#good soldier of jesus christ

[scripture-pictures]

[dearlittlefandom-stalker]

Imagine being one of the Roman soldiers though. Imagine having to do what you thought would be a normal execution one day.

Three convicts, two of which are thieves. As for the third… I mean, yeah some people say this guy is the “messiah” (whatever that means, you’re no Jew) and there is talk of miracles and the religious nuts really seem to hate him, but you have him nailed to a cross all the same, so what? If he is a god then he can join the club; Caesar knows that the Romans have enough gods to fill their pantheon and then some. Most likely he’s just a man with some hefty delusions that cost him his life.

But then earthquakes happen. Weird but can be written off as chance, right? Then the sky goes dark midday. A blood moon rises.

That ain’t normal.

Feelings unlike anything you’ve ever felt arise in your gut. The man cries out with a loud voice “It is finished!” and dies immediately after. You shiver. Uncanny, that is.

“Surely this Man is the Son of God,” a fellow Soldier exclaims beside you. At this point you might agree, but the spear still pierces through his skin all the same and you think (hope) that whoever this God-Man was that he isn’t your problem anymore, seeing as he’s dead. Hopefully you can forget the whole thing. (Somehow you feel that this scene will haunt you for a long time)

But the debacle is not over with the burial, as you had assumed. The religious nuts get real anxious and noisy, so to shut them up Pilot has a watch set to guard the body of a dead man. A dead man.

You personally have seen many dead men in your time, but never have you seen one move. Never have you seem or heard of people particularly wanting to touch dead bodies, either. You almost say as such when you are one of the men assigned the last watch, but decide you’d rather like to keep your tongue than chance losing it. You expect it to be rather a boring job, all told.

And it is. Until these, these beings of light and lightening descend on top of you from the Heavens and the last thing you can think before you know no more is whatever god whose body I’ve been guarding please spare me

You wake up, despite all your expectations to the contrary. You almost wonder if it would have been better if you died.

Those religious nuts come to you and your fellow guards and give you some coin along with a fake story to tell. They offer to save the skin off your back so you are not put to death like others who’ve been killed for less. You go along with the story because to be honest there is still a part of you that hopes this was all a dream. But the borrowed words taste like ash in your mouth and the coins jingle in your pockets with all the weight of a chain.

You go through the rest of the day (and night, and the day and night) after the event in a haze. Your feet walk where you know not and you don’t care to correct them.

But then you see Him.

The same Man you saw die.

The same Man whose body you guarded.

This Son of God, in the flesh, you see stand in front of a crowd with your own two eyes and you can scarce believe it but all the same you know more than you’ve ever known anything before that this is real, that this Jesus is truly not just a god, but The God.

And so you decide to follow Him.

Just imagine that for a minute.

[praetorqueenreyna]

Okay so FIRSTABLE I didn't realize that the people of the Hewn City are literally trapped under there and not allowed to leave. What the fuck. What the fuck?????

ALSO the sheer nerve of Feyre, who had a full blown meltdown over being locked in a luxurious mansion for 2 seconds, to tell somebody who has been trapped underground for CENTURIES that having every comfort should be enough. Are you kidding me?????

[traditionalcristianhousewife]

In honor of Memorial Day, let us pray,

For the brave souls who paved the way.

They fought with courage, they fought with might,

To protect our freedom, to defend what's right.

On this day we remember their sacrifice,

Their selfless acts that paid the price.

They stood tall in the face of fear,

Their memory we hold dear, year after year.

They marched into battle, side by side,

With faith in their hearts, they never did hide.

They carried their crosses, their burdens they bore,

For God and country, they fought for more.

Their faith in Christ gave them strength and grace,

In the darkest times, they sought His face.

They trusted in His guidance, His loving hand,

As they fought for justice, to protect this land.

So let us bow our heads and say a prayer,

For those who gave their lives, for those who still care.

May their souls rest in peace, in eternal light,

For their sacrifice, we are forever grateful, day and night.

On this Memorial Day, let us stand united,

In honor of those who fought and died, undivided.

May we never forget their courage and love,

And may we always cherish the freedom they've won from above.

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[a-chaotic-dumbass]

fascinated by how the asoiaf fandom refuses to have any nuance in the books that r entirely based on different perspectives

[stormyoceans]

🔥🔥🔥

[opens-up-4-nobody]

hi so so sorry if this sounds genuinely deranged but I need to know did you write a fanfiction in like 2014 that was set during ww2 where zoro from one piece was sent to a japanese internment camp and sanji went to conversion therapy I remembered it recently because it blew my mind at age 13 and I had to reread it + need a kind of where are they now with the author so if that's you 1) what's your stance on the fic today 2) how much of the research was done during writing and how much did you just know beforehand and used as inspo 3) did you have any ideas for where the other characters ended up because I did always wonder if like idk chopper overcame the trauma of being in the war and also just what usopp's situation would be in general what with the political climate. once again. if you didn't actually write this fic so sorry this must look like the ravings of a crazy person. godspeed

Hi. Uh, yeah I did write that fic. I would have been like only 17 at the time. I did do A LOT of research, like the fic was basically an excuse for me to research Japanese internment and WWII history in general bc I thought it was super fucked up. I was absolutely hyperfixated on the topic and my parents probably thought i was nuts for my ability to talk at length on this particular area of history. I just finished skim reading back through the fic and woof. What a bleak fucking story. I was very cruel to everyone. It's frustrating bc I think it's an interesting and compelling idea for a story. But to me it feels like: here is all the research I did and also characters talking in what feels like a too modern way. Plus, I was 17 and didnt understand people very well. I wish I had the energy and motivation to rewrite it. Although, I forgot I used to do song lyrics at the start of each chapter and the tonal dissonance of Owl City lyrics at the top of a chapter of harrowing events around the time of WWII is unfathomablly unhinged.

[chadra-fan-irl]

imagine asking a frank miller character what they had for lunch

“I HAD A SALAD. IT WAS A GOOD salad, with tomatoes AND mozzarella CHEESE. IT WAS SO DELICIOUS, YES, DELICIOUS. I AM GOING TO GO GET A SODA. A SODA. A SODA.”

[listenupcupcakes]

https://youtu.be/ys6efgjsROs?si=2vynpPDJh0k1NhUb

Here's the cursed vid :)

(Also stardew valleyyy!! I need to play that again oml)

(Ooc) Omg that was amazing-

At least Demo is self aware enough to know something bad’ll happen lol

[hauntingblue]

:)

[weirdlizard26]

i just dont understand why people cant interact with the bad things of the world without either putting the affected group of people on a pedestal or demonizing them. you know everyone deserves to not be fucking tortured no matter how bad or good a person they are, right? right?

[kazuuaki-archived]

more yandere brainrots for your brain birds <3

yandere ayato who is overly obsessive, who doesn't want see you leave and only wishes to see you every inch of the day. holding you like a prized possession on his lap as he utterly adores you and showers you with worship and care. your his lady, his lord, his divinity. he'd use everything he has to ensure you stay with him, even if it requires some mind games, he'd be willing to play but never lose. he loves you, don't get me wrong. but Ayato Kamisato doesn't lose, especially when he knows the prize for winning is you, a trophy more perfect and pure then gold. he doesn't wish for any insignificant leech to taint you for that. so just stay with him, he'll take great care of you. and please don't mind the red spatters on his imperfect carpets, they bring out your perfections

TWO IN A ROW ?!??!?! ALEXIS PLEASE FDHFSDFFHDFHJ

[clearskiiess]

tills tillsy till ohhh my gosh i. imwatching vol 2 tomorrow........ ohhhh gosh

be prepared for fucking disappointment bennie 🥲

[mykingdomforasong]

Does TikTok know that "Soldier, Poet, King" is a song about Jesus, and they just choose to ignore it? Or do they really think it's a song about like ... archetypes? tropes? DnD classes? Because it really seems like no one on TikTok knows they're singing a song about Jesus. They're a Christian band! The lyrics are "There will come a ruler who's brow is laid in thorns, smeared with oil like David's boy."

[yellowsubiesdance]

remember when guardians 1 and 2 were some of the best marvel movies around

i miss that