#and you gaze unafraid. as they sob from the city ruins

[the-void-has-questions]

Hozier is currently responsible for my intense need to be compressed into a ZIP file and shot into space

[vernorexiiia]

thinking about wasteland!verse again....

[haelestormmoved]

⸺  ❝  𝗚𝗢𝗢𝗗  𝗖𝗔𝗟𝗟  ;  𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥  𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟𝗙𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗡𝗗  𝗪𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗  absolutely  kill  you  if  anything  happened  to  you  ,  ❞  the  beta  smirks  ,  reaching  up  to  meet  his  lips  eagerly  .  all  of  the  worry  she  carries  whenever  eddie  is  in  danger  melts  away  as  he  kisses  her  ,  a  small  but  genuine  smile  painting  her  features  as  her  mouth  at  last  pulls  back  from  his  .  small  arms  wrap  tight  around  the  mob  boss'  torso  ,  cheek  pressed  against  his  chest  as  he  inquires  about  the  food  selections  .

❝  uhhh  ,  i  got  probably  a  metric  fuck  ton  of  chinese  food  .  .  .  and  also  about  the  same  amount  of  pizza  ?  in  my  defense  , i thought i was way hungrier than i feel right now . but there's still ,  you  know  ,  the  whole  wolf  thing  .  ❞  her  countenance  bleeds  with  sheepishness  ,  intermingled  with  amusement  as  her  hands  pull  back  and  slide  up  to  his  chest  and  over  to  his  biceps  .  ❝  i  also figured  we  could  at  least  feed  those  two  ,  especially  if  they  have  to  cart  it  all  up  here  and  smell  it  the  whole  way  ,  ❞  she  shrugs  .  ❝  oh  ,  and  THEN  there's  the  fact  that  i  also  .  .  .  might  be  eating  for  two  .  ❞

⸻ EDDIE WAS PRACTICALLY FALLING ASLEEP BY THE TIME HE PULLED THE BLACK SPORTS CAR INTO THE SIX CAR GARAGE OF THE MANSION. all the mob boss wanted to do was get inside to his beautiful girlfriend and not leave again until he had to go back to the club in the afternoon the next day. he'd stayed a little bit later that night, working on some shipment details in his office and totally lost the track of time by the time he got to the final detail. but at least now he didn't have to worry about it until it came in at the end of the week.

"i told them my girlfriend would kill me herself if anything happened to me," eddie bemused, ducking his head down to press his lips to her own. his hands pressed to her back and held her against him, feeling relaxed for the first time all day. he smiled down at her when she mentioned the food. the mob boss couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten today so he was secretly glad she'd gone and done it. like she just knew that he needed the food without him even saying it. "i'm sure dominic or luca will be bringing it up shortly then. what did you get? a whole feast again?"

[sketchbonked]

do i have any idea what wasteland baby is about? no. am i still gonna cry when “and you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins”? obviously

[cursemyexistences]

and that day that we watch the death of the sun, that the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on, and you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins

[labxlledame]

Wasteland baby is such a good song and I love hozier with my whole heart what the f uc k

[cr3ntist]

“And the day that we watch the death of the sun

That the cloud, and the cold, and those jeans you have on

And you gaze, unafraid, as they sob from the city ruins…”

[hiridraws]

And the day that we’ll watch the death of the sun Through the cloud, and the cold, and those jeans you have on And you’ll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins -  Wasteland, baby I’m in love, I’m in love with you

Happy new year Fushi @stopitjon! I hope you like your apocalypse boyfriends! 

[lou162]

Hozier lyrics from the 'Wasteland, baby!' album as Zodiac signs

Aries

Nina cried power - "It's not the wall but what's behind it. Lord, the fear of foul men is mere assignment"

Would that I - "With the war of the fire, my heart moves to its feet. Like the ashes of ash, I saw eyes in the heat. Feel it soft and as pure as snow. Fell in love with the fire long ago"

Taurus

Talk - "I won't deny I've got in my mind now. All things I would do. So I try to talk refined for fear that you find out. How I'm imaginin' you"

Gemini

Almost (sweet music) - "The same kind of music haunts her bedroom. I'm almost me again she's almost you"

Movement - "When you move I can recall somethin' that's gone from me. When you move honey I'm put in awe of somethin' so flawed and free"

Cancer

Almost (sweet music) - "I wouldn't know where to start sweet music playing in the dark, be still my foolish heart don't ruin this on me"

Leo

Wasteland, baby! - "And that day that we watch the death of the sun. That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. And you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins"

Virgo

Shrike - "Remember me love, when I'm reborn. As a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn"

Wasteland, baby! - "And the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. Not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. Wasteland baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you"

Libra

Nobody - "I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint. I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave"

Scorpio

To noise making (sing) - "You don't have to sing it right. Who could call you wrong? You put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song"

To noise making (sing) - "Who could ask to be unbroken or be brave again. Or honey, hope even on this side of the grave again?"

Sagittarius

Nobody - "And I think about you, lo, everywhere I go and I've done everything and I've been everywhere you know"

Be - "Be like the love that discovered the sin. That freed the first man, would do so again. And, lover, be good to me"

Capricorn

No plan - "The harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun"

Movement - "You are the rite of movement. It's reasonin' made lucid and cool. I know it's no improvement"

Aquarius

To noise making (sing) - "You don't have to sing it nice, but honey sing it strong. At best you'll find a little remedy. At worst the world will sing along"

Pisces

Talk - "I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found. I'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee that made him turn around. And I'd be the immediate forgiveness in Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me"

Sunlight- "Each day, you rise with me. Know that I would gladly be the Icarus to your certainty. Oh my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight. You strap the weight of me. A death trap clad happily. With wax melted, I need to see. Under sunlight, sunlight, sunlight"

[contrariian-archive]

HOZIER’S  “WASTELAND, BABY!” SENTENCE STARTERS

feel free to change pronouns, etc!

NINA CRIED POWER

‘ it’s not the waking, it’s the rising. ’ ‘ it is the grounding of a foot uncompromising. ’ ‘ it’s not forgoing of the lie, it’s not the opening of eyes. ’ ‘ it’s not the shade; we should be past it. it’s the light, and it’s the obstacle that casts it. ’ ‘ it’s the heat that drives the light. ’ ‘ it’s the heaven of a human spirit ringing. ’ ‘ and i could cry power. ’   ‘ it’s not the wall, but what’s behind it. ’ ‘ power has been cried by those stronger than me, straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ’

ALMOST (SWEET MUSIC)

‘ i came in from the outside, burned out from a joyride. ’ ‘ the same kind of music haunts her bedroom. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. ’ ‘ i’m almost me again. she’s almost you. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t know where to start. ’ ‘ be still my foolish heart. ’ ‘ don’t ruin this on me. ’ ‘ let’s get lost and let the good times roll. ’ ‘ let’s smoke rings from this paper doll. ’ ‘ i got some color back. ’ ‘ i laugh like me again, she laughs like you. ’ ‘ the very thought of you, and i am blue. ’ ‘ i get along without you very well some other nights. ’

MOVEMENT

‘ i still watch you when you’re grooving. ’ ‘  you’re moving without moving. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m moved. ’ ‘ you are a call to motion. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put to mind of all that i wanna be. ’ ‘ i could never define all that you are to me. ’ ‘ move me, baby. ’ ‘ you do it naturally. ’ ‘ honey, you’re atlas in his sleeping. ’ ‘ i recall something that’s gone from me. ’ ‘ when you move, i’m put in awe of something so flawed and free. ’

NO PLAN

‘ what a waste to say the heart could feel apart, or feel complete. ’ ‘ why would you make out of words a cage for your own bird, when it sings so sweet the screaming, heaving fuckery of the world? ’ ‘ why would you offer a name to the same old tired pain? ’ ‘ all things come from nothing. ’ ‘ my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand. ’ ‘ i know now that you understand. ’ ‘ there’s no plan. ’ ‘ there’s no race to be run. ’ ‘ the harder the rain, honey, the sweeter the sun. ’ ‘ there’s no kingdom to come. ’ ‘ i’ll be your man if you got love to get done. ’ ‘ sit in and watch the sunlight fade. ’ ‘ it’s getting late. ’ ‘ there’s no hand on the rein. ’ ‘ as mack explained, there will be darkness again. ’ ‘ let the awful song be heard. ’ ‘ i know your beat, baby. ’ ‘ your secret is safe with me. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, keep my body from the fire, hire a gardener for my grave. ’ ‘ if secrets were like seeds, when i’m lying under marble, marvel at flowers you’ll have made. ’

NOBODY

‘ it’s gin o’clock. ’ ‘ i think about you everywhere i go. ’ ‘ i’ve done everything and i’ve been everywhere. ’ ‘ i’ve been fed gold by sweet fools. ’ ‘ i’ve had no love like your love from nobody. ’ ‘ i’d be appalled if i saw you ever try to be a saint. ’ ‘ i wouldn’t fall for someone i thought couldn’t misbehave. ’ ‘ i once warmed my hands over a burning maserati. ’ ‘ why should we deny the truth? ’ ‘ we could have less to worry about  —  i won’t lie to you. ’

TO NOISE MAKING (SING)

‘ remember when you’d sing just for the fuck of it? ’ ‘ the look of it was as sweet as the sound. ’ ‘ i couldn’t name that feeling carried in that voice  —  was it that, or just the act of making noise that brought you joy? ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but who could call you wrong? ’ ‘ put your emptiness to melody, your awful heart to song. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right. ’ ‘ you don’t have to sing it right, but sing it strong. ’ ‘ at best, you’ll find a little remedy. ’ ‘ at worst, the world will sing along. ’ ‘ we’d scuff up our shoes. ’ ‘ you didn’t always sing it right. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be unbroken or be brave again? ’ ‘ be unbroken. ’ ‘ be brave again. ’ ‘ who could ask you to be sound or to feel saved again? ’ ‘ stick around until you hear that music play again. ’ ‘ so honey, sing. ’ ‘ sing. ’ ‘ remember when you’d sing just for the love of it? and any joy it would bring? ’

AS IT WAS 

‘ there is a roadway, muddy and foxgloved, whenever i’d have life enough, my heart is screaming of. ’ ‘ and in a few days, i would be there, love. ’ ‘ whatever here that’s left of me is yours. ’ ‘ the highs hit the heights of my baby, and its hold had the fight of my baby. ’ ‘ the lights were as bright as my baby, ’ ‘ your love was unmoved. ’   ‘ tell me if, somehow, some of it remains, how long you would wait for me. ’ ‘ make your good love known to me. ’ ‘ tell me about your day. ’ ‘ and the nights were as dark as my baby, and half as beautiful too. ’

SHRIKE

‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted. ’ ‘ i couldn’t utter my love when it counted, but i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i’m singing like a bird about it now. ’ ‘ i couldn’t whisper when you needed it shouted. ’ ‘ words hung above, but never would form  —  like a cry at the final breath that is drawn. ’ ‘ remember me. ’ ‘ remember me, love. ’ ‘ remember me, love, when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i’d no idea on what ground i was founded. ’ ‘ all of that goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ then, when i met you, my virtues uncounted  —  all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ all of my goodness is going with you now. ’ ‘ dragging along, following your form, hung like the pelt of some prey you had won. ’ ‘ i’m hung like the pelt of some prey you had one. ’ ‘ remember me when i’m reborn as a shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted. ’ ‘ i fled to the city with so much discounted, but i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now. ’ ‘ i’m flying like a bird to you now, back to the hedgerows where bodies are mounted. ’ ‘ i was housed by your warmth. ’ ‘ i was thus transformed by your grounded and giving and darkening scorn. ’

TALK

‘ i’d be the voice that urged orpheus when her body was found. i’d be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground. ’ ‘ i’d be the dreadful need in the devotee. ’ ‘ i’d be the immediate forgiveness in eurydice. ’ ‘ imagine being loved by me. ’ ‘ i won’t deny  —  i’ve got in my mind now all the things i would do. ’ ‘ i try to talk refined for fear that you find out how i’m imagining you. ’ ‘ i’d be the last shred of truth in the lost myth of true love. ’ ‘ i’d be the sweet feeling of release. ’

BE

‘ be as you’ve always been. ’ ‘ lover, be good to me. ’ ‘ be like the love that discovered the sin, that freed the first man and will do so again. ’ ‘ be that hopeful feeling when eden was lost. ’ ‘ it’s been deaf to our laughter since the master was crossed. ’ ‘ which side of the wall really suffers that cost? ’ ‘ be love in its disrepute. ’ ‘ love, in its disrepute, scorches the hillside and salts every root. ’ ‘ watch the slowing and starving of troops. ’ ‘ be like the rose that you hold in your hand, that will grow bold in a barren and desolate land. ’ ‘ love, won’t you be as you’ve always been? ’

DINNER & DIATRIBES

‘ this club here is stuck up. ’ ‘ i knew well from our first hookup the look of mischief in your eyes. ’ ‘ your friends are a fate that befell me. ’ ‘ hell is the talking type. ’ ‘ i’d suffer hell if you’d tell me what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ that’s the kind of love i’ve been dreaming of. ’ ‘ honey, i laugh when it sinks in. ’ ‘ the evening is slowing. ’ ‘ the end is in sight. ’ ‘ it’s easier knowing what you’d do to me tonight. ’ ‘ let there be hotel complaints and grievances raised. ’ ‘ let there be damage ensued and tabloid news. ’

WOULD THAT I 

‘ i saw your hair like the branch of a tree  — a willow dancing on air before covering me. ’ ‘ that love in withdrawal was the weeping of me. ’ ‘ the sound of the saw must be known by the tree. ’ ‘ i fretted fire, but that was long ago. ’ ‘ i blink in sight of your blinding light. ’ ‘ it’s not tonight where you hold me tight. ’ ‘ you’re good to me. ’ ‘ with the roar of the fire, my heart rose to its feet. ’ ‘ like the ashes of ash, i saw rise in the heat. ’ ‘ i fell in love with the fire long ago. ’ ‘ with each love i cut loose, i was never the same. ’ ‘ i’m watching still-living roots be consumed by the flame. ’ ‘ i was fixed on your hand of gold laying waste to my loving long ago. ’ ‘ in awe, there i stood. ’ ‘ though i’ve handled the wood, i still worship the flame. ’ ‘ as long as the amber of ember glows, all the would that i’d loved is long ago. ’

SUNLIGHT 

‘ i would shun the light. ’ ‘ share in evening’s cool and quiet. ’ ��� who would trade that hum of night for sunlight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight? ’ ‘ but whose heart would not take flight, betray the moon as acolyte, on first and fierce affirming sight of sunlight? ’ ‘ i’d been lost to you. ’ ‘ i flew like a moth to you. ’ ‘ oh, your love is sunlight. ’ ‘ all the tales the same, told before and told again. ’ ‘ a soul that’s born in cold and rain knows sunlight. ’ ‘ oh, my sunlight. ’ ‘ all that was shown to me, sunlight, was something foreknown to me. ’ ‘ all these colors fade for you only. ’ ‘ hold me. ’ ‘ carry me slowly. ’ ‘ each day, you’d rise with me. ’ ‘ know that i would gladly be the icarus to your certainty. ’ ‘ strap the wing to me. death trap-clad, happily, with wax melted, i’d meet the sea. ’

WASTELAND, BABY!

‘ all the fear and the fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl. happens great, happens sweet. ’ ‘ happily, i’m unfazed here, too. ’ ‘ wasteland baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ baby, i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ all the things yet to come are the things that have passed: like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass. ’ ‘ i’m in love with you. ’ ‘ and i love too that love soon might end. ’ ‘ be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking. ’ ‘ you are unbreaking, though quaking. ’ ‘ that day that we watch the death of the sun; the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on. ’ ‘ you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins. ’ ‘ the stench of the sea and the absence of green are the death of all things that are seen and unseen. ’ ‘ not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do. ’ ‘ that’s it. ’

[scarletgardensrpg]

LIVING ♦ FORTY-FIVE ♦ ASCENDANCY

NIKOLAAS VAN HOUTEN is Head of the Ascendancy—commonly addressed as De Dominee by Undead members—and was Senior Advisor to Agostina for the first two years of the House's inception before stepping down. He is also a founding member of the infamous Red Room, where the fatal PM-GRNT 197 drug was first conceived. For his unapologetic and public involvement in this project, Nikolaas remains a controversial figure, especially among the living. Although he possesses the rare and coveted gift of resurrection, he avoids using his ability, preferring instead to work through Cecile.

BIOGRAPHY

tw: violent death, needles

This is how it starts. A bullet splits a woman's head in two outside Patisserie Chez Maitre Pierre, and her shopping bags fall to the ground, tipping over as children's books and clothing scatter across the pavement. She drops the cake, too, and it smears against the plastic casing, blood red velvet on black chocolate. The paramedics come and go, taking the body with them, but her bags are abandoned in the street, kicked aside by passing strangers. She lives in an apartment in Riquier, a stone's throw from Nice. They send someone, who pounds twice on the door with a closed fist and only hesitates for a moment when a boy answers, blonde and brown-eyed, not a day older than thirteen. He knows, because there had been thirteen birthday candles in Eva van Houten's coat pocket. Nikolaas, the man says, and it is not a question. He looks just like his mother. Something's happened. And just like that, the serene, open look on the boy's face begins to change.

- ❀ -

He was conceived against the counsel of every Moulin Rouge whore with a say in the matter. Pretty Mila had struck Eva across the face, red nails leaving lines, hard enough that she saw stars. Do you think he is your husband? She was on the brink of tears, but her expression bore nothing but cold rage. He will have you killed for the information you have stolen. If not him, his wife, de Dame. She is Queen of the Penoze. She will spare neither you or de klootzak. And Eva, in knowing this and more, had silently slipped out of her heels and wiped off her makeup. She placed a delicate hand to her stomach, which would begin to swell soon. By then, she'd be long gone from this place. Mila began to sob finally, but Eva felt warm. She felt sure. That spring, in a hospital in Rome, Nikolaas came into the world with a wail, no larger than a doll and twice as pretty. He was a dangerous, miraculous child, the love crime of a common whore and a lord of the underworld; a fugitive on the run the moment he was born. And loved, still. One year hiding in Italy, two in Germany, another six months in Thailand. Three and a half in the safehouse in Nice, hopefully longer. Eva ran the coordinates in her head over and over. She sang them softly to the tune of nursery rhymes, lulling her son to sleep.

Nikolaas and Eva; Eva and Nikolaas. His world began with her hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake, and ended with the sound of her laughter on the evening balcony. He had never felt embarrassed for it, had never felt compelled to earn the doggish approval of neighborhood boys by treating her poorly, as they treated their own mothers. All other things, after all, were temporary: the apartments they lived in, the cities and schools they rotated through every six months, the men who came and went; some kind, some cruel, none permanent. The kind ones, he ignored. The cruel ones, he broke his knuckles on their teeth. Eva always said: You deserve a father. Nikolaas always replied: I have you. His mother, beautiful as she was, carried with her a sadness Nikolaas could not understand. She was lonely, but enforced their rootless existence year and after. She slept fitfully and jumped at loud noises. He knew better than to ask. Once, he had seen the puckered line that ran up along her abdomen, too high up to be a cesarean scar—as if someone had vivisected her and clumsily sewn her back up. He would grow up to look just like her: high cheekbones, straight nose, sun-silver hair. He acquired her love of books and silence, her intimate charisma, her academic wit. And the things he did not inherit from her—that needle of unfeeling darkness when he ought to have felt affection or love for someone other than Eva, that cruel thread of pleasure when he hit a classmate—he pushed down dutifully, deep where it would not be found. And so it festered within him, a slow night-falling in his soul while he won awards and played tennis and made Honor Roll, cloying and uncomfortable—growing larger and larger, until, after Eva died, it became unbearable at last. Something's happened, the police officer said. Nikolaas had found the papers the night before. They'd fought the morning she left. When they returned her coat to him, the wool was still spattered with blood and bits of dried cake. She had gone out and gotten the gifts as an apology.

After: an apartment of ghosts, the incessant whir of press outlets, the city of Nice at his back for the next ten years. Teachers and students alike either pitied him or adored him—usually both at once. Fatherless, motherless, and with nothing to his name but thirteen candles and a ruined coat, he became something of a tragic hero. Poor thing, so went the lamentation. Another victim of the Penoze. Another helpless child unjustly bereaved. Of course, he was also an adept actor: warm to the touch, willing to pose for photographers and sit in studios, bringing journalists to tears while the funds and donations rolled in like tidewater. And all the while, the first tendrils of a gestating obsession gripped him: something to ease the agony of waking in the middle of the night to the sound of a skull splitting, sometimes Eva's and sometimes his, the smell of rotten cake, the nonsensical pulse of a ghost scar on his abdomen, sheet after sheet of stolen papers—papers that had costed Eva her life. His mother had not been killed. She'd been hunted. Death, death, death. It was all he thought about. At Johns Hopkins, at Harvard. Gripping Agostina's hand for the first time in an empty classroom. How to outrun it. How to survive it. In Palestrina at midnight, listening to the sound of Thalia's velvet voice, saying, We never wanted you, just your drug mule of a mother. And still, death. He thought about the shape of it as he squeezed the syringe into Cecile's neck, then his own, the pain immediate. It lingered in the air as he stood in her and Evander's empty cell, the metal bars bent, his creatures gone to set fire to the world. And when he returned, at last, to bury the ruins of Amsterdam beneath a new order, he thought of Death once more. How to conquer it. How to master it.

CONNECTIONS

AGOSTINA – MIRROR, MIRROR.  She was no lamb. He had seen it in her the moment they shook hands and exchanged names and vices: the deceivingly delicate curve of her steady mouth, the lush dark of her infinite gaze, the edged grace with which she commanded lecture halls and courtrooms—and later, entire cities. In Agostina, Nikolaas found a place to put down his dreams. She was someone to share with, when he had not thought sharing was possible. She was intelligent, unafraid, his. For who else but him had she bared her true face to? Who else but him was privy to her spider-web mind, had indulged in the dark waters of their shared ambitions? Life after life. Deathless death. Together, they had destroyed a world, and raised it once more from the ashes. Whatever strange, bleeding thing bloomed between them in the wake of those rituals, it was intimate. Rare. Pure. Nikolaas considers their falling out over No. 200 and subsequent separation his biggest failure. Up until then, she had remained his unconstestable ally—an unquestioned friend and irreplaceable life partner. Almost naively, he had not thought it possible for the two fo them to disagree. But in the end, Agostina had shaken her head and refused to venture deeper, go darker. He does not disagree, that Agostina looks radiant under the sun: a leader among lambs, herding her flock toward salvation. But deep down, he is sure she would look even lovelier among the wolves. At his side. Nikolaas may have been the one to walk away, but it was Agostina who refused to follow. 

CECILE – LITTLE MONSTER. If there were a God, Cecile would have bitten his wrist. If God were a beast, she would have had his throat torn out and his body tossed at Nikolaas' feet—and they would have both understood it to be a gift. Fifteen years ago, when she entered the Red Room as a test subject, she did so with all the flagrant, unwavering arrogance of a true American. They wound up developed a strange friendship over the years: steady Doctor and willing patient, two dark things who could never quite look away each time something died in a cage. She had egged him on and dragged him into deeper, more depraved depths than either could imagine on their own—daring him to find a place she could not follow him to. You aren't going to escape? He had asked, if only to watch her face twist in amusement. This is my sanctuary, she purred. Out there is where I'm shackled like a dog. So he had killed her, and freed her, and damned her, and saved her. She had done the same for him. When the worst of the chemicals subsided, she awoke: Undead and terrible, his first and only creation. Somehow, he knew there would be no one else after her. They are tied together forever, by flesh and blood—and perhaps this is why Cecile will always find him, again and again: shivering together on the laboratory floor, in Warsaw at the end of the world, in Amsterdam at the start of it. When they had agreed to perform the act, two syringes in Nikolaas' coat pocket, he had said to her: Don't be afraid. Every transformation requires the death of its predecessor. To this, he still remembers the way she had tipped her head back and laughed. That rich, terrifying sound. Then, Doctor, I am a woman who has died a hundred times over.  

LUANA & MAURICE – COME ASTRAY, LITTLE LAMBS. He likes them. They hate him, of course, but their hatred is grown from a dishonest seed—they hate him for a crime he did not commit, and see only a monster among monsters when they look to him. The irony is not lost on Nikolaas: that the royal twins, upon their return, learn immediately to eat from the hand that ruined them and snarl at the one that saved them. He sees Agostina's bloody signature written all across this devil's deal. It's a clever political play on her part, Nikolaas can admit; something that will guarentee the twins' eventual alliance to her, provided the truth of the family massacre never comes out. Regardless, Nikolaas is not concerned; just as all blooms grow toward the sun, the Prince and Princess, being clever children, will grope their way through the darkness and eventually come out with the horrible, funny truth. He feels no need to personally reveal this crucial information to them either, as the discovery will be sure to do greater damage if they can find out on their own. As such, he will only gently nudge them closer, disincline them to partake in blind obedience, and encourage them to see the ugly light. While Luana remains steadfast in her condemnation of the Undead, Nikolaas sees something more hopeful in the boy, Maurice—his resolve wavering in the wake of Dimitri's most hospital gestures, his curiosity rising to defeaning volumes with every night he spends racing with Nikolaas' garden of monsters.  

OPEN ♦ FC: MADS MIKKELSEN

[fade-steppin]

some Favorite Lyrics from Wasteland Baby!

imagine being loved by me

that's the kind of love i've been dreaming of

sunlight, sunlight, sunlight

i'd suffer hell if you'd tell me what you'd do to me tonight

and when the earth is trembling on some new beginnin' with the same sweet shock of when adam first came

i'll be your man if you got love to get done

i'd be the choiceless hope in grief that drove him underground

you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins

[cassercole]

random lyric edits :: petolly + wasteland, baby!

and that day that we watch the death of the sun that the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on and you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins                      wasteland, baby                              i'm in love, i’m in love with you

[scribeofmorpheus]

I’m listening to Wasteland Baby... and this song feels like a silent prophecy. Like on the outside it seems like a love song for an apocalyptic age, but my dumb ass did a poetry course this year, and one poet I studied was known for writing poems within poems and I applied my one (bad)poetry brain cell to the lyrics:

[Verse 1] All the fear and the fire of the end of the world Happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl Happens great, happens sweet Happily, I'm unfazed here, too [Chorus] Wasteland, baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you [Verse 2] All the things yet to come are the things that have passed Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass Like the bonfire that burns, at all worth in the fight fell too [Chorus] Wasteland, baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you And I love too, that love soon might end Be known in its aching Shown in the shaking Lately of my wasteland, baby Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That's just wasteland, baby                   [Verse 3] And that day that we watch the death of the sun That the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on And you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins [Chorus] Wasteland, baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you And I love too, that love soon might end Be known in its aching Shown in the shaking Lately of my wasteland, baby Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking Though quaking, though crazy That's just wasteland, baby [Bridge] And the stench of the sea and the absence of green Are the death of all things that are seen and unseen Not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do [Chorus] Wasteland, baby I'm in love, I'm in love with you [Outro] That's it

If we treat the verses as Stanzas and pick out the first line this is all I keep hearing when I listen to the song:

All the fear and the fire of the end of the world

All the things yet to come are the things that have passed

And that day that we watch the death of the sun

And the stench of the sea and the absence of green

Are the death of all things that are seen and unseen

Not an end, but the start of all things that are left to do

And I don’t know about you... but this felt powerful to me. Like two messages playing through one song.

[fireeh]

and that day that we watch the death of the sun that the cloud and the cold and those jeans you have on and you gaze unafraid as they sob from the city ruins

[elizabethhamilton1780]

19 - “please don’t let me be alone” preferably in the hamliza au where she’s a nurse and he’s in some fight club that’s not a fight club please? But any version is good I love them so much

A/N: Small bit of violence included for the sole sake of me practicing combat scenes for my fiction class. It’s terrible, bear with me :) 

Original AU (x)

Eliza had finally started to relax again. He had even convinced her to go on a date. A regular date. It went so well, the night perfect. She wore a pretty dress, curled her hair and wore the the tiny heart necklace he had purchased to celebrate her getting into her school’s nursing program. He took her to a fancy restaurant and ordered an expensive bottle of wine. They teased and flirted across the dimly lit table, their legs entangled underneath.

She let him hold her hand and kiss her cheek and had shyly invited him to come inside for another drink, even though they were still a good few blocks from her apartment. He had grinned and was about to reply when he spotted something out of the corner of his eyes.

Eliza had felt him tense up and frowned. “Is something wr—”

He shushed her, pulled her tighter against his side as they continued to walk down the dangerously empty street. He kept watch, examining their surroundings. The figure he had hoped he’d imagined had crept closer in a matter of seconds. Perfect timing, Alexander thought grimly when he noticed the alleyway they were approaching.

In one swift motion, he’d managed to shove Eliza away toward the dark alley just before he felt the initial blow between his shoulder blades. He was knocked to the ground but in a matter of seconds gathered to his feet with practiced ease, his adrenaline pumping through his veins at an alarming rate.

Using the attacker’s shock to his advantage, he struck the stranger’s nose with the heel of his hand, the resounding crack made even him wince. The blood gushed immediately, the liquid feeling sticky on his hands. Alexander’s other hand gripped the back of his neck tightly to force his attacker forward, delivering several hard blows to his stomach using his knee. Only when he felt the attacker become dead weight, he relented. He retracted his arm and the man crumbled onto the concrete. To be sure he was out, he laid one last blow to his temple using the heel of his foot. He crouched down to his knees, checking for a pulse. Faint, but still there. They could use him for questioning.

He looked around anxiously, concerned and convinced that there were more. There was no way anyone would attack him alone, the Hamilton name (thanks to his father’s failure and his own skills) had become a bit infamous around several of the city’s gangs his agency was fighting constantly. He relaxed slowly when his eyes caught no other movement in the darkened street.

“Liza. Liza?!” He yelled as he spun in a panicked circle. Had the stranger’s accomplice taken her?! Was the attack a diversion?!

“Here. I’m here.” Eliza’s obviously frazzled form appeared in the entrance of the alleyway he had shoved her into. He immediately rushed towards her, his eyes examining her as he did. Her beautiful dress was obviously torn, the rip climbing up to her mid-thigh. Her knees were scraped, bleeding, and Alexander was sure that her hands were too. He shuddered when he realized she was injured because of his initial shove. God, he hoped nothing was broken.

“Baby, I’m so—” He reached out to comfort her, his movements halted when he noticed all the blood on his hands. Fuck. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Me?!” Eliza let out a tiny hysterical sob, her eyes full of tears. “You were the one who was just attacked!”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. He barely touched me. I never lie when I tell you that most of the blood is hardly ever my own.” He offered her a hesitant half smile. “Tonight is proof of that.”

Eliza shook her head and wiped away her tears roughly.

Alexander glanced back at the body, hating himself. “Baby I have to take care of this. What? Oh god, no! Not like that! I’m not going to kill him!” He knew someone probably would down the line, but that part thankfully was very rarely a part of Alex’s job description. “I mean I have to call work. They need to come take care of this— and by that, I mean take him to headquarters. Can you make it home okay? I’ll be there as quick as I can.” The thought of her walking alone was a bit scary, but he didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay here, and it was only two blocks.

“No.” Eliza said firmly.

“What?”

“No. I’m not leaving unless you come back with me.”

“Baby, that’s not an option—”

“I say it is, so it fucking is, Alexander.” He recognized the fire in her eyes and knew immediately this wasn’t an argument he would be winning.

He gave her a dirty look, shrugged off his suit jacket and slung it over her frail frame. “I have to make a few calls.”

She didn’t say anything but tucked herself into Alexander’s jacket, a deep frown still set on her face.

Not caring much for his bloodied hands— it was time to get a new phone anyways, he’d had the same number for too long— he took out his flip phone and dialed the number for his HQ. A  bubble of disdain formed in the pit of his stomach when he heard the distinct low grumble of his boss’ voice. Of course, he was the one on call tonight.

“Sir, this is Agent Hamilton. I was just attacked on— yes sir, I’m alright. I believe it was a rookie member of the Wakefields. He approached me and didn’t have any backup. He’s unconscious right now, sir. I think he should be brought in for questioning. I doubt he’s going to know anything but…” Alexander’s eyes remained locked with Eliza’s questioning gaze. She knew very little of his work, only that he wasn’t a freelance boxer like he’d initially told her and that he wasn’t apart of an illegal fight club like she had guessed months into their relationship. She simply knew how dangerous his job was, that he was hurt a lot and that he took down ‘bad guys’ as he liked to put it. “Yessir, I’ll send you my location. Thank you.” He hung up the phone and immediately sent out a memo. He’d be here in five minutes.

“What the fuck do you do?” She asked once he hung up.

He ignored her question for the time being. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my knees and hands. Nothing that disinfectant won’t solve.”

“I’m sorry for ruining date night.” He said and slowly approached her. He gave her time to pull away. She didn’t. Unafraid of ruining her clothes now that his jacket was covering her, he embraced her. Only she didn’t melt into his arms like he had expected her to. He pulled back, his heart dropped when he saw the look on her face. “No. Liza, no. Don’t do this tonight.”

“Every time we try. Every time I try… I’m reminded why this would never work.” Eliza’s voice cracked and she halfheartedly tried to move out of his grip.

“No,” Alexander said sharply, tipping her chin up with the side of his bloodied forefinger, his thumb resting on the center of her chin. “Every time you try to end things… That never works, Eliza. Stop pretending that there isn’t an us. There is an us. There will always be an us.”

“I can’t be who you need me to be.” She repeated her same line she always used, a helpless edge to her voice.

“Christ, what does that even mean?!”

“It means that I’m not going to sit idly by at home waiting daily for either you to come home or a call saying that you’ve been killed.” She snapped, her tiny hands shoved at his chest. He didn’t budge an inch.

“That’s not going to happen. I won’t let it. Liza, I’m fucking amazing at what I do. Sure, I’ll show up battered and bruised after every mission but I’ll always come back to you. Always.” He attempted to convey his words with his eyes. He has never uttered a more truthful statement than that one. “I’ll never leave you alone. Not like you’re trying to do to me. Please don’t leave me alone, baby. Please.” She let him rest her forehead against hers, her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t object when he pressed his lips against hers, so Alexander decided that that was a start.

He pulled away from her when he heard the sound of a car, laced their fingers together and gently led her into the dimly lit street. He shoved her behind him when he heard their attacker groan. He prepared to kick his head again, halting his movement at the sound of his boss’s sharp tone.

“Leave him be, Hamilton.”

“Yes, sir.” Alexander retreated immediately, watching George Washington stagger out of the black SUV. He hid a smirk. His boss had been quite the agent back in his days, but it was obvious his glory days on the field were behind him.

Washington barked orders at the men accompanying him and they got to work, dragging the body into the back of the car, binding his wrists behind him. He almost wanted to usher Eliza away but figured tonight could be a bit of an insight into what his job was. He was damn sure that no one was ever going to touch a hair on Eliza’s head, that she was going to be kept mostly in the dark as long as he was with the agency (not a requirement, but his own preference) but knew she needed to see a piece of a relatively easy case.

“Who’s this?” Washington’s tone was a lot softer now that he realized a lady was present.

Alexander resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn’t pull Eliza closer or more into the light. He wanted his two lives to remain as separate as they could. But he never lied to his boss and he never planned to. “Sir, this is Eliza. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Hello.” Eliza’s sweet, hesitant tone was like music to Hamilton’s ears. He had to get her home.

“Lovely to meet you.” The older man’s tone was stiff, a bit too cordial. Alexander knew he was going to get an earful on Monday. “Hamilton, Monday morning. 6 am sharp.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as the brake lights of the SUV was gone, Alexander turned to Eliza, crowding her into the nearest wall. “Can it be my turn to patch you up?”

“I can do that myself.” Eliza smiled fondly at him, her face obviously worn out.

“It’s the principle behind the idea, baby.”

It wasn’t until later, much later, that Eliza brought it up again. The pair was resting together in the bath at Eliza’s apartment, her bare back was flush against his chest, head lulled back into the crook of his neck. They were silent for a long time after their initial return home. He was scooping palmfuls of the hot water on the skin of Eliza’s upper stomach that wasn’t covered. He always tried to enjoy every rare moment of peace they had.

Eliza’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “I won’t ever leave you alone.” She said simply before her arm reached behind them to tangle in his shoulder-length hair.

He pressed his lips to the shell of her ear, kissing there lightly. “I know.”