taps into his earth shaker powers

-eventually, when he understands how to focus and call it to his will, he can just tap the ground with his big toe and a boulder will split in half

-he does a little tap dance and a minor earthquake knocks his opponents on their asses

-one time, gets uber pissed, screams, opens a brand new fault line so deep it creates a trench

-scientists are baffled

#PJO #demigod #demigods being demigods #not just the top three deserve powers #aphrodite kids be wicked powerful #you got no clue

[narrativelysignificantturtleduck]

i love mad women

1. are you satisfied? - marina

it's my problem if i have no friends and feel i want to die

this entire album, about striving to be the best and losing your mind along the way, is so deeply azulacore. again, i will rec comradekatara's albumgaang.

2. fire rides - mø

what's it gonna be with the violence? / what's it gonna be when the fire rides in?

maybe a touch more self-aware than azula is, but the feeling of being trapped and losing your mind, questioning the path you're on, plus imagery of violence and fire and thunder, all fit.

3. i get no joy - jade bird

all the words my mother said / can't seem to get them out my head

a great mental breakdown song.

4. daddy lessons - beyoncé

came into this world / daddy's little girl / daddy made a soldier out of me

video

5. mad woman - taylor swift

no one likes a mad woman / you made her like that

swiftie azula agenda! but seriously though - "now i breathe flames each time i talk" "wanting me dead has really brought you two together" - BIG final agni kai vibes

6. royal screw up - soccer mommy

i am a liar / and my truths are shackled in / my tension of fire / i'm the princess of screwing up

i'm a sucker for on-the-nose imagery, what can i say

7. millionaire - thao & the get down stay down

shatter what you will not carry / smash what you won't bear / oh, daddy, i broke into a million pieces / that makes you a millionaire

azula's feelings when ozai leaves her behind. "you can't treat me like zuko!", the song.

8. all mirrors - angel olson

standing, facing, all mirrors are erasin' / losing beauty / at least at times it knew me

mental breakdown in front of a mirror, is there anything more azula

9. hope in the air - laura marling

there's hope in the air / there's hope in the water / but sadly not me / your last serving daughter

video

10. control - halsey

and i couldn't stand the person inside of me / i turned all the mirrors around

trying to convince herself she's strong enough to go through with the agni kai.

11. numb - marina

stars that burn the brightest / fall so fast and pass you by

it was incredibly difficult to just choose one or two songs from this album. heck, normally i don't even allow myself to do two. but i figured if i did one from the beginning of the album and one from the end that would space them out and frame the playlist.

12. liability - lorde

the truth is / i am a toy that people enjoy until all of the tricks don't work anymore / and then they are bored of me

post-canon azula dealing with loneliness and confronting her feelings about being discarded by ozai.

#Spotify #azula #nina's personal log #my playlists

[nelkenbabe]

WIP Whenever Ivy & Twine: Shot Through The Heart

The Inquisitor has commissioned Dagna for one last project, which kept her from joining her girlfriend in Denerim. Sera doesn’t think that’s funny at all, and she knows just who to take her frustrations out on. I was tagged by the ever radiant @isayashai - I'm actually working on smth for once fghjk thank you bestie!. I tag @kirkwallgremlin @ava-du-mortain @bitchesofostwick @palipunk @star--nymph @siennamain From the top: [x]

Amaryll walked into the Main Hall. She veered to take a left to the garden to chat with the herbalist, when some commotion at the end of the hall caught her attention. Soft afternoon light glinted off Josephine’s sleeves, a dwarf’s joyous laugh rang through the hall, and a pair of colorful, mismatched clothes were obvious even from a distance.

As though she’d felt her eyes, Sera whipped around. And even before she’d opened her mouth, Amaryll knew she’d best get some distance between herself and her friend.

“Inquisitor!” Sera thundered through the Hall, echoes falling from the roof. “You’re dead!”

Amaryll dashed to the right, immediately.

“Sera!” she heard Josephine shriek, and then an arrow whirred close enough by her back to feel the ripples of disturbed air for just a second.

Amaryll threw the first door open. Three ways to go, all of them bad.

Go right, and she’d get to the battlements. Lots of ways to evade and perhaps throw Sera off, but also lots of open space for her bow and arrows.

Go left, up the stairs to the library. Next to impossible to shoot her on the winding stairs, a plus, but no way to go but up. She could turn in left to where Vivienne used to entertain, and if Sera caught up Amaryll could jump over the railing down into the Main Hall, so there was leeway. But if Sera anticipated her move correctly, she’d be waiting down there for her.

Amaryll could run further up the tower to Leliana, hope Sera wouldn’t bother, but there was no proper escape route from there if she did.

She swerved right through the next door, out onto the bridge. It was a gorgeous day, truly, a small flock of birds left the rookery to move across the almost lilac sky. A strong wind came from the east, blowing perpetually orange leaves onto the stairs to the tower as Amaryll rapidly approached.

She heard the whistle of another arrow and ducked left. It crashed right through the open door and onto the inner wall of Cullen’s office.

“Maker!” she heard him yell, as well as the unmistakable screech of a sword unsheathed.

Long legs, she cursed, panting. Why do her legs have to be so fucking long?

Amaryll took three steps at a time, then latched her hand onto the door frame to slither into a curve to the right.

“Sorry!” Amaryll yelled back to the Commander, but didn’t stay long enough to hear his flabbergasted response.

The heavy door crashed into the stone wall when she threw it open to bolt through. The distance to the next tower was short, and there was another creator-damned door, and then another. She almost ran into a soldier, and there was not even time enough to apologize. A horn blew somewhere in the distance.

Too many doors, they’re slowing me down.

She sprinted past the steps down to Herald’s Rest, had barely enough time to consider taking them.

Too much open space in the Upper Courtyard.

Nevermind.

But to jump on the roof of the tavern… or to go through the door in the next tower-

“Got you!” she heard Sera yell from behind, and accelerated.

Amaryll took the second to close the door to the next tower, and was grateful she did when a heavy Plonk just above her head indicated that another arrow had found its destination.

By now, her lungs were burning, the cold air parching her throat, but she pressed on. Up the stairs, but she jumped right over the stone railing onto the lower platform, and then again diagonally onto the stairs leading up from the Courtyard. An inconvenience, but it shortened the distance. She skipped the mage tower as well by jumping from the stairs leading up to it to the next section of the battlements.

“Andraste’s Ass!” somebody shouted, a mage, she supposed.

And: “Attack! We are under attack!”

Sera’s weirdly quiet, Amaryll thought. No more arrows, either.

She knew her well enough to not look back, didn’t want to get a flask of knock-out powder in her face.

The battlements were coming to an end, but that was fine. Amaryll knew Skyhold like a sunrise over morning-dewed hills, like the crackling of the Fade when she closed a rift, like cold mountain air in the night. She swerved right and jumped, slid off the slanted roof. She landed inside the herb garden with a mighty oof, ankles and knees slightly shaking from the impact. For a a few seconds, she allowed herself to just breathe.

It was then that she noticed how eerily quiet the garden was, and it was in that moment of realization that a big, colorful, blurry force tackled her to the ground.

“Got you!” Sera shouted again, but this time she meant it.

The only solace Amaryll had when Sera pinned her arms above her head, sitting on her thighs, was that the other rogue seemed just as out of breath as she was. Sera held tight, blue eyes piercing Amaryll’s, and a drop of sweat dripped down from her bangs onto her captive’s cheek.

For a while there, they just breathed. Then, Sera transferred her hold of Amaryll’s wrist from two hands to one, and fumbled with something on her belt.

“Dearest Sera,” she quoted in a mocking, high-pitched voice. “Gonna have to keep Dagna around for another project. Hope you understand. Love, Teetness.”

With a swift movement she tore a folded up, somewhat stained piece of paper from a pouch and held it in Amaryll’s flinching face.

“Bit daft of you, yeah? Not the smartest move from the mighty Inquisitor, yeah?”

“I remember I phrased it a bit better than that,” Amaryll panted, and earned herself a tightening of Sera’s grip on her wrists. She couldn’t help but gasp a little, then grin.

“Yeah, ‘xcept it’s the same bullshit anyways, innit?!” Sera said loudly and flung the letter away from her.

Amaryll held eye contact. She held it as her lungs slowly recovered, her breathing evened. She held it until Sera’s fury slowly dissipated and her scrunched up expression smoothed. She held it when Sera let go of her arms and shifted her weight to fully sit on Amaryll’s thighs.

“Stupid work,” Sera sniffed. “Friggin’… stupid.”

It took a bit of effort, screwed down as she still was by the other woman’s weight, but Amaryll managed to sit up. She slung her arms around her friend, and though it took a heart beat or two, Sera curled her arms around her neck and leaned her damp cheek onto the shorter woman’s head.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Amaryll mumbled.

“You’re an arse,” was Sera’s immediate response, but it lacked bite.

“I know. Forgive me?”

Sera sniffed again.

“Yeah, maybe. Can’t be mad at you. Takes to much energy, that.”

“You were doing so well, though.” Amaryll pulled away a little and put her hand to Sera’s cheek. Wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “No one’s given me quite a chase like that in ages.”

Sera gave a choked little laugh.

“You’re just saying that.”

But she straightened a bit, especially when something caught her attention. Both rogues listened closely.

“Boots,” Amaryll judged.

“Gettin’ a bit slow, them,” Sera said, critically. “Coulda killed you four times over by now if I’d meant it.”

Amaryll snorted.

#dragon age fanfiction #da fanfic #dragon age sera #ivy & twine #amaryll #sera #nelke writes

[dysrope]

The Miniature and the Memorial

[Turn 10: (1+3)+(6+5)+1(omeara)=16, Shape Climate: 16-4=12]

Ages past, Erland tried to create a blessed land on the surface of the world, that would be a reflection of his true realm below. This attempt was a complete failure, and after quenching the burning wounds he had torn open, he left it to others. But while it might not be possible to bring the perfection of his own realm to the surface, he instead decided to bring the surface down into the underworld.

And so he opened up the gates to the core and let out the fire spirits, and set them to work, forming the land of Erjul. To the Messonir of Nulat, this would have been felt as nine days of uninterrupted earthquakes, and brought much confusion and fear. But worse than any tremor of the earth was that Tulana, the southern tributary of great Ajuna, ran dry, its water disappearing into the depths of the earth. The Tiktik of Retvik felt not only the quakes, but also the heat, and saw the streams of water and lava pouring forth, and abandoned many watchposts in great haste.

For these nine days, Erland worked, with fire and water, shaping the stone according to his will. The caves and tunnels were widened and clad in reddish sandstone. Within these walls, every climate imaginable is simulated. There are mountain peaks topped by white quartz, plains of jade grass, oceans of lava, forests full of trees clad in emerald leaves, bearing gemstone fruits. All manner of creatures frollick there, sculpted lovingly from lifelike stone. Birds and beasts and even fishes, each one a perfect copy of a surface animal, but only exactly one of each species. They play and hunt and hide like real animals, but do not eat and never kill each other or die of age. There are also replicas of each of the mortal races populating the continents and seas above, perfect in appearance, but never uttering a single word - in fact they are all spirits of stone, given a role to play by Erland and fulfilling it dutifully. Along the shores of the rivers and lakes of lava, there can also be found fire spirits, who have no real roles, but delight in playing fiery pranks on unwary visitors.

The caverns are hot, but not unbearably so. The air is thick with ash and smoke and fumes, which form thick clouds form at the ceiling, discharging thunder and lightning periodically. This makes it very hard to actually see the top of the caverns, but when the clouds part, one can see arches of pale stone stretching down along the sides, like some gigantic ribcage. At the center of this land, a great stream of water pours from above, carrying sunlight in it and illuminating its shores. The Sun River circles around the tunnels before terminating in a waterfall into one of great lakes of lava and spewing forth as steam back to the surface.

These are the most obvious features of Erjul, but Erland's miniature world hides many secrets for those lucky enough to explore it. All are welcome, if they can find a way to breathe the air, and the riches growing here never dwindle. But anyone that tries to capture one of the creatures calling this place home will quickly find Erland's disfavour.

After the nine days of shaping, the water returned to Tulana, to the great relief of the Messonir here. But there never again was as much water as previously, and times grew meager and many had to move away. As for the Tiktik, they too were relieved when the great disturbances ended, and cautiously scouted the outskirts of Erjul. Their expeditions grow ever bolder, but they have yet to place any permanent guardposts inside its borders, or disturb any of its divine designs.

[12-1(avatar: militarize city)-4(build city)=7]

Meanwhile, in the west, warfare grew bloodier, and a grand alliance of nearly all tribal confederations and the free city of Neskot united to throw back the advances of the Chivikvik. Outpost after outpost were overrun, and platoon after platoon of soldiers were defeated or forced to retreat. As the allies got ever closer to Chivik, vital supply lines were cut off, threatening starvation in the Capital. As unrest mounted, the Royal Council was close to panic, and in desperation turned to desperate measures: They reached out to the outer clans, offering to arm them (something unheard of in the history of the city), and promising them wealth and status in exchange for their service against the common enemy, and the defence of the city.

Many accepted, and thus the first general draft of Chivik began. Every adult and hale Tik wass given a pike and face plate of fresh steel and set out to meet the enemy.

In warfare between Tiktik, there are two things of paramount importance. The first is to control or at least be aware of all side passages, to avoid being outmanoeuvred. This is best done by small scouting parties, blocking of passages, or digging past enemy fortifications. A breakthrough behind enemy lines at a key time can turn a battle. But all Tiktik know this, and guard heavily against it. Thus the side tunnels are heavily contested, and fought over, and this may incur losses on both sides, but will rarely lead to any great surprises or decivsive victories.

The second matter is the formation. As the main armies must advance through large tunnels, it is there, in the relative open they will most often fight. In early days, Tiktik fought without weapons or armour, for their shells are hard and their claws are sharp. But their faces and undersides are vulnerable, and getting close enough to carve into your foe with your claws invariably means you too are within their reach. Thus the basic equipment of a soldier is the faceplate (which may or may not have eye holes) and the spear (the longer the better). These soldiers are then placed in wide rows, covering the cavern from wall to wall. But since Tiktik are not very tall, and good climbers, it is also important to fill the cave up by height, so the soldiers stand on top of each others, presenting an unassailable wall of steel plates and points. Add to this as many rows as you can muster, and you have the Chivik Phalanx.

The Neskotkot had similar tactics, but were never as numerous, and the Tribal Tiktik lacked sufficient supplies of good metal to arm themselves like the Chivikvik. The Coalition had outnumbered the Chivik warrior castes, and could push them out of position by threatening to go around or above them. But with the mobilization of all the clans, the numerical advantage was reversed. The Alliance was quickly forced into retreat, and battle after battle strengthened the courage and certainty of the Chivikvik. At last the frontline reached a point where the Allies could not retreat any more. The Crossroads of Takla, are a vast cavern, in many ways the worst place possible for an outnumbered force to fight. But it was the last tunnel connecting the territory of Neskot with that of its tribal allies. Any reatreat further would either leave one side open, or divide the already outnumbered forces. Thus a decision was made to make a bold surprise attack, taking advantage of the wild vegetation to make movement in formation difficult.

The battle of Takla was a very bloody affair. A long day of attacks and counterattacks; pushes of pike and flanking manoeuvres; heroics and cowardice. In the end, the Chivikvik stood victorious on a corpsestrewn field, the Alliance army broken and retreating in different directions. But it was a victory dearly bought, and when the losers sent envoys asking for peace, an arrangement was quickly reached. But to secure their permanent victory, the Chivikvik also built a bastion at the crossroads. The city is officially known by the name of the governing Lyschil clan, but most still call it Takla, in remembrance of the great victory here, and its great walls are topped by the pikes of the dead, and carved with the name of every clan that participated in the battle, and the number of their fallen.

#world 02547 diegesis

[jifanjiang0710]

Call Your Name - Hange Zöe x Reader

Warnings: Character death, mentions of death.

Written by: Leo

"[ Name ]…"

The heat is unbearable. Hange Zöe reminisces about the past.

Since as far back as she could remember, Hange doesn't recall ever being lonely. Even now there always seems to be someone by her side. Not because she had many friends — many were put off by her eccentric nature — it's that this particular person wouldn't leave her side.

Even when said person was a cadet in training, Hange had known about them. Not as much as family or say, a childhood friend would, but there was a mutual sense of comprehension they held with each other. Arguably, it can be said that Hange knew that person the best, and vice versa.

Perhaps that was why they joined the Scouts, when given the choice. They were placed in her squad. If an outsider were asked the two people who would always be found beside Hange, it would be Moblit and them.

You should have had a good life with the MPs, or Garrison. You should've listened to me. And now look where that got you.

On the day the remainder of the Scouts returned from the basement in Shiganshina, there were only nine of them.

That night they returned, broken and bruised with wounds that wouldn't ever heal. Hange was, she thought, understandably angry. Leave, she'd asked them to. Go back.

They merely kept their peace, head hanging almost apologetically.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would you think otherwise?"

That was accurate to an extent. Because how could they abandon Hange like this to face the world alone? With Erwin and nearly the entirety of the Scouts gone, with the heavy demoralisation that came with knowledge out of the outside world, the fate of Paradis was set on her shoulders.

Yet knowing this, they likely came back for this very reason. Through Hell and back Hange doesn't remember a time where she has been lonely, not with them by her side.

You don't deserve to move forward alone like this.

She supposes, she has to thank them, for staying so long, even if the world tore at their skin, soul chipping away day by day.

"We could just run away. Leave this war and live in the wild somewhere. Wouldn't that be nice…Levi?"

"How's Heichou?" they ask, as Hange finishes up the stew.

"He's alive. Not doing great, but at least…he refuses to die."

"He'll make it."

"Easy for you to say. You're dead."

"..."

"...I'm sorry. That was insensitive of me."

"It's alright."

"Have you finally lost it, Hange? Who're you talking to?"

"Ah…" she looks over her shoulder. "You're awake."

"Long enough to listen to you spout at air." He groans, sitting up. "Where's the monkey bastard?"

How nice it would be, to abandon it all. Live out a peaceful life with just them by her side, stubbornly adamant on staying.

…Levi could come with, Hange supposes, if they took well to him.

But that day was the last she saw of them. With the approach of dawn they were gone, gone with the twilight wind. All that was left were a wounded soldier both in body and pride, the shattered remains of the Commander of the Scouts, and the swift calls of birds.

I wonder, *Hange thinks, as she sees the final thunder spear explode in a shower of gunpowder, *will I see them soon?

Titans really are…beautiful.

"Hange."

"...[ Name ]?"

They smile, the first time in years. "Welcome back."

"The…the flying boat! How are they?!"

They stare far into the horizon, at the little speck in the distance.

"They made it, thanks to you. You've done well, Hange."

"Moblit! Erwin Danchou! And everyone!"

"Why don't we have a seat?" They intertwine their fingers with hers. "Everyone would like to hear about your adventures."

Both pairs of eyes meet, and Hange, too, smiles.

"Ah."

This is my debut fanfiction, though it is a far cry from what I usually write. I'm just an amateur so don't expect much in the future.

#hange zoe x reader #aot x reader #hange x reader #leos works