#if it is not obvious from the prompts

[mischievous-thunder]

Oh, what a shy little fiery kitty you've got yourself, Wade!

[starflungwaddledee]

did you remember to leave space for all your phantom limbs?

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☀︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚★⋆｡˚ ┊ ┊ ⋆ ┊ ★⋆ ┊ ◦ kirbytober 2024 #03 ★⋆ miracle // phantom // magic

[sunreys]

hm! I do wonder why augustus has decided to read a statement from the 1800s! Could it perhaps possibly perchance have to do with the fact that the third voice trapped in the computer is in fact a body hopping immortal eye avatar from the 1800s whose name rhymes with shmona shmagnus? PERCHANCE.

[overtake]

⁴⁹⁾ a doorbell sounding in the middle of the night 👀

49 for this prompt list

All things considered, Daniel has a very healthy sleep schedule for a guy that jets off to a new country almost every single week. Someone advised him years ago to implement the same wind-down ritual before bed no matter where he was in the world. Daniel hasn’t always been great about routine — he needs 3 reminders on his phone just to remember his vitamins every morning — but he has this shit down to a science.

He’s three steps in when his night gets thrown for a loop.

He’s carefully moisturized his chronically dry elbows. The corners of his eyes are shiny with wrinkle cream so expensive that even he winces at the price. He’s spritzed the pillow he brings on every trip with a lavender spray. He’s just getting ready to slip under the sheets, throw one leg over a hotel pillow, and drift off to a new episode of his favourite UFC podcast when the little hotel room doorbell rings.

He pauses for a second, then continues to pull back the sheets. Surely someone just has the wrong room.

The stupid doorbell rings again, and he’s pretty sure he audibly groans. He throws his phone on the spot where his body should already be lying and stuffs his feet into the little hotel-provided slippers. He has no one to blame but himself — he forgot to turn on the stupid privacy setting in the room to stop the doorbell from chiming.

He puts on a neutral face, lest it be some poor hotel or team employee forced to deliver him an urgent message, and opens the door.

“Hi, Daniel.”

Max barrels inside. In the 2.5 years they’ve been teammates, his shoulders have slightly widened. He’s still lean, but Daniel can see his body taking on a broader, more adult form, and he uses the slight size advantage to push past Daniel.

“Hello?” Daniel says, confused. Max is a man on a mission. He heads straight to the balcony door, pushes aside the thick blackout curtain and the gauzy ones underneath to unlock the handle and patter onto the small space.

“Can I help you with something?” Daniel asks. He wanders over and peeks his head out, but keeps his nice, clean slippers safely inside. There’s a slight breeze in the night air, and Daniel pulls back inside with a slight shiver.

Max is bent over, picking something up. He’s in a very wrinkled shirt and a pair of shorts that look far too small for him — not size wise, but length wise. Daniel doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much of Max’s pale, white thighs on display, matching the crescent moon in the sky above them.

Max stands up, an object wrapped securely in his hand, and shakes his head violently. If Daniel could see him better, he might hazard a guess that Max is blushing. It makes him want to poke and prod, but he knows Max and knows when he’s open for teasing. Right now, his plush lips are pressed tightly together, arms curled against his chest protectively. Nows not the time to be a dick, even if Max is disrupting his night.

Max walks past him again, not bothering to close the balcony door, when he finally seems to register that this whole interaction is incredibly whack, even for the two of them.

He pauses long enough to examine the room, Daniel’s little slippers, and the tantalizingly untucked sheets.

“Sorry,” he says. The words sound stilted from his mouth, usually reserved for awkward speeches to factory post-crashes. “I’m in the room above yours, and we — I dropped something off the balcony onto yours.”

Daniel drops his gaze to the object in Max’s hands. As fast as Max’s hands successfully move to cover it, Daniel’s seen enough bottles of lube in his time to know what he’s looking at.

“It’s alright.” He gets why Max is blushy and intense right now. He eats up Daniel’s sexapade stories, makes all kinds of lewd jokes, isn’t afraid to jokingly flirt with Daniel and put his hands places he shouldn’t. He’s certainly not a prude. Still, he’s pretty tight-lipped about his own sex life. Daniel doesn’t push where he’s not welcomed, so he leaves well enough alone, but his stomach does a funny little pang at remembering that Max does have a sex life of his own.

There’s some hot girl above them right now, who was probably joking with Max on the balcony and play-wrestling for some lube, letting the joke run so long that the lube went on a whole vacation to Daniel’s balcony. Daniel is usually the only one who lets a bit get so far and so immersive with Max that it causes actual consequences.

“Okay. Well. Goodnight,” Max says. The lube is now secured half under his shirt sleeve, half into the crook of his elbow now, with the label imprinting itself onto his skin.

He pauses again, this time by Daniel’s bedside table, and picks up the pillow spray. He reads the label, all focused and serious, and then spritzes a tiny bit onto his wrist. The droplets are still drying over his blue veins when he brings it to his nose and sniffs.

“That’s nice.” He holds his wrist there for a second, takes a second whiff.

“It’s lavender,” Daniel informs him, for lack of anything else to say in this incredibly bizarre interaction. “Night, Max.”

Max does an awkward little half-wave and closes the door behind him and the tiny shorts that surely can’t belong to him. Daniel would’ve noticed if he wore something like that before.

He lets the interaction sit for a second, then shakes his body loose and turns on the do not disturb button on the doorbell.

Night routine, 2.0, no distractions. He rubs lotion into his elbows. He dots wrinkle cream around his eyes. He puts his finger over the same little nozzle that Max pressed and coats his pillow again.

It’s only after a small breeze ruffles the curtains that he realizes the balcony door is still wide open. He pauses for a half-second by the door when he hears Max’s voice above him, talking to whoever his companion for the night is.

“Can I get you another drink?” Max asks. He sounds — suave, almost. Daniel can only see speckled concrete above him, but he can picture Max standing on it in. He probably has this girl leaned up against the railing, a hand on her hip.

This is definitely intrusive, but Daniel pauses with his hand wrapped around the skinny door handle just long enough to hear the response.

“No, I’m all good. Let’s go inside,” the other voice says. It’s deeper than Daniel expected, almost masculine.

Daniel shuts the door harder than he planned, and a bit of the thin white curtain gets caught in the frame. He leaves it be. He’s not interested in opening up that door again.

He settles into the sterile white sheets, puts his cancelling earbuds in, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

It takes him longer than usual to fall asleep that night. He’s surrounded by too much pillow spray and the pulsing thought that Max is above him right now, smelling traces of lavender while he fucks someone else.

[kayo-min]

BLEACH x Vamptober 2023

2 Signet Ring | 3 Wine | 4 Bat wings | 5 Van Helsing

[justaz]

arthur and morgana go undercover when they head out to help merlin in ealdor bc if word got back to cenred that camelot’s prince and her king’s ward came into essetir without permission or a heads up, it could start a war. so merlin rolls into ealdor with three mysterious friends to help against kanen and his men and the villagers immediately jump back on their Village Freak attacks. stones fly and insults are hurled and buckets of mud and manure are dumped on merlin who in turn gets into more fights and comes home with bloodied knuckles and a bloodied face. arthur, morgana, and gwen seething. idk merlin angst ig

[seiwas]

hello sel!!! hru doing??

The ask game is super fun! How about Gojo + vindictive.

I hope u hv had a lovely day 🫶

zuro anon

zuro anon hello!! thanks for sending in a prompt!! i'm doing good 🥺 spending this lil vacay at home, mostly 🥺 and happy to be back writing 🥺 i hope you have the loveliest weekend 💗

contains: non-canon, childhood enemies to lovers (ish), (modern) arranged marriage, reader wears a braid and dresses

gojo + vindictive

you hate gojo satoru. you have ever since you were 5.

he's a bully―a real cocky one at that, with no regard or remorse for how his actions affect those around him.

on the day before your 6th birthday, right as your parents gathered together for the annual countdown, he gobbled up the entire plate of your favorite milk cakes before you could even take a bite. this marked the start, the beginning of a vengeance stewing inside of you.

at the age of 8, when you first learned how to do your own braids, he would tug at them, pull them free and unravel all your hard work for the past hour. you used to chase him for it, yell "satoru!" with all the strength your little lungs could muster and he would merely laugh and run faster.

the name "satoru," you've learned, must be synonymous with "sabotage," because it's all he's ever done. he threw the flower geto suguru handpicked for you straight to the ground, and purposely splashed gutter water all over the white dress you intended to wear on your first date.

not to mention, he's always rubbed in the fact that he's better than you, at everything―dangled all his accomplishments in front of you as if he knew they were just centimeters out of reach.

gojo satoru is solely responsible for tainting your childhood memories a miserable cerulean blue.

so, when your parents sit you down one day and tell you that you'll have to marry him, you feel transported in that moment, to each and every instance gojo has ever wronged you. it flips through your mind like a montage of flashbacks in a movie.

it's both surprising and not. your families have always been partners, in everything―business, education, and now you guess, life as well. you hate gojo's guts but this creates an opportunity you don't think can result from anything else.

so, sure, you'll agree to the marriage―only to make his life a living hell.

"hello, fiancée," he greets you, for the first time since the agreement.

you don't do anything to hide your disgust, face scrunching up as you spit out, "shut up, satoru."

the wedding planning is horrendous―at least, you hope it is for him. you pick out every single cake flavor you know he hates and choose the brightest venue possible for the event. the lights you pick for the afterparty are strobe lights, and you make sure to do multiple test runs just to play with his eyes. it doesn't occur to you that the solution to his light sensitivity is simple: just a plain pair of shades.

you wear plumping lip gloss on your wedding day, just so his lips burn when you have to kiss him. but gojo is either extremely numb or just good at faking it, because all he does is grin as he whispers quietly before parting, "spicy."

in preparation for your married life, you create a ledger of some sort―a book of accounts housing every single thing gojo has done wrong. you write down your plans to get him back for each of them, a list of pranks and inconveniences to make him regret ever messing with you all those years ago.

at half a year of marriage and 25 years of knowing each other, he casually tells you the big "i love you," but you're sure he doesn't mean it. you tell yourself your heart is racing from how infuriating his existence is; at how stupid his face looked when he'd said it. not anything else and most especially not the little dimple on his cheek that shows itself every now and then.

(you didn't know it yet then, but he'd found the ledger you kept and read through it all. the one-year plan, the three-year plan, the five, and so on. and it does nothing but strengthen how he feels about you, since he was 6, 14, and a few years ago at 24.

it's at your third year of marriage that you find out―how gojo's known all this time, but more importantly, how there were reasons behind every single instance you thought he was out to ruin your life.

with intelligence far beyond his age, gojo has always preferred the company of adults more than children. at age 6, he would listen in on conversations his mother had with her friends, roughly comprehending complex worlds with the simple ones he understood. someone had mentioned something about their daughter being allergic to milk. and so, when your birthday came up and all he saw were milk treats, he gobbled them all up in an effort to make sure you wouldn't be subjected to an adverse reaction―even though you were far off from any dairy allergy.

what he was sure of, however, was that you were severely allergic to bees. and when he spotted one perched right on the buttercup stem geto handed you, he had no choice but to smack it right out of your hand and down to the ground, stepping on it too, for good measure.

and, okay, maybe he was a little naughty for tugging at your braids when you'd just spent all that time doing them, but he always liked how they flowed into waves when they unravelled; how you'd chase him afterwards, angry but so, so pretty.

if there's one moment gojo will consider real sabotage, though, it's that date he stopped you from going to. like there was any way he was going to let another man see you dressed like that. he isn't nice that way. when gojo wants something, he's not sharing, and the sight of you in white―that was meant to be his and only his.)

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[typicalopposite]

Ok so in all honesty I’m hoping the look Buck’s mom gave after seeing him and Tommy was nothing more than her old brain trying to understand and process what she was seeing…

I really hope if his parents mention Tommy anytime soon on the show the depth of angst is so shallow it doesn’t even faze Buck… maybe even surprises him a little that it goes so well. Because we don’t have much time left with Buck this season and even less with Tommy and I want it to be so happy and easy for them

however… HOWEVER

in fic format.

I am devouring the deep angst post coming out fics. I need more of them. I crave more of them😀

Because… there’s a because I’m not just sadistic ok. I need Bucks tribe to stand up to his parents for him. I need MADDIE to stand up to their parents for him. I need Chimney and Bobby and Hen and Eddie… I NEED CHRISSSS TO STAND UP TO THE BUCKLEY PARENTS FOR HIM…. I NEED THE NURSES AND- AND SOME RANDOM PATIENT DOWN THE HALL TO STAND UP FOR HIM

YALL *feral noises* I NEED TOMMY TO STAND UP TO MARGARET AND PHILIP BUCKLEY FOR THIS MAN!!!

I know there’s already quite a few out there… but I need more! I need all the fics of Buck’s people showing up for him!

Because his parents just were (are if you are petty like me and cannot forgive and forget) so terrible and they got let off so easy… so soooo easy! And it’s not fair!

And so I (ok maybe it is a little sadistically) want even more angst from them so it can be fixed with love from everyone else

Ya know?

[misspoetree]

+ Bonus:

KinnPorsche + Text Posts: Anniversary Edition

FAVOURITE OUTFIT(S) (at least a few of them)

[many more text post memes]

[starkholme]

"Lifestyle of superhero whose whole life is saving the world, work in a mundane job and you?"

Kacy but make it Supergirl AU

This is specially for my friend who insisted me to watch NCIS: Hawai'i because she was in love with Kacy and she's also a big Supercorp stan 🫶

[gh0sthands]

magic whumpee experimented on (fantasy setting)

magic whumpee kidnapped and experimented on by whumper. whumpee has magic in their very blood, and whumper wants to know how it works. they purposefully antagonize the whumpee to test how their magic responds to emotions, particularly stress.

whumpee is poked and prodded with needles, their blood stolen from them. their body cut open so whumper can try to understand how the magic flows through their body.

whumper gives whumpee something/uses their magic to keep whumpee asleep, because whumper's primary objective is science, not torture. but when whumper realizes that whumpee's magic is dormant if they're unconscious, whumper has little to no qualms about experimenting on a conscious whumpee.

if whumper gets tired of whumpee's screaming, they simply cast a silence spell over them. then adds more restraints to keep whumpee from moving.

when whumper isn't experimenting on them, whumpee is kept in a cold, dark room, chained to the wall. they are given the bare minimum of sustenance, in the form of a small magic pill that keeps them fed. and that whumper forces down whumpee's throat.

then, one day, while whumpee is lying on the table, they think they hear someone. someone besides whumper. and whumper notices, too. whumper leaves whumpee on the table with their body cut open, to go deal with the intruders.

except whumper never returns. whumpee hears the fight somewhere in the building. they think they recognize caretaker's voice.

and then caretaker runs into the lab.

"gods," caretaker's tough exterior breaks down as they sob.

whumpee is too in shock to move their body, but their eyes meet caretaker's. caretaker has never seen such fear.

"i've got you baby," caretaker mutters, focusing all of their energy into healing the gaping wound. gentle yellow light shines from caretaker's palms, and with focus, the wound begins to stitch itself together.

whumpee whimpers, and caretaker says "i know, i know, I'm sorry baby, i'll make it as quick as i can," and one of their hands finds whumpee's own.

caretaker's magic isn't enough to fully heal the wound, but it's enough to get whumpee stable. caretaker sheds their cloak to cover whumpee's still naked body. they've seen whumpee's body before, but right now, whumpee deserves some privacy.

then, caretaker finally works on the restraits. one by one, caretaker yanks the leather straps off, and finally, finally, caretaker picks up whumpee from the table, heading straight for the exit.

"whumper's dead," team leader says, catching up with caretaker. "how's whumpee?"

"stable, for now."

"let's get going, i'll treat them once we're safe" medic says.

whumpee can barely process that any of this is happening, but they're in caretaker's arm now. they know it's real. they know caretaker (and team leader and medic) will keep them safe.

whumpee lets themself fall asleep in caretaker's arms.

[starstruckodysseys]

mallapalooza is so funny bc there was truly No Need to make it as queer as it is. like you could make a case for crushing on a crush but even that was after mary, with no prompting, went “me too! but maybe not [a crush on] one of the guys and… maybe one of the girls?” and that’s not even getting into the out of nowhere gay bear wedding. truly the play it by ear episode of all time

[ominous-feychild]

Now I'm curious (because I see this 100% happening at least ONCE within the world I'm writing and I think it's hilarious)--

Imagine you're a worshipper of this one amazing goddess who can do no wrong, helps and has helped a lot of people. Then, one day, you're living your life and you meet this one guy. He's absolutely covered in scars, looks like he grew up in some kind of penitentiary. And he's buff. Like, seriously buff. Built like a horse.

He introduces himself.

He shares his name with one of your goddess's old angels. This one guy used to be one of her top guys, one of her most powerful attendants... up until the day he attacked her.

Then he was cursed and cast down for his crimes.

"Ha," you say, half out of awkwardness and half to fill the air while you figure out what to say. "That was real cruel of your parents, huh? Naming you after that guy."

The man sighs heavily, face twitching.

"No," he says, barely restraining his rage, "that's me."

What do you do?

@honeybewrites (also would love to know this answer from anyone else, haha)

[makoredeyes]

drifter/anyone (bonus points for rarepair), 17

*cracks knuckles* You play a dangerous game with that one, Anon <3

#17 - as a distraction

Mahjong nights were so long in standing now that the Drifter didn't even remember exactly when it had gotten started anymore. Time was kind of a screwy thing when you lived forever, but it couldn't have been that long because Eva still looked the same, and so did Tess, sort of. Unless Eva was just unaging because she was practicing some weird sort of life-force vampirism on Guardians or something.

He wouldn't put it past her.

Nice lady, real sweet.

Wouldn't trust her for five seconds outside of game night and her little holiday shindigs though.

And he knew she was on the exact same level with him. But that didn't matter on game night. Especially when Tess had brought a particularly fine bottle of aged whiskey as the winner's prize.

Now, Mahjong took three things to win: Skill, Strategy, and Luck. Drifter had a whole lot of all three, and he knew he could wipe these ladies right out of the tower every damn match if he really wanted to, but he liked to meter his winnings: keep it fair, and keep his true skills on the down-low. Sometimes he let them win for months before he took one, playing one dumb chip after another even if it hurt a little, because the Drifter was about playing the long game. For nights like tonight, when he was going to be taking that bottle home hell or high water.

"My, fortune is favoring you tonight my dear," Eva crooned, as Drifter laid down another piece, his hand getting smaller and smaller. "Not doing anything extra to help your luck, I hope." Tess made a soft snrk and sat back, blinking widely at the old woman and Drifter. Drifter sat up, clutching at his heart as though he'd been deeply wounded.

"Yer not suggestin' I'm cheatin' are ya?" He crooned. "I'd neva! Not when I know you could tear the recipe for my favorite cookies outta that cookbook you give the Guardians every year!" He held his hands up, shaking them and showing his sleeves were free of tricks. "Jus' good ole luck for the Drifter tonight, 'fraid."

Eva eyed him up and down, a little smirk playing on her lips.

What the Drifter hadn't yet realized, was he wasn't the only one playing win-or-die for that bottle.

"Well thank you for your honesty, dear," Eva simpered. She reached out and patted his hand when he lowered it, then leaned in and gave him a wet, sticky smack of a kiss right on the corner of the mouth.

He shuddered, his mind going blank.

Oh! No! Not good! He was not into that!

Brr!

Her lipstick was weird and waxy and her skin was fragile-soft and there was a weird sweetness to her breath on his skin and it was burned into his nostrils and he could taste it and he'd swapped spit with a lot of weird stuff but the self-proclaimed universal grandma to all was not on his to-do list and he'd never once taken an appraising eye to her and he never intended to.

Tess' eyebrows shot up and she stifled a smirk as she fought to keep from laughing as the Drifter struggled not to squirm, sputter, or do anything else uncouth. He was a professional after all, but this time his poker face faltered.

"Th-thanks, Eva," he wheezed, grimacing when he realized he probably couldn't get away with wiping his face with his sleeve.

Eva only nodded. She'd hit her mark. He didn't even realize how badly his focus had slipped, but his game was dreadful after that, and she slid right past him to eventually win. It wasn't until both women had trounced the Drifter into the ground and Eva had her whisky in hand, that he realized what had happened.

"You sly old bat," he drawled, eyeing her and finally giving his face a good scrub with his sleeve. "You did that on purpose."

She flashed him a viper's smile.

"Did what, dear?"

[fictionadventurer]

NaPoWriMo #15: A poem of at least ten lines where all lines start with the same word

Because

Because man doubted God, he ate the apple. Because man sinned, the garden gates were barred. Because Abram showed faith, God promised glory Because his sons would outnumber the stars.

Because they cried, God led them out of Egypt. Because He swept the sea, they passed dry-shod. Because they sinned, He gave them the commandments Because the Law helps man relate to God.

Because they feared the giant, God sent David. Because the shepherd trusted, he was king. Because the kingdom fell, God vowed salvation Because a savior from this stump would spring.

Because the virgin loved, she gave her fiat. Because she did, the Word became a man. Because she asked, her son made wine from water Because it was a sign of God's great plan.

Because the crowds were lost, He came and taught them. Because they starved, He gave them holy bread. Because the sick believed in Him, He healed them. Because they died, He raised them from the dead.

Because He was betrayed, He was arrested. Because He claimed God's name, they struck Him down. Because He claimed to be a king, they scourged Him. Because they mocked, He wore a thorn-filled crown.

Because the crowds demanded it, they hung Him. Because He loved, He offered no complaint. Because it was the will of God, He suffered Because it would atone for Adam's taint.

Because He died, the world did shake and darken. Because He died, they laid Him in a grave. Because all hope seemed lost, his friends all sorrowed Because it seemed He'd lost his chance to save.

Because He was God's Son, He rose victorious Because He had defeated death's domain. Because the women came, they found Him risen. Because He rose, He will forever reign.

Because of all Your faithfulness I praise You Because You showed Your Love through years of strife. Because You rose, I sing with great rejoicing Because You give your people lasting life.