#i listened to SAVED! and SINNER GET READY the entire time i was writing this so yeah there's a ref. sue me

[callisteios]

I have a new uquiz for you, go on a pilgrimage with me. discover who you are.

#don't you want to go on a nice medieval pilgrimage? #don't you want to rest a little? answer some questions? learn something about yourself? #this was originally a pentiment medieval quiz and now it's this #it's pretty good imo though. i had a lot of fun researching it #yes there really is a biblio. ill write it up soon but its parts of the pentiment biblio plus some stuff i found myself #really thank you to everyone who made pentiment. you know how sometimes you find a piece of art at exactly the right time? #well i discovered pentiment just as my interests perfectly intersected with it. (those interests being history historiography and grief) #have fun etc. tag your results #that's always great #quiz #uquiz #pentiment #medieval #mine #sorry for being absent for a bit. holidays kind of suck #sorry abbie i couldnt fit the saw bathroom in thisone. i couldn't think of a way to do it naturally #i listened to SAVED! and SINNER GET READY the entire time i was writing this so yeah there's a ref. sue me

[dustedmagazine]

Slept Ons: 2023

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter

If you write for Dusted, you listen to music all the time and you try, at least within your general area of interest, to stay current with what’s current. Ask any of our significant others, and they’ll say we listen to too much music, to which we inevitably reply “What’s that, this ‘too much’ you speak of?” We listen to music while we’re eating, while we’re working, while we’re exercising, while we’re driving from one place to another, even while we’re brushing our teeth sometimes; though, admittedly, the sound quality is not that great in the bathroom.

Even so, we miss things. Here, in what has become an annual tradition, we revisit some of the albums that slipped away in one fashion or another, the ones that we kept putting off until it was too late, the ones we somehow didn’t catch wind of until well into January, the ones we discovered tardily on other people’s lists and year-end podcasts and radio shows. So here are our late finds, a favorite or two each that we never got the chance to write about. Fortunately, unlike bread and fresh fruit and bunches of cilantro, albums don’t go bad if you let them sit for a while.

Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach — Monk’s Casino Live At Au Topsi Pohl (Two Nineteen)

This record wasn’t so much slept on as patiently sleuthed. Die Enttäuschung, the long-running German quartet (their name translates as The Disappointment, an appellation that says more about their sense of humor than the quality of their ever-buoyant reimagining of bebop and early free jazz) started selling it at gigs in the spring of 2023. I bided my time, and when I made it to Berlin last fall, scoring a copy was on my agenda. To this day, the record and the internet are near strangers; while you can buy it from Bandcamp, there’s no download, streaming or videos. So, you’ll have to just take it from me that Die Enttäuschung’s reunion with now-octogenarian pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach will take wrinkles off your brow. The first time that these musicians recorded together as Monk’s Casino, back in 2005, they performed every one of Thelonious Monk’s compositions over three CDs; pith was essential. The repertoire hasn’t changed this time, but the approach is looser. Crammed into the intimate confines of the now-shuttered Au Topsi Pohl just as Omicron started ruining parties, the five musicians goose the tempos, spike the solos with impertinence, and veer around Monk’s sharp angles with a combination of intimate familiarity and belt-busting abandon.

Bill Meyer

Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter — SAVED! (Perpetual Flame Ministries)

Not slept on so much as avoided— and why, at this point I am not entirely sure. When I saw Kristin Hayter perform under her previous Lingua Ignota moniker back in December of 2022, she opened with a set of devotional songs on piano, a variety of metallic objects set and chains draped across the instrument’s interior string works. It was extraordinary, and SAVED! features the same basic set of raw, austere elements: that prepared piano, Hayter’s remarkable voice and the problematics of faith. The avoidance may stem from my own fraught relations to the sort of grim Protestantism Hayter reimagines; I spend some time around fire-and-brimstone Baptism as a child, and it left a mark on me. She wove some of that language and those textures into the excellent Lingua Ignota record Sinner Get Ready, but there they were much more symbolic, and largely couched in specific fundamentalisms (Amish and Mennonite) that distanced them somewhat. The sounds and spiritual gestures on SAVED! are a good deal more familiar to me, and they haunt. Likely the haunting is the point. Certainly “All of My Friends Are Going to Hell” and “I Know His Blood Can Make Me Whole” smolder and then burn with varieties of hellfire I have smelled before. One can also hear those songs more metaphorically, and “I Will Be with You Always” (the best thing on the record) is replete with images and intensities that call to multiple levels of meaning, simultaneously and sublimely. SAVED! is a hard record for me to listen to, and that’s why I have come, somewhat belatedly, to prize it so highly.

Jonathan Shaw

Illusion of Safety — Pastoral (Korm Plastics)

Daniel Burke has been carefully and consistently nurturing his Illusion of Safety project for 40 years, and I’ve been embarrassingly ignorant of the output until now. Burke released multiple audio artifacts in 2023, including a 40th anniversary ten-cassette box set, so choosing a single album to write about for the Slept On column was a daunting undertaking. Pastoral is unique in that it shows off a more delicate and expansive side of the Illusion of Safety oeuvre. It’s also one of the few music-focused objects that the stalwart Korm Plastics label has released in years; the imprint focuses on the written word these days. Sonically, Burke has established a series of vignettes that follow a similar pattern. The music flows from short, sharp attacks into lengthy sustained quietude. Burke unleashes his jarring, frantic salvos both percussively and synthetically, and these brief but unsettling periods morph into slowly churning drone swarms. Given that this is just one example of Burke’s sonic vernacular, I’m excited to hear more. Thankfully, when it comes to Illusion of Safety, I’ve been a veritable Rip Van Winkle.

Bryon Hayes

Malla — Fresko (Solina)

So slept on was Malla Malmivaara’s second solo album that even the normally reliable Beehype missed it, but even if you did happen to notice its inclusion on my midyear list, overstating how well-crafted and immersive Fresko’s dance-pop tracks are is hard to do. It makes sense given she’s better known for her acting career, but Malla’s been in the Finnish music game for a long time, too — first in the short-lived mid-aughts house trio Elisabeth Underground, then as herself with 2019’s “Sabrina” single (which got a Jori Hulkkonen remix, a guy who once redid M83) that ended up paving the way for her self-titled 2021 debut full-length. Despite using similar synth arpeggios and a healthy dose of vocal reverb as she did on Malla, Fresko is a little bit darker, moodier, more down in it. Lead single “Moi” (“hi” in English) tells the tale, its perfectly crafted video full of young Rolf Ekroth models doing things like looking impossibly cool in ridiculous outfits and having fashion shows with ATVs in snowy back alley Helsinki parking lots are a perfect marriage of audio and video, images and a melody burned in my brain the moment I saw it. It is very much a dance record flush with tech-house tweaks and no grander artistic ambitions, but Malla’s barely crested 40; now that she’s pledged more time to her music career, it’s entirely possible Fresko is but a warmup for something bolder — and even if it’s not, you could do much worse than a third album full of body movers like this. Hi is right.

Patrick Masterson

Kevin Richard Martin – Black (Intercranial)

Ostensibly a eulogy to Amy Winehouse, Kevin Richard Martin’s Black is a deeply humane expression of isolation, loss and grief. Built from the ground up, the bass deep and warm, swathes of glacial arpeggiated synths and beats that hint at the club. Notes echo and ripple away to create silhouettes of solitude, a tangible manifestation of absence. Despite the deep weight of his music, Martin imbues Black with an incredible delicacy. His abstract architecture allows the mind to roam and the listener to connect with emotional truths. It’s the balance Martin finds between the particular and universal that gives Black it’s power. In the strutting bassline of “Camden Crawling” smeared with narco/alcoholic fuzz, the looming threat of “Blake’s Shadow” and the bleary saxophone in “Belgrade Meltdown” there are the faintest echoes of Winehouse’s sound which emerge from the depths of Martin’s echo chambers. A work of terrible sadness, great beauty, empathy and comfort.

Andrew Forell

Derek Monypeny — Cibola (2182 Recording Company)

Cibola eased into the world as 2022 turned into 2023, but it took me nearly a year to get to it. Monypeny is a confirmed westerner, having lived in Arizona, Oregon, and (currently) the California desert, and an awareness of both the wrongfulness and the good fortune of living in that neck of the woods infuses Cibola, which is named for one of the American southwest’s legendary cities of gold (helpful hint; if you ever encounter a conquistador looking for gold, tell them it’s somewhere else). Monypeny alternates between guitar, shahi baaja, and on electric autoharp the LP’s seven tracks, and Kevin Corcoran contributes time-stopping metal percussion to one of them. The music likewise toggles between stark evocations of space and swirling submersions into nether states. In either mode, Monypeny effectively suggests the gorgeous immensity and pitiless history of the land around him.

Bill Meyer

The Sundae Painters — S-T (Flying Nun)

One minute, The Sundae Painters are churning wild screes of noisy guitar, the next they construct airy psychedelic pop songs of a rare unstudied grace. The band is a super group of sorts — Paul Kean and Kaye Woodward of the Bats, Alex Bathgate of the Tall Dwarfs and the late Hamish Kilgour of the Clean — convening in loose-limbed, joyful mayhem in songs that glisten and shimmer and roar. “Hollow Way” roils thick, muddy textures of drone up from the bottom, the slippery bent notes of sitar (that’s Bathgate) and Woodward’s diaphanous vocals floating free of a visceral murk. “Aversion” lets unhinged guitar shards fly over the thump of grounding drums as Kilgour chants inscrutable poetry. The two HAP tracks, I and II, stretch out in locked-in, psychotropic grooves, relentless forward motion somehow dissolving into an endless ecstatic now. This full-length, sadly the only one we’ll ever have from the Sundae Painters now that Kilgour is gone, is as good as anything that its esteemed participants ever did in their more famous bands, and that’s saying a lot.

Jennifer Kelly

U SCO — Catchin’ Heat (Self Released)

Here’s the extent of what I currently know: Someone I have on Facebook posted a link to it as one of his favorite records of the year, and someone I don’t know responded that they bought a copy of the cassette before the first track even finished. U SCO are Jon Scheid (bass), Ryan Miller (guitar), and Phil Cleary (Drums) and they are from and/or based in Portland Oregon. According to Discogs and Bandcamp Catchin’ Heat is the first thing they’ve released since 2016. That’s it! I started listened to this with the same box-checking, due diligence energy I tend to have for the dozen or so records I hear about one way or another after I’ve already done my year-end writing; most of them, every year, I don’t even make it through one play (the fatigue has fully set in by this point in the process). But sure enough before the end of that first track, I knew this was going to have to be the record I slept on. It’s perfectly structured, with extra-long, absolute blowouts beginning and ending the record, the second and second-last tracks being the two shortest and the only moments of relative calm, and the middle two making up a strong core that both brings in some elements not found elsewhere on Catchin’ Heat (the vocals on “trrrem”) and is just the most straightforward version of the absolute burners U SCO can clearly summon up on command (“woe dimension”). As great and arresting as that opening track is, though, the closing “abyssal hymn” might be the real highlight here, bringing in clarinet and saxophone to add a whole new layer of skronk to what they’re cooking. I’ve listened to this record about 10 times in a couple of days, and they deserve to sell out of that run of cassettes.

Ian Mathers

#dusted magazine #yearend 2023 #slept ons #Die Enttäuschung und Alexander Von Schlippenbach #bill meyer #Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter #jonathan shaw #illusion of safety #bryon hayes #malla #patrick masterson #kevin richard martin #andrew forell #derek monypeny #jennifer kelly #the sundae painters #Ian mathers #U SCO

[young-inhuman]

Hello, Lingua Ignota fanatic! I have but one question, Lingua Ignota's music interests me and I would like to get into her but which album would you consider to be a good starting point for her music?

TLDR: answer is in the first paragraph

I typically recommend starting from her first album, then work your way up to SINNER GET READY. however, if you don’t have time or just want to jump in, I suggest listening to some songs in All Bitches Die, CALIGULA, and then listen to the entirety of SINNER GET READY. once you finish that, I suggest looking into her second project (Reverend Kristin Michael Hayter) and check out the album SAVED!, which I interpreted as her beginning to heal from what caused her to write SINNER GET READY.

before you get into her music, context is super important!!! it helps bring so much more emotion and meaning into her music and makes listening to it such a unique experience. i’ve never had an album pull this much emotion out of me besides A Crow Looked At Me by Mount Eerie.

Kristin Hayter (Lingua Ignota) was dating one of the members in the band Daughters but was being heavily abused throughout their entire relationship. she started this project after she had gotten out of that relationship, and you can really feel her pain in her music. SINNER GET READY is one of the best examples of the affect of abuse on people and i think her music is genuinely amazing.

#music #lingua ignota #kristin hayter #mini rant

[kirain]

What's with that post? Dutch LOVES Hosea. They're literally gay. They held hands and raised two sons together. They're so extremely gay, respect it!

Two men: Showing affection

Tumblr: They're fucking!

...In all seriousness, I have absolutely no idea what I said or did to warrant this message, but I can only assume it's because I said in another post that Dutch doesn't respect Hosea? Which he doesn't?

They're supposed to be partners, but he certainly doesn't treat him like one. He doesn't listen to him, he yells at him when he's coughing or in pain, and he makes him sleep on the cold, hard, dirty ground. He even openly ignores him in Colter, in front of the other men, and rides off when he tries to stop him from robbing Cornwall's train. I'm not saying they don't have a rich history or good moments, but it's a toxic relationship at best. Not exactly something worth praising.

If you don't believe me, you can find unique dialogues as the game progresses, verifying he’s lost all faith in Dutch. To the point that he even starts telling other members to leave. Abigail, John, Arthur, Lenny, Tilly, Sadie -- he tells all of them to leave. During a dominoes game we played together he even said, "Maybe it's just me, but Dutch seems to be getting more and more unhinged." And as early as chapter one he told Arthur, "Try to stop Dutch getting all of you killed, because I'm about beginning to think he's finally lost his mind."

There are also other conversations where Hosea’s disappointment with Dutch is far more blatant. He basically tells Arthur he’s been disillusioned for a while and wishes the gang would change, but when Arthur asks what they’d do instead of thieving, Hosea says, “I don’t know. I never knew. Guess I could never figure that out, neither.” By this point he’s just so dejected and defeatist because he knows Dutch won’t listen to him. He also goes on a whole tirade about how they’ve become “nothing but a bunch of killers”, which breaks his heart, and during a random campfire encounter he bares his soul and flat out tells the gang he no longer believes in Dutch’s “we’re above the law” philosophy.

As for the whole "they're gay" thing? Ship whoever you want. I don't care (they're fictional characters, after all). But don't come onto my blog and demand that I "respect it", because I don't. In fact, I vehemently disagree with you.

First off, Hosea was very happily married and totally devoted to his wife Bessie. So much so that after she died, he was drunk and depressed for a year. He even tried to leave the gang once he married her, but he inevitably drifted back into the life of an outlaw when he failed to find adequate work. Keep that in mind, though -- he left the van der Linde gang. He left Dutch. During the hunting mission, Arthur even says, "I remember you were gone for a long while." But according to Hosea, Bessie supported and accepted his lifestyle, since at the time they were more of a community than a “gang”. They actually helped people, like a Robin Hood band of merry men.

Hosea talking about his wife:

"Since she was ... taken from me, I miss her every day. She's what I think about when I wake up, and what I'm still thinking about when I go to sleep. Confuses me. Confuses me to no end, how a wretched sinner like me could be given someone so perfect, so beautiful to take care of. For once in my wretched life, do my best. And then she dies ... and I live on. Well, at least for now. She’s been gone many years. All them years I was given and she was not, and we’re expected to believe in judgement? What kind of a judge would save me and take her? A foolish one I can’t respect anymore than I can respect myself! I miss her so--!” He pauses, nearly crying. “Forgive me for being so maudlin, but ... it’s a fact. I know we all of us seen more death than life these past few months, but ... well, sometimes the unfairness of it all confuses me.”

In addition, when asked who the two most important people in his life are, he mentions Bessie first, before Dutch. Arguably he's known Dutch longer and he’s still alive and active in his life, but Bessie always comes first. He also says he’s “ready to die” because he’s “ready to join her”.

Please don't disregard this. Hosea is an honest, loyal, loving husband. If it was just a matter of you insisting he's gay, I'd probably have less of a problem (because, sure, that can change for some people and maybe he's bi now), but pairing him with Dutch, when he's so wholly devoted to his wife, is just reprehensible in my opinion. Dutch isn’t a good man and he treats Hosea quite poorly.

Secondly, yes, you're partially right. Hosea did raise two kids with Dutch. Actually, he raised four. Arthur, John, Tilly, and Mary-Beth. They were all young teens when they joined, but Dutch and Hosea weren't the only "parents". Grimshaw and Bessie also helped raised them. Arthur even says Bessie taught him how to play dominoes and mentions that he misses her. So I don't really understand the correlation here. You don't have to be in a sexual/romantic relationship to raise kids. And keep in mind that the story takes place during a time when entire communities worked together to raise children. Ever heard the expression "it takes a village to raise a child"?

Overall, I'm simply not comfortable overlooking Hosea's marriage and Dutch's abuse. To put it into perspective, it'd be like writing a fic where Molly and Dutch are in a happy, healthy relationship, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I'm just not the type of person who's willing to change a character's entire personality and history in order to make them fit my personal narrative.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption #2 #hosea matthews #dutch van der linde #arthur morgan #john marston #lenny summers #mary beth #susan grimshaw #bessie matthews #tilly #rockstar #van der linde gang #anon

[mnemo-li]

Calebros: A Rant About My Favorite VTM NPC

I do love the newer Vampire: the Masquerade content, but sometimes the writing leaves a lot to be desired. A prominent example is - what in my opinion is - the butchery of Calebros’ character in Beckett's Jyhad Diary.

While I do love seeing the more brusque side of Calebros’ personality, I don’t think I’ve ever recalled him being this vulgar in the original Clan Novels. He was definitely not dropping the f-bombs left and right, and even his gruff manner had more to do with dry humor, sarcasm, and keeping up the dignified image fit for a clan leader. I do realize that this series of chat is set much after his whole ordeal as Prince of New York is over, so maybe the experience really changed him. However, the in-universe explanation of his drastic shift in personality is lacking– it is most likely the result of a change in writers which led to inconsistent writing and characterization.

Here are some examples of scenes that presents his characterization in a more nuanced light.

Scene 1: The Nictuku Accusation

“They would have eaten me, I tell you!” “I believe you, Jeremiah,” Calebros said in a forced, calm tone. He was tired of nodding politely, of reassuring his clanmate. Jeremiah could be a difficult person to like at times. This was rapidly becoming one of those times. “Don’t you humor me!” Jeremiah snapped. “I’ve been coming to you about this for weeks now.” Seems more like years, Calebros thought. “And still you’ve done nothing. Nothing!” Jeremiah paced around, gesticulating wildly. There was no second chair by Calebros’s desk, and for this very reason. He mostly didn’t like guests, didn’t want guests, didn’t want to encourage them to sit down, to take a load off and stay for a while. Most anyone who had reason or inclination to visit Calebros was irate, complaining, or tiresome. Jeremiah happened to be all three presently. “That is not true,” Calebros assured him. Jeremiah snorted in disgusted. “What, then? Tell me. What have you done?” “I have considered quite carefully your report.” “Ha! Like I said, nothing. ‘Considered my report…’” Jeremiah repeated contemptuously. “This is what I think of you and your reports—” he said, grabbing a handful of papers from the nearest stack on Calebros’s desk. Jeremiah made to fling them into the air— Instantly, Calebros’s hand shot out and latched around his visitor’s wrist. Talons pricked undead flesh ever so slightly. “Believe me,” said Calebros evenly. “You do not want to do that.” They faced each other for a moment, one monstrous creature restraining the hand of another. Jeremiah’s fingers, biting into the papers, were long and grotesquely thin, little more than needles of bone. His entire body was thin and hard and covered with knots, bulging masses of hardened tissue, like an old, gnarled swamp tree. Finally he stopped resisting Calebros and returned the reports to the desk. “I’m sorry,” Jeremiah said and resumed his pacing, just as intently if less frenetically.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Jeremiah is trying to get Calebros to believe that there truly are Nictukus dwelling in the sewers. Calebros is, frankly, tired of hearing the folk tale especially when he has other pressing matters to deal with. Yet, even with his patience paper thin, he does not lash out at his broodmate. He is shown to be deeply introverted, anti-social perhaps, but he does not let his own nature affect his duties. As the Nosferatu primogen - as the leader of the clan - he has to listen to the concerns of his family, no matter how absurd. He knows when to express his authority, and he never abuses it. Again, no f-bombs dropped.

Scene 2: The Salt Lake

“Geez, what am I, your mother?” Emmett asked. “No,” Calebros said. “You are my brother, my broodmate.” “Brood, litter, whatever. We were both chosen to suck the old blood tit, so who am I to ask questions?” Calebros sighed. Blood tit, indeed. “That’s not how you remember it.” Now it was Emmett’s turn to sigh. “Don’t do this. Don’t get all… You always do this, get all touchy-feely we’re-all-brothers-in-the-blood, when you soak your head, blah, blah, blah…” “Make light of it if you will—” “I will. Thank you very much. Got enough salt here?” Emmett flicked some at Calebros.

This is from the Nosferatu clan novel. Here, Calebros has just came up from his meditation within the mud hole / salt lake. He is shown to be introspective and even sentimental. In terms of character voice, his more poised speaking style and inner monologue is contrasted against Emmett’s rough, colloquial style.

Other Sources

In the Calebros graphic novel, a similar scene is shown where Calebros is depicted to be trying and failing to remember his past before he became a vampire, losing his mind as he mixes up imagination with false memories. His inner dialogue in the graphic novel shows him saying:

“Do I tell him that his prince, his... compatriot?, is losing his mind? Never.”

This very much reflects his true nature. In Vampire: the Masquerade, there is a system of nature vs demeanor. According to his character sheet, his demeanor is that of a “director” while his nature is a “martyr (penitent)”.

Director: To the Director, nothing is worse than chaos and disorder. The Director seeks to be in charge, adopting a "my way or the highway" attitude on matters of decision-making. The Director is more concerned with bringing order out of strife, however, and need not be truly "in control" of a group to guide it. Coaches, teachers, and many political figures exemplify the Director Archetype.

Martyr: The Martyr suffers for his cause, enduring his trials out of the belief that his discomfort will ultimately improve others' lot. Some Martyr simply want the attention or sympathy their ordeals engender, while others are sincere in their cause, greeting their opposition with unfaltering faith in their own beliefs. Many Inquisitors, staunch idealists, and outcasts are Martyr Archetypes.

Penitent: The Penitent exists to atone for the grave sin she commits simply by being who she is. Penitents have either low self-esteem or legitimate, traumatic past experiences, and feel compelled to "make up" for inflicting themselves upon the world. Penitent Archetypes aren't always religious in outlook; some truly want to scourge the world of the grief they bring to it. Repentant sinners, persons with low self-esteem, and remorseful criminals are examples of the Penitent Archetype.

All of these quotes, if feel, matches very much with the Calebros I knew from the clan novel saga. Below are also a set quotes detailing Calebros’ inner dialogue in his graphic novel.

“As prince, only I can save them, only I can keep them from looking where they shouldn’t. A force exists underneath this city, sleeping, and it must remain so, lest we all perish.

“Augustin, my sire, left us to investigate the Nictuku, and came back to me with this information. Could this be Gehenna? The Final Nights? When the Ancients awake to devour their errant children? Can it be stopped? Should it be stopped? Everything that is done is a hope of staving off the inevitable. Why?”

“My embrace into this world was a foregone conclusion, made for me by Augustin. It is no different for anyone else. Why then do we not welcome the coming Armageddon? Exchange one world for another. It sounds almost painless, except I would never accept such a course, neither would my fellow Nosferatu. Neither would my fellow Kindred, for that matter.”

He is incredibly contemplative, and determined too, willing to fight against the inevitable apocalypse of the vampires. As long as his clan and the Kindred as a whole does not give up, does not give in the the despair of Gehenna, he too will be willing to fight for the survival of others.

Scene 3: Against a Master Manipulator

The character of Hesha is... complex. I see him as sort of a sweet-talking, cunning, charismatic cult leader. Here is a dialogue between him and Calebros.

“No harm was done,” Hesha said softly, his voice still the slightest bit scratchy from the ordeal he’d undergone. “As you say,” said Calebros, not looking up and continuing to write furiously. “You concede without agreeing.” Hesha laughed quietly. Calebros’s head whipped up. Angry words were ready on his lips, but the Egyptian’s smile was not mocking. The Setite obviously realized the weakness of his position, physically and strategically, as well as the fragility of their alliance. “Candor is important between friends,” Hesha said. “Otherwise, perceived insults take hold and fester.” “I am quite accustomed to festering,” Calebros said curtly. “I fear that I’m growing so as well,” Hesha said, squeezing one of the boils that stood raised about one of his many open wounds until the canker popped, and frothy pus ran down his arm. He laughed quietly again. Calebros punctuated a written sentence with a particularly violent period. “Your woman willfully disobeyed her instructions.” “She exercised discretion,” Hesha countered. “She blatantly disregarded the safety of my people.” “If anything had gone wrong,” Hesha said, “it would be Pauline lying torn on the ground. Your people would have faded into the night, none the worse for wear.” Calebros fumed. Probably Hesha was correct—but the Nosferatu was not about to admit as much. “I will speak with her,” Hesha said reasonably. “She has not encountered those of your clan before. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for…” “Cowardice?” Calebros suggested accusingly. “Prudence, I was going to say. She’s not aware of how strongly your predilection for prudence runs.” Good choice of words, Calebros thought. But, then, Hesha always chose his words carefully, always seemed to know just the right thing to say. It was discomforting in a way, how easily the Setite could alleviate tension with just a few words. Go ahead, Eve. Take a bite of the apple. Adam might like some too. But it seemed that they needed one another—and that outweighed their natural and mutual tendencies to distrust one another. Just barely.

Hesha’s actions managed to get under Calebros’ nerves, as seen in his curt speech, his furious writing, his accusatory reply to Hesha. He is angry for the safety of his clan (which, as seen from all the other sources, is something very dear to him). He is even shown to be stubborn, refusing to admit that Hesha was correct. Even still, he keeps his head rather than loose his cool completely. He also realises Hesha’s smooth words for what they are- manipulation. He is willing to compromise and form a sort of alliance with Hesha too, despite of his distrust and personal feelings.

Calebros and Ramona

I found the strange friendship Calebros had with the Gangrel Ramona to be incredibly touching, and tragic due to the turns it took towards the end (which I won’t spoil). Below are some excerpts from the Nosferatu clan novel showing Ramona’s initial meeting with Calebros and his later assessments of her character.

Neither Pauline nor the other girl, Ramona, had been subjected to the full brunt of facing a Nosferatu. Not until now, that is, when they were brought into Calebros’s presence. He did not hide his true appearance from them. And he could read the dismay, the fear and disgust, on their faces. Of the two, Pauline made the worthier attempt, attempt, to maintain her demeanor of professional detachment—perhaps Ruhadze had taught her well. The Gangrel, unsurprisingly, was not so couth. She gawked, both at Calebros and at Hesha in his current condition, and she hid her revulsion quite poorly, if she tried at all. […] Ramona looked at Calebros again, a more measured look this time, trying to see through the deformities. Good girl, Calebros thought. Young and brash, but not stupid.

Ramona reached for a calendar on Calebros’s desk, but tossed it back when she realized it was from 1972. “That’s still a whole month, and nobody knows where Leopold was that whole time. He could have gone back to the cave.” Smart girl, Calebros thought. He was leading her along the same path of reconstructing events that he had followed.

He compliments her intelligence again and again, and seems genuinely fond of her. Which I believe is why, after he became Prince of New York, he allows her a private audience with him to which he offered her a safe passage out of town which she rejects, viewing his actions as a betrayal. Below is an excerpt from what I think is the Clan Brujah novel.

The hunched form stepped forward, leaning heavily against the seatbacks as he came. Ramona kept straining to pick out the sound of broken gasps that must accompany such labored progress, but the air did not stir. "You had requested an audience, my dear. A private audience. I have gone to some pains to secure a place where we might be alone. Privacy is such an indulgence here. All too often, I find myself unable to justify the expense of importing it. And there is always someone else jealous of such decadence. But you have not come to hear of my distractions. Sit here, next to me, and tell me why you have come.”

[…]

“Calebros chuckled low, a sound like an engine turning. "No, I don't imagine you would. I will miss your straightforward style, Ramona. I find it refreshing. But already you know that there is no longer any place for you here. In the midst of battle—against the Sabbat and later, against Leopold and the Eye—we could afford certain marriages of convenience. But these partnerships will not survive the challenges of peacetime. Your associates, Mr. Ruhadze and Mr. Ravana, they found themselves in much the same position. Each has already left New York.”

[…]

“Calebros was silent for a time, letting her wind down. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you with the Eye, Ramona. And I'm sorry you will have to leave us. Believe me, I would like nothing better than to find a place for you here. I will have sore need of people who can be relied upon in the nights ahead. But you know what you would be up against if you remained here— the posturing, the none-too-subtle snubbing, the outright backstabbing. You are a rarity among our kind, Ramona. But because you are different, you will be hated and eventually destroyed if you stay among the society of the damned. Know that I will remember our time together fondly. If I can be of any assistance to you in relocating..." "No, I understand. It's 'thanks for your help; here's your bus ticket.' Well, I don't need any of your favors. I don't like the strings attached to them. And I resent the fact that you think I'm so stupid that I'll let you screw me over and then thank you for it." "Ramona...”

Again, even during his tenure as Prince of New York he is so damn eloquent, I definitely can’t fathom the word fuck ever slipping out of his mouth. He is compassionate, helping Ramona perhaps for future gains too, but mainly I believe he genuinely wants to do something right, give her the happy ending she deserves for once.

Moreover, I have a soft spot for this quote of Calebros pondering about Ramona’s nature, why she’s always so angry at the world, why every word out of her mouth sounds like an accusation. It showcases well his world-weariness, a cynical attitude that hides his concerns for others.

What have you seen that makes you so angry, so bitter, little one? Calebros wondered. Family killed? Have you been betrayed? How many times, I wonder. You’d best get over it, if you hope to survive.

So... yeah. I’d pay money to see an accurate portrayal of Calebros in a newer media otherwise I might have to write my own fanfic pairing my OC with him

#vampire: the masquerade #new york by night #calebros #vtm

[lesbianlotties]

Not really an album since i couldn't choose one and leave others. So ignore if it doesn't fit your ask.

Florence and the Machine songs specifically: cosmic love, delilah, never let me go, what the water gave me, shake it out, howl, no light no light, over the love. Please and thank you.

Oh first of all so sorry this took so long but i’m so excited about this one!! basically, florence and the machine songs are perfect for Andy and Quynh! so let’s do it

Florence and The Machine x Andromaquynh

I’d like to personally thank Florence Welch for writing What the water gave me for Andy and Quynh and Andy and Quynh only. (also howl for the sexy angsty reunion that we WILL get in the sequel!!)

Cosmic Love

“I was in the darkness, So darkness I became” how is it that a song that sounds so pretty is giving me so many Angsty Andromaquynh feelings. if this isn’t andy grieving her loss of loss...

“The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out, You left me in the dark, No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight, In the shadow of your heart” that’s like... both of them. i mean, for Quynh is sort of literal, sorry Quynh.

Delilah

“Too fast for freedom, Sometimes it all falls down, These chains never leave me, I keep dragging them around” I don’t know but this one also gave me “Andy missing Quynh, dealing with the loss, wishing and waiting for her, coping (badly) however she can” feels

Never Let Me Go

“Looking up from underneath, Fractured moonlight on the sea, Reflections still look the same to me, As before I went under, And it's peaceful in the deep, Cathedral where you cannot breathe, No need to pray, no need to speak, Now I am under all” hm... see... i think miss Welch and Quynh probably have different opinion of how it feel to be drowning at the bottom of the ocean.. But!!! If we can pretend that at some point during or probably after freeing herself Quynh found some peace...

“And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me, But the arms of the ocean delivered me” I’m reading this as delivered her back home to Andromache <3

but also, I dont love the comics for the ending and the evil Quynh/Noriko, but the “crashes are heaven for a sinner like me” is a big mood for her

What the water gave me

the entire song. that’s it.

“And time goes quicker, Between the two of us” crying in Andy and Quynh have loved each other for three thousand of years

“Lay me down, Let the only sound, Be the overflow” now crying in of course Andy had tried to kill herself or drown herself or singlehandely swim to the bottom of the ocean to find her wife

“And oh, poor Atlas, The world’s a beast of a burden, You’ve been holding on a long time, And all this longing” that’s Andy. no i will not elaborate. That’s Andromache the Scythian

“Because they took your loved ones But returned them in exchange for you But would you have it any other way?” lastly but not least, crying in Andy blaming herself and believing it should have been her bc she lost her wife but also “a soldier” she was older and the leader and she lost Quynh and she wishes she could take her place

Shake it out

“Regrets collect like old friends, Here to relive your darkest moments” Andy :(((( there’s a lot of Andy in this song but! let me suggest:

“And I am done with my graceless heart, So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart” and “And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope“ that’s more about Quynh coming back, dealing with her trauma, finding hope again and looking for happiness and yes dancing with her wife

Howl

Listen... I’m the first one to argue that Andy and Quynh are no “chaotic” couple and I don’t want Quynh to come back a villain and angry at Andy but.... miss Welch made some points here in this song....

“Now there's no holding back, I'm ready to attack, My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out, The saints can't help me now, the ropes have been unbound, I hunt for you with bloody feet across the hallowed ground, Like some child, possessed, the beast howls in my veins, I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness and howl”, did someone say dramatic reunion with homoerotic sword fight while this song plays in the background????

No light no light

“You can't choose what stays and what fades away“ you mean it’s not what time steals it’s what it leaves behind?

“Would you leave me, If I told you what I've done?, And would you leave me If I told you what I've become?” more angsty reunion vibes. takes me back to the comics and Andy having some regrets, and Quynh/Noriko doing some awful stuff, and of course after living so long they’d have things they regret, but maybe only they understand each other

Over the love

“And now to unsee what I've seen, To undo what has been done, Turn off all the lights, Let the morning come” Andy :(((((

“Cause you're a hard soul to save, With an ocean in the way, But I'll get around it” oh so this song was specifically written for andy and quynh. got it

bonus: Which Witch for obvious reasons, also Haunted House (yes they’re the titles of two of my andromaquynh fics + two of what the water gave me)

#thank you for this!!! fatm is the official andromaquynh soundtrack #the old guard #andy x quynh #andromaquynh #immortal wives #andromaquynh albums #andromaquynh songs #andromache the scythian #quynh #tog

[jennygirl2014]

White~Part 4

Summary: You learn more about the lies your father had been telling you all these years, and you start to wonder if you had known the truth, would it have changed your fate? An emotional goodbye with James Mace doesn’t end things between the two of you after he makes his intentions known. Warnings: adult themes, mentions of loss of virginity, mentions of assault.

              A wave of nausea hit you, and you closed your mouth tight, clenching your teeth, just in case.  Then you swallowed hard, the lump in your throat somehow remaining. James’s thumb stayed on your hand, lightly tracing across your skin, as if trying to comfort you.  There was no way that everything had simply been a misunderstanding.  There was no way your father could have kept a secret from you, not for all these years. But was it true?

“I snuck off the base and got my friend to drive me all the way back home,” he started to explain to you in a soft voice, “To your place. I went right up to the door and was met by your father.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he did, “He told me you weren’t home… that you were staying with your aunt who lived out of town, and that I wasn’t allowed to see you, speak to you or even write you.” He paused, “I started to fight with him…but then he got his shotgun out…”

“What?” you almost jumped upon hearing this.

“Yes, your dad pulled a shotgun out from behind the door.” He shook his head, “Almost like he was expecting me to show up.  But then again, he had told me to stay away from you many times before,” he started to grin a little, “And I just didn’t listen.  Maybe he wanted to make sure I got the message that time.”

It couldn’t have been true.  Could it? Your father did have an old shotgun, but he rarely took it out to do anything aside from clean it.  You could count on one hand the number of times you had seen him with that shotgun in your entire life.  At first, you couldn’t believe a man as godly as your father, the town’s pastor, would brandish a gun and point it at James.  But he did despise James, he made that abundantly clear. He always told you that he was corrupt and a sinner, and that he didn’t deserve to even be in your presence. After you had confessed to your father that you were no longer a virgin, after your mother had seen the evidence in your underwear and started sobbing and panicking to the two of you over it, he immediately knew you had lost your innocence to James Mace.  He screamed at you, berated you even, and made you feel like the dirtiest person on the planet.  You cried your eyes out as he threw the bible at your feet where you stood and were pleading for forgiveness, he shouted so loudly that your ears were ringing.  He demanded that you pray for forgiveness for your sin.  

What man will marry an impure woman?  You have been tainted!  My daughter will not be the town harlot! Pray that God saves your soul!

              The next day he dragged you to that river baptize you, again, and you weren’t convinced that he wouldn’t hold you under that current for longer than he should to punish you further.  Your parents treated you differently for weeks after, your mother barely spoke to you, your father invaded all of your privacy and made you read scripture every night before going to bed.  And after about a month, it was never spoken of again, but you still felt shame.  Clearly, not enough shame to keep you from doing it again.  Your father had a temper, and he tended to mask it in his religious preaching, you knew that now as an adult, now that you had stepped away from the church, much to the disgust of your parents.  You were still a believer, but far from the devout pastor’s daughter you used to be.  

You finally found words, “My father pulled a gun on you?”

He nodded, “Told me if I ever showed up on his doorstep again, he would blow my head clean off my neck.”

Yep, that sounded like your father.

“I tried writing you,” James spoke up again, “But I had a feeling he was throwing away the letters. And then your number changed… and I didn’t know what to do.  I figured…you had moved on.”

Your feeling shifted from hurt to anger, maybe even rage.  Your father lectured you about sin and secrets, and all this time he has hiding his own, justifying them even.

“Were you?” James suddenly spoke up again.

“Was I, what?” you were too caught up in your anger to understand his question.

“With your aunt?”

“Yes,” you sighed, “I moved in with her for about a year, shortly after you left.” You were being truthful.

“Why?” he pressed further.

That was a question you were not going to answer truthfully.  You were far from ready to.

“I just…” you stopped to swallow, stalling to think of a plausible excuse, “I needed to get away from that town for a bit.  Especially after what happened,” you paused, “With that guy and everything.” You lied.

“I always wondered if your parents blamed you for that guy putting his hands on you.” He spoke gently and continued to rub his thumb along the back of your hand, “I never understood religion.  I just… I don’t get how you can blame the victim in those situations.”

“I shouldn’t have put myself out there like that.” You glazed over and recited the line your parents had always used.  

“No,” James’s voice was shockingly stern, “That wasn’t your fault.  You were the victim.  He should have known better.”

“Not according to what my father says.” You sounded almost robotic.

“But you’re not your father.” His tone shocked you out of your cold and automated responses, and you looked at his face, taking in the softness he was giving you, “Angel…that was not your fault.”

He used your nickname. The one only he called you by. Your heart fluttered, and a warm feeling started to grow in the pit of your stomach.  How long had it been since you heard him call you that?  Your father robbed you of hearing him call you that all these years, and you didn’t even know it. James rubbed his thumb on the back of your hand some more before speaking again, interrupting your own inner dialogue of racing thoughts.

“I knew how much your father’s approval meant to you.  I didn’t want to do anything further to screw that up.” And then his thumb slid further down your hand, until it rested on your engagement ring.  It felt wrong, him touching it.  He lifted your hand some to inspect it further, and you watched his eyes as they took in the one and a half carat diamond.  You loved that ring, it was lavish compared to most of the other rings you had seen, a statement of how much your fiancé adored you, and how well off the two of you would be.  People drooled over your ring, they would snatch your hand up and gasp and gush about it. But now, it felt foreign on your finger. “It’s a very pretty ring.” He finally spoke about it.

“Thanks.” You weren’t sure how to respond.  

“I always thought I would get you a ring.” His statement hit you like a train, and your eyes went as wide as dinner plates.  “I mean, I know I probably couldn’t get you something as nice as this but…” his voice trailed off. He let your hand slip from his, and you gently pulled it back with a shaky arm.  Your limbs felt weak after hearing him say he thought he would have proposed. You had always wondered the same yourself.  At one point, you tried to make the argument to your mother that sleeping with him wasn’t the worst thing in the world because you had thought he was the one. And you did.  But things just didn’t play out that way.  Would they have without your father getting involved the way he did?

Where did that leave you and Doug?  

“We should eat.” James interrupted you thought process.  He went back to his steak and you finally found the sense to start cutting into your food.  

              For a few minutes, the two of you were quiet, just getting to the task of eating your food.  You tried not to watch him eat, but it was difficult to just keep your eyes down the entire time.  You drank in his form, his hands and how thick they were, his pink lips, his strong jawline, his cheeks, his eyes, everything.  It was the strangest feeling, having him so close but feeling like he was so far. And now you were second guessing everything.  What if he hadn’t been sent away?  What if your father hadn’t kept him from contacting you again?  What if you hadn’t met Doug?  Did your feelings for Doug suddenly change now that the story did?  

That wouldn’t be fair to him.

Was everything that happened fair to James?  Was it fair to you?

“Do you remember the time we took a rowboat out on the lake, and we started making out,” James started as he held some of his food in his cheek, “And we didn’t notice that one of the oars slipped out?” and you both started chuckling over the memory.  James wiped his mouth with his napkin and swallowed before continuing, “I jumped out of the boat to try and retrieve it, but when you tried to help me back in,”

“We flipped the whole thing and we were both in the lake.” You finished his sentence and you both broke out into laughter.  You kept your hand over your mouth, trying to be polite but it was hard to keep from laughing loudly.  James didn’t bother hiding his laughter.  When you looked up and saw the amusement and the joy in his face, it warmed you, and you found yourself laughing without a qualm as well.  It felt good to laugh, it felt even better to be laughing with him.

              Time passed faster than you could believe.  Even after finishing your food, the two of you sat and talked for some time.  You talked about all of your memories together, big and small, old friends, old enemies, your lives as teenagers and about the growing pains of becoming the adults the two of you were today.  At some point, you even decided to unwind and order a glass of white wine, which turned into two glasses.  Before you knew it, it was after nine o’clock and the place was getting ready to close. The two of you sat there and watched as the place emptied and waiters and waitresses started cleaning up.  The thought of leaving that booth, and leaving him, was almost unbearable.  You had just got him back, you had your friend back, and now it was time to leave. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but the two of you sitting there in that spot, in your own little universe.  In the back of your mind, you felt guilty and sad for Doug, knowing that he had likely called your phone ten times, and you hadn’t bothered to even look.  He wasn’t the one in front of you right now.

“I suppose,” James spoke and then paused, “we should probably get going.” You nodded and reached for your purse to grab your wallet.  “No, it’s on me.” James leaned to one side and pulled his wallet out of his pocket, and you froze.

“I can pay for myself.” You said the typical reply of betrothed woman.  Then again, a promised woman wouldn’t have met an old flame at a restaurant.

“No, no, I asked you to meet me here.” James quickly retorted and pulled out a wad of cash, enough to cover both of your meals and drinks, and a nice tip.  Your mouth went dry.  You didn’t want this to come off like a date.  Right? “And you drove all that way, it’s the least I can do.” He added after a second.

              You both slid out of the booth and pulled your coats on, and then you made your way to the exit, your feet dragging some.  It was funny how you were so hesitant to go into the restaurant in the first place, and how you seemed to move in slow motion. Now you were feeling the same way about leaving.  James placed his hand on the small of your back, escorting you out.  You stiffened some at the feeling of his hand on you, and the warmth from his hand seeped through your coat.  Maybe his hand shouldn’t have been there, but you weren’t about to tell him to remove it.  

              It struck you that, perhaps, all the time in your life, in the era following his disappearance, you had put on a face that was not your own. The face you wore reflected life’s tough lessons, the influence of your parents, the drive to be a successful career woman, the face of someone who was marrying within their own class and expected nothing less.  But James Mace was not less.  When was the last time you laughed so freely, or felt so deeply?  It if was an emotion that didn’t seem useful at the time, you didn’t honor it.  James was always able to pull all of those emotions out of you, rather than expecting you to stay in line or on an even note.  As a psychologist, you were suddenly disappointed in yourself.  You had denied yourself closure to the point of holding your breath for years.  Now, it finally felt like you could take a deep, cleansing breath in, and fill your lungs completely.  Yes, it hurt a bit, yes it made your eyes swell with tears, but it was freeing.  

              When the cold air hit you, you immediately shivered, and James’s hand slid to your side, pulling you closer to him as he put his arm around you, trying to help you brace for the chill.  The two of you walked towards your car, and James made some silly comment about you driving a nicer car than he did.  You turned to him after pushing the little button on your key fab, starting your car and letting it warm up.  This was one of the moments in life where it felt like your feet were stuck in cement, like you would remain still forever, but time would not be on your side. You stared at him, and he stared back at you.  You knew in your heart that this was going to be a painful moment.

“Well…” you tried to start a sentence, not even really sure of what you were trying to say.

“Well,” he echoed, pressing his lips into a thin line, but his eyes sparkled at you.  The thought whispered into the back of your mind…

Tell him…

Suddenly there was a deep pit in your stomach, and it churned painfully.  Should you?

“It was great seeing you.” James broke the silence, and he spoke so softly that it was hard to hear him over the pounding of your heart in your own ears. “Thank you for coming out and…talking about all of those things with me.”

You hesitated.  “I’m glad we did.” The cloud of vapor danced in front of your face as your spoke. “It’s good to have closure.” And he nodded.  

“Yeah.” He clearly didn’t know what to say.  Or he wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to.  But then he got bold.  “I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing you one last time.”

One last time, he said. The statement made your mouth go dry, and your heart sank.  You looked up at the sky, seeing the stars so clearly.  It was a move to avoid letting your eyes go teary again, and to avoid letting him see the sadness in your face.  He looked up as well.  Suddenly, looking at the sky felt different, it now meant so much more.  

“You’re going to be up there soon.” You changed the subject, stating a fact you both knew.  There was a long moment of silence.  “You’re about to save mankind.” You made an even heavier statement, but it was true.  He still didn’t answer. “I guess that makes you a hero.”

“That might be better than being a dentist.” He joked.  But this was no joke, he was comparing himself to Doug, your fiancé. You saw this coming.  

“He’s an orthodontist.” You scoffed, still looking up at the stars. “And in a way, you’re going up there to save him too.” You politely tried to let him know that he was pushing a boundary.

“But mostly you.” His words hit you, hard.  Your head snapped back down to face him, and you saw his gaze drift back down from the sky to give you a sly look, along with a tiny, crooked smile.  You gulped.

“James,” you spoke his name in almost a whisper, if it weren’t for the cloud of vapor from your lips, he might not have known you spoke at all.

“Are you really going to marry him?” his question shocked you, but only on the surface.

You stared at each other.

“Do you love him?” he questioned more. His expression now changed to one of hopelessness.

More silence.

“James… you can’t ask me to wait for you.” You finally pushed the words out, each one weighing more than the last.

“Not even if I told you I was doing this for you?”

“Don’t.” you sharply stopped him from continuing.  “Don’t you put this on my shoulders.” You pursed your lips together, fighting back tears. “Please. Don’t make me carry that burden.” You blinked a few times, trying to blink away the wetness that was coming to your eyes.  His eyes dug into you like daggers, and he swallowed and clenched his jaw.

“Will we ever see each other again?” he asked in a much softer voice.

You eagerly nodded, sniffling.  “You come back here in one piece, okay?”

“I’ll try my best.”

              A tear escaped your left eye, but you let it go. You nodded more, perhaps convincing the two of you that there was no risk, and that he definitely would be coming back.  Again, the little voice rang in the back of you head. Tell him. But you refused again.  You held out your arms, asking him for a hug, because you wanted nothing more than to be close to him one last time.  He obliged, stepping into you and wrapping you in his arms.  The embrace was warm, and it engulfed you, and then it lingered.  You couldn’t remember the last time someone held you like that, so tight and so close. You weren’t sure if you were comforting him, or if he was comforting you, but you were sure you didn’t want to let him go.  His hand slid up and down your back, and you tucked your face into his shoulder, he rocked you steadily, and then you broke.  Your lip trembled as a small sob escaped you, and you tried to swallow it back.  You stepped back from him, letting more tears fall, expecting the embrace to end, but instead his hands found their way to your face. He held you gently, looking you dead in the eye with a small smile.  His thumbs caressed your cheeks and wiped your tears away.  He leaned in and put his forehead to yours, and you closed your eyes, silently pleading that he wouldn’t set you ablaze with a kiss, but begging that he would.

              Your breath danced between the two of you, and you could feel him hesitating.  Instead of doing what both of you were thinking, he leaned to the side and gently placed a warm kiss on your upper cheek.  He stepped back from you and you looked at him, disappointed but at the same time grateful that he didn’t push your limits.  He was always good at breaking those boundaries, and if he had kissed you, Doug be damned, you would have welcomed it, knowing it as wrong.  “You take care of yourself.” He finally found something to say, and you could only nod.  His hands slipped away from your face and he stepped back, allowing you to walk towards your car.  That heat between you disappeared and you hated how cold you suddenly felt.  

You took a step backwards, towards your car, still looking at him, not wanting to lose the sight.  But you knew it was time.  With a heavy heart, you turned and made your way to the other side of the car, getting into the driver seat and closing the door.  It was hot in the car, but the chill stayed in your veins, goosebumps sticking to your skin.  You looked out the window at him one last time, and you saw him wave.  You waved back, holding it together, until you put your car in drive and reluctantly left the curb.  Your eyes found their way to the rearview mirror, and you saw him still standing there in the cold, getting smaller in the distance.  The bubbling turmoil in your chest finally came out in one giant gasp, followed by a heavy sob, but you put your eyes back onto the road ahead of you, the dark void with white undertones around you taking you further away from him.  

When you got to your destination, a small motel just ten minutes away, you tried your best to pull yourself together while sitting in the car before going in and getting a room.  Your eyes were puffy with tears and emotion, but you made your way into the office despite it to retrieve the key you had reserved.  The room was small, outdated, but warm.  Your phone had vibrated countless times, and when you finally saw it, you noticed the seven missed calls and the five text messages from your fiancé.  It was funny how he didn’t seem to exist that evening. You called him back, trying to sound as monotone as possible, telling him you were caught up talking to other psychologists about new theories and upcoming treatments, and that you had just lost track of time.  He accepted the excuse without any issue and tried to make conversation, but you were feeling sick knowing you had lied to him.  When he couldn’t get a decent conversation out of you, you simply told him you were too tired and that you wanted to go to bed, and he gave in.  

But there was no way you could sleep.  Not with so much on your mind, weighing you down.  You opted to take a hot shower, trying to wash away all of the angst and doubt that was sitting on your chest.  After your shower, you sat on the bed in your robe with a book in your hands, but you barely read it.  After staring at the same page for more than fifteen minutes, you gave up, and just started staring at your ring, thinking about everything it meant.  And everything it didn’t.  You wondered if you should take it off.  

A knock on the door shook you from your thoughts and made you jump a bit. Who would be knocking on your door so late at night?  And at a motel?  You got up from your spot on the bed, tossing your book onto the nightstand and tightening the knot on your robe as you approached the door.  Maybe it was the owner asking you to move your car, or asking if everything was alright.  Maybe it was someone in another room who had run out of toilet paper or something, but you weren’t at all expecting the sight you would see.  Upon opening the door, your knees almost gave out when you saw James Mace on the other side.  

“James?” you were shocked to see his face staring back at you, and his eyes slightly red, with wet lashes.  “How…how did you find me?” you questioned him.  But he didn’t speak.  Instead, he just stepped inside, into your space.  You backed up a couple steps, and he took the liberty of closing the door behind himself.  “A-are you okay?” you stammered.  Did he need a place to stay?  

              He didn’t say a word, and he didn’t have to.  He reached for you, first gripping your arms, and then moving his hands up to your face again, the chill on his skin made you shiver.  His lips fell onto yours with such confidence that it caught you off guard.  You both knew you weren’t going to deny his kiss, you didn’t even flinch, or attempt to push him away.  The contrast of the coldness on his hands and the heat on your lips made you dizzy, and you kept your eyes closed to enjoy the feeling of the room spinning around you.  When he finally pulled his lips from yours, there as no air left in your lungs.  The feeling was all too familiar, it was like you had stepped back in time, like there had been no lost time between the two of you.  You opened your eyes and looked at him, and he looked back at you.  

He was one month away from leaving Earth.  You were six months away from getting married.  

But none of that mattered at that moment.

#james mace #james mace x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #sunshine the movie

[exxar1]

Chapter 14 “The Miracle of Easter, Psalm 139

4/3/2021

Psalm 139: 13-16 (NKJV)

“For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother’s womb. I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.

My frame was not hidden from You, when I was made in secret, and skillfully wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, the days fashioned for me, when as yet there were none of them.”

           I honestly don’t remember exactly where, when or how I stumbled onto this psalm. It was sometime in the last couple weeks, and I remember being immediately captivated by David’s poetry of God’s perfect knowledge of mankind. Just a few verses before the passage I quoted above, David asks his creator where he can flee that God will not find him? Whether heaven or hell or the highest mountain or the uttermost parts of the sea, David marvels that God will always find him and be with him, no matter what. (This brought to mind that children’s book where a small child asks his mother if she will still be able to find him no matter what animal he becomes and where he hides. The mother answers that she will always find and love her precious son, no matter what.)

           Then I read the four verses that I quoted above, and I had to stop short. I read them again and again, soaking in the words that were at once familiar and suddenly brand new. Somewhere in my early childhood I had memorized verses 13 and 14. Now, pairing them with verses 15 and 16 I was struck by David’s message, especially in verse 16. In the KJV translation, that verse reads, “Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in Thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.” This verse was new to me, but I had a pretty good idea of what David was saying. But, to get a better idea, I reached for my MacArthur study Bible which is published in the NKJV translation. As soon as I read verse 16 there, I smiled to myself. Yes, I was right.

           For the last two weeks I have not been able to get this verse out of my head. God knew me before I was even conceived. He had numbered all my days, had written my whole life from beginning to end, before I was even born. I have been trying to wrap my puny, finite mind around this inconceivable, quantum-sized yet massively cosmological concept. How does a being that exists outside our known space and time, a being that has always been and always shall be, a being that knows my entire life’s story before it’s even begun, a being more vast and omnipresent than the universe He created, have any interest at all in the comparatively insignificant, finite, puny beings that He created but who then immediately disobeyed and rejected Him?

           God could have started over. He had no obligation to Adam and Eve whatsoever. He could have wiped them from existence with a single, spoken word. And, in fact, a millennium or so later, He did wipe out all of the human race and started over with just Noah and his family. And even then, mankind has still behaved towards God with great rebellion and sin. In my own life, I declared a long time ago that God didn’t exist. I even said at one point to myself, in the deepest dark of my teenage despair that I hated God. I hated Him for the way He had made me.

           And yet, according to Psalm 139:16, God knew every word, every action, every rebellious thought that I would hurl at Him before I was even born. He also knew the day I would raise my eyes to the night sky behind the neon streetlamps six months ago and whisper a sinner’s prayer of forgiveness and surrender. He knows the exact time and day of my death or if I’ll still be alive the day that His son returns in the clouds to rapture the believers home. He knows my every choice, my every thought, my every deed before I make any of them, and He has always kept me wrapped in His arms my whole life, patiently waiting until I was finally ready to wholly and completely surrender to Him.

           I have been trying to understand not only the very existence and nature of God, but, more importantly, the depth and power of that kind of love. I have failed at both counts. Instead, I have only been able to quote verse 14 over and over. “I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well.” My soul understands what my frail, limited mind cannot: that God, my Lord and Creator, my Great Savior, loves me in spite of my sin nature; in spite of all I have said and done against him; in spite of all my failures, both past and future.

           He loved me enough to provide a way for my salvation.

           Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. It’s the day we who believe in God and what His son did for us on the cross celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and His victory over death. This is a Bible story that I have known my whole life. I have sat through countless sermons and Sunday School lessons and family devotionals, and I have listened to my parents, my teachers, and my pastor expound on the greatest truth found in God’s Holy Word. This is the foundation of our faith, the only reason and sole hope of our frail, finite human existence. I know the timeline, the major events starting with the last supper, to the Christ’s anguished, desperate prayer to His heavenly father in the Garden of Gethsemane,  to the moment of death and the earthquake that tore the temple veil in two. I know that Peter denied his Lord three times, that the trial was a mockery, that Christ knew that Judas would betray Him, and that Pontius Pilate washed his hands of the matter after his wife told him she suffered a restless night of strange dreams about this particular Jewish rabbi.

I know about the crown of thorns, the beatings, the piercing of His side, the blood and vinegar that flowed from the wound, the nails that were driven into his hands and feet, the excruciating pain and extreme suffering that he endured while hanging there for many hours. I also know about the two thieves – one who acknowledged the lordship of Christ, and the other who stubbornly refused to believe in spite of the evidence right before his own eyes. I know that Christ finally gave up the ghost by raising His weary, bloodied head to the darkened sky and crying, “It is finished!”

I know that He was laid in the tomb after being wrapped carefully and reverently by his followers as they wept with great sorrow and grief. I know that on the morning of the third day, when Mary and Martha came to the tomb, and when they found the stone rolled away and Jesus’ body gone, that they were both afraid and thoroughly confused. I also know that the angel of the Lord asked them, “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, for he is risen as he promised! Go, and tell his disciples the good news!” And so they did.

I have known that story my whole life, every gory and heartbreaking detail. I have memorized many verses from the four gospels that speak of that great story. But, until this year, I have never known it in my heart and soul.

The God that David speaks of in Psalm 139 has known all my comings and goings, all of my thoughts and words, all my choices and heartbreaks, all my joys and accomplishments, all my times of deepest sorrows and despairs, before I was even conceived in my mother’s womb. He knows me from the very molecules of the protein strands of my DNA to every spiritual corner of my soul. His fingerprints are stamped into my genetic code, and He has loved me always.

I cannot fathom this, and my heart breaks as I contemplate the act of sacrifice that His son made on that cross on Golgotha’s Hill two millennia ago. Just writing those paragraphs describing the story of His death and resurrection has caused me to weep for what I did to send Him there. He bore the sin of ALL mankind – past, present and future – on that cross. That glorious, wonderous, terrible cross. He died for you, and He died for me.

Three months ago I started to expand my Apple music library with new albums and songs by current Christian singers and songwriters. One of them, Chris Tomlin, has a song called “The Wonderful Cross”. It’s his own arrangement of the hymn by Isaac Watts titled “When I Survey The Wonderous Cross.” I have been playing this song over and over during my daily commutes to work for the last few weeks.

When I survey the wonderous cross/On which the prince of glory died/My richest gain I count but loss/And pour contempt on all my pride

See from His head, His hands, His feet/Sorrow and love flow mingled down/Did e’er such love and sorrow meet/Or thorns compose so rich a crown

And now Chris’ own chorus:

Oh the wonderful cross/Oh the wonderful cross/Bids me come and die and find that I may truly live/Oh the wonderful cross/Oh the wonderful cross/All who gather here by grace draw near and bless Your name

This verse by Watts is what gets me every time:

Were the whole realm of nature mine/That were an offering far too small/Love so amazing, so divine/Demands my soul, my life, my all

           I come before you, O Lord God, a sinner saved by grace. I recognize that I am not worthy of Your love, Your mercy, or Your forgiveness. But You loved me so greatly and so deeply that You sent Your only son to be born of a virgin, to live as one of us, and then to die by our filthy, vile hands so that we could all be washed beneath His pure blood. By this, you gave us a way to salvation, and all that I have to do is accept this gift by praying and believing in Your name. There is nothing that I could ever do on my own to attain this, and I promise you, O God, that for as long as I live, as long as You give me the ability to draw breath, that I will give You nothing less than my soul, my life, and my all.

           Amen.

#easter #God #resurrection sunday #Christianity #the cross of calvary

[rosesareviolentlyread]

WIJ Day 3: Love

WOO the first actual prompt is here. This is a modern magic world heavily inspired by @0idril0 and @whumpywhumper‘s Nico & Markus/Lucien series respectively. I HIGHLY recommend you check them out. So this is meant to be an introduction to Pastor John/The Reverend, who is my first attempt at an intimate whumper. Thanks to @ashintheairlikesnow for inspiring the Reverend with Bram, def check out all her stuff if you haven’t

CW: religious whump, creepy whumper, whumper who doesn’t think they’re a whumper, kinda abusive relationship vibes, drugging, taking advantage of someone’s emotional state

John sits, listening to the record player in the corner crackle with the sounds of a congregation’s singing. His students tease him for being a ‘hipster’, but there’s something satisfying about their amateur voices, captured imperfectly, naturally, using a technology that reminds him of pottery, or weaving. Sound pressed into something physical, ethereality brought to his fingertips, his ears, across time. 

It’s a pleasant evening all around. John savors every detail as he takes a sip of scotch - a gift from a colleague in Edinburgh - settling into the thick leather chair by the fireplace, just musing in his mind while he waits for the brownies to be done. Perhaps he should grade, or write a lecture, or work on his sermon. But these moments in time, of being in his body, of feeling fire in his throat as sparks flick out as his toes, these are God’s moments, moments of perfect creation and harmony. 

But still, he isn’t bothered by the knock on his door, despite the late hour. The students know his door is always open. He’s become used to them coming to his couch after a late temptation, or perhaps a lapse in their faith. Perhaps just a personal dilemma. The community too, though they typically take the ‘door unlocked’ policy as is. 

No, the timidness of the youngest in his flock always brings a smile. It seems no matter how many departmental or congregational dinners he hosts, how many times they come knocking, they always knock. It is part of their youth, not cemented in their beliefs, in knowing that God will provide. So he provides, until they can become sure, can understand how a trinity of a different kind, God, his Son, and their Pastor, will be there for them. They are lambs, learning to stand on their own legs, which is why this is his favorite place to shepherd. 

“Coming!” He calls out, setting the glass carefully on a coaster before opening the thick door to the cottage. It takes a few blinks to clear his eyes from the rush of cold air that assaults them. The weather always seems to surprise him, just one of many things in this beautiful world. 

But what doesn’t necessarily surprise him is to see, red-rimmed eyes, a flushed tear-tracked face delicately wrought in its complexion, set upon a lithe frame that hides immense strength, an immense spirit that positively glows normally with ash-blonde hair and bright gray-blue eyes. Faith. A sense of calm comes over him, a release of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for days. 

“Oh, my girl, I was hoping you’d come by” Before she can get a word out, John wraps strong arms around her, enveloping her in a warm hug. Immediately he feels the telltale shake of her shoulders, small hands gripping the back of his sweater tightly, a damp spot right near his heart growing. 

Yes, John expected this. For how long, he isn’t entirely sure. Perhaps, always. Perhaps, because somewhere in him, he knew God had bigger plans for them both.

Faith had been a special student to him, from her first year intro course in the Theology department. A bright girl, a good girl, who believed with her heart and soul in Jesus’ saving grace for even the most dastardly of sinners. He hadn’t recognized it well at the time, but even he had fallen prey to the negativity within the church, the ones who said Supernaturals were truly the devil incarnate, incapable of being saved. 

But Faith, she took it upon herself to prove them all wrong. She’d been hesitant to propose her thesis to him, as her advisor. A piece to study the beliefs and communities of Supernaturals locally, from a theological and sociological perspective, in order to understand how those beliefs might be reconciled with modern Christianity. A piece that would allow for the Evangelical church she came from to see the same possibility of salvation she did. To choose love. 

“It’s alright, shhh. Why don’t you come in? The brownies for tomorrow’s potluck are almost done. I’ll put on some tea, dandelion right?” Gently, he pried her away from him, thumbing tears as she sniffled away the last of her outburst. 

“Thank you, Reverend. I just...I didn’t know where else to go. Yet.” The downcast of her eyes nearly breaks his heart at the cruelty of this world. For his fellow Christians had chosen to hate, to cast her out of their flock, after she bared her thesis, her work, no matter how unfinished. All because of what she was. 

Peter 1 4:8 comes to his mind: Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers a multitude of sins.

So what if she was truly born Fae, a natural sinner of the largest proportions. Does her desire to be saved, to save others, to feel Jesus’ healing light not garner love in them? 

Her desire, her faith, does in John’s chest, a warm feeling better than the finest scotch as he gently leads her to couch, leaving her with some tissues to compose herself. 

The moment feels so right the longer he’s in it. The brownie timer goes off right as he enters the kitchen, and he pulls them out. Perfect. He leaves them to cool as he flicks on the kettle, fingers moving through his vast collection for just the right blend. Dandelion, reminiscent of shortbread cookies, Faith’s favorite. They’ve shared so many cups over late night thesis meetings, church group meetings, dinner meetings that the box has only one left. Pulling out the last packet, he tucks away in his mind to buy more boxes. 

They’ll go through a lot he imagines, in the next few months. It’s easy to prepare, like a moment meant to be, as he lets the tea steep, adds two spoonfuls of sugar, and drops in the pills, stirring until they dissolve evenly. 

He brings it all out, tea, brownies, to the couch, where she’s already claimed a throw. It’s good, he thinks, that she already feels at home here. It’ll be easier that way. 

“Thank you,” her hands grip the warm mug, breathing in the steam, and he watches attentively as she takes a sip. “It’s been...I was scared. That you’d turn me away too” 

“My dear, you have never had anything but love for Jesus and God in your heart. Why would I believe something like this would change that?”

Of course he had been worried, in the beginning of her thesis, that she would be swayed. That they would convince her with their wicked tongues, guile her with magic and false miracles, false idols. Yes, now that he looks back, perhaps he did see it all coming. No, she hadn’t been swayed. 

But she’d swayed him. To believe in the possibility of truly saving those damned souls. So much that he’d begun his own research, his own plans, prepared for the possibility. And now, it appeared God’s plan was working perfectly, dropping her right on his doorstep on the eve of her transformation between worlds, an apostle for a new era

“Everyone else seems to think that, that this is wrong. How though? How can being who I am, the person God made me, be wrong?” Her voice is quiet in the night, barely above the crackling fire in its hoarseness, tinged still with tears. 

“He does nothing wrong. He made you this way for a reason, so that you may show others. Think of it, your work, is this not His plan?” John tries to keep the excitement out of his voice, to remain calm, collected. Gentle. Yes, he must be gentle, to do this in love for the Lord. 

She pauses, sipping more. “I...I don’t know. I just, I need some time, I think. I was walking to the bus stop when I passed your house and thought...I don’t know. I guess I hoped there’d be something I could come back to, when I was ready” Her eyes stare into the surface of the tea, growing distant. Tired. It’s working fast, he knows, likely due to her exhaustion from the past few days. 

“It’s alright to not know. The Bible does not have all the answers, but it leads us to where we need to find them. Perhaps that’s why you came here. Why don’t you get some rest, stay here tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, a new chance for you to find your way.” 

“Thank you, Reverend. That..that sounds nice. You’re right, I need to-o-o-o” the sentence is interrupted by a yawn and he chuckles. 

“It sounds like the only thing you need right now is a good night’s rest. Come on, I promise this couch may be old, but she’ll service you well. She’s saved me from several late night grading sessions” Taking the tea, he lets her settle down, and grabs a quilt from the closet - a gift from an older parishioner - and tucks it around her. 

“Goodnight, Faith. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a busy day” she mumbles something slurred, incomprehensible under the effect of the drug. Still, he sits and waits, gently petting the silky hair until her breathing fully evens out, deepens into a rhythm that could be a lullaby to itself in his ears. 

So beautiful, so wonderful, so perfect. Truly, this is his and her purpose: to show that the souls of the supernatural can be saved through Jesus’ light. 

It is with that thought that he picks up the limp bundle of girl, and carries her down into the basement.

Tags: @sableflynn @bleedingandfeverish @starry-whump @whumpmasinjuly(let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list for this series)

#whump #wijday3 #wij #whumpmasinjuly #religious whump #christianity whump #drugging tw #whumper #fae whumpee #magical whumpee #modern magic #modern magic whump #whump writing #whump fic #OC whump #fae bb #Studying About That Good Ole way #Pastor John #is a hard man to write #I need to read me more JESUS #idk what I'm doing with this #but we're triyng #may rewrite this later on #but for now #meet my first real whumper character who DEFINITELY has his own thoughts #and I do not like them

[seirei-bh]

Yes, I still love Eren

Ok, I didn't want to write this whole post because I don't like to discuss with other people and I always try to be patient, be quiet and just ignore this kind of stuff and keep moving foward with my life, but this is getting on my nerves.

Sometimes I wonder if some people on this fandom are a bunch of kids or teenagers who never have read/watch cruel and complex fiction stories before, like Berserk, Game of thrones, Evangelion, The last of us, etc, or just people so dumb they can't differ ficction from reality...

Repeat with me: people can love villains, people can love drama and horror in ficction and that doesn't mean those people are bad :)

It's frustating being an Eren's fan, because some people just can't understand that you can love villains and characters who are assasins or a bad person IN FICTION without being pro genocide in real life. Seriously, people SHOULD know the difference between fiction and reallity.

I love Eren Jaeger, because he's complex, well written and one of the most interesting MC I've seen in my life. I love the "hero-to-villain" arcs (like Anakin Skywalker). I love a lot of characters who are not good people because of their complex backstories, personnality or conflicted development. Ex: Joel of TLOU murdered a lot of innocent people at the ending only to save ONE person, but you can understand why he's doing that, despite you don't like his actions.

Besides, you know what? "White and perfect" heroes are boring.

A lot of people is saying now "I hate Eren, uuuhhh, you're a bad person if you love him uhhhh, Eren is the worst, he's the baddest of all the characters, the members of Alliance are the only good ones, Eren must die" only because in the last chapter we've seen the collosals trampling babies... seriously?? Yeah, I was shocked too and I feel sick and sad the first time I read it, but I can deal with it because SnK was ALWAYS cruel.

I guess people just conveniently decided to forget a lot of details of the first arcs and seasons.

Heeey, remember when Annie killed a lot of soldiers, all the Levi's squad and a lot of innocent people in the Central district while she was fighting agains Eren and the Survey Corps? She even played to yo-yo with one the the soldiers hahah :D Do you remember that Eren DIDN'T want to fight agains her and only did it because his comrades Armin Mikasa, Jean, Connie, Levi and others FORCED HIM to fight? oh, and innocent children suffered and died too in the middle of that fight. But of course, people just don't talk about it, because now Annie is now one of the cute wifeys of the "group of good heroes" :) (I love Annie and aruani, btw, but I just hate when some people are so hypocrytes to love Annie, Reiner and Bert, and also the members of Alliance and just sentence Eren for do something he was obligated to do to save his people, same as the Warriors tried to do to before to save people of Marley)

Eren tried to find a pacific way to resolves the problems during 4 years. He infiltrated in Marley alone, cutted his leg and hurt his eye, and talked with Reiner, only to try to understand his actions. But while he was forgiving his enemy and old comrade, he was listening a lot of people of the world clapping and smiling when Willy Tybur declared the war and extermination of Paradis. And in that moment Eren got a sad expression on his face, because he understood the entire world was their enemy so he was forced to become in a mass murdered and the devil of the world to save his people.

People of this fandom no longer talk about all the innocent people who were eaten by the titans that Marley dumped on the island. They don't talk of the number of Eldians that nations elsewhere have locked up in concentration camps, who are tortured and humiliated every day, simply for being Eldians, just like Jews in WWII, as we saw in Zeke's and Grisha's flashbacks. People forget Erwin, Carla, Armin's granpa, thousands of innocent people who lived inside wall Maria, and hundreds of soldiers died without even know the real reason why.

People in this fandom don't talk enough about Armin was the one who told Eren "to defeat your enemies, you have to become a monster", that Levi was the one who told Eren that he will have to take difficult choices if he wanted to survive, and that other people might die but he should be prepared to deal with it. That it was Mikasa who fought without hesitation against Annie and urged Eren to fight vs their enemies, along with Armin, Jean and Connie. That Hange and Levi tortured, killed and manipulated other soldiers in season three to archieve their purposes, that Reiner admitted in front of Eren that he destroyed the wall not because they forced him, but because he wanted to be a hero, so his parents could be together and be proud of him.

No. Because it's much easy only to throw shit at Eren because he's killing babies of background characters who were totally fine with the idea to exterminate the eldians of Paradise, and yes, that includes inocent eldian children, Historia's baby and all the kids she saved at the orphanage. But I guess people is not ready to talk about this.

People don't talk about the fact Armin, Jean, Connie and the rest of the cast admited in ch 133 that they are sinners too. That they forced Eren to do this, that despite they wanted to stop him, they couldn't give him a realistic and a good alternative solution. That the Alliance killed their own comrades and ignored Eren's depression for four years. Now they regret ir but it's too late.

Btw, Armin is my favourite character of snk, and I LOVE Jean with all my heart and I like the rest of the cast. But all these things are true. Eren is the one who is commiting a global genocide, but the rest of the cast are not heroes, they're guilty about this as well. So stop picture them as heroes and Eren as the only villain of the world. This story is much more complex than that.

 If you can't deal with characters with complex moratily and cruel actions, perhaps you should go to read Fairy Tail, Bleach or Naruto, where things are solved because the perfect and heroic main character is a saint who can solves all the problems of the world with the power of friendship and/or is able to change the mind of everybody just using the "talk-no-jutsu". And I'm not saying this like a bad thing, Naruto is one of my faves mangas and I like B and FT too.

and about the ending, I see a lot of people expecting some kind of cliché and easy ending, like the typicals about heroes-vs-villains stories of most Marvel's movies and mainstream animes, despite of Isayama himself has said in lot of interviews he wanted to hurt his readers and he loves controversial stories of murderers and monsters.

I don't know how Isayama will finish this. I wish it could be a peaceafull ending where eldians and humans can solve all their problems, but snk was never so positive. If Alliance wins and kills Eren and Isayama still is able to do a realistic and logical ending, giving the world convincent reasons to forgive the eldians of Paradis after that, I will be satisficed. But if Eren wins and kill all the people of the world because that's really the only way to save eldians... I won't blame Isayama. I love bittersweet, different and controversial endings.

I don't want the Alliance to die, specially my babies Armin and Jean, I love them too much, but  whatever if is either Eren who wins or either the Alliance, I would like to see an ending where Eren's survives, because I think that would be very interesting, to see him dealing with the guilt of his crimes during the rest of his life, with some kind of PTSD and trying to keep moving foward with his life despite of that. That would be a million times more interesting than "just kill him because he's bad". No, he deserves to suffers the burden of his actions, same as Reiner did after he back to Marley. The scene when Reiner tried to suicided but didn't it because Falco and Gabi were his reasons to keep living made me felt a lot of emotions, I know a lot of people considered that scene like a meme now, but the emotional impact was amazing. So, if I could choose, I prefer to see a scene of Eren like that, instead ot just being murdered.

#eren jaeger #snk #snk 134 #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.12

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2100

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

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THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

The hound didn’t return that night either. Sam came back to the room in the early hours of the morning, angrily shaking his heavy cloak and jacket away before staring out the window. His eyes were red-rimmed, and Y/N wondered if he’d been crying.

“It didn’t work,” he finally mumbled, “we set livestock around the perimeter, men in the watchtower… the damned thing didn't come back. Could smell it though… must have been within a couple miles.”

“Have you thought about going out with a hunting party?”

Sam scoffed. “I remember what happened the last time I left my Omega alone…”

Y/N sighed and stroked his hair. “Well, if it’s getting closer, then maybe tonight’s the night.”

He closed his eyes and stroked the bare skin of her arm. “Maybe. I don’t feel like I’m going enough for them… I want to go home, put this all behind me.”

“Sam, you’re helping just by keeping watch all night,” she touched his cheek and tried her best to cradle him in his arms, “you’re not… blaming yourself for Hannah’s death, are you?”

His body trembled slightly at her words. “I feel that I should have seen it coming.”

“How could you have?”

“Because I killed this thing’s brother,” Sam’s voice grew thick, “and it wants revenge. I know how it feels to want revenge… which is why it wants to take you away from me.”

Y/N sat up. “I want to help you kill it, then.”

Sam sat up too and promptly shook his head. “I’ve already forbade you from doing so.”

“You’re not my husband, Sam. You may be my Alpha, but you have no authority over me, not that you would even if we were married.” Y/N retorted angrily. “Try and stop me from helping you, I dare you. You had a nightmare, Sam, it’s hurting you deeper than you think.”

Sam reached under the bed and grabbed the coil of rope he’d brought from their cabin. He held it up, shaking it in front of her face. “I bought this for a reason, Omega. You will listen to me or like I said earlier, I shall tie you to the bed and lock the door.”

Y/N folded her arms. “Do that and I won’t spread my legs for a month.”

“A month isn’t so long,” Sam smirked down at her and waved the rope. “And if you remember, Princess, I had years of being alone before I found you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and tucked her wrists into her sides. “There’s nothing you can do that won’t stop me from helping you.”

Sam arched his eyebrows and tossed the rope to the floor. He crawled on top of her, pinning her wrists by her head. “I could simply make love to you until you’re too tired to move… I’ve done it before.”

Y/N shivered at the memory from the past winter; the week where they’d been in heat and rut simultaneously and Sam had taken her as if each time would be their last, mating her over and over until she lay trembling on their bed, unable to move or speak as pleasure radiated through her.

She struggled underneath him, fighting the urge to smile as he held her down. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll allow you to,” he replied, dipping his head to kiss her, “but I’ll still tie you if you make any move to join us tonight and only let you out when it’s all over. I’d rather have you alive and angry with me than dead and happy I’d let you come along.”

“You could’ve just changed me two weeks ago when I asked and then me joining you wouldn’t be a problem.”

“I already said that I’m not ready to put you through the pain,” Sam growled, “I will keep you safe and human until I decide. Until then, I don’t want to hear any more of it. Do you understand?”

Y/N frowned up at him, but nodded anyways. “Yes.”

Sam cocked his head. “Yes… what?”

“I’m not going to say it.”

“You’re that angry with me?”

“Yes.”

Sam smiled down at her. She was so beautiful when she was angry, he couldn’t even find the capacity to care that he was the main target of her anger. “I still love you.”

“And I love you too, but I’m very unhappy with you.” She returned. “And I will torture you if you force me to stay behind.”

Sam groaned. “We have a plan already. I honestly don’t care if we have to stay in town for another week, I am not allowing you to put yourself in danger. And anyway, how could you possibly torture me? You’re half my size.”

Y/N bared her teeth, which only made Sam laugh before he pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and stood. “I already said I wouldn’t make love with you for a month. But me walking around with no clothes, swimming in the lake, lying out in the sun… you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off me.”

Sam closed his eyes and tried to keep his cock from twitching in his pants. “And you’re probably right. But, if keeping my hands off my Omega for a month means she’s safe and alive, then it will have been worth it.”

He stood, brushing his pants off and watching as she closed her eyes, arms still folded. “Y/N.”

“What?” She frowned at him.

“You do know I’m not trying to be mean to you.”

She sat up and looked at him. “I know. You’re trying to protect me. I’m just being stubborn.”

Sam nodded. “I won’t let anything happen to you. If you’re going to—if you’re ever going to turn, and that’s a firm ‘if’—I refuse to allow an animal like a hellhound be the one to do it. It’s going to happen on my terms.”

***

That night was the last night the village of Dolgellau lived in fear.

Sam was perched on one of the wagons, bow loaded, sword heavy on his side. The night was frigid, and the stench of rotting fruit and wet dog was heavy in the air. Dean was by his side, and several men from the village were spread out in the courtyard, armed with blades and torches.

He had left Y/N asleep in their room, locking the door behind him and warning Father Michael not to let her out under any circumstances. He knew she’d be furious with him, but it was for the best.

“It’s close,” Sam breathed, “I can smell it…”

Dean sniffed the air and grimaced. “Don’t remember the one back home smellin’ nearly as bad.”

“Neither do I,” Sam replied. “It’s getting worse.”

Dean glanced at his brother. “I think I know why.”

Sam stared out into the line of trees. “Then enlighten me.”

“It smells Y/N.” Dean felt Sam stiffen next to him and exhaled slowly. “You’ve been cooped up with her all day long, she’s all over you. You stink.”

Sam roughly elbowed his brother in the side. “I could say the same for you. You’ve not bathed in days.”

“As have most of the people in the bloody town,” Dean took a long swallow from his hip flask, “you shouldn’t be such a prude about it.”

“I like to be clean,” Sam returned, “and so does Y/N.”

“Oh, she does like to keep you clean,” Dean scoffed, “making love in a church, I never thought you had the nerve.”

“It was one time.”

“Still counts.”

“Shush.”

“Sinner.”

“No, Dean, I mean it, shut up…”

The brothers fell silent. From the woods a low rumbling issued, followed by a wave of the same rotting stench they’d been smelling for over five hours. Sam turned and motioned for the men in the courtyard to gather together, back-to-back.

The snarling echoed again, closer, and Sam felt a chill run through his bones. Anger swelled in his chest, and he bristled at the thought of the vile creature lurking in the shadows, attempting to scout out a weak spot in their small group.

With a roar, the creature sprang, claws extended. The men shouted in surprise as it landed mere feet from them. Snarling, it swiped at them, sending three of them to the ground with howls of pain. Dean leapt back at the last second, swinging his sword at the hellound’s paw. The animal roared as the flat side of Dean’s blade stung its leg, and Sam nocked an arrow, then let it fly.

The shaft buried itself in the hound’s side, but Sam had missed his mark. The hound screeched in pain and backed away, haunches raised. The other men could barely see it, but Sam saw the thing in perfect detail, every wisp of matted fur, every tooth as his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl… it was just as big as Yellow Eyes had been, maybe fifteen-hundred pounds, and Sam knew exactly how much power lay behind just the animal’s bite.

Then, it lunged, throwing Sam to the ground. He hit the stone hard and felt his teeth bite into his tongue. For a second, he thought he heard Y/N screaming his name, and the animal paused mid-turn, its entire left side to Sam. He yanked an arrow from his quiver and jabbed it up, hard, heard the hound yelp in pain, and then he was on his feet. He pulled a torch from the wall and swung it fiercely, and the hot metal smacked right into the animal’s yellow eye.

Sparks and embers exploded everywhere. The resulting screech of pain was deafening. Sam actually had to cover his ears as the animal fell away, snarling and whining. He could have killed it right there, rammed his sword right through it, but he wanted to see it suffer, wanted to fight until the thing was begging to be put out of its misery.

His shoulder ached where it had been crushed beneath him, but he pushed himself to his feet and drew his sword, swinging it in the air as the hellhound stalked him in a circle. Dean raised his own blade and made to step forward, but Sam bared his teeth. “Stop!” he bellowed. “It’s mine! Don’t you lay a finger on it! It’s mine!”

He stalked in a circle, watching as the hound snarled and snapped ferociously at the air. Blood leaked from the gash on the side of its face, and it was limping slightly from when Dean had caught its front leg with his sword.

“Come at me, you bastard,” Sam growled, “if you’re going to hurt the people of this town, you’re going to have to kill me, and I’d like to see you try.”

The hound leapt, knocking Sam off his feet. He stumbled back, but kept his footing, swinging out with his sword. His bow was caught around his shoulder, and he angrily ripped it free, throwing it to the ground. With another snarl, the hound struck out again, and Sam matched the blow with his sword. Blood spurted, and the hound stumbled, a deep gash in his side. He brought his blade down again, but missed, and the hound knocked him to the ground. Pain shot from his shoulder down his arm, and he yelled as he felt the muscle strain, the joint popping loose.

He heard Y/N scream again, heard Dean shout to the other men to stay back. Blood roared in his ears as the hellhound reared back, jaws agape to deliver a bite that would surely kill its prey…

Sam struck up, his blade piercing the hound’s chest. It gave a loud, gurgling yelp of pain, and Sam sliced down. Warm, black blood and gore cascaded over him, and the hound fell to his side, twitched, and then stopped moving.

“Sam!” Dean was by his brother’s side immediately, scanning him for any major injuries. “Sam, are you hurt?”

The doors to the church crashed open, and both brothers looked up to see Y/N streaking towards them, her white nightdress trailing behind her, face wet with tears. Father Michael and several other priests followed, with villagers trailing behind, but all Sam could see was her.

“I’m all right,” he grunted and rolled onto his side, spitting blood from his mouth. His shoulder throbbed terribly, and the taste of the hound’s blood on his tongue caused nausea to roil in his stomach. “I’m all—”

He retched, emptying what little was in his stomach onto the pavement as Y/N collapsed by his head, not caring that her nightdress was slowly becoming soaked in the hellhound’s blood.

“Sam,” she cradled his head in her lap and stroked his hair away from his forehead, “Sam, I’m here… it’s over, love, it’s okay.”

The last thing Sam saw before the world went black was her tearstained face.

If you want to see chapter 13, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie 

#the cursed series #alpha!sam x omega!reader

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Make My Noose from a Daisy Chain

Summary: The Deputy is having trouble coming all the way home.

Part 1: Here Part 3: Here

Notes: A continuation for The Judgement Of Petals. This is Part 2 of 3, because I realized it was better to split the longer fic I had planned and give the Deputy their time in the spotlight alone. Also tumblr won’t let me write long things. Beware angst, depression, suicidal idealization, and references to brainwashing. There is little comfort in this fic. Also, less flowers than before. Sorry. You’ll just have to wait.

~

“Hey, you alright in there?”

The Deputy

The Ryes’ home was the first building they’d stepped into in months. It was warm and inviting, flickering with the soft light of a low fire in the living room. There were cushioned couches and loveseats and brightly colored blankets strewn about. The ceilings were vaulted, which helped with the claustrophobia.

Dep’s lungs still felt too small.

They’d been having a hard time not hyperventilating ever since they passed through the fence, and their vision was swimming at this point. But Carmina’s fingers were gentle and warm and kind against the rough, cracked leather of their glove. The daisy bounced a calming rhythm against their ear. They couldn’t bear to let go. (It was the first time someone other than the Father had touched them in- they didn’t want to think about that.)

Carmina had obviously sent word ahead to her parents, maybe radioed in when Dep was having their break down, because there was no one around. Perhaps they thought it would be too overwhelming to have too many familiar faces around for the first night. Seeing as Dep couldn’t breath just because they were inside a house, they couldn't really blame the Ryes for thinking that.

“Hey, look at me, Dep, okay? Just look right at me.”

They did. The air that the cracks in their mask let through was unsettling against skin that hadn’t seen the light of day in- they didn’t want to think about that either.

Carmina’s face was round and freckled and kind. They’d wanted to see her grow up.

“One step at a time, okay?” Carmina reassured, setting a hand against their mask, uncaring of the grime the Dep knew was caked there. “Nothing too much and nothing you can’t handle. We’ve got all the time in the world now, Dep. So let’s just take it one step at a time.”

Dep swallowed (their throat felt like sandpaper) and nodded without really agreeing. Carmina led them to a small, sparse room filled with only a utilitarian bed and a desk under the tiny window. Did they like it?

Yes. No. How did you know if you liked things, again?

They waited until Carmina let go of their hand and closed the door with a quiet click. There were no footsteps out in the hall. She was listening- making sure they didn’t bolt. Smart kid.

They didn’t take off the mask or the jacket or the boots. They didn’t turn down the bed or open the window. It wasn’t their bed, not their window, not their home to be comfortable in.

They curled up as tight as they could get on top of the cool, rough quilt on the mattress and felt their skin crawling; it was as if their very bones were screaming at them to get up, get out, this isn’t yours, you’ll just find a way to ruin it, make a mess, not good enough, traitor, murderer, YOU’RE A MONSTER-

They didn’t sleep much that night.

~

There was a hand over their mouth when they opened their eyes in the dark.

(Blessed are the wicked, my child, we’re family, my child, you’re mine own, my child-)

The fingers were too wide, they were cutting off airflow to both Dep’s mouth and nostrils; their lungs burned like a wildfire and Dep couldn’t move. Their limbs were lead, sinking right through the mattress and into the floor. The blankets were quicksand, bent on swallowing Dep whole.

(Blessed are the wicked who are healed by mine hand, my child, say it, say-)

Oh God, oh God, they couldn’t breathe, they couldn’t please don’t make them-

(say it, SAY IT, SAY IT, YOU ARE THE WICKED, SAY IT AND BE HEALED)

The body pressing down on their chest from above was heavy as stone. He reeked of old blood- their old blood. They tasted it on the fist shoving into their mouth, the knuckles against their tongue. Another palm wrapped around their throat. Dep tried to kick out but the blood flow to their legs had long since been cut off by His dreadful weight.

Dep was going to die down here in the dark.

(BE BLESSED MY CHILD)

“Dep, you gotta wake-”

(DON’T FIGHT ME, MY CHILD, I WILL SAVE YOU)

The new voice was but a gnat buzzing in the background compared to the megaphone in their ears. Not for the first time, Dep wished they could scream.

“Dep, wake up, for God’s sake, wake up-”

(SAY YOU ARE THE WICKED AND BE SAVED)

“Dep, please!”

They woke for real this time, jolting with unpleasant quickness into consciousness. Their mask was suffocating, the strap at the base of their skull too tight and cutting into flesh. They felt the layer of sweat that had covered their body in the night, damp and too cold in the Montana air.

They were slumped over on the floor by the foot of the bed- they must have rolled off in the night. Half sitting up, legs twisted in the quilt that had come with in the fall, they were supporting themself on one elbow and using the other hand to hold a knife to Nick Rye’s vulnerable throat.

(You must be ready to cleanse the land of infidels and sinners, my child.)

They flinched away, landing flat on their back; the knife clattered to the floor beside their head. They’d almost forgotten they’d had it up their sleeve. The collar of their jacket, which was not a hand but the real source of the restriction of oxygen to their lungs, let up a little. They gasped, wheezed, and then they looked up.

Nick hadn’t backed away an inch. He hovered uncertainly where he was leaning over them, one hand extended, lips parted. He spoke in a hoarse whisper. “Dep, it’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You- do you know where you are?”

Their vision blurred. Dep wasn’t sure who was making that awful keening noise, but it grated at their ears and they’d like whoever it was to stop. Nick looked horrified; that was probably a good reaction to Dep, if they were being honest.

They scrambled away from him, flailing to get free of the blankets constricting their legs. Scooting back on their tailbone, Dep didn’t stop until they were huddled against the far wall, right under the window. The wood was rough and splintered under their hands.

(Sinners must not be tolerated, and you must JUDGE them harshly.)

Nick tried to take a step forward, and their chest heaved with a sob. Dep couldn’t catch their breath; tears flooded, and their face was too hot. Desperately, they clutched their head in their hands, rapped their knuckles hard against their scalp. They were here, not in the bunker. They were with the Ryes- one of whom they’d just almost killed.

They couldn’t do this. They couldn’t. Not if it meant waking up to find they’d stabbed- that they’d ever hurt- They’d made a mistake coming back. Maybe it would have been better for everyone in Hope County if they’d burned alongside Him.

Dep had squeezed their eyes shut at some point, so they felt more than heard him cross the room and crouch down next to them. Dep shied away, unwilling to taint Nick with their unclean presence.

(Not good enough for them, should never have come, you’re broken, did you really think you could stay?)

“Hey,” Nick’s voice was soft. He didn't try to touch them. “Hey, just look at me for a minute, yeah? I promise, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

There was a red line darkening on his throat, right over his jugular. They watched, mesmerized and sick from it, as a single drop of crimson leaked out and disappeared under the collar of his worn sweatshirt. They turned their head hurriedly and suppressed the urge to gag.

(you did that you did that youdidyoudidyoudid)

“You’re safe now,” Nick told them. He leaned back against the wall, near enough to be seen but not felt. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you anymore.”

The keening noise was back. They thumped a hand against their chest, cursing their muteness, and thrust a finger at the knife. They pounded their fist against their clavicle again for emphasis.

Nick’s face was greyer and more haggard than they’d ever seen it. He still looked strangely young without his cap on, but his lips thinned and he shook his head. His voice was heavy with authority and something in it soothed their jangling nerves. “You’re not gonna hurt anyone, Dep. I know you’re not. You know how I know it?”

They shook their head. He sighed, scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and leaned his head back against the windowsill. “Because you’re good, Dep. You just can’t remember that right now.”

~

Kim found them there in the morning, although Dep was pretty sure she’d been outside their room for longer. Maybe for the entire thing; they hadn’t gone back to sleep but she was quiet. Nick sounded like he’d dozed, and when Kim opened the door he jumped and hit the back of his head against the windowsill. Kim snorted.

“Oh yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, prodding at the bruise, “not like I’m your only husband or anything.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Kim sauntered in like nothing was wrong. Like the bed wasn't a mess, like her husband sitting on the floor in the middle of the night with an insane ex-cop was normal. Like there wasn’t a knife stained with his blood lying there, just out of reach. “You want me to kiss it better?”

Nick perked up at that. “Would you?”

“Knowing what I do about your showering habits? Not a chance. Get downstairs before Carmina eats all the eggs.”

Nick hesitated for a moment, pointedly not looking at Dep. Kim held his eyes steadily and nodded at the door. Her foot nudged the blade and their stomach roiled like curdled milk.

“Go on,” Kim murmured, and Nick went, joints cracking as he stood and left. They could hear him give a low groan as he descended the stairs. They were left alone with Kim.

(You should go, get out, look what you’ve already done, are you going to put the mother of your godchild in danger now too?)

“I’d say I know that look on your face, but well,” Kim gestured to their mask. Their heart was beating too hard in their chest, and their ears were roaring. She took a step forward but stopped when they flung out a warning hand. Kim sighed and crouched down on her heels to get on their level.

How far from the window to the ground? Not that far, probably.

“But I do know you, Dep.” Kim told them with enough kindness in her voice that they retched quietly. “And I know you’re not going to give up this easily, are you?”

Yes. No. They wanted to, desperately.

(Take heart, my child. You are doing God’s work.)

Why couldn’t it all just stop?

They shrank away, tried to mold themself into the wood panels of the room when Kim stretched out welcoming fingers to them. Kim didn’t seem disturbed, and didn’t drop her offered hand. (How can she not be repulsed? You’re a traitor, monster, should have died with Him-)

“If you can’t see why you should do this for yourself, if you can’t find a reason why you want to stay alive,” Kim spoke softly, almost hypnotic in the early morning stillness, “then do it for us. We’re counting on you, Dep.”

Well. That was that then.

~

They stayed, however reluctantly; it was partly due to the fact that every single one of the Ryes had an amazing talent for puppy dog eyes. They could hear familiar voices on the radio in the kitchen, sometimes, but they never answered Kim when she asked if they wanted to talk to anybody.

(You don’t deserve it. Why are you still here?)

But the Ryes had nice flowers out back of their house, and Carmina had tentatively suggested that a plot of land be set aside for a garden. Nick was quick to jump on that one; he’d hauled hoes and rakes and shovels from the outdoor shed before Kim had pointed out that they’d need to find seeds and plan it out before getting to work.

Dep had silently turned around and gone back inside. They were getting used to the same four walls of their room; it would almost be comforting if not for the fact that once the natural light from the window was gone the gloom made the wallpaper the exact same shade as the bunker and they would start remembering-

The didn’t want to think about that anymore. They couldn’t think of anything else.

It seemed like every day Dep tried to leave. They were getting farther and farther every time; yesterday Dep had gotten to the woodline behind the fence before a heavy hand landed on their shoulder and they’d had to face Nick’s disappointed (worried, scared, he should be scared of a TRAITOR-) eyes.

They were sneaking out for another attempt (sixteenth time’s the charm, why can’t you just let go of them, they’d be better off) when they heard it.

“You’ve got to look at this practically sweetheart,” Kim admonished gently. “This isn’t like when you brought home a bird with a broken wing as a kid. This is a living, breathing, thinking person, one whom I was very close to, and I can tell you that it’s gonna be a whole new ballgame helping them heal from this. If we’re in this for the long run we have to face the facts as they are instead of turning a blind eye to them.”

“Like what?”

“Do you know what Dep does at night?”

Oh, fuck.

They thought they’d been so quiet- they didn’t exactly wake up screaming most nights. Although Dep had to admit that sometimes, when the nightmares got really bad (blessed are the wicked, we’re a family, a family, SAY IT OR BE DAMNED) they woke making this weird gurgling noise. And the dreams themselves hadn’t miraculously disappeared just because they had a warm bed to sleep in. Plus the sleep paralysis was worse because they’d end up rolling onto their back in the night.

“No,” Carmina was admitting over the rush in Dep’s ears. They couldn’t do this, they couldn’t hear Kim (Kim, Kim, Kim, so good, so kind, too good for them) condemn them to their nightly torment alone, couldn’t hear Kim tell her daughter they were dangerous (they were), that they shouldn’t have ever come back (they shouldn’t have) that they were going to hurt the family in one way or another, whether they liked it or not (they weren’t, oh God please don’t let them hurt the Ryes), that they had to go (they had to go). “They’re closer to your room than mine.”

Kim drew in an audible breath and Dep was going to throw up. It’d get all over their mask. It’d be so gross.

“They don’t sleep more than an hour or two; I don’t think they know that I can hear them leaving their room, but I’m jumpy in the night. They leave the house, and Carmina, they’re gone for hours.”

Carmina’s voice was small. “Where do they go?”

“I watched them once- they walk the perimeter of the property, as far as I can tell. They go around and around in circles for the entire night with that bow of theirs on their back.”

“They’re protecting us.”

“They’re panicking and terrified,” Kim cut in sharply. “They never sleep, they’re hyper-vigilant and they’re probably having flashbacks and panic attacks, but we can't do anything about that because they never speak to us. Hell, they won’t even be in the same room as Nick, and they never look me in the damn eye.”

“Well, what do you want to do? Tell them they’re broken and kick them out? They were tortured! For years, Mom.”

“You think I don’t know that? That I don’t think about it every goddamn time I see that mask?” Kim spat out. There was a moment of quiet. Dep realized their breath was wheezing softly, that their lungs weren’t expanding enough. Their head swam. “Like hell am I gonna leave them out in the cold. I’m just saying that we need to- do more than we are. They’re not going to get any better if we don’t try to understand them, if we don’t push them a little. I want them to feel safe just like you, but it’s been a month, Carmina. We gotta learn how to communicate with Dep if we’re gonna help them.”

“So…” Dep could almost see the girl pushing her fingers through her hair (so like her father) and worrying her lip, looking for an answer to a problem that never should have been hers to deal with. Their gut twisted into knots. “So, they’re not talking, right? We gotta communicate to get them the help they need.”

Kim sounded relieved. “Yes. Question is, how? They never were very talkative.”

Dep suddenly felt lightheaded and dizzy; this happened every time someone talked about their past with them. It always seemed like a fog surrounded their memories; as if someone had hidden it from them. Trying to remember only granted them a pounding headache and sleepless nights. (It was Him, He did it, but how, what did He do, why can't you remember, for God’s sake can’t you do anything right, something so simple as remembering?)

“Maybe,” Carmina said slowly. Dep backed away, hands clutched to their head, down the hall to that tiny safe haven (your cell). “Maybe we’ve just been speaking the wrong language.”

#the judgement of petals #the judge #the deputy #Nick Rye #Kim Rye #Carmina Rye #Joseph Seed #far cry new dawn #far cry fic #far cry 5 #far cry spoilers #fcnd #FCND spoilers #my writing #tw violence #tw violent thoughts #tw depression #angst #heavy angst #little comfort #no comfort #brainwashing #family feels #tw intrusive thoughts #tw flashbacks #tw implied abuse

[intrepidolivia]

Say Yes

Pairing: John Seed X Female Deputy

Warnings: Implications of violence and torture, religious themes, psychological torture, menacing. Most implied.

Summary: MILD SPOILERS FOR FAR CRY 5 An imagine for FC5. What if the Deputy became aware of certain world events earlier? A dark fic, non-graphic but plenty of implications.

A/N: So this little idea came to me and I couldn’t quite put it away. Just a little short, plenty of dark themes and implications. Also I am John Seed/Joseph Seed trash and will probably write more. 

John Seed was accustomed to the unexpected.

After so long it was difficult to surprise him. Particularly in the last months as Project Eden’s Gate moved into its final stages. He expected the resistance, the violence, the small and ultimately failed attempt at involving outside authority. Joseph had faith. John knew people.

That was why he was wholly surprised when some of his men came to him, informing him that the Deputy Marshall they’d been hunting across the entire valley had shown up at the bunker, hands up in surrender, and asking for him.

While they secured her, he had time to think.

Clearly it was a trick. She was clever, he had to admit, if only grudgingly. She’d escaped once already, but she’d had to leave her partner behind. He’d expected some sort of rescue attempt, but the tactics he’d observed so far led him to believe it would be stealthy. Certainly, despite being stripped of weapons she’d managed to get out of the bunker, leaving a sizeable pile of bodies behind her. Something like that didn’t work twice, though. There was no reason he could think of to turn herself in, and so the fact that she apparently had worried him.

It couldn’t be sincere. No, not the way she’d looked at him before she fled. As though she wanted nothing more in the world than his head on a pole. Not the way she’d torn through his men, Wrath incarnate. It had to be a trick. But for the life of him, he couldn’t work out how.

They had her in the ‘confessional’, familiar territory considering it was the room she’d escaped from the last time she was there. He strode in with a smirk, taking in her slender, athletic form tied securely in her chair. He could admit that she was attractive. That wasn’t why Joseph was so interested in her, though. Another thing he had yet to work out.

It bothered him that she hadn’t looked up yet; he did not enter quietly. Still, he grinned, waving a hand at the armed guards on either side of her. “Well, Deputy! So sorry about the guards, but as they say ‘fool me twice…’” he said jovially.

She looked up, and he felt the smile falter. The Wrath was gone. In its place was something very different. Desperation. Ordinarily, it was a look he wanted to see. He always knew he was getting close to a ‘yes’ when the anger and pain melted into a desperate need to make the torture stop.

This was different. There was fear, desperation, even despair in her eyes.

None of it was because of him.

He paused, staring down at her, searching her face, a little whisper of dread sliding down his spine. For once, he was at a loss for words.

“Have you listened to the radio?” she asked. Her voice was rough, barely controlled.

“No. Actually I’ve been a bit distracted. Silos being bombed, oh, and my home being invaded and taken over by sinners… any of this sound familiar?” he growled. Despite his words, for the moment he was much more interested in what she had to tell him. But it wouldn’t do to let the flock know he was worried.

She shook her head, swallowing thickly. “You should--” The Deputy squeezed her eyes shut. “You should.” She took a shuddering breath, sounding like she was horrified by her own words. “I--I think… I think Joseph may have been right.”

That gave him pause.

After so long dealing with people as a lawyer, and now as Joseph’s baptist, he knew how to read emotions and expressions. He could tell sincerity from deception, read the tiny flickers that told him if a person was hiding something.

He saw none of that in her eyes.

He couldn’t fully discount the idea that it was a trick, of course. Some people were much better actors than others, and she’d been a thorn in his (and Joseph’s, he reminded himself) side for too long to take anything at face value.

“All right, Wrath,” he said smoothly. “Just this once I’ll indulge you. However.” He stepped forward, leaning down and grabbing a handful of her thick hair, forcing her to meet his gaze, inches from hers. “If this is some trick, I promise you. You will have a very long and painful time to regret it.”

She hissed at the pull on her scalp, but met his eyes. “Just listen to it,” she whispered.

He was sure she saw the flicker of doubt and anxiety in his face before he schooled his expression. “Wait here,” he said, releasing her and straightening with a grin. “Not that you have much choice.” He chuckled as he turned away. “Then again, I thought that before, now didn’t I? Be good. I won’t let you off so lightly this time.”

He motioned his guards away. Leaving her alone was how she escaped the last time, but he wanted to test her. And yes, if he were honest, he wanted that fear in her eyes to be for him. Letting her sit alone and helpless with nothing to look at but the tools he used to extract confessions, waiting for him to come back… well, it was an effective form of psychological torture. It wasn’t his preferred form of torture, but it worked.

Before he withdrew to his room, he forbade his guards from mentioning a word of what the Deputy said. There was already a moratorium on non-Eden’s Gate radio stations for the followers anyway, but it paid to be cautious. If this wasn’t a trick, whatever had spooked the Deputy so would have to be big. It would be all over the non-believer’s stations, and Joseph was very… particular about the flow of information.

John did his best to appear unconcerned as he made his way through the hallways of his bunker, never exceeding a casual stroll. He wanted to give his people no cause for alarm, and be certain the Deputy had plenty of time to consider her fate.

Secure behind a closed door, he turned on the radio, finding a news broadcast.

Then, he called Joseph.

John would never say he didn’t believe. Of course he believed the end was near, and that Joseph was right about the Collapse being upon them. He knew the end was nigh. He just hadn’t quite been prepared for how very fucking nigh it was.

He sat on his bed, staring at the wall for a few minutes to compose himself. Joseph was calm, of course. It was exactly as he’d said after all. They were ready, preparations were underway. He’d been more than pleased to hear about the Deputy turning herself in.

It rankled John, knowing how interested Joseph was in her. From the moment of her failed arrest in his church, Joseph had taken an interest in the woman that John found…

Of course he would never question Joseph.

Still, it itched at him. What was it Joseph saw that had him so fascinated? Why was she so important? It made him want to take her apart to find out.

He paused at the thought, and he smiled.

She had come to him. When the world was on the brink, when the Collapse bore down on them undeniably, she had come to him. Not Jacob (though no one in their right mind would go to Jacob, in his opinion), not Faith, the outwardly gentle one. Not even Father Joseph. She had come to him.

She was his.

The Deputy hadn’t moved when he returned. There was no overturned chair, no chaos, no guards shot full of holes or with heads bashed in. She’d waited for him. The thought stirred up embers in his chest.

“I listened,” he told her.

She nodded, not looking up.

“Now you understand what we’re trying to do here. What’s at stake.” When she didn’t respond, he continued. “You understand that the Father was right. You know, despite everything you’ve done, he still wants you saved.”

The Deputy swallowed, still staring at the floor. Her eyes darted to his array of tools, once.

Gently, he took her chin, tipping her face up. “And despite everything, I’m willing to hear your confession, and see you through atonement. Without judgment.”

Finally, finally he saw what he wanted. A little flicker of fear in her eyes. Just for him and him alone. With the promise of more to come.

He smiled, the embers in his chest fanning into flame. “You know what I want to hear you say, don’t you?” he purred.

The fear in her eyes was intoxicating. All for him. She took a shuddering breath.

“Yes.”

Tagging: @heiwako

#Far Cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #FC5

[nirikeehan]

Yooo do Thalia/Blackwall :)

OH YEAH GET READY FOR SOME ANGST

So The Civil Wars is just officially Them (the writer for Blackwall said she listened to them while writing his storyline and uh, it shows). SO let's start there.

The One That Got Away

Oh, if I could go back in time When you only held me in my mind Just a longing, gone without a trace Oh, I wish I never ever seen your face I wish you were the one Wish you were the one that got away

Thalia and Blackwall are often so vicious to each other, especially after the Big Reveal. She thinks he hates her, and hates her for saving him. She hates all the feelings she still has for him. This is that song.

Devil's Backbone

Oh Lord, Oh Lord, what have I done? I've fallen in love with a man on the run Oh Lord, Oh Lord, I'm begging you please Don't take that sinner from me Oh don't take that sinner from me

The weight of realizing who Blackwall really was weighed heavily on Thalia's psyche. More so when it was so apparent the society around her would never truly forgive him for what he had done.

Kingdom Come

Run fast as you can No one has to understand Fly high across the sky from here to kingdom come Fall back down to where you're from Don't you fret, my dear It'll all be over soon I'll be waiting here for you For you, for you

Thalia's pining song. Her carrying a torch song. Her "she should know better and look at what she's got right in front of her" song.

And now, a couple more...

I Come With Knives - IAMX

I never promised you an open heart or charity I never wanted to abuse your imagination

I come with knives I come with knives And agony To love you

Blackwall's POV. He brings so much baggage to the table but can't help how he feels about her.

Hush (What a Mess) - The Sweeplings

What a mess we've made. What a mess...

I may as well hush, Feed the quiet, I may as well hush, Just be silent, I'm swallowing every word, Never heard, may as well, hush...

Thalia's POV. Her relationship with Blackwall was largely a secret and largely unconsummated (they actually only ever kissed once during the playthrough), but she burned inside with the burden of that secret the entire game.

#ask meme #character stuff #blackwall #thalia trevelyan #blackwall x trevelyan

[bexsbaxters]

MY AVENGERS AUS by yasmin-alliyah

(i might update these with new ideas and new ships idk) TONYT'CHALLA: princess lessons • in which tony has to suddenly learn the customs of the wakandan people as the prince escort and rhodey and sam are no help. be a pretty baby for daddy • in which tony is a poor college student who's drowning in debt and t'challa is the young rich prince of the small country of wakanda. robin hood • in which t'challa is the son of an international diplomat and he sees tonh shoving food into a velvet bag in the middle of a royal ball. RHODEYTONY: drive, just fucking drive ! • in which rhodey is an A* student who is infatuated with the scruffy, sleep-deprived brunette who manages to scrape every class. BUCKYTONY: smart ass with a nice ass (ft steve) • in which tony and bucky are rival cops who are put together to stop an evil mob boss with a preference for cute, sassy brunettes. all we wanna do is get high and listen to PARTY • in which bucky and tony are insufferable roommates who enjoy teaming up to antagonize their next door neighbor and occasionally get drunk to gossip about the other students. TONYNAT: rush hour • in which the highly trained russian cia agent has to drag her incompetent american counterpart around a highly delicate case. WANDANAT: red lipstick, rose petals, heartbreak • in which natasha is the gorgeous editor of vogue and wanda was her secret lover who had to go somewhere natasha couldn't find her. wrap your velvet heart around my jagged edges • in which natasha has strict religious parents and wanda is the traveller girl with the beautiful eyes that teaches natasha that not all sinful things are bad. TONYTHOR: knockout ! • the one where thor is a famous wrestler and tony is his manager who has a massive infatuation with him. loving him is a sin (but a sinner i am) • in which thor is the happily married (straight) man who lives next door to the depressed single writer. expect the twist • in which he was the golden boy and tony was just the shadow that followed him around. PIETROTONY: the ashes, shame and scorns • in which tony falls in love with the pretty, silver haired immigrant boy who sits outside his school and has many shocking stories to tell. TONYCLINT: aw, singlehood • in which it’s Nat’s wedding to Bruce and she keep shoving the boys into each other because they’re the only ones at the entire ceremony who are single. PETERTONY: we're adults we swear ! • in which peter quill and tony stark bond over microwaveable chicken nuggets and secretly pine for each other across the supermarket shelves. SAMTONY: scars to your beautiful • in which the boy with no name enters sam's support group and over the course of a month, sam falls in love slowly with the man with the brown eyes and sad smile. SAMBUCKY: text from your ex • in which sam and bucky are happily dating until bucky gets a text message from someone who really wants to fuck his life up. SAMSTEVE: draw me like one of your french girls • in which steve loves to secretly draw sam, sam secretly loves it and bucky wants to fight thor. american psycho • in which steve is a influential owner of a billion dollar corporation who has a dark secret and sam is the cop who's dedicated to bringing him down. SAMSCOTT: it's getting hot in here (so take off all your clothes) • in which sam and scott are firemen who have a game where they try to flirt with as many of the people they save that they can. SAMNAT: strawberry cappuccino • in which steve and bucky both have a crush on the gorgeous barista at starbucks but she only has eyes for their best friend. SAMCLINT: 4:00 • in which sam and clint are rogue cia agents who have to protect the famous son of the president of the usa before he becomes a victim of their ex director's schemes. SAMRHODEY: bitter always follows the sweet • in which sam and rhodey are going through their expensive honeymoon when an old 'friend' turns up, ready to wreak havoc. come fly with me • in which rhodey is young sam's supervisor who finds the the younger lad both annoying and endearing. RHODEYBRUCE: ciao adios • in which rhodey and bruce have to attend a science talk tour for 10 boring long ass speeches and they fall in love along the way. THORSTEVE: morning endeavours • in which thor and steve decide to do everything on steve's list of things to catch up with in the future and somehow they fall in love on the way. backalley boy • in which thor stumbles across a skinny boy getting beat up in an alley and saves him. STEVEPIETRO: sometimes the heart can see, what’s invisible to the eye • in which steve is in love with his girlfriend's twin who's coincidentally dating his best friend. throw in a crazy, quick wedding and a group therapy session and antics ensue. BRUCETONY: why am I preaching to this choir, to this atheist? • in which bruce is a strict preacher and tony is an openly gay actor who teaches him that some things that are sinful can feel virtuous. the ideology of butterflies • in which a forty year old man takes his much younger lover on a road trip as they seek to escape civilisation and societal rules. BUCKYPIETRO: the castle without colour • in which bucky is enamoured with his enigmatic next door neighbor pietro, who loved mysteries so much he became one. inhale, in hell there’s heaven • in which bucky lives across from an angel who's deadly, godly and beautiful all at once and he isn't quite sure how to feel about it. telepathy • in which bucky meets the most beautiful boy dancing under the strobe lights at a club. BROTPS & OT3/4/5 CLINTKATE: suck it up hawkguy • in which clint is stuck babysitting the spoiled heir of the bishop fortune, until something goes awry and it's up to clint, kate and lucky the pizza dog to save the day. southside • in which kate has fallen for her coffee-addicted psychology professor and a smitten america is trying to woo an oblivious riri whilst kamala observes their plight with amusement. CLINTNAT: budapest • in which natasha and clint get married, adopt a penguin and get shot at 67 times in the space of an hour, where's phil when you need him ?? CLINTTHORHULK: be back in a sex, -sec • in which thor, clint and the hulk visit asgard to find out who's been sending the avengers cryptic messages stating their inevitable doom. TONYCLINTTHORSTEVE: karaoke anyone ? • in which the group decide to hold a karaoke concert with the rest of the group which tony swears he'll win, but thor has a trick up his sleeve. SAMSTEVEBUCKY: i'm singing on the mic til my voice hoarse • in which sam is a famous r&b singer who is simultaneously sleeping with two members of the same world renowned boy band. THORCLINTSTEVE: sharing is caring boys • in which thor, steve and clint are found regularly bonding over their shared love for shitty coffee and natasha romanoff's rock band in wade wilson's shitty café. aww, fuck me • in which clint goes to a café every morning for cheap breakfasts as he can't cook for shit and this incredibly attractive couple are looking at him and oh shit, they sent over a coffee and their numbers. he's fucked. fix me up, daddy • in which clint stars as the 'i-did-something-super-embarrassing-please-don't-judge-me’ patient, thor is the completely baffled doctor and steve is the completely done nurse. TONYSTEVEBUCKYTCHALLA: they joined hands and the world ended. • in which the guys are all successful CEOs of important businesses and it seems that they all hate each other to the outside world but actually, they are all in a relationship. but what happens when a jealous ex lover finds out and threatens to expose them to the world ? I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE ALL THESE !! message me if you're interested.

#tony stark #stevethor #steve rogers #thor odinson #thor #thor of asgard #tchalla #clintstevethor #stevebuckytchallatony #samstevebucky #samsteve #sam wilson #bucky barnes #james barnes #james rhodes #rhodey #tonyrhodey #hawkeye squared #kateclint #clintasha #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #wandanat #pietrotony #samtony #natasha romanoff #tonynat #hulk #bruce banner #brucerhodey

[shawnjacksonsbs]

And at this point, in my time, its not just for me. Weird right??     9-15-19

So this week is significant, for me anyway. Tomorrow marks 1 year without  cigarettes, and the 19th marks 6 years off the dope. Six fucking years, just wow. For any of you who knew me before. . . It's super weird how it feels so far away, my using days I mean. I am like to the point where I have to remind myself that those days are my memories, not somebody else's. Although some might say I am a different person, I think that relinquishes too much of the responsibility that I need to hold on to, to keep me in check. I need some of that pain to remind me of just how much I have to lose. A lot of new people I have encountered over the last 6 years can't imagine me ever living like that, and it's even hard for me, sometimes, but I must never forget, not ever. I knew since this "anniversary" entry was coming up, for the last several weeks I had planned on writing about a comparison piece between me and the phoenix. Where I burn, and through the flames, I was reborn. lol Not entirely accurate, and the fire still smolders as I am still becoming more "me" with each passing day. Granted the biggest chances, I imagine, have already taken place. No new revelations in here. A brief update would be that both my older boys are on better tracks. Positive thoughts only as the fight to keep consistent in their commitments. No one knows when the last go 'round is for someone, so this could be theirs. I have the other two of my grandkids up here with me. They spent the night last night and we all slept in the living room on the futon. Not comfortable for me, at all. lol But it's nice. I watched all 3 of my grandchildren run around, literally in circles while screaming late last night. Overly excited little people, almost like a scene from Lord of the Flies without the bonfire in the middle of their circle. lol I got up extra early to be able to write this. I need to figure out breakfast soon. We are also going to Penguin Park later this afternoon, and probably Pizza Street for lunch and hot dogs on the grill this evening when the kids come to pick them up. Not a lot in this entry for it being an "anniversary" edition I know, but I will say that everything in my life for the last 6 years has brought me to this point in time, in my life, so I would be ready as a person to fulfill my role in the lives of my loved ones. Ready for the 1st night and day that I get to spend entirely with all of my grandkids! This is life. Also, for fun, I made a timeline of sorts, made exclusively of different song lyrics, from my using days all the way to now. I will share them at the bottom of this entry in chronological order. Want to know where I am just read them, but if you want to know who I am then you'll have to listen to them. Its all about how it feels for reals. lol My message is still the same, get away from the dope and the dumb shit. Hope for finding more silver linings, hang onto every little bit of gratitude that comes your way and watch as it multiplies.  Learn better ways to live that fit you as a person, as an individual. Learn to truly care about yourself, and then others, all others. Truly caring about others is the epitome for the meaning of life. The last little bit of my message, THE message is so important for everyone, to hear and practice, in my opinion. Until next week; 1 - "You always call me And ask me how I make it through the day I'm always fallin' I guess it's just god's way of making me pay But something makes me carry on It's difficult to understand, why I always wanna fly I do it for the drugs I do it just to feel alive" - Bottom of the Bottle by Smile Empty Soul 2 - "And every time I think I've finally made it, I learn I'm farther away than I have ever been before. I see the clock and it's ticking away. And the hourglass empty, what the fuck do I have to say? Please help me cause I'm breaking down. This picture's frozen, and I can't get out. Please help me cause I'm breaking down. This picture's frozen, and I can't get out of here. Believe me, I'm just as lost as you. Believe me, yeah, I'm just as lost as you. Keep it inside, the image portrayed. As if I couldn't stand losing. As if I couldn't be saved, no way. A small confession, I think I'm starting to lose it. I think I'm drifting away from the people I really need. A small reflection of when we were younger, we had it all figured out, cause we had everything covered." - Still Frame by Trapt 3 - "Once more I'll say goodbye to you Things happen but we don't really know why If it's supposed to be like this Why do most of us ignore the chance to miss? Oh, yeah Torn apart at the seams of my dreams turn to tears I'm not feelin' this situation Run away try to find that safe place you can hide It's the best place to be when you're feeling like Me (Me) Yeah (Yeah) All these things I hate revolve around me" - All These Things I hate by Bullet for my Valentine 4 - "Oh, dear mother, I love you I'm sorry, I wasn't good enough Dear father, forgive me 'Cause in your eyes, I just never added up In my heart I know I failed you But you left me here alone If I could hold back the rain Would you numb the pain 'Cause I remember everything If I could help you forget Would you take my regrets 'Cause I remember everything Oh, dear brother, just don't hate me For never standing by you or being by your side Dear sister, please don't blame me I only did what I thought was truly right It's a long and lonely road When you know you walk alone If I could hold back the rain Would you numb the pain 'Cause I remember everything If I could help you forget Would you take my regrets 'Cause I remember everything I feel like running away I'm still so far from home You say that I'll never change But what the fuck do you know I'll burn it all to the ground before I let you run Please forgive me, I can't forgive you now I remember everything" - Remember Everything by Five Finger Death Punch 5 - "What's life without a little pain The good thing is on a little break You'll be fine and up again, yeah The goal is to bring the human back to the world 'Cause nothing will last But bring it home as a friend, yeah yeah Oh the sinner is you The sinner is you I'm the collector of the good spirits of mother earth Hell is life drying up, yeah I see and hear more than I wish The seal has broken up again One life on earth fades away again The sinner is you, the sinner is you There's been a kill in the spirit world The ultimate sinner just don't know There's been a kill in the spirit world The ultimate sinner just don't know Is there forgiveness Do we all deserve our blessing Is there forgiveness Do we all deserve our blessing From the spirit world Is this a sign for all of us To take care of the life we have Please wake up and feel the love, yeah" - the Sinner is You by Volbeat 6 - "I'm awake I'm alive Now I know what I believe inside Now it's my time I'll do what I want 'cause this is my life Here, right here Right now, right now Stand my ground and never back down I know what I believe inside I'm awake and I'm alive I'm at war with the world cause I Ain't never gonna sell my soul I've already made up my mind No matter what I can't be bought or sold" - Awake and Alive by Skillet 7 - "This is my life Its not what it was before All these feelings I've shared And these are my dreams That I'd never lived before Somebody shake me 'Cause I must be sleeping Now that we're here It's so far away All the struggle we thought was in vain All in the mistakes One life contained They all finally start to go away Now that we're here it's so far away And I feel like I can face the day, and I can forgive And I'm not ashamed to be the person that I am today These are my words That I've never said before I think I'm doing okay And this is the smile That I've never shown before Somebody shake me 'cause I I must be sleeping Now that we're here It's so far away All the struggle we thought was in vain All in the mistakes One life contained They all finally start to go away Now that we're here it's so far away And I feel like I can face the day, and I can forgive And I'm not ashamed to be the person that I am today" - So Far Away by Staind 8 - "It's a beautiful mornin' I think I'll go outside a while, An just smile. Just take in some clean fresh air, boy Ain't no sense in stayin' inside If the weather's fine and you got the time. It's your chance to wake up and plan another brand new day. Either way, It's a beautiful mornin' Each bird keeps singin' his own song. So long I've got to be on my way, now. Ain't no fun just hangin' around, I've got to cover ground, you couldn't keep me down. It just ain't no good if the sun shines When you're still inside, Shouldn't hide, still inside, shouldn't hide, There will be children with robins and flowers; Sunshine caresses each new waking hour. Seems to me that the people keep seeing More and more each day, gotta say, lead the way, It's okay, Wednesday, Thursday, it's okay, Monday, Wednesday, Friday, weekday" - It's a Beautiful Morning by the Rascals 9 - "And it's a great day to be alive I know the sun's still shining When I close my eyes There's some hard times in the neighborhood But why can't every day be just this good It's been fifteen years since I left home I said good luck to every seed I'd sown Gave it my best and then I left it alone I hope they're doing alright Now I look in the mirror and what do I see A lone wolf there staring back at me Long in the tooth but harmless as can be Lord I guess he's doin' alright And it's a great day to be alive I know the sun's still shining When I close my eyes There's some hard times in the neighborhood But why can't every day be just this good" - It's a Great Day to be Alive by Travis Tritt 10 - "It's a beautiful day in this neighborhood, A beautiful day for a neighbor, Would you be mine? Could you be mine? It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood, A neighborly day for a beauty, Would you be mine? Could you be mine? I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you, I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you. So let's make the most of this beautiful day, Since we're together, we might as well say, Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor? Won't you please, won't you please, Please won't you be my neighbor?" Won't you be my Neighbor by Mr. Fred Rogers 11 - "In the end, as we fade into the night (whoa!) Who will tell the story of your life? In the end, as my soul's laid to rest What is left of my body? Or am I just a shell? I have fought And with flesh and blood, I commanded an army Through it all I have given my heart for a moment of glory In the end, as you fade into the night (whoa!) Who will tell the story of your life? (Whoa!) And who will remember your last goodbye? (Whoa!) 'Cause it's the end and I'm not afraid I'm not afraid to die I'm not afraid! I'm not afraid to die! Born a saint Though, with every sin I still wanna be holy I will live, again Who we are isn't how we live We are more than our bodies If I fall, I will rise back up and relive my glory In the end, as we fade into the night (whoa!) Who will tell the story of your life?" - In the End by Black Veil Brides