#its cool to ignore the concept of cringe and do what you want forever

[cemeterything]

denying yourself enjoyment of things because you don't want to be 'cringe' is the most cringe thing you can do actually. like what are you, catholic?

[wickednerdery]

Title: Enthralled Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Marvel Pairing/character: Loki x Jotun!OC Rating: Mature/Explicit Summary: “Please...I am begging you...” Notes: This is a gift to @manip-loki​ for all the AMAZING fanart (posted at @maniploki​) she’s made for me over the weeks/months based on my FrostBitten series. The concept of a Thrall Collar is from @endlessstairway​ and her amazing stories here. This specific piece is meant to be a sneak peak of the sequel to FrostBitten. Ulfr is a Frost Giant and “played” by Lee Pace. The story is dark, it has mentions of non-con, violence, hints of dub-con, and Loki in a very bad situation and head-space (I’m seriously cruel to Loki in this, sorry) …For all that and its length it gets a “Read More”

To say that Loki slumps is gracious...he’s tossed, left to slip down to the floor. He whimpers, tries to soothe aching head and split lip on cool tile, as the guards laugh above him. A boot sets on his back, flattening him underneath, as his breath is slowly crushed from lungs. His insides feel rearranged and stomach threatens to revolt. The collar holds his neck off the floor, reminds him of a guillotine, and Loki floods with the wish that Odin had simply swung the ax.

“Did you like that, Thrall?” The Ba-Bani guard cackles as he tucks himself back in, does up the flap of his armor once more. “Come on, tell me you liked it.”

“I...” - ‘wanna rip your fucking throat out’ - the binding shocks his tongue, presses in from all angles so Loki feels his head could well cave in. “I liked it...Sir.” There’s some relief, but broken body and rage prevent any true comfort. Slaves are to be meek, pliable, eager to please...Loki’s not quite gotten the hang of such things even now. Even knowing what could await anything but what’s expected of a thrall.

The other guard smirks. “Wanna go again?” He presses the tip of his shoe between Loki’s legs, encouraging Loki to spread once more, when all three hear the sound of heavy boots approaching. “Maybe you’ll have a third on your dance-card this time,” the guard notes viciously, presuming a coworker. “Might have to turn you into a bitch so you can handle all of us together, wouldn’t that be a treat?”

Loki feels himself pressed, pressured, to answer, but stubbornly fights it. Stubbornly hopes, prays to the gods, that this new person is a savior, not the next in line for him. Jaw clenches as the need to answer, the need to acquiesce, builds to almost intolerable pain. “P-Ple...” He holds fast, tears streaming, and is saved by a new voice.

“Didn’t think you guys got free samples.” As amused as it sounds, there’s a hint of threat to it as well.

And, for Loki, a hint of recognition. He can’t look up - position and binding both prevent it - but he knows that voice. Deep, dark, but just this side of delighted.

The Ba-Bani’s foot comes off Loki as he turns. “You can’t be back here!”

“Then perhaps you should do a better job guarding,” the new arrival counters. “Or...you can forget I’m here and I can forget you’re fucking the merchandise.”

Loki’s seized by the metal collar, yanked up on unstable feet. He can barely stand up straight as the urge to double-over washes through him. He closes his eyes to regain balance, to prevent the worsening of the pain in his head, and avoid who stands before him. Whose voice he knows, who’s about to see him in all his newfound shame.

Because this is him now. Without his magic, without power and prestige, without a name. His only property’s a well-worn, elongated, tunic that does little to keep his decency and a Thrall Collar; even those are not truly his. The tunic’s a necessity to keep him from getting ill before purchase and the collar to keep him in his place...in the end they’ll all belong to his new master, including Loki himself. And, just as he received his, when Loki dies the tunic and collar will go to another of his ilk.

“Look at me, Loki.” The voice orders sternly, but not cruelly.

The former king, the former prince, the former Loki is yanked by the hair, ordered to obey by both guards and collar. Eyes open slowly, warily, and he cringes at the results.

“Gods...I still half-expected it to be one giant charade.” Ulfr half-smirks with a tilt of his head. He’s his true self; big, blue, red eyes with a glint of amusement to them. “That I’d find an empty container with ‘Later Losers’ scrawled across it.” He nearly giggles.

“You know him?” The Ba-Bani questions suspiciously. It would not be the first time a loved one, or even an enemy, has attempted to break a thrall out of bondage.

Ulfr gives a derisive snort. “You don’t?”

“I don’t care.” he counters arrogantly in attempts to cover his ignorance. “He’s no one, nothing, but a slave now.” He approaches the Jotun, expecting to intimidate, but finds himself woefully oversized as he closes in. He switches tactics. “You’re interested in him?”

“I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Perhaps you’d like to try him out...” the guard smiles as the other begins to force Loki forward. “He fusses to start, but by the end he moans pleasure as any whore would.”

Ulfr’s grin goes wide. “I don’t do sloppy one-hundredths.”

The Ba-Bani’s face falls, the other guard drops Loki onto bruised hands and knees. The god keeps himself curled up a moment before slipping off against the wall, out of immediate reach. Staring without blinking from behind the magic barrier Loki carefully calculates his odds on all sides. Careful not to think of what the binding prevented - escape, vengeance, disobedience - and instead of survival. Of Ulfr’s desires for him, of the odds in the guards convincing him to take a turn with Loki’s abused body, of getting a good master. Or, at least, not someone exceptionally sadistic. His already foggy mind is so full of calculation and, yes, prayers, that Loki completely misses the conversation...

“I assure you, I’ll leave no marks before he goes on the block,” Ulfr smiles as the Ba-Bani slips him a pass into the room on the guards’ way out. He conjures a chair on the opposite end of the container to sit in. “I know you can speak.” He points to the collar with its throbbing light indicator. “I know how these work and I can see yours is blue.”

Loki’s a shell of what he was; hair lanky, eyes sunken in and lifeless, sallow skin. That King of Midgard, that God of Mischief, is long gone. To think this being once had millions at his feet, to think he once had Ulfr there. His throat rumbles in its clearing against the metal symbol of his enslavement; he breathes in effort to find his dignity. “What would you have me say, Sir?” The response is polite, respectful, with just a hint of ‘fuck you’. The magic of the collar sees, hears, senses all and fires pain off within Loki’s mind as the blue dims...it’s worth it nevertheless.

Loathe to admit it, Ulfr forever admires the other’s skill in weaving through loopholes like thread through a needle. “Your brother’s crossing his friends, his family, to make deals, your mother’s begging mercies to a Frost Giant...” Loki’s eyes flare a warning, the blue fades more. “All to keep you alive, keep you safe, but you...you won’t lift a finger to defend yourself.”

“How can I?” Thus far nothing he’s done has been met with anything save brutality and abuse. Both before and after this point in his life, it would seem. And thralls don’t get mercy, they get used until they no longer can be...Then, if lucky, they simply die.

“Defeated so soon?” Ulfr shifts to lounge, legs spreading out and apart. “That’s hardly you. What happened to the god ordering worlds to kneel? The king delighting in the abuse of his peasants, his soldiers?”

Loki sighs, examines the frays of his tunic wondering how many before him had worn it. Died in it. “If you’re here for your revenge make it quick, I’m to be sold soon enough.” The collar punishes, presses in, deciding he’s not humble, meek, enough...it cows Loki into a cringing ball. He grunts in pain as he’s force to spill out the words. “Please...Sir.”

Lips quirk slightly as eyes catch the stains of others’ pleasure on cloth and thighs. “It looks like more than enough have taken their revenge on you today.”

Curling up more - as much from shame now as pain - the thrall does, says, nothing save hide his face behind unwashed hair. He won’t admit it, but binding aside, he lacks the strength to reply or even look the other in the eye anymore.

“What I want is simpler, far less messy, but possibly more enjoyable.” Loki sighs, just grateful there’s no question or order he must respond to; Ulfr continues with a smile. “I want you to beg.”

The god looks up, unsurprised, as the collar goes to work, immediately pressuring him to comply. To beg. Only Loki’s unsure what he’s to beg for and, in getting it wrong, the collar will have its own punishments for him.

“I want you to crawl to me, Loki, like a good pet, and beg for my mercy.”

The use of the phrase is not lost; the former king remembers saying those words to others, to that bold girl they once battled over...to Ulfr himself. He supposes it’s fair turnabout he should be ordered in the same manner now. It’s certainly the least abhorrent thing request or order he’s been given since finding himself in this position.

Hands and knees move slow - reluctant from soreness and wisps of pride he stubbornly hangs on to - head remains down. Loki knows the lighting here, he knows it exposes him through the tunic; he knows what once was a predator’s stalk is now a beaten dog’s slouching. He knows Ulfr sees it too. “Please...” he mutters as he reaches Ulfr’s feet.

“That’s it? That’s the beg?” Ulfr chuckles in amusement, in effort to show pleasure in Loki’s pathetic attempt, so as to prevent another harsh punishment from Loki’s collar; to keep lights blue and Loki verbal. He shifts to nudge Loki’s shoulder down with the heel of his booth until head and chest brush the ground. “You can do better than that...and rumors are that some of Thanos’ children are out there, so you really have to.“

“Please...I am begging you...” he can smell sweat, blood, sex, and disinfectant on the floor, his breath fogs the tile. “For my life...for my...” Loki isn’t one to beg, he doesn’t even know what to say. “For my mother’s peace of mind.” At least that one’s genuine. “For my brother’s...honor.” Always seems important to Thor. “I-I know I’ve no right to ask it of you, but please, Ulfr...please protect me.”

Most seems like bullshit, Loki telling him what he thinks Ulfr wants to hear, but still... “Not bad for an amateur.”

Loki stays down; his body begins to shake, the raw pains of it flooding to him in full. It isn’t the beg he was just forced into, it’s that Ulfr so easily accepts it. Surely he know it’s false, that thralls are be punished for such a wretched show, but Ulfr accepts it with a smile. It’s a relief and the relief comes with the realization he’s not gotten such a thing in many weeks, maybe months, and he may never get it again.

“Look at me, Loki.” The voice is stern, but still soft, and Loki obeys before the collar has to press him. Ulfr takes a breath, gives a sigh, as he leans forward. “Don’t move.” Because he guesses the instinct will be to fight, to flinch.


The god shivers anticipation, watches hand as it gently presses thumb against his busted lip. Eyes widen as lip heals, as the comforting energy spreads throughout. Skin pulls together, muscles sooth, mind grows light, but collected. He doesn’t notice his own change - the blueing of skin, reddening of eyes, the appearance of ridges. Without realization Loki’s Jotun lips part slightly, move to capture the other Jotun’s thumb between them.

Ulfr holds his breath with his gaze as he feels Loki tongue press against the tip of his finger, his teeth grazing the pad. He knows it may well be the Thrall Collar, urging Loki to be submissive, to appease, to pleasure, but that doesn’t make it any less enjoyable. Other hand strokes Loki’s head to smooth and clean hair, brushes past collar to soothe raw skin underneath, rubs down back, healing and cleaning as it goes. Head lowered, breathing in the scent of his former king’s hair, fingertips stretch to reach the top curve of buttocks.

Loki shudders as that area also heals, inside and out. He lowers his head. “Please don’t leave me to this,” he mutters against his former (still?) rival’s lap. “I will not survive it.” Without his magic, his freedom, his fight...without someone to protect him Loki will not survive what others may plan.

“When on the block I suggest you not look others in the eye. That you look broken, submissive,” Ulfr whispers against silky black hair. “I suggest you hide your face if you can...we may outbid most, but not all.”

Loki’s hand grips the ankle of the other. “P-Please...Ulfr...” Loki is gently maneuvered off and away so that he settles into a ball on the floor. He hides himself, hides tears. “Please...” Just...Please...

“Return to your human form.”

The order is direct, clear, but makes Loki shudder. He did not know he’d turned and is certain he cannot use his magic to turn back...yet the binding does not attack as he attempts to do just that. Loki watches in awe from within his curled up position as he’s allowed, able, to use his magic in order to return to his usual appearance. He straightens up on knees, looks to Ulfr to answers.

Yet Ulfr avoids answering to stand, chair fading in a wave of his hand. He shifts in his look at Loki, who’s eyes have dropped an appropriate ways down to satisfy the collar’s rules. “Bold of you to presume you’re the only one who’s dealt with the dark underbelly of the universe.”

Hardly an answer - the man knew more than Loki did of this collar, its magic - but it must satisfy for now as the Thrall Collar will not allow Loki to press further and Ulfr is clearly unwilling to share. “Ulfr...Sir...”

Ulfr turns only after stepping out of the container. He smiles. “Save your strength, Loki. It’s going to be a long day.” A long life, most likely.

First and foremost I fully acknowledge I was terrible to Loki - that was the point, lol! @manip-loki​ enjoys whump and so whump she shall have...I just hope it was enough to to satisfy, haha! Second this is a sneak peak of what I’m planning for the FrostBitten sequel but don’t hold me to this as things can change. Again, the genius concept of a Thrall Collar come from @endlessstairway, who’s been lovely enough to allow others such as myself to play with the idea as well. Ba-Bani is a militaristic alien race so I figured they’d make good guards, lol! Lastly, no idea why things got weirdly intimate between Ulfr and Loki at the end or the full story behind Ulfr’s experience with these collars, but I suppose we’ll all find out eventually, LMAO!! 😉

(Gif made by me via two gifs I found on Google.)

Tagged: @manip-loki @welcome-to-fangirl-hell @chibiyanai @wadeyouwitch @creedslove @lady-crowned-with-stars @moonfaery @annievvv7  @ladyfluff @holykryptonitekitten @lokilvrr @janebrownnie @lokis-little-kitten @alexakeyloveloki @theangelsfightwithdevils @the-blue-tiefling @lokis-lady-death @dangertoozmanykids101 @prometheasmother @vethrvolnir  @wintertink @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes @drakonwild @starscreamloki @hiddles-rose  @the-lady-witchitery @galaxies-inside-my-head @jackheart180  @lukeevansandjdmobession @fassyownsmyassy …I tagged everyone who requested to be tagged in FrostBitten!!

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 19 - 20

The last few chapters utterly spoiled me with good content in form of the witches.But everything good, sadly, cannot last forever.

Elide Lochan kept quiet during the two days she and Lorcan trekked through the eastern edges of Oakwald, heading for the plains beyond.

*groans* Elide, I love you, but your POVs are just not fun to read, I’m sorry. Maybe because my instincts are telling me we might get a Lorcan POV too, and I’m starting to be irked by this guy.

But [Elide] still slept soundly these last two nights—thanks to the belly full of meat courtesy of Lorcan’s hunting. He’d scrounged up two rabbits, and when she’d devoured all of hers in minutes, he’d given her half of what was left of his. She hadn’t bothered being polite by refusing.

Girl, you were kept prisoner for how long? Don’t feel sorry for eating. Besides, Lorcan is an immortal warrior, yeah? So he probably doesn’t need to eat as much as you do during a day.

So they make it to a city, and Elide, being one of the few smart characters in this book, realizes Lorcan needs a disguise.

Elide surveyed herself, and set down her pack. First, she removed the leather jacket, even though it left her feeling like a layer of skin had peeled off, then she rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. But without the tight leather, the full size of her breasts could be seen—marking her as a woman and not a slip of a girl that people assumed she was.

I say once again; full grown women are not the only ones with huge breasts. You  can be a teenager with big breasts. Hell, I’m a young adult woman and I don’t have large boobs at all! Your breasts size have very little to do with your age once you hit puberty.

[Lorcan’s] eyes traveled from [Elide’s] feet to her head, and he frowned again. “Bigger tits won’t prove or hide anything.”

See, even Lorcan understands this. Also really, Lorcan says ‘tits’? 

They roll up to town and there are soldiers checking wagons and inspecting people, searching for her. Since Elide’s limp gives herself away, Lorcan fixes it temporarily with magic.

[Lorcan] opened the door, and by the time [Elide’s] eyes adjusted to the glow of the wrought-iron chandeliers, Lorcan’s face had changed. His eyes might never be warm, but a bland smile was on his face, his shoulders relaxed—as if he were slightly inconvenienced by the wait but eager for a good meal. He almost looked human.

I know I said I despised Lorcan, but at least he’s willing to listen to Elide and make an effort to disguise himself. Maybe these chapters won’t be too painful to read.

“Brother,” Lorcan murmured so no one else could hear. “I am your brother.” “You are my husband,”  [Elide] said with equal quiet. “We have been married three months. Follow my lead.”

I see your “pretending to date/be married’ fanfic trope, SJM. I see you.

[Elide] said simply, “Men will not fear the threat of a brother. I would still be unclaimed—still be open for … invitations. I have seen how little respect men have for anything they think they are entitled to. So you are my husband,” she hissed, “until I say otherwise.”

Jesus, way to throw men under the bus. Why is it that all unnamed and minor male characters in SJM’s books are addicted to rape and sexual harassing women? Like I know it happens in this time period ( and today) but Christ, all of these men are just frothing at the mouth to claim a woman or some shit.

Elide listens to the next table, which turns out to be a traveling carnival group.

Elide lifted her eyes to Lorcan’s—he gave a nod. She took a sip of her stew, steeling herself, thinking of Asterin Blackbeak. Charming, confident, fearless. She’d always had her head at a jaunty angle, a looseness to her limbs, a hint of a smile on her lips. Elide took a breath, letting those memories sink into muscle and flesh and bone.

Awww, I love little tidbits like this, showing how much of an impact Manon and her Thirteen had on Elide. Girls supporting girls is so important and precious.

Elide manages to convince the carnival group that she and Lorcan are traveling performers, and they are allowed in. I’m starting to warm up to Elide again - she uses her intelligence, he speaking skills, and her wits to solve her problems. It’s refreshing compared to the other characters always using magic and strength.

His wife. Gods above.

Unghhh, Lorcan’s POV.

Lorcan ignored the hand the bearded man offered and jumped into the back of the wagon, reminding himself to sit close to Marion, to put an arm around her bony shoulders and look relieved and happy to have a troupe again.

But again, he’s making an effort at least. That’s more than Aelin would do; she’d just threaten to burn everyone in her path until she gets her way.

Marion rolled her eyes, patting Lorcan’s knee. He nearly cringed at every touch. Even with his lovers, outside the bed itself, he didn’t like casual, careless contact. Some found that intolerable. Some thought they could break him into a decent male who just wanted a home and a good female to work beside him. Not one of them had succeeded.

Christ Lorcan, she’s just patting your knee. Right after I gave your kudos for putting effort into your disguise and everything.

“I want to see life—see the world,” Marion said, her voice softening. “I want to see everything.” Lorcan wondered if Marion would even get to do that if he failed in his task, if the Wyrdkey he carried wound up in the wrong hands.

Like I said, gonna be a doozy when Lorcan finds out his Wyrdkey is a fake.

Does it sound like I’m stretching for things to say? Because I am. Honestly this subplot is just.... really really boring. It’s just Lorcan being grumpy and brooding and while Elide is a nice and interesting character, SJM just isn’t doing anything cool with her aside from the occasional little moment here and there.

“But Aelin Galathynius,” Nik mused. Marion’s hand went limp on Lorcan’s knee. “Who knows what she will do. She has not called for aid, has not asked soldiers to come to her. Yet she held Rifthold in her grip—killed the king, destroyed his castle. But gave the city back.” The bench beneath them groaned as Marion leaned forward. “What do you know of Aelin?”

NO NO I’M SORRY I TAKE IT BACK THIS SUBPLOT IS INTERESTING PLEASE NO AELIN GUSHING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

“Rumors, here and there,” Nik said, shrugging. “They say she’s beautiful as sin—and colder than ice. They say she’s a tyrant, a coward, a whore. They say she’s gods-blessed—or gods-damned. Who knows? Nineteen seems awfully young to have such burdens … Rumor claims her court is strong, though. A shape-shifter guards her back—and two warrior-princes flank her on either side.”

Aedion is the one who came up with the guarding her sides/back thing. How the fuck do other people know about it? Also unghhh everyone in this book just has to be royalty don’t they.

Some soldiers stop them and order them all out, presumable looking for Elide. Then they fuck off and Lorcan angsts about happy endings and how Elide’s goal is foolish.

There was no such thing as a better world—no such thing as a happy end. Because there were no endings.

Don’t be like that Lorcan, you’re a hot attractive magic dude in a shitty YA book. Of course you’re gonna get a happy ending. Next chapter!

Rowan Whitethorn just needed a place to rest. He didn’t give a shit if it was a bed or a pile of hay or even beneath a horse in a stable. As long as it was quiet and there was a roof to keep out the driving veils of rain, he didn’t care.

Dorian and Rowan have made it to Skull’s Bay.

But [Rowan] and the young king had chosen another route, during the many hours he’d made good on his promise to teach Dorian about magic. They’d worked for only minutes at a time—since it’d be no use if the king wrecked their little boat should his power slip its leash. So it had been exercises with ice: summoning a ball of frost to his palm, letting it melt. Over and over.

Aww, this is nice. I kinda wish we could’ve actually seen this, but it’s a nice mental image nonetheless.

But as if the gods themselves wanted to test him, a gust of rain-cooled wind sprayed into their faces, and some sense pricked in its wake. A shift in the air. Like a great pocket of power gathered close, beckoning. The knife at his side was instantly in his soaked hand as he searched the rooftops, revealing only plumes of rain. Rowan quieted his mind, listening to the city and storm around them.

So Rowan’s magic picks up some shady shit. What, pray tell, could be after them in Skull’s Bay?

Rowan sheathed his knife. “Then stay close and keep alert.”

Oh. Never mind, then. We transition then into Dorian’s POV.

Aelin had once confirmed that Rolfe was indeed soulless and indeed tattooed. As for the map … She’d shrugged, saying Rolfe claimed it stopped moving when magic fell. Dorian wondered if that map now indicated that he and Rowan walked through his city—if it marked them as enemies.

Seriously, Rolfe is so cool. A pirate damned without a soul with a magic map on his hands? Gimmie that novel! I wish SJM actually did something with the cool concepts she makes.

Two guards stood halfway down the block—guards not for any uniform, but for the fact that they were standing in this storm, hands on their swords. Rowan angled his head in a way that told Dorian the prince was likely contemplating whether it was worth it to chuck the men into the roiling harbor.

Rowan: How dare Darrow imply that my gf and I can’t be proper leaders? We are extremely talented in diplomacy!

Also Rowan: Hmm I’m gonna toss the guards of the guy I arranged a meeting with into the ocean lol.

Storm-Chaser. Lady Ann. Tiger-Star. The sterns of ships. Every table was made from them. They hadn’t been taken from wrecks. No, this was a trophy room—a reminder to those who met with the Pirate Lord of how, exactly, he had gained his crown.

Seriously why are SJM’s side characters so awesome and bad ass and intriguing but her main cast is so boring and lacks any development? Cut out Aelin and her court and give me a novel about Darrow, the witches, and Rolfe’s pirate army. I’d pay good money for that fic.

A door behind the bar opened, and a slim, brown-haired young woman stepped out. Her apron marked her as the barmaid, but her shoulders were back, head high—gray eyes sharp and clear as she scanned them and remained unimpressed. “He was wondering when you two would come snooping,” she said, her accent rich and thick—like Aedion’s.

Aye lmaooo you call them out girl.

Dorian nodded, something in his chest easing. “And you—your magic is … better?” That hard face yielded nothing. “I’ll manage.” Not an answer.

Lmao don’t worry Dorian, as soon as Rowan needs his magic he’ll be able to shoot frost balls out of his ass. Because what is a magic system?

Dorian didn’t know what he expected from the Lord of Pirates. But a dark-haired man, a day past thirty if that, lounging on a red velvet chaise before the rain-splattered curve of windows was not it.

Damn, SJM, you gonna leave me hanging just as soon as we get to an awesomely built up character? Apparently so.

[inonibird]

Ok, I’m a babby-n00b fan (it’s been what, two weeks, three?), but I really frickin’ love the band The Dear Hunter and I want to gush about their music and I enjoy ranking things so...yeah, here’s me talking about my favorite songs from the Acts. (no major story spoilers)

Please feel free to completely ignore if you aren’t interested in my semi-coherent and less-than-sophisticated ramblings. X’D

First of all, if you aren’t familiar with these concept albums, the Acts (I-V as of 2016) tell the ongoing story about the life and death of a character known as “the Boy” or “the Dear Hunter”. Leitmotifs, repeated lyrics and reprises abound. Basically prog rock opera. *two thumbs up* I dig it, obviously. Picking a top 10 list is ROUGH, man, so I’m going to take a cue from the Nostalgia Critic and bump it up to 11. Even then, I have far too many honorable mentions. LOOK, ALL OF THIS MUSIC IS GREAT OK??? But these are my personal favorites:

11. “Life and Death” - “We stand here waaaaittiiiiinnnggg, waiting to diiiiiieeeee~” UUGGHH it gets me every time. Both the lyrics and the music itself capture something that is sweet, heartbreaking, depressing and yet hopeful all at once. The gentle piano reprise plays us out of one of my favorite Acts.

10. “Wait” - Probably the most…hmm, “popular-sounding” songs on my list. I tend to gravitate toward the theatrical numbers, and while this one plays out a bit more like a typical rock song, it’s really frickin’ good. REALLY good. I mean, it wouldn’t be on my list if I didn’t love it to bits. CHORD PROGRESSIONS.

9. “The Most Cursed of Hands / Who Am I” - This was not at all a song I was expecting to like, but LOOK AT IT NOW! All I had to do was keep listening, dammit. The slow build pays off around the middle, then it BOMBARDS you with bluesy awesomeness (as well as a fleeting, nifty callback to “Mustard Gas”; more on that one soon, haha) up through the groovy, slick “Who Am I”. Great combo.

8. “At the End of the Earth” - I usually measure my love of a song based off of how much I rock out to them in the car, and I’m less inclined to listen to slower tunes in that instance. That said, this one is just so poignant and builds up to a  excellent, powerful jam. And guess what? Chord progressions. :B

7. “Mustard Gas” - "HERE THEY ARE!” *BUM BUM BUH BUM BUM BUH* This one blasts it out of the park with its orchestrations (dat brass), and we’re definitely getting into the “sing at the top of your lungs in the car” territory at this part of the list. The middle section is a delightful, unexpected treat sandwiched between the bombast. So yeah. War sucks. Song rocks.

6. “King of Swords (Reversed)” - This song was SO UNEXPECTED. The first time I heard it, I was actually pissed off. I didn’t even make it past 10 seconds, just skipped to the next track. When I finally went back and forced myself to get through it…well, color me contrite. That CHORUS. And the last 30 or so seconds of the song proper (before the outro) gives off such an awesome Jesus Christ Superstar vibe. This jumped so high on my list SO FAST.

5. “A Beginning” - This song MURDERS me. As the finale for Act V, it obviously packs narrative punch, and there’s no way I can have listened to the entire story so far and NOT be super emotional about this ending. It’s gorgeous. It’s powerful. It’s heart-rending. It’s a goddamn frisson bomb. And I cry every time. No, you don’t understand. EVERY. TIME. I mean, I’ll be the first to admit that I cry easily (and I get extremely worked up about beautiful music), but damn this one hits me hard. All I have to do is THINK the words “Dear apparition” and WHOOPS there go my glottis and tear ducts. There’s also a cool parallel with Act IV’s closer, “Ouroboros”...but I think the melody works better here. ;)

4. “The Pimp and the Priest” - From the skeevy muted trumpet at the outset to the cringe-worthy concepts strung through the lyrics, this song ooooozes with mood-setting villainy. This is a fantastic introduction to the main antagonist (my favorite character, of course), and by far my favorite song from the first Act. That chorus STICKS, man. This one’s a gem. A gross gem. I love it. :’D

3. “The Poison Woman” - Hey, speaking of the Pimp/Priest, did you miss him in Act III? Well, I did, because I listened to all of this shit out of order. BUT YES, fortunately, the Poison Woman was here to fill the void. This is far and away my favorite chorus of any song. Casey’s voice sounds amazing up there in the stratosphere, and it’s just so much damn good, messed-up fun.

2. “The March” - Now, I understand this may not seem fair. This song is a mash-up of so many songs that came before it (many of which I haven’t even listed in my top 11; an exception being “Wait”, which took me an embarrassingly long time to realize)…but y’know what? I don’t care. This is such a fantastic integration of those themes and a perfect culmination of the Pimp/Priest’s character. Still pure villainy, of course, but twisted into something that feels almost righteous, given the spoilerific circumstances. I am head over heels for this one. The vocal arpeggios in the verses and just…the whole…mob scene vibe…so good…a triumph… *dead*

1. “The Bitter Suite IV and V: The Congregation and the Sermon in the Silt” - Who here is remotely surprised? This was my introductory song to The Dear Hunter and it will always be my favorite. I’ve loved villain songs all my life. I remember when I was a wee child, my friend and I were “playing the Little Mermaid” and I insisted that SHE be Ariel so I could be Ursula and sing “Poor Unfortunate Souls”. I mean, duh, right? Anyway, this song has everything that I love, not the least of which being an oom-pah baseline AND AN ACTUAL CONTRABASSOON HOLY SHIT SO GOOD. Theatricality, lyrics that verge on the edge of patter, incredible orchestrations, more of that delicious Vaudevillian vibe, the subject matter, the sleaze OH GOD THE SLEAZE, that frickin’ build-up/transition from The Congregation TO the Sermon in the Silt, “HEY HEY KID HEY KID GET A GOD”—I—just… *rolls around in the beautiful filth forever*

Honorable Mentions:

“The Writing on a Wall” / “Rebirth” / “Regress” - I couldn’t pick one. All three of these set the mood so well for their respective albums. Excuse me while I go harmonize with each of them right now.

“Moon / Awake” - It’s NOT FAIR that this song has so much crossover with “A Beginning”. But “A Beginning” is more significant to me emotionally, and I decided it would be a bit much to put this one in my top 11 list as well. Still, amazing bookends for the album. And I can listen to this without crying. Usually. :’D

“He Said He Had a Story” - This song is so wrong. So very, very wrong. I feel horrible for loving it as much as I do, but half the love is for how much it makes you HATE the character singing it. The other half is because it’s catchy as hell.

“Blood of the Rose” - Oh, look, an Act II song. I guess people really like Act II? Ehh. It doesn’t have the production values or symphonic lavishness that I adore in the final three Acts. Still, this mournful tango gives me chills.

“The Flame (Is Gone)” - An unconventional little tune, but those beguiling chord progressions, as well as the narrative significance...and when I realized what was happening in the song…no spoilers, but whoof.

“Blood” - IF ONLY FOR THE CLIMACTIC INTERWEAVING OF THE PIMP/PRIEST’S THEME. It’s so damn cathartic in the context.

“The Revival” - It didn’t seem right not to include this one in my favorites, being pretty damn villainous, but there is something about it that falls a tiny bit short for me. Maybe it just needs more oom-pahs? That said, the chorus is another winner.

“If All Goes Well” - I really, really wished I cared more for the first 2:25 of the song, because the rest is PURE GOLD. It’s beautiful. And there is more bassoon. Inoni approves.

Gosh, so much good music. And so many reprises that weave leitmotifs in and out of the narrative and really bring the story together as a fantastic, cohesive whole. So much love.

…Now do I have to rank the Acts? 8(

Nah. Nope. Can’t do it. III, IV & V are too close to call. Too good in different ways, too good for different moods. Just...all the love, yeah.

Anyway, guess it’s time to explore the rest of their music! So happy that there’s so much more to hear~ 83c