#I am salt in excess and you are the dead sea

[toyybox]

There are many benefits to being a marine biologist

(This is the Mer AU, featuring Jackie as a lionfish and Heather as a marine biologist ^_^)

[ethereousdelirious]

Sicktember 2022: Day 10

Prompt: Excessive us of tissues/"blow your nose"

Fandom: The M.agnus Ar.chives

Wordcount: 872

Summary: E.lias and P.eter find themselves assaulted on an otherwise ordinary summer afternoon. It's not a problem, more like an annoyance made all the worse by the sudden onset of a runny nose.

Comments: Agh, another one that fell sort of my 1k goal 😫 I am once again pushing my smol!E.lias lorge!Pe.ter agenda

CW: This one isn't messy, per se, but messier than what a ideally write. So. Snot warning.

Elias Bouchard was a small man. Slender shoulders, narrow hips. And he'd been carrying on just fine, thank you very much, he had no need for brute strength when he was always three steps ahead of his adversaries. Only now did he regret taking on this body, when he'd been grabbed and blindfolded before he could so much as gasp.

Beside him, Peter had struggled and there had been a great deal of muffled noises that seemed to indicate some sort of physical altercation, then the gentle lap of waves against a distant shore.

Peter's body (presumably) hit the ground with a thud. Elias sneezed and bent his knees to sit. His sinuses burned. Ah, yes. Up until five minutes ago, this burgeoning head cold had been the height of his concerns. "Peter?" he asked the rough-hewn darkness pinning his eyelids down. "Are you dead?"

A moment of silence. Elias sniffled, but couldn't bring himself to wipe his dripping nose on his sleeve. He might be able to feel for his handkerchief if he could stomach the idea of running his hands all over his body like an idiot.

Big, rough hands found his lapels, the familiar sea salt and tobacco smell of Peter washing over him. The hands moved a layer deeper, running over his waistcoat and shirt, pulling at his tie.

"Really not the time," Elias said.

"Don't flatter yourself." Peter found Elias' inner blazer pocket and yanked out his handkerchief with a swift motion.

Elias sighed and reached up to untie the blindfold. Peter had obviously committed himself to being useless. The knot was rough, pulled tight. Elias worked at it with his fingers, but they slipped over the material. A sneeze bent him forward and he dropped his hands, sniffling madly. "Are you quite finished with my handkerchief?"

"No," said Peter in that maddeningly serene tone, "but I appreciate your asking."

Elias sniffled again, having no other option, and scrabbled at the blindfold knot. "I suppose you can see just fine, then?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, then," Elias hissed, "why don't you make yourself useful?" Another sneeze bent him double and, horrifyingly, sent a gush of warmth over his top lip. He wiped it away with his fingers, lip curling.

"For pity's sake, Elias." A scrambling sound, then something thin and papery touched his face. "Blow your nose."

Well. What choice did he have? He was blindfolded, bereft of his handkerchief, lightly bruised, and altogether exhausted. He blew.

"Good boy."

"That's nauseating." Elias sniffed.

"That's nauseating." Peter wiped his nose, surprisingly tender with his movements.

"Did you really take my handkerchief for the sake of this sick little power play?" Elias asked, giving up on the blindfold once more. Like it or not, he needed Peter's help. He'd have to work up to asking.

"No, not all."

"Then give it back."

"I'm using it."

Elias sighed through his mouth, being unable to breathe through his dripping nose, and tried to cast his vision out. A blindfold alone would not usually have hindered him to this degree. Their assailants had been clever, though evidently not clever enough to see their plan through. But the blindfold must have been touched by another entity, strongly enough to obscure the Eye's focusing power. Whatever Peter was doing with his handkerchief, Elias couldn't sense it. He was, in every aspect of the word, blind. "What on Earth for?" he demanded, clawing furiously at the knot again. A good angle necessitated tipping his head forward and his nose immediately began to run again. He sniffled in violent sequence. Of course this had to happen when he was coming down with a cold.

"I've got a head wound," Peter said. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well, I've got a cold," Elias said, "so if you'd kindly—" Another wad of paper met his nose, soaking up the droplets he'd been sniffling against. "You're an idiot." He reached up and grabbed Peter's wrist (striking it by sheer luck), using the other to pry the tissues out of Peter's grasp. "If you're so eager to help, why don't you work on this blindfold?"

Peter's genial voice carried not even a note of sarcasm, but Elias smelled it on him regardless. "Of course. All you had to do was ask." Something cold slipped against Elias's temple and the cloth tightened on the other side of his head before falling away. Well. Good thing Peter carried a knife on him.

Elias sneezed into the wad of tissues and kept them pinned to his face, though they were starting to get soggy. The knowledge came in a flood; he barely had to reach for it: a spur-of-the-moment assault from two servants of the Stranger, both of whom had met their end at the hands of the Lonely.

Peter ruffled his hair with a paternalistic grin that made Elias want to find out how much of his hands would fit around Peter's neck. "Now, Elias, I know the idea of revenge can be a tempting one, but you mustn't rush into things."

"Yes," Elias answered bitterly, through the tissues, "the Eye, famously known for rushing it to take action."

"You wouldn't want to make that cold any worse."

[dear-yandere]

succor.

yandere! jotaro kujo 3. major spoilers for stardust crusaders (part 3). word count: 2,600+. tw: bullying, implied depression, drowning, death, gore, and grief.

art credit: ロク. 

He carries himself with poise, an assurity few could ever possess. He is the personification of perfect — alas, a man who appears perfect, like a statue which leaves many in awe, a statue whose marble insides have begun to slowly erode, a statue who’s already begun falling apart. There exists not a soul who can fix him, no sculptor skilled enough, no human kind enough to fix his flaws before anyone else can catch on; Jotaro Kujo is his own sculptor, and he’s forgotten how to mend his broken pieces.

For as long as he’s known, he’s been a soldier. A boy soldier, who bears the weight of the world atop shoulders of steel, shoulders which shake and tremble when no one is looking. He is a soldier without a commander, a soldier without a purpose, and he was content with that. But he is a soldier who’s fought a battle meant for ten thousand men, a battle which has long ended, a battle which still plagues him; he is a soldier who’s fought god and he is only seventeen.

When did it begin, he wonders? When did his marble bones and stone veins start to crack? Was it that day? Becaues he remembers being bullied. He remembers taking each insult, like poison-laced daggers, and thinking nothing of it. He remembers the wrinkles, the eye bags, the grey hairs which had started to pepper his mother’s face at around the same time. He remembers the questions, the sobbing, her desperate pleas, her hesitant knocks on his bedroom door. He remembers her somehow finding out, remembers her standing up for him, one day, in the school yards. And he remembers his bullies trying to hurt her, too.

He remembers nearly killing them.

It was like the flip of a switch, how quickly he changed. Mom became mother, bitch, nuisance. She can’t understand how he felt in those moments — she couldn’t — because until the day he dies, he won’t let her. Keep her at arm’s length, don’t let her in. No one can know, no one can get close — they’ll just get hurt, too. That’s the funny thing about love: it hurts. To feel loved is wonderful, to be loved is tragic, damning, dangerous. He is a catalyst for disaster, destruction, danger, and everything in between.

Death loves him, and love has never felt so lonely.

He lost a friend that day. Metal had bent around his body like silken sheets, water had sod his clothing without care; if his body hadn’t already run cold, the water would’ve made him sick. He would’ve smiled and laughed it off with his dear friend, would’ve said his injuries are no big deal. He can still see, can still move, can still dream. 

If he’d lived.

He lost a friend that day, the only one he’d ever had.

And then there is you.

You are no different from the rest. Just another body to protect, another set of eyes he must keep from prying. Death loves him, and he’d been foolish enough to fall in love; funny how easily it happened, really. Because when you look at him, he feels as if he’s baring his all. All his insecurities and worries, all the times he’s wanted to break down and cry. It’s a feeling he hates, detests, but it’s something new, something unexpected, something needed. You are not those women who look at him with indignant curiosity. You are not his mother who looks at him with worry. You are not his grandfather nor his dead best friend; you are you, and somehow, you are everything he’s needed.

Love is a funny thing, he recalls, and that thought is enough to clear the darkness around him. It’s calming, at first. The nightmare is over and he must be waking up. Your soothing voice will greet him, as it always does; you’ll hug him, cradle him like a child, and he won’t push you away. But you don’t. You shine, so terribly bright that he has to look away for a moment. There’s warmth, comfort, safety in your direction, but he doesn’t walk forward. He doesn’t deserve it.

Not him. Not the man who let his friends die.

Jotaro, a dark, playful voice begins, echoing from the depths of nowhere. It’s familiar; far too knowing, far too cunning, far too demonic. Jotaro feels his mind start to unravel like loose threads, and the voice feeds off this, like a parasite.  If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? 

“What do you want?” Jotaro barks at nothing and turns toward the dark, turns away from you. Secretly, Jotaro has always been scared of the dark, but right now it was oddly welcoming. The dull beat of that voice, distorted and tinny, still seemed clear, pristine, ethereal. As if the voice had hands which he could not see, they wrapped around his neck like a noose and pulled. Gravity itself seemed to pull at his neck, pushing him further and further into the unforgiving abyss of the darkness as if swallowing him whole. 

Why is he here?

Just as his back hits the waters, the sudden impact knocks the oxygen out of his lungs within a second, before he’s plunged right beneath the surface. His eyes are open, even as salt-water pierced and burned; he was certain before, but this is too real to be a dream. It it weren’t for the fact that he could’ve perished any moment now, the sight before him would’ve actually been beautiful. Nothing but a color palette of deep sea blue clouded his peripheral vision with colors that were excruciatingly breath-taking in real life. 

But he isn’t deceived.

I want to wrap my brain around that head of yours, Jotaro. So, enlighten me... The disembodied voice mocks, feeling like blood rushing against his the insides of his head. It’s closer this time, over his shoulder, next to his ear, and there’s a familiarity to its tone — a familiarity he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet. Surely telling them you care is easier than breaking your body over and over again.

Jotaro chews on the question with a hint of unmistakable disgust before spiting it out. He hears the voice laugh that mocking song once again, and the light shining from above almost feels like they’re mocking his every movement, too. They watch his arm shoot upwards, silently and slowly for their help — and they laughed. The gears in his brain start turning, willing his limbs to work as legs weakly kicked up in desperate search for air. Realization soon beats itself into his slowly-drowning lungs, and he’s left to face questions that no one but he knows the answers to.

How did he get here? Is he awake? Is he alive?

Answer me, little mortal. We haven’t got all night. The voice goads, and it feels like sharp needles have stuffed themselves into the canals of his ears. Jotaro hisses, and the voice seems content with the response, at the least. Or, perhaps you’d prefer to drown? What a peculiar way for a marine biologist to go, but humans never cease to amaze me.

Jotaro struggles to answer the voice which claims to be inhuman, but dark waters only drain into his mouth like rapids. Time wasn’t even on his mind at this point, but he couldn’t help but wonder how long he’s been underwater. The ocean seemed to pin his legs and arms into icicles, keeping them from thrashing everywhere. Soon, his attempts on fighting for oxygen were getting much more pathetic — much weaker with each kick.

‘Is this how I die?’ He thinks, chuckling at the irony. The feeling of agreeing with the voice is bitter, but its words are not wrong. To think he’d die in the embrace of something he’s spent his life researching. And even so, he wastes no time in reaching a conclusion: ‘Still not a bad way to go.’ 

Not that he'd been holding onto hope in the first place, but witnessing the light stray further from his grasp was anything but welcoming. It’s clear that his mind and body were slowly starting to lose motivation in fighting against fate. His fate.

And right now, he’s drawing nearer to the finish line.

His limbs had eventually stopped responding and allowed gravity to drag his body into the never ending abyss he’d always marveled at when he’d been alive. And despite condemning himself to his fate, the hopelessness seethed in gradually. Human nature, he concluded; to want what you cannot have is human nature. He knows that better than most.

Once his air supply ran tight, his mouth instinctively opened up once again, allowing water to flow in through his nostrils and throat. Every 'breath’ made him choke on the saltiness of the ocean waters, lungs struggling to hang on as the water slowly crushed its cage from inside and out. Barely even able to hear his own thoughts, he assumed his eardrums burst from the insane depths he was being pulled into. His eyelids grew heavy like boulders and finally drooped; he had already succumbed to the thought of death — he couldn’t even cry in anguish or relief, but perhaps the downpour above the waters was crying for him instead. The thought was comforting, to know that someone, some thing would mourn his death.

His back hits the ocean floor like a sunken ship, and he believes he’s dead until the voice speaks again: Have you had enough time to think, little mortal? Its words are scathing, and by far the last thing he wants to hear on his death bed, but with it, came air. It seemed an impossible feat at the bottom of an ocean no human has visited before, but the air is crisp and fresh. Jotaro drinks it up, gulping it down in excess, reveling at how it fills his lungs with life. The water he’d inhaled and drunk doesn’t even seem to exist, at the moment, but he hasn’t the state of mind to dwell on that.

“Where am I?” He chokes out, still tasting the bitter tang of salt against the back of his throat. The voice seems to echo around him, and he finally realizes that he is still on the ocean floor. Sea creatures he’s never seen flit around him, and despite the stark absence of any light, he can see them clear as day.

Only you know that. The voices hums, creating a vibrato in the seawaters, a sound that seems to manifest into arms and once again coil around Jotaro’s neck, like a noose. He wants to scream and thrash and fight, but the comforting presence of Star Platinum within his core is... vacant. 

I shall repeat myself. If you love your friends and family so much, why do you never tell them? The question seems out of place at the bottom of an ocean filled with light and air, but the entity leaves no room for Jotaro to dwell. The heavy stench of iron is immediately recognizable, and Jotaro realizes there’s a gash in his chest. Pale fingers, topped with blackened fingernails which have grown awfully too long, held his intestines away from his torso, the flesh coiled tightly around the hands of a man he once knew.

A man who should be dead.

And yet, here he is. And yet, there is no pain.

“Because...” The words slip past his lips before he knows how to finish. Because what? Because he’s an asshole who can’t put his feelings into words? Because he’s a fool who deserves to suffer alone? Because...

“Because I’m afraid.”

The voice cackles, creating distortions in the sand bed and deep sea water, and yet he could recognize it as clear as day. DIO.

Oh? Is that so? DIO runs a tongue over his lips, deciding to humor his little plaything. Then, hypothetically, if you do tell them you love them, what are you so afraid will happen?

Jotaro doesn’t respond.

I’m waiting.

“...I don’t know.”

Liar. DIO bites and lightly pressing a claw-like fingernail into Jotaro’s jugular. It’s not polite to lie.

“I...” The pool of blood at his feet is disorienting, vivid and real despite the darkness around him. “It’s not that I don’t want to trust them, I...” He reaches out to cup the hand still jutting from his stomach. How odd it is to see such a horrific sight and feel no pain; and it all clicks into place. Jotaro chokes up for a brief moment, hoping a reply will make this all end. “...It’s dangerous to show you care. If they knew, and if my enemies knew how important they are to me, then...”

This isn’t real. None of this is real. How many times has he had this nightmare? And how many times has he imagined just that — the corpses of his loved ones plastered along the streets? The screams that won’t stop? The look of fear and hope on their faces?

That hasn’t happened, yet, and yet he faults himself: how can he be so weak?

There we go. DIO clicks his tongue and gently strokes his great grand-nephew’s hairs — something he no doubt imagines to be an affectionate pat. Not so hard, is it? Jotaro nods, too weak to stand up for himself. This nightmare never ends. You’re afraid of being too vulnerable. DIO coos and twists his blood-covered arm, deepending Jotaro’s unreal wound. You’re afraid of being too... weak.

The ghost’s words always sting, but this nightmare has become so commonplace, so normal — as easy as breathing, despite the waters around him — that Jotaro hasn’t the strength to feel anger. It’s not like DIO is wrong. He is afraid, he is weak, and above all, he’s afaraid of being weak.

But, how curious it is, little mortal. Hasn’t anyone ever told you— the voice begins to chastise, but is cut off; its words don’t reach his ears. Rather, there’s a soothing scent, with familiar aromas he can’t quite place. But the serenity is short lived. The air Jotaro seemed to be breathing dissipates, and he’s drowning again. His throat burns as if a thousand of needles were piercing it all at the same time, chest clenching itself suffocatingly tight; it’s hell all over again. He couldn’t help but feel pathetic for not acting sooner, especially when the exit was right in front of him, even if it wasn’t anywhere near his reach. Now that chance was thrown carelessly out the window, with no means on returning back to his grasp— 

And his sinks.

As he struggled to keep himself afloat and conscious, black spots started to paint his vision one by one, and that’s when time was obviously running out. His eyelids give up —

And then he wakes up.

There’s a gentle, shaking motion, like a boat — as if he’s being cradled and soothed like he had been as a child. He can’t place it immediately, but you’re whispering soft little assurances into his ear, brushing strands of ebony hair which had plastered itself to wet skin. He realizes that the sweet scent from before is you. He can’t discern your words, not fully, not over the sound of blood rushing to his ears. If your arms weren’t wrapped around him a like a safety net, he’d still think he’s drowning, dying; but, the glimpses of words he’d catch every so often were enough to comfort him. You assure him that he’s still very much alive, that he’s awake, that nothing can hurt him, that it was all a nightmare.

It was just a nightmare.

Hasn’t anyone ever told you? The undead voice chimes, but your voice, clear as day, replaces its mocking tone, and Jotaro melts. He gazes upwards, into your eyes which hold the moon and all its stars and he suddenly remembers that wishes are made upon them.

“It’s okay to be weak, Jotaro.”

inspired by this.

[booatlantis]

Enlightenment (short story)

For a long time I wanted to pack up and leave. Sell my car, quit my job, and travel the world with whatever I could carry on my back. Somehow I would find myself in China where I would shave my head, don the traditional robes and pray in tune with my bald-headed brothers. Or India where I would embrace spirituality and practice yoga, meditating amongst the best gurus. But then there’s Europe, the home of the Age of Enlightenment.

But, was it really enlightenment I was looking for?

Because, as much as the thought crossed my mind, the idea terrified me. The thought of travelling the world alone with limited resources, stepping into the unknown, it made me wonder how people did it. What if I died alone in a hotel room? What if I was found dead on the streets? What if I just disappeared?

Maybe it wasn’t enlightenment I was searching for, maybe it was simply an escape route. An escape from the system. A system which secures us, tight. Yet, despite being trapped we live in fear, fear of falling from the system, of missing a beat and being cut out of the cycle, to be left with nothing. Nothingness is the void where the unknown lies. Where will we sleep? What will we eat? How will we live? We cannot escape the system. Well, people like us at least. Those who are slaves to the system, who work to the bone for the minimum wage in order to scrape by and pay rent at the end of the month. Scanning your barcodes, cleaning your corridors, taking your orders. We are the ones under the thumb of the one percent. Victims of the pay gap, pounders of the glass ceiling, children of technology.

The part of my being that searches this escape, this mad hunt for enlightenment tells me to suck it up. People die every second. People are dying on the streets from starvation brought on by poverty whilst others are necking pills that will send them into eternal slumber, too tired to keep on living. In one part of the world there are those fighting for life, in another there are those fighting to escape it.

The world is fucked up.

So, maybe enlightenment wasn’t what I was looking for. I mean what would enlightenment mean? Would I find the answers to life’s questions? Would I find a way to stop wars and end world poverty? You find enlightenment then what? You discover why the world exists and why we’ve been put on it for what purpose? To die in peace? No, because who knows what’s next? Will we just stop existing, like turning off the TV or is there something more, like switching channels?  

Who knows, man?

I think what humans really want is something other than enlightenment. We want to be free. What of exactly? Well, that varies. In general, however, of the shackles that bind us. The bonds that ground us and keep us bound to this earth. To cut those bonds is to be free, but this comes at a price as we lose the things worth living for. We are left to simply drift into the endless void.

So, where does this leave us?

We want freedom yet fear the uncertainty that comes with it. Uncertainty could lead to death. When we master the fear of death, maybe we can be free.

Right now, I stand at its borders.

A strange rush comes with this.

Effectively, Death is always lurking at our shoulders. His cold fingers trace their way down our spine from time to time, sending shivers through our bodies. His breath cold on our necks making the hairs on our arms stand on end. When our eyes grow heavy with sleep and we suddenly feel ourselves falling, jolting our bodies awake before drifting off again, that is Death testing us. Death likes to check in every now and again.

Normally Death is lurking in the background out of sight, shrouded by the shadows which fall in corners or which lie beneath trees until his hand stretches upwards to touch their green leaves, turning them to deep ambers and reds before letting them fall to the ground, brown and crisp.

However, now I am above Death. I look down on Him. Below, waves crash against rocks, the heavy whoosh is Death cooing, mocking me. The grey skies have turned the waters dark and uninviting. I watch the waves move back and forth in a somewhat gentle motion until rising up high and unfurling in a torrent against the cliff side, white salt spray raining upwards.

When I was a child I never liked the ocean. I found it daunting. I was scared that it would drag me away and I would be lost. It wasn’t the thought of drowning that scared me. The ocean was huge, unending and filled with mystery. The total vastness of the ocean is what terrified me. So vast it almost made me feel claustrophobic, like there was a weight on my chest. I felt so small stood on the ocean’s shore, insignificant.

I take a drag on my cigarette. I breathe in deeply and sigh the smoke out of my mouth and watch it drift away in the breeze. Oh, sweet nicotine, my one vice. I realize I’m smoking outdoors and there are no bins nearby to chuck my butt in. Now, I’m not the type of person to go flicking fag ends into the sea, after all cigarette butts are a huge pollutant and we don’t want to upset Mother Nature unnecessarily. Humans have done enough as it is. Instead, I stub the end out on the sole of my boot and flick the end over my shoulder. Out of sight out of mind.

I dust off my hands and take a step closer towards the cliff edge. As I look over the edge down towards the dark waves I crack my knuckles nonchalantly. Still looking down I remove my denim jacket and drop it to my side. I then unlace my boots and kick them to the other side. I am left standing in a pair of blue skinny jeans and a white tank top. I wonder whether to remove them as well and decide against it. Death could be a perv.

The view is dizzying, but I know it will be over soon. I suck in my breath, close my eyes and taking a step I allow myself to fall from the cliff’s edge. My stomach drops. I slip away, free falling faster than I could have imagined. For a moment I am falling, the air whips my skin and then suddenly my body is consumed. The shock of the cold forces my eyes open.

I float weightlessly in this dark chasm. The waves carry my body as I stare up towards the top of the water which glistens with silver sparkles. The darkness is expanse and I struggle to catch my bearings. Yet, where was there for me to go? Until my body hits something hard and pain shoots through my body and I realise the waves have carried me back towards the bottom of the cliff. My body spirals and the air is knocked out of my chest. Salt water fills my mouth, burning my throat before filling my lungs. I can no longer breathe. A strange sensation flutters through my chest. Not panic, nor fear.

My already darkened vision begins to blur, yet before my eyes close the shadows of the waves appear to blacken and shift in new motions like the shadow of the Reaper’s cape. My body feels cold. Bubbles escape from my mouth and drift upwards, carrying my final breaths with them.

I close my eyes and my world turns to black.

Hello, Death.

  *

  My body is screaming. I groan in pain. Waves wash against my feet and my mouth tastes like the ocean. I cough and water spills from between my lips. I roll onto my left side and spit out the water that is left in my mouth, dribbling onto the wet sand. I open my burning eyes. I watch the excess water soak and bubble into the sand before a wave washes in and then out again, pulling grains of sand in tiny streams. Slowly my thoughts come together and I realise I am lying on the beach with burning insides and what feels like a dislocated shoulder.

I am wet, cold and in pain. I am, however, not dead.

With my left hand I push myself up and grimace as pain shoots through me. My right arm hangs limply at my side. Shit. That shoulder won’t be popping back into place by itself anytime soon. Knowing what’s coming I grit my teeth. Sitting up in the wet sand, with my left arm I clutch my black and bloody right and grit my teeth hard, my neck and jaw straining. I brace myself before forcing my shoulder back into place. The sound of my bones and joints popping against each other makes my eyes roll back and I throw up runny liquid and more salt water to my side which is soon washed away. I cough and splutter before easing myself slowly down flat onto my back. As well as the dislocation it feels like two of my ribs are broken, but there is not much I can do about them.

I stare up at the grey sky. It is still light and the sun is hidden by clouds. I can’t have been out that long. Steadily I turn my head to my right. In the distance I can see the cliff from which I jumped off of. I have been washed some distance down the beach and realise it will take me some time to make it back up to the cliff top to retrieve my belongings, especially in my current state.

My bones continue to crack and pop as they shift back into place, slowly fusing themselves back together. I stretch my arms over head and my body cracks like a glow stick- it’s painful, but it is beginning to slowly subside. I take a couple of moments before sitting up again, legs still spread out in front of me. My hair is soaked and hangs over my face in sandy waves. I pat my pockets and hear a concerning squelch from my soaked though jeans. From my pocket I pull out the remnants of a box of cigarettes. I dangle the soggy mess despairingly before dropping them onto the sand between my legs. I really needed to smoke.

Pressing my palms into the soft sand I push myself up to standing, first bending over, supporting myself with my hands on my thighs and then standing up straight, hands on my hips, breathing heavily. Waves continue to wash in as the tide approaches. I squint and grimace as I look around the beach to see that it is still deserted. Not many people head this far down the coastline, especially in this weather. I look over towards the cliff where my boots and jacket wait for me.

I begin to stumble my way back towards the cliff, carrying my aching body. I feel light, as though I am not truly here- I am still floating somewhere, but the pain weighs by body down, making me clumsy. My repairing arm aches and burns and I clutch it to my side. The sea breeze blows my hair across my face and I try to knock it away but it is no use. I carry on stumbling with my vision obscured by damp curls. As if walking on sand wasn’t hard enough already. I hate sand, the way it moves underfoot making us unsteady, each step needing added force behind it.

When I finally reach the top of the cliff again I’m out of breath, but the pain in my body has dulled to a numb ache. All my belongings are still on the ground where I had left them. I go to my jacket first, searching my pockets I find a second packet of fags and a lighter, immediately pulling a single cigarette out and placing it between my lips. I flick my lighter frantically until a small flame appears and lights up the end. I hold the fag between my fingers and inhale deeply. There’s something so satisfying about that first inhalation and not just because it instantly satiates the nicotine need, but there’s something oddly attractive about it. Before I took up smoking I would huddle close to smokers, slyly breathing in their second hand smoke, watching their hands and their lips. Someone once told me that smoking wasn’t attractive. However, I feel like this only applies to a certain type of person, or at least there exists a certain type of person who can make smoking look attractive. In my mind, I hope I am one of those people.

I let my cigarette hang from my mouth, puffing smoke. The sky has turned a soft candyfloss pink, it’s getting late. Why can’t I just set with the sun over the horizon?

My clothes are still slightly damp but the walk and the air has dried them of slightly. I brush some of the sand off my body before pulling my jacket on. My socks are still covered, so I pull them off with a stretchy squelching and bundle them up into my pocket before pulling on my boots. I check over the rest of my clothes for blood- it’s there, soaked in and salty. Holding my cigarette out I rub my eyes, flick some ash, take a puff. What does it matter? There’s no one around to judge. Well, not yet anyway.

I feel like I should head home, tired from all the excitement.

(This is a short story I wrote. Please do not share elsewhere. Also, hi thank you if you made it this far.)

[tunafishprincess]

Hunter Prince (Dark Medieval Fantasy AU fanfic).

Chapter 1: Darkness before Dawn  

Two households, both alike in dignity. (Romeo and Juliet, Act 1, Prologue, Shakespeare)

The remains of the human army were scattered against the grounds of the small village. A particularly gruesome image if he ever saw one. 

Not for long, he thought with a grimace, as members of their forces crept in to take whatever scraps they could find. The sound of bones crunching and tendons popping nearly made him vomit on the spot. The pungent smell of the dead did not help matters. No doubt the entire place would be cleared before daybreak, the bellies of his countrymen filled and ready for the return march ahead. 

He adjusted the sword at his hip. It was too large for someone his size, stuck between man and troll, but he could use it well enough. Years of training had prepared him for this. 

His upper lip snagged his tusks. By the Void, he wished his teacher were here. Alas, Blinkous of Galadrigalia would not step anywhere near a battlefield of this sort. Too many bad memories and old wounds, he told the boy as he aided him into his armor. Though the troll knew all the ins and outs of swordplay, he refused to pick one up, preferring the company of books and his students to the glory of war and conquest so many of their kind revered. 

Alas, unlike his dear tutor his fate left him no room to avoid this type of work. It was times like these he wished he’d been born of another destiny, one where his status and birth didn’t determine his lot in life. 

Fog clung to the earth and sky, drenching the area in miserable dampness. Even within the chainmail and furs the biting cold snuck into his veins, burrowing inside like sparrows at the advent of winter. He shivered as another frigid wind tore through the lines of soldiers, so howling and fierce he almost believed it to be alive. Perhaps they were. More than once his mother spoke of the old gods. 

He wondered if the weather was indicative of their current mood. Out of respect, he whispered a small prayer. It was the least he could do. 

Half-frozen mud squished beneath his feet. As a child he heard wondrous tales about the Grand Canals of Arcadia, yet to see it in person left him rather disillusioned. Of course, by Spring this narrow, barren valley would be a rushing river, carrying the winter snows out towards the southern seas, but now it was little more than a makeshift border between these territories. 

His gaze rested on the town before him. Though he lacked the intellect of his mentor he understood well enough their reasons for this ‘visit.’ 

Dying embers rose from the makeshift chimney as the night’s frost glistened off the roofs and doors. As the troops searched the area for food, weapons and mead, he could not help but feel a tinge of sadness.

Humanity had slowly been encroaching on their lands due to the excess of ore and salt deposits, huge commodities in a kingdom that survived largely off of cattle and farmland. Twas no wonder that within a few years several new settlements had sprung up across the boundary, despite their warnings of retaliation.

But this was only supposed to be a skirmish. A scare tactic, nothing more. Instead, his father’s forces had massacred the entire population.

Crimson mixed with dirt and early morning frost. Here and there he saw them, those who fought thrown haphazardly across the mud and those who tried to flee huddled and died together in small piles. While tradition deemed the enemy warriors to be burned, the soldiers of this regimen did not adhere to such rules, taking what they liked however they pleased instead.

He opened his eyes and then closed them; it mattered not. His stomach lurched. 

A large hand covered his mouth.

It was not his own. 

He stilled. Seconds ticked by before the wielder bent down, gruffly remarking into his ear, “Do not sully our sire’s reputation, half-blood. Purge your conscious elsewhere. Tis no place for the battlefield, especially our own.”

A battlefield was it? He wanted to laugh but found no energy to do so. Instead, he swallowed back his emotions, tilting his head upwards to face the other. 

“I’ll do no such thing, brother.” He added softly, “I am a warrior.”

Bular shot him a doubtful glance. “Is that what your nursemaid tells you?”

He regarded the other in annoyance. While others would be cowed by his elder brother’s fearsome regalia (the blood-colored armor a stark contrast against the gloomy landscape), he held his head high, refusing to back down. 

“Blinkous is not my nursemaid. He knows more about tactics and battles than you ever will.”

“Tactics mean nothing in the heat of battle. It is brute strength that decides the victor, not fancy parlor tricks and maneuvers.”

“If that were true, you would have won the Battle of Killahead and the Battle of Glastonbury Tor,” he pointed out, tongue sharp and ready to cut. Eager to best his brother through the only medium he could, he continued, “Now, is there a particular reason you have graced me with your most honored presence? After all, we all know what a comforting elder brother you are.” Without thinking he ended his counter with a barb. “I almost wish her Highness were with us today to see what loving siblings we’ve become. Perhaps then she would allow you to return to court.”

Darkness swept over his brother’s features as pallor overtook his own. 

An insult like that would not go without reparations. Though Bular was his elder, there was no love lost between the two. Losing face in court had drastically damaged the other’s reputation and rising stardom amongst the ranks of their kingdom’s military. Their sire had seen to it that Bular had a legion to command, but he would never regain the powers he once wielded so long as he and the Queen continued to be on the outs.

The same Queen who bore him.

He scowled, eyes burning like bright coals in the night. “Mind your words. The next time you act so brazen I will not hesitate to remove one of your horns, shared blood or not.”

He nodded curtly. As loathe as he was to admit it, he should have stayed quiet. Had they been common Gumm-Gumms, only one of them would still be standing at such an affront. 

Bular leaned forward, claws tightening around his head as he spoke. “The Queen and her elk may choose to coddle you but I will not. It is I who am in charge here, not you. Your bearer can keep her impure minions in her so-called court for all I care.” His eyes narrowed. “From the look on your face, I can already tell I’ve wasted too much time in bothering to try and teach you. Know this, little brother: the only reason you stand here is at father’s request. Remember that.”

Without warning Bular yanked him by the hair at his nape so that he fell backward. His brother’s followers chuckled at the display.

How humiliating. Cheeks burning, he quickly returned to his feet, storming off in the opposite direction, lest he made more of an embarrassment of himself amongst his brother’s soldiers.

It was a familial power play and one Bular would always win. While he was faster than the older male he could not hope to match his brother’s brute strength and height.

No matter how smart or cunning he could try to be, he would always be half-flesh.

James, Son of House Lake, First of his Name, Heir to Two Thrones—it was an endless list of empty titles. Here, on the “battlefield” and in front of his father’s battalion, Bular and his army saw him as nothing more than a whelp playing soldier. 

A bitter sigh escaped his lips.

He was starting to wonder if they were right. 

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

Death nipped at their heels. Her ally’s fatal injury didn’t help matters. He limped behind, holding the wound at his chest with his dominant hand while the other scrambled for purchase up the steep hilled terrain. 

The tall beautiful trees that greeted their arrival now sent a shiver down her spine, no longer so beautiful and majestic as she’d been led to believe. Stepping into the forest had robbed them of sense and direction, the burning village behind them their only indication of navigation. Not even a full moon could penetrate the dense canopy above them, which rustled and swayed like the sea.

These were not the lands of her brethren. She’d been born on Arcadian grounds, far inside the midlands where the capital stood. The forests there were colorful, evergreens and cedars that happily shaded the berry bushes she once plucked from as a child.

She knew she’d passed the boundaries but the look of the landscape. Here, the woodlands were dark, primal and contorted in manners she had never seen. No berry bush or fruit-bearing could ever hope to grow in harsh lands such as these.

Branches snagged at her cloak, threatening to impede her every step. 

Claire bit back a sob. It was all her fault. If only they had kept moving instead of resting for the night. But she had underestimated her enemies’ desperation. The assassin struck right as the armies across the border arrived, leaving them no time to regroup or find a healer.

Not that Sir Kanjigar could recover from such a wound. They’d been lucky he’d not petrified immediately, though she wondered if that would have been a better fate than the encroaching death before her. 

She clutched her chest as he finally keeled over.

“No, you must get up!” She said, joining his side. “We can still make it.”

Inwardly, she knew it was a fruitless endeavor, but the innocent young girl she was before all this still clung to the faint hope that everything would turn out well and good. 

“I’m afraid this is where our journey ends, milady,” he said, grunting as the poison worked its way through his system. “A thousand apologies.”

She shook her head. Wetness gathered at the corners of her eyes. Sir Kanjigar had been all she had left. She had left everything behind for this. 

Her hands clutched at his chest. “No, this is not where you shall spend your final breath, Sir,” she ordered, hoping she sounded as authoritative as her birthright.  Listen to me: you are the Trollhunter. You have survived countless battles. We will find a healer, but you must get up. Think of Trollmarket. Think of Draal. They would be lost without you. I would be lost without you.”

“It is not—"

“I will not allow you to die. I forbid it!”

She could barely stand to look him in the eyes. They both knew what was to come.

Her fist smacked against his cold ground, again and again, until at last, he spoke. 

“Milady,” he wheezed. “Enough.”

He lifted her chin with his remaining hand. It pained her to see him in such a state. 

Sir Kanjigar of Trollmarket was like no other. He was a battle-scarred old warrior, face etched with the centuries of service he’d provided both kingdoms. Countless Nuñez had relied on his aid and counsel throughout the years. It broke her heart to think she would be the last.  

“I cannot take you the rest of the way,” he stated, stroking her face like her father once did. “You must part with me. The longer you stay here the faster our pursuers can find you. My son…will live on. The Amulet will find a new champion; it always has. But you must hurry. Dawn will break soon. Our liaison lies a day’s journey to the north of the sunrise, just beyond this forest. Get there. You will know him when you see him. He will take you to safety.”

Her chest shook, body numb and unwieldy. “This isn’t fair. I can’t do this without you.”

“You must. The fate of your family and the kingdoms obligates you.”

The amulet began to blink. Slowly, he removed the device from his chest, the magic dissipating from his body. Her throat seized at the sight. The poison had spread throughout his upper and lower halves. 

“May the Grace of Daya guide you through the Void to your ancestors,” she recited as she took his last gift.

His lips perked up as his vision began to fade into white. “And…may the Mother guard you…for all your days.”

She nodded. She could not look away as he gave his last breaths, determined to stay by his side. 

It was in this small moment she allowed herself to grieve. Grieve for her family’s misfortune, grief for her inability to protect her kingdom and people, and grieve for the lives lost in order to get her this far. 

Her gaze flickered to the sky. His words proved true; dawn was coming. She didn’t have much time. 

“Goodbye dear friend,” she whispered, wiping her tears before setting off on her journey.

Her feet scurried across the cold forest floor. Leaves scattered in their wake. Now, without her protector, the forest took on a more sinister nature. The hairs on her neck prickled in dread as she traveled silently through these woods. Every sound made her heart lurch. Though she knew it merely her mind playing tricks, she could not help but think of the assassin, and whether or not he brought any others.

No, she could do this. Her fingers squeezed the amulet within the folds of her robes. The cold metal reminded her of what she must do.

Though her heart bled for the lives lost, she willed herself to go forward. Once she found a safe place she would properly mourn her fallen comrade. For now, however, she needed to move.

A sound intruded, wrestling her out of deep thought.

She didn’t even have time to scream when the creator of the noise came upon her. 

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

She squirmed within his grasp. Jim adjusted his hold. The human was petite, but her eyes held a ferocity that promised far more than what she could likely give.

“Unhand me, fiend!” She hissed.

Had it been any other day he would have. Humans were a strange sort. Though his mother imbodied their appearance, she was of another sort of being all together, born of magicks and a world no longer accessible to their kind. It was one of the reasons his sire took her hand after all. 

Amongst others. 

But today was different. Whereas before he had placed humanity out of his mind, now, after the carnage, an unsettling sensation of responsibility weighed down upon him. She had not caused this battle. Her only fault was being the wrong species in the wrong place. If Bular or one of his soldiers found her she would be carved up and eaten like the rest.

And Jim could not allow that to happen. 

Leaves crunched beneath unforgiving feet. The marching had begun. Quickly, he pulled her behind a thicket of gathered trees, hoping his scent would cover her own. 

“Please stay silent, miss,” he whispered. “They will hear you otherwise.”

Her body tensed at his words. Around them, the procession grew louder. Armor clinked together, held in rhythm to the vibrating beat of their drums and deep barking songs. He dare not translate the words to the human, knowing what revulsion they would bring. 

He could not help but examine her. The night was dark but his eyesight blessed him the vision before him. Dark windswept hair framed her heart-shaped face, highlighting the contours of her cheeks and rose-colored lips. While he had little experience with human ages, he guessed her to be near his own more or less.

His heart thumped wildly against his chest. This was the first time he had ever been so close to a maiden. He wanted to speak, to impress her with his knowledge of her native tongue, but instead kept quiet, desperately wishing not to embarrass himself in front of her. 

As the marching began to fade, he loosened his hold on her. It was only just. She quickly pulled away; he let her. A few tense seconds fast before she broke it with her words. 

“How could they?” she spat, fingers clenched around the sides of her cloak. “Honorless barbarians. They were only miners and their families and they slaughtered them.”

He lifted an eyebrow, realizing she knew not who or what he was.

He would have found it refreshing, if he wasn’t so overcome with guilt. 

“Can’t say I disagree at this point,” he mumbled, throat tightening at her remark. 

Was this what being a warrior was about? Jim bit the inside of his cheek. More than once he had sat at the foot of his sire, listening to the tales of old, when magic ran wild and honorable knights protected their kingdoms. Every battle had a story, a purpose, and an ending. Even the Battle of Killahead had its place in his father’s halls, sung to bring about nostalgic melancholy in those there and not there.

So where was the glory in murdering these innocents? How had a border skirmish broken out into slaughter?

It set him on edge. 

By the Void.  Jim shook his head. He could scarcely believe what had happened. This was his first excursion with the company and he hoped it his last. Being put in his brother’s battalion had been a foolish error on the head advisor’s part. Not that anyone could persuade the troll outside the king himself. Sir Dictatious was the complete opposite of his brother.

It was no wonder they hated each other. 

The girl continued to rant. “How dare they attack Arcadian soil. Do they want to start another war with the kingdoms?” Her voice grew hoarse. “Does the Treaty of Avalon mean nothing now?”

“A war would be most disagreeable for everything I should think,” he answered.

She blinked, cheeks reddening as she straightened out her linens to curtsy. 

“Excuse my manners. Thank you for your assistance. I am utmost in your debt. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

With whom indeed. Jim glanced at her outfit and features. This was no peasant, he gathered, but someone more highborn, though how much so he could not determine by sight alone. While her cloak was ratty and riddled with holes the cloth beneath was well-made, shielding her from the Darkland winds. She lacked the pockmarks and blemishes other humans tended to carry too. 

His eyes widened as he realized how quiet he had been. He coughed into his hand, head bobbing. “It’s Jim, milady.”

“Thank you, Jim. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who survived.”

He winced. She believed him human. He supposed, in the darkness, night-blindness would suggest it as such. While taller than most of their kind he was significantly shorter than a majority of trolls. 

“You’re traveling alone?” He asked. Perhaps he could return her to her group before she realized who he was.

She paused, shoulders shaking. “My companion…He didn’t make it.”

“My deepest apologies,” he said and he meant it sincerely. “Is there anything I can do? A lady such as yourself shouldn’t be out here alone. Where are you heading to? Perhaps I can lead you there.”

Already he formulated a plan to get her away, far from the Gumm-Gumms that still lingered in these forests. 

It would have worked, he could have gotten her as close to her destination before disappearing at daybreak, if something else hadn’t spoken up instead, breaking the fragile peace between them.

James of House Lake.

Instantly, he drew back, back ramrod straight at the power the voice possessed. It chilled him to the bone, clinging to his eardrums in a soft echoing whisper. He knew not where it came until the girl fished it from her robes. He thought it one of Blinky’s strange time devices until he noticed the pulsating blue magic that lay beneath its metallic parts.

“Did,” he began in a breathless manner, “Did that thing just say my name?”

Her brows furrowed. She held the circular object out plainly, squinting as she looked between it and himself. 

“But it’s never chosen…who are you?” She asked, pressing forward.

Jim accidentally backed into one of the trees, horns biting into the bark. A familiar scent was picked up through the air, coupled with equally familiar footfalls.

His breath caught in his throat. Through the blackness, he could see the figure approach.

A haphazard plan based on foolishness and Gumm-Gumm tradition arose within him. His cheeks burned at what he was about to do. He had hoped—no, that kind of life was not accessible to one such as he. 

He looked back to the girl, confusion, and fear spreading across her face. She did not deserve this fate he would bring her, but he could not bear to see her die this day. 

“I am so very very very sorry for what I am about to do,” he said, inwardly praying to the Void for his actions. 

He muffled her scream with his gloved hand, the other tilting her neck for access.

The taste of copper met his tongue and suddenly he understood why so many of his countrymen developed a taste for it.

It was over in an instant, but he knew, somehow, that he had changed both their futures.

Whether for better or for worse was yet to be determined.

The bushes rustled behind them, branches snapping as his elder brother strode onto the scene.

Carefully, Jim lifted his mouth, wiping the red from his lips with the back of his hand. The girl below him held the nape of her neck tenderly, eyes shooting daggers at him. 

Bular regarded the two with an unimpressed brow. “Father will be most displeased when he hears of this.”

“Salutations to you, brother,” he replied.

The girl shuddered within his grasp, now likely putting together the pieces of his identity. “What have you done?” She whispered, face alike to a corpse. 

The other balanced his broadsword on his shoulder, clearly taking pleasure in Jim’s act. “A messenger arrived from the castle. Our arrival is expected.” He looked the girl up and down, measuring her with a growing sneer. “If you wanted a bloody fleshbag for your intended you should have just asked. I’m sure one of my men could have found you one with more meat on her bones than this twig.”

“It seems our taste in wenches diverges. I quite like twigs.” Jim sent his brother a cold smile, refusing to react to his insult.

Bular sniffed, features smoothing over into disinterest as he set off back towards the legion. “Have it your way.”

Once his presence was gone, the girl collapsed, her shivering now full-blown shakes. 

“This is disastrous,” she cried.

Jim shared the sentiment and wanted to voice it, but thought better of it. Scooping her up into his arms (and ignoring her feeble protests), he began his march towards home, knowing that his actions would not go unpunished.

[cobaltcaster]

Releasing Addiction

[[ Rok Note: Please know this is not a substitute for Professional Help ]]

If possible, eat no meat, chicken or fish on the day you plan to cast this spell. Meat can weight you down ----- you need to feel light so you can open the doors of your psyche to remove and release your intention. Also, to eat meat is to have a dead animal inside of you, and you want as few negatives as possible.

Necessary Enchantments and Magickal Tools

The tools necessary for this spell include any tools you have chosen for your formation as described below.

You will need:

scissors 

piece of black string, rope, cord, ribbon, yarn or anything that can be easily cut. If you cannot find something black, any color will do.

a bowl filled with cold water

a small quartz crystal gem

an envelope

Candles You will need candles ----- silver \ gray to the left, white in the middle, and black on the right ----- set in a row in front of you.

Formation All spells should begin with casting a circle, which is your shield of protection. If you're using a triangle or square, you can cast a circle first as then cast your formation within it. Best formation to cast this spell is the circle. Cast your formation ( using methods described here ) using a wand, a knife, an extended arm with fingers pointed, salt, or other material items you may have chosen.

Direction to Face The spell is most effective if you are facing east. Arrange your candles and any tools or enchantments that will be in your formation so they will be in front of you when you are sitting facing east.    

Moon Phase This spell works best if cast during the waning or dark phase of the Moon because you are hoping to release and decrease a compulsion just as the Moon is decreasing and disappearing as it wanes.

Day of the week Cast this spell on Sunday, Friday, or Saturday, with Sunday being the most favorable.

Optional Magickal Enchantments

The following items will add a deeper dimension to your spell and help you focus yourself more fully, but they are not necessary and the spell can be cast even if you don't have these items available.  

Gemstones The best gemstone to use for the spell is chrysolite. If using additional gemstones other than those recommended in your formation, placed them in front of you.   Incense Incense that will enhance the spell would be honeysuckle. Place incense in a safe place within your formation if you like; however, start the incense outside of your formation.

Music If you like music and will not find it distracting, you might want to play something peace and slow in low frequencies like piano or flute. Whatever you're comfortable with will be best.

Before You Start Your Spell

Make sure you have no distractions.   Turn off phones if possible. Play soothing music.   Keep the lights dim.   Wash your hands or shower before you begin.   Light incense if you are using it.   Gather everything you need and have it close at hand. Draw your formation. Ask your higher power to allow the information to flow through you.  

Affirmation

Affirmation to be read within your formation before you actually begin your spell. On this day I’ve chosen to finally make a change in my life. I do not because of anyone's influence, but because I do not like this part of me. The time has come because I say it's time. It was part of my evolution in life. I have been there and learned this is not how I want to spend my entire life. As the Moon provides me with the positive strength and energy I need, and my higher power is my witness: I release my addiction to ( state addiction ).

I released the need to know all the answers I continue to ask myself about this excessive behavior. At this stage in my life, I open myself to positive change. I will separate myself from people and situations that will tempt me to continue in the manner I have in the past. I know when I use my addictions for fulfillment, I will feel a void.

I am excited with the idea that where the universe sees a void, it will be filled with a positive. What will the new positive influence be? I recognize it is three times three better than my addiction. It will not be addictive, it will bring me happiness and pride. I will not try to guess what this gift is, but I know it comes closer and closer as my addiction gets farther and farther away. If I am unable to completely help myself, I will have the presence of mind to seek professional help from others who have dealt with this before.

My very intention today, with this powerful Moon above, has already started the flow of energy to reduce this excessive behavior and unwise risk. The next time I feel the need to ( state addiction ), I will look to this guide, whether day or night, rain or shine, and remember if I stray, it will take me that much longer to receive that beautiful gift the universe is sending me.

I release my addiction to: ( state addiction ). ( Repeat three times. )

How to Perform the Spell

Take your cord and tie a knot in it. This knot is your addiction that has kept you bound. 

Look at the knot and think of all the hardship and problems this addiction has caused you and others. Reflect for a while if you choose. 

When you feel ready, take your scissors and cut the string, leaving the knot hanging at one end. It does not matter if you cut to the left or right of the knots, but do not cut the knot in the middle. 

Take the string, place it in your envelope, and seal it.

Shake your hands three consecutive times away from your body as if you were shaking the addiction off of yourself.

Now say the following incantation: I find more strength here every day, My will is gaining so I say, Take this concern, it now unbound, I am release, my soul is found.

Conclude with any statement that signifies closure of the ceremony in your mind such as “And so it is,” “Blessed be,” or “Amen.” Now extinguish your candles and release your formation.

Once you release your formation, dispose of the envelope containing the broken cord in any manner you choose. Toss it in the garbage or fireplace, bury it, or cast it into the sea.

[nerdypinupcrystal]

Every Breath You Take Chapter 8: Runaway

MASTERLIST

WARNING: This chapter is Rated MATURE; it contains descriptive and graphic scenes of abuse. Please refrain from reading if this dark content bothers you. Proceed with caution

Hey guys! I’m back already with the new chapter, I was too excited to wait any longer!! I told you I’d update sooner, I keep my promises ;) Okay so this is it. The Chapter.  This is the story y’all have been waiting to hear  You’re gonna learn a lot about Iris, and I am again issuing the warning of the dark content in this chapter as stated above.  I did mention before that it’s not gonna be pretty what happened to Iris, and I meant it.  You’ve been warned.  The song inspiration for this chapter and the chapter’s title is the song Runaway by Bon Jovi. Enough of my rambling, on with the chapter!

Chapter 8: Runaway

10 Days Ago

It was a beautiful sunny afternoon on the beach, one of the rare days I had actual time to myself. Paul had left early this morning, work I’m assuming. Not that it really mattered to me, I got to pretend I truly had the place to myself for the majority of the day.  The house, though was suffocating beyond belief, so I spent that time outside near the water digging for clams to make for dinner tonight.  

I sat on the sand looking out into the ocean, feeling a moment of peace even though I was always terrified of the ocean, but I loved feeling the ocean breeze blow through my waist length blonde hair. I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard someone walking towards me. Paul was home. My time of peace had ended.

“Good afternoon, Princess.” Paul’s deep voice greeted me with a kindness I wished was real.

I looked up at him with my practiced smile painted on my face as I looked over his three piece royal blue suit. “I love a man dressed for clamming.” I gently teased.

He chuckled as he squatted down to my level. “I had to take care of some work in the office.” He then frowned in displeasure. “And on our vacation no less. Can you ever forgive me?”

Luckily that was one of the easiest things to forgive when it came to him. I simply smiled at him with a nod.

“What do you think?” I asked, lifting up the heavy bucket filled to the brim with fresh clams. “I thought they’d be great for supper tonight. Cook them in some white wine, maybe toss it in some linguine?”

Paul frowned in discouragement. “I went out for clams for lunch after my meeting ended.” Paul hated eating the same food more than once on the same day. He shook his head in remorse.“And after all your hard work.”  He then let out a dejecting shrug, “It’s okay. I’ll just have them again.” He rose up to leave for the house.

I rushed to stand up and call out, “No, it’s okay!” He turned to face me. “I can just dig fresh ones up tomorrow!” I finished with a grin that hopefully was bright enough to show him I was happy to do it, and to ease the temper that was sure to rise if I didn’t accommodate him.

It appeared to work as his face relaxed into a satisfied smile. Crisis averted.

He strutted towards me until he stood right in front of me. His intimidating 6’1 frame towering over my 5’2.

“I missed you this morning, Princess.” He said as he leaned down and claimed my lips in a kiss that once upon a time gave me butterflies.

He pulled me into his arms and held me in a loving embrace. I closed my eyes for a second, dreaming that this side of him was real and constant. The tide hitting my feet reminded me I had spent the day in the sand and water. I abruptly pulled away and sure enough to my horror, I had gotten sand all over the front of Paul’s suit.

“Oh no, look what I’ve done.” I said apologetically as I tried my hardest to wipe the offending sand off his expensive suit.

Paul was surprisingly calm. “That’s alright. I was already going to change.” He replied as he held up my left hand to kiss my wedding ring. He turned and made his way to the house, wiping the sand off his suit along the way.

I let my smile drop as I dumped the clams into the water, letting the tide drag them away.  I took a deep breath of the ocean air before I started my walk back to the house to find something new to make for dinner.

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

I was in the kitchen prepping the food for dinner; I opened the cupboard to look for the garlic sea salt, and my stomach dropped when I noticed how unorganized the cans were. I’m sure Paul hadn’t noticed yet, I would have been told about it otherwise. I rose up on the tips of my toes and rushed to reorganize the cans, adjusting them to have the labels facing forward. It was a struggle to reach, but Paul doesn’t want me to have my legs on the counter.  I would’ve grabbed the stool, but then he definitely would have noticed my mistake, and I’ve managed to go all day without being punished so far.

“What’s for supper?” I jumped at Paul’s voice that whispered in my ear right behind me.

Luckily the cans were now organized and I found the garlic salt.

He held me close from behind, I gave him a shaky smile as I replied, “Roast lamb seasoned in garlic and rosemary. With creamed spinach and brown butter radishes.”

“Sounds wonderful.” He stated with approval, his hands rubbing up and down my sides.

“I was going to make that herb bread you like so much.” I finished with a compliant smile. Keep him happy. Just keep him happy.

“I can hardly wait.” He replied, kissing me a kiss on my cheek.

He pulled away and directed his attention outside where he saw a man outfitting a sailboat on the dock.  

“Looks like we got a new neighbor.” Paul said as he made his way out the door. “I’m going to say hi.”

I let out a breath of relief at the extra bit of time to myself and continued preparing our meal.

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

Paul

“You must be our new next door neighbor!” Paul called out to the young man who was just stepping out of his boat.

“Hi!” The young man replied with a smile. He walked towards Paul to shake his hand. “I’m Dr. Todd Bishop.”

“Paul Burney.” Paul replied with a firm handshake.

Todd nodded his head at Paul’s house. “That beautiful glass mansion yours?”

Paul chuckled at the description, “It sure is.”

Todd smiled, “So that must’ve been your wife that was looking at me through the window today.  Beautiful wife and the best house on the beach. You’re a lucky man.”

Paul’s body stiffened, his smile more strained. “Yeah, that’s my Princess.” He clenched and unclenched his fists before he changed the subject, nodding at the sail boat. “That’s a beautiful racer you have.”

“Thanks! You a boating man too?” Todd asked.

Paul shook his head. “No, I wish. I’ve always wanted a boat. I’ve always wanted to go sailing.”

“Wife got your balls in a vice, huh?” Todd asked, nudging at Paul in amusement.

Paul narrowed his eyes at the neighbor. “No. My wife hates sailing. She’s terrified of the water. Nearly drowned when she was a child.”

Todd sobered up his amusement. “Oh man, I’m sorry.” He then perked up. “Hey, I’m sailing at around 7 tonight. I actually checked the weather for tonight, it’s supposed to be super calm and smooth out in the ocean. Great weather for sailing. It would be perfect for you and your wife to come join me and ease her into it.”

Paul, not willing to turn down the chance to do something he wanted, nodded in agreement. “Sounds great. I’ll press it to her gently.”

Paul then made his way back to the house to have a chat with his wife.

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

Iris

I had the lamb in the oven, the radishes were chopped and ready to cook on the stove. I was mixing the cream for the spinach when I heard the door open, Paul was back.

“I just spoke with our neighbor.” He started. I could feel his eyes burning into my back. “He’s a good looking man, the doctor.”

“Doctor?” I asked out of curiosity.

“He said I have a beautiful house. ‘Best on the beach’.” Paul replied stiffly as I heard him walking towards me. The room went dead silent with tension. “When was he in here, Princess? This morning? While I was at work?”

My stomach twisted and my heart stopped at where I knew this was heading. I turned to face him.

“Paul, sweetheart, I don’t know the doctor.” I replied, my voice shaky and my body trembling. It didn’t matter that I was telling the truth though.

“Sure you do.” He replied, his voice low and deep with an underlying rage. “Young, handsome, outfitting his sailboat next door. Says you’ve been staring at him through the window all day.”

SMACK!

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the excessive force he put into his fist as he backhanded me. The impact causing me to scream as I was knocked down to the floor, spilling the cream mixture all over me and the floor. I burst into tears as I felt the extreme pain in my temple.

Paul looked down at me in disgust. His face twisted with rage. “Does it give you so much pleasure to humiliate me?!”

I shook my head no as I tried to control my tears. My crying only served to anger Paul even more.

“STOP IT!!!” He roared as he then gave a harsh kick to my stomach, making me cry out even more.

Paul looked down at his foot, his anger rising even more at seeing the spilt cream on his shoe.

“NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID!” He yelled, kicking me once more.

I made the mistake of hastily crawling away, or at least trying to. Unfortunately, I didn’t make it far.

“Where do you think you’re going, you little whore?!” He growled as he delivered a third kick to my stomach, making me collapse on my stomach.

I was crying so hard, I thought I was going to throw up. Paul grabbed me by my hair and dragged me across the floor.

“No! Paul please! I’m sorry!” I wailed and pleaded. My words were obscured by my hysterical crying.

Paul didn’t listen, nor did he care.  He hurled me to the floor, letting go of my hair but had yanked some strands out of my scalp at the process. He grabbed my arm in a death grip and gave me a backhanded smack once more, this time cutting my lip from the impact of his ring.

I curled into a ball, feeling broken and bruised. Paul started to calm down.

“Now you’re going to sulk.” He calmly declared as he crouched down to my level.

“No!” I weakly cried out, terrified he was going to start up again.

“Yes you will.” He replied, almost taunting me.

“No I won’t.” I sobbed, begging for him to not hurt me anymore.

“Yes you will.” He said with false pity as he caressed my bruised and bloody face. “You’ll pout, and spoil our supper. Our beautiful supper.”

He gently sat me up and ironically tried to calm me down.

“There, you’re okay. Can you smile for me?” He asked me, like he’s always asked me after these moments “Come on, give me a smile, Princess.” He cooed.

I forced my lips to rise up in a pitiful excuse for a smile. It was enough to please Paul as he kissed my cheek.

“I’m sorry.” Another one of his empty apologies. “Now, we’re going to join your doctor friend on his sailboat tonight.”

I stiffened in fear of going out in the ocean. Paul was quick to respond. “Now, now, I’ll have none of that, okay?” He spoke to me sternly like I was a child. “I know you’re afraid. What happened to you as a child was terrible. But we can’t spend the rest of our lives hiding from what we’re afraid of, now can we? We have to face our fears. And it’s about time you faced yours.  But don’t you worry, Princess. I’m going to be by your side the entire time. Okay?”

I stared blankly into nothing as I gave a shaky nod to please him.

He smiled and kissed my cheek before he stood up to leave. “I’ll be back later.”

And I was alone once more.

I numbly reached up to grab a hold of the counter to pull myself up. The pain from his kicks shot through my body instantly and caused me to stumble back to the floor. I allowed myself to break down into the sobbing mess Paul didn’t want to see.

I wished Mom was here. I wanted her to hug me and protect me from Paul like how she protected me from the imaginary monsters that lived under my bed.

She can’t save you anymore. Nobody can. You’ve got to save yourself. Now wipe your tears and get up and do what needs to be done.

I quickly composed myself and wiped my tears before I pulled myself up, ignoring the stabbing pain I felt in my body.  I proceeded to clean up the mess that was made, put together a new batch of cream for the spinach, and cleaned my wounds.

While dinner was cooking, I took a moment to go outside while Paul was still gone. I walked out in front of the house where the row of lamp posts stood high above me. I bent down to grab a handful of pebbles and concentrated my aim on the two lamp posts that stood in front of the house.

I held my breath as I threw the first rock and succeeded in breaking one lamp. One down, one to go. I threw the second rock. I missed. I held my breath once more as I hurled the third rock at the lamp, breaking the second lamp. I let out a sigh of relief and rushed back into the house. Paul should be home any minute.

I was sitting on the couch looking out the window when I heard the door open and shut. I closed my eyes in dread knowing what was next.

“Bonjour, Mon Amour.” Paul greeted lovingly as he came up behind me, presenting a bouquet of roses, even though he knew that daisies were actually my favorite flowers.

“They’re beautiful.” I commented flatly without actually looking at them.

He walked around to kneel in front of me, handing me a small gift wrapped boxed.

“I’m sorry we quarreled.” He apologized. Just another one of his empty apologies for our ‘quarrels’.

I said nothing as I unwrapped the gift. I opened the box, revealing a silky red slip dress.

“If you don’t like it, I can return it.” Paul offered gently.

“No, I do. I love it.” I replied with my practiced smile on my face.

My response made a satisfied smile rise on his face. He held out his hand for me to take, pulling me off the couch and into his arms. I wrapped my arms loosely around him in an embrace; then I felt his hand unzip my white dress.

I closed my eyes briefly, this was the part I always dreaded.

He slid my dress down to the floor, leaving me in only my panties in the middle of the living room. He took the red slip from my hands and I held my arms up as he slid the silk material on me.

“It’s not too early for this?” He asked as he rubbed his hands all over my silk restrained body, pulling me into a dominating kiss.

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

The only sounds present in our bedroom was the music of that terrifying Symphonie Fantastique, and Paul’s grunts as he’s vigorously thrusting into me.

My eyes were shut tightly waiting for this to be over.

Sex with Paul was sometimes more painful than being beaten. I never once had any pleasure from the act, he never cared to give me any. It not only hurt, it made me feel used and dirty.

He bit into my shoulder as his violent thrusts sped up even faster, until he finally stopped and slumped over me, climaxing inside me. He lifted his head from my shoulder, I quickly curled my lips into a smile to show that he pleased me.

I was just pleased that it was over.

Paul rose up from the bed to take a shower, leaving me a few minutes of peace. I dropped the smile and reached for the sheet to wrap protectively around me, covering my shame. I gazed longingly out the window, praying tonight goes as planned.

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

Paul was seated at the table on the patio overlooking the ocean as I arrived carrying our plates full of the dinner I prepared.

As I sat down to eat, Paul’s eyes burned into me.

“You want something.” He stated with a knowing smirk.  “I know my Princess. What is it?”

I cleared my throat before I responded. “Mrs. Roberts from the music store called me. She said they can use me Full Time now.”

Paul shook his head. “Out of the question. You already work three mornings a week, and I respected that. Especially since I know how much you love music. But what about our home? Don’t you love our home as much?” He asked, trying to make me feel guilty.

I clenched my fists under the table as I innocently asked. “Has your dinner been late to the table even once?”

“Oh I remember a time it was late.” He replied with an accusing stare. “About two days.”

I let out a sigh of frustration. “That was six months ago, Paul. My mom was all I had. And I’ll never forgive myself for not bringing her here to live with us.”

He gave a comforting smile. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’ve always treated her with love.”

My voice cracked, “She died, Paul. How could I not go to her funeral?”

“If you had told me, I would’ve taken you, and give me a chance to pay my last respects. But you sneaked off into the night.” He finished with a condescending sneer.

“I didn’t sneak off.” I replied in defense.

Paul spoke through gritted teeth. “Need I remind you how I worried?”

“No.” I snapped. “You reminded me enough the night I came back.”

That night left so many scars that would never fade.

Paul stiffened. “You’re not suggesting I enjoyed that?”

I scoffed, feeling stupidly bold. “God, no. That would make you a monster.”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife at that point.

Paul let out a chuckle. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to provoke another quarrel so you wouldn’t have to go sailing tonight. But that’s a conversation we’ll have later when we get back tonight.”

My blood went cold at the meaning behind those words. I had to force myself to eat at most half of what was on my plate.

Tonight.

The sun was setting by the time I was dressed for sailing. I looked out at what I hoped would be my last sunset in this horrible place.

I looked down at the small bronze sculpture of a woman playing the piano.

“Remember our honeymoon?” Paul asked as he came up behind me. “I bought that for you. And I taught you how to dance.”

“Those were the happiest days of my whole life.” I replied on autopilot, the words as empty as I felt.

Paul lifted up my hand to kiss my wedding ring. “We’ll always be together, Princess. Nothing will keep us apart.” He smiled. “Let’s go. It’s time.”

It certainly is.

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

Paul

What was supposed to be ‘perfect weather for sailing’ ended up being the complete opposite. It was one of the worst storms of the year so far.

“I thought you said the weather was supposed to be calm!” I yelled over the harsh winds to Todd.

“It was! I don’t know what happened!  Just a little squall I guess!” Todd replies.

Paul looked over at his wife who was sitting at the rear of the boat, shaking head to toe in fear and grasping the railing like her life depended on it.

“Don’t worry, Princess! Everything is going to be fine! Just hold on, okay?” He called out to her.

She gave a shaky nod, holding the railing even tighter.

The winds blew even harder, causing the rope to one of the sails to come loose.

“Shit!” Todd yelled as he rushed over to the sail. He turned to Paul. “I need your help, man!”

“I’ll be right back, Princess!” Paul called out behind him as he ran from the helm to help Todd.

The storm raged on even harder as the two men struggled to tie up the sail, causing the boat to rock harshly back and forth. The boat rocked so hard, it nearly tipped all the way over, causing Todd to almost fall overboard. Paul was quick to reach for him and were both able to remain aboard.

They finally got the rope tied down tightly enough to keep it secure. Todd was checking the other ropes when Paul looked over to see how his wife was holding up.

Only to find an empty space where she was sitting!

Paul’s stomach dropped. “Oh god NO!” He screamed as he rushed to the other side of the boat. “PRINCESS! BABY!!!”

He turned to Todd, crying out desperately, “SHE CAN’T SWIM!!!”

“Oh my god!” Todd replied filled with remorse for possibly being responsible.

“We’ve got to find her! We’ve got to save her! I can’t lose her!!!” Paul yelled hysterically as he was about to jump in the water.

Todd was quick to pull Paul back. “You can’t go in there! You’ll get sucked underneath! You wouldn’t be able to help her then! We’ll call the coast guard!” He reasoned with him.

Paul knew Todd was right, but he went into hysterics. He hated not being in control, he hated being helpless. And now he’s possibly lost the woman he loved.

With a desperate cry, praying his wife would hear him, he called out.

“LILY!!!!!!!”

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

Iris

Ahead in the distance, far enough to where the boat was barely visible in the storm, I rose up from the water, now stripped down to my underwear, grabbing hold of the buoy as I took a much needed breath. I proceeded to start swimming my way back to the house.

That was the night I died. And someone else was saved.

Someone who was afraid of water, but learned to swim.

Someone who knew there would be one moment where he wouldn’t be watching.

Someone who knew the darkness of the broken lights would show the way.

I swam with haste until I finally reached the shallow water of the beach in front of the house. I stumbled on the shore, my legs were so tired.

Now it’s Go time. Hurry up, we’re on borrowed time!

I rushed across the sand towards the house, but not before I stopped and yanked off my wedding ring. I immediately felt the dead weight lift off not only my hand, but my whole body. I didn’t spare it a second glance before I threw it into the ocean where it’ll be lost in the storm.

I ran into the house and got to work. I grabbed the step stool in the linen closet, I opened the secret compartment that I had hidden behind the towels and pulled out my backpack that was stuffed with clothes and shoes, dry snacks, and the most important thing. $5,000 that I had spent years saving up; from doing odd jobs for the people at the YMCA on the day’s Paul thought I was working at the music store, and also from Mom.

When I left for those two days to move her to the nursing home in New York, she gave me her jewelry to pawn for money at her insistence. She said she didn’t care about the jewelry, she just wanted me to get out of this awful life.

I tucked the money back in the backpack and quickly got dressed. I ran to the bathroom and pulled out the scissors from the drawer. I took one last look at my old self before I grabbed my long hair and cut it above my shoulders.

I flushed the hair down the toilet, making sure it all got sucked down the drain. I then grabbed a towel from the dirty clothes hamper and quickly wiped down all the wet footsteps I tracked through the house, wiping down any and all traces of me.

Satisfied with my finished work, I threw on my new jacket, grabbed my backpack, and ran out the door. Leaving my personal Hell behind without a second glance.

I walked through the ongoing storm to the closest bus station and bought my ticket for the next bus to New York.

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

Present Day

“And here I am. So now you know everything.” I finished, feeling more drained than I did yesterday.

The apartment was silent as Matt was processing everything I just told him.

I couldn’t get a good read on his face that was almost in a stone daze, I had no idea what was going on in that head of his. It was making me nervous the longer I waited.

“Matt?” I gently called to him. “Say something.”

He stayed silent.

The longer he stayed silent, the more nervous I got. I realized that my instinct was right. He was angry with me.

My vision went blurry with the tears that were threatening to shed. I tried to calm down my rapid heartbeat, but I was on the verge of a breakdown.

“I’m so sorry I lied to you.” My voice cracked with the sobs I was suppressing. “You have every right to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have told you, I knew you were going to hate me for this. I was such a fuckin coward for doing what I did.”

I was in hysterics now, I jumped up from the couch and made a beeline to the door, not noticing Matt abruptly snap out of his daze.

“I shouldn’t have put all my stupid problems on you. I’ll stay out of your hair now. I won’t be a burden anymore.” I was sobbing at this point.

I opened the door to leave only to have Matt’s hand appear and quickly shut it. I turned to face him, feeling confused.

His face crumbled into a frown, his eyes shone with unshed tears as he pulled me gently into his arms and held me in a warm and comforting embrace. I was sobbing uncontrollably into his chest. He held me tighter as he rubbed his hand up and down my back, and pressed his lips to the top of my head.

“I don’t hate you.” Matt spoke softly, his lips never lifting slightly from my head. “I could never hate you. Least of all for that. I care about you more than you can ever know.”

I tightened my arms around him as he continued on. “You’re not a burden; you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep.” My pulse was rising with each word he was saying. “I am angry. But not at you. I’m angry at the bastard that was hurting you. He’s a shitty excuse for a man who has never deserved you.”

He pulled back to lean his forehead against mine, making our eyes meet. “And you’re not a coward.” He lifted his hand to caress my cheek and wipe away my tears. “You are the bravest woman I have ever met. I know you’re scared, and you’ve been through what nobody deserves to go through. But I promise you here and now, that I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

My heart soared, it felt as if it was beating at record speed. I have no idea what I did to have this sweet, amazing man in my life, but I thank whatever god is up there for bringing him to me.

I rose my small hands to his angelic face, I lifted my face up and leaned closer to his until our lips met in the purest and sweetest kiss I have ever had in my entire life.

We both let out a sigh of relief, as if we were breathing for the first time. It felt as if a huge weight lifted from my chest and I truly felt free.

I pulled away slightly, our lips just barely touching when I whispered. “You already make me feel safe.”

Matt’s sightless eyes light up to a honey brown, his smile beaming even brighter. He then gave a light smirk as he pointed out. “You haven’t told me everything, you know.”

I frowned, confused at what I could have possibly left out. To which he then finished. “Your name. Your full name.”

I smiled as I replied. “Lily Iris Williams.”

Matt beamed once more. “Lily is beautiful. But I like Iris even more.”

I gave a blushing smile in return. “Me too.”

He ran his fingers through my hair with one hand, and caressed my cheek with the other as he replied, “I’ll protect you.”

He gently pulled me in for another kiss, and I just knew in my heart that everything was going to be okay.

A/N: Annnnd that’s Chapter 8!!! I’m not gonna lie, I got emotional writing this chapter, I actually cried a bit. Iris is my baby, I love her so much! And it kills me to put her through this, but it had to be done.  But yay for super happy ending for the chapter!!! I adore Matt like no other! Thank you so much for reading, I love y’all 3000! There’s plenty more story to tell, so be sure to follow me, reblog and comment, tell me your thoughts on the reveal! I get so excited reading the few comments I get and I would super appreciate more, so please don’t be shy and PLEASE reblog and let this story spread! That’s all for now, hit me up if you wanna be on the taglist.  Until next time...*kiss noise*

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@jobean12-blog @cametobuyplums @tomhollandeu @emilymarie0422 @lullabylike @annavega333

[aithne]

(Illume) Tomika's Letters, 7/28 - 8/6: Rivers of Fire

7/28/1583 Skyhome

Dear Lady Yukiko,

I am glad to hear that your Lord told you about your child in advance of my letter. Of course, the fact that he refuses to say who the father is is still distressing, but I am glad he's to blame for that distress and not I.

Most interesting discussion today. Reiko had gone out last night, hunting with Ito, and came back as we were breaking our fast and discussing what to do next. Her asepect was extraordinarily troubled, and she was still without Ito. I find it odd how used I've gotten to the male kitsune being her (tall, redheaded) shadow, so quickly.

She looked around, and said, "Um, I think we have...a problem."

It transpired that she and Ito had gone out hunting the night before as a sort of graduation exercise; she's been training him in control, so he doesn't automatically kill everyone he sleeps with. But when their prey had fallen asleep, and he'd thought Reiko had fallen asleep as well, something had taken him over. And he went straight to Akemi, one of the people on the other side; more worrisome, she was the mage who was in charge of making another crystal to control the Thrykreen.

He told them everything he knew--which was quite a bit. Including where you and Akechi are, I am afraid. (Not that this is surprising to you, as i know we sent a message as soon as we knew.)

Reiko didn't want us to kill him, of course; though she claimed no particular attachment, I could see her playing with that little white ball that she fiddles with when she's nervous. She'd left Ito on the ship and come back to Skyhome alone, probably to keep us from doing something foolish.

There were arguments for killing him, of course; Reiko, seeing him as a possible solution to her race's current nearly extinct state, argued for taking him to the Demonbane and seeing if he could do anything with the male kitsune. She said, "I don't want to kill him until i know what he's for," and I somewhat had to agree with that.

There followed a long philosophical discussion about the role of immortals in the world, and whether a male kitsune was a good idea at all. The general consensus was no, but the consensus also was that we should take Ito to someone who knew more about these things, that person being Lord Takumi, your father.

It was fascinating to watch the different personalities in the discussion. Hiroshi was arguing for keeping Ito with us; Panda, having an apparent fit of crankiness, didn't care if he lived or died, but said that because he's betrayed us, he can no longer be allowed to run with the retinue; Tadaki couldn't quite see why we didn't just kill him, considering that he's a demon. Reiko was asked why it was that kitsune should be allowed to live, and was unable to come up with an answer other than, "We have always been, and we will always be. That is why! Why allow hengeyokai to live? Why allow humans, for that matter?"

Panda just shook her head and said, "Hengeyokai don't eat people, though."

We kept arguing, and finally Panda, who was short-tempered and seemed fed up with the whole thing, said in response to the kitsune protesting that foxes don't normally kill the people they feed on, "Look. Reiko. You're a nice kitsune. We like you. And how many people have you killed?"

Reiko dropped her gaze. "Ah...many."

"And you're a nice one. As far as I know, most kitsune aren't nice, Reiko. Who's to say this one will be?"

The vixen muttered a response and turned away, her cheeks burning as if Panda's reminder of her past had been a slap.

We elected to keep Ito unconscious with sleep potions and head north. Funitsu needed to go that way anyway, and there may be much to learn from Lord Takumi.

By the way, happy news--Panda is indeed pregnant! We all suspected, what with the craving for picked ginger, but she confirmed it for us today.

North for a week or so, now, to Sapporo. I will convey your greetings to your father when I see him.

Warmest regards, Soshi Tomika

7/4/1583 Sapporo (sailing towards Okushiri-to)

Dear Yukiko,

Fine wind blowing quick the salt spray beckons the gull toward the fire island.

Alas, I am not very much of a poet, but thank you for the copy of Sei Shonagon's work. (Poetry is the one art in which I have never excelled; my father was most disappointed when he found I have little talent for it.) I have been remiss in writing, I know, but there has been very little happening for the last week; Panda has been cranky, the kitsune has been scarce, Funitsu appears to be oblivious to all of my attempts to flirt with him, Haku has been silent, and Tadaki has been restless. The only two who don't seem to be somewhat discontent are Gryphon and the librarian.

Who is, at this point, not much of an archivist. He'd knock stacks of scrolls right over without even thinking!

We pulled into to Sapporo's harbor this morning and requested to see Lord Takumi. He granted us audience. I saw a brush of a white kimono patterned with summer herons, moving quickly out of a doorway on the other side of your audience chamber--your mother, the Lady Takumi, perhaps? I regret to say that I did not see her other than that one flash.

My husband talked for a time with Lord Takumi, discerning that the most likely place for the Scorpion samurai to be is Okushiri-to, an island off the southwest corner of Hokkaido. He also said that Akemi, who is working on making another Thrykreen control crystal, is likely on that island, as it's where he went to make the original control crystal, four hundred years ago.

After that was settled, he asked if there was anything else, and Reiko stepped out from behind Gryphon and said, "I have something. A request."

He fixed her with his piercing glare and said, slowly, "I will listen to you for Lord Soshi's sake. Speak."

I do not know if anyone else noticed her hands shaking. She is indeed terrified of your father, and for good reason. I noticed, for the first time, the similarity in them. It is less anything physical than it is in their eyes. They have the same gaze, unnervingly direct. And they were dressed as mirror images of each other, seemingly on accident; his kimono gold with designs picked out in red thread, marvelously subtle, and her habitual scarlet silk, shot through with yellow and gold.

She explained the situation with Ito, and Panda brought the sleeping kitsune in and laid him on the floor. Lord Takumi said, "Yes, I had a hand in creating him. Why?"

"What is he for? We might kill him, but not before we know what he was made for."

He chuckled, a little. "He was a trap, kitsune. A trap laid for not you but others. Though he seems to have caught you, right enough." Lord Takumi, the man known as the Demonbane, shrugged. "It was a project I was working on with the old Emperor. There are tales of two kitsune who have ten thousand tails apiece; it's probably more like a hundred, but they are the oldest of the kitsune. They are the kitsune gods, more or less. A race never dies until its gods are also dead. He was to find them, bed them, and kill them in their sleep. Then, it would be only a matter of time until the rest of the race was extinguished."

"He has been somehow changed by the other side. I was hoping you could fix that."

"Perhaps. And then what? I cannot release him as he is back to you."

"Then what can you do?" The kitsune and her father were sparring, back and forth. I got the impression that neither was truly winning this match, quite yet.

"I could change his body to match his spirit. He would become a she. But again, I could not release him as he is back to you. I am, after all, sworn to eliminate kitsune."

Panda spoke up at this point. "Change Ito like you changed Reiko. Give him a conscience and the ability to feel guilt."

Reiko said, a bit plaintively, "Death would be kinder, I think. But, if you gave him the choice, if he decided of his own will that he would rather live crippled than die..."

"I can do that. Reiko's humanity was a side effect of my linking my own life force to hers, but I understand how it works now. Give him some humanity, make him into one like Reiko, and change him to a female. If that is your will, samurai. For you and for the Lord Soshi, I'll do this."

The kitsune was glaring at her father. I believe the two of them define the term "dysfunctional relationship".

Panda tilted her head. "Your life force is linked to Reiko's?"

He smiled. "I am very, very old, and I do not die. Did you wonder why? My own immortality is linked to hers. And if she dies, I die, as well. She has the power to end my life in her hands...yet I notice she has not done so yet. And for every year I live, more of her kind die at the hands of my Thrykreen."

(Yukiko, I am sorry, but your father seems to be a very cruel man sometimes. Brilliant in that cruelty, but still cruel. Though the kitsune is a demon, somehow his torment of her seems...excessive.)

He rose and walked over to Ito, looking down on him, frowning. "There is something different about him. We did not bind him like this."

Panda handed him her orb, through which one can see the true nature of things. He took it without comment and peered through it at the male kitsune, muttering to himself. He handed the orb back and said, "I'm going to have to take a day or two to unravel this. Someone has altered him, and I don't know why right now. Lord Soshi mentioned that you have an errand to run; by the time you return, I should have him changed."

We agreed, and then filed out, leaving Ito sleeping on the floor. I saw Reiko look back over her shoulder briefly, shudder, and then skip forward, catching up with Gryphon and putting her hand on his back.

Off to Okushiri-to this afternoon; we should be there tomorrow morning, it's that close.

With much affection, Tomika

8/5/1583 at sea, between Okushiri-to and Sapporo

Dear Yukiko,

Okushiri-to is a foul place, smelling of sulfur. We sent the ship Shrike away for the day, and sent Tadaki in to scout for us.

He came back, saying that there was a tunnel leading into the volcano itself. Down the tunnel was the missing samurai, and what seemed to be a Scorpion general, which meant that these were our group of people. Into the harbor we went, taking over the one ship in the harbor, and then went into the lava tunnels, the heat and the stink increasing as we headed further into the volcano.

On the way in, we passed some decomposing corpses that were lying near the entrance of the tunnel. Funitsu asked me to make one of them talk, and I raised one and made it dance for me. Tadaki, who was standing near me, muttered, "That would be less disturbing if you didn't look so cheerful about it."

The corpse had committed seppuku rather than follow what he considered a dishonorable command--to break a stone seal, behind which was all manner of terrible things. Another of the corpses had broken the seal and had been burned to death by lava flowing from behind it.

We crept down, and saw the general and the Scorpion samurai building a bridge over a river of lava, towards a stone wall that had a large hole broken in it. We estimated that they had another four hours before the bridge was done. We definitely wanted to get there before they did, because that general was controlled by a piece of the twilight spirit, and as such was likely up to no good.

With that in mind, the librarian, Haku, and Funitsu used their swords, the ones so sharp they cut holes in reality itself. We gave them a minute and then went through the doorway ourselves. We didn't know where we'd come out, but instead had to trust the three who were leading us.

The doorway opened into a crystal city, and before us there were two wu jen, both looking a little singed (Tadaki's new favorite spell is Fireball), and one was bleeding from the librarian's sword cut. One was holding an orb that looked much like Tadaki's--only this one was a full orb, rather than the half of one that the Sparrow has. Before more than a couple of minutes passed, they took down both Reiko and the librarian, and the one with the orb, who we found later was named Akemi, took over the Thrykreen we had with us, commanding them to kill us.

And the Thrykreen attacked us. One of the enemy wu jen--Kumiko--had gone down, but we suddenly had our hands full with the mantids. Jeron, the one who leads the rest, reached down and picked up Reiko, and--was feeding her a healing potion? Surely my eyes were mistaken. He is a mantid, why would he help the creature who his race was meant to kill?

The remaining wu jen collapsed, her throat cut--but by who? Tadaki had her orb, sudenly, and the Thrykreen stopped attacking us. The Sparrow looked pleased with himself, and we surmised that he had stopped time once again. And Reiko opened her eyes, looking very surprised indeed to find herself being held by Jeron. He set her down, and she thanked him.

It turns out that he is the only one not bound to the orb, but bound by honor to Tadaki himself. Evidently, under our noses, Reiko and Jeron have been striking up something that is tenatively like a friendship. Her curiosity is often enough to overwhelm her fear, or her common sense. Perhaps both.

Off the two wu jen, we took a number of vials, a cloak, a wand, and the aforementioned orb. My husband decided to "test" the cloak by putting it on the librarian. It didn't seem to do anything to him, at least at first.

Then we had to figure out what to do next. We explored the crystal city a bit while we talked. Funitsu said, "Hm. There seems to be something here--ah, the corridor is an illusion."

And as we each wrestled with the illusion in our minds, the real corridor shimmered into view.

It was lined with what looked to be statues.

There are a few things that touch a primal fear in us. Even without knowing exactly what they were, we knew that they were to be feared. Perhaps a racial memory of ancestors killed by these things. They were huge--eight or nine feet tall, seemingly made out of crystal, and almost as wide across as they were tall--and they lined the corridor looking like nothing so much as sleeping death.

They were Warresh. There were perhaps a thousand of them.

A set of carvings in one of the corridors told the tale. The Dark Son, the sprit who is currently possessing Arenro, was given the Warresh by the gods in the great long ago. He set them with the task of serving humankind. Unfortunately, they escaped control, and went mad, killing countless humans.

The Bright Son then created the Thrykreen, who were tasked with destroying the Warresh. The Thrykreen overwhelmed the Warresh by sheer numbers, slaughtering them by the thousands. In the end, the Dark Son took the thousand who were left and sealed them in here, for a future use.

From what we could tell, there were about a hundred missing. We do not know where they went, not yet.

One of the Warresh woke. The librarian seemed to be speaking to it, and it spoke back. The Thrykreen were keeping a very wary eye on it, but under Tadaki's control, they did not attack, though I could tell that they sincerely wanted to. The librarian seemed to have firm control on them, though they still made us all nervous.

And a plan was born to take back Funitsu's samurai without spilling a drop of blood.

Once more with the sword's door, we appeared on the bridge before General Katsuro. Funitsu was in the lead, and he was backed up by two of the hulking Warresh. He snapped out, "Katsuro, surrender the samurai to me."

The two men stared at each other. Katsuro was a tall, thin man, his face dripping with sweat from the heat. He looked at Funitsu and said, slowly, "Lord...Soshi? I did not hear your brother...."

"I am. And you are ordered to give over your command to me." Calm, implacable, in that moment I came closer to loving Funitsu than I have ever before. The potential for steel in him finally showed itself.

Reluctantly, the general assented, nodding. Then Funitsu said, "Let us drink, then, to victories won."

In his hand was two vials of the true source. He handed one to ghe general, and both drank.

Katsuro shuddered and staggered, almost falling as the spirit fled his body. He opened his eyes and said, "Lord...Funitsu? Where did you come from?"

My husband asked, "Do you remember anything of the last three months?"

"Not much. Flashes. Movement. I--" He shook his head, and straightened. "Lord, what are your orders?"

Funitsu thought. "We'll send you to Kyoto, and from there you can march south. We have a method of travel that is quick, but you may find it strange. You're needed to fortify Miyazaki; the Crab is readying its pincers. I'll tell you what I know, on the way."

We loaded up the three boats we now have--the Benevolent, Shrike, and the third, as yet unnamed, ship--with the samurai, and as I speak we are sailing towards Sapporo. Before we left, we finished the bridge, put back four of the six Warresh that the librarian had with him, and sealed up the crystal city once more, destroying the bridge behind us.

I am glad to be away from the stinking island. I certainly hope we never have reason to go there again.

Much affection, Tomika

8/6/1583 Sapporo

Dear Yukiko,

A few more details today; I am confident we will see you soon, so I am merely writing this down so I can be sure you have a full report. We returned to Sapporo in the middle of the day today, and went to see your father, Lord Takumi. Mostly, we wished to see if Ito had decided that living was worth being afflicted with conscience, regroup, and decide what to do next.

Again, we were ushered into the Phoenix receiving chamber by a pair of unsmiling samurai. The Phoenix Lord said, "Ah, I see you've returned. Victorious, I assume? Good. The kitsune elected to live--I'll have her fetched, now. It seems she was bound magically to someone named Akemi, who died yesterday. Your work, I imagine. That tie needed to still exist, so I bound her to Reiko."

The Lord's visage turned once again severe, and he looked down at Reiko. "I've bound her to you as a daughter. One of these days, kitsune, you may discover what that means."

The former Ito was brought in, walking unbound between a pair of guards. She looked nervous and perhaps the slightest bit awkward.

I am sure you will meet the new kitsune soon enough, Yukiko, but she is exceptionally lovely to look upon. Skin flawless as a white jade cup, hair the same depthless black as Reiko's, falling to the backs of her knees. She was smaller as a female than a male, still almost head taller than Reiko, eyebrows like willow leaves and graceful, long-fingered hands. The only thing that was the same about her was her eyes, the startling light green of spring leaves, looking warily at us.

Reiko went to her, clasping her hands, speaking to her in a low voice. They briefly rested their foreheads together--startling, the intimacy of that one movement--and then returned to the rest of us. Reiko looked up at her father, amber eyes unreadable. "Thank you."

"May you have joy of her," he said, and it sounded not like blessing but condemnation. "After all, I have had such joy of my own kitsune daughter."

At those words, he pushed up the sleeves of his kimono to show Reiko--and us--his arms. Scarred to the point where there was more scar than skin, his arms were a record of pain, written in his skin.

The kitsune lifted her chin, and unexpectedly, shoved up her own sleeves. On them were long cuts, perhaps eight or ten of them--some of them nearly healed, others still raw and scabbed. They were obviously self-inflicted.

Why did none of us know she was doing this to herself? I remember the shock in her eyes when Winter told her of Lord Takumi's habit of cutting himself whenever she killed someone. But it seems unthinkable that she would follow in his footsteps.

Silence had fallen over the chamber, and into the silence Reiko spoke. "I meant to tell you, father. I pay for my own sins." And she turned and walked out. The newly female Ito hesitated and then followed her out.

Awkward silence was left in her wake. She tends to do that. No manners at all, and little sense of propriety. Funitsu picked up the thread of conversation, and after smoothing the incident over, we took our leave.

Tonight, I believe we will see you as we transit the Scorpion samurai to where they will be more useful. I hope, anyway. We all miss you, Yukiko.

Today we have triumphed, but it seems to be a very thin thread indeed.

Warmest affection, Tomika

Quotes:

"And she's sort of cranky, too." "I'm not cranky! I'm NOT CRANKY AT ALL. WHY DO YOU THINK I'M CRANKY?" --Reiko and Panda

"I've been praying to the wrong ancestors. Fuck me!" "That's okay. I forgive you." --Panda and Reiko

"Graham...what are you doing with the cleaver?" "Nothing..." "Don't lie." --Bryan and Graham

"There's a fine line between hostility and worship, sometimes." --Funitsu

"So do you want my considered opinion?" "Sure, Mr. Barbarian." "I think they're trolls." "I never would have thought that." --Hiroshi and Funitsu

"It's not Funitsu's fault that a quarter of a mile is 440 yards!" --Derek

"We figured you were pregnant. All that pickled ginger." --Tadaki (as I recall. The reason this is funny is because Laura, who plays Panda, loves pickled ginger.)

[shardclan]

A draft stirred the Imperator from sleep, and he sat up immediately when he realized he was alone in his bed. Ashlesha was content to nap on his perch, but had a cat-like habit of curling up atop Lavi’s covers in the gray hours before dawn. This morning he stood outside the thrown-open doors, surrounded by the falling snow.

With twitching frills, Lavi swung himself out of bed and cautiously tip-toed toward the threshold. The snow was falling more thickly than he thought, in heavy, obscuring puffs that piled up like feathers on the pink-hued mountainside. It seemed the closer he got to the door, the brighter it was. He had been certain it was dawn from the bed, but at the threshold it looked like it was midday light diffusing through the white clouds.

He hesitated. His tailed swayed and jerked with nerves too freshly awakened to be tempered by what little sense his mind was trying to enforce on the situation. So light was the snow that even his heavy step caused barely a whisper, more like the shuffling of fine sand than the crunch of ice.

Ashlesha threw his hand out, signalling Lavi to come no closer, and Lavi quickly drew back inside the door. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

Ashlesha held his palms, letting snow pile into them even as it stubbornly refused to land in his hair or on his robes. “Temporal storm. The whole mountain is…” He tilted his head, as if to listen to the sky. “I think in the future right now.”

Lavi sighed, and his whole body sagged as he finally relaxed. “Is that all. The way you were acting I thought there was something really wrong.”

“Oh, there is. Or there will be, I guess.”  He gestured down the mountain, and held out his free hand to Lavi. In a storm like this, it was not a matter of flirtation. Ashlesha seemed perfectly grounded, but Lavi could be blown out of sync by a strong gust. “Down there.”

With Lavi unable to fly, his personal lair was on one of the lower cliffs. Short enough for him to survive if he had to make a leap, high enough that no one could just barge in on a whim. It wasn’t hard to make out the strange bodies littered around at the southern shoal, staining the pink sands dark red.

“They’re all dead,” Ashlesha explained. “Wind dragons I think. Them and dozens of longnecks.”

“But who are they?” Lavi’s fist tightened around Ashlesha’s hand. “ Why would they have come here? Why would…”

Lavi squinted and swallowed before he dared to assume, but he recognized the arrows sticking out of the back of a longneck. Their heads and fletchings were smooth and menacing as the fin of an orca rising from the ocean. It was a distinct design hand-made by one of the mercenaries. One who called herself ‘the Sharkmaiden’. Given how many of the bodies had clearly been shot in the back and fallen forward toward the mountain, her claim that they were made to be fired from under shoreline waves was deadly serious.

“Why did we kill them?” he finally rasped.

“Why 'will’ we kill them,” Ashlesha corrected impassively. “It hasn’t happened yet. It’s just the storm.”

Lavi tugged at his beard. There were records of a previous ruler who used temporal storms as a sort of future sight to be ahead of trends in the local economy. It didn’t always work, these futures weren’t set in stone, but sometimes if she got a hold of just the right triggering event she could ride atop the waves of causality.

“You said you can find any magic you’ve encountered. If you gather up some samples from down there, will you be able to find them?”

Ashlesha rolled his jaw thoughtfully side to side, and answered slowly. “Yes… But it might have to wait until the storm passes for me to find the uh…living sources.”

“That’s fine. Go, before it lets up.”

No sooner had Ashlesha dropped down into the snow than he had already turned back. His expression was dour, and he folded his arms tightly into his robes. He took one look at Lavi’s confused expression, and sighed irritably. “No need for a sample. I can feel an astral’s energy all over them. I don’t know what made them come here, but whoever they are, they’ve been exposed to Katasomata’s influence.”

Lavi’s jaw clenched. “Give me your hand. We need to speak with Khatan and get word out to the Smoke Gyre.”

The blind tundra and his mate were not happy to see the imperator. In a storm like this, it was best to sleep and pray that you would return to the time you came from when it was over.

Khatan’s nose wrinkled as he listened to Invigilavi’s telling. His eyes had been destroyed by some accident in his youth, but in exchange he saw the courses of time as they came and went with the storms. “A wrong decision brought that event to pass.”

“One that I made,” Lavi guessed tightly.

“Indeed. I take it you wish to avert their deaths, or you would not have barged in so urgently in this weather.” He lazed back among the pelts and deep furs that lined the den, and stroked thoughtfully at his mane. His eyes rolled rapidly behind his blindfold. “You are well suited to preventing this future. All you need to do is choose the right company.”

Lavi waited, but Khatan said no more. He looked seekingly to the other tundra, Aishling, but he shook his head and busily stoked a small flame under a pot full of dark and aromatic brew.

“Do not ask for more,” he said distractedly. “Khatan is not a seer, and it costs him to look into the storms and see the great web of things that might be. Be on your way, please.”

Outside, Ashlesha took Lavi’s hand even as the guardian stood in a trance of thought. “You’re not thinking of going to see those loonies are you?”

“I am.” The look he gave Ashlesha could have sent an entire nursery of mirror pups scurrying to bed. “And you are not coming.”

“Lavi–!”

“Not up for discussion. The goal is to get the astrals back to the right plane, not to go to war.”

“Please,” Ashlesha scoffed, the stars inside his robe flaring with dangerous light. “There wouldn’t be a war if you called on me.”

“And that’s why you will stay here. We will get this sorted using reason, not murder.”

Hours later, under a clear sky, Invigilavi paced in front of the Starwood Portal while a ridgeback lounged on the shore, well away from the high concentration of Arcane magic. He was eager for help to come, but his mind was preoccupied with what needed to happen after it did.

With whether or not the right decision was being made.  

Ashlesha more or less knew where the astral was, and the Smoke Gyre knew the area well enough to know where to begin an information gathering run for a large group of longnecks living peacefully with dragons. Finding them wasn’t the problem. It was how to approach them.

They were clearly hostile, or would become hostile if Lavi wasn’t careful. He had already talked himself out of involving any of the Focal Point longnecks. They had been among the clan’s first beastclan allies and had stayed so since the days of Clan Shard. They might very well have been valuable allies on this mission, but the last thing he wanted was to bring them into conflict and potentially get one of them killed.

The goal was to get the astrals back to their rightful plane. Not to kill others, or even be at odds with them. He was willing to go see this clan personally if it would solve things peacefully(as much as Ashlesha didn’t approve and outright hated that he had been forced to stay behind even if it was precisely because of the combination of his excessive protectiveness of Lavi and his nonchalance about the lives of other people, which could not have been a worse choice given the circumstances).

Of course, Lavi had not spent all of his youth paranoid just to grow up into the kind of drake that took stupid risks. Someone had to come with him. But knowing that and knowing who should be at his side were two entirely different matters. So he had sent word to the one person he trusted to know.

The portal hummed, and the end of a long, sturdy cane poked through. Lavi was quick to offer his arm to the slender yet imposing figured that followed.

“I didn’t think you’d come personally,” he remarked with amazement.

Azricai breathed deep of the Arcane air. The last time she had been in the Isles, it was to watch two of the most important people in her life pass beyond the Obervatory gates into exaltation. But the Isles were still where she grew up, and the old, nostalgic scent of magic and sea salt left her eyes and heart clear.

“I became the Lady Judge after many eons as Head Mediator,” she reminded, allowing herself to lean on Lavi’s outstretched hand. “And this situation sounds like it requires very attentive mediation.”

Lavi crouched subconsciously; though he wasn’t a child anymore it disturbed him to look down at her. “I appreciate having a skydancer, especially you, come with me, but are you sure? I’m not much of a fighter and your leg…”

“Are you worried for me because of this old wound or because I raised you?” Her antenna lifted and filled with his warmth and genuine concern even as his fins twisted in embarrassment. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t soften to him. “You are my heart’s blood, Invigilavi. But we are servants right now, of our queen and clan, and of the single purpose of restoring the Circle.”

It would have been a lie to say her words didn’t hurt. But that focus on giving all that she was to her clan was very much how he remembered her. He easily lifted her onto his shoulder to make for the ridgeback. “Maleficent will fly us to the trading post close to our destination, since I can’t. We’ll meet the Gyre there and hear his report. Based on what he says…we can decide the best approach.”

Azircai’s antennae swayed. She looked down at Lavi with gentle, apologetic eyes, but she bit her tongue against any indiscretion. There would be time later for him to be her son.

The wind off the Windchime Flats was bitter. The change in the vortex had brought ash from the fire territories into the usually crisp and clean air. In true wind dragon fashion, the merchants didn’t look much bothered by it. If anything, they seemed quite merry under their umbrellas.

“Don’t interact with the merchants too much,” Lavi warned Maleficent in hushed tones. “One of the wind astrals is also supposed to be in this area and they like to mimic the local culture.”

The shadowborn ridgeback squinted her sole eye suspiciously over the bazaar and nodded. “I think I’ll make my way a bit further east into Ashfall proper if you don’t mind.”

“Please,” said Azricai. “The Gyre will find you when and if we need you.”

They made their way to the local crossroads, where the Gyre awaited them. In the open and curious lands of the Windsinger, the wildclaw had abandoned all pretense of invisibility or camoglage and gone for blending in with the crowd. He could have been anyone at all as he chewed on a skewer of some local cuisine and lounged with his nose in a book.

“Longneck Reach,” he said over a mouthful, as if he was reading aloud. “Up on the Zephyr Steppes. Stunning view, peaceful beastclans, fascinating cave system. Ragtag bunch of everybodies all thrown together into one very protective lair living side by side with the local Longnecks.” He smiled up at Azricai. “Not unlike a certain clan of Arcanites back in the day.”

“Common experience makes good mediation,” Azricai mused hopefully. “Were you able to make contact?”

“More or less. I put up some new posters about the astrals. There was a mirror. Female. Face like I’d taken a crap on her favorite bamboo stalk.”  He took another bite from his skewer and lazily flipped a page. “When I remarked on the wind astral in the area, it got quite a rise out of her hackles, yet she muttered something quite dismissive. Disproportionately dismissive, you might say. I thought it better to not push the subject.”

Azricai and Lavi shared a look.

“We’re going to meet with them. Peacefully.”

The Smoke Gyre looked up at them both, and with a shake of his head went back to his book. “As you ask. For the clan’s sake, come back safe.”

[penandinked]

A Spot Across

[To be read aloud in your very best pirate’s voice]

I am quite ripened sir,

well spoiled indeed,

But not for excess of good fortune, no no, but by these eternities at sea.

I am,

We,

Well, many of us sir. Grow sickened by our squalid surroundings.

These salted planks, these paltry deeds.

They drive us mad sir.

And what madness I wouldn’t take were it to mean a new delusion.

I see now the benefits of magical thinking for the urchins and beggars.

It seems now to be of more suspicion were you of sound mind in wandering poverty.

And I cannot say how much comfort it would bring me to fall dead on dry earth.

And, as a matter of fact, in this very moment I fear I might have already gone into the darkness and will find this life to be a cruel jest from himself, the very devil.

For hell is me when I am no longer sleeping.

[dannyphantomrpg]

Visual Aid: 10 Years Later, Part 3

Hey, Hart fans! Ok, in Danny Phantom 10 Years Later, Part 1, we did the three main characters: Danny, Sam and Tucker. Danny Phantom 10 Years Later, Part 2, we did Jack, Maddie, Jazz, and Dani Fenton, the girl Danny Phantom. Now, Danny Phantom 10 Years Later, Part 3. It's time - you wanted it - here we go, into the Ghost Zone. Check it out.

Ok, everyone's been asking for this, you wanted to see this ghost ten years later, so I can't let you down. Here we go, it's The Box Ghost!

Box Ghost: Ha ha! I am The Box Ghost! You can not hold me within the confines of a cylindrical container!

Right, with Box Ghost, I'm just gonna draw him normal here. The Box Ghost is one of my favorite ghosts we've ever done on Danny Phantom. We had to open up the show with Danny chasing a ghost before we got to the main story, and I was like, Danny chases a ghost into a warehouse and so I was like, ok, what can we call this ghost? How 'bout we call him The Box Ghost, and he haunts boxes? And it became such a huge fan sensation, that we had to keep doing The Box Ghost over and over again. So, creating this guy was really a lot of fun. I figured - and again, we don't do dead guys or girls on Danny phantom. These are not the ghosts of dead people - he's just a box ghost. He's a ghost that likes boxes and dresses like the workers down on the docks. So, he's a ghost who likes to dress like the workers of the places that he hangs out. So that's who The Box Ghost is, and he's dressed like, you know, a dock worker. So this is The Box Ghost - this is his normal version.

Ok, now, let's take The Box Ghost and age him up a little bit. This is, um... You know, I figure with The Box Ghost, we gotta make him look more serious too - I think this is a more serious take on Danny Phantom as we move forward ten years later. So I'm just gonna, you know, make him look even more like a dock worker - just an aged guy who's been down by the salt water a lot more. He's been working really hard, he's got a beard now, there's some gray in his beard. His, um, outfit's a lot more realistic. We're gonna add more wrinkles. I'm - I'mma try, tryin' to do a little bit more of an actual comic book style for the Danny Phantom 10 Years Later series. We're gonna try to make it a little bit more serious looking. So this is The Box Ghost, you know, with some boxes hovering around him, as if he were ten years older.

Ok, so for another version of The Box Ghost, just for the heck of it, I had to do The Box Ghost as if he were, you know, I guess, taking his persona super literally, and, you know, making himself out of actual boxes. *laughs* So he was a - this I thought would be a lot of fun doing The Box Ghost as if he were an actual box ghost made of boxes, you know, squares and, um, in rectangles and stuff like that. 'Cause I think, would be kinda cool about this, I think his body could transform. We were gonna redo this show, The Bo- The Box Ghost would be able to transform his body and, and make it very cube like and just maybe able to expand it like a Transformer so he could turn into, like, you know, a tall box ghost or a small box ghost or just kind of shape his body like a robot. So this is The Box Ghost, made from actual boxes.

And here is another version of The Box Ghost. I thought this would be kind of cool, kind of a haunting picture where - because The Box Ghost is kind of a comedic ghost, he's very funny, and, um, you know, he's got kind of a silly, dopey personality. But I wanted to draw a version where he was really, you know, a lot more serious. As if he was coming out of the water. He's been in the water for years and years and now he has seaweed draped over his head and he, you know, is kind of coming out of a kelp bed and putting his hand toward you like he's going to put you in one of his boxes. What is, what it is in the boxes? And there's always boxes hovering around him with stuff. It'd be kind of a cool weapon he could have. He could always have boxes hovering around him, but there's stuff in the boxes. Like, what's in there? There could be weapons in the box, like old, ancient, you know, like, nautical weapons, like hooks and anchors and chains and things. One could have weird sea creatures in it. I think that'd be a very cool power for The Box Ghost is to have these boxes just loaded with crazy stuff. So this is The Box Ghost coming out of the -haunted- waters.

All right, now, the final version of The Box Ghost, what would he look like? I mean, I, I just thought, let's just keep him as serious as possible. Let's keep him as, uh... you know, I guess, I won't use the word "deadly" but just as, as, as menacing as possible. Like, this guy, this guy is serious ten years later. He's lost one hand, he's got a hook for a hand. He's uh, coming out of the water. He's covered in seaweed, you know. He's, he's sort of more menacing. There's probably a comedic side to him but I think the key word here is he's gotten a lot more serious about what boxes are all about. *laugh* And I think this would be a very cool version of The Box Ghost, ten years later.

Ok, done with The Box Ghost for now, you might see him again some time. We're going to move on to another one of your all-time favorite ghosts, I get endless requests about this ghost, and there's some amazing cosplay of this ghost out there - you should check it out, out there in the world, all the Comic Cons and stuff. This is your favorite ghost, you remember her name: Ember.

Ok, let's do the normal version of Ember first, let's draw a normal, regular version of Ember. And the great thing about Ember, we really wanted to have a music ghost in the show because Danny's a teenager, all of his friends are teenagers, teenagers love music, hence the music ghost, Ember. Had to have that. So, drawing Ember was a blast, and designing her was great. Putting the makeup on her face, making her outfit really cool, giving her a killer guitar, and this is really just the basic version of Ember that everybody loves. When we did Ember as a music ghost, we had to give her a killer song. I, I with my, my story editor at the time, we, uh, wrote this great, great song "Ember: You Will Remember My Name" and, um, we sat there, wrote it and didn't think it would really be that big of a deal. It was a song to go into the show, and the response to that song is so awesome, and I'm so thrilled you guys like it. I really wish Nickelodeon would release that song on some kind of an album or something, they never have. I don't know what their deal with with the *laugh* Danny Phantom, you think they'd take more advantage of it, but, uh, they don't. And they own the rights to it, but you guys think I should get the rights back, let me know in the comments section below. I think I should give that a shot, I bet they would want quite a pretty penny for Danny Phantom, but anyway, uh, Ember's a blast, and here she is in her normal version.

All right, so, I'm um, gonna age up Ember ten years, and I think, maybe the rock star life has taken its toll on Ember. I think, uh, all the touring, all the bad food, all the excess that a rock star goes through. I think Ember probably let herself go a little bit. It's just one version, calm down, might not be the final version. But, uh, I think Ember's kind of let herself go a little bit. She's still out there rocking, but as you get older it's harder for you to, you know, metabolize your food, you don't burn off things as well, you don't stay as thin as you used to. It's really, believe me - to look this amazing like I look - Ha ha ha! - um, it takes a lot of work *laugh* so, I think Ember has been hitting the guitar a lot but maybe not hitting the gym as much. And this design of Ember is very reflective of how we made her look in The Ultimate Enemy episode of Danny Phantom, where Danny goes into the ghost into the future and meet future Ember. So this is basically that same design, a little bit tweaked differently. But this is one possible Ember from ten years later.

Ok, here's another version that I really like. And when I'm sitting here, trying to come up with ideas for ghosts, how do you age up ghosts ten years later? Because they're ghosts. They don't really have to age. You don't have to age them up at all, but for this video, we're aging them up, of course. So I'm thinking, what could Ember have done to herself to make her look older. Well, what's, what happens to Ember? I think you would probably get very bored, uh, if you live forever as a ghost. So I think, in this version, she probably has learned how to play more instruments than the guitar. Like, she probably learned how to play all kinds of stuff, you know, the drums, a little percussion, and I think, maybe she needs more arms *laugh* so I thought I'd make her the ultimate one-woman band. She, uh, is basically playing the guitar, the tram, uh, the tambourine, the drums. Uh, if I had room in this drawing, she'd be playing the piano, probably playing the base, but I think Ember with a ton of arms. And just being able to be the band all by herself would be awesome and maybe I'll put another head on her - who knows? Here's another version of Ember, ten years later.

Ok, and one other cool version of Ember I really wanted to do, um, again as you're sitting here thinking, like, "How do you age up these characters? What can you make them do? What is different about them? Why would anybody want to see them ten years later?" And I thought, you know what? Ember has played so much music in her existence, she's played so many tunes, she written so many melodies, I think that doing that in the Ghost Zone, I think somehow in the Ghost Zone, your body sort of becomes what you are? And I figure she's music and I think in this version she just becomes music - she is music. And so, instead of using instruments, she can now just make music with her movement. She just moves and makes music. She, her hair can whip though the air and make a sound. She can move her arms and make sounds. I think just, her whole body instead of having a ghost tail turns into, like, uh, a music chart, and just follows her along in the Ghost Zone. You know, just hear sounds when she comes, you hear like music when she comes. Some of it could be deadly, some of it could be, you know, melodic, kind of hypnotic - hypnotize you into doing whatever he wants you to do. That's an extremely cool power to have. And I would love to see this version of Ember, ten years later. What do you think?

And, just for the heck of it, here is another version of Ember, but, and that I drew. Just aging her up, um, you know, the Danny Phantom characters have a very, uh, uh, distinct look. Either they have a real curve in their face or real sharp angles. I gave her a more comic book, realistic face in this version. I just wanted to see what she would look like as a real woman and uh, aging her up and kind of trying to make her look a little bit like the voice actress who played her, Tara Strong. And sort of giving her some of Tara's features, and so this is a version of Ember, just looking kind of human, very comic book-y. I think I could see this as a painting or this even looks like a cosplayer that I saw online. So here's Ember, another version, ten years later.

All right, so Ember. What do you do with Ember ten years later? What's the final version you can come up with? I think, what's really cool about this version, is I went a little more punk rock with her. I just, you know, shaved the sides of her head. I had her shave a Danny Phantom logo into the side of her head, you know Maybe, maybe it's even a tattoo. Just, I think she's obsessed with Danny Phantom. I think she's, you know, turned her guitar into a Danny Phantom logo as well, and just keeps rocking out, and just trying to either mess with Danny's - I think she might be secretly in love with him, but won't admit it. And *laugh* uh, uh, you know, just, Ember's got to remain dangerous. She's gotta remain edgy, and I think this version of Ember is super cool. And this is Ember, ten years later.

One of my other favorite ghosts from Danny Phantom's world, is the ghost hunter himself: Skulker. And Skulker is just a blast. Uh, just what he does - uh, hunting other ghosts to collect them is great. Cause it always makes him a nemesis, not just to humans, but to other ghosts as well. And I love his design, I love everything about him, and I'm just gonna draw his normal version here, the version that we all have seen over the years. But I just love this version of Skulker because he's just great. And, um, you know though, and I really dig the flaming hair, uh, the flaming beard just, the uh, the plasma that just streams out of his body and catches fire just because, you know. And then it's, it's his hunter's mane, as his hunter's, as you know, his hunters look. I love the fact that he, he kind of looks like and animal and a human and a ghost and I, I just dig Skulker a lot. So this is Skulker's normal version, let's see what he looks like ten years later.

Ok, now we're going to do Skulker ten years later, and the challenge is, again, he's a ghost, how do you age him up? But I think, for the purposes of this video, we have to age them up. So I'm just gonna, uh, do Skulker. Cause he strikes me - kind of his type of character - he strikes me as kind of a biker. Like, you know, he's uh, he's, I-I think this dude would totally ride a motorcycle. I think he even did in one episode, I can't remember. I think he might have ridden a motorcycle, but if not, we're gonna make him ride a motorcycle. So I think to start off, we'll just draw him very haggard from all the years of hunting. I think the years of hunting have taken a toll on him. I think his hair is shorter. I think his outfit gets a little more trim and slim. I think his body has become more, just like more ruff and more hewn, just really like, like more muscular, and I think he looks more human-like. We're gonna make him look more comic book-like for the Ten Years Later version, and so I just think just giving him some more ruff looking clothes, putting this cool chain in his hand. I think this looks really cool. Giving his face more of a skull-type of a look, um, is one definite way to go. So here's one version of Skulker ten years later.

Ok, now I'm just drawing with a Sharpie here, and this all kind of just coming out of my head as I go. I'm not really doing any rough sketches here, which if kind of a challenge for any artist. I encourage you to do that yourself. But, um, drawing Skulker from the top of my head, having never drawn this design before, I really thought, let's put him on a motorcycle. I really think it'd be cool to put him on a motorcycle because we're gonna stick with that biker theme. And, uh, I just sort of drawing him here, just making, again, like an old biker dude, you know, that got - still got the flaming hair, the flaming beard - but I think, man, he has just stripped it down and, uh, a lot of the bulky armor's gone. A lot of the chains are gone. I think he's just out there on this bike, I think this bike would have a ton of powers. I think it's powered by the same green plasma flame that powers him internally, and I think, um, just like Ghost Rider from the Marvel comics, I think the - I think Skulker would make a very cool compatriot or compadre for Ghost Rider. I think we're just gonna keep that Ghost Rider theme going with Skulker, and make him look as Ghost Rider as possible. So here's another version of Skulker, ten years later. And, again, I'm just drawing with a Sharpie, so this isn't as perfect as I want it to be. But, uh, hopefully, you guys can give me a break on this one.

Ok, and then just going for it here, taking the, um, again drawing with a Sharpie, just, this is just coming out of me head, no rough sketch at all. Another version of Skulker Ten Years Later is keeping him as skeletal as possible, losing a lot of his musculature and just taking it down to the bare skeleton underneath. Make him look a lot more fierce, a lot more evil, just a lot more enraged and just keeping it to that, you know, that enraged ghost-y biker sort of, uh, angry, much more serious version of Skulker. Here's another version ten years later.

All right now, Skulker. Again, I just see this dude as a biker. I see him as a Ghost Rider type of guy, who has just gotten more beat up as the years have gone by. Like he's lost an eye, his eye's sewn shut. Uh, I kind of think about hooks this time around. He's got, like, this hook for a weapon or whatever sharp thing he can find that will just, uh, stick into things. I think he grabbed a ghost by the hook. Hooks him, and drags him around the Ghost Zone with his bike. And I think his beard has grown out, and he's just looking tougher and meaner, and you don't want to mess with this version of Skulker ten years later.

Ok. Dark. Danny. Everybody loves Dark Danny. I love Dark Danny since we did the episode, The Ultimate Enemy, back in 2005, voiced by the great Eric Roberts. Uh, it's, uh, one possible future version of Danny Phantom, who's turned evil. So here's Dark Danny. I'm just gonna draw Dark Danny everybody, the way everybody remembers him. Um, just, uh, basically Danny Phantom if he had turned evil in the future. I love his design, I love his hair - the flaming hair, the ponytail, the, the Batman cape *laugh* the, uh, the D in the front. Just to me, it's a very killer character design, and just really reflective of how cool the show was eventually becoming, Danny Phantom. And, uh, I know it, Danny - Dark Danny gets a huge response in any Comic Con I go to, there's a lot of cosplay I see. And this is Dark Danny in his normal version. Now, let's see what he looks like ten years later.

Ok, the ultimate challenge for the ultimate enemy. What does Dark Danny look like ten years later? Like I said, he's a ghost, Ember's a ghost, they're all ghosts! They don't have to age if they don't want to! But, like I said, we have to age them up for this video. So I think, again, Dark Danny becomes even darker. He becomes an even darker version of himself. I think he's, because he's been trapped in the Fenton Thermos for years, for at least ten years. Let's just assume that, because he was trapped in the, the Fenton Thermos at the end of The Ultimate Enemy, so I think he's finally gotten out of the Fenton Thermos, but anyone being in that type of a confined space for that long will probably go kind of crazy, so I think Dark Danny has really kind of gone off the deep end and become the ultimate dark ghost. And so here's just one version of, uh, Dark Danny ten years later. Just becoming completely the embodiment of all that is dark in the Danny Phantom universe. I mean he almost looks like a shadow of his former self. So I think is is, like, maybe a -shadow- of Dark Danny and maybe, maybe he can split into many shadows, multiple shadows. Just like Johnny 13's Shadow character that follows him around. I think this Dark Danny has that shadow power times, you know, 200. So, this is a very formidable foe that Danny Phantom ten years later will have to deal with, at some point.

And here's a very cool version of Dark Danny that I really was excited to do. Once I started doing it, it got me really excited. I thought I had just seen the Infinity War trailer, *laugh* and I thought Thanos would make a great design for Dark Danny, so I kind of combined a little bit of Dark Danny with a little bit of Thanos. And, um, thought that would be great, just real bulky, real big, just the big chin, the angry eyes. Uh, Dark Danny has pupils, but this Dark Danny does not. He's got the white eyes which make them look even more deadly like Batman, or Deadpool! Maybe, maybe Batman. So, anyway, um, just mixing Thanos with Dark Danny was a lot of fun. I think it makes it look a lot more scary and I think Danny Phantom ten years later would have his hands full with this version of Dark Danny, ten years later.

And one more fun version of Dark Danny, because he's been trapped in the Fenton Thermos for so long, I think instead of breaking out of the Fenton Thermos, I think, in order to get out of the Fenton Thermos, he merged with the Fenton Thermos, and sort of merged his body into his ghost plasma form and then into a Fenton Thermos mechanical form. So I think this version of Dark Danny is kind of Cyborg from Justice League where he's part machine, part ghost, part electronic, part, you know, plasma. Almost like a Technus version of Dark Danny. This is Dark Danny, merged with the Fenton Thermos, electronic plasma power to the max.

Now, Dark Danny, there's a lot of options here, like I said earlier, and I'm just gonna go way dark with him. I think by this time, he's been trapped in the Fenton Thermos for ten years, he just went a little insane. I think he lost his pupils in his eyes. *laugh* You know the white eyes always make someone look a little more, uh, menacing, or you know, just, uh, dark. I think he's uh, gone all black with the theme in his costume. The white gloves, the white face, sort of like the Joker, almost. And this dude has gone full on evil. He is an evil being, and I think Danny Phantom ten years later will have his hands full with Dark Danny ten years later.

All right guys, Danny Phantom, Ten Years Later, Part Three. Did you guys enjoy that?

[dfroza]

To the lost & found:

Today’s reading from the book of Luke with chapter 15:

[The Story of the Lost Sheep]

By this time a lot of men and women of doubtful reputation were hanging around Jesus, listening intently. The Pharisees and religion scholars were not pleased, not at all pleased. They growled, “He takes in sinners and eats meals with them, treating them like old friends.” Their grumbling triggered this story.

“Suppose one of you had a hundred sheep and lost one. Wouldn’t you leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the lost one until you found it? When found, you can be sure you would put it across your shoulders, rejoicing, and when you got home call in your friends and neighbors, saying, ‘Celebrate with me! I’ve found my lost sheep!’ Count on it—there’s more joy in heaven over one sinner’s rescued life than over ninety-nine good people in no need of rescue.

[The Story of the Lost Coin]

“Or imagine a woman who has ten coins and loses one. Won’t she light a lamp and scour the house, looking in every nook and cranny until she finds it? And when she finds it you can be sure she’ll call her friends and neighbors: ‘Celebrate with me! I found my lost coin!’ Count on it—that’s the kind of party God’s angels throw every time one lost soul turns to God.”

[The Story of the Lost Son]

Then he said, “There was once a man who had two sons. The younger said to his father, ‘Father, I want right now what’s coming to me.’

“So the father divided the property between them. It wasn’t long before the younger son packed his bags and left for a distant country. There, undisciplined and dissipated, he wasted everything he had. After he had gone through all his money, there was a bad famine all through that country and he began to hurt. He signed on with a citizen there who assigned him to his fields to slop the pigs. He was so hungry he would have eaten the corncobs in the pig slop, but no one would give him any.

“That brought him to his senses. He said, ‘All those farmhands working for my father sit down to three meals a day, and here I am starving to death. I’m going back to my father. I’ll say to him, Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son. Take me on as a hired hand.’ He got right up and went home to his father.

“When he was still a long way off, his father saw him. His heart pounding, he ran out, embraced him, and kissed him. The son started his speech: ‘Father, I’ve sinned against God, I’ve sinned before you; I don’t deserve to be called your son ever again.’

“But the father wasn’t listening. He was calling to the servants, ‘Quick. Bring a clean set of clothes and dress him. Put the family ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Then get a grain-fed heifer and roast it. We’re going to feast! We’re going to have a wonderful time! My son is here—given up for dead and now alive! Given up for lost and now found!’ And they began to have a wonderful time.

“All this time his older son was out in the field. When the day’s work was done he came in. As he approached the house, he heard the music and dancing. Calling over one of the houseboys, he asked what was going on. He told him, ‘Your brother came home. Your father has ordered a feast—barbecued beef!—because he has him home safe and sound.’

“The older brother stalked off in an angry sulk and refused to join in. His father came out and tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. The son said, ‘Look how many years I’ve stayed here serving you, never giving you one moment of grief, but have you ever thrown a party for me and my friends? Then this son of yours who has thrown away your money on whores shows up and you go all out with a feast!’

“His father said, ‘Son, you don’t understand. You’re with me all the time, and everything that is mine is yours—but this is a wonderful time, and we had to celebrate. This brother of yours was dead, and he’s alive! He was lost, and he’s found!’”

The Book of Luke, Chapter 15 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 12th chapter of Joshua that documents the kings the Israelites had engaged in war with:

[The Defeated Kings]

These are the kings that the People of Israel defeated and whose land they took on the east of the Jordan, from the Arnon Gorge to Mount Hermon, with the whole eastern side of the Arabah Valley.

Sihon king of the Amorites, who reigned from Heshbon: His rule extended from Aroer, which sits at the edge of the Arnon Gorge, from the middle of the gorge and over half of Gilead to the Gorge of the Jabbok River, which is the border of the Ammonites. His rule included the eastern Arabah Valley from the Sea of Kinnereth to the Arabah Sea (the Salt Sea), eastward toward Beth Jeshimoth and southward to the slopes of Pisgah.

And Og king of Bashan, one of the last of the Rephaim who reigned from Ashtaroth and Edrei: His rule extended from Mount Hermon and Salecah over the whole of Bashan to the border of the Geshurites and the Maacathites (the other half of Gilead) to the border of Sihon king of Heshbon.

Moses the servant of God and the People of Israel defeated them. And Moses the servant of God gave this land as an inheritance to the Reubenites, the Gadites, and half of the tribe of Manasseh.

And these are the kings of the land that Joshua and the People of Israel defeated in the country west of the Jordan, from Baal Gad in the Valley of Lebanon south to Mount Halak, which towers over Seir. Joshua gave this land to the tribes of Israel as a possession, according to their divisions: lands in the mountains, the western foothills, and the Arabah Valley, on the slopes, and in the wilderness and the Negev desert (lands on which Hittites, Amorites and Canaanites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites had lived). The kings were:

The king of Jericho one

The king of Ai (near Bethel) one

The king of Jerusalem one

The king of Hebron one

The king of Jarmuth one

The king of Lachish one

The king of Eglon one

The king of Gezer one

The king of Debir one

The king of Geder one

The king of Hormah one

The king of Arad one

The king of Libnah one

The king of Adullam one

The king of Makkedah one

The king of Bethel one

The king of Tappuah one

The king of Hepher one

The king of Aphek one

The king of Lasharon one

The king of Madon one

The king of Hazor one

The king of Shimron Meron one

The king of Acshaph one

The king of Taanach one

The king of Megiddo one

The king of Kedesh one

The king of Jokneam in Carmel one

The king of Dor (Naphoth Dor) one

The king of Goyim in Gilgal one

The king of Tirzah one

A total of thirty-one kings.

The Book of Joshua, Chapter 12 (The Message)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, August 13 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

One of the greatest mistakes is to forget who you really are and your beloved status before the LORD... "Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine" (Isa. 43:1). Forgetting who you are leads to forgetting who the LORD is, just as forgetting who the LORD is leads to forgetting who you are...

The Torah declares: "You are children of the LORD your God (בָּנִים אַתֶּם לַיהוָה אֱלהֵיכֶם). You shall not cut yourselves for the dead” (Deut. 14:1). In this verse, Moses reminds the people that they are children of the Eternal (יהוה) and therefore they were not to mourn for the dead like those without hope of life beyond the grave... Our God, the Father of Israel, is the Source of Life, and even if our earthly fathers die, we will never be orphans, because the LORD, the Everlasting God who is the "God of the spirits of all flesh" (אֱלהֵי הָרוּחת לְכָל־בָּשָׂר), always watches over us: "He will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps you will not slumber" (Psalm 121:3). But if we forget who we are, if we lose sight of our place in the Heavenly Father's heart, then we are likely to fall into a state of excessive and self-destructive mourning over the losses we experience in this world. In the most tragic cases, this can lead to the darkness of unremedied despair, "living among the tombs, crying out and cutting himself with stones" (Mark 5:5). On the other hand, if remember our place at the Father's table as his children, if we take hold that we are beloved of God - his very own "treasured people" - then we will regard the difficulties we encounter in this world as a test of faith intended for our good (Deut. 8:3,16, Jer. 29:11).

God regards us as his beloved children, and therefore we trust him as a child trusts his father. We may not always understand all that our father does, but we have complete faith in his good will toward us, even in the face of death itself. We do not engage in self-destructive mourning, then, because we are treasured by God and we trust in God’s promises for eternal life (John 11:25). Because of this, Jewish halachah (legal custom) puts limits to grieving practices. Excessive mourning, interminable gloom, self-destructive anger, or the refusal to let go of our fear may indicate a lack of faith in God’s care as our Father. Remember where it says "God works all things together for good," for that includes even physical death... Let us therefore "hope to the LORD (קַוֵּה אֶל־יְהוָה); be strong and strengthen our heart; and (again) let us hope to the LORD" (Psalm 27:14). [Hebrew for Christians]

Here is the Hebrew audio for Isaiah 43:1 -

https://hebrew4christians.com/Blessings/Blessing_Cards/isa43-1b-jjp.mp3

For more on the topic please see:

https://hebrew4christians.com/Scripture/Parashah/Summaries/Re_eh/Segulah/segulah.html

8.12.20 • Facebook

We are responsible to walk in truth and to reject what is false (1 John 4:6). This implies that we have a moral and spiritual duty to think clearly and not to abuse our minds (Phil. 4:8; Rom. 12:2). The LORD our God will help us to do this, as Yeshua said: "I will ask the Father, and he will give you a Helper (παράκλητος, someone "called to one's side"), to be with you forever, even the Spirit of Truth (רוּחַ הָאֱמֶת), whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him" (John 14:16-17). The Spirit of Truth helps us "discern what is the will of God, what is good, acceptable, and perfect" (Rom. 12:2) and empowers us to take “every thought captive” to the reality of the Divine Presence (2 Cor. 10:4-5). Truth is connected to memory - both in our personal histories as well as the history of God's redemptive actions performed on our behalf. Hence we are constantly commanded to remember what God has done for us and to "diligently repeat" the truth to our children (Deut. 6:4-9). Similarly, the Spirit of Truth brings to remembrance the words of Yeshua to our hearts (John 14:26).

Followers of Yeshua are commanded to love the truth and to think clearly about their faith. The ministry of reconciliation itself is defined as “the word of truth, by the power of God, through weapons of righteousness” (2 Cor. 6:7). Indeed, the word of truth (τὸν λόγον τῆς ἀληθείας) is a synonym for the “gospel of salvation” itself (Eph. 1:13; Col. 1:5; James 1:18). We are saved by Yeshua, who is the “way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). God commands all people to believe this truth (Acts 17:30-31; 1 Tim. 2:4). People perish because “they refuse to love the truth and so be saved” (2 Thess. 2:10-12). Therefore we see that the issue of truth is central to salvation itself....

Genuine teshuvah (repentance) implies that we will change our thinking in order to be transformed by God's truth. The follower of Messiah “cannot do anything against the truth, but only for the truth” (2 Cor. 13:8). During this Season of Teshuvah, may God help us all to think clearly and to turn our thoughts to Him. May He protect us from the vanity of a darkened mind and from all distractions that attempt to seduce us away from Him. May the LORD give us the purity of heart to know and do His will in the truth. Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

8.12.20 • Facebook

[alnilam-fr]

Charon, Katta, and Tennessee.

Bio commissions for NotQuiteToxic- I’m doing these 4-5 paragraph bios for 50g each, if anyone else is interested.

Charon

When the end that is not an end arrives, the sky will burn black and rivers will turn to darkness, the tide red and pregnant with salt. I will stand at the right hand of entropy, Charon says, his mouth dripping with ink. The night that is not a night is welcoming in its hunger.

Until then, the darkness of his wings is filled with sharp mouths and smokey golden eyes, asymmetrical and teeming. Charon smiles sweetly with glass-shard teeth, and his voice carries the flavor of ash and of rotting pomegranate. The darkness will ease your passing. You ever dream of being unmade, of the release of turning to a shadow on the sea?

This is his mission, then: to smile, and hide the black-hole hunger growing within his ribs, and say, have you heard? The night that is not a night comes over the horizon, and be glad, glad, glad. Smile, and hide the fact that his tongue is heavy with ink and the marrow has frozen in his bones, cold and golden as a dead man’s hoard.

Charon is always cold, now, and he does not know when this will end, can’t remember how it started, all he is is hunger and cold. 

He could swallow the world and it would never be enough. It will never be enough. 

He does not remember why he thought it would be.

Katta

Some days, Katta is all relaxed curves, the lifting of a crystal-feathered wing, the slow rising and falling of his side in the sunlight. He moves like dust suspended in the light, slow and gentle, sipping lemonade with his poison mouth.

Some nights, he is all teeth, the ivory gleaming of canines beneath the moon, the slither of silk on stone. He falls into the shadows cast by starlight, a hood drawn over his head. 

There is a slick beauty in the way a knife goes in and out of a wound, the way teeth shear flesh so perfectly from bone. Venom smells sweet, like honeysuckle nectar and rotting apples, and Katta clears the excess from his teeth and the corners of his lips with slow and meticulous movements before he returns to the clan. (Few of them know what he can be, the glow that awakens in his eyes beneath his hood when the starlight turns stone cold.)

See how he stands dark-stained in the river reeds. The water is warmed by the sun, and Katta tilts up a close-eyed face into the light, his shoulder-blades rolling languidly in the barley-yellow sunbeams. There is blood beneath his talons from the long dark of the night, washing away in the soft whisper of the water.

Tennessee 

It feels good to go to work early, to stretch her tight-coiled muscles in the sudden gold of sunrise. There is dirt in her talon-beds, always, and she smells of sawdust, whiskey, stone. If her body aches at the end of the day, it is a good ache, an ache that burns not in the way of fire but in the way of twilight.

In the evenings, she tells stories in her simple miner-speech, as she clears dirt from her knuckles and her pickaxe and sorts through the rough-hewn chunks of raw gemstone pried out of the marrow of the earth. Her favorite goes like this:

The first dragons had wings like new butterflies, soft and wet and crumpled up. There was dirt in their mouths, and their hearts were still learnin’ how to feel. One of the dragons went to her god and said, “How should we take care of each other?”

“Love and love until it hurts,” said the god. “Never stop working. And see that you care for yourselves, too.”

“I am afraid,” said the dragon. “The world is awfully big and cold.”

“I have already given you hands, and heart, and teeth,” said the god, and magicked the dust into a river. “Begin with a drink, and then fight back.”

Tennessee heaps wood on the fire, and stirs the stew in her old cast-iron pot, and invites the neighbors in after the day’s work. There is no weariness in her house, only the steadfastness of stone, and the warmth of candle-flame and cider.

[glutenfreechef5]

The best piece of advice I can give to anyone living with fibromyalgia or any other chronic illness is to take a holistic approach to managing the disease and its symptoms. In my opinion, a holistic treatment approach is the most effective way to manage chronic disease and live as full of a life as you possibly can.

A holistic treatment approach is the most effective way to manage chronic illness

What Is A Holistic Approach?

What do I mean when I say “holistic approach”?  For me holistic means to treat my whole being or whole self in the way I approach all the different treatments that I use to manage my symptoms. This means asking myself how each and every singular treatment that I impose onto (or into) my body will affect my mind, my body, my soul, and my energy. Looking at my body and my mind as interrelated systems where each piece impacts and affects the others; ensures that I use therapies that compliment and highlight each other and each of my symptoms.

From a medical standpoint, holistic health care is an integrated approach to health care that treats the “whole” person, not simply symptoms and disease. Mind and body are integrated and inseparable.

One example I like to give is that early on in my journey, I was fiercely opposed to using any medication to treat my symptoms. This approach ended up doing more harm than good to my body and mind and so over time I slowly learned what medications and dosages work best for me and eventually led to a pharmacological plan that I feel compliments the non-Western medical approaches that work well for me.

What Is Alternative?

When I use the term “alternative” for this article, I am referring to non-prescription medication treatment options. In holistic medicine alternative therapies cover a wide variety of treatments that include

Yoga

Acupuncture

Meditation

Stretching

and more

In addition to prescription medication;the following alternative therapies are treatments that have significantly improved my quality of life and allowed me to have a full life even with the daily waxing and waning of the fibromyalgia symptoms that I deal with. The therapies that I’m recommending are relatively inexpensive, have low impact on the body, and naturally integrate the whole person in their approach. These therapies are not a magic pill or “cure” and have not eliminated fibromyalgia for me in any way. However, they have greatly improved my quality of life and made living with fibromyalgia more management and tolerable.

Of course I have to note that these therapies are what work best for me personally and I cannot in any way guarantee that they will work for anyone else. It is always best practice to consult with your medical and intergrated medicine specialist before beginning a new therapy.

1. Diffusing Essential Oils

For the past four years, essentials oils have played a major role in my every day life. Our mind creates powerful connections between scent and our emotions, surroundings, and memories. Diffusing essential oils is a simple but effective way to access these connections. Because diffusion distributes essential oil molecules into the air so effectively, it is an excellent way to maximize the beneficial properties of essential oils. Each essential oil has it’s own therapeutic property but oils that have best helped me are lavendar, peppermint, lemon, and sandalwood. Many essential oils can be ingested, put directly on the skin, and/or diffused. An excellent resource is Young Living. 

2. Acupuncture

According to Dr. Weil.com “Acupuncture is a complete medical protocol focused on correcting imbalances of energy in the body. It has been used traditionally to prevent, diagnose and treat disease, as well as to improve general health”. In a nutshell acupuncture modifies the flow of energy (known as qi or chi) throughout the body,  Acupuncture has also proved beneficial for reducing fatigue and addictions, and for promoting overall well-being.

For me personally, acupuncture has proved to me an effective treatment options when my pain levels have spiked beyond the point where prescription medications are effective. Fortunately, my medication regime has proved overall effective so I haven’t used it as much as I have in the past.

3. Water Walking

It probably comes as a surprise, but consistent movement is a top strategy to manage fibromygia pain and muscle stiffness. Moving beyond normal proves difficult with fibromyalgia and it is for this reason why man of us gain weight and have sore stiff muscles because excessive movement can also trigger flares. Finding the right balance between rest and movement is a constant challenge and is why I’ve found moving and/or exercising under water to be an effective solution. The water in takes much of the pressure of the joints and there’s a feeling of weightlessness that you have when moving underwater. Fortunately I live in a town where there are a number of therapy pools that offer walking under water as an option. I especially like participating in the winter time when cold temps make outside exercise even more daunting.

4. Floatation Therapy

Floatation therapy is one f my favostire alternative treatments. I’ve made it my aim to focus on self-care and so now I go at least every other week. Inside each float tank is eight hundred pounds of pharmaceutical-grade Epsom salt dissolved in ten inches of water warmed to skin temperature. Like the Dead Sea, this extremely dense solution enables people of all body types to float effortlessly.The float tank is dark and quiet, greatly reducing sensory stimulation. This unique environment frees the brain from the bulk of its processing duties and prompts the production of theta waves.

The magnesium is absorbed into the body and for me salt water floating is a must do in my bag of treatments to manage fibro.

5. UV Light Therapy

Last but not least on my docket is UV light therapy aka as a tanning bed. As a celiac with IBS I don’t absorb all the nutrients from the food that I eat and one of the vitamins that I am perpetually deficient in is vitamin D. Going to the tanning bed not only helps me with vitamin D but the warmth gets deep into my bones and keeps me toasty warm on these cold winter months.

So that’s my list. In no particular order, all the treatments that help me cope and manage and do all that I do. Let me know in the comments: What alternative therapies work for you?

What alternative therapies work for you?

        Five Alternative Therapies for Treating Fibromyalgia Pain | Living with Fibromyalgia Read more: The best piece of advice I can give to anyone living with fibromyalgia or any other chronic illness is to take a holistic approach to managing the disease and its symptoms.

[mandysimo13]

Hannigram #22, and 23!! 💜💜💜

Ah, another fantastic murder husbands prompt. As you wish, my darling ^_~

22. “You can scream if you want.”23. “I didn’t know we were keeping track.”

Since this one went so long, I also posted it to AO3 here

A muffled scream made Hannibal grimace. 

“I don’t know why they insist on doing that this early in the game,” he remarked in a bored voice. “It should be fairly obvious we’re underground and in a very well insulated dwelling.”

“He’s frightened, Hannibal. An emotion that you know very acutely, even if you rarely show it to others,” Will explained needlessly. He handed Hannibal his scalpel with a fond smile. 

“But my dear Will,” Hannibal explained, testing the scalpel on a slice of paper. It sliced cleanly and quickly and the bound, gagged, and shirtless man in front of them struggled harder, his eyes widening in terror. The man in question was a Mister Julian Garrick. His crime, spouting homophobic remarks at them while they perused a new butcher shop. Julian Garrick’s butcher shop. Ethical butcher, indeed, Hannibal scoffed internally. “I at least had the good sense to save my energy for an opportune moment to escape. One must never rely on outside forces for rescue.”

He reached out with his free hand to touch Will’s face. “You, of all people, know that quite well.”

Will leaned into the touch, reaching out blindly for his own scalpel. “Says the man who so often came to my rescue.”

“Only after I put you in danger,” Hannibal said, remorse in his voice.

“Hey now,” Will chided softly. He pressed a small kiss to Hannibal’s lips. “None of that now. That’s all behind us.”

He moved from Hannibal’s loose hold and closed the distance between himself and their plaything for the evening. “I believe it’s my turn first, seeing as you went first last time.”

Hannibal smirked and twirled his scalpel in his hand, taking a step toward their victim. “I didn’t know we were keeping track.” He crouched in front of the petrified man and went to undo the gag muffling his pitiful noises. 

“Not exactly keeping track. More, remarking on the back and forth order we’ve developed.” He pointed at Julian and asked, “if they were to find him, what do you think they’d call this killer? Do you think they’d scent us in the aftermath? Send in the bloodhound, Jack Crawford, to come sniffing around our door?”

“Hmm, that is food for thought. Perhaps we can compose an adequate answer once we’ve completed our new work of art.” He directed his next words to Julian, “you can scream if you want to. Doubtless it will be unavoidable, but please, don’t feel the need to stifle yourself on our account. Far be it from us to stifle the creative process as one moves from one stage to another. Metamorphosis, in its own way.”

“You’re a fucking psychopath,” Garrick spat back, spittle dripping from his lips in anger. 

“A very typical response, Mister Garrick,” Will said, crouching low behind him, scaring the man anew by his sudden presence so close to his ear. “That’s the kind of thinking that got you into this situation in the first place. Hannibal isn’t exactly a psychopath. Nor is he a sociopath. He just doesn’t have any inhibitions. He does as he pleases, waiting for the world to unfold and ripple around his actions as they may regardless of consequence. He has empathy, compassion, and feelings. He just doesn’t care about yours.” His voice turned into a low growl as he added, “and seeing as your feelings make you a homophobic fuck, I can’t say I disagree with him at this particular moment.” 

“Such eloquence,” Hannibal teased. 

“Being around you has the tendency to turn one into a poet,” Will remarked shyly. “Perhaps one day I might sound like someone halfway decent.”

“Nonsense,” Hannibal said happily. “I thought that was very well worded, Will.”

Julian, feeling left out, piped up. “Just let me out of here and I won’t say a fucking word! You’ll be free, and so will I! Win, win!”

“I think we have come too far for that, haven’t we Mister Garrick?” Hannibal asked rhetorically. Neither of them had any intention of letting the man go. He looked to Will and said, “you expressed a desire to go first. Please,” he gestured to the expanse of naked skin before Will, “indulge yourself.”

“My pleasure,” Will said with a sincere smile before carefully carving into Garrick’s back.

“Fuck! Stop!” Garrick screamed, struggling to break away from Will’s handiwork. 

Hannibal held him fast and still, giving Will a mostly still canvas in which to paint with his scalpel. “I did not give you permission to move,” he told Garrick coldly. “I only said that you may scream. No more than that.”

And scream, he did, as Will carved the first piece into his skin. The more that Will worked, the more Garrick screamed, even if they became weaker with pained exhaustion. At times Will paused, thinking over carefully the next cuts he would put into his blank canvas. Slowly, agonizingly slowly for Julian Garrick, Will’s piece came to fruition and he nodded to Hannibal that he was finished. He dropped his scalpel on the floor and wiped sweat away from his forehead with the back of his hand. 

“It’s done. I can’t wait for you to see it,” he told Hannibal with a loving smile.

“I cannot wait to see it,” Hannibal assured him. He looked down at Garrick and frowned. “It seems our guest has rudely passed out. It seems that your work has sent him into shock.” He looked up at Will, “what’s to be done about that?”

Will slapped Garrick’s face a few times until the man sputtered back to life. He groaned weakly and whispered, “puh-please, just,” he wheezed before continuing, “just let me leave.” His eyes watered, crying from pain and fear.

“We’re only halfway done, Mister Garrick. It would be a shame for you to miss the rest of the festivities.” He held up his own scalpel, waggling it in warning, and said, “now don’t move.”

With that, he began carving his own marks into Garrick’s chest. Garrick was too far gone for screaming. Instead, fat tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed, begging to be released. 

Will squeezed him tighter, wrenching his head back by his hair. “If you don’t stop blubbering and hyperventilating, you might ruin his design. And if you do that,” he clicked his tongue in annoyance, “well, we’ll just have to devise a punishment. Won’t we, dear?”

“You mean this isn’t punishment enough?!”

“Oh, this is punishment,” Hannibal agreed. “But for just one sin. Damaging art would require something more,” he paused, grinning at Will, “creative.”

Will chuckled and held Garrick still while Hannibal continued to work. Eventually, he passed out again but that was just fine to Hannibal. They had made their point. 

At long last, he added a final flourish and smiled up at Will. “I’m finished.”

Will leaned over, uncaring of how blood smeared his clothes, and kissed Hannibal’s lips sweetly. “Let’s get the buckets. Wash off the excess so we can see what we wrote to each other.”

They stood together, leaving Garrick slumped on his knees, struggling to breathe and fading in and out of consciousness while they retrieved the next part of their design. They each carried a pail full of water over to Mister Garrick and unceremoniously began pouring them over his raw body. 

Immediately he jolted into full wakefulness. He screamed, flailing, trying to stand but unable to on the slippery floor. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Washing away the excess blood so that we might see what we wrote on your skin,” Hannibal explained.

“In what, acid?!” Garrick demanded.

“Nothing so dramatic,” Hannibal said with a smirk. “Only salt water.”

“With the approximate salinity of the Dead Sea.”

Garrick whimpered, hugging his body to try and soothe his pains. His arms were wrenched sharply from his body by Will as he knelt to inspect Hannibal’s words. Hannibal assisted, taking Will’s previous place at Garrick’s back. 

“Shall I read aloud?” Hannibal asked. Without waiting for an answer he began. 

“Hannibal, my unforeseen design. I could have never, in an age, predicted what fate had in store for me in you. I am glad, cuz I would’ve run for the hills for sure. Despite that, thank you for chasing me, reaching back, and being patient with requital. I love you. Will

Hannibal’s eyes misted over and he had to immediately kiss Will, heedless of the man sandwiched between them.

“I take it you liked it,” Will asked needlessly.

“Very much so.” He kissed him once more and said, “now, it is your turn.” 

Will cleared his throat and began to read.

“Will, from the start you have captivated, amused, confused, and aroused me in a million ways. You have buried yourself into my head, heart, the very marrow of my being. May you never unroot yourself, for I find myself very much at peace with you inside and beside me. Aš tave myliu.”

Will beamed and reached over to return Hannibal’s previous kiss. “You’re such a sap.”

“Guilty as charged,” Hannibal agreed.

“Did-” Garrick choked out between them. “Did you faggots just write love letters to each other on me?!” He tried to shove out from between them. “You’re so fucked up! You’re so fucked up!”

Hannibal frowned, letting him squirm away, knowing he wouldn’t get far. “Clearly, you have learned nothing.”

“Still unseeing of our true devotion to each other, even when its written into your skin.” Will caught Hannibal’s gaze with a wry smile. “Though, he’s not entirely wrong. We are a little fucked in the head.”

Hannibal returned his gaze. “Perhaps.” They rose together, slowly following the crawling Mister Garrick as he tried to escape their cellar. “Come now, let’s finish what we started. Then you can walk the dogs while I prepare dinner.”

Will kissed him. “Sounds like a plan.”

Later, after Mister Garrick had been dispatched with and set to curing as a new batch of sausages, after dinner and dog walking, Hannibal and Will laid in bed wrapped in each other’s arms. 

“I think I have an idea of what Jack would call us,” Will said sleepily.

“Is that so?”

Will chuckled, nuzzling into Hannibal’s neck. “The Bloody Scribes.”

Hannibal frowned. “How distasteful. Sounds like something Freddie would cook up.”

Will yawned and nodded in agreement. “She’d love that. A shame she’ll never see it.”

“I blessing, I think you mean,” Hannibal replied. 

After such an emotional day, it didn’t take long for them both to drift off into a blissful sleep, content in each other’s arms. 

[fuschiaskincarebrand]

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