neck strike

The recognizable profile of the Pelican Nebula soars nearly 2,000 light-years away in the high flying constellation Cygnus, the Swan. Also known as IC 5070, this interstellar cloud of gas and dust is appropriately found just off the “east coast” of the North America Nebula (NGC 7000), another surprisingly familiar looking emission nebula in Cygnus. Both Pelican and North America nebulae are part of the same large and complex star forming region, almost as nearby as the better-known Orion Nebula. From our vantage point, dark dust clouds (upper left) help define the Pelican’s eye and long bill, while a bright front of ionized gas suggests the curved shape of the head and neck. This striking synthesized color view utilizes narrowband image data recording the emission of hydrogen and oxygen atoms in the cosmic cloud. The scene spans some 30 light-years at the estimated distance of the Pelican Nebula.

Credit: Steve Richards (via NASA APOD)

Time And Space

The Prophet (salallahu alayhi wa sallam) said: “Should I not inform you of the best of your deed, and the purest of them with your Master, and the highest of them in your ranks, and what is better for you than spending gold and silver, and better for you than meeting your enemy and striking their necks, and they strike your necks?” They said: “Of course.” He said, “The remembrance of Allah [Most High].” [Then] Mu'adh bin Jabal [may Allah be pleased with him] said: “There is nothing that brings more salvation from the punishment of Allah than the remembrance of Allah.
—  Jami’ at-Tirmidhi, Chapters on Supplication, Book 48, Hadith 8
2

Here mark the break against the Twerhau:
Mark, when you stand against him in the guard vom Tag, then hew him boldly above to the head. If he then springs from the hew and he means to come Before with the Twerhau and strike you therewith to your left side to the head, then fall in with the long edge on his sword. If he then strikes with the Twer around to your other side, then come Meanwhile before, also with the Twer, in front under his sword on his neck. So he strikes himself with your sword.

Yesterday

Yesterday, she would have said, without a doubt, that she loved him.

Yesterday, she would have given everything to save him.

Yesterday, she had tried everything to save him.

He was consumed by the fire in his blood. The scratching caws in his ear. The swaying personality he took on when the evil and the light fought underneath his skin.

He caused her pain and heartbreak, but still she followed after him; lost and afraid of being alone.

Unloved.

Yesterday…

Yesterday…

Yesterday… There was nothing she could do to stop the burning in his eyes.

A horrible red, his eyes.

A terrifying grin, showing his teeth.

White to black, a body of disease ridden feathers.

She couldn’t save him.

She expected the sword, but it did not  strike her neck.

She expected the light of hope, but she was left in darkness.

They were all she had, and she chased them away when she killed him.

Her heart, her love.

Her father was right…

She truly was ugly.

He laid dormant on her bed, the feathers slowly falling away to reveal his pale, blue skin. There was a knock but she refused to answer, a tap at the window that she refused to hear, she clasped the hand of her lover and held it to her chest; to her cold, still-beating heart.

When feathers turned to hair she brushed them away from his eyes. She would never see their golden warmth again, only the cold, harsh, pale pink flashed in her mind and she deserved to see it for it was all her fault.

“My prince.” She called to him, unbrushed hair falling against her cheeks. She had no mind to push it back. She shooed away the feathers and crawled up next to him, putting her hand on his empty chest; it was almost a comfort, but she became fond of the weak beating heart. He was almost alive again.

She wouldn’t let herself cry, for that was not an honor she would allow herself but she couldn’t stop the single tear that fell from her face, to his. And then, she couldn’t stop herself. She let go, heaving useless sobs over his lifeless body.

She did not deserve happiness.

Something glowed behind her, red and warm it made her stop. She looked behind her and saw the red silhouette she saw thousands of times before.

“Hello.”

“You aren’t the prince.” She sat up, watching the ballerina come towards her. The princess put a hand on her face and wiped away the tears she let fall.

“No, I am not, but I am the last piece of his heart.”

“How can that be?”

“To him, I am what embodies hope, I have become his hope.”

“I can’t return you to his heart, only…”

“She has returned me, do not worry, I will go and his heart will be restored.”

“He’s dead.”

“The raven’s blood has consumed him, but with his heart restored, he can still live.”

“What?” Her lip trembled, there was a spark of…

Of hope.

“You must do one thing.”

“Anything.”

“You must love him with every ounce of your being, for love heals all wounds.”

“Yes, I will, I will love him!”

The princess nodded and returned to his heart. Rue watched and waited.

Waited for the warmth to return.

Waited for his eyes to open.

And when nothing happened, she kissed his lips, like a prince in a silly fairy tale, and walked to the window, no longer able to see him like this. A tear slipped down her face.

“Rue?”

katiehavok  asked:

Hey! For your Jakweenie prompts: can we get their first time being intimate? Doesn't necessarily have to be full-blown sex, it could just be heavy petting, necking, whatever strikes your fancy. :)

Ooh, I actually had to google necking :’) I have an idea for it, so…we’ll see! ;)

Originally posted by angie-pangaea

Sakura Saber (Okita Souji)

The captain, and the best swordsman of The Shinsengumi, a special police force situated in Kyoto. Born to a samurai family, Okita was already a prodigy at the art of Tennen Rishin-ryū and was easily able to master all forms of the technique, receiving his scroll of Mastery at only 18.

He founded The Shinsengumi with the help of his friend, Okita Rintaro and his most famous technique was the Mumyo-ken, which could strike the neck and shoulders simultaneously. 

He would tragically contract tuberculosis and die just four years later, although it is believed nowadays that it was not the disease that would kill him.

The sweet scent of your perfume circled my neck,
Striking my lungs with the sweetness of your skin,
I knew I was yours before I knew much of anything.

You’ll lace your delicate soul into mine,
As we braid each other’s hair,
And kiss the nape of each other’s necks.

The hidden stains of pigment on my cheek,
Scream to the world, “I’m yours”
In various shades of peach and rose.

Bruises left on my collarbone fade to lilac,
Leaving soft marks of a rough love,
An affection that gleams through blood vessels.

Satin meets silk where our legs intertwine,
Arousal and lust spinning stars behind our eyes,
Tasting the depths of cosmos when we kiss.

A little hot mess that sends shivers down my spine,
From your sheets to a local cafe, my blush reigns,
Love struck irises meet to say, “You’re mine.”