#and special apparition of the aides!

[korewritingandstuff]

To cure the biggest pain

John finds out that the biggest pain of dying must be doing it alone.

Happy pride <3

***

If bullets were the seeds flowers grow from, his chest would be a garden, when Hamilton enters the room, Laurens knows every petal would have his name written on it. 

"Laurens," he says breathlessly while he flies through the room to take a place at his side. His hand raises through his waistcoat with the confidence of someone who knows its path. However, this time his fingers hold a different intention, curling around a white fabric that is pressed with desperation against his burning chest.

Of the size of a coin, a perfect red circle has broken the strong muscles to reveal the fragile inside; the little wound is as dark as night, with a small view of the universe in his chest, where the shine of the fresh blood is the stars. But Laurens feels like the wound is as big as his entire chest, as big as his body, as big as his ambition consuming him until there's nothing behind. He feels the burning wound will break his chest in half to reveal his bleeding heart to Hamilton; unwrapped as a gift, would that be enough to gain his forgiveness?

But that doesn’t happen; instead, the fabric is fastly stained by the intense red, Hamilton doesn't look him in the face, his eyes are tangled in the wild garden flourishing in his left shoulder.

John's right hand raises through the pain to caress Hamilton's cheek, but before it can reach the pale skin Alexander takes it and forces him to put it down. "Save your strength," he begs with his eyes transformed for fear and with his lips planting such a cold kiss on his palm John is afraid Hamilton might be dying too. "You'll be fine," the words are bathed in tenderness and affection but his eyes betray him, searching for McHenry in the room. "I promise," he says, but it sounds like a broken oath.

"Hamilton," John tries saying, Alexander keeps him close in his embrace with his right hand as a constant pressure against the wound. His fingers look painfully tense; but no matter how hard Alexander tries pressing the fabric, the white is slowly but constantly disappearing. "Sh, sh," he shuts him gently, "don't talk, save your strength, you'll be fine." He repeats.

Meade says "McHenry is coming." He walks around the room holding a handkerchief with such nervousness John would find it funny if not for his current position.

"Alexander," John tries saying, but the weight of the bullet is heavy on his chest and every breath is harder; so the name ends up like a whisper. The only comfort in it is the familiar shape of the name in his mouth.

"You'll be fine," repeats Alexander, whispering while his lips touch his forehead in an unfinished kiss. It sounds like he's holding a painful breath in his chest; deep and anchored to the center of his lungs, refusing to let it go. John believes ten minutes pass for McHenry to enter in the room followed by Tilghman, and finally, he can hear how Alexander let go a big and shaky sigh.

McHenry is a sensate man, and especially, a sensate doctor. When his eyes meet the blooming red chest of Laurens, he knows the tender tries Hamilton to stop the bleeding aren't enough to keep their beloved friend. At any moment the soul will escape through the wound, no matter how hard Hamilton clings to stopping it. Unluckily, Hamilton isn't a sensate man, he’s an especially insensate one when his dear Laurens is involved. So when the dear Hammy looks at him with hope holding every part of his face McHenry approaches to examine the wound closer, praying for a miracle to happen.

There's no way to know it (and it's better for them to not) but McHenry could swear the bullet is a few inches from the heart. As with everything he does, John must be breathing due to his own determination. The same determination that leads him to battle as a collector of wounds, this wound is his final piece. There’s only one thing he knows, this is his final hour.

His heart shakes violently at the realization, the bitter emotions growing inside him must be showing through his face. Laurens asks "Nothing you can do?" with a breathless tone that he didn't think could be found in brave men like him.

As a father, Tilghman approaches and with his right hand removes the dirt that stains the immaculate white hair Laurens works so meticulously into every morning. "Anything I could do would put you in greater pain, and you are too dear for me and the family to cause you some pain." He wants his voice to be strong and firm in the way every doctor should be at giving this kind of news, but his friendship with Laurens betrays him and his throat tightens without permission.

McHenry is sure of another thing, Laurens already knows it, a man like him, a man who knows about medicine, a man who knows how to get battle wounds must know this is his final one. Was it intentional? Did Laurens expose himself among canons and bullets to get this result? McHenry scolds himself for thinking in a dear friend that way. If Laurens exposed himself to danger so many times is because he is a man ready to die for his nation, for his country.

But a man like him, a man who loves his country, and its freedom; a man like Laurens must be familiar with the path to becoming a hero of the cause, the path to becoming a martyr.

McHenry just wishes he could have proposed his faith a little bit, giving the family enough time to know him and love him more. Or maybe he would have done it anyway knowing the pain that would cause them?

He waits for Laurens to react with the desperation of someone who cannot run away from his faith but is Hamilton who molders under the weight of the words. John carries the bullet, Alexander carries the wound, the colors have abandoned his face and he looks younger than ever, a small and scared child of nightmares no one else can see.  McHenry squeezes his shoulder with sympathy, but Alexander remains static in his eyes, his mind tormented by his personal ghosts.

"You are a dear friend of ours and a member of the family." Meade, who looks to be brave enough to start with the farewells; appears at his left. His hand still playing with the handkerchief, his fingers tied around the textile. "You know some of my tenderest affections are reserved for you." His twisted fingers give the handkerchief to McHenry.

While Meade promises his love and friendship, the doctor takes Alexander's hand from its firm place stopping the bleeding to add Meade's handkerchief. "How easy was it to love you, dear Laurens, and what an honor it was to be loved by you." Says Meade and Hamilton does a small nod, his hand holds Laurens with such strength his nails are digging. But Laurens, with the tender touch he always has with Hamilton just moves his venous thumb around his back in small circles. 

Harrison appears, with his face red from running and John cannot help but smile, who would have ever thought the Old Secretary still could run with such energy? "The Marquis will be here soon!" He exclaims while catching his breath. When he looks at John he looks to be possessed by terror. "Dear God!" His eyes are so open it looks like they are going to fall out of their orbits, covered in horror. "Young friend. Believe me when I say that if I could give you some of my years and memories, I'd give it to you, to grant you more time or to grant you the visions of places God didn't allow you to visit."

"Don't say that," Hamilton's cold-toned voice interrupts his words. Harrison shrives, suddenly feeling like the object of his hate. "He'll be fine," he repeats, his eyes refusing to see and Harrison feels pity for him, the death of Laurens will leave Harrison hurt, but it will also leave him sorry for Hamilton.

The room sinks into a deep silence, just the hard breathing of Laurens cutting the tension. McHenry, Meade, and Harrison exchange looks in silence, fighting for who will be the one to break the lie Hamilton has convinced himself of, the lie that John Laurens isn't already gone.

"Ham," Laurens says, taking the uncomfortable place to comfort his friend about his own departure. Hamilton tries to shut him up, insisting on saving the strength that’s already evaporating in the air; Laurens ignores him and climbs his arm around his neck to close their faces, John's mouth whispering breathless words directly into Alexander's ear. Harrison forces his eyes to stop looking, filled with the sudden feeling that he shouldn’t. But a broken “my dear” runs away grievously through the air. 

Interrupting the moment, fast steps sound in the hallway to show Lafayette entering the door. When Lafayette shows his face, it’s evident the soreness of loss already possesses him, his eyes are red and his cheeks are already wet. He flies through the room to descend into Laurens with an invasion of kisses.

“Be careful,” warns McHenry, but the warning doesn’t apply to Laurens who kisses the marquis’ cheek. Lafayette cries in French, he calls Laurens “mon ami” at the end of every sentence. 

“I wish you could have met my wife, Adrienne already loves you just with what I’ve told her,” Lafayette says, while his fingers brush Laurens’ hair.

It passes a moment of silence, the marquis looks John straight in the eye; he takes a deep, audible breath before saying, with a soft and fearful voice. “Is it too much pain?”

Despite his chest burns and every breath is getting harder, John finds out the biggest pain of dying must be doing it alone.

"Nothing I cannot bear.” He says with confidence; but McHenry cannot believe him, not when the pain spins each of his words. John isn’t the first man he sees dying, but is the first one he sees embracing death with so much familiarity. Isn't he scared? Or is he confusing the kisses of the Marquis with the beating of Azrael's wings? 

McHenry looks at them carefully, Lafayette entertains Laurens mentioning every good anecdote he can remember while he caresses one of his hands; McHenry can perceive the smallest shaking in it, but if it's caused by physical pain or by other pain in Laurens' mind, it's hard to tell. 

Even when the Marquis does extraordinary work telling every memory he has, he has to raise his voice so Laurens can hear him through his loud breathing. McHenry isn't sure how much time passes until small coughs start to filtrate through every breathing, at the start Lafayette comforts him caressing his hand, kissing his cheeks; until the coughs become such a violent sound it makes Hamilton wake up from the spell he was in. 

Laurens breathes- no, aspires air with the mouth open, his chest swells violently but it looks like he cannot get enough air. Hamilton raises over him until he's looking John straight in the eyes. Laurens' hands rise until they get entangled in Hamilton's hair, it looks like a painful gripping, but Hamilton remains quiet. Lafayette, who was sharing the details of his childhood, has fallen into a deep silence, his right hand caressing Laurens' hair. 

McHenry can see how every painful breathing breaks the careful mask of stoicism Laurens built; now he looks desperate, clinging to Hamilton as if he could make something about the vitality abandoning him. Hamilton, who’s been worryingly quiet, recovers from his invisible wounds.

"You'll be fine," Alexander promises, Laurens waits to see a hint that he's lying in his eyes, but Alexander provides him the kindest of looks and John cannot help but believe him. He continues talking, throwing promises. "You'll be in South Carolina, you'll rest between your mother and your brother." John's fingers move against his hair in an awkward gesture; even when it's aggressively clumsy, Hamilton can recognize it as a try of a caress. 

Alexander doesn't have a plan for what he will say, but when Laurens looks at him the words come out without permission; just being guided by the tender blue. "I'll talk to your siblings about you. They'll feel proud of you." And, being moved by the deep desire to provide John with as much happiness as he can; he continues talking, his mouth moving in a whisper, surprising himself. "I'll watch over your daughter, she'll be a nice lady. She will love you, I’ll teach her how." John's hands navigate until they arrive on his cheeks. Laurens touches him in the way Hamilton painfully recognizes as the touch of someone who dies, losing control of the limbs which causes an unintended aggressivity that’s unsetting to find between Laurens’ fingers. Despite his hands being filled with that strange touch, Laurens’ eyes hold the same kindness accompanied by a shine of surprise. 

Surprise, and something that looks like affection; even when his mouth moves violently in every breath, Alexander can detect the shape of a smile on Laurens’ lips. “I’ll visit you as much as I can,” he promises; while the words create painful knots inside his chest, they make John shine with happiness, with life. “You’ll live in my mind until the day I’m dead,” he confesses, almost falling apart under the fondness flooding John’s eyes. “Then, we’ll meet in kinder lands. I won’t forget you, dear J.”

And, guided with the deep desire of giving John all the pieces of peace he can provide. Alexander says, honesty seeping into every syllable:

"And I know; beloved Laurens, this nation won’t forget you."

[duskstargazer]

[1935]

Henry had heard Edward in the yard, chatting with Percy about his incident in the tunnel. Henry had heard Edward laughing, even as he got to the part where the big green engine was walled in.

Henry thought about how often James told him he ‘didn’t work hard enough’. Probably because James always got stuck with the brunt of the work Henry wasn’t able to do.

But the worst of it all came from Gordon and Saint. Two of the biggest and most powerful engines on the railway - and they seemed to have it out for Henry.

“You’d never catch me stooping to such lows for the sake of attention.” Gordon grunted, disgustedly.

“Mr. Special Steam himself!” Saint guffawed, close behind his bigger blue ally.

Henry’s crew had been called into a meeting with The Fat Director. Henry was left in the snow covered yard, holding in his tears.

Even after everything, even after the Welsh Coal arrived, they still thought him a failure. Maybe they were right.

“I would recommend putting a little less concern into the words of others.” A soft voice murmured, not far away.

“W… who said that?” Henry cringed at the noticeable waver in his voice.

“I am only someone that aims to provide some… much needed assistance.” The voice continued. A yellow glow came from close behind the green engine.

Henry looked around. The telltale sound of chuffing indicated another engine close by.

The green engine looked to his right again, and jumped. A little yellow engine stood next to him. A small engine, like what he’d see at the Works Station. An engine that seemed to float between the rails, instead of standing on them.

“How…” Henry began, in a flummoxed tone, “are you d-”

“Now, do understand that I do not give such favors out frivolously. But, your situation is a delicate one. Not to mention, quite tragic. Just this once, as a courtesy, I will make an exception if you so desire.”

“…”

Henry blinked. Was this real?

“Are you… a genie?”

“Should that better aid your understanding of my offer, I will allow the epithet.”

“I thought genies weren’t real. Just some cautionary tale. Y’know, ‘be careful what you wish for’ ‘n’ all that.

The ‘genie’ gave an unimpressed look.

“Okay. So, am I supposed to-”

“Gaze into my lamp if you so desire, and state your wish.”

Henry took note of the engine’s ubiquitous lamp. The black metal seemed an unnatural dark tone, and the light within - well it wasn’t a standard bulb, but a literal small blue flame.

Henry bit his lip. One one hand, he hardly believed in genies - even in spite of the apparition before him. On the other hand, what really did he have to lose? It wasn’t like anyone was around to see him wishing aloud.

“I…” He swallowed a lump in his tubes, and stared into the flame. “I wish I was a proper engine. An engine that could stand with or against the others and have the physical strength to do so. I wish to be a different engine, and to not need ‘special coal’ anymore.”

As Henry spoke, the flame grew bigger, and burned brighter, as if deriving fuel from Henry’s very words as he spoke them.

“Won’t that be nice.” The engine murmured, in a barely audible tone.

“What?”

“Consider your wish granted, Henry. Good luck, and may your fears regarding signals, junctions, and frosty weather be overcome.”

“My what? I’m not afraid of- wait, how do you know my name?!”

The engine began glowing a blinding gold, then seemed to explode into light. Henry shut his eyes.

When he opened them, it was as if the golden engine had never been there at all. Henry had to pause, and ask himself if any of it had been real.

He heard people walking, crunching through the snow. His crew returned.

“Well, Henry,” said the driver, “we’ll be out early tomorrow. We’ve got to take the Flying Kipper.”

[bonecarve]

¹⁾ PINTEREST. ²⁾ PLAYLIST. ³⁾ DEVELOPMENT TAG.

DOSSIER.

NAME. mahito (meaning: true human) SPECIES. cursed spirit MANIFESTATION OF human fear and hatred for other humans. AGE. simultaneously ageless and ~1 year old; curses are immortal, but mahito was manifested into being only recently. assumes a physical form that appears to be in its 20s. GENDER. agender ( he / they / she / it ); tends toward masculine non-binary expression. HEIGHT. 5’11 HAIR COLOUR. blue-gray EYE COLOUR. heterochromia ( gray left eye, blue right eye ) SCARS. patchwork scars across the face and body, giving him the appearance of one who has been stitched together.

PERSONALITY.

ALIGNMENT. chaotic evil. NOTE. mahito is amoral, not immoral. they do not believe in the concept of morality as it pertains to good or bad; consequently, he does not consider himself evil. he simply lives and acts in accordance with his true nature — which cannot be immoral, insofar as morality has nothing to do with truth (and vice versa). DEFINING TRAITS. playful, sadistic, curious, intelligent, manipulative, philosophical, callous, immature.

ABILITIES OVERVIEW.

TRANSFIGURATION. can alter his form at will, limited only by the scope of his own imagination. this includes the basics of appearance, such as height and gender, and more drastic transformations into both organic or inorganic forms. can transfigure their entire body or just selected parts of it. he is also capable of creating multiple, perfect clones of himself. 

SOUL MANIPULATION. including both his own (allowing him to heal and alter his physical form) and others. the ability to transfigure humans into monstrous abominations, as well as combine multiple human souls together into a single, subservient creature. the ability to touch one’s soul and kill them in an instant.

ENHANCED SPEED, STRENGTH, AND DURABILITY. mahito’s physical feats far surpass human capabilities. it is not possible to beat him in raw physical combat without the aid of (jujutsu) magic or supernatural powers.

VERSES.

CANON (JJK). adheres to canon events. mahito strives for the eradication of humanity and the domination of cursed spirits. believing that the reincarnation of sukuna is the best way to achieve this goal, they ally themselves with a group of special grade cursed spirits intent on restoring the king of curses to power.

GENERAL. this verse deals away with the limitations of jjk lore. cursed spirits are manifestations of human fear, hatred, sadness, and other negative emotions. they are visible to the naked human eye and prey upon humanity in varying ways (killing, consumption, etc). mahito is a cursed spirit with a distinctly humanoid appearance and mannerisms, making them a far more insidious presence than some of their overtly monstrous counterparts. his ability to live among and navigate the mortal world allows him to interact with humans — generally in sadistic and malevolent ways. they manipulate, encourage, and prey on negative emotion as a way to sow further fear and discontent. they kill indiscriminately, seeing humans as an imperfect species that will, inevitably, die out to make way for the curses that they themselves brought into existence. mahito uses humans as pawns and as tools, experimenting on them in order to gain more knowledge on the concept of the soul.

THE WITCHER. a particularly malevolent spirit, far exceeding the abilities of a common wraith. unlike other cursed apparitions of his ilk, mahito was not created from the negative emotions of his own, mortal form prior to death — rather, he came into being from the collective fears and hatred that humanity experiences toward itself. they were never human; rather, they are a manifestation born of mortal malevolence. unbound by geographical restraints, mahito wanders the continent and its islands at will, seeking to learn from — and ultimately discard — humanity. they are drawn to places ripe with negative emotions, where they prey on mankind’s hatred for its fellow man. although mahito has been known to kill and experiment on non-humans (such as elves, gnomes, and dryads), he tends his focus toward victimizing the same imperfect, hateful race that brought him into being.

as always, verses listed here aren't exhaustive. i love to come up with verses on a case-by-case basis / plot new ones out with writing partners. i've consumed so much media fr i'll figure out verses for just about anything.

[synnthamonsugar]

Season Of The Wish, but centered on Riven's and Mara's relationship.

Riven, cleansed of Oryx's blight, recalled to the mortal plane and furious about Mara using her as a tool on the path to Ascendancy. Mara, insistent that it was the only way to stop Oryx from steamrolling Sol, taking (and Taking) humankind with him.

Ahamkara exist outside the bounds of life-and-death so dying isn't exactly what Riven is upset about. It's the personal hurt of getting the raw end of a bargain, the injustice of being an entity of endless potentially who instead chose to toil as the engine in an immortality machine. Mara pleads her side: that humanity would have been hunted as dead as the ahamkara without their deal. Their shared sacrifice.

Angst over this, a radio convo between Mara and Eris about whether they did the right thing. If there was a way to secure a Throne World without Riven. Eris explains that she could have done it the classic way - an allegiance to the Worm Gods, a life-sacrifice of incalculable magnitude. "Like the Great Ahamkara Hunt?" muses Mara with bitter irony. Eris retorts that their undying nature would've rendered them unsuitable, and besides, she never would have aided her had she used the Sword Logic. Closing remark about how all roads lead back to the Dragons.

One day, Riven proposes: It's too late for me, but you can set this right for future generations. Find and secure my eggs, and allow the Ahamkara to flourish again. It is only fair . . . and so the egg hunt commences.

We discover the eggs are stashed in a pocket of Unknown Space/The Nine's Realm. We delve a bit into the association of The Nine and Ahamkara, and maybe spend a moment to dwell on Mara's relationship with The Nine since this was teased but never explored. Neither Mara nor Riven know how the eggs got here, and both sides insist the other is lying.

As we explore we find increasing anomalies - the Nine's Realm takes on increasing Dreaming City flavor. We find strange coins. Ahamkara bones. Arrows. Almost as if someone else's influence has seeped into this place . . .

It's revealed with Starcrossed (we keep the name for this activity) that whatever psychic imprint is left of Sjur Eido is behind it all. The arena for this activity is a mashup of Dreaming City & Unknown Space.

Voice recordings / echos from Sjur here, discussing her time as a dragon-hunter, her death(?) and how outside of space and time she gained an awareness of how important the Ahamkara are. That she was safeguarding the remaining clutch in the one place no one can get to . . . until Mara inevitably found her way in. Because they were always destined to cross paths again.

Extra drama points if Mara is on comms with the Guardian or literally there with us at the climax, and if Sjur appears as some sort of static apparition - think a ghostly, higher-detail version of the Shattered Throne statue.

At this juncture the writers can either totally close the Sjur Eido storyline - she's done her job and brought Mara closure and lays to rest forever. If they want to bring her back or keep her in their back pocket for a future storyline, something vague about how she will return again when Mara needs her aid.

Eventually, we gather the clutch. In gratitude, Riven fulfills the true last wish: building a bridge "into" the traveler, before dying forever. This scene could play out as it did with Crow crossing, or remain a special tool for later when the Guardian finally goes in a pre-Final Shape cutscene.

[mourningdewey]

come join me on a new adventure !

this is the southern gothic project , a ghost-hunting fallout 4 alternate universe . it takes place in 2019 and follows paranormal investigator deacon specter (ironic last name specific to this au) to an abandoned farm in texas . plagued by wayward spirits that suffered most unfortunate deaths , the property has sat uninhabited since the 1970's . but it's far from dormant . before dark , apparitions of the four sturges children can still be seen tending to their farm as if not a day has passed since their grisly deaths . after dark is when the creek seems to flow more wildly and ghostly howls of grief , the disembodied sound of stampeding hooves , and maniacal laughter can be heard in their own special places around the farm .

deacon forms unlikely friendships with each of the phantoms , learning about their short lives and the lessons they learned during them , and seeks to aid them in finally making peace with their deaths . but something holds him back from wanting to assist the charming poltergeist ... i wonder what that could possibly be .

the southern gothic project (as its name implies) takes inspiration from southern gothic literature , focusing on the macabre and eerie . it also references historical events , cultural movements , and people from the 1960's and 70's . the fanfic , "southern gothic [investigated]" , is deacon-and-sturges-centric ! there may or may not be spin-off oneshots revolving around other characters in the future 👀

[silvestromedia]

ST. ALEXANDER, BISHOP OF JERUSALEM AND MARTYR

St. Simon Stock. Although little is known about Simon Stock's early life, legend has it that the name Stock, meaning "tree trunk," derives from the fact that, beginning at age twelve, he lived as a hermit in a hollow tree trunk of an oak tree. It is also believed that, as a young man, he went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land where he joined a group of Carmelites with whom he later returned to Europe. Simon Stock founded many Carmelite Communities, especially in University towns such as Cambridge, Oxford, Paris, and Bologna, and he helped to change the Carmelites from a hermit Order to one of mendicant friars. In 1254 he was elected Superior-General of his Order at London. Simon Stock's lasting fame came from an apparition he had in Cambridge, England, on July 16, 1251, at a time when the Carmelite Order was being oppressed. In it the Virgin Mary appeared to him holding the brown scapular in one hand. Her words were: "Receive, my beloved son, this scapular of thy Order; it is the special sign of my favor, which I have obtained for thee and for thy children of Mount Carmel. He who dies clothed with this habit shall be preserved from eternal fire. It is the badge of salvation, a shield in time of danger, and a pledge of special peace and protection." The scapular (from the Latin, scapula, meaning "shoulder blade") consists of two pieces of cloth, one worn on the chest, and the other on the back, which were connected by straps or strings passing over the shoulders. In certain Orders, monks and nuns wear scapulars that reach from the shoulders almost to the ground as outer garments. Lay persons usually wear scapulars underneath their clothing; these consist of two pieces of material only a few inches square. There are elaborate rules governing the wearing of the scapular: although it may be worn by any Catholic, even an infant, the investiture must be done by a priest. And the scapular must be worn in the proper manner; if an individual neglects to wear it for a time, the benefits are forfeited. The Catholic Church has approved eighteen different kinds of scapulars of which the best known is the woolen brown scapular, or the Scapular of Mount Carmel, that the Virgin Mary bestowed on Simon Stock.

St. Carantac, 5th-6th century. Welsh abbot and monastic founder, also called Carannog. Carantac founded a church at Llangrannog, Wales, spent time in Ireland, and upon returning to Wales founded a monastery at Cernach. He is associated with Crantock in Cornwall, and Carhampton in Somerset, England. He is also venerated in Brittany, France. He is sometimes identified with a Welsh prince, Carantac, an aide to St. Patrick.

St. Brendan, 583 A.D. St. Brendan died in 583. Born possibly in Tralee, Ireland, and educated by St. Ita and ordained by Bishop Erc, he became a monk and founded a large monastery at Clonfert. Many fantastic details have been added to this brief knowledge usually based on the fictional "Navigation" in which he is described as searching for the Isles of the Blessed, touching the Canaries, and even discovering America. It is possible that he actually made visits to Scotland and Wales

ST. UBALD, BISHOP OF GUBBIO

St. Hilary, Roman Catholic Priest Bishop of Pavia, Italy, who was a ferocious enemy of the Arian heresy.

[bylagunabay]

Power of Sacramentals

THE BROWN SCAPULAR: BLESSINGS & PRIVILEGES

(3-min read)

𝑲𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈; 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆; 𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅; 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕 𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔; 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒏𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒂𝒍 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒔; 𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒇𝒚 𝒕𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒔; 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆; 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏; 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒂 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒉; 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒂 𝒃𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒕; 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝒅𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆; 𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔; 𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔; 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒔; 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒂𝒓 …

I ESSENTIAL REASONS TO WEAR THE BROWN SCAPULAR

1 HELPS YOU TO SECURE ETERNAL LIFE

Our Blessed Mother urging all of us: “Wear it devoutly and perseveringly. It is my garment. To be clothed in it means you are continually thinking of me, and I in turn, am always thinking of you and helping you to secure eternal life,”

2 YOU WILL FALL INTO ETERNAL FIRE

“Whosoever dies wearing this Scapular shall not suffer eternal fire.”

The devils revealed to Francis of Yepes, the brother of St. John of the Cross that three things especially tormented them. The first is the Name of Jesus; the second, the Name of Mary; and third, the Brown Scapular of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. “Take off that habit,” they cried to him, “which snatches too many souls from us. All those clothed in it die piously and escape us.”

3 YOUR PROTECTION IN TIMES OF PERIL & ASSURANCE OF PEACE

“Take this Scapular, it shall be a sign of salvation, a protection in danger and a pledge of peace.”

4 YOU ARE CONSECRATED TO MARY

During the last Fatima apparition on 13 October 1917, our Blessed Mother held in her hand a Brown Scapular while she presented herself as Our Lady of Mount Carmel. When asked why Our Lady held it, Sr. Lucia answered... "because she wants everyone to wear the scapular... because it is our sign of consecration to her Immaculate Heart."

5 GREAT MEANS FOR CONVERSION

One day a dying old man was brought to St. Simon Stock Hospital in New York City. A nurse noticed he was wearing the brown scapular and called a priest. As prayers were said over him, the man regained consciousness and told the priest that he wasn’t Catholic but wore the scapular as a promise to his friends. The priest asked the man if he wanted to become Catholic, and before he died the man received baptism and anointing of the sick.

II. INVESTITURE & THE SABBATINE PRIVILEGE

To obtain the fullest possible benefits from the Brown Scapular devotion, one must be validly invested (sometimes called enrolled) in the Brown Scapular by a priest. Every priest has the privilege of enrolling Catholics in the Scapular. After having received the initial blessed Scapular from a priest, no other Scapular need be blessed before wearing. The blessing and imposition are attached to the wearer for life.

Sabbatine Privilege

During an apparition to Pope John XXII (1316-1334), the Blessed Mother generously granted what is known as the Sabbatine Privilege: that those who fulfill certain conditions will be freed from Purgatory on the first Saturday after death. This promise was also mentioned in a bull issued on March 3,1322, by Pope John XXII. It was Pope Paul V (1605-1621) who settled a controversy concerning the Privilege when he issued an official statement in which he gave priests permission to preach that the Blessed Virgin of Mt. Carmel “will aid the souls of the Brothers and Sisters of the Confraternity of the Blessed Virgin of Mount Carmel after their death by her continual intercession, by her suffrages and merits and by her special protection, especially on the day of Saturday which is the day especially dedicated by the Church to the same Blessed Virgin Mary..."

To receive the Sabbatine Privilege one must be enrolled in the Confraternity of the Brown Scapular. One should ask a priest to make this enrollment or investiture.

III. ENROLLMENT PRAYER

Priest: Show us, O Lord, Thy mercy. All: And grant us Thy salvation. Priest: O Lord, hear my prayer.

All: And let my cry come unto Thee. Priest: The Lord be with you.

All: And with thy spirit. Priest: Let us pray:

O Lord Jesus Christ, Savior of mankind, by Thy right hand sanctify + these Scapulars (this Scapular) which Thy servants will devoutly wear for the love of Thee and of Thy Mother; the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mt. Carmel; so that, by her intercession, they may be protected from the wickedness of the enemy and persevere in Thy grace until death; Who livest and reignest for ever and ever. Amen.

The priest now sprinkles the Scapular with Holy Water, after which he places the Scapular on each one saying:

Receive this blessed Scapular and ask the Most Holy Virgin that, by her merits, it may be worn with no stain of sin and may protect you from all harm and bring you into everlasting life. Amen.

By the power granted to me, I admit you to a share in all the spiritual works performed with the merciful help of Jesus Christ, by the religious of Mount Carmel, in the name of the Father and of the Son + and of the Holy Ghost. Amen

May Almighty God, Creator of heaven and earth, bless + you whom He has been pleased to receive into the Confraternity of the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel. We beg her to crush the head of the ancient serpent in the hour of your death, and, in the end, to obtain for you a palm and the crown of your everlasting inheritance. Through Christ Our Lord. Amen. The priest now sprinkles those enrolled with Holy Water.

IV. ACT OF MERCY

The majority of Catholics do not know about the Sabbatine Privilege. It is an act of charity to make it known to all. A soul from Purgatory was asked by a Sister: “What is the average stay of the souls in Purgatory?” The Poor Soul answered: “From thirty to forty years!” Can you see the importance of making Our Lady’s Privilege known – when you consider that the flames in Purgatory are the same as the fires of Hell!

[world-cinema-research]

Week 6 and 7 The Terminator and Solaris films by Ronnie Bitzer

The film I watched last week was The Terminator film which was about a Terminator who went back in time to the 1980's to kill a woman who has an unborn son who is trying to stop something from happening in the future. The significance of "The Terminator" in my eyes and the eyes of others is an understanding of what technology can do and what effects it has for us now until the future."The Terminator" topped the box office for two weeks earning $78.48 million from a $6.4 million budget.

Box Office Mojo

Terminator is similar to Solaris since both Terminator and Solaris are scifi genres. The only difference between Solaris and Terminator is use of special effects to depict mood and how Terminator talks about technology, Solaris talks about conscience and what happens when we see a loved one who passed.Critics talk about Terminator saying how Arnold Schwarzenegger played greatly towards being "The Terminator" and how some critics like the special effects and the music and how it relates to being in the 1980's.I agree with the critics and thought how well Arnold Schwarzenegger did while playing as "The Terminator" by showing no emotion and doing what his objective was.A significant historical research context to Terminator is when HIV was identified and how into the 1980's Aids was killing thousands of people which remained a tragic and terrifying mystery in 1984. The first historical resource I chose is The Terminators trailer which is important because it shows important clips on what’s going to happen during the movie. A quote from Terminator is when Arnold Schwarzenegger said "Ill be back".

33 Remarkable Things That Actually Happened in the Year 1984

From major pop cultural events to geopolitical realignments to shocking crimes, 1984 was one wild year—even if it wasn't like George Owell's

Best Life

The Terminator (1984) Official Trailer - Arnold Schwarzenegger Movie

The film is considered unconventional since the main character is a female and the time travelling robot is considered male and is the antagonist. For Solaris the movie would be considered conventional since the main character is male and the other character with him was female and his wife who died and appeared to him as an apparition.The period piece of the film is the 1980's with references from the 1980's including Block Buster, visuals, and high concept storytelling. The period piece for Solaris was indifferent and how some of the characters were wearing clothes in the old times and how the storytelling was like if you were in a dream and how the colors depict the mood and depth of the story. For Solaris it talked about how a psychologist is sent to a space station near a planet where a doctor died when he discovered the ocean was a brain where it projects hallucinations to happen to you. An article I chose that talks about one scene from Solaris is "A Drop in the Ocean:One scene from Solaris." The author talked about how rich the images are, the vividness of the movies mood, and the depth of the movies central theme how they are ingrained in the authors mind. He also believes that the main character Kris Kelvin as the "hero" of Solaris and how he is similar to Han Solo, but filled with grief and a broken heart.How there is no evil empire to conquer rather than yearning to be with his dead wife who appears to him as an apparition. For the mission it can never be accomplished and there is no end to it.The planet the space station orbits is in a state of decay and we don't have a sense of comfort or knowing what will happen next. The surface of the planet is a perfect visual of metaphor for our state of minds knowing how fragile both our minds and our bodies are faced with traumatizing events that we have faced.

A Drop in the Ocean: One Scene from Solaris

The first time I saw Solaris was on VHS in the mid-nineties. Even though the film affected me profoundly, I never watched it again unt

The Criterion Collection

Another important piece of information about Solaris was in an article called Thoughts on Film:Solaris (1972). Talks about Solairs and how Solaris is similar to Stanley Kubrick's 2001:A Space Odyssey and how they both relate to artificial intelligence and space journeys, but the only difference is Solaris deals with emotional direction based on life and nature and how they symbolize and relate to humans. Tarkovsky also interprets the future by the use of contemporary buildings and visuals. At times of editing the flow for the film can be long-winded and questionable. I agree with the author and how the movie relates to artificial intelligence and how emotions can be depicted through the use of visuals and nature.Every movie is different and even though its long-winded and questionable we are being question as whether or not we can be able to go through triggering events that happened to us.

https://ourculturemag.com/2019/07/12/thoughts-on-film-solaris-1972/ Links to an external site.

Another historical document is Solaris trailer which pinpoints important events that are going to happen in the movie.

Tarkovsky's SOLARIS (Trailer) - coming Nov. 30 | Austin Film Society

An event that happened during the release of Solaris is The Munich massacre ocurres on the 6th of September 1972. Eleven Israeli athletes at the 1972 Summer Olympics were murdered after 8 members of the Arab terrorist group called Black September invaded the Olympic village Munich. 5 gurreilas and 1 policeman we’re found dead in a failed hostage rescue. The massacre later became the subject of Steven Spielberg's film Munich in 2005.

Munich (2005) Theatrical Trailer

Another major difference between Solaris and The Terminator is the acting and the physical production of the film. The acting for The Terminator is more based on a slasher movie and how the characters can act happy one minute and be scared and shocked by how The Terminator acts emotionless. For Solaris the characters act normal while on Earth, but on the space station they act like they are going insane by seeing the apparitions that are causing them to act like that. For the physical production of both films "The Terminator" was on a low budget and had to resort to using "guerrilla film making" which blends to using props. For Solaris they used a mixture of visuals to make the colors pop out and to depict the mood the movie is trying to send out to the viewers. For Solaris it won the Grand Prix award at the Cannes Film Festival and received critical acclaim. The critics talk about Solaris saying how it relates to a poetic trip into deep space and the human mind and how our conscience works. I agree with how the movie relates to conscience and how we feel when we want something and how our mind processes our inner thoughts, feelings and desires. Another difference is how the story line for Terminator is realistic and how for Solaris the setting is strange and opaque like being in a dream.

The first historical document I picked is Solaris movie poster which really is interesting showing the mood of Solaris and it’s visual aesthetic.

Solaris (1972)

Solaris (1972)

IMDb

An Important quote from Solaris says "Let us take you with us to Solaris, planet of mystery, embodiment of mans latent conflict with the unknown. Man, face to face with his conscience, and with his past." What I found interesting about the tagline for Solaris was talking about courage and the hardships man has to face against the truth of his conscience.

Solaris (1972) - Taglines - IMDb

Solaris (1972) - Taglines from original posters and video/DVD covers

IMDb

The global knowledge for both Solaris and Terminator is how the actors put into play and how they teach us the diversity of people and how the amount of diversity can change for both Terminator and Solaris and that can be from language to interpretation to skills and the visuals being used for both the movies. How each movie is each piece of original work and how for Solaris the movie was influenced by Stainsaw Lem novel and the movie Steven Soderberghs 2001 remake.

[kudosmyhero]

The Spectacular Spider-Man (vol. 1) #181: The Child Within, pt. 4 - Guilt

Read Date: October 28, 2022 Cover Date: October 1991 ● Writer: J.M. DeMatteis ● Penciler: Sal Buscema ● Inker: Sal Buscema ● Colorist: Bob Sharen ● Letterer: Chris Eliopoulos ● Editor: Danny Fingeroth ●

Synopsis: Then

Not long ago, during Vermin's incarceration at a mental institution, he began to panic one night. There he calls out for Doctor Ashley Kafka to protect him. When one of the staff tells him that she went home for the evening. This causes Vermin to go into a frenzy.

Now

At the mansion that was once home to Edward Whelan, the man who would become the Vermin, Edward's mother goes over old family photos. At the same time, Doctor Ashley Kafka is working late in her office reviewing the Vermin's files. While at one of the Green Goblin's secret hideouts, Harry Osborn has brought Peter Parker in order to avenge the death of his father, Norman. When Peter wakes up from the knock out gas that Harry exposed him to, he is disorientated at first. Harry grabs his longtime friend and demands to know why Peter constantly reminds him of the crimes that his father committed as the Green Goblin. Becoming more, and more unhinged, Harry claims that his father was not a bad man. Although he admits that his father was responsible for the death of Gwen Stacy, he insists that it must have been some kind of accident. As Harry sees the image of his father impaled on his goblin glider, Peter tries to remind Harry that they are best friends. However, Harry is too far gone saying that Spider-Man has taken too much away from him so Harry must go away so the Green Goblin can take over. Putting on his Goblin ask, Harry opens up a specially made pumpkin bomb containing hallucinogenic gas.

Breathing deeply, Spider-Man begins to succumb to the gas and begins hallucinating. He finds himself in a graveyard where massive tombstones loom over him. The first one he sees is one for himself, the very tombstone placed when Kraven the Hunter buried him alive not long ago. As Spider-Man tries to flee, he is stopped by someone who appears to be Kraven the Hunter, complete with a gunshot wound to the head. However, "Kraven" pulls his face off, revealing himself to be the Green Goblin. The Goblin grabs Spider-Man and pulls him to another part of the cemetery to see who else is dead thanks to Spider-Man. There, the wall-crawler is haunted by the spirits of Aunt May's late fiancee Nathan Lubenski as well as Daily Bugle reporter Ned Leeds. Lastly, Harry makes Spider-Man gaze upon the spirit of his father, Norman Osborn.

Then

Learning that Ashley Kafka is not there to assist him, Vermin begins to go on a rampage. The creature manages to break out of his cell. As he makes his escape, he murders the guards and nursing staff that get in his way.

Now

Spider-Man's finds himself being pulled further along this hallucinatory graveyard by the Green Goblin. The Goblin deposits Spider-Man in front of the looming graves of George Stacy and his daughter Gwen. Trying to flee, Peter finds himself face-to-face with the grave of his Uncle Ben. This fills him with guilt and begs his Uncle for help, frantically apologizing for not stopping the burglar who killed him. Suddenly, his mind floods back to the day that his Uncle Ben told him that his parents had died. Spider-Man is suddenly approached by the ghoulish apparitions of his parents. The constant emotional onslaught finally causes Peter to snap, and in the real world he begins to scream at the top of his lungs. Filled with fear and panic, Peter begins flailing around, smashing objects. This causes Harry's personality to snap back. Removing his mask, Harry tries to go to Peter's aid, but his friend knocks him aside. Smashing through the wall, Peter swings out across the city in a state of utter horror.

Meanwhile, at the Whelan home, Edward's father is also looking over old family photographs in his bedroom. Suddenly, a rat drops down on a picture of Edward and his father. As he tosses the rodent away, Vermin enters the room, dragging his mother in by the hair. The creature greets his father and explains that he has come to kill him. While at her office, Ashley Kafka is sleeply restlessly on the couch. She is suddenly awoken by he sound of a breaking window. Rushing to her study, Ashley is shocked to discover Spider-Man has came smashing through the window. Still under the influence of the hallucinations, Peter beds Doctor Kafka for help.

(https://marvel.fandom.com/wiki/Spectacular_Spider-Man_Vol_1_181)

Fan Art: Having a break by ribkaDory

Accompanying Podcast: ● Untold Talks of Spider-Man - episode 08

[headmage-crowley]

20:00— CROWLEY’S VISITATION. A heavy atmosphere weighs Ramshackle dormitory as the headmage arrives. He stands in the center of the lounge, a solemn look plastered upon his features. Clawed digits wait atop his cane as he waits for the remaining students to trickle in; hushed whispers hum through the Ramshackle students amidst his silence. A selection of professors stand behind Crowley, their expressions grim. 

“Hello, students! It gladdens my heart to everyone so spirited to see me this evening, and that you’ve all become friends with one another amidst these troublesome times!” Crowley’s words are met with a stiff silence from the students; the headmage awkwardly clears his throat. “Anyhow! I’ve come to deliver magnificent to you all–!” 

Crowley falls into a suspenseful quiet. Could it be that the mystery of the magestone was finally resolved? Was the headmage beginning to place students back into the respective dormitories?! 

“Everyone currently residing at Ramshackle dormitory has been assigned mandatory defense training!” Disbelief ripples throughout the students, then protests begin to arise.

“Now, now–! Silence! We’ve already assigned everyone their respective training groups, which you shall receive from your professors shortly. The Ramshackle ghosts have generously volunteered to oversee your progress, and a handful of faculty will also be aiding you in your endeavors!” The professors behind Crowley seem shocked by his last words; they weren’t informed about their participation. 

“Your auxiliary training will begin tomorrow, lasting for two weeks. Your training course will specialize in protection against specters and apparitions— and you must not make any mention of this to any student outside of Ramshackle!” The headmage taps his cane against the floorboard as emphasis, “The Ramshackle ghosts will be documenting your progress every Wednesday and Thursday, and I shall make another announcement following the conclusion of the training camp.”

Inquisitive hands rise, yet Crowley doesn’t make the effort to answer. Canary eyes glance down at the floorboard. Even through his mask, it’s obvious that something is troubling the headmage. 

“Now, if you will excuse me–!” Before anyone can protest, Crowley makes his leave. The remaining faculty exchange anxious looks, then order the students of Ramshackle to line up to receive their training pamphlets. Inside their pamphlets, they will find the training schedule, as well as the groups that they’ve been assigned with. 

A feeling of malaise shrouds everyone at Ramshackle. It’s clear that the headmage is withholding crucial information from them,  but what could it be? 

━━  LIST OF TEAMS CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[gofancyninjaworld]

OPM Manga Chapter 153(?) Review: Forfeit

Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue

We may talk about being super fans but all of us have to know our place and take a back seat to Murata. We may spend too much time and money on One-Punch Man, but who among us has allowed it to shape the very arc of their career? As the No. 1 OPM fan, his work with ONE hasn't just about beautifying, filling out and further exploring the world that the webcomic did, but also bringing through the key aspects that made the webcomic so compelling when appropriate.

There's plenty of both the old and the brand new on show this chapter. You'll need a cup of tea or some other beverage for this one. Much more under the cut!

Something New

New to the manga is our burgeoning understanding of Bang, his relationship with Bomb and just why he's been so keen to save Garou at all cost.

This chapter we reach the apotheosis of conflict between master and erstwhile disciple. Beautifully shaded in dark and light, the two clash, Garou aggressively looking to land the most damaging blows and Bang looking to deflect it all to make the point his brother made to him all those decades ago.

Even in the midst of battle, even as the cost of deflecting the terrifying blows Garou deals out mounts, we see Bang still looking to correct Garou's stance and style.

Things heat up even more as Garou unleashes the brothers' joint technique all by himself. The resulting shockwaves literally pulverise the debris around them. The slightest mistake would do the same to Bang's insides, but Bang is not backing down. If reaching his disciple means putting his life on the line, so be it!

Finally, Bang lands one solid punch on Garou's face, cracking its covering even further. Alas, Garou landed a glancing blow on Bang. That glancing blow is sufficient to stop Bang, and he collapses, regretting that he only came close.

Is it close enough?

That's a question that needs an urgent answer because the commotion has attracted Vomited Fuhrer Ugly's attention and the monster arrives on scene just as Bang collapses into the dirt. With Bomb unable to come to his brother's aid owing to a badly broken leg and Garou reeling from the last punch he ate, it's not looking good for the old hero.

C'mon Garou! Get it together and save your master!

Something Old

We cut to where we left off last chapter, with Zombieman holding onto Homeless Emperor. He has relaxed his death grip and is no longer straddling the man, but he's made it clear that this isn't out of the kindness of his heart; he has questions he wants answering. For his part, Homeless Emperor is regaining some of his cockiness as he's confident that whatever Black Sperm merges into is going to come rescue him.

Unbeknownst to anyone on the field, the manner of Orochi's death now means that 'God' no longer needs to peek and talk to the denizens of the world through His special boxes o' doom. Homeless Emperor watches with horror as, on the Moon, an impossibly huge apparition reaches a hand out of... NOTHING... and comes to stand on the Moon as if the satellite is a slightly oversized beachball.

And then, Homeless Emperor is in a space, a place full of flowers and hills and clouds all arranged and warped in an impossible perspective and he is being addressed by this Being. Only this time it's not a shadowy swirl in the dirt, but solid and crystal clear and yet indistinct at the same time. Just as it'd promised when it was just a voice in a box, everything that it'd given, it took back... with interest.

We leave off with Zombieman perplexed at what he has just witnessed and wondering what Homeless Emperor meant by 'God'. He doesn't look up at the Moon, but even if he had, he would have gained nothing by it.

For the Moon is conspicuously empty and unperturbed. Creepy...

Something Borrowed

I don't wonder at Bang wondering if it's Garou monsterising that's behind the young man's grasp of the dual technique. No man, Garou got it on his own. When you borrow, your lender can take it back.

Incidentally, in the composition and in the desperation of the fighters within each, I couldn't help noticing the parallel construction between Bang and Glasses when they abandoned defense to face Garou for a decisive show down:

It's desperately sad to see Bang brought down by his disciple. It's made even sadder by his words: he wanted so badly to show his brother that he'd made good on the grace Bomb had extended him by paying it forward. And here he is stretched out on the dirt, not quite able to reach Garou, while his brother stretches out in vain over the dirt, not able to move well enough to reach Bang.

I'm really praying that Bang has done enough. If the next update doesn't bring Garou coming to his senses, marvelling at what he's done before stepping up to do right by the old men then we're about to witness a truly senseless tragedy in an arc already full of them.

Something Blue

Madame Shiwababwa didn't have the words for it, but I guess what she was trying to say about the Earth being in Trouble has finally come to view.

I am in awe about the systematic way that Murata and ONE have drawn linkages between the earliest part of the story and the situation we have now. Developing the Subterraneans from what had been a throwaway gag into fully-fledged beings who sit at the very nexus of what's going on has been brilliant.

It's done marvels for us in understanding the difference between transformed monsters, which are perversions of people and creatures, and natural monsters who do exist and share the Earth every inch as legitimately as human beings. Despite Dr Genus expounding on the taxonomy of Mysterious Beings, we readers haven't had to make the distinction between them as even natural monsters only show up when they're furious with human beings and intend to do some freestyle culling of their own.

The Subterraneans change that understanding. They've lived with people for centuries, if the richly layered architecture of their city is anything to go by. The fact that engineers were able to lay down an underground rail tunnel between Subterranean City towers and not have it disturbed by either its denizens or any of the enormous bugs that associate with it speaks of tolerance and co-existence that goes back a long way.

Reinforcing that legitimacy is that the Subterraneans had spirituality, religion and a relationship with at least one God, a relationship whose terms are being honoured. Just as an ancient seer of theirs predicted, a time would come when their God would return in response to the right sacrifice being made. I hope the seer didn't foresee the circumstances in which the prediction would come to pass, what with their civilization destroyed, their people slaughtered, and their city turned into a wasteland full of the foulest most unnatural monsters.

Their demise was instigated by Psykos, who looked into the future and set in train a series of events that look to be bringing on the very trouble she was looking to avert to pass. Shitty human beings seem to keep on turning up as the source of all evil.

Anyway, God. Is. Back. And He is not going to be impressed. What could possibly stand against this being? But wait, what's this? Right under His feet? Is it not the giant crater left on the Moon by Saitama, the person who broke out of his allotted place in life? Well, I do believe it is!

Even at a time when it looks hopeless, it looks like humanity has one unforeseeable trick up its sleeve.

I have no idea how this is all going to shake out but bring it on.

[northernmariette]

In the employ of Marshal Berthier

So you are thinking of applying for employment with Berthier, but you wonder what it's like to work at his headquarters? Here is a helpful description from someone who did work closely with him. The author of this description followed Berthier to Russia in 1812 and to  Prussia [?? not too sure- someone will correct me, I hope] during the 1813 campaign. He was an "ordonnateur", whatever that is. I do think he was a civilian. Anyway, he was some kind of administrative official. He wrote some more about Berthier in his book, and this I will post soon.

Le prince de Neuchâtel était en campagne inséparable de l'Empereur ; son habitation personnelle était toujours sous le même toit, quelque vaste ou quelque exigu que pût être le château ou la chaumière. L'Empereur faisait des apparitions assez fréquentes dans le cabinet du prince, et n'en sortait jamais sans donner un signe de bienveillance à l'un de nous ; le silence le plus absolu y était observé, et l'entrée en était même interdite aux aides-de-camp du prince : la moindre infraction à cet ordre aurait excité d'une manière d'autant plus vive son mécontentement, qu'il ne pardonnait ni la curiosité, ni l'indiscrétion.

Le prince n'admettait près de lui qu'un très-petit nombre de personnes ; elles devaient suffire et suffisaient à la transmission des ordres de l'Empereur, dont le protocole n'a jamais varié :

Monsieur le maréchal...... (1), l'Empereur ordonne.... Monsieur l'intendant-général, l'Empereur ordonne....

Les ordres ainsi expédiés étaient remis au prince, qui ne les signait jamais sans les avoir collationnés.

Néanmoins, il arrivait parfois, pendant les marches, que l'Empereur donnait des ordres verbaux au major-général ; dans ces circonstances, le prince les dictait, soit à un de ses aides-de-camp, soit le plus souvent à moi-même ; mais, arrivé au quartier-général, ces ordres verbaux étaient toujours confirmés par des ordres écrits plus explicites que les premiers.

(1) Le nom du maréchal.

The prince of Neuchatel was inseparable from the Empereur during campaigns; his personal lodgings were always under the same roof [as the Emperor's], however vast or however cramped were the chateau or the cottage. The Emperor made rather frequent appearances within the Prince's offices, and never left them without some kind gesture to one or other of us; the utmost silence was kept in them [Berthier's working quarters], and it was forbidden even for the Prince's aides-de-camp to come into them: the least infraction to this rule would have incited his sharp displeasure all the more since he would forgive neither curiosity nor indiscretion. The Prince would allow only a very small number of persons in his entourage; these persons had to be sufficient [in number] and were indeed sufficient to transmit the Emperor's orders, the protocol of which remained ever unchanged:

My cousin [1], instruct Marshal .... My cousin, instruct the intendant-general [2] .... 

And depending on the order relating to one or several branches of the services, whether troops movement or matters of administration, the Prince, after acquainting himself with it, would pass it on to one of us; this person would then formulate, then underline the part of the order related to the specialized area which had been entrusted to him; then, he passed the order on to his colleague who would complete formulating it, only altering the Emperor's orders by using the following inversion: 

Marshal .... [3], the Emperor instructs you to ..... Intendant-General, the Emperor instructs you to ....

Thus formulated, orders were handed back to the Prince, who never signed them without first collating them.

Nevertheless, il sometimes occurred, in the course of marches, that the Emperor gave his orders verbally to the Major-general; in such cases, the Prince would dictate them either to one of his aides-de-camp or, most often, to me; but once arrived to headquarters, such verbal orders were always confirmed by more explicit written orders. [1] It might appear strange that Napoleon would call Berthier "mon cousin". In fact this is the way Napoleon addressed all his marshals in official correspondence. This appellation was a revival of what the kings of France used to call their own marshals. [2] This was Daru. [3] Here the name of the marshal was inserted. This note is in the original text. https://gallica.bnf.fr/ark:/12148/bpt6k6516642z/f17.item.r=pierre%20paul%20denni%C3%A9e.zoom, pp. 4-7 Further comments on Napoleon's revival of the "mon cousin" appellation: when Napoleon became emperor, he had much research done into the manners and protocols of the ancien régime. There were two reasons why Napoleon did that. First, he wanted to appear credible and presentable to the crowned heads of Europe.

Second, he wanted to put some distance between himself and the marshals, generals and other officers who had once been his equals, if not his superiors, not so may years before. It is quite a step from calling the young whippersnapper "tu" and "toi" and "Bonaparte", to being forced to address by the formal "vous" and "Sire", but Napoleon had to ban all informality if he had any hope of achieving his ends.  

I've read that Lannes resisted going from "tu" to "vous" for quite a long time, and got into hot water for it. It also explains why Augereau was so quick to revert to "tu" when he crossed Napoleon on the former emperor's way to Elba: when these two first met in the 1790s, the Revolution's abolition of the formal "vous" (and if you knew what was good for you in those dangerous times...) was still being observed. So Napoleon, Berthier, Augereau, Masséna, they would all have called each other "tu", though this must have been a strain for Berthier, the product of the royal court at Versailles from his hair to the very end of his tippy-toes.

[scarletarosa]

Types of Hauntings

The following are the types of spirits which haunt places. A haunting means that the spirit is typically bound to one area due to traumatic death and sometimes, they are unaware that they are even dead. All of these are thus human spirits, even the strongly malevolent ones. Contrary to what many people believe, demons do not actually haunt places and typically do not seek to harm people (as they have been the object of many misconceptions); malevolent human spirits are usually the actual “demons”.

Wraiths:

A Wraith is a typical, lingering human spirit. These remain behind after death since they are unable to move on from their traumatic death; sometimes unaware that they had died. Sometimes, they might even be stuck in a time-loop of their own death as it plays over and over; though they lose their memory each time it restarts. Some spirits are in fact aware of their deaths and will remain stuck in this location, often causing them to go insane. On rarer occasions, a spirit will refuse to move on due to having a very strong bond to a loved one, even choosing to remain on Earth together after death. In these cases, the spirits tend to remain peaceful and don’t usually make themselves known to the living. When Wraiths manifest, they tend to appear as transparent apparitions or as orbs; they may sometimes be attracted to people who they believe can free them to the afterlife.  

Poltergeists:

A Poltergeist is what a Wraith becomes if they go insane; this causes them to have more strength to influence the physical plane, allowing them to take out their rage on their surroundings. These spirits are less common than normal Wraiths thankfully, since they have more capacity to harm people. Some Poltergeists have been known to throw things at people or even push them down stairs, sometimes killing them. When a spirit reaches this state, there is not much one can do to free them unless the building they are stuck in is rapidly destroyed (since quick destruction tears the bond their consciousness made to the location at death).  

Khaibits (Shadow People):  

Khaibits are the spirits of humans who were malevolent during their lives and died in ways that caused them to remain bound to Earth. These spirits appear as black humanoids, darker than shadows, and have the ability to latch onto people who come across them. They are always dangerous and are much more likely to try to kill people than Wraiths or Poltergeists. These are human spirits who, during life, had allowed their Khaibit (shadow aspect, their darker self) to become who they are. They are people who had given into their destructive habits, hatred, and sadism; causing their Khaibit to become all that’s left of their spirit, which ends up lingering after having a traumatic death. Khabits are chaotic spirits who present different types of maliciousness; some are moreso destructive while others might be very lustful (these are the spirits known to touch people inappropriately).

Tar Spirits:

While not all tar spirits are human in origin (some of them are from different spirit races of many types), the majority of these are human, so they will be included here. They are also different from the other three categories since they are not true hauntings due to being free to roam wherever they like; both on Earth and in the spirit realm. When a human becomes evil in their life and fully gives into their corruption, allowing it to twist them and destroy their sense of morality, they end up going insane and become a tar spirit when they die. Their difference from the Khaibits is that the Khaibits have not gone insane, have less power, and have some moral limits, though they are still very malevolent. The tar spirits, however, are likely the most evil beings to exist due to their absolute surrender to their impulses. This makes tar spirits (whose majority comes from humans) the true “demons”. They appear as either giant leech-like creatures made of tar and with many mouths full of sharp teeth, or as strange humanoid figures of moving tar.  

These beings are the ones responsible for possessions and utilize possession in order to ruin lives since they hate all of life. They roam through places on Earth, seeking individuals who allowed their minds to become weakened from trauma, as these are the only types of people a spirit can possess. Once they possess this person, it is not obvious that they are possessed (as media portrays), instead, the individual takes on the characteristics of a tar spirit and becomes malevolent. The individual who has been possessed does not even realize that this has happened. They usually give into the hatred that the tar spirit feeds them with, but an exceptionally strong individual can fight against these impulses with will-power. Though if a person does give in (which they usually do), their spirit becomes covered with tar and they cannot turn back.  

In order to recognize if a tar spirit is around you, pay attention to how they make you feel or what they look like. Though usually, they disguise themselves as deities or other beings in order to subtly harm someone’s psychology, or to seduce the person into breeding with them in the astral. In order to to recognize a tar spirit trying to disguise as something different, pay attention to the following tactics they use:

A supposed deity, demon, angel, etc. tries to convince you to marry or have sex with them when you hardly even know them. Tar spirits routinely manipulate unsuspecting humans into reproducing for them, or even forcing themselves upon others.

They tell you that you are very special and not like other people (they may say you’re a god, you have a special destiny above others, you are their own prophet, etc.)

They don’t let you speak/work with other spirits 

They may try to convince you to leave your close friends or lie about friends trying to betray you

They try to convince you that your negative habits/emotions should be embraced

They are toxic and manipulative towards you in general

In order to banish a tar spirit, you can either attack them in the astral by projecting yourself at them, you can call upon a deity for aid, or you can listen to specific spiritual chants that are sung at certain vibrancies that tar spirits hate. Here is an example of such a chant, be sure to play it loud and out in the open (not through headphones).

[bluedragonfairy2000]

Phoenix Blade au pt 1

Okay, I meant to put this out yesterday but since a few of you guys seem interested I think I will give a bit more information on this new au idea that I had

This au begins with Ranboo. He is currently on a quest but he forgot why he is on this quest or even who he is. He only remembers a few things.

1. His name is Ranboo Beloved.

2. He is half Enderian and half... something else that he has long since forgotten.

3. Although he does not remember why he is questing he remembers that the journey he is on is very important, which is why he hasn’t stopped searching for the answers to the questions that he has forgotten.

One day he was traveling through the town of Mineplex and came across a mysterious woman in a tavern. She new his name so thinking that they may have been friends in the past he sits and has tea with her.

As they enjoy their tea the woman explains that she has heard of Ranboo’s plight and wishes to help him. She says that she can help him craft a powerful weapon that will help him completely his quest as well as pointing him in the direction of some warriors who might be able to aid him.

Ranboo intrigued at the thought of finally being able to complete his hopeless quest takes her up on her offer. She then gives him some special instructions , a beautiful sword sheaf, and a unique enchanting book and tells him that if he follows these instructions he should be able to make the mythic weapon. After that he just needs to track down the band of hero’s and then he will be finally able to complete his quest.

Ranboo thanks the woman for her help but before he can ask her name she gets up and leaves the tavern. Ranboo chases after her only to find that she has vanished.

After finding no way of tracking her down he puts on the empty sword sheaf and curiously looks at the enchanting book she gave him. The enchantment is one he has never seen before. The name apparition bounded 3 printed in Enderian on the cover.

After looking through the enchantment and going over the instructions that the mysterious woman gave him Ranboo set out to build this mythic sword and hopefully use it to complete his quest.

[silvestromedia]

SAINTS OF THE DAY FOR MAY 16

ST. ALEXANDER, BISHOP OF JERUSALEM AND MARTYR

St. Simon Stock. Although little is known about Simon Stock's early life, legend has it that the name Stock, meaning "tree trunk," derives from the fact that, beginning at age twelve, he lived as a hermit in a hollow tree trunk of an oak tree. It is also believed that, as a young man, he went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land where he joined a group of Carmelites with whom he later returned to Europe. Simon Stock founded many Carmelite Communities, especially in University towns such as Cambridge, Oxford, Paris, and Bologna, and he helped to change the Carmelites from a hermit Order to one of mendicant friars. In 1254 he was elected Superior-General of his Order at London. Simon Stock's lasting fame came from an apparition he had in Cambridge, England, on July 16, 1251, at a time when the Carmelite Order was being oppressed. In it the Virgin Mary appeared to him holding the brown scapular in one hand. Her words were: "Receive, my beloved son, this scapular of thy Order; it is the special sign of my favor, which I have obtained for thee and for thy children of Mount Carmel. He who dies clothed with this habit shall be preserved from eternal fire. It is the badge of salvation, a shield in time of danger, and a pledge of special peace and protection." The scapular (from the Latin, scapula, meaning "shoulder blade") consists of two pieces of cloth, one worn on the chest, and the other on the back, which were connected by straps or strings passing over the shoulders. In certain Orders, monks and nuns wear scapulars that reach from the shoulders almost to the ground as outer garments. Lay persons usually wear scapulars underneath their clothing; these consist of two pieces of material only a few inches square. There are elaborate rules governing the wearing of the scapular: although it may be worn by any Catholic, even an infant, the investiture must be done by a priest. And the scapular must be worn in the proper manner; if an individual neglects to wear it for a time, the benefits are forfeited. The Catholic Church has approved eighteen different kinds of scapulars of which the best known is the woolen brown scapular, or the Scapular of Mount Carmel, that the Virgin Mary bestowed on Simon Stock.

St. Carantac, 5th-6th century. Welsh abbot and monastic founder, also called Carannog. Carantac founded a church at Llangrannog, Wales, spent time in Ireland, and upon returning to Wales founded a monastery at Cernach. He is associated with Crantock in Cornwall, and Carhampton in Somerset, England. He is also venerated in Brittany, France. He is sometimes identified with a Welsh prince, Carantac, an aide to St. Patrick.

St. Brendan, 583 A.D. St. Brendan died in 583. Born possibly in Tralee, Ireland, and educated by St. Ita and ordained by Bishop Erc, he became a monk and founded a large monastery at Clonfert. Many fantastic details have been added to this brief knowledge usually based on the fictional "Navigation" in which he is described as searching for the Isles of the Blessed, touching the Canaries, and even discovering America. It is possible that he actually made visits to Scotland and Wales

ST. UBALD, BISHOP OF GUBBIO

St. Hilary, Roman Catholic Priest Bishop of Pavia, Italy, who was a ferocious enemy of the Arian heresy.

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter 14: No Call No Show

Characters: Shane Benton (OFC), various other original supporting/secondary characters

Summary: We find out where Shane went Monday after work and exactly why she hasn’t been responding to any attempts at communication…and unfortunately, she’s not just taking some “me time.”

Want to reminisce about when this was just a happy little fluffy romance? Return to chapters past, or look at my other smutty drabbles here!

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings:  SHANE FIGHTS BACK, BUT DEFINITELY GETS HER ASS KICKED, SO FAIR WARNING, IT’S VIOLENT. Language, mature themes, emotional abuse, mention of narcotics (morphine), vomiting, foreshadowing and mention of potential future violent/non-con/dub-con activities, but if those acts occur, they will not be portrayed on the page, but rather between chapter or section breaks, so don’t worry. Also, I use the “R” word, but not to discuss non-con, but rather to add an educational note about why one should yell “fire” when one is being assaulted. Basically no Sy material whatsoever, but he’s mentioned, so I’m tagging it as such! Shane being somewhat blasé about her mortality. I really don’t want to trigger anyone, so please read with caution or wait until you emotionally are ready to deal with our girl going through the shit.

Author’s Note: Really REALLY nervous about this one. This is not the resolution you are looking for, my friends. In fact, it’s not a resolution, at all. Lol. I foresee many people disliking this chapter for some reason or another. That’s actually okay. It’s not a chapter you’re meant to “like” per se. I don’t “like” it. I’m prepared for it to get very few notes, and I’m positioning it anyway. I think it’s some of my better writing, but I hated putting Shane through the ringer like this. It’s just one of those chapters you “get through.” And honestly, if you truly didn’t like it please give me feedback so I can improve and tweak. {For reasons other than “My beebeeeeee!” or “never mention anything less than consensual ever again kthxbye” because a) of all, MY beebee too, and b) of all, that’s what warnings are for and why they should be read.} That being said, I hope it at least tides you over until the next chapter. At least you know where she is…not that THAT’S a big relief under the circumstances! Lol!

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

Tags: 

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@summersong69

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@bloodyinspiredfuck

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@oddsnendsfanfics

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@X@

Previously, in Virginia…

"Shane left work Monday and hasn't been back since. No one has seen her. Apart from you, I presume. "

"I haven't seen her in about a week and a half. I'm training out of state for a job. I've been away from my phone since Monday, and I just got back to it now."

"She isn't…with you? I assumed…"

"Well, you know what they say, Susan. I'm coming back early if I can manage it. See if I can do something to help find her."

Three days earlier, in Missouri…

Shane blinked her eyes open to little avail. She couldn't tell where she was, other than what seemed to be the back seat of a fairly new-model large vehicle, like a Suburban or a Tahoe. She thought it was new because the new car smell was still overpowering the nicotine and tobacco odor of at least one of its occupants. She could also smell the sickly sweet stench of artificial cherry permeating the cabin. The source must be very close to her nose as she lay there helplessly restrained while the vehicle jostled down the road. The smell reminded her of the horrible liquid pain reliever her mother would give her as a child when she had a fever or leg pains. She had taken enough of it then to make her averse to most cherry flavorings as an adult. She wanted to retch.

She could also make out the faint glow of a dashboard lit with LED lights, brighter and softer than those of older models. But she soon had to shut her eyes again. Her head was throbbing and her memories were fuzzy. She remembered very little of Monday…was it still Monday? But she was trying to think, despite the pounding of many drums in her cranium where a brain should be.

She remembered staying at work late to finish notes. She remembered heading home…and she remembered forgetting her phone at her desk and deciding to turn around to get it…when suddenly she was surrounded by vehicles and unable to move without having an accident. Had she known the circumstances then, she would have tried to muscle through. The horrific events came flooding back in traumatic flashes like lightning, or the pulse of passing streetlights in an unfamiliar city.

She remembered…

The glass by her left ear shattered. A hooded, hulking figure reached in through the new opening, fumbling for the handle to open the door. She'd had the presence of mind to fight back there. To punch at the probing extremity. But the extremity hit back, landing a solid smack against her left cheek, stunning her for long enough that the cruel apparition found the unlock button, pressed it, and opened the door. She didn't go quietly. She fought like the hellcat her mother always told her to be. Her foot found the odd solar plexus and groin before enough dark nemeses arrived to overpower her. They dragged her away from her car and out onto the pavement of the church parking lot she'd used to turn around. She did not make it easy for them. She kicked and punched and tried to twist out of their grips like vices. She yelled "fire" as she was taught as a young woman, not knowing the men's intentions, but certain they weren't kind, and knowing that yelling "rape" was not always effective at summoning help. Either way, it didn't matter. She could have shouted anything. No one was near enough, or cared enough, to come to her aid. As soon as her soft hands hit the gritty pavement, though, the violence intensified. She lost count of how many times she got kicked in the back, stomach, ribs. One asshole even kicked her in the tit. She'd find out who that was and he'd find himself in a special brand of pain…if she ever got out of this alive. She heard them calling her awful names that she was sure she hadn't earned, and especially not from these guys. About six of them, she thought. She hardly knew six guys. She certainly didn't know six guys that would want her roughed up like this. She heard one of the men start to say "Come on, guys, we better save some for--" and with that, she blacked out to the tune of the distinct "thunk" of a wooden baseball bat making contact with the back of her head.

She wanted to forget…for it to be a terrible nightmare…to wake up.

But she was awake. This was a waking nightmare. The cold leather on her cheek was made colder by the harsh air conditioning blowing toward her from above and below. She shivered from the chill and from the terror she was trying to suppress. Where were they taking her? For what purpose? And for whom were they leaving parts un-bruised…though it didn't feel like it.

She finally felt them slowing, heard a turn signal clicking, the courtesy of which she applauded despite her position in the active abduction taking place, and felt the gentle displacement of her body toward the driver side, knocking her head into the door. A right turn. Not that it would matter too much, but at least when she escaped, and she made herself think "when" and not "if," she would know which direction to turn to get back to town.

The blow to the head had left her sensitive to light and sound. As she was yanked from the back seat, all she could see was the glow of a dusk to dawn light above them. Normally a soft, guiding light, this one just as well have been the sun itself the way it stung her tender eyes. She squinted against it, thankful as she never would have thought to be, when a shroud was placed over her throbbing head. She could still hear the power coursing through the bulb and fixture, though. Normally a dull hum, in the state she was in, it was as loud as accidentally switching your TV to the snow channel at full volume.

"Bring 'er inside." She heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Two strong, ruthless hands grabbed her by the armpits, causing her to cry out in pain. Such a tender place to bear weight, and why even big strong Sy hated crutches…Sy. Would she ever see him again?

"Shut up, bitch, or we'll knock you out again." She believed them, and being fairly certain she had at least a mild  concussion, she wasn't sure what a second blow of an indeterminate velocity might do to her brain. She dealt with the stabbing pain as the men dragged her across what sounded like gravel, then grass, then something hard and smooth, maybe the slabs of an old, sunken, and somewhat uneven footpath. Soon, she felt the pain of her knees hitting what she assumed were porch steps. One, two, three of them. She was trying to concentrate through the fog now setting in, and maintain consciousness. Paying attention to the sensations, she told herself, was not only helpful for that task, it might help her escape. Remember the scents, too, she reminded herself. She tried to shake off the nauseating cherry and cigarette stench from her olfactory glands and take note of the bouquet around her.

Burnt leaves…gasoline…engine grease…the tang of sappy, just cut firewood…straw…manure…this seemed to be a farm. With a barn nearby…perhaps with horses. She loved horses. If she could find a gentle horse in the night…escape might be easier than she'd anticipated.

Entering the house was a noisy affair. There was a metallic keening from the spring of an aluminum screen door. She imagined it had one of those big swirly cross beams like her grandma's used to have that she always though was supposed to resemble a butterfly. A heavier, wooden door creaked open as the three figures muddled their way in, and the floorboards protested, as well, at the weight of her captors. So, she thought, not only a farm house, but an old farm house.

"Where do you want her?" the man on her left asked into what she only knew as the void, so far.

"Take her to the cellar. I've got things set up down there." a familiar voice chuckled and growled. How did she know the voice? Was he a patient? She couldn't think of anyone she'd treated that would want her abducted and brutalized.

"You got it, E." Ugh, for some reason it bothered her when guys referred to each other by their first initials. Girls, no big deal. But bros…there was something so thoroughly douchey and…familiar about it all…

"Hold on." the man called "E" said, and she heard footfalls approaching her. As he got closer, she smelled…patchouli and incense…and the sea…and it brought back a rush of pain from past trauma followed by literal pain from his punch to her gut. She hadn't been expecting it. Obviously. The wind had been taken out of her. Literally and figuratively. She did know this man…all too well.

"We've got some catching up to do, sweetheart." the pet name dripped like venomous honey from the tongue of the snake before her.

"Elliot." it wasn't a question. She coughed the name out like a pill that had gone down sideways.

Her escorts continued their transportation of her prone body to its destination…she didn't want to think FINAL destination, but the more she learned about her situation, the more she worried that she wouldn't make it out alive.

They had to get creative in carrying her down the narrow staircase to the cellar. They argued for a moment about who would take the top half and who would go backwards.

"How about the one who takes my top half goes forward and the bottom half goes backward?" These idiots. Where did Elliott find clowns like this who needed to be told by their prisoner the best way to sort out their domestic dispute.

She thought she felt them shrug, and silently take her advice as she felt herself being lowered down the stairs, feet first, panic threatening to overtake her restrained limbs.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they stood her up to remove her shroud, and cut the zip ties from around her ankles and wrists. She then noticed a small cell that reminded her of the ones in the sheriff's offices in some westerns she'd seen. She started to freak out, anticipating her future in that horrid place.

"Guys, please. No. Please don't do this. I don't know what Elliott's told you about me, but I'm a good person. I don't deserve this. I have a job and friends and a family who will worry sick about me. I am begging you to let me go. Please!"

"You're wasting your breath, lady." one of the men said, gruffly.

"PLEASE!" she appealed, desperate to get through. "Don't you guys have wives or girlfriends? Mothers, sisters, aunts, or female cousins? What if a woman you cared about was in this situ---" and before she could finish the question, one of the men punched her for what felt like the thousandth time tonight. She fell to her knees, vomiting. And the world went black again.

~~~~~~~

There were no windows. There was no clock. There was just a small twin mattress in one corner of the cell, and a bedside commode in the other. As accommodations went, it was hardly a Hilton, but it could have been worse. It was all lit by a 60-watt bulb in one of those hanging fixtures her dad had always called a trouble light situated on a hook on the side of one of the exposed joists outside the cell. He'd had a similar one for the longest time. He and mom will be worried sick before long, if they aren't already, she thought. The light was aptly named for these circumstances she was in. Trouble. A heap of it. And no idea of how to get out of it.

And honestly, no idea why Elliott would want her here. How he could do such a monstrous thing as having her kidnapped. How he came to live in this place when he never worked a day in his life. She was so confused. She hoped at the very least, he'd give her answers before he murdered her, if that was his plan.

She had woken up on her side, almost her stomach, with her right cheek on the scratchy surface of the bare mattress. Whoever put her to bed had been wise to position her like this given the likelihood that she might puke again. She noticed a small bucket, presumably for that purpose, next to the mattress. There was a caseless pillow next to her head, but she hadn't found that comfort during her nap of…she couldn't tell how long. Not that it mattered. The more she slept, the less time she'd have to process this horror movie she was currently living out.

She heard the door open at the top of the stairs and Elliott shout at one of his flunkies, "What do you MEAN you didn't get her phone?" a pause while indistinct words came from said flunky across the room, or maybe the house. "Well, find it. Tear that piece of shit Explorer apart if you have to. I want that phone." She took exception to her sweet little Norah getting called a piece of shit. That was her Millennium Falcon. And yes, she'd gotten flack for naming her Norah the Explorer, but she didn't care.

Elliott stomped down the stairs, grinning the most infuriatingly happy grin she'd ever seen on him. She wanted to maul him. To tear those stupid eyes out of their sockets with her own fingernails. But she controlled her anger and resisted even acknowledging his greeting of "Hey, sweetheart."

She ignored him.

"It's good to see you."

Silence.

"I missed you."

She stared right through him.

"I heard you and that meat head soldier broke up."

She scowled at him.

"There she is. There's my girl."

"I'm not your girl, Elliott, and I haven't been in years. Why am I here?" She broke. She couldn't take it.

"We'll get to that why soon enough. First, let's talk about why you and Cap'n Crunch are no longer breakfasting together? Soggy cereal? Limp toast? Was he letting you leave the table unsatisfied?"

"As if you ever satisfied me when we were together." She spat back, calling Elliott out on his notorious selfishness in all aspects of life and relationships.

"I've changed."

"Bullshit." she rolled her eyes.

"It's true!" he insisted. "I can give you references."

"I honestly don't give a shit. We're not together. Sy and I are. Happily. And you better let me go soon. He was expecting me at his place after work. He's probably out looking for me right now." she lied. It was worth a shot.

"Now it's my turn to call bullshit, because I know that isn't true." He looked at her with that patronizing stare he had.

"You don't know shit, Elliott."

"I know that your boy took off over a week ago for Virginia and hasn't come back, at least not the way he left. I believe he's supposed to be gone at least a few weeks. Maybe a couple of months. He wasn't sure at last report."

She was literally willing him to burst into flames before her. Her gaze revealed her hand.

"Told ya. You think you're the only one with connections at the fort? I've got me a sweet little sergeant who works in ATC over there. She can out-squat anyone else on base…and let me tell you, it shows." he lifted his eyebrow, lasciviously.

"You disgust me."

"Why? You never seemed to mind my…sexy imagination." he winked at her.

"No, I'm happy that you're getting it good on the regular from an ass that won't quit. But come on. You clearly only got with this girl because you thought it would give you the upper hand against me."

"Well, that's very self-absorbed thinking."

"Really, Elliott? Do you see where we are right now?" they looked around at the dank cellar and he shrugged, unable to deny or rebut. "And this woman. Does she know about this little scheme?"

He gave her one of his more evil grins. "Who do you think kicked you in the tit?" Okay…she was new levels of pissed off now.

"Why…the actual FUCK am I here, Elliott!?"

"Well, Shane, you embarrassed me with that little stunt at the bar a few weeks ago. You thought you were hot shit, parading your sasquatch of a boyfriend around in front of me, in my town, humiliating me as all of my friends watched. And then that dickhead sucker punched me in the parking lot. I shoulda pressed charges. But him being a veteran, I knew how that woulda gone in this town. I didn't have a snowball's chance. So I waited. And I planned. And I was patient. And I watched for my moment. And it finally came. I've been watching you leave work every night for the past week, and you're always with someone, or headed somewhere else, or going straight home. Last night…last night I knew was the night when you didn't leave until after 7. You were the last one out, and I knew that it had to be then. The plan, not that you need to know, is to plaster your social media with humiliating photos, piss off everyone that you love, including your precious Sy, and alienate everyone you've ever cared about until you're miserable and alone."

Shane was crying now. She thought she might be sick again. She reached for the bucket. The delusion of this man thinking that anyone in that bar besides maybe the ones that were there with him that night gave a shit about him. Thinking that the town was his. He was a nobody there. He hadn't grown up there, he didn't work there, he didn't participate in community events. He was kidding himself if he thought anyone cared enough about him that he should feel shame over her relationship with Sy, especially five years after their relationship with each other had ended.

"How's that for a 'why,' sweetheart?" he boasted.

"It's making my ask myself a lot of questions. Like why I ever agreed to go out with you all those years ago. Why I didn't see the signs that you were a psychopath sooner. And why I put up with your terrorism for so long thinking you'd ever really change. I can't believe I ever slept with you, you absolute barbarian." and she heaved into the bucket, non-productively. She hadn't eaten since lunch, and that had to be well over twelve hours ago.

"Well, ya did. And ya can't change the past. But I'm about to take your future into my hands. As soon as we find your phone, we're gonna have us a ball, little girl."

"You honestly think I'll cooperate with any of that?"

"You won't have a choice." he held up a little glass vial. "Morphine. A tiny dose of this stuff, and you'll do anything I tell ya."

"Please. Just let me go now, and I won't press charges. I won't go to the cops, at all. I'll call in to work with a headache, or something and you can live your life with Sergeant Squats and we can leave each other alone."

"A good offer, but I need to get something out of this. I need my pride back."

"And you're gonna get that by dragging me through the mud online from my own Facebook account? Is that really the way you wanna do this? When you could just show me what a great life you've built for yourself. This is a great place here, it seems, I mean, I only smelled it, and felt how big it was while I was getting dragged around the place. But, Elliott, if you had just told me about all this, I would have been happy for you!"

"This place is Sasha's."

"Oh." she grasped for something, anything to make him see how insane he was being without saying the words. "Well, I'd still have been happy for you finding an established woman with a great job. Why couldn't you have just written me a letter telling me that? An email! Something."

"This is how it's getting done, Shane. Because this is the only way that truly ruins your life in the process. Because at the end of all of this, the backlash is going to be too much for you, and you're not going to be able to handle this life anymore…"

"No. Elliott, no."

"Yes. You're gonna take one last hit of the morphine and drive that shitty Ford right into the lake."

"You used to care about art. About beauty. You used to be sensitive. You used to have a soul. What happened, Elliott? What happened to your humanity?" Shane asked, crying, in mourning for the man he used to be. The one that she used to care for.

"I fell in love. And she broke my heart. And nothing has been the same."

"Elliott, I didn't mean to…"

"Oh, fuck, not you, don't be stupid. No, Kara. I met her right after you kicked me out, and SHE broke my heart." he  turned and started up the stairs, pausing to look over his shoulder and say, "I'll be back when I have your phone. And I'll bring friends." before he ascended, shutting the door firmly behind him.

She had never been so relieved to NOT have her phone in her life. Hopefully, her coworkers had it safe and sound, and locked up at work.

Up Next: Chapter 15-Recon