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strangeradventuresofp · 4 years ago

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second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 3

masterlist

warnings: fighting, character death

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n : part 3!!! i have so much fun writing this story and im so glad that i get to continue writing these chapters for you guys. thank you so much to everyone who is reading and showing support, it honestly means so much to me you have no idea. anyway, without further ado, here’s chapter 3! i hope you enjoy<3

“Are we lost?”

“No.”

“I think we are.”

“Shh! Gandalf’s thinking.”

“Merry?”

“What?”

“I’m hungry.” Pippin and Merry whispered between each other. They were sat opposite each other, their voices flowing through the space. Sam was sat up against one of the rocks near Frodo. Gandalf had perched himself upon a rock. He lifted a pipe to and from his lips, blowing out smoke when necessary. You were sat beside Boromir, who was beside Aragorn. Legolas was stood, his back leaned against rock, close to Aragorn.

“I miss home.” You mentioned. Boromir smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you gently into his side.

“After the journey, we will return. We will drink and feast and celebrate. And everything will go back to normal.” He assured and you gave a small smile. Though, you were unsure of whether you wanted that to be your reality when you were to finish the journey. You had quite enjoyed the thought of travelling with Aragorn and then when his time had come… Well, you had not thought that far just yet. Anyway, this was all hypothetical, of course, as it had much started to dawn on you that you might not get the chance to return. Luck had been on your side thus far but for how long would it continue to come to your aid?

Legolas noticed the worried look that fell over your features and his brows drew together, wishing that he could read your mind to know what troubled you. He was about to pull you to the side to ask how you were when Gandalf let out a loud noise.

“It’s that way.” He pointed with his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at Frodo who was sat beside him.

“He’s remembered!” Merry said with a grin, pulling the pipe from his lips. He pushed himself to his feet.

Gandalf stood with the aid of his staff. “No, but the air doesn’t smell so foul down here. If in doubt, young Meriadoc, always follow your nose.” He led the way, holding his staff up so that the light exuding from it would reveal more of the path. Legolas held back to walk with you. You smiled at him and he returned it. Each member of the Fellowship stepped down the decreasing concrete.

“Let me risk a little more light.” Gandalf muttered. His staff brightened the way. “Behold, the great realm, the dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf.”

Your lips parted almost immediately in awe, breath drawing from your throat. There were pillars hundreds of feet tall, all so intricately designed and decorated. Somehow amongst the darkness all of the stone seemed to turn from a dull grey to a shimmering silver. Dips and grooves were so perfectly sculpted that it seemed surreal.

“Well, there’s an eyeopener, make no mistake.” Sam said. His eyes were glistening with wonder as well as everyone else’s.

“It’s beautiful.” You whispered. It seemed as if the words were forced from your mouth. There was so much beauty and brilliance in the world that you had yet to see; the sort of the thing that excited you.

It did not excite you for long, however. Once you had been walking for a while again, Gimli paused. His eyes quickly scanned over skeletons leading to a room. He took an audible breath, running into the room. Your eyes widened and you quickly followed him. Your heart ached at the sight of him. His face was stained with more tears, his eyes flooded. His wails were unforgettable. A series of sobs left his lips, his chest heaving up and down as you gently placed a hand on his shoulder. You could feel tears begin to pool in yours eyes. You had not noticed that the others had joined you until the sound of extra footsteps echoed off of the walls.

“Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.” The wizard took a breath. You moved away from Gimli, standing beside Legolas with a small sniffle. “He is dead, then. It is as I feared.” He handed his things to Pippin, delicately moving a skeleton to pick up a dusty book that it had been holding, once. A shiver ran all the way up your spine, your skin prickling in goosebumps. You snapped your head around to look through the door behind you, anxiety growing within your frame.

“I have a bad feeling about this place.” You hissed into the elf’s ear and he nodded, leaning into Aragorn’s ear slightly.

“We must move on. We cannot linger.”

Gandalf turned the page. “They have taken the bridge, and the second hall. We have barred the gates but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums. Drums in the deep.” He turned the page. “We cannot get out. Shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out. They are coming—”

Suddenly a loud noise captivated the attention of everybody. The noise came from beside Pippin, who was stood looking extremely guilty beside a headless body. Before you knew it, the body fell flimsily down the hole beside it and the weight that it was attached to quickly followed. If you wanted not to be noticed then perhaps bringing Pippin along was not the right idea, for the noises echoed loudly around the space. After a little while of silence, Boromir let out an audible breath of relief.

“Fool of a took!” Gandalf snapped, tossing the book to the floor. “Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity.” He snatched back his staff and hat and Pippin looked to the floor.

There was a faint bang in the distance. If anyone’s eyes had wondered, they were now firmly back on the hobbit. Breathing was audible from everyone in the room. You looked worriedly at Boromir, he, too, looked anxious. Your breath quickened, turning around to face the door but turning back when Sam spoke.

“Mister Frodo…” At his words, Frodo pulled out his sword which was glowing blue. Your eyes widened at the sight. He had told you before that his Uncle Bilbo had gifted it to him before he left Rivendell. It glowed blue if there were—

“Orcs.” Legolas confirmed at the overwhelming sound of energetic screams and shouts. Boromir turned, running to the door.

“Boromir!” You warned, gasping sharply when two arrows landed not even an inch away from his face, protruding out from the door. Sprinting to him, you helped him shove the door closed. You could make out Aragorn saying something to the hobbits over the vicious pumping of your heart. Instinctively you turned your back to the door, holding it shut whilst Legolas threw an axe to you. It threaded through the handle of the door kindly and you stepped away from the door slowly, pulling out your knives. The door began to wave outwards and inwards, like it was victim to an angry storm. Weapons were cutting through the wood at speed and soon enough the doors caved to the Orcs’ will. They came flooding through the space like they were on a water current. Legolas and Aragorn shot their arrows but there were too many. They continued to pour through until they reached you.

With a roar, you brought your knife up to counter a sword, plunging your other into the face of your attacker. You dodged an oncoming axe, dropping the floor to swipe its legs before heaving its own weapon into its chest. Swiftly you sliced through the flesh of one’s neck, spinning to punch another before you stabbed it in the heart; if they had hearts, that is, you did not really know. Your fingers tightened around the hilts of your knives, searching around. You quickly sheathed your knives, picking up an axe from one of those that you just killed. As you made for one about to attack Boromir from behind, you swung the axe over your head, burying it deep inside its skull. The body fell to its knees and you struggled to pull the weapon out, forcefully kicking the body to release the axe. Shouting, swinging at one’s knees before slicing its head clean from its body.

You shielded your face as rocks came flying from where the door was once. Sheer horror smacked you in the face at the sight of a cave troll. It had chains around its neck and a huge mallet in its hand. It came bounding right up to Sam after Legolas shot an arrow into the centre of its chest.

“Sam!” You cried, breathing as he managed to crawl out of the way. When you turned around, an Orc landed a punch straight to your nose. You fell, startled, wincing slightly at the pain. Your eyes widened as it swung its axe towards your head. With barely inches between you and the blade, you managed to roll out of the way. Suddenly the Orc let out a cry of pain, and you used the opportunity to ram your knives into each of its legs before pulling one out and driving it into its chest. When it fell to the floor, you managed to take a quick glance at the body. There was an arrow sticking out of the fleshy part of the side. A small smile tugged on your lips amongst the madness, your eyes searching.

Your smile faded when your gaze landed on Legolas. The troll swung its chain at him with ferocity, causing rocks to fall from the pillars and the walls.

“Legolas!” You screamed his name, tears in your eyes. He managed to swerve from all of the troll’s attacks. You did not see much of what happened next, for the number of Orcs seemed to increase again, but you cut down all of the Orcs that came your way with much frustration, the tears of worry in your eyes turning to those of anger.

When you next got a chance to look at the troll, it was attacking Frodo, Merry and Pippin. You began to make your way towards them, lunging at each creature that came to attack you, carving into their skin as if they were meat for dinner. The cave troll grabbed Frodo by his foot, and you called to him, raising the aggressiveness of your attacks unintentionally, frustration consuming your entire body. Frodo managed to slice something from the hand of the troll, giving Aragorn the chance to stick a spear just under its breast. It smacked Aragorn to the side and he hit a rock before his body tumbled lifelessly to the floor. Frodo desperately tried to run around the troll but to no avail. The troll pushed the spear into the hobbits chest.

A sob was forced from your throat, your chest heaving for breath. Merry and Pippin jumped on the troll, stabbing at its neck relentlessly. It managed to shake Merry off, dropping him to the floor from a height. Gimli ran at it, attempting to smack it with his axe but got kicked to the side. As you screamed, your knives tore and shredded through its thick skin. You swung an axe from the ground up to land firmly in the back of it. Legolas drew an arrow, aiming carefully before shooting it. The arrow buried itself in its mouth. It let out a noise. Then it fell to the ground, spreading the dust over the other bodies that lay there.

It took you no time at all to run to where Frodo’s and Aragorn’s bodies were. A few tears fell down your cheeks while you sprinted. You sighed in relief to see Aragorn crawling toward the hobbits body, but you frowned, noticing that Frodo still had not moved. The lump in your throat grew. Your breathing felt restricted, a small sob falling from your lips. Aragorn rolled Frodo’s body over into his lap.

A series of groans came from the mouth of the hobbit and your eyes widened, thinking that your ears had deceived you. The hobbit was stabbed, surely, he was dead! But Sam ran to your side, taking a deep breath before he looked to the rest of the Fellowship.

“He’s alive.” He confirmed. Everyone seemed to breathe at that.

“I’m alright. I’m not hurt.” Said Frodo, clutching his chest.

You smiled. “But how?”

“I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye,” Gandalf suggested with a knowing look. When you looked back towards Frodo, he pulled the fabric of his undershirt down, revealing a glimmering white chainmail material.

“Mithril.” Gimli whispered, a smile on his face. “You are full of surprises, Master Baggins.” Y stood, laughing breathily before turning to those behind you. Your gaze landed on Boromir and you smiled, wiping a bit of blood from his cheek comically. He chuckled, engulfing you in a hug. He gently pressed his lips to your to the top of your head and you smiled. Boromir left you to check on Merry and Pippin and you turned to Legolas, smiling.

“I was worried for you, mellon nin.” You avoided his gaze.

“And I for you.” He said. You could hear the smile on his face when he spoke, and your smile widened. You were about to say something else when more manic screams and shouts were heard, identical to the ones that were heard before the Orcs attacked you. Your eyes widened, turning to Gandalf.

“To the bridge of Khazad-Dum.”

And with that the Fellowship took off down the stony halls of Moria. You were all sprinting at full speed. It was a little surprising that the hobbits could keep up, but they had proven many times by now that they could hold their own and should never be underestimated. Screams echoed behind you and you turned to look, slowing when you noticed how many Orcs there were. This was a battle you were destined to lose. Fingers wrapped firmly around your wrist and you snapped your head forward again to see Boromir holding to you with one of his arms, pulling you along. Orcs started to pop up out of the floor and crawl down from the ceiling and quite quickly it was easy to see that there were way too many of them to even fathom fighting. The Fellowship slowed to a stop and you created a circle, pulling your knives from their sheaths and staring down the Orcs that surrounded you. The circle seemed to get smaller and smaller and soon you were shoulder to shoulder with Legolas and Boromir. The Orcs smiled maniacally at you. You took a sharp breath, ready to lunge at them when a very loud rumbling noise came from the end of the corridor.

Immediately, the Orcs turned frail, squeaking with fear and soon they scattered off just as quickly as they had appeared. You were alone again. The noise reverberated through the halls.

“What is that?” Somehow you had the nerve to ask the question.

“A Balrog. A demon of the ancient world.” You watched Legolas’ eyes widen slightly at the wizard’s words and you swallowed dryly. “This foe is beyond any of you. Run!”

Gandalf made for the opening that you had all meant to go down originally, the rest of you darting to the end of the hall to keep up with him. He stopped at the open archway, allowing the others in front of him. You ran just behind Legolas and Boromir was now leading the way. He moved down the newly presented set of stairs, not noticing the empty chasm that lay before his feet. He wobbled on the very edge, dropping his torch down the space as Legolas lunged forward, wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled him back.

Behind you, Gandalf clutched hold of Aragorn’s shoulder. “Lead them on, Aragorn. The bridge is near.” When Aragorn tried to help him, he pushed on his shoulder, forcing him away. “Do as I say! Swords are no more use here.” You raced down the numerous flights of stone stairs until you came to a halt. A part of the staircase was missing. Legolas jumped over it carelessly, landing perfectly on the other side. He held his hand out to you. You took a breath before leaping over the disparity, grabbing his hand tightly as he safely pulled you into his chest.

“Gandalf.” He gestured for the wizard to come next. Gandalf jumped and you gasped as an arrow missed your face by just a few inches. Legolas frowned, aiming and shooting, his arrow hitting the Orc archer right between the eyes. You ushered Boromir down and he nodded, grabbing Merry and Pippin before diving over the gaping chasm. You caught Merry in your arms, setting him down with a head pat before Aragorn tossed Sam to you. Catching him, you gently set him down beside Merry whilst Legolas dealt with Gimli. Once Gimli joined you, however, the rock that Frodo and Aragorn were still perched on began to crumble. You gasped, squeezing Boromir’s hand in anxiety as you watched. A huge roar echoed from where you had just come from, causing the archway to shake and break. A large piece of stone plunged from the ceiling, crashing down onto the very staircase that the man and the hobbit were situated on. Your heart stuttered as the rock destroyed what was in its way, falling into the abyss below. The stem of the staircase broke.

“Be careful!” You cried, biting your lip so hard it pooled with blood. Aragorn pulled a very terrified Frodo into his chest. You watched with complete anxiety yet confusion; you could see that the man was calculating something.

“Lean forward!” He instructed to the Ring-Bearer and as the two did so, the faulty staircase began to lean under their weight. Slowly, it moved towards the stable one, crashing into it and you let out a breath with Frodo in your arms. All you wanted was to sit and hug him and make sure that he knew everything was going to be alright – even though you weren’t entirely sure it would be – but you knew that could not happen. Legolas had safely caught Aragorn and the next thing you knew, the ten of you were rapidly rushing down the numerous flights of trembling stairs.

Eventually you got to flat ground but none of you stopped running. Your thoughts wandered to Gandalf, wondering if it was wise that he should be running like this, for it seemed he was far too tired even earlier.

The bridge was near. “Over the bridge! Fly!” Little attention was paid to the roaring fires acting as gates toward it. Whilst everyone ran, Gandalf made sure to lack behind and just as he turned around, slowly, a giant creature emerged from the fire. It had black tattered skin and horns, terrible teeth and bright white eyes. Its mouth opened, and it created sound unlike any other on Middle-Earth, its mouth mirroring hot embers. Gandalf turned once it had taken a step, fleeing towards the group of you who also began to scurry away from the creature. You sprinted, heart jolting each time you heard – and felt – the Balrog take a step. In single file, ushering the hobbits in front of you, you crossed the bridge. Boromir held you for a moment once you had crossed, making sure that you were alright before he let go, eyes widening at the sight of Gandalf still in the centre of the bridge.

“You cannot pass.” Gandalf yelled, facing the beast with his staff out in front of him, his long sword settled in his other hand.

“Gandalf!” Frodo screamed. You inhaled sharply, eyes filling with tears in worry. Aragorn squeezed your hand gently as the beast stood tall, erupting into a ball of flame.

“I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the flame of Anor. The dark fire will not avail you, flame of Udun!” A great light emitted from Gandalf’s staff when he held it up, but the Balrog created a weapon of his own. A flash of lightning spewed from the connection of Gandalf’s staff and the Balrog’s sword of flame. You grasped Aragorn’s hand tighter, feeling all of the moisture from your mouth dissipate. The sword melted down into the abyss and the creature moaned ferociously at the wizard once again. “Go back to the shadow.” He said behind hooded eyes. It stepped toward him, creating a fiery whip which he cracked against the stone.

“You shall not pass!” As his voice echoed, Gandalf thrust his staff into the stone, white sparks flying from the collision. The beast raised his arm, stepping mightily towards to wizard, but the stone crumbled under its weight. He plummeted into the abyss. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding. Gandalf turned to step towards you.

However, as he did so, an orange-yellow string secured itself around his ankle, pulling him across the stone until he barely hung from the edge.

You gasped, shaking your head incredulously. “No…” Frodo ran for him. Boromir grabbed him, holding him close before he could reach. Your eyes were wide with anguish, Frodo’s screams painfully ringing in your ears.

“Gandalf!”

He looked amongst you. “Fly, you fools.” Was all he said before he spread his fingers out, giving in, and he fell. Tears pooled in your eyes, an aching sensation pounding in your chest, throughout your entire body. A few choked sobs escaped you whilst Aragorn, still latched to your hand, pulled you along, shielding you from the many arrows that were being shot your way. The final set of steps lay in front of you, and as Aragorn gently dragged you along, you found yourself looking back, filled with a sorrow that everyone was experiencing.

Upon exiting Moria, you found that Boromir was holding back Gimli, from going in there and no doubt trying to murder the Balrog that had taken Gandalf. Sam was sat on his own, crying into his hand. Pippin was sprawled out on the floor in pain, Merry holding onto him, both of them with tears gushing down their faces. If your heart was not already broken from the loss, it certainly was shattered now from the melancholy faces that lay before you. Slowly, you made your way over to Sam, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder as you knelt beside him. He looked up and threw his arms around your body, sobbing silently into your shoulder. You closed your eyes, tears streaming, hugging him as tightly while he clung to you.

Legolas looked around, it seemed as if for the first time that he was unsure of what to do. His chest ached, even harder when his eyes landed upon you, and how you quickly swiped your tears away before talking to Sam, wanting to be strong for him and the other hobbits.

Aragorn cleaned his sword with his clothes. “Legolas, get them up.” He came close to you and Sam and you shook your head gently.

“Leave them.” You sniffed.

“Give them a moment, for pity’s sake!”

“By nightfall, these hills will be swarming with Orcs. We must reach the Woods of Lothlorien. Come Boromir. Y/N, Legolas, Gimli, get them up.” Aragorn pulled Sam up from the floor. “On your feet.” Boromir made his over to you, wrapping a comforting arm around your shoulder. You smiled weakly at him, and he kissed your temple softly. “Frodo?” You heard Aragorn call, your eyes wandering to try to find the hobbit. Once you had found him, you sighed.

“It is hardly fair, that they do not get a chance to lament.”

“I know, but Aragorn is right. We must hurry to avoid the Orcs and another potential loss.” You nodded and Boromir’s words, hugging into his side, your eyes never leaving Frodo.

~~~

You had all been walking for a long while, but it was still light. You had been walking beside Aragorn, listening to him talk away about where we going and then after that and after that. It was not until he mentioned again where you were going now, that a faint memory flooded into your head. Your brows furrowed together whilst you tried to remember the details of the memory.

“What is it, Y/N?” Aragorn asked, concerned.

“Lothlorien. It sounds familiar.” You gave him a knowing look and his eyes widened, only slightly, in surprise. You both knew what that could mean. Legolas, however, did not, but he wanted to. He felt awful for eavesdropping yet again, but you intrigued him more than one ever had before, and his curiousness was getting the better of him.

Aragorn started to jog toward the forest, and you joined him, stopping once you were inside. Your eyes widened when you looked around, your breathing staggering only slightly, your heart thumping in your chest.

“Aragorn,” you whispered. “I have been here before.”

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galvus · 3 years ago

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prompt: destruct • words: 1447 • era: shadowbringers patch content • [ masterpost ] cause deliberate, irreparable damage to.

content warning: grisly character death — misija. [ trust me. ]

She was already dying.

Everyone spoke in hushed tones. They were all made up of worn down, soft shapes in the shadow of the Dalriada – curved shoulders, weary and heavy-lidded eyes, wringing hands, mouths that couldn't quite finish the words they began. Indecision sat over the group like a blanket of smoke, and the air smelled of it, too.

Misija lay on the dusty ground, already halfway gone, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth and down over the curve of her cheek.

“It should be your decision,” Halvar said from where he stood beside Bajsaljen, a comforting hand resting on the hrothgar's shoulder. The Warrior of Light was soot-smeared and wounded, his opposite arm hanging limply by his side, but he still wore a lopsided little smile. “You're the leader here, not us, and you've felt the damage she's done more strongly than anyone.”

Jadeite rarely spoke up in the quiet, but something urged him forward. Something convinced him to intervene.

“She helped us,” he murmured.

“Yes, she helped us.” Bianca couldn't keep the bitterness from creeping into her voice. She hadn't meant to snap, but even seeing Jadeite avert his eyes and take a step back didn't stop her. There was too much fire in her belly. If she didn't exhale, she would burn from the inside. “In her final act, she helped us. How very fucking generous.”

The remaining Resistance stood solemnly by, too tired to nod, too relieved to argue. There were so few left. That was the only answer Bianca needed.

Misija curled over and coughed, flicking bloodied foam from her lips. “You know she's right.”

“Don't,” Bianca spat her warning. “The last thing I want is you agreeing with me. I offered my help to the Bozjan Resistance because I believed in their cause. I believed in them. You – oh, you turned them into weapons. You pitted them against us, against their comrades and friends.” Her upper lip curled. “You forced us to kill them.”

She hated how her voice wavered. She hated that every word that passed her tongue just pulled her farther back into those godsforsaken Bozjan ruins where she lost so many of them.

Her fingers curled into fists, nails biting into the calluses that riddled her palms.

I would rather do this for years than ever have to bury any of you.

“What you did for us doesn't matter!” Bianca shouted, the ferocity of her cry forcing her forward. Marsak reached out to stop her, but she tugged her arm away from him, her hem of her robes flaring as she stumbled towards Misija's prone form. She stopped inches away from her, the whites of her eyes practically glowing as they flew wide. “Nothing you've done has mattered since the moment you killed them!”

A glimmer of fear crossed Misija's face, but she didn't budge. She understood what would happen, where her choices had led her. And she could not court regret, not after everything she had achieved.

“Kill me and get it over with.”

“I'm not done,” Bianca shot back, her voice deepening around the word. “The Bozjan Resistance became a home to me. I never felt like I belonged anywhere before I fought alongside them. You didn't just take that from me.”

She pointed behind her in the direction she knew Bajsaljen was standing.

Gangos had been as quiet as a grave the night they returned from the ruins. Everyone grieved in their own way. Some told hushed stories around a fire pit built into the sand. Others drank. More than a few Resistance members broke off to train, even though their bodies were weak and exhausted.

The flaps of Bajsaljen's tent had been closed, but not tied shut. A gentle, salt-sweetened wind pushed the heavy fabric just enough for Bianca to catch a glimpse inside.

No matter their losses, she had never seen the leader of the Bozjan Resistance cry.

Until that night.

A toast to fallen soldiers ended in a rallying cry, one loud enough to snatch Bajsaljen's attention away from his mourning. His head snapped up, and he stared with aching eyes through the few inches of space between the entrance of the tent and the fall of fabric that hadn't been laced shut.

Bianca stood there, feet blessedly bare in the sand and short hair tousled by the wind.

He nodded to her. She nodded back.

Gathered around the fallen form of a traitor, Bajsaljen nodded to her again. The understanding had been reached without conjecture.

“You took that family from him.” Her eyes filled with furious tears, and her forefinger shifted from Bajsaljen to Marsak. “And him. And so many others. And they are too tired to be angry with you for all that you did!”

“Just do it.”

Misija pressed her bloodied lips together and looked away from Bianca as she slipped a cruel-looking dagger from her belt. The weapon fell to the ground.

Bianca reared back.

“A dagger?”

The woman's pale eyes circled back around to her. “What else?”

After years of fighting and being torn in two by loss, after failures that brought her to her knees, after attempts at peacemaking that ended in ash, she was done. She had had her fill of everything, but especially feeling warmth slip through her fingertips. So, instead, she grasped onto it. She held firm.

Her fists loosened, and she forced herself to breathe, her fingers stretching outward as her eyes fell shut. She reached for the familiar voices of the elements – of earth and water and air. She reached and reached, between the earth scarred by Garlean fire to the subterranean river that ran beneath Zadnor, between the smoke-choked air that surrounded them to the flickering leaves of fire that destroyed what remained of the invasion bit by bit. She stretched out as far as she could and only found silence.

Silence wasn't good enough. She needed more.

She needed —

Sweat pearled at her hairline as she widened her stance and dug deeper, pushing every remaining bit of her reserves into her hands and into the ground. It shook and shifted as if in rebellion. Never before had she demanded that the elements obey, but needs must.

Misija's gloved hands dug into the dirt as columns of packed earth rose on either side of her head. Her body went taut, fraught with a sudden onset of fear as Bianca's old conjury tricks blocked the sun from her eyes. The pillars's rise slowed, and they quaked out of sync with each other, sending a spray of debris down to the ground.

The dirt beneath Bianca's feet broke apart, crumbling like so much sand, and she sank. Dirt swallowed her boots up to her ankles, but even that did not stop her.

Desperation pushed her onward.

She forced her arms above her head. With that arc of her limbs, the pillars shot upward towards the sky. Her thighs trembled as she felt her body sink another inch. Halvar rushed forward to stop her. Bajsaljen rushed forward to steady her.

But she needed neither.

Her hands curled into fists, crashing the pillars together, and she flung them inwards. Pain shot up her forearms and into her elbows on impact. The earth answered.

The columns of dirt and rock melded together before plummeting sharply downward.

Misija let go of a half-scream before the stone crushed her.

“Bianca!”

The cry of a masculine voice echoed in her ears, but Bianca couldn't turn towards it. Her entire world shifted, turned, and sank when her knees gave out beneath her. A shiver ran up her spine, and she let go of a frustrated sob as she struggled to stand again, only to have the ground give way beneath her.

She caught a single glimpse of Misija's body before she was lifted up into a pair of strong arms. Blood seeped into the fabric of her armor and into the dirt.

The earth drank of her.

“Bianca,” the voice repeated – warm and low, a worried rumble that belonged to Bajsaljen. He held her in one arm and used his free hand to keep her eyes turned on him. There was a haunted glimmer in how he looked at her, but she could not blame him. She could not blame any of them. “Look at me.”

She couldn't.

She twisted in his arms, casting her attention between the remaining Resistance soldiers, between Marsak and Llofi and Halvar and Jadeite. It did not come as a surprise to her when no one could even look her way.

For once in the past few months, Zadnor was silent.

Everything was, even the wind.

#ffxivwrite2021 #type: ffxivwrite #oc: bianca #oc: halvar #oc: jadeite #ch: bajsaljen ulgasch #ch: marsak apella #ship: bajsaljen x bianca #mine: writing

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nelllraiser · 4 years ago

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into the fold, two: surrender | adam & nell

PREVIOUSLY: into the fold: part one TIMING: the ma’al cult investigation. PARTIES: @walker-journal and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: nell and adam dive deeper into the cult. CONTENT: sibling death mention, torture (implied), gaslighting (demon telepathy)

The intrusion of the eldritch on Neveah Alcott’s palatial home had initially been a subtle thing. Corruption came in degrees, and just as Neveahs parties were initially just high society networking that occasionally dabbled into idle metaphysical conversation, so too were the tiny within changes Alcott’s manner easy to dismiss as tricks of mood lighting or fanciful imagination until it was far too late.

Those ‘idle conversations’ became more pointed speculation and the reading of certain disturbing texts readings as shadows darkened with the discrete crevices of the Neo-Gregorian architecture. The nooks behind statues, pillars, and within arches grew deeper until those shadows became actual holes into nothingness rather than the mere absence of light. Those avant garde readings proved to be strangely magnetic, even to those with no previous intellectual interest. As dalliance turned to obsession, angles within the Alcott residence started to be ...not quite right...not lining up correctly even when one squinted.

More people were invited to these readings as doors in manor started opening to rooms that weren’t on the building's floorplan, only to lead elsewhere when opened again later. After Helena’s first ‘demonstration’ of bloodshed and symbology could attract the attention of beings beyond the confines of four dimensional space, guests started to report seeing the horrific landscapes of alien worlds beyond the house's windows. As high society parties devolved into debauched experiments to ‘expand consciousness’ through dangerous excesses of sensation, the manors’ light bulbs started to shine with colors that didn’t exist in the electromagnetic spectrum.

It had been around the time Helena performed the first ‘miracle’ by being briefly possessed by her otherworldly patron, that the walls began to bleed.

Now Adam sat in a dark room where the floor breathed, fleshy surface moistly yielding beneath him. The walls and ceiling stretched inward as the faces of hellish things strained against the fabric of reality. Maws, mandibles, and not quite human vissages pressed in a menagerie of faces from every angle as creatures from beyond the veil struggled to rip their way into this world.

“Nell…,” Adam managed to gasp past the broken spasming of his ribs, “you there?”

It hadn’t taken all that long for Nell to begin dreading the trips to the mansion. It wasn’t so much the bleeding of the walls, or even the screams that seemed to shatter silence out of nowhere that turned her stomach. No— she liked to think she was fairly ironclad when it came to things such as those at this point in her life. Instead it was the slow and steady transformation of the people, Neveah Alcott’s loyal followers, that made her insides squirm. Many of them hadn’t the faintest idea of what they were being readied for, harvested for as they pledged undying dedication to the woman whose ‘miracles’ left them wide-eyed and breathless despite the brutality of it all.

It had taken most of what Nell had to make sure she didn’t succumb to the trials and tests of the demon, and the witch had been sparing her magic and strength specifically for nights such as these when she wasn’t sure whether the shifting of the floor beneath her was due to the emerging hellscape or loss of blood. It would have been easier if she could use her usual protections against the less savory side of demons and their effects, but such a thing wasn’t thinkable when she was meant to be embracing the demon that lay in wait, getting closer to phasing through the thinning veil every day. No doubt any resistance would be perceived as opposition, and that wasn’t the behavior of a willing and wanting devotee.

Nell’s eyes were closed when Adam’s voice found her, cutting through the fog of her mind like the beam of a lighthouse on land’s shore. In a moment they were opening to the twisted visages of the creatures waiting to emerge into this world, but she quickly searched for Adam’s face amongst them until she found it next to her, reaching a hand toward him instinctively as he looked for her. “I’m here,” she answered, the tail end of a cough finishing the words for her as she covered her mouth, pulling her sleeve away to find fresh blood amongst the dried bits of it. Her first thought was to check his injuries as she usually did during a quiet spell of their demonic endeavors. “Everything in one piece?” she asked, already trying to scoot closer so she might try and take a look.

Adam stirred again at Nell’s voice. Bloodshot eyes opened. Adam’s gaze was unfocused at first, as if he were looking at some other world entirely. But his broken fingers found Nell’s outstretched hand and that physical presence seemed to anchor him. The red-rimmed brown of his eyes eventually found Nell’s face.

“Uh more or less,” he rasped, a weak attempt at a smile stark against a livid canvas of bruises and lacerations down his face and neck.

Adam had been conditioned to quietly endure suffering and even agony if it was necessary to preserve humanity’s destiny. But spiritual wounds that’d sapped his Hunter powers have become all the more serious in the sadism and darkness of this place. Day after day the cult’s rites wore Adam down physically as the tendrils of their master’s psychic influence drilled down into the bedrock of Adam’s selfhood. Little by little, Adam felt himself giving ground inside.

Adam struggled to sit up, but broken ribs protested so much that he abandoned the attempt. He himself fall back against the fleshy softness of the not-quite-stone floor.

Adam adjusted his head as the now literally blue-veined marble throbbed with cardiac warmth against his temple.

“How’re you holding up?”

Nell cradled Adam’s broken fingers gingerly, thankful for the grounding effect his touch had, but reminding herself not to squeeze his hand in reassurance for fear of making things worse. A pinpoint of frustration surfaced in her stomach, wishing for what wasn’t the first time that she could mend bones as well as she closed up flesh wounds. “I guess I can’t ask for more,” she managed to say while matching his half-hearted attempt at levity. “Actually that’s a lie. I can and will ask for more, but I know it’s not gonna do anything.” As she spoke she reached her free hand towards the gashes she could see making a jagged and broken path across his neck, beginning the work of magically willing them shut, scabs beginning to form where open wounds had been before. It wasn’t anything as useful as healing fingers or ribs, but it at least made her feel like she could provide some relief, no matter how small.

“I’m not super sure if I’m just lucky enough to see two of you- or if there’s actually some doppelganger who’s decided to give up the long con and just lay right next to you.” Who said you couldn’t mix potential impending doom with a bit of flirtation? Despite everything, she was determined to keep things light for a moment longer, hoping it might somehow hide the truth of their shared misery. When she’d finished with the gashes on his neck, Nell tried to lower herself closer to the ground to begin work elsewhere, but it seemed her noodle-like ams had other plans when they gave out halfway through her descent. She landed roughly next to Adam, and a grunt of pain paired with a gasped curse of “Fuck,” worked its way through her lips.

Sometimes Nell thought about what it might be like to give in. To fully immerse herself in the whisperings of the walls inside this mansion, and let herself be truly taken into the fold. It would stop then, wouldn’t it? The pain she watched Adam go through far too often. Her own injuries, and the constant ache in her body she couldn’t seem to shake since joining up. Fighting had always been second nature to her, as if she’d been born with a stubbornness that made it impossible for her to give up no matter how far ahead or behind she might be. There’d never been any exception to that rule, and yet here she was— doing her best to keep herself semi-vertical and thinking about how the easy way out was looking more and more appealing every day. If she were being honest it wasn’t just about making sure she and Adam were safe. There was a space for here whether she wanted to face that truth or not, a place where her talents would be embraced rather than shunned or cast out. This was a coven that wanted her, not one that had turned their backs to the witch. “You know...do you think he’d settle for just...one of us?” she asked quietly as she lay next to Adam, her voice barely above a whisper as if she were worried that Ma’al might be listening at this very moment. “Like if I just hung out here with the cult and really gave it my all- maybe you could go keep working on getting your strength back and stuff. It might not even be so terrible.”

“Shouldn’t use up your power like that Nell…” Adam rasped even as pain became more manageable and the clammy numbness of blood loss stopped crawling up his body. Adam may not understand magic, but he intuited that everything Nell spent on him was strength she didn’t have to save herself later. This forces in this place were looking for any chink in their armor and Adam swallowed down guilt that Nell was leaving herself vulnerable to keep him from sinking.

Adam’s gaze was drawn to the walls and ceiling as alien forms protrude into this reality. Spined proboscises stabbed blindly. Mouths with multiple interior rings of saw-blade teeth punctured outward like bladed xylophones before folding back in on themselves. Tendrils slick with acid fumbled around for organic matter to dissolve and absorb. Flowery blooms opened to lash out with hungry stigma while even stranger orifices extended luminous filaments or branching nerve clusters in search of fresh lifeforce to drink. Some of the faces pressing in through the walls were even vaguely humanoid, just with eye-sockets and too many mouths in all the wrong places. The stone and wood of the mansions structure buckled, like a dam about to give way before the tide. There was a taut tension in the air, as if reality itself was straining under some vast weight.

Adam looked into that wall of horrors for longer than was safe, and found his mind wandering dangerously as something weaved insidious thoughts in Adam’s own inner voice.

Why did Adam fight his true nature? He’d had always been addicted to the wrong things, craved the fucking, fighting, and killing like a drug instead of being pure and purposeful. Sure, he’d shackled himself with a code, hoping pious bullshit some dead martyrs had come up centuries ago could make him something more than just an adrenaline junkie that got his rocks off from killing. Adam had been a good little soldier, dutifully risking his life to save people who never even know he existed.

But look at you now, Adam had told Adam. Broken, repressed, and bleeding out while those normie motherfuckers just keep slaughtering each other in rich mens’ wars. Admit it, your mission is pointless. You were made into a weapon for a cause that is already lost.

Adam looked at the woman who’ve risked everything to follow him in here.

Shouldn’t he just be free? Free to fuck, fight, and kill without guilt. Why not take his strength back, and use it how he liked? It was his life wasn’t it? What claim did others have on it? Why was he afraid of what he wanted?

‘Didn’t Nell deserve to be loved by a real man, not someone’s else’s wind-up soldier?’ asked a quiet voice that knew all Adam’s deepest insecurities.

Adam put a small and feeble pressure on Nell’s hand, bloodshot eyes alive with forbidden thoughts as they looked at her with the wrong kind of hope. “I dunno but…”

“I’m an oathbreaker and you're an exile,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly. “Maybe like, this place we could just…,” Adam didn’t finish the question, but raised torn eyebrows to Nell as if trusting she understood what he was asking.

“I want to,” Nell insisted stubbornly, not pausing in her work of closing up every wound she managed to find on Adam. By the time she reached the end of her efforts the black spots in her vision had widened, and a part of her was thankful for the way they blocked out the terrors of the surrounding walls. It was easier not to get caught up in the unsettling yet mesmerizing shifts that the twisted images went through when you couldn’t see half of them. She tried to wait until the world had stopped swimming to begin on the cuts decorating her skin that were bleeding a little too much for comfort, not all that keen on passing out here and now. It was taking the majority of her strength to make sure she didn’t slip into something of a forced sleep, her body practically begging for rest and a chance to recuperate the magic she’d spent while she swayed where she sat, forcing herself to sit upright, and hoping that would be enough to ensure she stayed conscious.

Despite Nell’s best efforts, her head swam with the visions on the walls, and for a moment she could have sworn she saw her own face among them. The bones of her cheeks looked sharper, harder than the reflection she saw in the mirror, but there was a confidence that couldn’t help but be alluring, a promise of power and the ability to ensure that no one would ever make a victim of her again. She could make them afraid if she really wanted to. Most normies were already there when it came to witches. Surely it wouldn’t take all that much to rake others into a similar boat? And if they were afraid, there’d be no one to lop off the heads of sisters in clearings in the forest like a knife through butter, or trap Nell beneath a Ring while brain biters stole bits of her she never thought possible to lose. What was stopping her? The judgment of others? The fragile and paper-thin concept of right and wrong? Was it wrong to want to protect herself? Wasn’t releasing the demons within the walls of the mansion the perfect way to achieve such a thing? No doubt a town that was razed would be one that wouldn’t lift a finger against her or the ones she cared about.

It was the press of Adam’s hand in her’s that made her realize she’d lost track of time somewhere in the middle of her wanderings, and her fingers pressed lightly against his own while she blinked herself back to this plane of existence. A mirthless chuckle fell from her, because she knew he was right. An oathbreaker and an exile. The world didn't want them, so why should they want the world in return? But as her vision cleared and her black eyes searched Adam’s, there was the smallest reminder somewhere in the back of her head. They’d come here for a reason, right? She hadn’t wanted Adam to fall. But was it really falling? Focusing on the man in front of her, her brows furrowed, a frown claiming her lips while she spoke. “We...that’s not why we came here...was it?” What if they’d both secretly hoped to be taken into the cult? Perhaps Ma’al had simply awakened a part of them that was already present. No- there was a promise she was meant to be keeping. A promise to the hunter that she wouldn’t let him go under, because that wasn’t something he’d wanted. “That’s not why we came here,” she said with more certainty this time around even as another voice within her tried to poke holes in the words. “You...want that? To stay here?”

Adam knew Nell was right, that wasn’t what they’d come here. Something was leading them astray.

But the walls breathed, bulging and distorting inward as multitudinous alien things strained against the skin of the world. The bleeding painting on the walls asked Adam if that was true.

Hadn’t he already been astray? Was really it so bad to realize you were lost?

“Only if you’ll stay with me,” he murmured.

Let me set you free. It was the slithering voice of Kevin, and the words the dream-being had uttered within the caves of the catacombs that echoed through Nell’s mind as Adam made his admission. Even then Nell had nearly given in to the promise of peace and the sheer relief of simply letting go and giving up. She’d barely managed to shake free of the tempting offer when it was a stranger making it, but now that it was the familiar and comforting features of Adam that was making the proposal she found the words all the more intoxicating— certain that warmth and safety would be found on the other side of them. “I want to stay with you,” she said while reaching out her free hand to place it along the side of Adam’s face, thumb resting upon his cheek as she weighed the gravity of her words. This was one of the only things she was certain of these days- that Adam was one of the more stable pieces of her life, and she was more than willing to follow where he went. So many people had left in the last few months, other magnets that had kept her carefully balanced between one another. Winston, Bea, Blanche, and now Jared. They’d gone the ways they’d needed to one by one, and though Nell didn’t resent them in the least it was undeniable that their departure had left her adrift. So if Adam wanted to find the peace they deserved here amongst the cult, and so did she...what was there to stop them? “I’ll stay with you, and we can just be here together.” Away from the world that was determined to throw whatever pain it could their way.

Hey Ma’al,

It's me, Adam.

Guess it's about that time?

If I do this, let you in...there’s one condition

Soft spring sun refracted through townhouse windows, golden rays playing across the kitchen.

“So anyway,” Adam said, trying not to get dish-soap on his jersey as he put plates in the washer. “Dad said Winn and Mr. Woods might be coming over later to help fix the roof...”

Sunflowers swayed in the warm wind outside the window, the nostalgic golden haze of the afternoon casting golden petals stark against their black centers. Light glinted off the harbor bay and the commercial bustle of the Sink District as tourists poured in from ferries to peruse shops and Spring Festival stalls.

Adam turned to look across the rooms with gentle brown eyes that’d never beheld violence beyond a locker room scuffle. He ran an unscarred hand through his hair and gave Nell a lopsided grin. “Hey...Nell? What’re you thinking about?”

Nell had been watching the gentle arc of the sunflowers as the breeze played with them, more than pleased that they’d grown so beautifully in the past year and already thinking about what she might plant next. “Hmm?” came her questioning hum, head turning towards Adam with a look of chagrin at being caught staring into space. The light of golden hour played over her unmarred skin, the only lasting signs of imperfection being the dirt under her nails from the garden, and the roughness of her finger pads. “Well I was definitely listening religiously,” came her knee-jerk reaction of a tease. But as she took in the perfectness of Adam’s grin and the sun lighting his hair her own smile claimed her lips, softening in the slightest. “Nothing. Nothing, really.” Her mind was at peace, finally serene with a lack of problems to solve and shadows of witch-killers to fear in the night. “Just thinking about how I’m...happy.” She took a few steps towards him, beginning to close the space that had found its way between them. “Happy here with you.”

#// it's casual #soft and fine #sibling death tw #torture tw #wickedswriting #gaslighting tw #ch:Adam #into the fold two: surrender #chatzy

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zenteachings · 4 years ago

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Feel Happier: Yoga Poses That Help With my Depression & Anxiety

On days where I am feeling down or anxious and need that extra push for motivation, I practice the following yoga poses below.

I struggle with anxiety a few days out of the week, which can make me feel extremely disconnected from my body and mind. This can last for hours on end, and usually by hour three I start to fidget and can really feel the heaviness in my chest. Before I had knowledge on yoga & mindfulness, I would become convinced that I needed to take bigger breaths in order to breathe normally. Along with the anxiety, I have another visitor; depression. I used to not be able to find healthy methods of controlling my mindset that satisfied me, which led to falling into addiction and other toxic behaviors. The dread of getting out of bed and going into crowded places felt unbearable and clouded up my brain the next morning. At that point I knew I needed to help myself, and I did.

Battling mental health obstacles can feel like the fight of my life, and my yoga journal has helped me stop struggling. Yoga has helped me build a better connection with myself as well as just feeling happier in general. In the past four years of practicing yoga, I have created new thought patterns, expressed self-love, and have been able to stay present in the moment when my mind tries to wander off into a fantasy world. Yoga didn’t “cure” me, but it definitely has transformed my life over the years. For these poses for depression and anxiety, you will simply need the following:

❀ A yoga mat

❀ An open-mind

Pose One: Big-Toe Pose

- This is the pose that I start off with each morning to really stretch out my stubbornly tightened muscles and hamstrings that tend to tense up due to daily stresses.

- Step 1: Stand upright with your inner feet parallel and about six inches apart. Contract your front thigh muscles to lift your kneecaps. Keeping your legs completely straight, exhale and bend forward from your hip joints, moving your torso and head as one unit.

- Step 2: Slide the index and middle fingers of each hand between the big toes and the second toes. Then curl those fingers under and grip the big toes firmly, wrapping the thumbs around the other two fingers to secure the wrap. Press your toes down against your fingers. (If you can't reach your toes without overly rounding your back, pass a strap under the ball of each foot and hold the straps.)

- Step 3: With an inhalation, lift your torso as if you were going to stand up again, straightening your elbows. Lengthen your front torso, and on the next exhale, lift your sitting bones. Depending on your flexibility, your lower back will hollow to a greater or lesser degree. As you do this, release your hamstrings and hollow your lower belly (below your navel) as well, lightly lifting it toward the back of your pelvis.

- Step 4: Lift the top of your sternum as high as you can, but take care not to lift your head so far that you compress the back of your neck. Keep your forehead relaxed.

- Step 5: For the next few inhalations, lift your torso strongly as you continue to actively contract your front thighs; on each successive exhalation, strongly lift your sitting bones as you consciously relax your hamstrings. As you do this, deepen the hollow in your lower back.

- Step 6: Finally exhale, bend your elbows out to the sides, pull up on your toes, lengthen the front and sides of your torso, and gently lower into the forward bend.

- Step 7: If you have very long hamstrings, you can draw your forehead toward your shins. But if your hamstrings are short, it's better to focus on keeping the front torso long. Hunching into a forward bend isn't safe for your lower back and does nothing to lengthen your hamstrings.

- Step 8: Hold the final position for one minute. Then release your toes, bring your hands to your hips, and re-lengthen your front torso. With an inhale, swing your torso and head as a single unit back to upright.

Pose Two: Bow Pose

- Now that the tenseness of my muscles and hamstrings are warmed up and stretched out, I am ready to bend back into the shape of a bow to feel energetically locked and loaded.

- Step 1: Lie on your belly with your hands alongside your torso, palms up. (You can lie on a folded blanket to pad the front of your torso and legs.) Exhale and bend your knees, bringing your heels as close as you can to your buttocks. Reach back with your hands and take hold of your ankles (but not the tops of the feet). Make sure your knees aren't wider than the width of your hips, and keep your knees hip width for the duration of the pose.

- Step 2: Inhale and strongly lift your heels away from your buttocks and, at the same time, lift your thighs away from the floor. This will have the effect of pulling your upper torso and head off the floor. Burrow the tailbone down toward the floor, and keep your back muscles soft. As you continue lifting the heels and thighs higher, press your shoulder blades firmly against your back to open your heart. Draw the tops of the shoulders away from your ears. Gaze forward.

- Step 3: With the belly pressed against the floor, breathing will be difficult. Breathe more into the back of your torso, and be sure not to stop breathing.

- Step 4: Stay in this pose anywhere from 20 to 30 seconds. Release as you exhale, and lie quietly for a few breaths. You can repeat the pose once or twice more.

Pose Three: Seated Forward Bends

- After doing such an intense yoga pose where my body is stretched outwards, I like to do the opposite by stretching inwards again. The seated forward bends relaxes my back legs and spine. Taking deep breaths while practicing this pose aids in calming my depression and anxiety.

-Step 1: Bring your arms straight out to the sides and up over your head, reaching toward the ceiling.

- Step 2: Inhale and draw your spine up long.

- Step 3: As you exhale, begin to come forward, hinging at your hips.

- Step 4: On each inhale, lengthen your spine.

- Step 5: On each exhale, deepen into your forward bend.

❁ After I complete these three poses, I enjoy the Asana practice which is proven to help counteract anxiety-driven depression because it reduces stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline, inducing what's known as the relaxation response. Once the relaxation response kicks in, I feel that instead of trying to escape my feelings, I can stay with them, which is essential to identifying the psychological factors that trigger my mental health. The path to getting to this relaxed place varies by individual. I usually end with a 15-minute guided meditation centered for the anxious and depressed mind (a ton of them can be found on YouTube). Once my exercises are complete, I choose my favorite choice of tea and mix with milk, honey, and Stevia. Lo-fi music is also a must for a calming after-effect. :)

#yoga #mental health #happiness #depression #anxiety

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scribeofmorpheus · 5 years ago

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Mark of the Wolf Part 14

Catch Up Here!

Pairing: Derek Hale x Reader (Lastname: Markolf)

Words: 5k

Warnings: Some gory body horror bits -imo. Violence, another cold open, angst? Butchered Swedish.

A/N: It’s funny, looking back at my series plot outline, I never thought this was the direction I was going to go with this confrontation but... The pen writes what it wants.

Leave a like or reblog if you enjoyed this chapter! It helps ☺

Derek and Peter sat in the front of the car –Peter at the wheel driving at a more dangerous speed than Derek did. Markus sat beside you.

The others had taken other cars.

The car was cold. The air-con turned all the way up for some reason. It seemed you were the only one with goosebumps that refused to smooth over since you were the only one rubbing at your skin. In search of a warmer cardigan, you reached beside you to grab your duffle bag, but then you remembered you didn't have it. It was with Scott.

Damn!

You should have dressed warmer.

A dial tone sounded from Derek's phone. This was the third time he'd tried the same number. His brow was scrunched in annoyance as he tapped re-dial for the fourth time.

Your head was pressed to the cold glass of the window, the trees whooshing past to form one collective reel of green and brown as your nails dug into the bandage wrapped around your palm. An itch you couldn’t get at annoying your newly formed cut.

"She's not going to answer," Peter said, eyes focused on the road. "Besides, our plan isn't contingent on her being a key player."

"We need the back-up in case things go south," Derek said. "She's the only one powerful enough to take one of those hunters head-on if we need a quick exit."

"I cannot wait to say 'I told you so' when this inevitably blows up in your face," Peter snorted.

"If that happens we'll all be screwed to high hell," Derek said bleakly. “Which means, you’ll be going down with me, smart-ass.”

Peter rubbed his nose, a redness forming just above his lip. He exhaled loudly.

Once the ringing stopped, an unclear voice sounded out through Derek’s phone's speakers. He placed the phone to his ear.

"I need to cash in a favour," his tone was indifferent.

There was a beat of silence, thick and disturbing.

Peter shuffled awkwardly, stretching against the uncomfortable seat material and forward slanted head rest.

"She's not gonna show," Peter sing-songed.

You laced your fingers around your pendant, wringing it about from left to right like a pendulum. A spot on your chest marked by sage oil.

Derek hummed before cutting the phone, it sounded contemplative rather than disappointed. He turned to Peter, "I guess we're just going to have to hope everything goes as planned then."

The car was parked on the edge of the treeline to the woods.

Peter groaned, looking down at his expensive shoes and the damp soil outside, "These were new shoes."

"I'll buy you a new pair if we live through this and you stop complaining," Derek clapped back as his heavy boots stomped into the mud, splatters of wet soil spraying on his dark jeans.

You and Markus disembarked and for once you were glad you weren't wearing your tennis trainers.

"On the plus side, if we all die, at least it’ll be in style," Markus noted dryly.

Peter shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

"Alright, split up?" Markus asked.

Derek nodded, "Yeah, since we know the lay of the land better, Peter and I will take one of you and we'll work going inward."

"If this place is so important, why hasn't anyone ever mapped out its location?" You asked, hands stuffed in your jeans to keep your body heat close as a cold breeze swept through.

"We tried. The Nematon has a tendency to hide itself," Derek told you.

"Oh..." you said, pretending to understand.

Peter looked around for a minute before speaking over his shoulder, "I'll take tall, dark and broody with me."

Both Markus and Derek pointed at themselves in confusion.

Peter rolled his eyes before pointing at your brother, "The other tall, dark and broody."

You lifted a finger to protest but before a full sound left your throat, Peter had already disappeared into the dark forest with Markus in tow.

You cursed under your breath and from the cheeky smirk Derek wore, you knew you hadn't sworn low enough.

"Come on," Derek's head nudged towards the dense forest. Hands in his back pockets.

"Perfect," you said sarcastically.

You and Derek walked in silence, your hands running up and down your bumpy flesh to burn the cold away.

The woods held an eeriness to them that made the air feel like burning sulphur despite the cold. Fog rolling outward like a dense smoke cloud the farther from the road you got.

You stepped in a mud patch and slid forward. Derek's quick hands caught you and kept you steady.

"You okay?" he looked you in the eye.

You blinked away and cleared your throat, "Yeah, t-thanks."

"You feel cold," he shrugged off his jacket. "Here."

"N-no, I- I'm fine, really," you refused his offer, but Derek ignored your words, draping his jacket around you. It was sweet of him.

"Relax. It won't eat you. It's just a jacket," he smirked.

You nodded while pressing your lips together.

"So… come here often?" you asked as Derek marched forward with long strides -you practically had to jog to keep up.

"To the woods?" he chuckled. "Yeah, this place is a riot," he added dryly.

You scrunched your face and Derek’s arms flexed as he folded them together.

"Actually I grew up close to these woods," there was a sadness to his voice.

You were intrigued, chin rising higher to get a better look at his face, "What's your family like?"

"Dead. Mostly," he noted casually.

Your eyes went wide.

Derek shuffled, feeling that maybe he sounded a bit more serious than normal. He ground his teeth before laughing humourlessly and tried again, this time lighter: "We used to be like your family, actually. Large, overwhelming, very unapologetically different."

"Thanks, I guess…?" you swatted at some fireflies.

Derek shifted his eyes blue and the bugs scattered from predatory fear. He relaxed back to normal and added, "It's a compliment, trust me."

You smiled before asking, "What happened?"

He answered almost immediately, like it as a rehearsed line or one he’d thought about many times, "The girl I was dating turned out to be a hunter… a homicidal one at that."

"Boy, those just follow you everywhere," you jabbed.

He craned a brow your way, "Goes with the territory."

He held your gaze for a moment too long and heat flushed through you, your lips tingling from the memory of his tender yet rough kiss. Your cast your eyes down at your feet.

When you looked back up you noticed Derek rubbed his nose discreetly.

You were compelled to ask him out of curiosity, "You and Peter have been doing that all night. Everything alright?" you pointed to his nose with a red nib.

"You can't smell it?" he was surprised, his eyes fixed on your pendant.

"Is it the sage?"

He hummed in response.

"Sorry," you said with a glib tone, feeling bad for causing everyone so much discomfort.

He cocked a half-smile, "Don't apologise. That is the only reason we're still alive-" he pointed at your pendant. "I can survive a little irritation. Immortal hunters? Not so much."

You stopped for a bit. Mind remembering something that made you laugh dryly. Derek turned to you.

"What?" he asked.

"N-nothing," you held his jacket as your body shook with laughter. "It's just ironic isn't it? The first time I met you, I dug a bullet out of your chest. You were the one in need of saving then. Now look at how everything turned out. I'm the proverbial damsel in distress and it pisses me off!"

It was Derek's turn to laugh, hot air permeating through the cold night in foggy breaths.

"You find that funny?" your jaw squared as you planted your feet and crossed your arms.

"I think it's funny you think you're a damsel," he smiled wider. "Not many damsels I know of have no qualms with cauterising a man's wound using the tip of an arrow and a zippo. And you can damn well be certain they aren’t eagerly offering themselves up as bait. Not once mind you, but twice." He held up two fingers.

"Then I guess I'm an idiot," you remarked flatly.

"Aren't we all?"

Derek placed a hand on your shoulder. Your body reacted as you’d come to expect, with a shiver running up your spine and a flush rising up from your neck to greet your cheeks.

He uttered in a manner reserved for those more than friends -soft and intimate, "Take it from someone who lost their lycanthropy once, claws and teeth and speed doesn't make you powerful. Resolve does. And you've got that in spades."

You gulped, the warm feeling creeping into your chest again. It was strange seeing him so… open. This version of Derek was different from the one you first saw bleeding out on your metal slab.

Derek didn't move. His hand sending ripples of electricity through you from the contact. It didn't help matters that his jacket smelled of his scent and was wrapped around you like you were a couple in an 80's movie.

It all should have felt overbearing, too demanding, but for some reason, it felt the complete opposite. It felt like just enough.

You took a step forward and Derek stayed locked in place. He was determined to keep his promise. If anything were to happen between you two, under the stars and the pregnant silver moon, it would be only by your say so. You held all the cards and from the tantalisingly tempting way your lips tingled, you knew instinctively what your next play would be.

Your brain shouted for you to step away, to keep things from getting complicated, to not risk your heart again, but your lips parted of their own volition and soon you were speaking in a heady tone, "Derek… I…"

His jaw tensed, though it was much subtler. His eyes on the verge of turning blue. An odd aquamarine settled over his irises instead. He was trying his damndest to stay in control. It was then that you noticed how tightly he balled his other fist. The air filled with more trails of fog from his and your breaths. They kept climbing in frequency.

"I…" your feet trembled and then a howl pierced through the sound of crickets, startling you from your daze.

Derek inhaled and let his arm drop free from your shoulder, he brought it to his own and started working the muscle there as if it were sore.

"Peter's calling. Think he's found it. Come on," he shrugged as he walked in broad strokes towards the origin of the howl.

You cursed again and followed after, thankful for the cold air for the first time since the night began. It drained the colour away from your face.

"What took you guys?" Markus asked as he hopped off one foot onto the other in repeated motions.

"They were probably in-dis-posed," Peter wiggled his eyebrows as he strained the syllables of that last word, a devilish smirk pulling his face up.

Derek shook his head and you bit your inner cheek, ignoring the suggestive look Peter had shot your way.

A stone’s throw away was an old stump in the middle of the clearing. The Nematon.

"That's the Nematon?" you asked, a little disappointed.

"Not much to look at, but trust me, that thing is teeming with supernatural energy," Peter said.

Markus squatted close to the tree, placing his hand on its flat surface. His eyes flashed to red and back, nails shifting into claws then back to nails.

"They're right, this is it." He confirmed.

"This thing is barely higher than my knee. Without branches, what are we going to fashion stakes out of?" you raised your hand at the short stump.

Derek and Peter glanced at each other, each thinking the same thing.

In unison, they said: "The root cellar."

The root cellar was dark. The smell of earth was rich here. An old stain of a bloody handprint had turned a coppery orange colour on one of the root tendrils snaking into the ground. A five-fold-knot carved into another. The air was freezing, like the temperature decreased exponentially, forcing your teeth to chatter. A sickening feeling tugging at your gut as your organs protested in every way possible.

"Something bad happened here," you spoke in a hushed whisper.

Derek was stiff, eyes turning glassy as they stared daggers at the five-fold-knot. The atmosphere around him shifted. All of a sudden he was his usual brooding and detached self.

"That is an understatement," Peter replied.

Markus took in the air, coughing slightly. He and Peter scratched at their noses in almost perfect synchronicity. Not Derek though. He stayed painfully still.

"What happened here?" Markus rose his eyebrows.

Peter's mouth opened then closed, a furrow on his face.

"Let's just get what we came for and wait for the call," Derek grumbled out, claws extending instantly as he slashed at a sturdy section of root and pulled it free.

Peter ran a hand through his hair, "You heard the man."

***

You paced about the sparsely furnished loft space that belonged to Derek. There was yellow police tape discarded next to the entrance. A large window with no curtains provided most of the light in the open-plan apartment.

Derek tossed his phone on the counter, a sigh leaving his lips. "That was Scott. It worked. Now it's our turn."

"Do you think they'll make it out okay?" your voice was shaky, worry keeping you on edge.

"We can't worry about that now," Derek walked over and stretched out his hand expectantly.

You swallowed hard, a ball forming in your throat as you tried to unclasp your necklace with shaky fingers.

Derek squeezed your fingers, "Let me."

You spun around, focused on counting the number of bricks on the wall whilst he removed your necklace. His thumb brushed the back of your neck lightly and then he walked away to stash the necklace in a sealed ziplock bag, tossing it in a drawer for extra measure.

"And now?" you said after you had counted all the bricks on that stretch of wall.

"We hope Scott and Liam can take a few hits and stop any stragglers from coming our way while we..." Peter kicked his feet up and lounged on a leather couch, "Wait."

You stared down at the yellow tape, sorely aware of how tense the room was.

You did the one thing you hated doing in such instances, you made with small talk, "So… you still wanted for murder?"

Markus's head snapped up from his phone, nose no longer red. His attention was drawn towards Derek who was leaning against the kitchen island -his nose also no longer red.

"Alleged murder," he held up one hand to reassure your brother. "And, yeah, in four counties actually."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do if we survive this? I mean… you can't live on the run forever, can you?" you pressed your palms together tightly using your knees to keep from anxiously bouncing on your feet as you sat on the opposite couch to Peter’s.

"If we survive, that'll be just one of the many things I'll have to cross off my to-do list," he retorted.

Markus squinted before sitting up straight, hands clapping together once, "That's why you look so familiar. You were on the news some months ago. Manhunt in--"

"Shh!" Peter shot up quickly.

"I hear it too," Derek said hurriedly as he vaulted over the counter and pulled you behind him, stake in hand.

Right then, an arrow pierced through his large window and shattered the glass. The sharp point dug into the wooden floorboard a few inches to the left of where you'd been standing.

Here we go again.

"Okay boys," Peter cracked his neck before extending his fangs. "Once more with feeling!"

All three of them were all glowing eyes, long claws and wolfish snarls. You raced behind the kitchen island and ducked behind it for cover but no new arrows whistled through the air.

Just then, Astrid barrelled in in through the window, her nose raised high as she sniffed at the air, fangs extended. Her claws were longer than all the men's and her eyes glowed a deeper blue than Derek's or Peter's. Come to think of it, Markus was the only one in the room with red eyes.

Astrid clicked her tongue several times, one long-clawed finger swaying from the left to right, "I knew something was afoul when you weren't with the True Alpha and his rageful beta.” She turned to stare daggers at you, “Alyster will be pleased I found you and after I kill all three of your wolves, I'll deliver you to him." Her accent was heavy, Scandinavian. You realised this was the first time you'd heard her speak English.

“It is your time now,” Astrid pointed at you, a grin on her face.

Peter laughed.

Astrid’s eyes twitched, "What is so funny?" she demanded.

"The fact you thought it would be that easy," he replied like he knew the punchline to a joke she didn’t.

Astrid took a step closer, her claws slicing through the air. Peter leaned back with perfect timing.

"Now!" Derek growled.

Theo burst out of a hiding spot holding a jar of black ash and chucked a whole fist full of it at a broken circle on the floor. An impregnable ring forming around them while the other men in the room tried to hold the rabid Astrid down. You dashed back to the drawer Derek had stashed your necklace in and quickly clipped it back on.

"Mountain ash!" Astrid screamed in anger.

Like a volatile typhoon, Astrid took on all three men, her long claws slashing deep and wide. Blood soaked through torn clothes and your ears were deafened by the piercing howls and deep growls that vibrated off larynxes. Markus lifted his stake when he got an opening, but Derek held his hand at bay.

"No!" Derek stated bluntly.

Markus stared in confusion, not about to let one of the people that'd nearly killed his sister survive.

Peter took the brunt of Astrid's attacks while Derek and Markus were forced in a stand-off.

"Get out of my way!" Your brother shouted, twisting his arm free from Derek's hold

"We need her alive!" Derek shouted back, replacing his hold with his other hand. “For now.”

"Can we argue about this later?" Peter spoke through bloody teeth.

"Rahhh!" Astrid shouted as she lodged her claws into Peter's side, a scream ringing out.

You gasped, taking a step forward.

Derek got distracted by the sound for a fraction of a second, but it was all it took for Astrid to sink her claws into his back and lift him up over her head.

"Derek!" you screamed as you rushed forward, body impaired by the force field of blue light that flooded your vision when you collided with the mountain ash barrier.

Derek spat out a splotch of coppery scented blood as she threw him onto the ground, hard. The sound of his jaw breaking made the floorboards shake. Markus wasted no time and imbedded his stake in her spine. Astrid screeched, dark veins rising up to become visible around her neck and temple.

"Omöjligt..." she whispered as she collapsed onto the ground. Her eyes still open and her chest still moving. He hadn't killed her, but Markus had successfully immobilised her.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. No!" Peter panicked over Derek's bloody and sliced form. His wounds healing, albeit not fast enough. "What the hell were you thinking?" he glared at Markus with bared fangs.

Markus answered matter-of-factly, "Protecting my pack."

You whimpered when you saw black oozing from Derek's wounds.

That wasn't good.

"If he dies…" Peter whispered low and sinister. Then he snapped up at you and Theo when Derek grunted weakly, "Break the seal damn it!"

Theo broke the circle with the dragging of his heel and a wave of blue energy rippled out. Faster than you’d ever seen him move before, Peter carried Derek to his couch.

Upon seeing the blood and smelling the copper, your veterinary skills kicking in. You ran to Derek's side and steeled your nerves before slicing the knife across his shirt and exposing his chest. Peter slumped down next to you, eyes serious.

"Help me tie her up," Theo asked for Markus's assistance as he hoisted Astrid onto a chair, binding her hands in rope.

The black veins had spread and her skin was beginning to wrinkle and prune. The tips of her fingers discolouring to a dark purple as one of her nails slipped off from the crown with no opposition.

"Eugh!" Theo grimaced in disgust as he held back a gag. "Uh, man! I th- think she's- she's starting to decompose. Rapidly."

Markus blocked his nose as a new stench wafted through the air.

You could smell it too. It was so strong it made your eyes nearly water.

"Whatever magic keeps her alive, the root from the Nematon must be sapping her dry. You were right," Markus assessed.

"Whatever you needed her alive for, you better do it quick," Theo urged as his cheeks filled with air from a repressed gag.

"Fools…" Astrid spat, a tooth slowly dislodging from her blackening gums. "We can't die!”

"Yeah, well you aren't looking very alive either," Theo coughed out from behind his palm, trying to keep from breathing in her ghastly scent.

Astrid carried on, “One always takes our place. We’re divine soldiers. A champion must always exist as long as the First Coming still lives."

“The First Coming? You mean the plague?” Markus pumped her for information.

Astrid huffed. She smelled like a gangrene infested wound, septic and infected, “The First Coming isn’t a sickness. She is a woman of unparalled power. Only her own magic can imprisson her. Only the blood of the tainted will keep her at bay. When there are none of the ex alia left she will bring about the end of the world. ”

You ignored Astrid’s discomforting words and felt all over across Derek's back, running over the imperfect triskelion. Padded fingers forced black ichor to cascade out from circular holes torn through flesh. Derek's eyelashes fluttered in pain and all you saw were the whites of his eyes. He was too quiet. Too slack. It was unbearable to see him like this, but you had to focus.

You wouldn't let what happened to Alex happen again.

Not to Derek.

"Peter, get me a sharper knife and some alcohol!" You ordered while examining the claw marks more closely. "Markus get me better light. Theo check to see if any of Astrid's claws broke off her fingers."

Displeased, Theo tried to look over Astrid's fingers as carefully as he could, his face sneered in disgust as he held back more gags. When he tried to lift a finger up gently the interphalangeal joint came right off, skin and flesh peeling away freely.

"Eugh! Gross! They keep sliding off like… like fucking butter, I can't- It's too-" He retched dropping Astrid’s severed finger bit like he just lost at a game of hot potato.

Markus scrambled to collect every lamp he could find and place it closer to you while Peter arrived with the whole cutlery tray ripped out of the drawer. Peter unscrewed the cap off the bottle of scotch and held it out for you.

You took a swig and then another and then poured some over Derek's scraped back. Derek shuddered, but no sound came out of his mouth.

Unresponsive to pain, he was going into shock.

You pulled out a butter knife, doused it in alcohol and started digging around Derek's first cut, barking at Theo with authority, "You're just gonna have to deal with it, Theo! Just keep checking!"

Peter picked up the bottle of scotch and took a few swigs himself.

Astrid started laughing, her voice growing hoarse with each chorus, one of her teeth fell out and Theo winced, dodging the discarded enamel.

"Wait, you're right!" Theo shouted when he looked over her other hand. "One of her claws is broken in half! Among other things…"

"That's why he isn't healing," you bit down, resigning yourself to breathe only through your nostrils as you concentrated hard on your task. "I just have to get it out in tim- Shit!" You wiped sweat away with a blood-stained hand.

"What? What is it?" Peter leaned closer.

"I think it punctured his heart..." you stammered, more tears welling in your eyes. You chased them away with a loud clearing of your throat.

Peter dropped the scotch bottle, the glass shattering and spilling amber liquid everywhere. Then, leaving you with no time to react, he lunged at your brother and the two struggled against one another.

"Stop, stop, stop, stop it! You two can fight it out if he… dies. But not while he's still breathing!" Your shout echoed in the loft.

They all stilled, even Astrid. You returned your attention back to Derek.

You had cleaned Derek's wounds as best you could, but Astrid's claw had pierced too deep into his heart. You were afraid you'd simply send Derek off to a far quicker death if you pulled it out. Maybe that would be a mercy, considering his state now.

Derek's body was burning way past the normal temperatures of any human fever. Almost like he was fighting off an infection. His skin was damp and his wounds not yet healed –that scared you. You compressed his larger cuts with the rags of his shirt, but there wasn't much else to do but wait.

Wait and watch him die.

You sniffled several times, trying to keep from progressing to full-on crying. Your heart heavy and your stomach twisting on itself.

"Theo, go to Scott, you can do more for him there. Take Markus with you. He isn't wanted here," Peter said without looking up from his nephew's dying form.

Markus took a step forward, "If you think I'm leaving my sister alone with yo--"

"Go with him," you said softly, not looking up from the blood-soaked rag. "I'll be fine."

Astrid was getting worse too. Her skin had turned leathery now, as though she was mummifying. Her eyes dulled in colour as cataracts formed over her filmy eyeballs. She couldn't see even though her eyes were wide open.

Peter picked himself off the floor and grabbed Derek's stake off the ground.

"What are you going to do with that?" you asked with no emotion. You knew exactly what he was going to do, you just didn't want to go forward with something unsaid.

"I'm going to save my nephew," he said through gritted teeth and he moved over to kneel next to Astrid. "Tell me how to save him!" he barked in her ear. From the way she didn’t react, you guessed her eardrums were the next to go in her decay cycle.

Her head craned too far back, popping sounds emanating from her sagging neck, "You're too late. Kill me. Don't kill me. It doesn't matter. It's up to him now,” one of her fingers pointed at Derek before falling clean off.

Peter growled before stabbing one of Astrid's bony legs under her now baggy armour.

She wheezed in pain.

Peter tilted his head to the side, twisting the stake in her tough, meatless leg, "Tell. Me. How!"

Astrid's jaw pulled wide as she tried to hold back a scream, a rip forming at the corner of her mouth.

"Peter stop!" You stood and pulled the stake out of her leg. "We aren't monsters."

His eyes flashed blue and he backed you away from him with a frightening snarl, canines chomping at the air close to your face, "That's where you're wrong. I am a monster!"

In lightning-quick movements, Peter pushed the stake into Astrid's heart and her whole body began to shrivel.

Between straggled breaths from burst air sacs, Astrid raised her head towards the light of the full moon, a melancholic smile crossing her dehydrated face. With what little life she had left, she whispered words not meant for anyone in this room, "I det här livet och nästa. Jag kommer se dig igen. Min kärlek..."

Then her head went limp, falling to her deflated chest as the ropes slipped off her body. Astrid was no more and in her place was a pathetic mummified corpse steadily turning to dust. Then she was nothing.

Suddenly, and violently, the weather changed. The wind grew tumultuous, a horrifically sharp scream carried with it. In the distant, lighting struck down in unnatural and frequent bursts of light. Somewhere in the dark clouds, a tornado began to swirl.

You and Peter ignored the chaos happening right outside the window. The two of you were locked in your own personal pandemoniums.

"Pull out the claw," Peter said darkly, having made up his mind.

"It's too close to his heart. If I-"

Peter's nose almost touched your own. His clawed fingers wrapping around your neck to pull you close, "His condition is only getting worse. Pull out the claw. If he's going to die, it's going to be quick. Put him out of his misery."

You shoved Peter away, but you knew, deep down, it would be the humane thing to do. And now you knew you had definitely gone insane if you were agreeing with Peter Hale.

“You just had to make me say I told you so,” he said bitterly, a tear streaming down his face. “Just like your mother.”

You knelt next to Derek, trembling fingers grazing his paling flesh. As you wrapped your hands around the tweezers gripping the claw, you whispered in his ear, "You said it took someone of tremendous resolve to go through what I've been through and have survived. I also believe it takes someone of great resolve to go through what you go through every day and still have the courage to wake up every morning. I admire that about you. I believe you still have some fight left, Derek… and I need you to survive this… because… because I have a question to ask you."

With a solemn teardrop, you pulled the claw out of his heart and crumbled to the floor, palms pressed together as you and Peter held your breaths.

An otherworldly green glimmer shone from inside Derek's open wound.

Finale!>>

Tags: @melissavercos @theflash-trash @mynamesalreadytaken @island-end @chipster-21 @helloscorpious @marvelismyfantasy @anonymousfanfics-blog @homra-the-red-clan @derangedangel @phonegalhelp @bowtiesandwhiskers @soldierwinterthe @alina-barnes @luckythepizzadog4444 @tlytxia @drunklili @iamabeautifulperson18 @zenawa @squadkyoya @cassandraevans @moli1497 @wanderlust-travler @143amberrose @humbledarkness @rockyrocket15 @4llmywr1tings @smolbeanfive @500daysofbecky

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#derek hale #derek hale x reader #teen wolf #tyler hoechlin #teen wolf imagines #derek hale imagines #motw #pentultimate chapter #reader insert #derek x you

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harperalerion · 5 years ago

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The Divinity Axis

You’re seated in the balcony of a regal theater, and the symphony of strings sounding from the stage washes over you, sending a satisfying chill up your spine. You witness a young man helping an elderly woman gather her dropped groceries, and a feeling of warmth spreads throughout your limbs. You smile. You might even assist them and feel that much more pleased when the three of you go your separate ways. You stand before a vast lake, and a breeze carries the scent of the water and surrounding flowers toward you. Beyond the opposite bank lies a range of hazy blue mountains. Beyond the range glows a radiant sunset. You breathe in deeply, and you feel small yet somehow secure in the knowledge that you are but a single part of a greater world. In each of these scenarios (and many more like them), you have accessed the divinity axis. In his book, The Happiness Hypothesis, Jonathan Haidt explores the three axes that support and define human relationships: the “x-axis” of closeness (accessed through social relationships and reciprocity), the “y-axis” of hierarchy (accessed through an understanding of one’s role in society), and the “z-axis” of divinity. The word “divinity” may call to mind images of angels, gods, and churches, but in choosing areligious examples of accessing the divinity axis, I hope to illustrate the fact that this axis is accessible to all—theists and atheists alike. The divinity axis is associated with feelings of disgust (on the low end) and awe (on the high end). To borrow biblical language, we feel profane (or low on the divinity axis) when we—or others—transgress certain rules, unspoken or otherwise, pertaining to moral or bodily cleanliness. Conversely, we feel sacred when witnessing or expressing moral or physical beauty. “Feeling sacred” entails such emotions and sensations as gratitude, strength, warmth, unity, humility, and reverence—often in combination. It is a simultaneous turning inward, turning outward, and rising upward. The boundaries necessitated by the existence of a “self,” separate and apart, dissolve as that self communes with the world. Although the divinity axis is often portrayed as being accessed unintentionally, I believe it can just as frequently be accessed with intent. When we choose to act kindly toward a stranger, when we choose to bask in nature’s glory, when we choose to revel in the arts of music and dance, we choose to elevate ourselves and to honor that which is humane in us all. The paradoxical beauty of the divinity axis lies in its ability to make us feel both limited and limitless. When we acknowledge and feel so palpably our place in the universe, we understand almost intuitively where our power does and doesn’t lie in shaping it. This brings peace, and with wisdom, that power can be used to draw out the best in our lives and the lives of others.

#divinity #axis #haidt #jonathan haidt #happiness #books #philosophy #science

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webcricket · 6 years ago

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Looking Glass

Chapter 21 - Eisodos

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 2105

Summary: Written erotica content warning! The reader comforts Cas who is brooding after killing his AU alter ego. They finally get some much needed and uninterrupted alone time at the resistance encampment.

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If Cas hears you coming, heels tramping the graveled-earth of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard as you traverse a path through bits and bobs of decaying metal, shattered glass, and the overgrown vegetation arising to swallow the remains of humanity’s vehicular ingenuity whole, the brooding stillness of his figure sat upon the rust-eaten frame of a vintage VW bug doesn’t betray acknowledgement of your approach. Sam said you’d probably find the angel out here, and here he is, eschewing social interaction in favor of isolation; or rather, seraphim segregation. Not that you blame him – half the people at the encampment think the only good angel is a dead angel, and the other half don’t trust him as far as they can throw him, which given the muscular build of his vessel and angelically weighted advantage, isn’t very far at all. The thing about people is, they tend to talk; and angels, well they can’t help but hear hushed murmurs in deafening detail.

From the vantage point of a dozen or so yards away where you slow to circumnavigate what looks like a hunk of an armored tank, Cas appears engaged in rapt observation of the vine-swathed backend of a white delivery van parked opposite shedding flecks of paint like snow on the surrounding soil; moving nearer in night’s shroud of dark, borders of blackness illumined faintly by flame flickering from barrels for warmth for those patrolling the perimeter, you see the intensity of his concentration bends not outward, but inward – inwardly sulking, you surmise.

“Hey, Cas.” Your breath fogs in greeting.

“Y/N.” The stern set of his jaw softens to form a slender smile around the utterance of your name; the respite sparked by your presence spreads to pink his pale expression and relax the stiffness of his shoulders into a rounded slump. His regard reels sidelong to settle on you; the grey already veiling his typically lustrous blues dims his gaze further in squinting distress at the sight of the five-fingered bruised imprint left by his doppelgänger deeply purpling your throat and imbuing your voice with a hoarse timbre.

Sensing his surge of remorse over the mark he didn’t create, you flip up the flimsy denim of your jacket collar to conceal it. Leaning against the hood beside him, palms flattening over the peeling paint to support your slouching frame, you avoid the imploring heat of his look. He offered earlier to heal the superficial, admittedly sore, reminder of the other Castiel; you refused, counseling him to save his grace for more important matters – after all, you aren’t home safe … yet.

In the distance, the stalled engine of the school bus Dean and Bobby are attempting to resuscitate explosively sputters and dies. Dean bellows a bitter note, quickly outdone by Bobby’s gruff rejoinder. The acrid odor of burnt oil wefts through the atmosphere, singeing the nostrils. They still have a couple of hours to get the boxy behemoth running. Faith – buoyancy of wellbeing unfamiliar to you from long disuse – that everything will be fine cushions any anxiety you might have about getting out of here; you attribute the mind quieting comfort mostly to the seraph who saved you in more than just the literal sense.

Cas’ continual steady stare, the silence encumbered with his desire to mend despite your protest, and the brisk bite of pre-dawn air coalesce as a spine-tingling shiver to prickle the tiny hairs at your nape. You want to return the favor of faith, save him too, even if it’s merely from himself. “Sam said you were out here avoiding everyone,” you remark to break the ice.

“Not everyone,” he corrects. Without looking, he shifts his hand, seeking and covering your own where it rests on the domed hood next to his leg.

At the tender touch, natural and totally unhesitating on his part, he earns a half-grin tossed backward in his direction gratifying enough to mollify his fretting, for the moment, over your minor wound.

“How’s it going?” you ask, wriggling your hand to fit and flex your fingers snugly between his.

“It’s quiet,” he states, wrongly inferring you’re asking about his self-assigned post as sentinel when you really want to know how he’s doing. “No sign of angels out there. Well, except Gabriel and Lucifer and Ja-”

“I meant” –you pivot, slotting your hips between his splayed knees. Reaching up to tuck a wayward curl overlying his temple neatly back into the hairline, two more dark-brown locks rebel to take its place– “how are you? What you did back there – I can’t imagine what that feels like, smiting yourself.”

Conflict contorts his countenance. Somberly glazed eyes tumble downward to the tangle of your hands. He pulls the bundle of digits into his lap where a thumb extricates itself from entwinement to swipe circles over your knuckles as he stalls to answer.

“I didn’t mean to pry,” you stammer, suddenly self-conscious about the accuracy of your supposition; laying a palm to his cheek, meekly smiling, you offer him an easy out of the awkward inquiry. He said it before – killing Castiel cleanly saved him from a worse fate for sparing you. Maybe it is that simple – a soldier’s mercy with no lingering regret. Maybe you misread the moping.

“No, it’s okay. You’re not prying.” His head shakes, unshaven chin scratching at your skin. “It’s just-,” he sighs, searching for the right words to describe the emotion swelling in his heart. Lifting your held hand to his lips, he presses a light kiss to the delicate digits. “It’s different to have someone care enough to ask me how I’m feeling. You asking, it’s … nice.”

The damp gathering on his lashes attests to how meaningful the cognizance of being the one cared for is to him. Not that he believes the Winchesters don’t care about him, but so long as the brothers have each other, neither of them is falling on their sword in sacrifice for the seraph self-sworn to stoically watch over them. Besides, Sam and Dean’s modus operandi relies on masking emotions and telling themselves and each other heavily tailored truths about how to feel as a sort of shield for coping with the bad day after day.

Killing Castiel was a mercy, for the reason he told you – the angel would have faced Naomi’s wrath, been forced to torture soul after soul until the day humanity ceased to exist, and then be left to endure unending eternity ostracized from his kin as an outsider, belonging nowhere and to no one, burdened by everything he’d done and lost. What he hid was the fact killing him was a mercy for Cas, too; a profound relief, because that version of himself – heart all but carved out of its celestial core with nothing except the fragile link Castiel witnessed and felt drawn to in your memory left to mitigate the capacity for cruelty – absolutely terrified him. His mouth motions to speak, to share with you the unabridged truth – no sound escapes except a smothered sob.

“C’mere.” Jerking at the lapels of his coat, encouraging him to slide to his feet and stand, you fold him to your chest.

The intimacy is the solace he needs. He nuzzles the sensitive stretch below your ear; scenting the dried sweat of day salting your skin, the sweetly exotic essence of you, a grateful growl of contentment hums in his throat for your existence. Winding his arms firmly behind your back, a climbing caress follows up the ridge of your spine to clutch you tighter. Anchored fully in the security of fondness found in your embrace, he tries once again to summon the words – they emerge, a secreted whisper upon your ear.

“Seeing what he was capable of, knowing his thoughts, so similar to mine – to look into that mirror and perceive what I would have become if not for Sam and Dean’s friendship, if I’d never learned what it feels like to … to-” he falters, confidence wavering in affront to the significance of what he’s about to confess and what it will change between you. Surely after everything you’ve been through together, you know; and yet doubt forever dogs his conviction, viciously barks qualms, and nips at his heels for each step he dares take in pursuit of personal fulfillment.

Kneading the nervous knots coiling at his shoulders, you incline backward to examine his features in earnest. “To what, Cas?”

The candor contained in your countenance, the collected pinpricks of light sparkling as a universe in the swirling color of your irises and burgeoning black of pupils, the sanctuary he perceives therein, a desire to lose himself in you unlike anything he has ever experienced before, overcomes all doubt. “To” –fingers braced at your nape, tips splaying to tenderly cradle your head, he leans in to impart the answer directly upon your lips– “love.”

Breathing in the single syllable sentiment, you surrender to the pliant mold of his mouth and insistent exploration of tongue. The hot honeyed taste of him flows thickly over teeth, tongue, and down your throat where arousal roots and blossoms; fronds of passionate fire unfurl from your heart, torrid tendrils traverse flesh and limb. Body pleasantly ablaze, overwhelmed outside-in by the seraph, your mind dizzies itself in a swoon.

Releasing you from the all-encompassing kiss, he bolsters your swaying body and rests his forehead to yours while you gasp to regain breath.

You blink several times to compel your blurred vision to refocus on his besotted blues. “L-love? Are you saying-?”

He nods, nosing your cheek and smiling against your questioningly parted lips before you can finish the question.

“Mmm-me too,” you mumble into the kiss, chirruping in surprise when he swiftly scoops you by the waist to spin you round, pinning your body between his quickening vessel and the hood. The bumper below you squeaks, breaks free, and bounces into the dirt in inanimate comment to his vigor.

Lavishing kisses along your jaw, his lips latch to your neck where it lolls to expose the unsullied side for him to savor. Easing you onto your back, his fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, delightfully ticklish in their calloused fumbling and tearing buttons from flannel in impatience. His thumb tarries at the strap and padded barrier of your bra; tracing the laced edging to the center of your torso to unlatch the hook, he moves his ministrations – molten kisses melting downward – to the newly bared breasts. Nipples pertly bud in the humid breeze of his breath, gentle brush of fingertips, and rough twirl of his tongue.

Teasing your fingers through his hair, legs wrapping his hips to draw him nearer in a bid for friction, a needful moan of his name mingles misty into the cool of night.

He stops to peer up at you, blue eyes blown to oblivion when they meet your fevered gaze.

“Cas,” you say his name again, giving a tug at a fistful of his hair. “Angel, need you … now.” You need him before the interruption of a rainstorm, a Winchester, a witch, a road trip, or a rift can interfere. Maybe you have hours, maybe only minutes, however much time you have before the next intrusion upon your intimacy, you don’t intend to squander it wondering or waiting. Groping a hand between your bodies, you grasp and yank at his belt buckle just in case what you need from him isn’t clear.

“Now,” he echoes your demand aloud in a husked rasp – understanding eradicates all but the slimmest rim of sapphire sparkle from his eyes. Understanding hastily shoves pants and boxers down around his muscular thighs as you wriggle out of your jeans and pull him back to your body using his tie for leverage.

“Now,” you whisper the word across his lips, gazes locked as he reaches down to stroke the thick curve of his cock, positioning and sinking into your slick.

Bliss flutters your lashes. Balance bending backward, you brace your elbows on the hood.

Broad hands cup your bare buttocks to guide you closer, your sultry skin sticky as it slides across the metal hood until he buries himself fully into your silken heat and drops his chin to your clavicle with a low worshipful growl. Tilting your pelvis to adjust to the divine burn of deep penetration, you tighten your walls in a pulse of encouragement. His hips piston and slam forward – the now no longer needs saying.

Half-dressed, urgently coupling beneath a starless apocalyptically hued sky, survivors, human and angel from different worlds, it’s certainly not the love you imagined – it’s so much better.

Next: Ch. 22 - The Devil Made Me Do It

#castiel x you #castiel x reader #spn x reader #castiel reader insert #castiel series #castielxyou #castielxreader #cas x you #cas x reader #you x castiel #reader x castiel #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

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kondo-hijikata · 6 years ago

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Pairings: Established Kondo/Hijikata, Shinsengumi! Verse Rating: M Summary: Kondo sets off for Hiroshima to attempt avoiding war, but the Hijikata he returns to is not the Hijikata he left only three weeks prior. Something drastic changed. And that’s when Kondo realizes he needs to as well. [AO3]

Part 1 | Part 2

.*Changing of the Guard*. Part 3

“…Toshi.” Like a chant murmured to a deity, the name rolled off his tongue, reverent and sincere. “I came back.”

And it felt good, so good, to have the starving space between Kondo’s arms filled once more…damn good to feel Hijikata’s spine pressed unto his chest. He basked in the privilege of reveling in this closeness, despite the impending difficult conversation that would wreck it all in a fraction of a second.

Because for as competent and practical as the vice commander was, he was as equally affected and moody; temperamental was likely the kindest descriptor, but even that (ironically) would be considered offensive enough to rouse ire and denial. And though Hijikata’s emotionalism often threw a wrench into the prospect of long-standing harmony, it was just one part of an entire package—one Kondo wanted complete with all the pieces, beautiful and unsightly alike.

So, he’d embraced him—unexpectedly. To that impulsive gesture, Hijikata’s hands at last rose, his palms pressing upon the forearms crossed over him and giving them an almost tentative pat, before his fingertips curled in.

Though the bearings remained difficult to navigate and the ice dangerously thin, it was a promising initial reaction; at the very least, there’d been no outright shut down, and though the ultimate hope had been a verbal response, the physical one was acceptable enough for the meantime. Whatever the case, it seemed the best chance of success would arise from Kondo starting with his own strife and easing into the actual subject of his concern.

He therefore tacked on, “Empty-handed,” to his previous statement after the fact, while drawing Hijikata even closer and nuzzling dark locks.

“You expected otherwise.” While Hijikata’s response erred on snappish, he made no effort to disengage himself from the clutches which had ensnared him. “I said it all from the beginning in one word. Choshu.”

“I remember. And you know why I had to try, regardless of that.”

The huff which followed indicated the opposite. That Hijikata hadn’t offered outright contest was indicative of his desire to not venture into uncomfortable waters—a silent but resilient demand to step off if Kondo was even considering such an avenue. Reading that warning loud and clear, he settled to start by dipping his toes into the deep end, instead of taking a full-on plunge.

“Ne…Toshi…” A pause. “The last weeks have been so hard.”

“Of course.” Hijikata hadn’t precisely sounded frustrated, but the air about his response thrummed with apathy and displeasure. “Do you also recall me being against you going in the first place, for exactly that reason?” The coldness contrasted Kondo’s warmth, played right into all the classic telltale signs of attempting to conceal inward distress by appearing outwardly impassive. As always, Hijikata was a master of pivot—but Kondo was rather skilled in the art himself, and matched his turn with flawless synchronization.

In truth, if the occasion were different, Kondo would have respected Hijikata’s boundaries and penchant for reticence without question; however, after the gravity of what had transpired in his absence, he wasn’t about to leave matters of mending to either chance or time. No, on this particular instance, the stakes were too high. He would be sure they braved through the burdens and emerged no worse for wear—together. It was the responsibility he both wanted and readily accepted, from choosing and miraculously being chosen by the ever-elusive Hijikata Toshizo.

For that, Kondo pressed on, inching further and further toward the edge of what he knew was a very dangerous precipice. “…It’s been hard on all of us, I mean.” A beat, when he felt Hijikata’s lungs still, and recognized that this was the tipping point. “Toshi, I’m sorry. I never intended to—”

He’d been right. At last, it was the one push that went too far, and the tension mounted with full force before Kondo could finish what he’d begun to say.

“We knew the situation.” The interjection sliced right into the forefront, petulant and stiff—almost formal. “What matters is that you’re alive. You fought, you tried, you came back. End of story.”

“Aa…” Kondo slowly began. “I did promise you I would.”

“So, as long as that’s the case, we can just keep going forward.” A breath to indicate finality fell from Hijikata then and the harshness about him began to ease; it seemed he believed control over the dialog was now entirely in his grasp, and in turn could be limited to Kondo’s experience while avoiding his own. “Forget about what happened in Hiroshima, Kat-chan. That wasn’t on you and we’re moving onto greater things.”

Hijikata’s belief was wrong, however.

“I could say the same to you.”

Another sarcastic huff followed. “Interesting claim, since I wasn’t the one needlessly putting my life on the line.”

“No?” Kondo gazed toward the tatami in the distance, bracing himself within the last remnants of peace. His lashes fell and he brushed the strong line of his jaw against Hijikata, inhaling deeply before dropping the match that would detonate into an inferno. Falling, falling, falling… “Just your reputation, then.”

And the universe erupted into flames.

Hijikata’s spine went rigid. His chest temporarily suspended with the bating of his breath.

“Toshi.” Kondo’s voice went low and gravelly, calm.

The hands which had clasped to him fell like weights. “Don’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Ignoring the scoff, Kondo stressed, “Listen to me. Kawai wasn’t your fault.”

“This is ridiculous.”

Kondo felt an outward shove against his arms as Hijikata attempted to disentangle himself, but remained firm with his hold. “Gen-san told me how you, how everyone, tried so hard. And I know—” While the tiny struggle of push and pull wore on, the words continued to fall forth from his lips, careless like an inebriate spilling sake. Whatever it took, he needed to be heard, needed to excise the blame and soothe the lasting injury. “—I know that last time when I came back from Edo, things were—It was all different back then, Toshi, so—I just want you to know that I know it’s—”

Hijikata’s face snapped to the side. “What do you know?!” The tug of war, of holding and wanting to break free, grinded to an immediate halt and neither made a further move in or against his own favor. That question cut deep, had Kondo’s chest tightening and stole the sentiment right from his tongue. “You don’t know anything at all!” Hijikata promptly shut his eyes and he turned away again. “I don’t need you, or anyone, to justify my actions when I’m just doing what needs to be done.”

Still taken aback from the intensity of the barrage, Kondo’s brow furrowed, and certainly for lack of better wording, he stammered, “…I know.”

A stiff shake of Hijikata’s head complemented the increased abrasion in his tone. “I’m doing what’s necessary.”

Taking a moment to gather himself, Kondo realized something by the heaviness in that response; the divulgence of feelings he thought he’d have to coax had been imminent all along with minimal provocation, for the impossible amount of tension which Hijikata kept bottled up over weeks had been a single breath away from rupturing this whole time. And while Kondo was willing to catch all of it—to catch him—such awareness had him backpedaling, his tone markedly growing softer to not exacerbate the situation. “Toshi, I know. And I completely support—”

However, even as he went slack in attempt to ease some of the rapidly augmenting pressure, Hijikata only became more rigid and defensive. Impenetrable and not open to debate, he hadn’t even allowed Kondo to finish as he continued his own tirade. “What’s necessary for the Shinsengumi, for everyone.”

“Of course, Toshi. I never said—”

And that marked the point of no return, when whatever veneer of possession Kondo thought he had over this exchange met its conclusive demise. Past experience advised him to lay off until Hijikata unwound from his current state, but he’d continued his futile attempts until the limit was reached. Now, the scales tipped completely, the world skewed, and the next thing Kondo realized was that he’d trapped himself in a room with an unleashed tiger.

And worse yet, that tiger was wounded.

Snarling, Hijikata violently thrust his elbows out with enough strength to emancipate himself from Kondo’s grasp and staggered forward, the volume of his words increasing as his shoulders began to rise and fall. “Even if that means enforcing seppuku. Even if the man who committed it was innocent, even if we all knew he was covering for someone else.”

Whirling on the soles of his socked feet, Hijikata turned back to Kondo. Their vision had adjusted to the dark, the pale blue light from outside faint but present enough to allow them to clearly make out each other’s expressions. And Hijikata’s eyes, they were rife with a formidable cocktail: of anger, of mortification…of other things he very likely must have preferred to keep to himself.

Still, with a half-hearted shrug, his hands barely lifted near his hips. “Even if it’s over fifty ryo.”

Kondo was almost breathless. “It’s not a small sum.”

Once again, the rebuttal went entirely ignored.

��Even if it was for something we tactically needed anyway. Even if Kawai waited day in and day out, asking hour on the hour: Has the courier arrived? Has the courier not yet come?” Standing still again, Hijikata quickly licked his lips and cocked his face before righting it. “Even when our own people came to me, begging and making demands to pardon him…expecting me to do only what our absent commander could.”

Kondo shook his head, and though there was plenty he wanted to say, he finally relented and let Hijikata keep going without further counter.

“So Kawai goes through with it. Because he has to. Because those are our rules. And his seppuku is botched because Tani missed. Actually missed.” A hand cut through the air. “Struck him right in the back, Kat-chan. You should’ve heard the mewl.”

“Toshi,” Kondo breathed, slowly approaching him. His hands began to lift, to reach toward the shoulders still laboriously undulating; however, before seeking purchase, they paused as he considered if contact was welcome now. How quickly he’d gone from inciting such a self-assured campaign of good intention to these humble defensive measures of defeat. “Tosh—”

“You say Gen-san explained things to you, but did he actually tell you the worst of it?” Hijikata neither leaned in nor recoiled at Kondo’s advance. He did, however, raise his brows, nodding in rapid succession as his demeanor began to disintegrate further. “I don’t even mean how the courier finally arrived less than two hours after, no. I’m talking how Kawai’s father sent more than what was owed with a loving letter to his now-dead son. Did you hear that part, Kat-chan? How the letter explained that he was on business and that’s why there was a delay? How he wrote how proud he was of him for being responsible and bringing honor to their family, how he hoped we—” His voice began to crack and his gaze pulled off to the side.

Hijikata drew a sharp inhale, clearly premature in forcing himself onward and yet he kept right at it. “We, his great and loyal friends, would continue...heh.” His eyes closed, then squeezed, and his palms raised to cover them. Fingers were half-clenched in the air and the last words fell raw. “...taking care of him.” A breathy laugh followed—coerced, strained, gruff.

At last, Kondo’s touch fell upon Hijikata, large warm palms pressing to the cool skin of his elevated biceps and waiting for consent. Hijikata’s arms fell and the fierceness within his gaze pierced straight through to Kondo’s soul, sizing him up and sending a cascade of ripples along its celestial fabric. And then, it was as if his rationality had suddenly caught up to his emotions—that he realized where he was, and what he’d just divulged and in what way. “Was that the point of all this?!” Exasperation shaded his tone as he lashed out, his pupils shrinking. “This was really what you wanted?”

Hijikata hadn’t meant that, and Kondo knew it…knew he was just working through his own feelings and retreating into his own deep-rooted defense mechanisms. Anyone would do so when backed into a corner. Still, even a frivolous insinuation that Kondo would ever actually want to see Hijikata break or suffer in any way caused heaviness to radiate from the center of his chest and filter outward. His breath caught with the ache of his heart, and all he could do was offer a vehement denial.

Kondo set his mouth in a line and adamantly shook his head. He focused on the absolute exhaustion before him—the mental and physical tolls, the hurt in those dark eyes—before slowly, imprudently reaching to Hijikata and trailing the back of his fingers down his cheek with a feather-light touch.

What began as a flinch eased into a waning of the anger and desperation radiating from Hijikata through the tenderness of Kondo’s caress; despite that, he remained unmoving and cautious, as if he were looking for ulterior motives even when he knew none existed. A wounded tiger, indeed. But Kondo was aware, from spending over a decade with this man, what he wanted most of all right now. It was just a matter of finding out if he’d allow it.

Upon reaching the soft edge of Hijikata’s jaw, his digits fell gently to the nearest shoulder, latching on before starting to coax him forward. Kondo fully expected another outburst, another scathing rant which he believed was more than deserved at this point; however, to his surprise, the action was permitted.

He didn’t wait for a change of mind. Kondo’s hand slipped to Hijikata’s back and hauled him forth to eliminate the space separating them—so strongly and so close that he felt the lips which had just injured him press against his shoulder upon the impact. From there, Kondo wrapped his arms around the smaller frame and held tight with an overwhelming possession, as Hijikata slowly melted into him and hands lifted in kind to take to his haori.

This was the place Kondo had wanted them to get to upon initiating that first embrace…but not like this, or at the expense of discomfort or coercion. He’d wanted Hijikata to talk to him, so he could listen and support; certain that he could at least do that, his movements had started with a particular degree of confidence. Now, however, Kondo remained silent and stared into nothingness across the room.

He was no longer convinced that any of the comfort he was capable of providing would be enough to assuage and heal these kinds of wounds. Because it was just as Hijikata had said: Kondo hadn’t known the full extent—and therefore couldn’t possibly, genuinely, share in the immeasurable pain of consequence. He hadn’t needed to stand helplessly by while an unthinkable situation and its many moving pieces unfurled to leave gashes and scars in its wake.

He couldn’t even effectively pick up the damn pieces in the aftermath without making things worse. So he resolved to let his arms do the talking, let his body provide the consolation his lips could never. While the quietude hung heavy and the guilt weighed in deep, Kondo cupped the base of Hijikata’s neck and once more leaned his cheek against neatly styled hair.

They stayed this way for a meaningless amount of time, until Kondo finally felt the grasp on his attire loosen, and the fabric subsequently giving way with the slack.

As he righted himself, Hijikata’s gaze lifted to meet Kondo’s, showing much softer eyes to match his voice. “That’s what you didn’t know, Kat-chan.” He inhaled briefly and gave a tiny shrug. “Or, it’s what I didn’t want you to.”

“Why.”

A gentle half-sigh feathered across his sensitive skin. “For all the good this is doing you, or either of us.”

Kondo swallowed, feeling his expression contort as he searched the distant dark edge of the room again. “No.” Finally, he sought Hijikata’s eyes again, the words coming forth barely above a whisper. “Why are you always protecting me like this?”

“How can you ask that? That’s my job.” Hijikata’s chin fell with a strong nod rife with purpose. “It’s my sworn duty and honor as your vice commander.”

Pulling his mouth taut, Kondo’s lashes fell for a moment and he thought to make an argument but let it go.

“Kat-chan, let’s get one thing straight. I can’t do what you do.” There was a slight shake of Hijikata’s head. “I couldn’t pardon Kawai. It wasn’t my role.”

“But—”

“And I accept that. Along with the responsibility of enforcing our code, no matter the cost.”

“Even when it’s your hands always getting dirty,” Kondo said, instead of asked.

“No matter the cost,” Hijikata reiterated. He swallowed afterward and peered toward the shoji for a beat. “In the long run, nothing like that matters. As long as we keep going forward.” There was another deliberate nod before his eyes found Kondo’s again. “As long as you’re still commander.”

They stared at each other for several moments, and Kondo became of aware of how openly he was wearing his own emotions in that moment.

“Kat-chan…” Hijikata’s voice was nearly breathless. “Don’t you get it by now? Don’t worry about me. All you need to do is keep leading as you are and let me take care of everything else.”

What could he say to that? Nothing at all. It was proof that Hijikata had already come to terms with Kawai’s fate. Of course, it hurt. Naturally, it wasn’t easy. But he’d already justified it and what he needed most now was time to let his feelings settle, especially when surrounded by their own men who also were also in mourning. The best Kondo could do was offer his embrace as he was doing now, a trifle in comparison.

However, there was just one further question that gnawed at him and his brow furrowed further. “Toshi…” Kondo paused to lick his lips, his gaze falling as he considered his words. When his eyes lifted again, they were accompanied with a slight squint. “…What makes you think I would have pardoned Kawai?”

Hijikata huffed out of his nose. “What makes you think you wouldn’t have?”

Once again, Kondo found himself speechless.

#uss enterplaid #toshisami #shinsengumi!#t2 #konhiji #katchan loves haiqueue man #writing on plaid paper #long post #this part was extremely taxing to write #complex and emotional vice commander is complex and emotional

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ignaciotries · 4 years ago

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COFFEE

Coffee

There’s something mystical in waking up right before the sun shines. The sheets are still cold, it’s incredibly misty outside, and everything seems suspended in a half dreamlike state. You wobble between dream and reality, and gravity seems awfully stronger. The air isn’t stale, but gentle and the breeze sends pleasant tingles down the spine. I exhale heavily and roll covered in bed sheets towards the edge until my face meets wood; a bitter departure but needed if I’m to get out of bed. After long contemplating the cold paneled floor, I glimpse at the window. My exhales fog the cold panes. I push the window open and meet the soft breeze outside. I motion my body forward and rest my arms over the damp wooden frame, while the wisps from a low fog outside slither into my room.

It may not be the place for everyone, but here I behold my own small paradise. The whitish peaks shine a bluish hue against the dark horizon. Long lived pines naturally frame the vista and cover my lonesome cabin in the woods from the harsh winds and brutal temperatures that come rushing down from that sparkly ridge beyond. A ridge I would love to describe even further, but I just slammed onto the floor seconds ago and will need a bit to sharpen my senses; though, it is a good thing that today is for relaxation and mindfulness. Today is for taking my time and enjoying my home; as every timber has been chopped, all the meats carved and cured, and the forest peaceful. It is me, and only me on this slope opposite to man and industry.

I take a break from admiring it all. I don’t want it to get too cold inside before I prepare the fireplace. The logs may get humid. It would be far too eventful now for them to split and crack wildly. I pick the driest logs and let the ember gather strength on its own. I enjoy this simple silence.

But above all, I enjoy something more; more than the books I keep safe and sealed away in the living room chests, or a sharpened hatchet gliding through wood as a knife would butter. Yes. The one thing that I can enjoy the most on mornings such as these is the purest black elixir I can filter after one delicate pour.

I light the gas and watch snow melt away into sweet water. I bring it to a soft boil and then maintain the pot at a low simmer. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs spiral into a perpetual dance above. Now comes the best part, I gently let the water stream out as a sparkling waterfall into the dry grinded bits I prepared the day before; perfectly roasted and dried. Fumes rich in aroma and force envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards. And in a minute, I will be experiencing a sunrise of my own.

It is the stark contrast of the season against the remedy of man, both night and day in a cup. Coffee. My cup with Coffee. There are many like it across the world at hours such as these. The salaryman has his expresso; the boys, their americanos; and those who fancy the drink as a sweet and quick “pick me up”, their lattes. But this one, this simple stream of black into a stained ivory cup, is mine. It forever will be. I do not pretend to sound like a braggart, but the difference in resulting hue has been something of an art and lifelong learning experience for me. I have drunk from the frothy mixes of the south, partaken of the rich Caribbean tones, and endured the harsh and uncaring smack of the smooth roast. All of these experiences coalesced into what I hold now. My cup. My coffee.

I place it at a table next to a broad window.

There’s a clearing outside. The peaks are as visible here as from my bedroom, and it seems that a harsh orange glow burns against them from the right. The ever radiant towards the irradiant.

I sit by the table, cup at my left, and I look out and fix my eyes beyond the windows, beyond the clearing, beyond the peaks. I take a small taste and follow it with a small mouthful to warm the senses; a sublime enlightenment in such a small broth. Would it even be right to call it such? No, it is preposterous to call it a broth and continue my early ramblings. I apologize. This is no bean soup; therefore, never will it be a broth. Coffee stands on a world alone. It is apart from others by more than just use and origin. It is a lonesome and tortured soul, that has been filled with bitter sentiment against the world.

A cherry is plucked, its dreams to face the musky earth and give rise to something more destroyed, it is then gutted and left to suffer the morning sun, like the peaks. The peaks shine a softer color now as the spectrum reaches further on its path through the void.

“The void...” I whisper.

One would think I would compare it through some convoluted analogy or otherworldly metaphor to the stiff dark of my Coffee, but it would result in more or less the same. It is black because it is greedy. It desires all that it has lost and so picks even the color from air, takes it all till not one is distinguishable from the other. The void doesn’t care for colors. When one stares into space, like an astronaut contemplating their place in it all, it seems black, but not because of color, but the lack of it. Here, color roams freely unhinged and uninhibited. The astronaut is both aware and saddened by it, for to let color free in such an unfathomable space is to see it disappear and leave only darkness, and to catch it all and not let it escape is to also be darkness. Only by freeing it among others is to see light and hues.

And so, it is that Coffee is lonesome, tortured, and greedy, but most of all… bitter. We have taken away enough, and it is that will for fight rather than flight that awakens the body. We have made something suffer for our gain. Good Coffee. I know your pain, so I always treat you with ceremony. I admire you and your spirit.

I take another mouthful.

“So much bull,” I sighed.

All this rambling, all the nonsense, the attempts to veil myself in constant thought, and whimsical allusions are just proof that I’m more of a social creature than what I tell others. I close myself in these fantasy-like rental cabins and spin a distinct narrative every morning. Today I’m a coffee connoisseur, yesterday I was woodchopper, and well, Thursdays… they’re just for building a fort of literature as I tangle myself in their worlds, too; it’s how I get new material for the rest of the week.

“It beats facing reality, at least for now.”

I push away from the chair, inching towards the window, cup in hand.

“Yet, perhaps that’s what I should aim for,” the view getting a bit ginger, yet not as arrayed in hues anymore.

“Peaks.” I let out. A peak, a sort of maximum confluence in direction, all roads in my mind converging; something far and above these habitual escapes.

Goal oriented is what they call it. I get it, what sane mind would want to develop a new persona each day? To pour myself into the mold, while suppressing any asphyxiating thought of what I really think I am. Of what I can remember. Constant change inevitably erodes the self and time builds upon the remainder as to fill the gaps.

I look back at the chair, at the table with its sleek mahogany finish, and the kitchen at the back; coffee bean bags rushed open, an unseemly grinder with old bits clumped at the bottom, and the hourglass like shape of my coffee dripper, gifted to me by my sister. Around it all, miscellaneous pots, and utensils, all thrown around the small counter.

I turn back towards the window. Under the thin layer of snow outside, foliage from months ago decompose at a standstill pace.

“I better make another cup.”

I light the gas and watch snow melt again. I just bring it to a boil this time. The vapors contrast wildly inside as the hot and cold airs blah, blah, perpetual, blah, blah, above… yeah. I place the bean bits I roughed up this morning on the filter; perfectly beaten into submission. Fumes rich in wakey-wakey envelop the room as I pour in concentric circles from the center outwards or was it inwards? I’ll just draw a star this time. And in a minute, I hope we can all experience less buffoonery. If this were a short story, then I would be a criminal for robbing the reader from his time. In a story there would be a plot to develop and tensions to rise. I’m just shifting from one end of the room to the other, not much action here.

Perhaps there’s something intrinsically natural to just doing nothing. Not that I would advocate for the world to stop working all at once. The economy would collapse! Sure, a week or two would be alright, but give it a month and production halts, travel ceases, consumerism trickles, and the line at the supermarket, where old ladies philosophize on each other’s day, vanishes completely. Oh! What a chaos that would be.

And the silence.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

I’ve been away too long.

I serve my second cup and walk towards the table, again.

The cup isn’t real ivory, just some fancy facsimile for those that . . . “like to brush shoulders with Norse warriors while gulping barrels of ale after a glorious and visceral skirmish at the gates of Valhalla.” That’s just what’s written on the box. It curves at the bottom making it awkward to drink from. Why would I go to pains to drink something when a simple cylindrical cup would suffice? Is appearance that important for me? Am I vain? I think it is more likely just another tool for escapism, a thing to renounce the typical for the atypical and from it construct a world of my own. But by fulfilling this desire through material objects in order to appeal to a mood or passing fancy is shallow and wasteful. Should I not seek to feel contempt with what I do have, or what I can muster through my own ability or craft? Keeping this cup is just another day in a fit of delusion waiting to happen.

I grab a cup from those provided in the cabin. Pour the coffee from one cup to the new one, a wide brimmed glossy gray cup. I open the windows. The breeze assaults the room. I take a mallet out; toss the faux ivory cup into the air. My grip tightens fast. My feet are parallel to the shoulders. The hands back, and my left foot forward. My hips burst into motion. My whole torso follows, and away the mallet goes. The cup is obliterated immediately and the projectile bits rain outside like dirt over a coffin. The logs at the fireplace start popping a bit as if cheering me on.

I toss the mallet at the floor, and drop over the seat again, window still open and breeze still rushing in. I drink from the new cup. The logs pop louder as the flames twist the pulp and vapors trapped inside shootout.

I drink from my new cup.

All the confusion tumbling in my head is bound to lead me into exhaustion. I believe that by drinking from that which I described at the start as something so dark and bitter, may help me untangle the weaves of fantasy and delusion I have brought upon myself. Is it not the remedy of man against the season? This seasonal depression I stumble into every night, hoping in the end that I at least manage to see the day again. There are many who go through the same ordeals at hours such as these, but I wish them better than me. I hope they don’t end up attaching their happiness to the availability of a drink, to a drug. I hope that they don’t grow addicted to their escapes. I hope that they return to a less cold and somber place; somewhere they can see and be merry under the light each other reflects upon the other. I never wished to sound so disheartening. I believed that being away from others could help me reshape this mentality.

I used to believe that coffee could help. I still drink it because I have replaced all that I used to know with it. If I drink enough water and eat accordingly, I’m sure to stay fine no matter how much coffee I consume in a day.

Remedies against the season, right?

Remedies of man.

I stare at the cup. It seems I’ve gulped most of it down at some point, made more, and didn’t even notice.

I look back at the kitchen counter; coffee bean bags decomposed, a moldy old grinder, and a broken coffee dripper only able to hold half a cup before it starts seeping through the seams. Around it all, ashes. The fireplace is filled with soot and the walls around it are charred. My books are just tight bundles of dust that collapse at the touch. The cabin has lost its roof and the windows are broken. Snow gathers inside just like outside. The peaks are still there, off in the distance, and I’m still sitting in this chair by the table, cup in hand.

I stroked my old dusty beard and let out a sigh. The low warm exhale dancing gently in front just as vapors did long ago above me. I grow covered in this white dust, but my cup is warm to the touch, my coffee, still bitter, in a stained gray cup.

#second draft #coffee

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yogaadvise · 8 years ago

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A Yoga Sequence for Deep Hip Opening

It's said that our relationships are stored in our hips. What specifically does that suggest? If we have limited hips are we bad lovers? Do our tight hips tell us something concerning our capacity to interact and allow people in? Probably. Or probably we run also a lot, or our parents have limited hips.

While we can't scientifically select a relationship in between tightness in the hips as well as our success in relationships, we do know that when we remain in stressful scenarios (' battle or flight' events), we involve our emotional muscles, and also we tighten our hips. On a psycho-spiritual level, the hips are the seat of our sexuality and also our originality, both which are deeply snared in our connection to others.

In considering connections with others, we have to likewise believe about the connection we have with ourselves, which is of course not solely relegated to our vanity self pertaining to terms with our unmasked self.

The tighter our hips, the tighter the reduced back, with tension accumulating in these regions, the psoas is prone to reducing, making it tougher to stroll, rest, stand, as well as practice.

The adhering to yoga exercise positions will certainly massage, open, and also lubricate the hips for optimum convenience, as well as supreme transformation.

Downward Dog Split

Make certain that the hands are grown strongly right into the flooring, the navel is attracting right into the spinal column, and also you are reaching the lower heel into the ground. This will certainly begin to stretch out the backs of the calves and the hamstrings while starting to heat up the hips.

Downward Dog Split Variation

Open up the hip by flexing the raised knee, while rooting the bottom heel towards the floor. This will certainly begin to open up the hip flexor to prepare it for some of the deeper postures.

Runner's Lunge

Bend the front knee to 90 degrees and see to it that the toes are noticeable, so that the knee is piled over the heel. Lengthen and involve the extensive leg. Release tension in the neck by positioning it directly, as an extension of the spine.

Crescent Lunge

Bring the back knee to the floor and sweep the arms overhead. Attract in the lower stomach to protect the spine. Start to sink down right into the hip while at the same time engaging the abdomen.

Lizard

From a lunge placement, inch the front foot out to the side, visiting a wide lunge with the hands put on the within the knee. Take the back knee off the floor, if offered, as well as either keeping up on the hands or bring the forearms down to the ground for a deeper stretch. Continue to be in the present for five to 10 breaths, continually aiming the back internal thigh up towards the ceiling, and also the chest onward with the arms.

Lizard Lunge Twist

From reptile, bring the back knee to the floor as well as flex the knee, so the toes get to up. Extend the opposite arm back as well as grab the ankle joint. Start to bent the spinal column, so the upper body opens in the direction of the sky. This position could be done on the hands or lower arms relying on degree of flexibility.

Downward Dog

Ensure that the feet are hip-width apart, the tummy is relocating and up towards the spine, and the palms are level with the index fingers pushing right into the flooring. Breathe for 5 breaths.

Pigeon

Bring the right knee ahead as well as place it on the flooring just behind as well as somewhat to the right of the ideal wrist, with the shin on a diagonal and also the appropriate heel pointing towards the ideal hip bone.Take the focus on the back leg and also roll it inward so that the leg remains in a 'neutral' setting. You wish to have your hip bones square toward the front of the mat.

As you roll the left hip bone ahead, draw the appropriate outer hip back and in toward the midline of your body, as well as expand the arms onward in front of the body any amount prior to unwinding down.

Pigeon Variation

Stay in pigeon as well as bend the back knee up until you could grab the ankle. Keep the back leg revolving inwards to make sure that you can feel a stretch in the front of the thigh. If there is space, without pressure, grab the ankle with both hands, involving the stomach muscles and resisting the temptation to sink right into the reduced back.

Shin to Shin

Sit up tall and straighten the appropriate knee in addition to the left ankle and the left knee on top of the best ankle. Revolve both hips outwards. If the top knee is raised over the bottom ankle, put a pillow or block under the raised knee for security and also support. If the knees are conveniently relaxing on the ankle joints, slowly begin to fold up forward.

At this point, come back to Downward Canine, and also repeat entire sequence to the left side.

Bound Ankle Pose

Sit pleasantly as well as allow the knees open to the sides, attracting the soles of the feet to touch as well as the heels in toward the pubis. Open up the feet like a book, and hinge at the hips to fold up ahead any amount.

Half Split

Extend one leg straight, flex the back leg as well as start to fold forward over the prolonged leg. Attempt to keep a lengthened back. Make use of the hands to hold a few of the body's weight so the hamstring isn't really birthing too much weight. Very carefully fold ahead, breathing deeply.

Split

If and also only if it is feasible to go further, start to enter into a complete split. This is a challenging stance due to the fact that it functions on both the psoas as well as the hamstring. Attract the stubborn belly to shield the muscle mass in the legs. Engage the quadriceps of the front leg while kicking back the opposite hip flexor to contest the hips. Use the hands to hold several of the body's weight and after that enable gravity to assist in opening your muscle mass. Take a breath deeply.

Repeat to the opposite. Time out in down dog for a couple of breaths, then roll ahead onto the stubborn belly to proceed with the sequence.

Frog Pose

Lay on the tummy, propping on your own up onthe lower arms. Bend the ideal knee and capture the ideal foot, so the fingers are encountering forward.

Breathe right into the opening in the shoulder. Press the top of the foot down to the flooring. Raise through the breast as well as press the foot down delicately, lifting the back knee slightly off of the floor.

Camel Pose

Stand on the shins, with the knees placed concerning hips-width apart. Press the hips ahead and also begin to arch the spinal column back. Grab the ankles. Without clutching your glutes, engage the legs firmly. Use the stomach muscles to prevent falling down the back.

Full Wheel

Lie on the back and bend both knees, with the feet strongly rooted right into the ground, heels near to the seat. Bend the arm joints and push the palms versus the floor, fingers pointed towards the shoulders. Lift back up off the floor while pushing the hands firmly into the ground. Gaze towards the feet. Try to keep the knees aiming forward. Narrow the hips and lift the tailbone. Infuse the heart center. Attempt this at least 3 times, keeping the toes pointing onward, as well as the neck relaxed.

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jef-jaxon · 8 years ago

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Muscles of the Trunk; Posterior, Anterior, Lateral

In an effort to add a little usefulness to this Tumblr, I thought I’d post some notes I created for some classes over time.Posts lie these will go up every now and then and maybe add to the breadth of knowledge and advice found floating around the internet. To get started, an anatomy /musculature post with isolated muscles, which will be laid in starting with a few deep layer muscles outward to the top layer muscles. In lieu of time and space, the number of muscles are limited, but for figure drawing purposes these should get you moving forward. Shown below; Pectoralis Minor (green): origin; rib 3-5, insertion coracoid process of scapula. Pulls scapula (shoulder) forward toward the anterior chest. Also shown Sternocleidomastoid (teal): origin; clavicle and manubrium, insertion mastoid process. Pulls skull toward chest also turns skull left or right.

Erector Spinae (light green) reefers to a group of muscles that run along the spinal column including the Sacrospinalis and holds the body erect. Origin; sacrum, lumbar and lower portion of thoracic spine. Insertion; ribs, upper thoracic spine, cervical spine and skull. Keeps torso erect in standing position, pulls rib cage upright from bent over position, also aids in twisting the torso.

Rhomboid Major and Minor (light orange): Origin; Thoracic spine vertebrae 2-5, insertion; vertebral border of scapula. Pulls scapula back and rotates it upward medially.

Infraspinatus (dark orange), Teres Minor (red): Origin; interior spine of scapula , insertion; greater tubercle of humerus. Rotates humerus towards back. Also shown, Teres Major (blue): Origin; Lowest corner of scapula (inferior angle), insertion; just below head of humerus. Allows for forward rotation of humerus, also aids bringing arm down from raised position.

Serratus Anterior (mustard): Origin; ribs 1-9, insertion; vertical margin of scapula (back). Pulls scapula toward front and side.

External Obligue (salmon): Origin; ribs 5-12, insertion rectus abdominis, inguinal ligament and iliac crest. pulls thorax toward pelvis, rotates sine to opposite side - allows for twist through core.

Internal Oblique -underneath Ex. Obli. (tan) origin; Anterior iliac crest, lateral portion of inguinal ligament, and thoracolumbar fascia, insertion; costal region of ribs 8-10. Draws thorax down and compresses abdomin.

Pectoralis Major (brown) Origin; Medial half of clavicle, anterior surface of sternum, abdominal sheath. Insertion; upper ridge of humerus. pulls arm forward and toward center, rotates arm inward and lowers arm when raised.

Rectus Abdominus: Origin; surface of symphysis pubis and pubic bone, insertion; costal cartilage of rib cage and xiphoid process of sternum. Draws thorax downward or elevates pelvis toward thorax.

Latissimus Dorsi (purple) Origination; thoracic vertebrae 7 downward, iliac crest and lowest ribs. Insertion; ridge of anterior surface of humerus. Rotates arm backward and medially and lowers arm when raised.

Trapezius (red). Origin; Occipital protuberence of skull, nuchal ligament, supraspinous ligament and thoracic vertebrae. Insertion; Lateral portion of clavicle, acromion process and spine of scapula. Draws scapula toward spine and draws skull backward and rotates to opposite side.

Deltoid (violet) - technically considered part of arm muscles. Origin; Lateral end of clavicle , acromion process and spine of scapula. Insertion; deltoid tuberosity of humerus. Raises arm upward, draws arm forward and rotates it medially. Also draws backward and rotates arm outward.

Gluteus Maximus (light blue) - technically considered part of leg muscles. Origin; lateral surface of ilium, surface of sacrum and coccyx. insertion; posterior surface of femur below trochanter. Pulls thigh backwards, rotates leg outward and both muscles compress buttock.

Gluteus Medius (green) - technically considered part of leg muscles. Origin; lateral surface of ilium. Insertion; great trochanter of femur. Abducts thigh, pulls leg up from side.

The muscles overlaid as one group.

As they appear, but with added color of course.

More on this later, but hopefully this is helpful to someone.

#sternocleidomastoid #pectoralis #rectus abdominus #external oblique #latissimus dorsi #Teres #infraspinatus

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krisiunicornio · 4 years ago

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New research shows that just two weekly 90-minute yoga sessions can improve balance and motor learning as you age. Here, the asana sequence researchers used.

Do you find yourself struggling to stay grounded on one leg? Just a couple weekly yoga classes may help improve your balance and motor learning skills, according to a new study published in the September 2020 issue of Experimental Gerontology. The researchers found that subjects who had completed two weekly 90-minute yoga sessions had a faster reaction time than those who didn't complete the sessions.

The 10-week study looked at the impact of yoga on cognition, motor learning, and balance in older adults, in their 60s and 70s. Researchers noted changes in the levels of brain-derived neurotrophic factor (BDNF) in the yoga group, which they associated with improved balance and motor learning. BDNF serves as a crucial protein in the brain, stimulating the production of healthy neurons.

See also 15 Poses Proven to Build Better Balance

A Sequence for Better Balance

Want better balance? Here is the 24-pose sequence, plus the pranayama techniques, the researchers used. They were developed by yoga instructors at Jogos Akademija, a yoga studio based in Kaunas, Lithuania. The sequence starts with gentle stretches on the floor, then moves to standing postures

Recommendations for your practice

Perform asana on an empty stomach. Drinking is not recommended during the exercise.

Don’t force the poses to the point of pain or discomfort. Your practice should be enjoyable. Move as slowly as you want.

Observe your breathing throughout the session. Breathe rhythmically, comfortably, and slowly. If breathing is disturbed or you become short of breath, stop performing the asana and relax.

Initially, start with five cycles of breath in each asana, then work up to holding each pose for up to 3 minutes.

After performing each asana, relax for up to one minute.

If it's difficult to maintain balance in standing positions, use a wall for support. Use other props (straps, blocks, blankets) as needed in other poses.

If you have high blood pressure, practice only when your blood pressure is at normal levels. Pay close attention to breathing exercises. Avoid inverted body positions, except Legs-up-the-Wall (Viparita Karani).

People with osteoporosis should be cautious to not put too much weight on their bones throughout their practice.

Remain positive, improvement happens slowly.

Warm-up and Floor Poses

1. Joint warm-up: Start either seated or standing and roll our your wrists and ankles to wake up your joints.

2. Easy Pose (Sukhasana): Sit on a folded blanket so your knees are lower than your hips. Cross your legs and place your hands in prayer at your chest. If you have knee pain, sit at the edge of a chair. Straighten your back and lift up through the crown of your head.

3. Shoulder warm-up: Lie down on your back. Lay your hands at your side with your palms facing down. Make sure your arms are straight. On an inhalation, raise your arms up and lower them to the floor behind your head. On an exhalation, return your hands to their original position.

4. Core warm-up: Lay on your back, bend your legs and pull your knees to your chest. Straighten your legs up so that they form a 90-degree angle with the floor. Flex your feet. Raise your arms up and lower them to the floor behind your head. If there is pain in your lower back, bring your feet to the floor, knees bent.

5. Leg warm-up: From your back, with your legs extended out on the floor, bend your right leg and pull your knee to your chest, hugging your shin. Keep your left leg straight. Repeat this pose on the other side.

6. Apanasana (Knees-to-Chest Pose): From your back with your legs extended out on the floor, bend your legs and pull your knees into your chest, hugging your shins.

7. Reclining Hand-to-Big-Toe Pose (Supta Padangusthasana): From your back with your legs extended out on the floor, bend your right leg and place a strap on the middle of your foot. Then straighten your leg, raising it to a vertical position, if possible. Holding the strap with your right hand, lower your left hand to the floor at shoulder level. Lower the right leg down to the right and gently move it toward your head. Repeat this pose on the other side.