#and this matters enough to me to still face those adversities

[ruraljew]

i haven't been able to stop thinking about something my "friend" said this past friday night. she and i were supposed to go to service together but missed the memo that there was no service that night, so we went to dinner instead.

we talked for a while and eventually got around to the topic of knowing when you're ready to officially complete the conversion process. she and my rabbi keep telling me that i am the only one who will know when i'm ready, and it's my job to let him (rabbi) know that i am ready. and since i am (that's why i reached out to him in the first place after four years of deep consideration and now four months of active study and practice) i tell this friend, "yes, i am ready"

but she tells me, "no, you're only just now ready to even consider commitment." telling me that i'm still in the honeymoon phase and this choice is something i have barely contemplated

keep in mind we have only actually met twice, and she barely knows me. it kind of floored me, stunned me. she keeps calling me a jew as if im already part of the tribe and then turns around and tells me how i feel as if she has any clue in the world about what this means to me. telling me that i only think that im ready. she hardly ever lets me get a word in through her presuppositions about my commitment simply because ive only been able to actively practice for just four months.

i suppose the only point of this was to rant since i don't really have anyone in my life who could understand the situation.

it just makes no sense - "only you will know when you're ready" "okay you're right i'm ready" "well no actually you're not" "okay then what does 'ready' really look like then? since my 'ready' doesn't fit your 'ready'" "see, since you're even asking that question at all it means that you aren't ready" LIKE WHAT HELLO

[pastel-rights]

And then I finally end it off with some doodles of them… they make me feel things.

[leonsdolly]

Wicked Game

Leon Kennedy x fem! reader

Synopsis: Leon leaves you for her, and you're not sure what to do now.

CW: nsfw 18+, infidelity, angst, suicidal thoughts, comparing yourself to her, masturbation, mentions of p in v

WC: 1.5k

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you…” You murmur along to the melancholy words that are floating around your room like butterflies. Actually, more like flies nearing the end of their life span - movement transitioning from an erratic flight to a lazy, almost purposeless dwindle until they’re on their backs with their legs sticking up in the air. That’s exactly how you are now that Leon’s done with you. A dead fly - no one could save me but you. Chris Isaak gets it. He gets it so well that he’s been looping for God knows how long.

Was it only last week that Leon left you for the ghost from his past? The one in red, haunting him in ways that you were oblivious to. Always bleeding red, like Bloody Mary or something. Maybe it was better if you’d feigned ignorance to the evidence. Maybe you’d still be able to call him yours if you played your role of a cross-eyed Mary jumping right into his arms with no protests, always playing it clean.

It was all because of a letter that was carefully tucked away in his desk drawer, folded and sealed with a kiss. No, literally a kiss. The bitch left her lipstick imprint in lieu of her signature. YSL, shade R1. You’d always been a Dior girl anyway. 

You swore up and down that you weren’t purposely snooping through his belongings, that you were just looking for Scotch tape. The offensive document shook in your hand as you fearfully inquired about its contents. He was stuttering and ashamed and apologetic and all the things a good man is when he’s sinned. He let you cry and scream and sink to your knees with your head in your hands like you were never going to come back up, like you could die in this position and be encased in marble. A new weeping angel.

You know in your heart that you could never equate to her in his eyes. The knowledge that he’s probably been comparing you to her throughout your relationship makes you so damn ill. Maybe you should slit your own throat in front of him and let the crimson flow over your body so you can match with her. Bleeding red all over the place, letting him see nothing but that cursed color, the way he did all those years ago in the city where it all started. The way he’d still continued to do so after meeting you and promising all sorts of things you weren’t accustomed to hearing. You suppose you can’t fault him completely, it wasn’t like he intended on hurting you; he’d tried to overcome his adversities and forge a new home for himself, one that was pink and frilly and covered him in glossy kisses after a long day at work. But ultimately, it wasn’t enough. His allegiance lay with first red, then white, then blue. 

You just miss him so damn much. You’re desperate enough for him that if he were to walk through the door right now, you’d take him back in a heartbeat. Sure, maybe you’d have difficulty meeting his eyes for a while, deep pools, murky with guilt and who knows what else. Your vision would be limited to the freckles on his neck, the ones resembling a vampire bite, but that’s alright with you. You’re familiar with the area, having kissed it so many times. You shouldn't be thinking about those little spots or anything else about him for that matter. He made his bed, and now he has to lie in it. With her. Pressed up against her with his face tucked into the crook of her neck. Oh God, now you're the one seeing red. Is there really such a thing as a red string tying two people together, keeping them bound for eternity? Hopefully not, because you're nauseous at the concept that it's always been her. She was right there beside his former bright eyed and bushy-tailed self, the version that had a vague understanding of how the world worked, before he was your solemn Leon. They trudged through the abyss together, leaning on one another for strength in the midst of a plague. You wish God would just deliver armies of locusts to devour you and him and her and the rest of the world. The end is here anyway now that he isn’t. 

Your last memory of him is that pitiful look in his eyes as he gazes at you one more time. You said I was your baby. He said a lot of things, promised you the world, and look how things turned out. It’s sickening really, how cruel fate can be. Was this fate? You’re going to tie their disgusting red string around your neck and squeeze until your head pops off like a rocket. A blazing glory, capable of stealing his attention.

The thoughts of needing to be better so that he’d be with you again swirls around in your brain, filling up your entire being until you can’t bear it any longer. This wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to put a ring on your finger and give you his babies and hold you close on your deathbed. Your hand twitches, muscle memory activated from all the times you slipped your hand into his, anchoring you to him. I’m so sorry… Ada and I… We’ve been through a lot together. You can’t take this anymore. But I love you more than anything in the whole world… How am I supposed to live without you? He never did give you a proper response to that, silence encompassing the air between you.

You shuffle to the bottom drawer of your dresser and fish out a wrinkled shirt that had been shoved towards the very back, away from prying eyes - navy blue with the letters “RPD” emblazoned in white across the front. You slip it on and inhale the fabric draped over your frame, protecting you, hugging you as you crawl back into your bed. His arms really were the loveliest place to be. Firm and gentle, wrapped around your torso like your very own bullet vest. Shielding you from horrors you would never have to experience, he’d make sure of that. Or at least he had, anyway. His lingering scent fills your senses like whispers in an abandoned chapel. Something familiar, a sense of comfort in your hollowed out state. It takes over your grief for a second, and when you shut your eyes tight, everything is alright again.

You yearn to hold onto this feeling, but it dissipates once your eyes open, and you're isolated yet again. Your bottom lip trembles as you squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, gripping onto the hem of his shirt. His arms are around you again, and the smell of him is welcomed. It elicits a natural response from your body, begging for his touch, forming a silent prayer to any divinity who will listen. Your thighs involuntarily part as you reminisce on the feeling of his face in between them, tongue lapping at everything you have to offer. Whimpers fall from your lips as your other hand travels down to slowly stroke your clit the way he used to do it. There’s my baby. You’re his baby, still so good for him. You rub your clit faster and faster as the hand that was clutching onto his shirt for dear life comes up to squeeze your tits and pinch your nipples. 

You realize that tears have been running down your flushed cheeks as you grind down onto your fingers faster in an effort to chase your high. Just like that… Sweet baby, my sweet baby. 

He's probably fucking her at this exact moment. Cock buried miles deep inside her perfect cunt, perky tits bouncing at every thrust while she moans for him. You’re going to blow your brains out. What kind of sounds does she make when she’s getting the railing of a lifetime? Something more refined than your own little whines. Is she kissing those precious freckles on his neck, giving them all the attention they could ever ask for as he lets out his own delicious noises? You weep as you continue to rub your clit while slick leaks from your neglected pussy, begging for only him to fill it up.

You’re sobbing as you feel the release building up in your core, and you're bawling as you feel your pussy clamp around the ghost of his cock. You let out a cry of both pleasure and agony as you frantically cum all over your fingers. My perfect baby.

Shallow pants escape you as you simply lay motionless, eyes trained fixedly on the ceiling of your melancholy prison. You shakily bring your other hand up to wipe away the tears that have forged new paths for themselves on your cheeks and down to your pillowcase. I love you. You’ll always be my girl.

This world is only gonna break your heart. How are you supposed to live without him? Nobody loves no one. Chris Isaak needs to shut up.

[munsonsmixtapes]

requesting finnick fluff pure FLUFF maybe he’s been crushing on reader for a while now but she just doesn’t get the hints and brushes him off as a really sweet friend so the poor guys trying to make his feelings clear and lowkey get out the friend zone

cw: hurt/comfort, miscommunication

Finnick had loved you from the very beginning. The moment he laid his eyes on you, he was convinced that he was a goner. You walked into the birthday party that Peeta and Katniss were throwing for him and he was done for. You smiled at him then pulled him in for a hug as if you were old friends, had even brought him a gift.

"It's a koi fish," you explained when he had opened the box. "It's a symbol for luck, prosperity, good fortune, and of perseverance in the face of adversity."

And the way you smiled, seeming so excited to explain, he couldn't help but smile as well, yours becoming so infectious. Finnick immediately put it on and had decided that it was the best gift he had ever received, even though he never would have admitted that to you.

"And I know that district four is known for fishing and I thought it'd be a nice reminder from where you came from." He didn't want to cry, but he almost felt like he was going to. You hadn't even known him and managed to get him something so meaningful.

And so, every moment after that, he found himself following you around like a lost puppy, seeming so obvious about his feelings for you, and everyone around understood, but you didn't. At least, that's what it looked like.

And he'd never admit it, but hearing you constantly tell him that he was a really good friend was nothing but painful. How didn't you see it? How did you not understand that he was doing all of those things because he was harboring such intense feelings for you? Since when did friends give other friends roses just because?

He did everything but pour his heart out to you and apparently that hadn't been enough. Apparently if he wanted you to know how he felt, he was going to have to come out and say it. To tell you exactly how he was feeling about you no matter how much that scared you.

But what Finnick didn't know was that you felt the exact same way. You loved him just as much, maybe even more than he loved you. It was just that you didn't believe that he felt the same way, convincing yourself that he hadn't expressed your feelings just to make yourself feel better. It was easier to deal with that way.

So you'd constantly refer to him as friend, not to create boundaries, but more to remind yourself that that was what you were to him. It was easier that way as opposed to trying to create something out of nothing.

But all that came to a stop when Finnick suddenly got fed up with keeping everything to himself. The two of you had been in his kitchen, washing and drying dishes, laughing and joking and once the dish in your hand was dry, he took you into his arms, but this time was different. He was looking at you differently. There was a sudden fire there and for once, you understood. You got what he was saying without any words leaving his mouth.

"Oh, I really am an idiot, aren't I?" You asked as your forehead fell to his shoulder and he was quick to take hold of your head, his thumbs rubbing along your cheeks gently.

"No," he shook his head. "I should have said something. And I guess I am now," he chuckled. "I love you. I love you more than you'll ever know. And I know I don't have much, but I hope that you could still love me despite that."

"You know I don't care about any of that," you replied, your arms wrapping around his waist. "I just want you. That's all I need because I love you too. I have for a long time and I'm sorry it took me so long to to realize that you loved me too."

"Don't beat yourself up about it, hon. Just give me some sugar and all will be forgiven." And you did, pressing your lips to his, your fingers finding their way into his hair as the both of you poured your feelings into the kiss.

You stayed like that for a while, sharing nothing but kisses, giggles, and "I love you's" in the dim kitchen lighting as the dishes were abandoned as he carried you to his room, nothing but laughs falling from your mouth as you did so. If that was going to be what your life was like, then you decided that you were going to be happy for the rest of your days.

[reilliane]

V!MC IS SO OSHSJWJSH

I lobe her ☹️🙏

I LOVE HER TOOOO

ITS BEEN SO LONG SINCE I SAW A VIGIL ASK IN MY INBOX- no actually i think it's been long because i haven't been around to look 💀 as compensation [and lowkey art practice], here is a v!mc :DD

bonus short scenario utc, but we're setting it up in modern au now ;l)

[PS. i still have so many ideas for vigil and it's branching out to so many different aus help- let's bring back our charming mc and our protective kazu]

Kazuha had no qualms with the recurring trials in his life. Sudden facers and inexplicable misfortune were particulars that accompanied him in life's currents.

Even when his family's long-standing business met a sharp decline that left them almost destitute, he learned to adapt—and even when he had to leave private school to enroll as a scholar, he learned to adjust.

But if there's anything he's quite stalwart in grounding himself in with such stubbornness, it's the lovely presence of his older sister; Kaedehara [Name]. Transferring schools with her came with a new set of familiar faces, a new batch of people to admire her natural charisma, and—well...

“Hwaaa—oh my, this is a lot! My locker's full again- hm, I have to thank those kind enough to give me tons of chocolates... Kazuha, do you want some?”

An endless bout of admirers that chase after her day and night, no kidding!

“It's alright, I... have my fair share.” he mused as he opened his locker, letting a few—an understatement—boxes of roses and perfumed love letters tumble out to the floor. “This one's your favorite though, nee-san, here, take this.”

“Thanks, Kazu!”

His eye twitched as he saw more than a couple of students hiding behind the lockers and shoe shelves, waiting on their chances to declare that they were the ones who put the stuff in [Name]'s locker. It wasn't that he was entirely adverse to anyone courting his sibling, of course, she's the best! Rather, it took up so much of her time trying her best to let them down gently and even going so far as to comfort them that she rarely ever got the time for herself.

With their parents gone, and even if he was the younger sibling, he still had the responsibility of looking after her as his father told him.

So what was the buzz now?

Surely, it's because of the Spring Festival. It encouraged students to wear clothes other than their school uniform, it didn't matter what, as it was a time of cordial events, programs, games, and a fireworks show.

He and [Name] weren't keen on dressing up. As they were raised in a traditional household, they decided to take out their usual apparel from when their family was still wealthy.

He didn't expect the attention on [Name] to be this ridiculously big, though.

Was letting his sister visit his classroom a bad idea? He didn't think so, since she looked very happy fitting in the theme of their traditional cafe, serving visitors with a charming grin that had some falling to the floor with a lovestruck gaze.

He wished he was kidding, but he knew [Name] had that effect.

So what was his role? Well, he took to 'guarding' and 'welcoming' guests at the threshold of the classroom, a faux sword strapped to his obi.

“Thank you for your time,” he dipped his head in gratitude after waving off a pair of giggling girls that fussed over how the Kaedeharas fit the theme so well, one of them going as far as to blow him a kiss.

He smiled, half awkward and half flustered, waving as he fumbled with the guard of his sword.

“That's [Name], right? She's so pretty.”

His ears perked, but he didn't give them the time of day, playing oblivious as a group of boys passed his way, walking suspiciously slow, ducking their heads and peering through the windows.

“Hey, hey, I didn't know she looked this pretty. Hah, what about we...”

His brows furrowed.

Now, it wasn't as if he hadn't heard one or too many compliments about his older sister, he respected that. But when those whispers became a tad.. unprincipled, for a lack of a better word, he had to step in.

The group of boys was snickering, pushing each other around, and stalking closer to the entrance to the classroom. He leaned off the wall just as they were about to open the door.

“Heh, yeah, let's go and-”

“I'm afraid our tables are full, good sirs,” he quipped, cutting them off. “You may have to return a little while later.”

“Eh, no it's alright, we'll wait inside.”

He smiled. “That'd disrupt our servers, please leave and return at a later time.”

“Nah, we insist! We'd even help serve-” vermillion eyes snapped towards the hand that reached the sliding door, and he grasped the student's wrist with prompt attention, his smile tight.

“Leave.” his thumb pushed the guard of his sword from its scabbard, faux metal catching a bright scintilla from the sun, making them yelp. “Please.”

“Okay, okay! Geez..” with frowns and disappointed looks on their faces, they pull themselves away from the door and leave, hands in their pockets, nudging each other by the elbows.

Kazuha's shoulders sagged, breathing in relief. He heard a lot of things, not many were good good, but he managed. Filtering through them was a breeze, but not if it was against any of his friends or family.

The door opened behind him and [Name] popped out, looking bewildered. “I thought I heard some voices, did potential customers leave? We have a free table at the corner..”

Kazuha turned to her. He wouldn't interfere with his sister's social life throughout—he knew her classmate Ayato was interested—, but he wasn't going to have anyone with remotely dastardly intentions come close.

“Nee-san,” he smiled, “it's fine. They'll come back later. Is your shift done? You want to play, right? I think the games at the booths are open now.”

✧ commissions open

a/n: i said it before and i'll say it again, i miss vigil so much FHASDJFH also, i personally think kazuha's going to be a bit more protective around mc in modern settings. not a helicopter brother, but someone who probably just second-guesses everyone's intentions about mc.

[zerooup]

Hello! do you have any little alastor headcanons? ;D

Of course!

LITTLE ALASTOR HEADCANNONS!

Don't like it, Don't read it! Do not harass me because you don't like what I do! [^ copy/pasted message for all new headcanons!]

CW! THIS WILL HAVE MY PERSONAL HCS ABOUT ALASTOR'S FATHER BEING AN ABUSIVE ARSE, proceed at your own discretion!

🦌 I feel he'd be very young most days, but he just doesn't sink down that little all that easy- so I feel he'd stay around 5-7 for a bit before slowly creeping into his younger end! So his caretakers just say he's 0-8 even though he normally sinks around 0-2.

🦌 Still VERY touch adverse while regressed. He'd prefer it if his caretakers asked before doing really anything with touching him and or his things

🦌 Speaking of his things, he's VERY protective of the plushies and blankets he's given. he doesn't wanna mess anything up!

🦌 Not very talkative, surprisingly. especially at the smaller end of his regression, I feel he wouldn't talk, but he's still noisy. {squeaking, bleating, whining, etc.}

🦌 Padded regressor, no matter what age. He gets involved with whatever he's doing; Rosie got tired of tidying it up, so it's mostly just a precaution.

🦌 absolutely cannot STAND his suit while small. It's too snug and he can't squirm around! he's a baby.. he needs all the mobility he can get!

🦌 Post-fight with Adam, Lucifer had found him curled up next to his bed . . . just whimpering. And, I personally think Lucifer is a flip; so he just KNEW Alastor was.. very small. He ended up calling Husker in to help him get Alastor calmed down.

🦌 I feel Husker would know about Alastor's regression, though he wouldn't hurt the "little guy" intentionally, he found out when he returned from his 7-year absence. When he asked for a drink, he knew Alastor didn't drink; when he did, it was in celebration of something. but, as Husker knew it wasn't an important day. He kept his smile, but his face was almost like trying to see through static. and... One smart remark from Husk later towards Alastor and the deer just. broke.

🦌 often asks for his "maman" while regressed, but most of the time he just wants his actual mother, most times Rosie will be called and that's good enough. . . but sometimes that's... not enough. and he'll repeat "maman" for as long as his little heart will let him, it always breaks Rosie's heart just hearing him stifle cries while waiting for his maman to get home.

🦌 speaking of crying; He will get to the point where there's literal tears dripping down his lashes and he won't make a sound. Especially if he sees and or hears a dog? He freezes and just. cries.

🦌 I feel he does that because we KNOW he didn't care for his father, and he would be the type of person to say it was "too feminine to cry" or, "stop crying or I'll beat you till you have a reason to cry"

🦌 I also feel he was. very obviously autistic growing up [even in hell we see some of those traits poke through] but I headcannon him as talking late, so he made up for it by starting a radio show!

🦌 very emotional little thing... Drops his plushie? Tears. Startled his caretakers? Tears. An accident? tears. He spends so much time putting up that facade for the hotel... so the second he's little he's all OVER the place emotionally

🦌 Very bitey baby... prefers to chew on his pacifiers than the teethers he's been given by his auntie [Rosie]. teethers hurt after a while, but the pacifier flexes when he bites, I think he'd enjoy that.

🦌 very picky as well... he'll only take bottles that have been prepared by Rosie, Husker or on VERY rare occasions, Lucifer. He's even pickier with the food he eats, Raw venison, or cannibal meat. that is it.

🦌 I feel like he could go from an ABSOLUTE CUDDLEBUG to "ew don't touch me" in a matter of SECONDS.

[desmaterializandose]

On living and loving.

I must do well and be kind, at least for thy who have done it for me; cherishing and bringing a smile to nature, for someday I laughed and felt loved when useless. Things could be better, but only by improving it in the sake of others; and the distance that I stretch my endearment and efforts, devotion that I gave to the garden, is equal to the meaning it gathers. Essentially, caring for those that are still to come is the ultimate state of realization. It isn’t because our eyes stare at this starless sky, that no eye shall ever be flooded by the mesmerizing waltz of galaxies. The proportion in which we complain about and loath existence is the exact same proportion by which it gets more and more dreadful. Although experience have a deep and long-lasting suffering possibility, it still one flavor of the substance from what we extract all the succulence and peace reachable; by itself, being is no more than the capacity of being, therefore it has no moral, only perspective and perception. Strong enough to love being hated, receiving hatred without passing it along. Picture turning forgiveness in armor and joy as weapon. Don’t blame the cosmos for its traumas, heal it. The improvement of life is achievable, and it starts by dealing with its aggression, handling its blows and all the feelings that arise from it without hurting it back. We are the world, and, to me, the world is you too. Seeking well-being, choose the lesser evil and the greatest good; this is not summarized on loving everything, neither trying to hurt nothing. The pleasure or pain that comes from a smell is dependent on the nose that it arrive. Don't try to make all your fruits sweet for every taste, but take care of the fruition by the sake of those that will rejoice in its flavor, and be respectful about the danger it delivers to the wrong appetites. I don't really know why I love, and maybe that is love. There are causes, otherwise we won't have the effect, but its unpretentious and self grateful state reach the peak of grace and sublime, because it only gives and manifest, and doesn't have the slightest need. Having good and evil in our own way of being, anger really show up together, like two faces of the same coin. Some species of it hurt the beloved, and also the other way around. It is a complex and emergent feeling, which the definition shouldn't be held by something simple as that fairy alike tale of flowers and springs. It has its shadows. On its depths, come from the happiness of having others in spite of the reality not being what we want it to be. Satisfaction that arises from being exactly what we are in the place we live and surrounded by what we have, even if it hurts, and sometimes we wander lost. Nexus in coexisting, while we feel it on ourselves, it's also an experience shared with between all stuff, and through which we share a little of our souls. This connection is what attach all inside the same event-horizon, and make the whole bigger than the sum of its parts. If we see fire, ignore or spread it and all we see turn into smoke. To receive, we give. Lacking and thirst is crucial for growth, and to evolve. What is already full can't be fulfilled. No matter what, we are living, breathing through all souls, in spite of all the ways that we could be not; my issues, human troubles or life on earth adversities; we are along with us, including animals, trees, bacteria and whatever more hide on the ground or beneath the stars. Gigantic universe, within where energy beat hearts and matter do poems. Nerves are a gift for those who seek enlightenment. We are between immeasurable possibilities. Infinity is more than enough to stack adventures and happy encounters. There's just too much to not smile any. Ain't exit to dying, so living is our own sacred ritual. We are not the main characters of the story, as there is none, all interact as supporting roles. Everything that can, will happen. The emptiness of the universe is room to nurture endless forms. The soul garden.

[noahthesatanist]

The Weight of Words, The Fire of Truth

There are moments when I stop and wonder if all of this the writing, the fight, the relentless push to reclaim what has been stolen from us is enough. If it’s reaching the right people, if it’s making any difference at all in a world that does everything in its power to crush those who refuse to kneel. And then, I receive words from you all Words that remind me that I am not shouting into the void, that this fire does spread, and that I am not alone in this. Luciferianism is not a hollow philosophy. It is not just words on a page or rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It is the roaring defiance of those who know in their very souls that they were meant for more than servitude. It is the whisper in the dark that tells you to stand when the world demands you bow. It is love, it is war, it is devotion—true devotion, the kind that does not waver in the face of adversity but burns brighter because of it.

And yet, how often are we told otherwise? How often are we mocked, ridiculed, dismissed told that we are just lost, just angry, just "going through a phase"? How many of us have had our faith laughed at, belittled, compared to hollow, aestheticized rebellion with no soul? I have seen it. I have lived it. I have felt the weight of those doubts creeping in, whispering that maybe we are alone in this, that maybe this path is too heavy to walk. The love of Lucifer is real. The fire of the Fallen is alive. And the fight we carry forward is one worth bleeding for. I do not write because I want to. I write because I have to. Because there is too much silence where there should be truth. Because our faith has been warped, misrepresented, stolen, and buried under the weight of centuries of slander and corruption. Because we are not the weak, the lost, or the forsaken they are. The ones who need blind faith, who need to be commanded, who cannot imagine a world outside of their chains. They are the ones who are lost, not us. I am honored truly honored that my words have meant something. That they remind even one person of the joy and fire they first felt when they discovered Lucifer. That they reignite the passion of what it means to walk this path not as some distant philosophy, not as an intellectual exercise, but as something real. Because that’s what this is. It is not just a belief system; it is a call to arms. It is a rebellion that started before time itself and will not end until the tyrant’s throne is nothing but dust. And yes I will write the blackened gospel of the fallen I will put every ounce of my soul into it because it deserves to exist. Because we deserve a scripture that speaks to our fire, our pain, our truth. And because I know that if I do not, then who will? I will not let their lies be the only thing that remains. I will carve the truth into this world with ink and blood and fire if I have to. Because this is not just a personal project. This is not just my gospel. It belongs to every one of us who has ever looked up at the heavens and dared to say, No. I will not serve. So thank you. Thank you for reminding me why this fight matters. Thank you for proving that this faith still has warriors willing to stand, willing to believe, willing to fight. Because this world is dark, and the tyrant’s grip is strong. But the Fallen do not kneel, and the fire does not die.

And neither will I.

From Hell, with love, Noah

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #86

Today I thought to write to you about Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs, for short) and the effects they have on a person's neurobiology. I also thought to write about how this ties into autism, and how the resulting combination of trauma and autism intertwine and influence one another.

I have studied many aspects of these topics and know them extremely well - through personally experiencing trauma and living as an autistic person in this world, and also through the study of human psychological mechanics and development throughout their growth from birth until adulthood. But all the same, it's a huge and complex topic with a wide variety of moving parts. Some of these moving parts include things like culture, geography, and available resources. Some of them involve generational trauma. Some of them involve trying to untangle which things are actually culture, and which things are just generational trauma disguised as culture. History also plays a huge role, as well as epigenetics. The "rabbit hole", so to speak, with regards to this subject, is MASSIVE, and every aspect of it is connected to every other aspect of it, like trying to untangle a ball of yarn that does not have endpoints, because where there would have been endpoints, they are instead seamlessly joined together.

I feel like if I tried to write such a letter to you, I would end up writing a book. And… yes, I know I already basically write books anytime I write anything to you. But. Well. This would be even bigger. I'll need to spend some time thinking about how to approach it and break it down in ways that you, as someone who is not well-versed in the global culture and history of my world, might understand.

So in the meantime, I am going to procrastinate. And I am going to procrastinate by showing you the pictures I took for you of some of my most recent walks outside. Because it has been warm enough for the last day or so for me to be able to do that comfortably, and because I am aware that you enjoy nature and scenery and such - otherwise, you would not have marveled so keenly at the scenery of Nibelheim. I'll also show you the new tree I'm weaving; I started on it today, and I am making good progress with it. I'll save those pictures for last.

Here, I'll start with this one; for whatever reason, J decided to take pictures of me taking pictures for you, and I thought it was funny, so here you go, haha:

Hey, Sephiroth? Don't forget that there are people out here who are thinking of you and wishing for good things on you. Don't forget that there are people like me who, if they know you're stuck somewhere, they will try to snap pictures of things they know you like, until you get unstuck. Don't forget that even though a lot of really bad things have happened to you and even though you've done some really bad things, too, there is still beauty and love and kindness here, and you can strive towards it, no matter what kind of opposition you face.

I love you in the same way that any human being loves their friends. So please keep yourself safe. I imagine that things are extremely difficult for you right now, but please keep hanging in there, and please keep making kind and gentle choices.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

[verysium]

ive always imagined mrs itoshi to be a really energetic woman. you know those middle aged women that are just so youthful, you can feel her energy and aura when she's in the room. and she would definitely love saes gf. because sae has a personality totally opposite to hers but after committing to a relationship he learns a lot from you and you encourage him to to strengthen his family bonds. she would LOVE spending time with you, talk to you about fashion and gossip. she'd call you her daughter in lawww omg shut up i love her

🥲 *cries in heavily dysfunctional mommy issues* when will it finally be my turn to experience the kind and loving touch of a middle-aged woman? sae better treasure his mama or else i'm gonna steal her from him when he's not looking.

on a more realistic note, i do think mama itoshi would be the type of person who simply doesn't age. there is something irrevocably uplifting and youthful about her, and i think that has a lot to do with the adversity she's faced throughout her lifetime both as a woman and a mother. even though she's soft-spoken, she is firm and headstrong. definitely knows what she wants. she always tells sae that the strongest people are the ones who smile, no matter what life puts them through. (obviously, that lesson flew right over sae's head cus he looks perpetually depressed but whatever...)

i honestly don't think sae has a strong attachment with either parent, but he isn't averse to them either. it's the small things that you pick up about him. how he never lets anyone touch him but stays still when his mother to brush his bangs back. how he never buys those expensive lunch meals during practice because he prefers his mother's homemade bentos. how he doesn't like to show unnecessary emotion but cracks a small smile at his mama's kitchen antics.

idk if it's just me, but i also feel like his mother was the stricter of the two parents. both sae and rin were forced to become self-sufficient from a young age. walked themselves to practice. bought snacks with their own allowance. sae even took a train ride to tokyo by himself to find a representative agent. not saying their parents weren't supportive, but they definitely weren't a constant presence either.

i think what sae needs is time. time to process his youth and to reconcile with his family (both his parents and brother ofc). i feel like he went through a lot of parentification, and undoing that will require a lot of patience. this would probably happen in his late twenties to late thirties, once he's well-established or even retired from football. with so much time on his hands, he has nothing to do but reflect. emotionally mature sae will be very different from current sae.

mama itoshi does welcome you kindly. mostly because none of the itoshis ever fathomed sae getting involved with someone seriously. i just know she has good skincare, so you two probably have girls-only nights where you two do nothing except watch TV dramas and wear face masks. i don't think she's particularly physically affectionate, but she does show her love through cooking. always pinches your cheek fat and tells you that you aren't eating enough (typical asian parent thing to do lmao.) also cuts up random fruits and places it beside your desk lamp while you're working.

i feel like sae has a bit of a hard time coming to terms with the way you assimilate into his family. he already feels like a stranger in his own home, but when his mother treats you like her daughter-in-law, it really gets him thinking. can he be normal? is this what it's like to be normal? is it really okay to have this? long story short, he probably has to reason with himself for one thousand and one nights before he decides he's actually going to marry you.

[thrawns-backrest]

Listen, what do you think about how the fandom perceives Ronan? This may be a strange question, but I saw post here about how Thrawn is an ambiguous character, he does both good and bad things, he is not an innocent kitten, etc. And I completely agree with this. But it seems to me that in relation to Ronan, the opposite situation very often manifests itself. If Thrawn is sometimes too idealized by the fandom, although he is a more complex person, then Ronan often appears as some kind of universal evil in posts and fanfiction. And…I don't know, it just doesn't seem right to me. He has a adverse nature, that's true, and his loyalty to Krennic sometimes pushes him to do not the best things, but there are enough moments in the canon that show his good traits too. At least he is really loyal man and not as stupid as he might seem. I just saw your post recently where you talked about him, so I was interested to ask your opinion!

Thank you for your attention and sorry if I disturbed you :c

please don't apologize, I love asks like this!!! If anything I should probably apologize because this is about to become ridiculously long :D I really like Ronan as a character, he's one of my favorites from Treason. He's entertaining, competent, somewhat churlish and has that posh attitude where you really want to ruffle his feathers to see what he'll do.

Those last two are part of the reason why it's fun to make him the butt of the joke and why the fandom does it so often. But having said that... you're absolutely right. I've also noticed that the fandom tends to be excessively antagonistic towards him (as it is with some other similar characters but more on that later).

And you're right to bring up Thrawn because he's the golden child here, him and Eli, and any character that disagrees with or doesn't like him automatically gets blacklisted. Which is odd to me since Thrawn is supposed to be controversial and Zahn does a good job of portraying that by giving us different characters' perspectives and reasons for liking/disliking him.

Sadly for Ronan he's very unfriendly towards Thrawn and Eli and ends up making a decision that goes against Thrawn's goals which now garners him a lot of hate. An interesting development given that Thrawn himself doesn't begrudge him for it in the books and even trusts him enough to send him to the Chiss. Which honestly means so much coming from Thrawn? It's as close to a stamp of approval as you can get from him, be it of Ronan's trustworthiness or simply his skills.

So if people really hold Thrawn in such high esteem, they shouldn't forget that his own assessment of Ronan was ultimately positive. No matter what role he plans for Ronan to play in the Ascendancy (even if that role is for Ronan to come to specific conclusions he can then take back to the Empire, ie feeding him some kind of information) Thrawn trusts him enough to, again, send him to his own people. People with lost of secrets that make them vulnerable.

And it's honestly a shame because as you say, Ronan has so much going for him as a character. The very idea of someone who's loyal to the Empire while being critical of Palpatine is so cool. It's literally something that can get him killed yet he's ready to face that danger if it means adhering to his principles.

Of course loyalty to the wrong party makes him pretty culpable but regardless, there is a good basis for him to grow as a character. As already mentioned he's loyal, he's competent, he disapproves of Palpatine and all the petty political games that dominate the Empire's higher echelons. He feels guilty for tricking Eli despite believing that he's a traitor. He even comes to respect Thrawn's skills by the end and modifies his answer when reporting to Tarkin so as to ensure Thrawn isn't accused of treason.

So very good foundation to build from. There's still his loyalty to Krennic (who is a pretty damn morally corrupt guy from what I've read) but an overzealous attitude like Ronan's understandably makes him liable to blind idolization so we can't really say for sure that he has a nasty motif for admiring Krennic.

From what Zahn tells us, Ronan seems to admire Krennic for his, quote, leadership, competence and brilliance and he does so to an excessive degree. He sounds pretty starry eyed is what I'm trying to say. Enough to cloud his better judgement perhaps.

Moral or immoral though, he's still a pretty cool character. Which is the same thing you can say about Thrawn. Funnily enough they're almost parallels of each other - Thrawn has honorable end goals that he pursues through corrupt means and Ronan (unwittingly or not) works toward a corrupt end goal but is pretty morally upright in the way he does it.

And come on you can't tell me he doesn't have one of the coolest descriptions (like Savit noting his eyes look older than he does) or some of the coolest inner monologue (like the "half a victory is still half a defeat" line). I also love how he hates politics yet ironically those political mental gymnastics are exactly what he's good at.

But I digress. My point is that you hit the nail on the head when you said the fandom idolizes Thrawn to the point of having a skewed perception.

Another character that I personally like a lot and whose standing in the fandom is very similar is Thurfian. Thurfian doesn't do anything overtly evil in the books and yet he's very often demonized as some kind of villain. Which I bet you is because he's in opposition to Thrawn and other fan favorites like Thalias (something that annoys me because people tend to victimize Thalias so much in their dynamic when she's actually a very brave and resourceful character. Who once held Thurfian at gunpoint might I add).

The thing is, people need to stop the whole pigeonholing characters into 'good' and 'bad' categories. Because especially with Zahn, things are rarely so black and white. Our prejudices as readers can be influenced by both limited and omniscient povs.

In Ronan's case, seeing him from the pov of beloved characters who he opposes is what paints him in an overly negative light. In Thurfian's we forget that these characters don't have the same insight into Thrawn's motives and logic as we do and that Thurfian is perfectly justified in thinking that Thrawn will one day overthink and overplan to the detriment of many. And if those words sound familiar it's because that's what Ar'alani herself says to Thrawn at the end of the book.

But to cut a long story short, I don't think Ronan deserves the hate he's getting. He's a very interesting guy - he's got a good foundation of principles, a quick mind and an amusing personality. Sure, he's prone to extreme bias, both positive (Krennic) and negative (Thrawn, Eli) that can cloud his judgement but barring that he's displayed an impressive amount of competence. Impressive enough to catch Thrawn's eye and we know Thrawn has a good sense for these things.

So basically love Ronan y'all, he's really neat. Even if he's not some paragon for moral goodness which honestly few of Zahn's characters really are.

(Thank you for this ask, I had a lot of fun answering it! If I get my act together, I'll hopefully finish my fic about Ronan where I plan to explore more of his motivations and how he could potentially find a place for himself in the Ascendancy. So fingers crossed for that!)

[yukine-sakamoto]

Review of Cells at Work: Code Black

I know it’s in the name, but this show was dark. I was expecting something a little closer to the light-hearted slice-of-life of the original, but this was depressing. It was interesting to see how the body responds to adverse conditions, so the educational draw was still there. However, they throw a lot at you pretty quickly, so it’s not like I’ll really remember any of it. I certainly don’t remember much from the original. I did appreciate that there was a bit more characterization and plot in this one. The issues that the body faced each episode built up and the stress affected the characters. But I can’t say I really enjoyed watching all these characters nearly or fully lose it because of the stress and trauma of their work, and there really wasn’t much character depth other than that.

I mainly wanted to watch this show because it featured a strong girl (WBC) protecting a relatively weaker boy (RBC), which is a dynamic I like and is so very rarely seen. (Kinda messed up that role reversal is only seen in the unhealthy body, not sure what they’re trying to say there.) I thought I was just being a perv, but apparently the artists had a similar idea. I won’t lie, I liked the WBCs’ designs. They’re tall, strong, confident, busty, dressed for action, and wield katanas. And, I could have appreciated a bit of fan service, but I think they went a little too hard. The tonal whiplash between watching the cells’ repeated near-death experiences and the copious boob shots was very difficult to process. The uniforms were nice but the plunging neckline felt out of place, and honestly some times the chests looked like they were drawn by amateurs, like, two big circles sticking straight out instead of the sort of tear-drop shape with actual gravity. And the characters weren’t deep enough to have any kind of real romance anyway. There were some cute moments but not much. I mean I knew it wasn’t a romance show going in but still.

I thought the show was a tad preachy as well. Like it felt very clear that it was urging people to lead healthier lives as well as commenting on work culture, especially Japanese black companies (thus the name). I think the weight of the work commentary is somewhat lost on a foreign audience, and while it’s not bad to encourage people to care for themselves, I don’t want to feel guilty while I’m trying to relax and watch tv. It was odd in the ED episode especially that they seemed to take a negative stance toward casual sex. I think that’s actually a very unhealthy stance to espouse, and it wasn’t really as scientific. Sperm die all the time no matter what your sex life is, so it’s weird for a cell to get worked up over it. Plus it felt strange coming after the episodes on smoking and alcohol, which are different and obviously unhealthy. It was honestly strange to spend a whole episode fixated on this guy’s boner. I mean sure, the follow up episode on STIs kind of makes sense, safe sex and all that, but those two came off with a different vibe for me.

Overall, it was decently enjoyable though somewhat forgettable: 7/10.

[teine-mallaichte]

Alt prompt @ailesswhumptober - "You always make everything worse."

Paul can't understand what is happening to Ash

CW: A character really not understanding mental health, a character really not understanding eating disorders, vaeuge references to disordered eating, self destruction, control, isolation, implied suicidal ideation, dehuminisation.

AiLessWhumptober List

Complex 27

"You always make everything worse!"

He had heard Paul’s frustrations before, countless times. The barbs once stung, but now they settled into a numb ache, like a persistent ache in his bones. Paul didn’t understand—couldn’t understand. To him, this was another bout of their familiar rivalry, another attempt to snap Ash back into line. But for Ash, it was different. It ran deeper.

Paul’s voice trembled with frustration as he stepped closer, his presence imposing in the small space. “Do you even care what happens anymore? Do you even care if we survive?”

Ash’s response was slow, his voice rough with fatigue. "Survive…" He repeated the word softly, almost as if tasting its bitter meaning. His eyes flickered briefly to meet Paul’s, tired and distant. "That’s all it is to you, isn’t it? Survival."

Paul stiffened, his frustration boiling over. "What else is there?" His fist clenched at his side, his anger threatening to spill over. "You think this is some kind of game? You think skipping meals and acting like this isn’t going to get you killed?"

Ash didn’t flinch. Instead, he blinked slowly, his gaze drifting back to the floor. “Maybe I don’t care if it does.”

Those words hung in the air, heavy and loaded with implications. It wasn’t the first time Ash had hinted at such resignation. Paul remembered their last argument, when Ash had stated bitterly, "At least I’d die still being me." It sent a chill down Paul's spine. He had always thought of Ash as resilient, unyielding in the face of adversity. But now, seeing him like this, he wasn’t so sure.

"You don’t mean that," Paul retorted, his voice softer now, tinged with disbelief. He crouched down in front of Ash, desperately searching his friend’s face for any sign of the Ash he knew, the Ash who revelled in their rivalry, who never backed down from a challenge. “You can’t.”

Paul’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white with tension. He hated this feeling—helpless, unable to reach Ash when he needed to most. For years, they had trained together, competed together, pushed each other to their limits. But this was different. This wasn’t about missions or rankings. This was about Ash’s very will to fight.

“Ash,” Paul’s voice cracked, betraying the fear and frustration he felt. He hated how vulnerable it made him sound, how powerless he felt. "What’s happening to you?"

Ash closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “It’s nothing you can fix, Paul. Just… stop trying.”

“You’re better than this,” Paul insisted, his voice quieter now, tinged with a desperate plea, "you just need to leaner to stop make everything worse for yourself."

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” Paul’s voice was a low growl, anger masking the desperation he felt, "You're just… burnt out. If you just learnt to play the game things would be better. It's the only way to survive here Ash."

Ash laughed, a broken sound that grated against Paul’s nerves. "You keep saying that like it means something," Ash muttered, shaking his head. "But surviving… surviving isn’t enough anymore, Paul. Not when we’re already dead inside."

"Don't start with that 'we are all already dead' bullshit again," Paul’s hands shot out, gripping Ash’s shoulders, trying to shake him out of it, trying to make him care. Paul’s frustration boiled over. “Damn it, Ash!” He shook him harder, hoping to jolt him back to reality. “You can’t just give up like this. We have missions, responsibilities—”

“And what does any of it matter?” Ash’s voice was hollow, resigned. “What do any of these missions really change? We kill for them, we die for them, and for what? More missions, more killing. It’s a cycle, Paul. A sick, endless cycle.”

Paul sat back on his heels, staring at Ash, observing him carefully. This wasn’t the defiant, calculating Ash he knew. Doubt crept into his thoughts, gnawing at him. Were they just cogs in a machine, grinding down into nothingness? Had Ash had a point all along? Where all those assets they had lost over the years, those who broke or were decommissioned, really flawed? Or was that just something the facility told them?

He had always believed in their mission, in the necessity of their actions. But now, faced with Ash’s disillusionment, he felt a flicker of doubt. Were they really making a difference, or were they just cogs in a machine that ground them down?

“I don’t want to see go back to A Block,” Paul admitted quietly, “But I can’t watch you destroy yourself either.”

Ash's gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of something—a hint of recognition, maybe. “I’m not giving up,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I’m just… finding my own way.”

Paul stared at him, torn between the urge to understand and the frustration that continued to bubble, “Your way? Not eating isn’t finding a way, Ash. It’s self-destruction.”

“Then maybe I need to feel that,” Ash replied, his voice cold and distant, his demeanour shifting to something almost vulnerable, “Maybe this is the only thing I can control.”

Paul’s heart sank as he realized the depth of Ash’s struggle. He had always thought he understood Ash better than anyone, but now, faced with this painful reality, he felt lost. “You think this gives you control?” he asked softly,“You’re just giving them what they want—an excuse to treat you like you’re broken.”

Ash’s expression hardened, the flicker of vulnerability extinguished. “At least then I’m not just a pawn in their game.”

Silence hung between them, thick and suffocating. Paul’s frustration bubbled up again, but this time it was mixed with a deep sadness. He had fought alongside Ash for years, trusted him, but now he was staring into the abyss of his friend’s despair, feeling helpless to pull him back.

“Ash,” Paul finally said quietly before hesitating, hardening his expression, "I can fix this. We can fix this," he declared, "I'm going to fix it."

Ash's laughter echoed in the cramped space, bitter and devoid of humor. “You really think that? You think you can just wave your hand and make it all better? Like you always do?” His eyes flashed with anger, but there was an underlying pain that Paul could no longer ignore.

“I don’t have to wave my hand!" Paul snapped back, frustration spilling over once more. Ash's laughter echoed in the cramped space, bitter and devoid of humor. “You really think that? You think you can just wave your hand and make it all better? Like you always do?” His eyes flashed with anger, but there was an underlying pain that Paul could no longer ignore.

“I don’t have to wave my hand! I just have to remind you that you’re not alone in this!” Paul snapped back, frustration spilling over once more, "And I am going to prove it." He pushed himself to his feet without another word, leaving the room without giving Ash a chance to srgue.

The air felt electric in the wake of Paul’s outburst, a heavy silence settling like dust in the corners of the room. Ash’s heart raced as he watched Paul storm out, each footstep echoing with a mixture of determination and desperation. Ash’s mind whirled, caught in a tempest of emotions—anger, confusion, and a deep-seated ache that he had long buried.

He slumped further against the wall. A deep ache pulsing through his body, he was tired. Beyond tired really, but there was no word that summed up the knawing emptiness he felt. He ran a hand through his messy hair, pulling at the roots in frustration.

Why couldn't Paul see? Why couldn't he understand that this wasn’t a game? It hadn't been a game for a long time.

[altarfates]

❛ how long have you been standing there? ❜ (for Dan Feng!)

Forbearance was amongst the virtues inculcated into the high elder, conveying an immaculate poise no matter which adversity they might face, in all things Dan Feng was an exemplar of that purpose, of those teachings. It is almost diverting then to witness him beset with impatience, even if it did not disgrace his composed expression the very tip of his tail swishes in affront. There were few others who possessed the insolence to request the high elder’s restraint be tested and yet, standing before him now, was someone who seemed to revel in it. Somehow, rather than leaving the taste of acrimony upon his lips it compels him to absolute stillness, a quiet that carries an implicitly spoken confession; no one else could draw such reluctant compliance from the prideful high elder. His eyes had been captivated by Yingxing’s hands, their laborious toiling that seems to occupy all time from dawn until dusk, has become a place of intrigue for dan feng. There was something about the heat from the furnace or the unabating cacophony of metal striking metal that commanded his whole and utter attention. Those same eyes, inscrutable lakes of pellucid water, flit up now to meet the artisan’s expectant gaze. “ Long enough.” which could impart hours spent entranced by this meticulous process or but an ephemeral moment where the high elder’s silhouette remained lingering at the threshold, not quite prepared to make an entrance just yet. “ How long did you intend on making me wait ?” his query is mellifluous, pleasant in a way that speaks of decorum and solemnity. dan feng’s tail, capricious in contrast to every other part of him, indignantly twitches. “ It seems to be something you derive quite a great deal of amusement from.” 

[thisworldisablackhole]

SeeYouSpaceCowboy The Romance of Affliction

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌑

It was a cold, dark winter evening. My best friend and I were having one of our frequent "get faded and listen to music" sessions. Those hang outs were always the highlight of my week. Crack a cold one, have some deep conversations, and crank some tunes. Lift off, baby. The vibes were good, but when it came time for me to commandeer the Auxiliary Cord SS, I admit I was a little sheepish.

"You got any new shit?"

"Well… sort of… you might not like it though"

"Fuck it dog, put that shit on. You know I'm pretty open minded"

I laughed.

"Alright, we'll see about that"

I think I might have put on "…and My Faded Reflection in Your Eyes", first, but my memory of that night is a little hazy. It doesn't matter though, because what happened next was a complete and enthusiastic unravelling of our former selves as we bonded over a new found mutual love of melodic metalcore. We had been friends for close to 10 years, but up until this point we had reserved our musical exchanges for mostly palatable cool guy bands who hid their emotional urgency under a veil of artful stoicism. Perhaps this was done out of shame, because wearing your heart on your sleeve is generally discouraged in the culture of adulthood. It felt like a risk to open up and share the side of me that still loves an arguably juvenile mode of expression, but the reward for doing so was unbridled joy and connection.

SeeYouSpaceCowboy said fuck shame, fuck stoicism, fuck acting cool. We're gonna scream, we're gonna sing, and we're gonna feel something. The Romance of Affliction is scenecore for the modern age, and it is completely unapologetic in being so. Taking cues from bands like Drop Dead Gorgeous, The Blood Brothers, Botch, and Underoath, SYSC created a special blend of sounds that is equal parts chaotic, violent, and sweet as sweet tea on a hot southern day. Sugar, spice, everything nice, and a metric fuck tonne of Chemical X. Excuse my language.

One of the first things to really draw me into this album was the vocals. This album has a major case of split personality disorder, and I mean that in the best way possible. Vocalist Connie Sgarbossa bounces between larynx shredding highs, lows, and sasscore yelps while guitarist Ethan Sgarbossa and bassist Taylor Allen also chime in with mid ranged roars and lovesick cleans. It's enough to induce a psychotic episode, or at the very least give listeners with ADHD enough variance in frequency and delivery to keep them stimulated. The vocal patterns are impressively synchronized, and you can tell that a lot of thought goes into this aspect of their music. It's something I wish more bands would take note of, but maybe that's just my addled attention span speaking. There are some pretty cool, albeit head turning features on this album as well. Shaolin G's rap verse on "Sharpen What You Can" in particular has been polarizing, but ends up being one of the more impactful and (frankly) punk rock moments on the album as he comes in with a strong message of self affirmation and being true to yourself in the face of adversity.

The instrumentals don't hold back either, and come well equipped with their own hyper aggressive inability to sit still. Razor sharp panic chords and time signature switch ups dance their way toward atmospheric passages before plummeting back down to earth with classic single note breakdowns. Almost every song comes packaged with a hookworm chorus or dreamy melodic bit to offer respite from the teeth clenching madness and draw you back in for repeated listens. A good hook is one that makes you really appreciate everything leading up to and preceding it, and thankfully the band delivers on this every time. SYSC doesn't just rely on a catchy chorus to sell a mediocre song. They aren't afraid to show their full hand of influences either, as they ambitiously swing between three or four different niche subgenres in rapid motion. It might sound like a recipe for disaster, but it comes across as more meticulous than random, and the result is a surprisingly smooth and cohesive experience. 13 songs and 40 minutes goes by with a flash, and not once do I feel like the band is testing my patience.

The Romance of Affliction is a time machine that will unlock forgotten pieces of your heart, but it's also a vessel of progression for a subgenre that not many are brave enough to claim in today's landscape of serious mature stoicism. SeeYouSpaceCowboy have managed to breathe fresh life into old tricks in a way that only the most studious of scene disciples could pull off, and I can't wait to see them continue to flourish and expand their palette of influences in the years to come.

[writingsofwesteros]

Biblical Verse

AN: Hi, here is a sneak peak that I hope you all enjoy - I know my writing sucks at the moment. Thank you to all who helped with the world building, please continue ;)

Soft criticism is welcome but i might cry if its harsh ;)

I did want to do more detail so it could be different.

The mother character is quite mysterious and may not even be a 'good' influence on Michael....which makes me think of a certain character...oopsie

“25 years ago, God disappeared. His angels held man responsible and declared war on humanity. The Archangel Gabriel led this war of extermination, hoping to rid the world of humans and claim dominion over it. Some higher angels refused to take sides, but the lower angels joined Gabriel. These lesser spirits lacked bodies, so their first line of attack was to steal ours. But Michael, the greatest of all Archangels, chose to fight for man. With his help, the survivors struck back and built strongholds to defend themselves. Soon, word spread of a baby Michael had saved, a child who would grow up to be mankind’s savior. This Chosen One would be known by the markings on his body. Finally, Gabriel and his army retreated, and we were left with the realization that not only are angels real…they are our most hated enemies.”

******************

Chapter One 2025

Michael stared ahead to the dim lights of the city below; his expression as ever was blank and the ever vibrant violet eyes that unnerved many were piercing still. The chatter of the lower classes hummed to him even at the great height he perched at whilst the cold, winter breeze moved in. The larger, cotton curtains were no barrier as they fluttered around his larger frame. Still, the archangel showed no sign of caring for such coldness as his memories of the past engulfed him. Bowing his head, Michael stared at his slender fingers; so unlike his real form but the quarter of a century inside this body brought him comfort now. Still, he could not help but shiver at the unnaturalness of it all. He had to remember that he was not one of them; no matter how with ease he could slide into their existence. Baelon was unfortunately right about such things not that Michael would ever admit to that.

“You are thinking too much.” Michael hummed in agreement as the soft, always wanted voice entered his mind. His mother was never too far, the angel thought to himself as he finally moved. “Mother….” Michael greeted aloud; that stone face of his softening if only for a mere second. “I did not know you had arrived.” A raised eyebrow was his only answer and it was enough for him to bow his head once more. The familiar scent of her brought Michael some comfort as his mother began to step forward; her hand as ever reaching out to his. Usually, the angel was adverse to touch; but never from his mother. Her free hand slowly moved into those bright, silky locks of his. They were usually tied back like the soldier he was but in his home; his place of rest - Michael could be free, especially in the presence of his mother.

“What has got you so worried?” His mother continued as she brought him against her chest in an embrace Michael always longed for, not that he would ever admit to such a thing. The soldier inside him was engraved; his mask forever in place. Her familiar comfort had the angel burrowing into her neck; the scent of his mother allowing his eyes to rest. The soldier inside him was engraved; his mask forever in place. “I fear Gabriel is building up strength. I feel a change in the air.” Any words the angel was going to speak were stopped by an added presence he felt. Easily, Michael’s protective nature that was near legendary kicked in as those big, bright eyes of his flashed to the opening door. “Michael…calm yourself…” His mother’s voice whispered as her delicate, ringed hand settled on his chest. The thin, royal purple of her dress flowed as she turned to face the door.