#strike strike strike strike strike stoke storm strike

[felt-squirrels]

HOLY SHIT IT’S JULY EIGHTEENTH GRAB YOUR NEWSPAPERS

#I FORGOT #THEN I DIDN’T #newsies #newsboy strike of 1899 #strike. #strike #strike strike strike strike strike stoke storm strike #ohhhhhhhhhhh STRIKE

[toyybox]

Spiderwebs #25: Slaughterhouse

Masterlist

content: captivity, defiant whumpee, hunger strike, mention of feeding tube, threat of vivisection, strangulation/choking, attempted murder, Heather does not have a good time specifically (she’s fine in the end)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

How could he leave this hell? Such questions were pointless. Maybe Jackie couldn’t make it stop, and maybe he was stuck there for good. He had tried compliance, and he had suffered enough for it. He had tried to run. Was else was there but to bite the hand that fed? He would fight, and he would keep fighting. Until it was physically impossible, or until he had won. 

Winning, for Jackie, became less clear-cut. He wanted to go home, of course, but he would have settled for anything. Winning an argument, or winning the irritation of his captor. Winning absolutely anything, anything at all, just to feel some semblance of control. Just to get something back, just to have something to keep.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

He wasn’t sure how long it had been. He was losing focus. Losing track of time. Time was a fallow, a valley, an absence of itself. Sleep came to him at odd hours, so the days meshed together, marked only by disjointed events. The only things he saw were the walls of the room, never changing, until that sight faded to the back of his mind. 

“Eat,” Heather said.

“No.”

“Eat.”

“No,” he repeated calmly.

The bowl of cereal lay untouched on the writing desk. It was sugary cereal. Jackie didn’t even know she had sugary cereal. It looked good, and Jackie was hungry, but he was even more angry. 

So was Heather, as he expected. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and her scowl gouged deeper. Her hand darted to him—he flinched—and she grabbed the collar of his shirt. “Jackie, I know you’re upset, but you’re going to eat or I’ll bash your head into this fucking table.”

He managed to smile. "Be my guest.”

She definitely looked like she wanted to, but… she let go instead, her seething stare never leaving him. 

He made a point to stare back, not to blink, not to glance away. “Coward.”

He flinched again, as she moved, but he didn’t feel the anticipated pain. Instead, she stormed off and left him there with the cereal.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Still, Jackie didn’t eat it. Heather came back the next morning.

“What’s wrong with you?” she snapped. “Why won’t you eat? You’re only hurting yourself.”

“Am I?” He steeled his pleasant expression. It was French toast, this time, glistening with syrup. He was so, so hungry. But he could control himself. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t. He would stop looking at the food. There were worse things than an empty stomach.

“What do you want, then?” Heather asked.

“I want to go home.”

He felt a spark of satisfaction as her eyes ignited with wrath, even though he knew he would pay, even though he knew this couldn’t realistically last long. But he was far beyond caring, and even further beyond self-preservation.

He refused her food, he refused her pills, and he refused to participate in her experiments. He tried to stoke the anger in him, going over every little injustice until it was ingrained in his bones, but his rage was slowly losing steam. Despite that, regardless of what he felt, he was stubborn. And he didn't know what she might have been putting in his meals. Nobody was beyond petty revenge, least of all Heather.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

By the third day, she seemed to realize he wouldn't listen to reason, because didn't ask him why he was doing this, or what he thought he would gain, or threaten to bash him against the furniture. She still brought food with her, as if that would have any effect. It was cherries this time. He had once mentioned his liking for cherries, and Heather had clearly not forgotten.

“I could always use a feeding tube," she said.

“How creative.” 

“Eat.”

“No.”

“Do I need to sedate you?” Her voice had gone cold, which scared him even more than the wrath in her eyes.

“Maybe.” He didn’t want to, but he forced his head up, forced himself to look at her.

She let out a disbelieving little laugh. “You stupid—”

“I’ve heard it all before, Heather. Go on. Skip the insults and sedate me.”

Coward indeed, because she didn’t sedate him. They both knew that was an easy way out—it would mean nothing, and he still would have won. She left the room, once again. That brought them to the fourth day of his hunger strike.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

The day had gone by as usual. Jackie ignored the twisting complaint of hunger and waited, sitting on the bed, acutely terrified but unable to let go of this thing he’d grasped. Call it stupidity, call it foolish, but a rose by any other name had just as many thorns. Maybe he didn’t have guillotines or gun-bayonets, but he was tired of being a doormat. He was tired of being a lab rat. There! He said it. He was tired of hunger, too, but Heather hadn’t come back with the offer of food yet. In a way, he was glad. Jackie wasn’t sure if he could resist eating for a fourth time.

His room had started to lose its neatness. Normally, Jackie would keep it clean. He’d put everything away, keep everything in its proper place, make the bed and arrange the furniture. He usually had nothing else to do. But recently, he ignored those pleasantries. He knew it would annoy Heather, so he kept the basement as dishevelled as possible. A part of it was fatigue—he was too tired to walk more than a few paces, let alone clean—but that didn’t sound as impressive. 

The hours ticked away. He fell asleep, fell out of it, remained in a vague haze for the rest of the time. He tried to read, but he couldn’t focus on the words. The descriptions of sausages irritated him, anyway. The light seemed to get brighter until it was unbearably acute, like the lights surgeons used. He was cold, and his skin was numb, even more so than before. 

The lock to the door clicked. This jolted him back into awareness.

Heather descended the stairs and walked over to where he was huddled on the bed. Each clack of her heel against the floor sounded impossibly loud. It echoed, not just throughout the room, but seemingly in the hollows of his chest and the chambers of his heart. She was not carrying any food. 

She stopped in front of him. “I’m impressed. You don’t give up easily. I can respect that.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

She leaned in a little closer.  “I have a deal for you.”

He stared without blinking, and he held his breath, not even noticing that he was doing it.

“I’ll give you one hour,” she continued. Her voice was so soft that he had to strain to hear it. “If you don’t cooperate by then, I will tie you down and cut you open. I will leave you like that, and if you still haven’t learned your lesson, I’ll let you heal so I can do it again. It’s really not difficult to keep you conscious. If I skinned you entirely, it would only take a few days to grow back. But I can wait as long as I need to.”

Jackie knew she wasn’t bluffing. Coward or not, she was skilled with the scalpel. He heard the way she spoke the first time, saw it in her eyes—she liked doing it, or she found it too interesting to care, and she enjoyed the way he pleaded. The metal tools, the restraints around his wrists, the taste of blood—he would feel it all in excruciating clarity. She had a way of speaking; he saw it all, detailed and vivid.

“Your choice,” she said. “You can’t win this. I know you must feel terrible. Trust me, I can make you feel worse.”

She left without another word. The door locked behind her. He was breathing very quickly. He felt dizzy, and he felt tired. He thought he might faint. The lights were too bright, and the room was too small. His skin felt too tight—his body, his flesh, the thing that would be the end of him. His nerves, his veins. He was nothing but a body and a scared, beating heart, and he really could not win this.

But he couldn't give in. Though it was a stupid hill to die on, it was all he had left. He knew that, if he gave up now, he would not have the will to fight again. Heather would make sure of that.

The hour went by too quickly. He’d barely had time to gather his thoughts and his spiking heartbeat when Heather came back. She wore latex gloves. She held the scalpel in one hand and coils of rope in the other. She stepped towards him silently. It was a good time to say sorry, for sure, or to start praying.

He stood at the farthest wall, ready to run, ready to fight, ready to hide, ready to break down into tears. She stepped closer, and closer, and closer…

He tensed. She was close enough to grab him now, but he was also close enough to grab her. He needed to, because the alternative was too much to bear, because this was it, the crux, the fork in the road, the ultimatum, the only factor between living and becoming a hollow husk. Even if he failed, at least he would go down fighting.

Her hand—the hand holding the scalpel—hovered near his side.

Her expression was oddly calm.

Jackie was scared. Of course, who wouldn’t be? But this was it. 

He grabbed her wrist, with a strength that surprised both of them, and wrenched it down. He shoved his full weight into her, caught her off guard. They both went sprawling on the ground. The scalpel clattered across the floor, a few inches away. 

He twisted her arm. She winced, it hurt her, he was hurting her, this was wrong. This was all wrong. There was a ringing in his ears, like whining metal, and he could feel his pulse beating against his veins. He pinned her throat down with his other hand. He pushed his knee onto her chest, holding her in place. 

“Jackie—“

“You bitch,” he spat. Contempt bubbled up in the back of his throat, hissed straight through his voice. “Go to hell.��

“Jack—“ She gasped again, hoarsely. She tried to shift under him. With her free hand, she attempted to grasp his wrist, blindly clawing at it.

He said nothing else. He was feeling lightheaded, his skin flushed. Her face was going pale. In a few moments, it would go blue or purple, or so he’d heard. 

Her gasps grew quieter, hoarser. She struggled like a wren caught in a fist, being slowly crushed to death, still twitching and screeching. He’d forgotten how human she was, how fragile. She was a person, just like Jackie, just like anyone else. Her clawing grew more desperate, but weaker, and her skin felt so warm against his.

“Jack, Jackie, please.” Begging. He’d never heard her beg before. 

She made a strained, hitching sound in her throat. Her eyes were wet and shiny. Her pupils were dilated, black as velvet, round as moons. Her hair was strewn across the concrete, caught in painful tangles. Her breathing came in quick and stilted, then there were large gaps of silence with only her struggling, only the sound of his own lungs still pumping and her quiet whimpers. He thought of her unmoving, a corpse, a body without a soul. Like a pig hanging by a hook, eyes like stones, skin like wax. He imagined this would be easier. 

Each moment dragged on like nails on a chalkboard. She refused to die. She sputtered and coughed and whimpered but she would not die. He wasn't strong enough to crush her windpipe. It was taking too long, and he was already feeling tired, already losing his grip. And he knew this wouldn't work.

“P—Please.” She barely got the words out. There was a tense, whistling pitch to them. One more gasp—it sounded painful, scraping and coarse. “I’m sorry. I—I’m sorry—“ 

An apology. I’m sorry. Was that all it took? He was weak. He was gutless. To snuff out a life, to kill the sum of that flame—the thought of it made him sick. He let go. 

She lay there, gasping for a minute, rasping and wheezing, just getting the air back into her chest. He noticed a large, plum-dark bruise on her neck with a fuzzy detachment. He couldn’t have done that. It didn’t fit the view he had of himself, to give bruises, to almost choke someone to death. He was not a murderer—really, he wasn’t. He was not a wolf at the door, not the sly fox in the rabbit hutch after all. She was completely unrecognizable to him, the way she was shaking.

Heather staggered to her knees and then to her feet, leaning against the wall. Quickly, she went for the scalpel, held it tight with trembling hands. Her eyes were wide as mirrors. Her hand clutched at her throat. She looked at him like he was a rabid dog, scimitar jaws and hunched shoulders, a snarling animal with blood soaked around its mouth. He held her gaze, still on the ground.

She stepped backwards, still staring at him—then, she ran, bolted up the staircase. He heard the door shut. He heard the door lock. And then he was alone.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Taglist:

@theelvishcowgirl

@lthrboy

@whumpy-wyrms

@yassifiedinformation

#I'm sure this will have no negative effects #for anyone #whump #whump writing #Spiderwebs toyybox #my writing #defiant whumpee

[asa-writes]

Aphrodite of Old Hall - 06

"Finally alone"

Anthony Bridgerton x F!OC / Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC 18+ MINORS DNI Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: porn with plot, lol. sex, fellatio, you know the drill

As everyone was bidding their good nights, Anthony had announced to bring Elisabeth and her flowers safely home; no one thought twice about it because the morning's rain had turned into a roaring storm. Sitting across from him was this little epitome of beauty, fanning herself lightly, so that her curls were softly fluttering around her perfect white neck. "Was that more to your liking, Elisabeth?", He asked, trying to sound as calm and collected as possible. She looked down and cast her eyes back up, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. Avoiding his question, she pointed at the dark Mansion that was coming up in front of them. "Looks like my brother and his wife are still away at her friends gambling evening."

He lifted an eyebrow and caught her looking at his mouth. "So easily won over?", He teased her, yet deep inside he was thinking about tens of thousands of things he could do to her and she to him. How her bosom was rapidly rising and falling, straining against the top of her dress... "Never, my Lord, only more open to ... talks about our connection."

He grinned and thanked the lord that they had already arrived. A footman had helped them disembark and then, after the door had shut behind them, Anthony was ready to pounce. "Ts-ts, Anthony, so impatient...", She murmured seductively and beckoned him to follow her up the grad staircase and into a room. This was definitely her bedroom; her smell hung in the air and it was more intoxicating than even the strongest Absinthe.

As if she had known that he had waited for a chance to strike, she had already started unbuttoning her dress and pushed him gingerly onto the bed when he wanted to help. "Just watch...", She said and slipped it off, along with her corset and chemise, so the only thing that was still on her were beautifully embroidered white stockings, held up by red ribbons. His eyes widened at her curvy silhouette in the dim light. He was right all along, before him stood Venus. She smiled and sat onto him, feeling the growing bulge against her naked body. There was nothing else that he could think about other than tasting her and making her his.

Their lips clashed together, as if they were afraid that their partner were to disappear in an instant. When they had calmed down a bit, Anthony gently lifted her off of him and practically ripped off his shirt, kicking away his boots and tearing off his trousers. Elisabeth had pulled herself up, leaning on one arm and admired the turbulent man in front of her. Everything about him screamed of manliness and his arms, by god, his arms...

He climbed on top of her resumed kissing her, this time way more passionately and deeply. As his hand was about to reach her well rounded breast, she grabbed it and slowly starting sucking on his finger, stoking the heat in his loins. He couldn't wait any longer; and as it looked and felt like, to his gentle touch, she could wait for another time to get the full pleasure she deserved. As he had positioned himself in front of her entrance, he looked at her, just to see that her eyes were pleading him not to stop and a small moan was all it took to drive him absolutely insane.

It was wild.

Anthony had thought about her practically for the whole time he had known her, but that she was prepared for everything and knew exactly what to do, astounded him. Just before he would've finished in her - it was the first time he wouldn't have cared about it at all - she pushed him off and, as simply as she would have buttered her toast, she finished him off with her mouth. He laid there in extasy, trying to calm his breathing and looked longingly at Elisabeth, who had quickly covered herself with her chemise. Her cheeks were crimson and, much to his surprise, she had snuggled herself up to him, her hot breath on his chest.

He gently held her against him, placing a kiss on her messy curls. That smell again... He wondered if she would bathe in roses. Elisabeth sniffled and quickly sat up, giving him a sad smile. He worriedly sat up as well and soothingly rubbed her shoulders. "Dearest, what's the matter?" She laughed and shook her head, wiping away the small tears on her hot cheeks. "Promise not to laugh or get angry?" He smiled and cupped her cheek, giving her a sweet kiss. "Promise."

Elisabeth gently took his hand and spent a few seconds in what looked like adoration. "Well, firstly, you were... Undescribably amazing." She cleared her throat and looked him deep in the eyes. "I know that I can trust you, but our tryst has to stay secret... I may be widowed, but I am not invincible... And...", Her voice quivered and she gently squeezed his hand. "Please... Don't just stop courting me now that you have gotten what you desired. I really, um, I really like..." She took a deep breath. "To be honest, Anthony, I thought that after everything, I would hate you. I did. But if you want to hear the truth, I think I am in love with you and I'm afraid..."

Anthony's heart, as if wasn't still beating faster than normal, made a jump and sprinted away in his chest. He softly held her and peppered her face with kisses. He laughed and quickly pinched her bum, making her squeal and jump. She didn't cry anymore, so now he took his chance to reply. "Well, for the first point I have only you to thank. You have been amazing as well." She blushed even deeper and quickly looked away, suppressing a giggle. "And regarding your second point, dearest, I would never just drop you. As you might have understood from my... Speeches, you have captured my mind, body and sould and I am certain that I like you a lot."

A small knock on Elisabeth's door had woken her up from her sweet sleep. "Good morning, Milady." It was one of Sarah's maids. Elisabeth propped herself up on her pillows, wiping the sleep from her eyes. "Good morning to you too." The maid softly handed her the newest Whistledown paper. Elisabeth told her that she wished to take her breakfast in bed and excused her. Deciding on reading it before breakfast, she clipped on her pince-nez and was in for a surprise...

"Dear Readers, Blood runs thicker than water, it is said, but not in the Bridgerton family, so it might seem. If one was at the exclusive Bridgerton soiree yesterday, one could see the most spectacular wooing by the Viscount Bridgerton. Just as the Ton had noticed his younger brother Benedict courting Lady de Gressy, the Viscount had managed to bribe Old Hall's cook to cook Lady de Gressy's favorite food... Food is the way to the heart, no? A wonderful bouquet of love-laden flowers were presented to the magnificent widow, so This esteemed Author wages ten pounds on there being a new Viscountess Bridgerton at the end of the month... One can only hope that his Brother can stomach it. Match making Mamas, I could think of worse husbands. We shall see... Yours sincerely, Lady Whistledown"

Bringing the paper up to her lips, she sighed. Even though Anthony had reassured her multiple times of his honorable intention of courting and, in due time, proposing to her, something in her still couldn't quite believe him, that sweet talking, passionate, beautiful man...

A scandalous night for Lady E. And Lord A.. Where might this lead? And, oh dear, how must Benedict feel, for he was so sure of Elisabeth's love? Poor Violet, living with sons who are vying for that small Lady's attention...

#Bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x oc #regency #bridgerton fanfiction #fanfiction #asa writes #asas fics #bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton angst #bridgerton fluff

[skxrbrand]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 / 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐒 - 𝐈

Siege bells rung.

Men ran, either with weapons in hand to man the battlements or to herd their families indoors, aware from the carnage-to-be. Knights, men-at-arms, whatever the Border Princes -- not as well-defended as the Empire -- could muster to defend itself, rushed to the direction of captains and commanders. But Myrmidens was a capital city yet; taking it would not be a simple matter.

Outside of the high walls, surging forward in a murderous tide, was the Daemon Host that mounted scouts and displaced families had been warning about for weeks. Red skinned, horned, and full of hate. Brazen-bladed, iron-shoed, and battle-hungry. These were the sons of Khorne, the Reapers of the Bloody Harvest, come to collect their heads for the Brass Lord of Slaughter.

Cannons fired, cannonballs landing in the middle of the daemon-horde and banishing a few luckless infernals outright, but it didn't shake the other monsters. They didn't so much as glance at the fates of their brethren, driven on if anything by the gory demises nearest to them. The air stunk of sulfur, of fear, and of gunpowder. On the walls of the City, men drew bows and unleashed a hail of iron-tipped arrows upon the intruders; it barely slowed them.

It certainly didn't phase the abominations leading them.

Va'rrick charged with powerful wingbeats to the fore, grinning and guffawing at the feeble efforts of the Bordermen. The electric thrill of battle seemed to enliven him, the deaths of both friend and foe stoking his own bloodlust just that much more. Behind him were his allies, another Bloodthirster and the GoreQueen herself. Valkia the Bloody had come down from her paramour's side to see this city turned to rubble and ash, a punishment for the men of Myr and warning for all those who might think to harbor Khorne's enemies.

And if Valkia was here, that meant Kharneth was too. That meant the Blood God's himself would witness everything that took place under this crimson sky; ever body to hit the dirt, ever skull snatched from its fleshy perch. He would be here to witness Va'rrick's glory!

But there was something else too, throbbing next to Va'rrick's murderous excitement like his own hellish heart. Something he couldn't name, but it was deep, and black and ancient and hateful. They had found Khade's ichor shed around the city, etched into Herdstones, and he had felt it then too. But then it had only been a whisper. Now it was a headache, gnawing on his temple incessantly like a nest of flesh hungry insects.

Had Khade manifested? The thought gave him the briefest of pauses, even as he landed atop the walls, crushing tiny mortals underfoot. Even as he swept out his axe, destroying cannons and hacking down towers as if they were stone trees. He was so lost in his reverie that he didn't see it. Didn't see her. And it was almost too late when he did. But Great Va'rrick, the Rage of the Storm, had battle and slain too many of Slaanesh's slayers, daemons altogether more quick and lithe, than the likes of the them to be killed by something as simple as a sneak attack.

" SLOW!" He barked, wrenched from his thoughts back into the present by the challenger. He felt her claws skin him by the merest amount and grabbed her as she sailed past him. But her skin, black like a starless night, burned him. It was slick with substance that stung at him like acid and such was the pain that Va'rrick yelped and released her. This she took advantage of; her second strike stole the sight from one of his eyes. Roaring in pain and rage, the Bloodthirster belched forth a gout of flame, forcing distance between himself and his attacker.

Before him stood an Anarche of Malal. Sābon faced him down, her talons dripping with his oily, black blood, his mushed eyeball gripped in her taloned fist.

" Abomination," The felid Bloodthirster levelled his weapon at her. " Wretch! Heresy in Flesh! You were not meant to be. I will scrub you from the face of all existence!"

" Not meant to be?" Sābon snorted, her multiple eyes slitted. She tossed away his ruined eye and licked his bloody from her palm. " We are the result of your father's indiscretions. Kharneth lay will the snake, and now my master suffers for it, O' Honorable One."

" Then let me set it right." Va'rrick growled through gritted teeth, eyes blazing. With a flap of his great wings, he hurled himself at Sābon, and the great dance between greater daemons had begun!

#KHADE. #guest muse; Sābon #GUEST MUSE; VA'RRICK #plot point #longpost

[snowfuls]

setting : enobaria's hotel, a little after the arena's destruction.

there's commotion outside. previously slack-jawed over the fiery scenes that had just played out across the screen of her holo, enobaria's on high alert now. something was deeply wrong and worst of all, she's isolated from the rest of her team. once a lone wolf, always a lone wolf — so it seemed. heavy footfall is what draws the victor away from her hotel room. a pair of knives concealed in each sleeve of her blouse, their hilts cradled in her palms. the sight of a squadron of peacekeepers storming the lobby is cause for blood to run cold. she might have been able to think nothing of it... had they not unsheathed batons and what looked to be electric prods upon spotting her there. they call her name, an emotionless warning. urging her to comply and come quietly. "we'd just like to ask you some questions, enobaria." they claim. scoffing soundlessly, her gaze darkens at the implication. they think she had something to do with all this, don’t they? years of loyalty squandered. it's as she'd feared from the very beginning. only it wasn't thea and ezra’s relationship that’d implicated district two after all… it was ezra’s "heroic" stunt in the arena and now, they were all going to pay the price for his treachery. the group of helmets move closer still, gaining on her as enobaria stands her ground. perfectly poised in the very same way she'd been while facing off against the boy from district ten exactly a decade ago now. before she'd torn his throat out with her teeth. enobaria’s fight from that monumental day remains in tact. it always has and the capitol only has itself to blame for that. former embers stoked to new flames as the peacekeepers come to stand before her. two suits deciding they'll take the lead as enobaria just smiles at them. it's entirely forced but wide enough to flash both rows of sharpened enamel. one last glimpse at the monster they'd made of her.

within an instant, it starts. she lunges at the first, throwing her body around his with characteristic agility, landing square on his shoulders, legs dangling from his front like a child’s might during a piggyback. only exceptionally deadlier as enobaria’s never been one to pull punches. swift to strike, she plunges one of her knives into his throat, the other soon finds itself lodged in his companion’s shoulder — flying from her grasp, ever the extension of her. aim focused upon the cracks in their armour. thighs tighten around the wounded area. it's remorseless. choking the life from him as blood begins to splutter everywhere. gradually, he'll sink to his knees in pain, trying desperately in a reddened haze to grab at her throat as he does so but his aim is off. missing her neck entirely, hand smacks her in the face instead and the way in which her jaw immediately clamps down around it is nothing short of instinctual. the feeling of fangs meeting flesh through the fabric of peacekeeper gloves, drawing blood into her mouth is one defined by visceral familiarity. eager to put distance between between them, she rolls off his back with ease, taking half his hand and several of his fingers along with her. the vibrant red seeping from parted lips as she spits the human remnants to the ground. eyes wild and uncaring. she's resolved to fighting her way out of this, burying hopelessness as more approach. they thrust at her, batons raised whilst she swipes and kicks and screams. a pool of blood framing the carnage. a truly hellish scene for bystanders but they had just seen their precious games go up in flames! this must pale in comparison. surely.

or perhaps this is the finale they were robbed of. blood, guts and all. a fitting end for the victor, on this — the tenth anniversary of her win. only it's abruptly cut short. a sharp, long-drawn sting of electricity finally taking her down. bringing enobaria to the ground with a resounding thud as the shock and burning set her nerves on fire, nullifying her intrinsic violence in an instant. it doesn't stop however. the electrocution. they persist in subduing her, with not just one prod but several... jabbing her with them relentlessly, all at once until the pain grows so unbearable that darkness clouds her vision. it's inevitable. the storm fading from her eyes and with it, her consciousness.

it's an indeterminable amount of time later when she awakes, body screaming at her. raging against what she can't yet to see. the alarm gradual in her drowsy haze but all it really takes is a single look to understand the dire reality of her new situation. she's caged in. forced into a fetal position by metal bars that scarcely contain her. made all the worse by a heavy contraption bound around her neck, weighing her freshly frail frame down. fragility's so unlike her. a cruelty all on its own. a far cry from the fierce stoicism she's renowned for. it's a pitiful sight, she's sure. this punishment, likely unique to her — leaving no room for doubt that she is every bit the wild cat they've spent years portraying as. they see enobaria as little more than a feral animal and now, they finally have her caged up like one too.

#violence tw #blood tw #disfigurement tw #electrocution tw #imprisonment tw #teeth horror tw #𓂅 ⋆ ⧽ ㅤ 𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ㅤ ╰ ㅤ ⋆ㅤ enobaria . #eventideevent03 #a lil self para moment before replies #if i’ve forgotten a trigger pls lmk <3

[lost-jams]

Brushes And Beats chapter 13

pairing: JiminxReader

genre: fluff with a pinch of angst

trope: enemies to lovers

:ever thought of the past and wished to re-do it?:

Jimin's Pov

3 years ago,

December 20th, 2020;

We were shooting the music video for my latest single, we are currently on location with snow-covered mountains and sea beneath us. The cold air nipped at my skin, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing within me whenever she was around. I must have gone truly crazy, to have my temperature rise in this cold weather whenever she was nearby.

What the hell is wrong with me? It was just an ordinary day on set, and It was pretty normal to have my makeup done by her, Why am I feeling this way?

I couldn't help but let out a sharp breath whenever I passed by her, catching a glimpse of her beauty reflected in the mirror as she focused on perfecting each stroke of makeup on someone else's face. Her presence was captivating, and I found myself drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The sun was setting on the horizon, casting a warm glow over the snowy landscape, mirroring the warmth that blossomed inside me whenever I caught sight of her smiling face. All of us gathered around taking in the breathtaking scenery,

In the embrace of my thoughts, my hungry gaze fell ravenously on Y/n. She was but a silhouette against the horizon, bathed in the softness of the setting sun's goodbyes. The captivating sparkle in her eyes mirrored the cosmos, outshining the stars that the coming night was slowly weaving into the azure tapestry above. I was entranced, ensnared in the mesmerizing dance of twilight in her gazed-upon irises.

Cheeks kissed by the day's frosty lullaby were painted a shy rosé, warmed by the departing sun's final ballet of light. A touch of the same color graced her nose, glowing with an innocent vibrancy that sent an unspoken invitation to join her in the intimate communion with the sun's final sonnet. She was a silhouette of perfection, adorned in the last vestiges of grand illumination the world held onto.

Each soft tendril of her hair nonchalantly brushed aside, teased a melody in the temperate breeze. The last strokes of sunlight obediently traced each curve of her features. She was ethereal, as if an angel graced the earth with her presence, whispering a sonnet to the horizon.

I felt my heartbeats playing a symphony of longing, each beat whispering her name. The simple sight of her — absorbed, resplendent, enchantingly immersed in the golden goodbye — pricked at my untouched sentiments, each a couplet of a love poem waiting to be read. This perfectly framed vista of Y/n, serenading the setting sun, unleashed a profound fervor in my chest, a feeling so powerful, it threatened to consume me entirely. Her rapture in the sunset acted as a catalyst, alchemizing my longing into a feeling I can't explain — It was something you have to experience yourself

It's a Serenity

It is Magical

It's an Epiphany

One's Serendipity

A Euphoria

It is Passion.

2 months later,

"Birdy you thinking about flying?"

"Y/n?"

"Y/n get away!!"

Seeing Y/n standing at the edge of the cliff, my heart clenched in my chest. The paleness of her face haunted me; a stark contrast to the striking landscape behind her amplified by her despair. The wind whipped through her hair as she gazed into the abyss, a testament to how she must've been feeling inside. Anger surged through my veins as I thought about the pain that was inflicted on her.

Panic surged through me as she was very close the edge of the precipice. She was looking down, silhouetted against the chilling winds, her frame unyielding yet ominously fragile. My heart pounded in my chest like a wild drum, each beat ringing with enormous fear and unsettling anger.

Fear, because the mere thought of her plummeting into the abyss was a horror I couldn't bear. Her potential brush with danger stoked a protective instinct in me, stronger than anything I'd ever known. I was paralyzed by this sudden jump of adrenaline, my breathing came ragged and uncontrolled.

And anger, not at her, never at her, but at the world that had pushed her to teeter on the edge of despair. I was filled with a rage so potent, it threatened to consume me. My stomach churned with it, my fingers clenched involuntarily into fists. How cruel could the universe be, to leave a scar on someone as beautiful and kind-hearted as Y/n? The unfairness of it all made my blood boil.

"No..." I whispered, my plea carried away by the cold wind. I forced myself to move, panic lending me speed. "Not her. Not Y/n." That moment, the image of Y/n standing lonesomely at the precipice seared into my memory, a terrible echo of my deepest fears and anguishes.

______________________________________________________________

"Your recklessness wouldn't affect just you. It also affects the people around you. But you never think about it, do you?”

"Jim-"

"Save it, Y/n"

I snapped, my frustration boiling over. My words carried a sharp sting, fueled by the fear and anger that had been bubbling beneath the surface. It was an outburst I instantly regretted, but in that moment, the weight of my emotions overwhelmed any semblance of control. As the words left my lips, a heavy silence settled between us.

As we stood there, locked in a silence filled with tension and regret, I could see the hurt flickering in Y/n's eyes. Her expression softened, a vulnerable glimmer of pain shining through. My heart sank at the sight of her wounded gaze, and guilt washed over me like a tidal wave. It had me face to face with those parts of myself that I had tried to bury, to dismiss. And what’s worse is, in that moment, I realized that my outburst stemmed from my own insecurities and fears.

That year was undeniably the longest and most grueling I'd ever experienced. Time seemed to stretch into an unending void, each day filled with silence where once laughter and conversation had occupied.

Work, which I had once loved as an exciting escape, started to feel more and more like a cumbersome chain. The pressure to continuously perform and improve felt colossal, only amplifying the deafening quietness in my personal life. Every performance, every firm handshake, and smile gradually became harder to produce, the echo of Y/n's absence a constant reminder of my failings.

The ceaseless demands of my career began to weigh on me, a relentless movement of days marked by hectic schedules and sleepless nights. The glamour and fame, which once exhilarated me, now felt draining. And Y/n's absence hung over me, a specter that was invisible to others, but painfully evident to me.

Regret was a constant sting, gnawing at my calm, reminding me of the words I should've said, the solace I could've offered. Y/n's face would uninvitedly creep into my thoughts, her glossy eyes shimmering with withheld emotions and hushed sighs. My heart would turn into a turbulent sea besieged by a surge of regret and self-reproof. I had let my fear, cloaked in anger, push her away.

Loneliness — my forever friend — had cast a daunting shadow over me. Surrounded by throngs of fans and yet, an unsettling hollowness prevailed, rendering me isolated in a crowd. That's when I realized the intensity of my feelings for her. Her absence wasn't just a missing friendly face; it was the missing piece of a puzzle that completed me.

The dread of losing her even as a friend, the heart-wrenching despair of not being able to help the person you care about began eating away at me. It was a painful lesson learned

in the harshest way; a year of harrowing solitude and introspection, interspersed with rigorous work demands. But within all of it, a realization hung heavily - I loved her, no I love her. And that love enveloped every strand of my being, defining the extent of my sorrow in her absence

One year passed without much interaction between us. She needed her space, and I had tight work schedules. The occasional glances we exchanged were often filled with unsaid words, and unexpressed emotions. Looking back, I should have pushed aside my professional commitments a bit more. I could have been there for her in a way that was more than just professional. I would have held her close and told her that it was okay to fall apart because she was not alone.

She never was.

to be continued...

chapter 12 || chapter 14

#jimin ff #jimin x reader #jimin bts #idol au #enemies to lovers #fluff #makeup aritist x idol #jimin x y/n #jimin x you #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts ff #bts fluff #bts #kpop #bts one shot #jimin #park jimin #bts jimn #jimin fluff #jimin fanfic #pjm #lostjams

[losthavenart]

Abbadon Archetype - The Elementalist

Elementalists are those who study magic to harness the raw forces of the world. Reclusive Scholars, Cabals of Sorcerers, and even Wild Shamans all wield the power of the elements – and woe to those that stand before the fury of nature, wielded within the palm of their hands.

† Aeromancy is the ability to conjure and control air, and by extension lightning, and manipulate the air of their voice. Those who practise it can shock their enemies with bolts of electricity, project their voice to a boom, travel great distances in an instant, and summon storms.

† Aquamancy is the ability to conjure and control water, by extension ice and inner depths. Those who practise it can strike with waves of water, create a torrent of inner energy, freeze their enemies and wash them away with a tsunami.

† Pyromancy, the ability to conjure and control flames and even an inner fire. Those who practise it can hurl fireballs, stoke one's fury and wrath, summon walls of fire and even conjure all-consuming infernos.

† Terramancy, the ability to conjure and control the power of earth and stone. Those who practise this magical art can heal wounds by using the power of earth to regenerate oneself, to form armour of stone and fracture the very ground they walk upon to make those that stand before them fall.

The Elementalist is capable of dishing out damage particularly to multiple opponents, to weakening enemies with conditions which also leads into their ability to support their companions with regeneration and armour spells from the Terramancy tree

For example the spell shown bellow Gust is a skill that the Elementalist can take from the very begining of a campaign. It is capable of inflicting damage, pushing enemies away disrupting their actions, or knocking them down making them vulnerable to attacks from allies. With the right cards it's also capable of striking multiple opponents.

#ttrpg #ttrpgs #ttrpg design #indie ttrpg #ttrpg stuff

[heartsoulrocknroll]

AEW All Out 9/4/22

Casino Ladder Match for a shot at AEW World Championship at any time -- Parts of this were good and parts were just a little ridiculous. PENTA WITH A CANADIAN DESTROYER ON DANTE ON THE RAMP!!! THEN ANOTHER CANADIAN DESTROYER TO ANDRADE ON TOP OF A LADDER BALANCED HORIZONTALLY ON THE APRON AND THE BARRICADE!! Some crazy ladder spots here. Dante Martin is nuts, leaping over people as they climb the ladder to land higher up on the ladder, leaping onto Claudio's back as he climbs up. The finish makes no sense. Stokely climbs the ladder and pulls down the chip, but that isn't the end of the match??? Because he's not a legal participant in the match?? Because he's not a wrestler?? Who knows. The Joker enters and Stokely just hands off the chip to him. And that is somehow the end?? No one seemed to know how to react, or even seemed to know when the match was over. Strange booking.

Kenny Omega and the Young Bucks vs. Adam Page and the Dark Order for the Inaugural AEW Trios Championship -- Absolutely incredible, rapid-fire tag team offense by Silver and Reynolds. Disgusting snap dragon suplexes by Omega. Loved the one-on- one exchange between Omega and Page. They face off in the ring, but they aren't the legal men. They drag their incapacitated partners to the corner and make the tags. Omega attempts a German, but Page lands on his feet. Omega lands a V-trigger and a nasty double underhook tiger driver on Page!!! Page with a Buckshot to the back of Omega's head!! He goes for another, but Matt grabs his leg from the outside to stop him. Nick with a Buckshot to Page out of nowhere!!!! But the pin attempt is broken up!!! Silver with a roll up and super near fall on Omega!! V-trigger by Omega on Silver!! Omega goes for the One-winged Angel, but Silver counters and rolls Omega up again for an even nearer fall!!! Omg!!! Silver is in position for a German on Omega, while Page sets up for a Buckshot, but Omega ducks and Page lands the Buckshot on Silver instead!!! Omega steals the fall on Silver!!! What a match!!!!

Jade Cargill (c) vs. Athena for the TBS Championship -- I like Athena a lot, but this was a Jade Cargill match. Cargill wins. That's all I really have to say.

FTR and Wardlow vs. Motor City Machine Guns and Jay Lethal -- This was a fine match with some decent exchanges between FTR and MCMG, but I just didn't really care about it at all, despite FTR's involvement. The audience didn't really seem to care either.

Ricky Starks vs. Powerhouse Hobbs -- This grudge match should have felt more meaningful than this. Five minutes and Hobbs wins? Weird way to go.

Keith Lee and Swerve Strickland (c) vs. The Acclaimed for the AEW Tag Team Championship -- This match was entirely too long. It was boring as hell and kind of messy, and I thought it was never going to end. At least Lee and Strickland won. The Acclaimed are charismatic in a ridiculous way, and they are entertaining, but they do not do it for me in the ring. I was impressed by Caster hitting that AA on Lee, but otherwise, I didn’t care about this. The crowd was insanely hot for the Acclaimed though, which begs the question of whether this was the right time to give them the titles. On another note, anyone who buys that scissor me daddy ass shirt is a weirdo.

Hikaru Shida vs. Britt Baker vs. Jamie Hayter vs. Toni Storm for the vacant AEW Women's World Championship -- This was fine. Good stuff with Shida here. Great to have her back. Anticlimactic end with Storm winning off a DDT. Yawn.

Christian Cage vs. Jungle Boy Jack Perry -- Luchasaurus jumps Jungle Boy before the match with a chokeslam on the ramp. He then puts Jungle Boy through a table. The bell rings, and Christian wins in 20 seconds with a spear and a Killswitch. Not the way I would have gone with this match, but okay.

Bryan Danielson vs. Lionheart Chris Jericho -- This was a great, methodical wrestling match. Good exchanges of holds, nasty chops and strikes. Danielson kicks Jericho's fucking head in <3333. Danielson locks in Cattle Mutilation on Jericho, lets go to land some nasty elbows to Jericho's head, then locks the hold back in!! Jericho gets to the ropes to break it. Danielson is relentless with kicks to Jericho while he is in the ropes. He has until five!!! Danielson and Jericho catch the ref in the corner amid the action, and Jericho low blows Danielson. He follows up with a Judas Effect for the three count. BS that Moxley gets to submit Jericho, but Danielson loses to Jericho off a low blow. Makes sense with the Garcia stuff though, I guess. Garcia is shown watching disappointedly on the screen backstage and does not come out with the rest of the JAS to congratulate Jericho. Excited to see where this goes with Garcia.

Darby Allin, Sting, and Miro vs. House of Black -- Good match. Lots of good stuff from Darby, Miro, Black, and Matthews. Sting with the mist to Black, giving Darby the opening for the last supper pinning combo for the three count.

Jon Moxley (c) vs. CM Punk for the AEW World Championship -- Punk hits a GTS in the first few minutes for two!!! Moxley spends the better part of the match targeting Punk's injured leg/foot --kicks, single leg crab, dragon screws, figure four. Moxley is driven into the ring post, which gives Punk an opening to lock in the Anaconda Vice. Mox bites Punk's head to escape!!! Punk attempts a top rope elbow, but gets caught in a rear naked choke by Mox. Punk goes for another GTS, but Mox catches Punk's leg to block it. Moxley lands a kick to Punk's leg followed by a Death Rider, but Punk kicks out. Another GTS by Punk!!! Mox is out, but he lands on top of Punk, preventing a pin attempt. Punk lands another GTS and gets the 3 count. Ugh.

The arena goes dark. A recording of TK talking to someone plays over the speakers. TK says their absence is hurting the company and that he will give them a spot in the Casino ladder match, will pay them more money, and won't make them sign a contract extension if they will show up at All Out. A video plays. It's someone wearing the mask that the Joker from the Casino ladder match was wearing. The mask is removed to reveal the back of someone's head. They put on a yellow plaid scarf. It's MJF!!!!! He says the devil is back!!! His music hits, and he enters the arena!!!! He stares down Punk!!!! FINALLY!!!!!!!!!! MJF CHANTS IN CHICAGO WHILE CM PUNK STANDS IN THE RING!!!!!!!!!! I HAVE NEVER FELT SO ALIVE!!!!!!!

#aew #aew lb #aew all out 2022 #pentagon jr #dante martin #claudio castagnoli #kenny omega #matt jackson #nick jackson #the young bucks #adam page #john silver #alex reynolds #dark order #athena #ftr #motor city machine guns #ricky starks #keith lee #swerve strickland #the acclaimed #hikaru shida #toni storm #christian #jungle boy #bryan danielson #chris jericho #jon moxley #cm punk #maxwell jacob friedman

[queen-of-deans-booty]

A Little Slice of Kevin: Part One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

It's always good to take a break from your family once in a while. Joanna and Sam are hanging out back home while you and Dean are on the road. It's almost ten at night, and the road ahead of you is quiet and dark. Dean took the back roads to avoid lights and traffic, and it's the kind of silence you need to unwind. The windows are rolled down, the wind is nice on your skin and hair, and soft rock music playing on the radio is peaceful.

You have a magazine in your hands using the light from the sun visor mirror. It's a dull light that doesn't bother Dean. There is a storm coming, but it's not yet raining. It's very windy and there is lightning in the distance to warn people about the sudden weather. Dean is munching on some chips, but you're drowning out the noise he's making.

"Wait, don't turn the page. I haven't finished reading it," Amara says, getting on your nerves.

"Can you please shut up?" you sigh and flip the page anyway. "Leave me alone."

"Are you okay?" Dean asks, turning down the radio.

"Yeah, fine. Just trying to read."

You sigh and close the magazine, flipping the visor up and shrouding the car in darkness. Amara leans back in her seat and slips into the back of your mind and out of the car.

"I'm serious. How is everything? How are our babies?"

"Our babies are doing just fine. In fact, give me your hand," you grin.

Dean places the bag of chips into his other hand before giving you his right hand. You grab it and place it on your growing stomach. You place it right underneath your left breast, high on your stomach. You wait a few seconds before your baby boy kicks his father's hand. Dean's eyes light up when he feels his son's feet against his hands.

"Is that...?"

"Robert? I've gotten to know which one is which. Maryann likes to be up when I'm sleeping, and Robert loves car rides. He's extra fidgeting now that he knows you're here."

"I can't believe this. I mean, we have Joanna but feeling this is surreal every single time."

"I still don't know why Amara is here, but I will know the second something is wrong. I promise everything is okay."

"Okay, I believe you."

You look up just as lightning strikes in the distance, lighting up the road for you. On the side of the road is a man wearing a trench coat with pajamas underneath. The man also has a beard that's been overgrown. Your brain doesn't register who it could be until Dean passes by him.

"Was that Castiel?"

Dean slams on the breaks, and you press your hand against the dashboard to keep yourself from flying through the windshield. Dean does a sharp 180 and drives over to the spot where you two thought you saw Castiel. Keeping the car locked in park, you both get out to inspect the area. The man is long gone, and you wonder if he was another hallucination. Then again, Dean must have seen him if he stopped.

"Was that Castiel?" you ask again. "You saw him, right?"

"Yeah, I saw him."

"Is he a hallucination?"

"That we both saw?"

"Maybe Purgatory did something to us," you shrug.

"Well, whatever he is, it's gone now. Come on, we should head back."

You two get inside the car and Dean wastes no time in getting back to your dad's cabin. Joanna is sleeping in her big girl bed in her room and Sam is on his laptop by the kitchen table. You still haven't wiped the shock from your face because if Castiel is out, then how the hell did he get out?

"Hey," Sam greets when he sees you two.

"Hi."

"You two look like you've s—well, I was gonna say, 'You two look like you've seen a ghost', but you'd probably be stoked. Uh, you two okay?"

You and Dean make eye contact, and you both silently agree that you shouldn't tell Sam this. You couldn't find Castiel, and it would only get his hopes up if he heard of news that the angel is back.

"Yeah, we're cool. What's up?"

"Well, this kid went missing from preschool," Sam says, talking about what he found on his laptop. "At the same time he vanished, a surprise tornado hit and lasted maybe twenty seconds, then, uh... shazam! Back to perfect weather."

"That sounds weird," you shrug and take a seat at the table.

"Well, similar wackiness has happened over the past few weeks in other places. In Tulsa, a bus driver vanishes and a river gets overrun with frogs. In New Mexico, a mailman disappears and the earth splits open."

"So, you're thinking demons?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, possibly, but this stuff was major. These folks have nothing in common--no religious affiliations, different hometowns, and of all ages. Why would demons want them?"

"Why do demons want anything? We'll head out in the morning."

Morning comes faster than you hoped it would. You had to go out and get a portable toddler bed so that Joanna doesn't have to use the sofa bed or a crib when she goes to bed. You're trying to get her to learn how to use those beds so you can use her crib for one of the twins. You'll have to go out shopping for more supplies, but this time, you want to do this with Dean. Last time, he was with Lisa when you went shopping, and you don't want him missing out on this.

"You know, we should be on the road already," Dean sighs.

"Dean, this is important. Joanna needs to like what she's sleeping in. Plus, I figure we could get a few things for the twins while we're here."

"Sam isn't going to like that we're taking too long."

You look over at Sam to see him talking to a female shopper. She has her dog with him, and you chuckle with a shake of your head.

"I think Sam is going to be fine. Okay, Joanna, which one do you want? We have Anna and Elsa, Princess Ariel, My Little Pony... pick whatever one you want."

"Spongebob!" she squeals and runs over to the boys' section.

"You want that one?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, the princess has spoken."

You grab the travel toddler bed and place it in the cart before turning to Dean. He is looking at the small clothes for newborns, and you walk over to him to see what he has in his hands. He's holding the tiny socks and shoes with such emotion in his eyes, and you can't help but get tears of your own.

"Soon, we're going to hear those little feet run down the hall to us," you whisper.

"Can we get them?" he asks.

"Of course, we can. We can get whatever we want."

You and Dean browse the aisles for baby things, and before you know it, you have a whole cart full of things.

"Really? We did not come here to shop for baby things," Sam says when he finally catches up to you two.

"But they're on sale, and they're so cute," you grin and hold up the clothes you found.

"If we leave now, we'll make it there right before dusk."

"He's right. Joanna, we're leaving. Grab mommy's hand."

She runs up to you and grabs your hand, and all four of you head to the cash register to pay for your things. Thankfully everything fits in the trunk of the car, and you're on the road before you know it. The recent person to go missing is Aaron Weber, a five-year-old. He was spending time with his babysitter when he disappeared right before her eyes. Since she was the last person to see him alive, then you're going to talk to the young woman instead of his parents.

Sam was right, it's almost dusk by the time you get to her house.

You walk up to the door in your FBI clothing and knock, waiting for the babysitter to answer. When she does, she looks a little shaken up. She opens her front door, but leaves the glass pane door shut because she's scared. You hold your FBI badge up for her to see, and she sighs and opens the glass door.

"Mrs. Hagar? Agents Roth, Hunts, and Malloy. We want to speak to you about Aaron Webber's abduction."

"Like I told the police, one minute I was taking Aaron to get cleaned up, and the next minute... I woke up in a park three blocks away."

"You have no memory of what happened?" you ask.

"No. He was just gone."

"Can you think of any reason why somebody would want to harm him? Any enemies?" Dean asks, shifting his daughter in his arms since you can't carry her.

"Enemies? He's five."

You know she's not a demon because you would have seen a black shadow around her body, and it's not there. You nudge Sam's arm and shake your head ever so softly.

"Now, when you woke up on the floor, were there any signs of struggle?" you ask.

"No."

"Anything smell like sulfur?"

"How did you know that?" she gasps.

"Lucky guess. Thanks for your time."

The young woman closes the door, and you three turn to head back to the car.

"She isn't a demon. I would have known the second I saw her, but I'm willing to bet a demon got a hold of Aaron."

"We should head back to the motel. It's getting late, and she's getting sleepy," Dean says, kissing the top of his daughter's head.

"Okay, sweetheart, you need to go to bed," you whisper.

"Why you quiet?" she asks a bit too loudly.

"Because your uncle Sammy is sleeping," you point out the giant passed out on his bed.

You take the scratchy sofa blanket and pull it up to her chin, kissing her on the forehead. You didn't have time to set up the toddler bed, so the sofa bed will have to do right now. You're in the room with her, so you'll be okay knowing she won't fall off if you're in the room. The twins like to wake you up in the middle of the night anyway, so you can check on her. Plus, you have your magic to protect her.

"Babies?" she asks, putting her hand out towards your stomach.

"You're worried about your brother and sister?"

"Yeah."

"They're going to come soon, baby. Feel this," you whisper.

You grab her tiny hand and place it on the part where Maryann is. She loves being awake at night. Maryann feels her sister's hand and kicks it, and Joanna's smile lights up the room.

"Bedtime story, please."

"Okay, well, there once was this angel from Heaven. He loved helping all the little girls and boys to get better when they're sick or sad. He would play with them and be friends with them so they wouldn't feel so alone. He would protect them. If you go to sleep, this angel will visit you in your dreams. He'll protect you. You want that, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah. Good to sleep, baby."

You lean over and kiss her cheek, tucking her in once more. She turns to her side and almost instantly goes to sleep. You get up and turn to Dean who is staring at you. There is no way he didn't hear you with how tiny this room is. The lights are out, but the lightning outside is enough to light up the room even with the curtains closed.

You walk over to the bed and get underneath the covers, snuggling up to Dean's side. He has Sam's laptop on his lap reading about the missing people in the area. Dean wraps an arm around you and kisses the top of your head, not yet sleepy enough to go to bed. You want to go to bed, but the lightning is too strong to keep the room dark enough for you to fall asleep. You open your eyes and look out the window only to see Castiel standing outside in the rain.

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#a little slice of kevin #series rewrite #supernatural series rewrite #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fan fiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fluff #supernatural angst #spn #spn fic #spn fiction #spn fanfiction #spn fan fiction #spn fanfic #spn fan fic #spn fluff

[whitherwanderer]

2 // bolt

Clouds like roiling, murky seas and thunder overhead were bad omens for sailors and travelers alike, but for a Gyr Abanian, it was a blessing. A sign from on high. The Destroyer’s favor, bestowed in blinding flashes and roaring waves of sound that left even the most stalwart in awe, should it strike close enough.

Little wonder that the peoples of the mountains felt His presence there, where thunder sounded unlike anywhere else on the star. Where the valleys in which their villages were nestled were not unlike temples, the surrounding peaks throwing the sound back to reverberate like a chapel ceiling constructed for the very same purpose. To catch a commanding voice. To cast it far that all might hear.

Sif had stopped listening to the sermons of storms years ago.

Once, she had beseeched His name so fervently that it brought her to tears. She had burned so brightly, only to be smothered by the very hand that had stoked her. After the wall, there was nothing He could say to her writ in the clouds or shouted from the heavens that would reach her except that His master still commanded the fate of all, and that She was fickle. And so Sif’s appeals turned to the Spinner.

But after turns of bad luck and few victories worthy of the name, the summer storms caught her ear again. Rather than spitting and cursing the turn in the weather, she had begun to cast her eyes skywards. Read the webs of light in the clouds and listen to the roar. Remember what her mother said of her nameday, the last day of His moon, when the storms were their most plentiful and most spectacular. An auspicious sign that she was a favored child. Whispers of the old prayers she used to say lingering on her tongue until she could pen them to a page and put them to song.

A blackened landscape that they had once traveled across in the Thanalan brush gave her pause. Ash and char for a malm, caused by a singular bolt of levin. Not unusual for the area, but a strange omen. She couldn’t wrench herself from the memory of a naturalist telling her such wildfires were the land’s way of clearing the old fields and fertilizing for the new. That the destruction was not a tragedy, but a catalyst. Cauterizing the wound so it might heal.

Her fingertips plied at the skin of her neck under her right ear where she’d been marked with a meteor—a gift from one of the Destroyer’s more zealous devotees and a fellow “in salt and suffering”. When the clouds turned dark, she would breathe the scent in the heavy air and wait for the winds that came at the bow of every storm as it sailed over, sitting in silence with her companion whose thoughts were allowed to remain his own, as hers would.

Would Rhalgr remember her if she called to Him now? Would He hear her pleas after she had capitulated to the whims of His master? If there was but a way to prove that she was still faithful…

As levin struck across the Mor Dhona sky once more, arcing eastward over her, she heard Him. His voice was not a word, but a sensation. So loud she could feel it in her chest, shaking her to her very core, waking up every nerve in her as if pulling her from a nightmare. And as the purple-yellow burn scar of light faded from her vision, she grasped for the ground around her, her every hair standing on end.

“Fire,” she choked the word as the first drops of rain began to blur her vision as she stared into the sky. “Somethin’s gotta burn—so we can move on.”

—

OOC Notes: Sif and Dug should probably stop sitting out in the open during storms or they’re gonna get struck by lightning and think it’s the coolest thing to ever happen to them, and that is the last thing they need. Idk why I wrote this like Sif was having a whole religious experience, but maybe that’s what she needed.

#ffxivwrite2022 #[ the longest road ] #[ drabbles; sif ]

[headfirstforahalo23]

❀・Henry Emily x Reader One-Shot ・❀

Summary - You are hiding under a table afraid of the thunder, until Henry comes in and comforts you

Reader pronouns - by any pronouns you’d like.

Fluff one-shot.

Word Count - 378

The thunder was loud to your ears, you were hiding under your dining room table, hugging your knees in your apartment that you shared with Henry. Ever since you were a child you had been afraid of thunder, you felt like it could strike you and kill you. You felt tears prick at your eyes, you had no one to comfort you, you were alone Henry was at work right now.

What would he think about you knowing you had a fear of thunder? He would probably think your childish..

BOOM!

You jumped and let out a little squeak, you held your legs tighter to your chest. Now tears were definitely streaming down your face. You heard the front door open and you looked behind you. It was Henry. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet. You kept on looking at him.

“[Name]?”

Henry called out in a soft voice. He must’ve not saw you. You didn’t say anything and continued to hide under the table. He kept looking around with his eyes until he had looked directly at you.

Henry closed the front door and sprinted over to you. He got on all fours and crawled to where you were. Henry sat next to you and held you close

“Sweetie… What’s wrong..?” Henry asked kindly and lovingly while wiping your tears from your face.

BOOM!!

This time the thunder was louder to your ears. You let out a little scream and quickly put your face to Henry’s chest. He hugged you closer to him.

“Oh…” He said quietly while rubbing your back gently to calm you down, he seemed to realize what was going on. “[Name], the thunder isn’t going to get us… Don’t worry sweetie, you’re safe with me… I’m not gonna let the thunder get you…”

After a while the storm had turned into rain. Now you and Henry are lying in bed all warm and cozy under the covers. The lights were out and only the moon gave light to the room. You’re head was on his chest and Henry had one of his arms around you, while the other hand stoked your hair gently and calmly.

“I love you [Name]..” He said quietly with love in his tone.

“I love you too Henry..”

#henry emily #fnaf fandom #fluff #oneshot #five nights at freddy's #Henry Emily one shot #fnaf oneshot

[americanasitgets]

@crimefightr​ || continued from [ x ]

Restraint, whatever that was, became the target of Clark’s avoidance. If this was the epitome of Bruce’s rebuke, then he had every intention of pushing him far beyond what boundaries should have been settled. If this wasn’t to be the way of it, then it would be a consequence he’d fall to later. All he’d craved for was the security in this; the wanting. Where there should have been an endless void of disdain, Clark could see it — the softness inside him. A sliver of vulnerability that he could pluck so easily, so carelessly. But for a time, it would make him his, wouldn’t it?

Nevermind the mistaken logic. Things had no place of their own just of yet, so why squander the one single thread he’d created? Chase it, Clark. Chase that taste just once more…

While his pit foddered the panic, the shadow followed him down the rabbit hole. Brows so tightly knit only intensified the perplexity in Bruce’s eyes. God, they were beautiful — even if they were to deconstruct him, defile him, disregard him. The act of being seen, conceptualized….Maybe he’d shuddered again, terribly against the sturdier man’s frame. What seemed like an age of consideration turned into stoking the fire. He’d pressed in, clashing like they were destined to, but this time lips instead of spears. Clark lets him have this, because…he wants this too, even if it made no sense. Maybe Bruce was right…he was being illogical, but could he really blame him? The tender kiss after was met with similarity; Clark pressing up just to meet him. Just to take a little more. The strike of his tongue is what drew out the aching sound, deep from the Kryptonian’s gut. No more hiding it, the arousal — the primal want. 

“Impulse…” he repeated the words as if it would mean something. As if it could strike sense into what he’d already determined that he very much wanted. No such luck, and none again when he’d insisted on his illogical behaviors. Whatever the shadow claimed to be more important than this, this greed for him…Clark simply didn’t see it. Tunnel vision at its finest.

“...but still…don’t you want it?” Softly whispered words before he’d found a proper substitute for speaking. The nail brushing passed cracked lips first, before Clark found the taste of skin. The digit worked its way in slowly, and upon meeting teeth —- he opened for him. There hadn’t been much doubt really, whether he could restrain himself here…but the fact was, he didn’t see the purpose of it. Why hold back when he was so close? Rather, he’d given in to that offering— letting his tongue settle beneath the pad of his thumb and sucking. Taking more of him in, tongue tenderly stroking skin when he’d had him deep enough in his mouth. Those eyes, they were like an ocean —- waves crashing, a storm brewing but not once did he take them off of the shadow. He’d show him where his intentions lie, for better or for worse….

There his own hand went, slow in its descent; fingertips brushing over the buttons of his jeans and the buckle of his belt. There, he dug into — finding purchase at the leather. Tugging. Tugging and before he’d pressed himself a little closer.

#crimefightr001 #( rp ). #// gOD this is so good. #I've missed them terribly #crimefightr

[nanlanmoarchived]

@heartxshaped-bruises​ said :  [ STRADDLE ]  ;  [ jess / tal 😈 ]

Ever since attending Tal’s sparring session, Jessica had become preoccupied with the idea of learning to protect herself. To be able to fight back should someone decide that the silly little paper the two Kings had signed was not enough to dissuade them from trying to hurt her. Taliesin couldn’t be present all the time and while their home might not have been in the heart of the Autumn court, there was magic here that she needed to be able to stand up for herself against. 

At first their trainings together had been clumsy, each session tied together with curses and arguments that often ended with one of them (if not both) storming away from the other. Eventually, though, they’d managed to find a rhythm. Even though it annoyed the hell out of her, she truly had no choice but to yield to his expertise. If she wanted to learn, he was the only teacher. Soon, form trainings and discussions of counterbalancing became walk throughs of possible altercations then sparring matches between the couple. Their sparring had become a sort of release, the dance between them channeling their usual tension that electrified the air into something more pointed. The fighting draining the need to argue and in its wake leaving room for something else to grow. 

The redhead had moved to strike when Taliesin’s palm caught her and sent her tumbling to her back. As her breath knocked out of her chest, she stood no chance to fight the pin. Tal’s knees on either side of her hips kept her from fidgeting too much, even as she tugged at the iron hold he had on her wrists. For a moment she lay back limp on the cool grass beneath her to catch her breath, she had already lost one round previously, and pride was a devious thing. From her pinned position her gaze turned back to meet his, a smirk playing her features as temptation stoked her boldness. How better to free yourself than to distract your opponent? And so she leaned up, pressing her lips to his and once his hold slackened in the slightest, she moved to roll the pair of them and reclaim the pin. Her knees settled on either side of his hips in return with a self satisfied grin as she pinned his wrists, “Sorry, I couldn’t help but cheat.”

#v; tell me that i'm the chosen one #heartxshaped-bruises #// she's a terrible brat and i'm so sorry

[shadowtechteller]

Code of Retaliation

"Code of Retaliation" is a pulsating tech thriller that plunges readers into the murky waters of international espionage and advanced warfare technology. With the world teetering on the edge of a technological war, the stakes couldn't be higher as a US aerospace CEO's secret dealings catapult Iran to the forefront of aerial and marine drone advancements—threatening to shift the global balance of power.

Unleashed against American satellites, these invulnerable drones ignite a desperate struggle within the US defense – with General Jonathan Hayes and CIA operative Dylan Walker racing against time to neutralize the threat. This chess game of high-tech brinkmanship reveals a tapestry of treachery where American officials, Iranian hardliners, and greedy magnates vie for control.

The battle intensifies with a second drone assault, leaving the US's communication channels in tatters and inching the superpowers closer to outright conflict. General Hayes launches a retaliatory cyber strike, which only stokes the fires of vengeance in an Iranian commander primed to retaliate.

In the vortex of this fierce geopolitical storm, Dylan Walker launches a daring countermeasure that defines the essence of suspense and action. This leads to a climax that sees enemy forces converging on a breakthrough that could forever change the face of warfare. In an exquisite blend of strategy and resolve, Dylan becomes the embodiment of Prometheus as he battles to thwart a global catastrophe.

This is a tale of relentless courage, double-crossing, and the raw plight of those at the helm who dare to redefine warfare. "Code of Retaliation" promises not just a read but a full-throttle dive into the consequences of next-gen military dominance and the undying human resolve to preserve order amidst the chaos of potential technological revolution.

Detail Synopsis

In the heated cauldron of international espionage and high-stakes technology heists, "Code of Retaliation" is a relentless tech thriller that catapults the reader into a labyrinth of betrayal, where loyalty is scarce and the line between ally and adversary is perilously thin. A mercurial journey of broken trust and unyielding valor, the story weaves through an intricate tapestry of deception, where heroes forge ahead through the quagmire of dire straits.

Amidst the austere backdrop of global espionage, an audacious move by Iran sets the world teetering on the brink of an all-consuming tech war. With the discovery of a clandestine sale by a cash-strapped US aerospace CEO—whose dalliance with Raziya, Iran's lead scientist, clouds the waters of strife—Iran leaps forward, augmenting an already formidable drone program now capable of dominating the terrestrial skies and the ocean's abyssal depths.

When these fearsome drones pierce the sanctity of space, targeting American satellites in a daring offensive, the U.S. response is a symphony of shock and awe; the indestructible drones evade capture and destruction, forcing the hand of General Jonathan Hayes of the DIA and Dylan Walker—CIA paragon and spec-ops juggernaut—who spearhead a top-tier task force in a perilous race against the clock.

As Raziya parleys with the Russian and Chinese echelons, a cascade of covert operations unfurls, each nation desperate to claim the drone technology for themselves. Underneath the shroud of intelligence gathering, Dylan unravels a Gordian knot of subterfuge—rogue American officials, Iranian factions, and double-dealing magnates spin a web that ensnares both national security and global order.

The second wave of drone strikes is swift and merciless, shredding crucial U.S. communication networks and nudging the superpower to the precipice of war. As drums of conflict pound, General Hayes wages a cyber onslaught upon the Iranian drone nexus, igniting the ire of an Iranian commander who orders a crippling cyber counterattack.

The impending war looms; the U.S. readies its might against Iran's lifeblood—its oil refineries. Yet amid the soaring tensions, Dylan charges through the entangled espionage, orchestrating a covert assault on the very heart of the drone operations.

In this pressure-cooker of imminent war and cutthroat espionage, the hands of adversaries and allies alike are forced. Yet, as the U.S blasphemy embodying the fury of Prometheus, rains fire on Iranian soil, Dylan is a tempest, outsmarting and dismantling the machinations of traitors and terrorists with boundless tenacity.

The novel crescendos as enemy forces converge, poised to seize the unparalleled drone technology. Yet, the play is far from over. As the Russian and Chinese teams close in, Dylan's mission is a race against the march of war—a sprint toward the key that could deactivate the drones once and for all.

Culminating in an audaciously executed rescue, Dylan disrupts the abduction of Lillian Skybourne, whose fate hangs like a Sword of Damocles over the flames of retaliation. With each heartbeat, the novel thrums with undisclosed secrets and unseen dangers, endowing those at the vanguard with the fortitude to counterstrike within an arena where machines dictate the rules of engagement.

"Code of Retaliation" is not just a narrative but a heart-pounding surcharge into the unknowns of next-generation warfare. What emerges from the din of battle and the whisper of subterfuge is a portrait of courage, of minds and wills sharpened against the stone of adversity, and of the indomitable human spirit striving to maintain a world order on the vertiginous edge of revolution.

#code-of-shadows #code-of-change #code-of-convergence

[swldx]

Voice of America 0429 15 Jan 2024

9775Khz 0400 15 JAN 2024 - VOICE OF AMERICA (UNITED STATES OF AMERICA) in ENGLISH from MOPENG HILL. SINPO = 55334. English, Official Editorial opinion in progress focusing on the "partnership of Bangladesh" @0400z VoA News read by Tommy McNeil. The White House said Sunday that “it’s the right time” for Israel to scale back its military offensive in the Gaza Strip, as Israeli leaders again vowed to press ahead with their operation against the territory’s ruling Hamas militant group. The comments exposed the growing differences between the close allies on the 100th day of the war. The Israeli army and Hezbollah, based in Lebanon, have again traded fire across the border, stoking fear that the war in Gaza could spark a regional conflagration. The Iran-backed Hezbollah on Tuesday launched a drone attack on an Israeli command base. Israel retaliated with air strikes, while it is also reported to have killed three Hezbollah members in a targeted strike. A war of words erupted the day after Taiwan's presidential and parliamentary elections, with Taiwan on Sunday accusing China of making “fallacious comments” and China criticizing the U.S. for congratulating the winner. The verbal sparring highlighted the seemingly intractable divide over Taiwan's fate, a major flashpoint in U.S.-China relations that risks leading to an actual war in the future. In Davos Switzerland, leaders of talks on Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy's peace formula on Sunday said a growing number of countries are working to help set the groundwork for Russia to join one day, an admittedly distant goal as the nearly two-year war grinds on and with neither side willing to cede ground. Yemen's Houthi rebels fired an anti-ship cruise missile toward an American destroyer in the Red Sea on Sunday, but a U.S. fighter jet shot it down in the latest attack roiling global shipping amid Israel's war with Hamas in the Gaza Strip, officials said. The attack marks the first U.S.-acknowledged fire by the Houthis since America and allied nations began strikes Friday on the rebels following weeks of assaults on shipping in the Red Sea. North Korea on Monday said it flight-tested a new solid-fuel intermediate-range missile tipped with a hypersonic warhead as it pursues more powerful, harder-to-detect weapons designed to strike remote U.S. targets in the region. The report by North Korea’s state media came a day after the South Korean and Japanese militaries detected the launch from a site near the North Korean capital of Pyongyang, in what was the North’s first ballistic test of 2024. Subfreezing temperatures across much of the U.S. left millions of Americans facing potentially dangerous cold Sunday as Arctic storms threatened near-blizzard conditions in the Northeast and several inches of snow in parts of the South. The National Weather Service warned that windy, subfreezing conditions in Montana and the Dakotas could push wind chills as low as minus 70 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 56 Celsius). Guatemalan President-elect Bernardo Arévalo waited to be sworn into office Sunday as the old-guard Congress dawdled and delayed the inauguration, sparking angry protests by demonstrators tired of months-long attempts to keep him from taking office. Supporters who had been waiting hours for a festive inauguration celebration in Guatemala City’s emblematic Plaza de la Constitucion were fed up with yet another delay, and marched to the building where congress was meeting. @0405z “Daybreak Africa” anchored by male announcer (w/African accent). Backyard fence antenna, Etón e1XM. 100kW, BeamAz 350°, bearing 84°. Received at Plymouth, United States, 14087KM from transmitter at Mopeng Hill. Local time: 220.

[elliottpoetry]

A Christian emo metal band called:

My Fires To Burn These Dirt Buried And Rain Soaked Letters

Album: A Clock Full of Conclusions (Discourse on Diorama)

1. Rumors of an escape in the storm clouds

2. Rewinding thoughts to replay the secret messages

3. Always almost itching for something sour and ever more alive

4. Telepathic transmission of a mystical map

5. A fortress of feathers on fire

6. Midnight merchants and the mystery

7. The storm strikes its lightning

8. A dream of the golden keys of heaven

9. Anticipation of flight

10. The end?

An image of the Tetragrammaton in the lyric book...

Maybe some philosophical diagram images in the lyric book...

The cover is a teenage girl holding a pocket watch and showing the time while looking out the window at storm clouds and on side it's just clouds and on the other it's storming

Rumors of an escape in the storm clouds

Living in the stream created by the television and the storm clouds, I'll tell you the legend of you want to hear it. If you want to feel it. If you believe in the storms that used brew high up above the streets in my city and the secrets written on the pages that flew and fell out of them. There was a fire I was waiting to stoke inside of myself and then and after I climbed up out of the mud of myself I sought to sink back into something familiar, something else, something new just to feel alive again. Deserts whose empty skies dry up our souls until they are just empty bowls. Mountains that blow so cold they freeze out my bones until they are hollow. Did you see that? Did you catch that one? I've been searching and stretching long for a mystery, I've been paying attention in this dream. It's not that I think it's unreal the truth is about what I feel. You go to sell your story and they come back telling you, 'what is it?' and caught surprised and without telling lies I say, 'what is this?' Where all of us are caught in a question the gears go to turn again and I used to watch them disappear when I mentioned them. All of that stuff? I've think I've got enough. I've got them piled up in the second story of my house in my room in a cardboard box where the pages spill out their secrets because I've been dreaming of flying and sometimes at night where I lay there recollecting the day I think I see feathers spinning and sparkling with stars. What, you want a puzzle piece? But I was telling a story and you think you saw the machines. You get what you pay for but what does that have to do with believing? And so I try to drive my clouds to a better sky. My life was okay and I feel alright but I noticed something. C'mon let's try to make a map and figure out where we are at. Bury the pages in the dirt under the storm of this city and try to keep it together. You never knew you could destroy it, you only ever and always figured you could create. Oh, well I was just trying to push all of that away. Oh, well it's time to figure it out... today.

Rewinding thoughts to replay the secret messages

Put your hands out and look at the ground. Did you see that bell? Did you see it's light? It's just an angels lamp, it'll all be alright. Maybe it's only a few of us who can see, maybe you've started to evolve and you can dream. Did you see the pages go to bend the screen? Can you see what I mean? Common where uncommon oh, the irony so take a look around and see that nothing changes but it is a new day and that's where we'll write our play. Take control of your life, try to see it filled with bright lights. Fears can't wash me out, it's not what I'm made of. What is this dream? I know it's real but I feel like there's something else about this place. Seems like it's full of dirt filled and ink written mystery. Can you taste the time? It's almost like some kind of water when you speak of it this way. Are the trees calling? Out to the woods for what to see? I wanted to capture the forest birds, I wanted to know their words. I wanted to write them all out, I want to know them now. There was a fire I was waiting to stoke inside of myself and then and after I climbed up out of the mud of myself I sought to sink back into something familiar just to feel alive again but this time I think I've climbed up to a higher hill, the flowers here are more beautiful. This reminds me of home but how can that be when you've got the getting there to go? Well I think it's real and it's how I feel so I throw the dice and just to break the ice and I find the freezing air feels so nice. It's empty and cold but what the message says here written is that there's something good here to be sold. They're all caught in disbelief and I've a got a pen to write the story so how far can you lay your tongue out low?

Always almost itching for something sour and ever more alive

With his tongue stretched on the ground the mystic prys to pull, he tries to pull on the stage and the script someone wrote. Supposing they were great, supposing they were good, it's been turning out like I hoped it would. Don't give up now, just wait another hour and let's watch the sand stretch while it quickens with us already sunk inside somehow. So try to get out, a long time ago they might try to fly. What is this place if the suspicion is right? Oh, it's just a story book, oh, it's just a play written mystery. With all the bodies caught up in these wheels the lamps are burning for time to steal and make our way ahead to know what He had intended to paint. Is it really that easy? Is it really that way? I think it's something like that if the direction tells us anything about who's up there and how. Would the doors burn one clean until the light was only my everything? I know the blueprint might be projected where full of gold the story as some smoke of a whisper burned out bright goes to be told like you would sing if you found yourself to know. Just like spinning some words around that could lift you off the ground but I search and stretch to dig in that direction right now. What did you find? Is there anything left for me? What are you going to do in this dream? Try to find yourself, try to see so clearly. You want to go on the journey, you're on the floor. You dream of life as a story, so look for more. I can't tell you everything, I'm only a man but I'll tell you what I can and we'll find out our way ever more forwards onto our plans. Plans for what? Plans to fly? Plans to figure this out so we will never die. Oh, it's just like that. Oh, it's got to be something more. How do you know what you don't unless you're longing to remember it from the core? Oh, well it's something about circles drawn up on the wall and I think there are symbols. I try to put them together and light them on fire. I thought about birds and the storm clouds as the inclination is raised higher while the rain starts to pour outside. Catch the lightning on some dramatic word.

Telepathic transmission of a mystical map

Where are you? How much time do we have? I pull on the cords of clouds full of fire to reveal that now it's the righteous who are in control and to guide you home. Is that what you want to hear? Is this reassurance what brings you so near? I'm telling you the light is full of might and you know it so. Oh, look I'm so powerful. One prod and I'm a tongue of fire. Angels circle over my house above and through the ceiling. Just look around and count the cards, we've all heard whispered thoughts we bought and polished the portraits of the rumors of a miraculous escape. Now we find a book is buried in the ground? So let's just try to dig it out. There's nothing written there and so it's thrown up in the air. Fill the pages with dirt and throw all of that around. What will you write now? Like blindfolded I go to read some of the features of the secrets where hidden beyond there like lamp lit whispers and wrestle a piece out of the puzzle I can use to create reality. I find it's all full up in yesterday like there was something greater in me but who could that be? Am I on the right path such that this might be one I am paving? Hey, just reach out and grab my jacket. Can you see what I see? I pull you close with my eyes wide open so that I can be heard within the circle of belief. Okay, I'm just looking at you but is the field real where whatever we sow becomes something new? So what is that function? So what is the operation? Who is the machine who's gears go to reveal the path to the greater world with its greater love? We were traveling and trying to wake up from that one but we always used to drive the compass about our calling to find what's ahead and polish the greatness within. The idea of greatness, sometimes it's throwing me over to figure out how to shine my light brighter.

A fortress of feathers on fire

It's my light! It's my life! My soul hungers and thirsts for more than I had before so I can be what I want to see and it feels so righteous. So I have identified myself with light and I will open my eyes. Burn bright, come up out of the bed made in darkness and feel the fire where so wild it says that it will awaken you inside. What is it you are waiting for? For righteousness it's time to sell and for the soul it's time to buy. When will I take myself for what I'm worth and crush the diamonds of my determination with the fires of my purity burning? My purity, a soul, just one who is a pure being. And so well who are you? Are you making it through? Get yourself into something believable and true. It's so much to push some ideas around and I think I'm okay now but I figured it'd be good to show you the way, to show you the way to your strength when you tell me what you must do. What is worth smiling for? What is worth dying for? A pretty heavy question but I know you love the pressure when I lay it on you because when you answer you write in life that you are worth that which is more than you thought before but what is it that you know of, the potential of your goodness inherent to the core. What are your bones blazing for? From which you cannot turn and you want to see the story change? Just shine your light, everything's gonna be alright. Can God do that? God is more powerful than you'll ever know, you'll ever know. Just wake up, just turn on the lights, just wake up now. At least you were sleeping, at least you were dreaming but now it's time to go. Just pull yourself out of the mud, pull yourself out of this sand. Inside a dream you try to find the staircase and I'm at the top telling you that with enough faith you could fly and be with me here where angels are stationed and I feel safe and your amenities will be arranged, yeah. In the clouds, day dreaming but it's really real. Just fly, wake up tonight. You'll see, you try to wrestle yourself free from a rut and God is looking at you with love. God is the hand to receive you, God is the one to set you free. They say He tends to the rooms way up high like towers of powers in the sky. You want to drive the highway wondering and in His golden place you'll see that God is in control. I feel so safe, it's all okay. So what so you come to a common place looking for what's for sale? Everyone thinks they're so original but some of us are grinding for more, we want to study what's in the store. I put up the name and you know what it means and you watch it shine and you note the time. Where's the water pouring out the hours that I feel taste like paper? and I don't want to get lost in just wasting it all away. So tell me now, what is life about?

Midnight merchants and the mystery

Who will see the signs as they all pass by on the highway telling us to get on forwards and ever more free? As I pulled the roots of a wicked tree that go bleeding off of me into the sky where no one could bury me and noting some sticky blood on my shirt, I shook it off and hoped to fly for a long time. What is up there in the sky? Airplanes and all the afternoons of storms whirling that bring this, my season, into shape so I can focus my lens and capture them watching as the evening and its shadows would roll in again where its tide is the black curtain pulled across the world as nighttime. Light another candle and let's walk further, now light another lamp. Ask another question, determine where you are at. Where are we here? Could we ever make it up higher? I'm climbing, I'm flying, I'm driving to the sky. I can feel it, can you feel it? I must feed it more for the fire of my heart and I wont let this go out. A feast of fire and one golden desire as I suck in the air of these storm clouds and in my lungs wring them right out where every step is upwards met with another one to get. I think it's all planned out. What's up there? Tell me now. Did you get the picture? Go touch the gold. Reach out for God like it's gotta be so much better than you were ever told. So turn on the television and change the channels again. Try to find something to love and look above and you've found the greatest friend. How'd you tell me that? Let the computer's blue light pour on the wall or get yourself inside your blanket, the storm is raining outside and it's gonna storm for a long time. How will this end? How will this end? Just tell me what you know of the truth again. So, how will this end?

The storm strikes its lightning

The lightning strikes and the clock is pulling at its face again. Just tell me how all of this will end. Blagh, the time is stretching. Every so often you'll see an angel come on by with its holy bright liquid amenity for you to drink, tastes like faith and I know what I believe. I'm not strapped to a chair, I was just looking for a long time up there. Do you think I'm a fool? Do you think I'm so out of this picture? I know but just listen again, listen to me my friend and answer me now. How will all of this end? Dragging feet through storm rained dirt in a forest full of mysteries with my suit tie tied tight and a briefcase full of questions. Try to pull the tie loose and get on my way. The wind blows the rain around and I'm tired of lying. Oh God, I needed your help. I needed to escape. But what will they say at the church where I know you'll be? Hopefully and I know I'll find some better company there. But I just want to see you, I just want to call on your name. Through unexpected tears I read the letters I wrote to you drip like bleeding the ink and blurry they stretch and grab me so I will know what to do. I call out to you oh, God. I know that you will save me. Jesus, please save me. Oh, it's such a common thing, I carry this cross. So get me along. Drag me through the rain.

A dream of the golden keys of heaven

In the middle of the night with the midnight black the storms keep throwing it all around while the pages of the story keep on pouring and forced like me of the clock to eat. Consuming moments, gorging myself on the transparent blue tinged liquid time. When will I be complete? Just look at yourself. Determine what's inside and why. It's time to clean, we know what you need. Feed on the feast of fire! Burn brighter! Seeing as I've died this place is like a grave and The Holy Ghost is glowing where I have been saved. Angels in the sky illuminate the lines where it reads eternal life. It's mine. A prize to claim with honor here today. I'm right. This time I will never die. Onwards to heaven! Prepare and beware we've only got to get there. Beware! I'm not scared. Beware! I know I won't be scared.

Anticipation of flight

It's just a test and here we've got to run all the analysis. On to the next step in the sky, this time I will keep high things high. Throw yourself up to the gold, make yourself the image you'd hope to know. The fire flickers as I take flight and blazing bright I find myself burning ever more alive. He will eat you up in a heavenly grave made of holy water to show you the way through resurrection to heaven. What do you know of the brighter side? Don't judge me this time. I hear the golden words of promise and relief shining through like swords to let you know someone up there loves you. Did you want to know? Did you want me to tell you if it was true? He's always ready, now let's bring you up. Keep going, just fly. The grass is always greener on God's side. God has eaten my soul with his heavenly grave made of holy water and regurgitated me in resurrection. Just pour on the holy water and pour the blood of the Messiah on me. Please, oh, Lord Jesus, King of Kings pour out your holy blood on me. Let the holy red flow over my body and drip all over onto the floor. I ask for more. The Holy Ghost is here and moving. I eat the flesh of God and drink of His blood. Jesus, pour your blood all over me.

The end?

In this new place, I throw my hands up on my bedroom wall with the lights off and the television on at midnight to try to remember the past like where I was before. These things so archetypal and iconic, I know that tomorrow the pages will all flip forwards like on fire for the day to move moment by moment as the liquid water monument of the day goes on in normality with like the weather in some way and somewhat strange. Now it's the next day and it's getting heavy up there in clouds. Should be pouring any minute now. Inside I look over papers and I look to you. In between us burns a question that we overlooked last time but I had caught it in periphery and in proximity to a conclusion worth mentioning. Is this kind of like a dream? No one knows and when someone dies all they will find of their life is where photographs will be, the only things left to tell the story. Where are we all when it's time to get going? And I feel like running. It's like I've got to get to somewhere to get some sacred something. If I could escape to some higher place I'd be making my way to controlling the whirlwinds that are coming. Rain falls and here it is again, some questions caught up in the clouds and I want to feel it now. I want to figure it out. The time goes on so long and everything is all the same. Sit in front of television so we can be entertained while we wait so patiently. I find myself wondering what I could do to take control. And so I'll take control. The seconds just feel so paused like drawn on for too long and I find myself trying to deal with this life where the minutes just drag on and pull me along. I'm watching the clock and I know it never stops as the hands of time hold the hours heavy and we're all stuck here in this question. How will all of this end? When will it ever end? When will the Christ come back again? Where is the end of the book where it's all over when you look? How will all of this end? Tell me my friend, when will all of this end?

...

Use lots of delay...

Climb arpeggios over and over again from the beginning and expand and use spaces in time to make it sound like trying to get up higher and then play higher notes as you slide up...

And then mix that style with rounding melodies...

Make it sound dramatic all the time... like caught a glimpse of your eye...

Play it like hotel California...

Ascend with riffs to sours...

Play it like emarosa, building up...

Play it like indian music... periodically...

Involve some dramatic piano like anup sastry...

Play a riff up to it's climatic note and then play notes around it and end on that note and repeat those rounds...

Play the song like family secrets and mix that style with an underoath style...

You can play some dissonant riffs to transition from one thing to another... just play the same type of thing at the end but play it dissonant...

It would be cool if one second it was like underoath and then when the lyrics are kind of about something challenging it becomes like august burns red... to do it like that with all those styles... and then to pause and with piano one word is spoken... and then back to the music...

Play some of the parts like an aggravated underoath chord dillinger with the lyrics...

And to play euphony style riffs but at half time... maybe as transitions...