#whited sepulchre

[luuurien]

Lake Mary - Slow Grass

(Ambient Americana, Chamber Jazz, Contemporary Folk)

Spacious and aching, Chaz Prymek's latest release as Lake Mary is a heavenly combination of pastoral field recordings and thoughtful instrumentation, weaving lonely chamber jazz and melancholy folk around generous helpings of birdsong and natural ambiance. Slow Grass' defiance of sorrow allows it to hold close painful memories in the most beautiful ways.

☆☆☆☆☆

Slow Grass is about presence above anything. From the 20-minute runtime of its two pieces to how Chaz Prymek uses that time, the album embraces its ambient influences not just in sound but in its essence, refusing to make every moment a directly engaging one and ensuring there's ample space for the music to just breathe. It's not all too surprising, given Prymek's background in groups like Fuubutsushi and their gentle chamber jazz and The Spinnaker Ensemble's soothing new age/folk combinations, but his work as Lake Mary stands out with its sensitivity and raw emotion, the negative space between every guitar line or string drone given just as strong a meaning as the instrumental elements that shape each piece, Slow Grass not only a masterful piece of ambient folk but one of Prymek's most personal, founded on the relationship with his late dog Favorite the past fourteen years of her life and how their time spent together during her declining health brought him new perspective and unimaginable heartbreak. It's an album not only about loss but how important it is to give love and tenderness a place to grow within that empty space. The first of its two sides and the title track, Slow Grass sounds more like the last droplets from a rainy cloud than any genres the album finds itself around. Pushed forward by recordings of water and birdsong alongside Prymek's lightfooted fingerpicked guitar and Patrick Shiroishi's gentle clarinet melody (Shiroishi also brings saxophone, vocals and percussion), the title track's earliest moments are about patience and grace, Shiroishi's serene singing falling into place among the vibrant natural ambiance surrounding him and Prymek. There's a heightened sense of surprise and wonder to the moments Prymek does let his guitar ring out as long as it needs to, occasionally hammering hard on the strings to pull a harsh metallic punch out of them or playing with vibrato and how it subtly shapes a note as it continues to fade, Slow Grass so acutely aware of everything happening around it that you can start to feel like the music is an ecosystem of its own, capable of change and surviving on its own spirit regardless of if you're around to witness it or not. Considering all this, Slow Grass' final seven minutes becomes both a cathartic release and a testament to Prymek's gorgeous musicianship, noise slowly washing in as he whams down on his guitar like a dulcimer until enough commotion has been made for Paul Dehaven's synths to explode like midnight fireworks and Shiroishi's signature saxophone improvisations to sweep across the piece like a shooting star in slow motion, so much energy and passion and thrill coming out of absolutely nowhere and all the more precious for it. Both sides of Slow Grass are essential to the album's success, but it's this first opening piece that lays the framework for the second half's tenderness and defiance. So Long Favorite, the album's second half and a heartbreaking memorialization of his late dog Favorite, refuses to let sorrow be its leader. It's so soft and lush in ways music about loss rarely is, Prymek's eternal paradise for Favorite built with the help of Shiroishi's aforementioned instrumentation and Chris Jusell's heavenly string arrangements with such pure love and generosity poured into every second. That's not to say any sadness or heartache isn't present throughout So Long Favorite's 19-minute runtime, but it's not the kind of sadness that presses you down into the dirt and keeps you from moving forward, Prymek's sturdy and secure guitar work the sunlight that Jusell's flowery strings and Shiroishi's pastoral woodwinds need to cultivate the space Prymek needs for his late best friend. I would be lying if I didn't say that the loss of my own dogs in the past wasn't a massive reason why So Long Favorite took me places few other pieces of music can even get close to, but even for those who've never had pets there's an inherent vulnerability and ache to it you can't pull away from. It's so simply beautiful and to the point with how much Favorite means to Prymek and how strongly the music embodies her spirit and Prymek's love for her, and nothing more is needed for So Long Favorite to hold me at an emotional breaking point nothing else this year has. Slow Grass is not only heartfelt and tender, but defiantly so, Prymek sheltering the memories and emotions he holds dear and not letting grief overtake him, making music so sentimental and full of warmth to materialize his grief without letting it drown him. His treatment of painful memories and heartbreak with positivity and hope is nothing short of stunning, and Slow Grass only proves itself more beautiful for it, able to handle such difficult feelings with the grace and understanding of the natural world Prymek pulls so much inspiration from. Prymek's music always serves as a conduit for his emotions with nothing to get in the way of it, and Slow Grass does a perfect job containing all the love and tears and mementos Prymek and his dog will forever have with one another. Loss is always a terrible thing, but Slow Grass makes a case for endless joy and remembrance in the face of it.

#lake mary #slow grass #whited sepulchre #ambient #ambient americana #americana #american primitivism #chamber jazz #contemporary folk #field recordings #folk #jazz #2022 #10/10 #album review #album reviews #2022 albums

[dustedmagazine]

Lake Mary — Slow Grass (Whited Sepulchre)

Slow Grass by Lake Mary

Grief is an unkind muse, but it is also a motivating one. The pain of loss has inspired countless artists from across every medium to process their emotions creatively. Loss comes in many forms, all of them palpable, and coping with it is an inescapable task. It’s a bitter irony that grief begets beauty. 

For Chaz Prymek, who records as Lake Mary, it was the loss of his faithful canine companion Favorite that inspired Slow Grass. A graceful and endearing suite, it is a testament to the bond between human and dog, a rumination on the life of a loved one. Some of Prymek’s closest musician friends join him in this elegy. Patrick Shiroishi and Chris Jusell, Prymek’s bandmates in the ECM-inspired jazz combo Fuubutsushi are present, as is Paul DeHaven from the Lake Mary-associated Ranch Family Band. Prymek gets by with a little help from his friends.

Slow Grass is split across two sides of vinyl into a pair of distinct movements, each of which evokes a different stage in Prymek’s relationship with Favorite. The title track is a smoldering 20-minute opus that reflects on the final days that they spent together. Favorite had limited mobility, so they would often lay in the grass for extended periods. This was in 2020, and after recording the piece, Prymek shared it with Shiroishi, who added saxophone and vocals. Prymek’s guitar style changes as the music unfolds. He begins in a meditative mode, the sparse notes and chords forming a skeletal arrangement that hangs in the air. He then employs a slide, thoughtfully working out a delicate melody through glissando. This culminates in a flurry of chiming steel as Prymek hammers his strings in rapid succession. As the piece progresses from seed to shoot to flowering plant, Shiroishi emotes with both his saxophone and his voice. The juxtaposition of guitar against voice and horn amidst a backdrop of field recordings conjures a considerable emotional heft. Shiroishi’s voice itself is heart-wrenching, and together he and Prymek exhibit constructive interference: the poignancy grows exponentially.  

“So Long Favorite” comprises the B side of the LP and showcases a guitar style that Prymek employed early in his career, around the time he and Favorite first became companions. He exposes his roots in the Takoma school of fingerpicking, weaving knotty figures and sanguine melodies with his instrument. Jusell, Shiroishi, and DeHaven join him on this journey through the past. Jusell’s violin and DeHaven’s synth intertwine vine-like around each other as Prymek’s guitar rings out alongside Shiroishi’s gossamer voice. This is grief at its most tender and vulnerable; it’s a gorgeous piece of music, a fitting requiem for Favorite, and a reminder for all of us to hold our loved ones close.  

Bryon Hayes

#lake mary #slow grass #whited sepulchre #bryon hayes #dusted magazine #albumreview #chaz prymek #patrick shiroishi #chris jusell #paul dehaven #guitar #dogs

[superbdonutpoetry]

The Law

Did a bit of reading recently… was shocked? (For want of a better word…) that Seventh Day Adventists do not take most of the Bible literally, therefore do not believe the duration of the tribulation is 7 years, neither do they believe there will be a pre-trib rapture… And what’s their point of promoting one ordinance of the law above all the other 612 ordinances, ie., the Sabbath which they…

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#Conscience #Justified by faith alone #Seventh Day Adventists #The Law #White Wall Sepulchres

[astralnymphh]

imagine pussy slapper ellie thooo 🤭 like she lowkey aggressive fucking you but it’s so hot

.ᐟ 𓂋⋅. yes pussy slapper ellie is a classic here, loves to do it after you cum or whilst edging. I've definitely highlighted this detail before but i think ellie is just so fixated/immersed in the supple jiggle your folds give when her flattened digits land plumb to it. and when i say immersed, i say it with weight in my little narrartor—voice, i fuckin' mean it. she would slap your folds over and over and pay abysmally—deep attention to the slow, steady, slap by slap augment of a heated suffuse to them ~ ♡ heeding how each time her hand comes down, your labia feels puffier— and pulsing, swears she can detect a pulse point if her fingertips linger a lash longer. ౨ৎ

tugs a one—sided smirk the likeness of a total asshole, cocksure that her smacks are making you needier and needier, cooing shit like, "ohhohh~ does it hurt babe? mhh but chu' like that, don't ya?" in her smoky, smug tone. her opposing hand giving tender pressure on the hind of your thigh, pushing it up to where the fat squashes against ur belly.. just going ham. ugh, and her gaze would veil between glancing up at your pouty—mouthed doe face, shivering like y'been doused in a splash of wintry cold water, to gawking at your shaky spilling cunt, staring— a flattered stare. flattered, of your vulnerability. flattered, of your pellucid teardrops and beads of sweat rolling the big marbles of your cheekbones. flattered, because with every wet slap— it's like she's milking you, white of your arousal gathering at the bottom of your vulva, eventually mingling with the globs of her spit pushing bubbles into your milky slick. ♡ all hell lets loose though when her hand comes down to pound — but seems to stick there. allowing her middle finger to kinda just.. ease in your hole. curls up her other knuckles so she can start pumping that lone one in, a twinning heat concocting in the tiny air pocket of her elastic—fit boxers, heartbeat pressurizing inside her chest the deeper her finger—wad reaches inside of you. ౨ৎ

"holy fuck— ts' like i can only fit one finger in that tight little— ohh, fuuckk she's huggin' me in, fuck fuckin' fuck~" chanted she, petering out into a deep, sepulchral sough while her eyelids wane closed, "don't make me wanna fuck that pussy, god—" n you watch as her ears turn into clementines, dark auburn lashes bunching when she pinches her brows.. ♡ gahh she just loves fingering.

HANDS. NEED THEM SLAPPING MY PUSSPUS.

(img from 13lunara on pinterest)

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #dom!ellie #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie williams headcanons #ellie smut #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams x y/n #ellie williams x you

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

The Devil You Know (Part 1) - The First Sin

Pairing: Demon! Captain John Price x Reader

(No use of y/n)

Warnings: This series will contain scenes of a violent and sexual nature, I will be more specific as I write more parts.

Summary: Reader is a soldier hanging on to their last gasp of life, trying to summon a demon associated with soldiers and battlefields in order to aid them. Unluckily for you though, the demon isn't interested in a short term deal. He finds himself quite attached to you, and he doesn't want to let you go.

-🔥-

Disembodied hands shook wildly as they set about their terrible task. At least that’s how it seemed to you - appendages moving around a blurred screen, drawing dirtied red symbols with panicked uncertainty. You swiped another slick fingerful of your blood into the dusty concrete and clenched your aching teeth together, finishing off the last curve of the sigil with a snakish hiss.

 “I call to you…with the blood of my battle wounds. Jo- Jotan, I will be your willing servant.”

You looked around, eyes darting wildly for movement or any sign that your ridiculous little saving grace had worked. Though nothing happened. You blinked feverishly, feeling your lip wobble at first and then your entire body shake as you absorbed the facts in front of you. You were actually going to die. 

A cackle broke out into the room, competing with the baying gunshots outside to break the walls of the decaying shell of a building. It was you. You were finally losing your mind, absorbing the facts in front of you with detached horror.

Perhaps the ruins were an office before, but now it was the final resting place of a desperate lunatic who’d decided to decorate their sepulchre before laughing themselves into death’s arms. The cruelty of it burned in your throat and stang at your eyes, soon searing hot tears into the ruined flesh of your cheeks.

It was a foolish last ditch effort anyway, you mused, collapsing onto your back in the middle of the blood seal. A stupid myth you’d clung to in a final attempt to save your life, a ritual told to you by someone that was long dead themself. If they presumably hadn’t bothered to use it, then why would it do you any good? 

“Oh dear…I’m not too late am I?” cooed a soft rumbling voice. 

Your eyes opened wide, the owner of the call demanding to be seen. That murmur fizzled in your ears and vibrated in your blood, forcing your hands to scrabble at the ground and set you into a sitting position again. 

When you finally rose, you were held in place by the stranger. His onyx black eyes pinned you into place, watching you twitching and panting like a caught mouse. Apparently you amused him with this. His lips pulled into a grin, revealing a row of white teeth that curved into points at the canines and outer incisors, it was the smile of a predator. As if he needed to advertise any more warning signs. 

His body was big and broad, his chest a large plane of solid flesh dusted with soot and soft dark hair that matched his bristly beard and hickory hued hair. His large arms were decorated with similar etchings to the ones you’d messily painted, both of them circled in two iron bands at the bicep and forearms, they looked like they could crack teeth in a pinch. There were also a few bands on the thick dark tail that waved behind him too, a detail you only noticed as it seemed to lovingly caress the shadows around his legs.

It was what finally confirmed for you that this was him. The fabled demon of battlefields - Jotan. 

“You came,” you whispered.

“You called,” he returned, tilting his head at you. “Surprised you managed to complete the circle. You’ve lost a lot of blood, Sergeant.”

“I…I have,” you replied, feeling another wave of nausea roll through you. 

“And I suppose you want me to do something about that?” he said, mouth twisting into a wry half smile. 

It was almost worse than when you’d seen his fanged teeth. He looked positively ready to devour you, his gleaming eyes fixed on you like a tiger. You were just waiting for him to pounce, breath catching in your dry throat as you anticipated the killing bite. Suddenly you’d forgotten that it was you that called the terrible entity here, that he was supposed to be serving you rather than terrifying you. 

“C’mon now, Love. You clearly knew enough about the ritual to get me here…aren’t you going to follow through?” he prompted, leaning down to meet you at your level. “It’s rude to keep a demon waiting, you know.”

His arms folded over his dark trousers, crossing over each other at his lap as if he were asking you to do something so completely mundane. He tilted his head at you again, flicking his eyes up to the doorway on the other side of the room as it started to shudder and bang. Voices were worming their way through the debris, shouts blasting in through the cracks. 

Bang, bang, bang.

You didn’t have much time. Not that your body would be able to hold on much longer anyway. 

“I want you to- please…take me back to exfil. Get me the fuck out of here and safely back to base and I’ll do whatever you want,” you said, voice cracking as you made your plea. “Ask anything you want from me, Jotan. Just get me the fuck away from here.”

His eyes curved into shadowed moons, once again he beamed at you. It felt like the stifling room heated a few more degrees. To add insult to injury your lungs began to struggle, it felt like your body was in its last stages of failing.

You briefly wondered if all this just might be a delusion. Maybe your head was presenting you with him as a way to cope with being turned to pink mist by the men that still called from the door outside, as a way to forget about your torn up arms that’d been sliced open by the bombings, and the bullet hole that had been weeping silently in your leg.

Bang, bang, bang.

“I’ll tell you what…I’m feelin’ generous,” the demon murmured, reaching out and forcing your chin up with in his charred fingers. “I’ll take you back to base, just like you want. And now…I could ask for your soul in return, for you to be my eternal servant when you do meet your end, and I really could have you do anything for me. However I won’t do that. Instead, I want to lend you my power. Just for today. That is my only offer.”

You frowned, a million racing thoughts crashing through your mind all at the same time. You’d made peace with the fact he’d ask for something awful, known it even. This clearly had to be a trick. Nevertheless, your head throbbed perilously and the door and furniture you’d messily propped in front of it were going to give way.You didn't have much time. 

Bang, bang, bang.

“What will I do with your power?” you asked desperately, looking from him and to the end of the room. 

“Let me worry about that,” he chuckled. “I’ll guide you, Sergeant. All you have to do is agree…that or let them flood in and kill you.”

Bang, bang, bang.

He motioned to the thundering door and raised his brows at you. At that point his dark eyes were like vortexes, they dragged you into his orbit and had you falling under his spell. You knew logically that whatever was going to happen was going to change the course of your life forever - and not for the good. Even then, you couldn’t find the strength to deny him, couldn’t hold enough faith in a glorious next life to accept that you’d leave this one. 

“Fine! I accept,” you said, eyes wet and heavy. 

An animal growl rattled through your bones and shuddered throughout the skeleton remains of the office space. Your body flinched back, responding just as your instincts wanted, but the demon didn’t allow you to retreat. He was quick - arms lashing out and moving like a whip. He gripped your neck like a farmer does to his chickens come dinner time, and just when you were ready for the snap, your body jerked violently. 

You forced yourself to your feet, no, you surged upwards like you were under possession. Your legs didn’t feel like they’d buckle anymore, they felt renewed. Your heartbeat was steady like a punctual train, and your breathing returned to normal, better than normal even. Everything in you felt like it was new, like someone had taken out your broken parts and given you an upgrade. You smiled, lips curling over your teeth unnaturally.

Wait- were those…fangs poking into your bottom lip?

Bang!

There was no time to wonder at the strange way your mouth felt. Your head jerked up and suddenly you were greeted with the second worst sight of the day. The enemy soldiers had you surrounded, they flooded into the room like a locust swarm and pointed their guns at you, faithfully looking toward their Captain for the authority to execute. 

Normally you would’ve shuddered, or maybe even fallen to the floor, but you held fast. Your breathing remained calm, but your vision went dark. That’s not to say you passed out, but a thick hazy filter seemed to descend across your eyes. Then just when you were about to question it, your arms reached out as if you were being puppeteered and your entire body unwillingly  shot forward. 

There was no time to even think to connect your actions to the seemingly absent demon then. Instead you latched onto the soldier in front of you like a bear and sank your teeth into his neck. The man screamed, and yelped, and made all sorts of inhuman noises as he struggled to try and pull you off. Though there was no helping him. You continued to bite at his arteries and savage him until his screams were silent and overtaken by the men around him. 

Gunshots rang out, but none pierced you. Men beat at your back and pulled at your arms, but you didn’t break your hold. Copper filled your mouth, but you didn’t spit. You smiled with glee and licked at your own salty tears, disengaging from your target only when you were ready.

Little did you know, this was only the beginning of the butchery. 

-🔥-

“For fuck sake, get yersel’ to the sink ye riot!”

You jumped out of your thoughts and hazarded a quick look up to your worried manager, following that up by nodding silently and running off to the bathroom. Fuck. All that you could do was grimly stare down at the blood while it merged with the clean tap water and remind yourself that it was fine. You weren’t outside the wire anymore, you were just wait staff in a small restaurant, and you didn’t need to worry about bleeding out anymore because the biggest hazard you faced now was apparently picking up a dirty knife the wrong way. 

“Fucking hell,” you chuckled, quietly facing yourself in the mirror and taking a pause from the gory scene below. “It’s just a tiny cut.”

For a second, so quick you only just registered it, black eyes flashed behind you. You jumped back and hyperventilated, doing everything you could to stop yourself from screaming. Though it couldn’t be helped. You forced your hands over your mouth and yelled a muffled cry into your palms instead and rode out your panicked heartbeats until you could be sure you wouldn’t collapse. 

You did a double take, searching the mirror for those horrible eyes or any other signs of their proprietor. However, there was nothing else to see but a pathetic ex soldier, black tile and cheap imitation herringbone wood flooring. Suddenly you felt absolutely ridiculous. 

You slipped your hands from your mouth and covered your eyes instead, rubbing at hideously embarrassing tears with anger. That stupid therapist you were going to was so wrong, you thought bitterly, you were never going to make progress. You constantly swore that you could see those demonic eyes wherever you went, and sometimes you even thought you saw him. Well not the demon exactly, but a man that so closely resembled him - just without the tail and black eyes. 

It’d been a full year since you’d been honourably discharged from the military, and even in all that time, you still hadn’t healed. Sure, the cuts and bullet wounds had made miraculous progress and faded to tiny scars, but inside you may as well have been a shooting range dummy right at the end of target practice. While your superiors had seen fit to dedicate you with a medal for the miraculous fight you put up against the enemy, your head still hadn’t gotten to grips with just how you did it. 

Multiple therapists had put it down to repressed memory. They told you that whatever had really happened must’ve been replaced with that accursed demon summoning ritual that you dreamed up in an adrenaline filled haze. They said you might remember it all eventually once you’d healed more, or even that you might never get the answers you sought. There was no footage from your vest cam, and no other eyewitnesses left alive to say what had happened. Just you and your janky, wacky memories.

“Hey, Riot! You gonna come back on shift anytime soon or do I have to explain to Marco why the big bad ex-soldier is dying over a little cut?”

You turned to the door and smiled to yourself, feeling your chest grow lighter the second you heard that voice. Emily always knew how to pull you out of a funk. With that in mind, you shook your head, felt your goosebumps retreat away and stepped out into the scorching warmth of the restaurant. Once more back into the fray. 

“The big bad ex-soldier had a lot of blood coming out that little cut,” you shrugged, “can’t be creating a healthcode violation, you know that.”

Emily raised one of her thick dark eyebrows in question and put her hands on her hips. Oh no, this was the serious stance. In fairness, the tables were mobbed that night and she’d been run off her feet by two difficult tables that were ‘not getting acceptable service by any definition of the word’ as one of them had apparently said. 

“Put a blue plaster on it and get back out here before I give you a real war wound,” she growled. 

Your eyes widened, but you still smiled despite yourself. 

“You’re the boss!”

You rushed off to do as she said, ready to come back out and assist her, and if necessary neutralise any threat to her sanity. Emily was one of the few people you’d reconnected with after coming back home, and anyone that messed with her henceforth, was now messing with you. 

She’d seen you out and about at the park one day, taking one of your ‘haunted walks’ as she called them - only because you had trouble sleeping and would walk around in a black hoodie with the hood up. It was like something clicked, after being so reluctant to share anything with your family, or military buddies that tried to reach out, it was like you’d found your key. You’d babbled to her about how badly you were struggling to adjust to civilian life, leaking your frustrations like a bled radiator, and she accepted you. She listened without pity. 

Now while you wound a plaster round your silly little cut, you watched her zoom round the tables with true gratitude. She was the only reason you’d gotten the job, and been able to integrate back into real life. As much as you had your moments of frustrations, and had brief run ins with your PTSD, you at least had something to distract yourself with. Something that grabbed your attention and set your breathing straight again, when before you would curl in the corner of your room and scream for many minutes at a time. 

Once the plaster was affixed, you fiddled with the cracked old first aid box and wrangled it shut, stowing it back into place with a thud before rushing back out to the floor. The smell of garlic and pasta filled your senses, and the voices of the patrons roared rapturously in your ears again. The normal hustle and bustle of the place set you back into your rhythm and the ramped up tempo sent you hurtling toward the kitchen. 

“Where’ve you fucking been?” one of the chefs groused, “we’ve got a million plates for table ten here that need serving! I can hear them bitching from here, get moving!”

“Had a little accident getting the plates to Frankie,” you said, motioning to the plaster and your fraught KP behind the pass. “Good to go now!”

Rather than stay to hear the chef's curses, you rushed off with the plates and delivered them to the table, plastering on a smile as the customers moaned up a storm to your face. After offering them your apologies and promises of free sides, they hushed up and all was good again. You tended to your other tables and resumed duty as normal, rotating around Emily and the other waiter, Michael, like little clockwork toys. You all ticked along perfectly, leaving full stomachs and mostly happy faces in your wake. 

“Can you take this to table thirteen, please? I gotta piss like crazy!”Micheal ordered. 

He handed you a steak that was positively dripping in blood, almost setting you off again were it not for the fact that you were so confused by his request. There’s potatoes and salad and sauce on that plate, you thought to yourself, its not a body, just a hunk of meat.

“There isn’t a table thir-” you started, soon trailing off. 

Michael had long since dashed off before you could correct him and you sighed to yourself. Great, now who on earth could this be for? You knew every table in the restaurant of course, your knowledge on the place was near perfect with Emily acting like a drill sergeant during your probation stages. However, you didn’t know where thirteen could be, because it didn’t exist. Most people knew that restaurants skipped that number because it was unlucky. Apparently not Michael though. 

“I believe that’s for me,” called a rumbling voice. 

You frowned and looked down to the man before you, startling as you realised that a table had been placed where it shouldn’t have, and in turn you were standing right over a poor customer. No wonder Michael had made the mistake, you had no idea where the table had even come from. Though you were too embarrassed to worry very much about that in the moment, you needed to recover in front of the man before you made an idiot out of yourself. 

“Apologies, sir,” you said with a nervous laugh. “It’s been a busy night. Can I get you anything else?”

You placed down the food in front of him and were glad for it after you’d made eye contact. There was something strange about the man that made you jump. His stunning blue eyes captured your gaze and made you feel like you were in the middle of a laser sight. You gulped and looked away for a second afterward, trying your best to compose yourself.

“Thank you,” the man said softly, still fixing his eyes on you. “This is perfect.”

His sly grin struck you as familiar, but when you studied the man more, you couldn’t place him. He had a dark peacoat draped over his chair and wore a black shirt and fitted jeans. His beard was trim and cut close to his jawline, and his hair was near perfect, combed back neatly over his head. Everything about him was perfectly ordinary, perhaps would’ve been completely innocuous if not for his eyes. 

You could’ve sworn there was a little black band circling the pupil, but just as you thought you’d lost yourself in them he chuckled at you. Causing your face to flame up in burning shame. 

“I’m so sorry for staring,” you apologised, holding your hands up in appeasement. “I don’t know what that was about, sorry. You just seemed familiar for a sec.”

“Oh really?” he laughed, “Don’t happen to know a Jonathan Price do you?”

“Jonathan Price?” you repeated questioningly.

“My name, sweetheart,” he grinned, showing off his pointy canines. “Though you can just call me John if you like.”

“Oh my god, my brain’s going tonight,” you laughed, trying to get yourself away from him and the bloody steak that seemed to ooze with every passing second. “I’ll stop bothering you now, Jonathan! Enjoy your steak.”

His name sat heavy on your tongue, as if a fizzy sweetie had stung at the nerves and left it swollen and red. Jonathan. There was something about it that didn’t fit right. An unnatural force wanted you to turn round and call him a liar, demand that he reveal himself for who he really was. 

Though you didn’t put much credence in unnatural forces anymore. Not when unnatural forces tended to be symptoms of your mental illness. Instead you shook your head and kept working, making a note to yourself that you needed to get more sleep that night. Sleep and meds usually helped, and you were praying that they’d set you right again the next day. 

#Demon!Price #captain john price #captain price x reader #mw2 #call of duty

[xagave]

pleasepleaseplease recommend some danphan fics!!

Sorry these are on ff.net I was into danphan before AO3 was really A Thing. Invisobang also just completed and a whole wack of new fics are also now out for your enjoyment so I suggest taking a look there too Lab Rat - Danny (as Phantom) is captured by his parents and vivisected in the lab. THE MOST iconic dp fic from this era of fandom and also the first dp fic I ever read which single-handedly got me into the fandom. I also recommend anything else by this author[sequel]

Pits - Danny is captured by Walker and thrown into the Pits to fight for his life. HANDS DOWN my all time favorite dp fic. I drew a bunch of fanart for it and never showed the author LMAO [sequel]

In The Way - A twisted tale of a summer spent all alone

Wondering - Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?

Dreams of Light - A cute box ghost fic with a fun twist at the end

Phantom's Sketchbook - Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom

Masks - Lancer has had enough of his most enigmatic, frustrating student Daniel Fenton and forces him to stay in detention with him until Danny tells him The Truth. A story examining Danny's relationship with the human race. Another BIG FAVE of mine [sequel]

Darkness - Part 1 of Illuminations saga. [part 2][part 3][part 4] Maddie and Phantom are trapped in the dark and must work together to avoid dying. I don't remember much about this but I do remember it being super creepy and I bulldozed my way through all 4 parts so it must have been good lol

I'm Still Here - Danny's been locked away in a forgotten thermos, buried in the backyard for 70 years. When he's finally released, happy isn't the word he'd use to describe his new life

Real Life - A very creepy take on ghosts and the events of the show, where they're more inhuman, feral, and scary. I don't remember much about this but it's unfinished

Lopeholt - Valerie must survived the night in the third scariest place on earth. **VERY** creepy, I remember reading this in the dark and it gave me nightmares. Another top fave. I def recommend reading anything else by this author

Running to the Enemy's Arms - Danny runs away and ends up on the doorstep of the person who's dead last on his list of favorite people - Vlad. Danny/Vlad father son relationship. A fun and interesting view of what Danny's life would be like had he been the son Vlad always wanted. Incomplete but also another BIG FAVE of mine. Tolerate the first 1-2 chapters and the rest is golden

Checkmate - Vlad forces Danny to leave everything behind in order to save Jazz's life. But just when the billionaire believes to have won his chess game against his young rival, Danny makes a single unexpected move.

A Secret Uncovered - Danny's transformation is caught on tape and now the whole town knows who he is Photoshop - Dash and Kwan find an old class picture and start having a little too much fun on Photoshop. Will someone's secret be revealed?

Chained - It starts with a fire at the Guys in White headquarters, where a vengeful Valerie stumbles across an imprisoned Danny Phantom. It starts with injustice. But what happens when justice and revenge are confused for one another? Where does a hero end, and a villain begin?

Phantom of Truth - Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her subject, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth… except, perhaps, herself [Sequel]

The Soul Sepulchre - Something foul is stirring in Amity Park and it all starts in the bowels of Amity Park's Museum of Natural History

Moral Code - Moral code says to never kill or capture a specimen that you did not weaken yourself. Maddie finds Danny Phantom wounded late at night after a hard battle. After she helps him, she finds there is more to him than she ever thought possible. Mother/son bonding

Connections - Maddie knows that the Booo-merang has keyed into Danny, for whatever reason, so what's she to think when she sees it collide with Phantom? [Sequel]

Isolated - It's just a wish that's been granted with the wrong twist, but for Danny, it's a nightmare that's become reality. He's stuck as Phantom, his family's hunting him, and everyone who can help him is gone

Little Earthquakes - They say that a man is defined by what he does when he thinks nobody's looking. Does the same hold true for ghosts?

Tortured Truth - Danny's parents discover that the ghost boy is half human. Now that they've captured Danny, will he submit to torture and reveal himself, or is the revelation just the beginning of their problems? [Sequel]

Estrelas - AU. Sam's attention is captured by a lonely ghost haunting her grandmother's attic…and discovering his secrets will take everything she has.

Criteria of Life - Every living thing must follow the Laws of Life; however, Maddie wonders if Phantom can somehow follow these laws as well. The fact that he is a ghost is putting a knick in her plans, but what if Phantom can follow the Laws of Life?

#ask #danny phantom fic recs #i have soooo many danphan fics to rec but alas tumblr character limit #def recommend checking out invisobang though #it was my first year participating and i cant wait to look at everyones stuff when i have the time :0

[trans-axolotl]

"Pictures drawn in blood link decades of legacies of people who have been imprisoned and tortured by Israeli guards. A hidden archive of poems, letters, drawings, and handmade objects—containing stories of resistance, messages of despair, and hope—amass behind prison walls. Throughout each resounds a pulsing call for freedom.

I asked my uncle about the first piece of art he produced. "It's not easy to handle where to start, but what I can tell is that Palestinian detainees inscribe their emotions and resist through crafts," he said.

Sometimes prisoners draw on handkerchiefs, or embroider different symbols of life and hope: broken chains, olive branches, white pigeons, Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and the Dome of the Rock.

Khader showed me what he painted in 1995 in the Asqalan prison as a gift to my mother because he couldn't celebrate her graduation with her. In the piece, a white pigeon holds a letter as it flies to Rafah—my uncle's city. The letter frame is colored blue and red.

"I always used blue in my art," Khader explained. "It reminds me of the blue, wide sky—the sky I couldn't feel for years in prison..."

With all this potential to create, if those detained were free, what creative inventions would they contribute to humanity? How many stories would be released?

"I think I produced more than 100 pieces [while detained]" Uncle Khader said with pride. 

Amazed and excited, I asked Khader to show me more handmade art. Suddenly, the conversation changed. His voice faded, his smile disappeared, and his eyes shrunk a little. The wrinkles of age and sorrow were clearly painted on his face.

"Israeli bulldozers entirely demolished our old home in 2004. You were only three years and don't remember. There, under the rubble, I lost all my photos, memories, and handicrafts —the ones I made and the ones my detained friends gifted me after release."

Israel chases Palestinian crafts inside and outside prison. They fear our art. They fear our memories."

-DIARIES OF BLOOD: The secret artists within Israeli detention facilities

by Eman Al-Astal

#prison abolition #free palestine #abolition #personal #police brutality tw #ask to tag. #genocide tw

[guyfieriii]

New Person, Same Old Mistakes

After multiple rewatches of The Bear over the last month, I've been sucked back in and couldn't think of anything else but Carmen Berzatto.

Here's part one of four of a little something about our favourite depressed chef's years in NYC.

Part II, Part III and Part IV

He looks like he doesn’t really want to be here. At this date. If you could even call it that. 

A drink tomorrow night. How does that sound?

I can’t meet up at nights. Work. 

Oh.

I can meet you in the morning.

For breakfast?

Why not?

Why the fuck not?

A non-date you hauled ass all the way from Brooklyn at the crack of dawn. 

An over-exaggeration, but it’s one you feel entitled to. You’ve taken a 46-minute train ride for breakfast with a man who looks like he just crawled out of bed. Which is a miracle since he looks as though he’s been up for days. It’s not just the exhaustion that rolls off him, there’s something else you can’t quite find the word for. You wanted to turn back the moment you saw him standing outside the bodega. 

But for some reason, you kept walking. Equal parts curiosity and obligation. You made it this far, might as well see it through.

Also—

He was by no means unattractive. Looked a lot like a coked-up Gene Wilder, if you were being honest. Clad in a tight, albeit wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of vintage jeans. Redline Selvedge. You concede to the fact that he somehow managed to pull off the ‘I got ready in under two minutes’ look quite well. Messy. Understated. Kind of hot. It was his hair that really brought it all together, sandy locks that stuck out in different directions like he’d run his hand through them over and over. 

Your hand twinged at the thought.

Every time he lifted his arm to take a drag of his cigarette, you distinctly noticed the way his bicep bulged under his sleeve. 

Christ, that’s…something.

He noticed you walk over and offered you a sort of smile with the raise of a brow, and fuck if it wasn’t endearing. 

You finally took proper notice of his eyes. Blue. Crystalline. Ocean strong waves of azure in the warmth of sun-lit currents. They were strangely emotive, despite his face remaining fairly impassive. Despondency echoed through them quietly. They were a far cry from what you saw online. 

You still admired them when you were scrolling through Tinder and came upon his profile. He had one photo - he wore a white coat in it, the ones that the guys on MasterChef wear. Like it was a professional headshot. He stood, leaning against a metal worktable with his arms crossed. Hair slicked back, with a ruminative look on his face. But his eyes—

They were hollow. A sepulchral for all sentiments buried deep within. 

His bio read:

Carmen, 29

Chicagoan. CDC at Eleven Madison Park.

That’s all it said. His name, age, and profession. Like it was a fucking resume. You scoffed at the bare effort he put in. As if a picture and a brief description of his occupation were enough to lure the ladies in. Just as you were going to move on to the next man in a series of disappointments, you accidentally swiped right and matched with him. 

Hours of scrolling and a bottle of Pinot later, it seemed like he was your best and only option. So you messaged him. He was good-looking enough if only a tad underwhelming in what he put forth. What was the harm in trying him out? 

What indeed?

Seeing him in the harsh light of day, he looked entirely different from the put together guy you saw on his profile. Still good looking, just—

Tragic.

That was the word you were looking for. 

“Carmen?” 

“Uh, yeah.” He flicked off his half-smoked cigarette to the side and wiped his hands down his jeans before offering you one for a shake. It feels rough but warm. Calloused. A worker’s hands. Hands that could tell chronicle a novel’s worth of stories, you’re sure. You can feel bits of raised skin across his palm, around his fingers. Little scars littered all over. You want to examine them all. 

You turn your wrist underneath to see a tattoo on the back of his, a knife piercing the hand. 

Christ. 

A few seconds pass as you examine the rest of his tattoos. He has a pair of cherubs holding up a Sun on his upper arm, and a snail with the words ‘Live Fast’ underneath. 

Your gaze drifts over to his other arm—

You’re interrupted by an awkward clearing of his throat and you realize you’ve been holding on to him, shaking his hand for the better part of a minute. You let go immediately, your palm still tingling from the feeling of his. The air kisses your skin, it’s light, empty, remiss of the character you found in his touch. 

“Sorry, I was just—“ Your eyes meet his once again and you’re lost. 

“It’s cool.” He mutters. “I, uh—“

“So what’s the — Sorry, you—“

“No you go—“

“I—“

“Sorry, I don’t—“

The two of you stammer over each other in constant apology before you finally put it to a halt with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I was just asking what the plan was.” You look around the block, nothing but the bodega seems to be open this early. “Where are we going to eat?”

“Right…here?” He looks at you with mild hesitance, pointing towards the bodega. 

“We’re eating breakfast here?” He has to be joking in an oddly genuine way because he looks like he-

Oh God. It’s not a joke. 

You woke up at 7 am, got onto the subway, and switched three trains for a fucking BEC.

He looks at you in deepening discomfort, a little sheepish, only just realizing that this may not be the ideal date most women have in mind. His eyes brimmed with repentance. 

Those eyes.

“It’s, uh- it’s fine!” You say with an overstated tone of cheerfulness. “I’m starving, anyway.”

“Right.” He looks unconvinced but opens the door for you, nonetheless. 

“‘Uarda, Carmy!” A woman, probably in her late 60s, seated behind the counter broke into a smile as the two of you entered. “The fuck ya been, huh?”

“Work, Lucia.” His tone conveys ire, but his face betrays him. 

He looks at the woman with softened fondness as she fusses over him. She’s loud and over-exaggerated in her mannerisms, hands animatedly gesticulating every word. All the while, Carmen — Carmy, stands there indulging her every word with the occasional apologetic glance spared your way. 

It’s a charming sight, watching the two of them talk. Lucia is loud and mothering and Carmen is reserved.

“Didn’cha mother teach ya any manners, boy? Who’s the darlin’ behind ya?” She finally ends her tirade of ‘the fuck you been?’, ‘never show ya face ‘round no more’, ‘eat a lil’ somethin’ f’fuck’s sake’ and notices you. “Don’t mind him, sweetheart. The fuck’s been mezzamort ever since he moved here.”

“I’m, uh—.” His date? To a fucking bodega?

“She’s a friend.” Carmen interjects quickly. 

“Since when do you have—“ Lucia scoffs, incredulous.

“A friend who’d love some breakfast, actually.” You cut in, wanting to spare him the end of that sentence. 

He wouldn’t have friends, would he? Doesn’t seem like the kind to. 

Maybe you could—

“Should’a said — yo Gino! Get two BECs going on a — ya’ll have it on a bagel or a roll, doll?” She snaps into action immediately.

“Uh, a bagel. Thank y—“ 

“Hear that? A bagel for her, roll for Carmy.” She yells across the other end of the small bodega to the teenage boy sitting over two milk crates, scrolling on his phone. “Get off ya fuckin’ ass, Gino! Gotta feed these kids.”

The boy gets up with an exaggerated eye roll and strolls over to the flattop to get your breakfast started. “SPK?” He questions in a monotone over his shoulder.

“‘Course she’ll have it, ya moron.” Lucia answers for you.

“She’s a bit much.” Carmen is back at your side whispering in a low voice, apologetic. “But she means well.”

“No, she’s great.” 

The two of you stand in silence, watching your sandwiches being made. With Lucia now occupied, it’s awkward once again. You’re not usually at a loss for words, but Carmen isn’t a man who oozes approachability. Not that you’ve known him longer than a few minutes. Maybe, eventually—

Maybe, you could—

“Coffee?” He asks, walking to the self-serve station behind you. 

“Hmm?” You shake your head, snapping back to reality. “Oh. Yeah, sure. Cream and two sugars, please.”

What is it about him that makes think of any kind of eventuality? You’ve only just met. It’s been awkward and stilted, and he looks like a mess. The only things know about him are summed up in a one-line bio. Maybe it’s your desperation. Your sheer need to be coupled up regardless of the clear red flags you see.

Maybe it’s his eyes. Maybe it’s the sense you get from him, this veiled potential. Maybe you’re just a fool looking to fix a man you don’t even know. 

You’re both back out on the sidewalk, coffee in hand, sandwiches packed in a little bag that hangs off his wrist. “Are we—“ You’re unsure of how to phrase your question without sounding like an idiot, but there’s no way around it. “Are we eating on the sidewalk?”

That earns you a disbelieving laugh and a smile you’ll remember. Only because it just seems so out of place. His lips curl up just the slightest in a barely there, you’ll miss it if you don’t really look kind of way. It’s all in his eyes. They lighten. The pensive wistfulness that floats in those pools of glacial blue volatilizes. What takes place in its stead is just a hint of ease and good-natured humour. It makes him look his age, just for that brief moment. 

“The park? Yeah? Thought it’d be a good spot.” It’s jarring just how his consternation inches back in as quickly as it had disappeared. 

“The park’s great, Carmy.” You say it, his nickname, without thinking. Your tone is soft with the intention to mollify. 

He looks at you in surprise and you’re worried you got too familiar too quickly. But then it comes back — that ease. His brows dip slightly, and that faint wisp of a smile returns. The fact that you were able to bring it forth fills you with this warmth. It imbibes itself in your bones, coursing through your body, settling around your heart. It beats faster. 

Faster still, as you watch him run his fingers through his hair, once, twice, thrice. You’re enthralled. 

If you could just reach out and—

“Let’s go?” He takes a step forward and turns to look back at you when you don’t move. Your gaze falls down to his hand, the one he ran through his hair with. More tattoos. A flower on the back and the letters ‘S O U’ on his fingers. Your own fingers itch to intertwine themselves with his. Feel the warmth of his palm, pass by the ridges of his scars like they’re milestones on a road not taken. At any rate, isn’t that what people do, when they go for a walk on a date? Hold hands?

Jesus Christ, listen to you. One look underneath his lugubrious nature, and you’re fucking smitten. 

“Sorry—“ You blink twice, pushing out from behind your thoughts. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You walk side by side, hands apart.

It’s a short walk, just a couple blocks. You enter the park through the side gate and pick the first empty bench you find and take a seat. You unwrap your breakfast in silence, setting your sandwiches down on paper napkins between you. 

It’s still not what you’d have had in mind for a first date and yet, you’re content. It’s a warm morning for an early spring day in New York. Lightness flickers through your hair with the Eastertide breeze — it carries with it the scent of blossoming ephemerals, the hyacinths, and magnolias that grow at your feet. It’s a cool zephyr enveloped in the warmth of the sun, almost quixotic for a morning spent in the park. The best of both worlds, really. Refreshing the air in your lungs with each breath, just as springtime offers the start of something anew. Yet, the apricity that lingers under the sunlight shining from the east brings about this effortless comfort out there in the open. 

It’s all so ideal, it pushes you to be brave. 

“Can I ask you something?” You turn sideways, now sitting cross-legged on the bench. 

“Yeah, sure.” Carmy follows suit, facing toward you, feet still planted on the ground. 

“You don’t go on many dates, do you?” You blurt the words out in a straightforward tone, it might as well have been a statement and not an inquiry. 

“That obvious?” He traces this bottom lip with his fingers in nervousness.

“Well—“ You shrug, noncommittal, with a sly smile. 

“Yeah. I don’t date. I don’t really have the time.” He sounds almost defeated like he’s settled into what his circumstances are. 

You don’t like it. 

“So what made you come out with me?” You press on and hope his answer isn’t as resigned as he looks. 

“I—“ He looks away from you, lips curling into a frown and you can see his mind churning behind his eyes for an acceptable response. 

Oh.

You’re not special. He didn’t make time. His interest in you was just as much of happenstance as you accidentally swiping right on him. 

“It’s alright, I kinda put you on the spot with that question.” You try not to sound too sullen. It’s silly. In a span of a few minutes, you’ve gone from apprehension to being so taken with him all because—

His eyes flash back to yours and he looks so fucking apologetic, it hurts. 

You’re desperate to change the subject. “Tell me about your work. You’re a chef at Eleven Madison, right?”

“Yeah.” One word. That’s all he offers. 

“It’s like the best restaurant in the country. That must be…cool.”

It breaks through the ambiguity caused by your previous question and you’re relieved. 

“Yeah. It's…cool.” His jaw tightens just by a fraction and you wonder why. But that’s a thread best left alone. 

“I know fuck all about food, forget all that fancy stuff you probably make—” Flattery is the safest bet for you at this point. So you decide to play to his ego a touch. “—So you’ll have to help me out here.”

“What do you want to know?”

“I’ll start simple. What’s your favourite thing to cook?”

That makes him pause. “At work?”

“Yeah. At work. What’s your favourite thing to make?” You offer him an encouraging smile. 

“I—“ Why is this so hard for him? He fidgets with the lid of his coffee cup.

“Can’t be that hard to think of something, Carmy.” 

“It’s not, I just — I’m CDC now. Spend more time on the pass than anything so—“

“What does that mean?”

“CDC. Chef de Cuisine. Kinda like-“

“Okay so you’re the head bitch in charge?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He scoffs. “So I’m at the pass — the part of the line where all chits are called out the plated dishes are put up.”

“So you don’t cook much anymore?”

“I used to before—“

“Okay, so before, what was the thing you loved to make?”

He actually seems to give it some thought. You watch him silently mull over, as you take a bite of your sandwich.

“Wild boar with celeriac, lingonberry, and hazelnuts.” He finally answers, definitively. 

“That sounds…simple.”

“The wild boar was dry-aged for 21 days. The celeriac was in the form of a yolk. The hazelnut oil was compressed in-house. The peels were used to smoke the lingonberry gelée.” He says with a challenging raise of a brow. 

Oh, he’s showing off.

“What the fuck?” You exclaim in utter disbelief. “A yolk?”

“Yeah, I spherified the purée with sodium alginate in a calcium gluconate bath.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing. 

“I failed 8th-grade chemistry, so you really fucked me up just now.” 

He snorts at that. “Didn’t do so hot in school, either. But when it comes to food I—“

“Finding your passion in something just makes shit you thought was hard a whole lot easier, doesn’t it?” If only the same held true for you. All you had to account for was a series of failed starts, an apartment you could barely afford in a city where you knew no one, and a directionless future ahead.

“What’s yours?” He asks, his eyes bore into you and you shy away from their intensity. 

You walked right into that.

“I…don’t know yet.” You frown self-consciously. 

“Kinda seems like you do.”

You don’t. All you know is how to say the right thing at the right moment. A skill cultivated out of your sheer dread of not being what others need. You have no experiences to share, you’ve done nothing but fail. School. Jobs. Relationships. You’re a fuck-up. So you’ve resigned yourself to the next best thing you can be — you can be something for someone else, if not yourself.

“I—“ You keep your eyes downcast, not wanting to give yourself away. “I really don’t.”

“Heard.” You glance back up at him and are only met with recognition. It eases the tightness in your chest. 

“What’s that?” 

“It’s what you say in the kitchen when you acknowledge what you’re being told.” 

“Oh, that’s cool. I’m stealing that.” 

“You’d have to follow it up with ‘Chef’ for it to really stick, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Heard, Chef.” 

“That’s perfect.” It’s back, that smile. A mere tendril of one at his lips, but it bleeds from his eyes. 

Fuck, it feels good.

Maybe, eventually.

Maybe, you could—

You finish your breakfast in idle chatter. You ask him about the rest of his tattoos.

“It kinda looks like an ‘E 22’ from one angle and ‘733’ from another.” Your fingers trace the ink decorating his arm.

“Yeah. 733 is the area code for Chicago and  E22 is a dishwasher code for when the filter’s blocked.” You feel the muscles rippling under flex under your touch.

“I kinda want a tattoo.” You don’t draw your hand away. 

“What would you get?” He doesn’t seem to mind. 

“How many other dishwasher codes are there? Do I have some to pick from or just the one?”

He tells you more about things he likes to cook. You meet him in the middle with your one-pan pasta recipe and slowly watch the horror creep into his face. 

“Don’t knock it till you try it, Carmy.”

“Worked with food long enough to know what doesn’t work. And pasta cooked in canned tomatoes and half and half doesn’t work.”

He tells you some things about his life in Chicago. He mentions his siblings but the look on his face tells you it’s not a topic you ought to probe at. It’s repentant in some parts and reminiscent in others. But there’s also this resonant anger beneath it. You see the tick in his jaw, the way his fingers tap against the lid of his cup a bit faster, and the way he adjusts his position to sit a bit straighter. All to distract from the hurt. You recognize it because it’s something you do yourself. 

“My family’s not come to see me. I’ve — uh been too busy.”

“Neither has mine.” But you have all the time in the world. You don’t say that, though. 

You try and lighten the mood by telling him about your life as a gig worker. Ever since you moved to the city, you’ve barely managed to hold down a job for longer than 6 months at the time. So you wised up and made sure to have back-ups. Whenever you’ve brought that up on dates, you’ve only been met with thinly veiled judgment. But Carmy- 

“It’s kinda like working in the kitchen. No two days are the same. Keeps shit interesting.”

That’s a good way to look at it, you decide. 

In under the span of a couple hours, you leave his company feeling better. The breakfast was pretty decent. Carmy assured you it’s the best of what you’d find in the neighbourhood. 

“I don’t fuck with brunch.” He’d said. You’d laughed, but he was serious. “It’s a hell shift, and I can’t eat without picturing how fucked they are back of house.”

You part ways with a hug and a promise of a text from him for whenever he’s free next. 

“I’m going back to Chicago for a couple days in a few weeks. But when I’m back—“

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see you again.”

The weeks passed, and you waited. 

The text never came. 

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear #the bear fic #the bear hulu #the bear fx

[alessabriel]

Karma

Cw. Adam x ReaderDaughterSeraphim, blood, inaccurate representations of Hazbin Hotel heaven and hell, typical canon violence, angst, Lettore! She's a minor seraph and represents innocence (idk if it exists but it fits) and use of "Lettore" which is Reader (only in Italian because it looks cute).

Karma was a bitch at times, and unfortunately he was witnessing it first hand.

Adam felt his soul boil, catch fire on the spot and standing here, still standing next to Sera witnessing what was definitely fracturing his mind, his psyche and everything that could be broken; his daughter, his blood and flesh, his daughter who had been created in his image by god, a daughter who came not from an act, but from a divine creation, a daughter he loved with all his being, who he would love (did she deserve his love? ) and for whom he always intended to return alive, always to return to her to answer all her endless questions and show her every little thing of the human world he brought for her eyes only, he fed her innocent curiosity keeping her within the line no angel or seraph should cross.

He was a coward, whispered a voice in her head.

She could hear the painful sound of something tearing away from the skin, from the body, she could witness something that ensured a hellish pain, but that her daughter kept quietly scratching the floor leaving bleeding marks of her fingers on the white floor and those marks did not leave her mind, the heartbreaking sound of something falling that she did not have the strength to see and a gasp before finding calm, when could her daughter endure such suffering? The sound of tearing was a sound that threatened to rupture her eardrums; a sinuous sound full of suffering in silence, there was not a single wail or sob. No painful wailing dared to come out of his daughter and a suffering that Adam could not calm in his daughter, because he was a coward and did not want to take the opposite, he did not want to but he was shedding tears seeing her, seeing his daughter on the ground hunched over herself and without her wings, without the wings that he had taught her to use, had taught her to fly and how to feel comfortable with her.

His daughter, the daughter he loved above all (Do you really love her? whispered a voice in his mind).

The daughter who always looked at him with admiration in her eyes.

Daughter who always awaited his return in the evenings, with pleasant chats and a dinner they made together.

His little angel that he watched grow, that he raised and that he watched become a seraph.

The daughter he let suffer.

Adam never felt so impotent, dirty and disgusting that at that moment, he did nothing, he could not because something bound him, was it fear, maybe yes, maybe not, but he was a deplorable father, horrible and a filthy coward who could not do anything, and because of his fear, his cowardice, he looked away.

Like the ridiculous coward he was, whispered a voice in Adam's mind.

The silence in the room was sepulchral, worthy of a divine funeral and the older seraphim; Sera only witnessed the younger seraphim (would she have the strength to do the same if she were Emily? ) on the floor, golden blood dripping perpetually staining the white dress and she didn't know if it was fear, regret she felt at her lack of sounds, she only witnessed her scratching the floor with such force that she herself was finishing her nails, but no sound came out of her throat not when her golden halo was unraveling.

"You are aware of the punishment being meted out to you, aren't you Lettore?" question Será with a cold tone, worthy of a merciless executioner.

The younger seraphim; Lettore just regulated her breathing, everything was a mess of voices in her head threatening to break her did she deserve it, she didn't know, she didn't know where she stood and the pain was so overwhelming, but regardless it didn't matter, it would never matter not when what she held were her ideals.

"...I will never take back what I did, what I think" hissed Lettore raising her head for the first time directing an icy and mocking look at the older seraph, years that seemed eternal living in an innocence, a delicate golden cage that father and Sera kept around you, urging you to keep the inhabitants of heaven innocent and oblivious, what a mockery "...you can rip off my wings a thousand times and send me to hell, but I will never accept this damn corrupt heaven."

Adam had never seen his daughter so determined, with so much hatred, cold and mockery in her eyes always bright with love and innocence had she always been like this?

And in the twinkling of an eye, she was thrown into hell, like the hundreds or thousands of sinners that the murderer killed for the second time in each extermination.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel sera #hazbin hotel vivziepop #fem reader! #hazbin hotel adam x reader platonic #adam x reader platonic #reader daughter #hazbin hotel adam x reader daughter platonic #alessabriel ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ #alessabriel writting #writings alessabriel

[oldgayjew]

Behold ...

America's White-Washed Sepulchre

... gleaming white and shiny ... yet filled with the bones of dead promises, bought and paid for with the blood of Patriots ...

#bjb oldgayjew #bjb oldgayjew prophecy's shout #john galt bjb #history's ghost - screaming - again #barsefrin - the elder #bjb - barsefrin

[lachlanzeez]

being wednesdays sister and everybody falling for you pt1

parts: [1] [2] [3] [4]

_____________________________________________________________

you and your sister wednesday had recently moved to a new school. A one for freaks

when you were being introduced to everybody in the courtyard you saw a lot of people looking at you instead of your sister, which weirded you out a lot.

bianca and xavier were still together in this and ajax and enid were just getting into a relationship. Rowan and kent were still single.

They couldn't stop looking at you, because you have long white hair and you looked so soft and gentle unlike wednesday.

so when xavier and bianca were walking around at night the came across you singing an old pirate song

hoist the colours

The king and his men stole the queen from her bed... and bound her in her bones

The seas be ours beyond the powers where we will we'll roam

Yo, ho, haul together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die

Some men have died And some are alive And others sail on the sea With the keys to the cage... And the Devil to pay We lay to Fiddler's Green!

The bell has been raised From it's watery grave... Do you hear it's sepulchral tone? We are a call to all Pay heed the squall And turn your sail toward home!

Yo, ho, all together Hoist the colours high Heave ho, thieves and beggars Never shall we die!

she sounded so angelic for a dark song. Her voice sounded like honey, and they way she danced while singing was magical. Thought xavier and bianca was staring at (name) like she and bianca were the only ones in the world, but xavier didn't mind, because (name) was an exception.

rowan saw xavier and bianca walking around so he was sneaking off to the nightshades library. Since he wasn't in them anymore he wasn't allowed in there. And if anybody caught him, he would be suspended and he doesn't want to spend his break with his unloving and uncaring mother and father. Until he heard singing, he went to investigate and saw (name) singing while dancing in the middle of the moonlight

she looked magnificent dancing in her white dress, her hair flowing with every jump.

you didn't know 3 people were watching you dance and sung last night.

you went out to jericho and went to weathervanes cafe. It sounded like a sweet place so you went in.

tyler was trying to work the coffee machine but the words were in latin so he didn't know what to do. Until a nevermores student came up to him asking if he wanted help.

he had never seen anybody with white hair but it was beautiful. He felt like he could stare into those y/e/c forever.

After the coffee machine was fixed by this beautiful looking girl, i gave her a hot chocolate on the house from helping me.

i hope to see her again thought tyler while he stared at her walking out and walking to a car.

enid and ajax were walking near the lake when they saw wednesday and her sister (name) shooting arrows on the target.

they watched (name) while she was getting her gloves on, she was wearing her beautiful white archery outfit with her arrows in the bag

she looked so magical, liked she came out of a fairytale and enid and ajax were head over heels, but what they didn't know was kent was swimming in the lake and was watching them stare at (name). He felt angry that they were trying to take her away, and how bianca and xavier were trying to take her away.

he was going to do something about it.

_________________________________________________

xoxo

lachlan zeez

#wednesday addams #wednesday netflix #wednesday spoilers #wednesday #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #bianca barclay #kent #rowan laslow x reader #rowan x reader #rowan laslow #x reader #x reader fanfic #headcanon #fanfic #flop era post #tyler galpin #tyler galpin x you #x you fluff #tyler galpin x reader #tyler galpin x y/n

[popp1nstaxr]

༉‧₊˚. Vampire in love 🦇

Warnings: YeonJun is a vampire (obvious), Fem! reader, Dom! YeonJun, maybe yandere YeonJun (a little at the end), mentions of blood (not much really), NSFW, smutt, overstimulation and maybe a little degradation (Y/N calls stupid to YeonJun and YeonJun makes fun of she gently, but not cruel I guess)

My first language is not English, so I apologize in advance if there are any spelling or narration errors in the text.

Reblog and like for more ><

She let out a sigh, for some time now her neighbor had been making strange sounds at night... not that she wanted to accuse him of anything, but this was annoying and didn't let her sleep, and it was even worse when she left her apartment to seeing this same one greet him with a charming smile and then say "shall we go together, Y/N?", clearly she just smiled and politely denied.

I repeat, she didn't want to accuse him of anything, especially when he seemed to be so... perfect, he was athletic, thoughtful, kind, popular, attractive, and intelligent, why would he do something wrong? But of course, not all of us know what happens to people... anyway, there she was, looking at the moon through the window, it looked so big and luminous, it seemed that the dark sky gave it its shine and I let her be the protagonist of heaven... of course, all that ended when another knock was heard, the girl sighed and rolled her eyes, already tired.

"Up to here..." she thought to herself and she left her apartment to go to the next door <<202>> was the door number, she knocked three times and waited. The silence was heard on the other side, a silence so... great that it was even scary, a sepulchral silence, and then the door opened, revealing your black-haired neighbor smiling from ear to ear... ugh, that smile so bright and striking, perfect white teeth, and his... fangs were what stood out the most, this only increasing his attractiveness even more, and hell, having him so close to you made wheezing for a microsecond.

"Do you need something, Y/N? It's already late, I don't think you like having dark circles under his eyes tomorrow" he spoke confidently, joking with little, of course, I forgot to mention, he and you are classmates in calculus class, that's why seemed like a curse the fact that you always ran into him somehow, although perhaps, it could be destiny.

"No, it's just... is something wrong? I hear a lot of noise and as you say, I need to sleep, YeonJun" she spoke and the black-haired man nodded, understanding the situation "I'm sorry about that, doll, but don't worry, it's not nothing alone... it doesn't matter it's nothing." The brunette just nodded and when she was going to turn around to leave, YeonJun spoke again "But, it's a red moon, you should be careful with that... when that happens the vampires are more bloodthirsty, and who knows" and he did He made a gesture with his hands, raising them as if he really had no idea for nothing "maybe you are prey" and smiled innocently before closing the door.

The girl just laughed and rolled her eyes, amused, YeonJun always joked like that so she didn't give it any importance, "stupid.." she muttered to herself in amusement and headed to her own room.

●●●●●●●●● ●●●●●●●●● ●●●●●●●●●

4:00 A.M.

And there she was awake in bed, why couldn't she sleep? No more noises were coming from the apartment next door, everything was just silence... just, silence, not even a dog barking in the street, or a bat over there screeching, no, nothing, there was only silence, you had never felt a night as long as this and it was definitely a nuisance and at the moment that you thought—rather, you considered—that you had gone deaf was when a noise was heard, a sigh... a damn sigh and to top it off in your room, The girl stayed completely still, her ears becoming sharper to pick up any unusual sounds in your room and then you felt a breath on your neck "oh god, but what the hell is happening?" you asked yourself and felt The touch of something icy on your warm skin, it looked like two somewhat thick, very icy needles, you swallowed, nervous.

"I-Is there anyone there?" the silliest question, clearly no one was going to answer but fear did not make you think clearly and some hands, large and icy, took your waist, suddenly you felt a weight on top of you, someone who placed himself perfectly between your legs, someone who He made your hip fit perfectly with the other person's, his hands made your hip rise a little and your pelvis rise, rubbing your intimacy with that of the other person.

"But what the hell?" you thought, you were going to speak but someone came forward and placed their index finger in your mouth, making you shut up "Shh... okay, I know this may be strange and illogical, but it's the moon of blood, I need to be able to have some bond with someone and that person... it has been you. You don't understand it now, but soon you will, just trust me" Again, you were going to speak, denying you, you didn't want anything to see to do with, whatever this was and it was then that smile you would recognize anywhere, and the little light of the moon allowed it to be seen perfectly.

"YeonJun..." you whispered quite surprised, he caressed your cheek with his thumb, and he slowly moved on to caress your lips "I promise to explain everything to you later, but it's hard for me if you keep pushing me away" his voice was suddenly so sweet, and of course I was right, he always seemed to be kind and want to get closer to you but what were you doing? ignore him or push him away with clumsy excuses or polite rejections.

You decided to believe him, was that decision very clumsy? Yes, but the truth is, you were a little curious.

He seemed to smile even more "The eclipse is just beginning, in 30 minutes it should be a blood moon as it will be a total eclipse... by that time I need you and I to be united" You nodded, and really you didn't understand anything but he seemed to know what he was about talking.

And that was when you felt his lips go to your neck, leaving soft and wet kisses there, his fangs grazing your skin only made you let out a shameful sigh, he smiled into your skin at this and took more confidence to raise your pelvis even further, taking your waist with some force while his lips devoured your neck, licking, biting (careful not to draw blood, but enough to leave marks from his fangs there) and kissing it, he released you carefully, letting you rest on the bed. and he was still on top of you, he found a way to get his hands under your pajama top, his icy skin contrasted with your warm skin making you sigh once again, pushing your shirt up until he took it off, internally enjoying the fact that you weren't wearing a bra. to sleep and with one of your hands he played with your nipples, while he slowly directed his mouth to the other nipple, beginning to carefully suck that area, sucking equally, while his free hand went down to your pajama pants, lowering them little by little, he was stimulating you and he did it so well.

Once he finished with your breasts, he made sure that your pajama pants would not be in the way and then he took one of his hands to your intimacy and rubbed two of his fingers over the underwear, moving them in circles, he could feel your humidity above them, making him laugh softly.

"Don't you get excited very quickly..?" He scoffed a little and licked his lips in amusement, continuing to stimulate.

"S-Shut up" you spoke, somewhat embarrassed and he let out a soft laugh, before lowering your underwear and leaving you completely exposed, she brought her face close to your intimacy and licked it, taking all that natural lubricant and tasting her lips thereafter, and then Without prior notice, put two fingers in there, penetrating with them.

He stayed like that for several minutes, stimulating you until... "m-I'm going to cum" you moaned and he smiled, removing his fingers immediately, you whimpered at this.

But he stood up from you, and began to remove his own clothes to return to bed with you, climbing on top again and aligning his hips. "Take a breath, honey, it's a big for you..." he murmured, his voice huskier. and you obeyed, when he shoved his cock inside you, their hips lining up in a way so perfectly pleasurable that it seemed like they were made for each other.

He was enchanted, by your body, your sounds, your smile, your personality... he loved everything about you, every inch and he definitely couldn't hide it anymore on this special eclipse night when the vampires had already chosen their partner forever, and of course you had YeonJun fall in love for you...

The point of the total eclipse arrived, the red light of the moon illuminated the room a little and darkened other parts, YeonJun's fangs stung, and with each movement and clash of their bodies, he only wanted to mark you more, he licked his lips and without stopping his movements he approached your neck, licked it, left a couple of kisses and munch, bit you, this time, making sure that the fangs penetrate the skin and draw blood, although he wouldn't take it, he wanted the mark to be durable.

He licked the traces of blood from his neck and smiled as he heard you cum, he had done it, finally, you were completely his.

#txt #txt fanfic #txt au #txt imagines #yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #txt yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun scenarios #yeonjun smau

[empirearchives]

Description of Napoleon, “The Picture of Bonaparte”

“As I was advantageously placed near this extraordinary man, I had a good opportunity of minutely examining his person and his features. His stature does not exceed five feet six inches, and as he stoops, even that height is much diminished. His frame is thin and delicate; his hair is of a deep chesnut, cut short, lank, and without powder, falling over a high and narrow forehead; his eyes are large, dark, quick and piercing, but as they are seldom raised, give him the appearance of an assassin; an aquiline nose, a raised chin, like that of the Apollo Belvidere, pale complexion, hollow cheeks, mouth large, and lips thin and pallid, complete the likeness. He has a sepulchral tone of voice, and answers briefly ; he is an abstemious, meditative man, but tenacious in the point which he has in view, and affects all the austerity, which characterises the head of Brutus. Though he encourages at his court all the pomp and spendour of royalty, (for the Consuls never appear in public without their body guards, nor without three footmen behind their carriage, who, with the coachmen and out-riders, are all habited in dark green liveries, richly embroidered with gold,) yet he himself indulges in no expensive pleasures. His dress, when we saw him, was strictly conformable to republican simplicity, and negligence. He wore a blue frock, with red cuffs and collar, two gold epaulets, white waistcoat and breeches, and Hessian boots; a plain, small cocked hat, which was ill shapen, covered his head, and nothing in his outward appearance bespoke the hero. This is a correct delineation of his person; but who can pourtray the various passions of his ambitious mind?”

— Edmund John Eyre, Observations Made at Paris During the Peace, published 1803, pg. 341-342

#Assassin looking Napoleon 😎 #but like Apollo #Edmund John Eyre #Eyre #Napoleon #description of Napoleon #napoleonic #napoleon bonaparte #napoleonic era #first french empire #french empire #Paris #1803 #Observations Made at Paris During the Peace #description

[skyeslittlecorner]

Second fic for WHB MC Shuffle~

This time our lucky one is Hannah from @sweeteaacakes. And I must admit up front- I got a little carried away with my imagination. Instead of writing the script you asked for, I did something a little crazier. That scene just captured my mind so much that I had to write it. I hope you dont mind, and you will like it too 🧡

As always, let me know what you think - if you want to make any changes (even write it from the beginning because after all I deviated a lot from your script), just write them and I will try my best to fix it!

Words: ~1200

WHB MC Shuffle | Hannah

The walls of the temple were so silent. Thump, thump, her aunt's shoe tapped against the ancient pottery as she impatiently waited for the priest to hurry up. Swish, swish, the girls on either side of Hannah ran their fingers over the beads of the rosary, their lips whispering inaudible words. The girl's hand, meanwhile, was tightening on the devil's symbol. Solomon's Key. Her aunt almost forcibly ripped it off her neck, so she put it in her pocket. At least this way it could warm her up her in this icy, distant place.

The ceremony, where they were supposed to take vows of chastity, was so small. Several girls in modest, covering dresses sat at the front, and behind them, family and invited friends gathered on long benches. Even though they wore white, the atmosphere seemed sepulchral. That's how Hannah felt too. Stuffy. Tightly. The enormity of the temple overwhelmed her, the eyes of her family burned a hole in her back. "You can manage. You have to manage." She repeated in her mind. "You must. Only half an hour and you will go to the ball, and after the ball you will go home. Only a few more hours until evening. You can handle."

She counted the minutes on her fingers, just as the surrounding girls counted their prayers. They fell silent only when the priest came. Hannah looked up. She had the impression that their delighted faces had nothing to do with their admiration for the God. The man with white hair looked holy, like an angel. As if he was the last test to see if they really wanted to stay pure. Hannah was too nervous to share their reasons, although she wasn't in a rush to vow either.

Just forty minutes, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…

The ceremony went smoothly. A priest with the appearance of a saint, he also had such a voice, calm, and yet distant.

“The most humble of you who, take a vow of chastity, you will be welcomed at the gates of heaven…”

He approached each one in turn. Personally blessed each one. Hannah glanced stealthily and was nearly dying from nerves; the key she was clutching cut through her skin. But she didn’t feel the blood. 

She didn't want to do it. Really didn't want to. But still, she felt more aware than before, repeating the words of her oath in her head, ready to fulfill her duty… Until she came face to face with the priest. For the first time, his gaze seemed alert, even terrifying. Not because he looked down on her. Because he was smiling.

“The most humble of you… Did I say?” He spread his arms. Hannah was dumbstruck. That's not what it should look like, that's not what the blessing should sound like. Did he want to embrace her? 

She understood even less when, in a gentle flash of light, a white scythe landed in his hands.

“You do not belong to them, descendant of Solomon.”

The words of the oath evaporated from her brain. A new priority has emerged. Survive. She felt like the key was burning in her hand. Defend yourself, run away, do whatever. 

He stopped looking like an angel. Pairs of powerful wings appeared behind him, covering the colorful stained-glass windows, shrouding her in shadow. He *was* an angel.

Frustration overwhelmed her. A wave of rage washed over her, almost bringing tears to her eyes. Why! Why did he destroy everything! She didn't endure all this just to die!

As he raised the scythe, there were screams all around. Hannah didn't have time to do anything. Before the gleaming blade fell, she saw the angel's pleased smile... and disgust as he, too, was enveloped in darkness.

She squeezed her eyes shut and covered herself with her hands. Pain. This was what she expected, but she felt nothing. Just the sound of metal hitting metal. The acrid stench of sulfur that filled her nostrils and lungs. Is that it? End? He killed her so quickly that she died without pain?

She opened one eyelid, then the other. There were screams all around again, and panicked footsteps of people leaving the temple. But before the eyes (that she slowly stopped trusting), she saw *something*. A two meters pile of muscle, covered in black fur, casting a shadow over herself and her surroundings. The smoke that surrounded him slowly dissipated. It accumulated right next to her hand. By the key, which she was still clutching with all her might.

“I see I arrived on time!” The demon roared with laughter. Even behind him, Hannah could see the massive, bloody scythe that stopped the angelic one.

“Tsk.”

She, paradoxically, felt safe. Behind the giant's back, behind the rock-solid muscles, it was one of the few times she felt like someone wanted her well. She clutched the key to her chest and glanced to the side, just to see the angel's expression. He wasn't angry, wasn't scared. His white brow furrowed in irritation.

“I shall not let you go.” He muttered under his breath and withdrew his scythe. Instead, he took a swing and brought it close to his chest. Blood gushed from the cut skin, falling on both of them. Hannah felt her own chest burn with pain. Meanwhile, the angel flew up as if nothing had happened.

The demon turned to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. The horned head tilted, dark eyes staring out from a frowning muzzle.

“I am Satan, King of Gehenna.” He placed a hairy paw on her chest. “And you are in grave trouble, Descendant of Solomon.”

"I know." She whispered, thinking about her family. Her aunt will kill her. Literally. With a stick and rag. Frustration and rage hit Hannah’s head like a hammer again. If it weren't for that stupid angel, it would all be over, and now...!

“I don't want… I can't go home!” She pushed demon in the chest. “You could have let me be killed, at least I would have had peace!”

“I like you more and more!” He burst out laughing again and wrapped his arms around her waist tighter. “I won't let you go home. The angels will track you down too quickly.”

“What should I do…” She asked herself more than him, but got an answer nonetheless.

"Come with me." He offered cheekily, raising her chin. “I can give you a new home if you help me save it. Take revenge on this angel and help us save hell. Then you will be safe… and no one else will dare to raise a hand against you.”

“I will.” Emotions spoke through her more than reason. What else did she have to lose? “I will help you, I swear.”

More images flashed through her head as if through a fog. A beautiful palace in European style. The exhaustion that set in when she felt safe. The demon's grip loosening as he handed her over to the arms of another cute boy with a horn. And the one and only memory she remembered clearly. A flash of white as the captivating demon turned into the captivating man, his charming smile when she huffed in irritation, and the warmth of his lips as he kissed her goodbye.

Her life was finally about to begin.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whbmcshuffle #whb mc #whb gabriel #whb satan

[peterkothe]

HAPPY EASTER

Matthew 28:1-7

1. In the end of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulchre.

2. And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat upon it.

3.His countenance was like lightning, and his raiment white as snow:

4. And for fear of him the keepers did shake, and became as dead men.

5. And the angel answered and said unto the women, Fear not ye: for I know that ye seek Jesus, which was crucified.

6. He is not here: for he is risen, as he said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.

7. And go quickly, and tell his disciples that he is risen from the dead; and, behold, he goeth before you into Galilee; there shall ye see him: lo, I have told you.

#Easter #Easter 2024 #He is Risen #The third day Christ arose #angel #Happy Easter #my art #illustration #artists on tumblr #procreate app #ipad art #apple pencil #digital art #Easter Sunday

[heathersdesk]

Holy Week: The Cleansing of the Temple

I have seen multiple people on Instagram talking about Jesus cleansing the temple in the final week of his ministry and misinterpreting the motive Jesus had for doing it. So let's talk about the details we can glean from Scripture to better understanding this story.

The temple complex had merchants who would sell animals to people they could use for sacrifices. The law of Moses in Leviticus 5 (see also Leviticus 14-15) talks about how the sin offering involves sacrificing a lamb or a kid goat. In the case of extreme poverty, two doves were the acceptable alternatives. These offerings would be bled on the Temple altar and burned.

And Jesus went into the temple of God, and cast out all them that sold and bought in the temple, and overthrew the tables of the moneychangers, and the seats of them that sold doves. —Matt 21:13

The act of selling these animals was not the problem. It was a necessary part of the temple functioning, especially as people traveled from far distances to participate in temple worship.

The problem that caused Jesus to walk through the stalls turning over tables brandishing a whip was price gouging. Theft, of both money and access to God.

Everything that happened in the temple complex was under the direction of the high priest, the most important figure in Judaism at the time. The animals provided would've been inspected and assured that they would meet the requirements of the law. In a world where various monies were in use, weighed with scales to meet the established exchange rates, nothing would've prevented the high priest from requiring bribes from the privilege of operating in the temple market. Nothing would've prevented the scales from being turned against those who price gouged the public to provide for those bribes, as well as to line their own pockets. All of this happened at the expense of the people who were required by divine law to make these sacrifices to achieve forgiveness of their sins.

Throughout the New Testament, Jesus repeatedly demonstrates his disdain for the senior-most leadership of Judaism in his day. He had condemned the love of money and status over people so many times. He had disrupted ceremonies and insulted the priests to their faces. He had criticized their poor understanding of the law and their duties to others in their community. He had called them hypocrites, a den of vipers, vessels that were clean on the outside but filthy within, whited sepulchres full of dead men's bones, predators akin to wolves in sheep's clothing, and unprofitable servants. And here, he engages in his most pointed and unapologetic criticism yet for those in power:

And said unto them, It is written, My house shall be called the house of prayer; but ye have made it a den of thieves. —Matt 21:13

The agitation of Jesus Christ culminated in this exact moment, where he struck back against the Establishment not only in thought, but in their pocketbooks. In the destruction of the temple market, he restored access to the ordinances for all by front the animals to those who were present. He liberated the money to the oppressed in society by flinging it outside the reach of those who had taken it from them. He upturned the power structure and social order which placed the high priest as a wealthy superior over, rather than a humble servant to, the Jewish community.

Make no mistake: Jesus was a Jew. He loved his community and his faith. He loved God. He respected the law, which called his people to be the best versions of themselves to serve God. But this love didn't stop him from publicly criticizing and condemning moral failure in the leadership around him. Love does not enable abuse. And it was abuse that allowed Jewish leadership at the time to limit access to the most important, the most sacred ordinances in Judaism only to those who were willing and able to pay enough money.

What do we learn from Jesus from the destruction of the temple market?

That some evil forces in society cannot be reformed. Reasoning with abusers in ways they don't have to acknowledge, that doesn't cost them anything, isn't a solution for the powerless. That people are more important than money and the economy. That there is restorative justice waiting for the oppressed, in the form of destruction for their oppressors. And when this happens, a greater increase of faith, healing, and power from heaven will follow.

And the blind and the lame came to him in the temple; and he healed them. Matt. 21:14

This Easter season, this is the hope and prayer for many: that God will remember those who have been shut out of their communities because of the exorbitant prices set by their leadership for their participation. That God will restore access to the holiness and forgiveness that has been stolen from them. That there is still a Savior, a Deliverer from the greed and pride that drives this world. And most of all, that there is healing and rest for those who have been exploited against their will, that all that has been stolen will be restored to them one day.

#mormon #lds #mormonism #tumblrstake #the church of jesus christ of latter day saints #religion #faith #queerstake #christianity #scripture study #easter #holy week #jesus christ #bible study #new testament