#messiah the stage

[knives-and-narcissi]

Made the mistake of venturing into the world of Messiah and now I love these two.

Ikkei Yamamoto strikes again. 🥹

[holidxyy]

i drew again are you proud of me

[kellelkallel]

Save me Akugetsu... save me...

I love his voice

Anti Buzzing Club, all of his Alien Stage stuff, Messiah Project and his Hai Yorokonde cover all kill me like WHAT how does he just... song...

[nevermoredragon-main]

This was literally so pretty. Also vivinos helped make it too so I'm tagging it as alien stage to get the word spread.

[aminifanartist]

(spiderman pointing meme)

[jazzdailyblog]

Billy Higgins: The Rhythmic Pulse of Modern Jazz

Introduction: Billy Higgins, one of the most influential drummers in jazz history, has been celebrated for his extraordinary ability to bring a sense of joy, sensitivity, and creativity to every performance. Over the course of his prolific career, Higgins became a key figure in the development of several jazz movements, particularly hard bop, free jazz, and post-bop. Known for his subtle touch,…

[demon-of-the-ancient-world]

@fuckyeahisawthat thoughts?????

Dune 3 filming

https://x.com/solacecinema/status/1856382637721694234?s=46

X

Daaaang....Z is gonna be busyyyy next year!!!! 😅🤣

Anyway, that's cool! Can't wait to see some more Dune filming. 🥰

It seems we'll also get to see Pregnant Daya 🤰🏽 for the first time. 🥹 Lol

[cassie48]

∙ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘺 ∙

Dark!Paul atreides x pregnant fem reader

(Smut included)

• pt2 •

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

Only one day after Paul’s near death experience, there was more drama, 𝗢𝗳 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗿𝘀𝗲. Since Paul drank the water of life, he had been slightly 𝗗𝗶𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗻𝘁..

He was very, very protective over you. He always had been, but after waking up from your tears, he was worse. It had only been a day, and you were already becoming tired of it.

This morning, as you walked around the temple, some Fremen came up to you, greeting you and taking your hand into their own. Although this had happened to you multiple times now, you still became uncomfortable and scared. They saw you as their queen. You were their messiahs lover.

Paul, out of nowhere came walking up behind you, immense power in his walk, putting fear on the men holding your hand.

He wakes straight up to you, ripping their hands from yours

“la talmasuha.” ( don’t touch her ), he spat wrapping his arm around your waist. The two men ran away quickly.

“Paul…they weren’t trying to hurt me” you said softly.

“My love, whether they were or not is not the point. No one is allowed to touch you.” He said, his voice darkening at the last part.

You huffed, your face scrunching up in annoyance, before looking at him, your frown faltering slightly. 𝗗𝗮𝗺𝗻 𝗶𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝗺𝗮𝗱 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗶𝗺.

He pulled you into a hug, his hands going to your bump, which was now quite big. You sighed into the hug, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“How’s our son?” He asked smiling.

You laughed lightly “our son is fine, full of energy though. Woke me at all hours from kicking” you huffed.

Paul laughed at your words ��just like his father” he said pulling away slightly, to place a kiss on your bump. He pulled away, giving your forehead a kiss.

“Come with me” he said, taking your hand in his leading you to the room full of Fremen. They had all been praying there since yesterday. Once Paul told everyone that the prophecy was true, they went crazy, praying immediately. He gently led to to the room slowly, knowing your body was tired.

As you two made your way through the crowds, the Fremen praised to themselves, touching you and Paul on the shoulders. It was all lovely, until one of the men on your right kneeled beside you, placing his hands on either side of your swollen belly, which was covered with a sunset orange dress.

Paul whipped his head around as soon as he felt you stop, but when he saw that man with his hands all over you, he couldn’t control himself.

“kayf tajru ealaa lamsiha.” ( don’t you dare touch her). He yelled at the men, shoving him off of you.

“Paul!” You screeched as he shoved the man.

He said nothing as he took you in his arms again bringing you into the centre of the room with him, you two stepping up into what looked like a little stage.

Before speaking he turned around to you “ (y/n), if anyone ever touches you again, you tell me” he ordered, before turning with you to face everyone.

You stepped back a little, leaning against his side, not liking everyone looking at you. You buried your face in the back of his shoulder, hoping he didn’t do something too stupid.

Paul began speaking to everyone in the Fremen language, you understood some bits.

“I am paul Mua’dib atreides, Duke of Arrakis!” you heard him say in English. You stared at him, shocked at his confidence and power. But….you kind of liked it.

He turned and looked at you taking your hands in his. “hal yatamanaa 'ahadukum 'an takun zawjatuka?” He yelled at the audience

(Do any of you wish she was your wife?)

You stared as many looked away in fear and respect. He looked at you before continuing.

“an takun kadhalik abdan. 'iinaha tahmil tifli. milki” he told them, a dark anger in his tone. (She never will be. It’s my child she carries. Mine)

He continued on threatening other men, telling everyone he was the messiah and he would make Arrakis dune again. He also boldly said he’d make a claim for the emperors throne. This made you smile, these people deserved to live in their own planet without suffering.

After a few more minutes, Paul left the room bring you with him. You two spoke about plans on the way to your room.

Once there he helped you out of your dress, into a night dress. You lay on your bed, waiting for Paul to join you. Once he did, you turned and lay your head on his chest.

“Paul do you promise to stay with 𝗨𝘀 forever?” You asked, your hand on your belly. Fear in your voice.

“Of course my love. Why do you ask?” He said tucking some hair around you ear, away from your face.

You looked down “well..I don’t know I mean, you might be emperor and well..you might not want me anymore” you said your eyes filling with tears.

“(Y/N), you don’t seem to understand. I’ve seen my future, 𝗢𝘂𝗿 future. You are meant to rule along side me. Wel belong together, forever” he said kissing you softly.

“Promise?” You asked as he wipped your eyes.

“I promise sweetheart” he said leaning down and kissing you passionately. He pulled you up a bit, leaning in deeper.

“Mhm Paul” you whispered as his kisses went down your neck slowly.

“What, you want more?” He teased kissing you.

You nodded into the kiss, your hands going to his dark curls. His hands traveled all over you as he kissed you passionately.

Eventually, his hand went underneath your night dress and he slipped his finger into your panties. He teasing traced his fingers over your aching core.

“Paul!” You yelled out with a pout.

He smirked before slipping a finger inside you, kissing you as you moaned out loudly, he moved in in and out while his other hands traveled under you night dress, to your breasts.

You begged him for more, tears swelling in your big eyes. He obliged undressing as well.

He carefully slid inside you, both of you moaning out in pleasure. He pulled your night dress down slightly to have access to your perky breasts. He sucked them while pumping in and out of you.

You both rocked your hips, your bodies moving together like one, as you kissed passionately. Eventually you found yourself coming close to your climax.

“Paul I’m gon- I’m gonna cum” you whispered.

“Me too sweetheart” he said in your ear. A moment later you both came undone, him inside you.

You yelled out loudly, pleasure erupting from inside you.

“Thats right, you let them know your mine” he growled.

After you both came down from your high, he cleaned you up and gently slid your night dress onto you properly, while redressing himself.

“I love you Paul” you whispered before falling asleep on his chest.

“I love you too” he whispered back, watching you as you drifted off to sleep, his hands wrapped around your bump. Although his prophecy was long and full of adventure, 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗯𝘆 𝗳𝗮𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁.

࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎࿎

I’ll try to do pt3 soon too!!

[valeisaslut]

can we get some more background on collide’s ellie before the story started? lowkey curious about her groupie days hahaha

THANK YOU GORG NONNIE I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO WRITE THIS. TURN IT UPPPP

Rockstar!ellie williams’ life before you came crashing into it was already wild in its own right. the fireflies started as this messy little project in high school, just three angsty teenagers skipping class to rehearse in jesse’s garage and dream too big. but from the very beginning, ellie had that thing. that frontwoman energy. raw, magnetic, loud when she wanted to be and quiet in the moments that mattered.

of course, being joel miller’s daughter didn’t hurt either. the joel miller—rock legend, guitarist god, literal music royalty. she grew up with guitars in every corner of the house, got her first custom pedal at twelve, and was getting dropped off at school in a vintage mustang with the windows down and her dad blasting nirvana like he wasn’t a whole icon. people were paying attention before she even opened her mouth.

their debut album dropped when she was barely nineteen and it exploded. like, charts on fire, critics losing their minds, fans already tattooing lyrics on their ribs kind of explosion. it was rough and loud and painfully honest, and people ate it up. suddenly the fireflies were everywhere—magazine covers, award shows, late night interviews where ellie would always roll her eyes and let dina do the talking.

and ellie? ellie was living like a rockstar. full-speed. full-chaos. she had girls lined up at every venue, backstage passes tucked into her back pocket like candy. groupies every night, different cities, different names she couldn’t remember in the morning. she wasn’t cruel about it, just detached. like she knew how to give people a night they’d remember forever, while she forgot it the second it was over.

there were stories, obviously. ellie williams didn’t just flirt with the whole sex-drugs-rock-and-roll lifestyle—she practically rebranded it.

like the time in chicago, where she went MIA a few hours before the show and no one could find her. security was panicking, dina was pacing, and jesse was one call away from having a heart attack—until ellie strolled into the venue ten minutes before set time, lipstick smudged all over her jaw, reeking of tequila and weed, with three girls trailing behind her like she was the messiah of sex. she still performed like nothing happened, of course. even signed a bra on stage mid-song.

or berlin, when she stopped the show halfway through, locked eyes with a girl in the front row who looked like she’d been crying, and straight-up jumped off stage. mic still in hand, she kissed her so hard it made at least 20 headlines. she never got her name, but later admitted in an interview that it was one of the best kisses of her life.

and then there was that rooftop in LA—the infamous afterparty for some alt girlband’s tour finale. ellie was already drunk, half in her underwear, making out with the rival band’s lead singer against a glass wall while their drummer tried to politely look away. jesse swears he walked in on her mid-threesome in the guest bedroom later that night, but ellie still denies it to this day. kinda.

there was one show—vegas, obviously—where ellie walked off stage with nearly twenty bras and at least ten pairs of panties stuffed into her mic stand, draped over her guitar, even hanging off her boot somehow. halfway through the set, it basically turned into a lingerie rainstorm. she played through it like a pro, flashing that smug little grin every time another piece hit the stage, only pausing once to pick up a red lace thong, twirl it around her finger, and go, “if you want it back, you’re gonna have to come get it yourself.” the crowd lost it.

dina joked that they could open a lingerie store with all the stuff ellie got that night. ellie just shrugged, grinning, and said, “what can i say? i’m a woman of the people.”

it was a mess, but it was her mess. untouchable, unstoppable, with this cocky grin and a body count that would make most people faint. music was her religion and girls were her favorite sin.

but all of that changed when you showed up. not right away—ellie was too stubborn for that. but eventually, the chaos started to feel a little quieter. the noise started to mean something. and for the first time, ellie started thinking less about the next city, and more about who she wanted waiting for her when the lights went down.

[nitewrighter]

Snow White and the Fae Co-Op

Part Two: Farcical Aquatic Ceremony

Part One

Oh jeez, you followed me out here? You're really hung up on Snow, huh? I mean that's not that surprising. Kind of part of the whole Princess-Messiah effect. Look, there's not much I can tell you about what happened immediately after. Me and my guys mind our business, when we can. But Snow did tell me about it, so if you don't mind the secondhand... did you see what I did there? Because I'm smoking? No, I'm not putting it out. You followed me out here.

Okay, so, to continue:

Snow was raised by the Evil Queen. Except not really because Evil Queen had better shit to do, probably. So Snow was raised by some well-meaning but not-super-affectionate nursemaids. Then there was a short period where she was being tutored alongside the Evil Queen's will-be-cupbearer-in-like-2-or-3 years. The pretty prince boy that Evil Queen took from Damp Kingdom. They tolerated each other.

You ever notice how kids will kind of... just awkwardly stand around each other when you put kids with like, 3 or 4 year age differences together? Like they could both be perfectly smart, normally-developed kids, but they're still weird around each other because they're at different developmental stages? Except now pepper in the fact that they're both incredibly fucked up by the fact that they're both basically political hostages. Their very existence is conditional. And Snow didn't even know how fucked she was, but growing up watching this other kid, she became very aware from a very young age, that she was in a fucked-up situation. So this other kid kind of traumatized her just by existing, but also he's the only other person who knows what she's going through. So there was this very weird 'shared resonance' between them but neither of them could really articulate it so you're basically stuck with two scared shitless kids standing next to each other and neither of them wants to talk about what they're going through because both are at very different stages for processing and articulating what they're going through.

To be honest, I don't really 'get it' but that's how Snow explained it to me. I'm still trying to figure out what she saw in the guy. He's a chickenshit. If he really cared about her, he would have come with her out here, but he didn't, and now everything's rotten and on fire. So here we are, and fuck him.

Okay getting sidetracked. You don't care about him, you care about Snow. Obviously. So, Snow grows up, and it's kind of clear, from early on, that Snow is human, but she's like... a human isotope, does that make sense? Like, yes, she is this element, but there is something more than and less than human in her, and that's kind of par for the course for someone who has been Chosen By The Deep End Fae For Nebulous, Miraculous, World-Changing Shit.

The more Snow grows up, the more Snow becomes a person, the more the Evil Queen becomes aware that there's a lot more than 'person' going on with this kid. The more she registers Snow as a threat.

And to be fair, she was right to.

Over the years the Evil Queen did try to form Snow in her own image--it couldn't be that hard, right? I mean the Fae literally jammed her heart into this fucking baby. Except... no. That's not what’s happening here. And the Fae are very very good at extremely personal 'Fuck you's,' so I need to give you an idea of what the Evil Queen is seeing in Snow.

It's very easy to hate someone you see your own weaknesses in, you see your own worst qualities reflected in someone else, except what if there was someone who was basically made in a lab to be everything you wish you were, slash everything you knew you could never be, and everyone fucking loved her for it.

The kindness you carved out of yourself years ago to survive, she has it and it makes people fawn over her and say, 'Oh the poor captive princess who's so very pretty.'

The tears that you desiccated out of yourself years ago bubble out of her like a goddamn Studio Ghibli character, and instead of the world mashing her into the dirt at that first sight of weakness like it's supposed to, it curls around her and goes, "Oh poor, poor, beautiful Princess."

The childish songs and dances and laughs and smiles that this world burned out of you are right there in her, and everyone laughs and sings and dances with her.

Everything you hated and cut out of yourself to survive lives and thrives in her, and the world cheers for it. The birds sing for it. The flowers bloom for it. The trees lower branches laden with fruit for it.

Hoof, I just made myself shudder.

But... yeah. The Evil Queen was already this Rube Goldberg machine of coping mechanisms to begin with, but seeing all that shit with Snow... I can't really fault her that it broke something in her.

And the Evil Queen still has the mirror with sight beyond sight, too, except just as ol' Mosscloak warned her, that gift is rotting in her hands.

Okay so, algorithms right? Algorithms need information input to shape themselves, BUT! It's very easy for them to get racist, right? They shape themselves to human biases. And also if it's getting a certain dataset for a certain amount of time, it will eventually train itself to do fucked up shit, because an algorithm doesn't actually reflect intelligence and reasoning and higher aspirations, it reflects human defaults, human assumptions, and human "Whatever I have to do to save effort" bullshit.

That's basically what happened with the Magic Mirror. Incredible cosmic power, incredible Fae vision and wisdom, but it was shaped more and more by human pettiness.

'oough why are you talking about tidepools and carcinization and isotopes and algorithms you're supposed to be magical and mysterious and shit.' Fuck off. I like reading. Snow taught me how to read. There hasn't been a lot to do but read.

Anyway, the information demands from the Queen basically amount to, "Tell me how Snow is my enemy" and from the Magic Mirror you basically get the Google AI results of:

Snow is totally your enemy! These are the Top 5 reasons why:

She's pretty

People like her

She's going to take everything you've ever built from you.

Cut her heart out. Kill her.

Kill her, you pussy.

Except the Queen is smart enough to know that's bullshit too, she knows that's a trap. She knows killing Snow will probably kill her too, because Snow is literally the vessel of her heart, so she hustles down to her Jury-Rigged Fuck-Fae-Deals Alchemy Witch Lab and she gets to work.

And then you smash cut to Snow, and she's a teenager now, and she's just sitting by a well like "Gee, Well, I'm just feeling real low what with this whole 'being a political prisoner for my entire childhood' thing." And this next part is boring so I'm going to skip over it--

Jeez, look, Snow always told this part better than me so it's better if--

Really? Tch--You're insatiable.

So, okay, I know the story says the evil queen dressed the Princess in rags and hid her away, but that's really more of human distortion and, unfortunately, general masses not really understanding that there's actually a very clear hierarchy in noble households.

The Evil Queen kept Snow as a Lady in Waiting, though, effectively, she was meant to be in more or less the same position as Prince Damp Kingdom as a cup-bearer and harp player: Human hood ornaments. Symbols of the Queen's conquest and power and how everything is hunky dory with her in charge.

But have you ever put together a cute outfit, and then you put a hat on the outfit, and then the hat distracts from the whole outfit and you're like, "This outfit would be complete if I was a Hat Person but I am not a Hat Person."

Snow is the Hat, but also the Evil Queen refuses to admit that she is not a Hat Person.

So I mean, all things considered Snow was pretty clean and well-kept during her stint in the palace, but of course she understood that she was in this very intense balancing act where she knew the more that people loved her, the more danger that put her in with the Queen. So she.... needed to take breaks where she could. She needed to stare down into a dark hole full of water, apparently.

Okay, so Snow is by the well right? And she's mindlessly singing into it, and she's hearing a voice harmonizing with her, and harp music playing too, but she kind of assumes its her own imagination. Snow has a... funky effect on reality, a funky relationship to it, and it kind of freaks her out. You know how judges can bang a gavel and suddenly something is law? Imagine if you could change something about the world just because you were sad about something or kind of horny for a little too long, just because you wanted something badly enough, the rules are briefly broken. Snow's broken rules before, and she doesn't trust that shit. The only other magic she's seen has been brief glimpses of the Evil Queen's mirror and her fucked up Faerie-law-circmventing alchemy, both are driven and warped by willpower, so... it's only natural that Snow fears her own.

Snow doesn't trust herself. Song is... a safer form for these things. It gives them body and ritual but lets them disperse. Keeps them contained. Look, I can't explain all the rules because I don't know all the rules. All I got is rocks singing to me, okay? But she's singing and she hears... accompaniment, and she doesn't really think anything of it because she knows her will can change her own perception, at the very least.

Also like, a shit-ton of finches have shown up, but that's fine, birds are fine, they're just hanging out.

The song she's singing is mostly just vocalizations at first, but gradually those are turning into words, those words into wants, and then theres another voice harmonizing along with her own, so equal in loneliness she thinks its an echo, rendered deeper by the distortions of the well, but then its punctuated by the pluck of harp strings, and she thinks, maybe that's just her imagination. But then she sees a shadow behind her in her reflection in the well, her singing abruptly steers into a short yelp, and she immediately throws an elbow behind herself and catches Prince Damp Kingdom hard across the face and kaboonnng his harp clatters on the ground and he's covering his nose and he's muffling a very unprincely, "Oh shit--" into his hands and Snow is saying, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, you scared me--"

And he's still muffling his voice through his hands as he's trying to stem his bloody nose like, "No, I misread that--I didn't mean to--owww-fuck--"

And Snow's like, "Let me see."

And the Prince goes, "It's fine, I'm fine," even though you can see blood on his chin now and this is all kind of a comedy of errors of royal politeness

And Snow insists, "Let me see," and the Prince immediately drops his hands because, as I've said, Snow has that effect on people and then Snow's hands fly over her own mouth.

"Is it bad?" says the Prince, his voice already nasally from swelling.

"Um," Snow fishes a kerchief from one of her tie-on pockets, "I can--um..." she dabs his face and the kerchief is pretty much immediately sodden with his blood, and she withdraws her hand with the kerchief as he tilts his head up to stem the blood more, and he kind of catches her in the corner of his eye, the way his own blood-sodden handkerchief matches the tint of her lips and the scarlet of her hair net studded with pearls, except she's pulling this teeth-gritting wincing "Eeeee..." face. And there's a beat and she just says, "I'm so sorry," again.

"S'fine..." Prince Damp Kingdom manages as she fishes another kerchief from her other tie-on pocket and hands it to him because she's scared she broke his nose and doesn't want to touch it, "Sorry for... scaring you?"

He kind of hopes that he caught an elbow to the face because he scared her, because the alternative is she hates him, because they've both been in this messed-up situation since basically both of them were in diapers, and what the hell has he been doing about it? He's the older kid, so what the hell has he been doing to figure out how to get them both the hell out of there? The whole world's eyes have been on both of them, the poor poor beautiful Snow White, Princess-Messiah, Chosen One Who Will Liberate 3 Kingdoms From the Grasp of the Wicked Queen If She Doesn't Get Fucking Murdered First... and Prince Chickenshit of the Dishwater Hair from Damp Kingdom... who is just... standing there... with his stupid fucking cup or his stupid fucking harp and isn't doing anything to help her.

Which, like, is what I've been saying.

But Snow would tell me I'm not being fair. Snow would say, "But that's the point, even if he was the older kid, he was still a kid."

And then she would get on with the story. Again, she told this story better than me.

So Snow says to the Prince, "Yes--I--I know--I mean, I'm sorry," and then to stop them from basically falling into a feedback loop of 'sorry's' she adds, "I'm just... kind of on edge these days."

"Is there anything I can do?" he says automatically, his voice now muffled beneath hand and more-slowly-soaking-with-blood kerchief and she gives him a polite but crinkle-browed smile and he's kind of gutted in this moment because he becomes immediately aware that she came to the conclusion that He Cannot Help Her in Any Significant Way a long time ago. And that's kind of fucked up, because she's younger than him, but also she Knows Mysterious Things and the world reacts strangely to her, so that's doubly gutting. Snow is the main fucking character, she is terrible and glorious purpose, and he has no impact on her story.

But then he remembers that song, the song she was singing that drew him out here, that drew his own song out, how fucking lonely it was, so he's not going to give up.

"I mean," he backtracks, "Why are you on edge?"

And something flickers across her face because like, she's used to being this beautiful and distant thing to people. More of a concept than a person, a beautiful story of a sad princess, hands clasped together with fingers interlaced in a tower.

"Let's--Let's get your nose looked at first, okay?" she manages, before taking the elbow of his free arm. She glances at his harp clattered on the ground and picks that up, too. "Come on," and she tugs him forward and he stumbles along with her, trying to negotiate stemming the blood from his nose with the jostling of his own footsteps while trying not to fuck up his own cartilage further. The finches trail after them follow in their bickering, zippy, chaotic way.

Well, this is ash. Do you want to go in?

[katakaluptastrophy]

Time is running out, your miraculous friend is freaking out so badly he's sweating blood, and the authorities are closing in - it's Good Friday and since I apparently write weird bible studies for queer goths now, we're thinking about what it means to 'so love the world'.

Now I know, I know, if we're thinking about Good Friday - the day in Holy Week when we remember in real time how Jesus was judicially tortured and publicly executed - we should probably be talking about Gideon on the fence post or her subsequent colourfully-named stigmata or something like that. But I'm re-routing us to an incident at the end of the Last Supper because in many ways we can't talk about what Gideon is part of making better before we talk about how her dad messed it up to begin with.

If you're only passingly familiar with the Passion story, then you may not be aware of the incident sandwiched between the Last Supper and Jesus' torture and death, often descriptively referred to as 'The Agony in the Garden'. This gets mentioned in several gospels, but I'm going to go with Luke because that's the only version where Jesus sweats blood:

Jesus went out as usual to the Mount of Olives, and his disciples followed him. On reaching the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.” He withdrew about a stone’s throw beyond them, knelt down and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done.” An angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. When he rose from prayer and went back to the disciples, he found them asleep, exhausted from sorrow. “Why are you sleeping?” he asked them. “Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.” (Luke 22:29-46)

TL;DRN Jesus has a frankly understandable after dinner freak out about the whole crucifixion business, but commits to the plan.

There are a couple of traditions about what's going on with Jesus here, but most involve some sense of being confronted by the awful enormity of the task ahead of him, whether that's the horror of the suffering to come, or the idea that this is the moment that Jesus takes on all of the sins of humanity.

I don't think it's entirely coincidental that John's account of how things go down also involves him withdrawing from his friends in a moment of desperate overwhelm, during which he is approached by a representative of the divine who provides encouragement that strengthens but doesn't remove the issue at hand, before emerging to discover that his friends are not as he left them.

This is the point where we all turn in our Bibles to John 1:20:

He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.”

Now John is not Jesus in this scene in a couple of senses.

The first is that the role he's playing in the John chapters of NTN isn't Jesus, it's John the Baptist. That verse, John 1:20, is where John the Baptist, asked if he's the messiah, acknowledges that he isn't, that his job is to prepare the way. I've suggested before that this is what the nun thought John was meant to do, and that his failure to take on this John the Baptist role is part of what sets the stage for the pool scene and everything that follows.

But the second is that - ok, hang on, it's going to take a moment to get there... We don't know quite what's going on in the John chapters, but it seems to be John re-telling the story of what happened for the first time, to Alecto. He's trying to make sense of his actions - to justify his actions - both to her and to himself, and he often carefully phrases or presents things to make what happened seem more inevitable than it perhaps was. To portray himself as suffering like Jesus, suffering because of others' sins, doing what was necessary in order to save the world - what could be more Purposeful? And after all, John so loved the world...

You've probably encountered John 3:16 in the wild, but let's quote it for context:

For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.

To steal a line from yesterday's reblog - John isn't the Antichrist. But he is, thematically, anti-Christ. TLT evidently isn't intended to be operating in the same universe as Christian metaphysics, but for all that John tries to place himself in a comfortably familiar Christian pattern, his motivations are almost exactly opposite to those that Christianity attributes to Jesus: John so loved the world that he took, and everyone perished. There is resurrection, there is eternal life...and it's a horror that perverts everything it touches. John wants a new creation, but he wants to build it on another's sacrifice; it's not a world to repair others' sins and restore them to wholeness, but to ensure that no one remembers his'. It's a world in terrible stasis.

Tomorrow, its Holy Saturday, the day that marks Jesus' descent into Hell to bring even death under his power. The resurrected Christ in the Book of Revelation announces "Fear not. I am the First and the Last, and alive, and was dead, and behold I am living for ever and ever, and have the keys of death and of hell." (Revelation 1:17-19). John isn't first (but consider who in TLT is...), isn't last, is neither quite dead or alive, and hell is "somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless."

[shakingparadigm]

love when the art is so obviously qmeng

THE BRANDING.

[aminifanartist]

Ahem,

You should watch the Messiah project,

It is entertaining and if you like Hetamyu it has several of the same actors, there are even English subtitles for some of them (here)

If you are not yet persuaded here is a video I made

(possible spoiler warning for this video)

[multifandom-exe]

Angels in Kevlar - A. Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k  Request: Hiii I just saw your request were open for Aaron and I was wondering if you would like to do Aaron hotchner x victorias secret Angel! Reader ?  A/N: More hotch fics, the crowd screams. okay i did this as Aaron meeting VS!reader so i could leave it open to maybe part two with a date and of the team finding out hes dating a VS angel. this was my first story without a prev template from my old writing so.

A barrage of camera flashes and echos of desperate photographers reverberated across the floor, along with the rhythmic click of the Angels heels on the marble runway. Aaron Hotchner was stood to the side of the stage, observing. Sure, there were definitely worse things to observe whilst at work, but Aaron tried not to let his personal thoughts cloud any case, especially this one. Such a high-profile case required focus, any small mistake would be highlighted and strung out to hell by the media. 

He watched the women walk and walk, clad in tiny outfits and wings bigger than themselves. He watched for anything out of the ordinary. Not that he would know what was ordinary for a place like this. Women walked, purposefully, with confidence that could intimidate some of the strongest men. And then he watched you.  

You stepped out onto the stage, pink wings laden on your back, your body shimmering under the lights of the studio. A less focused person would be mesmerized by your walk, every curve of your figure, your makeup, your hair, your eyes. Even in a sea of the most beautiful women in the world, you still stood out. He could see something behind your fake smile and perfect posture. Something he was dying to figure out. He had to refocus his attention. He couldn't even imagine sending Morgan or Rossi in here, they would have a field day. He pulled his thoughts back in, and started to observe your body language, and the crowd around you. 

And then he saw it. In the most professional way you could, your head jolted to your left, scanning the crowd. You had that creeping feeling someone was watching you. Not like someone was watching the show. Like someone was watching, intentionally, with a crass look in their eye. As you turned around to finish your walk, you desperately tried to make eye contact with one of the agents stationed around the stage. He’s here. 

Youd heard of this case, of course. A man killing the angels, your friends, thinking he was God. The local police had briefed all the girls before their latest show and let them know they’d have some guests. The Bau, they said. Although you weren't entirely sure what they did, they looked a lot more competent than the local police. 

After your walk was finished, you let down your wings carefully and put on your robe, desperate to find someone to alert that the man they were looking for is here. You dipped out of the dressing room, letting some of the girls know you had to find someone. The last thing you wanted was to worry them in such a big moment.  

Perceptive. Thats what your teacher had told you at such a young age. She never mentioned how difficult a cross it was to bear. But it left you open to noticing things the other girls here couldn't, like when they were in danger. 

You teetered around the edge of the stage, just behind the curtain, hoping to come across one of the agents. You peaked around to see if you could still identify the man who had sent shivers down your spine earlier, hoping he was still mulling around the crowd, in his ever so creepy way.  

Your breath hitched as you felt a presence behind you. You closed your eyes and breathed deeply, praying to every messiah there was that this wasn't the creep you were just looking for. You spun on your heels quickly with an arm up defensively. But to your Surprise, your wrist was caught in a soft grasp and your head lifted to meet with his dark eyes boring into you. It seemed so easy to keep staring. To get lost in them. 

He wasn't security, you hadn't seen him before. You're sure you wouldn't have forgotten a face like that. You put a hand on his chest to steady yourself. Not really, you just wanted to, but you pretend you need to steady yourself. 

You cleared your throat, as he gently let go of your wrist. “Can i help you?” 

“Your perceptive.” There was that word again. Although you have to admit it sounded much better coming from his lips than anybody Elses. “I saw you up there, you felt something, can you point him out?” 

It was weird to have someone figure you out so quickly. It was something that sent a tingle down your spine, and made you ultimately trust him a little. 

Being a model, it was weird. Any trait you had, other than being astoundingly beautiful, got tossed out the window. You weren't a smart, eager, perceptive girl anymore. Simply a figure piece that people plastered on their wall. Maybe that's why you made every excuse to stay in Hotch's office. To talk and talk all night to a man who actually saw past your picture-perfect smile, within 2 seconds of seeing you.  

Maybe you were deluding yourself. This was his job. He was supposed to figure people out. But damn, if it wasn't attractive. 

You had finally changed into something more decent than a robe, and you were perched on a chair across the table from him, studying him as his fingers ran through the file in front of him. 

“You mentioned seeing someone lingering in the crowd.” Those dark eyes had flicked to look up at you again. “Can you describe them?” 

You nodded, tapping your fingers nervously on the table. “I didn’t get a good look. They were wearing a baseball cap, and the lighting was bad, and with all the camera flashes, you know. but…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands. “They were watching us, watching me, like they didn’t belong there. It felt... off.” 

“Off how?” He leaned forward slightly, and you could smell his cologne drifting across the table. A truly intoxicating scent. 

“It’s hard to explain,” you admitted. “It wasn’t just curiosity. It was... intent. Goosebumps raised on my arms, and even in a sea of a thousand stares, i could just feel his. I don't know maybe he was just genuinely watching the show, but it just... made me shiver, i guess.” 

You hadn't realized you still been staring into his eyes. They weren't judgmental, or mean, like most people would assume. They were soft and subtle. The kind you could probably look into all day. Maybe on the couch, on a lazy Sunday. Or in your bed, with the morning sun fluttering through the window.  

“You’re not wrong to trust your instincts” he said, centering your thoughts. “They’ve probably kept you alive more times than you realize.” 

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Not something you’d expect to hear about walking a runway.” 

“Danger isn’t limited to certain professions,” he replied, his voice low. “But im sure you already know that.” 

Hotch’s phone buzzed, breaking the moment. He glanced at the screen before rising to his feet. “Excuse me. Stay here, I’ll have an agent outside the door.” 

As he left, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of disappointment. You probably could've stayed in here and talked for hours. Away from the horrors that awaited outside this room. 

After countless interviews had been conducted that day, and suspects reviewed, the team decided to call it a night, feeling intimately no closer to the solution than when they began. You had been ushered out of the office a couple hours ago, having missed saying goodbye to Aaron before they led you out.  

You found yourself lingering in the hotel lobby, nursing a coffee. You still had your clothes on from earlier, but you couldn't will yourself to go up to your hotel room and be alone, no matter how exhausted you were. You sat at the small bar, analyzing the people around you, some of which looked far better than you did right now. 

Your scanning eyes finally looked across the room and stopped upon seeing those familiar dark ones. He excused himself from whoever he was talking to with a pat on the shoulder and started making his way towards you. 

“Long day?” he asked. 

“Exhausting.” You took a deep sip of your coffee. “But I guess that’s normal for you.” 

He smirked faintly, a rare sight. “It comes with the job.” 

There was a beat of silence. It wasn't awkward, more comfortable, and filled with energy. Finally, you spoke. “Thank you, by the way. For taking this seriously. Most people just see me as…” You gestured vaguely. “The model. The image.” 

“I see someone who’s scared but determined, and incredibly insightful” His tone was firm, but that soft look still remained in his eyes. “And I don’t underestimate people who are willing to fight back.” 

His words had your heart racing, and your lips turning up at the corners. It has been a long time since such simple words had filled you with warmth. Maybe it was because, for once, it wasnt a compliment on your appearance, or on something you had no control over. 

Hotch glanced at his watch, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day. And take this.” He handed you a small card with his name and number on. “In case you feel anymore creepy stares.” He laid a hand on your arm and gave it a gentle squeeze before turning to walk away. You hoped that touch was as electrifying to him as it was to you. 

As he walked away, you stood smiling like a lunatic in the middle of the foyer. Your mind was centered. There were no thoughts of the runways, the costumes, the cameras. There was just him. And just you. A normal person. There was something about Aaron Hotchner that made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t been in years. 

Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Leave requests, lmk your thoughts.

taglist

@back-totheoldhouse

[tisthenightofthewitch]

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Walking into the light, a robed, long-haired man steps out from his seat, arms-outstretched to the crowd before him, sparking a deafening round of applause. ‘Jesus has returned!’ shouts a corpse-painted nun. On this (un)holiest of Easter weekends, the O2 arena finds itself transformed into a biblical fever dream, as throngs of vestment-clad glitter-covered devotees await the arrival of their true idol of worship, Tobias Forge, the frontman of visionary occult party-rockers Ghost.

It’s been three years since the clergy’s last “ritual” in London, with 2022’s critically-acclaimed album Impera heralding their previous tour cycle. Now ushering in a new era - one manifested by a metallic new wardrobe and plenty of purple - unlike their last appearance here, tonight’s performance arrives unusually ahead of the release of their latest offering, Skeletá, giving fans the rare chance to experience multiple new tracks before the rest of the world.

That sense of exclusivity is amplified by the evening’s phone ban, which sees fans forced to lock away their devices in sealed Yondr pouches. Though it certainly feels like a dystopian move - can’t we really just ask gig-goers to abstain from filming? - the payoff is undeniably worthwhile.

Undistracted by the tempt to film, the room buzzes with transfixed glee, as Ghost open the set with the entirely new Peacefield, a glossy 80s-coded anthem that lands somewhere between Journey and Kiss. Expanding on the retro tenor is the recently-released Lachryma, Forge decorating the fist-pulling ballad with actorly poses and marvellously camp crooning. Later, Skeletá’s first single Satanized arrives with its galloping offbeat riff, initiating larger movement from the audience, before its lovably ridiculous chorus ignites crucifix-like stances and joyous exclamations of 'blasphemy, heresy!'. The final new track, Umbra, is utterly synth-drenched and neon-coloured, the venue’s lights casting the stage in a deep purple hue to match.

Coupled with the band’s new look - the nameless ghouls forming a troupe of bejewelled top-hatted skeletons and Forge evoking some kind of modern-day, satin-suited reiteration of Death, and the Skeletá era already feels a lot slicker, even sexier. The set is also mostly kept minimal, Ghost’s logo fixed above the stage in an arrangement of lights, before inflated church pillars and digital stain glass windows portray epic, evangelical scenes that further emphasise the religious and ritzy mood.

For most of the set, Ghost dip into their older, heavier hymnals, the majority of songs played from Meliora such as Cirice, Mummy Dust, He Is, Majesty, Devil Church and Spirit, their darker, doomier natures filling the arena with thunderous drum thumps and booming bass lines that feel as though their vibrating deep into your bones.

Meanwhile, Forge flaunts around the stage, skipping and rocking, his devilishly thespian bravado an ever-transfixing sight, as confetti and bursts of air explode out for that final theatrical punch on closing songs Mary On A Cross, Dance Macabre and Square Hammer.

Though the night was missing most songs from the much-loved Impera, with the upcoming Skeletá album seemingly carrying on its 80s vein, Ghost are band that needn't rely on the excitement of newer releases or fan-filmed footage on social media. Instead, they’ve created a sacred - and superbly-fun - world of their own, one run by its own rules and enchanting lore, and after performances like tonight, it feels like a privilege just to be let inside.

Metal’s messiah has officially returned - and his name is Tobias Forge.

Ghost setlist: O2 Arena, London – April 19, 2025

Peacefield Lachryma Spirit Faith Majesty The Future Is A Foreign Land Devil Church Cirice Darkness At The Heart Of My Love Satanized Ritual Umbra Year Zero He Is Rats Kiss the Go-Goat Mummy Dust Monstrance Clock

Encore: Mary on a Cross Dance Macabre Square Hammer

Metal Hammer