#that instilling of a fear that blows up later

[elegyofthemoon]

ok but i'm just thinking about one of the memory logs for sakura and how mobius tells sakura that what happened to her after her mantis surgery is at least better than what happened to both mobius and kevin after theirs, but from then on, sakura is no longer human and no one else will look at her like a human like before

then you timeskip over to when sakura is trying to save rin from MOTH, and she's arguing with kevin about how the MANTIS soldiers will always be outsiders and a threat to MOTHs because of the surgery. and how this treatment is what makes sakura afraid for rin and inevitably leads to her doom i :(

[dixonsbrat]

𖥔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𖥔

summary ; after being struck by a peacekeeper, coryo puts aside his differences to clean you up.

pairing ; coriolanus snow x fem!reader

notes ; pls coryo may be a little ooc in this but i tried. ok? i tried! physical violence, mentions of blood and death, as well as the events that take place in the hunger games universe, spoilers for tbosas !

do not transfer, translate or share my work to any other sites.

the blow sent a stinging sensation through your cheek, the level of force behind it knocking you to the ground on impact. you had always wondered what it would feel like to be hit in the face – if you would be able to take it – and well, now you knew.

you sat there on the ground, a spectacle among the crowd, and all because you were helping an elderly lady and unknowingly stepped into the peacekeeper’s way. you didn’t mean to, and before you knew it his leather glove was colliding with the side of your face. 

you loathed the peacekeepers, everyone did, but specifically the way they thought they could belittle you and your people just because of their job title. and yet, it terrified you to know how harsh they were over something so small, you couldn’t even begin to think how torturous they could be behind closed doors. 

once the peacekeepers move on, laughing among themselves at what they had done to you, a man and his wife help you to your feet, and you dust yourself off. your palms burned from the rubble you had landed on, small rocks sticking into your skin, and your head was ringing, but nothing compared to the side of your face. 

you were tough, there was no doubt about it, but having the peacekeeper’s hand collide with your face with such force had you a little shaken up. 

“i’m okay, everyone,” you let the group of onlookers, and those that had helped you, know. with a faux smile and a reassuring nod, you quickly return to helping the woman pick up her belongings that had been knocked over in the midst of it all. 

“oh, don’t worry about me, dear. go take care of yourself,” she gestures to your face and your hand instinctively reaches to feel the wet cut that had formed on your lip. a small speckle of blood now on your fingers as a metallic taste fills your senses. it ached to touch, and if it looked bad now, you could only imagine how bad it was going to be later. 

you take your leave from the woman and make your way home along the seam. the sun was beginning to disappear behind the clouds as the sound of the town drowns out behind you and into the distance. people watched as you passed them by, noticing the blood on your face and probably wondering what had happened. 

you didn’t mind the stares, not much happened in the district, and it wasn't as if you had anything to be ashamed of. well, not that anyone knew of anyway. 

you eventually make it to the last stretch of the dirt path before your house when your name gets called out, stopping you in your tracks, and in the direction it had come from were a couple more peacekeepers. though, these ones didn’t instil fear in you the same way the others had. 

they were familiar faces – faces that you were somewhat glad to see – however, you weren’t sure how they were going to react seeing the new feature that had been ever so kindly bestowed upon your face. 

sejanus waves you over, tapping his partner on the shoulder once he notices, and gestures towards you. coriolanus stands beside him, turning your way after seeing the panicked look on his friend's face, and his smile drops the second he sees the cut on your lip and the bruise that had already begun to form. 

“y/n…” he speaks your name delicately, a forbidden whisper, before rapidly scanning your surroundings to make sure the area was safe. it was. “what happened?”

he wants to reach for you, to pull you into his arms and kiss you better, anything he can to make sure you were okay, but he can’t. he knows that. it would be too much of a risk in such an open space and he wasn’t going to be the reason you end up with another bruise, or worse. so he quickly fixes his posture and positions his gun against his shoulder where it was meant to be. 

“oh, this? it’s nothing,” you wave them off, even adding a wink to further convince them that you were fine.

sejanus smiles, even stifles a laugh at your nonchalant attitude, but not coriolanus. no. he could see right through the smile you were presenting them with. how could he not? he had spent far too much time staring at you, his lover, whether it be from across the town square, or beside you in your bed. he knew every which way your face contorted and exactly what it meant. 

he could see you were in pain. 

his jaw tightens at this, fighting the urge to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder so that he could take you home. it was one thing to have to watch the horrors and physical brutality that went on in the district every day, most of which he had become numb to, but seeing you be the victim of it filled him with not only rage, but fear. 

he wanted – no, needed – you to be safe. 

“is there anything we can do?” sejanus offers. “anything we can get you?”

“don’t worry about me. i’ll be fine,” you smile once again, though this time, coriolanus refuses to sit by and watch you lie. 

“can you cover for me?” he asks, though you know it’s meant for sejanus, who instantly nods at the request, further proving his loyalty to his friend. “go home and wait for me. i won’t be long, just don’t touch it.”

while you wanted nothing more than for coriolanus to follow you home, you knew he couldn’t. it wasn’t safe, not while the sun was still out, “no, i’m fine. i promise.”

“just do what i say, okay?” his eyes bore into you now, an urgency in them as his protective side comes into play, and you knew there was no point trying to argue with him when he got like this. 

you nod, begrudgingly, and lazily salute the pair before continuing on down the path to your house. it was only a little ways away from where the boys had spotted you, but the second you see the chipping wood and beaten down stairs that you called ‘home’, you’re overcome with relief. 

upon entering you immediately splay yourself down on the sofa — one of the few pieces of furniture you still owned after your parents — and wait, just like coriolanus had asked you. your head had stopped ringing a little, but the throbbing pain in your cheek was still there. nonetheless, you knew it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight come morning. 

minutes pass, twenty-seven to be exact, before you hear shuffling at your back window, followed by heavy footsteps. you knew it was coriolanus. he regularly came through the back of the house so as not to be seen by your neighbours, but like you always tell him, barely anyone bothered to come down your way. 

the second his face comes into view, you let off a weak smile, more so as he begins to remove his uniform, placing it down on the table in the corner of the room, alongside his gun, “i don’t have long. sejanus is covering for me, but even he knows it won’t be long before they start wondering where i am.”

“you really didn’t have to come. i told you, i’m fine,” you sit up now as coriolanus meets your side with a small package in his hand. 

the look in his eyes shifts as he gets a closer inspection of the damage that had been done to your face, a heavy breath falling from his lips. coriolanus believed people deserved to be punished for the things they did, but not you – never you. you were his girl, his flower, his love – and he had been doing everything in his power to make sure you were safe. 

he knew it wasn’t his fault what had happened earlier, but he still couldn’t help but feel somewhat to blame. he should’ve been there to stop the situation, de-escalate it in any way that he could. he had been doing everything in his power to keep you off the other peacekeeper’s radars, away from any potential danger, and selfishly, away from him ever losing you. 

you watch as the stiffness in his jaw goes slack and his shoulders slump a little, eyes downturing as his lips push out into a pout ever so slightly. you reach for his hand, “coryo, what’s wrong?”

“i just… i don’t like to see you hurt,” he pulls his gaze away from you now, wanting to avoid thinking about it, and begins to unwrap the small package in his hand to reveal a mini first-aid kit. “i grabbed what i could without anyone seeing me, though i doubt you’ll need most of it.” 

you watch as he gathers a small cloth, coated with a disinfectant solution and gently dabs at the cut on your lower lip. it stings a little but you didn’t mind, you’d do just about anything to get a moment alone with coriolanus. perhaps getting hit in the face wasn’t all bad, at least the outcome of it anyway. 

once the cut was cleaned, he pulls out a small bandage and presses it across your lip. you weren’t sure you really needed it but it felt nice to be looked after. as for the bruise, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do. 

“how does it look?” you sigh, and he reaches up to gently brush the tender skin. 

“it looks… like it needs something,”

“and what’s that?” coryo’s lips quirk up into a roguish grin before he slowly leans forward and presses his lips to your cheek. it’s soft and sweet, and gentle. all of the things coryo was when it was just the two of you alone. “you know what? i think you might be onto something.”

coryo’s laughter reverberates through his entire body, looking at you with glistening eyes, but he gives in, pressing another kiss to your lips, and what starts as a light brush of your lips on his becomes much more when you find yourself pushing him backwards on the sofa. he doesn’t protest and lets himself fall into the cushion behind him as you situate yourself on his lap. there’s no hesitation when his hands cup your thighs, running small comforting circles into your skin. 

you stay like that for a few moments, small trickles of laughter escaping you both as you continue to kiss before you evidently decide to curl yourself up into him. you nuzzle your head into his chest, one leg still draped across his as the other burrows in next to him and instinctively his hand searches for yours - fingers idly grazing one another before he threads his through to hold you. 

“so, what’s the verdict doc? will i make it?” you smile. 

“as long as i have anything to do with it,” he presses a kiss to the top of your head, but you can’t help but feel like there was another meaning to his words. 

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, kidnapping, dark content

♡ English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You worked at a modest little bar every evening. The atmosphere possessed such a warm, lively charm. You would listen to your patrons' confessions, exchange small talk, and earn your tips. It was easy to admit that you enjoyed working there, even if it wasn’t the career your parents had envisioned for you.

One day, a regular patron, with whom you had grown familiar, arrived. He would come in every day, order a single whisky, and sit in a secluded corner of the establishment. The most unsettling part of it all was his impeccable timing—arriving just as your shift began and not leaving until you were ready to close. Yet, you couldn’t accuse him of anything without evidence. Perhaps he simply had this time free and chose to spend it in the company of his faithful companion: his whisky.

Days passed, and nothing of real consequence happened. Still, despite searching for a reasonable explanation, you couldn't shake the growing unease that man instilled in you. Observing him closely, he was tall, very tall, and strong. His hair was dark as coal, and his eyes were a captivating shade of amber-brown. His face was adorned with scattered beauty marks, as though he had been sculpted by the gods themselves. You had never seen a more handsome man. But stop thinking such nonsense! Handsome or not, it was undeniable that his behavior was odd. Determined to uncover the reason behind this man's frequent visits, you began to muster the courage to ask him directly.

One evening, like any other, your shift was drawing to a close, and you were the one responsible for locking up. You were cleaning glasses, organizing them in preparation to close the bar. And there he was, sitting motionless, just as before. Usually, by this hour, he would have already left. You had other things on your mind, so you paid him no attention—a terrible decision, one that you would only realize later.

He slowly approached the counter where you stood, and before you could react, his hand clamped around your neck, and he pressed a cloth over your nose. Everything became a blur. The world faded to white, and you collapsed into his arms.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a strange place, somewhere you had never been before. Looking around, seeking answers, the memory of what had happened rushed back, and panic took hold of you. "That bastard...," you whispered to yourself, trembling with fear. The full weight of your predicament dawned on you. Foolish, foolish! How could you have turned your back on someone like him? But there was no time to dwell on that; it was far too late. You attempted to stand, but were abruptly stopped by the heavy chains fastening your neck to the wall. Tears welled up in your eyes, and sobs escaped your lips. Before you could think of what to do, you heard footsteps descending the stairs. It was him.

With a small smile on his lips, he drew closer to your shackled figure. “Finally awake,” his voice echoed in the small, dust-filled room. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you stammered, desperate for answers. “Me? I’m Eric, and you’re here because I love you,” his words struck you like a blow. Love? But you didn’t even know each other!

“Don’t look at me like that, darling. This is all your fault—if you hadn’t seduced me, you wouldn’t be here.” More tears streamed from your eyes. He was mad! Kneeling down to meet you at eye level, he wiped your tears away with his thumb. “Shh, don’t cry, princess. We’re finally together. There’s nothing to regret.”

He presses a tender kiss to your cheek—under different circumstances, it might have seemed sweet. “I will always take care of you, darling.”

“Take care of me? You’re insane if you think this is ‘taking care’!”

“Darling… it’s time you realized you don’t need anything besides me. Work? Never again. I’ll take care of everything now.”

“You filthy bastard! You’re out of your mind! Can’t you see this is madness?!”

His expression darkened, his irritation evident as he arched his eyebrows. “You’ll learn to love me,” he muttered, rising to his feet. As he moved toward the staircase, he blew you a kiss before heading up, locking the door securely behind him—or at least, that’s what you assumed, having only heard it. You didn’t see anything for sure.

Terrified of what your future held, you desperately tried to free yourself from the chain fastening you to the wall, but to no avail. This was your new life. You could only hope you wouldn’t come to regret your decisions—had it not been for your misstep, you wouldn’t be here.

You will live with Eric forever, whether you like it or not.

Part 2?

[wrightingdungeon]

The Past Reborn

I was re-reading  “Dear Diary”  and this wicked angst popped into my head…. I'm not sorry I like making people cry! I'm just sorry Alex, Mee Maw, and Pop Pop are a angst farm some how

Final part here BTW

Warnings: Farmer go boom, I kinda blow up the ASS trio, Alex punches Sam, Cursing, ANGST, its 3 am ill come fix any errors later

Alex had always hated that you used bombs. The first time he found out was when you used some to clear out boulders on your property. That caused a few arguments, but he just wanted you safe. I mean, look at his grandfather.  Though Alex wasn't born when his grandfather had his dynamite accident, the story was a haunting family legend. The accident was a constant reminder of the dangers of explosives. George narrowly escaped with his life but was left wheelchair-bound. For Alex, the story was a cautionary tale. Even without witnessing it, the vivid descriptions from his grandparents painted a clear picture. It instilled in him a deep-seated fear and aversion to using any explosives. 

Every time you mentioned using explosives, Alex felt a surge of anxiety. He knew you were careful, but the inherent risk always loomed large in his mind. The fear of a repeat of his grandfather's fate was a constant source of stress. Ultimately, Alex's concerns were rooted in love and a deep desire to see you safe. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you to an avoidable accident. 

Today was one of the many arguments over your use of explosives. “I don't care if it's faster! I don't want you using them, Farmer!” He grabbed the back of the couch, his head held low. “Please.” He begged shaking the couch slightly, looking over at you, tears welling up in his eyes. "Please..." He was scared that he'd lose you; he had already lost his parents, and his grandparents weren't getting any younger. You are his rock.

“Alex, baby.” He watched as you walked over and carefully took his face in one hand, taking his hand in the other, pulling him into a hug. “Ok… I'll stop, ok,” you said, kissing his cheek and holding him close. Alex sighed out brokenly, warm tears still falling as he held you tightly. “Thank you, babe, thank you,” he said, kissing the top of your head as he rocked you slowly, so happy he had gotten you to listen. The weight of his fear seemed to lift slightly, knowing you understood the depth of his concern. You could feel his body shaking as he clung to you, each sob making your heartache. 

You had sold some but Abigail, Sam, and Sebastian had bought some. He observed as they excitedly packed their bags with the tools for their next mining expedition. Abigail carefully tucked the cherry bombs into her pouch, while Sam and Sebastian joked about blowing up rocks. It gnawed at him, this uneasy feeling, watching his friends prepare to venture into the depths armed with explosives. Yet, he remained silent, conflicted between his concern for their safety and his respect for their autonomy as adults. He also didn't think any amount of begging would get the Three Stooges to listen to him like it worked for you.

Alex remembered it was a warm Wednesday afternoon. Haley, Emily and Him hanging outside with Dusty before Emily's shift started. “Where's your lover today?” Haley teased poking Alex in the side. Rolling his eyes he pushed her hand away chuckling at her. “They said they needed something from the mines.” He said crossing his arms and watching Emily play tug of war with Dusty. “Oh, I think Abigail and the boys headed down as well.” Emily piped up as she pulled the dog toy back and forth. “I asked Abby if she had any crystals and she said she was going to get more.” Alex nodded and shrugged. 

“More people the better, no one will get snuck up o-” Suddenly screams filled the air, Abigail and Sebastian’s. “HARVEY!!!! HARVEY!!!” The two were a blur as they ran down the steps booking it to Harvey's Clinic. As the screams pierced the air, Alex's mind raced, grappling with the stark reality of the situation. His heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the urgency of the moment. He struggled to control his breathing, feeling the panic rise within him like a tidal wave threatening to engulf him.

 The sight of Sebastian's anguish-stricken face, his arms wrapped protectively around the injured figure of the Farmer, seared into Alex's consciousness, leaving an indelible mark of despair. It was a moment frozen in time, one that would haunt him for days to come, his heart sinks at the sight of your limp body, covered in burns that blister and ooze, and bruises that mar your once flawless skin. Your head bounces limply against his chest, a painful reminder of the violence you endured. Sebastian and Abigail, though also bruised, seem almost untouched compared to the severity of your injuries. Sweat beads on Alex's forehead as he struggles to comprehend the horror before him, his mind racing with fear and desperation, searching for help in the midst of the chaos.

His eyes remained fixated on the Clinic. Despite Haley and Emily's attempts to draw his attention, his focus was unwavering, ears ringing with a deafening silence. Haley and Emily have to physically make him look at them their mouths moving silently open and shut to Alex. As Haley and Emily exchanged glances looking behind him, his dread intensified, compelling him to turn and face whatever awaited. Sam came limping down the steps after his friends, his limp was more severe than Abigail or Sebastian's injuries. Sam glanced towards Harvey's before meeting the gaze of Alex, Emily, and Haley, guilt etched across his features.

The dull ringing in his ears was replaced with a buzzing anger that drowned out everything else as he glared at Sam, who looked guilty, fully aware of what had transpired. Without realizing it, Alex found himself confronting Sam, pinning him against the wall of Pierre's shop, his forearm pressing into Sam's chest. “WHAT DID YOU DO!”  Alex bellowed, ready to knock Sam's head off, his emotions teetering on the edge, tears threatening to spill. Sam, trembling with fear, raised his hands defensively. “I-Im sorry! I-I did-didn't know!” he stammered, meeting Alex's gaze with a mixture of dread and remorse. “KNOW WHAT!” Alex demanded, slamming Sam into the wall again, ignoring the attempts of Haley and Emily to restrain him. "They... they just came down the ladder! There was no one around, and they just... came down!" Sam explained amidst sobs, offering a fragmented account of how they all ended up injured while trying to fend off the unexpected onslaught. “We tried to stop it!” He sobbed his body shaking with fear and pain from his own burns.

Amidst Alex's growing fury, the truth began to emerge. Sam's actions had set off an explosive chain of events, and Farmer happened to be descending the ladder at that precise moment. Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian sprang into action, attempting to stop the impending disaster, but the Farmer bore the brunt of the blast, followed by Sam, then Sebastian and Abigail, in their desperate but futile attempts to intervene.

Alex's scream pierced the air, raw and primal. Tears streamed down his contorted face, blending with sweat. Fury burned in his eyes, but behind it, terror loomed large. His body trembled, muscles taut, veins bulging. He snapped and decked Sam in the jaw. He had told Farmer to be careful, he let them sell the stupid bombs to these morons, it was his fault…. It was all his fucking fault. You got hurt because of him.

Haley and Emily grabbed Alex pulling him back. “ALEX! STOP IT!” Haley yelled hugging his arm close to her and pulling him back. “Come on, just come on!” Emily said ash she pulled at his other arm. She motioned to Sam with her head as she and her sister pulled Alex off Sam. Pierre and Caroline had come out of their shop during the commotion, having heard Sam's body hit their outer wall, they grabbed Sam and pulled him away as the girls dragged Alex back home.

Evelyn was heading outside and met the trio at the door. “What is going on? Who is screaming like that?” She asked, her eyes landing on her grandson. “Alex, sweetheart…” She said carefully, taking the boy into her arms, and wiping his tears with her thumbs. “What's all the yelling about!” George hollered out as he wheeled himself to the entryway. “Alex punched Sam…” Haley said softly. “What! Alex baby?” Evelyn asked, looking up at him, her eyes full of worry. “He… He blew up Farmer!” Alex cried and sobbed out falling to his knees hugging his grandmother, his sobs loud, his whole body shaking with each sound. Evelyn gasped covering her mouth before hugging Alex back. “Oh Yoba…” 

“What happened?!” George barked out looking at the girls his face contorted in anger. “We… don't know,” Haley said softly as she rubbed circles in Alex's back. “Abby and Sebastian came running yelling for Harvey… The Farmer… uhh.” Emily looked at Alex not knowing what to say not wanting to upset him further. “Sam said it was an accident though, you know he'd never do that on purpose,” Emily said, looking at George. Evelyn and George shared a look that only time could read. “Help me get him up, sweetheart.” Evelyn with Haley's help got Alex to his feet and led him into the living room.

Sitting him down on the couch his body shaking, tears and heavy sobs racking his body. Evelyn held him close, petting his hair and letting him sob into her, quietly shushing him. “We have him, girls,” George said softly as he looked back at his wife and grandson. “Thank you, and please, apologize for us.” He said as he led the girls out of the house.

The town had a different heavy atmosphere that day. Three families have to bandage and care for their children, one family has flashbacks to days long past brought to the present, and one life is held in limbo.

[everrainrp]

CLAN FOUNDINGS

Each Clans origins lie from somewhere else, and with them, each founder brought their individual ideals and values. This gave way to future traditions and religions, cultures built with one another, alliances and rivalries, the full gamut of newly birthed allegiances. Below, you will find information regarding each Clans founder and it's founding years, where the founders came from, and early challenges they faced.

Shoreshimmer Clan...

... was founded by a molly named Tuna, who had lived almost her entire life on board a ship as a ship cat. After a storm dashed the ship upon the rocks, Tuna was cast overboard into the raging ocean. Miraculously, she awoke on the shores of the temperate rain forest of the Pacific Northwest. Already superstitious and having spiritual beliefs in the ocean, Tuna took this as a sign that this is where the ocean and it's tides wanted her to be. As time went on, she gathered other cats, rogues and loners who sought purpose or a new home, and cats who end up washed ashore. Tuna was bold and stood with her head high always, in the face of adversity, while also understanding to respect what should be feared and revered. She built Shoreshimmer Clan with unity and balance in mind, proclaiming that like the shore, they will be able to weather any storm and remain. This did not come without its challenges in the Clans fledgling years, as Tuna had to learn to navigate dwelling on solid land rather than a ship, and the Clan had to face heavy storms that battered their early camps. Eventually they settled in higher up cliff caves carved out by weather and water long ago, where the waves could not reach and winds could not blow. They also had to contest with bears and wolves, though, overtime their relationship with the marine wolves became one of mutual indifference as cats were not a primary food source for the canines. Because they were the first Clan to officially found themselves and continued to be for a few years, Shoreshimmer did not have to contest with territory or borders until several years later. Tuna ultimately passed peacefully of old age. While Tuna did not instill the Tidebound Pact, she did leave behind the ideals and values that would be needed to forge this leadership model later on in Shoreshimmer Clans history.

Torrentfall Clan...

... was the next to be founded. Ripley, a loner who had spent the better part of their life as a wanderer, found solace in the waterfalls and rushing rivers of the riparian zone. They were calm and contemplative, and it was not long before cats were drawn to the prospect of someone strong enough to build a life among the white water rapids. Torrentfall Clan started as a loose colony, but soon the conclusion between them was the same: stand together, or be swept away. Much like Shoreshimmer, they valued unity and cooperation, but instead of having a free spirit that rose and fell with the tides, Torrentfall Clan found their strength in the tradition of adaptability. They needed to evolve with the rivers, but needed to maintain a rigid tradition to ensure that they never strayed too far from this ideal. Before long, Ripley and Tuna had met face to face along the banks of the estuary, a large river that ran through the area and emptied into the ocean, creating areas of brackish water and salt resistant prey and plants. Initially, the relationship between the two had started calm and civil, if not curious. They both revered the water but feared what it was capable of. It was not before long that cats within each group began getting into spats over the estuary, though, with Ripley's followers claiming that the beach dwelling group had the entire ocean to hunt and harvest herbs from, and Tuna's followers claiming that the mouth of the river met the ocean therefor they have just as much claim. Tuna and Ripley quelled these spats, which could be considered the first territory and boundary fights in the five Clans histories, and claimed the two groups could easily share the hunting and harvesting ground as it provided both Clans with unique herbs and prey that they wouldn't get otherwise from their respective water sources being salt and fresh water. After that, a quiet fell upon the two newly fledged groups as they formed and shaped themselves to their environments, aiming to master each of them. This tentative peace would not last, as Ripley passed of a respiratory infection two years into the groups founding, and their successor, Downpour, sought to make the estuary Torrentfall Clan’s territory and Torrentfall Clan’s territory alone. This shift marked the official beginning of the longstanding rivalry between the two Clans, and the eras of tentative peace that they would fall into like clockwork.

MISTSHROUD & THORNRUSH CLAN...

... were founded simultaneously several years after Torrentfall was founded. A large group of weary ex-Clan cats headed by Russetthorn and Shroudedcrawl found their way into the temperate rainforest from far off. Their previous Clan had become cruel and tyrannical, enforcing impossible tasks and rites on the apprentices and warriors. Their home was no longer a home, but rather a prison. Only the strongest were permitted to survive, and if you couldn't bear your own burdens, you would die or be killed. Having had enough, a large group fled into the night. Shroudedcrawl, who had valued secrecy and subtlety, disbanded from the group with their followers who shared their views. Russetthorn, who had valued bravery and honor, amicably split with the other half of the group with their own followers in tow. The two settled in the mist shrouded cloud forest, and dense underbrush of the rainforest respectively. The cloud forest held peace and serenity, and most of all, secrecy. It was a place that Shroudedcrawl and their followers could fade and disappear into. They would learn to have the upper hand and advantage, and would never be taken advantage of again. The dense undergrowth of the rainforest was full of brambles and vines, creating impenetrable thickets and barriers. It was a place Russetthorn and her followers could feel protected, all the while offering their protecting all the same, with Russetthorn vowing to never let her group become the same evil that they had fled from. Mistshroud was founded, though cats of Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer scarcely saw them, and Shroudedcrawl was content to keep it that way. Thornrush was founded simultaneously, and was much more present among the two previously founded Clans, going as far as stepping in during a territory spat while still getting their bearings. Since then, Mistshroud has remained veiled in secrecy and silence, knowing more about the Clans than they let on while letting no one know about them. Thornrush on the other hand, has been present in conflict since then, acting as a mediator between Clans who are warring and offering mutual aid to any Clan that goes through an intense period of hardship.

With them, the group that comprised Mistshroud and Thornrush brought Pawspeak and Paws Cant, two forms of languages founded back in their home Clan to speak in code while being observed and leave markings that signaled danger and so on. These two languages spread rapidly into Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer, with Thornrush being the primary teacher of this. They also introduced the prefix-suffix naming system and a more rigid hierarchy, which was adopted into the earlier founded Clans relatively quickly.

Mistshroud and Thornrush, due to their shared history, maintained a respectable alliance, though they drifted apart through the years due to their difference in values. This steady peace has remained between the two to the current day, a respectable nod to their Clans origins and shared history.

The First Gathering...

... took place a year after Mistshroud's and Thornrush's founding. Thornrush was the mediator of this, bringing together the groups and their leaders to discuss the area. Clearly there were tensions and rivalries, with Torrentfall and Shoreshimmer stubbornly butting heads, and Mistshroud acting venomously towards both as a means of protecting themselves, and Russetthorn wanted it to cease. She gathered each of the groups and asked them to meet at the abandoned lodge, where they could proclaim an area of peace and neutrality. It was here that Russetthorn mediated between Tuna (or rather, her successor, Riptide, as Tuna was elderly by this point), Downpour, and Shroudedcrawl. They each came to an agreeance on where lines should be drawn and how they could live among one another peacefully without stepping on each other's toes. This was formalized as a once a moon event as to keep the peace between each group by maintaining constant communication.

Skyreach Clan...

... was, surprisingly, founded by two Clan cats, one from Torrentfall and one from Mistshroud. With these two Clans, individuality and sense of group unity was necessary, and any outside source of newcomers or help would be pushed back. Mistshroud, to an isolationist degree, and Torrentfall to a stubborn degree. Cats that had joined along each might have found themselves stifled by these Clans tendencies down the line, which leads us to Roostertalon and Harestomp. The two had met at a Gathering and quickly became enamored with one another. Surely in the Clans earlier founding years, run ins and romances between the groups were much more common, but as the groups each drew into themselves and their own individual ideals and cultures, it slowly became a taboo to find love outside. Roostertalon of Mistshroud Clan was an adventurous molly with an explorers heart, with a habit of exploring far beyond the Clans territory lines. Harestomp of Torrentfall Clan was much more laid back and found the rigidity of her home Clan to be stifling, there was always room for clan growth but never room for personal growth. Like minded, they became quickly enamored and fell in love with one another. Knowing that their respective Clans would look down on them at best for their relationship, or outright disgrace them at worst, the two decided that if they were going to be looked down upon they would do so on their own terms. And in the night, the two fled to the peaks and sub-alpine meadows of the higher elevations, rising above Torrentfall's and Mistshroud's territory both. Their departure was not announced until an upcoming Gathering, where the duo appeared and proclaimed their new Clan, a Clan that would always seek the horizons and valued exploration, acceptance, and individuality above all. Skyreach Clan. Cats from other Clans who had found this appealing began asking questions, while this sparked an outcry, and future rivalry, from Torrentfall and Mistshroud both. Shoreshimmer Clan and Thornrush Clan each dipped their heads and welcomed the newly founded Clan, and took little offense to those that decided to leave to find themselves among the skies. Torrentfall Clan and Mistshroud Clan would not officially recognize Skyreach Clan as an official Clan until about a year later when the peak dwelling cats swept through Torrentfall's territory to help after a landslide collapsed their dens and parts of their territory, trapping many cats underneath. This marked the steady peace between Torrentfall and Skyreach, while Mistshroud still maintains a cold distance from Skyreach.

[amethysts-tavern]

#65: Horror

I found a webpage with 100 writing prompts and rolled a d100. This is #65: Horror. It’s not horror in the traditional sense, but the point in the game that still fills me with horror weeks later.

Stop reading now if you don’t want to see Act 3 spoilers!!

—————

“I don’t think I can do this any more,” you say, bowing your head and leaning into Gale’s chest. Dinner for the evening had been cleaned up and put away and you were alone with him once again.

“What are you talking about, love?” Gale says, wrapping his arms around you in a tender embrace, clearly concerned by your defeated tone.

“Having to rescue everyone, the fighting, the bloodshed, the death, trying to determine who is being genuine and who is using us for their own benefit,” you say, starting to sob into his tunic.

“It has been a lot, hasn’t it?” Gale says, speaking gently and rubbing your back. “You’ve held up so valiantly thus far, what changed?”

It had been three days since the not-Lae’zel drew a knife across Yenna’s throat, dropping the innocent child on the spot. Walking past the girl’s body reminded you that of all of the horror you’d seen in the last few months, this one took the cake by far. It disturbed you to the core. You couldn’t shake the look of pure terror in Yenna’s eyes as she begged the not-Lae’zel to let her go.

“She never even knew that it wasn’t the real Lae’zel,” you say through tears. “The last thought she had was that we had betrayed her. And I wasn’t able to keep her safe. I’m not able to keep anyone safe. Shadowheart’s gone, the real Lae’zel has been kidnapped, and now Yenna’s dead. I’m terrified that I’m going to lose each and every one of you before this is over. I can’t even pick up and go home because look at it out there!” you gesture to a window in your room at the Elfsong. “Gortash has instilled fear in the citizens of Baldur’s Gate. They are out there denying basic human rights to the refugees who are just looking for a safe place to live. Sometimes I feel like this is a losing battle.”

“Do you want to give up?” Gale says, stroking your hair, still holding you close.

“Well, if we give up and don’t get the Netherstones and don’t stop the Elder Brain by other means, Mystra is going to blow you up,” you say, holding on to him tighter, balling his tunic up in your fists as you do.

“Not my first choice of outcomes at this point either,” Gale says, trying to make light of the situation. You sigh and a corner of your mouth turns upward - he’s such a nerd, but you love him more than anything. “Let’s start small. What can we do tonight?”

You think for a moment, there is nothing more you can do tonight other than get a good sleep and be ready for whatever fresh hell tomorrow will bring. You shake your head at the wizard, clearly at a loss.

“I suggest we spend the night holding on to each other so as to create a tiny pocket of love and comfort in this gods-forsaken world. And woe betide anyone who disturbs us.”

You smile genuinely this time. He always knows the right thing to say to bring you back down.

[raiiryuu]

@ferrumira - ⚡︎

The glare he levelled at her after the blow held no recognition whatsoever. Orange eyes blazed as a snarl was ripped from him, the volume enough to feel like sheer force in itself. Violet energy swirled along the lines of his frame like ink in water, some sort of spell to instill control. Their enemy had done their homework, using his lightning against her.

Lip curling, his magic flared outward -- the thrumming of electricity was nearly enough to drown out his voice as it lashed out indiscriminately, leaving ash and noise in its wake. The stone of the wall behind her, the metal she wore, the cobbled street beneath them both -- the enemy directed his fury, but it seemed his magic was too much for them, going haywire as soon as they tried to turn it on her.

The close proximity the spell required turned out to be its downfall -- in the chaos, Laxus's magic spread to further and further targets, arcing from one to the next. This meant it eventually found its way back to the source of the controlling spell, sending the mage flying.

The dull roar from his throat and his magic, the searing sensation as the metal she wore started to heat up, his ruthless grip still pinning her to the wall at his eye level -- it all built to just under a breaking point before everything stopped, the absence of sound almost louder than the storm before. He blinked, growl dying in his throat as he tried to process what'd realistically only been a few seconds, but probably didn't exist for him and felt like hours to her. A second's hesitation and then she was lowered to the ground, steadied, the man's face cycling through several expressions at once though his eyes held a single constant:

fear.

Of or for what, it was hard to say.

He couldn't tell if she was conscious, or even alive, but he was afraid to reach out again to check after what he'd just done what had happened. She was sitting back against the wall, and upright for the moment, and he thought he heard her breathing but it could've been the crowd that show of power had drawn. He'd find out later, one way or the other, but first...

He backed off as someone broke off from the crowd and rushed over, muttering something unintelligible before taking off at a sprint. He'd heard the other mages retreating, vaguely registering it as he'd tried to check Ravyn over, and he had a heading.

They didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Already Tried Screaming

Darkness surrounded me. Engulfed me.

Fear—I felt no fear. I refused to let it control me. Trapped like this for so long, I needed to keep telling myself the darkness was my friend.

All sense of time had abandoned me, just like the woman who held me captive here. I had no way of knowing when I had last seen candlelight, nor the gas lantern in her pale hand, nor the dim gloom from the cellar beyond the single only door to which my prison ever opened.

I had given up all hope of freedom. Whatever time I had spent here, trapped, it felt like an extension of eternity. It might as well have been. And the longer the darkness kept me in its embrace, and I filled the sanity-eroding silence with whispers in my head, the more I found a strange sense of… comfort.

Comfort in wondering what the world outside looked like. What it would feel, and sound, and taste like. So starved was I, deprived of everything in this dark cell of mine.

If the lady of the house came to me now, I would oblige her every demand.

How long had it been since her last visit?

I had no inkling.

In our very first meeting, I had been very hopeful. The candlelight around us then had lent it an almost romantic air. At the time, I had believed to have found a kindred soul in her heart. And that sweet smile of hers, which I would come to understand later was a cracked mask of grief and loss and madness.

Only when she had revealed her intent to keep me here till I did her bidding, had I understood what monster lurked behind her disguise.

Silken lips pursed to blow out candles, thus she bathed me in shadow once she knew me helpless here. Helpless as I was when I first found myself in this cell, and I screamed. I screamed till my voice no longer sounded human.

Oh, the profanities I hurled at her, first eliciting giggles of sadistic glee, and later falling upon deaf ears. How quiet the mansion above us, that House of Helmberg, empty of all life, but the lady of the house and her deranged butler, shuffling about and whiling away the days I spent here as their prisoner.

Oh, how beautiful her playing of the piano, even muffled through sturdy walls and floor. I enjoyed the sadness in the pieces she played, and they offered reprieve from the silence surrounding me.

The butler sometimes visited alone, just to mock me. What a depraved creature he was, giving me nothing but cellar’s gloom whenever he arrived, bathed in twilight. His wicked grin, a silver crescent, a mad moon sliced across his face; oh, that lesser demon. Had she made him thus, or had he been so deranged all along?

They rarely received guests, but when they did, I tried my best to win attention. Anything as to not give in, to not give up. The only way I could even attempt to fight for my freedom, as helpless as I was here.

Just as now, as they received two new guests. Two men, judging by their muffled voices. One chortled often, the other spoke with a quiet confidence. Without a doubt, the two men were foreigners to this land, for they spoke with strange accents. And together, their oblivious presence instilled me with a sliver of hope, that I may yet find my freedom, if only their meddling proved sufficient.

Alas, my fate was a twisted road, coiled with the serpent of darkness. I dared not hope so soon, and listened carefully.

I schemed with what few options I had at my disposal.

I had already tried screaming with the first visitors, and now their blood fed the soil of Helmberg’s grounds, and the magic circles the mistress of the house had drawn in her dark rituals.

I had already tried singing to those that came next, for I hoped to provoke a different response, and a different outcome, yet my singing sent them fleeing with dread, and I knew not what had become of them.

This was my third chance. Perhaps my last. Who knew what torments awaited me if I failed to escape now?

I knew I needed to be more clever this time. But how? What should I do?

The lady of the house once again played on the piano, this time to entertain her guests. My well of tears was empty, yet she touched me again with her music. Such melancholy, such beautiful sorrow in those melodies, like she yearned for something lost, someone I could never bring back to her but in illusions. Every note, every chorus, every bit and every piece she played, the piano always sang to the hole I could not fill, even if I were to do as she demanded.

As she played, her guests excused themselves, and shuffled through the mansion. Lurking, searching, as if they knew something was amiss. And the butler, he lurked behind them, following them.

That familiar sound, of weight being lifted from a corner in the kitchen, and metal scraping over wood, and I knew he had armed himself with his trusty wood axe, prepared to once again murder the lady’s guests, should they discover her darker secrets. Should they discover me.

Would I scream, they would likely rush to me, and the axe would kiss their skulls from behind, and their blood, too, would feed this fetid dungeon of mine.

Would I sing, and provoke them to ask about another person in the mansion, she and her butler would lull them into a false sense of security, and feed them poison, until the bodies dropped upon soft carpets in the salon. I knew she had such devilry in her.

Thus there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do but wait, and hope that these two men had been the saviors I had been waiting for my eternity in this dark cellar.

Their hushed murmurs reached me, hissing beyond less and less barriers between us. They drew close, ever closer; they neared, and ignited the flames of my hope. My tortured heart started beating faster, ever faster, as I yearned to glimpse their faces, and find new freedom.

Oh, how fast my heart was beating as they explored the lady’s cellar.

Whatever they had hoped to find in the House of Helmberg, they were only steps away from finding me. Their footsteps drew nearer, and the bottom of the door to my prison glowed with a line of tiny light from a lantern in their hands. The butler, meanwhile, backed away from them, slinking off to his mistress like the craven predator he was, most likely to alarm her of the trespassers, who now stood on the verge of discovering me.

The men found my room locked, as the lady and the butler always left it, though I harbored no hopes of even getting close to that door and to welcoming them inside. One of the men rattled at the padlock, and they hissed at each other in argument. The chortling man urged the other to stop trespassing, lest she call the police upon them. The confident man reminded him of the lives on the line, and told him to step back.

Metal struck metal. Once, then twice, and thrice, with force, until that lock broke, yielding to the confident man’s axe, and they entered to finally see me, standing in the room, before me, face to face.

They stared at me in terror. They stared at my prison in terror.

The ritual symbols, painted in human blood upon the floor, lining a perfect circle all around me, such arcane designs struck fear into their hearts.

The confident man, tall, sullen, and darkly cloaked—he knew. He recognized and understood what these symbols meant, for the terror in his eyes was a different one than the professor’s next to him. The cloaked man’s terror was one of understanding, of knowing what I was, and why such symbols bound me to this prison of mine.

The chortling man who now chortled no longer, a professor of ginger beard and hair and gentlemanly appearance—he knew not. His inquisitive eyes did not recognize the symbols painted like spidery script. Though the arcane writing sparked curiosity in his heart, the terror in him was one of not knowing why I was here, or what the lady of the house may be truly capable of.

“They are coming, and they will murder you,” I warned them, in perfect tongues, in the professor’s own accent, so as to sound familiar enough for them to trust me.

Captivated by the strange hieroglyphs and markings upon all floors and walls outside my circle, the professor remained speechless. The axe-man in his cloak, however, stared at me with a mixture of reverence and dread.

He knew what I was, and I recognized him in turn. Shaman. Sorcerer. If he knew not how to summon me, as the Lady of Helmberg had, then he knew of me, and of my kind.

Both men, I captivated them with my beauty. The body of the fair and fragile woman I had chosen to look like. I could appear however I wanted to appear, and I wanted to look as innocent and helpless as I could. For who knew how long I would stay trapped here if they perished? Trapped until the Lady of Helmberg had persuaded me to do her bidding?

These two strangers now posed my only hope, and they had lived longer than any of the lady’s previous guests since my summoning.

The butler neared. I warned them of his arrival, and of his bloodthirsty axe. I warned them that the butler, like myself, was unlike them. That the butler, too, was not human.

The sorcerer slammed the door shut behind himself, and the professor helped him hold it shut with a single, slender hand. His lantern squeaked in the other, and the sweet, sweet light it cast bounced and bobbed through my prison.

Oh, how wicked my smile must have looked, despite my fragile demeanor, yet my saviors only had eyes for the axe that broke through the wood of the door betwixt, showering them with splinters when the butler struck it with his wood axe. They shouted and yelped in fear and fury.

“Free me, please! I will help you escape!” I begged of them.

They backed away from the door and the professor only shot me a fearful glare. The butler’s axe cleaved through more of the door, shedding new light through the cracks he widened with every strike.

The sorcerer readied his axe, prepared to face their foe, ignoring me as he knew I could not escape my circle.

The professor brandished the holy cross around his neck and held it far in front of himself, like a weapon to keep me at bay.

And at bay it kept me, and I screamed. His conviction shone greater than any divine symbol of this realm, and his purity and fury pained me. I could only back away so far from it, reaching the edge of my circle, feeling my very essence burn where I brushed against the threshold.

And as the door to the small cellar room broke apart, and the butler and the sorcerer engaged in combat, the professor’s grew ever greater. His confidence far outweighed his fear.

He smirked at me, and said, “Counteroffer, my dear. Return to whatever pit from whence you came!”

With that, he tossed the lantern at my feet, and the flames spread quickly.

I now shrieked. Not in agony any longer, but in shock. And in delight. Oh, what delight. Conviction and purity were no replacement for knowing. The oblivious professor screamed as I showed him my true form, my preferred form, my wings spreading wide, feathered black; my fangs long and white, my grin ready to rival the grinning death of the reaper’s skull, wide and merciless.

Oh, professor, how I thank thee for freeing me.

The flames from his broken lantern broke the circle that had entrapped me, and I was free, free at last. Free to explore this world of theirs, unshackled from that witch’s occult tethers.

In a torrent of liquid shadow, as a whirlwind of dark fog, I shot past all of them. With my unbridled fury, I knocked that innocent little professor down onto his rump, and he screamed in terror as I washed over him like a waterfall, even in the wake of me leaving him unharmed—oh, professor, how grateful I was for your meddling that day. I knocked that wretched butler down, ending the deadly struggle between him and the sorcerer and their locking axes.

The last I saw and heard, the sorcerer’s axe cracked the butler’s skull, and I now screamed a different scream, as I flooded the halls and walls and poured outside.

A cry for freedom, as I emerged from the bowels of the House of Helmberg, and rose. And rose. Oh, what a beautiful night sky, dark with clouds of a storm that welcomed me with its open arms, flashing with lightning.

I almost paused, to visit the lady of the house, though I reckoned my liberators and the people of her town would perform their own reckoning with her, and I could spectate when her time had finally come.

I rose, and my darkness poured out from the mansion.

Free at last.

Thank you, professor. I cannot wait till we meet again.

[birdzflycom]

Unabomber Ted Kaczynski Found Dead in Prison Cell

Img Source: https://media-cldnry.s-nbcnews.com/image/upload/t_fit-560w,f_auto,q_auto:best/rockcms/2023-06/230610-theodore-ted-kaczynski-unabomber-mjf-1309-ec8630.jpg

Ted Kaczynski, Known as the Unabomber, Dies at Age 81

Ted Kaczynski, the man infamously known as the Unabomber, was discovered dead in his prison cell in North Carolina, according to the Federal Bureau of Prisons. The 81-year-old, who had been serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole for a series of bombings across the United States, had been transferred to North Carolina in 2021 due to his deteriorating health. The exact cause of Kaczynski's death has not yet been disclosed, leaving many questions unanswered about the circumstances surrounding his passing. Kaczynski gained notoriety for his role in a string of bombings that targeted scientists and claimed the lives of three individuals. His reign of terror began in 1978 and continued until his arrest in 1996. Previously held in a maximum-security prison in Colorado, Kaczynski's declining health prompted authorities to move him to North Carolina, where he would receive the necessary medical attention. The decision was made in 2021, ensuring that he could be provided with appropriate care while serving his sentence. Kaczynski's arrest took place at a primitive cabin he inhabited in western Montana. Following his capture, he admitted to orchestrating a total of 16 explosions that caused casualties and injuries spanning from 1978 to 1995. His homemade bombs, often sent through the mail, induced fear and changed the way Americans approached package delivery and air travel. One particularly alarming incident involved an altitude-triggered explosion aboard an American Airlines flight, which detonated as intended. This event and the subsequent threat to blow up a plane departing from Los Angeles before the end of the July 4 weekend in 1995 caused chaos in air travel and mail services. The Unabomber later dismissed it as a "prank." The Unabomber's targets were primarily universities and airlines, earning him his infamous moniker from the FBI. As a highly educated mathematician trained at Harvard University, Kaczynski developed a vehement opposition to the consequences of advancing technology. His anti-technology manifesto, titled "Industrial Society and Its Future," was published by The Washington Post and The New York Times in September 1995 at the insistence of federal authorities. The Unabomber had promised to cease his acts of terrorism if a national publication would print his treatise. Kaczynski's reign of terror, marked by his bombings and the ensuing manhunt, left a lasting impact on American society. The hunt for him became the longest and most expensive in the nation's history. Ultimately, his arrest and conviction brought some measure of closure to the victims and their families. While the news of Ted Kaczynski's death raises questions, it also marks the end of a dark chapter in American history. The impact of his actions and the fear he instilled continue to resonate, reminding us of the importance of vigilance and the pursuit of justice. Read the full article

[satanistruth]

Bioelectricity, what it is and what it does:

Bioelectricity is also known as the life force, the chi, the body electric, prana, the aura, the spirit, witch power, etc. There are many different names for this energy.

Our bodies run on bioelectricity. Thoughts are electrical impulses in the brain. The brain runs on bioelectricity. When this electricity becomes imbalanced, one has seizures.

The amount of bioelectricity an individual has, determines the degree of their physical, psychological and spiritual health. People, who are ill or depressed, have lesser amounts of bioelectricity. Depression all by itself, is a symptom of too little bioelectricity.

Bioelectricity increases our energy, our immunity to disease, our charisma, instills a positive outlook, and strengthens our thought power. With increased bioelectricity, our thoughts (electrical impulses) become stronger and are more able to manifest themselves in reality.

Some examples of bioelectricity include:

•Buddhist monks, who sat motionless in the street, (protesters), were soaked with gasoline and lit on fire. They continued to sit still and burn to death.

•Martial artists: busting through concrete with their fists, knife hand "karate chop," enduring major, crushing, and lethal blows, unharmed.

•Dim Mak: the deadly martial art of inflicting light specific blows to chi (a variation of bioelectricity) meridians (acupressure points of bioelectric energy flow) during specific times that can cause delayed death, sometimes up to five months later.

•When the mind, through fear, panics, or when one is in a life and death situation, this sometimes enables an individual to lift extremely heavy objects, for example, back end of a car, that under normal conditions, would be impossible.

•Telekinesis- The ability to move objects with the mind

•Pyrokinesis- The ability to set things on fire with the mind

•Electrokinesis- The ability to control objects, such as computers that run on electricity

•Levitation- Some martial arts and yoga masters have the ability to levitate their bodies into the air.

The strength of one's bioelectricity is the foundation of all magickal success. Old spells with strange ingredients have little or nothing to do with the success of a magickal working, the success depends upon the strength of the mind and the aura [the bioelectrical field] that with proper focus and direction, will affect one's environment and others.

Those known as the Gods (very powerful and advanced extra-terrestrials who have genetically modified their DNA so they don't age), have much of this very energy. Lucifer is known as "the shining one." Many of these Gods "known as Demons" are radiant with this very energy. The hieroglyphs on the walls in the Egyptian temples, tombs and inside the Egyptian Pyramids explain how important this energy is in becoming a God.

Reaching true Godhead is difficult and requires consistent hard work and dedication. Mastery of the mind is essential. The spirit, as long as you are alive, is a part of the physical self. Yes, many of us can astral project (leave our bodies at will), BUT, the physical self acts to empower the soul as long as we are alive. My experience with the dead is they do not evolve in power any more, beyond what they had when they were alive. A spirit remains a spirit until they reincarnate physically. Only through the strength of the soul (powerful bioelectricity), will one ascend into godhood.

Kundalini and the chakras:

Kundalini is the highest form of yoga. It is a god thing. All of the tenets of Yoga, Buddhism, Hinduism, etc., and the western religions, preach helplessness, instruct one on how to be a total victim and try to make sure the results obtained from these disciplines are kept under strict control, if obtained at all. Sacred writings [hiero means "Holy" and glyph means "symbol"] left for us in Egypt [one of the original centers of True Satanism] are instructions for becoming a god.

The objective of mainstream religions, both east and west, is to keep humanity enslaved and powerless. These religions use fear is used as a tool. "Karma" this, and "karma" that. Satanism does not preach helplessness. Satan is brilliant, fearless, incredibly strong, and defiant. He rebels against limitations placed upon freedom.

The Chakras

There are seven chakras located along the spine that are the most powerful. These are the "seven seals," written about in the Christian bible book of "Revelation." "These are "The seven lamps of fire that burn before the throne of God." They are referred to as "seals" because the enemy aliens sealed them in humanity to prevent our acquisition of godly power and knowledge. We have been cut off from spirituality and the astral world. Thousands of years ago, we were as the Gods, until the earth was attacked and there was "war in heaven". Our being sealed has caused the human race to degenerate. Imbalances in this energy and blockages, along with holes in the aura cause drug and alcohol addiction, depression, a lack of concern for the feelings of others and other forms of life, abusive behavior and many other things that plague humanity.

Kundalini

The SERPENT OF FIRE is the symbol of kundalini. It lies dormant, coiled at the base of the spine, beneath the Muladhara chakra. The objective is to ascend the serpent [powerhouse of energy] from the base of the spine, through all the seven chakras and out through the crown chakra at the top of the head. In order to do this safely, all seven chakras must be completely open and unobstructed.

In order to handle a large amount of bioelectricity safely, one's body must be strong and all of the seven chakras must be fully open.

Kundalini is the life force and is very sexual in nature. This is the reason the Christian church and other RHP religions ban masturbation and all forms of sex. Sex is the creative power; it is one's use of the life force to create another human being. When one is trained and adept, the use of this force can be applied to many other objectives.

Hatha [physical] yoga can be a big help in stimulating and opening the chakras and very recommended. By increasing our level of physical flexibility, the life force flows easier. One only needs to look at the stiffness of old age and the ill health that accompanies it, old age precedes death.

There are many different methods of awakening this power. Some of these include:

•Chanting- Vibration is very powerful. The power of sound can break glass, weaken steel, and cement structures. Vibrations cause the chakras to open and stimulate the kundalini at the base of the spine.

•Controlled Breathing (pranyama) - Different methods of controlled breathing are specific to each chakra. We are all aware how important the breath is to the life force. The Egyptian God Thoth has said many times "Life is in the Breath."

•Visualization and concentration- Through visualizing and focusing our minds on each chakra, we can open, close and control them.

•Revamping the bioelectricity ideally, should be done slowly and gradually. One's physical and spiritual self is accustomed to operating on a certain voltage of bioelectricity.

Increased Bioelectricity:

•Can induce intense bliss.

•Strengthens and intensifies the aura.

•Gives a feeling of lightness, floating, glowing and assists in astral projection (where one wills one's soul to leave one's body and return safely).

•Opens one's mind for spirit contact and telepathic communication. Will enable one to resist disease and also provide the power to heal one's self.

•Protects the immune system.

•Provides the power to work magick- true magick without props- empty handed. This is the art of the true adept. Ceremony is unnecessary.

LIMITATIONS ARE NOT A PART OF SATANISM.

[murdershaped]

Her teeth grit at the query. Helena had been a failure. And yes Orin had been formed within her belly, but they had RISEN ABOVE their unfortunate origins. She was better than Helena. She had assassinated her, she had failed. She died at the hands of a mere CHILD and proved once and for all that SHE WAS NOT WORTHY OF BHAAL'S FAVOR. But Orin had far outdone their mother, they had climbed the ranks of the cult. They had been hand chosen time and time again. And when the time came that it was overlooked in favor of their sibling, Orin had clawed that favor back from their dead, cold hands. She was not her mother, Orin was better and MORE WORTHY. Bhaal's true chosen and they would prove it again and again.

The changeling raised their hand with its dagger to block the incoming swing, just for its opponent to change the trajectory at the very last second. Was it Minthara who had knocked them to the ground ??? Or was it the crushing blow to the chest that had taken any chance of keeping balanced on their feet away which had it laying on the stone ??? The ribcage had cracked, Orin could feel it when they went to take a deep breath after the collision knocked ANY OXYGEN its lungs had straight from them. A pathetic wheezing noise sounded and Orin was only able to lean forward just a bit before the drow was on top of them. Orin could hear Minthara's voice, but could not register them in the aftershocks of the brutal bludgeoning.

Arm PATHETICALLY FLAILED to try and right herself, but Minthara's hand brought the silver of her blade to its finger. To its ring finger. Orin hissed and tried to yank it back, but she was still dazed from the previous hit. The instant the dagger connected with flesh, they made a choked, breathless noise. There was no air to speak, no air to EVEN SCREAM but still their throat managed to find something to choke out in response to the pain. Nerves tendons and sinews were slooooooooooooowly separated by the drow and Orin KNEW that Minthara was savoring every second of the changeling's agony. She was drawing this out, watching with glee and Orin turned their face to the ground to the side and braced themselves on the elbow whose fingers weren't being SLOWLY SERRATED. A hoarse gag from the pain painfully ripped from its throat, but there was nothing to retch up. Oh how badly she needed a good breath of air.

Orin shuddered and GASPED, trying with all of their might to get enough within their lungs despite the broken rib. She would have to heal that and its finger later, but right then she was TOO CONSUMED WITH IT ALL. Pain, pain, so much pain it was never ending. Her chest, her side, her back, its finger.

The changeling had inflicted agony with the carress of a blade, the breaking of bones, and the gouging of meat and innards more times than Orin could POSSIBLY BEGIN TO ESTIMATE. This sort of pain was a lesser degree to what it had even inflicted upon Minthara and she was not so unaware to NOT UNDERSTAND THAT. But it was all for a purpose. For Bhaal, to prove themselves to him to its sibling, and then to shape Minthara. To SHOW HER THE WAYS of the Dreadlord so that she would make a suitable assassin in HIS NAME. This was all just purely personal. All Orin had done and Minthara despised her so. Orin had tried to help her see, tried to carve away all which made her weak. That unshakeable need for affection, the FEAR. But it still ruled her completely. Orin had failed. Orin had failed in disposing of her slaughter-kin, and had FAILED in instilling the things which had made them great in Minthara. A failure birthed of the womb of a failure, after all.

God that screeching was terrible. Stop screaming so, Orin wanted to say to Minthara. It made their ears buzz and ache within and even their throat seemed to ache from hearing it. No that wasn't right. Why would their throat be BURNING so just from hearing someone else yell in such an animalistic way ??? No, Minthara was not screaming this time. It was Orin. Screaming from the physical pain, but also from the PAIN IN HER CHEST. Agony from the broken rib, yes. But also pain from failing time and time again. Pain from Minthara's BETRAYAL.

" You will KNOW what it is to truly suffer by my hand, Minthara. I swear by my heart's own crimson that I will bring you such sweet agony. "

how often the night warden had imagined this - restless nights spent seeing the changeling twisting under her maces; the joy and satisfaction it would bring her to see orin squirm and scream, and only see the night warden's smile in the dark and taste the same fear that had paralyzed the night warden. minthara baenre now knows that she is not the huntress here, instead a cornered animal baring its teeth, ready to lunge. perhaps she has always been prey.

feet dig into the soft earth below her, a stale breath leaving her lungs as she watches the macabre display before her. orin, sticky and wet with its' blood, jaw hanging haphazardly; a gaping maw, a wound instead of a mouth. minthara baenre, daughter of menzoberranzan, will strike the image of a long dead sister from the changeling until the memory is ash. it is a weakness, is a hesitation ( the same hesitation that had spared minthara, and doomed her sister ) that she will not make. her body is an instrument, a tool that she wields that has never failed her in the way so many before have. there is no oath on her lips when she strikes this time; no battle cry - but silence, her focus sharp and narrowed down to every movement, the way the changeling grips at the ring upon her fingers as the night warden's arm curves, body following surer and swifter than an artist paints, and the blades of her mace meet the exposed flesh of orin's shoulder, shredding it. no, not flesh. meat. minthara baenre does not know if this thought is her own or if it is orin's - doesn't want to know. her jaw clenches, hard enough her teeth could crack, so focused on the blood that had never been a stranger to her until now that she does not see orin's arm move - and the knife buries itself into her side. minthara tries not to scream.

pain burns, white hot and worse than any flame; sharp in her side as the changeling twists its' knife deeper, the grin upon their face terrible and slick and gaping. for a moment, she is in the colony again. she never left it; and a cry of pain leaves her when the knife does, hand at her side to staunch the wound, coming away slick with her blood. an animal does not know when it is cornered. it will attack until it is dead, until there is nothing left but ash and bone; and a snarl contorts her expression into something monstrous. how like her.

" lu'dos xun? dos, rosin d'ilta tsak carva lu'quanthiss xuil ilta nautkhurzon vlos. " she hisses; throwing herself again - fury and terror rotting in the pit of her stomach, the only things that drive her these days - and minthara baenre, daughter of menzoberranzan, knows it will kill her. unfocused in her rage, she misses another hit - mace bouncing off the preserved skin the changeling has shielded herself with. fury burns hotter than any flame minthara has ever known; up her neck, to her brow - behind her eyes that are filled with mutiny; her arm raises, seemingly aiming at the crown of orin's skull, then drops - the head of her mace landing a blow squarely into orin's chest, hard enough to knock the wind from their lungs, send them staggering back - and minthara drops with it, two bodies hitting the dust and dirt - only one will ever return to it.

chest heaving, minthara moves blindingly fast; years of training taking over; muscle memory that could never be forgotten or replaced, mechanical as the fist of bane's automaton toys as her thighs brace against orin's sides, ignoring the pain in her own. minthara baenre has been sharpened into a terrible thing for centuries - made and shaped to kill, to conquer - she cannot do this alone. not here. not now. her pride had gotten her here, after all; but this - oh, she could make it easier. send bhaal's chosen cowering back to the dark where it belonged - leave them afraid, leave her knowing that the night warden was coming, and would bring nothing but blood.

" your Lord of Murder does not, and has never heard you. " the night warden's laughter is pitched; deep and low in her throat - her smile all teeth, slick and sharp as her elegant fingers reach to her belt, closing around the hilt of a delicate, wicked blade - gleaming cruelly in the silvery light of midday. " allow me to aid you in your prayer. perhaps he will hear you once there is meaning to your otherwise senseless cries. " minthara knows she could make this quick - could. but there would be no satisfaction in that - and the knife comes down, dagger piercing the pale flesh of the finger that bore orin's ring - the secret to its quick appearances and disappearances. the night warden is not merciful enough to make this clean and quick, no - and gritting her teeth, she begins to saw at the flesh; ripping and grinding it against the dull edge of her blade in her search for bone, for tendons and nerves she will sever - orin will scream; has to. must.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Could u do an imagine where reader's hair is red and daemon's absolutely obsessed with it?Thank you.

Would u consider doing an imagine where its basically daemon and the reader have a love /hate relationship but then they confess their love when Daemon comes back from tbe StepStones

My Fire

Request: Could u do an imagine where reader’s hair is red and daemon’s absolutely obsessed with it?Thank you

Hi! I love this request, it’s so cute. I wish I had red hair, I’ve dyed it a wine color before, but I’m considering dying it a copper color at some point. I didn’t know if you wanted bright red hair, or something like ginger, so I left it kinda up to the reader, I hope that’s ok. Also, I made the reader fem, and a friend of Rhaenyra from another house, so I could make sense of the reader's hair color. I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think.

And yes, I can write that other request, just submit an ask with any ideas or details you want and I’ll add it to the list.

(Warnings: i don't think there are any, maybe an ooc daemon, let me know if i missed any)

—

Rhaenyra had finally convinced you to let her braid your hair, framing pieces around your face and twisting the strands into intricate designs all around your head. You normally kept it simple, and out of your face, pulled back neatly. 

With the amount of time you spent with Rhaenyra, often on dragonback, you didn’t have the time to fiddle with your hair, as it would get tangled anyway. 

Even then, you had no great love for your hair. The high born boys of your house often made fun, teasing you about the color. As you grew older, the boys turned to men, and the comments became a lot cruder. Rhaenyra, ever the fiery spirit, always had your back. You were a handful of years older than her, and it was quite funny to see a little girl instill fear in boys twice her height. Although, you supposed that had more to do with her father being the King, and her Uncle, who had quite the reputation, being fiercely protective over the pair of you.

Rhaenyra often begged to have you let her do something with your hair, so you could hold your head high and walk with confidence, and you finally caved to her incessant pestering. And you had to admit, you did look quite nice when she finished. 

“You have plans with my Uncle today, do you not?” Rhaenyra asked, smirking.

You raised a brow, watching her grin. “You’re such a little meddler! Is that why you kept asking? I swear, you’re too much like your Uncle.”

“That’s why you love him,” she laughed, blocking her face from the pillow you slung her way. “And he loves your hair, you know that. Why hide it from him?”

You groaned, hiding your heated cheeks in your palms. “Gods, you really are like him. I bet he put you up to this. You two are always a recipe for a disaster. You could take down the Seven Kingdoms if you put your mind to it.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “Bold plans, for a later time. For now…you have to meet with my Uncle. Off you go, now.”

She shooed you away from her, blowing a kiss in your direction. You rolled your eyes, opening her chamber door. “I’ll get you back for this. And him too. You both have nothing on me. You should be scared!”

You accepted Ser Harwin’s arm as he closed the door behind you, guiding you down the steps that led towards the Dragon Pit. 

“Thank you, Ser.”

He smiled and nodded, returning to his post outside Rhaenyra’s door. “Good day, My Lady.”

You made your way to the pit, anxiously awaiting your day with Daemon. You arrived to see him standing in front of Caraxes, seemingly talking to him. You laughed to yourself, watching Caraxes find you in his sight, perking up at your presence. 

You whistled, smiling as Caraxes bristled, letting out a happy shrill that mimicked yours.

Daemon turned at the sound of your voice, a grin creeping its way onto his face at the sight of you. He smiled, a genuine rare smile, holding his hand out for you to take. 

“My Lady,” he greeted, as you stepped up to greet Caraxes. The dragon lowered his head, letting you run a light hand down his nose. 

Daemon watched you in awe, amazed at how he managed to get a girl like you. As far as he was concerned, the whole of the Seven Kingdoms paled in comparison to the woman who was akin to fire. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “I was going to say you look beautiful, but that’s a bit of an understatement. You’re always beautiful.”

His smirk grew as he watched you fight the flush in your cheeks, and he continued on to save you from the embarrassment of stuttering like a fool in front of him, which he regularly made you do.

“I see Rhaenyra finally got her hands on you,” he said, twisting a loose curl around his finger. 

“She did,” you nodded. “I’m not quite sure what her fascination with it is. Who knows how many times I’ve wished for hers. Your family has beautiful hair. I’ve hardly ever met anyone with mine, aside from a few Tully’s. Even so, theirs is auburn, they blend in well enough. I might as well have lit a flame atop my head.”

“That’s a good thing. Everyone else is dreadfully boring. You stand out.” 

Daemon was still transfixed with your hair, twirling it around his finger. You watched him, amused.

“I suppose so. As do you. But yours is regarded as royal. It shines like a silver star. What is mine like? A..uh, a–”

“A dragon,” He interrupted your thoughts, his eyes suddenly meeting yours. You held your breath under his icy gaze. He reassured you a second time. “Like a dragon.”

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head, confused. 

Daemon gazed down at you thoughtfully, gently moving you to stand behind him. You remained silent and followed his lead as he led you to the edge of the pit, where Caraxes had settled. He kept a protective arm in front of you, although he knew Caraxes wouldn’t harm you. 

“Caraxes,” He called, clicking his tongue to get the dragon’s attention. “Sōvegon.”

Fly.

Caraxes flapped his wings, lifting into the sky. 

“Dracarys!” 

Caraxes let a tumbling roar emerge from his throat, breathing fire into the sky above him. 

You watched in wonder, feeling the heat on your skin as the flames danced in the sky. Daemon slid his hand into yours, turning your attention back to him. 

“You’re like a dragon, with hair to match. Flames and heat, scorching to the touch. Like an inferno, embers dancing in the sky. You might not have the hair of a Targaryen, but you have the heart of one. Caraxes can sense it, and I can sense it. You’re akin to fire, like me. And it’s beautiful. Wear it with pride. Wear it with power.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, filled with overwhelming emotion. You squeezed his hand in yours, and he bent down, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Issa gevie, se iksā gevie. Ñuha mele. Ñuha perzys. Ñuha zaldrīzes.”

It is beautiful, and you are beautiful. My red. My fire. My dragon. 

You brought a palm up to rest on his cheek, swiping a thumb across his cheekbone, before running your fingers through his hair. 

“Ñuha qēlos,” you returned, watching Daemon fight the flush that crept onto his cheeks.

My star.

“Aōhon,” he nodded, holding you close to him, one of his hands finding its way back into your curls.

Yours.

—

A/N - Hi! Sorry this is kinda short, I’ve been really busy and haven’t had the chance to write. This was my first time writing for Daemon, I hope it’s alright. 

[nevermeyers]

My thoughts/expectations (? on the Senju VS Sanzu fight

Senju is one of the great revelations of this arc, without a doubt. She's a truly strong woman who's not afraid of her opponents, even if they are bigger than her (like South). This fight is one of the first where she doesn't have anyone trying to protect her, such as in the War of the Three Deities, where it was hinted that Wakasa and Benkei used to take the fights for her, urging her to stay to the side.

She seems more free in that aspect. The panels where she tells, proudly, the guys that she has beaten make her seem she's pleased by this fight, and satisfied with her own work. The strong woman we all needed, definitely, and I personally love her!

One thing I would like to know is her thoughts about Wakasa and Benkei being in the Kantō Manji, maybe there is a plan involved? Or did they come together because of the same thing that Kokonoi mentioned about Mikey? And where is Takeomi?

On the other hand we have Sanzu, another great loved by the fandom.

Personally, I wouldn't be surprised if Senju won the fight. But you know what? It would be interesting if Sanzu summoned all of his strength. Senju is stronger than him (from what was shown you can deduce that), but I still remember what Mutō said about Sanzu being "stronger and more loyal than everyone else".

How far can his loyalty go? He has already shown that he doesn't mind killing the one who even loved him and kept him by his side like a brother, our dear Mutō. Emotionally, Senju is nothing to him.

I really want to see Sanzu in action. I want to see his perspective of how he spent his childhood, and why he follows Mikey, I want to see him fight for the first time and show that the probable inferiority complex that he developed in his childhood has become a massive ball of hate

Points/ scenarios that I would find interesting in this fight:

Senju refusing to fight her brother at a certain point. Maybe when he's about to beat him? She herself has pondered bringing him back, even though she too said that she couldn't fix things. But maybe try to convince him? She seems to love him more than he loves her.

Sanzu pulling out a weapon other than that metal tube. Will he wear something inside the uniform?

Drama, lots of familiar drama lol

And the scenario I've thought of: Sanzu managing to somehow beat Senju until she couldn't move (with a weapon?). Maybe Sanzu doesn't have a sense of when to stop a fight and have it go on almost to death (like it was mentioned with Izana, in Tenjiku arc). Let Takeomi appear to try to stop him and talk seriously about his family.

However, if I have one thing clear, it is that it's very difficult for Sanzu to return to the Akashi. He had a hard time when he was just a kid, Takeomi abused him psychologically.

Yelling is abuse, instilling fear is also. The panel when Sanzu shows how fucking afraid is of Takeomi breaks my heart every time

And even if what happened wasn't Senju's fault, his resentment is understandable.

I would like to mention that a bad blow to the head can kill anyone, regardless of the strength of whoever receives it. The skull is a very fragile area and it really takes little to do significant damage or leave sequels. The weapon that Sanzu uses is very, very dangerous, like Ran's

Literally, you can receive a blow and be fine for the following minutes, like nothing happened. Then, end up dying later.

Whoever wins, or even if there's no winner, Wakui will do an excellent job and I'll love it. I'm sure <3

[ofmistnmoons]

“….. Thank you..” for the first time since Yuichiro found himself under the mans care, his voice finally sounded like it belonged to a kid his age. A scared little kid whose blood made him so much more than he could even begin to comprehend. And since there was now concrete evidence of this fact, of course he would do everything in his power to learn and grow. But first. He had to know what became of his younger brother. He needed to know for certain that his brother had lived that night.

After he took that initial blow was a haze to Yuichiro. He just remember the world spinning together and the feeling of his blood draining from his body. From having his nerves on fire to turning into ice while his body felt like it was made of lead. Finally? The soft desperate calls of his name, begging for him to say something anything. A small hand clutching onto his for dear life before it all went dark. His awakening wasn’t any better. That was to a loud boastful shout, maggots eating their way under his skin but to the brightest smile.

‘Well would ya look at that! I always knew you were a fighter Yui! Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. There’s nothing left you you here.’

Who knew one of their regulars turned out to be a banished swordsmith.

“… She used to come to our home to recite us. Me and my twin brother.” Shinjuro already knew about his tie to Kokushibo. He may as well know the rest of the story. “So.. if my brother survived that night, he would be in her care. If she’s the one who found us before my mistress found me.. she’s probably the one who took him.”

An audible yawn. When had he grown so.. tired? He wasn’t even the one who’d been running for the last few hours. The reassurance does make him relax a little bit more, ease the fear instilled in him by his ancestors beating. So he just nods then closes his eyes, drifting off to sleep a few minutes later.

“Ah… Shit.” A soft curse dance upon the youths lips. He could already tell there was a change in the weather by the way the breeze blew through his raven to turquoise tipped locks. However his body ached in a way that was very different than the usual pain. footsteps had come to a stop, phantom aches were apart of his norm. However, that dull usually indistinguishable pain he felt on the day to day basis had spiked.

“….. rain huh.” He groans while pushing stray hairs out of his face. What a pain in the ass. There wasn’t any major towns for another mile or so, he could keep walking and home to come across a supply shed or perhaps an abandoned home. But, knowing his luck.

“Fuck.” Eyes clear as the sea took a the trees around him. Healthy maples and oaks surrounded him on each side of the pathway. Thanks to the fall of autumn, that would mean there’s plenty of fallen leaves. Enough for a makeshift bed, and if he got to work now, maybe even a ceiling.

Yuichirou nods to himself, his mind was made up. Glancing around at his surroundings once more, he attunes his hearing for the sound of anyone coming. Once he’s sure the cost was clear, his weight press on his back foot before he shot off the beaten path. Running deeper into the woods before he came to a sudden stop, under a thick canopy of trees.

His pack drops against the trunk of a sturdy tree, he’s unsheathing his sword with his left hand alone. Well, at least he was going to get a small workout by just gathering wood.

@fallesto

[highdramas]

steady now | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: language, possible tfatws spoilers, mention of death? sort of? mention of the blip mostly, some angst, references to sexxxx babie

word count: 4.3k wowie

summary: bucky is not the only one with amends to make.

note: here’s another installment in the twalb story <3 again, you don’t have to read these in order, they stand independently, but they do all work together! PLEASE leave feedback/reblog! this is extremely helpful for me writing future parts to know what everyone likes or doesn’t like! i’m extremely proud of this part so i really hope that you all enjoy it as much as i’ve enjoyed writing it <3

enjoy! <3

there was once a time where you loved california.

there was once a time where you had a boyfriend with an easy smile and charming demeanor and a family in ventura. his name was felix, and you always told people that he could make anyone fall in love with him with nothing but that stupid smile of him-- of course, you never said how that upset you. you never said how it hurt when the waitress looked at him with dazzling eyes and how he seemed to relish in the attention.

you never voiced how he seemed to eventually bore of the attention that you gave him. you never voiced the way that you wished he would look at you with those dazzling eyes and give you that breezy laughter and that look that said i have you in the palm of my hand.

he did. he didn’t need to give you that look to know that.

sometimes, you wonder if he felt any sort of relief after the blip. you wonder if when you dusted right before him, if he felt like he won in some sick way. of course, you know that he would never admit that. he would never make that known to anyone. maybe even himself. but subconsciously… you wonder if you were simply an accessory that was worn out of convenience, and if your fading from reality was the biggest convenience at all.

it’s sick. you know it’s sick, and likely not true. but still. you wonder.

when you returned, the first thing that you did when you got your hands on a cell phone was call him. you called him and you cried and you said that you were okay, you were here. you asked him what the hell happened. you asked him if it had really been five years.

you heard a voice in the background. it was feminine, light, airy. the voice of a fairy. you’ll never forget hearing that voice. you learned later that she was his fiance.

you’ll never forget the sort of heartbreak that you felt. it was visceral. the knowing-- the knowing that it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anything that you did. it was merely the absence of you. you still wonder how long he mourned. you wonder how long it took. you saw him only a handful of times after you returned. he had cried, and you had stared, unsure what to say.

how do you apologize for fading from existence?

that was the first time you saw him. the second was worse.

the second, you were angry. you were angry and you lashed out. what was supposed to be an easy dinner turned into an explosion of tears and fury, the words this isn’t fair and what was i supposed to do? wait for you? and so desperately you had wanted to say yes. you wanted to say that you wished he had held out hope, that he stayed up and dreamt of you and that he was devoted.

it was a selfish thought. he had told you politely to not contact him again.

you had learned that he had moved back to ventura with his fairy girlfriend from some casual facebook stalking. they bought a house on the coast. they’re planning a wedding.. she is beautiful, and you noticed something from the pictures you see of them together right away. he looks at her not like he was charming her, but like she was charming him.

that’s what made you realize he was never yours to begin with.

now, you’re in california again. now, bucky sits beside you and he drives and you control the music. now, he looks at you like you have hung the stars in the sky and propped up the moon. and you look at him the same way.

bucky has amends to make, but so do you.

when he reaches over and places his hand on your thigh, you smile. you place your hand over his and you squeeze. you’d insisted that you two rent a convertible, and though he rolled his eyes, he obliged. you drive down the pch and it is april and the sun is warm and inviting but not abrasive. he wears sunglasses and he doesn’t wear the gloves. he wears a short sleeved shirt.

it’s enough to make you smile and lay your hand back against the seat and make you think: everything happened just the way it should.

bucky is here to extend his amends to the chaplin family. well… really, he’s here to set them up with the CIA. they’ve been hydra sympathizers for years.

you, on the other hand, are here to extend amends of your own.

bucky knows. bucky knows and he watched you recall the story with tears blurring your vision. you would hiccup and say, “i’m sorry. i’m not sad over him, not anymore. i’m just sad that i could be forgotten so easily.”

he had held your face in his hands and he swiped at your tears and he said, “you’re impossible to forget.”

at first, when you brought up coming with him, he had been hesitant. his endeavors with the amends and with sam, he tends to like keeping separate. you get it. you know he doesn’t want to put you anywhere near the danger that he encounters, even if that maddens you. but then, your face fell and you held out the wedding invitation that had arrived in your mailbox. “i want to go.”

bucky takes it and he studies it and he clenches his jaw. he looks at you through his lashes. “i’m going with you.”

now, the wedding is in three days. you wonder if he was surprise when you sent in your rsvp marked yes. you were surprised that he invited you at all.

once, you remember him saying to you, “sometimes, you have to extend olive branches. you’re too damn stubborn for your own good.”

this is your olive branch.

bucky squeezes your thigh and his thumb makes small circles and it instills a calm in you that you haven’t felt since you stepped foot on the plane. he glances over at you. “we don’t have to go.” this isn’t the first time that he’s said this. “we can stay in our hotel all week. i’m sure we can find something to do.”

your jaw drops and you look over at him and he has that smug look on his face. it’s been nice, watching him slip into ease with you. “you are such a pig.”

“i’m just saying, we have options.”

you laugh and you swat his hand away. he grins and he places it on the head rest, his fingers idly playing with a few strands of your hair that blow in the wind as he drives. you pull up to the hotel and you check in and bucky carries all of your bags, which you try to object, but he simply does not care. you fall back onto the mattress and he follows suit and he presses his lips to yours, presses them to your pulse point, your jaw. he whispers against your skin that you are beautiful. he whispers against your skin that you’re an angel.

angel. he always calls you that.

hours pass and you spend most of them beneath bucky, breathless. eventually it is the middle of the night and you have done nothing but fuck and you’ll be the first one to admit that they were hours well spent. he’s propped up on an elbow and he looks down at you, dewy and heavy lidded. “why’d you want to come out here? to the wedding?”

you can’t help but laugh. “that’s what you want to talk about right now?”

he blushes, moves to hide his face, but you beam and you place your hand on the side of his face. you push yourself up and sit criss cross, holding the sheet to your body, facing him. he follows suit.

the two of you do this back home. whether you’re sitting on the living room floor or in bed. it’s easier to talk in the dark, bucky once said. you’d never forgotten. so, this became a sort of unspoken ritual. you would sit with your knees brushing and you would talk and you would laugh and you never wanted this to change.

“i guess i don’t know why i wanted to come.” you reach for his hand and he offers it to you. you run your fingers along the golden grooves, and you swear that you see the hairs on his opposite arm begin to stand up. “i didn’t want to be seen as the bitter ex. i hate-- i hate being perceived. you know? like, i can’t control how anyone views me. i can’t control them thinking i’m crazy or irrational. but… they don’t know anything at all.” bucky’s eyes never leave you. “i wanted to come because i feel like i’m ready to face it. the truth of it. i don’t feel fearful of it all. i used to feel so… gross. gross about how i reacted and how i felt. i felt so selfish. but now…” you can’t help but smile a little bit and you touch the place on his chest where his heart lies in his ribcage. “i’m glad for it. all of it. it’s stupid, but… it brought me here.” you lean your palm into his chest just slightly more. he covers your hand with his and he pulls you in, your hand splayed out on him.

bucky is softening before you. so often you are the one who offers an ear and a comforting touch, but he is happy to repay the favor whenever you need it. “you’re too strong all the time.” his words are definitive, with no room for arguing. “you were hurting. you’re allowed to hurt. you didn’t have a choice in missing out on five years while the world went on without you.”

of course, you know he’s right, but it just feels good to hear it. it feels good to hear it from him. “and he was an asshole.” bucky’s jaw sets. “he had five years to mourn you and your relationship. he barely gave you a month. what sort of guy does that? to a girl he loved?” he shakes his head, as if shaking the thought from his person. “if that were me, i would’ve…”

you watch as he trails off. he looks down and away. you gently take his face and move it up, getting him to look at you again. he gives you this smile that is equal parts sorrow and loving, and you wish you could take away all his pain. “i’d mourn you for life. and i… if i got the chance to have you again? i’d--”

“bucky.” you cut him off smoothly and you shake your head. “that won’t happen.”

he smiles. “i know.” he pushes your hair back and his hand rests on the back of your neck. “i just can’t imagine someone having you and not--” he shakes his head. “he’s a fool.”

gently, your hands lay on his knees and you lean forward. “you asked why i wanted to come,” you whisper, your lips nearly touching his. “i wanted to come because i want to thank him.” you press your lips against his, and his hand goes to splay on your back, pulling you in nearer and nearer. “he recommended the apartment building.”

bucky grins and you connect in every possible place. you roll between the sheets once more and eventually, sleep overtakes you.

the days leading up to the wedding pass by in a relative blur. bucky goes to make his amends and though you offer to come, he shakes his head. “i’ll be quick,” is his promise, and he keeps good on it. he’s gone barely two hours.

you spend time on the beach and sight seeing. you don’t know if you’ve ever seen bucky this… relaxed. yes, he’s always slightly more alert than your average citizen, but you will never fault him for that. you go and get ice cream and you sit on a little bench and bucky stares at you. “what?” you asked and you raise your brows. “something on my face?”

“actually, yes.” he reaches out and swipes your bottom lip, coming back with some strawberry ice cream on his thumb. he pops it into his mouth and it makes your heart plummet to your stomach. “yum.”

you all but drag him back to your hotel.

finally, it is the day of the wedding.

bucky has been ready for hours. he likes unbearably handsome-- you’d gone with him to a shop in new york and had helped him pick out some new slacks and a nice fitting shirt. he had chuckled at the way that the pants hit his ankles and said, “it’s definitely not the forties anymore.”

you had picked out a sage green silk dress, and you smooth it out in the mirror, tilting your head to the side as you looked at yourself. bucky approaches you from behind and you’re so stuck in your own head that you hardly notice him until his hands are on you. they go to your shoulders, rubbing soothing circles into tense muscles with his thumbs. “you look beautiful, doll.” he leans forward and he presses a chaste kiss to your shoulder, which makes you smile, because it’s so him. “i wanna kiss you but i don’t want to mess up your makeup.”

“like that’s ever stopped you before.”

“i’m a gentleman.”

a smirk works its way onto your face and some of the nervous, fluttering monarchs in your stomach have begun to dissipate. you turn and he gently holds your face, examining it. he opens his mouth to say something, laughs, and closes it. “i don’t even know how…” he clears his throat. you swear that tears prick at his eyes. “i don’t even know how to say how much… how perfect you are. i’ll never be able to say it properly.”

everything about james buchanan barnes makes you melt, and this is no different. you sigh and you lean your body against his, and he holds you ever close. “thank you for coming with me,” you whisper into the skin of his neck. “i needed you here.”

he holds the back of your head carefully. “i’d follow you anywhere, doll.” he pulls back and his hand holds your face, and the vibranium is like a kiss to your cheek. “may i kiss you?”

your lips part and you nod-- and he takes his time kissing you. he kisses you long and tender, making sure that you feel everything. sometimes you think that this is easier than talking for him-- this is the way that he can show you how perfect he finds you. it’s better than any words he could string together.

the ride to the venue is somewhat of a blur. bucky doesn’t take his hand off of you-- it’s constantly holding yours. from the car to the walk inside to taking your seats-- you can feel the eyes that are glued to you, but you can feel bucky’s hand in yours more. you can hear the muffled whispers of gossiping friends and family, but you hear bucky’s murmured complaints louder, and they make you laugh.

felix is at the altar already. he’s talking with a groomsman and he laughs at something and you smile a bit. he looks happy, you think. bucky’s arm is slung across the back of your chair and his fingers trail up and down your shoulder, his eyes fixed on you.

you turn to look at him, too. you lay your hand on his knee and your smile says your thanks over and over and over again. bucky’s eyes flick to the altar, and he sees that you’ve finally been noticed. felix may be looking at you, but you will never know. you are looking at bucky.

the ceremony is pretty. bucky’s bored, you think-- that thought is enough to make you chuckle. felix’s fairy girlfriend is exactly what you gathered from the pictures-- she is energetic and kind, she is sweet and beautiful. the more you think, the more you watch the way that felix looks at her, the lighter you feel.

a part of you had feared that you would never get over him. that you would never get over the what if. possibilities tended to haunt you, but now, being here… you had known for a long time that not only had you gotten over him, you had found something so much better than what you had. but it’s the thought that thrums through you that you were not expecting.

you can see this for yourself. one day. bucky at an altar in a suit, you in white.

you smile to yourself in your seat. bucky looks over at you. you look over at him, just for a moment. your heart feels full.

felix begins his vows. “carly,” he begins and he clears his throat. you can tell that he’s already getting emotional. “never did i once expect to find you. never did i expect to find someone who fit with me so… completely.” you watch as his hands shake as he holds the piece of paper. “but i did. and i’m so lucky it was you.”

his vows go on, and they are beautiful. through it all, you can sense bucky beside you, entirely attentive to you.

the reception is on the beach. the sun is setting, and it is stunning. the food is good and every gives speeches and toasts and you’ve been placed at a table with some friends that both you and felix had known. of course, when shit hit the fan with you and felix, you hadn’t exactly kept in touch, but they’re kind nevertheless. some recognize bucky, and the questions they ask make you cringe. “so… winter soldier,” one of them, kya, begins. “you actually did all of that bad shit?”

it takes everything in you not to lunge across the table. bucky’s hand finds your leg underneath the table, already knowing what you’d like to do. you open your mouth to interject, but bucky cuts you off. “hydra did.” he gives a clipped smile. it leaves no room for discussion.

they ask about the avengers and about thanos, and all of it makes you roll your eyes. they talk to bucky as if he’s a toy rather than a human being. as everyone is mingling, you see the couple beginning to approach your table. everyone cheers and scoops them up into hugs. it makes a part of you sad. not because of him, but because it’s another reminder of how life went on without you.

you and bucky stand and approach them. you can almost feel bucky’s hesitation as he sizes up felix. the protectiveness in his stance makes your heart swell. carly smiles at you, but you can tell that there’s a hint of nervousness in her demeanor. “hi!” she says and she looks between you and bucky. “we were both so happy when we got your rsvp. a little surprised, but…”

your eyebrow raises and you look at them. “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” you place your hand on bucky’s arm. “felix, carly, this is my boyfriend, james. james, felix and carly.”

he shakes their hands and you note the way their eyes flick to the metal one on the other side. bucky and carly begin to make awkward small talk, and you look at felix. he looks at you. there’s something knowing in the stare. “want to take a walk?” he asks, nodding towards the beach.

you nod. felix turns to carly and you turn to bucky, who has a slightly concerned look written on his face. “it’ll be fine.” you lean in and you kiss him, wanting to take any insecurity from him. “play nice, but not too nice. if they say anything stupid, call them on it.”

bucky smirks. “you got it, doll.” he looks to felix and nods to him, and there’s something in bucky’s eyes that must scare him, because you swear felix pales slightly. and then you and felix set off.

for the first part of your walk, both of you are quiet. it’s as if both of you knew that this was inevitable, and now you’re just trying to figure out where to start. both of you begin to talk at the same time, and it causes awkward chuckles to fill the air between you. you stop by a log and you sit, staring out at the ocean. you cross your legs and you look over at him to find his gaze still on the ocean. finally, it moves to you. “i’m sorry.” you both say it at the same time.

a sad smile settles onto your face and you look away. “you first,” he says.”

“i’m sorry.” you look at him again. “i’m not sorry for the way that i felt. i’m not sorry for hurting. but i am sorry that i lashed out. i was… angry.” you suck in a breath. “people who stayed… they’ll always carry the grief and the trauma of those five years. but the people who came back? we came back to a world that had moved on. i can’t… i can’t explain to you how hard that was. it wasn’t just you. i lost everything.” you shake your head. “i took it all out on you. all that hurt. and i’m sorry for that.”

felix nods his head. “i’m sorry that i wasn’t more understanding of what you were going through. that i just… cut you off.” he swallows. “i had five years to come to terms with the fact that you weren’t coming back. even when you were back, it almost felt… fake. like i was looking at a ghost.” he swallows. “but i missed you. i want you to know that i missed you, and i thought about you.”

a small smile works onto your face. “thanks.” you look towards the crowd, where people are laughing and dancing. “she seems great.”

felix looks over his shoulder. “she is. she keeps me… in check. i can be kind of an asshole. i don’t know how either of you dealt with me.” this makes you laugh and roll your eyes. “you and bucky barnes, huh?”

“i have you to thank for that.” he looks at you in confusion. “the building you recommended me? we were neighbors.” you smile, thinking back on the memory of bucky barnes at your door, asking if you needed help building your cat tower. “he is the best thing that has happened to me,” you say it with no hint of hesitation.

felix smiles. “he looks like he’s crazy about you. he barely looks anywhere else.”

you bite down on your lip. “yeah, i’ve heard that before.” the wind ruffles your hair slightly, and you look at felix and he looks at you. “i’ve spent a lot of time being angry at you. i don’t want to be angry anymore.”

he shakes his head. “i don’t want to either.” he pauses. “maybe… maybe, one day, the four of us could… you know, get dinner or something.”

“yeah,” you nod your head. “one day.” you stand, and he follows suit, and you look up at him. “thank you. for inviting me.”

“thank you for coming.”

there’s a level of awkwardness that rests between you, and you think that perhaps it’s inevitable. but also, you can’t help the sense of relief.

part of you thinks that he’s itching to hug you, and you may be extending some forgiveness tonight, but you’re certainly not there yet. you begin to walk towards the party. “c’mon. you need to go to your bride.”

when you return, you think bucky might be ready to drive his steak knife through his eye. you approach him from behind, wrapping your arms around his shoulder and bending so that your face is beside his. “miss me?”

he snorts. “you have no idea, doll.”

you watch as felix makes his way to carly, and you meet his eye. he gives you a slight nod and a knowing smile, and you return it.

there’s a weight that’s lifted off of your chest.

“c’mon,” you say to bucky, tugging him up. “we’re going to dance.”

he groans and you laugh, pulling him by the hands to the dance floor. just as you are, you make me feel so young begins to play around you. as you step onto the dance floor, you begin singing the words quietly to him. your dancing slows to a light sway, and in your ear, bucky begins murmuring the words to you.

your eyes flutter shut and a sweeping calm comes over you. “you know… i never thought i would get married. did you?”

bucky’s hands have a firm place on your waist. “i grew up in the forties. of course i thought i was going to get married,” you two spin slightly. “but, after everything… i didn’t think that was ever going to be in the cards for me.”

your breath catches. “and now?”

“now?” bucky asks into your ear. “i can only dream i get lucky enough to have you as my bride.”

your cheeks grow warm. “mrs. barnes…” you lean back to look at him. “has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

the look on bucky’s face, you don’t know if you’ve ever seen that look before. “yes.” his voice is so firm it nearly brings you to your knees. “yes, it does.”

you two slow to a halt and bucky tilts your chin up. “guess i have some work to do,” his lips ghost over yours. “mrs. barnes.”

the world around you stops, and in that moment, it is only you and bucky. it is you and bucky at your ex’s wedding, and there is nowhere else you would want to be.

you’re beginning to understand why bucky likes making amends.

[ask-healthy-light]

As the five walked into the foyer of the Inn, looking around at the small, yet cozy interior of the building, hearing the crackles of a fire a few rooms down and smelling the sweet scents of freshly baked breads and pies, something felt just right, for it felt as though they had stepped into a familiar place, a place that felt like home, and everyone felt at ease.

The manager, a kind lady who introduced herself as Melon, welcomed the group to her Inn as she stepped forward from behind the counter, and after she asked how long they wished to stay here, reassuring them that there were plenty of rooms available for each member of the group, Light spoke up and replied, in a soothed and amazed voice, that it would most likely be just for the night.

However, they continued, they were unsure when they would be able to resume their travels, for while they were on their way, travelling Northward, towards the Crystal Empire, the Conductor received message that the path through the mountains had been blocked by debris, and though work was underway to clear the tracks, they were unsure when the path would be freed up again.

To this, Melon smiled and nodded towards the Kirin, confirming to them that she would write down their names for a single night, but in case the railroad was not cleared the day after, or if they simply wished to remain longer, she would make sure to keep their rooms reserved for them, so that they would have a place to rest and recover in warmth and comfort.

After thanking Melon for her kindness and hospitality, to which she replied it was a pleasure, the group was led to their rooms, and on their way, Melon took the time to lay out some ground rules to not disturb the other guests, as well as pointing out rooms from they needed to stay away, and explained breakfast would be available at a small buffet, freshly prepared every morning.

After everyone had been shown their rooms, Melon told them if they had any requests, someone would always be at the front desk for them to contact, after which she wished them all a good night, returning back to the foyer, and while most of the group remained in their rooms, Light put away their bag, and headed out for a walk through the woods, preferring the quiet moments of the night.

Back around Ponyville, outside of town, on a small bench facing towards the Forest of the Everfree, from whence many sounds could be heard, many of which instilling fear into the hearts of any who heard them, Boomlord and Pinkie Pie sat, quietly speaking with each other, as Boom gently laid out to Pinkie what had been bothering him, making sure to leave out the less pleasant details.

From first meeting his current friends after blowing up the Castle wall, to research and findings in Canterlot, and the accidents at the Gala and the celebrations a few nights later, as well as reuniting with his former loved ones after eons of being apart, and now, away again, for their safety, as well as his own, as he knew he was not safe to be around.

As Pinkie listened to Boom explaining just the surface of his plight, her mane and tail slowly became less bouncy, gravely concerned for her friend, wishing there was something she could do to ease his worries, though when Boom noticed her expression and mood falling, he apologised to her, with tears in his eyes, and promised her he would do better to be there for her as well.

To this, Pinkie simply shifted closer to the Unicorn, grabbed his hoof, and laid her head on his shoulder, looking at the countless stars and the bright Moon with him, and as the two chaotic beings sat in silence together, a shooting star flew by, and Pinkie closed her eyes for a moment, after which her hair became poofy again, to Boom's relief, who asked her why she suddenly perked up again.

Pinkie replied she thought about the future, for which she held hope, and told him:

"You know what I wish for you, don't you?"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

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Featuring: Melon Grumps from @ask-a-grumpy-melon Boomlord from @thedumbguywithaheart43