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loved-lefthaunted · 3 years

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What are your thoughts on all the evermore songs?

oh my god. this is such a hard question for me so brace yourself. it’s taken me nearly 2 months to write this out and i still don’t think i’ve managed to encapsulate all my thoughts.

So, I have very strong feelings about evermore. I immediately loved it three times as much as folklore, for a variety of reasons. I can do a song-by-song breakdown alongside my general thoughts of the album below:

Firstly, I want to preface this by saying that I do not disregard the impact that folklore had on me prior to evermore’s release. I am not oblivious to the fact that folklore likely primed me for the sound that evermore had and that my mind was set up for a similar sounding album so was willing to receive it with more open ears.

That being said, I think that evermore is the superior album. The overall emotional range and sonic variety of the album is wider and more thought out. The different songs provide a more well-rounded listen in my opinion and give me much more emotional investment than folklore. Each individual song feels strong and there are far more songs with single potential than folklore.

So let’s get down to it:

1. Willow - iconic. The big sister that cardigan deserves. The song that I wish the Lover album had been. A song so fully devoted in such a soft and sweeet way without feeling sickly. A mature way to dedicate a song to the person that you can’t live without but in a way that doesn’t throw pink confetti at your face and tell single people to fuck off. TAKE MY HAND? OKAY TAYLOR. WRECK MY PLANS? FOR SURE BABES. THAT’S MY MAN? 100% FEEL U GAL.

2. Champagne Problems - LOOK. I AM CLAIMING THE NAME SAMPAGNE PROBLEMS FOR ALL FUTURE CONTENT. I want to be proposed to just so that I can reject them and then get wildly drunk on overpriced alcohol. It’s heartwrenching in a way that Taylor hasn’t been since the likes of Treacherous. It doesn’t throw sadness at you, overwhelm you with tears. It hides heartbreak within a soft piano riff and gorgeous imagery.

3. Gold Rush - a sapphic daydream. i cannot believe this is real. The return of a heart-thumping drumbeat and the most lovely, pure song that just describes the infatuation with someone beautiful and how you can wonder about them and be so happy about them and jealous of them all at once.

4. ‘Tis The Damn Season - this christmas song makes me wish i had a boy next door in my hometown that i could randomly sleep with. why don’t i have a fluffy hallmark holiday film based upon this premise? why isn’t there a christmas music video to show me how their interactions work during the holidays and how it differs so vastly with their normal lives? Why can i feel both the distance and the closeness that these two people feel? the cutest dedication to a very un-cute casual relationship. a bittersweet shout out to the people who make us happy for a few fleeting moments spread out over the long haul.

5. Tolerate It - i have very VERY strong feelings about this one. it feels like it both encapsulates romantic and non-romantic love so perfectly. It pairs perfectly with the likes of Closure (more on that later). We all deserve to be celebrated. In a world of people settling for less than they deserve, we should reach for those who deserve us. We are worth it. Find someone who will show us how worthy we are. It’s aching and slow and painful and just....everything. Just because someone has always been there doesn’t mean they deserve to continue to be there. Tolerating you is not the same as deserving your loyalty.

6. No Body, No Crime (feat. HIAM) - IT TOOK 14 YEARS BUT TAYLOR FINALLY MURDERED A MAN IN COLD BLOOD AND I AM HERE FOR IT. MEN ARE TRASH, LADIES. REMEMBER THIS. ENGRAVE IT INTO YOUR TOMBSTONES. TATTOO IT ON YOUR FOREHEADS. MEN AS AN ENTITY DO NOT DESERVE US. MURDER THEM. A YEEHAW DREAM. (I have no strong feelings about HIAM but the existence of Este’s name is a blessing in itself, their backing vocals are a lovely addition and a true testament to their friendship as we know how protective Taylor is about mixing business and friendship through collaborations)

7. Happiness - this song is HURTFUL. a song about growth, a song about finding yourself amidst the loss of a partner, a friend, a family member. a loss so deep that it will hurt you for years to come and take a piece of you away forever. but a loss that you have to be resigned to and grow from and let go of. the slow build of the backing is something i haven’t heard since Holy Ground. Both songs talk about loss and moving on in such starkly different ways but still encompass the feeling of reminiscing on something good and pure and perfect whilst battling the knowledge that it’s over and trying to be happy for the person now that they’re gone.

8. Dorothea - the sweetest girl in the neighbourhood. a childhood friend that we all miss having. a person we watched grow into something massive and successful and we’re so genuinely happy for them. the song encompasses the feeling of a distanced joy. a joy that has nothing to do with you, everything to do with this person that you’d be happy to accept again with open arms but will be equally as happy to watch succeed from a distance. a bouncy backing track and lovely vocalisations that really build a sense of a warm hug and the feeling of soft morning sun on your skin.

9. Coney Island (feat. The National) - alright. so i’m sat on a bench in the cold, wrapped up in a winter coat and a hat and gloves and a massive scarf that covers half of my face. i can see the air when i breathe out. there’s an empty ferris wheel at a deserted fairground and i can remember when it was alive and bustling and when i was surrounded by all of the people closest to me on a late summer’s day. and i miss them. i yearn for that to be back. the way we yearn for a time before covid, before masks and elbow touches and sanitising everything. a time when you could sit around a table with your friends and welcome someone with a hug and visit your family for the holidays. a time of joy that was so overlooked until it was gone. The presence of The National is also a breathtaking addition and truly deserved after Aaron’s input on both folklore and evermore. I’m glad they saved it for this song.

10. Ivy - this song just radiates GREEN. Am I in a forest? Am I just in a greenhouse, watering the plants? The guitar/banjo sounds make me so horrifically nostalgic for Speak Now era. The male backing vocals remind me that Taylor has evolved so far from the girl we used to exclusively listen in conjunction with Caitlin Bird and Liz Huett.

11. Cowboy Like Me - one of the only songs I don’t really care about? it’s not bad, it’s just not great. it’s yeehaw without the accompanying passion. It’s the end of a sad, sad wild west movie. It’s a backing track in a scene of a TV show when someone is going on a journey alone to find themselves. But it’s nothing special.

12. Long Story Short - DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH ME. THE BEST SONG ON THIS ALBUM IN MY OPINION. THE STRONGEST BEAT, THE NOSTALGIA OF 1989, THE LYRICS OF RED, THE FUCKS GIVEN OF REPUTATION. THE PERFECT IMMERSIVE TAYLOR EXPERIENCE. TRULY A 10/10 ENTITY. I WILL HAVE THIS PLAYING AT MY GRADUATION. I SURVIVED.

13. Marjorie - the loss of a grandparent is always a lot. i’ve lost 2 due to Covid and it’s cut me deeper than I ever imagined. Marjorie is the 50′s sepia toned daydream that sends you flying back to being a child and being taught life’s most important lessons when you were far too young to understand them from someone so much wiser than you. It feels like I’m being taught to live again. Another build up backing track, but in such an uplifting way? A way that makes you think of the sun slowly coming out of the clouds. Of the end of a rainstorm and the start of a new day. Optimism and innocence. Peace and hope.

14. Closure - right, the return of sadness. The use of the clatter and discord in the background. The death of a Big Machine (subtle and perfectly done). She’s doing better. We all are. It reminds me of the friends I’ve lost and crave to have back but know I’m better off without. We have to let go of this. Close the chapter. You don’t even need the epilogue, it’s over. The production makes me so uncomfortable and it’s SO NECESSARY because lack of closure is UNSETTLING. It’s horrifying. It’s devastating. But the lyrics and the power of the song show how strong you can be and how important it is to push through the discomfort and continue to live.

15. Evermore (feat. Bon Iver) - the titular song. The return of Bon Iver’s vocals and the lone piano background are truly something to be commemorated for years to come. Although it lacks the painstaking hurt of Exile, this is one of her most simple pieces of artistry on this album and it’s BEAUTIFUL. Something that feels bare and raw. A song that cuts deep and shows us the true core of what she’s currently feeling right now: that although pain might feel forever, it’s not. all pain, much like joy, is fleeting and we have to feel it but we need to remember that it’s only a piece of our experience and place it into context. The song veers on self-pity and wallowing in hopelessness until the latter third, where suddenly hope rises out of the ashes alongside a slightly padded out production from Bon Iver’s vocals. A strong end to the album. This song sets us up for future albums on a note of optimism. It’s a new dawn.

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trashi-bee · 4 years

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Sugar

Pairing: Maid! Reader x Sugar Daddy! Vince

Warnings: 18+ (smut), daddy kink, hair pulling, slapping, fem masturbation, fingering

Lil Summary: After months of relentlessly trying to get Vince’s attention to no avail, he finally gives you the recognition you desire when discovering you playing with yourself on his couch, providing you with an offer you can’t refuse.

Requested Tags: @freddiessmallnipples

Taking another glance in the mirror, you criticized your appearance. Months of trying to look your best and you’ve yet to get his attention. Working within his home has allowed you special access to his personal life; how he passes the time, who he knows, the type of women he surrounds himself with. You strove effortlessly to revamp every inch of your existence, longing to mimic nearly every aspect he savored - the kissable lips, seductive and smooth legs, paired with a sultry attitude. As time passed, your confidence faded, why hadn’t he noticed your efforts?

Voyaging through the vast halls yet again, you searched for anything misplaced or tarnished. Your impeccable eye for cleanliness has allowed you to keep this job for as long as you have, previous maids quitting when they’d be faced with the state of the mansion after a particularly hectic night. The truth is, you loved to clean up after Vince. It brought you joy to sort through his dirty little secrets while being paid, the salary provided a mere bonus.

He’d be arriving home soon and you expected him to be pleased. Stopping near the doorway, you bent over to align his expansive range of footwear, lining them up as to make them perfectly symmetrical, pleasing to the eye. You’d work effortlessly to rid him of every irritant in his life, even if that meant getting down on your knees and scrubbing the floor until your skin was raw. Upon hearing his car pull into the driveway you apply a final layer of shimmery pink lip gloss, hiking up your skirt higher than it ought to be.

Sauntering through the elevated doors of the entryway, he flashes you his traditional smile. His pearly white teeth and expertly tousled blonde hair was enough to make anybody with taste swoon, it was no mystery as to why such a number of women wished to be in his company. From his face, your eyes trailed down his body, he was sporting a form fitting, black tank top that fit just right and a light blue pair of denim jeans that hugged his crotch in the most delicious way, on his feet, his usual pair of cowboy boots.

Gazing around the room, his piercing eyes fall on you “Place looks great, Y/N, why don’t you relax for a while? I know how hard you work, maybe a little free time could be beneficial”, a wave of satisfaction advances through your body, the slightest bit of recognition very much appreciated. “But- Vince, I still have so many chores to comple-“, interrupting before you could finish, he waves his forefinger in the air, a gesture that alluded he was unwilling to let you protest any further, “You’ve done more than enough, please”. With no further conversation, he turns, making his way to the winding staircase that flows onto the second floor. The view you’re given of his ass as he walks away is one you remind yourself to keep for future use, every inch of his body appearing to be chiseled in stone.

As you’ve never allowed yourself any leisure time while at work, you’re unsure of where to start. Sorting through the options in your head, you’re diverted by the resonating sound of the television echoing throughout the spacious room. MTV was on, playing a continuous loop of today’s top hits and interviews with strung out rock stars.

Making your way towards the T.V, you settle on the adjacent couch, turning up the volume and laying back. Relaxing in Vince’s home was something you could come to enjoy, sitting back and taking the time to relish in his environment felt right, the smell of him clinging to the interior being a source of instant relief.

As one video ends, another starts. A familiar face appears on the screen, one you’ve seen so many times before, Vince. Every clip of him so enticing, the way he sways his hips so utterly delectable. His voice is ethereal, extremely divine in a way that it feels too perfect for this world. While each member of the band was beautiful, he was the only one you could ever seem to focus on, the one who really drew your attention. In a poor lapse of judgment, you’re drawn to your now wanting core, fingers playing on the outside of your barely-there lace underwear. Legs drawn up onto the couch, you stare attentively into the screen as you toy with your sensitive nub. The mere sight of Vince doing what he loved in a tight pair of pants was more than enough to get you off.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, a testament to the overwhelming sexual gratification the sight of him brings you, the power he unconsciously holds over your mind and body is unprecedented. For him, and only him, you’re reduced to nothing more than a raunchy adulteress, willing to partake in his every whim and desire. Applying further pressure on your nether region, you separate your folds through the thin fabric, the wet patch forming more than evident. With a slight change of placement, your fingers move to hook on the cloth obstructing you from finally feeling bare skin. Moving the material to the side, you slide your fingers across your soaking sex, a feeling that provides you with a shiver that travels up your spine and dissipates.

The pleasure, however, is not enough to mask the fear evident within your mind of possibly getting caught. Were Vince to catch you on his couch, toying with your desperate cunt, watching him as he performed on T.V, he’d almost certainly relieve you of your duties, leaving you heart broken and without a job. Although, fear is a brilliant aphrodisiac, the near exhibitionist nature of your naughty escapades only increases your lust for more. So many times had you yearned to get off in Vince’s home, the urge to bury your face into his previously worn clothing and get off to his musk was an idea that constantly plagued your mind, but you had always been able to avoid it. Yet, today your guard had been let down more than usual, your devious desires finding their way to the surface and springing free.

The excessive amount of slick produced from your most sensitive area begins to travel down your body and pool on the leather seat beneath your backside, a sign you’re prepared to provide yourself with further stimulation. Taking a single digit, you slide into yourself, the pressure provided not nearly enough, but satisfactory. Accordingly, a second digit joins the first, which feels proportionately better. Curling upwards, you create a hook inside of yourself, rubbing exactly where you need the most pressure. Approaching an inevitable, building climax, you’re cut short, a voice pulling you from the trance you’ve entangled yourself in.

“Care to explain what you’re doing?”, an embarrassingly audible pop can be heard as you frantically pull your fingers from your sensitive cunt, a horrified expression painted on your face. Your mind running a million miles a minute, internally cursing yourself for being so mindless. Gradually, you turn your gaze to where he stands, having made his way to the bottom of the staircase without you noticing, how long had he been watching? Stumbling over your words, you look like a fucking fool, searching for any reason to explain your lewd behavior.

You’re met with the opposite of what you’d expected, a smile that dripped with mischievous intent plastered on his flawless face. His eyes taking in the scene before him; your fingers aloft, legs spread upon the couch, skirt hauled up past your panties, and the screen in front of you, alive with his presence. In an instant, his form looms over your own, his large hand reaching forward to take hold of the two digits you had been using to play with yourself. A brief inspection of the liquefied arousal present on your fingers brings him to huff, “Why fuck yourself to my image when I’m in the next goddamn room?

Blood rushing to your face, a red hue envelops your cheeks. You had no words, no explanation. “You know, had you made it a little more fuckin’ clearer I’d be happy to help, seein’ that tight little ass strut around my home was starting to drive me nuts, the amount of times I’ve thought of mounting that pretty frame o’ yours-“ stopping himself, he speaks again “I’ve even thought of having you be my live in bitch, a pretty little dolly that I shower in money and affection, in turn, you give me everything I want, would you like that?”

You nod frantically, the proposition everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He tuts, slapping your thighs with enough force for it to sting, involuntarily making you spread your legs further apart than they had already been. “Speak to me baby, I need to hear your words”, your doe eyes look to his, lashes fluttering and lips pouting as you speak, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted, daddy”

Content with your answer, he sinks to his knees, face close enough to your exposed cunt to make you giggle. Moving to pull an item from his back pocket, he retrieves what looks to be a wad of cash. “Since you can’t keep your hands out of your panties, you’re gonna choke on daddy's money as he finishes you off, okay sugar?”, with a tight grip of your hair, you’re brought forward, his other hand holding the bundle of legal tender, “open wide”, Your tongue slips forward, exiting your mouth as you widen your jaw to its full extent, the hunk of bills placed delicately on your waiting muscle. He places his hand on the underside of your chin, forcing you to bite down on the intrusion within your mouth.

A muffled mewl sounds through the room as he moves his hand southward, ghosting across your skin to your still-soaked cunt, toying with the outside of your entrance, exactly where you wanted him most. Rolling your hips forward in a desperate attempt for further friction, he brings his other hand free from your locks, slapping you across the face in an act of dominance. “I don’t like being disobeyed, kitten, stay still like a good little pet or you don’t get your treat”

Due to fear of not being brought to climax your hips still, respecting his authority. With a hum of appreciation, he’s brought back to the task at hand.Thick fingers enter your wanton hole, digits quick to scissor and massage your insides. Immediately, you’re brought back to the state you had been in when he interrupted your playtime, heat pooling in your groin and signalling a quick but explosive orgasm on its way.

As if the waves of pleasure flowing through your body hadn’t been enough, Vince had to apply another stimulant to drive you off the edge. Bringing his soft lips forward, he’s quick to lick at your sensitive nub, sucking and nipping at your most tender area to make you come undone at his will. His tongue at your clit, the fingers deep in your cunt and the wad of bills stuffed into your mouth work together simultaneously to bring you to a mind altering climax, drool dripping from your lips as you convulsed under Vince’s relentless, unforgiving touch.

Spitting the cash from your mouth, you attempt to catch your breath. Body still shaking from the aftershocks of the handling you’ve endured. Pulling from your cunt, Vince licks the slick provided by your pulsating hole from his hand, reveling in the taste of your essence.

Looking at the state you’re in, he laughs, amusement evident in his expression. “Clean yourself up, sugar, daddy's got much more he wants to try”.

#Motley Crue #Vince Neil #vince neil x reader #vince neil imagine #vince neil fanfic #motley crue fanfiction #motley #crue #motley crue fandom #80s rock #80s Icons #80s hair metal #80s #glam rock #fanfic

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thegoldendice · 4 years

Text

Love Is A Battlefield

Fandom - American Horror Story 1984

Pairing - Xavier Plympton/Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - Suicide, Violence, Mental Heath Issues, Sexual Content, Language, Religious Content

Chapter - 9/12

Read on - ao3, ff.net

Fic Summary - The year is 1984. You're a poor student living alone in L.A., plagued by your problematic relationships with a false friend and a disturbed ex. You meet Xavier Plympton, an aerobics instructor with a dark past, at the gym where you’ve taken a reception job. You quickly develop feelings for him, and you learn to your relief that he likes you too. Soon a deadly series of events befall you and the people in your life. Overwhelmed by tragedy and with your blossoming romance cut short, you are left a wreck. Six years later you discover that while Xavier is dead, he hasn’t quite departed. You soon realise that if you are to be with him and finally achieve true peace and happiness, you must take your own life and become a Camp Redwood ghost.

Chapter Summary - Ray hears of your decision to stay at Redwood and feels compelled to change your mind on spiritual grounds.

You watch as specs of dust dance and swirl around each other within the slice of afternoon sunlight that enters through the cabin window. You feel at peace now that Xavier has come to accept your decision. He lies beside you, eyes closed but not asleep. He can't sleep in fact, however, he has been able to learn how to shut everything out, to gain an emptiness of mind that imitates slumber. It's the closest thing you will have to actual unconsciousness after your change. That is, once you have learned the technique as well. There will of course be other things to get used to, such as the loss of time. According to Xavier minutes, hours, and days will continue to pass in the outside world, but you will cease to be aware of their passing. The only change you will be aware of day-to-day is the weather, but temperature won't affect you. Should you wish to, you will be able to run around naked on a wet winter day. You will no longer feel hungry or crave nourishment of the edible kind.

You feel a little sad at the thought of the simple, human things you will lose. You try to remind yourself that you will have all the time in the world to grieve those losses, and Xavier will help you. As for personal relationships – you have none to mourn. You have a mother, but no father to speak of. Memories of a series of substitute dads ranging from lacklustre to downright maniacal arise. You will be glad to never think of any of them ever again. Your mom won't miss you. She spent the majority of the last six years attempting to have you institutionalised. You plan to write her a letter and post it when you leave the camp to get the supplies you will need to end your life. You will tell her you've gone travelling. She'll never find out what happened to you. Your brother, a self confessed waste of space, has been absent for years.

Xavier stirs at your side. You turn to look at him, taking in his dishevelled appearance. You spent the last few hours exploring each other's bodies, revelling in mutual joy and passion. You are continuing to realise how lucky you are, not only to have met someone you are so emotionally and physically compatible with but to have been given the chance to remain with them even in death. Darkness has tarnished both of your lives, casting an ever-present shadow over your existences, but because of this, you have a deep understanding of each other's personal trauma. You lean in to kiss his forehead and are rewarded with a soft, sweet smile. He keeps his eyes closed, but breathes a deep sigh of satisfaction. Breathing is the one thing Xavier hasn't been able to let go of yet. You suspect you will try to hold on to it as well, a small reminder that you were once a living thing.

You are about to close your eyes to try and drift off when a knock comes at the front door, shattering your peaceful bubble. You see and feel Xavier’s muscles tense.

“Who's there?” he calls out.

“It's Ray. I need to talk to Y/n.”

You look at Xavier, feeling suddenly confused. “Why the hell would Ray want to talk to me? I don't think he ever said a single word to me back in L.A.”

“I think I might know. Ray hates it here, he always has. He has it in his head that we're all damned. The idiot probably wants to try to convince you to leave.”

“Montana couldn't.” You shrug, highly doubting Ray's ability to change your mind.

“Sure, but she's super laid back these days. Ray probably thinks he can nag you all the way to the fucking entrance sign. Honestly, Y/n, he will try.”

With that, Xavier hauls himself out of bed. He gets dressed and tosses your clothes towards you. You loathe the thought of having to see another person in your current state. Your hair is all over the place and you seriously need a shower. You kick yourself for leaving your car parked halfway up the road to the camp, thinking about the wet wipes you keep in the glovebox. For some reason, rather than drive all the way here, you had the urge to ditch the car just off the dirt track and walk the remaining twenty minutes to that mouldering wooden sign. It had seemed like a good idea at the time - a chance to breathe some fresh air.

You hear Ray knock again, harder this time.

“We heard you, just wait!” Xavier snaps in the direction of the door, his good mood completely gone. You wonder if he's worried that Ray will actually have some kind of effect on you.

“There's nothing he could say that would convince me to change my mind.” You try your best to sound reassuring. “I know everything now, right? There are no more secrets?”

Xavier frowns as you pull your shirt over your head.

Fuck. Why is he frowning?

“There's one more thing. It's not a big deal, that's why I didn't tell you earlier.”

You breathe evenly, trying to remain calm.

“What is it?”

“Remember I told you that Ramirez is here?”

You nod warily.

“Well, he has some kind of satanic deal going on that allows him to leave. So... we all take it in turns to make sure he stays. We kill him again and again, every time he revives. That's the only thing I haven't told you.”

You sit down on the bed just as Ray bursts through the door. Xavier swings around swiftly, but you are able to catch the furious look on his face first.

“What the fuck, man!? You can't just barge in here!” He yells.

Ray takes a step back, throwing up his arms defensively. “You were taking forever!”

“I was getting dressed.” Your voice comes out expressionless. Your disappointment that Xavier has, once again, kept something important from you leaves you feeling numb.

“I'm sorry. Really sorry.” Ray looks past Xavier to find your eyes.

“It's fine. You wanted to speak to me?”

Ray casts a sheepish glance in Xavier's direction. “Uh, yeah. Alone, if possible?”

Xavier looks at you. You nod, but make sure to smile at him. Despite the fact that he has made another mistake, you don't want him to worry.

“Fine.” He sighs, his gaze boring into yours. “I won't be far away.”

With that he leaves, but you notice him make sure that the cabin door is slightly ajar. You remain seated, looking towards Ray expectantly.

“I uh, I just felt I had to come. Montana told me about your plan. I think it's a really bad idea.” Ray shifts from foot to foot, unable, now, to meet your eyes.

“Why?” You ask.

Ray hesitates, then comes to sit beside you. You cringe a little internally, you are not at all comfortable having another man so close to you in the space that you have come to associate with Xavier and sex. Especially a man you really don't know. You hope that whatever Ray has to say, it will be quick.

“Look, Y/n, this might sound stupid but I need to say it. If you kill yourself and sentence your soul to an eternity here, you'll never be able to... move on.”

You try to remain patient. “I know that Ray.”

“But you'll never get to Heaven.” Ray says, the volume of his voice rising as he grows desperate.

You are surprised. You didn't realise that Ray was the religious type. You glance at him to see him twisting the edge of the blanket around his fingers. You feel a little sorry for him. He really is trying to help you.

“Ray, I don't want this to sound harsh because I actually appreciate what you're trying to do but, I'm not religious.” You strive to sound calm but firm. ”I don't believe in an afterlife, or Heaven and Hell. I'm sorry. I know that you probably see suicide as a sin, but I just don't. Why would I chose to die years down the line and cease to exist when I could stay here? This is better than a complete void.”

Ray remains silent for several seconds, staring at the floor. You brace yourself for an outpouring of overzealous rhetoric, but it doesn't come. Instead, Ray stands, turning to face you.

“I can't make you leave, and there's nothing I can really do to stop you. I know your type.” He blurts out angrily. “I've done my part. Just know this, I won't help to bury you.”

With that Ray leaves, stony-faced. All you feel is shock as a wave of sadness builds within you. You hate confrontation, especially when you are feeling so vulnerable. Xavier re-enters the cabin seconds later to find you crying silently. You feel him sink into the mattress and wrap you in his arms, rocking you gently and making shushing sounds.

“I'm gonna kill him.” Xavier growls.

You look into his blue eyes, sniffling. “No, you're not. He just wants to save my soul.”

“I know. I was listening at the door. Self-righteous ass. Him, not you.”

You let out a choked laugh, eyes still watery. You don’t even care that Xavier fucked up again. It’s not his fault. You really can’t expect him to be as aware as a human when he’s been stuck here for so long. He must see Ramirez as completely insignificant.

“I'd really rather you just left Ray alone. This must be hard for him.” You sigh. You had no idea that your decision to end your life would cause such an issue for someone you barely even know. “He will just have to learn to live with me.”

“Okay.” Xavier wipes a final tear from your cheek with his thumb, happy to adhere to your wishes. “I suppose we have some plans to make then?”

“We do.” You smile at him. “But first you need to explain this Ramirez situation to me properly. Am I going to have to join in the killing?”

Xavier shakes his head firmly. “No, absolutely not. I want you to know that you never have to do a single thing you don't want to here.”

Your smile grows bigger as you collapse into Xavier’s hug, relieved that he is beginning to learn what your needs are.

Notes: So I imagine that Ray wasn’t overly fussed with his religion in life which is why it’s not a thing in the show, however since his death he’s become quite preoccupied with it. Hope this fits for everyone. Also I have nothing against Ray but he just seemed to me from what we learned in the show like the type who would be most unhappy with Y/n’s plan.

#xavier plympton #xavier plympton x reader #xavier plympton x you #ahs #ahs xavier #ray powell #ahs 1984 #american horror story #american horror story 1984 #fanfic #ao3 #ff.net

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emberbent · 5 years

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Book 1: Fire | Chapter 4: Family Reunion

As he did with all his students, Amrit saw Shinza as a hunk of raw marble, and as he chiseled away, he started to unearth the statue within. Her method of bending was methodical and controlled; she combined strict textbook technique with inventive application, often surprising Amrit. But as beautiful and clean as her lines were, and as sufficient as her self-defense abilities were, she still lacked the core essence of what it meant to be a firebender. After a while, her progress came to a plateau.

He kept her training at a dogged pace, and she was up to the challenge. He had to give her that much: she was persistent. But after seeming to hit a wall, they both needed a break.

“You’re doing great,” Amrit encouraged, catching his breath at the end of the day’s session. They were both panting and covered with sweat. The smell of charred air surrounded them.

Shinza gulped down a cup of water. “But?”

Amrit sighed, taking his time with his own cup of water before finally getting down to it. “I worry. You’re doing well here, but I’m not confident that your bending won’t weaken once you leave. This heat, and being on the equator… it’s helping you, but it can also be a crutch.”

Gracefully, she bent and settled on the ground. “So how do I get stronger?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” Amrit replied, sitting across from her and looking her in the eye. “It’s been a struggle for you - I know it has. But your progress has plateaued because you still haven’t pinpointed your motivation. You need to be able to overpower your opponent with sheer force. Firebending by nature is an offensive art, and frankly, I don’t think you don’t have the resolve for it.”

He watched her. Being straightforward was something Shinza valued, but delivering such a blow to her ego wasn’t easy. Not with so much at stake, and with all of the pressure falling squarely on her shoulders.

“I know,” she replied quietly. Streaks of black soot marked her face, obscuring her freckles. Several strands of hair had come loose from her topknot and framed her face. She’d given this everything she had. “I’ve been trying. I really have.”

“I know you have,” Amrit assured her. “But I think you need a break. We’ve been training in the temple this whole time, but you’re not getting what you need here. Maybe you should do some wandering.”

“I thought it wasn’t safe for me to travel alone,” Shinza countered, thinking of Mai and Zhang and their incessant need to be glued to her side.

Amrit considered that. “I think it’ll be worth it. Besides, as far as I know, no one knows it’s you who’s the Avatar, and you’re skilled enough now that you could hold your own in a struggle.”

They were quiet for a while. Ever since the incident at the General’s Tea House, no one would let Shinza out of their sight - even Amrit, who was now realizing the value of showing his faith in her. The idea of being treated like the adult she was, to her, seemed wonderful. Then she said, “I think I know where I’m going to go.”

Shinza boarded a ferry to Fire Fountain City the next morning. She had dressed in mainland Fire Nation clothes, which was something she’d never done before, but for the first time in her life, she looked and felt proud. Maybe she wasn’t up to Amrit’s standards yet, but she’d come so far in the months she’d been on the island. What made a knot in her stomach, though, was the worry that this trip would be a waste. What if she didn’t find what she needed here? What if she disappointed Amrit? Or worse: what if she disappointed herself?

She stepped off the ramp and headed toward the address she’d seen on envelopes her whole life: her aunt and uncle’s apartment. She’d never met them before, but from all the pictures they sent and from the stories her father had read aloud from their letters, she felt like she did. Shinza wasn’t sure how they’d take to a surprise visit, but she’d had no way of letting them know she was coming. As she passed through the town square, she came upon what gave the city its name: the fire fountain. After Fire Lord Ozai’s flame-mouthed statue had been hauled to the ground and removed, the citizens of the town, under Fire Lord Zuko’s orders, had replaced the statue with the fountain. It was meant to symbolize the Fire Nation’s turning away from its past, and it was a beautiful sight when lit at twilight. But now it was broad daylight, and it seemed so much smaller than she pictures she’d seen of it with crowds gathered around it and with its floating lanterns glowing. It was hard not to be disappointed, but she kept going until she reached the address.

Shinza ascended the stoop and used the iron knocker to rap a couple times on the door, using the interim time to make sure not a hair was out of place. A couple seconds later, the door swung open, and a familiar face greeted her.

“Ohh!” her aunt Chiyo squealed, already holding her arms out. “Is that Little Shinza I see?”

“Hi, Aunt Chiyo,” Shinza responded, smiling through the vague discomfort of being ensnared in a monstrous hug and pulled into the apartment. The woman was much shorter than Shinza, and quite round, with a kind face and twinkling yellow eyes. She reached upward to cup Shinza’s cheeks and beamed into her niece’s face.

“Oh, what a joy!” she exclaimed. “I never thought we’d get the chance to meet you. What brings you to Fire Fountain City? Are your parents here? Oh, come in, come in! Please, make yourself comfortable. Everyone! Guess who’s here?”

Shinza found that the little apartment was full of people, all of whom she recognized, and all who had come to the living room to see her. Her uncle Akio, her cousin Kenzo, his wife Nhu, and their children, Lili and Khazan. All of them fussed over her, commenting on her physical similarity to her father, Chiyo’s brother.

“You’re just in time for dinner,” Chiyo sounded. “Are you hungry? I made a nice roast duck for the family. Oh, how lucky you came by today, when everyone’s here!”

“Sounds wonderful,” Shinza said; Lili and Khazan, who seemed boundlessly fascinated by their cousin, pulled her into the kitchen and offered her a place to sit. Gradually, she acclimated and started to feel comfortable. “It’s so nice to see all of you. I’ve seen pictures, but it’s not the same.”

“So what brings you to town?” Akio inquired, pulling out a chair for himself. “Taking a little vacation?”

“Something like that,” Shinza replied. “I’ve been working hard, and I needed a little getaway. And I thought, you know, maybe it’d be nice to meet you all.”

“Well, it’s just wonderful to meet you,” Akio beamed. “Tell us, how are your parents? What do you do for work? What’s it like in Republic City?”

Everyone around her leaned in, eager to hear. Shinza couldn’t help but laugh. All the attention was strange, but the magnitude of love she felt in the room was something she’d never forget. “Mom and Dad are fine,” she said. “Mom’s still practicing medicine, and Dad’s been enjoying his retirement as much as he can, for how badly his leg hurts him. I, uh… I’m an artist, technically, but I do some side work as a musician. Sometimes I dance, too, and sometimes I give lessons. Republic City’s nice like that - there’s always a job to take.”

“Oh, that’s just wonderful,” gushed Chiyo. To Shinza’s relief, no one gave her a hard time for not having followed in her parents’ footsteps. Chiyo chirped, “Bird’s on! Everyone come eat. Shinza, honey, you serve yourself first.”

With full plates, they all tucked in. The kitchen was filled with lively chatter, the heavenly scent of a meal made with love, and laughter. Topics of conversation wove and changed; Shinza had managed to tune out, finding the cacophony of everyone talking to each other and over each other simultaneously a little overwhelming; so had Nhu, was sitting beside her. The woman, who appeared to be a little older than Shinza, gave her an amicable smile as they continued their meal.

“So, did you hear?” Kenzo piped up. “The new Avatar’s been located.”

“Oh? No, I hadn’t heard that,” Chiyo replied airily. “Well, I hope The Organization manages to find them and do away with them for good. I shudder to think...”

Nhu groaned. “Kenzo, what have I asked you about politics at the table?”

“Oh, honey, come on. It’s friendly conversation.”

Shinza said nothing, coolly picking out the mushrooms from her bowl and eating them first.

“It’s not friendly, it’s incendiary,” Nhu muttered.

Kenzo countered, “I’m tired of this. We all know the Avatar needs to be done away with. We can’t have that kind of abuse of power in our world.”

“Daddy,” Lili interjected, tugging at her father’s sleeve. “Is it true the Avatar murders babies so they can go into the Avatar state?”

Chiyo nearly choked on her roast duck.

Khazan said to his sister, “A boy in my class says his dad is in The Org, and that they’re gonna find the Avatar and murder them in the Avatar state so they’re never reincarnated.”

“Okay,” Akio boomed. “That’s enough. Nhu, sweetheart, you can’t censor people. Kenzo, don’t provoke her. Now -- Chiyo, what did you say about those sweet dumplings?”

“They’re in the fridge, dear,” Chiyo responded, happy not to engage in such a grim facet of the conversation.

“What do you think about all that, Shinza?” Kenzo said after a moment, with his father’s back turned to them in the kitchen as he searched for dessert. “What’s your stance on the Avatar?”

Shinza delicately slurped the last of her noodles, pretending to think on it. “Hadn’t really considered it,” she said casually. “There’s no such talk in Republic City. Everyone basically pretends the Avatar doesn’t exist.”

“I’ve heard different,” Chiyo piped up. “Akio’s second cousin lives in Republic City, and he says The Org has growing numbers. They’re coordinating a search effort.”

“Well,” Shinza shrugged. “I guess, whoever the Avatar is, they should prepare for the fight of their life.”

“Well said,” bellowed Akio, coming back to the table with a tray of sweet dumplings. Dessert was a much quieter affair. The children went to go play in the living room, Kenzo and Akio went to go smoke on the balcony, and Chiyo, Nhu, and Shinza cleaned the kitchen and enjoyed some quiet conversation. After the last dish was dry, Chiyo looked apologetically at Shinza. “I hope we didn’t scare you off,” she said sheepishly. “Things can get pretty lively here.”

“No bother,” lied Shinza. “It was really an honor to meet you all. I hope this won’t be the only time we get to see each other.”

Through the balcony screen, Shinza garnered little scraps of Akio’s conversation with his son. He admonished Kenzo for allowing his little boy to entertain the idea that the Avatar was a child murderer, and Kenzo argued that he’d heard rumors of it himself. Besides - after Unavaatu, what wasn’t the Avatar capable of?

“I should get going,” Shinza announced. “Aunt Chiyo, thank you so much for dinner. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you said hello.”

“Okay, sweet girl,” once more pulling in Shinza for a captive hug. “Go tell your uncle and cousins bye.”

Shinza had parted with all of her family except Nhu, who offered to walk her to the bus stop. Just being out of the cramped apartment was such a relief that the shrieking locusts of late summer didn’t bother her. Nhu was quiet and tall, like Shinza was, with dark brown hair and striking hazel eyes. Her parents had immigrated to the Fire Nation from the Foggy Swamp when she was tiny, she told Shinza. She didn’t have the luxury of visiting her relatives like Shinza did; when Nhu’s parents left their family’s neck of the swamp, they’d been so deeply disappointed that they decided they wouldn’t be welcomed back.

“That’s awful,” Shinza replied. She couldn’t imagine being cut off from her parents that way.

Nhu shrugged. “What do I care? I have my parents and Kenzo’s family, loud as they can be. And a new cousin I can talk to.”

Shinza gave a genuine smile. The two passed the fire fountain, which was being lit by two keepers, shooting little synchronized spears of fire into the lantern wicks. Emberflies wove their way in and out of the lanterns, scarcely discernible from the light of the lanterns. “I was hoping I’d get to see this before I left,” she murmured.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Nhu replied. “Almost makes you forget about all the ugliness in the world.”

“Almost,” Shinza snorted. They watched the fountain for a while and then made their way to the bus stop. Just as they approached, the Satobus that would take her back to the ferry pulled up, hissing and coughing black smoke into the street. “This is me.”

Nhu took one last look at Shinza, her intense hazel gaze finding Shinza’s warm red-brown eyes and instilling a knowing look. “Be careful,” she whispered.

Shinza boarded the bus, taking a window seat and staring after Nhu as she hurried back down the street, eyes ever vigilant.

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jazz-miester · 5 years

Text

Just as you are.

Warnings: this is basically a vent. So y'all are warned. This is for the modern reader tho.

I kept it gender neutral as well.

They haven’t been out of their room all day. Spending it just laying on the floor with their legs draped over the bed. Y/n pulls another chip out of the bag resting on their stomach. The rooms stereo thrumming in tune with the music. They were glad for the hook up, being able to listen to music from their own time was a God given miracle. Y/n had no idea on what they were doing. They did know that they were tired. Just like the day before and the day before that and the day before that.

They were just really, really tired.

Y/n didn’t know when it happened. This lethargic feeling that came out of nowhere, the apathy that they held in their day to day life. Well they did know. It was just harder to ignore now.

They didn’t have as much fun as they used to with the others or with their own hobbies. That came with the feeling of no one really caring. That they were nice only out of necessity. Because who wanted to spend time with someone they pissed off? Y/n was surprised that they haven’t been kicked off the Ark yet. They had a job, yes. A small affair at a run down dinner. They still felt like a leach though doing nothing more than taking up space in the Ark. Optimus had tried to reassure them that this wasn’t the case.

Now only to believe that.

Y/n looked over at their nightstand wondering if it was really worth it to haul their ass off the floor and dig through it for a bottle of Ibuprofen. Their head pounded in tune with the music. They didn’t have the energy to turn the stereo off. Hell, the didn’t have then energy to do anything. They had just flopped down onto the bed fully clothed and crashed at three in the morning.

Running from Decepticons could take a lot out of you. Ya know?

They took the chip bag off their stomach and tossed onto the bed and hauled themselves up and onto their feet. After rustling through the nightstand and finding the little red pills they grabbed the cup of water form last night and took a couple. Hopefully their headache would let up. They sat on the floor and leaned their back against the bed. Closing their eyes they just listened to the music playing. One of their favorites from when they were younger. That one special song that stilled warmed up their hurting chest.

Y/n jumped a mile high and swore at the pain in their head as the music suddenly turned to static.

“Ya eva’ gonna come outta there kiddo?” Jazz. Of course. Y/n just groaned.

“No” Came the blunt reply. Part of them really just wanted to be left alone another wanting to see if Jazz would come get them himself. He’s done it before. The memory of Jazz reaching in and pulling them out of bed brings a small smile to their face. The mech was less than subtle about it, singing about good mornings and fresh new days.

“Every ones gettin’ worried y/n. Are ya sick or somethin’? We can get Ratch to look at ya.” Worry was evident in his voice. Jazz was one of the first “friends” that they had made when first coming here. The only one that had really bothered to figure out what all the weird and new lingo was that came out from them. The first one to laugh at their stupid jokes.

“M’ fine Jazz. Just tired.” They new he was shaking his head.

“I’m commin’ ta get ya.” Well that got them up and going.

“Jazz-” He cut them off.

“Jazz nothin’ Lil’ Star. I’m gettin’ ya and we’re gonna have a talk.” They could hear his foot falls from his comm. “This ain’t healthy. An coupled with how ya been actin’ well, I think we’re entitled to figure out what’s goin’ on”

Y/n swore and scrambled to get up quickly putting on their shoes just as Jazz sent the command to open up their bedroom door.

“Now. Ya gonna come peacefully?” Like they had any other choice in the matter. Kinda hard to hide from the head of Spec Ops. They stumbled out from the room running a hand through their wild hair and settling down onto the outstretched hand. It was quiet. Their little walk. Autobots stopped to watch as they, Jazz, walked out down the hallway. Y/n shrunk in on themselves a little. Embarrassment flooded through them. It felt like everyone else knew what was going on.

They hated it.

They stopped outside of the Ark just silently staring out into the vast amount of desert. The sun rained down upon them quickly heating them up. The wind picked up the sand creating little flurries before releasing them in a plume of dust.

“Why?” They asked.

“Why what?” Jazz asked back setting them down onto a rock to be level with his helm.

“Why do you care so much?” That seemed to confuse him.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Y/n gave a sad laugh.

"Why? Because I'm not much of anyone. I live here on the Ark pretty much mooching off of all of ya." They throw their hands up into the air. "Don't you see Jazz! I dont do much of anything. I have a sad job a sad life and a fucking horrible mind!" They're yelling now. "Fucking hell! Maybe I should just become a stripper! Maybe then ill earn a decent sum of cash! And hey. People can gawk and make fun of me even more!"

It stunned Jazz into silence. Watching as his friend. No. Family. Lose what little sanity they had left. Their hands wound up and into their hair his spark broke when the tears came. Welling up and trailing down their face in a mock caress. Jazz just, didn't understand. Did they really see themselves in that way?

“But you’re not” He said it so softly the sound could have been carried away by the wind. Y/n shook their head and laughed.

“Ya well. That’s what they always told me. That or I was just looking for attention.” Jazz wanted to yell. Who would do that to another person? He thought for a little moment. Thrown back into a memory of the time he first called them Little Star. It was a spur of the moment type thing, something he was well known for. Little Star. Even the littlest of ones shone so brightly they brought so much life for everything in the universe. Stars have always amazed him, a way to find home, to bring life, and even in their destruction did they hold the most terrifying beauty. He saw that in Y/n and so much more.

Jazz knelt down placing his hands on either side of them his visor retracting back. Y/n stopped their rambling to look up at him their eyes stilled glossed over an oh so very pretty. A swirl of colors Jazz had no chance of naming.

“Do you know why I call you Little Star?” He spoke so gently almost as if he was afraid that they would run away if he did one thing that seem like it could cause them harm. And he was sure that they would. He could hear their hammering heart.

“I just.... It’s just a nick name. Right?” Y/n looked so unsure of themselves. A huge difference to how they usually were.

“I call you Little Star because you bring so much joy to me and the others. You light up any room you walk into. The way you have led the others away from their own sadness the same way we used those stars to navigate the night sky. Y/n, don’t you see? We would be nothing without you. Frag, I don’t even know how we made do without you before. Your our Little Star and I think. No. I know that we haven’t been there for you as you were for us. You need your own light to navigate.”

Y/n was crying without realizing it. Thick hot tears streaming down the side of their face, much in the same way a waterfall bursts after a rainstorm. Their lower lip trembled as a small whimper escaped. Knees buckling they fell and folded in over themselves. Their body not being able to hold both the impending sadness and overwhelming joy. No one has spoken that kindly to them in a long, long time. Jazz let them cry it out knowing that by doing so they’ll hopefully let out all the bad.

“C’mon Lil’ Star. Lets get you back inside.”

Needless to say it was a while before y/n truly began to realize how much more they meant to the others. A mistake the others were hellbent on fixing.

Why dim the stars that you used to find yourself. Yes, the destruction may be breathtaking in the end but that’s all it is. You left breathless and very, very alone.

#Maccadam #Modern reader #g1 jazz #Jazz x reader #transformers #one shot #This was legit a rant #i hope you all like it #idk #its weird i know #kk #im done now

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katieskarlette · 6 years

Text

Voices of War panel

I’ll be editing this post as I watch the livestream.

The panel includes:

Josh Keaton (Anduin)

Patty Mattson (Sylvanas)

Laura Bailey (Jaina)

Indira Varma (Katherine Proudmoore)

Susan Wokoma (Talanji)

Abubakar Salim (Rokhan)

Alex Desert (Bwonsamdi)

Maryann Strossner (Scrollsage Nola) (They announced ”A Maryann has made it to Blizzcon!” - LOL)

Josh Keaton has played since vanilla, started as a night elf hunter, then switched to Horde to play tauren druid. He has since switched to a worgen druid (as our king should, after all!) :P lol

Josh re: getting cast to play Anduin in Cataclysm: “It was hilarious because I remember when I had my first Horde character I’d always try to attack Anduin in the castle ... and then I would die, and it was fun.”

Re: growing into ”manduin”: “His trinkets have dropped.” LMAO

Josh’s father is alive and he hasn’t experience that serious kind of loss IRL, so he doesn’t have that to draw from when acting, but it helps to be so deeply familiar with the characters and the lore.

Anduin and Sylvanas’ voice actors sitting next to each other...watch out!

“I’m so glad our Little Lion decided to play Horde,” Patty purred, putting a hand on Josh’s back. He replied that he “saw the error of his ways.”

They did improv in the studio to get into the right headspace for the Sylvanas Warbringer cinematic, and Patty says she got carried away. She ended up throwing Delaryn’s VA’s soda across the studio. (SOMEONE DRAW THAT WITH THEIR CHARACTERS!!)

Senior Narrative Designer Steve Danuser said they better not have a bow and arrow in the studio for that reason! LOL

Patty says she survived domestic abuse in her childhood, and that rage can be channeled into kickboxing (which she also does) or voicing a character like Sylvanas.

Laura says her body posture in the studio is a big part of how she gets Jaina’s voice. She laughed about how long she’s been with this character, how Jaina started as a “bright-eyed” young girl “in a crop top.”

She was in tears by the end of the recording sessions for “Daughter of the Sea.” And not just because she’s terrified of singing in front of people. She says that actually helped her channel the vulnerability Jaina felt upon realizing what the people of her homeland thought of her.

(It’s weird to see Indira in civilian garb when I’m so used to seeing her in her Dornish finery from Game of Thrones.)

She nailed the audition. As soon as they heard her, they knew she was Katherine Proudmoore. She says she’s not a gamer, but she immediately felt at home among the folks at Blizzcon. All her lines were recorded in London.

Indira loves the contradictions within Katherine, how much loss she’s suffered, how much pride she has, but how she has to get past that and welcome her daughter back. She says she’s a mother, herself, so that helped her get into that mindset.

Indira loves doing voice work because it’s not about your looks, ethnicity, weight, or anything but your voice. It’s a pure kind of acting that she enjoys.

Once they knew Kul Tiras was the setting of the next expansion, the reunion of Jaina and her family (especially her mother) was the first thing they seized on as the heart of the story. Katherine is the face of the nation, not just as its political leader, but as the embodiment of their feelings of betrayal and eventual forgiveness toward Jaina.

Susan is demonstrating what it’s like when Talanji gets loopy on too much caffeine. ;) (Jet lag from London isn’t fun, I’m sure.) She’s done a Netflix show with Tracer’s VA, so she had a peek at the Blizzard magic before and wanted to be part of it when the role came around.

She’s adorably freaking out over a Talanji cosplayer. Pure joy on both sides. They even hugged! OMG! Love it!

She says having massive story arcs is difficult on TV, especially for a woman of color who doesn’t have a model’s figure (as she put it, although she’s gorgeous if you ask me). Her characters tend to get killed off early on, so having Talanji be around for the long haul is a treat. She loved how Talanji has a full background, is part of an established world, and feels fully fleshed out.

She says they recorded in London in the evening, when it was early morning in California, which actually worked well for her, because “stuff has happened” by that time of the day, so she had a fuller range of emotions to draw from, instead of starting fresh in the morning.

On to Rokhan’s VA, Abubakar Salim, who says he’s overwhelmed by the love and support he’s felt from the Blizzcon crowd. He does play WoW himself, starting as a human paladin (boos from the crowd) but now with the Horde (cheers).

Steve said he also plays Horde, and Laura protested (tongue in cheek) that the panel is biased.

Abu enjoys playing Rokhan because even though the Darkspear have suffered so, so much, he’s still undaunted, still working so hard to bring the trolls together. He’s a practical and “earthy” character. They joked about Rokhan writing haiku in his spare time. But the word “badass” still is the best way to describe him.

Alex is up next, starting off with an eerie Bwonsamdi laugh. “The Harder They Come” is an old Jamaican movie, and one of the characters in there was the inspiration for Bwonsamdi’s voice, although he got funnier and more mischievous as the character developed. Alex joked that purple reading glasses help him get in character. He says Bwonsamdi “wants love.”

Alex’s parents are from Haiti, so the lore of that place informed his performance, too.

And last but not least, Scrollsage Nola! She thanked everyone for all the love the player base has given her. She says she “loves helping people...turtles... I’m in for it.”

The actors then went through and read some of their dialog. Josh and Patty doing Anduin and Sylvanas’ dialog from the throne room in the Battle for Lordaeron was hilarious, the looks they gave each other.

Laura and Indira did a bit of Jaina and Katherine’s reunion.

Susan got a big cheer for shouting “Zandalar forever!”

The crowd also loved Abu screaming “Nothing gonna stop de Horde!”

Plenty of creepiness from Alex.

And the grand finale: “A TURTLE MADE IT TO THE WATER!” Everyone was holding their breath when it came time, and then the cheers erupted. Heehee...

That’s the end of the main panel. It was so cool to put (real) faces to the voices. I’m always fascinated by the voice actors who bring the game to life.

AND LAURA BAILEY IS SINGING “DAUGHTER OF THE SEA”! LIVE! EEEEE!!!!

A well-deserved standing ovation after that!

#Blizzcon with KS #warcraft voice actors

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judas-lover · 6 years

Text

Jesus Christ Superstar LIVE - REVIEW

If only it had been.

John’s performance was underwhelming and not right for this role. He had one facial expression throughout the whole musical and his singing was not what Jesus should be like. There was no drama; there was no screaming, none of those high notes, like in The Temple or Gethsemane, to name only two instances on which I missed the table-flipping, screaming-on-top-of-his-lungs Jesus, that I know from all cast recordings and shows I have witnessed. I’m not saying he should have done it and damaged his voice, but I’m saying that casting him was a mistake. The whole show felt kind of stale; usually I’m in tears when Gethsemane comes on but this time I was just kind of cringing. To include something positive here: I had, a few hours before it aired, listened to Gethsemane, because I found out it was already on Spotify, and it didn’t sound half bad! In fact I was in hysterics because that is my favourite song and the recording is genuinely good. Not great, but good and solid. I noticed he didn’t go for the high notes and it worked, in its own way. But when he actually acted the scene on-stage or rather failed to act it, his eyes dry, no pain in his features whatsoever, a bottle of wine from Last Supper still in his hand, I was disappointed. How could he not even put the bottle away? Gethsemane requires more than a few half-hearted waves with one’s left hand, but there barely was more. And on top of this, by not acting his part, the song, that had come across so authentically in the recording, lost its magic. Not even the last note was hit, as I had expected, on a higher pitch, conveying some emotions or his suffering. Gethsemane, as the emotional direction for the entire second act did its job: by it being an underwhelming performance, nearly nothing that followed, held any real importance. Jesus before Pilate: he sits and stares, delivers his line. Jesus before Herod: he sits and stares. Jesus before Pilate again: he sits and stares, then he is hauled up and whipped, sometimes there was a show built around him, people lashing at him, but at times he was not even touched, simply moved to the phantom lashes in the music. His death felt stale, not even the makeup fit. He was supposed to be beaten and he had 2 scratches on the head? His whole performance lacked the spirit it takes to play Jesus; I can only assume, John Legend did not feel the role, did not feel the spirit of the emotional strain on Jesus, the sadness, the suffering.

Due to this disappointing performance, the whole show was weakened a great deal. Don’t you get me wrong! Most of the cast was great! However this can’t be said about Sara Bareilles, although not as unconvincing as Jesus, I still did not see any of the confused-and-in-love-ex-prostitute-turned-apostle, that I expect from Mary since that is literally her story. Sara and John seemed to mainly concentrate on their singing, granted with varying degrees of success, but all in all both their performances aided greatly in hindering the musical’s true spirit to shine through.

However even I can’t say that certain aspects of the production were not absolutely great. One of those was Alice Cooper. Having already sung Herod’s Song on the 1996 London cast recording, meaning that he was familiar with his role and the position he held, he had ample time to prepare for his performance, which was well used and at least that part of the show was saved.

Also convincing and well thought through, were the high priests, especially Annas and Caiaphas, as well as the resident Roman representative: Pilate. While Pilate could not win me over completely, the role was played in accordance to how it should be done. It was noticeable that Ben Daniels felt and lived his role onstage.

The choir in the background did their job admirably, they kept the atmosphere alive as well as they could and succeeded a great deal in making the production visually interesting.

The apostles, generally, were adequate. One of my favourite things for them to do is slur the Last Supper. Not only do they sing “what’s that in the bread/it’s gone to my head” but all of the refrains contain the line “sinking in a gentle pool of wine”; Last Supper is essentially a song about passing out, too drunk to stay awake with Jesus. Peter’s performance of Peter’s Denial was shaky, but Erik Grönwall as Simon was a successful casting choice; he managed put the zealot in Simon Zealote excellently.

A special place in my heart, in any Jesus Christ Superstar production, holds Judas. I can only thank divine instances, that this role was given to Brandon Victor Dixon. Having starred in Hamilton, I expected him to be good, but to actually hear him sing and almost more importantly act the part, gave me immense joy. I have nothing to criticise, and that is not, because I love Judas, quite the opposite: Judas is an exceedingly difficult role to play, and doing it well requires a lot of skill and dedication. While the emotional journey of the Jesus character is pretty straight forward (read: he gets overwhelmed, he gets betrayed, he questions God, he gets whipped and then sacrifices himself), that of Judas is much more complicated (read: he cares for Jesus, wants to help him, sees himself unable to do so, because Jesus won’t let him, gets rejected and then betrays Jesus, kisses him, then hangs himself). Two of Brandon’s performances, I admired especially; the first one being Judas’ Death, played with amazing engagement, real feelings and emotional singing, the second one being Superstar. This last revival number that Judas sings while Jesus is on his way to the cross, sometimes seemed a tad crowded due to 35 dancers on the stage and the inherent fast tempo of the song, but Brandon managed to still get the song’s temperament exactly right. Additionally he made up for at least some of the high notes, that John missed out completely. All in all Brandon Victor Dixon as Judas, carried the weight of the production on his shoulders, and did so superbly.

However even though his solo numbers were on point, he could not save the production singlehandedly because of the immense importance of the relationship between Jesus and Judas. This came across as very one-sided, due to not only the uninterested attitude of John’s Jesus, but also the general distance that was put between them in this production.

As a final note, I am disappointed, not only in performances, but also the directing of the whole show. It lacked intimacy; not only did it seem shallow and the relationships empty, but also, in the year of the Lord 2018 it is apparently still impossible to show two men kissing on television. And I’m not talking about the peck on the cheek, that was very clearly portrayed, but I am talking about the Judas kiss, which has, in numerous other adaptions, already been included as a real, lip-locking kiss between two men.

#rant over #i hope you know how mad i am #i am so mad at so many things #???#john legend #jesus #sara bareilles #mary magdalene #brandon victor dixon #judas #jesus christ superstar #jesus christ superstar live #jcs live #review #musical review #ben daniels #pilate #alice cooper #herod

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ayearofpike · 6 years

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The Last Vampire

Pocket Books, 1994 193 pages, 13 chapters ISBN 0-671-87264-8 LOC: CPB Box no. 1490 vol. 7 OCLC: 30146931 Released May 1, 1994 (per B&N)

Sita is a vampire, the last of her kind as far as she knows. But someone is after her, someone who has realized that she has far too much wealth and history to be as young as she appears. As she traces it back to find the ringleader, she realizes that she’s being hunted by another. Can she outwit him and survive? The book doesn’t say, but since there’s seven sequels I’m gonna say “probably.”

Ugh. This book totally killed my momentum. I didn’t want to read it, I didn’t want to keep reading it, and I don’t want to write this post now. Because now that I’m getting here, I’m realizing it’s nothing but a slow and painful slide downhill into the thorns that mark the end of Pike’s salad days with Simon & Schuster. The rest of his output under the Archway is eight sequels (at least two of which he’s said he didn’t want to write), two books of short stories, seven new novels that suffer from being rushed and squeezed into the gaps between Spooksville, and The Lost Mind. Excuse me if I don’t jump for joy at what’s offered in this five-year span.

Honestly, there’s really not a lot of story here. Maybe I can actually keep the summary short.

Sita starts out narrating in first-person present tense, which indicates (if past works are a factor of future performance) that she’s about to die. On the other hand, there’s not a concrete mode that she’s offering as a recording system; she says that she “send[s] out these words ... because it is time” (3). This particular series is one that Pike claims to have written almost entirely on autopilot, like it was available somewhere in the ether and he was the channel to get it onto the page. So we might believe that he hears the narration as he’s writing it, but the rest of the story is a little clumsy for me to believe that.

Sita doesn’t actually identify herself right away. In fact, we get two fake names before we learn the one she was born with. But it’s not from the source we would expect, given that as we meet her she is under investigation by a private detective. He points out her varied and widespread holdings, and how some of them go back more years than she claims to be old — including passports. How does he not mention some of the names on these documents? We’re supposed to believe she’s kept a fake name that she says up front she doesn’t care about long enough for somebody to get suspicious? But I’m getting pedantic and overanalytical, which is going to make me spend more time on this book than I want to. I mean moreso.

So she kills him, of course, but he doesn’t die before revealing he has a son. She can’t get into his computer despite having vast swathes of life experience and knowing more about computers than most people, so instead of taking it and brute-force hacking the password she decides to ask the son for help. So what’s the best way to do this? Vampire high school, twenty-odd years before Twilight. Only rather than the mere hundred-something child Edward Cullen, we have a five-fucking-thousand-year-old enrolling in high school so that she can seduce a kid into giving up a password that there’s no evidence he knows.

And then she gets hungry, so she drives to a truck stop in California and seduces a long-haul driver, not so much that they actually get it on but enough that she can drink some of his blood and knock him out. Sita isn’t a killer. Even though she just killed a dude and has no compunction about killing if she has to and could have DRANK SOME GODDAMNED BLOOD FROM A DUDE SHE ALREADY KILLED INSTEAD OF MAKING ANOTHER WITNESS

So she goes to school and is in class with the son, Ray, who has a girlfriend. Is that an obstacle? Not for a timeless unfeeling vampire! Neither is a PE class outside in the sun, where all she has to do to survive is wear giant dark sunglasses. Hang on, though — I actually don’t have a problem with authors retrofitting classic monsters with abilities that historically have been weaknesses, or even something totally useless like sparkles and being good at baseball. It’s pretty stupid to assume that one book by one Irish guy is the end-all be-all of worldwide vampire lore. I’m OK with her being outside in the sun.

The PE class is where she meets a sickly and sensitive young man named Seymour, and they connect immediately even though he’s only in the book for five pages at this point. She feels a connection with Ray, too, something primal and ancient, which is the only possible way I’m gonna forgive her not just grabbing the computer and getting the fuck out of Dodge. Like, Sita doesn’t even know what she’s doing in this town in Oregon in the first place (she’s always preferred warmer climates; I don’t know if that’s here or later), so maybe it’s fate or karma or some other unseen force drawing her here. Whatever it is, Ray must feel it too. She cons him into helping her move furniture late at night, but first she has to move all the furniture out of her house and into the garage. And then she has a dream about her backstory.

It all started when Sita, a seven-year-old blonde blue-eyed white girl in ancient India (seriously), had a dear friend, an eight-month-pregnant teenager seven years her senior, who had just died. Some spooky voodoo priest invoked a monster into her to scare off whatever plague was killing everyone, and it ate his face before taking residence inside the dead baby, which came to life in the corpse womb. Sita knows there’s something not right here, so her dad hands her a knife and tells her if she knows the baby’s evil, she has to be the one to kill it. Did I mention Sita is seven fucking years old? So of course she doesn’t, and the baby grows up and is smart and handsome and well-respected. But then the dudes who saw his birth start to go missing, and Sita is the last one he comes for. By this time she’s married with a kid, and the undead baby is, I don’t know, twelve, but he loves her and must have her. He offers her a choice: go with him and become like him, or die after watching him painfully and slowly kill her husband and daughter. Fucking tweens and their mood swings.

Sita wakes up when Ray comes over. They move furniture, then they drink wine, then they hot tub naked, then they don’t bang because Sita has compunctions or whatever all of a sudden. He mentions that he’s worried about his father, and she says hey, you have the password to his computer, right, so could you look at what he was working on right before he disappeared? Ray is not nearly suspicious enough about this, so they go to his office and Ray unlocks the file, which is apparently a Word document because writers don’t actually know dick about computerized records in 1994. Sita’s brilliant move here is: she tricks Ray into leaving, locks him out, and then copies the file onto a floppy disk before erasing most of it.

The file demonstrates the detective’s supremely idiotic decision to go around the back of the mysterious rich dude who is bankrolling his investigation in order to try to get more money out of the vampire. But still, there’s a fax number, and as @mildhorror has already put it so well I’m going to steal her analogy of “shitty texting.” (It’s even more awkward in Thirst, when Pike tries to clumsily retrofit it to email without changing anything else. Like, holy shit, you can check a Swiss email account in the US?) They arrange to meet on a dock, which Sita has planned so she can jump in the ocean and swim away if things go sideways. And they do: six people with automatic weapons pointing at her, another trained commando ready to do a full-body search. So Sita, with all her wisdom and sensory input and awesomeness ... just lets herself get kidnapped.

BUT THEN. Instead of riding the whole thing out so she can maybe get to whoever is above the investigator’s payer, she says she has to change her tampon and then kills one of the guards that goes into the bathroom with her and escapes with the other. At least she has the sense to threaten this dude into giving up a description before she kills him, and guess what: the mastermind behind the whole investigation is none other than her undead maker. Which, duh, but maybe I don’t have enough distance from this story.

She gets Seymour to pick her up and bring a change of clean clothes, and asks what his deal is being so sick. Turns out Seymour has HIV, from a bad blood transfusion. Don’t worry, 1994 teens, it’s nothing gross like gay sex, as Sita so sensitively asks. He takes her back to her car, and she immediately goes to Ray and tells him that he might be in danger. First smart thing this all-knowing immortal has done. After all, the first vampire, whose powers dwarf hers, has employed Ray’s dad, and if he’s gone missing it sure makes sense that the dude would go after family. If he really is the reincarnation of her husband from five thousand years ago, it makes sense that she’d care about him and want to save him like before. BUT THEN she makes him go with her to her mansion (which is a different house from the one he moved her shit into earlier, which only makes Ray mildly curious) and fucks him to sleep. Seriously, she works his body to the point where she knows he’s going to sleep for a whole day, in the house that the first vampire probably knows about and is going to corner her in.

She dreams some more backstory, this time about the rise and fall of the vampires. Over the course of something like fifty years, they kidnap people and make more of themselves, until they have an army of a thousand. But then they hear about a dude named Krishna, who is supposed to be as powerful as a god. First Vampire doesn’t like that — someone stronger than him — so they go to beat him up. Only his hidden archer manages to kill a bunch of vampires before they can overwhelm Krishna’s numbers, and so they have to agree to a one-on-one, leader-on-leader battle. With flutes. A flute-off. Whoever can flute harder wins.

OK, yeah, and they’re trying to send snakes after the other one. Of course Krishna wins, and while First Vampire is poisoned into a coma, he tells her that he’ll protect her as long as she never makes another one. Then he says something to First Vampire, and heals him, and they all leave. But then not long after that vampires start dying, and Sita bails because she knows what’s coming. She’d heard a rumor that First Vampire was burned to death in Europe, but now I guess she knows it’s not true, because he’s standing outside at sunset when Ray wakes up. Sita goes to talk to him. He confirms that in order to die with Krishna’s grace, he has to destroy all the monsters he’s made. This is at odds with his protection on Sita if she never makes another one, but First Vampire has a plan. And a flute. He flutes so hard he knocks Ray out a third-story window from a hundred yards away, and now Sita has no choice but to turn her supposedly-reincarnated husband. Tricked again!

How is Sita going to trick him back? How can she kill the first vampire without dying herself? For that, our brilliant ageless tactitian ... needs Seymour’s help. I didn’t mention that everybody knows he’s a genius and a writer, so she figures that’s gotta be the only answer for finding a loophole, because, you know, increasing number of author self-inserts as we go along. He suggests that maybe Sita needs to get First Vampire in a situation where he thinks they’ll die together, but rig it so she doesn’t. To thank him, she cures his HIV with her vampire blood, but somehow knows how to do this without accidentally turning him into a vampire.

And then — as if I wasn’t annoyed knowing I’m gonna have to read this shit for like twenty more hours — we hit page 169.

What is Sita — the last vampire, the brilliant planner, the totally emotionless eternal being — going to do to kill the first vampire while somehow saving herself and Ray? Bombs. She steals a bunch of stuff from a construction site, then welds a six-inch steel plate under a couple of chairs, under which she rigs a bomb out of dynamite. She rigs another bomb next to another chair opposite the plate-chairs, where she’ll get him to sit. The plan is: he lights the fuse, but before the big bomb goes off, she triggers the little bomb, which will launch her and Ray out of the skylight and clear of the house before the big one blows it sky-high. No, don’t worry, it’s totally gonna work, she’s got everything figured out and never makes mistakes, as evidenced by this whole book so far.

Of course he sniffs it out, and of course he’s not going to let her escape. Until she tells him the last thing Krishna said to her: “Where there is love, there is my grace.” And he figures the only reason she turned Ray is because she loves him. You know, like you do to a high-school senior when you’re five thousand years old and you’ve known him two days. So he tells them to go, and they’re just clear of the house when the bomb blows up. Only — oh shit! — Sita takes a piano leg through the chest, and Ray can’t get the whole thing out.

And then the book ends.

Do you blame me for being annoyed?

So that’s The Last Vampire, which is clearly now a misnomer. Wonder if she’ll be the last one again as this series drags along. As I recall, the first three complete the story of First Vampire, and the next three sort of stand alone. Maybe one of those is better than I remember. I fuckin’ hope so, because as it stands I am not looking forward to plugging through the rest of this shit.

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forksofwisdom · 6 years

Text

Embers of the Sun

Pairings: Bella/Paul, eventual Angela/Leah

A/N: I’m happy to take any suggestions if you want something in particular to happen. It can be something as minor as Quill giving Embry a high five or more significant like Bella ramming Edward’s Volvo with her truck after he provided Tyler with a chance to ask her out. The whole point of writing this fic is so we can all enjoy it together!

(Note that this doesn’t mean I’m going to change the plot on demand!)

To wrap this up:

Imprinting is still a thing in this AU, BUT I’ve developed my take on it for this story. If you’re interested in knowing more about my feelings on Imprinting, you can read it here.

I’m also thinking about writing the main storyline in Bella’s POV and keeping alternating POV’s and drabbles that happen in the same universe separate so that it’s easier to navigate. Seriously, go wild with the suggestions, guys!

I’ve taken the liberty of changing the ages of some of the characters. Bella will be 19 and a senior when she moves to Forks, so only Edward and Alice are still in high school. She arrives two years later than in canon. Paul and Jared will be the same age as Bella. Sam and Emily will both be aged somewhere between 25-30 (like their actors).

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Bella closed her book with a sigh as the seatbelt sign flickered on. The plane would be landing soon. She’d passed the time reading, but the story wasn’t her usual cup of tea, preferring Jane Austen to all else. She ran her thumb over the raised picture of a spyglass on the cover in contemplation. The Collector by James Fowle was not a Victorian romance, and each page Bella read dispelled any romantic notion she might have had about such obsessive love.

Her mother had been going through one of her phases when she’d purchased it, having fancied herself to be a lepidopterist after she’d bought a collection pinned butterflies in an antique store. She hadn’t checked the back of the novel to see what it was actually about, having thought it to be a guide to butterfly collecting. Bella remembered her excited gasp when her mother realized the book was about a deranged stalker instead. Another phase bloomed, and Renée now bought every serial killer study and documentary she could get her hands on, forgetting about her beloved butterflies. She’d put her butterfly collection on display in the hallway and Bella could admit that they were beautiful in a morbid sort of way that unnerved her a little. Their colorful wings were much more appealing if they were alive and could flutter from flower to flower. Not pinned down and spread in death to an old frame.

A stewardess asked her to put up her tray table, and Bella shoved the book into her rucksack and kicked it under the seat in front of her. She put the small cactus her mother had given her as a memento in her lap. She wondered if Renée had forgotten that she’d inherited her green thumbs, which were nonexistent, and that the climate in Forks would be the kiss of death for the plant if Bella weren’t careful.

Her stomach plummeted as the plane dipped and she closed her eyes and took deep calming breaths through her nose. She wasn’t fond of flying, preferring to keep her feet firmly on the ground, and was relieved when they landed in Port Angeles’s small airport with little fanfare.

She spent a good minute hauling her large suitcase off the conveyor belt in the baggage claim. Renée had insisted on helping Bella pack, but she’d forgotten how cold it was up North and Bella had spent a good hour putting all her shorts and tank tops back into her closet in Phoenix. While she would miss Arizona, its warmth and the anonymity that came with living in a metropolis, she had to keep an open mind about Forks, for her father’s sake. She knew she’d hurt him deeply by refusing to visit him for the last four years, demanding that he travel all the way to California to see her.

Nerves bubbled up to the surface as she walked through the arrival gates. She hadn’t seen her dad for so long, and she was riddled with guilt that the main reason she was moving to him was that she didn’t want to impose on Renée and Phil anymore. They were newly wedded, and Bella couldn’t count how many times she’d walked in on them in various compromising positions. She hadn’t hesitated to bring up Fork’s when they decided to move to Florida with Phil’s baseball career. Bella was relieved when they agreed to her plan. A few years ago, she might have felt resentful, but she’d matured enough to see their genuine wish for her happiness and wellbeing.

She would finish her last year in high school in Forks, and it filled her with tremulous excitement to live with her dad for the first time. She had the whole summer to settle down and reacquaint herself with him until school would start in two weeks.

“Bells!” Her father called when he caught sight of her. He was wearing his uniform and Bella could see that he had a few more crows feet since she’d last seen him. He opened his arm, and she hastened to him, feeling genuine happiness as she was swept up into his arms. “I missed you, sweetheart!”

“Dad!” She returned his embrace, overwhelmed by his joy at seeing her. Prolonged absence from him had made her start to doubt his affections for her. She’d imagined an awkward greeting and a quiet trip home in his police vehicle.

“How are you? Was the trip okay?” he asked her, pulling away to study her with warm eyes.

“Yeah, I’m a bit sore from sitting for so long, but otherwise it was fine,” Bella said, and he clapped her on the back.

“Well, you better stretch your legs now because it’s a long ride home,” he said, taking her suitcase from her hand and waved away her protests. “I got a surprise for you when we get home.”

“Really? You didn’t need to get me anything, dad. I’m staying with you, and that’s enough for me,” Bella said in dismay. She wasn’t expecting any gifts and hadn’t thought to get Charlie anything. It seemed ungrateful of her now that she couldn’t show him how glad she was that he’d come to pick her up.

“Oh, heck, Bells. Let an old man spoil his daughter once in a while. I haven’t seen you in so long, and I promise that you’ll need it while you’re staying here,” he said gruffly, not meeting her eyes as they walked out of the airport.

“As long as you give me your word that you won’t get me anything else I’m happy,” Bella said grudgingly.

“You haven’t changed,” Charlie said with a small amount of relief and Bella rolled her eyes. She’d never liked it when people made a fuss about her, except when it was Christmas or her birthday.

“I’ve changed plenty,” she protested.

“Yeah, your hair has gotten longer,” Charlie observed, and Bella caught the wistful note in his tone. She could remember the times she’d sat on a stool while her father trimmed her hair with a pair of shears, both singing to the tunes of the Beatles in his kitchen. Her heart warmed at the memory, and she gave him a small smile.

“Well, I didn’t have my personal barber to cut it,” she said teasingly, and Charlie brightened. They pulled out of the airport and made it onto the highway in the direction of Forks.

“Do you want me to give you a trim when we get home?” he asked after a moment of silence. He’d hesitated in bringing it up like he feared rejection and Bella was quick to reassure him.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” she said quietly, staring out of the front window to avoid Charlie’s eyes. They’d never broached the subject of Bella’s distance, but this felt like a small olive branch between the both of them. She was here now.

“Good, ‘cause no daughter of mine will be seen with split ends!” he said with mock grimness, and Bella burst into laughter. She’d missed him.

He turned on the radio when the silence became strained, and a wave of nostalgia rushed over her when his old CD of classical rock started playing. Charlie hadn’t changed either, keeping the same collection of CDs in his glove compartment, and Bella took a small amount of comfort from it as they hummed to the tune.

There was an overwhelming display of green and gray that sped past their windshield, and Bella huddled deeper into her coat. She didn’t miss the cold and the wet weather of Washington, but it had been a long time since she’d seen a forest or the sea. She wondered if Charlie visited La Push anymore, remembering the times they’d spent on First Beach, or if he still fished with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater.

Her question was answered when they drove up to Charlie’s house, now Bella’s home as well, and saw two big pickup trucks in the driveway. Billy’s son, Jacob, was helping his father out into his wheelchair when Charlie greeted them cheerfully.

“What brings you here boys?”

“Sue sent us over with some more of Harry’s fish fry, told us to put it in your freezer,” Billy answered, tossing a bag of wrapped fish to Charlie, who fumbled to catch it.

“You could have handed it to me,” Charlie said wryly as he closed the distance between them to clasp Billy’s hand in greeting. Billy laughed and thumped him on the back. Charlie held up the bag. “Tell her thanks. I was all out.”

Bella swallowed her nervousness as she stepped out of the car and waved at them in greeting. She’d learned through trial and error that ‘fake it until you make it’ was the best approach to social interactions. She hadn’t seen them in three years, and Jacob had grown like a weed since then, now almost as tall as Charlie. The times for making mud-cakes had long since. A broad smile split across his face when he caught sight of her.

“Bella!” He nearly lifted her off the ground in his excitement, and Bella laughed, overwhelmed by his enthusiastic greeting. His childhood crush on her hadn’t ebbed it seemed, and she smiled at him awkwardly, uncertain how she should reciprocate without encouraging his affections.

“Let the girl breathe, Jacob,” Billy scolded and nudged him out of the way to give his own greeting, shaking Bella’s hand firmly. “My how you’ve grown! You hardly reached my waist the last time I say you.”

“She was thirteen. Besides, my daughter was never that short, Billy,” Charlie said with wry amusement as Bella gave a surprised laugh. She’d forgotten how Charlie’s dry humor made his jokes seem accidental, and it helped her loosened up as the two men bantered good-naturedly. It’d been a long time since she’d seen her father look so relaxed, having only communicated with him through brief phone calls. Both of them were reticent by nature.

“Charlie hasn’t shut up about you Bella, ever since you told him you were coming here,” Billy teased.

“Oh, come on. There’s no need to exaggerate,” Charlie said and turned away from them with a light blush. “Keep it up, and I’ll slip you into the mud.”

“Not if I ram you in the ankles first,” Billy warned, and Charlie jumped back when he pretended to make good on his threat. Bella couldn’t believe that two adult men, one of them being the Chief of Police, were fooling around in the middle of a street like a pair of rowdy boys.

“Are they always like this?”

“Unfortunately. Come on, you’re gonna love this, Bella,” Jacob said and grabbed her hand to lead her over to the behemoth truck resting beside the one the Blacks had arrived in. He patted it. “Charlie got you a homecoming present.” Bella felt a burst of excitement when she realized that this must be Charlie’s surprise.

“Dad?” she called him over, hardly believing that he’d gotten her a car. She forgot her dismay at Jacob’s casual touch when she saw Charlie’s nod. “I can’t believe you!” She rushed over to the driver’s seat and pulled open the heavy door to climb inside.

“Yep, I just bought it off of Billy,” Charlie said, and Jacob hopped up and hung onto the side to watch her admire the console and test the steering wheel. Then she noticed that something was missing.

“Um, where’s the gear stick?” she asked when she didn’t find it sticking out of the floor like she was used to.

“Oh, it’s a 'three on the tree,’” Jacob explained and leaned over her to point out the shift which was positioned behind the steering wheel.

“I’ve never driven a car like this,” Bella admitted, flummoxed at the design. She’d been prepared to drive a manual car, used to her mother’s battered old Toyota back home.

“It’s old, a 1953 Chevy, but Jacob here fixed it up. I thought you’d rather drive yourself to school instead of getting a lift in my police car,” Charlie said with a grin and Bella returned it with apprehension. She was touched by his thoughtfulness because she’d dreaded to deal with the attention that came with having the Chief of Police as a chauffeur. Considering the mortification of being nineteen-years-old opposed to eighteen and still in high school, the sentiment was appreciated.

“Yeah, it should run smoothly but don’t hesitate to call me if something comes up,” Jacob said, his face glowing with pride. “I’ve been driving one like this for years so I can teach you how to drive it.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that since you only got your permit back in January,” Charlie said, and Jacob glanced at the shining badge on his chest sheepishly.

“I’ll remember that,” Bella said, and privately wondered if she could teach herself automobile repairs. It was a handy skill to have, and Jacob’s obvious crush was making her a little uncomfortable. She’d always thought of him as the younger brother she’d never had.

“I don’t have a shift so why don’t we go for a test drive tomorrow,” Charlie offered.

“Yeah, why don’t you come to the Rez,” Jacob said, turning to her with the full force of his smile. “It’ll be like old times!”

“Why not,” Bella agreed, infected by their combined enthusiasm. She chided herself for making plans to avoid him and made herself promise to treat Jacob with fairness. He was the only person her age she knew and had always been welcoming during her short visits.

“Good, good,” Billy said and clapped his son on the back. “We need to get going, son. Sue needs that garden hose, and I’m not prepared to face her wrath if we keep her waiting any longer.”

“Bye, Bella,” Jacob said with reluctance but took care of Billy’s wheelchair after he hefted himself into their truck.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Charlie called as he carried Bella’s suitcase into the house. Bella stood awkwardly as she waited for the Black’s to leave and smiled weakly when Billy rolled down his window.

“Charlie missed you, Bella,” he said, and she blushed as they pulled out of the drive.

Bella retrieved her cactus from Charlie’s car and made her way inside. Nothing had really changed; Charlie’s armchair was still in front the TV inside the living room, the walls painted a light blue, and the old ship in the bottle was even mounted above the fireplace.

Bella stopped to examine the pictures taken throughout the years of them together. The sight of her parents holding her as a babe and Renée’s dim eyes and tired smile while Charlie looked happier than Bella had ever seen him sent a jolt through her and she moved on. The one hanging at the base of the stairs showed a much lighter memory; Charlie giving a six-year-old Bella a piggyback ride while she beamed with a gap-toothed smile. Above it was a picture of a pre-teen Bella smiling awkwardly at the camera with Jacob’s arm around her hunched shoulders, and sharing its frame was a picture of her and Charlie eating off of plastic plates on a park bench. They were both laughing at something, and Bella remembered that Billy had taken the photo during her last visit when they’d had a picnic in La Push.

“I left everything like it was the last time you were here,” Charlie said when Bella found him in her room. He scratched the back of his neck and gestured around. “You’re free to change it as much as you like.”

“Thanks, dad.” She set her cactus on the windowsill, hoping the heat from the radiator and the sliver of sunlight would be enough to keep it alive.

“I cleared some shelves in the bathroom as well,” he continued. Bella nodded, and they shared a moment of strained silence, both trying to figure out what to say. Charlie finally cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get settled in. Call if you need anything.”

Bella nodded, grateful that he didn’t intend to hover and set to unpacking. She hefted her suitcase onto her bed and frowned when her nose was assaulted by the sickly sweet smell of strawberries and cheap sunscreen. It was not a pleasant combination. Bella pulled aside the first article of her clothing and cursed when she saw the white goopy mess.

“Ugh!” The tap on the bottle of sunscreen Renée must have snuck into her bag had cracked, and the air pressure had caused her supply of shampoo to burst. Bella threw down her shirt. “Dad, we got a bomb alert!”

“What!” Charlie shouted. Bella poked her head out of her room when she heard him thunder up the stairs.

“No! My shampoo exploded,” she exclaimed. He was fumbling with the walkie-talkie that was clipped to his uniform. Charlie liked to keep it on his person, even when he was off duty.

“Honey, you cannot do that to me.” He slumped against the rail with a sigh and put a hand to his chest as he tried to calm his heart. “I thought you were serious.”

“Sorry,” she grimaced, holding up a t-shirt that smelled overwhelmingly of strawberries. “Think my whole suitcase can fit inside your washing machine?”

Thankfully her white cotton shirt escaped unscathed, but the same could not be said for her jeans. Charlie helped her load everything into the machine and showed her how to turn it on.

“Why don’t you call your mom to let her know how your trip went and then we’ll eat dinner,” he asked. The sun had already set, but Bella knew her mother would be waiting to hear from her. Arizona was only one hour ahead of Washington, but Renée and Phil had a flight to Jacksonville early next morning. Bella didn’t have a cell phone, but Charlie kept a cordless landline, so she sat on her bed and listened to the dial tone.

“Bella, it that you, honey?” her mother’s voice crackled through when she picked up.

“Hey, mom.”

“How was the trip? Did you have any trouble during your layover in Seattle? Did Charlie come to pick you up?” Renée asked, sounding doubtful when she mentioned her ex-husband.

“Yes, yes. Everything went well. Charlie was waiting for me in Port Angeles, just like we’d discussed,” Bella reminded her. She wondered if other divorced parents were as occupied with being the better parent like Renée. “Did you put sunscreen in my bag?”

“I’m not sure. Why? Did you need it?” Renée asked distractedly.

“No, there was a tube in my suitcase, and it burst.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey!” Renée exclaimed. “I just thought that you might need it, you know if you decided to go to the beach - the one in La Push. You know that you can still get a sunburn even if it’s cloudy.”

“No, it’s fine, mom.” Bella didn’t dispute, having heard her mother’s lectures on the importance of protecting one’s skin to prevent cancer many times before. She changed the subject. “How’s the packing going?”

“Oh, Phil’s loading the moving truck as we speak. He’s been a godsend these past few days. You know how awful I am at packing,” she laughed, successfully diverted.

“Yeah.” Bella was relieved she hadn’t inherited her mother’s hoarding tendencies. They spoke for a moment.

“I can hear Phil calling. It was nice hearing from you, sweetie.” Renée said abruptly. “Call me if you need anything!”

“Bye, mom,” Bella said and sighed when she was met with the dial tone. She rolled out of bed and went to join her father.

Charlie was standing by the stove, poking the boiling potatoes with a fork to see if they were ready while two portions of Harry’s fish heated in a pan.

“Can you put the rest of this is the freezer?” He gestured at the bag Billy had brought which lay on the dining table. She picked it up and felt her brain stall when she saw the contents of his freezer. It was packed with frozen pre-cooked meals. With a huff, Bella put the fish in and turned to Charlie.

“How are you still alive, dad?”

Charlie barked out a surprised laugh, looking away sheepishly. “I usually eat at the diner.”

“Not while I live here,” Bella muttered as she lay the table. Charlie rolled a couple of potatoes onto their plates and divided the fish into two portions. They sat down and ate in companionable silence.

“I’m going grocery shopping as soon as possible. I can’t have you dying on my watch,” Bella said after she swallowed the last of her dinner.

“Take as much money as you need from the jar,” Charlie said good-naturedly, sitting back in his chair and pushing his empty plate away.

“Thanks, dad.” Bella took their empty plates to the sink. Charlie had gotten a dishwasher, and she started to clean up.

She was washing the frying pan when Charlie drew her attention by pulling out a chair and holding up his old pair of shears. “We’re still doing this aren’t we?”

“Yeah, just let me go and wash my hair,” Bella said. Charlie took the pan from her hands to dry it with a dish towel. She took a quick shower and used the remnant of her strawberry shampoo. Bella made a mental note to restock soon, or else she’d have to use Charlie’s scentless stuff.

She came downstairs, having dressed in a sweatshirt and a ratty pair of gym shorts she found in her old wardrobe. She handed Charlie her hairbrush as she dried her hair with a towel so she wouldn’t drip water everywhere. Neither of them spoke as Charlie trimmed a good two inches of her hair. The silence was only interrupted by the soft croon of the radio and the occasional gurgle of the dishwasher. The snips of the scissors relaxed Bella to the point where she started to doze off.

She yawned and startled when Charlie tapped her on the head. She was exhausted. He took the towel from her shoulders so she could stand up.

“Thanks, dad,” Bella said and rubbed the bleariness from her eyes with another jaw-breaking yawn.

“I’ll take care of the cleanup, Bells. You should get some rest,” Charlie murmured, and Bella nodded in agreement. She stumbled up to the bathroom and brushed her teeth sluggishly.

Bella melted into the mattress her new - old - bed. The exertion of her travels made itself known, and she listened to the soft sound of the game Charlie was watching in the living room as she drifted off. She was out like a light in a matter of minutes.

Next update: The Swan family visit La Push. (chapter 2)

#the twilight saga #bella swan #charlie swan #billy black #jacob black #fanfiction #twilight fanfiction #bella/paul #angela/leah #embers of the sun #is the name cheesy? 100% but am I ashamed? nope #chapter 1 #the uley pack #my writing #alternate universe #forks washington #Imprinting #bellapaul

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crasherfly · 3 years

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If ever there’s been a week to Never Tweet, it’s been this one.

Never Tweeting is an art.

It is so much harder to Never Tweet than it is to simply tweet like mad.

And folks...this week, I could feel it. I had no shortage of takes that I tweeted, immediately rolled my eyes at, and hauled back in.

I want my online presence to be about celebrating, enthusing and sharing the things I love with others.

I want to disconnect from the constant, algorithmic anger of the internet and provide a space where for just_one_minute we don’t have to try to one up each other’s takesmanship.

It’s easy to show up and interact when someone is angry. I have no shortage of followers and well-wishers who only_show_up when I’m Mad_Online*tm.

They’re nowhere to be found when I’m feelin’ good.

I don’t begrudge it. Anger will always be the more cathartic tone to hook into.

And honestly? I’m GOOD at being angry. My writing tone is sharper. More focused. I can summon all sorts of anger- sad anger- hopeless anger- righteous anger, you name it. I was born and bred in Gawker’s internet hivemind. I had anger BEATEN into me.

But after being hooked into that stuff for the better part of a decade, I want to provide a healthier alternative.

This week I struggled to do that.

But I think I’m getting better at it.

I think I’ll always struggle to project earnest positivity. That’s just who I am. I don’t smile in pictures. My voice doesn’t project warmth on a phone. My first response in most group chats is the Kermitpls emote. It can’t be helped.

But I also know my therapist was right when she pointed out that it isn’t IMPOSSIBLE- ‘cuz I’m at my warmest, my kindest, my most curious and open- when I’m sharing about the things that bring me joy.

When I talk about a video game I’ve been playing.

When I share an anime gif of a new series I’m obsessed with.

When I send a youtube link for some no name trap artist I just discovered.

In the past I’ve struggled with toeing the line between sharing and critiquing.

I don’t think I’m a critic.

Most art is just black magic to me. I couldn’t do what these people do. I’ve tried and failed. Even the worst and most cliche storywriter in the film or video game world has already made it steps and bounds further than I likely ever will.

But I do believe I have a gift. I believe I can give voice to the experiences I love. I can tell you about the exact moment an anime monologue hit me or a gaming experience clicked for me and you’ll understand where I’m coming from. I can be excited about something and make that feel palpable for others. I can share that experience and relate it back to my identity and maybe convince you to take a shot at it for yourself.

I took a week off from these Tumblr’s ‘cuz I simply couldn’t think of something to write that would reflect that. We were knee deep in so many different Discourses that just thinking about writing made my head spin.

But as I took my time away from writing, all I could do was continue to file away little experiences for future use in the Weekly Update.

I don’t think these are special. I don’t think I’m a special writer. But I couldn’t keep away from this if I tried. I have to write- something- anything. And really, that’s the best and only reason anyone should do the damn thing.

So let’s stop talking about it and just dive right in.

Cyberpunk 2077

Yeah, we’re gonna go ahead and acknowledge the elephant in the room.

I bought Cyberpunk 2077 just an hour or two ahead of the release. I had made it YEARS without buying into hype. But my friends were hype, 2020 has been a beast, and the allure of a enormous, high-fidelity open world to explore managed to tag me for sixty bucks at the last second.

Oh, how much a couple extra hours of patience would have made.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it- the tech issues are exactly what you’ve been reading about. Unplayable is not an overstatement. After the most recent patch, I’d upgrade that to “barely tenable”.

I’ve put in somewhere around 4 hours of play. I’ve knocked out a couple of missions and taken some time to explore Night City and take in the sights. I do my best to grin and bear the technical issues, but it’s likely that I won’t earnestly complete my visit to Night City until I have a Series X. This has nothing to do with the content or gameplay- everything to do with the fact that the raw chop of the experience leaves my eyes strained and my head dully aching.

Is Cyberpunk 2077 good?

I have no idea. I haven’t really played it. It’ll likely be years before I’ll have a chance to play it as its developers intended.

I think if a large percentage of players were being honest they would say the same thing. I don’t think any of us know if this will ultimately be a positive experience.

It certainly doesn’t feel like the experience that was promised, but as I learned with my recent revisit of Red Dead Redemption 2, time is a helluva thing. A year or two years from now- we may not remember the buggy launch, the hardware scarcity, or the many other controversies surrounding Cyberpunk 2077, instead only being left with an incredibly intricate playground open world that seems like an impossible gift in digital artistry.

Or that end-vision may never materialize, and we’ll only be left with a monument to the many unnecessary follies that this hype train has foisted upon all of us.

I do know that the uncertainty has brought out the worst in most of us, and no promise of a shining digital city on the hill is worth what we are putting each other through.

Someday, I plan to actually experience the wonders of Night City. The highest fidelity stills I’ve seen evoke the wonder I felt as a kid when I experienced moments of graphical benchmarks- playing Doom or Goldeneye for the first time, or seeing the trailer for Halo, or exploring Fallout 3′s massive wasteland and swearing games couldn’t look any better than this. I want to experience that moment for myself. Who wouldn’t?

But it’s gonna be a while. That seems unbelievable, given how long we’ve had to hear about the promise of this title. But it’s a fact we’re all gonna have to get used to. Despite being out in the wild, Cyberpunk 2077 is still, largely, an unknown quantity, and we all need to get on healthy terms with that status quo for the time being.

Street Fighter 30th Anniversary Collection

After reading this excellent piece on Polygon regarding the history of Street Fighter III, I picked up the 30th Anniversary Collection on a whim.

I’ve never been good at Capcom fighters. They’ve always been too fast and I could never get inputs exactly right. Too often it would devolve into button mashing, with supers and hypers being expelled purely by accident.

But lately I’ve been trying to better learn retro fighters, partly because of Spriteclub, and partly because I want to challenge myself to learn something new.

I’ve had some moderate success with this collection, but it’s pretty dependent on WHICH Street Fighter I end up playing. There are 12 to choose from, spanning the first 3 games of the series.

I’ve had the best luck with Street Fighter III: 3rd Strike. The action is fluid, the command input more forgiving. It’s also just a gorgeous game to look at. The art of the Street Fighter series (and other retro fighters) is something I’ve come to really appreciate this year.

I think my favorite actual roster is Street Fighter Alpha 3, which contains the most familiar faces of the series. It’s also deeply difficult. But I’ve learned that short of picking up a mod or hacked rom of these games, the only way to learn is being tossed to the vicious AI wolves of the past.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get to use my fight stick with this collection, lacking the correct USB hub for the connection. I’m looking into rectifying that, ‘cuz so far this has been a great way to pick up a series that as a kid I largely missed out on.

Grab Bag of Other Experiences

Beyond those two experiences, I’ve mostly been gaming in small bursts.

I’m still off and on with Crusader Kings 3. I’ve learned how to create custom rulers and have done a few runs playing as what is essentially a living god. What I’ve learned is that even as a superhuman...being successful in the middle ages is pretty freaking hard. Even if you tame countless armies and bring swaths of territory under your command AND live for at least 120 years- eventually, your greatest enemy won’t be a military or an economy- but your own impossibly convoluted line of succession.

I tried Nintendo Online with some friends Friday night. We played Mario and a few other NES games. The input lag was present but bearable. The experience is confined to two participants, which is a shame because it would be easy enough to add extra spots for spectating or even hot sea depending on the game. But still, it worked, and for Nintendo...that’s about all we can ask.

I’m still working through Hitman 2. I’m on the expansion content now. I’m close to maxing out The Golden Handshake. Two more levels after this, and then I’ll move on to the sniper missions.

I picked Fire Emblem: Three Houses up briefly. I finished some skirmish battles before getting overwhelmed and quitting. I adore Fire Emblem, but I’m an absolute perfectionist when it comes to unit class pathing and with the addition of the new DLC characters, everything is out of whack. I need to freshen up on what my ultimate master class pathing will be for everyone...and then I’ll pick it back up.

I tried Fall Guys today. I was bored. I thought it’d be a fun way to kill some time. I failed to qualify for 3 of my first 4 opening rounds. Either the game has gotten harder or the community is just that savvy now. It felt like no one else ever missed a jump or hit a wall. I eventually put the game down in frustration.

Anime

If my gaming lists have seemed a little light lately, it’s because I’ve actually been putting in time with my first love, anime.

Jujutsu Kaisen

We’ve gone from intriguing to straight fire. Beautiful action scenes are finally finding actual human connections to really make them sing. A true antagonist has finally appeared and the plot appears to finally be accelerating- though it was fairly brisk to start with.

This is shaping up as my favorite shonen of the year.

No Guns Life

Seven ep’s in and this story is still killing it. We’re getting deeper into the tangled web of dark military groups and hyper-capitalist research companies. All the pieces haven’t fallen into place quite yet, but half the fun is getting there.

If you’re looking to soothe your post-Cyberpunk blues, this story of cybernetics run amok might be just the jam you’re looking for.

Fire Force

Fire Force season 2 is finally in the books. It’s last ep was a doozy. It’s impossible to evaluate just how good this season was, because it was largely in service to set up for season 3. We met A LOT of new characters- and lost a few too.

So much happened in season 2 that it’ll be necessary to rewatch ahead of the eventual season 3 (yet to be confirmed, somehow?). A lot of what’s to come will determine just how special season 2 ends up being.

I’ll say this much:

There is no anime out there right now that is given as much life and individuality in its animation as Fire Force is. Sometimes, I wish the many moving parts would just get out of its own way and just let the show soar as high as its visuals want it to, but it seems we’ll have to wait just a bit longer to see if it can reach that potential.

Fist of the North Star

Holy SHIT Fist of the North Star.

Somehow, I’d never heard of this absolutely bonkers dark fantasy until joining Spriteclub. But I’m so glad I did, ‘cuz just WOAH.

Okay, the pitch:

Earth, 19xx. Nuclear wars have left the planet uninhabitable. Water is the most valuable resource, and people kill or worse for it. Think like, Mad Max, or Fallout, and you’ll get the idea.

A lone wanderer named Kenshiro goes from town to town with no objective in mind. Plagued by the memories of a past life and blessed with incredible strength, martial arts prowess, and magic, the plot follows his movements from village to village as he tries to keep food in his belly, water close at hand and a roof over his head, all while paying heed to his intense sense of violent justice, of course.

This is an older anime, airing in 1984. I was surprised by how emotionally intense it was. It didn’t hold back its punches (pun slightly intended). The tragic life of the post-apocalypse is graphic and brutal. Ken’s foes are as ruthless as their victims are helpless. And Ken’s fight sequences, thrilling in their rendering, are still enough to make audiences of today gasp.

It’s a brutal show, but it never feels overpowering in its bleakness. Ken follows a strict moral code that always errs on the side of goodness and justice, following in the footsteps of many other lone vanguards of the post-apocalypse. So, even as the plots are often dark, we always leave the story with the feeling that eventually, Ken is going to find a way to make this right.

If nothing else, he leaves a few less bad guys standing than he did before.

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theapostlesnigeria · 3 years

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ARE WE WISER THAN GOD?

"I urge, then, first of all, that requests, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for everyone— for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness." - 1 Timothy 2:1-2.

God said we should be praying and interceding for all those in Authority. He who is Omniscient and Omnipotent, said in doing this, we will be guaranteeing our peaceful and quiet living. He knows this because He is the One who will be answering our prayers on this issue. He knows what He has planned to do for us in answer to what He has asked us to pray. But in rebellion, we ignore and disobey Him to follow our own human wisdom and knowledge to condemn and criticize our Leaders. Any wonder we are suffering untold hardship and tormoil in our land.

Some might say they are praying for the Nation. Yes I know you are praying for the peace of Jerusalem and that is great - Psalm 122:6-9. But your Omniscient Father, who knows all things, still specifically asked you to be praying for your Leaders in this case, not your country. No matter what you know of your Leaders and how you feel about them, God knows. But still, He asks you to be praying for them. I hope you know you don't need to love or like any of your Leaders to be praying for them. The Love, Joy and satisfaction of obeying your Father will simply overwhelm your hatred for them and drive you to obeying Him in this regard.

Our Peaceful and Quiet living does not solely rest in the hands of our Security Forces and how good they are. God is implying that It is squarely in His hands. He is also saying He will enforce this Peace and Quietness of life for us if we can only do what He asked us to do - PRAYING AND INTERCEDING FOR OUR Leaders. We are unnecessarily harming ourselves when we spend our time uselessly complaining, condemning and criticizing our Leaders, instead of praying for them. Despite how evil and persecutory Emperor Nero and his Co Emperors were, God never bothered to tell us of it in His Word. The little we know of them were given to us by the Historians. And God is not a Historian and neither should we. The Apostles and the early Believers never condemned nor criticized those evil Leaders. Rather, they called on the Believers to be praying and interceding for them, despite the harrowing persecutions they hauled at them.

By God's flawless Word, no one can ascend to any position of authority or rulership except by His will - "Everyone must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been established by God. Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God has instituted, and those who do so will bring judgment on themselves ..." - Romans 13:1-5. So whoever that is in that position of Authority, whether by rigging or any foul means, it's God that allowed it and through it brought that person to that position. So we owe God our obedience to be praying for His servant in Authority.

God knows better than you. He is wiser than you. So in faith, submission and obedience, do what He commands of you: pray and intercede for your Leaders - President, Governors, etc. God will then take care of the consequences - He will give us Peace and Quietness of life. This reminds me of Peter's experience. My expert fisherman fished all night without catching anything. But when Jesus asked him to cast his net again, after using his boat in evangelism, he demurred. But giving in to the superior knowledge and wisdom of God, he obeyed. What was the result? "When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, “Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch.” Simon answered, “Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. BUT BECAUSE YOU SAY SO, I will let down the nets.” When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break." - Luke 5:4-6. Friend, let us just obey God in praying and interceding for our Leaders despite our ill feelings, just like Peter did, and then let us see if we will not enjoy the Peace and Quiet life and living He promised, even though other surrounding countries burn. Honestly, we have no right to be talking and complaining to God about the insecurity and turmoil in our land when we have vehemently refused to obey Him.

Some Believers might want to argue about their rights to opposition to evil governance. They will usually quote from Old Testament to buttress their opposition. But I will always say this: we are in a New Covenant with God anchored on Jesus Christ. We live and operate by the dictates of His New Covenant with us, no longer by His Old Covenant. In fact, He has RESTED His Old Covenant - "But the ministry Jesus has received is as superior to theirs as the covenant of which he is mediator is superior to the old one, and it is founded on better promises. By calling this covenant “new,” he has made the first one obsolete; and what is obsolete and aging will soon disappear." - Hebrews 8:6,13. God is now speaking to us through Jesus Christ (The New Testament), no longer through the prophet (The Old Testament) - "In the past God spoke to our forefathers through the prophets at many times and in various ways, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir..." - Hebrews 1:1-2. Yes the Word of God is eternal. But always remember also that it is dispensational.

Friend, let's stop being Historians. It has taken us nowhere. Let's be what God wants us to be: Intercessors and Prayer Warriors for our Leaders. Unbelievers can be Complaints and Historians, no problem. They did not hear what you have heard from God. Thus, they don't know what you know. But it is heartbreaking when a Believer starts behaving like an Unbeliever in this matter. Friend, for your sake, pray for your Leaders.

GOD BLESS YOU - BRO KINGDOM EGEJURU

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prettyfunkyunorganized · 7 years

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Daughter Series - Monster Hunter McCree AU

Maybe it’s rather silly of me to write an AU with a character I’ve only recently introduced, but this was a lot of fun to write! No regrets :)

This is inspired by McCree and Reaper’s Halloween skins from this year that I loved. Ended up being 3,600ish words. Put a break in the middle. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

More Daughter Series: Hanzo, McCree, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji, Roadhog

Halloween Daughter Series: Roadhog, McCree, Genji, Reaper

After years of trailing, searching, and tracking, McCree felt as if he was finally closing in on his prey. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Again. He had this feeling back in Liverpool and before that in New York, but nothing had come of it. Reaper continued to elude him, over and over.

“Damn vampire piece of shit,” the hunter hissed, rolling another cigarette. “I chased him all the way back home to the US just to turn right around and head back to this rainy shit hole.” London always made him cranky. He took a long drag and rubbed his temple. “There was another drained body here this morning,” McCree assured himself, “he must be close. He must be.”

He pulled his long coat tighter around his cold shoulders with a sigh, watching and listening. It was dark, but his highly trained eyes had no trouble scanning the streets. All he needed was a flash of movement, something darting by too fast, a rustle in the darkness – any sort of sign. He was getting restless. He needed a chase. Some action.

“Come on,” he growled after an hour of roaming with eyes peeled, “where are you?!”

There was a rustling sound behind him, and McCree grinned. He whipped out his gun, swiveled on his heels, and fired a bevy of shots at the figure. Then he realized the silhouette was too small to be Reaper’s. His stomach dropped as the body fell to the ground with a whimper. He’d always been too hasty, his mentors had told him that a thousand times. “One of these days you’re going to put a bullet in something that doesn’t deserve one!” He’d finally done it - to something in a tattered blue dress and a thin cloak.

“Oh God,” he sputtered kneeling beside her. “Miss? Miss?! Are you alright? Ah shit, please don’t be dead! Imma get you some help, ya hear? Just hold on!”

She grabbed his arm as he tried to stand up, pulling him back. She was strong. Too strong. There was another one of his bad habits biting him in the ass: he was too gullible when it came to women. “One of these days you’re going to let something bat a pair of pretty lashes at you and slit your throat.” His mentors were right again. Mostly. He saw her sickly red eyes and pointed teeth just before she lunged.

Much to McCree’s surprise, he awoke. Sore and confused, but alive. Wherever he was, it was dark and musty, making his nose crinkle at the mildewy smell. Dust coated his cheek as he sat up from the cold wooden floor.

“Son of a bitch,” he whined quietly, rubbing the bump on his head, “where did that little monster drag me? And where the hell is my hat?”

A low, sneering chuckle hit his ears as his hat drifted into the light, swaying back and forth teasingly. He recognized that pitch black glove and the elegant red cuff surrounding it.

“Reaper,” the hunter snarled, “not like you to let a little girl do your dirty work.”

The vampire laughed again, sauntering into the light. “What can I say – I wanted to test my new fledgling. And my, my did she impress! Pretty thing hauled your unconscious body back here less than an hour after I sent her out.” He sat down on a fraying velvet couch in front of McCree, lounging as if he didn’t have a care in the world after tossing the hunter’s hat flippantly to the side. “I will have to give her quite the reward.”

“You gonna feed her a baby or something,” grumbled McCree as he traced his fingers across his belt. His gun was gone, his crossbow was gone, the sharpened stakes were gone. Even the dagger in his boot had been taken.

“A baby,” Reaper scoffed, “that’s hardly a meal for a growing girl. I was thinking something a little more . . . personal.” His voice was suddenly sultry, and McCree instantly recoiled in disgust.

“That was very rude,” his captor scolded, “you’ll damage the girl’s pride! The way I hear it, you’re quite the Don Juan, but just rumors I suppose.”

“Oh I do just fine with the ladies, and I don’t even have to kill ‘em or hypnotize ‘em to do it,” McCree barked back. “Probably has something to do with the fact that I don’t wear a menacing mask or eat people.”

“Says the man with spurs and silver-tipped spikes on his metal arm. Glad you found a replacement, by the way – makes you a much more worthy adversary. More fun to toy with.”

“Or you could have not torn it off in the first place,” McCree fumed.

“Where’s the fun in that,” Reaper said swinging his legs onto the floor. The satin lining of his long overcoat glimmered in the candlelight – red and smooth and somehow ominous. His blood would glint like that when the beast finally got around to killing him.

“You are having fun, aren’t you,” the hunter asked sarcastically. “How much longer are you going to drag this out? There’s a lot of other shit I could be getting done right now.”

Reaper snorted. “Like what? For over a decade all you’ve been doing, day in and day out, is searching for me.” He stood and walked to McCree, stopping inches away from him. The hunter tried to lean away, but the vampire grabbed his chin and pulled him closer. “I am all you care about. I am all you think of. I am all you want, aren’t I?”

“No,” McCree automatically objected, but he could feel his face go hot. The truth in those words stung.

“Tell me the truth,” Reaper’s voice boomed. McCree’s vision went bleary as the overwhelming power of the elder vampire crawled its way into his mind. He had to obey, despite all the training he’d endured. Reaper was too old, too skilled.

“Yes,” the hunter admitted breathlessly.

“Say it,” Reaper demanded smugly.

“All I want is to kill you.” His own voice echoed in his head, bouncing about and rattling all the shame out of its hiding spots.

“You don’t even care about your order’s mission anymore, do you? ‘To seek all evil, to destroy all beasts, to protect all humanity.’ You could have killed a hundred of my kind in the past ten odd years, but no, you always come scampering back to me. Isn’t that right, Master Hunter?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t checked in with his superiors in ages. When they didn’t support his obsession, McCree branched out on his own.

“Tell me, boy, are you happy, chasing me all over the world always one step behind?”

“No.”

“Does anything make you happy?”

“The thought of killing you.”

“But of course,” Reaper sighed. “How predictable. You haven’t thought this through, though, my American friend.” The vampire kneeled down, the pointed edges of his mask much too close to the hunter’s face. “If you kill me,” he continued, “you’ll have nothing left! No prey, no purpose, nothing.”

The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. Damned bloodsucker was right, completely and utterly right.

“Judging by the paleness of your skin and the thumping of your heart, you know I’m correct, don’t you, McCree?” His kidnapper sounded so smug it hurt, but at least he was pleased enough to release his captive from the mind control.

The hunter was left reeling. It felt like some sort of awful combination of a hangover and a migraine was hammering into his skull. He sat there on the floor, curled over and panting as Reaper’s words seeped into his bones, filling him with dread and humiliation. He’d let this thing take over his life. He used to be a man – maybe not a good man – but a man with his own goals and desires and ambitions. Now? Now he was a plaything. A puppet for a fanged freak.

“Aw, poor little hunter,” Reaper cooed cruelly, “someone tear down your whole world?”

McCree glared up at him. “Fuck you.”

The vampire burst out laughing, his entire figure shaking with twisted joy. “You are a delight! All full of useless bluster and pathetic angst. And I’m not even finished yet! I’ve one more surprise for you ‘partner.’”

Hearing the old, undead man fake a Southern accent was strangely unsettling. A shiver ran up the hunter’s spine. “Oh goodie,” McCree mumbled, trying to be tough. He sure didn’t’ feel that way.

“One more question, then your treat,” Reaper promised like he was talking to a dog. “Answer me this: do you have any hope left? Any at all? You’ve failed to kill me, even after all this time, and now you know if you kill me, your life is pointless. Seems rather hopeless to me.”

“What does it matter,” McCree said with an angry huff.

“I told you to answer me.” Reaper rose from his bended knee, undoubtedly glaring down at his captive. “Do you want me to put you under again?”

He did not want that. Christ almighty he didn’t want that! His head was still throbbing.

Before he could come up with a witty reply, McCree was buckling over and writhing in pain. Evidently, Reaper had no patience. As the kidnapper man screamed and twitched on the ground, the question blared in his ears. “Do you have any hope? Any at all?” It was like a massive gong, sending agonizing vibrations into every fiber of his being.

“For fuck’s sake, no! I don’t have any hope,” McCree all but sobbed. “None! I don’t have a single fucking thing to live for anymore! Nothing!”

And the pain was gone, leaving the hunter in a panting, sweaty pile. He’d given in so fast. He disgusted himself.

“Not a ‘single fucking thing to live for,’ you say,” Reaper mused. “Wonderful!”

McCree wanted to smack the smarmy vampire right out of his fancy boots, but what good would it do? Reaper would probably just laugh at him, call him ‘cute,’ or some shit. The hunter had been defeated, once and for all. He was empty and ready to die, even if it was at the hands of this monstrosity.

“Chin up, cowboy,” Reaper sang, “time for your reward! A little something to perk you back up, now that you’re at your lowest.” He picked McCree up by his neck effortlessly, forcing the man to his feet. “My lovely little fledgling, time to come out!”

The girl that had attacked him tentatively stepped into view, head bowed and hands trembling. She looked disheveled, especially next to her master. Her clothing was torn in a number of places and her shawl was hanging on by threads. The shoes covering her feet had visible holes, and dirt smears were splattered all over her body. It would have been depressing if not for the blood on her chest and arms. McCree scowled at her. Her fingers were still stained red from her last sloppy feeding.

“Eyes forward, my dear, you are a fearsome creature of the night! Act like it,” Reaper said waving the young woman closer.

She tilted her head up when told revealing high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Her hair was matted with dried sinew and what seemed like weeks of inattention. McCree should have found her repulsive, sickening, but she looked so . . . scared. Her red eyes darted between the hunter and Reaper as her slender figure twitched erratically. Something was wrong with her.

Reaper wrapped his arm around his prisoner as if they were longtime friends, speaking in a chipper tone unbefitting of someone who burned villages out of boredom. “Master Hunter Jesse McCree, venerated member of the murderous Van Helsing Order, I would like you to meet your daughter, Juniper.”

McCree’s head flinched back, shooting Reaper a confused look. The vampire just laughed. “Don’t believe me,” he asked smugly. “Just picture the little dear with brown eyes the same color as yours, and that long brown hair tied back in a ribbon, just like yours. Not seeing it yet?”

He could see the resemblance, but the denial was still holding on tightly.

The vampire let out an exasperated moan, “Fine then, look at the freckles. Remind you of anyone? Perhaps a certain redheaded innkeeper’s daughter? From your homeland? One who liked to tell tales about the local history and ‘The Great Werewolf Hoard?’ Ringing any bells?”

“Ho fuck,” the hunter gulped before he could stop himself. He remembered that woman – her stories, her kind smile, her nose. This frightened newborn vampire had that same nose.

With an almost deafening laugh, Reaper shook the hunter’s shoulders like he’d just delivered a hilarious punchline. “You should see the look on your unshaven mug! All of a sudden all the work I’ve put into this reunion is worth all the trouble,” the masked man sighed contentedly. “She’s a cute little beastie, isn’t she?”

“She’s a monster,” McCree said quietly, trying to convince himself as much as Reaper. “Whatever she was before, now she’s just one more creature I gotta put down.”

“Oh,” the elder vampire said finally removing his arm from McCree, “is that so?” His mischievous tone made the other’s man’s stomach flop. “You don’t feel anything for her? No regret? No sympathy? No tenderness?”

“No,” the hunter grunted uncomfortably.

Reaper hummed curiously before shrugging and grabbing the young woman’s wrist. The girl’s eyes widened and she let out a pitiful noise as her master pulled her into a headlock. “I suppose if I can’t torture you with her, Juniper here has no use.” With an overly dramatic flourish, the undead man produced a wooden stake and threw his arm back, ready to strike. His fist came barreling toward her chest.

“Don’t!” McCree’s hands grabbed Reaper’s a fraction of a second before the mahogany pierced Juniper’s heart. The hunter had never been so terrified in all his life. He didn’t want to watch her die. He should have wanted to kill her, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Reaper crooned in a voice so low it could rattle a man’s innards. “We’ve been doing this dance a long time, master hunter, and I believe I’ve come to know you quite well. You’re a simple man with simple desires – so simple it’s a bit sad. You want love, McCree, plain and simple. That’s why you’re always so good to women you woo, why you always give your last few coppers to the gutter-rat children in the streets, why you spend your evenings happily listening to old men in bars blather about their past. And here’s your chance!” He let Juniper out from under his grasp, instead holding her by the waist, their bodies pressed together at the hip. “You have a child, McCree! A girl, at that! Someone to dote upon and dress in frills. Someone who will look up to you and hold you tight. Your very own family, small, but pure.”

The vampire’s gloved fingers began to snake up Juniper’s torso, massaging her tender flesh. She stood there, letting him do it, but stared at the hunter, desperately. Rage began to boil in the hunter’s core. Reaper’s hand groped the young woman’s breasts.

“You have a daughter, McCree, and she’s all mine!”

“You fucking – ” He lunged at the creature, knowing it was futile, but he didn’t care. If it meant the bastard stopped touching Juniper, it was worth it, but the hunter’s stolen gun was suddenly pointed right between his eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah, my boy! Not so fast.” Reaper turned the gun to press against the young woman’s ear. “Violence begets violence, you know.”

McCree took a step back, arms in the air. “What do you want from me,” he spat.

“There is only one more thing you can give me, old friend,” the vampire said nuzzling Juniper’s neck. “I’ve broken you down until you were all but begging for death, and now I’ve given you something to live for – all that’s left is letting your precious daughter feast on your blood. I’ve hardly fed the poor dear since I turned her, so she’s famished!” He smacked her ass, pushing her toward McCree. “Kill him, my dear. Feast on him! Sink those pointy fangs into his neck and drink your fill!”

She slowly closed the distance between them and fell to her knees in front of McCree. Her body was shaking more violently now. He wanted to hold her close and wrap his coat around her. Even with her teeth bared, the hunter didn’t feel an ounce of fear.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered to her, “I promise.” Reaper chuckled.

Juniper moved closer, her nose nearing his jugular. She was a young vampire, but plenty fast. He didn’t see her hand as it moved to his neck.

“Don’t look down,” she mouthed at him and he frowned for just a moment, then he felt her slip something into his hand. He knew that shape, that smoothed edge. A silver-tipped stake.

“Help me,” she whimpered almost inaudibly, “I can’t keep resistin’ much longer. He’s – he’s in my head!” Tears spilled down her cheeks, filling McCree with a determination he’d never known the likes of.

“What’s the holdup, Juniper? I know you’re a ‘hick’, but surely someone taught you to not to play with your food,” Reaper joked.

McCree looked at him and scowled. “I need your help, baby girl,” he murmured back to his daughter.

“What was that,” the elder creature hissed, flying to McCree’s side, grabbing him by his long hair and yanking his head back. “Enough sniveling, Juniper, kill him, now!”

She cringed and gripped her forehead, yelping and quivering in pain, but she was strong, like her father. With an inhuman snarl, Juniper tackled Reaper to the ground, pinning him in place before he could react. McCree scrambled to his feet, weapon at the ready. With one practiced movement, he stabbed Reaper in her chest, making the vampire screech and squirm.

He was hurt, but far from dead. He whipped his arm from under Juniper and punched her in the throat, making her crumble to the floor. McCree clenched his silver metal fist and pummeled Reaper again and again and again. Until his mask broke and the hunter hesitated at the sight of the mangled face below him – all gnashing teeth and ashen skin and a too long tongue that lashed out like a spear.

McCree may not have been frozen in place for long, but it was long enough. Reaper pounced, stake still stuck insinde of him, but this time he was on top, grinning and dripping saliva on the hunter’s stunned face.

“I’m going to bleed you dry, feed the meat from your corpse to my dogs, and grind your bones with my bare hands!” He leaned in closer, licking the sweat from McCree’s brow. “Then I’m going to chain up your ‘baby girl’ and do every filthy thing I can think of to her supple little – ”

There was a blast and Reaper was tossed off of the hunter. The vampire’s body was still. McCree was panting, waiting for the beast to get up and chuckle, but he didn’t.

“Is,” Juniper rasped shakily, “is he dead?”

The hunter turned to Juniper, who was still holding his pistol in her shaking hands. It was covered in silver adornments, and McCree could smell his daughter’s burning skin. He jumped to his feet and started to pry the gun from her hands.

“No,” he said frantically. “I’ve shot him before – it just slows him down.” He began to wrap up her hands with a bandage from his pocket. “We have to get you away from him. We’ll get on a ship and just keep sailing, okay? I’ll keep you safe, alright?”

When he looked back to Juniper, he saw her staring at him with a dazed look. “You’re bleeding,” she said, swallowing hard. “From yer head. I can smell it. I can feel it.” Her chest heaved as her eyes dilated. “I’m so hungry,” she wailed.

He grabbed her wrists as they approached him. “Easy there, sweetpea, I can’t help ya if I’m dead.” She whined, but nodded. “Can you, uh,” he said eyeing Reaper, “feed on him?”

She leaned over and bit her lip. “Maybe.”

In the time it took him to blink, Juniper was crawling over her master’s body, mouth affixed to his wrist. She made a disgusted face, but didn’t stop until her body stopped shaking.

“Better,” McCree asked as she stood.

“You ever vomit in your mouth and have to gulp it back down,” she grumbled. “It was like that.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, hun. We’ll figure something out for next time.”

“Next time,” she said wrapping her arms around herself. “There’s gonna to be a next time.”

“We’ll find a way,” McCree said blocking her view of Reaper’s mangled form. “I dunno how, but I’m gonna take care of you, ya hear?”

“I didn’t want to be like this,” she sputtered at him, “he just found me and dragged me away and – ” Her hands clamped over her trembling lips.

“I believe you,” he said grabbing her arms. So damn cold. “It’s not your fault.”

She looked up to him with teary eyes and slowly leaned into his chest, crying softly into him. He held her close and rubbed her back.

“I’ve got ya, baby girl, I’ve got ya.” He didn’t know how, but he was going to protect his daughter, no matter what she was. She was scared and hurt and confused, but she wouldn’t be alone. Neither of them would be anymore.

#mine #writing #overwatch #mccree #reaper #juniper #drabble #overwatch drabble #my drabble #daughter series #daughter series au #hunter mccree au #vampire reaper

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gracewithducks · 4 years

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The Gospel and the Grinch (preached 12/29/2019)

As Christmas Eve approached, our family – like many of yours, I imagine – sat down together to watch the old animated version of Dr. Seuss’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Our girls, who are five and ten, watched with big sad eyes while the Grinch loaded up his sleigh with all the Whos’ holiday goodies and hauled them all away – and then watched with wonder as the Whos awoke on Christmas morning, walked out of their empty houses, held hands, and started to sing.

I asked our kids, “What would you do, if we woke up on Christmas morning and the tree was gone, and the lights were gone, and there weren’t any cookies or presents or treats left? What would you do?”

“We’d be sad and cry,” said one. “I’d be super mad,” said the other.

And I asked, “Would you feel like singing?”

That was possibly the loudest, most emphatic “no!” I’ve ever heard.

Well, at least they’re honest. Then again, I think most of us – if we awoke to find that our garlands and gifts were gone – most of us would be angry; we’d cry, we’d yell, and then we’d call the police.

When I was younger, it was always very clear to me that the Grinch is the villain in this story. His irrational hatred of Christmas leads him to do unthinkable things: identity fraud, breaking and entering, and of course, theft and destruction of personal property. He’s cruel and heartless, a completely unsympathetic character…

But then I got a bit older. And I’ve found that more days than not I, too, just can’t handle the noise-noise-noise-noise. Sometimes you just need some peace and quiet; sometimes, I just need to be alone. These days, I often see the Grinch as more of a kindred spirit, a prophet who speaks the truth many of us are thinking but just don’t have the courage to say out loud. The Grinch offers a cutting indictment of the commercialization of Christmas; he gives the Whos a chance to examine what their love of Christmas is really about; he reminds us that the holidays can’t really be jolly or holy if some of us are left on the outside looking in. And he acknowledges that families are messy and kids are loud and sometimes the holidays can just be far too overwhelming – and it’s as true for those of us who are surrounded by people as it is for those of us who are alone.

Perhaps the Grinch is a prophet, one who speaks with an unpopular voice – not so different from the prophet Hosea, who enacts a difficult object lesson, or perhaps the Grinch is a prophet in the tradition of Jonah, who resented the people God sent to him to help, who tried to run away and, after spending three days in the belly of a great big fish and being puked up on dry land, after preaching reluctantly but so effectively that the people of Nineveh repent – Jonah responds not with celebration but by pouting outside the city walls. The Grinch is a prophet like Elijah, running into the wilderness, thinking he’s the only one who really gets what’s going on. He’s a prophet like John the Baptist, living on the fringes, criticizing the brood of vipers as he lives in a way they don’t understand. Even Jesus escaped from the cities, even Jesus retreated to the wilderness or the mountaintop, even Jesus needed to get away from the pressing crowds sometimes.

So yeah, maybe I get the Grinch a whole lot more than I used to. The reality is that sometimes we all need silence and solitude. Sometimes we need to escape from it all. The difference, however, is that the Grinch never comes back.

We actually don’t know whether the Grinch was born there on the outskirts of Whoville, always an outsider looking in, or whether – as the more recent live-action movie suggests – whether he was himself a Who who escaped because he was teased, pressured to conform, unable to ever quite fit in.

But whatever led the Grinch to his isolated mountaintop, it seems that he isn’t content or happy there. He’s alone, but not alone enough; he can still hear the singing and the shouting from below. Maybe he wants to run away further, but feels trapped… or maybe what he really wants is to go down and join in. Perhaps he hates and resents the happiness and chaos below because, if it were up to him, he’d be a part of it… but he can’t or he won’t join in; he doesn’t know how to bridge the distance, and he feels he isn’t welcome there. So instead he sits angry, excluded, bitter and alone.

We meet the Grinch up on his mountaintop, angrily passing judgment on the Whos down below, hating the community he’s not part of and condemning the celebrations he can’t understand. And his bitterness leads him to this terrible, horrible idea: his plan to not just judge and hate everyone else’s joy, but to find a way to steal that joy right out from under their feet. It’s a special kind of hardened heart that not only judges what we don’t understand but is determined to destroy it, to shut down any joy that’s not our own.

There are plenty of Grinches in the world these days: people who, for one reason or another, angrily pass judgment on and try to put a stop to anything they don’t or can’t be part of. It’s as if someone else’s happiness makes us angry: it’s kids breaking the toys because, if I can’t have them, no one can; it’s adults complaining about people who like pumpkin spice too much or people who find joy in having a whole herd of cats at home, people who put their Christmas trees up too early or leave their Christmas lights up too late. We criticize people for loving the wrong kinds of music and cheering for the wrong sports teams; we judge people whose lives are different from our own. You’re doing happiness wrong, we tell them; you’re joyful for the wrong reasons… or you don’t have the right to be joyful at all. We judge each other, and then we try to take everyone’s joy away. We mock and belittle, we pass laws, we build walls, we try to convert others or, if we can’t, to lock them out and keep them away.

It’s not enough for the Grinch to be sad and bitter; he wants everyone to be sad and bitter, too. It’s not enough for him to decide that the craziness of Christmas isn’t for him; he doesn’t want anyone to celebrate it at all.

And this is what strikes me so much about the Grinch: he’s so alone. He has no family. No neighbors. No friends. He doesn’t have a circle to stand in, no one with whom to hold hands or lift up a happy song… so he can’t understand what kind of community and joy could possibly lead the Whos to do any of those things on Christmas morning. He doesn’t understand the music; he doesn’t share the laughter… so for the Grinch, it’s all just noise, noise, noise, noise.

The Grinch thinks if he can steal the stuff of Christmas Day – if he could steal the horns and the toys and the bells and the treats – he can stop Christmas from coming at all. And he tries. He sneaks and he spies; he steals and he lies. And he waits: misery loves company, so he waits – he waits for the chorus of misery to begin.

But the Whos don’t cry. Instead, they sing. The Whos down in Whoville stand, hand in hand, and they sing – like Paul and Silas singing in the prison cell, with no apparent reason to rejoice, they sing.

And the Grinch is stunned. He’s perplexed. He’s confused. And famously, he muses: “Maybe Christmas,” he thought, “doesn’t come from the store. Maybe Christmas – perhaps – means a little bit more.”

Maybe. But what? Seuss doesn’t tell us; he lets us fill in the gaps for ourselves. We know what Christmas means though, right? We know that Christmas isn’t about the wrappings and the bows, but Christmas is about the love of God, the baby-king in a manger, come to teach us that God’s love is always with us, just as surely when we’re moping in the mountains as when we gather and join our hands to sing.

We know what Christmas is about – but sometimes, we forget. We know what it’s about – but I still imagine that, if all those trappings disappeared, we’d find it awfully hard to sing.

The Whos get it. Instead of looking at one another with suspicion, instead of filing claims and assigning blame, instead of angrily gathering in the center of the town to share their woes compare their losses – they join their hands. And they sing:

“Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we.”

They get it. I know; they don’t talk about Jesus or Bethlehem. But those Whos know that Christmas isn’t about the stuff. The stuff is fun. The food and parties and presents are fun. But at its heart, Christmas is about being together; it’s a celebration of the good news that we are not alone.

Something happens to the Grinch that day: something that causes his heart to swell and to grow, something that pushes him out of his self-imposed exile and helps him realize he doesn’t have to be alone. Those Whos, just by being who they are, just by loving one another, allow that love to overflow to the sour Santa with his stolen sleigh. And so often, our best witness to God’s love is like that: we love each other, no matter the circumstances; and when others see our love, when they see our joy, it draws them in.

The Grinch repents; literally, he turns around. And when he rides back into town perched on a wagon full of evidence against him – he isn’t arrested. He isn’t criticized or condemned; he isn’t hated, rejected, or driven right back out of town again. The Whos could have looked that morning with smug satisfaction, because the Grinch had just proven that he really is the terrible monster they always thought him to be.

But they don’t. Instead, the Whos make room in their circle. This sorry outcast is welcomed in, and even given a seat of honor at the head of the table, at the feast that celebrates the day that reminds us that no one has to be alone.

This is grace: this is grace, the welcome we don’t deserve. This is grace: forgiveness and a new beginning, a chance to really repent, to turn the page and start again. This is grace: it’s a seat at the table; it’s a hand to hold; it’s a new family – it’s the gift of being a part of an “us,” a “we,” and recognizing that – for better or for worse, no matter what we’ve done or who we’ve been – we are not alone.

You know, when I think back over my life, I honestly don’t remember very many of the Christmas gifts I’ve received over the years. But this is what I do remember: I remember coming home early from college, and surprising my mom with a great big hug after too many weeks away. I remember how it feels for the whole family to sit around one table together. I remember laughing during a ridiculous card came, and decorating messy gingerbread houses, and walking through the snow in search of the perfect tree. I remember holding my niece, her warm little snuggles on my first Christmas as Aunt Bri. I remember sitting with my dad in the stillness of early morning, in just the glow of the Christmas tree lights; I remember the little smile on my mom’s face as she hummed Christmas carols in the kitchen. I remember the glow of faces by candlelight, and voices singing “Silent Night” in harmony. I don’t remember the gifts, but I remember those experiences, those celebrations of community, those moments when I was surrounded by love.

Long after the presents are forgotten, long after our trees have been taken down and the cookies are eaten and the leftovers cleaned out of the fridge – Christmas is still with us. Christmas Day will always be, just as long as we have we. Christmas is within our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp.

Let’s carry Christmas with us into the new year. Let’s look for those who are angry, bitter, and excluded – and invite them into the circle. Let’s move our own hearts away from judgment and cynicism, and offer forgiveness and compassion for others and for ourselves. May we believe that people really can change – and may all of us, always, find a place at the table.

God, you love us when we act like the Grinch. You love us when we’re bitter and judgmental; you love us when our grief turns to anger, and when we try to steal others’ joy away. You love us when we act like the Grinch, but you also hope we’ll turn around – that we’ll come back down from the lonely mountaintop and find our place in the circle of grace. Help us to believe that we are not alone. Help us to keep singing. Help us to make room at the table for all of your children. In the name of Jesus, who shows us your love and grace, we pray; amen.

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awintersrose · 7 years

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ObiKaka for #3? Riiiight to the good parts! XD

3. I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?

“Nevermind, just forget it,” Obito mutters, turning five different shades of red, the heat of embarrassment traveling swiftly along his neck and spreading fast across his cheeks.

He should have known better than to choose now of all times to confess his feelings to his teammate. The weight of Kakashi’s steely grey eyes glaring into his own sends a pang of queasy panic through his gut, and he realizes that Kakashi’s expression, from what he can see apart from his mask, is like none other that he has ever seen gracing his teammate’s face. Obito waits for the inevitable response, certain that he has now not only humiliated himself, but completely ruined their team dynamic, as well as any shred of goodwill that Kakashi might have ever borne towards him as a person, let alone as a friend. He doesn’t even know for certain if Kakashi is inclined towards other men romantically, as he has never given any indication in his interest as far as gender is concerned.

All Obito knows is that he has wanted Kakashi as more than just a friend ever since they were old enough to understand the difference between platonic regard and actual attraction. He has been pining in silence for years, and Rin is the only one who knows. She has encouraged him over and over to make his feelings known, because at least then he would know if there was even a remote possibility that Kakashi might respond favorably to him. For weeks, Obito has considered it, waiting to gather the nerve, and patient for the right moment, but the opportunity never seemed to come.

Then, for probably the first time in months, Kakashi suggested that they grab a bite to eat together on the way home from the training ground. After more than an hour alone in each other’s company, with good food and a little sake calming his nerves, Obito was sure that this might be his time, and chose to finally confess his feelings as they walked through the commercial district, on their way home.

Now he is certain that he has made a terrible mistake.

“Ah…I’m sorry, I should go.” Obito turns to leave, only to be grabbed by a rough hand and hauled into the direction of the alleyway separating the ramen shop from the next building. His heart feels as though it is caught up in his throat, and he is afraid to look at his teammate head-on, afraid of that inscrutable look in Kakashi’s eyes.

“Now what gives you the right to say something like that–” Kakashi’s voice is low, but incredulous.

“I’m sorry, please just forget I ever–” Obito interrupts, flinching and willing the ground to swallow him whole.

“–right when I planned to say the exact same thing?”

The words don’t register right away, but when they do, Obito’s heart is pounding as he looks at Kakashi, mouth agape, immediately stunned by the sudden glint of heat, of triumph, and something like desire, in Kakashi’s eyes. It feels akin to staring down a hungry predator, and Obito finds himself transfixed and unable to move even if he wanted to do so. Before he has a chance to take so much as a nervous breath or respond to this impossible revelation, Kakashi has yanked his mask down and captured Obito’s lips with his own in a passionate kiss.

For a moment there is nothing else in the world, just the heat of Kakashi’s incredibly soft lips and tongue turning Obito into an inarticulate puddle of overwhelmed emotions. The buoyant thrill of bright joy ebbing through his chest sends gentle threads of warm arousal burning slow through his body, and he slips his arms around Kakashi’s trim waist, walking him back until he stands pressed against the wall of the building. Obito edges closer, until he can feel the heat of Kakashi’s form against his own, and he pours every undisclosed feeling into his kiss, feeling instantly triumphant at the soft groan his action elicits from Kakashi’s throat.

He pulls back from their kiss to realize that his teammate’s face is now bare, and more handsome than he has any right to be, very reminiscent of his late father. Obito places a kiss along the side of Kakashi’s mouth, where a tiny mole like a beauty spot accents a face he is already more than enamored with, because he is in love with the man and has been for years. It doesn’t matter a whit what he looks like or if he ever takes the mask off again, though Obito hopes he will.

“Come home with me,” Obito gently states, half pleading, praying that whatever magic is here passing between them can continue. Preferably forever if the gods are kind.

Kakashi suddenly grins rakishly, revealing sharp white teeth, and an almost wolf-like fierceness that Obito sensed before, but now knows is real.

He leans in and whispers, hot breath in Obito’s ear.

“As if you had to ask.”

Sorry for the delay - hope you liked it, Rae!

#raendown #asks #drabbles #obikaka #my fanfics

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dfroza · 5 years

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is your beautiful heart prepared with Light?

have you welcomed the entrance of the Spirit (inside, Anew) in the pure and eternal truth of Love as revealed by the Son?

have you come to view all of life through baptism eyes?

A sacred question mark (?) that relates with Today’s reading in the Scriptures from the book of Matthew in chapter 25:

Jesus: Or picture the kingdom of heaven this way. It will be like ten bridesmaids who each picked up a lantern and went out to meet a certain bridegroom. Five of these women were sensible, good with details, and remembered to bring small flasks of oil for their lanterns. But five of them were flighty, too caught up in the excitement of their jaunt, and forgot to bring oil with them. The bridegroom did not turn up right away. Indeed, all the women, while waiting, found themselves falling asleep. And then in the middle of the night, they heard someone call, “The bridegroom is here, finally! Wake up and greet him!” The women got up and trimmed the wicks of their lanterns and prepared to go greet the groom. The five women who had no oil turned to their friends for help.

Ill-prepared Bridesmaids: Please give us some of your oil! Our lanterns are flickering and will go out soon.

But the five women who’d come prepared with oil said they didn’t have enough.

Prepared Bridesmaids: If we give you some of our oil, we’ll all run out too soon! You’d better go wake up a dealer and buy your own supply.

So the five ill-prepared women went in search of oil to buy, and while they were gone, the groom arrived. The five who stood ready with their lanterns accompanied him to the wedding party, and after they arrived, the door was shut.

Finally the rest of the women turned up at the party. They knocked on the door.

Ill-prepared Bridesmaids: Master, open up and let us in!

Bridegroom (refusing): I certainly don’t know you.

So stay awake; you neither know the day nor hour [when the Son of Man will come].

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 25:1-13 (The Voice)

with this chapter of the New Testament paired with Ezekiel chapter 32 in which is again seen an act of God’s “Checkmate” against the dragon named in this ancient writing as Pharaoh of Egypt:

[A Cloud Across the Sun]

In the twelfth year, on the first day of the twelfth month, God’s Message came to me: “Son of man, sing a funeral lament over Pharaoh king of Egypt. Tell him:

“‘You think you’re a young lion

prowling through the nations.

You’re more like a dragon in the ocean,

snorting and thrashing about.

“‘God, the Master, says:

“‘I’m going to throw my net over you

—many nations will get in on this operation—

and haul you out with my dragnet.

I’ll dump you on the ground

out in an open field

And bring in all the crows and vultures

for a sumptuous carrion lunch.

I’ll invite wild animals from all over the world

to gorge on your guts.

I’ll scatter hunks of your meat in the mountains

and strew your bones in the valleys.

The country, right up to the mountains,

will be drenched with your blood,

your blood filling every ditch and channel.

When I blot you out,

I’ll pull the curtain on the skies

and shut out the stars.

I’ll throw a cloud across the sun

and turn off the moonlight.

I’ll turn out every light in the sky above you

and put your land in the dark.

Decree of God, the Master.

I’ll shake up everyone worldwide

when I take you off captive to strange and far-off countries.

I’ll shock people with you.

Kings will take one look and shudder.

I’ll shake my sword

and they’ll shake in their boots.

On the day you crash, they’ll tremble,

thinking, “That could be me!”

[To Lay Your Pride Low]

“‘God, the Master, says:

“‘The sword of the king of Babylon

is coming against you.

I’ll use the swords of champions

to lay your pride low,

Use the most brutal of nations

to knock Egypt off her high horse,

to puncture that hot-air pomposity.

The Book of Ezekiel, Chapter 32:1-12 (The Message)

for to humble ourselves under God and His truth is essential in life, which when not chosen by a person it will be chosen for them, eventually. sometimes not until after a person passes away from the physical body.

and then moving along with Today’s reading with the Psalms that coincide with October 24 and day 32 of Autumn as well as day 297 of the year (equaling Psalm 147 now with the book of 150 Psalms in its 2nd revolution this year)

[Psalm 24]

A song of David.

The earth and all that’s upon it belong to the Eternal.

The world is His, with every living creature on it.

With seas as foundations and rivers as boundaries,

He shaped the continents, fashioned the earth.

Who can possibly ascend the mountain of the Eternal?

Who can stand before Him in sacred spaces?

Only those whose hands have been washed and hearts made pure,

men and women who are not given to lies or deception.

The Eternal will stand close to them with blessing and mercy at hand,

and the God who redeems will right what has been wrong.

These are the people who chase after Him;

[like Jacob, they look for the face of God].

[pause]

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal who is powerful

and mightily equipped for battle.

City gates—open wide!

Ancient doors—stand back!

For the glorious King shall soon pass your way.

Who is the glorious King?

The Eternal, Commander of heaven’s army,

He is the glorious King.

[pause]

The Book of Psalms, Poem 24 (The Voice)

[Psalm 32]

A contemplative song of David.

How happy is the one whose wrongs are forgiven,

whose sin is hidden from sight.

How happy is the person whose sin the Eternal will not take into account.

How happy are those who no longer lie, to themselves or others.

When I refused to admit my wrongs, I was miserable,

moaning and complaining all day long

so that even my bones felt brittle.

Day and night, Your hand kept pressing on me.

My strength dried up like water in the summer heat;

You wore me down.

[pause]

When I finally saw my own lies,

I owned up to my sins before You,

and I did not try to hide my evil deeds from You.

I said to myself, “I’ll admit all my sins to the Eternal,”

and You lifted and carried away the guilt of my sin.

[pause]

So let all who are devoted to You

speak honestly to You now, while You are still listening.

For then when the floods come, surely the rushing water

will not even reach them.

You are my hiding place.

You will keep me out of trouble

and envelop me with songs that remind me I am free.

[pause]

I will teach you and tell you the way to go and how to get there;

I will give you good counsel, and I will watch over you.

But don’t be stubborn and stupid like horses and mules

who, if not reined by leather and metal,

will run wild, ignoring their masters.

Tormented and empty are wicked and destructive people,

but the one who trusts in the Eternal is wrapped tightly in His gracious love.

Express your joy; be happy in Him, you who are good and true.

Go ahead, shout and rejoice aloud, you whose hearts are honest and straightforward.

The Book of Psalms, Poem 32 (The Voice)

[Psalm 147]

Praise the Eternal!

It is good to sing praises to our God,

for praise is beautiful and pleasant.

The Eternal, Architect of earth, is building Jerusalem,

finding the lost, gathering Israel’s outcasts.

He binds their wounds,

heals the sorrows of their hearts.

He counts all the stars within His hands,

carefully fixing their number

and giving them names.

Our Lord is great. Nothing is impossible with His overwhelming power.

He is loving, compassionate, and wise beyond all measure.

The Eternal will lift up the lowly

but throw down the wicked to the earth.

Open your mouths with thanks!

Sing praises to the Eternal!

Strum the harp in unending praise to our God

Who blankets the heavens with clouds,

sends rain to water the thirsty earth,

and pulls up each blade of grass upon the mountainside.

He opens His hands to feed all the animals

and scatters seed to nestlings when they cry.

He takes no pleasure in the raw strength of horses;

He finds no joy in the speed of the sprinter.

But the Eternal does take pleasure in those who worship Him,

those who invest hope in His unfailing love.

O Jerusalem, praise the Eternal!

O Zion, praise your God!

For His divine power reinforces your city gates,

blesses your children in the womb.

He establishes peace within your borders,

fills your markets with hearty golden wheat.

His command ripples across the earth;

His word runs out on swift feet.

He blankets the earth in wooly snow,

scattering frost like ashes over the land.

He throws down hail like stones falling from a mountain.

Can any withstand His wintry blast?

But He dispatches His word, and the thaw begins;

at His command, the spring winds blow, gently stirring the waters back to life.

He brings Jacob in on His plan, declaring His word—

His statutes and His teachings to Israel.

He has not treated any other nation in such a way;

they live unaware of His commands.

Praise the Eternal!

The Book of Psalms, Poem 147 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for October 24, the 32nd day of Autumn as a mirroring of the alphabetic number 32 of the word “Eve” as well as being day 297 of the year that mirrors the address at Apple Ridge apartments in Standale where i lived on Manzana court back in ‘94 when i was married for the first time:

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