#and we do have a poem about the vest

[jessieren]

Does this count as half naked if he’s still in that vest… oh who cares… he’s hot

@season-77 your favourite white vest 😁

[lillie98]

Beauty in the Fold (SPOILERS)

I saw The Outsiders (Broadway version) over the weekend and I have so many thoughts. I've never read the book (I will) or seen the movie, but I completely fell in love with the story. I knew Johnny and Ponyboy had a special friendship, but watching Johnny die and seeing Ponyboy (who was an incredible understudy) absolutely shatter nearly broke me. He sat parked in front of their small tv, silent and motionless, save for turning the tv back on when Darry turned it off. I don't blame Darry for turning it off, he wanted Pony to break out of his catatonia, but Pony needed more than tough love. He needed something to ground himself. He needed to feel Johnny near him again. Receiving Johnny's vest from Cherry (which was a nice touch) gave him the physical closure he needed in an incredibly vulnerable moment. He buried his face in the material and breathed in Johnny's scent, realizing how much he missed it. You could see the weight lifting off his shoulders. I forget how much time the brothers say had passed before that moment, but my gut says two weeks. Ponyboy hasn't physically touched anything relating to Johnny for two whole weeks, and they most likely spent every day together. The book also hints that Johnny would spend nights with the Curtis brothers when his house became too volatile. These boys were brothers. Losing Johnny felt like losing a family member.

Stay Gold was obviously heartbreaking, but also beautifully staged. Johnny starting from across the stage and slowly making his way over as Ponyboy acknowledges him was a perfect demonstration of their relationship in this moment. Ponyboy tried to move on by himself, but he needed one more moment with Johnny. The letter gave him that moment. He needed to know Johnny didn't blame him for what happened at the fountain or the church---that his best friend would do everything the same way if given the option because brothers protect each other, even with their lives. Seeing the two boys slide onto the car in synch felt like Johnny was Pony's guardian angel, his shadow, guiding him through this moment. We see Johnny walk into the sunset (of his life) at the end of the song, but we also see Ponyboy rejoin his brothers at the table and eat dinner with them, symbolically beginning his healing journey. These are the stories we need right now. We need to see people, especially young people, endure tremendous heartbreak and overcome insurmountable odds and make it to the other side. We need to see that, given the right support system, anyone can heal.

I imagine Pony, after that day, wakes up extra early in the mornings and goes to the park to watch the sunrise. He writes letters, stories, and poems about his life. He also talks to Johnny. There's never anyone else around now that the Greasers rule the park, and they all understand Pony's ritual, so he speaks out loud to Johnny. He tells him about his life, their friends, and what all happens in Tulsa. Talking to Johnny heals him, makes him feel less gone. He talks to Dally too, but not as often. Their relationship is complicated. Ponyboy describes every sunrise, though he's sure Johnny sees them all. He continues this ritual into college and beyond, always making time for the boy who gave everything for him. It takes some bartering with the police, but Ponyboy also gets Johnny's knife, which he never cleans, afraid to wash away the memories embedded in it. The healing process is slow and arduous, but Ponyboy does eventually heal and create a life for himself, bringing his best friend along every step of the way.

[tmwcs]

S E 7 E N : B E E Z L E B U B P A R T 2 W O

M A S T E R L I S T

wooot woot! part 2, final part of this chapter! lets gooooo!

Warnings: SMUT/MDNI18+, death, bible references, angels and demons, religious references, demons displaying powers an abilities, demons killing humans (bad ones though), mentions of greed and lust, mentions of murdering children and raping women (historical references) there is a little poem that i made up of how Jay introduces his real identity to the cult membrs and reader, just adding that in case you are touchy with the subject of religion.

Your heart plumets to the ground as the mentioning of ‘angels’ and ‘sinner’ emerged from a random voice in the crowd afar, forgetting that you have seven full days, you nearly were scared half to death as for a moment, you thought the voice was referring to you.

Feeling your body tremble at the man’s words, Jay locked you in his embrace tightly, while glaring at the moving crowd afar.

Maneuvering you away from the crowd, into a secluded spot at the Azalea Garden, located at the entrance of the nature trails, he nearly had you levitating off the ground as he lifted you with his arms bear hugging you. He moved you with ease as he took you away from where the voices could be heard strongly, of people talking about the event that was to occur for whomever was the selected.

A stone bench perfectly placed in the center of a small open area, surrounded by bushes of azaleas in full bloom. The distant voices of the crowd was faint, but still could be heard.

You began to sob as Jay lays you on your back against the bench, propping your legs up as he kneels beside you.

“Hey, shhhh…its okay. Nothing is going to happen to you, I’m here, remember? It’s okay.”

Calming your nerves, he strokes your cheek as you lay facing him, grabbing onto the front of his vest.

“Its okay angel…I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Neither are my brothers, especially Heeseung.”

Leaning in, he kisses you ever so tenderly.

Whimpering slightly into his kiss, you feel just a little bit of his tongue peeking into your mouth as he takes the kiss into a passionate level.

“Do you remember the deal you made with him?” he asks as he takes a faint break from the kiss, cupping your ears into his hands as he strokes through your hair. “Do you remember, angel?”

“….mmm…..mmhmm.” you softly hummed as you nodded, the tears still glazing your eyes, making them sparkle like diamonds.

“what do you remember about it? Can you tell me?” he asks.

You shifted your gaze slightly and thought back. That’s when Helel’s voice echoed into your brain once more.

��Good….next…my brothers…when you meet them…before they take on and help….you’re going to need to….do an exchange….and I promise…they’ll take care of everything….does that make sense? Pretty?’

Slightly gasping, you spoke out nearly in a whisper.

“….there was something…about meeting you and the rest of his brothers….and doing an exchange…and that you’d all take care of everything.” You stuttered out as you shift your gaze around, trying to remember correctly as you were in a state of intense euphoria the moment you made that deal with him.

“That’s right….that’s right girly. We’re going to take care of everything.” Kissing you once more, he continues to speak in between pecks.

“You belong to Heeseung…you’re his queen..his goddess….with that being said, no matter how much we want to…no matter how otherworldly we find you….there is a fine line we can’t cross. So just appreciate what were allowed to give you, and don’t ask for any more than that. I promise…you’ll get it…from him…when its time to bring you home. Does that make sense, angel?” he kisses you as you nod.

“mmm…uh huh.” You issued out.

Whispering against your lips, he tells you “good girl…” as you felt his hand reach down into your skirt.

With his lips pressed firmly against yours, you felt the arching rise of your back as he hooks your panties off to the side and begins to massage your clit with his lengthy and soft fingers.

“Uuuugh!...mmmmm….” you started to moan out uncontrollably while your gut trembles as you raised your head slightly from the amount of pleasure that was hitting you.

“….Ugh…wh-what….”

Kissing your ear, he inquires your words. “What is it angel? Tell me.”

“wh…what about…the angels-ugh!” your voice nearly cuts out as you feel him insert his finger inside you.

“what angels? The only angel I see is the one right below me.” He states as his kneeling state allowed him to remain hovering over you  while kissing your lips.

“Besides, i’ll take care of those idiots as soon as I’m done with you…don’t worry. I promise to take care of everything, didn’t I? pretty angel?”

Your moans came out shaky as he inserts another finger.

“Shhhh..yeeeeeeeeah……that’s our girl….moan out….come on…..moan some more.”

‘That’s our girl….’

You’re still unsure exactly what you are to these men, yet you didn’t care. The moment he injected a third finger, you felt your eyes rolling towards the back of your head as you slightly drooled out. His pace started out slow and deep, then transitioned to a quickened pace as he planted kisses all over your neck, your jaw, your lips, your cheeks, and your cleavage.

Reaching both your arms up, taking a bend at each elbow, you plastered your palms on the bench above your head as your body continues to take on a deep arch, enforcing your head to tilt much farther back. You needed your hands reaching above to help support you as you felt your shoulder blades lifting off the stone seating.

“Oh!....Oh my God!!....mmmmmm” biting your lip, your hips started to move in waves as he injects another finger. His whole hand nearly fucking you, admitting a tight fit.

“Yeah…come on baby, keep moaning. There’s nothing better than the sound of a horny angel. Its better than the scream of a guitar.”

Thrusting his fingers in a deep and jolting motion, you felt your body shift up each time he goes in.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ugh! Ugh! My God!”

“Keep screaming.”

“Mmmmmm….fuck!”

“Say my name.”

“J…Jay!!”

“Gooooooood giiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrllllll…” his growl triggered the memory of Helel’s tone as he issued the same praise to you.

‘Good giiiiiirrrrrlllll.’

Fucking you with his fingers, the spread of each extremity inside you had put you on cloud nine as he began to scissor you. He wasn’t widening our core, instead, the motions of his fingers spreading and closing massaged your walls as he hooked, rubbed, tapped, and slightly pushed as he thrusted them in and out. The warmth of his skin, much like when he had rubbed your feet, had warmed your inner flesh as you felt the strokes of his soft skin going in and out of your entrance. It was like nothing you’ve ever felt before. It was deep, passionate, peaked to a level of height that topped any mountain. It was everything. So much, you could feel the color red.

Within his kiss, he bites down on our lip.

“Ready for a little bit of pain?”

Wincing your eyes out of the prime state of pleasure, you nodded. The moment you do, he inserts another finger, and the stretch burned you.

“Ugh! It hurts! It hurts!” you whined as the mixture of pleasure and pain stained you with hysterical sensuality as your body jolts, arches, and rolls into waves.

“You know what they say, ‘love hurts’, but in our case, it feels amazing.” He issues out as he injects his tongue inside your mouth, smacking his lips against yours as he admits a deep and passionate kiss.

Speeding up the pace of his thrusts, he goes faster…deeper….and finally…

“Oh! Ugh! Oh my God!! I’m-I’m gonna cu-cum!!”

Grabbing on to his wrist as he thrusted, you felt yourself oozing out as the squelching sound of skin to skin contact, rubbing, as he draws out the liquid your walls produced, and thrusts it back in.

“Good girl.” He whispers as he kisses you, his free hand caressing your breasts as he extends his thumb to stroke your collar bone.

Removing his hand from our entrance, covered in the shiny essence of your body’s natural lubricant, he reaches up and sticks two of his fingers inside your mouth, over towards one inner corner.

Watching as your tongue licks, your mouth slurps, and your cheeks coated with the taste of you, he leans down, keeping his fingers inside, he joins in as he kisses you, deeply. His tongue, along with yours, cleans each one of his fingers as he takes in the delight of feeling the softness of the inside of your cheek.

With deep breaths, you were barely recollecting your composure as he taps your stomach and chuckles.

“This…is going to be filled up when Heeseung gets to you…you know that right?” he smirks in a mischievous manner. “So these next six days, we’re going to help you get ready…take it as a method of preparation.”

You slightly gave a look of confusion as you were still recovering, your body still waving slightly and your hips rolling as you could still feel the throbbing pleasure from your orgasm.

“…p-preparations?” you inquired tiresomely.

“uh-huh…women…especially humans, wouldn’t be able to withstand his vigor….did he mention that to you?”

Your eyes shifted away as you pondered. Reflecting back once more to the moment you were with Helel, you recalled when he flipped you under him, and you whimpered out his name, to which he bit his lip harshly and grew wide eyed…almost as if he was about to snap out of intense desire.

‘Fuck babe…don’t do that..not yet…you’re going to make me lose control. Can’t do that…..not yet…that’ll hurt…trust me.’

Jay could tell by the look on your face that you had thought of something at his inquiry.

“He did, didn’t he?” he smirks.

Looking back up at him, your alluring gaze transitioned to an innocent one, Jay continued with a slight mocking tune in his voice.

“The only way he can have you…is through us helping. We’re glad to do it…. especially for someone pretty as you.” he winks. Maybe it was your vision recovering from the euphoric blur, or maybe it was the pleasurable tears that burned your eyes as they dried, but for a quick second, you thought you saw his dark eyes turn red…bright red. Yet….they are black now….

Standing up, he extends his hand to you and aids you up. His hand wrapped around your waist as he guides you back into the main street of the city.

“wh-where are we-“

“I told you, I’d take care of everything, right?” he kisses you as he leads the walk.

Reaching the sight of a large crowd, he scoffs out. “Huh…make it any more obvious why don’t you?”

You tilt your head slightly as you inquired what he meant, to which he shook his head and kissed you. “Nothing angel, I’m just being a dick. Truth be told, humans annoy me. But you….you’re an exception.”

Just as he gazed into your eyes with a soft smile upon issuing out his words, a voice from behind you calls out your name.

“Its you! Its her! I found her! Y/N!!”

Looking behind, you see figures of the Voia Domnului walking over towards you and judging by their attire and the badges they had, they were high profiled members of the cult.

“You!” one of the members stabs out. “The Senator will see you now!”

Clutching on to Jay’s vest, you felt his wrap around your waist tightened as he reaches up and pressing on the back of your head, he gently notions for you to cover your eyes as he presses your face against his skin.

Whispering, he speaks only loud enough for you to hear under his breath.

“Don’t worry….we’re not going to let aaaaaaaanything happen to you, pretty angel.”

Nodding, you hugged his frame as he tightens his embrace with his strong and lithe arms.

“Who are you? Give that woman to us right now! She has caused great offenses to the Senator, anyone aiding her will be subjected to an equal or greater punishment in the name of God!”

Scoffing, you feel the vibration as Jay spoke in a clear, loud, yet calm voice.

“Huh….name of God eh?” Laughing, your head bounces lightly along with his chest as he chuckles.

“Aw….you idiots sure are something else….no matter how old your kind gets, you all will just be as dumb as you were when the world was born.”

You could hear as the figures behind start to lash out violently as Jay continued with his series of insults.

“Tell me, did ‘God’ asked you to form this stupid cult of yours? Did ‘God’ personally ask you to murder your own kind in his name? Huh? Do you even know what he desires? What he wants the most? What he likes? What his fucking face looks like?....huh?....Do you?” Jay continues to calmly antagonize the group, which judging by the sound of the numerous footsteps, sounded like at least 10 or 15.

“Let me tell you fucktards something…” Jay pauses as he chuckles. “God…doesn’t have his name in anything that you do….the ‘name of God’ is such a fucking hoax…you people use it against each other to abuse and torment one another. You use it to hide your flaws, your sins, your crimes…you use it to hide men who rape women and murder children.”

You could tell at the last bit of his sentence; his voice grew deeper with a growl and snarl. It remained as such when he finished his anecdote.

“God….wants nothing more than for you people to develop your own peace, prosperity, mind, and soul, without the sense of corruption and greed tainting it…and yet here you idiots stand….doing the exact opposite of what he desires….all in the sake of his supposed name…what a fucking joke.”

“A non-believer!! Grab him along with that stupid bitch!” one of the figures issues out as he commands a line of cult members to make their way towards you and Jay.

Tightening his arms around your waist, he asks you.

“Angel…you’re soft, beautiful, and full of light….but I also know you have a little bit of a darker side in you…you all do. But yours is the most beautiful and the sweetest…and it fits our type….”

Looking up at him, your eyes widened at his statement, which he continued to elaborate as he cupped your cheek.

“You are…don’t tell me your not…because if you truly weren’t….you wouldn’t have made that deal with Heeseung.” He smirks.

“I’m only telling you this, because I’m about to give you an option….”

Looking deep into his eyes as the cult members come in closer and closer, he tells you.

“If you don’t want to watch, you don’t have to. You can close your eyes and lay yourself against me, and I’ll make sure you don’t see it…but…..if you’ll allow that darkness to come out a bit….if you’re willing to allow yourself be half darkness and half-light, then….I’ll ask you….do you want to witness this? Do you want to know who I am? Do you still want to know my real name?”

His eyes pulled you deeply as he caressed your cheek.

‘Half darkness….half light….’

With everything that has happened, you thought of Lily, all the children that were selected to die, how the world had changed, how everything was taken away from the people, from you, and what happened that night with Forras….with everything that you went through with Jay….and Helel….you made your choice and knew that it was the right one.

“….I do….” You softly speak out. In response, Jay smiles as he kisses you….hard. So hard, it hurt….and you could tell, it was all out of happiness on his part.

“Awww!! Our fucking girl!!” he looks over at the members, who paused their steps at the escalated volume of his enthusiastic voice. “Isn’t she so fucking perfect? Huh? It’s almost like she was meant to be with us! With him! His fucking bride of beauty and torture! What a fucking doll!

He laughed and yelled out his words, entirely too happy and yet, you were pleased to see him this way, though your expression was blank. Somehow, seeing him praise you and claiming you as the bride of his brother, it made you feel like you belonged….which was a feeling you had bee stripped of for a long time now.

Releasing you, he motions you to stand by and watch with a smile as he gently tucks you in behind him, approaching the numerous cult members that surrounded you both.

The lead cult member, looking rather un-amused, crosses his arms as he calmly issues the command “Get him, and bring that filthy whore to me.”

Watching as they took out a series of batons, handcuffs, knives, and even guns, for a moment you felt fearful for Jay’s safety as not only was he greatly outnumbered, but also lacked any weapons to protect himself.

Spreading his arms wide, he speaks in a raging voice as he cursed the cult members.

“Oh! You idiots want to bear your fucking pitiful weapons at me? Huh….okay, go ahead. Since I got oh..i don’t know, two minutes before that puppet comes out to carry out your deeds…that gives me some time to play with you all….in fact…it’s more than enough time….two minutes is a fucking lifetime…I’ve got all the time in the world right now.” He tilts his chin down and with a dark glare, his eyes beamed red before going jet black, to include the sclera.

With a simple set of words, you witnessed the unimaginable.

“Come on.”

…………

In a blink of an eye, a massive swarm of insects ascend from above and targets each cult member. You watch as the excruciating and gruesome manner of the fly’s’ feasts on their bodies inside and out. Entering through eyes, nose, mouth, and open wounds, the flies would nest themselves within their flesh. Maggots would suddenly emerge from their torn and eaten flesh as the skin on their bodies would stretch out and gape apart. It was a horrible sight, and for a moment, you regretted your decision in telling him you wanted to watch. That was when he spoke out and starlted you out of your shockingly fearful state. His voice pitched with loud volume, he spoke out the poetic introduction, revealing his true identity for the world to hear...

“I do pray…that ye have ol faith.

For that someday...

Your soul shall be only, for ye Lord to take.

 Yet if it comes to pass,

that ye shall commit his crimes against the innocent, youth, and virgin daughters…

Know that I, Beezlebub, Prince of Demons, Lord of the Flies,

shall cast the demons, and bring forth your rightful slaughter. “

Your mouth gaped as he versed out the meaning behind his name...his identity...his true self. As you continued to witness his great power, you whispered to yourself…

“Beezelbub….”

Even though you spoke in soft and airy breath, you watched as he turned his face, greeting you with his side profile as he smiles, winking upon hearing you say his true name.

It happened as swift as they came, the insects continued to feast on the carcasses of the offenders that lay, stripped of their blood, the elasticity of their skin, and the plump flesh that coated their bones. Soon, there was nothing but ash that became dust in the wind.

Just as you thought that he was finished, you stood up and walked over to him as his back still remained facing you. The flies remained surrounding you both as you were heavily guarded…but from what?

“J-Jay?”

“Hold on angel…got one more.” He looks over to the side. As you turned to face the direction of his view, you saw it…it was coming in like a meteorite, heading straight into the city.

‘The angels….’

The crowd could be heard hysterically yelling as they closed their windows, shut their doors, and hid in the comfort of their own homes and establishments while a single woman on her knees, remains stationary as she sobs, her untimely death breaching…or so she thought.

The moment the ‘angel’ crashes down, crumbling the pavement beneath it’s strong form, it continues to break the concrete as it takes its steps.

“Hey there…long time no see.” Jay calmly issues out, catching the attention of the angel as it’s faceless form peers over in his direction, losing focus at the selected woman before it.

With a screeching shriek that filled the air, the humanoid creature, made to look of liquid metal, takes on a stance to attack as its arms morphs into sharp blades…multiple blades in fact.

The shrieks it made pierced your ears, and it was the first time you ever heard them make any sound, for normally when they arrived to carry out the death sentence, they remained silent. Only the screams of the selected could be heard…normally….but not this time.

Leaping from a thousand, maybe even a few thousand feet away, the creature heads directly for you and Jay, to which the latter calmly, almost as if hew as amused and having fun with the event, grabs hold of your waist and nearly transports you out of the way.

‘W-what…did he just….fly?.....or teleport?.....we moved but…it was so fast…he moved me over a hundred feet in a blink of an eye…’

“Wait here, angel.” He remarks. Immediately as he issued his words to you, the creature from behind shrieks once more, as if it was responding to Jay.

“I wasn’t talking about you, dumbass! You’re not angel, she is! Fucking Hell…”  

He turns away as he squeezes your hand one last time and smoothly makes his way over to the creature.

“Does your fucking master know what you’ve been doing?...I bet he doooooooessnnnt.” Jay teases as he crosses his arms.

“I wonder what he would make of all this….this entire fucking atrocity that you and your fellow guardians are making….you know, it’s not unlikely for us to make deals with humans, but for you…..for you that reside within his kingdom….that’s against the rules, no?” Jay smirks.

The creature continues to screech harsly, and hysterically as it morphs into a new form, one that you or anyone hadn’t seen before. It grew larger, its slender form turned bulkier as the muscle definition was comparable to a large wrestler or a football player even.

“Oh ho! What’s this? Did I struck a nerve?” Jay continues to mock the creature. “Well, I hate to break it to you youngster, buuuuuuut….i��m much older than you…also…you’re forgetting the fact that me and my brothers, were the first ones….we know all the tricks of the trade. You all that came after us, are nothing but generic copies of the old breed, and you lack the originality that we were born with.”

The creature pounces towards Jay, yet he deflected by merely transitioning to a different spot, again, within a blink of an eye, the man nearly transported as he shifted from one spot to another. Up until now, you had thought that the ‘angels’ had been swift, cunning, and deadly in their movements, yet Jay’s motions made the creature looked lazy in its deliverance of physical force.

With a swing of its arm, filled with all types of motorized, imitated blades and saws, Jay simply catches the bare part of the arm with one hand.

Smirking, he merely issues the creatures final words.

“Hmm….looks like its time for you to go to Hell, I’ll make sure to let Niki know to take veeeeery good care of you once you meet him at the River Styx.”

With that, the sky, which was bright under a white layer of clouds and hollowed by the rays of the sun, turned dark. You could hear the cries and murmers of everyone that peeked their heads out, watching as a single man took on the creature with such ease.

Looking up, the darkness that plagued the sky…it was moving….

‘More flies?’

 Looking at Jay, he peeks a wink at you, and chuckles as he speaks in our direction “Yeah…that’s right pretty angel…more flies.”

Just as the flies did away with the cult members, you watched as the entire sky re-lit the moment all the insects gathered and aimed for the creature in Jay’s grasp. It happened so quick…and so quietly…for in a short few seconds, the flies disbursed and scattered into the air, and the angel….was gone.

Walking over to you, Jay reaches and pulls you in for a tight embrace. “Lets take you home, angel.”

Now that you knew who he was, he wasted no time in getting you back as he grabbed on to you tightly, and a series of butterflies, all of the same type as the one earlier, the bright emerald green colors circulate around your and Jay. You peaked through the small gaps of the beautiful green hues that were blurring together and saw the woman looking around, shocked, confused, and shaking with sobs as she was greeted with her family. She couldn’t have been any more than perhaps a couple years older than you.

Within a peak of a second, the flash of green brightened and you squinted your eyes shut as you buried your face into Jay’s chest. Feeling a slight tug on your waist, he calmly tells you.

“We’re here…”

Looking around, your breathing paused when you took a look around and saw that you were inside your apartment.

Cupping your face to have your eyes meet with his, he gives you a small peck on the lips.

“Wait here, he’ll come to you by tomorrow morning. So don’t go anywhere, okay?”

His hands were warm as he stroked your cheeks.

“…w-who is going to come?...another brother?” you asked.

He nods. “yeah…one of our younger ones. He’s going to like you a lot..i can already tell.”

You looked up at Jay and inquired for closure.

“How?...”

Looking over to your couch, he points at the line of cat plushies you have decorating the seats of your sectional.

“He likes cats….and apparently, so do you.” Jay remarks.

“Oh….”

Giving you one last peck, he tells you, “Stay here, and no matter what, don’t go anywhere until he gets here. I promise he’ll be here first thing in the morning. Until then, you need to be safe. If anything happens overnight, just call out his name.”

“Whose name?”

“You know….” Smirking, Jay tilts his head as he mouths silently to you.

‘H-E-L-E-L..’  

“….he’ll hear me?”

“yeah….he’ll always hear you. he loves you, therefore, so do we.”

Cupping your face, he says his goodbye to you.

“We’re going to see each other again real soon, so be good and safe.”

Kissing you on the forehead, your eyes close as you felt the warmth of his lips against your skin. The second you opened them, he was gone…just like Helel.

................................

"But some of them said, “By Beelzebul, the prince of demons, he is driving out demons.”" – Luke 11:15

C H A P T E R T H R 3 E : M A M M O N

Taglist: @deobitifull; @solstramaii

[sunfudge]

I really do hope Sunday joins the Nameless. I think putting him on that train would help him heal from Everything

Also I wanna see him get involved in the Trailblaze Trio's shenanigans so bad

I agree! I really think he'd get along with Dan Heng, also I don't think March would give him a moment of peace either which would be so funny to watch lol I need to see her call him every single day of the week apart from Sunday

I have a lot of new thoughts about Astral Express Sunday that I want to put into a big post, but I also haven't had the time to as of yet because of work

To be brief about how I feel, I've been thinking about it a whole lot and one of the things I love most is how the members of the Express are reborn in a way which ties very well into Sunday's character.

Dan Heng doesn't want to be associated with the actions of his prior incarnation and is following a new path with the crew, March 7th doesn't know her past but is happy to travel with the express and live as she is now learning more about herself along the way, Welt comes from another world entirely and is now treading a new path in his current universe, the Trailblazer has had their memories wiped by Kafka and are discovering themselves aboard the Express, and Himeko started this all by paving the way for members of the Express to move forward via fixing the train. Sunday moving forward from his past and joining the Express really fits in with the crew, and even Dan Heng himself told him not to be shackled by the past, something he would really understand

Also the 'you have a noble soul...' ;_;

Sunday can't go back to the way things were prior to the Penacony storyline, that's over. His entire life has changed. The life he lived before is gone. He has no option but to move forward towards a new future which is exactly what he can do with the Express.

Robin has been able to travel to other planets, meet a wide array of people and form her view on the world based on those experiences. It's one reason why they have such differing viewpoints. Meanwhile, Sunday has been caged in the Dreamscape, rarely venturing into reality (as we see Robin encouraging him to please spend more time in reality in one of her letters) and the only views he was exposed to since childhood were that of Gopher Wood who had a vested interest in shoving the teachings of Order on him the moment he noticed his uncertainty, his kindness and his hatred of suffering, and pinpointed this as a weakness. This is especially evident when Sunday says, about the Dove, that he wants the bird to live 'no matter what'.

Joining the Express would give Sunday the chance to really experience reality. It fits into the idea of him being the bird that can't fly - what better way to spread his wings than with them? With how his reply to Robin saying they were meant to fly into the sky together was 'If only... I could...' him joining the crew would make me actually cry like a fucking baby lol

It would give him the chance to travel to various worlds just as Robin has, to meet different people with different perspectives on life, and then decide for himself what he believes based on his own life experiences and not on the grooming of his adoptive father. If it is a Paradise he wishes for, and he says he still wants to achieve that goal at the end of 2.3, then maybe he'll find one in travelling to help others.

I still really believe that the Death of a Crow readable is from Elio about Sunday, however knowing that Elio and the rest of the Hunters try to aid the Express, and with Firefly calling them the dark to the Astral Express's light, I wouldn't be surprised if the poem itself was about Sunday joining the Astral Express instead of the Stellaron Hunters. Elio's aim is to support the Express, so him pushing Sunday towards joining the Express would be in line with the Stellaron Hunters and what they've always done throughout the story - provided us with their help.

Sunday has had rebirth themes around him for such a long time now that him totally changing outfit and walking a new path to travel the stars when he's only ever been stuck in the Dreamscape, now being able to create a new life for himself, would be very fitting. Sunday's lightcone animation has him saying 'the end is also the beginning', along with the description for his sticker which also points towards rebirth.

ALSO the whole fallen angel rebirth thing, etcetera etcetera, right down to Jade offering him a deal that's super comparable to the forbidden fruit, but that's pretty clear, yet I thought I'd throw it in there

In my opinion, the Astral Express would welcome him. They thought he was trying to resurrect Ena at first, but they then realised he wanted to create a world without suffering. He was also willing to listen to what the Astral Express had to say, and I really think he would welcome them challenging his views. I do believe they'd welcome him with open arms, as someone who is willing to move on from his past.

Also Sunday talks about the Trailblaze like this

So there's that too

I... really want this to happen lol. And I'm so happy current leaks point very strongly towards it

[lemurious]

[another kind of chain]

Drabbles and ficlets for @lesmis-prompts. October 7th: chains, and I suppose everything I've written so far fits into October 8th: canon era.

Here, have some comfort. It's been exhausting few [?] weeks.

“…strike down the chains, and walk free! Even if we are to fall –“

“No, they won’t,” said the old man.

“They won’t what?” asked a bespectacled gentleman, raising his head from where he was assiduously cleaning a gun before handing it off to his friend. Another half a dozen guns were awaiting their turn.

“Walk free, not after you take the chains off. The weight, it cripples the gait, makes you move sideways, because the chain is always attached on one side. At least in the galleys. And more than that…”

The leader had fallen silent, his gaze clear and focused to the point of brittleness, while another one of his companions piped up.

“And how would you know this?”

“Me? Spent nineteen years there.”

“Where?”

“In the galleys.”

The old man stood up, tall and muscular despite his age, and suddenly relaxed his body, which collapsed in a strange fashion, his right shoulder raised high above his left. He took a few steps, which had suddenly become tentative as well, and his face, which had stayed equally calm and gentle both through the fighting and the reprieve, suddenly acquired the look of a hunted animal.

“I apologize,” stammered the overly inquisitive questioner. “I didn’t realize –“

“Most don’t,” the old man straightened himself, his white hair tidy, his shoulders squared, and his face untroubled once again. “Leastways, not the other part. Couldn’t you see? Not all chains bind the body.”

“Do you mean to warn us of failure?” the low, raspy voice belonged to a man in a green jacket who had been wrapped around a bottle since the guards had retreated. “Because cynicism, that’s my job.”

“No,” responded the old man, sounding surprised with himself. “I mean to say, most –“

The leader finally sprang back to life, walking closer and gently grasping him on his elbow.

“Thank you for sharing your story,” he said, and his eyes shone almost brightly enough to mask the dark shadows underneath, his face pale and gaunt. A sculpture from afar, but the marble was about to shatter.  

“You’re – sweet Jesus, you need to rest. What if you win, tomorrow?” the old man tried to crack a smile, which was quickly overshadowed with worry. “They’ll need you alive.”

“There’s no chance of victory,” said the leader, as cool as if he were reciting a poem, playing with the golden embroidery on his red vest. “And they need me now. So does Patria.”

“So that’s your chain?”

“What?” the leader froze.

“The revolution. Patria. Whatever you call it,” the old man swore under his breath, and for a moment there could’ve been no doubt about the galleys in his past. “It’s what’s weighing so heavy on you that you don’t even realize when it’s no longer here. You no longer need to carry it.”

“If not me –“

“Then, you all will!” he hissed, waving his hand at the rest of the students. “Can’t you see that they’ll follow you to hell and back, and trust me, I know hell. They’ll all die for you, and for your cause, and maybe it’s even going to be worth it, but that’s not what I’m talking about, anyway. What I want to say, is. Put it down. Anything you wanted to do before you died?” the old man’s smile started bitter and turned into sorrowful as he watched the leader’s face beginning to crumble.

“Not all of them,” he muttered, biting his lip, his gaze sliding over to the bottle on the table and to the self-professed cynic who had long since put it aside and had been listening intently to every word.

In an instant, he stood up and walked over, fast and determined, without as much as a hint of a wobbling gait of a drunk, and the old man wondered how much of the drinking had been nothing more than just another kind of chain.

“Do you truly doubt that I would follow you, Apollo?” he said in a low voice. “If you permi-“

The leader, suddenly looking, somehow, more defiant than when he was ready to die in a blaze of gunpowder, placed his finger across the lips of the other man before he could finish the sentence, looking at him with such intensity that the former prisoner turned aside. Perhaps he could help with the weapons, or see whether there was any food left.

When he glanced back, he saw that the two men had retreated into a corner of the barricade, poorly concealed by an overturned wardrobe. The golden hair of the leader had been untied and was spilling over the green jacket, while the other man’s hands, stained with paint, scrambled for purchase around his neck.

[wingspiked]

???: “We were supposed to fly into the sky together..”

???: -choked up- “If only… I could…”

Is this another canon hint that Sunday is disabled / can’t fly?

correct! there are numerous hints outlining sunday being 'unable to fly.' whether this is entirely rhetorical or not it's hard to say. neither of them... quite literally fly ( probably ), but there is A LOT of evidence pointing towards sunday having a clipped/damaged 'wing:'

sunday's 'wings' are wrapped around his waist somewhat like a vest - and while the outer one lays properly, the one beneath is shaped a bit differently - blunt at the edges suggesting feathers were clipped.

( we know these are 'wings' because robin as a similar pair on her dress that unfold during her gameplay )

in harmony trailblazer's splash art - the crow atop the robin in the cage is very likely to be sunday. sunday has had NUMEROUS crow motifs throughout the game - from the dreammaster's ravens following him around, this splash art, the death of a crow poem, and his own black wings. this particular crow also has a clipped wing.

lastly - it is very likely sunday may become a stellaron hunter. i'm not going to get into that here because i've already made a fat post about it - but in the jepella rebellion trailer there are crows, and one of them looks like it may also have a clipped wing.

again - this clipped wing could very well just be an allusion to sunday's mentality - but regardless it is very much part of the reason he is saying 'i can't.' we don't know if sunday was born this way, sustained an injury, or the dreammaster did this to him (physical or mental it doesn't matter - the effect is the same. he cannot proverbially fly), but when sunday references the 'weak' in all of his speeches - there is a chance he's lumping himself in there, because of this wing clipping - but that's hard to say until we really know the extent of it i think.

anyways - it's too many times to be a coincidence. it's very obviously incorporated into his design, and i suspect we will see it in his playability as well. i personally do agree with the take of him be physically disabled, and am leaning in that direction.

to summarize - yes, it's a big ole fat hint!

[angelofviscera]

🐰🌿🌸 !!

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

ahhhhh this is a hard one!!! this is gonna sound cliche but just. how receptive they are to developing an understanding of and empathising with others. to be secure enough in your own values and willing to have a conversation about them really reflects in how we treat others and our capacity for change I think. sincerity is a trait I value a lot within people and being able to honestly communicate, to break something down to its centre, is just such a special thing. not sure if this is what says the most about a person but it sure says something!!

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.

hmmmm right now probably my white belted miniskirt with one of my cute carabiners attached, my lace trim vest, my hello kitty bomber jacket and my white platform docs <3 super cute and fun I love it!!

🌸 Best compliment you ever received?

once a girl told me she cried because of a poem I wrote for her which was insane 🥺 my friend also regularly says I'm the most loving person she's ever met and that just makes me go!! 💞💗💓💖💘!! the compliment u gave me about that way I talk was also so so sweet I think it's the most thorough compliment I've ever gotten so thank u <3

[translatemunson]

track three — the ex tapes

warnings: not proofread. this is not a fluff series, so be ready for some angst and angry characters.

author's note: thanks for all the love these past few chapters! i'm thinking of taking some requests on scenes/drabbles you'd like to read about this series, what do you think? send your ideas my way via ask or message me!

series masterlist

Eddie didn’t call you again. He went silent. Yeah, that was definitely a goodbye.

This was one of those days where the connection wasn’t there. The artist you worked with gave you some trouble when trying to find the subject of the song. You’ve talked for hours, he asked his assistant to get you some coffee and cookies from a nearby cafe, but even after all of that, he couldn’t give you enough material to start based on his experience.

You wrote a verse and a chorus you are not proud of, leaving the rest for another session. But you’re not sure if this was going to happen. He felt a bit off, you knew when people didn’t want to open themselves up, for whatever reason. 

Perhaps it was your fault. You were so connected to your personal story that everything was distant. You drive back home listening to your classical music tape, letting the harmonies and crescendos get the ideas out of your mind.

You don’t recognize the black car parked a few spots to the left of Steve’s car. You’ve been living in this building long enough to know everyone else’s cars. New neighbors? No, you weren’t aware of people moving in for a while now.

You gather your things and go up the stairs to the third floor. Everything is calm.

“Stevie! Wanna order some pizza?” You unlock the door and meet with a very serious Steve staring at the person on your couch. Black jeans, denim vest and jacket, dark curls. “What’s this? Why did you let him in?”

Both boys look in your direction. You cross your arms in front of your chest, your guitar case on your feet.

“I think you should talk.” He motions to Eddie to stay in his place.

“Steve-”

“Think of your career, ok? I’ll be in my room,” he walks to you and hugs you. “Try not to kill each other. Scream if you need me to kick him out.”

Steve leaves you alone, locking the door to his room — you bet he’s gonna eavesdrop on your conversation, whether you like it or not. You put your things on the table and let a deep sight cut through your silence.

“What are you doing here, Munson? No, what do you really want from me? Wasn’t leaving me behind like we were nothing enough?”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“I know, you said it a few nights ago. But I’m not buying it. How did you find me?”

Eddie looks in the direction of Steve’s room and you feel a little betrayed. You knew Steve would do anything for you, to protect you. And maybe you were too drunk when he arrived after the phone call and you poured your heart out telling him you wished things ended up differently. But you were too hurt, too afraid to let him closer again.

“Sorry, I-”

“You don’t mean it, so shut it. You never returned my calls, or my letters, or even let me know when you were in town so we could have a decent conversation. And now it’s too late.”

“You wanted closure? Do you even know what it means? Because to keep writing our story on people’s songs isn’t closure.”

“Like you’ve never written something about us as well. You can’t change my mind, Munson: I’m not writing with you. Now leave me alone.”

Eddie stands up, but doesn’t go for the door. He takes some bold steps until you’re close.

“You left me in the studio, was it some kind of twisted payback?”

“You broke my fucking heart, Eddie! Making you pay for the studio rent is nothing compared to what you’ve done to me!”

“Well, isn't it funny that you’re working in the same field as me? It’s like you were hoping this would happen.”

“Idiot, I’ve been writing songs and poems for ages! Who gave you the poem that inspired your first hit?” He doesn’t answer, well aware of the day you gave him an envelope with the poem inside. “Why did you use it anyway?”

“Because it was good, Y/N, really good. Can we please put those things behind and talk about our jobs? Because I really need to write this song, and you’re the only person that can understand me.”

You don’t understand me, he said that before you left the trailer in a hurry. It’s been like six years since that night, and you still feel it hunting you. Because you know you were wrong, but you were also young and too eager to get it.

You wanted to move to Chicago, to attend college, to live with Eddie in a small apartment. But you weren’t on the same page. He didn’t see how leaving somewhere else would be good, how he could keep playing with the band. According to him, you had everything you needed in Hawkins.

You had this huge fight. Screaming at each other how things were going to be better, new opportunities and everything else. To him, studying was a waste of time. To you, his band was a waste of time. In the end, you left the trailer after getting tired of all of his bullshit.

When you returned a few days later, he was gone. He moved to Los Angeles, they got a record deal, Wayne explained to you. He gave you his number and new address, and God knows you’ve tried to talk to him, at least to say you were sorry and you wanted to try long distance before ending things up.

He ended things before you could try.

“It has to be you, Y/N. I’ve tried with others, they don’t get it like you do. Please.”

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I can’t.”

You take a paper from the table and start writing down all the songwriters you’ve worked with and could help him, maybe would be honored to work with him. Because you know you can’t go in a studio with him, write down his feelings and walk away without feeling hurt. The song would play everywhere and it would sink the knife deeper.

You offer the paper. Eddie takes it but doesn’t give it a look, shoving it in his pocket right away.

“Please.”

You start crying, your memories making you go back to that night in the trailer. You’ve seen this film before, he’s gonna leave you again and again. 

Eddie brings you to his chest in a warm hug. You inhale his scent: cigarettes, maybe coffee and some fancy cologne. Time was good with him. You hug him back stronger, wishing things were different in the past. He doesn’t let you go until he’s sure you’ve calmed down.

“I’m so sorry that I left you. I really am.” He holds your face gently, sweeping the tears away. “Back then I thought that I always had to choose, and I didn’t want to do it because I really wanted to be with you, but music means everything to me. And then we fought and I had a good reason to run away. But you didn’t deserve it, and I’m so sorry for that.”

“I know, Eddie. But I have my fair share of guilt,” you cover his hands with yours. You wished you did this sooner, found your way to Eddie sooner. “I wanted you to leave everything for me, without thinking about other ways we could do it. And when I did, it was too late.”

He holds your shoulders. “Let’s call it a truce? Just for the sake of our jobs. We write the song, I give you a huge cut from the money and we can follow our own ways.”

“You can’t tell people that Charlie Rogers is your ex, because I really don’t wanna be Eddie Munson’s ex,” you add to the deal.

“Sure.” Your proudness is always showing, but he agrees with you: you’ve built your career by yourself, not by being someone’s ex. “Anything else?”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise, love.”

“I can fit you in my schedule.”

“Great,” he claps his hands, satisfied, “if you wanna work in a specific studio, let my manager know, he can arrange that.”

“Nah, choose your favorite and we’ll be fine.”

“Right, ok,” he smiles and leans in. “So see you soon?”

“On thursday, probably. I’ll have to cancel with Madonna, but that’s fine.”

“Madonna? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it's the third time we’ll work together. I can fit her somewhere else,” you say like it’s nothing. “Clean your schedule for me, rockstar, and meet me here at eight. And make sure to rent the studio for noon. There’s something we need to do before our writing session.”

“‘K, I’ll be here.”

“Ok.”

But none of you move. His big brown eyes don’t leave yours, you can’t break the contact. Reality is hitting you in the middle of your face. The thing you asked for years is happening. Eddie is here.

A door is opened and you hear footsteps.

“Erm, I thought you killed each other,” Steve cleans his throat.

You break the contact first. Eddie puts a cheeky smile on his face and walks to the door.

“See you on thursday. Bye, Steve.”

“See ya, Munson,” Steve does the honors of letting Eddie out. As soon as he closes the door, his eyes find you. “Are you alright?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” You take your stuff and walk to your room. “Please, leave me alone tonight.”

“I’ll make dinner for you.”

“No need.”

“Y/N,” he’s already worried about you.

“I need a moment alone, Harrington. Talk to you tomorrow.”

taglist: @@lokiofasgard616 @munsonology

[alex-turners-world]

RE: that massive long ask convo about Miles sexuality - Miles is camp for certain, and camp falls under queer expression, whether or not Miles is a “straight man” as an argument is invalidated by this fact. Miles has been throwing around female pronouns on occasion and more important discussion should be had about whether or not that is a fun little in-joke or if Miles is bigender or genderfluid in some aspect. Queer expression is never linear. I don’t think it matters as much to Miles as it does those around him. The Beast that is the Industry has a vested interest to keep him in the closet whether that be obvious or not, and the rest of us nosy bitches would spend more time discussing his queerness if he were out instead of his music, which is ultimately the thing that matters most to Miles.

What we do know about Miles is that the interchange of she/he pronouns have increased, women’s clothing has been incorporated into his wardrobe multiple times in the past decade, a strong connection to Lily Savage/Paul O’Grady, interaction with queer instagram blogs (including a poem about growing up gay)(and a nonbinary DJ)

As a blanket statement you can call Miles a straight man, but if that is the case, his way of being so dismantles what it means to be a straight man, and that is important.

.

[parkerharker]

The US has lost control of the narrative. Thats why they’re fast tracking bills banning tik tok and labeling anti-Zionism as antisemitism. Being against a political movement based on creating an ethnostate is not racist. It is anti-racist. The government has a vested interest in the continuation of the Israeli state and will do anything to convince the people to go along with it. This makes me think of the original form of the word woke as it started in black communities, not what it’s been co-opted to mean. So many of this country’s youth have been shaken awake. We see what the issue is. We see that it’s class structure, we see the control the US had over the narrative trying to convince us our problems are coming from somewhere else and not from the money they’re hoarding while keeping us down. But we gained a level of control of information that scared them. We found we could share the truth, and that scares them.

Here’s a poem from Langston Hughes I think about often called Good Morning Revolution

[btwimkindagay]

About me

Thanks @littledreamling for the tag

Nickname: Usually Breezy! My first name is a place name, so some of my friends call me by other place names (but more commonly acquaintances who think they are funnier than they are 🙄)

Sign: Sagittarius sun, Taurus moon, Aquarius rising. I hope that doesn't give away all my secrets

Height: 5'7 or 170cm!

Last thing I googled: "Wilfred Owen Letter to Wife poem". It's actually called "The Letter"

Song stuck in my head: I don't have one at the moment which I'm grateful for because I have a headache which feels like someone is trying to lobotomise me through my left eye. (I've taken some painkillers so I'm just being dramatic until they kick in)

Followers: 138! Thanks to everyone for politely waiting out the Goncharov phase

Amount of sleep: I regularly get 9-10 hours of sleep because otherwise I feel so bad 😥 I am envious of people who need less because for me 8 hours and 4 hours feel the same 🤢

Dream job: probably also a professor, like Crow! I'd love to be able to do research on things I'm interested in (it's always gay nuns, but recently it's also polygyny within medieval Jewish communities), and chat with colleagues about theirs, and write articles, and make lots of powerpoint presentations (I love them because I can even script in my jokes), and see what the younger generation are interested in when it comes to history! However, as we have established I am a very tired person, so I'm not sure how well I would cope with the expectation of out of hours work.

Wearing: Blue silk pyjama bottoms decorated with little white vines and flowers, brown walking socks, and a long fluffy hooded! dressing gown which I would probably call maroon or burgundy. Don't judge me for this (or do, I deserve it).  For the more wattpad experience we can also say that I have thrown my long brown hair into a messy bun.

Books/movies that summarise me: I could ask my friends, or I could just insert a picture of the DSM-V here because that's what they'll all send me

Favourite song: I don't have favourite anythings to be honest, but my most played song this year (at a whopping 22 times) was Zitti e Buoni by Måneskin. Lyric-wise I'm still obsessed with Tongues & Teeth by The Crane Wives, specifically "I know that you mean so well, but I am not a vessel for your good intent".

Favourite instrument: I've played clarinet, recorder, guitar, and keyboard, none of which I had any talent for 😂

Aesthetic: I've been told so many things about how I dress so I'll try to keep it brief. I own an eclectic collection of dresses (probably 60+) and tend to favour colourful patterns for daily wear and single colour grecian-style drapes for formal events. I likewise own lot of colourful patterned tops (described by my friends as "pretty", "flattering", "interesting", and "like you took it from your mum's wardrobe" (she gave it to me)) which I wear with jeans. That said, I can most commonly be found in my "grandad" looks of a men's shirt open over a vest or buttoned to the bare minimum of decency, or one of my two favourite golf jumpers (one grey, one beige).

Favourite authors: I don't have favourite authors of books (though I definitely do for fanfiction), but I do want to read more Margaret Atwood because I've only read The Handmaid's Tale and that one quote from The Robber Bride that lives rent free in my head.

Random fun fact: I managed to get super glue in my mouth when I was decorating a christmas bauble with watch parts last night! Very on brand, I'm notoriously clumsy. I also only managed to super glue two of my fingers together, so that is a new record

Tagging @bidet-and-legolas @a-liittle-bit-of-both and anyone who fancies it!

[josephbrassey]

On Liechtenauer, Martial Arts, and a specific definition of winning.

To love for a lifetime is to fall in and out of infatuation. To see faults and determine to continue to put in the effort. It is to find yourself exasperated by the flaws in the place your affection is vested, only to come around again and remember where that love grew from to begin with. This essay is going to be about HEMA generally, about Kunst des Fechtens specifically, and about old books and why I don’t think anything passed down can belong to you.

This essay is going to be a series of disjointed thoughts that may or may not tie together at the end. There will be no citations, no references to specific pieces of text to prove a point. I’m not going to back anything up with data, and I’m not going to point to a specific part of something written and say “this is proof of what I mean.” This is no more and less than one person’s opinion, based purely on feelings and experience and anecdotes, for whatever that’s worth to the reader.

I have three books in my office that are over one hundred years old. Of these, one is a copy of Meditations by Marcus Aurelius. It does not actually belong to me, but it was loaned by a friend who moved out of state before I could give it back. It is beautiful and thought provoking, but—and this will be relevant later—it does not actually belong to me. It’s on-loan, even if that loan is extended. The second of these books is a copy of the collected poetry of Sir Walter Scott. I have not read it, mostly because I am afraid that it will fall apart if I flip too thoughtlessly through its pages. I found it at an antique store ten years ago, and I did not realize how precious it was until I got home, where I discovered a letter from a father to his daughter written in the early 1900’s, and a perfectly preserved rose pressed between the pages. I do not want to damage either, so I keep them where I found them. They are in my keeping, but like the first book, they do not feel like mine.

The third book is a copy of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam. I had a weird introduction to this book, which I have also read many times. When I was seventeen I was standing in a grocery aisle in Oregon, looking at beer that I couldn’t legally drink yet. Out of the blue, an old man I had never met approached me and started quoting from the poems. I don’t remember exactly what stanza—I think it was one of the ones warning people about drinking too much—but it stuck in my head and over the years I have acquired multiple copies, though none are as rare as this one. Even though I found it in a box of old books a friend had in their trunk, this one, like all the others, feels like a gift that I need to safeguard, until someday I give it to someone else.

I do not think that old things truly belong to us. Especially not those that have been passed down, and I think that treating them like possessions to be altered or discarded at will is a very consumerist way of thinking about things that should have more value. Especially when those things were created with blood, sweat, and tears, and when their existence was paid for in lives. Even if those lives were ended a long time ago. Even with treasured family heirlooms or old things that we stumble across, we are far more transient than they are, and at most we only keep them for a little while.

I started studying HEMA in 2008 with Fiore, and I transitioned to training Kunst des Fechtens exclusively in 2015. Liechtenauer’s art occupies a strange space, as far as Martial Arts go. Like the majority of earlier HEMA sources, it does not possess a living lineage of teacher-to-student transmission. What we have as practitioners is a series of texts expressing common principles and techniques, with only hints and bits of secondary and primary sources that offer suggestions as to the traditions that surrounded these arts when they were living. Because we are working to recreate this art from what has been left to us, it is easy to imagine that what we are creating is wholly new and our own, and that we have the right to make it our own. It is a common sentiment in many modern martial arts that the goal of training is to create a fighter whose deepest skill is expressed by the number of wins in competition and freeplay, however that’s defined. A not uncommon line of thought in many HEMA circles, including ones to which I am very close, is that creating great fencers, great fighters, is the primary purpose of our study. In some cases the only purpose.

I don’t really think that way. I used to, or at least I used to think that I should, but I don’t anymore.

What distinguishes Liechtenauer from other sources for me is the same thing that changed how I look at HEMA and functionally at Martial Arts in general. More than a set of techniques, more than the Five Words or the Haupstuck themselves, it is a system that teaches understanding of its subject material in a very layered way. I know consensus on this isn’t settled, but it’s always been my impression that the Zettel and several of the glosses are laid out in deliberate manner where techniques are unpacked in order to express the principles that they are trying to teach. Each section goes on to break down multiple ways to express the principle, and then the next section begins to unpack the next principle that the student will most benefit from learning in that order.

This layering of concept on top of concept, with later sections closing the loops that earlier ones began, immediately caught my attention, and years later it still has a hold on me. I think there is something deeply useful about the style of teaching that feels implicit in the text. We’re missing big parts, obviously, in-person pedagogy and the associated traditions that were associated with how the art was transmitted directly from teacher to student, but you can infer a lot from the structure of the texts. One of the things that stands out to me is that these aren’t just a formula for learning a martial art, but an expression of the writer’s understandings of how to learn to begin with.

And ultimately it has been this idea of understanding, itself, that’s come to shape how I think about not just Kunst des Fechtens, not just HEMA, but just about everything I approach in my life. The longer I do this, the less I give a shit about winning anything. The less I care about competing, or proving, or demonstrating the worth and value of this art. Some of that might be burnout, but I think the lion’s share of it is that as I’ve gotten older the value of what I’m doing has started to feel self-evident. This is something that, despite its severed lineage, was once a carefully guarded secret, an artform by which people lived and died. I don’t intend to wax romantic or melodramatic, but that weight means something. Immense and broad efforts were made through it’s two-century history to preserve and proliferate Liechtenauer’s art, and even though those works ultimately failed and the tradition died out, I feel strongly that those of us working with its remnants today owe it to the memory and spirit of those distant humans to respect the drops of blood and sweat staining the pages they wrote. The best way to honor this for me is to look at what they left behind, and dedicate my effort to understanding.

I talked earlier about how old things don’t belong to us. How what is old and has been passed down is on-loan, at least in an ideal world, because we are not its owners, but its caretakers. Through understanding, the Liechtenauer you study becomes not something you simply absorb and use as you choose, but a reframing of your mind that reshapes and reorganizes the flow of your thoughts. The ceiling on what a person can come to understand is so much higher than the accomplishments that are directly limited by physical health, age, ability, and athleticism. You can only win for so long, but your ceiling for deepening your learning is—if you’re lucky—limited only by your lifespan. Via this, the art expresses itself more and more through not only our arms and hands, but through how we think and feel and breathe. I don’t believe that any art-form can be grasped without allowing it to alter the fabric of which you’re stitched together, and when understood this way, not only does the art not belong to you, but it can’t.

Because the art expresses itself through you. You belong to it. It’s passing through you as you live your life, like the old books that come into your keeping to safeguard.

Until such time as you have to pass them on to someone else.

[jazzypizzaz]

Wedding Ceremony Script

WELCOME

Please be seated!

Greetings Friends, Family, Loved ones.  Dwarves, Elves, Hobbits.  Adventurers and Road-weary Travelers.  Whether your journey was long or brief, we now find ourselves settled in, recovering HP, and ready to celebrate the union of our two favorite people. Set down your swords, ready your pints, and let’s hear a mighty Huzzah for J-- and H--!  HIP HIP!

DECLARATION OF INTENT

Long ago, in the fires of Mount Doom, a ring was made.  That was largely considered a bad idea, and a fine fellowship of folks basically took care of that already, so we are here to focus on the good things about rings!

Love, and the commitment to love is a very powerful thing.  Stronger than Andúril (An-dew-rul), more fulfilling than Elevenses, it is a force that can bring out the very best in us, and we see that evidence before us here today.  

J--, M--, you are now ready to embark on the biggest quest of your campaign so far.  Your friends and family stand at your side, with all the buffs and support spells they have slots for, to help and support you on this next step of your journey.  As you venture forth into your beautiful future, let your love and fellowship guide you, as you learn and grow together.

If there is anyone out there who feels that these two should not be married, please remember that most of the wedding party is armed.  

READING

I would now like to introduce, Karen, Aunt and godmother of the Bride, who will read “Roads Go Ever On”

Karen (Aunt and godmother of bride) - “Roads Go Ever Ever On” from The Hobbit 

Roads go ever ever on

Under cloud and under star,

Yet feet that wandering have gone

Turn at last to home afar.

Eyes that fire and sword have seen

And horror in the halls of stone

Look at last on meadows green

And trees and hills they long have known

I would now like to introduce Karen, Aunt of the Groom, to read a poem JRR Tolkien wrote to his wife.

Lo! Young we are and yet have stood

like planted hearts in the great Sun

of Love so long (as two fair trees

in woodland or in open dale

stand utterly entwined and breathe

the airs and suck the very light

together) that we have become

as one, deep rooted in the soil

of Life and tangled in the sweet growth. 

OFFICIANT: Thanks to you both, you may now be seated.

VOWS

J-- and M-- will now read their vows they have prepared.

[They do so. Leading directly into "I do's" 

Cue line - …And to each other cleave forever, this our greatest quest. ]

I DO’S

M--, do you promise to love and cherish J--, from this day until the end of all things.

M - I do.

J--, do you promise to love and cherish M--, from this day until the end of all things. 

J - I do

RING EXCHANGE

Officiant takes rings from pocket.

People often say wedding bands are a perfect circle, with no beginning and no end. But these rings did have a beginning. The materials were formed a long time ago deep with the ground. Skilled, possibly dwarven, hands unearthed and formed them. Something beautiful was made from raw elements.

As Celebrimbor was the architect of the rings, so are you the architects of your love. Unearthed amid the trees and lakes, tested in the fires, and molded by adventure, it has been shaped into something extraordinary. You have made something beautiful, and incorruptible, where there was once nothing at all.

J--, as you place the ring on M--’s finger, please repeat after me.

OFFICIANT/J--: With this ring/ I thee Wed. 

OFFICIANT: M--, as you place the ring on J--’s finger, please repeat after me. 

OFFICIANT/--: With this ring/ I thee Wed.

OFFICIANT: May you and your love remain forever constant in each others sight, never fading to invisibility.  May you follow each other ever onward, down from this beginning. 

By the power vested in me by the Mayor of Michel Delving, the Thain of the Shire, and by the state of Georgia, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.”

WILD APPLAUSE, OFFICIANT CLEARS TO THE SIDE FOR PHOTOS.

Father of the bride returns flowers

Recessional 

At its conclusion 

OFFICIANT: Thank you everyone for joining J-- and M-- on their special day. While the wedding party is taking their pictures, there will be snacks, drinks, and yard games in the tent. Enjoy!

[webbedphantom]

💍our ship

Wedding Headcanons

Shock yeah! The OTP!

As a quick aside, I know we've talked about a few of these before, but I don't remember all the answers because it's been so long, so I apologize if I misremember something

Where they get married: I think we set their wedding on a rooftop? Just a small ceremony with the rest of the team, plus Sae, Sojiro, and Aaron's Aunt Mika.

When they get married: Summer, July 7th, during her second year of college. Might seem a bit fast, but when you spend everyday almost dying, you tend to try to make the most of the time you have. Besides, they were both committed to each other before she even graduated highschool. Marriage was only a matter of time.

What traditions they include: I don't think either of them are sticklers for tradition, so aside from the essentials, like the bouquet toss and that, probably not much

What their wedding cake looks like: It'd be a simple cake, since they don't exactly have the funds to go too overboard, but Aaron would make the topper himself, handcrafting a small figurine of them in their wedding outfits either swinging together, or riding the motorcycle he helped her get for Christmas in their first year together. (Was tempted to say Johanna, since she can do that now in our canon, but I imagine that bike is rather special to both of them)

Who smashes cake on who's face: Makoto on Aaron's. I don't think it was planned, or at least Aaron didn't know it was planned, because she wanted to surprise him with it. But as soon as he realizes, he just lets it happen. Made for a very cute picture that has been a staple of his work desk ever since

Who proposed first: Aaron, because it was his idea to get married so soon. Proposed to her on their anniversary of all days, on the rooftop of the hotel he'd lived in as kid. The same hotel where he'd set up a shrine to his parents, where he'd taken her on their first date to "introduce" her to them. It's a spot that means a lot to both of them.

Who walks down the aisle and who waits at the alter: I don't think we've ever decided on it, but I think it'd be interesting to have Aaron walk down the aisle (or swing maybe?) and Makoto wait at the alter. Not really sure why. I just like the reversal of the norm

What their wedding dress / suit looks like: I think we wanted to go with something similar to their masquerade outfits from that P5 Anime promo. Aaron in a red suit, maybe with a black vest or jacket over it, and Makoto in a blue dress. It's not very traditional, but something so colorful for them seems fitting.

What their wedding color scheme is and what sort of decor they have: Red with black, blue with white. AKA their colors along with an accent from their costumes (black is kinda obvious, white from her gloves). The decor would be very simple because they had a small budget to work with, but Aaron made a lot of the more intricate stuff by hand. Yusuke also made them a painting as a sort of early wedding present that helped set the scene a little better.

What flowers are in the bouquet, and what do they symbolize: Baby's Breath (Yes that is apparently a real flower, meaning Everlasting Love), Daffodils (Unequalled Love), Dills (Powerful against Evil), Goldenrod (Encouragement and Good Fortune), and Thyme (Courage and Strength). They symbolize their strong love for each other, the strength they provide to each other, a strength that can overcome any obstacle their enemies may throw at them, and the hope for a bright future together. (A hope that we know comes to pass due to their future kids, one of which they may or may not have met beforehand due to time travel shenanigans, but that's a story for another time)

What their vows are: I think Makoto originally planned to do it traditionally, but then just decides to say 'screw it,' and speak from the heart. Aaron's are also improvised, but he attempts to make a heartfelt poem out of them (which I will not be doing, at least not right now, because it's 11 pm and I suck at rhyming). And while I won't say Makoto's, as I'd rather leave the specifics up to you, Aaron's are that he will always be there when she needs him, that he will support her dreams with everything he has, that he will love her with all his heart and soul for as long as she'll have him, and that no matter what the future holds for them, he knows they'll be okay, because they'll have each other.

If anyone's late to the wedding: Aaron almost was- He did everything possible to make sure he'd be there, not wanting to ruin their big day, but as luck would have it, Shido broke out of prison an hour before the wedding. Thankfully, Akechi showed up (they'd have buried the hatchet a while ago by this point) and practically had to force him to let him handle it so he could make it on time, making a joke that it was his wedding present to them. Akechi unfortunately missed the ceremony entirely due to this (Shido is not easy to take down), but as soon as it was over, Aaron and Makoto ran over to help finish the job so he could be there for the reception.

Who's in the bridal parties / groomsmen: The entire team, along with Eiko and Mishima. Ryuji is the best man, of course, and Ann is the maid of honor.

What their bridal party / groomsmen are wearing: Given the small gathering, and with everyone present knowing their secrets, everyone shows up in their costumes, though altered slightly to fit the occasion. Even Eiko and Mishima got costumes made for specifically for this. (This is somewhat inspired by other superhero weddings in comics, where everyone there shows up in costume for... some reason. Though it's slightly more fitting here for reasons you'll see later)

Who gives speeches at the reception: Pretty much everyone except Akechi, not feeling like he deserves to given everything he did that he still feels he needs to make up for. Though, he's eventually convinced to after Aaron rightfully points out they would've had to postpone the wedding entirely if not for him. All the team members recount memories of their time together, Mika tells an embarrassing story of Aaron as a kid, as well as how found she's grown of Makoto, adding that she couldn't imagine anyone better for her "son." Sojiro gives a heartfelt speech about the two, how he sees the both of them as family even though they aren't related, and how he couldn't be prouder of either of them. Sae makes a joke about how if Aaron breaks her heart, they'll never find the body, but then giving a short, but heartful speech about just how happy he's made her sister, and that while she may not always like him, she's proud to call him family. Akechi gives a similarly short speech, feeling like there isn't anything he could say that wasn't already said. But he does focus on how good of a team they make, adding that "Trust me, I know from experience."

Who catches the bouquet: Ryuji, though he wasn't trying to. It just kinda landed on him-

What their wedding photos are like: Mostly sweet and wholesome. A couple of them kissing, one of them sitting on ledge of the roof together, holding hands and watching the sun go down, a few of them in their costumes, including one where they're posing together with the whole team, and of course, the cake smash.

What sort of food they have at the reception: A traditional buffet, something Haru insisted on paying for, as well as a giant bowl of shrimp flavored popcorn. (She does have plenty of extras thanks to Aaron, after all)

Who cries first during the ceremony: It's actually a tie between Aaron and Yusuke. Makoto's vows really moved him (which is part of why he even attempted the poem thing, in an attempt to match hers). Makoto... also cried during Aaron's vows, so he succeeded.

How wild their reception gets: It starts out tame, but gets pretty crazy towards the end. I mean, most of their guests have super powers and there's alcohol, I think you can imagine how that goes.

What their rings are like: They're actually family heirlooms, Makoto's belonged to her dad, while Aaron's belonged to his Aunt. They're fairly simple in terms on looks, a gold band for Makoto and a silver for Aaron's, but that doesn't really matter to either of them. They treasure them all the same.

What sort of party favors they have: Not much, since again they had a small budget (Haru offered several times to pay for everything, but they refused. As much as Aaron would like to go over the top for her... they don't need that. The important thing is that they have each other), but they did give out some sparklers and copies of a few of their wedding photos.

Where they go for their honeymoon: Hawaii. Might be obvious, but that is when he first realized he liked her (the two of them see that moment on the beach as their honorary first date), so there was nowhere else it could be.

Something memorable that happens during the party / ceremony: Aside from the two of them having to change into their costumes and ride off on Johanna to go fight Shido (the costume part was planned, but the fight was definitely not), mostly just how insane the party got afterwards. They don't remember exactly what happened (they were both really drunk), they just know it somehow led to them ice skating through the venue and posing with a goat. No one remembers where the goat came from-

Who officiates the ceremony: Sojiro was going to, but Yusuke insisted it be him. He actually did a pretty good job all things considered.

What song their first dance is to: Just Like Heaven by the Cure, played right off her dad's old records (which was a bit of a pain to set up, but being as sentimental as he is, Aaron was insistent that they did it that way, even doing a majority of the setup himself. Makoto definitely appreciated the gesture). In fact, a large majority of the songs played during the reception were from those records. Aaron would've made all of them be, but Makoto insisted he choose some songs too.

... He chose the Sonic R soundtrack, because he's a shocking nerd, but it was weirdly a good fit??

Who gives who away as they walk down the aisle: Sojiro gives Aaron away, I think. A bit obvious but it just seems right.

[1ff]

Today's conceptual AI experiment: who owns the copyright to these images? And, a different question: who created them? I had six different AI generators tackle the text of e. e. cumming's beautiful but complicated poem "A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves" which is itself based on a parable from the New Testament.

(long-winded explanation follows, skip if you like)

The works of e. e. cummings fell into public domain last year, so there is no copyright on the original poem. The copyright on AI-generated works is still being worked out, but it's generally recognized that if a human being starts a non-human process in motion that results in a creative work, that human being holds the copyright on the result. In other words, if you input some text into an AI art generator, you set the process in motion and you hold the copyright on the final image. This makes a sort of sense; if you throw a bucket of paint on a canvas, you had no control over the physical processes that resulted in the final image, but we generally recognize that you are responsible for the result.

But these AI art generators are not random processes, they are "taught" using the works of human artists. Again, this isn't really a problem. All artists learn from studying other artists, and incorporate styles and techniques they've learned. Nevertheless, the artists that the AI learned from have some hand in the final product here. Similarly, you can't critique "A Man Who Had Fallen Among Thieves" without talking about the biblical parable from which it borrows its story, and many of its words.

I was the one who copy-pasted the text of the poem and entered it into the AI. I pushed the button to start the process. Do I own the copyright on these images? Did I create them? They would not exist if I hadn't done that. I had a concept, an idea, and I used a tool to bring that idea into existence. But I also did the least work of anyone involved in the process. Of course, in large studios under the supervision of artists like Damien Hirst, very little of the work but all of the glory goes to the person generating the ideas and giving the orders.

All those questions aside, I think these images are very captivating and interesting. Many of the results evoke the same feeling for me that the poem does. Regardless of who really made the images, I think they're worth looking at.

Original text:

a man who had fallen among thieves lay by the roadside on his back dressed in fifteenthrate ideas wearing a round jeer for a hat

fate per a somewhat more than less emancipated evening had in return for consciousness endowed him with a changeless grin

whereon a dozen staunch and leal citizens did graze at pause then fired by hypercivic zeal sought newer pastures or because

swaddled with a frozen brook of pinkest vomit out of eyes which noticed nobody he looked as if he did not care to rise

one hand did nothing on the vest its wideflung friend clenched weakly dirt while the mute trouserfly confessed a button solemnly inert.

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke i put him all into my arms and staggered banged with terror through a million billion trillion stars.

[7r0773r]

Selected Poems and Translations by Arvind Krishna Mehrotra

Canticle for My Son

The dog barks and the cat mews, The moon comes out in the sky, The birds are mostly settled. I envy your twelve hours Of uninterrupted dreaming.

I take your small palms in mine And don't know what To do with them. Beware, my son, Of those old clear-headed women Who never miss a funeral.

***

The Cotton Tree

I

A badminton-net away From each Other and bang In front of A half-dilapidated One- Storey forties house, Two Great Indian cotton trees. Nothing is Alive in this Abstract Distance from X To Y Except their brittle Shade. Moth-like sun-patches Alight On each hurrying Arm, nape, And nose-tip, Even as shadows, Stepping straight out of Lime-washed Walls, chase them Away. A lingering nip In the Air; March eighty- Two; Summer's first lap.

II

A boy walking Ahead of Us, carrying a Milk pail in One hand, an eyeless Taxidermied Calf in the other, Divides his Attention between kites fighting In the sky and the pair of Taw-eyed Buffaloes under his Charge. From 37 Paternoster Row, James Duncan Published in MDCCCXXX A thirty-volume Description of someone's Travels Round the globe. Silverfish Have made A meal of it, eating away The kerns, Leaving the shanks Of letters alone. I sometimes wonder If all The leaves that ever fell Are not Inside this page.

III

They did not fall But drifted Upwards through the Valved Air. Overnight the trees Stood Upside down, their Branches Lit with comets' Misty Tails. On land, The wind Smelt of hot Cross buns. Our route didn't change, Though sometimes When a dust-storm blew We covered Just half the distance. Single crows Darted across a flat Sky Towards unfallen nests. The trees Were a Settlement. They're now pieces Of uncased Machinery, left On a Watchmaker's table.

***

Approaching Fifty

Sometimes, In unwiped bathroom mirrors, He sees all three faces Looking at him:

His own, The grey-haired man's Whose life policy has matured, And the mocking youth's Who paid the first premium.

***

The Fracture

Your mother is seventy. One day she slips And breaks her wrist.

You are not there When this happens. You are in Islington.

It is six weeks Before you see her. You take her to the doctor.

He asks her to open And close her palm, And she does as she is told.

He explains Barton's fracture To you

And holds a X-ray Against the light. You don't understand a thing

But nod all the same And ask if they do Hip replacement in Dehra Dun.

I'm doing one this afternoon, He says, Filling another column

In her insurance form. Your mother asks If she should take more calcium.

My father, she says, Sucked on bones To make his own more strong

And lived to be ninety. In two days You have a train to catch

And are careful About reaching her home Safely.

Before leaving, You advise her to be More active

And to take long walks.

***

To an Unborn Daughter

If writing a poem could bring you Into existence, I'd write one now, Filling the stanzas with more Skin and tissue than a body needs, Filling the lines with speech. I'd even give you your mother's

Close-bitten nails and light-brown eyes, For I think she had them. I saw her Only once, through a train window, In a yellow field. She was wearing A pale-coloured dress. It was cold. I think she wanted to say something.

***

Washing Tub

My hands bubble-wrapped in soapsuds, I wash in a plastic tub a Sandow vest, And hear on other terraces young mothers Talking. It is morning and before me is open

The book of sunsets. I'll come To the end of the page, and there aren't many Pages remaining. How do I tell the mothers It was a slim book to start with?

***

The Sting in the Tail

Wearing loose clothes, light cottons, You sit and fan yourself with a newspaper Supplement, a glass of tepid Fennel-flavoured sherbet by your side.

From the window you see A car turn, a bus pass, or a cyclist, A towel wrapped around his head. It's 45 degrees centigrade

In the shade, and according to the forecast There's worse to come. A neighbour's genset Sputters in the background.

At night, still without electricity, In the sooty warm light of a kerosene lamp, You read John Ashbery and thwack! That Was a fat mosquito

Leaving your forearm.

***

Aligarh

At the railway station I ask if there's a train to where you are.

I'm told there is but it's left already, so has tomorrow's and the day after's.

Somewhere in the trees, painted in degrees of green, the morning

paint still wet, a magpie robin starts up its tweet-chirp-tweet. You hear it in your garden,

I in mine. At night, like a colicky child, our old bones tired, desire keeps us awake.

Put it to sleep if you can, I'll do the same, and for now let's forget

the railway station. Parking's not easy there, the trains keep to no time.

***

At night, cheeks blushed With joy, making me do A hundred different things, And in the morning too shy To even look up. I don't believe It's the same woman. (Translation: Prākrit Love Poetry from the Gāthāsaptaśatī of Sātavāhana Hāla)

***

Easy, friend. What's the big fuss about?

Once dead, The body that was stuffed with Kilos of sweets Is carried out to be burnt, And the head on which A bright turban was tied Is rolled by crows in the dust. A man with a stick Will poke the cold ashes For your bones.

But I'm wasting my time, Says Kabir. Even death's bludgeon About to crush your head Won't wake you up. (Translation: Songs of Kabir)