#discreet phenomena

[jordaneprestrot]

Jordane Prestrot

Website . Instagram . Flickr

[simonh]

_JPR5523 - "Je ne suis pas fou" by Jordane Prestrot Via Flickr: ♍ 2013 / Clermont-Ferrand, France ______________ www.prestrot.com Musique : Spotify . Deezer . Bandcamp Littérature : Livres Vidéos : YouTube . Vimeo Réseaux sociaux : Instagram . Facebook . Tumblr

[ohbo-ohno]

Prompt requests: 1) Price x Reader - abandoned farm / waking up in a random room with no idea who/where/why/how you got there 2) Soap x Reader - forest / dealing with strange natural (or not-so-natural) phenomena 3) Ghost x Reader - the only other car in the abandoned parking lot / being followed

1k game here

i went ahead and just did one of these! i've got several requests in my inbox still, but i might come back and add another one you had later :)

1.7k of your ex-boyfriend ghost catching up with you. no smut!

The car's been tailing you since you left work.

It's a discreet car, and you probably wouldn't have even noticed it if you hadn't run several errands before starting to head home. The driver isn't even trying to be subtle - he never parks more than a spot away from you and he never lets another car get between you and him on the road.

You already know who he is. You hate to admit it to yourself, but you know.

Ghost always was possessive. It's not a leap to think he'd be pissed at the idea of anyone getting close to even your car.

Plus, he probably wants you to know he's following you. He always was a sadistic bastard, always liked the see the pain he was causing.

There's no one you can call for help. You didn't rat him out the first time you ran, and you're not going to now. There's no way you could get the police to keep you safe without telling them all about Ghost and his secrets, and you'd be better of just surrendering to Ghost's wrath at that point.

You take a deep breath and tighten your hands around the wheel.

You can't get help.

You can't run - he's tailing you too closely for that.

You can't fight - you don't keep your gun in your car, and you've never been a match for Simon hand-to-hand.

You pull into a dark parking lot, one that's almost entirely empty save for a few people waiting at the bus stop. You take a few deep breaths as you pull to a stop as far away from the bus stop as you can, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable confrontation.

The car parks a spot away. Just seconds later, he's climbing out of the driver's side and striding towards you.

You knew it was him. He'd never send a henchman after you, even all these months later with so much distance between the two of you.

He's clothed entirely in black - like he always is on the job, apparently black hides bloodstains best - and comes to a stop right in front of your window, so your just staring into a wall of darkness.

You roll the window down, the awkward silence heavy.

The first thing you notice when he ducks down is that he's wearing the mask. Not the one sewn onto a balaclava, but one with the skull pattern printed onto the balaclava itself.

"Get out," he grunts. His first words to you in nearly a year and they're a command.

You scowl. This is exactly why you ran in the first place.

"No." You try to infuse as much confidence into your voice as possible, but you know you fail.

He huffs. "Love, c'mon, I'm not playing games. Get out of the car."

You shake your head, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white.

"No! I don't have to listen to you - especially when you've been stalking me all day-"

He sighs loudly, and before you can complain he's reaching through the window and opening the door for himself, quickly ducking into your car.

"Hey, stop!" You try, batting away his hands when he unbuckles your seatbelt, pulling you up by the waist until your standing unsteadily against him. "You have no right-!"

"Baby. Shut up." He growls, reaching around you to tug the key out of the ignition, the hand around your waist affording you no wiggle room.

"Don't you tell me to shut up!" You complain, pushing against his chest as he starts to nudge you in front of him. "I haven't had to deal with you in nearly a year and the first things you think to say to me are an order and shut up? Fuck you, asshole!"

There's a low chuckle at your back, and he turns you around to pin you to the car. Your breath hitches as he presses your chests together, ducking low enough that you can't look anywhere but his eyes.

"I missed you," he says, low and secretive.

God, you wish you could hate him. Everything would be so much easier if you hated him.

"Let me go," you say, forcing sternness into your voice.

"No."

"I'm serious," you try, pushing at the center of his chest. He only uses the pressure as an excuse to lean closer, draping himself over you.

"I'm serious too, love. You're never leaving my line of sight again."

You shut your eyes against the wave of longing that brings. He used to talk like that all the time, back before you realized how deep he was in his life of crime.

Gonna keep you forever, love.

Might chain you to the bed. Keep you safe at home, make sure I always know where you are. Little fuckdoll waiting at home for me, hm?

Never letting you leave me. Never.

I can't stand to be apart from you, love. It feels like I'm missing a limb.

You can't leave - you know that, don't you? I'll hunt you down, baby. This isn't a relationship you can get away from.

Simon was always a little possessive, a little controlling. Sometimes it got you off, and sometimes it scared you. In the weeks leading up to your escape, it did a lot more of the latter.

"We're broken up," you say on an exhale, looking back up at him. He's tugged the mask up to his nose, and his warm breath ghosts over your face. "I left you. We're not together anymore, Ghost."

He nearly flinches at that name, stiffening against you. "Don't call me that."

You don't correct yourself, and one of his hands comes up to collar your throat.

"I'm not joking. You don't call me that, understood?"

He applies just the slightest bit of pressure on either side of your neck and you fold like wet cardboard. Nodding quickly and taking a big deep breath in when he stop squeezing.

"What do you call me?" He bites, leaning closer until you're almost brushing noses. You try to flinch back but can't make it very far. "Say it. What do you call me?"

"Simon," you blurt out, nearly a plea. You haven't been near his intensity in so long, it's hard to handle now. You drop your eyes shamefully, unable to look at him.

"Good girl," he purrs, hand moving upwards to cup your chin and tilt it up. You can't help but meet his eyes, and the softness there nearly breaks your heart. "I'm never Ghost for you, only Simon. You got that?"

"You hunted me down like a dog."

He smiles at that, leans close enough to press a kiss to the tip of your nose. "I got you back. You're the one who ran away, love. It's a scary world out there, I can't leave you all alone."

"I don't need you to help me."

"You will. You'll need me again. Everything will go back to just how it was, and you'll see how good it is again. I'll take care of you."

That makes your heart beat a little faster, makes your breath quicken.

The first few months with Simon were... well, not heavenly but certainly good. Things were at their best when you first moved in - when he was still eager to dodge work for you, and when you didn't realize how violent "work" really was. Things only started getting bad when you started putting the pieces together.

"You can't protect me from your world, Simon," you whisper, tilting your head towards him just enough to bump your foreheads together. That's the whole reason you had run in the first place - nearly getting kidnapped and having a gun held to your head had been more than enough to scare you out of his world.

"I can," he growls, pressing closer to you. "You just have to let me. You didn't know before, but now you do. Now I can make sure you know how to keep yourself safe when I'm not there."

"But I shouldn't have to!" You exclaim, tears welling in your eyes. Why can't he just understand? "I don't want to always be looking over my shoulder, always waiting for someone to hurt me, or to hurt you-"

"That's not going to happen."

"You don't know that!" You explode, shoving at his chest as he tears slip past your waterline.

"I do," he snarls, the first hints of anger painting his words. "I can keep my woman safe. I can keep what's mine safe."

You sniffle as you look up at him, bottom lip quivering.

You're not even sure what to say at this point. What else is there?

He seems to realize you've run out of words and deflates against you, curling both of his arms around your waist and holding you as close as he can while resting his chin on top of your head.

"It'll be okay, love," he comforts, swaying side to side. "I get why you ran, alright? I know you were scared, and that's my fault. It won't happen again. But it's time to stop running and to come home. You know that's where you're meant to be."

You sniffle against him, blinking into the dark fabric of his shirt.

"You scare me," you confess quietly, safe without his eyes boring into yours.

He only stiffens for a moment, then goes soft against you again. "I know."

One hand moves up to pet over your hair, stroking across your head in the exact way that always makes you feel a little loose limbed. It works now, and you give him a bit more of your weight.

"You're scared because you're smart. I'd be worried if you weren't scared. I shoulda known before that I couldn't keep my job from you, and that's on me. If I had told you, you might not have run."

"I would have."

He snorts, tugs a lock of your hair. "Shush. I promise, things will be different this time. Better. All cards on the table."

Your hands tentatively wrap around him, linking at the small of his back. You've always loved how big he is compared to you, how protected you feel in his shadow.

Even now, knowing what you know, you still feel that way.

It's that thought that has you finally breaking down, leaning into his hold and squeezing him tight to you.

"Oh, love," he sighs, squeezing you as tightly as he can without hurting you. "It's alright, you're okay. Just get it all out. Everything's going to be alright."

As much as you hate it, you think he might be right.

[chemblrish]

Actually, you know what @onewigglyworm I will tell you all about quantum things - from a spectroscopist's point of view, of course.

Let me introduce you guys to

✨ the quantum numbers ✨

which describe the state of an electron in an atom. This will be long. Ready? Let's go!

I’m not going to begin with how the quantum theory came to be – it’s a genuinely fascinating story and I suppose it would fit in here nicely, but let’s be realistic: with my inability to shut the hell up this post is already going to be way too long as it is. So, let us find ourselves in the year of 1913 when the standard model of the atom was still Rutherford’s model: a dense clump of positive charge in the center and tiny particles of negative charge (electrons) orbiting it – a microscopic analogy of the Solar System with its large star in the middle and the planets orbiting it.

Rutherford wasn’t stupid and he wasn’t pulling things out of his ass (his scattering experiment? A thing of beauty!), but that model simply couldn’t be real. A moving charge creates an electromagnetic wave and therefore radiates energy which means our electron should begin spiraling towards the nucleus, making the atom an unstable system.

If Rutherford’s model was true, we wouldn’t be here to learn about the crazy wonders of our world, so let’s say THANK YOU!! to Niels Bohr who enters our story at the moment and flips Rutherford’s shit upside down.

Bohr made the following suggestion: “Hey, what if the macroscopic electrodynamics and microscopic electrodynamics were two totally different things?” He figured out that the energy of an atom is quantized – meaning it can’t have any possible value you can think of, but rather those values are discreet, they come in lil packets, and the energy of an electron depends on which orbit it occupies = how far from the nucleus it is.

This is where our first quantum number comes onto the stage: the principal quantum number n. The principal quantum number tells us which orbit our electron is on and therefore what energy it has. Let’s take a look at the periodic table and pick some element, any element – potassium, maybe? It’s in the fourth period which means its valence electron (the one that’s the farthest from the nucleus) occupies the fourth orbit which in turn means its principal quantum number equals 4 (n = 4). Easy, isn’t it!

That’s all cool and dandy but doesn’t solve all of our problems. Bohr’s model described the hydrogen atom perfectly, but failed to explain some of the phenomena related to… well. All the other elements (stop booing! Bohr’s model was a huge achievement at the time and it’s still a handy simplification to this day, even if it isn’t exactly correct).

Enter Sommerfeld. Sommerfeld thought, “Well, Bohr’s model isn’t bad, but what if the orbits of the electrons aren’t circular but actually elliptical?” That gave rise to the second quantum number: the azimuthal (or orbital angular momentum) quantum number l. You know those balloon-like models of the orbitals of an atom? I mean those:

[via]

This is where they come from! The shape of an orbital is determined by the quantum number l.

If we have a quantum number, then something should be quantized, right? In this case, that “something” is, predictably, orbital angular momentum (in very simple words: if a moving object has mass, then it has momentum, AKA how much will it hurt if someone throws an orange at you vs a watermelon. If said object is moving in a circle instead of a straight line, it has angular momentum). The quantum number l allows us to determine the angular momentum of an electron.

But Sommerfeld went further than that, because why come up with one quantum number when you can come up with two? He knew of what we call the Zeeman effect in which the emission spectrum of an element looks different in the presence of a magnetic field (more spectral lines appear than there are without a magnetic field) and he concluded that there has to be another quantized parameter – the orientation of the angular momentum. Come to think about it, it’s pretty crazy. Electrons don’t orbit the nucleus of their atom only “in two dimensions”, in a flat manner, like planets around their star; but their orbits aren’t scattered randomly all around the nucleus either – their positions are quantized. We describe those positions with the third quantum number – the magnetic quantum number m.

Obviously, this is a pretty big simplification – perhaps my physicist friends here will scoff at this explanation – but I think it’s good enough for the layperson who doesn’t necessarily want a lecture on vectors, dipoles, and precession.

Okay, so far so good. We have three quantum numbers, great job! We can now describe the state of an electron pretty well and all that’s left for us to do is to prove experimentally that we’re right and that the orientation of angular momentum is in fact quantized, and then we can all go home.

That’s exactly what Stern and Gerlach attempted to do. Again, I’m going to skip the details of the experiment (although I do encourage you to look into it yourself!), but the shortened version is as follows: Stern and Gerlach passed a beam of silver atoms through a non-uniform magnetic field, then observed the results on a screen on the other side. If the quantum theory was wrong and the orientation of angular momentum wasn’t quantized, then the screen should show a smooth projection of all possible orientations. If the quantum theory was right, the screen should show several lines corresponding to the quantized orientations of angular momentum.

So, we switch on the magnetic field, we fire the silver atoms, we take a good look at the screen… and we get two lines. Not a smooth distribution and not a handful of lines either but only two lines. What? Looks like there is some spatial quantization, but “regular” angular momentum isn’t what we’re looking at here.

The mystery was solved a couple of years later by Uhlenbeck and Goudsmit who suggested that, “Guys, what if electrons have some sort of inherent angular momentum that’s separate from their motion around the nucleus? We should call it ‘spin’, let’s call it ‘spin’, can we call it ‘spin’?” And so, we arrive at the fourth and final (wellll… final for this post) quantum number: the spin quantum number s.

If you've made it this far: whoa, congratulations! I had fun writing this, I hope you had fun reading it too.

I tried to make it as understandable to the random non-scientist as possible which naturally called for many simplifications and glossing over some details - I hope the quantum pros here will forgive me.

[sigmaelxgr]

WIP show

Thank you @captain-of-silvenar for tagging me once again! To be honest, I dont spend much time on tumblr anymore except to have discussions and to share a few few things - I tend to forget I have an account here until some tag pops out of nowhere. I love them, and I'll try to give you some WIPs of mine. I've been working on young Xangr's diary. I have MANY pages of it and I'll try to translate them as correctly as possible... Now that it's my turn, I'll tag @yansurnummu and @lokorum!

So before we start, a little bit of context: We're years before the Planemeld. The coming piece of WIP comes from a whole diary that bears no date on it. It is at ESO days kept by the Mage Guild of Auridion, since it's trusted that it belonged to an ex-member of their cell and has been found in a Worm Cult nest. Here are the latest pages I'm working on (translated as I could) /!\ IT'S LONG :

[...]

[...] It's the strangest text so far. As I decipher and translate it, it keeps rearranging its characters. It annoys the crap out of me. The glyphs describe and can be used as an easy hook. That was the purpose of the Wayrest colleagues if I reckon and I think the project is about the same here. Among the non-orthogonal lines, I'm beginning to glimpse discreet characters impregnated with subreptice. They have an unpleasantly familiar aroma that I can't quite put my finger on yet. When I touch these irregular arrangements of symbols, they dance, belch and nauseate me. It's a putrid smell. I don't know what it's doing here, but keeping these sentences isolated from the rest might come in handy. I have an inexplicable certainty about it - the feeling that it will be useful to us. I should think about bringing him a bouquet of flowers. I think he'd like it and it would help us get back on track. We can't stay in this situation.

Have returned to the text. The sketches I've isolated have stopped moving and describe a phenomena that can barely take shape in our reality. I can easily deduce that they break the laws of the Veil and obey only their own. I'm intrigued, but I won't say anything to the others for the moment. I wait until I've finished the task and understood everything before sharing the news. The other stuff? Simple, wordy equations about transliminality. They'll be useful for those who need to be reminded how to count. I wonder when I stopped being impressed by all these signs. I even wonder why I understand them so well. I get the feeling that they're speaking directly to me, and that the language used on this dusty paper isn't what carries the point. I'm beginning to wonder about the languages of other planes. I read an interesting book the other day that I'd pulled out of the laboratory stash. There are theories about the probable immaterial nature of daedra essence. I'll explain when I'm done with this parchment. He told me today that I look pretty good for someone who lives with an infant. I think it's his disguised way of telling me that he suspects I'm not sleeping at home. I don't like it when he does that. I don't like his eyes. They burn, and the flowers haven't helped anything between us. I'm going to spend several nights back in the attic, until I feel he's less concerned by my absences.

Back this evening. They made progress on my work but didn't feel the potential of the verses I extracted from all the paragraphs. It's only me who feels the call, obviously. I'm tired, and the quality of my writing is suffering. My lines are indecipherable and I have to keep correcting myself. However, they seem satisfied. Before I leave, I should have extracted a new equation. It's like alternating between removing a splinter or pulling a tooth: I operate between the meticulous and the brutal, each time using my pen and fingers as pliers. Sometimes you just have to know how to get respect, even from a piece of paper. “Zymel Hziz.” This is the last nymic I've managed to isolate - a lightning atronach. Decidedly, Oblivion today is convenient in the way it lexicalizes the entities that reside there… It's even suspiciously tidy. Note: don't lock yourself into a general rule. Being taken by surprise isn't always a pleasant experience.

My results have been transmitted and will soon be re-evaluated. I'm waiting for them to come back, stamping my feet slightly but not too much. They don't like it when I'm impatient; I hear it's too decisive a flaw in many cases. To keep myself busy, I pick up these rotten-meat-smelling characters again. I wonder if they're not a formula. I don't recognize any grammatical arrangement that might remind me of an entity, even squinting. I don't think it's a sentence. I'm sure it doesn't say anything and I'm not sure it matters either. Indeed, it says nothing. I've been thinking about it for several nights now, and I think I've finally figured it out. I'll wait a few more hours to flesh out my observations. It may not say anything, but it talks. And when I say “it talks”, I mean it's loquacious. Reading these incomprehensible phonemes is inaudible. I repeat and repeat in front of my colleagues, and they get nothing but annoyance out of it. But as I struggle to pronounce this unspeakable jumble, I'm gripped by a new certainty. I'm convinced that this language finds a way to be universal and selective at the same time. I'm certain that I can understand it because it wants me to. In the meantime, I have to say that it sounds awful. I must pronounce it with a deplorable accent, rather like I pronounce my Altmeri. I must confess that I haven't particularly tried to articulate my Altmeri correctly. Altmeri is good for vomiting. Altmeri is best disgorged from the heart.

Today's demonstration was impressive. I've learned a lot and I'd like to share with them my questions about the nature of this language. I'd like to call it “Skrmblz”. It adds a bit of cuteness to the sordidness, a bit like me. Skrmblz is a bit devious and has poor hygiene. She won't let anyone talk to her, and doesn't let anyone listen to her. Skrmblz has a nasty temper. We've taken turns trying to spit her out, and it's only when I have her in my mouth that I can taste more than bile. In the end, Skrmblz opens up to me with the force of my tongue, like someone stirring in a big mashed potato. It reminds me of good evenings.

Tonight, it's been a week since I've been down to the brothel. I'm in a cold sweat. Maybe I'll spend the next few nights relaxing a bit. I don't care if he's disappointed in me, all he had to do was appreciating my flowers!

I should bake him a cake…

Look, I'm sorry. I think I really am. I wish you'd appreciate them and put them in a vase next to our bed. I guess she didn't let you keep them in our house. I know you're worried and I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't have started it, we shouldn't have talked about it and I should have stayed pure and virtuous like you. Sometimes I envy you. I miss you, only caring about that screaming infant and that woman who shrieks like a sow. You know something? You deserve better. When I get rid of all this, we'll be fine. I think with your clarity, you'll have no trouble seeing how happy we can be. You can even keep the baby, for all I care... I understand why you don't want to trust me with it, since I'm about to ransack every one of my synapses.

I promise, I'll try not to stay there for more than 72 hours. I promise this time I'll go home and get some sleep.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi hi! I just read your AIB Chishiya see you on the other side AND LOVEEEEDDDDDD ITTTTTT❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Your writing is chef kiss! I’m not sure if your requests r open atm, but if possible! PLZZZ do a part 2 when they in the hospital! Even if it’s a mini one!! Thank you for reading my chonky message and have a good day! Or night ! Where ever ur from 😂 :D

Honestly didn’t think anyone would ask my for a follow up to that fic but I’ll bite. And also thank you for liking that fic cuz I honestly didn’t think I do a good job portraying Chishiya.

Previously on See you on the other side:

Lost and afraid you almost called out in a state of panic when a voice, cool and collected, reached out to you. Silencing the unnecessary noise within. “You’re finally awake.”

You followed the sound of the voice and were greeted by a vaguely familiar pair of brown eyes and a Cheshire Cat smile. You furrowed your brows as your brain overworked itself for answers as to why this fake blonde felt so important to you. Did you use to date? No, this was probably what people meant by experiencing de ja vu.

You felt as though you know someone but the details as to how or why were blurred beyond belief, making it impossible to find the solution you needed to ease the unrest within yourself of not being able to solve what would be considered a simplistic question. Normally you would’ve said that you’ve never met this man in your life but for some reason deep down you’d know that would be lying; you did know this man but it seemed as though your mind had been wiped of the answer as to why.

“I’m sorry, this might seem like a stupid question but have we-“

“Met before? No.” He says. “However it seems that we are very much experiencing similar issues. We feel as though we met and yet try as hard as we can, we can’t find a good enough explanation as to why we feel that way.” The fake blonde adds but ultimately shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m sure all will be resolved in due time once that fog clouding the restricted areas of our mind is finally lifted.”

He looked over to you in your bed and you could’ve sworn that he was trying to take in every detail of your face but tried to do so with discreet but somehow you could see through it. See through him as though it was second nature. “So I wouldn’t worry to much as for right now since you, myself and countless other survivors are in much fragile conditions.”

“You know, despite taking for god knows how long I still don’t have your name.” You then decided that now would be an overtime moment to change subjects as to not continuously mind fuck yourself into a headache. Certain parts of your body ached like shit, even with you being hopped up on medicated drugs and you didn’t feel like wanting to add headache onto that list. So it would be best to follow the fake blondes advice and give it a rest.

“Chishiya.” The male answered swiftly. Damn even he name felt familiar, almost as though you and countless others have said it over a million times but again…you didn’t know where and you didn’t know how.

you responded with yours in turn and Chishiya hummed as though with familiarity.

You didn’t know how long this feeling would last but you sure hoped it wasn’t for very long as you were dying to know the potential relationship you had with Chishiya.

Unknown to you but Chishiya was also curious about the context of his relationship with you. He wasn’t using to feeling much at all but for some strange phenomena, your supposed first meeting made him felt more then he had felt in a long while and needless to say, his interest was peaked; Chishiya could only wonder if you could hold it long enough before he grew bored.

[kid-of-chaos]

Another day another Sky: Balance in Chaos protagonist! Based on Sigma from Overwatch (the game still sucks)

The Unstable Recorder.

Things to note: She can wear the Light-Catcher’s mask in this outfit. She’s also supposed to have a bag of scrolls indicated by duets posters (whichever one) but had to use moments camera :( It’s not shown, but she has 12 Wing Charges.

Name: Kimako* (Formerly the Dauntless Astrophysicist)

* Name means “the Secretive” in Tenebrin

Gender: Female

Nickname/Alias: The Quiet Archivist, The Propagandist

Race: Luxinis Novalis (Torian, or more commonly known, Sky-kids)

Type: Revived Ancestor

Age: 57 (Past Life), 15 (Current Life)

D.o.B: Sept 22 (Sanctuary-Prophecy time gap)

Appearance: Kimako is a teenage Torian girl who’s commonly known for always being seen with a bag of scrolls, books and other written media and watching things from afar. She often keeps her eyes closed to, and I quote, “not overwhelm her senses”. When doing her Archivist duties, she often wears a more discreet outfit (As seen below).

Tools/Weapons: Although overshadowed by the book she always carries, she has several daggers and a Fan Blade. How she got her hands on these weapons is unclear, though I assume she haggled for them.

Powers/Abilities: Has possession of Moon-based abilities due to an experiment gone wrong in her previous life. She can harness the Blue Moon’s Harmony, the Blood Moon’s Hostility, and the Eclipse’s Duality.

Weaknesses: Said powers are highly unstable and violate, forcing her to use them in small amounts unless the situation is dire. This is probably why she has her eyes closed, as the energy she took in might have heavily affected her senses.

Notes (Made by Arcivo): [Ah yes, Kimako. Some say she’s the way she is from pride, but that’s not the case. She was once an astrophysicist interested on how the moon affected life for Torians and Braki decades after the fall of the kingdom. So one night, on a Super Moon, she tried to harness the moon’s power with a Darkness Shard, Photolite, and a Blue Moon Shard (how did she obtained these, I have no idea). She quickly realized why dangerous phenomena are deemed as such.

The three energies reacted violently with each other and the Supermoon phenomenon, causing direct exposure and mutation. The unstable energies drove her mad, and ultimately, killed her.

I have no idea how she still has these powers in her current life, but it’s safe to assume that it affected her light so much, it’s now a part of it.]

[otomes-and-tears]

♦ an unsung melody (is mine for safekeeping) (6/7) ♦

► tags/warnings: pregnancy, past character death, angst

► words: 2204  

► A/N: If you have any name suggestions i’d love to hear them!

Part (01)  (02)  (03)  (04) (05)

► Masterlist

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, I haven’t changed my mind in the last five minutes, Erika.”

They were standing in the living room space of a small house, just outside of the main headquarters. 

Moving homes was something that Erika had brought up shortly after they started planning. It was an afterthought, a small suggestion that she had been mulling over for a while.

The walls of the HQ’s rooms weren’t thin, but they definitely wouldn’t hold up against a baby’s wails, particularly when thinking about faelians with sensitive hearing, and as the child grew up, moving away from the HQ rooms was an inevitability.

Nevra agreed with her— and then surprised her by suggesting to help her with it.

Well. Suggesting might be a slight understatement. It was closer to him simply informing her that he intended to help and wouldn’t accept no for an answer.

So that’s how they’re here. Nevra is carefully inspecting one of the rooms (with the wide windows and light yellow curtains she can almost picture a nursery) while she lingers behind, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to another while playing with the sleeves of her oversized sweater. Her feet are already aching, she can feel them swelling inside the boots that she stubbornly decided to wear, and she’s already annoyed due to hunger.

The house seemed fine to her.

She rebuilt her life with way less in the past and Erika was glad enough to have her own kitchen and bathroom, but Nevra was being a little… too attentive.

In normal circumstances, she would’ve kindly asked him to mind his own business and let her handle it, but despite the annoyance, she found it sweet for him to be worried.

Besides, as part of their agreement, Nevra would technically be living with her for a while due to their child. So, it was his business. 

(If her heart fluttered at the thought of this being their home, it was no one’s business but Erika’s.)

The person Huang Hua sent along to show them the available homes looked at Erika strangely, with the same expression that she’d usually associate with people who had known of her and not met her.

It was unnerving to be observed so intensely, they weren’t even trying to be discreet about it! It just made her feel uncomfortable and overexposed.

It had only been a couple of days since the big announcement. Erika didn’t want one, but it was a necessary evil. 

Overall, it hadn’t been too bad. Huang Hua gathered the HQ residents in the doors corridor and announced the good news. While Erika could feel the tension in the air, no doubt due to the increasingly strange phenomena surrounding Eldarya and Earth, most people were nice enough to be excited for her.

She spent the last few days being congratulated and teased, and trying to ignore the waves of sadness and grief she felt, but knew weren’t her own. 

Leiftan was trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check, she could feel the attempts to keep his grief locked away, but some things one can’t simply help.

The emotion sharing was something Erika was still getting used to, being a relatively minor footnote in the absolute chaos that had been the last couple of months but couldn’t help but feel bothered by it.

She tried to shake off that train of thought. She could deal with Leiftan’s mess later.

Now she had a different priority, who was carefully analysing the peeling wallpaper on the house’s walls.

“Aren’t most of the homes similar?” Erika tried to smile, as kindly as she could, to try to sway Nevra. “This one is one of the closest to the HQ and it’s in fantastic shape!”

It wouldn’t even need remodelling or that much furnishing. Just some cleaning and decorating and it would be perfect. 

Nevra looked at her like she had just sprouted a second head. The poor faelian murmured  “I’ll leave you two to discuss” before going outside and closing the door behind them.

“I’m tired,” Erika admits. It had been the fifth available, and final, house they’d seen today and none of them had satisfied Nevra. “It’s the last home we can move into on such short notice. Can we just… choose one? They were all great.”

“Do you… Seriously expect so little?”

The half-human stopped and blinked. Nevra’s serious expression morphed into something softer, kinder. His eyes were full of pity.

“What do you mean?”

Erika asks, genuinely. Nevra’s voice is slightly exasperated when he answers.

“Don’t you want a bigger house? Somewhere quieter? A garden? Maybe a little library?”

She snorted before she noticed he was being serious.

By the oracle, imagine if she had been offered a garden when she first arrived. A library and large rooms?

All she got was a room without even a mattress, and she was deemed over dramatic for throwing a fit.

The idea of demanding more right now never even crossed her mind.  

Erika had to fight tooth or nail for the right to exist. To retain even a shred of dignity in a world that was hostile to her.

She gave up a lot, too much.

And now, all she needed was somewhere comfortable for her child to live, that was close enough to the HQ that they could summon her quickly in case of emergencies.

She saved the world and all she got was a statue and more responsibilities. This harsh world taught her to expect nothing at all from her efforts.

But still, Nevra stands beside her and expects her to ask for more. Erika doesn’t even know what to say.

(A small, intimate part of her brain screams you. I want you, but she pushes the feeling down.)

“Maybe when this is all behind us.” She says, quietly. Erika moves to stand closer to the window, taking in the view of the other houses in the refuge. “When there isn’t this big, looming threat on the world— When Eldarya is at peace. Then we can move into a nice, big house with a library and a garden.”

“We?”

He asks, and out of the corner of her eye, she can see him getting closer. Is her mind playing tricks on her or does he sound hopeful?

“We.” She confirms, nodding her head as an extra measure. “Unless you don’t want that— which is totally cool, by the way. No pressure.”

It was all wishful thinking, anyway. The idea of living peacefully in Eldarya without the threat of war or a major disaster seemed distant, almost impossible.

But it was nice to think about. A pretty, fleeting fantasy.

“I’d like that.” 

Nevra says, after a moment. Erika snaps her head to look at him so quickly that it seems almost cartoonish.

“You do?”

She asks, again, dumbfounded.

“Yes, I do.”

He seems to consider something before saying it, and Erika strains to be patient about it. 

It seems like all they do lately is wait for each other, hiding meaning between the lines and hoping that the other understands it. 

She’s tired of toeing the line. Tired of the ambiguity, but too scared to ask more of him. 

So she waits and hopes he’s getting tired of these games too.

“There’s nothing I want more than for us to live in peace,” Nevra says, standing beside her to look out the window. “You deserve the life that you wish for, Erika. Our child deserves it too. And there’s nothing I’d love more than to be in it.”

He reaches out to touch her face, cupping her cheek with his hand. She leans against it, relishing in the comfort that the contact brought.

She did not cry, not this time. 

She felt a little silly for thinking that Nevra only cared for her now because she was carrying his child.

Nevra wouldn’t look at her like this if it wasn’t the case— the way his eyes softened, as if he was looking at something precious, the gentle curve of a smile on his lips, wasn’t something he ever granted to anyone else.

The fondness, the care, and the deep bond they shared, being united not only by the child they had created but by all that they went through beforehand— the battles, the reveals, the sorrow, joy and everything in between. It was far more than a romantic relationship, too sacred of a connection to be defined in words.

They were good people who had been through far too much. Who had the weight of the world thrust upon them at too young of an age, and who still had to carry the burden of the type of power they possessed— Erika wanted to be selfish, just for once, and hope for a happy ending. A happy ending where the world was saved, she was allowed to love and be loved without tragedy, and her baby would live so happily that they wouldn’t know the pain their parents went through.

An ending that she could share with Nevra this time.

Where she wouldn’t have to leave him behind to pick up the pieces in the name of the greater good.

“I’ll be there. In any way you’ll have me.”

He added, and Erika nodded. It wasn’t hard to believe him like this when he seemed so desperate to show her that he was sincere in his words.

“Even if all I want is to live here with you?”

Nevra rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed by her request, even if she could plainly see how it wasn’t true.

“If that’s what makes you happy.”

The vampire leaned down to kiss her forehead, the gesture seeming so natural that it didn’t even register as something to be embarrassed about. He turned away to call over the representative outside when Erika reached out to grab one of his hands.

The action was purely impulsive. Just, Erika wishing to stay in that little bubble they’d created for a little while longer, to be able to linger in the happy ending she fantasised about for just a second more.

“Yes?”

He was puzzled by her reaction, and she didn’t know what to say at first, what words would be suitable to explain the flurry of thoughts and emotions that had tormented her from the second she saw him after her awakening. But she couldn’t just say nothing. Erika would never be able to forgive herself if she let him go a second time.

Did the notion of a happy ending even matter in the long run? What’s the use of suffering, of putting all her needs aside for the sake of a nebulous greater good if she was doomed to a tragic ending anyways?

Maybe the ending doesn’t matter. It never did. All endings are tragic in their own bittersweet way, after all.

Life isn’t fair. She can’t hope for a happy ending in exchange for all she has endured, that’s the lesson that her life in eldarya had taught her. All she can hope for is to live happily in the present and to surround herself with love right now so she doesn’t have regrets in the future. 

Erika looks up at Nevra, as he waits for her, patiently, expectantly.

“I think I am in love with you.”

The words came easily, and she didn’t feel scared or hesitant. It just felt right. It felt right to look at him at that moment, alone in what would soon be their home and confess that to him.

He seemed surprised for a moment, before quickly regaining his composure and pulling her close, leaning in like he was about to kiss her.

She closes her eyes, expectant before she feels his breath on her neck. His lips were close to her ear.

“You think?” He whispers, and she flushes in embarrassment. Of course, he would tease her for that. “Well, I think I need more certainty than that.”

“I know.” Erika corrects herself  “I never stopped loving you, Nevra.”

That seems to satisfy him because just as she was wondering if she should open her eyes and flee in embarrassment she feels his soft lips against hers, and it feels like coming home.

All the tension around them was finally gone— the last piece of the puzzle finally clicking into place, and all she could feel was relief.

It feels too soon when he stops kissing her, and she’s about to lean in for another one when he hugs her, too tightly, as if she was going to disappear if he loosened his hold.

Erika feels the tears welling up in her eyes. He needed this more than he needed the kiss- he needed the assurance, that she was there and that she loved him and that she wouldn’t disappear again. The thought of it makes her cling to him too.

For a long time, they don’t speak. The only sounds echoing in the empty house being Erika’s sobs as Nevra holds her.

“I love you.” He whispers, quietly into her hair. Those words were only ever meant to her, only hers to hear. “It’s always been you. No one but you.”

[cheerstotheelites-if]

Happy Birthday.

Two words that Fleur never thought she would receive.

14th of Blossom.

She always wondered why the gods decided to be cruel to her; to have her be born on the day of love when her own family can't even give her a single ounce of it. Well, her brothers are there, but even whatever attention that's given to her feels… fake.

A presence appears beside her desk, their shadow shielding away the light from landing on the book she was reading. Letting out an internal grumble, she looks up at the person who dares interrupt her reading. Fleur meets the eyes of an 11th grader, holding a red box decorated with small white hearts and a golden ribbon on its lid in trembling hands. Taking a glance to the other two people beside this girl and egging her on to say something, Fleur can only assume that they are this girl's friends.

It's a feat for a lower level to visit their superiors, let alone enter the classroom.

Classmates that are in the room halted everything they were doing to watch this phenomena with intrigue. Some had their phones out and recording everything in a poor attempt to be discreet, or probably free blackmail.

"Yes?" Fleur inquires, raising a brow at the girl with the box. The girl simply flinches, cheeks flushing almost immediately.

A minute passes and Fleur is only met with silence. Sighing in mild irritation, she picks up her book again. "If it's nothing, then I suggest you go back to your classroom, lest I report you three to the Headmaster for—."

"This is for you!" The girl interrupts, words tumbling out in panic and fluster, as she offers the box to Fleur. "It's… um… I made it. I hope you like it…"

The book is lowered again, much to Fleur's chagrin as she takes the box from the 11th grader, careful not to make their hands brush. Raising a brow, Fleur opens the box and inside are macarons… covered in gold.

… Can someone atleast give her any decent looking things?

Fleur looks up at the 11th grader, then back at the macarons, then back at the 11th grader.

"You made this?" Fleur asks, tone flat, clearly unconvinced that this girl slapped how many sheets of gold leaves on four macarons in a spacious box and expect that to be accepted as a gift.

"I had some help…" The girl admits sheepishly, hands wringing nervously.

Fleur lets out a noncommital hum, and closing the box again. She might as well feed these to her brothers later.

"Is it alright if I ask you something before we, um, leave?" The girl asks, her voice going soft now, flush growing deeper.

Here we go again.

A sigh is held back from escaping, and Fleur gives a curt nod. "Alright."

"Will you be my girlfriend…?"

~•~•~

Fleur lets out a tired exhale as she sits in the back of the limo. One arm is loosely on her abdomen, other is raised and its hand is busy holding her lowered head as she leans back.

Gifts she's received throughout the day idly sit beside her, some tumbling down the pile and landing on the floor. She didn't bother picking them up.

Her brothers sit infront of her on two different seats across each other. They have their own pile of Amore day gifts, not as much as hers but still plentiful. Murphy's busy eating at one of the many sweets he received, while Ziyad reads through confession letters then throwing them into a pile once he's finished with a look of disinterest.

"I heard you made a girl cry today, Fleur." Murphy says through crumbs of cookies.

"I wouldn't be too concerned about that." Fleur flatly remarks. "An 11th grader wanted me to be her girlfriend."

"And did you say no?"

A scoff. "Of course I did. What did you expect from me?

"Not much." Murphy shrugs and takes a bite of a different cookie, only to cringe at the taste and put it back in its container then reach for a different box. "Though I'm glad you said no. Good riddance to that girl. I would've—"

"Threatened her to break up with me." Fleur rolls her eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "I can handle myself, for the love of the gods, Murphy. We've talked about this already. You don't have to hold my hand all the time."

Murphy is quick to frown. "Well, yeah, but I just don't want you getting hurt, that's all."

"I can handle myself. I don't need you to be there twenty-four, seven just to coddle me and spoonfeed me everything."

"But—"

"Enough."

The rest of the ride back home was silent, only broken by the occassional tear of and crumple of confession letters.

~•~•~

Home wasn't any better.

If school has given her too much attention, home is barren of it.

Her parents, strangers as they are to each other, are quick to swarm their adopted sons in the bright entrance hall, asking how was their day and teasing them about the amount of admirers they've gotten.

Fleur has already gone ahead, barely a glance towards her as she's off to the dimly lit staircase nearby.

"Fleur." She stops, recognizing the curt tone of the man who raised her. She turns from a few steps high up, looking down at the family butler, who stands by the landing below.

"Chiffon." She returns the same curt tone.

The butler remains unfazed. It's a song and dance he and Fleur goes day-to-day. "How have you been?"

A mild shrug. "Good, I suppose. I didn't have a coughing fit today, and you?"

An imitated shrug. "Same as you. Nothing eventful has occured today."

Silence for a bit, quickly broken by Chiffon clearing his throat.

"Right, well, I nearly forgot to inform you that you have a guest in your room. You better go and see him. He's been waiting for a few hours now."

Fleur already knew who Chiffon is referring to, and she gives a nod, turning to go up the stairs—

"Happy Birthday."

She stops. Her hand gripping the wooden railing tightly.

"Another year of you still being here, being alive and well, you. I'm… thankful that you're still here with us. With the people who still care for you, even if you think that there is no one else."

Stillness fills the air for a while, with neither person willing to move.

…

…

Fleur continues up the stairs, not daring to look back.

•••

The door to her room opens, a faint figure visibly sitting at the edge of her canopy bed in the dim darkness.

"You know you could have turned on the lights while you waited." Fleur frowns and flicks on the lights, aquamarine, black, and white immediately greeting her as she looks at the figure.

The figure merely smiles, flopping back and turning to lay on his stomach on the bed. "Well, I wanted to surprise you. Is that bad?"

Fleur faintly rolls her eyes and shuts the door behind her as she enters the room. "No, but you weren't really hiding to make it a surprise." Her bookbag lands on her desk with a small thud, and she takes off her blazer and hanging it on a hanger. "What brings you here today, Cooper? Evelyn pestering you again?"

Cooper pouts, his legs swinging up and down behind him. His cheek rests on his palm as he watches Fleur take off her shoes and put on some slippers from a nearby shoerack. "You ask me that as if I don't know it's your birthday today."

A dry chuckle escapes Fleur's lips as she places her school shoes in the shoerack. "Is that the only reason?"

That made Cooper grumble. "Well, yeah, obviously. It's your special day, so I just have to come see you."

At that Fleur sighs, as she hangs her ID on a wall hanger. "Cooper, you know I hate celebrating my birthday."

"I know, I know, but—" Cooper pushes himself up to his elbows. "—we don't have to celebrate it. We can just say that I came here because I have a gift for you, you know, like we always do."

A hum. "Alright." She turns to face him, a small smile on her lips. "What gift did you bring me then?"

Immediately, Cooper lights up, scrambling to stand up and rush over to the balcony, then come back inside a few minutes later with a small, velvety, black box in hand.

"I had Evelyn and Darius help me pick." Cooper says, gingerly handing over the box to Fleur with an excited smile. "I hope you like it."

Curiosity getting the better of her, Fleur is quick to open the box and inside is a simple teardrop pendant. It's colored a deep lapis blue, and held by a thin, gold chain.

There's nothing grand to it.

Her father would scoff at seeing such a thing.

It's simple.

And Fleur likes simple.

"It's beautiful." The words come out immediately in a breathy manner of awe as she examines it in her hand.

"Oh thank gods." Cooper sighs in relief, shoulders slumping. "I was worried that you didn't like the color, because we couldn't find a black gemstone, and, you know, you're all about dark colors and—oomf!"

Arms are wrapped around Cooper as Fleur hugs him tight. "Thank you." Were the words muffled by his chest. He knows his friend was never one for words, so receiving that is…

Cooper smiles as he looks down at his best friend, bending down to engulf her in his love and hug.

"Happy Birthday, Fleur. Thank you for being in my life."

[maffickingcowplants]

TOP SECRET

RESPONDING AGENT: APEX

TO: AGENT SILHOUETTE

RESPONSE TO REPORT NUMBER: SV-011

Your report, SV-011, has been reviewed with keen interest and appreciation for the significant strides made in combating the extraterrestrial flora threat in StrangerVille. The development and successful deployment of the vaccine, spearheaded by Agent Catalyst, marks a pivotal victory in our ongoing efforts to safeguard national security and public well-being.

The decision to disclose the existence of Acumen Consulting's headquarters and a summary of our agency's mission to Sergeant Alijah Crain, Corporal Jess Sigworth, and Rebekah MacDonald, while unconventional, appears to have been judiciously made under the circumstances. Your confidence in their commitment to discretion is noted and shared.

However, it is imperative to underscore the paramount importance of operational security and personal safety. The unique nature of this threat and the unprecedented measures undertaken to counter it have undoubtedly placed you in situations of considerable risk. While the exigencies of our mission often demand such risks, it is crucial to approach each phase of this operation with an unwavering commitment to caution and strategic foresight.

As you prepare for the impending confrontation with the Mother Plant, I urge you to prioritize your safety and the safety of your team above all. Our efforts, no matter how noble or necessary, cannot afford the cost of irreplaceable lives. Exercise meticulous planning, ensure all contingencies are accounted for, and do not hesitate to withdraw should the risk escalate beyond manageable parameters.

Your courage and dedication to the mission are commendable, but they must not lead to unnecessary peril. Remember, the strength of our agency lies not only in our operational capabilities but in the collective well-being and resilience of our agents.

Regarding your suggestion about Sergeant Alijah Crain, Corporal Jess Sigworth, and Rebekah MacDonald, I concur with your assessment. Their firsthand experience with the phenomena, combined with their demonstrated commitment to resolving the crisis, makes them valuable potential assets to our organization. I recommend initiating a discreet evaluation process to assess their suitability for acquisition into the agency. Their insights and skills could prove invaluable in our ongoing and future operations.

I wish you and your team the best of luck in the coming confrontation. May your efforts bring about the swift and safe neutralization of the threat, safeguarding StrangerVille and its inhabitants from further harm.

In Darkness, We Prevail.

END OF RESPONSE

Posts about Bella: « PREVIOUS / BEGINNING / NEXT »

Posts about Operation Mother's Influence: « PREVIOUS / BEGINNING / NEXT »

[jordaneprestrot]

Jordane Prestrot

Website . Instagram . Flickr

[simonh]

_K014490 by Jordane Prestrot Via Flickr: ♓︎ 2017 / Málaga, Espagne ______________ www.prestrot.com Musique : Spotify . Deezer . Bandcamp Littérature : Livres Vidéos : YouTube . Vimeo Réseaux sociaux : Instagram . Facebook . Tumblr

[vyntilador]

When the moon fell in love

And the Sun lost hope

———————————

"Hesitancy, cowardice and fear are all working together to cloud your thoughts with indecisiveness. These 3 things are what you shall watch out for in everything. Although, if you had just better decisions, looking out for these 3 is unnecessary. Which is why we always hear the phrase, 'Think before you speak' or act, on this situation."

This is what Vyn Richter tells his students but little do they know that their dear teacher speaks from experience.

———————————

Genre: Angst

Characters: Artem, Rosa, Vyn (vyn x rosa but it ends with artem x rosa and vyn third wheeling basically)

A/N: This story was originally posted in ao3 but i changed the title n some parts here so if u want the og thing, click here

(god while I was re-writing some of this, i realized how cringe this was pls do NOT click the fucking link💀💀💀💀)

Two sides of a coin once met and their encounter was filled with unexplainable emotions. The she, as usual, brightens up the room with her presence itself. A simple smile and a carefree wave, he responded with the same gesture but more formal, befitting of someone like him.

Rosa represented the sun. Her friendly smiles filled with pure joy that always seemed to work like magic to those who weren't in a good mood suddenly mirrors her and the room both physically and metaphorically brightens up.

He however, represented the moon. Dark and mysterious. Only ever being aware of the one side of his that he wishes to show people. He was always in control in every situation. He makes his every move discreet and subtle which earned him the trust of others while losing some. He was also makingg sure that every thing's balanced in fear of imperfection. But, no matter how mysterious and powerful he is, his unexplainable beauty lures even those who once despised him.

The sun and the moon may be complete opposites but they both have one thing in common. They feel love towards each other. They long to hold, and be bold as their affectionate actions unfold and display it for the world to see. Even though they feel love towards each other, the moon still covers and hides as his eyes go blind with the bright and pure light the sun shines. 'The sun deserved someone that can actually appreciate her beauty and importance with no consequences or barriers' the Moon thinks.

They never had a chance to meet except for a phenomena wherein they, for once, intercept and see each other face to face. Unfortunately, it doesn't last very long. The fleeting feeling of the warmth that the moon felt when he bathed in the sun's light left him amazed. Only the sun was ever able to see the hidden persona that he hid. He hid from her in fear of abandonment but the sun kept subtly interacting with him, reassuring him slightly.

The moon may hold countless secrets of his that may remain untold but with determination and passion, he can finally accept his fate and try fight for their love. But even with these strong wishes, the sun and the moon remain far away from each others reach as the sun lets out a small sigh and even with the countless tries, their love simply cannot grow. The distance between them shortening and getting farther. The moon loses all hope, but the sun? She remains determined. She remains positive. But the moon has given up. The moon, now darker than it used to, now brought a shadow over to the world which caused some to fear him.

With every day that passes, the more their interactions grow fleeting, and it then grown into nothingness. The moon kept promising here and there, "I'll be back." "I can't wait for the next time that we'll meet." He kept saying that he'll never stop loving her but fear takes over him. As he fell into despair, the sun waits until the day comes where her 'fated' soulmate comes through with his promises.

Yet it never happened.

The moon now takes advantage of her. Stealing the light she used to beam at him and the earth. He's no as cold as the space that surrounds them. Maybe even colder than a died out star but all she knows is that he's no longer the same.

The last days of the sun now approaches. Her usual bright rays weakening yet her hot and fuming affection still burns more than it ever has. The moon realizes this and it finally clicks.

His beloved sun has also fallen out of love, has she? The burning passion of the sun explodes into pieces. She is now turning into something he dreaded. She's turning into someone like him. The sun gives out a small ray of light to him acting as a farew—

——————

The sound of someone calling Vyn's name snaps him back to reality.

"Dr. Richter, are you alright? You've been spacing out a lot these days." She puts her hand on his shoulder as she puts a cup of tea down the table in front of him.

"Ah—I'm sorry for worrying you. I was simply just deep in thought." he continued to lied to her as he did all those times that had passed.

"I see, please remember that if ever that there's anything bothering you, you can always come to me!"

"Thank you, Ro—"

"Rosa."

A sudden voice interrupts Vyn's words. Both him and Rosa turn their heads to see Artem standing near the door to the NXX meeting room.

"It's getting quite late. We still have some work to do as too. Let's go home early for the day. I'll cook us some food." he walks over to them, offering his hand out to her.

"M'kay! Thanks, hon."

"You're always welcome."

'That nickname is infuriating.' Jealousy fills the mans mind and face alike. The frown on his face grew and his calm demeanor started to falter until Artem spared him a glance and he bows his head a bit as a sign of small respect and whatnot. Vyn then heads home with nothing in mind but what happened earlier today.

"Hesitancy is something that you must, at all cost avoid. With hesitancy, every chance that might've opened up for you might close and never open again. You can also connect hesitancy with cowardice and fear. But even so, these 3 things are much so unavoidable in every day life. But always keep in mind that if you ever hesitate in doing something, think it through first before jumping into sudden decisions and falling into recklessness. Rash decisions always lead to emotions that are undesirable so keep this in mind."

"It's time, isn't it? We still have about 4 minutes but I'll dismiss the class a bit more early today. If you have any questions or inputs, you may send them to me through email or tomorrow, when our class begins."

And with that, Vyn's class is now finished. He enters his car and leans and buries his head on the steering wheel. A slight chuckle escapes his lips as if mocking himself. It's quite pathetic though. Teaching his students to not hesitate, and instantly calling himself out. But all he said was true. Hesitancy is the root of all regret. And another thing will now haunt him for the rest of his life.

He leans back in his chair as he looks out the window to see the roses that they planted together now have bloomed while the others died. As he remained his gaze on the flowers, he couldn't help but wonder. How different would it have been if he never lost hope? If he wasn't too arrogant or greedy? How much would you have changed his life?

A/N: Man.. I said i was gon write an nsfw of that "love talk" fic i made but i instead did this mb yall😭

[astrologyspiritualenlightenment]

Exploring the Mystical World of Psychics in Dallas, TX: A Journey into the Unknown

psychic dallas tx

Dallas, TX, a bustling metropolis known for its rich history, vibrant culture, and thriving economy, also harbors a deep and mysterious connection to the world of psychics. For many, the allure of understanding the unknown and seeking guidance beyond the physical realm leads them to explore the services of psychics. This article delves into the fascinating world of psychics in Dallas, TX, exploring their practices, the history of psychic phenomena in the city, and the unique experiences of those who seek their insights.

The History of Psychics in Dallas

The presence of psychics in Dallas can be traced back to the early 20th century when spiritualism and the occult gained popularity across America. During this time, Dallas saw a rise in the number of individuals claiming to have psychic abilities, offering services such as tarot readings, palmistry, and mediumship. These practices often took place in discreet parlors and private homes, catering to a clientele eager to connect with the spiritual realm.

Over the decades, the perception of psychics has evolved. While once considered fringe or taboo, today, psychics are more mainstream, with many people openly seeking their guidance for various aspects of life, including love, career, and personal growth. Dallas, with its diverse and open-minded population, has become a hub for psychic practitioners who offer a wide range of services.

Types of Psychic Practices

Psychics in Dallas employ various methods to connect with the spiritual world and provide insights to their clients. Some of the most common practices include:

Tarot Readings: Tarot cards are one of the most popular tools used by psychics. Each card holds a specific meaning, and psychics interpret these cards to provide guidance on different aspects of life. In Dallas, many psychics specialize in tarot readings, offering sessions both in-person and online.

Palmistry: Also known as chiromancy, palmistry involves reading the lines and shapes of a person’s hands to gain insights into their character and future. This ancient practice is still prevalent in Dallas, with experienced palmists offering detailed analyses.

Mediumship: Mediums claim to communicate with spirits of the deceased, providing messages and closure to those seeking to connect with lost loved ones. Dallas has a number of reputable mediums who conduct séances and private readings.

Astrology: Astrologers analyze the positions of celestial bodies to offer predictions and guidance based on an individual’s birth chart. This practice is popular in Dallas, with several well-known astrologers providing consultations.

Aura Readings: Aura readers claim to see the energy fields surrounding individuals and interpret their colors and patterns to provide insights into their emotional and physical states. This practice is gaining popularity in Dallas, particularly among those interested in holistic and alternative healing.

Psychometry: Psychics who practice psychometry claim to obtain information about a person or object through physical touch. This technique is often used to uncover past events or locate lost items.

Notable Psychics in Dallas

Dallas is home to many talented and reputable psychics who have built strong reputations for their abilities. Some of the most notable psychics in the city include:

Michelle Welch: A renowned psychic medium and author, Michelle Welch is known for her accurate readings and compassionate approach. She owns SoulTopia, a metaphysical shop in Dallas, where she offers readings and workshops.

Lizzy B Love: Specializing in tarot and intuitive readings, Lizzy B Love has garnered a loyal following in Dallas. Her down-to-earth style and deep insights make her a popular choice for those seeking guidance.

Cynthia Killen: A well-respected astrologer, Cynthia Killen provides detailed birth chart analyses and astrological consultations. Her expertise in astrology has made her a go-to source for many in Dallas.

Dr. Christina H. Blum: Known for her mediumship and psychic abilities, Dr. Christina H. Blum offers readings that connect clients with their loved ones in the spirit world. Her compassionate and healing approach has touched the lives of many in Dallas.

The Client Experience

The experience of visiting a psychic in Dallas can vary widely depending on the practitioner and the type of reading sought. However, many clients report similar feelings of clarity, reassurance, and emotional healing after their sessions. Here are a few personal stories from individuals who have sought psychic guidance in Dallas:

Emily's Story: "I was going through a difficult time in my life and felt lost and unsure about my future. A friend recommended I visit Michelle Welch at SoulTopia. During my tarot reading, Michelle provided insights that resonated deeply with me and gave me a sense of direction. Her compassion and understanding made a huge difference in my life, and I left the session feeling hopeful and empowered."

James's Story: "After losing my father, I struggled with grief and unanswered questions. I decided to see Dr. Christina H. Blum for a mediumship session. Christina connected with my father's spirit and conveyed messages that only he could have known. It brought me immense comfort and helped me find closure. I am incredibly grateful for her gift."

Sarah's Story: "I’ve always been curious about astrology, so I booked a consultation with Cynthia Killen. Her analysis of my birth chart was incredibly detailed and accurate. She provided insights into my personality, strengths, and challenges that were spot-on. It gave me a new perspective on my life and helped me make important decisions with confidence."

Skepticism and Ethical Considerations

Despite the popularity of psychics in Dallas, there remains a level of skepticism and controversy surrounding the practice. Critics argue that psychic abilities lack scientific evidence and that some practitioners may exploit vulnerable individuals. It is important for clients to approach psychic services with an open mind but also with caution.

To ensure a positive experience, it is advisable to:

Research the Psychic: Look for reviews and testimonials from previous clients. Reputable psychics often have a strong online presence and positive feedback.

Ask for Recommendations: Personal referrals from friends or family can help identify trustworthy psychics.

Trust Your Instincts: If something feels off or uncomfortable during a reading, it is okay to end the session.

Understand the Limitations: Psychics provide guidance and insights, but they are not a substitute for professional medical, legal, or financial advice.

The Future of Psychic Practices in Dallas

As interest in spiritual and alternative practices continues to grow, the future of psychics in Dallas looks promising. The city’s diverse and open-minded community provides a fertile ground for psychics to thrive and expand their services. Additionally, the rise of online platforms and virtual readings has made psychic services more accessible to a broader audience.

Psychics in Dallas are also increasingly collaborating with holistic and wellness practitioners, offering integrated services that address the mind, body, and spirit. This trend reflects a growing recognition of the interconnectedness of different aspects of well-being.

Conclusion

The world of psychics in Dallas, TX, is a rich tapestry of ancient practices, modern interpretations, and deeply personal experiences. Whether seeking guidance, closure, or simply curious about the unknown, many individuals find solace and insight in the services provided by psychics. As the practice continues to evolve and adapt to changing societal attitudes, psychics in Dallas will undoubtedly remain a fascinating and integral part of the city’s cultural landscape

[whitepolaris]

Hungry Ghosts of Starvation Heights

The community of Olalla is just across the Puget Sound from Seattle. Olalla means "berry" in the local tribal language, and the area is well known for its strawberries, which are celebrated in festivals during which people overindulge in berry-laden cuisine. Strangely, this same community was also once the place where people came to starve their way to health-and sometimes to death. All with the help of a self-proclaimed doctor named Linda Burfield Hazzard, whose starvation cure may have been most effective in producing a ghost or two.

Hazzard turned her Olalla cottage into the Wilderness Heights Sanitarium, and from the 1890s until 1912 she rented the attic to patients who had come to experience her cure. She was not a medical doctor, but practiced a form of homeopathy. She wrote a book, titled Fasting for The Cure of Disease, in which she declared that her treatment could cure everything from cancer to constipation. The treatment? Patients ate one small bowl of tomato or asparagus soup daily, for over forty days. Long walks, enemas, and vigorous message were also required one or more times a day.

Following this regimen, patients inevitably grew thinner and weaker. They were free to leave Wilderness Heights if they wanted to, but Hazzard and her fasting cure exerted a strange power over them. Local farmers watched the patients took daily from the cottage to the store and back. These walks soon became daily "crawls" as the patients' energy dissipated and they slowly faded away.

There were patients who survived and left Olalla, but many died. How many is not known: Estimates range from two dozen to over forty, possibly higher. Hazzard seldom filed death certificates with authorities, and had a special arrangement with a discreet funeral home in Seattle for burials. Conveniently for Hazzard, most of the patients who died left all their property to her. Few knew that her husband Sam had been kicked out of the U.S. Army for forgery and embezzlement.

In 1911, British heiress Claire and Dora Williamson came to Wilderness Heights to take the cure. Both lost more than fifty percent of their body weight and while Dora survived, just barely, Claire died. Someone had also embezzled money from the sisters' bank accounts. The British Consulate went after Hazzard, filing criminal charges against her, and she was found guilty of manslaughter. She spent less than two years in prison, lived briefly in New Zealand, then returned to Olalla in 1920, where she built a larger sanitarium and nursing home. This time, however, local authorities made sure that none of her patients experienced the same fate as the Williamsons.

It's hard to tell whether Linda Hazzard set out to murder her patients. When rich people (with no relatives) began to sicken from the treatment, Sam and Linda may have decided it was best for business to take over their dying patients' estates. She may not have understood the consequences of her actions. She firmly believed in her fasting cure, and that people died only because they were only beyond help. The proof? Hazzard became ill in the 1940s and died while taking her own "cure."

The cottage, also known as "Starvation Heights," where Hazzard established her sanitarium changed very little over the years, and the family living there before it was torn down experienced some ghostly phenomena. On one occasion, the woman of the house was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She was facing the stove, which was against one wall, and the bathroom door was behind her. She moved back and forth between a counter on her left and the stove for several minutes. When she turned around, she saw that every chair in the kitchen, and a few from the room next door, had been piled up against the bathroom door.

The woman had been alone in the house at the time, and it's doubtful that someone else would have taken the time to sneak in and silently pile all the chairs up against the door while she was making dinner.

In the attic of the cottage, where most of her patients were treated, were several low "ledges" where the family stored small items. A psychic once said that she saw the spirits of many of Hazzard's victims sitting on the ledges, too afraid to move, even in death. The psychic burst into tears several times over the anguish she felt saturating the walls of the little house.

Three times during 2005-2006, Washington State Paranormal Investigations and Research (WSPIR) visited Starvation Heights and Weird Washington spoke to its president, Darren Thompson, about some of the group's experiences there.

The first time they broke into three teams, each of which included a psychic. To keep the destination a secret, they blindfolded the psychics and put them into separate cars. During the drive, technicians sat next to the psychics and recorded with a video camera every action and statement made along the way. En route, two psychics felt as if they would be going to a large institution having something to do with medicine. When they arrived at the cottage, the teams removed the blindfolds from the psychics and kept them from communicating with each other. Each psychic was to go through the house alone.

One team recorded a video that starts inside their car, then pans outside, where the microphone recorded a muffled statement made by a team member. The video then pans back inside the car, where the microphone picked up a strange, breathy voice, saying, "Help me!" The voice could only have come from inside the car and was not made by team members either inside or outside the car.

Another WSPIR team recorded pictures an audio outside the house while walking toward a ravine where Hazzard may have hidden the victims' bodies. Their audio recorder picked up a voice that said, "Are you talking about me now?" The team members did not hear the voice at the time and continued their conversation. Another voice seemed to be saying, "Take us up" or "Dig us up."

During the second investigation, WSPIR learned that the cottage would be torn down once the owners put a new house up on a different part of the property. They quickly organized a third investigation, during which several members spent the night there.

One man tried relaxing in Hazzards' former bedroom the room in which Linda had died. The man never had any psychic experiences before, but he felt as if something spiritual were in touch with him. He went into a trance and answered simple questions with rambles of "yes" or "no" from deep within his chest. It seemed as if he were communicating with Linda Hazzard, who was still in the house. She refused to leave and was refusing to let anyone demolish the dwelling. Her spirit was wrong, however. The family living in the cottage did indeed move, and the cottage was leveled. Was this last communication the result of investigators' prodigious imaginations or a final attempt by the former owner to interact with the world of the living?

The cottage that was once Starvation Heights is now gone, but it isn't known if the spirits detected there-whether they were those Hazzard or her unlucky patients-left with its demolition. It seems that we'll just have to remain hungry for an answer.

[thecicadasong]

*krei-

Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to sieve," thus "discriminate, distinguish."

It forms all or part of: ascertain; certain; concern; concert; crime; criminal; crisis; critic; criterion; decree; diacritic; discern; disconcert; discreet; discriminate; endocrine; excrement; excrete; garble; hypocrisy; incertitude; recrement; recriminate; riddle (n.2) "coarse sieve;" secret; secretary.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Greek krinein "to separate, decide, judge," krinesthai "to explain;" Latin cribrum "sieve," crimen "judgment, crime," cernere "to sift, distinguish, separate;" Old Irish criathar, Old Welsh cruitr "sieve;" Middle Irish crich "border, boundary;" Old English hriddel "sieve."

*magh-

Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to be able, have power." It forms all or part of: dismay; deus ex machina; may (v.1) "am able;" might (n.) "bodily strength, power;" main; machine; mechanic; mechanism; mechano-; mage; magi; magic.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Sanskrit mahan "great;" Greek mēkhanē "device, means," mekhos, makhos "means, instrument;" Old Church Slavonic mošti, Russian moč' "can, be able;" Old English mæg "I can," Gothic mag "can, is able," Old High German magan, Old Norse magn "power, might."

If we take these two words together then; we can see that there is a choice as to separate or keep whole that which is, can, and is able.

Separation, suffering, and tyranny are the division of the I am, I can, and I am able into portions of elite and non-elite who enslave and are enslaved in the process.

In our mind we suffer when there is a divide between the I am, I can, and or I am able.

The mental act of suffering is the seeing of separation in power or identity in any way.

This is thought. The lack of such distinction is the state of thoughtlessness. Thought itself is judgement. Judgement is separation in that which is, which can, or which is able.

Judgement and separation lead to the death of all of us eventually, whether we are merely complacent or actively taking part in the systems of tyranny and separation that exist as to exploit others as if they are not self.

In the dharmadharmatavibhaga it is said phenomena is that which makes distinctions and appears as duality, but the nature of phenomena is beyond distinction and duality and is indeed the essence of all that would appear dual or make distinctions. This distinction is the act of freewill in our minds; it’s the choice as to suffer or not suffer; to know of wholeness or of suffering. It is the choice to identity either with the nonconceptual mind or as pain itself, which is the conceptual mind which makes distinctions.