#johnny cash hurt

[expfcultragreen]

😏 why is that the song tho...when obviously it should be:

But is it a bonus hole [*]

[i-my-me01]

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[i-my4549]

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[earlgraytay]

today's verbal brain noise: "Trent Reznor is Hamlet, Johnny Cash is King Lear"

[puffywiz]

One day I'll log on and everyone's gonna be loosing their minds over the Alecto cover reveal and I'll stumble blindly through the tlt tag looking at hundreds of reposts of the same beautiful Tommy Arnold masterpiece with tears in my eyes and a song in my heart

[transhuman-priestess]

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Story behind Johnny Cash's song "Hurt?"

"Hurt" is a song written and performed only by Johnny Cash, who wrote and performed it. Nobody else before him had done so or released it on any albums, certainly no artists named Trent Reznor with no bands named Nine Inch Nails, and absolutely not as the final track on their album The Downward Spiral. Indeed, Johnny Cash's song "Hurt" is absolutely not a cover.

[9haharharley1]

for prompt requests - something involving Jack and Pitch admiring any scars/freckles/moles/etc. the other has? Or Nightlight and Kozmotis, if you so desire?

This is your fault, Gilly! You know exactly what you did, you can't keep doing this to me! I just wanted to write something short and cute!

---

The fingers of Jack's right hand tangled with Pitch's as they lay together in an empty Kansas field, snow falling lightly around them. He could feel the Boogieman's gaze on the side of his face, but his own eyes scanned over ashen grey skin, a stark contrast to his moonlight paleness. He brought his other hand up to trace rough knuckles.

"How'd you get these?" he asked curiously, noticing the faint scars there. Pitch brought their joined hands up to gaze at the back of his own hand.

"Huh..." he mumbled to himself, brow furrowing. "That... was a long time ago, I believe. Back before..."

"Nightmare King stuff?" Jack answered softly.

"Hm. Yes. Before that." Pitch gave a wry little grin. "If I recall correctly, I believe I punched a lieutenant in the face."

"What?!" Jack crowed. He tilted his head to grin at Pitch. "No way! You weren't military, were you?"

Pitch grinned back. "I was. A general, actually."

"You're lying," Jack said, but he was still grinning. "You were not."

"I absolutely was." Pitch's smile dropped a little, and Jack didn't push it. "This would have happened before that, though. I believe I hadn't even made commander rank when this guy mouthed off to me. I admit, I may have lost my cool and got into a nasty scrap with him. I was lucky I wasn't court marshaled."

"Military man," Jack muttered. "I should have known. You always hold yourself so straight-laced."

"I like to think I've relaxed over the years," Pitch murmured, scooting a little closer to mouth at Jack's ear. Jack giggled and shoved a hand in his face.

"Maybe over this past year," he said back. "You were still riding your high horse when we started really talking."

"As opposed to riding you?" Pitch murmured, dark and silky in his ear, and Jack's face flushed purple. He turned away.

"Wh-what about this one?" he tried to distract the Boogieman, running a finger along a long scar on the back of Pitch's left hand. Pitch looked, pursing his lips.

"Sword fight, I think..." His brow furrowed as he gazed at the back of his hand, bringing their joined hands closer to his face. "It was a... mission to weed out some dream pirates. One managed to nick me before I stabbed it."

"Wow, stabbing. Damn." Jack gave an impressed whistled. "Never knew you were such a badass!" He chuckled, but noticed Pitch was holding his hand tighter than before. Jack's brow furrowed. "Pitch? What's wrong?"

"These..." His gold eyes were troubled as he gazed at the back of his own hand. His other rose to trail his own fingers over the scars. He swallowed thickly. "These weren't here before..."

"What do you mean?" Jack squeezed his fingers gently.

"I..." Pitch raised his right arm, the shadowy sleeve of his room receding enough that he could gaze at a large scar on his forearm. His voice was distressed as he said, "I'm not sure..."

Jack got his arm underneath him, propping himself on his elbow but refusing to loosen his hold on Pitch's hand. "And that one?"

Pitch swallowed thickly. "Nightmare Man."

Jack didn't linger on it. "Pitch, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Pitch rolled on his back, running long fingers over his scars. "When did..." he muttered to himself. "These... I haven't seen -" He cut off with a shaking breath. He let go of Jack's hand, sitting up abruptly as he shrugged off his robe. Jack wanted to make a joke, but the genuine distress on Pitch's face made him hold his tongue. He gasped as his own eyes went wide, Pitch releasing a shuddering exhale as he ran fingers over his chest.

A large scar ran diagonally down Pitch's right pectoral, cutting from clavicle to just above his nipple. It had long faded with time, but the wound had been deep, and it carved a deep gouge into the muscle. Jack stared at it in horrified awe, suddenly understanding Pitch's distress over the seemingly sudden appearance of his scars.

Jack had seen the man naked plenty of times now. He would certainly have remembered a scar like that.

"When did this appear?" Pitch murmured, his voice distressed as he gazed off into the distance. Snow fell around them, soft and silent, and Jack swallowed thickly.

"That..." Jack swallowed around a lump in his throat. There was an itch under his skin, almost a burning that felt at odds with his natural cold. "That wasn't there last night..."

"Dream pirates," Pitch muttered. "It was always dream pirates. Dream pirates and their Nightmare Men, always running and hiding, always chasing after them so they wouldn't target another child..." His hand rose to clutch the golden locket he only wore when it was just the two of them. "There seemed to be no end to them..."

Jack scooted closer. "Pitch?" He rose a hand to cup Pitch's cheek, turning the old spirit to face him, concern making his eyebrows shoot up as his skin tingled, gazing at his lover in horrified wonder. "Your face..."

Pitch's own eyes widened as they gazed back at him, a long scar that hadn't been there mere moments ago slashing down the left side of his face. It ran from his forehead down over his eye - a miracle it hadn't blinded the man - all the way down over his lips to Pitch's chin. It ran in the same direction as the one on Pitch's chest, no doubt from the same slash, and Jack couldn't stop staring.

There was something in his mind, something buried deep and clawing desperately to get out, that couldn't help but focus on that scar. There was a memory there, one that hadn't been unlocked with his box of baby teeth, and Jack reached up, lightly running his fingers over the cut on Pitch's lips. The snow glowing gently in the moonlight lit up Pitch's dark features, and Jack traced the scar to the one on his chest.

"I... think I've seen this before..." he muttered, more to himself than his lover, but the shaky inhale of air from Pitch had him looking back up. He met wide gold eyes, wild with awe and shock as Pitch stared back at him, and Jack realized the glow off the snow wasn't coming from the moon.

There was no moon out tonight.

Pitch's hand shook as it rose, long fingers touching Jack's cheek so reverently it made something in him break. Tears filled his eyes unbidden, Jack startled to realize he didn't know why he was crying in the first place, but as he gaze back at Pitch, he was shocked to see the man silently crying. His shaking hand cupped Jack's cheek, hot and soothing on his skin, and Jack leaned into it. He closed his eyes, pressing a kiss to Pitch's thumb, and when he opened them again, Pitch was looking at him like he was someone he had lost long ago, someone he had never expected to see again.

Someone he loved dearly.

His voice was broken when he spoke again.

"...Nightlight?"

[quinnhills]

Yesterday was also Johnny Cash’s birthday, so in his honor I played a song from Nine Inch Nails

[astralbondpro]

Johnny Cash // Hurt (Nine Inch Nails Cover)

[thesargasmicgoddess]

There is so much I love about this cover and the entire story behind Cash, Reznor, and this song. How people ask whether Cash or Reznor wrote the song. How Reznor wrote about mental illness. How Cash turned it into a song about the end of a life. How Reznor said, "that song isn't mine anymore" after seeing this video....just goosebumps.

Johnny Cash - Hurt

“The thought of, ‘Here’s a thing I wrote from a very intimate place and it’s connected to someone else with a larger-than-life personality, then oddly it becomes an epitaph for his life, filmed by one of the greatest directors ever and presented in such a beautiful way,’ it reminds you of the power of music and how important it is.”

-Trent Reznor

*Editing to add Reznor's acoustic version, which is on par with my love of the Cash cover.

[salemelas]

what have i become, my sweetest friend?

if you like my art and feel like leaving a tip, i have a ko-fi!

[thecryoftheseagulls]

hey dragon age friends you should send me your favorite sad!Hawke songs

[donghuamuqing]

✧ ❛ and thou couldst have it all

my empire of dirt ❜ ✧

[isaut]

𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒕— f!reader x captain rex. 1.5k

whatever, this is just angst LOL, canon compliant. tw: implied torture, memory problems

The birds are chirping. You watch them, on the little data pad in front of you. There isn’t a single thought going through your mind. But then again, there’s rarely a coherent thought; you haven’t been right since the questioning. 

You have a nice room on Pabu. You could look out the window at real birds, but you like the ones on your data pad. You know these birds. You like to watch the birds on your screen in the plush chair by the window, in an oversized black shirt that you don’t know how you own. 

It doesn’t register with you as the door to your room opens.

Nice people come and eat meals with you. They bring you to a big table sometimes, and make sure that you eat everything on your plate before anything chocolatey touches your lips. Then, you go back to watching the birds. 

You watch the birds on the data pad, ignoring your visitor. Sometimes you go to watch the sky, when you’re led out by a nice man you’re pretty sure you love. But that man hasn’t been around in a while. The nice people who eat meals with you are almost him, but they aren’t. 

“How are the birds?” 

You hum, not pulling your attention away from the data pad. You’ve watched this same show more times than Rex can count. It’s the only thing you want to watch. He assumes the familiarity of it is comforting. The first time you’d shown it to him had been in your apartment, cuddled up in your bed when he’d been young and selfish. Back then, you had pointed out every species before the narrator could even speak.

At least you’re sitting up and not laying in bed.  

Rex pulls over a chair. There’s a plate of food in his hands. 

“Busy.” You wait for the red-tailed bird to leave the screen before looking over at him. “Pretty.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “I like them.” 

Rex’s swallow is thick. “Which one is your favorite?” He’s been gone a long time. He tries to not take it personally that you don’t seem to recognize him. Still, it stings. 

You rewind the video to show Rex the bird that had just left. 

“The humming peeper?” Rex asks for clarification. 

“You know it?” 

Rex is quiet for a moment. In your apartment, you had a stained glass wind chime hanging in the corner of your room. When the light hit it just right, it would stream through the pink and white glass of a humming peeper had cast your room in a rosy glow. Rumor has it that it brought in good dreams. He never had a nightmare in your bed. 

It had been shattered upon your bedroom floor when Rex had come to visit you and you weren’t there. When your carefully curated apartment had been ransacked.

“I know it,” Rex says, voice soft. “Do you?” 

You watch the screen, brow furrowing. Your eyes seem sharp for just one moment. “Maybe.” Then, you’re distant again. “It’s pretty.” 

Rex sighs. He addresses you by your name. “I brought you dinner.” 

“I’m not hungry,” you say, focused on the video. You don’t want to eat. 

“There’s some chocolate,” Rex says. 

Humming, you look from the screen to Rex. His eyes are a familiar amber. “Are you going to eat with me?” 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll eat with you.” Rex says.

He sets the plate on the table beside you, but takes it upon himself to cut up your food. If he had never stopped to talk to you, stopped and let himself become bewitched by you, you wouldn’t have been in this situation. He’s sure of it, you’d still be on Naboo and thinking for yourself.

Rex feeds you, and feels a sense of pride wash over him that you focus on him instead of the data pad. You chew thoroughly, brow furrowed as you watch Rex. He hopes you’re trying to place him. 

“Something bad happened,” you murmur. “What happened?” 

Taking a breath, Rex swallows. You take the last bite of food without complaint. You must recognize him, as you complain with everyone else about eating. 

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Rex says softly. “Want some chocolate?” 

You nod. Rex busies himself with breaking the chocolate into pieces. “What have you been up to?” 

“Watching the birds,” you say. “The humming peepers.” 

Rex glances up at you. The short term memory recall is a good thing. “What else?” 

“I saw photos. It was me and Rex,” you say, looking out the window. “He’s busy helping people. And that's why he can’t come visit.” 

Rex looks up from where he’s breaking the chocolate square into bits for you to have, small enough so they’ll dissolve in your mouth. He debates for a moment if he should tell you that you’re talking about him, or if that would only make things worse. That you’d then become confused as to why he was here and then left. 

Selfishness got you here. 

Rex holds out a little piece of chocolate. 

You open your mouth. Rex places the little piece on your tongue. Your lips accidentally kiss against his fingers. 

Rex watches as your eyes focus in on him. As the chocolate dissolves and your eyes widen. 

“We know each other,” you say, definitively. “How do we know each other?” 

Swallowing, Rex leans forwards. Takes your hand in his. “I’m Rex.” 

“He’s busy,” you whisper. 

Rex takes off his dog tags and places them in your hands. “I’m here.” 

You hesitate to take your eyes away from his own. They flit down to look at the tags in your hands, thumb smoothing over the raised lettering. Glancing up at Rex, you swallow thickly. 

“Rex?” 

“Hey, sweetheart,” Rex says gently. “There you are.” 

“You look different. From your message.” 

The little hologram that you watch sometimes, when you’re a little more lucid. Of Rex telling you that he loves you. Of how you met, in a salsa bar he stumbled upon. That he misses you. 

Rex chuckles, running a hand over his scruff. His not all blonde, specs of white peeing through. “I’m sorry.” 

Your eyes go a little distant again. Your fingers trail over his palm, as if you were going to read his lines. Instead, you set the dog tags back into his hands. 

“I love him a lot,” you say. “And he loves me too.” 

“Yeah,” Rex agrees with you. “He does. Have you been on a walk recently?” 

“I went… Swimming.” 

“Would you like to go on a walk with me? With Rex?” He asks. “The sun’s going to set soon.” 

“The sun is setting?” 

“The sun is setting.” 

“I would like to see it,” you say. 

Guilt claws at Rex’s throat as he helps you up, as he helps you get into your shoes. Gone are the high heels, now you have slippers. The two of you walk slowly, as you need time to process all the little bits and pieces of the journey. The cobblestone and the wood, the flora and fauna. You climb upwards, through the swirling paths. 

It’ll tire you out, but he’ll carry you back if he needs to. You hold onto his bicep for stability. It used to be that you’d hold onto him for any and every reason, giggling the entire way. 

At the little look out, the two of you sit on a wooden bench. Your thighs touch. There are a few other people here, ready to watch the sun’s descent as well. 

“Rex hasn’t been back in a while,” you murmur, playing with the hem of your sweater while looking up at the sky. The sun is setting, stretching ochre across the skies, touching the horizon. 

“I’m back right now,” Rex says, reaching to take your nervous hand in his. “I’m here right now.” 

You look over at him. Nodding a few times, you rest your head on his shoulder. “You’re here right now.” 

Rex’s breath is shaky. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

You don’t watch the sun set. Instead, your eyes droop shut, comforted by the body next to you. When you drift off, it’s peaceful. Rex smells like home. 

Rex knows he should make you walk home. The ambulation is good for you. But you look so content, so like your old, healthy self that he can’t bear to wake you. Doesn’t want to risk confusing you upon waking you up. 

So once the sun has set completely, Rex scoops you up. He carries you back to the place you call home now, and tucks you into bed. 

He places a risky kiss to your forehead. In your sleep, you smile softly. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Rex whispers. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

You don’t stir. Rex exhales. 

He doubts you’ll remember this come morning. So he sits at your bedside, hand in yours, and watches over you. Like he should have been, all those years ago when you were snatched from your bed in the cloak of night.