#tonnes of bloody shells

[shu-box-puns]

Shell-Shocked

(Neteyam x Reader)

Previous Chapter <- Part 3 -> Epilogue

If you prefer to read on Ao3, you can find the fic here!

Summary: Eywa loves you, but not enough to save you. So good luck taking care of yourself.

Word Count: 6,934

Metkayina Reader uses they/them pronouns.

<”Someone is going to die.”>

Ronal simple statement nipped at your heels and quickened your steps. It made neteyam lighter in your arms, as adrenaline ran rampant through your bloodstream. Usually, you would have found it difficult to carry Neteyam for so long, but somehow, lying limp and injured in your arms, it was easy. As if Eywa had transformed your rage into additional strength. Your heart pounded like a thousand tsurak wings taking flight, headed straight for a dangerous but glorious battle. 

As you strode purposefully across the white sands of Awa’atlu island, Neteyam’s brother hurried to keep pace. The boy glanced periodically from your stony face, to the village that lay ahead. Its occupants beginning to prepare themselves for sleep. 

<”Stick close to me.”> You hissed quietly. 

<”They won’t let me in.”> The boy whispered, looking moments away from peeling away from your side and disappearing off into the darkness. Instinctively, your tail curled around his waist, not holding, just encouraging to keep in stride with you. You had seen his concern for his brother, had witnessed his reluctance to abandon him even after you had gotten there.

<”Hold onto me.”> You growled under your breath, <”no one will harm you.”> For Neteyam, you would fight tooth and nail for this weird boy, who looked at you with wonder and badly concealed mistrust. 

Hesitantly, he reached out and curled his ridiculously small hand around the end of your tail, his fingers squeezing slightly to still their shaking. The sensation did not bother you. As a toddler, Tsireya had tended to do the same thing to ensure she didn’t lose you whilst playing or when wandering aimlessly around the village.

At some point during the exchange, the course sands had given way to the familiar spring of the walkways as you entered the village. The boy stuck close to you as you passed the outer pods of the village. Predictably, your presence was detected rapidly, as several heads popped out of the walkways. Adults who had watched you grow from a child, appeared in the openings of their pods, and upon catching sight of you, immediately leapt into action.

<”GET THE TSAHIK!”> Someone’s father ordered, sending a flurry of boys to run full pelt down the walkways to the heart of the village.

And without you so much as having to open your mouth, the village came alive.

Hunters emerged from their pods, spears in hand, shouting orders to one another as some called for their tsuraks, whilst others followed the bloodied trail in your wake back to the island. Parents ushered their gawking children back into pods, whilst kids your age stood motionless on either side of the walkways, bug-eyed and motionless.

To think, not even an hour ago, your roles had been reversed. The mood had been amusing as Neteyam carried you out of the village for a much needed talk. Whereas now, the mood was heavy and suffocating. Neteyam lying limp in your arms with his head pressed heavily into your shoulder.

Two women approached to take Neteyam off your hands, but you found yourself holding him tighter, your lips peeling back to snarl at them. Their sympathetic looks made you feel sick. Neteyam groaned in your arms, his hand weakly clutching at you even as his strength failed him. You hushed him lightly, trying to soothe even as your own heart pounded painfully. 

The women did not try to take him again, and instead flanked you as you hurried to Ronal’s pod. One stood at your elbow, hands half raised in case you faltered, and barely spared the boy a second glance, whereas the other strode ahead to clear your path to the Tsahik’s hut.

The air was tense as you rounded the woven structure and pushed your way through the string curtains. 

Ronal was already laying down an assortment of herbs and shells beside a bed roll near the fire. Her expression faltered at your appearance, her hand half reaching out before she collapsed her fingers with a snap and allowed a professional calm to overtake her features. 

<”Set him down here.”> She instructed plainly, reaching up to steady Neteyam’s head as you knelt beside the mat and gently lowered him. You latched onto the authority in her tone, allowing it to guide your foggy mind. 

You felt numb. Or like you were holding your breath and simply drifting at the bottom of the open ocean. Any emotions you had had slipped away, leaving behind a cold fury that burned in the hollow of your chest.

Another set of hands appearing in your peripheral, weathered and large. Steady and comforting as they gently supported Neteyam’s back. Tonowari’s expression was grave as his eyes raked over the damage. 

Neteyam winced at the movement, his eyes fluttering behind their lids but not opening. It sickened you to see him so pale, his freckles barely illuminated in the dim pod. His back hit the mat, and the boy cried out, a hand flying to your forearm and holding on with painful tightness as he gritted his teeth. 

<”Tsireya!”> Ronal prompted, the rest of her instructions not reaching your ears as the pod exploded into a flurry of movement. 

The bitter bite of herbs stung your nose as Ronal gingerly lowered herself to Neteyam’s side, Tonowari supporting her arm as she tried to get comfortable around her pregnant belly. In the background, you could hear Tsireya scrambling for bandages, for ingredients and fresh water. Her tail thrashed anxiously, threatening to upend countless stacks of Ronal’s carefully organised stash.

<”What happened?”> Someone asked you, but you couldn’t pinpoint who. Neteyam was still clinging to your arm, barely hanging on. 

Someone called your name. A hand fell on your shoulder, but you were too overwhelmed to respond.

At some point, Neytiri and the rest of the Sully’s burst into the pod, only for Tonowari to intercept the kids and Jake. You heard Neytiri’s knees hit the mat beside Ronal before the teary eyed woman snapped for something to do. Anxiety rolled off of her like a miasma. 

<”What happened?!”> She yelled, with all the authority of a future Tsahik. Blarily, you blinked and glanced up.

Her eyes were wide with panic, whilst over her shoulder you could see Jake pacing and the kids greeting their demon brother. Kiri had the boy in an uncomfortably tight looking hug, her shoulders shaking with what could only be described as stomach churning sobs. The boy clung right back, his fingers digging into her back as if someone would rip him off of her at a moment's notice.

You did not know what to say or how to even begin explaining what had happened. Your throat was tight, your mind slow and sluggish. The world seemed to still be moving at its usual pace around you, but you felt stuck in time. Frozen and distant. A moment in time you were terrified of shattering. 

Your mouth opened with an audible crack of your jaw, but nothing came out. Neytiri glared back at you, looking at you as if you were something small. Something untrusted. 

<”What?”> She asked slowly, dangerously. <”Happened. To my SON!?”>

Your ears flattened at her increase in volume, but you did not cower. Not with Neteyam clinging tightly to your arm as Ronal applied salve and pressure to the wounds. 

<”They shot him.”> You finally said, your voice small and pathetic but audible. You swallowed, the world finally slowing down to your pace as you forcibly blinked the fog from your eyes. Neytiri did not demand that you specify who ‘they’ were, because you both knew who you were referring to.

<”They shot him, and I killed them.”> The words dripped off of your tongue. As fowl and forbidden as they were disturbing. You swallowed loudly, <”I killed all of them, any of them I could find.”> Their dried blood was tight and flaking around your chin, the copper still staining your tongue. 

Neytiri’s righteous rage faltered. She blinked, some of her fury subsiding as she looked at you in a new light. Probably taking in your exhausted, blood stained appearance, your own bullet wounds bleeding sluggishly. Absorbing the way Neteyam held onto you, despite her presence. Something seemed to click in her mind and she softened. 

<”All of them?”> She pressed. 

The numbness was subsiding now, leaving you feeling weak and shaky. Neteyam’s grasp on you was a grounding for you as it was no doubt for him. 

<”All of them.”> You promised. 

Tsireya broke the staring contest between you and Neytiri by handing over bandages to Ronal, who instructed you to help her move Neteyam into a sitting position. You complied, allowing Neytiri to help as you tucked Neteyam’s head into your shoulder and held his hand. Ronal shuffled closer and began meticulously covering up the bloody wound with soothing green.

The commotion of the clan beyond the pod and the Sully siblings anxious whispers were the only sounds as Ronal did the best she could. 

<”He will sleep.”> Ronal said simply after coaxing Neteyam into swallowing a sleeping draft. 

Tsireya took the statement as a dismissal and quickly exited the pod in the last direction Lo’ak’s stressed pacing had taken him.

Neytiri however, didn’t move as she sat unnervingly still. 

Ronal was gentle as she continued to speak. <”He will still be here if you look away.”> Ronal soothed with a steady hand to Neytiri’s shoulder. <”In the meantime, whilst he rests, you must check on your other children. They need you as well.”>

Neytiri looked torn but, at a soft sniffle from Tuk, managed to convince herself to pull away. On silent feet, she padded across the pod, ducked through the curtains and threw herself into her mate’s arms. Jake caught her automatically, with the arm he wasn’t using to hold Tuk, his expression grim as he simply held her. 

Ronal smiled sadly after her before pointedly turning her back to you, a silent offer of privacy.

You remained sat where you were, stuck to Neteyam’s side, simply holding him and regretting everything that had led up to this. If only you hadn’t been an idiot. If only you had fought harder against going to the island. If only you had ignored the shells or worked up the nerve to do something about them. If only you haven't told Aonung about anything. If only-

You cut the thought off and focused on carding your fingers through Neteyam’s braids. He grumbled weakly at the contact, his grasp on your forearm loosening a fraction as the sleeping draft began to take effect. 

<”You’re going to be okay.”> You promised quietly as he began to drift away. Little by little, his strength left him and he slumped deeper and deeper into your arms. <”Eywa made a mistake. The black shells were not meant for you.”> You were talking more to yourself than Neteyam at this point, but you had to speak the possibility into existence. <”Surely She would not be so cruel.”>

Neteyam did not respond as sleep finally claimed him. His grasp on you grew lax, so you gently laid him down. He looked as still as the dead, reclined on his back with blood seeping through the thick bandages, but not hardly as peaceful as someone who had already passed on. There was still fight in him, you knew. You could see it in the tense set of his jaw, the way he was still somehow clinging to that bloodied token. It’s soft pink shells, now a steaky seashell pink from his blood.

What had he been trying to tell you before everything happened? 

You squashed that thought too. It would only be cruel on yourself to entertain it.  

With a shaky breath, you backed away from Neteyam’s mat, something squirming and melancholic writhing deep in your chest. You felt your lower lip threaten to wobble, despite your best attempts to keep your expression neutral. With a wet breath, you bit your lower lip and stood. 

Across the fire, you caught sight of Aonung watching you, his expression grave. You hadn’t even noticed him slip into the pod. He looked at you with pity now, his demeanour screaming fear and vulnerability. If you had felt more stable, you might have gone over to soothe him. But right now, you knew you were one wrong look away from harming yourself or someone else, so you headed for the pod exit instead. 

The sun was beginning to emerge from behind the moon when you stepped out from the pod. Your gaze immediately went to the beach, to the hunters milling around in the white sand and ducking in and out of the trees for an enemy that was no doubt long gone. 

A short distance away, you could see the human in the embrace of a sobbing Kiri. She had swept him up in her arms so that his feet could not touch the floor, to which the boy clung back fiercely. 

Around you, the village was abuzz with organised chaos. Hunters carrying torches, combed the beaches, the island forest and the bay upon their skimwings. The fishermen sported extra weapons before venturing out of the reef for the morning catch. Even children lingered in the doorways of their homes, reluctant or unable to sleep with all the noise.

And amongst it all, you stood motionless outside the Olo’eyktan’s home, your fated potentially dying within. Regret sat bitterly on your tongue, it enhanced the stickiness of the blood on your skin, sharpened the sting of sand grinding into your thighs. Your muscles were beginning to ache harshly now, whilst your injuries smarted with every movement, and yet you felt nothing but fear for Neteyam.

>_<

A wall of shadows blocked out the morning sun some time later.

You were curled up and tucked out of sight of the main walkway, behind the Olo’eyktan’s hut, your knees drawn up to your chest and your tail curled around your feet. Mud and blood still obscured the ripple pattern of your stripes, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get into the water to clean any of it off. Irrationally, you were convinced that any time spent away from the pod, might be the last precious seconds of Neteyam’s life.

And although you were nothing to him, you still wanted to be close by. Even if all you ever would be was just friends that fell out over something dumb, even if he did not have the time to see you as more, you still wanted to be there. You wanted to be able to look back and know that you had stayed. That you had tried your best with what you had had at the time.

Tsireya stepped forward first, leaving Lo’ak and Aonung exchanging uncertain looks whilst Kiri and the human remained further away. 

<”How long have you been here?”> Your friend asked softly. She knelt before you, her expression pinched but kind. You didn’t dare meet her gaze and curled in tighter on yourself. How pathetic you must look. Couldn’t they leave you to grieve in peace? Surely they didn’t expect you to be a supportive pillar after the evening you’d barely survived through.

Aonung was the next to step uncertainly forward, but he did not speak. His movements were slow and obvious, as if he were approaching a cornered animal. With surprising gentleness, a hand fell to your shoulder and squeezed. 

It was like someone had brought down a knife hilt on a rock. Your expression split and the tears immediately began slipping down your cheeks. You felt yourself crumble, as your ears folded and you shoved your face into your knees to try and stop them from seeing.

Tsireya made a wounded noise before she was pressing into your side, her arms around you and squeezing tightly. You collapsed against her, no longer the seasoned killer, no longer a protector. Just a kid. A scared little kid that was in desperate need of some reassurance.

<”I, I tri-tried-”> you sobbed against her, fighting to keep your words steady only for your panicked sobs to fuck them up before they could leave your lips. <”I tri-ied so har-hard to, to, to pro-protec-t him-”> <”I know you did.”> Tsireya hushed you, as Aonung’s hand slid up to your head and began gently combing through your braids. Tsireya began to gently rock you. <”I know you did.”> She promised. <”I know you did everything you could.”> <”I’m-I’m so-rry-”> <”You don’t need to be sorry.”>

<”Sorry.”> You repeated anyway as your friends held you together. “<”So sorry. Sorry. Sorry-”> <”Just try and breath.”> Tsireya soothed, <”you did wonderfully. Spider is all right, and Neteyam is going to be just fine.”> You didn’t dare contradict her. Not with Lo’ak looking like he was on the verge of tears himself. But there was a very real possibility that Neteyam wouldn’t pull through. People died all the time. What made Neteyam any different from all the other hunters that were killed by those aliens?

<”Children, what are you-”> Tonowari suddenly spoke up, appearing around the corner of the hut, only for his voice to stop in its tracks when his eyes fell on you. <”Oh. Oh Y/n.”> He said softly, softly enough that you suspected he thought you would splinter apart if he spoke too loudly. <”Aonung. Tsireya. Bring them.”> 

His children obeyed easily, and you were too shattered to bother fighting it. Hands guided you to your feet, held you tenderly by the wrists and smoothed down your braids as you were guided away from the Olo’eyktan’s hut to your own just down the walkway. 

Absently, you noted that Lo’ak did not follow. Although his eyes tracked the three of you, his feet remained rooted in place beside the Olo’eyktan’s hut. Standing guard in your stead, you decided. It eased something in you to know that he would remain whilst you were shepherded away. 

Numbness dulled your senses as you were guided down onto a mat. Tsireya’s hands fell away from your body as the clinking of jars sounded from the shelves you kept your salves on. Across from you, Tonowari lowered himself down onto his knees with a grave expression, whereas Aonung hovered at your back, still standing with his hand ghosting against your shoulder, as if expecting you to topple over at a moment’s notice.

You were tired, you realised. Drained and more exhausted than you had ever felt following a training session. And boy, what a training session that adrenaline filled adventure had been. If you weren’t confident in your reflexes before, you were now fully assured that you could hold your own in a fight - given the right incentive.

With care, Tsireya deposited her findings down beside her father, before kneeling beside him in the typical position she would take up when assisting Ronal with her duties. 

<”I am capable of patching myself up, you know.”> You croaked, wincing at how tight your throat sounded. The statement sounded weak, even to your own ears. 

Tonowari nodded in that infuriatingly neutral way of his that both validated and debunked your claim. <”Perhaps.”> He agreed half-heartedly, taking the water filled sponge that Tsireya passed him with a thankful nod of his head, <”but I would feel better if you allowed us to help you.”> <”Do you even remember how to bandage a wound, Olo’eyktan?”> You challenged before you could stop yourself, startling a small smile onto his face.

<”It’s Tonowari to you.”> Tonowari repeated for the hundredth time, he paused in the conversation to shuffle closer, carefully taking your chin in one hand whilst the other began wiping away the blood stains clinging to your chin. <”And with children like you,”> he continued, <”I have never fallen out of practice.”>

As if summoned by the rustle of leaf bandages, Ronal chose then to slip into the hut. Her eyes cut rapidly across the scene before her, a nod of approval following her quick assessment as she stepped in further. <”I see you have begun without me.”> 

<”You were busy, my Pearl.”> Tonowari returned easily, focusing now on taking your hands in his and getting at the blood drying between your fingers and under your nails. 

His mate clicked her tongue, but offered no further comment as she took a slow circle around your back; assessing the damage. <”There are exit wounds.”> She noted aloud, eyes raking over the peppering of bullet holes shot into your legs and torso, <”but due to Eywa’s design they have already begun to clot.”> 

Something in you eased at her soft reassurance. Thank the Great Mother for her foresight. Without the thick layer of fat tucked beneath your thick skin, usually intended to insulate you against the freezing temperatures of the deep sea, there was no doubt you would also be in the Olo’eyktan’s hut clinging to life.

The healing session that followed was comforting and familiar. Tonowari finished cleaning off the worst of the blood and mud before beginning to patch you up with Tsireya’s assistance, whilst Ronal rested her swollen feet by reclining back on your hammock, offering pointers if Tsireya forgot a step. Meanwhile, Aonung continued to hover, a ball of anxiety, watching intently as your wounds were treated and covered by layer after layer of soothing green leaves. 

<”And you’re all set.”> Tonowari narrated with a proud smile as he secured the last bandage. <”Now, I recommend a full night of rest and plenty of food, and with any luck you’ll be back to being a nuisance in three short weeks.”> With a roll of your eyes and a huff, you staggered to your feet, much to Tonowari’s annoyance. <”Yep, sounds nice.”> You said dismissively, having already decided you didn’t have time for ‘three short weeks’. 

<”Um.”> Tonowari joked good naturedly as you hobbled past. <”What did I just tell you?”> He made no move to stop you. <”I’m going to rest.”> You assured him, <”I’m just going to do it out here.”> <”Y/n.”> Tsireya whined softly, sounding close to tears. <”Your body is tired. It needs rest.”> <”I’ll rest once he’s awake.”>

<”Don’t be so stupid.”> Aonung jumped in, his hand once again taking hold of your elbow. With a growl, you shrugged him off. The younger boy flashed his fangs in response, but refused to back down. <”You’re no use to anyone if you drop dead from exhaustion.”> <”I’ll literally be sitting-”>

<”Y/n.”> Ronal cut in, her tone enough for your current sentence to die on your tongue.

<”Tsahik?”> <”In your vision, who held the black shell?”> Her tone was uncomfortably calm, a start contrast to the tense way she held herself. Slowly, you turned back to her, finding the calculated gaze of the Tsahik fixed on you.

<”Neteyam.”> You said with a swallow.

She hummed thoughtfully. <”Perhaps, but earlier, the new Sully boy told me he saw Neteyam pluck the black shell from your hair. Is that true?”> Expression scrunched in confusion, you nodded. Ronal sat up with too much speed for someone as pregnant as her. <”You stupid child! You did not tell me you were the one in possession of the shell in your vision.”>

<”I never actually held it. Neteyam was giving it to me.”> The explanation did little to calm her. 

<”How could you leave out something so crucial? It was meant for you. This was supposed to be YOUR dying day, not Neteyam’s!”> She was on her feet now, looking moments away from panic. Your throat went dry again. <”Well shit.”> You breathed before glancing out of the pod towards the sky. <”Well, eclipse isn’t long over. There’s still time.”> Aonung’s expression twisted as he lightly pushed at your shoulder. <”Do not joke about that!”>

<”Sorry, sorry.”> You waved him off before continuing out of the hut. 

This time, none of them tried to stop you. Ronal’s muffled voice began speaking as you turned the corner, Tonowari was quick to jump in. You blocked them out, unwilling to hear anything else. You’d survived. Neteyam would hopefully pull through. What else was there to discuss?

Stiffly, you hobbled back to the Olo’eyktan’s hut, as the sun slipped fully out from behind the moon, bathing the village in the full force of its light. As you passed the hut, you peered in through the beaded curtain to find Neteyam laid out on his rug, pale and bandaged, his jewellery removed and Neytiri softly combing back his braids. In the weak light, you could make out his laboured breathing, could see the sweat beading on his brow.

Alive; for now. You reassured yourself, before stepping away. 

>_<

As eclipse stole all light from the sky, you prayed that the glow of Neteyam’s freckles would not extinguish with the end of the day.

You hadn’t moved in hours. Your muscles were stiff from disuse and your bandages in need of changing. But no one asked you to move. 

It wasn’t until the bioluminescence had turned on, that Tonowari found you again. This time, he did not try to coax you away from the hut, and instead sat down beside you. He leant back on his hands, head tipped back to look at the stars as you sat together in companionable silence.

It was quiet enough that between the rhythmic laps of the waves, you could hear hushed voices from within the Olo’eyktan’s hut if you really strained your ears.

<”I can’t sleep yet.”> You said, before he could tell you to rest.

Tonowari laughed softly. <”I was not deluding myself into believing I could convince you.”> He admitted lightly, <”although, it is getting chilly. Would you not feel more comfortable sitting inside, where you can see him? Keep an eye on him.”>

Wordlessly, you shook your head.

Tonowari did not push, his arm slid around your shoulder and gently pulled you into him, allowing some of his warmth to transfer into your cold limbs. <”I understand this is hard for you.”> He soothed, <”but you are handling it remarkably well.”> The gentle praise was almost enough to reduce you to tears again. <”There is no comfort I can offer you, for a pain this deep and personal.”> <”I don’t need comfort.”> You stubbornly denied, hating the way your voice threatened to shake. <”I just need him to wake up.”>

>_<

Neteyam woke up around noon the next day. 

You were passed out against Tonowari’s shoulder after spending a restless night watching the water, when Lo’ak came charging out of the Olo’eyktan’s hut yelling, <”HE’S AWAKE! GUYS HE’S AWAKE!”> 

In a scramble of limbs, the other Sully kids - who had also been lingering outside the hut since the end of eclipse - tripped over themselves to get through the doorway. Energised by their eagerness, you followed suit. 

Chuckling lightly to himself, Tonowari helped you up, pushing at your lower back when your knees faltered in the doorway. <”Go on.”> He encouraged lightly, pushing again until you finally stepped out of the sunlight and into the low light of his home.

Neteyam was still laid out on a mat, expression pinched as Neytiri kissed his forehead and stroked his braids. <”Mother, I’m fine.”> He kept insisting, unable to keep the laugh out of his voice. She refused to relent. 

<”Never, scare me like that again!”> Neytiri threatened between kisses, pulling back to hold her son’s head in her hands, her gaze piercing. 

<”I won’t.”> Her eldest promised, and judging by the narrowing of her eyes, she didn’t believe him. She relented regardless, allowing Jake to crowd in close, alongside the rest of the family. 

There were lots of tears. With little Tuk crowding in close for a cuddle, whereas Lo’ak tearfully offered jabs about Neteyam being more careful next time. His brother rolled his eyes, calling Lo’ak a skxawg, which just made Lo’ak’s watery grin grow. Kiri watched from the sidelines, her hand in Neteyam’s but otherwise offering no words. After checking his son over, Jake rocked back on his knees, content to hold Neytiri. 

<”Wait, where’s Spider?”> Neteyam asked suddenly, to which the boy from before was quick to shuffle forward. Amongst so many blue bodies, he had almost melted entirely into the background during the reunion.

<”I’m glad you’re okay.”> Spider offered with a tight smile. 

<”Yeah, me too.”> Neteyam sighed, before another thought struck him. <”Your mask-”> <”We’ve switched it out.”> Jake jumped in, quick to soothe the sudden anxiety out of Neteyam’s tense body. <”Bob and I took it far away and dropped it in a current. With any luck, the rest of those fuckers are merrily sailing the archipelago.”> <”That is good.”> Neteyam offered.

<”It will give you a chance to heal up, and for us to move on.”> Your breath caught painfully in your throat at the same time as several other na’vi in the room. Neteyam and Lo’ak both looked panicked, whereas Kiri looked appalled at having to uproot her life again. Tuk was still cuddled into Neteyam’s side, oblivious to what her father had just implied.

<”Dad,”> Lo’ak spoke up, <“you can’t be serious.”>

<”It isn’t safe for us to stay here.”> Jake pressed. <”We’re putting this clan at risk if we remain. Best to slip away now before more recoms come.”>

<”But we have lives here.”> Lo’ak pressed. <”We have friends.”> He glanced at Tsireya who looked moments away from breaking down in tears. Her ears were lowering as realisation dawned. Lo’ak’s tail began whipping to and fro as he turned back to his parents. <”And you’re just expecting us to uproot all that again.”> <”Lo’ak-”> Neytiri tried to sooth, but the boy was already on his feet.

<”No. I’m tired of running.”> Lo’ak snapped, and he looked it. They all did. <”They’re never going to stop. Quaritch isn’t going to leave us alone just because we disappeared again. We need to fight back. We need-”>

<”Lo’ak!”> Jake repeated more firmly, cutting his son off mid rant. There was no anger in him this time, no spare energy left to scold him for speaking out of turn. <”As your father, I need to keep you safe. All of you. And I’m sorry, but this is the only way.”> Jake continued, his voice stern and as unmoving as a cliff face. <”As soon as Neteyam is strong enough to mount his ikran and stay on it, we’re going. And that is final.”>

Lo’ak glared right back at him, his tail raised high in silent challenge. But he didn’t bite back this time. Instead, he squeezed Neteyam’s shoulder in far well before turning on his heel and storming from the hut, Tsireya falling into step beside him.

Jake sighed tiredly, deflating a bit. His expression was pinched as he looked from the entrance of the pod, to his remaining children. You could practically see the decision weighing down on his shoulders, how the guilt had sapped his energy as much as his anxiety had. 

<”Rest, Jake-Sully.”> Tonowari suddenly spoke up, making himself known for the first time. Amidst all the commotion, he had slipped into the background just like you, a silent observer to the scene. <”You too Neytiri, today has been stressful.”> <”But-”> Neytiri began only for Tonowari to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

<”Do not worry, Y/n and myself will be around should Neteyam require anything.”> Uncertain, Neytiri glanced from the Olo’eyktan to you. Your eyes met, to which you nodded once. Neytiri must have seen something she trusted in the gesture, because she relented. 

<”Thank you, Olo’eyktan.”>

With that, he coaxed the pair outside, leaving Neteyam with Tuk still cuddled under his arm and Spider and Kiri fussing over him. You watched them for a moment, your heart suddenly aching with the slowly dawning realisation that this sight now had a time limit. For however long it took Neteyam to heal, there would be an imposing countdown in the background, ticking closer and closer to their departure. 

You swallowed with a dry click of your throat. To think, a day or so ago, you’d almost figured it out. There might have been a chance at salvaging your relationship with Neteyam, but now? Was there even a point?

<”Um, Y/n?”> Kiri said aloud, startling you out of your thoughts. <”Oh good, I thought you’d fallen asleep with your eyes open or something.”> Despite yourself, a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. 

Pulling yourself off of the wall, you shifted further into the room, feeling out of place in an environment you often frequented. <”Do you need me to get you anything?”> You asked carefully, eyes finally meeting Neteyam’s and finding him looking back. The expression he wore startled you into silence.

There was pain there, hidden deep in those golden depths. But also a relief. A pride. Strangely, you saw no fear, despite everything he’d watched you do. Despite how he’d watch you tear apart na’vi twice your size and enjoy it.

<”Get over here.”> Neteyam ordered, wincing as he waved you closer. You hesitated, glancing from his bandaged injury to his pleading look. 

<”I don’t want to hurt you.”> <”Don’t care. I want to hold you. Now, get down here.”> <”Why?”> You asked stupidly, hyper aware of the other three glancing between the two of you uncertainly. 

Neteyam frowned, looking at you now as if you were being stupid on purpose. <”Because you scared me half to death tackling trained soldiers, got shot several times, and then carried me across half a beach like I weighed nothing. The least I can do, is give you a hug in thanks.”>

At Neteyam’s nonchalant confession, Kiri glanced at you with newfound respect clear in her expression. 

You ignored her, <”you don’t need to thank me for that.”> You said truthfully, to which Neteyam nodded. And deep down, you knew he understood what you meant. That he knew you would have played far dirtier, would have fought harder if it would have saved him. 

<”Maybe not.”> He agreed, <”but I would like to.”> Again, he extended his arm, inviting you to fall into it. With every heartbeat that passed, you were finding it harder and harder to resist. Your expression must have crumbled, because Kiri finally lost her patience and gave you a firm shove. Once you were moving, you couldn’t stop. With your own bandaged wounds pulling from the sudden movement, you dropped down on your knees at Neteyam’s side, before carefully enveloping him in a tight hug. The arm not cuddling Tuk curled tightly around your shoulders, pressing you impossibly tight to him. He was a warm, solid weight within your arms, and that in itself was more reassuring than periodic glances through the gap in the curtains. 

Neteyam’s arm was a steady pressure across your back, firm and comforting, even more so when his hand shifted to gently cup the back of your neck, applying lovely pressure. For the first time since the guns had gone off, you found yourself breathing easier. 

<”There you go.”> Neteyam coaxed softly as you melted further into his side, most of your body lying beside him on the mat instead of on top. 

Someone chuckled quietly, before getting elbowed. <”The hell was that for Kiri!”> Spider whisper shouted, earning himself another hard knock.

<”Do not ruin this.”> Kiri whispered back, barely quieter than her brother. <”You have no <i>idea</i> how painful the last few weeks have been because of these two.”>

<”I just thought the purring was a cute touch!”> Spider hissed back, to which you abruptly realised you had in fact begun to purr now that you were finally in Neteyam’s arms. Strangely, it was a struggle to muffle it with how relaxed your body had become.

<”Look what you did!”> Kiri growled.

<”You know we can hear you,”> Neteyam cut in smoothly, <”right?”> 

Neither of them replied. 

Neteyam continued to periodically squeeze you, applying alternating pressures until you calmed, falling limp and compliant again. Perhaps later you would regret acting so openly affectionate, but for now, held securely in your fated’s arms, you couldn’t care less.

Surprisingly, it was Kiri who cracked first. <”Well, whilst you two are doing, um, that I’m going to go and speak with Dad.”> There was some rustling, which you assumed was her getting up. <”I’m going to try and talk him out of moving.”> Neteyam grimaced. <”Good luck with that. He seemed pretty set.”> She chuckled dryly. <”Well, we’ve all got to try. You just stall getting better to get me enough time to work on him.”> The way she said it implied that Jake was vulnerable to her charm. <”Tuk, I need your puppy eyes.”> <”Aye aye captain.”> Tuk grinned, giving Neteyam one last parting squeeze before hopping up. In her absence, Neteyam wound his other arm around your back, letting out a soft sigh. 

<”Do you think they’ll manage it?”> Spider asked as the two ducked out of the Olo’eyktan’s hut. 

<”We can only hope.”> Neteyam said sadly, <”best keep an eye on them.”> 

Taking the hint, Spider hid a little knowing smile before getting up and following. 

It was quiet in the hut without the three of them, almost peaceful with the rhythmic lul of the waves and the distant chatter of the clan all around. 

<”Thank you.”> Neteyam repeated again, a soft purr starting up in the back of his throat. <”You don’t need to thank me-”> <”No, listen. Please?”> He insisted, tail thumping lightly against the mat. You went still, giving him a large enough opening to say his piece. He took it. <”You didn’t have to protect Spider, he was my responsibility, but you did. You protected both of us, even though you were mad at me, and you didn’t have any reason to put yourself in that kind of danger on my behalf. So thank you, you’re incredible.”>

Something large and uncomfortable blocked your airways as the full force of his words hit you. How there was nothing but gratitude in his tone. A soft sort of awe that left you reeling. <”Thank you for waking up.”> You said stupidly, for lack of anything better to offer. <”Now we’re even.”> <”Almost.”> Neteyam agreed, his arms slackening slightly. <”Could you pass me my jewellery please? The whole bundle?”> He lifted one of his hands off your back to motion to the pile in question. 

Nose scrunched in confusion you complied. With care, you scooted off of him to retrieve the bundle and offer it to him. Neteyam took it out of your hands with a soft hum, his fingers carefully carding through the pieces until he unearthed the token from before. 

The soft pink of the shells looked gorgeous in this light, despite the flecks of blood that had dirtied them. Neteyam made a face at the sight of the mess, to which you wordlessly retrieved a bowl of water from beside the rest of Ronal’s healing supplies. 

<”Thank you.”> He said again as if he hadn’t already thanked you at least three times in the last few minutes. With care, he took a moment to lightly dip the necklace into the water, before gently rubbing the blood out of the woven knots. The angle was a bit hard on his shoulder, but he worked well enough with one hand.

<”What I was trying to say before,”> Neteyam said, <”before everything went sideways, was that I want to be more than friends. I want to get to know you with the intention of fulfilling what these shells suggest.”>

<”I see.”>

<”And,”> Neteyam continued, <”that if you hadn’t overheard Lo’ak and gotten the wrong idea, that I would have gladly accepted your courting gift if you had presented it to me.”> <”You would?”> 

<”Of course I would have.”> He promised, glancing away from his task to smile warmly at you. 

It was only because you had already been looking at him that you’d noticed a shell caught in one of his braids, previously obscured by his head. Thankfully, this one was not black, or grey, it was not blue or green. It wasn’t even white.

It was small. Clearly a suggestion by the Great Mother. There was hardly any pigment to it, and in the wrong light, you would have certainly mistaken it for white. You didn’t need Ronal to tell you to know that it represented new love, or at least some form of blossoming adoration. It was no longer a sign for the fated, but a symbol of what Eywa predicted would one day come to pass. 

The thought unclenched something in you, allowing you to return to the present quickly enough to accept Neteyam’s courting gift as he handed it to you. <”Thank you.”> You offered, carefully lifting the gorgeously woven piece to your neck and securing it in place. 

Neteyam smiled. <”It looks good on you.”>

Previous Chapter <- Part 3 -> Epilogue

[drowninghell]

Surviving the apocalypse together

Unedited

Leonardo x fem reader

I’ve been inspired by the last of us okay 😭

Warnings: violence, death , apocalyptic plot, minors dn

“ Leo! Leo! Please we have to go!” Her fingers clawed at her partners thick scaled forearm, trembling , blood and dust already caking her features. He was distressed, desperation clouding his face as he tried to lift the rubble. Unmoving the cement stayed blocking his way to his brothers, his family. The world had gone mad. His teeth grit together , veins popping from his forehead as he put his all into it. Fire casting a warm light across both their features. Close enough that the heat stung.

Everyone was running in different directions, cars crashing into one another. The Nypd was trying to halt the movement of people out of the city. To contain the spread so it would seem.

From the corner of her eye she seen it. The sounds had become ingrained into her head.

The clicks, the shrieky groans. As it took notice of the two of them, lifting its head from its recent meal. “ Leo! Leo! Please darling please we’ll find them. We gotta live! We gotta get out of the city “ Using all her force to pull him, to try drag him from the rubble. The clicker started to approach , getting faster and faster. A strangled cry wracked her throat, she couldn’t leave him and he wouldn’t move. She didn’t want to die, not at their frothing mouths. Both her arms wrapped around his thick bicep as she pulled and hauled.

And just like that he snapped out of it, although her brute force wasn’t enough to move him, her cries were. God, he had to think. Hearing the approaching steps he stood straight and in the blink of an eye had taken the head from the shoulders of the runner , in one foul swoop.

He was back, a sigh of relief from his soulmate as she visibly relaxed. He took her head in his big hands and rested their foreheads together. A thick thumb caressing her bloodied cheek. So much tension and worry strung up in his muscles, tears and anxiety fresh in his eyes. A strong kiss was pressed to her forehead. In that moment the screaming died out, that one simple moment.

The infected were getting louder the closer they got , seeing them around his shoulder(y/n) began to pull him in the opposite direction. Eyes widening in sheer Terror. Taking her hand in his they took off running. Through the streets of new york , the mass of bodies was moving everywhere, some infected , some not. All they knew now was they couldn’t help anyone. No one could be trusted.

(Y/n) struggled to keep up with Leonardo , struggled to dodge the infected , the cops , the living. Side street after side street until finally hitting a Main road. Tilting a head above the planes could be seen dropping from the sky. Her lungs burned and her throat felt like it was coated in blood. She was crying as she ran. Crying as she watched all the people reaching out and begging her for help whilst being feasted upon by the runners. Leonardo had his lips pressed into a thin line. Guilt knawing at him as he tugged her along, he couldn’t help them now, no one could.

The blue clad turtle could feel her struggle, her weight heavy in his hands pulling her behind him like a dead weight. She was struggling to keep up with his great steps.

as he looked over his shoulder to check on Her, his eyes broadening in sickening horror, falling from above, a chopper, hurtling right in their direction. Without a moment of hesitation he grabbed (y/n) , threw her up into his arms and sprinted.

It was the shrapnel that hit first, then the shock wave. The pair hit the ground like a tonne of bricks. Being thrown forward from the force of the crashi into the cement. Luckily they weren’t among the people crushed.

(Y/n) pulled herself from beneath Leonardo and dusted him off, he had shielded her from most of the damage. His shell was cracked in more ways than one, his arm was clearly broken and a massive shard of metal lay embedded in his thigh.

“ no, no, no, no” she whispered, blood poured down her face , Leonardo was pretty banged up, and she didn’t know how far she could carry him.

“ go.” He said. Not a moments hesitation, one look of his injuries and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. His voice wracked with sadness and what she felt was fear , she had never heard him sound afraid. Not her fearless. “ no.” She answered, just as firm. Trying to lift his non damaged arm to throw over her shoulder.

“Listen to me (y/n)! You can’t carry me! Go!” His voice was cracking but there was clear conviction. “ I’m not leaving you!” She continued to throw his arm, only for Leo to do something he’s never done to her before , with his good arm her gave her a hard shove. “ go! Get out of here!” He hissed, trying to muster as much venom as he could.

She hit the ground from the force he shoved her with, her mouth agape as she pushed herself to her feet once again. “ no, please Leo, please”

“Run! Get out of here!” He spat, Carnage was all around them, frantic she looked and searched , desperately looking for some sort of solution.

Then, something caught her eye and she took one long look at her darling dearest. Sobs wracked her body as she leaned forward , picking his katana from the ground and giving him a kiss on the top of his head.Then turning on her heel and running in the opposite direction.

It was like this was happening to him in slow motion, he wanted to call out, ‘ don’t leave me please’. He wanted to be the one that could be saved, maybe just this once.

The minute her back was turned that fearless, self sacrificing persona fell to nothing and he cried, he cried like a little baby as he watched her retreat into the chaos without a second glance back. Awe how his heart climbed up his throat, how his hand shook as he dragged his barley functioning body to be leaning against a wall, the pain was agonising as he grit his teeth together, a bloodcurdling groan left his lips as he pulled his leg up. Hissing a calming breath between his teeth, It looked bad, god it looked so bad.

Pulling his last katana from the sheath he readied himself to go out fighting. The terrapins mind travelled to his brothers, to his father. To (y/n). He was all alone in the end. No one to tell his story or to sing songs about how he died fighting.

He was glad.

There were no stories told about someone who was so afraid their hands trembled holding the sword they where a master at wielding.

Would his brothers ever wonder about him?

Would (y/n.) god, he wished they got out.

Clambering over the burning wreck the infected narrowed in on him. Inhaling a long sigh he readied himself, flailing towards him with such a anger, such a ferocity. They’re barley functioning bodies hurtling closer, he lifted his katana, a look of defeat all over his countenance.

An inch out from him and a van knocked them all over like a bowling ball to the lane pins. Reversing and then driving back over them for good measure.

The double doors swung open and there stood (y/n) , her brows knitted together in determination and she hopped out, moving as quickly as she could before another one of the living tried to pirate her stolen property.

Upon seeing her , he broke. His arms falling limp by his side, the adrenaline finally washing out of him“ you really think I’d leave you eh darling?” She lightened, her voice quivering, the fresh blood didn’t go unnoticed. he let her help him to his feet , she guided him to the double doors and he crawled in.

She slammed the doors behind him.

Before he knew it they where flying through the crowded streets, (y/n) in full protection mode. In the past hour she had experienced more heartbreak than she had in her entire life, in an hour she had began to harden, harden as she drove past people screaming and waving for help as she flew past, how the van jumped as she ran over infected that hurtled towards her.

Always casting a look over her shoulder to see him. Her darling. She’d never forget the look on his face when she walked away. He genuinely believed she’d left and that look. She’d never forget it.

She could see him begin to pale, she seen him slowly side down from his upright position to be on his back.

“ hi darling, how are you feeling, talk to me.” She spoke up, trying to keep him awake, until she could begin to tend to him. “ I feel okay.” He whispered, barley audible. She still heard it. They were close now, to the edge of the city. “ I need you to stay awake for me okay? Can you do that for me Leo, please?” Her voice was quivering as she tried to ignore the growing pool of blood in the back of the van.

Lenonardo rolled onto his side with a pained groan , hissing at the pain in his shell. in This position he could see out the big front window, the only thing blocking his view was the two front seats. He could see the riots. She sped through it all, quick in her decision making and he had to admit he was so proud of her, if that was the right thing to feel. “ yeah I can do that.” He mumbled. His eyes flickering to her face.

Her usually calm easy features where pinched tight, the amber light of fire casting a gloomy shadow across her skin. “ I’ll get you all patched up, as soon as we get a good bit outside the city” he seen her pitiful attempt at a smile , for him she could gather. His eyes flicked to the front, he watched her pull onto the motor way.

His eye lids felt heavy, his limbs felt as though they where tied down. He felt cold and tired. Sore.

“ I love you y’know.” Blood loss and shock wobbled his words. She inhaled , worrying now “ I love you too, so much okay? That’s why you gotta stay awake for me!” Her voice was wracked with tears. He sounded so fatigued, so weak. Upon hitting a decent stretch of road free of cars she put the boot to the board, ignoring who she had to hit in the process.

Leo couldn’t stay awake anymore as he huddled his good arm around himself. His blinks grew long, the period of darkness growing and growing until he moved off into sleep completely.

Part II

@thelaundrybitch @turtle-babe83 @leosgirl82

[chrysalizzm]

plate of primes

read on ao3

x

women love me, fish fear me. did you know my brother fucked a fish once? he’d call me a sinner but i  know i’m the good sin. pogchamp.

he put me up like a christmas soldier and i know the cost of everything by the stock of its gun. that’ll be fifty quid, thanks, and do you kiss your mother with that mouth?

in war everyone wears the same colour boots.  i saw that on wikifeet. 

aita for telling my brother to stop  eating so many bloody cigarettes  it will tear your digestive lining  and all the organs will rot. i (m17)  and my brother (m25) watched as he folded like a broken law.

speaking of breaking my best friend broke his back on five thousand metric tonnes of light sound and color once. bedazzling. he says the fire went blue and green and gold and that they melted his eyelids before they snapped his spine so his whole world was sky and shore and sun and then he turned into lots of blood, everywhere. it’s red, innit.

my best friend is what they call a  little ~fruity~ a little ~limp wrist~ aita for bullying his new husband.

in my defence. they are big money. ooh la la rich.  diamonds lining every vein rich. netherite tongue. it is good that my friend has something in his arms that cannot be turned into lots of blood everywhere. 

my best friend says if my brother sets foot ten thousand meters in every direction by their home he will turn him into a swiss cheese. by which i think he means you and  i learned to eat cereal with bullet shells inside and your brother is a dead man walking four times over and should try a little harder to stay that way. i think my best friend and my brother would be much better off if they had four hundred twenty wives much like myself. 

reddit enjoyers across the world i (m17) want my brother (m25) and my bestie (m17) to sit at a table and share a plate.

they are both being  very unreasonable. if they thought about it for a second they would understand that it’s not about the bullet shells or the new hubby or the broken law or the lots of blood, everywhere. 

last year i turned seventeen in a ditch, married my first wife and divorced her, cut a couple throats to know the heat, drank choccy milk out of a crystal vase, and dug a grave for the new husband.  when i was sixteen, i split my lip thirty times and broke my leg twice and had sore arms and blew up an eardrum and ate shit and had a nice christmas party by the white sheath of beach out east, cold and dark, a pink cake in my hands.

give me love  without the blood. 

failing that, give me primes. 

[thetruearchmagos]

The Commonwealth Calls

An Excerpt: The Long Road To Ruin [Part I (?)]

Hey folks, hope you're all well! Was watching some Warno when a sudden moment smacked me with some inspiration, and I put this out in about ten minutes! Will probably continue it, too!

Tagging @lividdreamz @theprissythumbelina @marinesocks @dogmomwrites @sanguine-arena @thatndginger @muddshadow @athenswrites

Lieutenant Charlie Thrush could feel the cool morning breeze nip at her face, faint rays of light casting ponderous shadows across the open country before her. Perched atop her cupola she couldn't rely on the Conqueror's exquisite optics, but the sweeping plain approaching the tree-lined hill she held gave an excellent view upon all comers.

"Anything exciting out there, boss?"

"Hardly, Vish. How's the brew going?"

Private E.R. Vishruth's hand emerged from the bowels of the turret in reply, holding a steel canteen with its cap unscrewed, wispy steam billowing out through the spout.

"Good stuff, managed to stock some Grey Label in 'er before we shipped out."

As Loader, Vishruth had more jobs than feeding the beast its daily lead, and even war couldn't part an Albish trooper from this most sacred ritual. The rest of the platoon was scattered across the ridge, far too few for the stretch, and partaking in their own morning routines, while the crew of Chaste Charlotte took in the sights.

"Oi, pass the rest of it, will ya! You fucks up there can't hear it, but Foster's being a right dick."

The loader gave an exaggerated eye roll at Pei Wang's words, before retreating back into the abyss below. Five weeks ago they'd be at each others throats over something like this, Charlie mused. She didn't much like the thought of getting a new loader after Carl got into that nasty crash while on leave, but it was truely marvelous what spending a month on exercise trapped in a steel clad coffin did to you, to say nothing of a declaration of hostilies.

She stayed up there for a good few more minutes, stirring the canteen in one gloved hand and cradling her head in another. Grey Label, as it went in the battalion, tasted best with a little lubricant, and she could taste the bite of Vish's other acquisition well enough. All in all, it wasn't a great morning, but Charlie wouldn't say no to a few more like it.

Static warbling came through from her helmet's in-built microphone down below, a harsh interruption to the peace of war. Charlie grunted as went down to check the new transmission, seeing from the comm-set's display that it came from Company.

"GLOVE to all units, Fires Warning, Fires Warning. Detecting gun artillery fire from northeast, expect inbound to Hill 613 and surrounding, Clear."

"Ahh, feck it. Vish, pull over the Projectors, we're buttoning up!"

With the engine running at full blast the intercoms were absolutely vital within the armtrack's belly, and Charlie's voice rang tinny through the vehicle. Vish simply turned behind to his console, and looking through the Commander's Scope --- Charlie's only window to the outside world --- she could see the faint blue haze that told her the Conqueror's Protective Field Projector was active. That was something that took getting used to, but in her usual fashion Wang crushed her gunnery trials with the fields on after less than a week with the new armtrack. The gunner turned to give the commander a once over, and a greeting.

"Mornin', ma'am! How's the weather in the real world?"

"Cold, and about to get bloody hot!"

Seconds later the first shells hit home, fired from guns far beyond the edge of the sky. Their tell-tale whistle might've helped the infantry somewhere down the plains, but in the armtracks the only sign of the King of battle's entry came with its impacts. Great plumes of smoke and dust erupted, and though the hit home far and below the hill the sheer shock of tonnes of explosives smashing deep into Bardinian soil shook the very ground through the vehicle's loaded suspension.

"Fuckin' Hell, this is a big one they've got for us!"

Vish seemed to mean that in a brave sort of way, but his right hand, perched firmly against the armoured bulkhead that seperated the turret crew from the ammunition, told the same story his face did. Wang, crouching in her seat, eyes tight to her own sights and gazing into targets unseen, probably felt the same way.

Hell if I don't, Charlie half thought. Training shots in the fild, and five months fighting the Clans out in the Kolleen Wastes, had very little on the Ocrisian's love for big guns and using them.

The shelling lasted for five minutes, though it seemed longer. The final dozen or so weren't even explosives, and soon a thick white smog blanketed the valley below.

Charlie spoke through her headset once more, this time to the whole Platoon.

"Right, guns up. Switch to thermals, and watch your ammo. Happy hunting, First Platoon, you know what we're here."

[ukrainenews]

Daily Wrap Up June 11, 2022

Under the cut: A large-scale fire broke out at the Azot plant in Severodonetsk in the Luhansk region as a result of shelling by Russian troops; Ukraine remains in control of the Azot chemical plant in Sievierodonetsk where hundreds of civilians are sheltering; Russian forces are now in control of most of Severodonetsk, the epicenter of the bloody battle for Ukraine's eastern Donbas region; A United Nations commission has arrived in Ukraine on Saturday to investigate war crimes; Decision on Ukraine's request to join EU expected next week; Up to 300,000 tonnes of grain may have been stored in warehouses destroyed by Russian shelling last week.

“A large-scale fire broke out at the Azot plant in Severodonetsk in the Luhansk region as a result of shelling by Russian troops.

This was announced on a telethon by the head of the Luhansk Regional Military Administration Serhiy Haidai, Ukrinform reports.

"The territory of the Azot plant is being fired at very heavily, for hours, with heavy caliber. There was oil leaking from the radiators, tens of tons, a very powerful fire (happened - ed.)", - said the head of OVA.

According to him, the enemy does not stop trying to break through the front in the area of ​​Popasna, fighting continues in Toshkivka.”-via Ukrinform

~

“Ukraine remains in control of the Azot chemical plant in Sievierodonetsk where hundreds of civilians are sheltering, the region’s governor said on Saturday, after a Russia-backed separatist claimed 300 to 400 Ukrainian fighters were also trapped there.

Reuters reports:

“The information about the blockade of the Azot plant is a lie,” Serhiy Gaidai, governor of the Luhansk region partially controlled by pro-Russian separatists, said on the Telegram messaging app.

“Our forces are holding an industrial zone of Sievierodonetsk and are destroying the Russian army in the town,” he wrote.

Ukraine has said some 800 people were hiding in several bomb shelters underneath the Azot plant, including about 200 employees and 600 residents of Sievierodonetsk.”-via The Guardian

~

“Russian forces are now in control of most of Severodonetsk, the epicenter of the bloody battle for Ukraine's eastern Donbas region.

Street fighting continued to rage on Saturday in the eastern city, where Russian soldiers and Ukrainian troops are still locked in battle. "The situation remains difficult. Fighting continues, but unfortunately, most of the city is under Russian control. Some positional battles are taking place in the streets," said Serhiy Haidai, the governor of Luhansk region, which makes up Donbas along with the neighboring Donetsk region. The most active areas of fighting were Severodonetsk, Popasna, and the area of the Siverskyi Donets river, Haidai said on national television Saturday, adding Russian forces were using "highly destructive thermobaric rocket artillery."”-via CNN

~

“A United Nations commission has arrived in Ukraine on Saturday to investigate war crimes.

Deputy Speaker of Ukraine’s parliament Olena Kondratyuk said that the commission’s goal is to record war crimes and human rights violations.

“I have assured the UN Independent International Commission that the Verkhovna Rada [Ukrainian parliament] will contribute to the successful work of the mission! We discussed the work of the commission in Ukraine, which was established to record violations of human rights, international humanitarian law and other crimes related to Russian aggression. The major task is identify suspects, gather evidence and prepare materials so that no one escapes punishment,” Kondratiuk said.”-via The Guardian

~

“The European Commission president, Ursula von der Leyen, has told Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, that the EU executive’s opinion on Ukraine’s request to join the bloc would be ready by the end of next week, Reuters reports.

Their meeting, which took place during Von der Leyen’s second visit to Kyiv since Russia launched its invasion in February, “will enable us to finalise our assessment by the end of next week,” she said.

A recommendation as a candidate for membership, however, would only be a preliminary step. All 27 EU governments would have to agree on granting Ukraine candidate status, after which extensive talks on reforms would be required before membership.”-via The Guardian

~

“Up to 300,000 tonnes of grain may have been stored in warehouses destroyed by Russian shelling last week, Ukraine’s agriculture minister said on Saturday according to Reuters.

Speaking on national television, Taras Vysotskyi said records showed that at the start of the war warehouses at one of Ukraine’s largest agriculture terminals in the Black Sea port of Mykolaiv held 250,000 to 300,000 tonnes of grain, predominately wheat and corn.

The news comes after the country’s president Volodymyr Zelenskiy told delegates at the Shangri-La Dialogue summit in Singapore earlier Saturday that the world faced an “acute and severe food crisis and famine”.”-via The Guardian

[goamazons]

                                                                                             September, 2                                                                                              Damnville

Dear Dad, You can survive for three weeks without food, for a week without water and turn into a measly gremlin the next very day without a toilet. You’re reading a toilet monster, Dad. Never feed me after dark, ha, ha! It all started when Ma got struck by one of her *BRILLIATN IDEAS* to change the entire pipe system in our house. Just after she flushed the lobsters’ shell down the drain, and they got stuck there for good like, getting back to the ocean wasn’t their most cherished dream before dying. The easiest way out was to invite a proper plumber. Ha! That never happens in Ma’s horoscopes she reads every time she needs to do something PIPING. Instead, she invited our neighbor Mr Gardenzio even though he’s not a plumber but an ex-heavy-lift-boxer and also never gets my name right (he calls me Buster.) I have nothing against boxers and busters, Dad, but every time Mr Gardenzio comes by, my house smells of dogs, sounds like a rush hour and I am a free errand boy.  He smashed all our pipes to dust and sent me to buy one thousand and one thingy I’VE NEVER KNOWN BEFORE EVEN EXISTED. I called Amazons and together, we rumbled by the hardware stores like three lost kittens. Hecta asked, Why would a boxer fix your pipes. I said, He re-qualified into a plumber after he retired. However, when we were back it turned out, he actually did not coz he’d just had a spontaneous duel with the toilet pan. And won. It cracked in two like pieces of the cosmic Yin and Yan that now will never get back together T_T

Then the ball got rolling...

Ma hit her stupendous fit about God punishing her for all her *MAGIC POWERS*, Mr Gardenzio went to have his tenth bucket of coffee and I was sent back shopping for a new toilet pan. Ma ordered one just like our dead old pal even if it was like, hundred years old and hardly flashed anything down. Whatever you put there surfed on the rips of running water and proudly plopped back on the bowl. Still, Ma believes old things are better things, plus cheaper, and bought one from the Internet on a massive discount. I used all public toilets in the nearest cafes and officially declare I prefer new things. You simply push the button there and the poo vanishes as if by magic, not waits for you to PUSH IT MANUALLY. Anyway, the next day, I took Amazons to collect my new toilet coz Ma refused to pay the delivery. At the shop, it turned out they didn’t even wrap it up. And it weighted a complete tonne! I said, What a chance to pump our Shaolin warrior power. Agnieszka said, Quite! and took the plastic tank, like a princess. Hecta and I grabbed that anvil-like bum-throne and kung-fu-dragged it along the streets sweating and panting like all proper warriors proper should. Met our Domestic science teacher Mrs Jennings doing her shopping. She gasped as she saw us coming her way and lamented that we brought her bad luck with that empty vessel. It’s like having all thirteen black cats and a magpie crossing your path in one go. I thought, empty toilet can’t be worth luck than NO TOILET AT HOME AT ALL. Then it turned out it WAS a bad luck coz that bloody WC didn’t fit in anywhere. It had so monstrous bowl, it was destined to serve giants with butts as big as shopping malls. Mr Gardenzio got ready to rematch it while Ma phoned the shop to blow their brains off for selling us a Cthulhu’s loo, and we were sent to get it hell outa the house and over a mile back. BACK. TO. THE. SHOP. I think Mrs Jennings had a heart attack when our paths crossed again today. We ordered a standard one AND A DELIVERY SERVICE. But they will only bring it tomorrow. I’m a homeless kitten now, Dad. I have no personal closet, i. e. no territory to mark, no roots, no claims. Even monks have somewhere to pee, right? I’m a gypsy tumbleweed. I will sleep at Hecta’s tonight. Gotta go do my business in the bushes till the rest of my life if Mr Gardenzio doesn’t box it all back together. Write to you soon,                                                                                Your gremlin Skipper  

[thedreadvampy]

this one IS finished (I wrote it in August 2013) and honestly? holds tf up good job 2013 Ruth

(2013 Ruth was evidently very into a) trauma and b) Bertie not being as dead as initially suspected)

TAKE NO PRISONERS GIVE NO QUARTER

The rage hasn't left him since he heard about Bertie. It's amazing what three simple letters can do to a man whose whole self rests on one person. MIA. Theoretically, that's inconclusive, but in reality, that just means there isn't enough left to find, let alone bury. MIA is a pretty common ending to a young man's story, down here in the tunnels. 

The whole tunnel came down on Bertie and the rest of the scouting party, the cracked walls giving up the ghost under the combined pressure of shellling and laser fire. Crushed Lenny and Tommy alike, erasing their differences in one bloody mess, good old boys from Blighty and moonbleached Lenny bastards all rendered down to crushed mess together, There was only one survivor to report back, and was is the operative term. It's hard to get back into active service when you're jam from the waist down, and the poor blighter never even made it far enough to be invalided out to one of the giant Medsats in orbit up above.

So Bertie's gone, and in fairness, Tim never was very stable when left to his own devices, as strings of explosive accidents and charred lab wreckages can attest.

There was shock, at first. The dull numbness of denial,  no no no NO no NO it can't be he isn't he didn't no body no proof he'll be found he'll be invalided out he'll be fine he is was will be fine he isn't gone because he CAN'T be gone. But denial's hard to cling to when you've seen death like the boys in the tunnels have seen, you know a tunnelfall is not something you walk away from. Or even crawl away from. Nowhere to run, with tonnes upon tonnes of lunar rock crashing down from above, tasting your own fate in the smoke and dust that are the forerunners of the boulders...a hellish death, a messy death, above all a certain death. If you aren't crushed you'll suffocate or die of your wounds, out in the deadland where nobody's going to hear your cries. Hells, Tim and Bertie did it often enough, that grim tunnels game you have to play, sitting by the crackling radio, rustling and banging your things around, talking, singing, anything to block out the hopeless, plaintive calls from the nearest collapsed tunnel, where hidden charges and weakened structures and exposure to fire mean you'll most likely die yourself before you can help any one of the poor bastards.

So Bertie's...

Bertie's...

For hours, days, he couldn't even bear to think the end of that sentence, and he understands now as never before why the tunnels are filled with euphemisms, those coy lies that partially cover this unbearable truths lurking behind them.

Gone.

Bought it.

Kicked the bucket.

Pushing up daisies.

MIA.

Bertie's...Bertie's dead.

His mind revolted, twisted and writhed away from considering the existence of a world with a Bertie-shaped lack, the world he now existed in where days and nights were cold and alone and silent and only filled by his cold hands and his cold eyes and his cold heart and his raging fire thoughts with nobody to guide them. There were, at that point, others around him, comrades, others in his dugout, but they no longer existed to him They meant nothing. They weren't Bertie. They weren't his. They were man-shaped shadows, who drifted in and out of his awareness to offer orders or platitudes. They weren't part of his silent cotton-wool world. Tim was...is...an ice cold, glass-sharp shard in the centre of soft, soundless, excruciating nothing.

He has yet to be aware of crying over Bertie, though sometimes he finds the salt wetness on his face to be tears, not blood, sometimes he realises with a shock that the hopeless sob he hears is his own. But thus far he has never sat down to cry, never let himself mourn. For days after the news came, it wasn't real, nothing was real, he just shut off. He stared, blank-eyed, into the middle distance, and performed his duties with silent, mechanical efficiency. His comrades muttered, as the days spread into weeks, talked about "mental", "headcase", "shell-shock," and though he heard them, they no more penetrated Tim's dead-eyed daze than anything else happening around him. But there was one, a soft-spoken Welshman by the name Griffiths (bought it at Sinus Roris a few days later), who hit the nail on the head. Looking at the detached, unreacting figure of Tim as he sat slowly dissassembling his lasgun, Griffiths said quietly, "I reckon that's what it looks like when a man gets his heart broke beyond repair".

That, Tim heard, and almost, almost cried. Almost let it fall loose, all of it, weeks of pent-up tears, crippling fear, total bereavement. Almost shed every tear he had, for the times that were and the comfort that used to be, for his Bertie and for his own heart, that he'd barely known was there until it shattered, and for the snuffing of the one and only true light in these dank, dismal tunnels. He almost cried, but he didn't. If he let the feelings in, he was sure they would destroy him; comprehension of his loss loomed poised, a tsunami waiting to break over him.

He didn't cry. The emotions stayed safely dammed back. His face stayed empty. His heart stayed closed.

And he could have stayed that way forever, floating through life in the dazed, unfocused stupefaction of unbearable grief, but for one thing. Bertie had...had died pushing the lines forward, and the Moonies were working day and night, it seemed, to push back. And they pushed hard. 

They came in the dead of night, trampling across the fallen rock under which was buried the dead of both sides. Tim was on watch that night, he saw the tiny will-o-the-wisp reflection of lights in their eyes, the firelight gleaming off polished buttons. He saw the soldiers who'd mowed down his Bertie (he wasn't there, didn't see how Bertie died, but in the fevered darkness behind his lids, he sees Bertie dying in that godforsaken tunnel night after night in infinite ways, sees him shot down or crushed or lying moaning in the dark, slowly ebbing away a few pathetic tunnels away from Tim's unknowing form), saw them in the flesh now, saw them coming from the wreckage which still buried the only person who'd been real to him, imagined their boots pounding the rubble above Bertie's ruined body. The tension which had been holding him together for every unimaginably long day since the tunnelfall snapped, and the pain crashed thunderous into his head in a flood of images and memory and raw uncurtailed loss, in curly hair and a dimpled smile and pale grey eyes clouded over lying alone dying alone in a stew of viscera and agony and bone and blood and smoke, mingling contamination, blood mixed with his enemies, crushed into moonwhite corpses, a world apart, a world alone, a world where Tim has no control, where Bertie isn't, where Tim...

And without knowing anything, unexpectedly, Tim found the wave didn't swamp him. Didn't crush him, didn't smash him, didn't destroy him. He rode it. His agony and his loss gave him strength, made him unstoppable. Grief surged in his veins, and he surged with it, eyes alive and merciless. He laid red flowers on Bertie's grave. By the time the rest of the platoon scrambled out of the dugout, sleep-fogged and panicking, the battle was all but over, and Tim was gone in a trail of broken corpses.

He is legend. He is death. The monster of the war. His shadow stalks the tunnels, makes Lenny wake up cold and sweating and reaching for his laser in the dark.

Sometimes he surfaces to find himself slick with gore, panting. Sometimes, the flash and scream of his homemade grenades blast him into a moment's lucidity. Sometimes, surrounded by the dead, he awakes to find himself laughing and crying all at once.  Always, he surveys his work with grim satisfaction, but his work is not done, will never be done. The fury which drives him will not be sated, because no matter how many he kills, how many of Bertie's murderers fall before him, there will still be more of the moonbleached fuckers out there, and there will still be no Bertie. No amount of blood is blood enough to repay the loss of Bertie. The tunnels can drown in blood for all he cares, as long as there's a Lenny left on the moon he cannot rest, will not rest.

Lips drawn back, baring bloody teeth in a deathshead grin, skin afire with reflected explosions, hair in bloody ratstails whipping the air, eyes wide and redrimmed and merciless, face soot-streaked and bloody, he runs and he destroys. You can only ride the wave as long as you keep moving. Stop, and the pain grabs you, breaks you, drowns and dashes you, you'll never catch it again.

You know this part. Tim in the tunnels, dancing to the sonorous song of gunfire and grenades, hauling on the lasgun's trigger, a wild onlaught of blood and fire, laughing a chillingly humourless laugh, shout-singing the words that make the Kaiser's men piss themselves and run, take no prisoners, give no quarter. The lucky shot, the sudden blackness that damps the fire in his burning mind. Tim wakes before the Moon Kaiser, unarmed, pained, held by guards.

He isn't like other men, that's what the Kaiser failed to take into account. He's a machine fuelled by love and blood, he runs on the pain-fire that consumes him, he won't stop, can't stop. He doesn't see the world like men do, not any more. Many men would tremble, many men would abase themselves in fear, but Tim is not many men. Many men would be surprised to see the decapitated head of a comrade come alive and wink at them, but Tim's not lived in the real world since the tunnel fell, why would it surprise him? He can't stop, and what the Kaiser forgets, looking upon the animalistic form of the monster of the tunnels, is that Tim is not stupid. He never was, was always smarter than his peers, but now he runs with the liquid fire of revenge, the fire which burnt away fear and hesitation, the fire which burnt down to its white-hot razor-sharp bones one of the Academy's greatest intellects.

The laser fires.

The moon blows up.

White hot victory sears his eyes to black holes.

Not one Lenny is left on the Moon.

For the first time since the tunnelfall, perhaps the last, Tim wears a true, unmitigated smile. His face bloody and bruised, cheekbone fractured, teeth loose in his salt-tasting mouth, lips and beard streaked with blood, burned-out holes where once he had eyes, body a mass of melting pain, Tim spreads wide hands blistered and nailless and torn, and smiles beautifically, his sacred fiery charge at last fulfilled.

Later, there is more pain, and more blood, and metal screaming and grinding bone and screeching glass and merciless, half-familiar voices around him.

Later still, head screaming from the searing, unwelcome clarity of his new brass-rivet vision, he throws away the tenth cup of tea thrust into his hands by the genially smiling wooden man, and goes walking among the wreckage of the Moon. His unfamiliar optics pick out the scorched shell of a British Medsat, palely lit by Earthlight. It's near death, battered, burned, uprooted from its umbilical attachments to the lunar surface. The airlock judders open to let Tim in, red cross shattered and blackened on the pitted and charred surface of the outer door, inside door's glass spiderwebbed with cracks but still gamely holding out against the vacuum of space.

Tim's footfalls are loud in the echoingly abandoned corridors. He passes the dead, nurses and doctors lying where they fell as the satellite buckled and split, some crushed under their equipment, some lying where they bled out, some left bloody marks as they dragged themselves into wards. Behind the airlocked ward doors, surely the dying still moan, soundproofed out of Tim's life. Emergency lights flicker on and off, alternately bright, antiseptic whiteness and total darkness, casting failing, dancing shadows on the crazed, cracked, bloodied floor. The light hurts Tim's head, and he covers his optics with a bandage to spare his tortured brain, navigating the corridors with cracked fingertips and echoing footsteps. Chooses a door at random, steps into the ward. The room is silent, but for a few gasping, cracked, airless breaths. Tim is reminded of the moanings in the tunnels all those eternal weeks ago, the dead men in tunnelfalls who just won't die. He takes another shuffling step, shuffles around when he encounters an unmoving body with his foot, explores the ward in dazed blindness, smelling sickness and death and blood, hearing hopelessness, seeing nothing.

There's a dry cough to his left, and to his right a rattling, juddering last breath, and Tim stops, drawn up short, because that breath sounds his name in impossible, familiar tones, and then is gone.

His heart stops. He rips the bandage from his eyes, flooding his vision with white flickering emergency lights, with blood and the dying, and with the nightmare.

Tim lets out a howl, wordless and meaningless and bottomless, like a wounded animal, like a dying man, like Lucifer falling. Knees and strength give out all at once. Strings cut, he lands on his knees, sprawled across the bed, rocking and shuddering, fists clenched, the unearthly despair sound still tearing out of him from the bottom of his irreparably stained soul.

Under his desperately shaking body, the fresh corpse cools slowly, bereft of the machines that were holding him together, orphaned of their care by the blast which must have blown out both main and auxiliary life support. The dead man has bandaged stumps where once he had long, strong legs, his broad chest has been crushed and crumpled on one side, his smiling, dimpled face now gaunt and etched with unimaginable pain (and now, oh god, waxy and cold and white and bloody-lipped), there's a gaping absence where once there was a laughing grey eye, blonde curls have been shaved away to allow for the livid line of stitches across his scalp, but there is no mistake, could never be a mistake. And broken as he was, he was alive, was awake, was even speaking, and then Tim took his revenge, and now...

And now the wave has broken over Tim a second time, and this time there's no riding it, no using the anger and hatred which fills his every fibre. Because there's no using that white hot fire of revenge when Bertie's killer still lives, will always live, now cannot die.

And now, now he cries, an explosion of tears and pain and keening, hopeless, echoing up from the bottom of the world, thin body wracked, shaking like every world ending at once as he pulls sobs up through every part of him, breathing raw and short and ragged, nothing left but despair and endless, futile pain and rage. Hands tear at his hair and face as if by sheer effort of will he could tear himself apart, kill himself with as much violence and brutality as he killed the Kaiser and his army, but it's hopeless, he can't be killed, he can't forget, he can't escape, it will never be over, he will live forever and he will live with this forever.

Later, Gunpowder Tim leaves the Medsat in its death throes, mechanical eyes unreadable, walks away from the hospital satellite he crippled, returns to the Aurora and the cold, mechanical distraction of her guns, the crew of once-people as hateful as himself. Leaves what was left of his humanity behind in its charnelhouse corridors with the body of his friend/love/victim. Leaves Tim-That-Was to die next to Bertie's body.

Behind him, the Medsat shudders and flares suddenly white in a soundless, soon-snuffed explosion, a funeral pyre for Tim and Bertie. Gunpowder Tim doesn't look back.

[thekaijudude]

Who wins in a fight? Tiga or Empera?

Oh shoot

This is a bloody DAMN GOOD QUESTION 

You’ve definitely put some deep thought into this one didn’t you, cause actually each of them have an interesting ability to counter each other theoretically speaking as the rest of yall will see later

But as usual, ill go through Tiga’s feats first followed by Empera

Ultraman Tiga

Multi Type

Slightly staggered by Golza’s Ultrasonic Ray

Staggered by Gakuma (Beta)’s talons and charge

Taraban’s dissolving ray that managed to dissolve buildings within mere seconds but only managed to slightly stun Tiga

Was able to lift Fire Golza (70 000 tonnes)

Was able to throw Alien Kyrieloid II (45 000 tonnes) high into the sky

A single kick was able to send Gazort (50 000 tonnes) flying

Zepellion Ray was able to destroy a 3km Mechanical Island in one shot

Ultra Light Knuckle is able to enhance Tiga’s strength for a very limited amount of time, was able to send Sealizar (56 000 tonnes) flying with a push

Skin was pierced by Gazort’s teeth

Ultra Fix is used to freeze an opponent’s movements

Shield is easily able to block Evolu’s Electricity Bolts, which are able to destroy buildings

Tiga Slicer is easily able to decapitate Sakuna Oni

Ultra Heat Hag is a similar version of Ultra Dynamite as Tiga was able to heat his body up till very high temperatures, high enough to cause Jobarieh, a kaiju that was able to tank many of Multi Type blows before, to explode by transferring that energy into it

Vulnerable to mind control as shown with Kyuranos

Timer Flash Special one shots Tier 2 Kaiju like Bakugon, is stronger than Zepellion Ray

Power Type

Able to effortlessly block a combined assault of Golza’s Ultrasonic Ray and Melba’s Melbanic Ray with each hand

Able to shrug off Gakuma (Beta)’s Electric Pulse when previously in Multi Type, Tiga was stunned

Able to prevent himself from being turned to stone against Gakuma (Beta)’s Stone Beam with sheer force

Slightly staggered by Ligatrons’ Lasers

Less staggered by Ligatron’s blows when previously each blow was able to send Multi Type tumbling

Blows were effective against Fire Golza when previously blows didn’t even make it flinch in Multi Type

Was able to lift and throw Goldras (82 000 tonnes) with seemingly little effort

A single kick was able to send Machina (57 000 tonnes) flying into the sky

Had enough strength to chop off the horns of Gakuma (Beta) and punch off Gagi’s horn

Able to deliver charge blows which sent Fire Golza tumbling per attack

Delacium Light Stream able to one shot Gagi, a mid tier 2 kaiju

Miracle Balloon Beam can revert kaiju to their previous forms

Tiga Hold Light Wave able to prevent teleportation (Slow ones)

Sky Type

Tiga Machine Gun Punch allows Tiga to hit his opponents 10 times in a second

Heavily staggered by Kyrieloid’s Sacred Fire

Able to heal any injury sustained in 30s

Tiga Freezer was able to completely freeze Kyrieloid in mere seconds

Ranbalt Light Bullet was able to destroy Melba in one blow and able to overpower Alien Reguran’s Fire Stream

Glitter Tiga

Passive ability of Glittering Shield which provides strong additional resistance against attacks, only achieved for a significant period of time in the second activation against demonothor

Glitter Bomber and Glitter Vanisher was able to knock the 200 000t Gatanothor off the ground with one shot

Glitter Zepellion Ray was able to cause Gatanothor great pain even tho it was aimed at its shell which easily tanked all of the attacks of Tiga’s previous forms

Glitter Timer Flash Special vaporized Gatanothor and created an impact strong enough to split the clouds and cleared the Darkness covering throughout the world

Zera Death Beam seems to be a form of Ultra Heat Hag or Ultra Dynamite which was able to one shot demonothor

Alien Empera

Ridiculously tanky, was able to withstand a full power Mebium Knight Shoot (An Ultra Overlapping Fusion Finisher) and M87 Ray amplified by the Specium Redoublizer, even Mebium Pheonix, Pheonix Brave’s Mebium Dynamite, wasn’t able to immediately take Empera out 

Battle with Ultra Father which ended in a tie 30 000 years ago

Has his own weapon called the Empera Blade

Was able to coat the entire sun in darkness (In contrast to Gatanothor which was only able to cover the entire Earth in Darkness), but was also able to cover the Earth in Darkness

Rezolium Ray can one shot low tier Ultras

Shockwave attack is a deadly combination of a zoning attack plus high damage 

Is implied to be able to neutralize a weaker version of the Mebium Knight Shoot with the M87 Ray both amplied by the Specium Redoublizer, but was at least able to completely neutralize a combo beam of Knight Shoot and Mebium Shoot

Possesses Telekinesis which allowed him to manipulate and move Darkness Fear, Empera’s travel sphere which contains an entire pocket dimension

SO

Lets address the elephant in the room first, which is definitely what almost everyone will talk about when they use Tiga in a match, which is his ability to absorb the powers of other ultras

So I get this a lot from too many people so I would like to clear up the misunderstanding first, in the Final Odyssey Movie, Camerra only specifically stated that Dark Tiga, 30 million years ago, was only able to absorb the Dark Energies from her, Hudra and Darramb

And before yall say that Tiga can simply just keep absorbing all of Empera’s attacks cause his attacks are mainly “Dark” in nature, lets look again at Tiga’s absorption ability. Tiga systematically absorbed all three of the Dark Giants darkness to clense himself of his own darkness, thereby achieving purer versions of himself

But, Tiga at the point of Multi Type, is already 100% cleansed, or else we would’ve seen Tiga continuing to absorb the Darkness-based attacks from kaiju throughout the series, which he did not. And not to forget, Tiga was only stated to be able to do this with the other Dark Giants, aka members of his own species, so this adds another reason as to why its unlikely that Tiga can absorb Empera’s darkness-based attacks in Multi Type and beyond

Unless if you choose to pit specifically Dark Tiga against Alien Empera and assume that Empera is somehow a Dark Giant so Tiga can absorb his power, but its essentially still redundant cause Empera simply has too much firepower that probably a single Rezolium Ray will allow Tiga to go through his forms of Tornado to Blast to finally Multi Type and then we’re back to square one anyways

Also another contentious point here, that Empera was actually nerfed halfway into the arc, specifically his reaction speed, which surprisingly not many actually noticed which I’d like to help clarify

So we first saw Empera getting distracted by Ryu piloting a GUYS plane into the sky which made Empera looked up and was quickly blinded by Ryu launching several Specium Missiles at his face (which didn’t even flinch him btw), and during this period, Hikari and Zamusha was actually closing the distance between them and Empera in order to cut him down. 

In the end, it turns out that despite all that coordination, Empera was still able to block both of Hikari and Zamusha’s swords with a single hand

But later after that we saw that Hikari (whose host now is Ryu) was able to land a sword slash on Empera DESPITE there being no distractions THIS TIME

Hell, lets not forget he was even fast enough to literally just ‘wave away’ Hikari’s Knight Shoot 

With those clarified, lets break this down proper,

So its kinda obvious that neither Multi, Power or even Sky Types can even get physically close to Empera cause of his ridiculous telekinesis ability, which renders any form of physical attacks fruitless

Empera could also easily overpower Tiga’s own Ultra Fix as well which means any psychic attack is also useless

And cause of how stupidly tanky Empera is, I doubt Mutli Type’s Zepellion Ray or Color Timer Special, as impressive as their beam potencies are, are probably not enough to take Empera as their beams will likely be neutralized or just tanked

So lets just skip straight to Glitter Tiga, assuming Tiga SOMEHOW manages to achieve this form

This is where things get abit wonky here as both participants are essentially in Tier 4-5 range which I have mentioned before it gets really hard to scale within them cause we simply just don’t know how their idiosyncratic abilities will react to one another and there are still many unanswered questions so ill leave this heavy lifting portion for last and lets just go through the other implications first

So at this point I would like to first scale Empera with Gatanothor and Demonothor first to help me out with subsequent explanation

As said way above, Gatanothor had a planetary influence as he managed to spread Darkness throughout the Earth itself which sort of makes him a “planet level” being, but Empera was able to do so to the Sun and the Earth itself, which puts him on at least a “Star level”. And Demonothor was essentially a fusion between Gatanothor and Camerra which lets just highball it to a “High-Planet Level”

(Note here that im not outright using the specific terms ‘Planet-buster’ or ‘Star-buster’ cause those are rather specific terms with preconditions which neither of those two met)

Thus based on the implied hype above, I suppose its fair to say that Empera is significantly stronger than Demonothor

So heres where it gets real wonky, cause there are a few contentious questions that ill just be upfront about here:

1. Can Glitter Tiga still be affected by Mental and Psychic abilties or have a high enough resistance to Empera’s own psychic ability to move an entire pocket dimension?

Cause this will determine whether Glitter Tiga can even launch the Zera Death Beam 

2. Whats the potency multiplier for the Specium Redoublizer?

Cause then itll help us determine if a weaker Mebium Knight Shoot + M87 Ray (Strongest Beam in the Universe) + Specium Redoublizer amplification of BOTH > or

So we have quite abit of important unanswered questions here which makes it really, really difficult to make a judgement but heck, imma try

1. Ill say that Glitter Tiga’s psychic resistance has indeed increased, but to the level of Empera’s sheer mental powers to be able to even move and manipulate an entire dimension? 

Id say that its rather unlikely, which leaves (at least) any melee and psychic approach near impossible, so Zera Death Beam is out

2. Considering how slow the Glitter Timer Flash Special was when launched and travelled towards Gatanothor, and based on Empera’s equally ridiculous reaction speed, Id say that he’ll be able to avoid it (Thereby sidestepping the question of whether Empera can neutralize it at all)

We also need to consider how will Tiga even achieve Glitter form in the first place, in the first activation, he absorbed the light of the people throughout the world while in the second activation, the fallen giants gave Tiga all of their light

So what if Tiga is by himself? Itll essentially be a slaughter at that point

Which means if we based on all of these information and weighing options, 

Alien Empera takes the W for this one until further information

Thanks for the question!

[bagoftophats]

    Beside my bed is a chest of draws and on it is a neat little box. In it I keep all the bits and bobs I might carry in a day, keys, pens, loose change etc. Everyone has something similar but mine also contains a small leather pouch, it's black, work worn and creased with age. It contains my lock picks, They're probably 40 years old now and showing their age much like their owner. They get little use now, my dexterity has diminished with age and my limited ability compromised with time. I haven't yet the heart to retire them to the toolbox though, it would be like burying a small part of me.     I don't recall my primary reason for buying them, my motivation for it but they do appeal to that tinkering side of me as well as my 'back door' nature. Of the need to see what I am not supposed too, to see what others would prefer I didn't, the sneaky side of me.     I read somewhere once that after you pick your first lock you are hooked for life as there's no other feeling like it, and it's true. When that hasp popped up on that Abus it was like opening a door on a whole different world and having that door lock itself behind you. I am not exaggerating when I say that it changes a persons perspective, our worlds are governed and bounded by locks through which only the selected are allowed where all the keys are in the hands of others. It is such a normal state of being that seldom do we even think about it let alone notice it. Then suddenly that tension wrench, that thin slither of spring steel that has been under your thumb for an age and stubbornly refusing to budge, gives, and the barrel rotates slowly and smoothly to a stop, the lock jumps and the hasp springs out and in that split second the ground shifts, the perspective shifts and those walls suddenly gain a fragility, a permeability that can never be reversed. It is an amazing feeling that is lost on those that have not experienced it and its difficult to explain by anybody who has.     And then the hunt was on, old locks, padlocks, cabinets and cash tins. Anything and everything I felt my picks could handle. And all of it on the sly, all done quietly and surreptitiously. No one was allowed to know. I don't recall a specific reason for this secrecy other than it was the same for most of my interests. Although I probably had considered some nefarious use for this developing skill that the world in general would not have approved of. And in hindsight the latter was probably the more accurate.     I once picked all the locks on my Fathers Land Rover. I would like to claim that it was down to my exceptional skill but it was more a testament to how shockingly insecure the locks were. A debility that was not just restricted to our own as I was able to prove on numerous occasions afterwards. I also cracked my Fathers filing cabinet. A big green metal thing that stood in the corner of his office and to a young and highly imaginative young mind obviously promised to contain all the richest treasures of the universe. It didn't as it turned out, It was all rather boring really.     Padlocks I got pretty good at but the dial combination ones I was a little hit and miss on. The cable type I could crack in seconds then I would take great delight in locking them back up in different locations or resetting the combinations entirely, depending on how mischievous I was feeling. I started making my own bump keys, and skeleton keys for warded locks which sounds more arcane than it actually is. And stuffing my pick pouch with slithers of coke can for use as shims. I hoarded old keys and locks and eventually repurposed an old toolbox to keep it all in. I still have it in my shed now. It is stuffed to the gills and weighs a tonne but I don't have the heart to get rid of it. I even bought a pair of Canadian Police handcuffs once, just to test my skills on but I think they deserve a page of their own.     I never graduated to the more complex locks, the Yale's and their like, though it wasn't for the want of trying. It was the spool and mushroom pins that ultimately defeated me. I think I just lacked the manual dexterity. I knew how to do them but I just couldn't. I never lost interest though and now understand way more than I could ever do in practice.     One time in secondary school, I'm uncertain of precisely what year, I was passing one of the offices. A little pokey place of no discernible purpose beside one of the quieter entrances. The door had been left open and on the desk had sat a set of keys. Now being the mischievous little magpie that I was, I nicked them. I hadn't known what they were for but it had been an opportunity that couldn't be squandered. Later examination had revealed a half dozen warded keys, all of which had been modified in some manner. Skeletonised, after a fashion. I think that instead of teachers having huge bunches of keys to carry they had developed the habit of cutting down one or two to fit many and in doing so, unwittingly they had given me access to most of the school. But how was I to utilize this sudden and unexpected gift? What nefarious deeds could a teenage boy possibly get up to with such power at his fingertips?     Well, in hindsight, not a great deal. I would lock the the doors of empty classrooms, or unlock them, never often enough to draw attention but enough to be bloody annoying. I explored cupboards and store rooms, cleaning rooms. And found with a little wiggling that I could also undo the narrow doors in the corridor's and toilets that concealed the buildings pipe work. This discovery led to what was probably the crowning glory of the whole escapade, the 'South Pacific' incident. Which I think is too great a diversion for this reminiscence so I will have to go into greater depth elsewhere. In retrospect I don't think I took a great deal, certainly far less than the opportunities presented to me. I think it was just the fact that I could do it, that I could go where I was not allowed to, to be where I shouldn't have been. I hated school and pretty much everything that walked or crawled in it. It was Hell to me. But this seemed to wrest back some of that power and self worth it had stripped from me. I think I gained more satisfaction from this than from anything I stole. Though admittedly I didn't have to buy any stationary for years after.     At the same time I knew what I was doing was 'wrong', that the locked doors were locked for a reason. That certain places had to be off limits. That boundaries had to be set. I understood their purpose but they were 'their' boundaries, not mine, I was not acceptable in their world as they were not welcome in mine. On the face of it I would adhere to them to maintain that acceptable front, like a gay man posing as straight and without the least qualms about crossing that boundary when the opportunity arose.     I suppose also, subconsciously the the lock picking and the keys became another physical way of exploring their world, another tool to try and understand them, like taking a screwdriver to an old clock or a spanner to a knackered engine. A way of peeling off the outer shell and rummaging through the gubbings to see how it all worked. If I could understand them, if I knew more about them I could form myself into a more acceptable shape to fit into that world. And I did want to fit in, I desperately wanted to be like them. But it was years before I realized that it was sheer folly, just fantasy thinking. I could no more be like 'them' than I could be a chair, a table or a garden wall so aberrant was my make up to theirs's. I went through an enormous degree of torment before I came to terms with that. Before I accepted what I was.     My interest in locks and picks never went away, even after I finished school and it became a segment of my life just as reading or writing had done, it became a tool in my life with more tales than I have time to tell here.

[kyakykreativitylover]

Boji thoughts

(A.K.A The moment I get thrown out of the fandom).

I find the Fiji/Bobo relationship hella iffy (granted I’m an asexual homoromatic so.....) BUT still. The relationship is off. I’ll list it so that if there are any points Boji shippers find off they can correct me as they see fit.

1) Fiji has a crush on Bobo. Bobo marries Audrey.

2) Bobo and Audrey fight. Audrey leaves. Audrey gets murdered.

3) Bobo wants to find her, even asking a dude he’s just met (Manfred) for help.

4) They find Audreys’ body and discover that she was a white supremacist.

5) Bobo feels embarrassed.

6) Bobo seeks venegance for her death, deciding that it was her ex/current husband Lowry that killed her.

7) He goes after Lowry. Lowry goes after Fiji.

8) Fiji is told that Bobos’ family are white supremacists and he’s been lying to her for years (and we know how much she hates lying). She has the appropriate reaction (I think anyway) of being like “dude I don’t trust you and don’t want to be around you.”

9) As she’s recovering from that bomb shell (IMO if a friend told me their parents were white supremacists, I’d be like give me a minute (like a month) to process that shit, I don’t blame you for your parents shit but Imma need a moment) a demon starts to assault her.

10) She tells him that and his response is to get angry, belatedly realising that the most important thing isn’t that something is “clawing” her but rather whether or not she was okay, like in terms of her well being as a person not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well. (Obviously she’s not, but if I was grabbed by something I would hope my friends first words would be “Are you okay?/ Can I help you? Get you a cup of tea?” You know, that they were concerned about MY well being).

This is where my thoughts just kinda blur a bit, so again if you feel this is wrong tell me.

11) He starts to get *weird*. To his credit he’s helpful to her and occasionally supportive. At the same time he becomes a bit controlling, occasionally undermining her by treating her like a damsel in distress. Like, okay so you save her once from a problem you caused, and now you spend the rest of the time being overly protective. Like my dude, SHE’S A WITCH. She’s more powerful than you. Let her do things. Gosh!!

12) How long has Audrey been dead??? The speed at which he get’s over “the woman that made me the happiest man in the world” is just a touch (A LOT) ridiculous. It didn’t bother me until he said he loved her in episode 7. Like dude your wife died about 1.5 months ago (and you spent a month trying to avenge her death). PLEASE CHILL?!

13) Trying to get in her pants when the world is ending and she’s facing potentially being raped? SHE’S NOT IN A GOOD HEAD SPACE MY GUY!!!! I know that the writers want us to see that they are deeply in love or whatever but there hasn’t been enough time or set up. Also and I’ll say this again, SHE’S NOT IN A GOOD HEAD SPACE. I’m sorry if I seem like a prude, but I don’t feel like them having sex in that moment was warranted. It also feels hella cheap. Plus, she has a tonne of hangups to do with sex that wouldn’t go away in like 5 hours.

It might have been better if she decides, yes I wanna be with you but AFTER we stop the apocalypse, maybe go on a date where you don’t stand me up and I deal with my hangups about being a sexually active human being. Then maybe I’d be like “GO BOJI, GO BOJI GO!!”

(And that way EVERYONE gets a chance to fight the demon and it’s a team effort. TEAM!!!!! Not just Manfred possessed by 6 demons versus Colconna.- CAN YOU YOU TELL THAT I HATE THAT ENDING??? You have a Vampire, Angel (and his Cambian husband but what ever) a Witch and a bloody kick ass Cowboy and you send the medium in mostly alone!!!!! WHY!!!!!)

IDK, maybe I’m too ace, but I didn’t like the end of the Boji relationship. The start seemed okay, but as it went on I begun to feel lukewarm to it. Maybe the writing became lazy or something but after episode 5 it started to feel off.  Writers please don’t get lazy with a relationship because people ship it. Please apply a consistent amount of energy to the relationships you create.

[drasifshahid-blog]

This week's revelation of two North Korean shipments suspected to be chemical weapons and intercepted on their way to Syria may be just the latest sign of Pyongyang's hand in the Syrian regime's chemical arsenal.According to a confidential United Nations report, first revealed by Reuters on Tuesday, the two shipments were intercepted at an unspecified time during the past six months. The report, presented to the UN Security Council by the UN's 'Panel of Experts' on North Korea, did not detail when or where the interdictions occurred or what the shipments contained.However, it did reveal that the shipments were destined for a Syrian government entity known as the Scientific Studies and Research Centre, which has overseen the country's chemical weapons programme since the 1970s.Neither the North Korean nor the Syrian permanent missions to the United Nations responded to FRANCE 24's request for comment on the report's allegations. Pyongyang's chemical stockpile North Korea has long been known to have a sizeable stockpile of chemical weapons, but recent developments suggest that its arsenal is becoming increasingly sophisticated, and deadly."North Korea is believed to have chemical weapons stockpiles of around 5,000 tonnes," says Paul Walker, a former professional staff member of the Armed Services Committee in the US House of Representatives and now director of the environmental security and sustainability programme at the NGO Green Cross International.Walker has not only taken part in on-site inspections of chemical weapons stockpiles, but also works closely with the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW) and similar bodies as part of global efforts to eliminate chemical weapons arsenals."Five thousand tonnes is small compared to the declared stockpiles of the likes of the US and Russia, but significantly larger than most other countries, including Syria," Walker told FRANCE 24.Much of that is made up of what Walker describes as "World War One-type weapons" such as mustard agent, phosgene and lewisite, known as "blistering agents" for the horrific chemical burns they can cause to the skin.But it is also suspected to include significant quantities of nerve agents like soman and sarin, the latter of which the Syrian government has been accused of using at numerous points throughout the civil war, most destructively in an attack on the Damascus suburb of Ghouta in 2013 that the US government estimates killed 1,429 people, including at least 426 children. '100 times more deadly than sarin' But the world got a glimpse at the growing sophistication of Pyongyang's chemical weapons program earlier this year when, on February 13, the half-brother of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un was assassinated at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia, in a move widely believed to have been ordered by the North Korean government.Kim Jong-nam was killed by the nerve agent VX, confirming for the first time that North Korea possesses this extremely lethal chemical in its arsenal - one that could now be making its way to Syria."My guess is that those shipments to Syria probably contained VX and precursor chemicals for making VX," says Walker.If so, it would mean that a chemical weapon Walker describes as "100 times more deadly than sarin" could be finding its way into one of the most complex and bloody conflicts in living memory, in which close to half a million are estimated to have died and where chemical weapons attacks on combatants and civilians are already known to have taken place.In fact, it may already be there.When Syria declared its chemical stockpile to the OPCW in 2013, in the wake of the international outcry that followed the Ghouta attack and facing threats of US military intervention, no nerve agents were included on the list.However, subsequent inspections found traces of both sarin and VX in samples taken from the Scientific Studies and Research Centre, the same body for which the recently intercepted shipments were earmarked."I wouldn't be surprised if after further inspection, those chemicals are eventually linked back to North Korea," says Walker. 'Pattern of military cooperation' If so, it would be just the latest in a long line of exposed military links between North Korea and Syria.The incidents outlined in the UN report are not the first time ships containing North Korean arms have been intercepted en route to Syria, in direct contravention of UN sanctions."North Korea has also had some involvement in ballistic missiles and Syria is known to have produced ballistic missiles with North Korean technology in the past," says Kelsey Davenport, director for nonproliferation policy at the Arms Control Association."Then there's the nuclear collaboration, which led to the Israeli airstrike (at a suspected nuclear reactor site) at Deir ez-Zor in Syria in 2007," she told FRANCE 24. "Overall there's a well established and lengthy pattern of military cooperation."That this cooperation may have already extended to supplying chemical weapons to Syria would therefore hardly come as a surprise, she says. Bigger threat than nuclear? Meanwhile, an international community currently fretting over North Korea's nuclear ambitions amid increasingly bellicose rhetoric may be overlooking a more imminent threat in the form of an extensive chemical arsenal -- one that in theory could be put to use at a moment's notice.Unlike most nations with a chemical weapons stockpile, the majority of those possessed by North Korea are thought to be "deployed", meaning they are loaded into artillery shells and rockets ready to be fired, explains Walker. In North Korea's case, most of these are amassed at the demilitarized zone along the border with South Korea."This makes for a very capable chemical weapons offensive threat that could be used to strike Seoul in half an hour if war breaks out.""It's a source of big frustration that it doesn't get more attention," he says. "In many ways the threat from chemical weapons is much more realistic than from nuclear weapons."

http://www.muslimglobal.com/2017/08/toxic-connection-north-koreas-chemical.html

[lindoig]

Days 92 to 102 - 27 July to 6 August

Thursday, we headed for Port Hedland, calling in at Eighty Mile Beach on the way – very hot, dusty and windy on the beach, but there were heaps of people in the very full and obviously popular caravan park.  Fishing and the beach seemed to be the only activities and we weren’t into either of them on the day.  We drove just over halfway to Port Hedland, a bit over 300km for the day, and camped in a cleared area a little way off the highway 60km short of Pardoo. Not another bloody sunset……

Friday started with a mini-disaster.  I decided to make a cheese and herb damper for brekky, so we built a fire and used the camp oven we had purchased in Broome specifically for the purpose.  It was my first attempt, a complete experiment with no recipe, but I think the main problem was that the fire was way too hot.  I also suspect the dough was a bit too stolid and maybe we let it cook longer than necessary.  The lump of charcoal that came out was almost axe-proof, but we managed to salvage some of its innards - moderately edible dryish bread that became breakfast once smothered in butter.  No probs – life is a learning experience and next time, I am sure we will do better.

On arrival in Port Hedland, we booked in at the Big 4 Park (I said in an earlier post that I have never liked Big 4s) and they put us on a ‘premium’ site.  What a joke!  It was tiny, simply a small patch of sand, on a corner, with traffic squeezing past us day and night.  I badly bent part of our stabilising gear when I had to jack-knife the van to get it on the site – and that cost us $35 to have it straightened before we could move on anyway.  When we complained that it wasn’t concreted like all the other premium sites, they said it was a gravel site – oops, no gravel.  Oh sorry, it is a grassed site – but no grass this decade.  There were numerous other problems – cracked bowl in the toilet with sewage on the floor, toilets that don’t flush, a dump point with a perished hose that sprayed everywhere and soaked me, no light in the shower, the washing came out dirtier than it went in, etc., etc., etc.  (I made a list of about 20 complaints.)  By the time we decided we had to stay a second night, the office was closed so next day, we read the riot act to them and refused to pay for the second night.  That was when they admitted that our site was supposed to be for a small camper-trailer only – and that they knew about all our other complaints because other people had also complained, but they hadn’t got around to fixing them. We posted a comment on the Big 4 Facebook page (as invited to do) and Heather ended up getting an abusive phone call from their Customer Relations people.  Seems my prejudice against Big 4 may have some substance.

Notwithstanding the Caravan Park, we did get around and saw a few things in the area on the Saturday. We did a harbour cruise conducted by the Seafarers Centre.  It is run by the Anglicans and provides a service for seamen from the bulk carriers and other ships in the mining industry during their short stopovers in Port Hedland while their ships are being loaded.  They collect them from the ships, bring them to shore, take them to the supermarket or other shops, give them internet access and other services along with a package of goodies (lollies, etc.) to take back with them.  We tourists are allowed on the cruise around the harbour as they visit all the ships to collect the seamen – and our tour fees go toward providing the services they deliver – a very neat arrangement all round. We got up very close to lots of things in the harbour that we wouldn’t have seen otherwise and they gave us a really interesting commentary and DVD show before we actually left for the cruise.  Seems like a great service to men - and women - whose life is less than enjoyable and a cause we were happy very to support.

We went to the pub for lunch and drove around much of Port Hedland and out to Finucane Island in the afternoon.  It is a very spread-out town spanning about 20km or more and does a huge volume of shipping.  I counted at least 25 ships on the horizon and they are apparently just the ones in the front line waiting to be filled.  There are two more lines behind that and there are often more than 100 gigantic carriers anchored out there, sitting idle waiting to be filled.  They can only get in and out of the harbour on the high tides and it takes a day and a half to fill a ship so keeping everything running smoothly is critical given the billions of dollars of shipping anchored out there looking for a profitable load. Driving to Finucane Island gave us lots of different aspects of the loading process to look at – we saw more of the giant loaders, the 3km 250,000 tonne trains and all sorts of other massive mysterious plant and infrastructure sitting in the middle of nowhere.  As we drove through the whole Kimberley/Pilbara area, I have been staggered by the number of projects with giant infrastructure sitting out in the middle of the desert - squillions of dollars, maybe even more, all quarantined from we plebs,but hopefully feeding zillions of dollars into our economy - hopefully, if the resources go overseas, not all the profits follow them.

Obviously, iron ore is the main export from the Pilbara, but the world’s second largest area of salt extraction ponds is at Port Hedland and as you drive in and out of town, you pass a massive 50 metre high pile of salt and adjacent loading area – not sure what they do in the monsoon season: maybe they have a big umbrella or maybe, it just all dissolves and runs back into the sea??  And Port Hedland is only one of our salt mines - we have seen at least 2 others that look (to my untrained eye) to be about as big.

There was a small festival in town, presumably in honour of our visit. Leastways, they put on a reasonable fireworks display across from the Caravan Park to wish us well on our journey further south.

We drove to Karratha on Sunday and it was a nice surprise.  Port Hedland didn’t have much to recommend it, at least for us, but Karratha is quite a large town of about 25,000 and a pleasant dormitory area for all the industry surrounding it.

En route to Karratha, we called in at Point Sampson, Wickham, Cossack and Roebourne – in that order despite the geography suggesting the opposite.  We had a fish and chips lunch at the Port Sampson pub and did some shell collecting on the beach afterwards.  We then drove around the port and loading area, but we couldn’t get in to see much – apart from being staggered by its size.  There is not much to at Wickham, mainly workmen’s houses and barracks, but the abandoned town of Cossack was interesting.  We had a walk around some of the old buildings and the wharf area.  There is an annual art competition at Cossack (I think it has the richest or second richest art prize in Australia) and we just happened to call in while it was on – but shortly before it closed for the day.  We then went onto Roebourne, smaller than I imagined, but still a pleasant little town, and then on to Karratha.

We called in at the first caravan place we saw, but it was not very suitable so we rang and booked at another one – and would you believe it, the woman running the place was the same woman who had booked us in at the awful place at Port Hedland. Fortunately, all went smoothly and our problems up there were not mentioned so we set ourselves up in what was really quite a good caravan park.

Monday morning was a slow start, just doing things around the van, dealing with email and getting ourselves a bit better organised.  In the afternoon, we went for a drive to Dampier, some 15 km away on the sea.  We were interested in doing a mine tour so called in to the Dampier Information Centre (the Seafarers Club) but were told that there are no such things.  We had a good look around the town, went to the local lookout, and took a drive out along the Burrup Peninsula to where the port and industrial area is located.  It is only about 15km out there, but there is a huge amount of development there, including an Information Centre to tell the tourists about the whole area and what they are looking at. Alas, we arrived as they were closing for the day, so we retraced our steps and visited Withnell Bay – a little further along the Peninsula.  The road was so bad that we gave up just short of the actual Bay, but it was basically just a marshy mangrove area anyway – but apparently a favourite spot for fishermen. We also called in to Hearson’s Cove: a lovely long beach, sheltered on both ends by long promontories.  On the way back, we went in to Deep Gorge, but it was approaching dark and the few people we met in the parking area were unsure of where the Gorge actually was – they had trekked 2 kilometres in and seen nothing (they took the wrong track as we found out next day) – so we decided to leave that to tomorrow – that would be Tuesday.

Our trip list of birds topped 250 since we left home that day – a mini-milestone.  I also found out that the ‘lumpy’ termite nests I have tried to describe a couple of times are called Cathedral Mounds and they can be up to 8 metres high – and they all are twice as deep underground as they are above ground.  That’s quite a construction project for such tiny workers.  The last termite census conducted by the Bureau established that they have about 8 million workers in the larger mounds, so the workforce is substantial even if the individual workers are small. The mounds all have a nipple on top and the termites apparently use airways in that to maintain a constant cool temperature underground irrespective of how hot it might be above ground.  Maybe their air conditioning technology is better than we humans’.

We got a reasonably early start on Tuesday and headed for the North West Shelf Gas Project Visitors’ Centre that was closing when we arrived the previous day.  It is a really excellent display with loads on information about the project, including a couple of new DVDs showing how the oil and gas is formed and collected underground and how it is extracted, processed and exported by Rio Tinto.  It was all very informative and because we expressed interest, they actually gave us copies of the 2 DVDs and a bit of other material to take with us. It was definitely worth the time spent there!

We had lunch at Hearson’s Cove and the tide was out so we walked a couple of hundred metres out to sea on the wet sand.  That was when Heather got her annoying 20-minute call from Big 4 when she almost hung upon them – she has a lot more patience than I have!  By then, the tide had turned and we had to return to the beach without really discovering anything on our walk out.

We had rung early in the day to find out a bit more about Deep Gorge, including which track to take.  It was really only 3-4 hundred metres in among the huge piles of rocks and there were thousands of ancient aboriginal etchings on the rocks.  Many were not recognisable, but there was obviously a huge artists’ colony there at some point in early history.  The path in is simply a metre-wide line of jagged rocks so we trod carefully and made it there and back without injury.  We had been warned of a lot of snakes in the area including a big grumpy olive python, but we saw none.

And about the landscape/rockscape around here…..  It is quite extraordinary, composed very largely of spinifex country with a few stunted trees and gigantic piles of higgledy-piggledy red rocks, all jumbled together, big and small, all shapes and sizes, some as big as a car, but mostly maybe just car-boot size and smaller.  They are almost completely exposed with few places where enough erosion or wind-blown sand has collected to support plant life.  It is a combination of huge piles of dramatic dark red-brown rock and plains of creamy-grey spinifex – and man! is that prickly!!  Fortunately, the spinifex grows in clumps and it is often not too difficult to tiptoe between the clumps to creep up on a bird or photograph a flower.  Interestingly, as the spinifex plants die, their seeds grow around their perimeters forming quite large fairy rings – or vicious circles, depending on your fancy.

We tried to get to the end of the Burrup Peninsula and drove several kilometres in, but the road was deteriorating rapidly (it started as a narrow, rough, rocky bush track) to the point of impassibility (impossibility?) so we spent some time photographing some painted finches (another first for us) and then headed back to the caravan – and yet another of those sunsets.  There was a BBQ and entertainer on that night, all welcome by donation with proceeds going to Variety (a great children’s charity) so we went along and ate our sausages and tapped or sang along with the entertainer’s songs and jokes.  Three Irishmen went into a pub…..well, they would, wouldn’t they?

Some people at the same table as us told us not to believe what the Seafarers had told us.  There was a tour and they were going on it in a couple of days.  So we rang and booked to go on the same tour as them on Thursday.

Next day, Wednesday, we went for a long loop drive to Python Pool, through the Millstream-Chichester National Park and back to Karratha.  Python Pool is a beautiful big swimming hole at the foot of some massive cliffs – with an obviously massive waterfall during the Wet.  Heather braved it and had a very cold swim, but I guarded her towel and took the photos.  We ate our lunch there and drove on, stopping at several places to look at birds and/or plants.  The people who had told us about the tour had previously spent a couple of weeks camped by the ocean at Cleaverville about 40 clicks north of Karratha and said it was just fantastic!  We decided to check it out on our way back to Karratha, but decided that it was not our scene at all.  It was crowded and unfriendly – one couple had even set up their van in a big area on the top of the hill overlooking the sea and parked their car sideways across the road to prevent anyone else getting in to disturb their solitude. Selfish people!

I had seen a sign for some Plankton Farms 4 kilometres off the road near our caravan park so we went exploring.  Unfortunately, after nearly 4 km, we came to a locked gate with the usual ‘No Admittance’ signage.  In the absence of first hand enquiry, we had to explore the business by Google and it seems that it is a new industry, supplying algae and plankton, mainly to the pharmaceutical industry.

We topped up our larder from the supermarket before reaching the caravan because we knew we would be off the grid for the following few days.

As I said, we did the mine tour on Thursday.  It wasn’t actually a mine tour, but very interesting just the same.  They drove about a dozen of us from Karratha to Roebourne where we were shown a DVD about the mine and loading facilities, in fact quite a lot about the whole Pilbara area, then went out to Point Sampson where we were able to drive right through the mammoth Port Lambert Loading Facility. It was amazing to get within touching distance of so many of the things we had seen in the far distance from our own car a few days earlier.  It is mind-bogglingly massive and all the statistics are off the chart – needless to say, I can’t recall much, but the scale of some of these developments is almost unimaginable.  I think there are 13 separate mines feeding into the stockpiles – massive trains, 65-metre road-trains – even quite a flow of scrap metal trucks/road trains constantly feeding the export markets.  We saw them tipping the train-trucks upside down to empty their few hundred tons of crushed stone onto the miles-long conveyor belts to the stockpiles and from there to the loading machinery.  It is all highly automated with most of the control being effected from Perth, 1300 km away. People in Perth even drive some of the 150-tonne driverless dump-trucks they use.  They are working on driverless trains too, but I understand the TWU has a problem with that.

Our driver and guide was a mine of information and never stopped talking the whole time.  He lives in Roebourne and is a passionate local history and conservation buff and had plenty to say wherever we went.  He took us to Cossack for a cut lunch and a walk around, including the Art Gallery that was then open – then for a drive around Wickham and Roebourne with lots more local facts and fables before we were driven back to Karratha about 1.30pm or so.

We had left our car and van parked at the Visitors’ Centre so had a coffee and topped up our tanks and headed to Pannawonica (love the sound of that).  The ‘caravan park’ there only has 4 sites adjacent to the sports oval and all were occupied so we free-camped in an open gravel area 50 metres further on. Just in time for another glowing sunset!

Friday was Day 100 – and a really great day.  We drove less than 150 km on the day, but took all day to do it.  We stopped numerous times for longer than usual each time looking for birds and photographing many of the roadside flowers. We just moseyed along slowly, stopping often, eventually camping in the middle of nowhere about 4pm – quite early for us. We were itching for a bush camp and this was on the Karratha-Tom Price Road about 53km from the closest turnoff.  It was just a cleared area 50 metres from the road but I think the first car that went past us was not until early next morning. We lit a fire and sat under the stars until it got too cold and we went inside for a really scrumptious meal.  I cooked the rissoles and Heather made a delicious red wine and caramelised onion sauce as well as a cheesy potato bake.  It was a great meal, supported as it was with a bottle of bubbles and a little supplementary red wine.  A wonderful day, a wonderful night: one of the best.

This place was so enjoyable that we decided to simply stay there in the middle of nowhere for an extra day. We kept our fire going all night and next day and made a MUCH more successful damper in the coals for Saturday lunch.  Maybe a bit too hot again – we need to keep practising – but dripping with jam, honey, cream, butter, cheese and the remains of our red wine and caramelised onion sauce, it made for a rather tasty meal – with half the damper left over to form the basis of our evening meal with a tinned meal and a swathe of veges. We sat around the campfire for a couple of hours – another really great day and night.  I reckon only about 15 or 20 cars passed us in the 36 hours we were there and the freedom of being away from everyone and everything was wonderful. The only distraction was the caravan that pulled up right next to us to have their lunch.  The clearing we were in was about 300 metres long, but they chose to park no more than 5 metres from us.  At least they only stayed for an hour – with some broad hints from us about how much we were enjoying the peace and quiet with nobody around!  Sitting by our fire watching the stars and the almost full moon that night attracted a toot from one of the two cars that passed by after dark.

We spent the day blogging, researching our bird and plant books, photographing the many grey-headed honeyeaters and painted finches that surround us, and generally hanging out, just relaxing.  Maybe we should all make time in our lives for regenerative experiences like this.

Sunday saw us back on the road, a little uncertain about exactly where we were, but wanting to call in at Wittenoom.  We had been told in Karratha that the authorities didn’t encourage visitors so they had removed all the directional signs and the road would probably be pretty terrible, but we decided to give it a go anyway.  Turns out we were not actually on the road we thought we were, but it was a superb gravel road that eventually took us to where we wanted to go. It was just a little further on that road and I was a bit concerned about having enough fuel.  We carry 50 litres in jerrycans so we put that in the tank when we got to Wittenoom and decided we had plenty.

Wittenoom is backed by the Hamersley Range and that is truly magnificent.  It is rugged with huge cliffs of rich red rock running down to wide slopes and plains of spinifex – truly remarkable country.  The town itself is supposedly almost deserted – we understood from Karratha and a TV program we saw some time ago that there were only 3 people still there who the authorities had been unable to dislodge, but I reckon at least 4 houses were moderately well-maintained and still in regular, if not constant, use. We drove around and ended up eating our lunch on the edge of town and in the short time we did that, 2 huge road-trains and about 5 or 6 other cars passed us so the road through town is still getting a lot of commercial use (and a bit of tourist traffic), despite all the big government warning signs on all the approach roads.  It is actually a sad little place, heavily vandalised, but obviously still loved by a few souls willing to chance it with all the warnings about potential asbestos-related disease.

Onwards to Tom Price after lunch, driving along the foot of the beautiful Hamersleys.  Close to the Gorge turnoff, the road becomes a series of single lane no-stopping segments with the rocks crowding both sides of the road a mere metre or so away.  They are the starkest red I have seen and I would have loved to stop and look more closely at them and take some photos, but I didn’t want to be caught in a cutting with a massive road-train coming at me from the opposite direction.  The gap between the rocks is so narrow in places, it is hard to imagine a road-train squeezing through, but obviously, they do.

Still cognizant of our fuel situation, we stopped a guy coming out of the Hamersley Gorge access road and asked how far in the road went – I didn’t want to drive 40 kilometres in and out to an unknown destination only to run out of fuel a couple of clicks out of Tom Price.  He assured us that it was only 15 minutes or so in so off we went – and it was barely 5 minutes.  Lo and behold, there is a free Wi-Fi hotspot at the entrance to the Gorge – so we sat in the car in the middle of absolutely nowhere and downloaded 3 days’ worth of emails and dealt with some texts that had been waiting for us to get a signal!  Amazing?

More amazing was the Gorge itself.  We only went to the observation platform above the Gorge – the sign said it was 400 metres down and to allow an hour! Very steep and probably quite beyond us to climb back up – much easier going down. The Gorge is quite narrow with a series of small waterfalls cascading down into quite a large swimming hole at the bottom that let out into another section of the gorge that we couldn’t see. There were a couple of people swimming – and it would probably have been nice – but the rocks were what captured our attention.  The strata is extremely convoluted and has many layers of different colours, all exposed in a craggy cliff across the Gorge from the platform we were on.  The Sun was on it and the colours glowed richly – reds, browns, yellows, black and white.  We just marvelled at it for 20 minutes or so and then drove through to Tom Price where we set up in the caravan park for the night.  Washed a lot of mud off the car and van (we later found that park rules prohibit such heinous practices) and then washed a few days’ dirt off our own bodies.  It is delightful to feel clean after days of feeling your skin almost being sucked dry by the layers of dust covering everything, including us!  I think the dust in the Pilbara gets into everything far more than the dust anywhere else we have been.  Maybe it is finer, maybe the colour just makes it more obvious, but it had leached our skin much more savagely than any other place we have been.

One interesting little thing as we travelled the dusty track was the frequent sound of things rolling across the roof of the car.  At first, we took no notice, not even sure where the sound came from, but it happened quite a lot of times and we figured it was from the roof.  I was concerned that the nuts on the roof bars or roof rack could be coming loose but when I climbed up, there were 20-odd small pebbles up there and it was them that were rolling off from the wind and bouncy road. We figured that passing cars must have thrown up stones that lodged in the stuff we had up on top and gradually shaken down to the roof where they rolled around.  Some lodged between the edge of the roof and the top of the tailgate and crunched and ground paint off when we opened the back of the car. In the end, we decided that the stones were flying up from our own wheels, hitting the sloping front of the van and bouncing forward on to the roof – then rolling off again.  We have a flexible stone-guard, but it is hard to get properly fitted so we don’t always use it – but once fitted, we had no more ‘Rolling Stones’.

[drasifshahid-blog]

Toxic connection: North Korea's chemical weapons link to Syria

This week's revelation of two North Korean shipments suspected to be chemical weapons and intercepted on their way to Syria may be just the latest sign of Pyongyang's hand in the Syrian regime's chemical arsenal. According to a confidential United Nations report, first revealed by Reuters on Tuesday, the two shipments were intercepted at an unspecified time during the past six months. The report, presented to the UN Security Council by the UN's 'Panel of Experts' on North Korea, did not detail when or where the interdictions occurred or what the shipments contained. However, it did reveal that the shipments were destined for a Syrian government entity known as the Scientific Studies and Research Centre, which has overseen the country's chemical weapons programme since the 1970s. Neither the North Korean nor the Syrian permanent missions to the United Nations responded to FRANCE 24's request for comment on the report's allegations.

Pyongyang's chemical stockpile

North Korea has long been known to have a sizeable stockpile of chemical weapons, but recent developments suggest that its arsenal is becoming increasingly sophisticated, and deadly. "North Korea is believed to have chemical weapons stockpiles of around 5,000 tonnes," says Paul Walker, a former professional staff member of the Armed Services Committee in the US House of Representatives and now director of the environmental security and sustainability programme at the NGO Green Cross International. Walker has not only taken part in on-site inspections of chemical weapons stockpiles, but also works closely with the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW) and similar bodies as part of global efforts to eliminate chemical weapons arsenals. "Five thousand tonnes is small compared to the declared stockpiles of the likes of the US and Russia, but significantly larger than most other countries, including Syria," Walker told FRANCE 24. Much of that is made up of what Walker describes as "World War One-type weapons" such as mustard agent, phosgene and lewisite, known as "blistering agents" for the horrific chemical burns they can cause to the skin. But it is also suspected to include significant quantities of nerve agents like soman and sarin, the latter of which the Syrian government has been accused of using at numerous points throughout the civil war, most destructively in an attack on the Damascus suburb of Ghouta in 2013 that the US government estimates killed 1,429 people, including at least 426 children.

'100 times more deadly than sarin'

But the world got a glimpse at the growing sophistication of Pyongyang's chemical weapons program earlier this year when, on February 13, the half-brother of North Korean leader Kim Jong-un was assassinated at Kuala Lumpur International Airport in Malaysia, in a move widely believed to have been ordered by the North Korean government. Kim Jong-nam was killed by the nerve agent VX, confirming for the first time that North Korea possesses this extremely lethal chemical in its arsenal - one that could now be making its way to Syria. "My guess is that those shipments to Syria probably contained VX and precursor chemicals for making VX," says Walker. If so, it would mean that a chemical weapon Walker describes as "100 times more deadly than sarin" could be finding its way into one of the most complex and bloody conflicts in living memory, in which close to half a million are estimated to have died and where chemical weapons attacks on combatants and civilians are already known to have taken place. In fact, it may already be there. When Syria declared its chemical stockpile to the OPCW in 2013, in the wake of the international outcry that followed the Ghouta attack and facing threats of US military intervention, no nerve agents were included on the list. However, subsequent inspections found traces of both sarin and VX in samples taken from the Scientific Studies and Research Centre, the same body for which the recently intercepted shipments were earmarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if after further inspection, those chemicals are eventually linked back to North Korea," says Walker.

'Pattern of military cooperation'

If so, it would be just the latest in a long line of exposed military links between North Korea and Syria. The incidents outlined in the UN report are not the first time ships containing North Korean arms have been intercepted en route to Syria, in direct contravention of UN sanctions. "North Korea has also had some involvement in ballistic missiles and Syria is known to have produced ballistic missiles with North Korean technology in the past," says Kelsey Davenport, director for nonproliferation policy at the Arms Control Association. "Then there's the nuclear collaboration, which led to the Israeli airstrike (at a suspected nuclear reactor site) at Deir ez-Zor in Syria in 2007," she told FRANCE 24. "Overall there's a well established and lengthy pattern of military cooperation." That this cooperation may have already extended to supplying chemical weapons to Syria would therefore hardly come as a surprise, she says.

Bigger threat than nuclear?

Meanwhile, an international community currently fretting over North Korea's nuclear ambitions amid increasingly bellicose rhetoric may be overlooking a more imminent threat in the form of an extensive chemical arsenal -- one that in theory could be put to use at a moment's notice. Unlike most nations with a chemical weapons stockpile, the majority of those possessed by North Korea are thought to be "deployed", meaning they are loaded into artillery shells and rockets ready to be fired, explains Walker. In North Korea's case, most of these are amassed at the demilitarized zone along the border with South Korea. "This makes for a very capable chemical weapons offensive threat that could be used to strike Seoul in half an hour if war breaks out." "It's a source of big frustration that it doesn't get more attention," he says. "In many ways the threat from chemical weapons is much more realistic than from nuclear weapons."

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