#lunatic hymn

[aerikvon]

#lunatic hymn #black metal #heavy metal #metal #aerikvon #aerik #von #aerik von #youtube music #Youtube

[alohaasaloevera]

TBH I THINK EVERYBODY WOULD’VE THRIVED AT LEAST A LITTLE BIT IF KLANCE WAS ONE-SIDED

KEITH BLUSHING SOMETIMES AT LANCE WHEN HE TEASES HIM???

OCCASIONALLY STARING AT HIM LONGINGLY??

LIKE IT CUTS TO LANCE TALKING, HE’S THE CENTER OF FOCUS and everything else in the background is just… backgrounding but from afar you can see Keith staring at him with a small smile on his face???

MAYBE A HUG AFTER KEITH COMES BACK?? I THINK THAT’S PUSHING IT TOO MUCH THOUGH

DREAMWORKS COULD’VE MADE THIS FILLER EPISODE OR SOMETHING WHERE LANCE BUYS A CAMERA AT THE EARTH SHOP AND TAKES SEVERAL PICTURES OVER THE COURSE OF A FEW DAYS

ONE SCENE SHOWS KEITH AND LANCE IN KEITH’S ROOM AND LANCE STARTS GOING ON ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS AND CRUSHES

“So… what about you? Got any person in mind for future Mrs. Red Lion?”

“Not really..”

“C’mon Mullet! There’s gotta be at least one girl you like!”

“No. Now get out.”

Then Lance takes a picture with Keith and tells him to keep it!!!

It ends with the door sliding closed. Keith looks at the picture before he leans on the cool metal, slowly slipping down until he’s on the ground with his face in his hands (DREAMWORKS GOTTA ADD THAT BLUSH TOO)

“Quiznak.”

OR IT’S KEITH PAUSING FOR A FEW SECONDS AFTER LANCE GOES OUT AND THEN HE STARES AT THE PICTURE BEFORE SAYING QUIZNAK???

I would’ve loved one-sided Klance tbh better than nothing

Sunset scene could be the same (maybe a tad bit more complimentary) but after Lance goes to GET THE GIRL, It shows Keith staring at the sunset with this bittersweet expression on his face????

In the end, Keith is happy for Lance but it still doesn’t erase the fact that he’s had a long-running MEGA BOY CRUSH on him. DreamWorks makes it so emotional that critics PRAISE the show!!!

But V:LD is a kids show after all, and it’s about giant space robots, so romance would not be the main target. One-Sided love is more complex, BUT STILL. JUST…SUBTLY

OHHH THE Q&AS TOO

“Does Keith love Lance?”

“I’m sure you can figure that out for yourself.”

KEITH LISTENING HIS EARS OFF TO ROMANTICIZING INDIE??? Y’ALL I REACHED A WHOLE STAGE OF DELUSIONAL. LUDICROUS. LUNATIC. MANIAC.

when the gold rays fell on your skin

awnd my hair got caught in the wind

thuh quier sang a melancholic hymn

(AHHAHHAHHAHHAHHAHH)

ine thuh morening you would be gone

ide b morning trina hold on

two ze memori uf ur luhips

gwad, eim souh luvseck

What have you done to me?

#voltron #vld #vld lance #vld keith #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #laith #CLAIMING MY DELULU BADGE #OH GOSH #WHAT IF #WHAT IF 💔💔 #OOOH LOVEEEE #NEVER KNEW WHAT I WAS MISSIN #I ALWAYS THOUGHT #I MIGHT BE BAD #aloe vera does it again guys #she did the word vomit thing again

[lulu2992]

Who wrote Eden’s Gate’s songs?

Of course, the person who actually did is the game’s composer, Dan Romer, but who is supposed to have written them in the Far Cry 5 universe?

A popular assumption (often presented as fact) is that Jacob was the cult’s songwriter. I suppose the rumor started because of this line said by “Cult Security Male 04” (CSM4 for short from now on):

Have you heard anything as heavenly as the music Jacob makes for us?

To my knowledge, this is the only time in the game that someone implies Jacob “makes” music. While it could signify that he composed it, it can also simply mean that he plays it for other people, which is something we know he does when he uses “Only You” and his music box to condition recruits.

The first reason I believe CSM4’s comment was actually about Jacob’s training techniques rather than the cult’s songs is that Resistance NPCs sometimes mention “Jacob’s music” too, but when they do, they say he uses it to train his soldiers and that it messes with people’s brains, which suggests they’re talking about “Only You”.

The other reason is the context of the line. In the game, each line of dialog is triggered in a specific context, and we can know what that context is in the files. Here, the context of CSM4’s line is:

contextual_idle_filler_region_north\Theme\Regional_Resistance\Resistance_Level\Res_Level_3

It means it can be heard anywhere in the Whitetail Mountains region once you reach Resistance Level 3. It’s a generic comment and the character isn’t reacting to the cult’s music specifically.

This matters because NPCs can react to the cult’s songs when they hear them. In this case, the context is:

reflex_singing\Song_Cult_ANY

And when NPCs make comments about the cult’s hymns... no one talks about Jacob being the songwriter. The only person they mention, several times, is Joseph.

Resistance fighters and civilians will say:

Thanks for the earworm, Joseph.

A song for the sheeple, written by Joseph Seed.

Music for the lunatic fringe. Thanks a lot, Joseph. Dickhead.

And cult members will say:

Oh, Joseph's music always puts a smile on my face.

Joseph's songs give me life.

My favorite song. Praise Joseph.

I love Joseph's songs.

Joseph is a gifted songwriter.

This is why I personally believe that the person who wrote (at least some of) the cult’s songs is actually Joseph, not Jacob. In my opinion, the comment about the oldest Seed brother “making” music is most likely a reference to him using it to train people.

It’s also worth mentioning that cultists will sometimes say this in the Henbane River region:

Faith's song and the Bliss is like a match made in heaven.

Faith's lyrics just speak to me on so many levels.

This could mean Faith also wrote a song (most likely “Oh The Bliss” because she frequently hums it), but the lines are generic comments and not reactions to the cult’s hymns, so they could simply be about her singing the song and not necessarily about her being a part of the creative process.

So, in the Far Cry 5 universe, which Seed sibling wrote Eden’s Gate’s songs? Contrary to popular belief, there is no definite proof that Jacob did. Faith might have worked on at least one, and nobody says John has ever written music. However, NPCs clearly say that Joseph wrote several (if not all) of the cult’s hymns.

And, according to “Cult Follower Female 04”, the Father does more than just compose songs…

You haven't lived until you've heard Joseph sing this live.

…he performs them to his congregation, too!

#joseph is very musically inclined it seems #he’s definitely a prolific writer in general #far cry 5 #eden’s gate #joseph seed #jacob seed #faith seed #john seed #I’m a bit sad john is never mentioned because we know seamus dever is a good singer #ah well I can still headcanon that john can sing but just doesn’t like to do it publicly #or that it’s simply not his role to do so #I can see him playing the guitar too for some reason

[haveyoulistenedtothisalbum-poll]

Tracklist:

Curse of the Virgin Canvas

The Artist

A Lunatic's Lament

The Murderer

Hymn for the Shameless

The Thespian

Heavy Hangs the Albatross

The Lover

In Her Tomb by the Sounding Sea

To Be Scared by an Owl

Annabel

Spotify | YouTube

#hyltta-polls #polls #artist: alesana #language: english #decade: 2010s #Post Hardcore #Metalcore #Screamo #Emo #Symphonic Rock #Rock Opera

[disastardly]

WIP Wednesday

Pinged by @eriquin, ready to go!

rules:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write. Make me write!

Files for this week:

Magical Mysteries Never Give a Single Thing Back (Eddie Crossroads Demon)

0 - Tales of the Outer Planes

A Brother is Born for Adversity (Kelvin x Keefe)

Steddie Witches AU

1 - Emergence

Snippet and no-pressure tags below the cut!

From A Brother is Born for Adversity:

His heart beats out brand new hymns against his ribs as Keefe just barely whispers, “Might we retire to your dressing room?” His mouth is so close to Kelvin’s that he can almost swallow the words, and he sure tries with the way he inhales so suddenly at that. Dressing room. Alone. With Keefe. Right. Right right right.

Keefe, being the perceptive little sneaky-sneak he is, must see the micro-panic that Kelvin’s deffo suppressing like a champ because he exhales, just a little bit, warm on Kelvin’s lips, and says, “You must be awful tired after such an exhilarating sermon. I know I am, and I was only watching your magnificent ministrations from the crowd. Let us take a moment to rest in the quietude of your dressing room, Brother Kelvin.”

Rest. Yeah, of course. The come-down from a good ministry did tire him out. Good ol’ Keefe, thinking of his health. He nods back, and he’s pretty dang sure that he’s smiling like a lunatic when he does it, but he can’t help it, that’s just the way his face looks when Keefe smiles and takes his hand.

@patchworkgargoyle @hairstevington @thefreakandthehair @horsegirleddiemunson

#wip wednesday #wip wednesday game #writeblr #my writing #the righteous gemstones #trg #kelvin gemstone #keefe chambers #kelvin x keefe #gembers #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #power rangers mystic force

[officialyourdailyinspiration]

Today in Christian History

Today is Thursday, February 2nd, the 33rd day of 2023. There are 332 days left in the year.

Today’s Highlight in History:

1650: Beheading of Jordan of Trebizond in Constantinople by Muslims after he had mocked their prophet and refused to convert to Islam when brought to trial.

1738: Young George Whitefield departs for Georgia, intending to become a permanent missionary to the American colony.

1784: Death in New Hampshire of Henry Alline, an American Free Will Baptist evangelist who had fostered growth of the “New Light” movement Canadian and New England churches.

1829: York Minster burns all day, set on fire by Jonathan Martin, a Methodist who had escaped from a lunatic asylum and hidden in the Cathedral when it was closed the night before. York Minster has caught fire at least four times.

1864: Death of hymnwriter Adelaide Anne Procter in London, England. Charles Dickens had published many of her verses and she had been a favorite of Queen Victoria.

1876: The first missionary to Brazil of the Methodist Episcopal Church (South), John James Ransom, arrives in Rio de Janeiro. He will serve in the state of São Paulo for ten years, founding churches, schools, and a publishing house—building a successful work that will thrive into the twenty-first century.

1900: Death in Pennsylvania of temperance leader Annie Wittenmeyer. She had been active in home missions, founded orphanages, edited Christian periodicals, written hymns, and authored several books. Among her significant roles was as the first president of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union which grew to 1,000 chapters under her leadership.

1902: Macedonian rebels release Ellen Stone, an American missionary to Turkey from the Congregational Church. They had held her and an associate for five months demanding a large ransom. Friends and the American public raised the money.

1911: College teacher Eliza George of Texas has a vision of Africans passing before the judgment seat of Christ, weeping and moaning, “But no one ever told us You died for us.” Two years later she will leave her teaching position and establish a mission in Liberia.

1980: Tsehay Tolessa is arrested by Ethiopia’s Marxist Derg government because of her Christian work and because her pastor-theologian husband Gudina Tumsa is a target of the government. Tsehay will suffer terrible tortures in foul conditions until her release ten years later.

#Today in Christian History #February 2 #death of Annie Wittenmeyer #death of Henry Alline #Beheading of Jordan of Trebizond #Young George Whitefield departs for Georgia #John James Ransom arrives in Rio de Janeiro

[labelleizzy]

Poem by Rob Breszny

Text reads:

I want a heaven for my compassionate rage;

a paradise to house my greed for justice;

a choir singing blasphemous hymns for my affectionate lust;

hilarious hallelujahs for my lunatic confusion;

and a generous thrash of divine gratitude for my wise mistakes, yearning terrors, and manic hopes

[shipsgaysfordays]

i had to read john gardner’s book grendel for my english class earlier this year, here are some quotes that i found interesting enough to take notes of (sorry i don’t have the page numbers):

I ask the sky. The sky says nothing, predictably. I make a face, uplift a defiant middle finger, and give an obscene little kick. The sky ignores me, forever unimpressed. Him too I hate, the same as I hate these brainless budding trees, these brattling birds.

Not, of course, that I fool myself with thoughts that I’m more noble. Pointless, ridiculous monster crouched in the shadows, stinking of dead men, murdered children, martyred cows. (I am neither proud nor ashamed, understand. One more dull victim, leering at seasons that never were meant to be observed.) “Ah, sad one, poor old freak!” I cry, and hug myself, and laugh, letting out salt tears, he he! till I fall down gasping and sobbing. (It’s mostly fake.)

That is their happiness: they see all life without observing it. They’re burried in it like crabs in the mud. Except men, of course. I am not in a mood, just yet, to talk of men.

I crossed the moors in a queer panic, like a creature half insane.

Then I left him. I got more pleasure from that apple fight than from any other battle in my life.

The whole shit-ass scene was his idea, not mine.

You could see pretty well what advice he’d give. His chest was as wide as an oven. His arms were like beams. “Come ahead,” I whispered. “Make your play. Do your worst.” But I was less sure of myself than I pretended. Staring at his grotesquely muscled shoulders--stooped, naked despite the cold, sleek as the belly of a shark and as rippled with power as the shoulders of a horse--I found my mind wandering. If I let myself, I could drop into a teance just looking at those shoulders. He was dangerous. And yet I was excited, suddenly alive. He talked on. I found myself not listening, merely looking at his mouth, which moved--or so it seemed to me--independent of the words, as if the body of the stranger was a ruse, a disguise for something infinitely more terrible. 

The queer little spasm of terror passes. Except for his curious beardlessness, there is nothing frightening about the stranger. I’ve broken the backs of bulls no weaker than he is.

He knew a doomed house when he saw it, I had a feeling; but for one reason or another he kept his peace. I grew more and more afraid of him and at the same time--who can explain it?--more and more eager for the hour of our meeting.

And then there’s this scene around the end of the book:

I fall against a table and smash it, and wall timbers crack. And still he whispers. 

Grendel, Grendel! You make the world by whispers, second by second. Are you blind to that? Whether you make it a grave or a garden of roses is not the point. Feel the wall: is it not hard? He smashes me against it, breaks open my forehead. Hard, yes! Observe the hardness, write it down in careful runes. Now sing of walls! Sing!

I howl. 

Sing!

“I’m singing!”

Sing words! Sing raving hymns!

And then another final scene:

Better, he whispers. That’s better. He laughs again, and the nasty laugh admits I’m slyer than he guessed. 

He’s crazy. I understand him all right, make no mistake. Understand his lunatic theory of matter and mind, the chilly intellect, the hot imagination, blocks and builder, reality as stress. Nevertheless, it was by accident that he got my arm behind me. He penetrated no mysteries. He was lucky. If I’d known he was awake, if I’d known there was blood on the floor when I gave him that kick...

So yeah it was a pretty good book, pretty gay without actually being gay. 

#grendel #grendel is pretty gay #quotes from grendel

[crimson-amarone]

The Ticket to Tomorrow: Chapter 20 Snippet "Legato's Devotion"

Sharing this spoileriffic snippet for Chapter 20 which is like 98% complete. It'll be a few weeks before the chapter is posted, but I thought I'd share this little Legato psychobabble scene. Enjoy~!

Scene context: 

Location: Plant facility in a medium-sized city of Ripmela on No Man's Land 

The city folk are aware that Lobo (mercenary/bounty hunter from DC Comics) had stolen a Plant from the facility the night before and that Vash is likely to come to this city very soon. 

Lobo just woke up from a drunken nap at the city saloon. He learned that a tantalizing bounty head would be arriving and got all excited.

Vash, Wolfwood, Lois, and Jimmy just arrived in Ripmela about mid-morning after getting run out of Little Jersey the night before. They intend to go to the sandsteamer port, but word of the Plant theft caught their attention, so they are going to investigate.

The scene below happens just before they get to the Plant facility.

—L&P—

As the Angel’s most faithful follower strode through this holy chapel, his echoing footsteps rang out like the tolling of a church bell.

The nonbelievers infested and sullied this blessed house like unwelcome spiders. They attempted to hinder his pilgrimage to bask in the presence of the angels within.

With a flick of a wrist and a dance of fingertips, the heathans rose into the air and crumpled in on themselves. Their will could not overcome the god-given power of his devotion. 

With another rolling motion of his wrist, the spiders turned their weapons to one another. The cacophonous melody of their gunfire, the bullets clinking to the ground, and their cries of anguish moments before death were a beautiful hymn to his ears.

And the red wine of life splattered the walls and seeped into the floor as their sacrificial offering. 

Their sacrifice would be the lure for the fallen angel—to coax the Fallen One here to face retribution for the betrayal of the most beautiful Angel—his Lord and Master.

The loyal devotee recalled the words and will of the Angel. “Bestow my fallen brother eternal suffering at the tainted hands of you humans. Show him the true nature of the foul spiders that he so desperately defends. Engrave the futility of his cause into his flesh and his every bone.” 

He also remembered giving the sermon to the other servants of the Eye of Michael, imparting his Lord’s will. Just before, the other human tools dared to blaspheme their Lord and his fallen brother, calling them monsters. 

Such a cuss could be expected, yet not tolerated. The other human tools couldn’t truly comprehend the divinity of such superior beings.

The one wavering servant, the Hornfreak, even boldly raised his weapon to his own head, declaring him the lunatic. As the Angel’s favored devotee, he had swiftly reminded them all of their place and corrected their folly. The Hornfreak was putty under the force of his faith. The lowly servant’s back arched almost to its breaking point as he splayed his fingers with a rigid flourish. 

The other human tools backed down in compliance at the display.

Despite the Hornfreak’s defiance, he was pleased when the Puppet-Master brought word of the Fallen One’s presence in one of the Sinner’s cities. The fallen angel’s next reprieve would be in Ripmela. 

It had been two long years of watching his beloved Lord recover from his brother’s betrayal. And for those years, the devotee cursed the fallen brother every single day. 

At long last, he would deliver punishment to the Fallen One. The thrill was intoxicating. And he would do so here, in the heart of this holy place. 

He basked in the glowing blue radiance from the vessels of the Plant Angels. And felt the electric sting travel over his skin in their presence. 

It filled him with virtuous life and righteous purpose.

Come, oh Fallen One. Come, confess your sins. Face your reckoning so you may find your way back onto the path of light. 

—L&P—

#fanfiction #crossover #fanfic #trigun #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #legato bluesummers #legato trigun #knives x legato #snippet #wip #creative writing #this is still a draft #may be subject to change #I'm not religious at all #Legato is cray cray

[johntylermounce]

Monte lunatics lurking, pavement pose forward.

A cemented colourized effective mode

Modeling after the praise of looney

To which began as a thankful trip

An escaped reaction to thy unknown

Came forward with a facial expressed

With amount to dry the paint occur

With a caught emotional stain

That purposefully puts a smile elsewhere

All beholden a brash brutalities

To envious onlooking an opinion

Operations of Artistic glee

To spring frozen a comical creation

Cemented on these streets, passerby playful..

-John Tyler Mounce AKA

'Tyler Somebodies' an Artist, to these uncertainty of expressway trancing ignite.

#findyourthing #redbubble #poetry #writings #john tyler mounce #poets on tumblr #poem #poet #monte #lunatics lurking #graffiti #lake charles #Louisiana #street art #colourized #metal print #room decor #artwork #sale #application #do not perceive me #Spotify

[businessesconsultant]

17 Powerful Quotes By Swami Vivekananda To Fuel Your Passion

Summary: Swami Vivekanand was considered one of the greatest spiritual leaders in India. Here are some of the most inspiring quotes that will motivate you to achieve your goals.

Born on January 12, 1863, as Narendranath Datta, Swami Vivekananda hailed from an affluent aristocratic Bengali family who in his short life achieved the height of greatness. Vivekananda was a man with a great spiritual presence and tremendous intellect. He was a tireless teacher and writer. He wrote poems and hymns in Bengali, English, and Sanskrit, some of which are sung daily in Vedanta centers worldwide. He was ahead of his time in encouraging women and Westerners to not only practice Vedanta but to be leaders as well. 

He played a significant role in introducing and spreading the awareness of the Indian Vedanta and philosophies of Yoga to the western world. His efforts put India on the world’s spiritual map. It was Swami Vivekananda’s 1893 speech at the World’s Parliament of Religions in Chicago that changed the dimensions of Hinduism and redefined the way the world looked at India.

On the occasion of Teacher’s Day, here are 17 quotes from Swami Vivekananda that may inspire you to change the way you look at life:

1.            "Arise, awake, and don't stop until the goal is reached.”

2.            “You have to grow from the inside out. None can teach you, none can make you spiritual. There is no other teacher but your soul.”

3.            “The greatest sin is to think you are weak.”

4.            “The greatest religion is to be true to your nature. Have faith in yourselves.”

5.            "Talk to yourself once a day, otherwise you may miss meeting an intelligent person in this world."

6.            “We are what our thoughts have made us; so take care about what you think. Words are secondary. Thoughts live; they travel far.”

7.            "Truth can be stated in a thousand different ways, yet each one can be true."

8.            “The great secret of true success, of true happiness, is this: the man or woman who asks for no return, the perfectly unselfish person, is the most successful.”

9.            “Dare to be free, dare to go as far as your thought leads, and dare to carry that out in your life.”

10.   “Never think there is anything impossible for the soul. It is the greatest heresy to think so. If there is sin, this is the only sin, to say that you are weak, or others are weak.” 

11.   “In a day, when you don't come across any problems - you can be sure that you are traveling on the wrong path.”               

12.   “Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life; dream of it; think of it; live on that idea. Let the brain, the body, muscles, nerves, and every part of your body be full of that idea and just leave every other idea alone. This is the way to success, and this is the way great spiritual giants are produced.”

13.   “Do one thing at a time, and while doing it put your whole soul into it to the exclusion of all else.”

14.   All power is within you; you can do anything and everything. Believe in that, do not believe that you are weak; do not believe that you are half-crazy lunatics, as most of us do nowadays. You can do anything and everything, without even the guidance of anyone. Stand up and express the divinity within you.”

15.   “Strength is life, weakness is death. Expansion is life, contraction is death. Love is life, hatred is death.”

16.   “Condemn none: if you can stretch out a helping hand, do so. If you cannot, fold your hands, bless your brothers, and let them go their own way.”

17.   “The world is the great gymnasium where we come to make ourselves strong.”

Whether you are a student or a business owner, we hope these quotes by the revered spiritual leader and a social reformist will inspire you to achieve your dreams.

The idea of managing a business is easier said than done and we completely agree with you. This is why to help you move forward with your business goals, we at Bada Business offer an exclusive Business Coaching Program that comes with Foundation courses, specialized courses, and value-added courses.

To know more about our business courses and online programs, visit: www.badabusiness.com

Source: https://news.badabusiness.com/motivational/17-powerful-quotes-by-swami-vivekananda-to-fuel-your-passion-11244.html

#Quotes #BusinessCoachingProgram #BadaBusiness #MotivationalQuotes #BusinessCoaching

[aerikvon]

#aerikvon #aerik #von #aerik von #youtube music #music #black metal #heavy metal #death metal #thrash metal #lunatic hymn #Youtube

[lignes2frappe]

« NELLYVILLE » FÊTE SES 20 ANS : QUAND NELLY FAISAIT DE LA POP AVEC DU HIP-HOP

Le 25 juin 2002, Cornell Haynes Jr. changeait encore un peu plus le game…

Quand Nelly sort en 2000 son premier album Country Grammar, c’est peu dire que personne ne l’a vu venir.

Débarqué de nulle part (« Saint-Louie »), affilié à aucune écurie, il propose un rap zéro prise de tête qui fait fi de tous les canons de l’époque : les paroles sont simples, les instrus gentillettes, le flow chantonné.

Contre toute-attente, et au grand désespoir des tenants de l’ancienne école, la formule cartonne dans les grandes largeurs.

Porté par le duo de singles Country Grammar (Hot Shit) et Ride With Me, le disque s’écoule sur le sol nord-américain à plus de 8 millions de copies lors de sa première année et demie d’exploitation – il a depuis été certifié diamant.

Chaînon manquant entre les Backstreet Boys et Jay-Z, Nelly, 28 ans, est ainsi à l’aube de son second essai Nellyville, non pas une superstar du rap, mais l’une des plus grosses superstars de la musique mondiale.

Si en 2022 ces débats peuvent sembler abscons (la géographie, la mélodie, la posture…), et si Nelly n’est ni de près ni de loin considéré comme une légende (il préfère aller danser le tchatcha à la télévision), son héritage ne mérite pourtant pas d’être rayé d’un trait de plume

[À chaque date anniversaire, c’est à se demander si médias rap et réseaux sociaux n’ont pas Alzheimer.]

Et puis bon, ce n’est pas comme si Nellyville était le pire des albums. Bien au contraire.

Retour sur ces 79 minutes et 40 secondes qui s’écoutent débarrassé de tout snobisme et a priori.

1. Nellyville

Pendant rap du Paradise City des Guns N’ Roses, ce track éponyme voit Nelly s’imaginer ce que serait la ville de ses rêves. Beaucoup plus matérialiste que les rockeurs, il y assimile ligne après ligne argent et bonheur.

Rien de bien original, d’autant plus que réalité et fiction font jeu égal, Nellyville ressemblant comme deux gouttes d’eau aux banlieues de l’hyperclasse à la Calabasas ou Hamptons (les nouveau-nés débutent dans la vie avec un demi-million sur leur compte en banque, les filles se font offrir à chaque anniversaire leur âge en carats, les fils reçoivent une Cadillac à leur majorité…).

Bon après, qu’importe le fond, ce qui compte avant tout, c’est que l’ambiance soit à la bonne humeur.

S/O ODB.

2. Gettin’ It Started (Ft. Cedric The Entertainer & La La)

Le premier des quatre interludes de l’album qui met en scène l’actrice La La (la future épouse du basketteur Carmelo Anthony) et l’humoriste local Cedric The Entertainer (déjà présent sur l’outro de Country Grammar).

Madame fait ici comprendre à monsieur qu’il ne se passera rien de la soirée s’il ne dégote pas dans les plus brefs délais le nouveau CD de Nelly.

3. Hot in Herre

Le banger qui donne (littéralement) envie de terminer la soirée torse nu.

Deux notes de piano sentencieuses qui se font écho, des cymbales en canon, quelques onomatopées… en une poignée de secondes, la température grimpe en flèche.

Pas fin pour un sou, Nelly exploite ensuite le beat über syncopé des Neptunes avec ce qu’il faut d’énergie et de « UH-UH » pour délivrer l’un des hymnes du rap mainstream du début des années 2000.

R.E.P. Pasha Bleasdell, la très douce vixen du clip qui nous a quittés récemment.

4. Dem Boyz (Ft. St. Lunatics)

Un posse cut plus apaisé en compagnie de ses potes d’enfance Ali, Kyjuan et Murphy Lee, alias « ces mecs qui lisent The Source en Air Force sous le porche ».

Une piste agréable-mais-sans-plus qui vaut essentiellement pour le savoir-faire de Nelly.

Comment ça personne n’en a jamais rien eu à carrer des St. Lunatics ? Comment ça l’album respire la recette à plein nez ?

5. Oh Nelly

« Skurrrrt », « Oh », « Oooh-wee! »… si vous vous demandez pourquoi Nelly en a toujours agacé plus d’un, les « paroles » du refrain (exécutées de concert avec Murphy Lee) vous donnent un début de réponse.

Idem, si vous vous demandez pourquoi diable Nelly dévastait à ce point les charts.

Simple et efficace, l’un des meilleurs titres de Nellyville.

6. Pimp Juice

Quatrième single de l’album, il voit Nelly pousser franchement la chansonnette, une première, pour se mettre dans la peau d’un maquereau de bande dessinée.

Parodie ou mauvaise imitation de Curtis Mayfield ? Chacun jugera.

En revanche, tout comme le « kiddin’ comme Jason » de Hot in Herre, faisons comme si l’indigent « You ain’t from Russia, so bitch why you rushing? » n’existait pas…

PS : les vrais se souviennent de la boisson énergétique goût pomme

7. Air Force Ones (Ft. St. Lunatics)

Le sparadrap sur la joue, les jerseys portés à l’envers, les dents en or, Vokal… au sommet de sa gloire, Nelly popularisait les modes comme d’autres distribuaient des bonbons.

Pressentant le retour en grâce de la plus présidentielle des baskets, il lui dédie un morceau entier où il intime son public d’en acheter le plus grand nombre de paires possible.

On vous raconte tout dans l’épisode dédié de notre série Ce Jour Où.

8. In the Store (Ft. Cedric The Entertainer & La La)

Cedric The Entertainer qui fait la tournée des disquaires pour tenter désespérément de mettre la main sur un exemplaire de Nellyville.

Écoulée à 715 000 copies en première semaine, plus du triple de Country Grammar (235 000), la galette était effectivement des plus convoitées.

Notez toutefois que sur le long terme, Nellyville n’a pas atteint les chiffres de Country Grammar, quand bien même l’album a été certifié sept fois platine (!).

9. On the Grind (Ft. King Jacob)

L’oseille, la win, les jaloux… la traditionnelle rengaine du rappeur à succès qui tient à faire savoir ô combien il a toujours la dalle.

Rien de bien fou. Pas grand-chose à en dire. Un peu à l’image de ce King Jacob, le mec en feat, dont personne n’a jamais vraiment su qui il était et comment il était arrivé là.

10. Dilemma (Ft. Kelly Rowland)

Le coup de génie de Nellyville. Et pas seulement pour avoir donné envie de danser avec son « boo » au milieu de la rue et de lui envoyer des textos sur fichier Excel.

Ajoutée à la tracklist dans les derniers mètres, cette balade adultérine en compagnie de la numéro 2 des Destiny’s Child intronise Nelly au panthéon des thugs & lovers (LL Cool J, 2Pac…). Fort du précédent Hot in Herre qui concrétisait son image de party rapper, il trouve avec Dilemma la martingale pour rentrer encore un peu plus en rotation en télés et radios.

L’opération a d’ailleurs été une telle réussite (les deux singles lui ont valu de passer 17 semaines d'affilé en tête du Hot 100 !!!) qu’il la dupliquera à grande échelle en sortant, en 2004, deux albums le même jour, Suit et Sweat, qui chacun joueront à fond de cette dualité.

11. Splurge

« Tu crois que tu me connais, mais tu ne me connais pas. Je suis jeune, je suis black, je suis riche. Je me sens bien, je flambe, mais l’argent ne me fait pas. »

Voilà en substance le concept. Sitôt écouté, sitôt oublié.

12. Work It (Ft. Justin Timberlake)

Après avoir eu l’outrecuidance de poser sur le remix du single Girlfriend des babtous fragiles *NSYNC, Nelly persiste et signe en invitant au micro le Justin Timberlake pre-Pharrell/pre-Timbaland pour un duo d’égal à égal.

Le move est à l’époque d’autant plus irrévérencieux que la frontière entre pop et hip hop était encore strictement délimitée.

Plus que de la musique donc, même si entre les intonations très Bee Gees de J.T. et l’hédonisme de Nelly Nell’, ce Work It glisse tout seul.

13. Roc the Mic (Remix) (Ft. Beanie Sigel, Freeway & Murphy Lee)

Changement d’ambiance avec l’arrivée des deux rimeurs les plus street de Roc-A-Fella.

La connexion peut surprendre. Le choix d’inclure un remix dans la tracklist aussi, surtout que Nelly et Murphy Lee n’apportent in fine pas grand-chose à la version originale tirée de la BO de State Property.

Peut-être s’agissait-il pour Nelly de graver dans le marbre son désaccord avec KRS One qui l’avait auparavant plus ou moins accusé d’être le fossoyeur du « reel heepop » suite à son couplet sur #1 ?

14. The Gank

Retour du Nelly ami des dames avec un morceau qui raconte l’histoire d’une fille qui lui a mis le cœur en miettes.

Petit twist tout sauf anodin, à la fin du dernier couplet, un aparté nous fait comprendre qu’il se confie à ses potes.

Entre ça, le riff de guitare et le chant, le Lunatic avait ici des années d’avance sur toute la concurrence.

15. 5000

Un interlude en forme de débriefe d’une soirée passée la veille en stripclub.

16. #1

Un egotrip extrêmement pêchu où sont abondamment moqués tous ceux qui n’ont pas décroché la médaille d’or, à commencer par les rappeurs d’avant qui radotent leur gloire passée (coucou KRS One), en passant par les deuxièmes et troisièmes sur le podium (« Two is not a winner, three nobody remembers »).

Pour info, il s’agit de la troisième et dernière prod’ de l’album de Waiel Yaghnam.

Rapidement tombé dans l’oubli après Nellyville, il s’est plus tard reconverti en agent d’assurance, avant de refaire l’actu il y a quelques mois lorsqu’il s’est retrouvé inculpé pour avoir orchestré une escroquerie financière en relation avec le meurtre d’une ancienne figure de télé-réalité.

17. CG 2 (Ft. St. Lunatics)

Une antépénultième piste dont le refrain aux faux-airs de comptine rappelle évidement celui de Country Grammar (Hot Shit).

Était-ce nécessaire ? Le simple fait de se poser la question y répond en grande partie.

18. Say Now

Tiens donc, Nelly clôt les débats avec un morceau vaguement conscient où il dépeint la violence des rues de sa ville.

Une touche de sobriété un brin déconcertante de prime abord, mais qui ne fait pas tâche.

19. Fuck It Then (Ft. Cedric The Entertainer & La La)

Dieu merci, ce pauvre Cedric The Entertainer a enfin réussi à choper un exemplaire de Nellyville. Pas de chance, c’est la version censurée, ce qui n’est pas DU TOUT du goût de cette petite capricieuse de La La.

Pas un classique, mais…

Entre le trop grand nombre de morceaux qui se ressemblent et un Nelly qui joue jusqu’à plus soif la carte de la sécurité, l’opus n’affiche aucune autre ambition que de plaire à une audience la plus large possible.

De ce point de vue, le cahier des charges est dûment rempli avec suffisamment de temps forts pour passer de très bons moments… puis se souvenir des années plus tard de ces très bons moments passés.

Mieux, n’en déplaise aux fans de la première heure, Nellyville est meilleur que Country Grammar.

Plus consistant, mieux produit, plus varié… il est l’album #1 de la discographie de Nelly. Celui que vous devriez absolument écouter si vous avez manqué cette période bénie qu’était le rap du début des années 2000.

Nellyville ou l’album qui donne envie de renfiler son peau de pêche !

Publié sur Booska-p.com le 24 juin 2022.

[hymnrevival]

HAS BECOME LUNATIC General William Booth (1829-1912) by hymn Revival Via Flickr: HAS BECOME LUNATIC General William Booth (1829-1912) “There are some cases within our knowledge which seem to confirm the somewhat dreadful verdict by which a man appears to be a lost soul on this side of the grave. There are men so incorrigibly lazy that no inducement that you can offer will tempt them to work; so eaten up by vice that virtue is abhorrent to them, and so inveterately dishonest that theft is to them a master passion. When a human being has reached that stage, there is only one course that can be rationally pursued. Sorrowfully, but remorselessly, it must be recognized that he has become lunatic, morally demented, incapable of self-government, and that upon him, therefore, must be passed the sentence of permanent seclusion from a world in which he is not fit to be at large.” Hymn Revival

#William Booth #God's Generals #Lunatic #Hymn Revival Christian Quotes #HymnRevival.com

[yinyangswings]

Hanging off the Ledge

Fandom: Assassin's Creed Unity

Characters: Arno Dorian, Reader, Elise de la Serre (mentioned)

Pairing: Arno x femReader

Notes/Warnings: Implied thoughts of suicide, drinking, mention of vomit, used Google translate for my French so forgive me on that

Word count: 3088

Summary: You knew that there would always be trials when you fell in love with Assassin Arno Dorian. Knew that he had demons within him. What you didn't know was that your own demons would rear their heads at a vulnerable moment after an argument with him. Nor did you know that it would be Arno who finds you standing on the ledge of the South Tower of Notre-Dame, staring down at the streets of Paris.

She wandered around the streets of Paris. The moon mingled with the lamp light, the sound of men singing from the bars, dogs barking, a cat hissing from an alleyway.

She didn’t really notice.

“You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep being reckless like this, Arno!”

“For fuck’s sake Elise, I’m not a child!!”

She frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. The argument itself wasn’t a new one. She thought he was being reckless and he, as usual, didn’t appreciate being coddled. And if she was being truthful with herself, this hadn’t been the first time he had called her Elise by mistake. Right after she had died, he would call her that on a nearly daily basis. She had red hair. Elise had red hair. For a man who had been drinking away his sorrows, it hadn’t been a surprise to get the both of them confused. But as a few years had gone by and he had grieved correctly he had stopped. She had thought, naively apparently, that maybe he was beginning to move on. When they had gotten together she had thought that maybe he actually loved her. That, while Elise would always have some part of his heart, which she had expected, she could share with the ghost of his former lover.

But that seemed like it was a lost cause.

He doesn’t love you. He loves Elise. He’ll always love Elise over you. If he could save her by sacrificing you, he’d do it without hesitation.

She felt her eyes begin to burn and she roughly rubbed under them, pointedly ignoring the voice whispering in the back of her mind, but was pushing into her mind like a nail. She slowed when she found herself in front of Notre-Dame, the large building looming in the square. It wasn’t a church anymore. Some cult now ran it. The Cult of Supreme Being, if she remembered correctly. It was dark, signifying no one was likely in there.

Perfect.

She worked the door open and slid into the shadowed building. She remembered being a child and coming here once with her father and brother. It had been a beautiful cathedral, the stained glass glistening down upon the pews, the statues, the soft hymns of the choir.

She had gotten in trouble for staring too long, but she couldn’t help it. It had been a comfort for her.

It was now a shadow of what it once was. A daily reminder of the mistakes of this country. Of the change that had happened.

Just like you. You’re a mistake.

She found herself walking up the stairs in the back, her footsteps echoing despite being as quiet as she could. Several staircases, unlocking some doors, and climbing more stairs later she found herself in one of the towers, staring at the bells.

It was so quiet, only the wind passing through the room seemed to sing its song. She slid her hand across the one bell near her, feeling the chill of bronze soak into her hand. She jumped when her foot kicked something and she looked down to see a small crate of...wine bottles?

“Oh for God’s sake. Really?” She muttered, bending down to look at it more closely. It looked like someone had had the idea that no one would look for wine in an abandoned church.

Well...at least no one who wasn’t an assassin and knew how to pick locks.

She hesitated for a moment before she flipped the bottle over and looked at the label. It wasn’t even a good year. But it would do. She worked the cork out and took a swig, grimacing at the taste. She took another swig.

You’re useless. It’s no wonder your father died hating your existence. Why your brother died hating you.

And another.

You’re a disgrace to the Creed and the Brotherhood.

And another. The wine tasted bitter and she knew that she should stop, but it was helping with the pain, numbing it.

Arno will never love you. He will never see you as anything more than a replacement.

She coughed violently as she choked on the wine, not able to tell if the burn in her eyes was because of that or something else. She sank back, sniffling slightly and coughing at the burn. The voice was relentless.

Usually she could ignore it, plaster on a smile and carry on her day. But now…

Now…

Wouldn’t it be better if you just ended it?

As though to bolster the suggestion a sharp breeze rushed past her, creating a mournful sound through the tower she was in and she looked towards the opening.

And she took a step forward.

--------------

Arno Dorian was not in the greatest of moods as he jumped from roof to roof. The argument was still fresh in his mind. He understood Y/N’s point of view on the whole thing, but he felt that he wasn’t a child that needed to be coddled. He was an assassin, just like her. He hadn’t appreciated her scolding him, but looking back it hadn’t been a critique but more of a worry of hers. And he yelled at her, making her leave their room and the Café. Which was why he was running around Paris like a lunatic in the middle of the night looking for her to apologize. He had considered waiting at the Café but after three hours, he began to grow worried. Even at her angriest, she hadn’t been gone that long.

His desperation was growing in stature when she wasn’t in any of her normal spots that she would go to. He was about to head back and see if she had made it back to the Café when the moon peeked out of the clouds and illuminated Notre-Dame. He spotted a flash of red on the top of the South Tower. He stumbled to a stop, looking up, squinting to get a good look, before hurrying over to the church, making short work of getting to the top.

Sure enough it was Y/N, sitting on the railing of the tower. She glanced over her shoulder, before looking back out towards the city.

“Bonjour Arno.”

“There you are.” He huffed, landing on the roof of the tower, a frown on his face. He took a step and blinked as he kicked a wine bottle, watching it roll away from him.

“...Fancy a drink tonight?”

“Casse-toi. Like you’re any better.” Y/N slurred, taking another swig from another wine bottle, swaying slightly in the wind.

“Y/N, get off the ledge.” Arno said evenly, despite his heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest. “You’ll fall, Cherié.”

She cackled, though there didn’t seem to be any humor in her voice.

“Wouldn’t that be…” She hiccuped. “Wouldn’t that be une tragédie? I’m sure my funeral would have a grand total of...one attendee; moi! They might even bury me, or they’ll just dump my body into the Seine.”

She laughed again though he frowned.

“Y/N.”

She glared at him, before rolling her eyes, and pointedly ignoring him, taking a swig from the bottle in her hand. She was silent, staring at the few people of Paris wandering around, unaware of the two assassins sitting above them.

“Suppose I’d need to avoid some random passerby though, oui? Can’t...can’t hurt an innocent because of the Creed.”

It was as if cold water had been dumped on him.

She couldn’t mean...she wasn’t seriously considering...

“Y/N, get off the ledge.”

It wasn’t a gentle request anymore. She scoffed, standing like a child who was being called home during a riveting game of tag and didn’t want to. She swayed and stumbled on it, drawing closer to the edge.

“And if I do that by jumping off? No stacks of hay down there that I can see.” She asked good naturedly, her voice amazingly calm.

“Y/N, don’t joke like that.”

“Who’s saying I’m joking?” She hummed, twirling in an unsteady circle, swaying backwards. Arno dashed forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her back onto the roof, the bottle falling out of her hand and disappearing over the edge. He could only hope it didn’t hit anyone below as his arms folded around her, holding her close as she began to fight against him.

“Avez-vous perdu la raison?” He snapped. “Why would you even consider killing yourself?!”

“Because the place would be better without me!”

Arno staggered backwards as she kicked at his legs, his mind reeling, trying to catch up with the situation, but unable to comprehend it.

“What are you talking about?! Do you know how devastated we’d be if you died?!”

“Who, Arno? Who would fucking miss me!?” She cried, fighting against him. “My family is gone, Arno! My brother died hating me because of the reason I was even brought into this world! Father hated me because I killed Mother! Name on fucking person who would care if my brains splattered on the steps of Notre-Dame below!”

“Me!”

To that she let out a laugh that could have been a sob.

“You? YOU!?” Her voice went into hysterics. “You don’t give a damn about me! You never did!”

“Y/N, what’s gotten into you!? Of course I-”

“I’M NOT ELISE!”

He went still and he released her in shock. She stumbled away, but didn’t attempt to jump off the ledge again. She seemed to curl into herself, tears sliding down her face as she looked at him.

“You think...you think I’m stupid? Or blind? You don’t think I don’t know that you see Elise every fucking time I fucking turn and you see my hair, or when we spar, or...or argue? You think I’m that blind to not see that ache in your eyes every damn time you even look at me?? For fuck’s sake Arno, you’ve called me her damn name tonight!” She inhaled sharply, trying to stop crying, but failing. His eyes darted from side to side, replaying the argument earlier in his mind, before his eyes widened.

“Y/N, I didn’t-”

“Do you know how much it hurts trying to pretend I’m happy, when I’m reminded daily just how unnecessary and unwanted I am in this world? How much better you and this world would be without me? You want Elise back so much but I’m not Elise. I can’t be her. I can’t even begin to compare to her.” She whimpered. “I’m an assassin, but I was literally only born to be that because my brother was too sickly to be one. And despite that, despite working day in and day out to prove to him I could be a good assassin, I know that my father didn’t even want me! So...so why even bother being here? No one wants me, Arno. I’m just...just this big mistake...I...I…”

“Ma Cherié…” He said, his voice suddenly rough and he hurried over to her, pulling her to him again. She struggled for a moment, beating at his chest to get him to let go. He did not, digging his hand into her hair to keep her still. “Ma Cherié, no.”

“Let go, Arno!”

“No. Not until you listen to me.” He said. “I know I make mistakes. Too many to count. I hurt you so much without even realizing it. And you are the most patient woman to not murder me in my sleep for that.” He trailed off, swallowing noisily, “Oui, there are times I think about Elise, and wonder what life would be if she was still alive, and oui sometimes there are moments where I see her in you.”

She struggled against him again and he thanked the wine running through her right now. At least he could get her to listen to him.

“But that doesn’t mean I’d be better off without you. That I don’t want you here.”

She went still.

“I love you Cherié. I love you so much. You don’t deserve all this pain and weight I’ve put on your shoulders. Especially with Elise. There are similarities between the two of you, but the differences outweigh them. Christ...I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve anything you give me.”

He moved her head away, cupping her face in his hands, brushing away the tears that were sliding down her cheeks.

“I don’t deserve waking up with you curled up to me and if I try to leave the bed, you hold onto me because it’s not yet time to wake up in your mind. I don’t deserve listening to you hum as you’re fixing a stitch in our robes while leaning against me, or your laughter when you’re sparring and you’ve pinned me. I don’t deserve having you scold me for being an idiot on a mission, yet having my back on said mission. I don’t deserve any of that.”

She stared at him and he gave a desperate laugh, his eyes glittering in tears.

“But even though I don’t deserve it, every day you bless me with those tiny memories. How could I be better off without you?”

She inhaled sharply, tears sliding down her cheeks. She let out a soft keening sound, closing her eyes tightly as a sob tore out of her throat, silencing the voice that was begging her to just pivot and jump.

“I can’t Arno...I just...I…I...I don’t know what to do.”

She heard him inhale shakily and felt him kiss her brow. He seemed to be shaking as well. He pulled her back into a hug, and she didn’t resist this time, just sobbing, face pressed into his shoulder.

“...Let’s go home.” His voice whispered into her ear after several minutes, rough as though he was holding back emotions. She nodded weakly, and he lifted her and carried her away. Before she could even object, he was walking down the stairs and past the bells of Notre-Dame.

She didn’t remember how exactly they got back to the Café Theatrë. She did remember having to stop several times in alleyways to puke her guts out from all that damn wine she drank. She remembered that Arno’s touch never seemed to vanish. Whether it was holding her hair away from the vomit, rubbing her back as she heaved, or holding her close to make sure she didn’t fall flat on her face when she stumbled away, he was always touching her.

The last thing she really remembered was going up the stairs to their room, being laid down on the bed and feeling a kiss against her temple. The next thing she knew, the sun was beaming into the room and her head felt like it had been used as a drum.

She let out a groan and curled up under the blanket, trying to rid herself of the headache. Distantly she heard a soft chuckle and then the clink of a cup on the nightstand.

“Can’t say I envy you. I know from experience it isn’t fun. Though this is a change in roles from what I usually remember.” Arno’s voice said softly. She muttered an expletive and peeked her head out from the covers. Arno sat down on the edge of the bed, offering a smile.

“Whatimeizzit?”

“It’s close to noon. I figured with the amount of drinking you did last night, you earned your sleep.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with the blanket again.

“Come on. Let’s get some food into you. I promise you’ll feel much better.”

“If I ever go towards a wine bottle again, you are free to spank me.” She muttered, finally leaving the cocoon of blankets and Arno smiled.

“Oui m'dame. Granted, while it is a tempting offer, I have a feeling that’s not going to happen anytime soon.” He said and she snorted, instantly regretting it and cursed under her breath. He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before handing her a pastry.

“Eat.”

She wasn’t really hungry, but nibbled on it anyways, glancing over at him as he watched her. He was just staring at her as though making sure this wasn’t a dream and she was actually sitting in their bed alive and well, despite the hangover. He had dark bags under his eyes, which were curiously bloodshot. He was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the night before. Almost as if he hadn’t...

“Did you stay up the entire night?” She muttered in surprise, realization dawning slowly in her hungover brain.

“...I wanted to make sure you didn’t try and leave to go back to Notre-Dame.” He finally said and she grimaced, looking away.

"Je suis désolé, Arno. I didn’t-”

“No! No, don’t apologize...just...is that the first time you’ve...that you’ve considered that?”

She shrugged.

“I’ve never gone as far as I did last night...but there’s always that voice in the back of my head saying that everyone would be better off if I wasn’t around...I don’t usually listen to it. But it was just...so loud last night. It drowned everything else out.”

“Y/N…”

She shifted away, embarrassed. He swallowed roughly before cupping her face, brushing a thumb against her cheek bone. She leaned into his touch, finally looking up at him.

“If it does happen again, if that voice becomes too loud?” He asked softly. “Find me. I meant what I said last night. I love you. I don’t deserve you, but I love you. And I’ll spend every day I have remaining telling you that. So find me, and I’ll put to rest any worry you have.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as he kissed her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, and then very delicately her lips, before resting his forehead against hers.

It wasn’t a clean fix. There were still problems that needed to be discussed. Issues that needed to be talked about. In the future he would have nightmares of wondering what if he hadn’t gone looking for her, if the next day they had found her body at the steps of Notre-Dame, and waking up in a cold sweat to check and see if she was still there next to him, still breathing. For a while after, she couldn’t go near Notre-Dame, couldn’t even take a sip of wine before her stomach revolted at the contents because it reminded her of that night.

But right then and there, it didn’t matter.

She was sitting there breathing, and in his arms.

And that was all Arno Dorian cared about.

--------------

Translations:

Bonjour : Hello

Casse-toi: Fuck off

Cherié: Sweetheart

Une tragédie: A tragedy

Moi: Me

Oui: Yes

Avez-vous perdu la raison: Have you lost your mind?

Ma Cherié: My Sweetheart

Oui m'dame: Yes Ma'am

Je suis désolé: I am sorry

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed unity #arno dorian #arno x reader #tw: suicide attempt #tw: mental health #elise de la serre #reader #jamfics #assassin's creed imagine #assassin's creed headcanon #arno dorian imagine #arno dorian headcanon

[lady-of-the-spirit]

whumptober prompt one - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO. “You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

characters: ten and ryoko (original characters)

trigger warnings: kidnapping, cults, torture (whipping, beating, knives), non-sexual bondage, blood, murder, religion used as an excuse to torture (the cult), and I think that’s it. it’s all mostly vaguely described because the pov character is kind of out of it.

His wrists hurt.

Which was a relatively minor thing to focus on at the moment, but it was easier to focus on that - his wrists hurt, the ropes were too tight, he’d probably have rope burns if when if? when he got free - than everything else. He could handle the minor things. Focusing on that was better than-

-a hard blow to his cheek, he tasted blood, voices singing a hymn with one voice rising over the rest-

-better than having to acknowledge everything else. 

“-our Holy Mother of All Creation, accept this blood shed in your name-”

He could acknowledge the irony in the situation, at least. He could laugh - well, no, he couldn’t, because he had been gagged (apparently the Holy Mother didn’t want her sacrifices screaming, which actually did make sense, knowing Ryoko), but in his mind he could laugh at how ridiculous this whole situation was.

First - the one time Ryoko decided to leave him alone after their run-in with some bandits that left him with a still-healing broken wrist, he got kidnapped.

Two -

-a lash across his back, the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life, he pulled on the ropes and screamed into the gag in his mouth-

“-we will fill our cups with life and return all they have to offer to the earth, return everything whence it came as you have taught us, Goddess of Light-”

- Two -  these fucking lunatics who kidnapped him worshiped his best friend. How many insane cults did Ryoko inspire? He had to ask her someday.

Three - they were torturing him in her name, offering him as a sacrifice of some kind, with no idea that Ryoko would rip them apart with her bare hands for this when she got here.

-another lash, another blow, something warm is dripping down his face, he screams-

If she got here.

When- if? - when she got here she would kill them all. And he would have to stop her. They didn’t know what they were doing, what she would do to them. If they would only stop-

-”Queen of the Heavens and the Underground, Our Mother, Scourge of the Earth, Blessing and Imprecation given life-”

-if they would stop-

-they had a knife they had a knife they had a knife they were coming at him and they had a knife-

-stop-

-he screamed and pulled, and it hurt, the ropes burned and he bled but they had a knife and they were going to kill him-

-stop-

The singing stopped. The chanting priest stopped. The one with the knife stopped.

There was a sickening gurgling sound, then something heavy hitting the ground and then rolling.

Then screaming. Then the sound of a shattered light. The whole room plunged into darkness.

Everyone was screaming, but not him. It was chaos, all around, pounding feet heading in every direction, yelling and crashing and the occasional pleading. Someone tripped over him and his back was engulfed in pain as he was jostled and he had the energy to cry out in anguish.

He saw, in the darkness, for a moment, a pair of lights - eyes turned to flames, illuminating a face that, as those twin flames found him laying there on the floor, twisted into an expression of fear. In a blink, they were gone, and there was nothing but darkness once more.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited, laying pathetically on the ground, for the screaming to stop, but finally it did.

Then footsteps headed in his direction, and dozens of tiny flickering flames, like candlelight, appeared and bobbed in the air like fireflies, surrounding one single figure like a halo.

The Holy Mother herself, he thought, wanting to laugh when he thought of how Ryoko would react if he called her that.

“Ten,” Ryoko said, dropping to her knees beside him. “Ten.”

The firelight danced across her face, making her features look much softer than normal. He liked it like that. He wanted her to look soft more often. He was getting there, doing his best to make her soften up more often, but he had yet to really master it. He didn’t like this, though, with her softened features making her look terrified.

She reached out and when he flinched - on reflex, not because of her, never because of her - she stilled, then continued, taking his face into her hands and gently prying the gag out of his mouth. He took in deep breaths, grateful to be able to breath properly, even when the air he was breathing smelled like blood and rot.

“You came,” he managed.

“Of course I did,” she said. “Don’t be stupid.”

She got rid of his bonds in half with a single touch of her finger, burning it to ash in an instant without the heat of her fire even making him feel slightly warm.

“There should be doctors and nurses coming inside any moment,” she told him, ripping off the hemline of her shirt and beginning to mop up the blood on his face. He leaned into her touch without meaning to, but she said nothing. She used one hand to cup the back of his head, holding him in place as she gently cleaned him up. “I alerted them before I came, to let them know there would be people needing help.”

“People?”  he asked, frowning, and then wincing when that hurts. He was the only one here meant as a sacrifice.

Ryoko tilted her head and looked around the room meaningfully. “I did nothing to these people they cannot eventually recover from. They can face trial. I killed only one of them.” She paused. “I thought that... you would not like it if I killed them all.”

He wouldn’t have. He was glad she hadn’t.

She stared at him for a long moment. Then she pulled him up - gently, gently - and knocked her forehead against his, closing her eyes and sighing deeply. “I am sorry I took so long.”

“it’s fine,” he said. He was starting to feel dizzy. He’d probably pass out soon. He could hear an army of footsteps coming in their direction. Medic? He hoped so.  “You came.”

“I will always come for you, Ten,” she said. “That, I promise you.”

#this sucks but i'm glad i started bc i want to do this month's prompts #i'm making stuff #i'm writing stuff #my ocs #ryoko #ten #ryoko and ten #idk if future prompts will be tagged properly so the whumptober 2021 blog can reblog or w/e but this one's more for me so we'll see #whump #whumptober 2021