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i-luvsang · 11 months

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protection — song mingi

gn!reader , sniper!mingi , ateez lore inspired , angst & fluff , cw: violence, guns, bombs, injuries (not described at all!), totally unedited (you can yell at me for super bad mistakes if you so with i'll be grateful) , wc: 1.8K , HERE YOU GO @luvhyun3 kana thank you for planting this in my head i hope you enjoy <3

“i’m in position.” the sound of his deep voice in your ear is crisp, transmitted cleanly by the tiny speaker of your earpiece.

“copy that.” your own voice is taught and stern, as if to compensate for the erratic beating of your heart. despite the now familiar weight of the gun in your hand, you continue wishing you’d stop being so nervous for every mission. you know exactly what you’re doing, your hand is steady, and mingi’s is steadier. his presence is always the most confusing mash-up of comfort and absolute horror—you know he always has you covered, but the fact that he’s there at all means that he could be hurt in the process. you can picture him, perched in the high window of an abandoned building, covered in his black protective gear and his sharp eye peering through the scope of his long sniper.

but you don’t have time to dwell on your fear, his striking appearance, or anything at all when hongjoong’s voice patches in from his own position. “alright. move in.”

with that, your gun is pointed up in front of you the moment you silently slip from your hidden position, right into the open for the enemy forces to see. immediately eyes are trained on you, and not even seconds later, so is their gunfire. you save your bullets, sprinting to and dropping down behind the corner of a building while letting mingi pick off those who pose the most danger to you with his impressive effectiveness.

for today, your role is dangerous; you’re the distraction, and your one job is to draw their fire for as long as you can. you dart closer and closer to the enemy base, always searching for an open shot between cover and allowing mingi to thin the lines of the gunsman for you. only the last few stand when you hear another voice in your ear.

“we’re in.” san confirms he and wooyoung have made it inside the core of the base, about to begin their search for enemy plans and destroy anything potentially harmful.

but that doesn’t mean you’re done quite yet. the more to help them the better, so you make the last dart up to the guards and engage in hand to hand combat in order to get inside from the main entrance. especially with the help of mingi, your fight to the door goes without you receiving any wounds worse than a fist to your face or gut. sure, those hurt, but they’re easy to shake off when you could be feeling the unforgiving sting of a bullet.

just as you place a hand on the door, you hear a shout in your ear. it’s his voice, calling your name frantically.

“run!”

your instincts kick in, and you know fully well to trust him. you sprint to the side, trying to reach cover around the corner of the building, but mingi’s desperate warning is swallowed up by the deafening boom of a hand-thrown bomb, it's blidingly bright flash, and the following darkness.

—

your ears are ringing like literal hell, and that’s all you can process for a long, long moment. next is a blur in front of you and a distant voice calling out to you. your name, maybe?

“m-mingi?” you can’t hear yourself, but you hope he can.

“i’m here, i’m right here. just keep looking at me, okay? you’ll be fine.” his words still sound as if he’s speaking to you from above water, and you’re the one drowning. then the pain hits and you wince almost violently when he tucks an arm under your shoulders and pulls you up into his chest. “sorry, i’m sorry, but i gotta get you out of here.” his other arm hooks under your knees and he stands with you tucked securely into his arms.

with the pain and the constant ringing in your ears, you’re unaware of anything around you but the sight of mingi’s determined face, inches away from your own. his brows are furrowed with worry and a tight frown is cemented in his features as he runs to get you to safety. you wonder if you’re making things up when you notice a glisten in his sharp eyes, as if so afraid for you he’s teared up.

“i’m alright,” you mumble, trying your best in your dazed state to comfort him. he shifts his gaze down to meet your eyes for just a split second, his face softening infinitely in that moment.

“you are alright,” he repeats, a confirmation for you and himself. in the periphery of your senses, you hear shouting, maybe the screeching of tires. your head falls from mingi’s chest in your effort to see around you and you catch sight of a familiar black van, just meters away.

“hurry!” the large door of the van on the side facing you is thrown open, and jongho’s voice meets your ears just before the sounds of gunshots resume, coming from above. the moment you’re right by the van, jongho takes you from mingi’s arms, pulling you inside so mingi can scramble in after you.

the car begins moving before the door is even closed, and this time it’s yunho’s voice that you register coming from the driver’s seat as jongho sets you down on your side in the wide bed of the back of the van.

“we’re going back around to get san and wooyoung,” yunho informs.

mingi just nods, keeping all of his attention on you. he says your name softly, barely audible over the gunshots that follow the van. he tucks a hand under your head to keep it from knocking against the hard floor as jongho assesses the wounds littering your body. mingi’s other hand gently strokes your hair.

from behind you jongho lets out a sigh of relief. “they were far enough away from the explosion, i think our biggest issue is the shrapnel. the medic will know better, but i think they’ll be fine. we just have to get back soon.”

everything’s still a bit of a blur when the van screeches to a stop and wooyoung and san pile in. finally, the car speeds away and the gunshots following you cease.

“i’m alright,” you mumble when san worriedly asks about your condition, and you let jongho give a more detailed answer. the rest of the car ride is mostly quiet after the nearly botched mission (wooyoung and san still managed to steal some enemy plans).

all that you hear are the comforting words and constant apologies that fall from mingi’s mouth. this time you’re sure you’re not imagining the sight of tears in the man’s eyes when he apologizes for the millionth time for not seeing the enemy who threw the bomb beforehand. you do what you can to ease his guilt, but you can’t say half as much as what you want to say when there’s so much pain coursing through you.

it’s only until the next day, as you lay frustrated and ansty, but patched up and on pain meds in the infirmary bed that you get to say to him what you want.

you wake up with him by your side after sleeping through the night, his hand holding yours and his eyes suspiciously red and puffy.

“mingi…” your voice is gravelly and dry, but his name on your lips still sounds like a song to him.

“yeah, yeah, i’m here. you’re awake, are you okay?” his voice chokes up and he looks down at the floor like it’s got something to offer him.

“yeah, i’m okay,” your voice breaks, and quickly, he stands and brings you water. once you feel as though you can talk longer, you continue. “i’m alright mingi, it’s all fine. don’t– don’t cry, please. don’t cry over me. i'm fine, you see?” seeing him so vulnerable breaks your heart, and in that moment you’d do anything to comfort him. it’s odd to see him this way, always so strong and precise in his work. emotionless, even.

“but i should have seen him, i should have prevented this from happening to you. i could have! i got him afterwards, all of them afterwards, but i was too late and you got hurt, and god, i just–”

“mingi, stop it. stop it please. you still saved me! i’m right here and i’m gonna be just fine. they would’ve gotten me if you hadn’t stopped them first and then you came down and you saved me again, you got me into the van and you got me here and because of that, i’m gonna be fine. you’ve saved my life countless times, i want you to remember that.”

“but you still got hurt,” he refutes.

“none of that, mingi, please! i’m okay. i’m still alive, that’s what matters. what matters is that i’m still here and i can still keep fighting for this, we can keep fighting for this.”

“but i want you safe,” his voice is pleading as he takes hold of your hand once again.

you sigh. “i know. and i want you to be safe too. but we have to risk ourselves for this, and you know it. you know we can’t just stop to be safe, because we won’t be either way. we won’t be safe if they get to us, so we have to fight.” you pause, afraid to say the next sentence that rests on your tongue. but memories that flood your heart in just a split second pull it out of you. first comes the moment you met him and you thought he was terrifying. then he smiled and your heart skipped a beat. you think of the way his expression always softens, lights up when you’re around. the time he fell asleep on your shoulder after a long meeting with the crew or the time he pulled you into a hug after your first mission, admitting he was scared watching you from up there. the way he cried while you slept because he just wanted to protect you. so you have to hope he feels the same as you and that you’re right when you say, “we have to fight so we can keep loving each other, right?”

he lets out a surprised breath. “yeah,” and it sounds like maybe he’s as breathless as you. “yeah, i love you. i wanna keep loving you. just scared. i can’t kiss you and hold you if you’re gone.”

“but i’m not. i’m right here and i love you too.”

he’s silent for a moment, battling with his guilt and fear. but he tightens his grip on your hands and gifts you a small smile.

“does that mean i can kiss you now?”

you just nod, smiling back as he leans down. his lips are soft against yours, a stark contrast to the professional side of him that’s sharp and unforgiving. but his hand brushing lightly over your jaw is gentle and the movement of his lips is full of love. he moves away just slightly, resting his forehead against yours.

“never gonna stop kissing you,” he mumbles, still so close you can feel his lips brush against yours.

“good.”

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boliv-jenta · 1 month

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For @movievillainess721

Dark!Jack Daniels x f!reader

WC: 3.4k

Summary: You get more than you bargained for when you try to draw out Jack's darker side.

Warnings: CNC vibes. Rough, degrading sex. Jack takes what he wants, but the reader is into it.

Author's Note: Not proofread or edited. I'm just happy that I wrote a fic.

Careful What You Wish For

The weighty pendant necklace that sits perfectly in your cleavage is the only cool spot on your skin as Jack sets eyes on you from across the room. Even with the dress you wear barely covering your body, the room feels unbearably hot. The skin on show clearly has Jack's attention but it's not for him. You want every other set of eyes in the room on you. You practically float across the dance floor propelled by the music and the waves of admiration coming off of the Stateman's guests.

Before you can fully cross the dance floor and get within Jack's grasp you gracefully accept an offer for a dance Agent Kahlúa. The placement of the handsome agents' hands just skirts the edge of inappropriate as you dance. He's your first dance partner that night, but he is far from your last. Each one of them has happily indulged in the Statesman's finest reserve. Your late appearance was planned to ensure it. The amber liquid makes them loose with their desires. Their eyes linger where their hands don't touch. Time passes in a blur as excitement and anxiety claw at your throat. The temptation to look over at Jack is so strong. His gaze is magnetic, breaking the pull, you force yourself to leave.

The cold night air adds to the goosebumps across your flesh and the stiffness of your nipples. The steady click of your heels speeds up as you lose your nerve. Shaking hands try to retrieve your car keys until they are stilled by larger, stronger ones.

“Now I know you ain't leaving without sharing a dance with me.” Jack's voice is low in your ear as he pulls you flush to him.

The hot hands that were on yours grip your hips to sway you gently. His nose travels down from your hair to your neck, his soft lips skim the skin there until he stops abruptly.

“I can smell them on you.” He lets out a huff of laughter. “I know what game you're playing. Do you think I'm that easy?” His grip on your hips tightens, his short nails start to dig into your flesh. You can picture the little half moons forming there.

“N-no.” You stammer.

Gracefully, Jack spins you out of his hands until you're facing him. His dancer's flare is dropped when he grabs your throat, squeezing the sides gently. “Lying whore. Get in the fuckin’ car.”

With the release of Jack's hand, a full, deep breath makes your head spin. Getting yourself together, you climb into your passenger seat. Jack's profile is set firm as he sits in the driver's seat.

“Jack, I…” you begin.

“You shut your mouth.” You recoil as Jack barks at you. “I don't want to hear any more lies. In fact, come here.”

Your neat updo is destroyed by Jack's fingers winding in the silken strands to drag you across the bench seat. His other hand works on his belt buckle. Once his cock is free he holds the base steady to force the tip past your lips.

“You keep your mouth on that. It'll stop you runnin’ it an’ lyin’ to me.” His breath hitches a little when your mouth settles around him.

The drive isn't long but Jack's grunts, every time you hit a bump or a curve in the road prompting his cock to shift in your warm mouth, makes it feel longer.

By the time Jack has you spread out naked tied to his bed, you're dripping onto his sheets in anticipation.

“Hmmm. See this is why I told you to wax that pussy bare for me. I can see every drop of what I do to you. All this just from holding my cock in your mouth. Dirty bitch.” he'd pulled off his shirt as he spoke.

The soft lamp light highlights the curves and dips of his hard earned muscles. Your mouth that had been parched by your heavy breathing, and makeshift gag, begins to water at the sight. His jeans go next instantly revealing his rock hard cock. Your pussy floods even more than your mouth. With a smirk, Jack gathers some of your wetness on his fingers. His smirk grows to a grin when you whimper.

“Poor baby. Just achin’ to be touched.” A deep groan punctuates his sentence as he wraps his hand around his girth. “Ah. Do you want this? Huh? Want me to fuck you…until you cream over my cock? Until that tight like cunt milks my cum…fuck.” His fist violently jerks his cock. “You love that cunt being filled, don't you? You've always let me take you raw. You take my cock…you take my…oh shit. Ugh.” He snarls through his release. The first spurt of his cum paints the hardwood floor. The next few drip down his fist, his cock and thick thighs. “Mmm. That's better. I can think clearly now. I wouldn't wanna rush through your punishment just because my balls ache. Now, what to do to you first.”

Wiping his hand on his discarded shirt, Jack struts around the bed weighing up his opinions.

“I think I'll start with those pretty tits. Since you practically had them out all night.” The shirt is dropped in favor of retrieving his whip from his dresser.

The bed dips as Jack climbs onto it, swinging his leg over your hips to straddle you. His softening cock lays at the top of your mound.

“Let me get that for you, Darlin’.” Jack smiles as he finally removes your wadded up panties from your mouth now dripping with your saliva as well as your arousal. “I wanna hear all those pretty sounds.”

The first one rings out of you when he drags the ridges of his whip across your nipple. The pain is electric, he repeats the motion a few times before bending the whip until it pinches. The pull of the whip and the arch of your spine draw you to him as you cry out.

“Shh. Shh. Shh. It’s alright. Here.” Jack releases your nipple to suck it into his mouth, his tongue runs soothingly across it. “After what you did, you have a lot of punishment comin’ I don't want you to go passin’ out on me. You need t’ take your pain like the big girl you've been acting like.”

Once your body relaxes Jack nips at the flesh of your breast earning another cry from you. “Music to my ears, Sugar. Let's move on.”

Jack lifts up off you to grab something from his bedside draw. A familiar sweet cherry scent fills the air. Jack turns back to you with a handful of lube before picking up his whip. His brown eyes stare vacantly into yours as he spreads the lube on his whip handle. Your whole body tensed at the thought of what Jack had planned.

“If you tense up it'll be worse. Just relax, like you were about having all those agents hands on you.”

The blunt end of the whip pushing at your entrance had you even more tense.

“Come on, Honey. You know you can take it. Just think of it like one of those other cocks you were nearly bouncing on tonight.”

“Jack, you know that I wouldn't…ahh.” You sobbed as the handle finally slips inside you.

Jack pushed it in to silence you. “No more lyin’. Be honest. If I wasn't in your life, you would have fucked one of them tonight.”

The whip handle slips deeper as his words arouse you. “I know you'd take Kahlúa balls deep. Maybe I should have brought him back to fuck you while you drooled on my cock.” He forces the handle deeper, the painful stretch starts to give way to pleasure as it scrapes along your g-spot. Even without feeling the reaction of your pussy around him, Jack knows exactly how to work you.

“There you go.” The wet sound of the handle pumping in and out of your cunt builds until you come, hard, with a howl of Jack's name.

As the waves of pleasure make your pussy contract it clamps down on the whip and keeps it in place. Jack yanks at the whip mixing more pain with your pleasure before shoving it back in. Setting a brutal pace he forces you to come on the object again. All Jack's sweetness and manners that he shows in public are completely gone. All that remains is a dark shadow of him. There's the odd ‘Sugar’ thrown in but the rest of his words are cruel and mocking. Once the handle slips so deeply on the wave of your arousal and ecstasy that it grazes your cervix you begin to cry at being so full.

“Jack. Please. It's too…much.” the non-waterproof mascara, that Jack had requested you wear, runs down your cheeks as you sob. “Please. Too full.”

A deep bark of a laugh shocks you. It sends a chill through you that shakes you even more than the bone rattling orgasms he has given you. “Too full? No, Darlin’. You don't know what full is.”

Before you know what's happening Jack is uncuffing your feet, wrenching your hips up and pulling your ass against his thighs as he kneels on the bed. The whip is still snuggly inside you as Jack presses a finger tip to your other hole.

“No..no. I can't…” any further protest is detailed by Jack snatching the air from your lungs as he pushes his ring finger in to the knuckle.

“Oh, you can. I'm going to use this tight little hole for my pleasure. And you're going to let me.” One hand pushes at the whip while another finger prods at your rim to punctuate his point. “You know you will let Ol’Jack do whatever he wants to you. Won't you, Honey? Just to keep me fucking you.”

His fingers and the foreign object start to feel like violations. “I can't…” You weep hoping he will take pity on you.

“Oh, it's okay, Sweetheart. I'll make it easier for you.” Jack eases his fingers out and leaves the room.

The beat of your heart in your ears drowns out all the rational thinking you should be doing. Is this too rough? Is he crossing a line? Is this still the Jack you know?

None of it matters when he returns and his naked body is pressed against your as he leans over to undo your cuffs. When you see that he went to the kitchen to get some honey, you relax a little. Which makes it all the more easy for Jack to manhandle you onto your front and cuff you back in place. The whip nudges your g-spot when Jack gathers the other end of the whip. As his thumb slips inside you, his whip cracks against the flesh of your plump ass.

“Jack!” Black tears drip onto the bed below.

“Hush, Baby. I'll take care of you.” A cool liquid drips onto your ass. It soothes the sting for a moment until Jack licks it off. Honey, you think. It's the last coherent thought that you have for a long while. Jack repeats the sting of the whip followed by the balm of honey and warm tongue until you ass is covered in welts and honey drips down to your pussy. It floods your hole when Jack pulls out the three fingers he has managed to work inside of you. Jack's tongue delves in, chasing the sweetness of honey mixed with the taste of your shame. He could feel your embarrassment at letting him play with your virgin hole. His cock was leaking at the thought of pressing through each ring of muscle until you were stuffed full of his big, fat length. He had you crying just from stuffing your pussy. He couldn't wait to hear the sounds you'd make when he had you completely full. He wondered if you'd beg or try to push him off you. His cock twitched at the thought.

“So sweet. I can't wait to fill it.” Jack's hands spreading your cheeks makes your legs shake with nerves. “This is happening either way. You might as well relax. If you're a good girl, I'll make you come while I fill your tight hole with my cum.”

The terrifying thought that Jack might not stop at your safe word crosses your mind. He's right, this is happening either way because you can't risk finding out the answer to that thought. It's better to just try to enjoy it than to have your faith in Jack shattered.

“Oh, fuck.” Jack bites off as he forces the tip of his cock inside you.

His thigh nudges the whip into you, both sensations have you gasping. Jack's fingertips trace the red lines on your soft cheeks as his strong hands keep them spread. The rhythm he sets is off kilter. Is deep and sporadic. It’s purely for his pleasure. He's using you. Even when he grabs the handle in your pussy he only angles it to push against your thin walls to give him another ridge to drag his cockhead over. Another orgasm had been steadily building for you until Jack moved the whip. The new angle is uncomfortable.

“Jack. No. Stop.” Your voice isn't strong but it's loud enough for him to hear.

“Don't say that, Honey Bee. You're so close. Here.” Jack drags you up, flush against his heaving chest. His fingers find your slick clit and begin to rub harshly. “Come on. Come for me.”

“I can't. Please, stop.” There's even less conviction I'm your voice as the pleasure builds around any pain or discomfort.

“Shit. That's my girl. Take it. Take it. Fuck. Gonna blow my load. Squeeze my cock. Fuck. Do it.” Jack's words speed up with his movements.

His cock pounds impossibly deep, stretching out your intimate hole. The whip slams against your cervix and everything builds under his fingers at your clit.

“I…” it's all too much. You're desperate to come but you can't.

Jack's hips falter too. Like he's on the edge but can't get himself over.

“Fuck. Tell me ‘no’ again. Tell me to stop. Tell me I'm a bad man.” Jack's voice quivers for a second. “Tell me you fucking love it. Tell me you know I can take anything I want from you.”

“Jack. No. Stop. Please.” You push back against him.

You can feel him swelling inside you. “Fuck. Yes.”

“Stop, Jack. I want you to stop.” The little game you'd started tonight, goading Jack into giving it to you rough, took a twisted turn and you were secretly loving it. “Please.”

“You want me to stop? You don't want me dick in your ass? Make me.” Jack taunts. His hips pick up speed. His balls are pressed right up against your ass and he thrusts shallowly, enjoying the tight grip of you.

“Stop!” You yell trying to buck him off like a sick, twisted rodeo.

Jack's well built arms wrap around you, trapping you against him.

“That's it. Make me so fuckin’ hard. Gonna make me..oh shit. You can't stop…me…using you. My lit..te..whore. Fuucck.” Jack's head is thrown back as he practically howls through his release.

You own crashes into as his words turn you on even further. Conflicting emotions rise in you once the initial rush of endorphins is over. You feel satisfied? Violated? Safe? Scared? The thoughts can't fully form as your brain is as limp as your body. A body that Jack is manhandling again. His work-rough hands skim your hot skin as he undoes your cuffs. They wrap around your ankles as he slips your feet into dirty panties. Pulling you up to stand he yanks them up over your hips, so forcefully that they slip into the seam of your pussy and send a reminder of the pain there. Next, your dress is unceremoniously dragged over your head.

“Jack?” You brow furrows while he looks back expressionless. “Jack?”

The grip he has on your upper arm hurts as he drags you through his immaculate penthouse to his front door. The no expense spared carpet in the hallway outside cushions your fall as Jack throws you on your ass outside his door. Your shoes and purse are dumped unceremoniously next to your prone form. With your head spinning all you can do is lay there and watch as Jack disappears for a second.

When he comes back he steps out into the hallway with you. “Cover yourself up before the neighbors see.” He swats at your tit left hanging out of your dress before gripping it and shoving it back under the material. His other hand clutches some dollar bills. “Since you give up your whore pussy for free. I thought I'd at least pay your cab fare. I was going to stuff it into your bra but you don't even have one on.” He hovers over you seemingly contemplating, naked as the day he was born. “I know.” In one swift move he shoves the bills down your sodden panties. His knuckle grazing your swollen clit makes you moan quietly. His eyes snapping to yours make you instantly regret the sound. “Look at you. Used and tossed out like trash but still wanting it. Dirty little bitch. Does that hungry pussy need to come again?”

As if it heard him, your pussy clenches. You want him to make you come again but everything is too sore. You feel thoroughly used. There's nothing left for your own pleasure. All you can do is slump back on your elbows, empty.

“Aw. Is that cunt all done for the night?” Jack sinks to his knees before you. “Maybe I've been a little too rough with it. I'm sorry. Where are my manners?” With the most softness he has shown all night, Jack kisses up your thigh until his nose grazes the wadded up bills in your thin panties. Holding them aside he looks at your bare pussy with something akin to admiration in his eyes. “She sure is a pretty little thing.” The end of his sentence is spoken against your lower lips as he prepares to part them with his tongue. The first swipe across your clit has your mewling. “Oh, Darlin’ is that what you need? Jack's tongue?”

He gives a few more licks with the barest tip of his tongue.

“Oh, Jack.” You writhe against the plush carpet.

This was more like the first time. When he'd come back from a mission, pent up and needy. He’d at least made you come on his mustache before fucking you raw over your desk.

“You like that? Come to think of it, a warm wet mouth does feel good down there.” In a flurry of movement he's standing before you where he's dragged you up to your knees. His cock is more than half hard as he pumps himself near your face. “Open up.” He pulls harshly at your hair and thrusts into your mouth when you yelp.

The world spins again. Conflicting feelings are joined by conflicting thoughts. You'd wanted it rough. You'd wanted to play his whore. Were you prepared for it not to be an act? To just be used and degraded for his pleasure. A look in the floor to ceiling windows next to you gave you your answer.

Reflected in the glass against the night's sky was a part of you you'd never see before. She was on her knees, two large hands held her head in place while a thick cock was being pumped in and out of her throat. She gagged now and then as drool and tears ran down her no longer perfectly made up face. Her own hands groped at her tits, playing with her sore nipple to chase the earlier high. Her other hand worked furiously at her clit chasing down her next orgasm. Her juices soaked the cash in her ruined panties. You had never seen her before but you knew exactly who she was. Jack's Whore.

Tags (sorry if this isn't your kind of thing. I just haven't tagged you guys in a while.)

@kirsteng42 @prolix-yuy @thegreenkid2 @hquinzelle @fangirl-316 @gracie7209 @jedifarmerr @doommommy @scorpio-marionette @sturkillerbase @harriedandharassed @aynsleywalker @mswarriorbabe80 @rise-my-angel @adancedivasmom @kinda-nobody @movievillainess721 @munsonownsmyass @mandoloriancookie @faceache111 @elegantduckturtle @manazo @simpingcowboy @pedrit0-pascalit0 @yourcoolauntie @pedrostories @geekrenaissance @its-nebuleuse @sherala007 @vabeachazn

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #dark!jack daniels #jack daniels smut

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happilychee · 5 months

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ultear, meredy, and the sea

inspired by a convo with @thehylianidiot

♡ when lyon melted the iced shell around deliora, ur's body and consciousness flowed into the ocean.

♡ sometimes, when she's feeling lost, ultear goes to the beach and stands on the sand for hours. water laps at her ankles, and she feels an inexplicable draw to the tide. if she listens closely, she can just barely make out a woman's voice humming a long-lost lullaby.

♡ before their attack on tenrou island, ultear takes meredy to the beach. it's a quiet trip, and meredy doesn't understand the significance of this moment yet. it's when they're in the waters around tenrou, ultear's blood staining meredy as she hauls her mother onto the small boat, that she sees the figure: a lean, athletic woman with short, dark hair shimmering in the distance. maybe it's her sensory link magic, maybe it's the heightened emotions of the day, maybe it's a subconscious instinct, but meredy nods to the woman, pressing her hand to her heart. ultear coughs up seawater, and the figure disappears.

♡ ultear casts lost ages. she's alone, surrounded by the rubble of destroyed buildings, and there's no water in sight. but when the spell rushes through her, she swears she's in a river, the current threatening to drown her, and someone is trying to pull her out.

♡ meredy takes ultear to the seaside. crime sorcière is put on hold. ultear survived last ages, but it took her magic, and none of them know how to keep going.

♡ ultear walks along the beach. she walks and walks and walks until the sun starts setting. she turns, facing the horizon and opening her arms. the wind caresses her, soothes her pain, and she can almost feel her mother's touch.

♡ meredy starts talking to the water. ultear is a quiet companion, and jellal comes and goes like the tide. meredy talks about her parents, blurred faces she can't remember. she talks about grimoire heart and meeting ultear. she talks about them now, something fundamentally lost in her mother. she talks about ur, who she knows so little about. "I think she would've loved ultear." meredy whispers, and the water seems to dance.

♡ on a particularly bad night, full of nightmares and delirious cries, meredy runs into the ocean. her hands glow pink as she activates a sensory link. that familiar, unfamiliar figure appears. meredy feels a sense of relief, crashing into the tide. the young woman falls asleep in her grandmother's arms.

♡ it's later, much later, when ultear and meredy find themselves on the beach together. ultear feels better, more grounded. she talks more and laughs more and even teases meredy sometimes. they might move again, perhaps to be closer to gray or lyon. meredy likes the idea, as long as they stay by the sea. ultear doesn't argue, splashing her playfully.

♡ the boxes are packed and gone, carted off by lyon, gray, and the ever lively team natsu to hargeon. the cottage is empty, a layer of sand on the windowsill. jellal is waiting for them at the train station. ultear and meredy stand on the beach, water swirling around them. meredy clutches ultear's hand, activating her magic, and suddenly there's three of them. it's one of the only times she sees her mother cry.

♡ ultear brings a pretty glass bottle of seawater into their new apartment, placing it on a little table. it fits right in with the vase of blooming white flowers and the framed pictures of a younger meredy, gray and lyon arguing, jellal and ultear laughing.

♡ they've settled in well. hargeon is a beautiful port town, and ultear feels color creep back into her life.

♡ in the dead of night, when everyone is sleeping and only the sea marches on, ultear hears a faint voice telling stories to her daughter, and smiles.

#I'm so normal about them you don’t understand #old lady ultear does not exist in my mind. I am looking away. I do not see.#they’re family your honor #lychee writes #and cries a little bit #fairy tail #fairy tail headcanons #ultear milkovich #meredy #jellal fernandes

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pandakatt · 1 year

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Random ROTTMNT Bros Headcanons

First time posting in a looong time. Fk it I need a creative outlet.

✧✧✧✧

RAPH

Huge sweet tooth. Fave thing is chocolate. I picture him always reaching for milk chocolate or a cookies and cream bar

Prefers crunchy snacks

A moka type of guy.

Needs to have something sweet after dinner or else he feels like the day isn't over

Loves Sanrio characters. Hello Kitty, My Melody and Cinnamonroll are his favorites

Cracks his knuckles and neck constantly. Sounds super loud and concerning ("dude you ok?" Is usually what he hears after)

Gives the tightest most secure hugs

Finds ASMR relaxing but dislikes slime videos

Drinks A LOT of water and is reminding his brothers (mostly Donnie and Mikey) to stay hydrated

LEO

Likes chewy candy and lollipops. Go-to candy is Starbursts

Iced caramel macchiato guy. Will try seasonal drinks as long as they're iced. Only has hot drinks at night, it's like his little ritual

Takes forever to get ready for the night. Has a 10 step skincare routine that he is very diligent about

Has very rough but pretty hands. No matter how much lotion he applies his skin remains a bit on the dry side

Has a beautiful voice when humming but when he actually tries to sing he screams. Not tone deaf, just has bad projection

Likes to build figurines and model cars

The walls on his room are completely covered by posters, drawings (by Mikey of course) and pictures. Not a lot of frames, prefers tape

Likes those reddit voiceover TikToks

Tosses around in his sleep a lot and often kicks his blankets off. Sleeps with his mouth open and wonders why his throat feels dry.

DONNIE

Likes sour candy and salty snacks. Go-to's are those Airheads rainbow strips and Sour cream and onion chips.

His usual coffee order is a cold brew. Likes clean and intense flavors and NEEEDS his caffeine. Very little to no sugar, might add milk if he's in a particularly good mood.

Picky eater except when he cooks for himself. Knows what he likes and doesn't trust anyone else to make food exactly how he wants it (maybe will let Mikey cook for him but will micromanage him. Mikey hates it but complies most of the time)

Cannot eat spicy things at all. Ever so often he tries to see if he likes it he never does

Chews a lot of gum

Won't drink water unless it's flavored somehow and ICE COLD. Otherwise he feels like he can taste it and gets grossed out.

His hands are very nimble but covered in small cuts. Bites his nails and picks at his skin when very stressed

Likes soggy fries

MIKEY

Loves gummy candy and chocolate with add ins. Never can decide on what snack to have so he must get a sweet, a salty and a chocolate one, eats a bit of everything.

Licks the powder off Takis and spits out the chip. Prefers popcorn to chips.

Dislikes coffee. Prefers to have soda, likes how the carbonation feels in his mouth. Never passes on a good milkshake

Always has paint under his nails and on his face, not because he doesn't wash but because he uses it constantly.

Most of the things he owns are covered in stickers

His phone screen is cracked but visible. Destroys headphones and has to replace them frequently

His room is the messiest but somehow never misplaces things. Has those "mom powers" where he finds lost things without even looking

Loves cooking, hates doing the dishes. When it's his turn to cook for the fam, always asks one of his brothers to "help" him but he only makes them clean after him. Usually it's Raph.

Snorts and wheezes when he laughs

Collects gachapon miniatures and pins

Fave art medium to use is spray and acrilic paint. Least favorite is colored pencils and watercolor

✧✧✧✧

I have so many more of these headcanons. In the last month Rise has been occupying the majority of my brain and I need other people to know about my hyperfixation.

Also if I made any spelling/grammar errors I appreciate corrections! English is not my first language and sometimes my brain glitches

Hope you enjoyed and let me know if you want any more ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt season 3 #katt writes

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ekkurea · 3 months

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Hello, my friends! Thank you for all your kindness and support, every word you said made me happier and improved my condition.

I hope your holiday season was filled with warmth, love, and that all the people you care about were with you♡( ◡‿◡ )

For me, in spite of everything, it was almost like that. I was home for the first time in a long time. Rocket attacks, water problems, cold winter, lack of electricity and communication. But you know what? Even though I was nervous, I was so happy to see my family. We sat together in the basement, my grandmother showed me old photos, I ate her delicious canned tomatoes, listened to the sounds of explosions, but was happy to be with them. And sometimes, when I heard explosions, the only thing I could think about was that I just wanted to stay in my bed, like when I was a little girl hiding from all the problems under the covers. Ha ha. Unfortunately, it didn't work. I scolded those who did not leave their homes and belongings in danger, who were afraid or simply did not want to evacuate and start from scratch, I was worried about them, because life is the most important thing, but I respect their choice and understand their feelings. At the beginning of russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, I gave away my belongings, and people needed them, and it was impossible to take everything with me, and when I returned again, I started throwing away my drawings, from childhood to the last, because it was impossible to carry them around with me to apartments or countries. As I said before, it's a pity, but I'll draw more.

I'm always happy to come back here and immerse myself in pleasant emotions along with my creativity.

I send you a lot of love and hope that you are all safe, appreciate your past, but are not afraid to move forward. I want to support those who need it. Life can be hard and full of uncertainty, do what you can, stay human, take care of yourself and help others whenever possible. The world has always been a crazy place and it remains so, and each of us can make it a little better.

The video of the destroyed house is not mine. And it is just a picture of one day and just a one house from the whole country that russia is trying to kill.

#askekurea #support ukraine #russia is a terrorist state #standwithukraine #ukrainetoday #ukraine artist #ukraine art

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depressedhatakekakashi · 2 months

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Do you think 2nd Gai was the first/ only dragon in your GOS au, making him an incredibly sought over prize? Or do you think there were/are other dragons all over the world.

I just find it interesting if Kakashi got him out of the cave and took on trips around the world to combat his depression, and make him feel like the hero he was. Gai would follow his storms, and normal people would see him and write their own stories/ draw pictures about this incredible beast they saw. And years later people thought there were dragons all over the world, when really it was just one dragon, and people misinterpreted like "OF COURSE THERE'S MORE. ONE DRAGON CAN'T BE EVERYWHERE!" (But he was XD). This also may have made him leave parts of himself behind accidentally (like hair, horns or scales falling off and people/ gods finding them and realizing how powerful he was that way!).

Also was the reason his dragon body was so powerful, was because it was infused with Madara's magic? Maybe Every part of him had a magical property but no one got to find out everything because Kakashi/ Shino made sure his corpse was destroyed properly and given a proper burial (Much to Orochimaru's eternal disappointment)... I'm sure Gai wanted that as well to make sure no one came to the attack the village over his body, and maybe it was one last thing to make him feel human.

Also do you think he still lived a human life span (maybe 40-60 years) or was it longer due to dragon stuff?

I kinda like the idea of Gai being the first and only dragon, but it seems like there were actually dragon’s everywhere because Kakashi would use his abilities as a god to transport places while on Gai’s back

So Gai got to see the entire world and the entire world got to see him, leading to different stories of dragon’s in all sorts of cultures

No one ever realizes that it was only ever just one dragon

And they get to see different sides of him and thus come up with different types of dragons.

There’s the standard fire breathing dragon story that came from Gai breathing fire on enemies or protecting certain villages by using his fire

Lightning dragon’s because of all the Lightning that surrounded this giant dragon and how it sometimes seem’s to come directly from it.

Water dragon’s because Gai loved chilling in the water

Even forest dragon’s because Gai was green bodied so anyone who actually got a good look at him sort of imagined him in a forest.

I would say he’d live a bit longer. A few hundred years. Really cement the idea that there are ton’s of dragon’s everywhere in the world and muddle up how long mortal’s think they live for

Plus the village has a few hundreds years of their own personal protector. No one’s willing to attack them, and when Gai does and people do try attacking them again Tsunade comes up with that virus to protect them.

#GOS AU #God of Storms au

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jangmo-othewarrior · 2 years

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I'm sorry but one of the CoO headcannons I posted previously has taken over my brain (along with another idea that I am attempting to draw art for but shush)...... so I wrote a drabble. (SPOILER ALERT: IT IS NO LONGER A DRABBLE IT IS BASICALLY A SHORT STORY I'M SORRY YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words

Fenrir sighed. Being alive again was nice, but his redemption had already been realized. His purpose was fulfilled. He had no reason to continue being on this plane. His journey was over.

To put it simply, he was bored and he felt like shit.

He had promised the kid he wouldn't sent anything on fire if he couldn't find anything to do. And he would be hanging out with the kid right now, but they had ran off to go look for a 'Cosmic Skerdi', whatever that is. The cat, glasses girl, skull boy, anger issues 1.0 and 2.0, water himbo, and Riley went with them, so at the very least things might not get destroyed to much. He wasn't about to go hang out with any of the other guild members, and Celine was busy with Laterian shit or whatever. Which left Fenrir with his siblings.

Zetta and Merida were out of the question. He did not have the time nor the energy to deal with volleyball matches or Zetta's entire existence. Nadine was also out of the question, as she had explicitly told all of them to leave her alone for at least week after Xanders had tried to kill her. Again. And Deena was dealing with that whole situation.

Which left Grunda. Honestly, Grunda was probably his first pick anyways, other than his niece. He is easily the most mature out of all of the them, and he has calmed down significantly since his second death. The only problem with visiting Grunda is his current residence.

His brother lived in and ran a human orphanage. With human children. Everywhere. And Fenrir only liked 1 human child on this planet, at most 6. So on one hand, even entering a building filled to the brim with emotional, disgusting, and chaotic human children sounds like a nightmare.

But on the other hand, Fenrir had nothing else to do. And maybe if he was quiet he could just sneak up to Grunda's personal quarters. No unnecessary human interaction needed.

And so here he stood, in front of the two large Orphanage doors at 8 in the morning. The kids probably weren't awake at this time, so he was safe to run up and start pestering Grunda. The old wooden doors creaked as he slowly pushed them open. No one was in the barely lit hall, and the entire building felt as quiet as a torched landscape. The pillar within the center of the entryway was covered with pictures, some old, some new. Fenrir made his way towards the the pillar, footsteps echoing down the hall lit only by the sun beginning to shine through the windows. The pictures were similarly lit, with a multitude of faces unrecognizable to himself.

It was odd, how Fenrir felt looking at these photos. He had thought that humans only hung pictures of their triumphs to boast about them to other humans, like how Omnicron had shown him and his siblings off the the human populace so long ago. Most of the pictures on the pillar, if not all of them, were captured moments of triumph. But, they did not feel like they were bragging about anything.

There was a picture of a young woman wrapping a bandage around the end of a child's leg, where they were missing a foot. The child was laughing as the young woman appeared to be telling him a joke along with caring for his injury. Another photo featured a large group of young children sitting underneath a large structure made out of pillows. It wasn't well crafted, but they were all clearly proud of their work. However, the last photo that really caught Fenrir's eye was one of the most plain picture of the bunch.

It was a photo of four young children, no more than 8 years old. In center of photo sat his niece, smiling wide at the camera with her arms hooked around two humans on either side of her. The human child on the right had glasses on, with short pink hair and a large book held tightly against her chest. She seemed slightly suprised by his niece's actions, but gave a small smile towards the camera. The other human child had bright orange hair, with a pair of Google to large for him on his head. He was laughing, with one eye open and looking at the camera. The last child, a cat, sat just below his niece, his body slightly cut off by the frame. The cat had bright eyes and a small smile directed towards the camera, although the smile almost seemed like a smirk.

It was his niece, Nora, Ross and Coco. All of the photos were of children who were either at or were from the Orphanage. Their accomplishments, triumphs, and achievements. And their daily lives. It wasn't boasting. It was pride and praise. It was contentment, a feeling of causal happiness in a destruction filled world. It was something him and his siblings never got.

"Excuse me?" Fenrir jumped out of his thoughts and whirled towards the voice as the room got a few degrees hotter.

It was a young child standing against the lefthand side of the pillar. Their hair appeared to a ginger color, and they had a red scarf around their neck. They hid slightly behind the pillar as he locked eyes with them. Fenrir let out an exhale, and the room returned to its regular tempature. He struck a hand against his forehead. So much for not running into any humans. "What do you want, kid?"

The human blinked a couple of times before emerging from behind the pillar. They were probably around ten years old. "Whose picture are you looking at?"

Fenrir huffed. He pointed to the photo of his niece and her friends. "The one in the middle is my niece." A pause. "Not the cat." He added.

Suddenly, a small gasp came from the child. Small footsteps echoed down the hallway as the child ran straight up to him and looked him in the eye. Fenrir nearly transformed right then and there, but there was something about the child's eyes that stopped him. They were bright, full, and nearly shining. They were looking at him like he was a god, despite having no way of knowing that he actually was one.

"You're one of Mr. Grunda's brothers!" The child started rocking back and forth on their heels. "Which one? What's your name?"

Fenrir stared at the child. One of Mr. Grunda's brothers? How on earth did this kid know that? He blinked down at the child, who was waiting with... baited breath? Fenrir silently prayed that Grunda used their human names instead of their true ones. "Ummm.. My name is Fenrir?"

The child immediately started bouncing up and down. "I knew it! You have the long coat, just like he said!" And with that, the child dashed into the down the hallway, into the last room on the right. Fenrir stood next to the pillar, trying to process whatever the child had shouted before running away. Suddenly, as if a tsunami had appeared on the horizon, a swarm of children erupted from the door the child had ran into. All of the other doors in the hall also swiftly opened up, and joined the swarm. And then, they were upon him.

Fona, the Primordial Tyrant of Fire, is known across time and space for scorching anyone and anything who stood in his way. The third child of King Omnicron, only able to be held back by Ulzar's chains. At times Fona was known to turn into Fenrir, champion of the flames and a ruthless member of the Nexolord's council. Fona was cursed, demonized, and above all feared by humanity. Fona...

...has been bested by a group of human children.

He was surrounded on all sides by hopping, screaming children. All of them were asking questions, but they were lost to the eternal screeches of the masses. The original child had been lost to the crowd, probably to save himself from the mountain of children he caused. Fenrir didn't know what to do. This was just so... overwhelming.

A sudden thunk hushed all of the children almost immediately. A cat stood there, at the base of the stairs with a book hooked under one arm. She was clearly older than Coco, with black fur and white and carmel markings with light green eyes. One tooth was sticking out slightly over her lip. She was wearing a red sweater with a pair of jeans. All of the children were looking at her guiltily.

"What in Ulzar's name is going on here?" She said as she made her way over to Fenrir and the mass of children. "Why are you all up so early?"

"Mr. Fenrir's here!" At least ten children all pointed at him.

"Mr. Fenrir?" She blinked. "Well, what are you doing here?" She gestured to him.

Fenrir's mind blanked. Yet, his mouth moved anyway. "I came to see Grunda."

The cat nodded. The children began to murmur to each other before her voice silenced them. "Well, I will take you to him. Fo?" The child who originally saw him shuffled up to her. The cat passed the book to him. "Can you please take this to the library for me?"

The child, Fo, nodded and clutched the book against his chest tightly. "Okay, Bee." The cat, Bee, gave him a small smile before addressing the group as a whole.

"All of you, go get ready for breakfast. I think it will be a bit special today." Bee grabbed his wrist and began to drag him towards the stairs. Fenrir wanted to say something, but his throat had throughly clamped shut. He glanced back at the mass of children.

All of the children lit up as he looked back at them. "Bye Mr. Fenrir!" They all shouted as they waved at him. Fenrir, throughly overwhelmed, simply waved back.

As the two of the them walked up the stairs, Fenrir finally felt like he could breathe. It didn't feel like he was suffocating under his father's the children's expectations. At the top of the stairs, Bee came to stop.

"Are you okay? They didn't mean to overwhelm you." She retracted her paw back to her chest. It struck Fenrir in this moment that this cat only had one functional arm. Her left arm was in a sling that matched the red sweater she was wearing, down to the green butterfly pattern. It was almost unnoticeable if it weren't for the carmel and white paw sticking out of the end of the sling.

Fenrir suddenly remembered that he was having a conversation, and quickly shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm... I'm fine."

Bee quirked her brow, but didn't press him. "Well, my name is Buttercup, but everyone just calls me Bee." She put her right paw on her hip. "And you are Fenrir, I presume."

Fenrir snorted. "How could you tell? The coat?"

"That and the eye scar. You are quite famous here, Mr. Fenrir."

Fenrir sighed. "Can I ask why?"

Bee laughed and pointed at the large doors Fenrir had neglected to notice down the hall. "You will find your answer through there, Mr. Fenrir."

Huffing, Fenrir opened the doors. To no one's surprise, Grunda was sitting there waiting for him, cane leaning against the edge of the table. The most surprising part was the smirk fitted on his face.

"You knew." Fenrir says into the morning air.

Grunda huffs. "I didn't know you were coming until shout of 'Mr. Fenrir!' hit my office. I did know they were excited about meeting you, however." The smirk didn't fade. In fact, it got wider.

"How do they know about me?" The air in room got hotter. "The stories about 'Fenrir, champion of flame' are long gone now."

"They don't know the champion of flame," Grunda got out of his seat, and stared into Fenrir's eyes. "They know the determined, passionate, and fierce person you are. And they only know that because I told them."

As two of the stared at each other, it struck Fenrir just how different Grunda was compared to their... their childhood. Grunda had always been Omnicron's favorite, with his sheer destructive power and ability to take damage with little effort. Fona had idolized him for that destructive power and tried to emulate it for their father's attention. Even after death, Grunda maintained the most power out of all of them, able to create a physical form easily. But now, Grunda seemed more... calm. Reserved. At peace. Which was ironic, considering their niece only resurrected him a few months ago.

"Am I interrupting something?" Both of them turned to Bee, who was leaning against the door at the entrance.

Grunda sighed. "No, Buttercup. What is it?" Bee staggered into the room like she owned the place.

"Breakfast is gonna start soon, but the kids are antsy for," She gestured towards Fenrir. "Obvious reasons. Can you get them to settle down?" Grunda nodded, patting her on the back in sympathy.

Yet another thing that has changed. The thought sat in the back of Fenrir's mind.

Bee turned to leave before waving him down. "I'm sorry about Fona summoning the horde, by the way. He can get caught up in his excitement easily." And with that, she strutted out the door, and closed it behind her with a gentle thud.

That was the only sound in the room for a long time. Or, at least what felt like a long time. Of course, that morning air silence would have to break eventually.

"Is he named after.. me?" Fenrir's voice felt quieter than it had been for a long time.

Grunda's sighed, but it felt more sad and burdened that anything relieving. "His father named him after you."

Fenrir stared wide-eyed at Grunda. "Why?" He found himself saying, unable to comprehend why a human would name their child after the ancient primordial tryant of fire, who was known for scorching entire landscapes to ashes.

Grunda looked at him sadly. "He wanted Fo to be like you, I suppose." But why? Fenrir asked himself. "Fo's father was not... not a nice man."

"What happened to him?"

"Prison happened. He was found guilty on multiple accounts of assault and one attempted homicide. Fo was seven, I believe. He's been here ever since."

"What.. who.. why...?" How ironic. The Primordial Tyrant of Fire feeling sympathy for a human. Their father would have lost his mind. The thought silenced Fenrir for a moment. "Can I talk to him?"

Grunda smiled at him sadly. "I was hoping you would say that."

------

"This is a horrible idea." The words reached no ears as Fenrir stood, murmuring to himself in front of the doors to the library. Breakfast had been chaotic, with questions being thrown at him from all directions. The only person not asking questions was Fo, who had eaten so quickly that Fenrir had barely noticed that he was even there. Luckily, Grunda and Buttercup had been able to distract the other children enough for him to slip away. And so, here he was, nervously (By their father's name, when was the last time he was nervous?) standing in front of two large doors, about to have a conversation with a child about their emotional relationship with their father. So nothing major.

Fenrir opened the door slightly to peak inside. The library was large, and primarily composed of books Grunda had collected throughout the centuries. There were no windows, with only a lamp sitting at the centermost desk lighting the entire room. At that desk sat Fo, leaning over a book, his eyes glued to the page. As Fenrir slowly opened the door, the child did not even acknowledge his presence. Unsure of what to do, Fenrir began to shuffle his way towards Fo.

Wow. He thought to himself. I used to enter rooms by causing explosions of flame and smoke to erupt out of my feet. Now I'm trying to quietly sneak into a library. Ivan would get a kick out of seeing me now.

Fenrir stopped about a foot away from the child's shoulder, and he was now close enough to lean over and look at the book Fo was reading. It was... a picture book. A familiar looking tiger was laying on the ground in what appeared to be a cave, with two cubs spouting small puffs of flame from their mouths as they climbed on the older nexomon.

"That's an interesting book." Fenrir found himself saying. Fo jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Mr. Fenrir!" The kid's eyes were blown out wide. "What are you doing here?"

Fenrir smirked. "I saw you slip away and figured I would go have a chat with someone I've talked to before. Now," he pulled over the chair on the other side of the desk and sat down. "What are you reading?"

Fo closed the book and pointed at the cover. "It's an old picture book on fire type nexomon. Most of them are extinct now though." The kid's eyes dimmed.

Fenrir nodded. "Well.. which one is your favorite?" Fo's eyes lit up again as he excitedly began thumbing through the pages. As the pages flipped by the kid kept stopping and pondering the nexomon on the page, probly trying to figure out his favorite one. Eventually the kid stopped, but he thumbed the next page. The current page featured a skunk with a long flame shooting out of its tail standing the middle of a large plain. Fenrir vaguely remembered this nexomon. "Is this your favorite?"

"No, but it is pretty cool." The kids eyes were hesitant, and he gnawed on his lip before turning the page.

Unlike the previous pages, this image filled the entire space. The centerpiece was the nexomon standing on a large cliff, with a forest below and around it. The nexomon stood proudly, but also appeared almost at peace. It was Fona. It was him.

The room was quiet. Fenrir would of been able to hear the sounds of the other children if he wasn't staring at the page. Suddenly, Fo pointed at the him on the page.

"He's my favorite. There's no nexomon like him in the book." The kid paused. "I'm also named after him."

Fenrir felt dread creeping down his spine. "Why is he your favorite?" His somehow calm voice asked the child.

The kid blinked a couple of times before looking up at the ceiling. "He was one of Omnicron's kids, supposedly. " Supposedly is far from the truth, kid. Fenrir thought. "Apparently he burned down a ton of stuff too."

Lord, please don't let this kid idolize him for burning down entire continents.

"But.." The kid looked down at the page once more. "This drawing has none of that. Fona is just standing there, looking out onto the landscape. Nothing is burning down. Nobody is running away in fear. He just... exists." The kid gestured to all of the scenery on the page. "But if he can exist peacefully, why would he burn down other places? I think its because he never really wanted to burn those places to the ground."

Febrir nearly spit out a rebuttal right then and there, but his words dies in his throat as the kid continued.

"I think he only did bad things because his dad wanted him too. Because his dad made him." The unsaid words sat in the air. Fenrir's throat felt like it had snapped shut. "I don't think his dad was nice to him." Fo's words were simply a whisper, but they felt like a punch to the gut to Fenrir.

Because the kid was right, at least in some capacity. Omnicron was not kind to them, not fatherly to them. He only gave them the light of day when they did something he liked, so that's what they did. Destruction and death, all for Omnicron's attention. The things they had done were their own choices, but Omnicron was often a reason behind them. Omnicron did not tolerate anything he disliked either, Nara being the prime example. But Nara had not been thrown out, she had escaped. To put it simply, Fenrir felt like the past thousands of years have all come crashing down onto him. Fo continued, oblivious to Fenrir's internal breakdown.

"But here his is, peacefully standing in a forest. I think he got better." The kids voiced wavered slightly. "He got away because if he didn't that forest wouldn't be there. This picture wouldn't exist. And if he got better, then I can get better."

The picture was fake. Fona had never gotten better. Fona had continued to torch everything in sight even after Ulzar had killed Omnicron. Fona had worked to resurrect the father who would absorb him and his siblings simply to bring himself back. Fona had stayed by his father's side until the day he died.

But he was back. He had earned his redemption through his niece's ascension. He had continued to live, despite Omnicron's soul being forever gone from any and all planes. Just like this human child, he had gotten out, alongside the rest of his siblings.

Fenrir let out a large exhale as he leaned back in his chair and stared at the false image of him on that page. Despite the inaccuracies, he smirked at the picture. His journey wasn't over. It would be hard, grueling, and painful. But maybe...

Maybe Fona, Fenrir, or whoever he was could get better.

#nexomon #nexomon extinction #that's all folks #this got so much longer than it was supposed to be #it was originally just fenrir entering the orphanage and him meeting and talking with fo #but then it turned into THIS #also i gave all of omnicron's kids daddy issues #they are like the umbrella academy but more evil in their youth(?)#they all got different problems #some of them have healed fairly well #and some have barely started #also I gave fenrir social anxiety #so thats fun #anyway here are some behind the scenes tidbits #Fo's design is based off of one of the avatar options #the kids mentioned in the picture segment will have relevance eventually #Buttercup is based on one of my family's cats #and finally #the cosmic skerdi hunt was something I actually did while writing this #i found the fucker after like 6 hours #and also a random cosmic griff #mission success

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oftlunarialmoon · 3 months

Text

5 Ways to STOP/PREVENT Self Harm

originally posted to www.onlyfunthings.org on May 15, 2017

Ciao lovelies! As you all may know, I care very much about all of you and I never want any of you to be in pain, and I especially don’t want any of you to think your only option is to self-harm. So I decided to make a list of 5 things you can do instead of self-harm. Remember that every day clean is another victory!

As someone who used to self-harm, I can guarantee that these 5 things are effective in taking away the urge to hurt yourself. If you are feeling like hurting yourself or suicidal in any way I also urge you to seek help in a trusted adult like a parent, teacher, or counselor so that you can get proper help and get into recovery. If you’re already in recovery, first let me say I am so proud of you and I know how hard it is to come this far. I am so happy that you’re in recovery. Second, I know how hard it is to avoid relapsing while in self-harm recovery, and this list will definitely help you to not relapse.

#1- Ice Cubes

I know that sometimes the urge to self-harm comes from the feeling of emotional numbness caused by depression. But instead of cutting or hurting yourself in any way to feel something, try this trick.

Get an ice cube or something very cold from the freezer, and hold it until you feel something. Repeat if you need to.

I know that many therapists will also say to snap a rubber band on your wrist, but I don’t recommend this as it can leave welts and can be just as addictive as self harm.

Along the lines of the ice cubes, try eating something very cold, like ice pops or ice cream. Your mouth is very sensitive, so you will definitely feel the cold.

#2- Red marker

Sometimes cutting/self-harming is a compulsion. To stop this, draw red lines on your arm with a soft tip marker wherever you’d normally hurt yourself. Repeat until you have satisfied the compulsion.

If you are worried about being judged, just wash off the red marks when you’re done (I recommend using a washable red Crayola marker because of this).

DO NOT USE A PEN! Pens are sharp! And can hurt you! DO NOT USE A PEN!!! USE A SOFT TIPPED MARKER!

#3- Follow the HALT Checklist

Before hurting yourself, look at the HALT checklist. This checklist is designed to show you why you might be feeling badly. So HALT and see if you are-

H- Hungry?/Hydrated? Eat something small. If it’s a meal time, eat a meal. Try to eat something healthy with mood boosting properties, like a banana. Are you dehydrated? When was the last time you drank water? Take a few sips or drink half a bottle.

A- Angry? Are you angry? Think of anything you might be angry about. Try ranting to yourself for a little while. Draw an angry picture in an angry color like red.

L- Lonely? Are you Lonely? When was the last time you talked to someone? Call someone, go talk to a family member, even talk to a pet. Talk. Get some interaction.

T- Tired? Are you tired? When was the last time you slept? Take a 30 minute nap if you’re not sure.

#4- Take a Walk

Sometimes you might be feeling restless, and mis-attribute it to sadness. I actually found that going on a brisk walk outside makes me feel a lot better, for some reason. I’m not sure why this works, but maybe it’s something to do with getting some vitamin D? It’s still nice, and makes me feel better.

#5- Destroy Something

Have a pile of things you can safely destroy, like old school papers you can rip apart. Sometimes the act of ripping paper to shreds can just cause so much relief and take away so much stress!

Please, make sure to take care of yourself. I don’t want any of you to ever feel the need to self-harm. Each and every one of you is beautiful, and deserves to live and be happy.

If you are having suicidal thoughts, please talk to a trusted adult.

#agere #age regression #sfw agere #sfw littlespace #age regressor #sfw age regression #agereg #age dreaming #sfw little blog #agere blog #agere class #agere classroom #agere school #agere daycare #ciao lovelies

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theacevampire · 2 years

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Under The Skin II

Pairing: Kakashi x fem!Reader

Genre: romance, kind of hurt/comfort

Wordcount: ~2.1k

Warnings: none

Track: Vinsmoker, Anthony Meyer – Dancing Thru My Mind

A/N: Thank y'all for the love and support you gave the first chapter! I appreciate every like and every reblog <3

Under The Skin masterlist

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Kakashi’s dull eyes haunted you. Not in a sense that you felt watched or saw him everywhere, but rather whenever you closed your eyes to sleep you saw his Anbu flame before your inner eye or whenever you worked a design for a customer your mind wandered to motives that could cover up the flame or whenever the bell above your door rang you hoped it was him about to tell you he didn’t want the cover-up anymore.

You refused to accept Kakashi’s case as a failure. Whether because of pride, determination or guilt, you couldn’t specify. Probably because of all of the above.

What plagued you the most was the question why someone would even want to get an Anbu flame covered. To your knowledge, the Anbu were a very well-respected force directly under the Hokage’s order. Only the best shinobi were given the opportunity to join, so wasn’t it a sign of honor? Why would someone feel the need to hide it?

Two weeks later, you still couldn’t think of anything else and in a lousy attempt to get your mind off Kakashi and his tattoo, you convinced yourself it was time to clean out all the old files from your office. The tiny room in the back was more of an archive than anything else and filled with racks, which were overflowing with folders to the point they could collapse should anyone put any more weight on them.

During your raid you found old documents, dated years ago – receipts, sketches, letters from thankful customers. You put all the letters to your dad in packing cases you found behind one of the shelves and put the full boxes next to your front desk to take them with you when you would leave. As for the receipts and sketches you were indecisive if it was better to put them in alphabetical or chronological order, however that could wait until you had emptied all the racks and scattered everything on the ground, leaving said ground nowhere to be seen under all the paper, aside from the one spot for yourself to sit down.

Before starting the sorting process, you looked around the room again, scanning the shelves if you had missed anything, and noticed how different the angle from the floor was. While usually the room felt small and narrow, the shelves now seemed to have grown, towering over you and changing the perspective. When you checked the last shelf again, the one in the right corner, you noticed something sticking to the lower three boards.

Careful to not destroy the organized chaos you had just created, you got up and tiptoed over, kneeling on the ground. And sure enough, someone had taped a folded sheet of paper on each of the undersides of the three lowest shelves, so thin and hidden one wouldn’t spot them looking from an upper angle. Your fingers gently removed the tape from the old wood, cautious as to not damage the varnish, and then from the papers before unfolding them. You recognized your dad’s line work and drawing style instantly.

The first paper depicted a crow in front of a waterfall, wings spread and its beak torn open in a screech and a red Anbu flame worked into its stomach and chest, a thin line of what seemed to be uncolored skin separating it from the tattoo’s design. Despite it being only a sketch, the waterfall and the bird’s feathers were incredibly detailed and its visible eye contained some sort of red and black pattern. After years of knowing your dad, these were the parts he intended to do with your family’s special ink, bringing the water and the crow’s feathers to life.

On the second sketch, the pattern of the crow’s eye was pictured bigger. It was a red circle, outlined with a black border. The pattern inside was just as black as the outline and shaped similar to a shuriken with four barb-like corners. Inside was another red circle in the middle which – in turn – had a black dot in its center. Behind the circle, water shot up like a wave breaking at a cliff. And again, the very same flame was worked into the pattern with the very same uncolored bound.

Lastly, the third paper displayed a fan with a blaze in the background. Sketched on the red leaf was a slightly darker ring with three black tomoe circling around a single black dot. This time, the Anbu mark was worked into the fan’s white handle – again separated by an invisible line. But something about the fan struck a chord with you. You could’ve sworn you had seen it before but your brain wouldn’t tell you where or when.

Searching the three concepts for more details or hints, your gaze fell on the initials written lightly with a pencil on the bottom right corners of each sheet. U.I. You took another look at the third design. The fan looked like a symbol... maybe a clan symbol?

Your knowledge of the shinobi world and its clans was limited despite you being a chūnin on paper. Absolving the academy and becoming a genin was a requirement in your family to learn the special technique of tattooing which got passed down from generation to generation. And while you were taught said technique from the cradle, your dad had refused to let you work full-time in his studio until you were fifteen, so you spend the years in between to have an income from completing missions and making it to chūnin just a few months before your dad allowed you to resign from missions and work full-time for him. Therefore, you knew something about everyday shinobi life but coming from a team with neither a well-known sensei nor well-known teammates, you never came into much contact with shinobi politics or the elite, the members of powerful clans, aside from a few stories here and there.

And then it clicked. Uchiha. The fan was the Uchiha’s symbol and the pattern with the tomoe had to be their so called Sharingan. From what you had heard, they used to be a powerful clan, until one Uchiha had eradicated the whole clan in a single night, only leaving his younger, now traumatized brother behind.

Your dad’s words rang in your ears. ‘He was a young man, not even eighteen, whose village had failed him.’ Was he the boy your dad talked about that night? But why would he feel bad for refusing the request of a criminal? You shook your head. They were probably not the same person. Still, what if you...?

Discarding the chaos in the archive, you jumped to your feet and ran over to your front desk and pulled out a few blank sheets of paper and a pen. Quickly, each of the papers had the flame of your recent restless nights in the center. Though your enthusiasm was quickly hushed when a big problem arose. What motives would fit? You knew next to nothing about Kakashi, his life or his preferences.

Someone flicking your forehead made you snap out of it, reminding you where you were. It was Genma. You had totally forgotten about his appointment. Hastily, you stashed your dad’s design under your own sketches, hoping he didn’t see them.

“Is the thing with Kakashi still bothering you? Or has he, perhaps, stolen your heart?”, Genma teased, nodding his head to the sketches in front of you.

With a little shake of your head, you started drawing random lines around one of the flames, in hopes of sudden inspiration. “None of your business, Shiranui.”

“I pay you by the hour and if you charge me for the time you spend lusting over Kakashi, it becomes my business.”

Figuring work would keep you distracted for a while, you got to continue Genma’s tattoo of the Allied Forces headband, a reminder of the beginning of a peaceful era he and his comrades from all shinobi nations had helped create.

Neither of you struck up another conversation, so the only noises in the room were the humming of the air conditioning, the ticking of your clock and the buzzing of your tattoo machine. You cursed yourself internally for forgetting to turn on your radio earlier. Technically it wasn’t silent but it was still quiet enough for your thoughts to drown out all the noise and it was too much for you. You needed a distraction from your thoughts – a good one, since this wasn’t helping.

“Has he told you why he wants it covered?”, you asked. “Isn’t it an honor to be eligible for this special command? After all, only the most capable shinobi are offered a part in the Black Ops, no?” You mentally slapped yourself. This was anything but a distraction – on the contrary, it only added fuel to the dumpster fire that was your mind.

Genma took long enough to answer for you to look up from the motive in front of you. His eyebrows were furrowed, his arm behind his head and his senbon was moving from one corner of his mouth to the other and back again. “Kakashi is... How do I put this nicely? How do I say this without sounding like a jerk?”

“Since when do you care about sounding like a jerk?”

“We’re talking about Kakashi. This man saved my ass more than once. He’s the Hokage. My boss. My friend. You won’t catch me dead talking shit about him.” He clicked his tongue. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is: Kakashi is a good guy who’s been through a lot. I suspect, he’d like to forget his Black Ops era. The Anbu are ruthless. He isn’t. People say he is, but they’re wrong. Knowing him I would say he hates looking at it, hates remembering this part of his life.”

You nodded slowly, understanding, letting Genma’s words sink in. The idea to surround the flame with good prompts, things he liked to remember, grew even more on you. It was a good middle ground between the cover-up you weren’t allowed to do and the nakedness emphasizing the – apparently – horrible memories of the Anbu mark.

Although you still had no idea what exactly to draw around, you figured the solution sat right in front of you. “What do you know about him? What does he like? Are there any things that would make a great tattoo motive?”, you asked, avoiding Genma’s eyes by drawing the character for ‘shinobi’ on the forehead protector on his ribs.

Still, you could see him smirk in the corner of your eye, his twitching senbon attracting your gaze. “You’re really interested in the mystery that is Kakashi Hatake, huh? You like him that much after meeting and talking to him once?”

“I may have a solution that makes both of us happy. It’s not a cover-up but rather I’d add things around the flame, reminders of the good things in his life, representation of his friends or people close to him. And therefore, I need someone who knows Kakashi very well for the details.”

A little surprised, Genma raised an eyebrow. “Like the designs you stashed under your sketches earlier?”

You gulped nervously. “You saw?”

“The Uchiha fan isn’t something that slips a shinobi’s eye and neither is a Mangekyō Sharingan.”

The wording struck a chord with you, pointing out just how out of touch you were with events in the shinobi world since you had quit that life – aside from the war, but that had been something unavoidable. “Guess I’m not shinobi enough”, you joked, covering up the flicker of hurt in your heart. “Anyway. Who can help me figure out the right motives?”

“Lucky for you, I know just the right someone.” With a wink he disappeared into a cloud of smoke, leaving you behind in a state of irritation, sitting on your stool, the machine still in your hand.

When Genma had said ‘someone’ , you had expected said person to be him, not a pug he brought when he returned to the studio an hour later. Granted, he also brought two other shinobi with him, who introduced themselves as Iruka and Yamato, but you were too distracted by the dog almost ripping off Genma’s face when he tried to hold him up.

“This is Pakkun. He’s one of Kakashi’s ninken who have known him since his childhood, so he should be an excellent help. Just don’t try to pick him up.”

Pakkun gave him a glare before turning his attention to you. “How can we help you, young lady?”

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi #kakashi hatake #kakashi under the skin #vampire:SSD #vampire:narutoOS

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randomeeveelutions · 6 months

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— character info sheet.

(repost, don’t reblog)

name: Rind

name meaning: She's more or less named after the rind of a fruit

alias/es: Rin/Rinrin, The Shapeshifter, Anklebiter

ethnicity: Eevee

one picture you like best of your chara: I give Rind a lot of love when I draw her! Here are a few of my personal faves that I've done

two h/cs you never told anyone

Rind's favorite gemstones are diamonds, opals, and pearls. She finds herself particularly drawn to the way light and colors tend to manifest and shine in these jewels, especially some lab created white diamonds. By contrast, she finds black diamonds to be terribly dull and are not her first choice of target.

In verses where she cannot evolve and devolve freely, Rind's top choices of evolution are Umbreon, Jolteon, and Leafeon. She likes to consider how an evolution could benefit her career as a jewel thief and feels these three would make the best thieves. At the bottom rung of her consideration is Sylveon, because its white pelt stands out in the dark and she isn't fond of the twirly ribbons and lovey-dovey aspect of that evolution (Guess which one she ends up evolving into)

three things your character likes doing in their free time:

Count the jewels! If you had a massive haul of gems and jewelry stashed away in your home, wouldn't you stop to admire them every so often? Rind could spend hours counting, polishing, and gazing into her stash!

Annoy the acquaintances. Rind loves plastering herself to people she perceives as overly serious and self-important and finding all the ways she can ruffle their feathers. Silly nicknames, affectionate teasing and handing out deliberately bad advice in hopes they'd be gullible enough to follow it are some of her favorite tactics. In short, Rind is a littol troll ;3c

Raiding trash. It may seem a lowly and filthy way to find food (... and it is) but Rind is consistently surprised to find what humans will throw away. Dumpsters and trashcans near restaurants and supermarkets are her favorite places to root through.

seven people your character likes / loves: Being a lowly varmint with a penchant for thievery and lying, Rind doesn't exactly make many friends

Squirrel (Rind's mother. Despite having a rocky relationship in most verses, they both still care about each other. There's a mother daughter bond in there somewhere...)

Twig and Leaf (Her brothers are the only other family she has besides their mother. They've both led very different lives than her's, but they're still siblings no matter what!

two things your character regrets:

Actually hurting anyone. Rind may be a bit of a bully and has a habit of pushing others around, but she never wants to really hurt anyone. Most of her tough talk is all fluff, she doesn't fight unless she has no choice and will always use non lethal force when necessary. Those few times things got out of hand stay in her head as a reminder to not go too far and to not make any real "friends."

Not trying to leave her family amicably. The last she saw them, Rind got into a fight with her mother and left for the city in a huff. Though she still loves Squirrel and would like to see her after so many years apart, she is both convinced her own mother dislikes her and she wouldn't even know what to say in the first place.

two phobia your character has:

Trains. After a few too many close encounters with them in underground subway stations, Rind is very wary of trains and is mindful of how much a moving train can absolutely destroy anything it hits. If something falls into the tracks, its as good as gone as far as Rind is concerned.

Falling from a great height. Rind doesn't have much to save herself if she fell from too high up. Perhaps, if she is prepared, her Sylveon form could grab onto something with her feelers, or she could safely dive into water below as a Vaporeon. But the risk of being splatted on the pavement keeps her away from high rises and rooftops.

tagged by: @hamadacare (Sorry this took a month to get to lol)

tagging: Umm... Whoever wants it!

#about rind;#((thank you for tagging me friend *proceeds to vanish into the void yet again*

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churchydragon · 7 months

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thinking about my own version of Golden Bat, each design he's had is canon. he's had many over the years, but he prefers skeletal forms. he's had forms that looked human, but he never liked them. the last time he took a human form was during what in IRL was the Osamu Tezuka version (since I swear I remember seeing a picture where it was shown the skull was actually a mask but I can't find it rn, giving me more reason to want to get my hands on it so I can share my findings). that entire thing was a mess of misunderstandings, as the jewel he had been attempting to take was in fact containing a dangerous entity and he wanted to fight it away from any towns and cities to avoid anyone getting hurt, but no one gave him the chance to explain and he gave up because time was running out anyways. I think his current design will resemble the 1960 cartoon design, with some small differences.

he's also much more... not really bitter, but just tired and cold. after a while people began to fear him for his power and appearance, and while he still enjoyed helping and protecting mortals, it began to wear down on him. typically when he's awoken to help, he just wants to get it done as swiftly as possible so he can go back into his stasis and sleep. which WAS his plan for his most recent awakening, but then he realized the people that woke him were being attacked by Nazo, so he has to deal with that while also probably being screamed at.

also, the forms! most of the forms he takes are very strong and sturdy and can take a beating, but they do have their limits. enough force can destroy them, but that's more of an annoyance to him since he can easily make a new one. these forms can also only hold so much power at once. he has made his vessels literally explode to defeat an enemy. he rarely does this at all, but it has happened. usually he does this by drawing in more of himself and his power and magic into the vessel, which causes it to combust, and depending on how strong he made that form, the bigger or smaller the explosion can be. so it can range from small to "this could take out a small city". great power and great responsibility indeed. he did end up blowing up his masked human form to defeat the creature from the Ruby Diamond, but that was also partially out of him being generally frustrated with the situation and not liking that form. his more human forms tend to go out with a bang.

his powers are basically the same from the cartoon, along with laser beams from his eyes and mouths because it's cool, and telepathy and telekinesis. also bringing back the "water gives him energy and drying him out fully stuns/forces him back into stasis" because honestly I wish they had done more with that in the cartoon.

#still trying to think of what I want to do with ol Dark Bat #now if only I can get myself motivated enough to actually sketch out some designs #churchy talks #Golden Bat #Ogon Bat #Ougon Bat #Fantaman #Phantoma

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viadescioism · 2 years

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How to activate a sigil:

Once you have gone through the process of charging your sigil with spiritual kna, and have firmly implanted it in your subconscious mind, you can then activate it. This will send that kna out into the universe to manifest, and will tell the imprint in your mind to begin working by psychologically pulling you towards your desire, while communicating with the collective unconscious to bring forth what you want to manifest. The act of activating pretty much releases the kna that you've built up during the charging process, and is the last thing that you need to do to use the sigil.

Activation of a sigil can be done in two ways, I like to refer to these two ways of activating a sigil as passive activation, and active activation. Both of these ways have their own times that they would be useful, and by understanding both of them you can gain a very versatile understanding of how to use sigils in many different situations.

Active Activation:

Active Activation is done through the process of destroying the sigils representation, so that the kna of the sigil can be released all at once, the spiritual kna of the sigil can begin its task immediately, and the imprint in the mind can be fully engaged. It is good to use this type of activation on sigils that only need to be used once in relation to the situation. This is primarily, because this process of activation goes through the process of fully engaging the sigil’s kna. This is usually a more aggressive, and straightforward form of firing off a sigil. This is a very fiery form of manifestation, and should be used on sigils that would be for things such as banishment, exorcism, purification, cleansing, spirit conjuration, and one off curses, among many other things.

Here are some methods, and actions you can do in order to activate a sigil in this way:

Putting the sigil on a piece of paper, and burning it in fire.

Putting the sigil on a piece of paper, and submerging it in water until it dissolves.

Putting the sigil on a piece of paper, and ripping the paper in half.

Drawing the sigil in to the sand at the beach, and letting the sea wash it away.

Drawing the sigil in the air with your hand, and pushing through it in order to destroy it.

Making the sigil out of dust, or powder, and then blowing it away to destroy it.

Making the sigil in your mind, and then imagining it being destroyed to activate it.

Putting the sigil on food then eating it.

Drawing the sigil on a firework, and then setting it off.

Drawing the sigil on a balloon, and then popping it.

Drawing the sigil on your body, and then washing it away.

Singing the sigil out loud for all to hear.

Playing a music, or an audio sigil out loud for all to hear.

Draw the sigil on a rock, and throw it in a body of water.

Putting the sigil on a cigarette, and then smoking it.

Write it on a dry erase board, and then erase the sigil.

Take a picture of the sigil, and then delete the image.

Writing it on the condensation of a window, or mirror, and then allowing it to disappear.

Writing it in the air with a sparkler, and allowing it to eventually fade.

Vibrating the sigil with your voice.

Signing the sigil with sign language.

And much more…

Passive Activation:

Passive activation is when you go through the act of letting the sigil exist, so that it will be able to continuously able to gain, and release kna having to do with its intention, allowing the spiritual kna of the sigil to have housing so that it can accomplish its task in a more passive way, while continuously reimprinting the intention of the sigil into your subconscious mind. These types of sigils are good for desires that are going to be continuously existing, and are going to be needing continuous attention. Mostly this can be done by leaving the sigil where it has been charged, so that it will slowly be able to begin its task. All sigils will start off as passively activated once they are charged, and can be switched into the active state by destroying the representation, because of this any charged sigil is an passive sigil unless it has a trigger on it. Passively activated sigils will eventually run out of kna, if they do not continuously get a charge from somewhere. This is a very earthy form of manifestation. Sigils I would use in this activation method would be sigils for protection, luck, empowerment, healing, transformation, attracting kna, retaining kna, and continuous curses, among many others.

Here are just a couple ways that you can go about activating the sigils passively:

Putting the sigil on a piece of paper.

Drawing the sigil on your body.

Getting a tattoo of the sigil on your body

Carving sigils into a candle, and lighting the candle.

Carving sigils into soap, and washing your body with the soap.

Making a sigil amulet.

Writing, or carved the sigils upon wood, or stones.

Drawing it in the mind upon something

Placing the sigil as your computer, or phone background.

Posting an image of the sigil online.

Drawing the sigil with chalk on the street, or sidewalk.

Having a piece of clothing with the sigil on it, or sewn into it.

Drawing it in a public place.

And much more…

#magick #witchblr #witchcraft #sigil magick #occultism #sigils #original content

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loneberry · 1 year

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What have I done today? Very little. (Secretly, I like doing very little—if I had my druthers I’d spend my days in bed, reading and writing in my journal.)

If I had to make an inventory of my day’s activities it would look something like this:

Megaformer pilates class

Grocery shopping

Reading by the sea

Cooking

Yet at the end of the day, as I was crying during the conclusion of Woolf’s first novel, The Voyage Out, all the details of my day surged forth with such a powerful force that I felt, how can I describe it, it was something like pure love. I want to be better. I want to tell my beautiful friends how much they mean to me. How full a day is, even when nothing happens. Isn’t that what Bernadette Mayer taught us in her durational poem written on the winter solstice? It began with a dream. So did my day.

Every night for the last week I’ve woken up in agony—it is the recrudescence of my mysterious autoimmune condition, which waylaid me for 6 months this year. I wake up in the middle of the night covered in hives and can’t go back to sleep. During the day I struggle to focus or function. At night I take four different antihistamines and every otc sleep remedy (magnesium, melatonin, valerian, kava, Benadryl, herbal tea, CBD) plus my prescription sleep med. Nothing works.

When my hives woke me up at 3am I was dreaming. Of Laura. I go to check the time on my phone. Uncanny, the only notification is a text from Laura. She sends a picture of Walter Benjamin’s memorial. Half-asleep, I write her back:

Wow I was just dreaming you wrote a brilliant novel called “diaries of a terrorist” (funny my friend wrote a book w that title)… it was somehow about the geometry of revolt, about an elaborate coordinated action in Red Square that took the shape of a pentagram, aimed at revealing an invisible structure… but the action misfired because there was a flaw in the original hidden design of the structure. There were more points than the five of the pentagram…

Red Square… was it Russia? No, it was somehow Germany. But it looked like the Red Square of Moscow… perhaps because earlier in the day I was thinking about my trip to Russia. Was the pentagram of the dream drawing attention to some latent demonic presence in Russian society? Lord. How I wish I could sleep.

What do I do when I can’t sleep… listen to podcasts with my eyes closed while in bed, my usual rotation of news, political economy, politics, and war. So much emotion in the voices of strangers, how it stirs me. Richard Fierro, the man who disarmed the Club Q gunman in Colorado Springs, is talking about the incident, calmly narrating the actions, when suddenly he starts weeping about the people he could not save. It cuts through everything, like the testimonies of Ukrainians I listen to daily. On another podcast, Ukrainian writer Victoria Amelina speaks beautifully about her memories of Maidan, of the university of the streets, the transformational eros of revolt, and how useless literary writing feels during times of war, how she switched from writing novels to investigating war crimes.

News. It never stops. Ariana’s mother is dead. Bernadette Mayer is dead. A 2-day old Ukrainian baby, dead. More civilian infrastructure in Ukraine has been destroyed by Russian missiles. A maternity ward. All the cities in candlelight. No water in Kyiv. Germany builds an LNG terminal. Meanwhile in Virginia: another mass shooting. Turkey is attacking the Kurds. Who will help the Kurds?

I rearrange my wilting gillyflowers into smaller vases. There’s the smell of clove as I cut the stems. Gilly…I knew you simply as “stock.” Others call you “hoary”—a word I once used in my journal to describe a vision of my future: “…a hoary woman alone in the stone house, clutching her shimmering memories.”

Meditate on Sophrosyne. When will I ever get a handle on this monkey mind? Cook tilapia and pasta. Think about the dead. Call Ulysses. UC on strike. Call from Lily, mom in the hospital again. “Toss a penny to the sky. Heads or tails. Who knows, not I…” Conversations on the pier, while the crows, seagulls, and pigeons loitered for scraps. How the pelicans flew overhead in their enormous formations, then dipped and glided just above the water. The face of the young man with the fishing rod as he looks up when I bike past him.

All the words I read. Free associating in the marginalia, that tender compassion I felt for Virginia Woolf, the exposed nerve that was her mind, too sensitive for the world. I think of the death of her brother Thoby, of the sexual abuse she endured in childhood, all the things she never got over. The sea, the water closing over the head. So much in a day. There are people I can’t protect. You can’t protect the dead. I think of the dead. She died without dignity. Does anyone die with dignity? Yes, some do. “Poetry doesn’t tell you how to bury the dead,” though I often think, as I’m looking at a patch of light while tidying my house, that poetry is the last defense of the sacred.

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