#salvat mexico

[algodondeazucar97]

"Mujercitas" en versión miniatura 🥰

Mi mamá me acaba de dar el regalo más hermoso que podría existir: una versión miniatura de "Mujercitas" 😭🤎✨

("Mujercitas" es una historia muy importante en nuestra familia porque mi abuela se lo dió a ella cuando era adolescente y a su vez, mi mamá hizo lo mismo conmigo 🥹)

#mexico 🇲🇽 #mexico #little women #bookworm #book tumblr #little book #miniature #miniature books #mujercitas #louisa may alcott #salvat mexico #libros #libro miniatura #miniatura

[fsfsfsgkgkgk]

Trump vs. Mary Mary

#michigan #arizona #nevada #wisconsin #pennsylvania #georgia #virginia #north carolina #new jersey #new mexico #new york #minnesota #florida #jesus #scripture #salvation #faith in jesus #christian faith #follow jesus

[heartforchrist]

#earthquake #tsunami warning #mexico #hawaii #7.6 magnitude quake #jesusiscoming #jesuschrist #rapture #raptureready #antichrist #endtimes #bibletruth #great tribulation #revelations #bible prophecy #salvation #Youtube

[williamrablan]

The Bridge

There’s several bridges that factor into my Will Diaz stories. Three of them cross the Rio Grande River. Of those three, none are more spectacular than the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. Will and Andy flew over the bridge on their way to Raton, New Mexico, and Will points it out. In the rewrite of book two, Against Flesh and Blood, Will and Jewell meet Will’s old friend Terri there. It’s not exactly…

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#Michael&039;s Kicthen #New Mexico #Rio Grand Rift zone #Rio Grande Gorge Bridge #Rio Grande River #Taos #Terminator Salvation #Toas New Mexico #Wild Hogs #Will diaz

[irkenproperty]

So Dib, tell us a story of how you met your little feral Zim, Got to know each other, how did you communicate? all the way up to having babies😊

Beautiful mini-fic under cut by my BFF and very talented RP-partner @darthzadr , about how we RP'ed Zim and Dib's meeting, please read it!

Her fic commissions are open, btw!

🩷⬇️💙⬇️🩷⬇️💙⬇️🩷⬇️💙

Earth. A blue and green paradise teaming with life both too small to see with the naked eye, all the way up to enormous creatures great enough to snuff out those very lives beneath them with a single step. Luscious forests and greenery spread out as far as the eye could see, running for miles and miles until meeting with its lover, the ocean - and there were so many different oceans, too! Some were blue and alive, and nourishing to the entire planet. Some were yellow; oceans of sand stretching out towards the horizon and beyond that still, until eventually stumbling upon an oasis. There were even some oceans, according to his books, that were bright red and bubbling hot, so much so that a single touch was enough to melt flesh and bone. Truly, Earth was Eden's glorious garden.

Once upon a time.

Dib gazed into the old photo album and turned the page wistfully, and he quickly lost himself in the images again. Having been just shy of three years old upon departing Earth his memories of his home world were fading fast, and all he had to remember it by were the pictures in his books, his father's photo albums, and one very fuzzy memory: In that, there was no green whatsoever, only concrete and smoke, and a burning-red sky.  He vaguely recalled an enormous crowd swarming like flies on the final slab of meat upon a carcass stripped of flesh, all so desperate to escape the fast rotting planet they themselves had helped to destroy. The people had poured in from all across America, Mexico, and beyond to try and find salvation. Professor Membrane's great invention was just one of but a handful of ships around the world capable of deep-space travel, and Dib could remember watching the people from the control room alongside his father and wailing baby sister; they were screaming and begging for a place upon the ship already stretched beyond its capacity. “Aren't we going to let them in, daddy...?” Dib had asked curiously, and he couldn't understand why Professor Membrane didn't answer him, nor why he was crying just as much as Gaz was as the ship lifted up from the Earth's soil one last time and took flight, leaving the dying world far behind them.

To this day, Dib still didn't understand it.

With a sigh he closed the album and looked out the window instead, to the real greenery outside infinitely more interesting than the flat pictures. Life aboard the Marina was the world that Dib knew and remembered, and now, his world was extending to a whole new plain of existence outside. When first the ship had landed upon the strange soils only a select handful of Membrane's most trusted advisors were permitted to leave the safety of the Marina to explore the vast forests and its diverse ecosystem; to take pictures and bring back precious samples for Professor Membrane to study: plant matter, fresh produce, the strange bones of creatures yet unknown . . . After many, many moons – so many moons in fact, that Dib had lost count – it was determined that the environment was a suitable biome for humanity's survivors. Fences had been erected all around the ship to create a vast compound, allowing people to venture outside whilst keeping them all safe from the unknown that lay beyond in the jungle. At nightfall curfew began, and no one was allowed to set foot outside for fear of the dark.

In Dib's opinion, this was the very best time to go outside and play.

He opened up the bedroom window and slipped easily outside into a nearby tree. The branches were strong and sturdy, and Dib climbed down like it was second nature. He gasped as his bare feet touched the dew-sodden grass, and he jumped a little on the spot both from the excitement, and the alien sensation he still wasn't used to. There was no grass aboard the Marina, after all. There were green houses and gardens where they grew food plentiful enough to feed their people – but there was no space to run around or explore. Not like this; not like it was in the strange new world.

Bubbling with enthusiasm Dib wandered along the edge of the fence, his hand trailing across the chain-links. The fence reached so high that he was pretty certain it could touch the sky – but clearly not, because it wasn't tall enough to keep the planet's creations from flying over, and sometimes into the compound. Enormous insects; creatures that looked like dragonflies and moths, and hornets even bigger than Professor Membrane himself. Terrifying, but equally so fascinating, and it made Dib wonder, what else is out there?

He gazed longingly through the fence and into the trees. Sometimes, in the dead of lonely night, he almost swore that he could see movement from within the foliage. He'd often find himself hours later still in the same place, his vision growing blurry where he'd been standing staring at the same spot for so long. There was no movement tonight so Dib kept on walking, making his steady way around the perimeter and towards the gardens. The planet's soils were rich with nutrients and happily allowed the seeds of Earth plants to take root. Alongside those, they were now growing a vast array of native fruits and vegetables of this world too. Dib's favourite were the bright pink berries swollen close to bursting with a rich, tart juice that left stains all over his lips, fingers, and everything he touched – but it was worth it. He grabbed a handful as he walked by and popped several into his mouth. He and Gaz liked them a lot, and had taken to calling them blorpberries, on account of the funny noise they made when Dib pushed them against the roof of his mouth, and they exploded over his tongue.

Snap!

Dib's head whipped up towards the fence. A flash of movement darted out from behind the trees, and the next thing he saw was a flurry of frantic motions. Something was digging outside the compound, scratch, scratch, scratching into the ground with a keen ferocity unlike anything Dib had seen before. In the light coming through the windows of the Marina, and the starlit sky dancing in worship around two giant moons, Dib could make out a long tail flaring amid the flying dirt, the tip and the base both crowned by a beautiful tuft of bright pink.

“Wow!” The gasp escaped Dib's lips before he could stop it, and all movement ceased in an instant. The tail stood completely still and erect. Then came another flash of movement as the creature leaped from its hole and into the forest cover. Dib froze in place, one hand clamped over his mouth to keep himself quiet. After a moment of nothing, a pair of bright eyes appeared from within the bushes and shone gloriously in the moonlight; unearthly pink, and utterly magnificent.

“ . . . Hello.” Dib lowered his hand slowly, and whispered just as gently. He saw the shrubs shift as the hidden creature flinched, its wondrous gaze drifting from Dib to the beginnings of its burrow, until Dib himself looked. The hole was situated right across from the gardens ripe with the blorpberries Dib loved so much. He made the connection instantly. “Oh! Are you hungry?” He grabbed a handful and tossed them through the fence. It was the feeble, clumsy throw of a seven-year-old bookworm, and only two landed within easy reach of the bush. Once they were swept away by a hand or tail almost too fast to see with the naked eye, the pink gaze returned, fixated upon the remaining berries out of its reach. Silence fell once more. Dib trembled with anticipation. Please . . . Please get them . . .

Slowly, inch by cautious inch, the creature began to emerge, and it was all Dib could do not to squeal in delight. He watched in silent awe, marveling at its brilliance. Green skin. Two black antennas. A long, strong tail like that of a monitor lizard; powerful, and deadly. It prowled the forest floor on all floors like it owned the place, snatching up the berries in its claws as it went by. And what claws! Three in total on each limb, and wickedly sharp, like that of an ancient dinosaur long since lost to time; they were the perfect tool and weapon both for a harsh life in the jungle. As it walked and ate it kept its eyes fixed suspiciously on Dib. Soon there were none left but for those still in the bush, and the creature sat in between the fence and the forest, its gaze continuously shifting between longing want at the fruit, to suspicious scrutiny at Dib.

“Hi there!” Dib whispered quietly, but his voice was so thick with excitement that he made the creature flinch backwards. “Oh, sorry!” He apologised, his tone dropping even lower in volume for the startled visitor frozen in place. Silence echoed once more as giant pink eyes remained fixated on Dib like lasers, as if trying to pierce through into his skull and see inside of his mind. As such, Dib focused in on a single thought, just in case the creature could indeed read his mind. I won't hurt you, I won't hurt you. Let's be friends.

The creature blinked, then leaped back into its hole and resumed the frantic dig. Dib sat back with his knees tucked to his chest, watching with fast growing anticipation. Dirt came flying from the hole; launched aside unneeded by the creature's immense tail. Soon, the ground beside him began to crumble inwards, opening up a fully-fledged tunnel from one side of the fence to the next. A pair of black antennas poked out first. They twitched. Twice, then the creature emerged from up the hole and shook the dirt from its body. Bright pink eyes soon found their way onto Dib again and held his gaze with ease. It was like gazing into a galaxy before his very eyes; a whole, wide new world lay within the swirling, starry light, and Dib was utterly captivated.

“Hello,” he smiled. “My name's Dib. What's yours?”

#irkenproperty #invader zim #zadr #iz fanart #ask #dib membrane #feral au #anon #feral zim #feral irken #feral irkens #arttag #fanfic #zadr fanfic #feral zim fanfic #darthzadr #ultradeathfang

[jadewolf22]

Welcome to the Pack: Chapter 1

Summary: Zombie apocalypse AU with Gwendoline Christie’s characters x fem!reader x OC Character (Beth) Featuring: Phasma, Brienne, Larissa, Gwen (in Fabric), Lyme (Hunger Games), Jane, Jan, & Lady Jane (The Darkest Minds) with mentions of Miranda and Anna (Welcome to Marwen) based off of this post by @rippersz

TW: Apocalyptic world (?), OC is hit by vehicle, strong language, mentions of death/killing, mentions of PTSD/Trauma, implications of smut, implications of poly-amorous hierarchy/ poly-amorous relationships involving nine people, wolf pack-like environment (reader is referred to as “Alpha”), ext…

A/n: I apologize for the amount of Russian and French in here. I have Russian heritage and wanted to pay a little tribute to that here (ended up being a lot more than a little) and also just felt like it would be a nice little tribute to some of the people on here who aren’t native English speakers. I hope to use more languages in other fics for this same purpose. Reader is American but was taught fluent Russian by a close friend of hers.

Word Count: 8,073

No one truly knows where the virus came from. Some say the Chinese created it, others the Russians, still others claim that it wasn’t created at all but rather an effect of global warming or some kind of solar flare. All anyone could truly agree on was that it was dangerous and deadly. The Serix Virus, as scientists later called it, was a physically transmitted disease that transformed the infected into zombie-like creatures that were unable to feel pain with half-decayed, green skin and bloodshot, yellow eyes; you could shoot one and it wouldn’t go down until a bullet found its head. 

Eurasia fell victim to it in the first month, with Africa and Australia not far behind. Three months later South America and Mexico followed. The survivors came flooding to North America, hoping for sanctuary, but none was received. Not even a month later the first cases were reported in North America and the rest of the world went to hell. People scrambled, turning on one another like gladiators in an arena. Fear took over and humanity crumbled, all in less than a year. Now, nearly three years later, the world remains black and dead. The “creatures” outnumber the human race twenty to one, if not more. They travel in packs just like most of the survivors-at least the survivors who were actually smart-shuffling through the remains of towns and cities, searching for their next meals of sweet human flesh; all too eager to taste blood in their mouths and skin in their teeth. To feast on people like Beth. 

Beth was a small town woman of 29 from Luray, Virginia and the lone survivor of her hometown. Everyone, her friends, her family, were gone, having either been eaten or transfigured and she was, permanently, on the run. With no weapons other than a little glock with only one full mag left and almost no remaining food Beth knew her time was almost up. She was no survivalist; she had no impressive background or knew any kind of self defense other than her fairly good aim, which would do nothing to save her when her mag ran empty. With her hope fading as the days went by, Beth moved to camp beside a road, her last chance to find salvation-to get help. 

She sat there on the side of the road for days, watching helplessly as the sun began to set at the end of her fourth day there and there was still no sign of help. Beth was about to give up and move on when something-a low rumble in the distance-caught her attention. She stood up and turned towards the sound, walking towards the curve in the road from where the noise was coming. It grew louder-the steady roar of a motor-and Beth’s heart leapt. She ran towards the curve, hoping to see the vehicle as it approached and catch the attention of its driver, but it was closer than she’d thought. 

A large black blur came speeding around the corner, clipping Beth’s right side and sending her flying backwards across the road. Beth screamed as pain radiated through her. Her arm was on fire, her head throbbed, the world was spinning, and her legs ached. She didn’t dare move for fear that something had been broken. 

Beth jumped a little when she heard car doors open and voices shouting at each other from inside the vehicle,

“-Are you out of your goddamn mind-?!”

“-Just leave her-!”

“-Not gonna leave her when it’s my fault! Now get your ass’s out there and help me!” 

Footsteps came running towards Beth, two blurry figures kneeling beside her. She couldn’t see much but well enough to know that they were both pale, one with long black hair, the other with short blonde hair. Together they lifted her, Beth screaming in pain as her body protested the movement. They carried her up into the vehicle-a black mini bus, and laid her down across the seats, which had been turned to create two long benches along either side of the bus, leaving a wide space between them for boxes of supplies. 

“Let’s go, let’s go!” a third person growled from the front of the bus as the other two took their seats, one person beside Beth and the other on the bench across from her.

Beth screamed as the bus jolted forward, grabbing hold of her arm as she began to slip in and out of consciousness from the pain. 

“Gwen, you get to explain this to the Alpha when we get back,” the voice from the front of the bus growled. It was deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge to it. Beth couldn’t see its owner but could guess that whoever it was was not someone to fuck around with, “She’s made it clear that outsider’s aren’t welcome-”

“You know what, Phasma, foutre en l'air! I didn’t ask for your damn opinion!” another voice, this one softer, more melodic, almost haunty with a soft English edge to it, snapped, a low growl tearing from the throat of its owner, “I’m sure she’ll understand my reasoning-”

“Not fucking likely,” the deeper voice grumbled as the vehicle shook and swayed, causing Beth to whimper every other minute, “Last time one of us brought someone back, Alpha turned him into crawler food real quick.” 

Crawler? Beth had heard the creatures called many things; flesh-eaters, zombies, the undead, but never Crawlers. The term was fitting, though. They did move at a crawling pace until they smelled food. 

“Last time we brought someone back, it was a man,” the softer voice countered, sounding annoyed, “Alpha made it clear no men were permitted in the camp, she’s had no problem bringing in women. What about Miran-?”

“Enough Gwen, you made your point.” a third voice cut in, a commanding edge to their tone. This voice was quiet, crisp, and rather gritty. There were hints of an accent to it, but Beth could not place where exactly it was from- somewhere in Europe, if she had to guess, based on its resemblance to the other two, “This is not our mess to deal with. When we get home we’ll hand her over to Jane and Gwen will explain what happened to Alpha. If she’s lucky, the Alpha will let her stay.” 

The other two grumbled in agreement, silence taking over the vehicle, allowing Beth to fully succumb to the hold of sleep. When she faded back to a semi consciousness, Beth was no longer in the bus but instead lying on some kind of cot, listening to a rather heated discussion between a large group of people,

“-Why would you bring her here?! We barely have enough food to go around as it is-!”

“Don’t try to pull one of those again. We all know there’s enough food here to last us years-!”

“That’s a rough estimate-!”

“It doesn’t matter if we have enough food or not! They’re injured, which makes them nothing but a hindrance to us! We should have left them where we found them-!”

“Not everyone here is as much of a hardass as you are, Phasma!! Forgive us for trying to have a little empathy-”

“Empathy isn’t going to help us survive!”

“Alright, доста́точно!!” Silence fell immediately. Beth didn’t know what the word ‘dostátočno’ meant, but it was clear that the others did, “That’s enough, all of you… While I appreciate the input, the decision is mine to make. Gwen… I want you to stay with her until she wakes up. When she does have Jane give her a quick lookover then bring her to me. We can figure out what to do from there… Everyone else просто позвольте этому быть. It’s not the end of the world-”

“No. That’s already happened…”

“Phasma, I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, Вы меня понимаете??!”

“... Yes, Alpha…”

“Thank you. Now, все возвращаются на работу…Phasma, Bri, I want that hole in the wall patched up by sundown.”

“We’re doing what we can, but there’s not enough materials to fortify it completely.”

“Then we’ll make another run, tomorrow. We cannot stand to let that wall have gaps in it. It’s too dangerous to-”

The rest of whatever the person had been saying faded away as Beth slipped back under sleep’s sweet spell. The second time she woke, Beth was fully conscious, opening her eyes for the first time in what felt like days. She was in some kind of large, stone room with high, intricately designed ceilings lying on what seemed to be an old-timey hospital bed. Her right arm was in a sling, both of her legs were wrapped in compression bandages from the knees down, and there was a thick gauze wrapping around her hairline. Every part of Beth’s body felt stiff, her broken arm felt full of pins and needles, and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat. 

“It’s about time you woke up, petite souris,” came a voice to Beth’s left, causing her to jump. 

Beth looked over to see who the voice belonged to, and found her breath taken by the beauty across from her. The woman was tall and incredibly pale, possessing a slender yet shapely figure, with graceful curves and a lustrous cascade of dyed black waves that fell in loose tendrils around her shoulders, framing her face like a dark halo. Her hair had a glossy sheen that caught the light streaming from the nearby windows, imbuing her with an almost supernatural radiance and her lips were full and painted with a deep, velvety shade of red. Steel blue eyes watched Beth closely, framed by thick lines of black eyeliner. She wore a fitted shirt with a black and white checkered pattern and with sheer, flared sleeves as well as black leather pants, a black choker and black, knee-high combat boots. There were two Ruger LCP’s holstered in a belt at her hips and an N4 short barreled rifle resting in her lap, her finger lying lazily over the trigger. 

“Where am I?” Beth asked, wincing as she fought her way up to a sitting position.

“Home, for now, petite souris.” The woman purred in French and Beth recognized her soft, melodic, almost haunty voice with its soft English edge. She was one of the women from the bus, “Unless the Alpha decides otherwise.”

“The Alpha?” Beth repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. What kind of fucked up cult had she gotten herself into? “Who the fuck is The Alpha?”

“She’s our leader,” the woman explained, her voice hardening slightly at Beth’s confused, almost humored tone, “Our chef de file. The one who keeps us safe from those things crawling around outside… If you’re going to stay with us, you will need to learn to respect her, petite souris. Or she’ll throw you to the crawlers without a second glance.”

“Right… How long have I been here?” 

“About a day-”

“Gwen, you were supposed to come and get me when she woke!”

Beth and the woman-Gwen, jumped in surprise, turning to see another woman walking their way. This woman was about the same height as Gwen, Beth assumed, if not half an inch or so taller, with soft alabaster skin, and a mane of natural raven hair pinned up into some sort of plaited crown around her head. She had a wiry, haunting figure with a regal bearing about her and a rigid posture, conveying an air of authority and severity. Her angular jawline and high cheekbones contributed to that sense of severity, while her piercing sky blue eyes seemed to scrutinize everything with an unwavering gaze. The woman’s face was free of makeup, but by far no less beautiful than Gwen’s, with a small scar adorning her upper lip; something she must have sustained before the virus. She was dressed in a black linen dress that brushed against her mid-thigh with tight sleeves, accessorized with a black and silver corset as well as black leggings and black knee-high boots. Fitting for a post-apocalyptic world yet still fashionable.

“Ouais, peu importe, salope.” Gwen muttered under her breath, giving the second woman a dark look, “She just woke up, Jane. Give me a little slack.”

“Alpha’s orders.” was all the other woman “Jane” responded, her voice cold with a cutting edge to it and a heavy English accent, turning her attention to Beth, “Consider yourself one lucky woman. It’s a rare thing for someone to be hit by a bus and walk away with only a broken arm, a minor laceration, and a few bruises.”

“Tell that to my aching joints.” Beth grumbled. 

“Would you rather I say it to your corpse?” Jane asked, her tone anything but sarcastic. Clearly she was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of woman, “Up! I need to see you move.” 

Groaning internally, Beth swung her legs off the cot and planted her feet firmly on the cold floor, hissing as her joints protested against her movements. She could feel both pairs of eyes on her, sweat gathering at the base of her neck as Beth pushed off the bed with her good arm, standing on wobbly legs. Jane had her walking back and forth along the edge of the bed for several minutes before having Beth try a few stretches that would, hopefully, help to relax the muscles in her legs. 

“That’s as good as you’re going to get for now,” Jane said after a time, rewrapping Beth’s legs after inspecting the swelling, “I’m sure the Alpha’s getting impatient. She’s up on the balcony taking a smoke.” she addressed to Gwen, an indifferent look in her light, sharp eyes.

“Think you can handle stairs, petite souris?” Gwen asked, directing her attention at Beth and ignoring Jane as the imposing figure walked away.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Beth returned. Gwen shrugged, turning on her heel and heading out after Jane with Beth hobbling along behind her. 

Beth couldn’t help but look around in awe as she followed Gwen. They were in some kind of gothic mansion, with tall stone walls and ceilings decorated with intricate patterns, statues and paintings, as well as mahogany accents in the doors and stairway railings. Clearly, this place had been some kind of retreat or something for those who basked in wealth. Everything was well constructed and detailed, too nice for something people of a lower class would have had the privilege of seeing. 

With a little help from Gwen, Beth managed to make it up to the second floor of the building, hoping and praying that “the Alpha” was not on any of the upper floors. There was no way her legs were going to be able to make it up another flight. Relief filled Beth when Gwen began to lead her down a long hallway, away from the stairs. They passed many rooms, most of which were empty, but as they walked past one of the rooms on the far end of the hall, Beth caught a glimpse of a woman standing over a table inside but didn’t have time for a proper look before Gwen drew her attention away. 

“She’ll be in here.” Gwen said, placing her hand on the doorknob of a large mahogany door at the very end of the hall. There was a golden plaque nailed to it which read “Principal Weems”. Apparently, this place had been some kind of school, “Whatever you do, petite souris, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And, if you want to have any chance of staying or staying alive, be respectful. If there’s one thing Alpha can’t stand, it’s someone who can’t respect their superiors, comprendre?”

Beth nodded, able to loosely translate the french word. The corner of Gwen’s lips twitched upward in a light smirk before her face went void of expression and she opened the door, beaconing Beth to follow her inside. The room was massive, with well used leather furniture and a large mahogany desk in front of a set of open french doors which led out to a spacious balcony. There was a large marble fireplace to the left of the doorway, carved to look like… medusa? At first the room smelled faintly of wine and must, and then a gentle breeze blew the scent of cigar smoke in through the open balcony doors, drawing Beth’s attention to the figure leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, facing in towards the room; You. 

Beth didn’t know what she’d expected from someone who called themselves “the Alpha” but whatever it was was not what you were. When she and Gwen reached you and you rose to your full height you towerd over both of them like a fucking skyscraper with a broad, maculine body complete with soft ivory skin, thick meaty hands, prominent veins, and muscles that might as well have been chisled from stone. Short red hair cut in a 90’s bob framed a sharply defined, oval face allowing your deep green eyes with their frightful and unnerving gaze to stand to attention. You wore a loose-fitting bronze t-shirt tucked into black jeans decorated with custom-sewn pockets all down the legs with a brown and black flannel tied around your waist, a gold watch on your wrist glinted off the dying sunlight, and black, knee-high combat boots similar to Gwen’s adorned your feet; though yours had to be at least three sizes bigger. There were two Glock 19’s in a holster around your waist, a semi-auto .22LR slung across your back, and a knife as long as Beth’s forearm in a vertical sheath across the back of your holster; the many pockets of your jeans bulging with mags for the three guns.

“It’s about time you woke up, petite souris,” came a voice to Beth’s left, causing her to jump. 

Beth looked over to see who the voice belonged to, and found her breath taken by the beauty across from her. The woman was tall and incredibly pale, possessing a slender yet shapely figure, with graceful curves and a lustrous cascade of dyed black waves that fell in loose tendrils around her shoulders, framing her face like a dark halo. Her hair had a glossy sheen that caught the light streaming from the nearby windows, imbuing her with an almost supernatural radiance and her lips were full and painted with a deep, velvety shade of red. Steel blue eyes watched Beth closely, framed by thick lines of black eyeliner. She wore a fitted shirt with a black and white checkered pattern and with sheer, flared sleeves as well as black leather pants, a black choker and black, knee-high combat boots. There were two Ruger LCP’s holstered in a belt at her hips and an N4 short barreled rifle resting in her lap, her finger lying lazily over the trigger. 

“Where am I?” Beth asked, wincing as she fought her way up to a sitting position.

“Home, for now, petite souris.” The woman purred in French and Beth recognized her soft, melodic, almost haunty voice with its soft English edge. She was one of the women from the bus, “Unless the Alpha decides otherwise.”

“The Alpha?” Beth repeated, her brows furrowing in confusion. What kind of fucked up cult had she gotten herself into? “Who the fuck is The Alpha?”

“She’s our leader,” the woman explained, her voice hardening slightly at Beth’s confused, almost humored tone, “Our chef de file. The one who keeps us safe from those things crawling around outside… If you’re going to stay with us, you will need to learn to respect her, petite souris. Or she’ll throw you to the crawlers without a second glance.”

“Right… How long have I been here?” 

“About a day-”

“Gwen, you were supposed to come and get me when she woke!”

Beth and the woman-Gwen, jumped in surprise, turning to see another woman walking their way. This woman was about the same height as Gwen, Beth assumed, if not half an inch or so taller, with soft alabaster skin, and a mane of natural raven hair pinned up into some sort of plaited crown around her head. She had a wiry, haunting figure with a regal bearing about her and a rigid posture, conveying an air of authority and severity. Her angular jawline and high cheekbones contributed to that sense of severity, while her piercing sky blue eyes seemed to scrutinize everything with an unwavering gaze. The woman’s face was free of makeup, but by far no less beautiful than Gwen’s, with a small scar adorning her upper lip; something she must have sustained before the virus. She was dressed in a black linen dress that brushed against her mid-thigh with tight sleeves, accessorized with a black and silver corset as well as black leggings and black knee-high boots. Fitting for a post-apocalyptic world yet still fashionable.

“Ouais, peu importe, salope.” Gwen muttered under her breath, giving the second woman a dark look, “She just woke up, Jane. Give me a little slack.”

“Alpha’s orders.” was all the other woman “Jane” responded, her voice cold with a cutting edge to it and a heavy English accent, turning her attention to Beth, “Consider yourself one lucky woman. It’s a rare thing for someone to be hit by a bus and walk away with only a broken arm, a minor laceration, and a few bruises.”

“Tell that to my aching joints.” Beth grumbled. 

“Would you rather I say it to your corpse?” Jane asked, her tone anything but sarcastic. Clearly she was a ‘no-nonsense’ type of woman, “Up! I need to see you move.” 

Groaning internally, Beth swung her legs off the cot and planted her feet firmly on the cold floor, hissing as her joints protested against her movements. She could feel both pairs of eyes on her, sweat gathering at the base of her neck as Beth pushed off the bed with her good arm, standing on wobbly legs. Jane had her walking back and forth along the edge of the bed for several minutes before having Beth try a few stretches that would, hopefully, help to relax the muscles in her legs. 

“That’s as good as you’re going to get for now,” Jane said after a time, rewrapping Beth’s legs after inspecting the swelling, “I’m sure the Alpha’s getting impatient. She’s up on the balcony taking a smoke.” she addressed to Gwen, an indifferent look in her light, sharp eyes.

“Think you can handle stairs, petite souris?” Gwen asked, directing her attention at Beth and ignoring Jane as the imposing figure walked away.

“Do I have much of a choice?” Beth returned. Gwen shrugged, turning on her heel and heading out after Jane with Beth hobbling along behind her. 

Beth couldn’t help but look around in awe as she followed Gwen. They were in some kind of gothic mansion, with tall stone walls and ceilings decorated with intricate patterns, statues and paintings, as well as mahogany accents in the doors and stairway railings. Clearly, this place had been some kind of retreat or something for those who basked in wealth. Everything was well constructed and detailed, too nice for something people of a lower class would have had the privilege of seeing. 

With a little help from Gwen, Beth managed to make it up to the second floor of the building, hoping and praying that “the Alpha” was not on any of the upper floors. There was no way her legs were going to be able to make it up another flight. Relief filled Beth when Gwen began to lead her down a long hallway, away from the stairs. They passed many rooms, most of which were empty, but as they walked past one of the rooms on the far end of the hall, Beth caught a glimpse of a woman standing over a table inside but didn’t have time for a proper look before Gwen drew her attention away. 

“She’ll be in here.” Gwen said, placing her hand on the doorknob of a large mahogany door at the very end of the hall. There was a golden plaque nailed to it which read “Principal Weems”. Apparently, this place had been some kind of school, “Whatever you do, petite souris, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. And, if you want to have any chance of staying or staying alive, be respectful. If there’s one thing Alpha can’t stand, it’s someone who can’t respect their superiors, comprendre?”

Beth nodded, able to loosely translate the french word. The corner of Gwen’s lips twitched upward in a light smirk before her face went void of expression and she opened the door, beaconing Beth to follow her inside. The room was massive, with well used leather furniture and a large mahogany desk in front of a set of open french doors which led out to a spacious balcony. There was a large marble fireplace to the left of the doorway, carved to look like… medusa? At first the room smelled faintly of wine and must, and then a gentle breeze blew the scent of cigar smoke in through the open balcony doors, drawing Beth’s attention to the figure leaning against the stone railing of the balcony, facing in towards the room; You. 

Beth didn’t know what she’d expected from someone who called themselves “the Alpha” but whatever it was was not what you were. When she and Gwen reached you and you rose to your full height you towerd over both of them like a fucking skyscraper with a broad, maculine body complete with soft ivory skin, thick meaty hands, prominent veins, and muscles that might as well have been chisled from stone. Short red hair cut in a 90’s bob framed a sharply defined, oval face allowing your deep green eyes with their frightful and unnerving gaze to stand to attention. You wore a loose-fitting bronze t-shirt tucked into black jeans decorated with custom-sewn pockets all down the legs with a brown and black flannel tied around your waist, a gold watch on your wrist glinted off the dying sunlight, and black, knee-high combat boots similar to Gwen’s adorned your feet; though yours had to be at least three sizes bigger. There were two Glock 19’s in a holster around your waist, a semi-auto .22LR slung across your back, and a knife as long as Beth’s forearm in a vertical sheath across the back of your holster; the many pockets of your jeans bulging with mags for the three guns.

“Give us a moment, would you малыш,” you addressed to Gwen, taking a long drag from the joint between your fingers, continuing to speak as you released the smoke from your lips, your voice silky yet harsh with a tough, demanding and authoritative tone that matched the rest of your persona perfectly, “Why don’t you go see if you can help Jan with the mending? I’m sure she could use a second pair of hands. If not, tell Jane I told you to help her with supper.” 

Gwen gave a small nod, turning and walking away without so much as a glance in Beth’s direction. Beth had caught the Russian word for ‘baby’ and realized that it was you who had been speaking the language earlier despite having a flawless American accent whenever you weren’t using Russian dialect. 

“So, маленькая полевая мышь, I hear one of my girls hit you with the bus?” you spoke softly, eyeing Beth like someone would a confused child, “Tell me… why should I let you stay, hmm? What can you offer us?” 

“I…” Beth paused, unsure how best to respond. She didn’t know what words would save her life and what words would end it, “I-I’m a fair shooter. I can hit a perfect bullseye four of five times-”

You chuckled, drawing her up short, “маленькая полевая мышь, I have four women who can hit a bullseye five times out of five shots. What need would I have of your skill when I already have others who are better at it?” 

“I’m a forager.” she tried again, “I know what plants around here are safest to eat, which ones can be used as medicine, and which ones can end a life-”

Again, you cut her off, “And I have a woman who has a master’s degree in medicine and herbology.” 

Damn it. 

“I…” Beth was defeated. Shooting and foraging were her only helpful skills and you were right. What need would you have of her if there were already those who could do it better? “Those are the only things I can offer you…”

“Poor маленькая полевая мышь,” you purred with a small smile on your lips. You seemed to be enjoying watching Beth as she began to panic, “If you have nothing to offer me, why should I let you stay, hmm?” 

“Please?!” she begged, ready to fall on her knees and plead at your feet, “I-I don’t need to stay forever. Just long enough to heal-Please-!”

“There is no need to beg, полевая мышь.” a low chuckle escaped your throat, sending a shiver down the back of Beth’s neck, “You are lucky Gwen seems to have taken a liking to you. If not for her, I would feed you to the crawlers… You may stay with us until you heal but, while you are here, you will conform to my rules. Break or refuse to follow one and I will cast you out with only the clothes on your back. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes… ma’am…” Beth mumbled, looking down at your feet.

“Good,” you purred again, your lips pulled up in a tight, almost fake smile, “Why don’t you come inside and take a seat while I go over the rules with you, hmm? I’m sure your legs must be killing you for standing for so long. When we’re done, I’ll give you a proper tour and introduce you to everyone.”

Beth nodded, her body visibly relaxing in relief as she followed you back inside. You sat down in the chair behind the desk, motioning for Beth to take one of the leather seats across from you. 

“So,” you started as Beth sat down, looking down at her hands resting in her lap, “let’s get to it…?”

“Beth,” she answered when she realized you were silently asking for her name.

“Beth. Welcome to our little pack. I am y/n, but you will refer to me as Alpha. Calling me by my name is a privilege that must be earned. Is that understood?” “Yes.”

“Good. Now, in order to keep everyone safe and keep our pack from falling apart, I have set a few rules in place. Failure to conform to these rules will result in your immediate removal from the pack. Get caught breaking a rule and you will be punished accordingly.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth muttered, her eyes still trained on her hands. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, милый,” you reprimanded, smirking when Beth’s gaze shot up to your face, “Good. Now, our rules. One; you will obey every command I give you without question or complaint. As the alpha, it is my job to ensure that the pack remains safe. You must trust that my actions and commands are made with this in mind. Two; you must return to camp by nightfall every night and are not permitted to leave again until sunrise. Crawlers are most active at night, that is when we need to be the least active. Three; never leave the camp alone. Always in groups of three or more. Four; if you are injured, whether by a crawler or something else, you must tell someone. You cannot expect us to treat you as if you are injured if we do not know that you are. Am I clear so far?”

“Yes, Alpha.”

“хорошая девочка. Rule five; in order to ensure that we have enough water for drinking and cooking, each of us are only permitted to use the showers three times a week unless given verbal permission from me. Six; everyone must use the gym at least two times a week. We need to keep our strength up. Once you heal enough I will have you working with one of my girls to build your muscles back up. Seven; never keep helpful supplies hidden for yourself. We share everything of great value with the pack. Less important things like jewelry and perfumes and such are fine. We have no severe need for them.”

“Yes, Alpha.” Beth repeated again, showing that she was still listening.

“Number eight; don’t bring men into the camp. They cannot be trusted, nor will I pretend to tolerate them. Nine; do not ever turn off the safety feature on your weapon. It must always be ready should another group attempt to raid us or a horde of crawlers find its way through our defenses. This also means that you must be extremely careful. No one has accidentally shot someone yet, but we have had one too many close calls in recent months. And finally, ten-this rule will not apply to you without my explicit permission which you are highly unlikely to receive; do not touch another one of the girls in an intimate sense without verbal permission from both the woman and myself. As the alpha, it is my job to attend to the needs of my pack, whether that be physical, mental, sexual, or otherwise. The others know they are not to touch themselves or each other without my permission and the same goes for you.”

A mildly disgusted look overtook Beth’s face as the realization of your words sunk in. You were fucking all of them?!

“Don’t worry, полевая мышь,” you laughed, the sound harsh and rich, “I have no intentions of mating with you. You are not a permanent part of the pack, not like my girls.” 

“Is that how you became the alpha?” Beth asked before she could stop herself, “By fucking the rest of them into submission?” 

A dark shadow filled your eye as a bemused look crossed your face. You leaned forward, resting your elbows on the desk as you eyed Beth, running your tongue against the inside of your bottom lip.

“I’ll give you one pass since you are new, but if you ever speak to me like that again I will gut you. Do you understand, полевая мышь?” you hissed, your smile widening when Beth nodded, “Yes, мышь, that is how I became the alpha. Before me, it was the principal of this school. Fuck the right people in the right ways and they’ll give up everything to you… But don’t let that fool you into thinking I only fuck them to keep my position, oh no, I fuck them because I truely love them, and will do whatever I can to make them forget about what goes on outside these walls, even if it’s just for a night.”

Beth nodded again, her mind still reeling as it tried to process everything you had just told her.

“So, now that you know our rules and how our pack operates, would you like to stay? If not, we’ll give you back your things and send you on our way.” 

She didn’t know what to say. Beth knew leaving now would inevitably result in her death, yet she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to stay here. You were incredibly fucked up in the head, that was for certain. However, you did genuinely seem to mean what you said about protecting your ‘pack’. As much as Beth didn’t like either option, she ultimately decided that a month or so with you was better than being eaten alive by crawlers in a night. 

“I’ll stay.” she muttered, “And I’ll do whatever I can to be of help while I’m here.”

“Good,” you cooed, clasping your hands together with another tight smile as you rose to your feet, “Come, let’s get you familiar with the camp and properly introduced to everyone, shall we?”

Beth nodded, pushing off of the chair, her legs shaking as she stood. You waited a moment, giving her legs a moment to adjust to carrying her weight again before you strode out of the room, walking slowly so that Beth could keep pace. 

“This is our command center,” you said, leading her inside one of the rooms she’d passed earlier, “In here we keep our main radio as well as our maps, supply lists, and other things of that sort. And this is Larissa.” 

The woman-Larissa looked up from the map she’d been studying and offered Beth a soft smile that had her weak in the knees. Like the others Beth had met, Larissa was tall. Taller than Gwen but not by much, with silvery-blonde hair done up in a complex updo half hidden in a silver headscarf, a shapely, feminine figure dressed in white pants and a silver blouse accentuated with a thick brown belt and brown ankle boots, skin like a porcelain dolls, and long-fingered hands tucked into white gloves. Her eyes were a brilliant, sapphire blue framed by thick mascara-coated lashes and her lips were soft-looking and full, stained a deep ruby red in color. 

She was prestigious and well put together, seeming almost out of place in the modern world. Too gentle, too clean, too pure. But something was off. There was a weary look on her heart-shaped face as she eyed Beth, as well as a sense of falseness to her smile. To Beth, it seemed as if the woman was afraid, But afraid of what? You? Beth? 

“Larissa, сладкий голубь, this is Beth,” you announced, smiling gently at Larissa, a comforting gleam in your eye, “She’ll be staying with us for a while.”

“You’re letting her stay?” Larissa questioned, her voice velvety and melodic, yet there was something enigmatic about it…

“Only because I don’t want to hear Gwen’s pouting for months.” you teased, momentarily drawing a true smile from the woman before it turned false again.

“I suppose that’s as good a reason as any,” the blonde concured, eyeing Beth again before returning her focus to the map on the table as you strode back out of the room, beaconing Beth to follow. 

“You’ll have to excuse her demeanor. Larissa is not one to trust easily.” you said to Beth as the two of you descended down the stairs, “It will take her some time to warm up to you.”

Beth nodded, half-listening as you went on to tell her about what the school had been before the virus, following you into what at one point had been the school’s cafeteria. All of the tables but one were gone, leaving space for eight beds set in a circle in the middle of the room. There were hospital curtains on the sides and in front of each of the beds, allowing for some separation and privacy, though not very much. Also beside each bed was a small stand, on top of which lay an array of objects; hair brushes and hair ties, makeup products, jewelry, photographs, knives, gun magazines, notebooks, books, ect. Then at the foot of each bed was some kind of trunk Beth assumed was for storing larger possessions and clothing. 

There was a large, clearly handmade, circular stone fireplace in the center of the circle of beds, surrounded by an array of well-used, mismatched chairs. Very homey, Beth thought, a sudden wave of homesickness overtaking her. It had been so long since she’d seen anything that even remotely resembled a normal home. 

“This is our sleeping quarters and-for want of a better word-dining hall. We eat and sleep here as well as simply lounge around after curfew. I’ll have the twins help me bring down a cot for you later… My room is just past that door.” you pointed to a mahogany door on the far wall, not too far from the circle of beds but far enough to make it very clear you were separate from the others, “Should you need anything during the night or notice something off while you’re on watch, just knock. I’m a light sleeper.”

Beth nodded again. She wanted to make a comment about you sleeping separate from everyone else but that unnerving glint in your eye kept her at bay. You moved on, showing her the infirmary, makeshift gym, bathrooms and showers. 

“How do you have running water?” She inquired as the two of you made your way outside. Without humans to run things, places like power plants, dams and such had ceased working. Very few places still had electricity and water, none of which were anywhere near your camp. 

“We were able to create our own water system by connecting the plumbing to a river a ways up the mountain. By connecting it to a filtering system, we were able to obtain clean water for drinking and cooking.” you explained, “In order to do that we had to first shut off and drain the preexisting system, remove and close off several pipes from the upper floors, making it so that the plumbing would only run through the ground floor-not that we needed it for much else.” 

“And the electricity?”

“Solar power. We raided a solar power plant not far from here about a year and a half ago and figured out how to use the panels we’d taken to power everything here, including the bus one of my girls hit you with.” you said, stepping outside.

The area you’d taken her to was a courtyard at what appeared to be the center of the mansion. Most of it was made of the same stone as the inside, the other part of a thick wrought iron fence, both of which were decorated with beautiful scrollwork designs. Intricate arches lead off to other parts of the school, while thin cobblestone paths weaved through the grass, which was luscious and oh so green compared to the rest of the world. Several tarps had been stitched together and hung over the entire courtyard, protecting it from the rain and sun. Stone benches lined the courtyard’s edge, there were several tables littered with supplies off to one side, as well as a makeshift shooting range, and a large sparring mat staked to the ground with tent spikes, where two more women were currently occupied. 

The women on the mat were both broad and muscular, though the one facing away from the two of you had a much more haunty feel to her figure. Her short, snowy-white hair was slick with sweat and brushed against the nape of her neck. 

“Phasma, lower your hands!” you shouted, causing Beth to jump, “You’re leaving your ribs exposed! Brienne, widen your stance! If she pushes you, you’re done for!”

The two paused, unfolding from their fighting stances and turning to you, Beth unable to keep her jaw from dropping when she caught sight of-who she assumed was Phasma-'s face. The woman was tall, standing about two inches shorter than you, and had a square face and prominent jaw with a clearly broken nose. A single icy blue eye glared at Beth coldly, the left side of her face marred by a burn scar accentuated with a pearly white eye; clearly the injury had left her blind. Intimidated by her gaze, Beth dropped her eyes to the rest of Phasma’s body. A ripped gray shirt clung to her broad chest and shoulders like a second skin, green cargo pants covered her legs, showing off the muscles there when she flexed them just right. When she shifted her stance a light clinking filled the air, drawing Beth’s attention to the chain of military tags around her neck. 

“Come on ladies, you would think I wouldn’t need to tell you these sorts of things with your track records.” you scolded lightly as they approached you.

“Sorry, Alpha,” they muttered in unison, giving Beth a chance to look at the other one while their attention was trained on you.

The other woman was just as tall as Phasma, with the same square face and chiseled jaw, though her hair reached her shoulders and was the color of straw rather than snow. She had the same small, blue, almond-shaped eyes but hers were darker, more like the ocean, as well as the same porcelain skin. There was a large scar on her cheek; it looked rather like a human-made bite mark. It must have been something she sustained before the virus or she would not have been amongst the “living” now. The woman wore a dark blue tank top that showed off her pale, freckled shoulders tucked into brown cargo pants belted with a thick black belt around her broad hips. Both women were barefoot with linen strips wrapped around their hands, raw pink flesh peeking from beneath the strips. 

“You’ve already met Phasma… in a sense,” you said to Beth, drawing her from her thoughts as you pointed to the one-eyed woman-Phasma, “This is her twin sister, Brienne. Ladies, this is Beth. She’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

It was easy to note the similarities between the two sisters. As well as being similar in appearance the two women had the same posture and ora, and the exact same look on their faces as they eyed Beth like she was merely a piece of meat.

“You’re letting the rat stay?” Phasma practically growled, her voice deep and cold, mildly monotone with a clipped English accent and a slightly rough edge-the bus driver! Realizing Phasma was the one who’d hit her with the bus, Beth narrowed her eyes at the woman, shifting her stance ever so slightly in an attempt to appear stronger and more confident, though the bandages and sling did little to assist her, “Why?”

“Because, Phasma, I don’t think you want to hear Gwen whining for the next few months because we didn’t help her little field mouse any more than I do.” you answered, your voice firm and assertive, causing the frightful-looking blonde to go silent. 

“Alpha,” the other sister-Brienne, stepped forward slightly. Her voice was gravelly and had a natural stentorian and authoritative feel to it, but when she spoke to you it was in the most submissive and respectful way, “our resources are spread thin as it is. Taking on another member… it is not something we can afford…”

“I understand your concerns, Brienne. Believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, but we will make it work.” you assured, “You both know I would never do anything without fully thinking it through-”

“If you had, the runt’s corpse would be halfway up the mountain by now.” Phasma muttered, crossing her arms over her chest, her sister going white beside her as you flushed scarlet.

“Phasma, то есть достаточно!” you roared, raising your hand as if to strike her before lowering it again with a deep breath, “As of now, Beth is a part of our pack. You will treat her with the same respect as the others… And if you ever speak to me like that again, you will be sleeping outside the walls. Is that understood?” The woman merely shrugged, cracking her knuckles as she shifted her gaze to Beth, the one blue eye narrowed dangerously. You sighed, clearly annoyed with the woman’s behavior. 

“Finish your match,” you told them, “Once you’re done go ahead and begin evening procedures. I suspect Jane will have supper ready here soon.”

Phasma shrugged again, her gaze never leaving Beth, causing sweat to form at the base of her neck. Brienne put a hand on her sister’s shoulder, whispering something in her ear that caused Phasma to scoff, roughly shoving her sister away and turning and walking back onto the mat. Brienne shot you an apologetic look, nodding at you before following after her twin, ignoring Beth entirely.

“Ignore them,” you said to Beth, turning away from the sisters, “The twins have always been wound rather tightly, especially Phasma. Give them their space and they’ll give you yours. Just, whatever you do, try not to piss them off… If you couldn’t tell, they’re not afraid to break a couple of bones.” 

“What happened to them?” you looked down at her, your head slightly tilted in question, “The scars…?”

“Those are stories for another time,” you said dismissively, moving towards the cluster of picnic tables where two figures were conversing on one of the benches along the edge of the yard, “Lyme, познакомься с нашим гостем!” you called as you and Beth approached the two.

The woman you’d addressed-Lyme stood up from her spot on one of the stone benches as you and Beth approached, Beth unable to keep from ogling at the goddess before her. The woman towerd over Beth, standing just shorter than the twins with a muscular and powerful, yet curvy build that suggested years of some kind of combative experience and flawless, ivory skin. Her face was strong and angular, free of makeup with chiseled features that conveyed determination and resilience, and eyes like pools of silver that had Beth struggling to breathe. Her dirty blonde hair was cut in a short, stylish pixie cut that kept it out of her face at all times. There was an air of confidence and authority to her, exuding a sense of quiet power and strength. She was dressed in a dingy white tank top that hugged every curve, dark acid wash jeans, a bloodstained jean jacket, a long silver chain hanging around her neck, and gray boots. There was a large AK-47 slung across her back and two knives sheathed at her hips. 

The woman beside Lyme was a few inches shorter than her companion with that same authoritative presence and long, silky brown hair tied back in a low ponytail. She had flawless, sun-kissed skin, a strong, lean and almost cat-like figure and a soft round face void of makeup and splattered with the lightest freckles Beth had ever seen, accentuated with small, dusty blue eyes. There were several small tattoos on her fingers and more poking out from beneath the sleeves of her brown shirt which she’d paired with military-style pants and brown boots, accessorized with a western-style leather holster that housed a silver Glock 17. Her jaw was clenched tightly, and her eyes were narrowed as she eyed Beth up and down, stopping both ways when her eyes reached the sling around Beth’s arm, seeming to size her up. Clearly, she was as keen on having an injured stranger in their midst as Phasma and Brienne were.  

“Beth, this is Lyme and Lady-” you introduced, gesturing to each woman as you said their name. 

“Lady?” Beth asked, releasing a breathy laugh at the odd name which she instantly regretted when the brunette gave her a dangerous look that would have had Beth six feet under if looks were able to kill.  

“Her real name is Jane, but we call her Lady to keep from confusing her with our other Jane.” you explained, stepping slightly in front of Beth as Lady’s hand twitched towards her Glock, “Lady, оставь пистолет в покое.”  

The brunette grumbled, folding her arms across her chest as you gently steered Beth away from the two women.  

“I’d watch your back around her,” you warned, “She’s the wild card around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if she tries to use you as target practice... At least for the first week or so.” 

“Don’t think she’s the only one.” Beth mumbled, eyeing the twins sparring on the mat with a worried glint in her eye. 

“Phasma and Brienne may want to put a bullet in your head, but they’d do it with good intentions-at least, Brienne would… You must understand, we haven’t had a new member in over a year and, well... it didn’t end well.” 

“What happened?”  

“...She died...” you answered, your voice soft, “We were all close with her, and her death shook us quite a bit. In truth, I think the others don’t want you here because they’re afraid of having that attachment again.” 

You went silent for a few moments after that, leading Beth away. She longed to press, to learn what had happened, but it was clearly a touchy subject and she dreaded what would happen if she pushed too far. If she was being entirely honest with herself, Beth was afraid of you. Everything she’d heard, everything she’d seen gave her the impression that, though some of the others in your ‘pack’ were scary, you were the only one who she needed to be terrified of. Your authoritative demeanor, your commanding presence, the unnerving glint in your eye, the harsh edge to your voice all pointed to one simple fact; you were dangerous. In what way exactly, Beth did not know, but she was in no hurry to find out. 

You lead her back inside to a new area of the first floor and into a room piled high with boxes of supplies and racks of clothing categorized by the item and sizes. She followed you through the maze of racks to the back of the room to where a figure was sitting, pointing as you spoke. 

“Jan is who you will go to tomorrow to get fitted for proper clothing. Not only does she have the best sense of fashion, but whatever we don’t have, she can make. She’s quite handy with a needle and some thread.”

The woman you pointed to was like an angel in mortal form with a lean, angular body and pure white skin. A halo of platinum blonde hair fell to the base of her neck in waves framing a sharp, heart-shaped face with blood-red lips and dark eyeshadow with thick black eyeliner that accentuated cerulean blue eyes. Her black, five-inch platform boots seemed a little out of place given the world’s current predicament, but looked quite good with the flared red pants and ruffled white blouse. There was a box of clothing at her feet and a pincushion and several spools of thread on the desk beside her while she methodically stitched away at a shirt laying in her lap. 

“Jan, мой павлин,” you practically cooed, drawing the angel’s attention away from her work, “Why don’t you put the mending away for a while and come meet our guest?”

Jan nodded, gently placing her work on the desk as she stood, her eyes flicking over Beth. Unlike the others, her gaze wasn’t disapproving or judgmental, but rather curious and intrigued. She walked closer, flicking her eyes between you and Beth as she drew near. Even with those boots on she was still an inch or so shorter than you, and as she came to a stop in front of Beth a sweet mixture of warm vanilla and cherry scents filled Beth’s nose.

“I’m Beth.” she offered, holding out her hand to the beauty standing before her, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jan murmured, taking Beth’s hand in a dainty handshake. Her voice was like a breath of wind, angelic, crisp, and oh so silky. It would have been all too easy for Beth to get lost in its sweet spell. The woman’s skin was like satin against Beth’s coarse hands, deep ruby nails standing out against the pale flesh. 

Beth went to say something, what exactly she was not sure, but the loud, deep ring of a bell cut her off. She released Jan’s hand, looking to you for an explanation as to what the bell was for. 

“That’ll be the dinner bell,” you said to Beth, though your eyes were trained on Jan. To Beth, it seemed that you favored the platinum angel over the rest of your packmates, “Best we head to the dinning hall before Jane or Larissa have our heads for being late.” 

Jan nodded, turning off the lamp beside the desk she’d been using before taking hold of your arm as you led her and Beth back out of the room. The three of you joined the others in the dining hall where you did a quick check to make sure everyone was accounted for, scowling when you noticed one member was missing.

“Where’s Phasma?” you half growled to Brienne, your eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“She went to put the bus away,” Brienne shrugged, “Best bet is she’s still in the garage.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple before muttering, “You lot go ahead and get started. I’ll run out and grab her.” 

You left without another word, leaving Beth alone with the remaining seven members of your pack. She stood back, staying out of the way while the others lined up to get food much like you would in a school cafetorium-which they were currently in-unable to keep her eyes from glancing over the strong, shapely figures standing about ten feet from her. As much as she wished to deny it, Beth could see why you would find it hard to choose only one of the women here; she was caught in the claws of these beauties… and no force on Earth would save her if she woke the beast…

A/n: This is the first fanfic I've written that was over 1,000 words so I apologize if it drags a little at times. Pt.2 should be released in a few weeks. Hope you enjoyed!! :)

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #larissa weems #jane murdstone #commander lyme #miranda hilmarson #captain phasma #jan stevens #gwen in fabric #lady jane

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Drag My Teeth Across Your Beating Heart | Carnal XV

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

Simon was born with what his father called 'The Curse'. A wanton craving for taboo meat. Since meeting the similarly cursed Johnny, the two had formed a bond. They didn't just fight together, they ate together, slept together, and shared everything.

When a favor to Price reveals another cursed person, Simon worries she could destroy everything.

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, smut, voyeurism

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Howl - Florence + The Machine

Body disposal isn't hard, not for Simon. It was a ritual. One passed down from his father. 

Disfigure

Dismember

Dispose

As easy as any prayer. On his knees, a rag over his mouth and nose, a saw in hand. A ritual like any other. This time it felt like mass without the sacrament. Nothing to slip into his mouth, no savior, no priest. 

He’d never been one for church. His mum had dragged him and Tommy a couple times mostly for Christmas and Easter Sunday. The only days that mattered. They’d been baptized Catholic because that’s what his father was raised as but never did any of the following sacraments. They’d stopped going by the time he was ten and he stopped believing in any possibility of a God after that first meal with his father. 

He had a new religion. Led by his father. He supposed all fathers are god in a sense. That’s what it felt like the first time they ate together. Divine Salvation.

The stable smelled like rot. It was cold enough that the body hadn’t started to turn to sludge but the smell was acrid. He stripped his clothes and left them folded on a table in the tack room. Skin is easier to clean than cloth. 

As many pieces as possible. Start with the joints and a brick, smash until the bones break then cut through the flesh. Humans are fragile.  His father had taught him that at a young age. Even the smooth leather of a belt could cut skin if struck hard enough. Soft skin made him feel vulnerable. Calluses were armor. 

He liked soft on others. Spilling between his fingers. Made him feel powerful. A show of strength to hold something fragile and not break it apart. 

Nina looked soft, like the flesh of her neck would mold into his hands. His arm had wrapped around her waist so fittingly. 

Johnny still had soft parts. Thighs, neck, arse. His favorite position was Johnny on his back, thighs wrapped around his waist. Simon would grip his arse like it held him to earth. Simon’s teeth would drag against Johnny’s throat. He’d cum inside him and Johnny’s spend would slick between them. 

When Johnny asked Simon to bite him last Summer, it twisted something nasty in his stomach. The monster he’d always fought down reared its head. The same monster that controlled his father. The one that took control in Mexico all those years ago. 

He hacked and hacked at the body. The smaller the parts the better. The harder to reconstruct, the easier to scatter. He’d seen crows nearby. He could feed them over the winter with this. Simon never liked waste. 

He took a hammer to the teeth, porcelain pieces. Tips of the fingers cut off. No tattoos to skin off this time. Man to meat. 

It took several hours. The floor of the stall was covered in blood. He was covered in blood. There was a hose, still working. He gathered the meat into a cooler and sprayed down the stall and then himself. He paced the stable, keeping his blood warm while he dried off.

There was something sweet in the air. Straw and glass, brown with Nina’s blood from the other day. Johnny’s scent was mixed in there too. She’d been wearing his clothes at the time. His cock twitched. He smacked the side of his face to snap himself back.

Gathered his clothes and walked back to the house. He heard them as he stepped inside. Johnny’s hurried babbling and Nina’s moans. He quietly took his boots off and crept towards the sound. It was wrong, yes. Hearing Johnny again made his blood hot. 

There was a mirror on the wall opposite them. From his angle in the hall, he could watch unseen. They were mostly clothed, only a small disappointment. His cock strained against his jeans. 

They looked good together. Like something meant to be. Even with Johnny’s lack of experience he could work her up well. Simon watched the muscles in her back stretch, sweat glide down her back. He wanted to walk in, lick it off. Slip his hand between her legs. Tell Johnny what to do, how to touch her. He wanted to show her where to nip and where to kiss. Johnny fell apart whenever Simon’s teeth grazed where his jaw met his ear. 

She was crying Johnny’s name. Johnny stared up at her with glazed eyes, the same eyes that used to look at him. Those eyes flicked to the mirror and Simon took a step back. He crept back down the hall and outside. He walked back to the stable. 

He found himself by the pile of bloodied straw and glass. He grabbed a handful of straw and held it near his face, breathing in. He fumbled with his zipper and button, haphazardly pulling his cock out. 

His fantasies were a crowded mess of bodies, sweat and cum. Nina and Johnny’s smell mixing with his, herby and sweet. All the positions they could arrange themselves in. Take turns riding and fucking. He wanted Nina to sit on his face while Johnny rode him. Fuck Johnny while he buried his face into Nina’s cunt. 

Simon groaned, cum mixing with the mess on the floor in front of him. He sighed, shaking his hand off. He’d have to wash the floor again. 

He stood, looking at the floor, the smell making his eyes roll back. He wanted the three of them to be together. He would make it happen. He tried being the lone wolf. Separate himself from Johnny but look at what had happened. They both needed him. Johnny can’t hunt on his own and Nina seemed incapable of it entirely. He’d have to teach them both. Keep them alive. 

They’d have this house, some place to stay. No more shitty hotels and hostels or car back seats. He could outfit the cellar to better butcher meat.He never told Johnny but he didn’t even have a flat himself. Any leave had him traveling around, hunting and camping. They’d never go hungry. It could be good. Something stable. 

He thought about his family. The ones he failed. He could still smell them, his stomach twisting while his mouth watered. He made a vow that night. He was the only one allowed to eat his loved ones. It was only right. His right. He’d failed them. He wouldn’t fail Johnny or Nina. 

He made dinner that night. Steak cooked with garlic, butter and thyme. The smell dragged both Johnny and Nina out of their bedrooms and to him. Nina’s hair was still damp from her shower. Made the whole house smell like vanilla. 

“Nina,” he said after they’d all sat down. She looked up from her plate. Her chair was touching Johnny’s. Simon laid a hand on Johnny’s thigh, earning a side glance.  “I want to teach you how to hunt.”

“When?” She asked through a mouthful of food.

“This weekend.”

“Si-” Johnny attempted to interrupt.

“Do you want to learn?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smiled. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

#Carnal #simon ghost riley x oc #simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish #ghostsoap #modern warfare II #modern warfare #call of duty fanfic #call of duty #john soap mactavish #John soap mactavish x oc #soapghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #dark fic #ghoap

[myvinylplaylist]

KIϟϟ: 30 Años De Musica Rock Salvat (1984)

This record is part of the original set Fasicle No. 11 edited by Salvat De Mexico S.A. de C.V.

1984 Mexican Reissue KIϟϟ: Rock And Roll Over (Different Cover) from 1976.

Cover features Eric Carr Who Did not play on this album.

Casablanca Record And Filmworks 822 305-1.

#my vinyl playlist #kiss band #kiss army #paul stanley #the starchild #gene simmons #the demon #ace frehley #the spaceman #peter criss #the catman #eric carr #the fox #eddie kramer #polygram records #hard rock #classic rock #heavy metal #arena rock #70’s rock #record cover #album cover #album art #vinyl records

[hasdrubal-gisco]

indigenous peoples of mexico finding out their conquerors' religion of universal salvation and boundless love hinges on the blood sacrifice of the son of god and the communal consumption of his flesh and drinking of his blood once a week

#emptying the drafts a little

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Hi,

Gotta say thank you again for all the wonderful work you do.

I'm looking for a Fic where Stiles and Scot get trapped in a cave-in or sink-hole or something like that. I'm sorry but that's all I can remember. I'm sure it's not the great story about the Jaguar Goddess.

Thank you again !

Bill

Hi @mrbill125! @no-name-for-me suggested this one.

Lost Boys Don't Cry by CranApplePye

(19/19 I 156,147 I Mature I No Pairing)

Stiles and Scott wake up in a dark, unfamiliar tunnel after a rescue mission gone wrong, and that's only the beginning of their problems. Trapped in a labyrinth filled with deadly mysteries, their only hope of making it back home is to cooperate with the very people who landed them in this mess. Unfortunately, their unscrupulous captors have their own agenda, including plans that make maliciously good use of the young werewolf's rapid healing and the human boy's uncanny skill at solving puzzles.

While the rest of the pack struggles to figure out what has become of them, Scott and Stiles struggle to survive in a harsh reality where all they have is their determination, and each other. Pushed to the edge of endurance, there is nothing they wouldn't do for one another and no sacrifice they wouldn't make if it means the other's survival; but everything may not be as it seems. What does their situation have to do with their unique connection to the Nemeton, or the events that took place in Mexico? Are they fighting their way towards salvation, or a darkness deeper than any that can be imagined?

#teen wolf #stiles stilinski #scott mccall #no pairing #hurt!stiles #lost fic

[wonderandwanderinginmexicocity]

There Is No God But Death

Walking downtown in the Zócalo district can be overwhelming: A thousand sights, sounds, and smells bombard your senses. The beautiful, wafting scent of freshly baked conchas clashes with the nearby stink of dog shit.  A motorcycle nearly runs over my foot as I make my way among other pedestrians, street performers, and vendors. I keep my hands in both pockets in case someone tries to lift my phone or wallet. In the heart of downtown is a well-traveled street full of regional restaurants, perhaps for Mexicans who moved to the big city but miss the kind of food their mother back home would make. Grasshopper tacos are available, if that sounds appealing. As I sit and enjoy my meal I can see a life size statue on the corner, looming over those passing by. She is tall and thin, merely a skeleton, robed in black and unmoving. At her feet people have left offerings of coins and candy. To someone from the U.S, she resembles the Grim Reaper, missing only a scythe. Who is she and why is she here? 

Unlike many Western cultures that do their best to ignore death or mitigate it through heaven or salvation, death has always been a part of life in Mexico. The Aztecs saw death as meaningful because it could serve a greater purpose: Dying in battle or childbirth was a death that brought honor both to the individual and society. Human sacrifice kept the universe running. Death was never far from any living thing, the Aztecs might have reasoned, so it is foolish to pretend otherwise. The skulls in modern day Mexican life and art are a modern adaptation of that memento mori mentality. 

The modern worship of Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, or “Our Lady of Holy Death”, is also an extension of that worldview. Death is the only certainty in life and yet most of us try to avoid thinking about it. And yet the followers of Santa Muerte put death at the center of their faith. It is believed that one of the first worshippers of Santa Muerte asked for deliverance for a very sick loved one that was suffering (if this is beginning to sound like the Many-Faced God from Game of Thrones, that’s because it basically is). But then over time, followers of Santa Muerta began to ask Death for things they wanted in life: To find a job, a partner, protection from one’s enemies. At times, Santa Muerte wears different color robes and these signify different things people ask of her: Gold for wealth, red for love, black for protection against black magic. Believers leave offerings at the base of statues in exchange for her protection and blessings: Money, soda, fruit, cigarettes.

“The Skinny One”, as she is also known, exists outside the official organization of the Catholic Church. The church leadership does not accept the cult of Santa Muerte as legitimate Catholic practice, calling it “pagan” and “death worship”. Perhaps the church does not like the great focus on death when their doctrine teaches that for the faithful, heaven is the ultimate destination. Because the Skinny One is an outsider of the official Mexican religious establishment, she attracts outsiders as followers: Sex workers, thieves, and cartel members. It has been reported that drug traffickers brought their guns to a ceremony in Mexico City so their weapons would be blessed by Santa Muerte. This known association with undesirable elements does not help her reputation with the more mainstream masses. 

But what is the history of this shadowy saint? Are her origins Catholic, traditional or more contemporary? As is often the case in Mexico, it is a little bit of everything. 

Journalist Daniel Hernandez, an important source for this post, writes: 

"Some believe the image is a descendant from pre-Hispanic times, on the lineage of the Aztec god Mictlantecuhtli. Anthropologists maintain the Santa Muerte is a refashioning of San Pascual Rey, a Catholic saint with a long cult history in the Mayan lands of Chiapas and Guatemala, and whose traditional image is a frightening skeleton. Historican Claudio Lomnitz casts Santa Muerte's following in an economic light, arguing that it exploded after the onset of the American Free Trade Agreement, when the northern exodus of Mexican migrants across the border really took off."

Wherever she came from, Santa Muerte is incredibly popular in ways the traditional church is not, so the Skinny One is here to stay. I am not a religious person, but passing by I place a few coins at her feet and ask her to not let Donald Trump be re-elected. I don’t believe in these types of things, but “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.” Whether I like it or not, I am living in her country now. It never hurts to make friends. 

This privately owned shrine in Mexico City has public services twice a month.

The Big Three (from right to left): Saint Judas, a popular saint in Mexico City, Santa Muerte, and Jesús Malverde, a "Robin Hood" style figure who is venerated by drug traffickers.

#Santa Muerte #Religion #CDMX #Mexico #MexicoCity #Syncretism #Folklore #Catholicism #LatinAmerica #LatinAmericanreligion

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 6.7

Holidays

Anniversary of the Memorandum of the Slovak Nation (Slovakia)

Battle of Arica Day (Chile)

Beatles Day

Betamax Day

Croatian Diplomacy Day (Croatia)

Daniel Boone Day (Kentucky)

Dunmow Flitch Day

Father’s Day (Lithuania; Switzerland)

Festival of All Possible Worlds

Financial and Economic Sector Workers Day (Kyrgyzt=stan)

Flag Day (Peru)

Fleur-de-Lis Day

International Supply Chain Specialists Day

International Tourettes Awareness Day

Journalist Day (Argentina)

June Bug Day

Kataklysmos (Flood Festival; Cypress)

Land O’Lakes Day

Liberation Day (Norway)

Lime Tree Day (French Republic)

Love Island Day (UK)

Mother’s Day (France; French Antilles)

National Alexandra Day

National Arc Flash Awareness Day (UK)

National Benjamin Day

National Blepharoplasty Day

National CAPHPACH Day (a.k.a. National Citizens Against Police Harassment Police Against Citizen Harassment Day)

National Elias Day

National Goonies Day

National Journalist Day (Argentina)

National Military Working Dog Day (Australia)

National Oklahoma Day

National RV Day

Prince Day

Prince Joachim Day (Denmark)

Sette Giugno (Malta)

Shirone Takogassen (Kite Fighting Festival; Japan)

Sir Randol Fawkes Day (a.k.a.Labour Day; Bahamas)

607 Day

Trial Technology Day

Union Dissolution Day (Norway)

VCR Day

Vivien Kellems Memorial Day

World Caring Day

World Day for the Sanctification of Priests

World Day of Birth Rights

World Hemochromatosis Day

World LPG Day

World Swift Day

Write to Your Father Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Bartender Day

National Chocolate Ice Cream Day

World Food Safety Day

World Poha Day

Independence & Related Days

Anniversary of the Memorandum of the Slovak Nation (Slovakia)

Erephisian Technocracy (f.k.a. Orbis; Declared; 2005) [unrecognized]

Norway (from Sweden, 1905)

Parliament Day (Northern Ireland)

Temotu Province Day (Solomon Islands)

1st Friday in June

Action Mesothelioma Day (UK) [1st Friday]

Clean Air Day (Canada) [1st Friday]

European Dental Technicians Day [1st Friday]

Flashback Friday [Every Friday]

Fry Day (Pastafarian; Fritism) [Every Friday]

Horseradish Weekend begins [1st Friday]

Hospitals Against Violence Day [1st Friday]

Hug an Atheist Day [1st Friday]

International Socks4Docs Day [1st Friday]

National Banana Split Weekend (Begins 1st Friday]

National Day Against Gun Violence (Canada) [1st Friday]

National Donut Day (a.k.a. National Doughnut Day) [1st Friday]

National Fish & Chip Day (UK) [1st Friday]

National Gun Violence Awareness Day [1st Friday]

National Lemonade Days begin [1st Friday]

National Wear a Jockstrap to Work Day [1st Friday]

Salvation Army Day [1st Friday]

Senior Race Day (Isle of Man) [1st Friday]

Weekly Holidays beginning June 7 (1st Full Week)

Shampoo Week (thru 6.13)

Superman Week (thru 6.9)

Wear Orange Days [thru 6.8]

Festivals Beginning June 7, 2024

Action in Jackson (Jackson, Wisconsin) [thru 6.8]

Bloodroot Ramble (Healdsburg, California) [thru 6.8]

Cajun Heritage Festival (Larose, Louisiana) [thru 6.9]

Capital Jazz Fest (Columbia, Maryland) [thru 6.9]

Children KinoFest (Kyiv, Ukraine) [thru 6.16]

Fan Expo Dallas (Dallas, Texas) [thru 6.9]

Farmington Strawberry Festival (Farmington, Iowa) [thru 6.9]

Flemington Opa Festival (Flemington, New Jersey) [thru 6.9]

Fredericksburg Craft Beer Festival (Fredericksburg, Texas) [thru 6.8]

A German Sommerfest (Lancaster, Texas) [thru 6.8]

Gheens Bon Mange' Festival (Gheens, Louisiana) [thru 6.9]

The Great New York State Food & Wine Festival (Clayton, New York) [thru 6.9]

Greek Festival (Randolph, New Jersey) [thru 6.9]

Grove City Strawberry Days (Grove City, Pennsylvania) [thru 6.9]

Guadalajara International Film Festival (Guadalajara, Mexico) [thru 6.15]

Hartford Taste (Hartford, Connecticut) [thru 6.8]

Huntington Trails Beer and Wine Festival (Huntington, Indiana)

International Documentary Film Festival Artdocfest (Tbilisi, Georgia) [thru 6.9]

International Horseradish Festival (Collinsville, Illinois) [thru 6.8]

Lander Brew Fest (Lander, Wyoming) [thru 6.8]

Lincoln Square Greek Fest (Chicago, Illinois) [thru 6.9]

Norfolk Harborfest (Norfolk, Virginia) [thru 6.9]

Orange Warsaw Festival (Warsaw, Poland) [thru 6.8]

Pork Rind Heritage Festival (Harrod, Ohio) [thru 6.8]

Rhubarb Fest (Aledo, Illinois) [thru 6.8]

Rock am Ring (Nürburg, Germany) [thru 6.9]

Rosedale Strawberry Festival (Rosedale, Indiana) [thru 6.9]

South Dakota BBQ Championships (Huron, South Dakota) [thru 6.8]

Strawberry Festival (Forestville, New York) [thru 6.9]

Strawberry Festival (Hartford, Michigan) [thru 6.8]

Strawberry Festival (Mystic, Connecticut) [thru 6.8]

Sundance Solstice Festival (Anchorage, Alaska) [thru 6.9]

Taste of Charlotte (Charlotte, North Carolina) [thru 6.9]

Taste of Muskegon (Muskegon, Michigan) [thru 6.8]

Taste of Syracuse (Syracuse, New York) [thru 6.8]

Up North Beerfest (Eagle River, Wisconsin) [thru 6.8]

Walleye Weekend (Fond du Lac, Wisconsin) [thru 6.9]

WHITE SQUARE International Advertising and Marketing Festival (Minsk, Belarus)

Wimborne Minster Folk Festival (Wimborne Minster, United Kingdom) [thru 6.9]

Feast Days

Amazing Mumford (Muppetism)

Antonio Maria Gianelli (Christian; Saint)

Antony of Gianelli (Christian; Saint)

Captain Jack Sparrow Impersonation Day (Pastafarian)

Charles Rennie Mackintosh (Artology)

Chief Seattle (Lutheran Church)

Colmán of Dromore (Christian; Saint)

Commemoration Day of St John the Forerunner (Armenian Apostolic Church)

Damien Hirst (Artology)

Edtors’ Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Flowers Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Gottschalk (a.k.a. Godeschalc, Prince of the Western Vandals; Christian; Martyr)

Gwendolyn Brooks (Writerism)

Judgment Day (Leaping Songs; Shamanism)

Landulf of Yariglia (Asti; Christian; Saint)

Lanfranc (Positivist; Saint)

Louise Erdrich (Writerism)

Ludi Piscatorii (Ancient Rome)

Meriadoc (Christian; Saint)

Meriasek (Christian; Saint)

Paul I of Constantinople (Christian; Saint)

Paul Gauguin (Artology)

Robert of Newminster (Christian; Saint)

Marie-Thérèse de Soubiran La Louvière (Christian; Blessed)

Pioneers of the Episcopal Anglican Church of Brazil (Episcopal Church (USA))

Smilin’ Ed (Muppetism)

Vestalia begins (until 15th; Old Roman festival to Vesta, goddess of the hearth, home & family)

Vulfagius (a.k.a. Wulphy; Christian; Saint)

Willibald (Christian; Saint)

Christian Liturgical Holidays

Sacred Heart Day [Friday after 2nd Sunday after Pentecost; 68 days after Easter] a.k.a. ... 

Divine Compassion of Christ (Anglican Franciscans)

Feast of the Sacred Heart (Roman Catholic)

Sagrado Corazon (Colombia)

Solemnity of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus (f.k.a.)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Butsumetsu (仏滅 Japan) [Unlucky all day.]

Perilous Day (13th Century England) [19 of 32]

Umu Limnu (Evil Day; Babylonian Calendar; 26 of 60)

Premieres

Alexander’s Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins & Byron G. Harlan (Song; 1911)

Captain Fantastic and the Brown First Cowboy, by Elton John (Album; 1975)

City Slickers (Film; 1991)

Cloak & Dagger (TV Series; 2018)

Dark Phoenix (Film; 2019)

The Day of the Jackal, by Frederick Forsyth (Novel; 1971)

Dance of the Weed (MGM Cartoon; 1941)

Dinky Finds a Home (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1946)

Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood (Film; 2002)

Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead (Film; 1991)

El Dorado (Film; 1967)

Face/Off (Film; 1997)

Feedin’ the Kiddie (Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 1957)

Fields of Gold, by Sting (Song; 1993)

Ghostbustrs (Film; 1984)

The Goonies (Film; 1985)

Grease (Broadway Musical; 1972)

Green Lantern: Emerald Knights (WB Animated Film; 2011)

The Hasty Hare (WB LT Cartoon; 1952)

The Heat of the Day, by Elizabeth Bowen (Novel; 1948)

High School Confidential (Film; 1958)

The Honourable Schoolboy, by John le Carré (Novel; 1977)

Horse’s Mouth, by Joyce Cary (Novel; 1950)

I Am Mother (Film; 2019)

The Johnny Cash Show (TV Series; 1969)

Jungle Fever (Film; 1991)

Kim Possible (Animated TV Series; 2002)

Mr. Fore by Fore (Phantasies Cartoon; 1944)

Mr. Money Gags (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1957)

The Mummy (Film; 1999)

Old McDonald Had a Farm (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1946)

The Old Rugged Cross, by George Bennard (Christian Hymn; 1913)

Peep in the Deep (Fleischer/Famous Popeye Cartoon; 1946)

Perfect (Film; 1985)

Peter Grimes, by Benjamin Britten (Opera; 1945)

Post, by Björk (Album; 1995)

The Producers (Film; 2002)

Purple, by Stone Temple Pilots (Album; 1994)

Rabbit Stew and Rabbits Too! (WB LT Cartoon; 1969)

The Rock (Film; 1996)

Salmon Loafer (Chilly Willy Cartoon; 1963)

A Satire of the Three Estates, by David Lyndsay (Play; 1552)

The Secret Life of Pets 2 (Animated Film; 2019)

The Seven Deadly Sins of the Bourgeoisie, by Kurt Weill and Bertolt Brecht (Ballet; 1933)

Simple Man, by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (Song; 1970)

Squatter’s Rights (Disney Cartoon; 1946)

Vincent, recorded by Don McLean (Song; 1971)

What—No Spinach? (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1936)

The Wily Weasel (Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Cartoon; 1937)

Wimmin is a Myskery (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1940)

The Wise Little Hen (Silly Symphony Cartoon; 1934)

X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Film; 2019)

Today’s Name Days

Anita, Eoban, Gottlieb, Robert (Austria)

Valeri, Valeria (Bulgaria)

Antun, Radoslav, Robert (Croatia)

Iveta (Czech Republic)

Jeremias (Denmark)

Robert, Robi (Estonia)

Robert, Robin, Roope, Suvi (Finland)

Gilbert (France)

Anita, Gottlieb, Raimund, Robert (Germany)

Panagis, Sebastian, Zinais (Greece)

Róbert (Hungary)

Geremia, Landolfo, Roberto, Sabiniano (Italy)

Arnis, Gaida, Gijs (Latvia)

Lukrecija, Radvydė, Ratautas, Robertas (Lithuania)

Robert, Robin (Norway)

Antoni, Ciechomir, Jarosław, Lukrecja, Paweł, Robert, Roberta, Wiesław, Wisław (Poland)

Teodot (România)

Róbert (Slovakia)

Isaac, Roberto (Spain)

Robert, Robin (Sweden)

Theodot (Ukraine)

Keenan, Melody, Nidia, Nydia, Nylene, Whitney (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 159 of 2024; 207 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 5 of week 23 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Huath (Hawthorn) [Day 27 of 28]

Chinese: Month 5 (Geng-Wu), Day 2 (Ren-Yin)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 1 Sivan 5784

Islamic: 30 Dhu al-Qada 1445

J Cal: 9 Blue; Twosday [9 of 30]

Julian: 25 May 2024

Moon: 2%: Waxing Crescent

Positivist: 18 St. Paul (6th Month) [Lanfranc]

Runic Half Month: Odal (Home, Possession) [Day 14 of 15]

Season: Spring (Day 81 of 92)

Week: 1st Full Week of June

Zodiac: Gemini (Day 18 of 31)

Calendar Changes

Sīwān (a.k.a. Sivan, Siwan or Simanu) [סִיוָן / סיוון‎] (Hebrew Calendar) [Month 3 of 12]

#Holidays

[ghostybourbon]

Something Else

Ch. 4 || Bad days

Warnings: MDNI, Canon-typical violence/gore(?), Mention of a mental health condition (DID) . If it triggers a bad feeling (like reminds you of something that’s a bit hard to take), please stop reading it, the last thing I want is my audience getting triggered by my work.

——————————————————————————

It’s been months since Split has joined the task force, and had been working seamlessly with the team. Her unique abilities, honed through years of combat experience and her intricate understanding of her dissociative identity disorder, made her a formidable asset to the team. However, she seemed to have a particular rapport with Price.

In the field, their coordination was uncanny. Split's adaptability and the way she transitioned between her various personas had saved them on more than one occasion. It was as though she and Price shared an unspoken language, a silent understanding of each other's movements and intentions.

Back at the base, they often found themselves in deep discussions about strategy, tactics, and the intricate details of their upcoming missions. Price admired Split's ability to see solutions from unique perspectives, and she respected his unwavering dedication to their cause.

Their camaraderie extended beyond the battlefield, and Price had taken her under his wing, teaching her the finer points of leadership and guiding her to harness her formidable skills.

Their partnership was a testament to the bonds forged in the crucible of covert operations, where trust was built not through words, but through actions, where alliances were forged not through promises, but through shared risks and unwavering support. It was a partnership that had allowed them to overcome countless challenges, but little did they know that their most daunting trial lay just ahead.

Despite the seamless coordination with Price and the valuable contributions she made to the team, the storm that would soon engulf them had brewed unnoticed. The battlefield had been their proving ground, a place where they could trust in their skills and each other, but Split's inner demons had remained hidden, like landmines buried beneath the surface.

The night was a descent into madness inside Split's mind. Hel, an insidious and feral persona, waged a gruesome battle for dominance, its vile whispers echoing like a chorus of demons.

In this nightmarish realm, Hel's voice took on a sadistic tone, urging Split towards self-destruction with horrifying promises. "You're worthless, Split. Embrace the darkness. The blade is your only salvation. End it."

Split's internal battle was a grotesque spectacle. She trembled and faltered under the weight of Hel's malevolence. Desperation gripped her, and she approached Captain Price with a concise request, her voice devoid of emotion. "Captain, I need to be restrained."

Price, his expression a mix of concern and apprehension, eventually granted her request, understanding the gravity of the situation.

Hours passed in haunting silence. Each member of the team took their turn, listening for any signs of distress. And then it was Ghost's shift.

In the dead of night, Split unleashed a scream that pierced through the darkness, a sound born of pure agony. Ghost burst into the room, his heart pounding with dread. What he found was a scene straight from a nightmare. Cuts and blood coated Split's body, her eyes vacant, her voice a sinister whisper; Her face the same one that’s been haunting his mind ever since that gruesome day.

Amidst the gruesome tableau, Split uttered words that tore through Ghost's soul. "Looks familiar aye, L.T? Remember me?." She gave him a bloodied smile, much like the one that haunted his mind every night since that mission went wrong.

Ghost, overcome with a mixture of grief and determination, removed his mask, revealing his own scarred face. “(Y/N)” He reached out to her, desperate to reclaim her from the abyss, to find the remnants of the rookie he had left behind in Mexico.

In the darkest recesses of Split's shattered psyche, Hel's sinister whispers persisted, dripping with venom. They echoed through the labyrinth of her mind, like the mournful wail of a lost soul. "It's your fault, Riley," it hissed malevolently, each word a dagger to Ghost's heart. "You left her behind in that hellhole, abandoned and broken. You let her become this... fractured thing. She'll never know the boundaries between reality and delusion, thanks to you."

Ghost felt a lump rise in his throat, choking back tears as he gazed upon the tortured visage of his former comrade. Split's face bore scars, not just physical, but the scars of a soul torn asunder by the horrors of their past. He whispered her name, "(Y/N)," his voice quivering with the weight of guilt and despair, as he desperately tried to reach the remnants of her true self buried beneath the torment.

And then, in the midst of this relentless darkness, a soft and hauntingly fragile voice broke through. "Simon," She whispered, her voice trembling like a fragile flame in a storm. It was a name that carried the echoes of their shared past, a name soaked in the tears of their unspoken regrets. In that moment, Split's plea for help was a heart-wrenching cry, a plea for salvation from the abyss that threatened to consume her completely.

Ghost's vision blurred as tears welled up in his eyes, his heart aching with a profound sadness. He reached out and gently cradled Split's face in his hands, his touch gentle as if trying to mend the broken pieces of her soul.

"(Y/N)," he whispered, his voice trembling, "I promise, I'll bring you back. You're not alone in this fight." He held her gaze, his eyes reflecting a deep well of emotions - regret, determination, and a flicker of hope.

But Hel, the malevolent persona, refused to relent. It continued to taunt Ghost, its voice growing more desperate, as if trying to shatter his resolve. "She's lost, Simon. Forever lost. You can't save her from me. She'll dance in the abyss, and you'll watch her fall."

Ghost felt the weight of those words, the insidious doubt they sowed. But he clung to the faint glimmer of hope that Split's plea had ignited in him. In this darkness, amidst the torment and despair, he was determined to find a way to bring back the comrade he had left behind in Mexico, to heal the scars of their shared past, and to save Split from the abyss that threatened to consume her completely.

In the dimly lit room, Ghost continued to hold (Y/N), his determination unwavering. The team had been on high alert, listening to the nightmarish cries and whispers that had emanated from within. Price, Gaz, and Soap, who had been waiting outside of the room, couldn't bear the suspense any longer.

With expressions etched in concern, they rushed into Split's quarters one by one. Price took charge, his voice commanding yet filled with empathy. "Ghost, continue to help her. We're here with you."

As the team gathered around Split's bed, Gaz and Price, in their typical manner, couldn't help but let out a string of curses under their breath, their frustration evident. This was a situation unlike any they had encountered before.

Soap, on the other hand, stood there, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. He had seen his fair share of horrors in their line of work, but this was something entirely different. The sight of his comrades in such distress was deeply unsettling.

As the tension in the room reached its heart-wrenching peak, Ghost continued to cradle Split's face, his voice a soothing presence in the storm of her mind. The team gathered around, their concern palpable, their unwavering support a silent testament to the unbreakable bond they shared.

And then, in a moment that felt like an eternity in this house of horrors, something shifted. Split's vacant gaze flickered, like a feeble flame trying to rekindle amidst a downpour. Confusion clouded her eyes, and she blinked, her vision gradually clearing as she surveyed the room.

In that fragile moment, as Split's eyes locked onto Ghost's face, a sudden realization washed over her. Her eyes widened, and her voice wavered as she whispered, "Simon."

But then, something astonishing happened. The storm within her mind began to clear, and with trembling fingers, she reached up and touched her own face. It was as if she had glimpsed a fragment of her own lost memories, a key to unlocking the enigma that was her past.

"Simon, you..." Her voice faltered, a sense of recognition dawning in her eyes. It was a moment of revelation, one that held the promise of unlocking secrets buried deep within the labyrinth of their shared past. Yet, the truth they were about to uncover was far more profound and unsettling than any of them could have imagined. It was a truth that would plunge them into the darkest depths of despair.

——————————————————————————

A/N:

Hey everyone! Sorry it took me over a month to release this and also for it to come out short!!! I got so busy with school!

Thank you all for the support! (A little reblog might jumpstart this author’s heart teehee~)

Stay frosty~

-Bourbon

#bourbonwrites #cod mw ghost #kyle garrick #simon riley #john price #john soap mactavish #call of duty #cod modern warfare #mwii #price mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you

[opera-ghosts]

Ernestina Poli was born in Ferrara, Italy on 3 April 1879, and she studied for only a few years before making her debut at Bergamo in 1902 as Amelia in Un Ballo in Maschera. She had a huge success and was retained for another dozen performances in Il Trovatore and the then very popular Salvator Rosa. She ended the year at Massa. At this point, despite her success, she retreated from the stage for another year of training, after which she debuted at Messina in Andrea Chenier with the tenor Ruggero Randaccio. On 17 Jan, 1904 she sang Micaela for the only time in her career, again with Randaccio as her stage partner. It was not long before the couple announced that they were to be joined in life, and in the summer of 1904, shortly before a tour to South America, they were married. She immediately changed her stage name to Tina Poli Randaccio, and there are interesting and amusing confusions in some South American reviews during the tour of 1904, in which she is listed as the tenor, he the soprano. Poli was assumed to be his first name and Ruggera, hers. 

The tour took the couple to Sao Paolo and Rio de Janeiro where Tina appeared as Mimi, the Trovatore Leonora, Desdemona, Aida, Maddalena di Coigny, Gioconda and Santuzza. He sang in Boheme, Andrea Chenier and Cavalleria Rusticana. The year ended at Sao Paolo with an opera called Cristo alla Festa di Purim, after which she added La Forza del Destino, Ballo in Maschera and Ernani to her assignments in Brazil. The couple traveled with the company to Manaus and Pernambuco, then returned to Europe where Ruggero announced his retirement from the stage. They decided that he would be her manager and coach, and from about this point his name was never seen on a billboard again. 

On 2 December 1904 Tina debuted at Milan's Teatro Dal Verme in an opera called Jana with Bergamasco and Schiavazzi conducted by Serafin and from there she went to Oporto where she sang in Aida, Il Trovatore, Don Carlo, Pagliacci, Un Ballo in Maschera and Cavalleria Rusticana. After a short respite, the couple sailed for Mexico, and in September 1905 Tina appeared at the capitol in Les Huguenots (in Italian), Aida, Germania, Un Ballo in Maschera and Giordano's recently produced opera Siberia. The company included Virginia Guerrini, Alice Zeppilli, De Marchi and Magini Coletti, and it is not surprising, given those names, that the tour extended for four months and included visits to Guadalajara. 

Turin welcomed her back to Italy when she appeared at the Teatro Vittorio Emanuele as Gioconda in January of 1907. A tour to Bucharest was arranged by Randaccio and on 11 November Tina debuted as Aida in a cast that included De Angelo, Angioletti and Bellat. On the 18th, she sang in Ernani with Angioletti, Titta Ruffo and Torres de Luna. Her season continued into the middle of December with Un Ballo in Maschera and Il Trovatore, both with Ruffo, Les Huguenots, and La Gioconda. A visit was made to Kiev and Odessa, but I have no record of her roles. 

Tina debuted at Parma's Teatro Regio on 6 January 1908 in Mascagni's brand new opera, Amica and after singing in Red Roses and Damnation of Faust, she undertook a four month tour of Italy with the new work, under Mascagni's direction. The cities visited included, Firenze, Bologna, Modena, Verona, Treviso, Trieste, Ravenna, Ancona, Cesena and Forli, where she received a thunderous welcome and was hailed as the greatest soprano seen there in a generation. At Livorno she sang in the composer's Le Maschere and Iris and the tour ended at Rome's Teatro Adriano, where Tina sang eleven performances of Amica and several of Le Maschere, the latter with Juanita Caracciolo and Carlo Galeffi. 

On 26 December, Tina made a much heralded debut at Venice's Teatro la Fenice as Aida with Ladislava Hotkowska and Henderson. The revival was so well received that a scheduled three performances became six. At Fiume, in April, she sang in Ernani and La Gioconda and in October she returned to the Adriano for Tosca, Aida and the world premiere of Raffaelo,by De Lunghi. 

In February 1910 Tina debuted at Madrid's Teatro Real as Gioconda in a cast that included Flora Perini, Giuseppe Taccani and Ruffo, after which she sang ten performances of Aida and six of Loreley at Catania's Masimo Bellini. The spring found the Randaccios back in Brazil, where, at Rio de Janeiro, on 27 May, Tina sang Isolde for the only time in her career, though it was a moderate, if not overwhelming success. At Rio, she also sang in Il Trovatore, La Gioconda, Loreley, Tosca, Aida, and Germania, and at Sao Paolo, she added another new work, Boscaiuola. Tina's tour partners included Anna Gramegna, Krismer, Giraldoni and Viglione-Borghese, and, as had been the case in Mexico, this starry roster resulted in an extended season both in Rio and in Sao Paolo. 

The most important moment of her career had arrived. On 17 December 1910 Tina debuted at La Scala as the Siegfried Brunnhilde, with the inimitable Giuseppe Borgatti in the title role. There were a dozen performances, and the production was a complete success. Fanny Anitua was an unforgettable Erda according to contemporary reviews, and the hero and heroine received memorable ovations every evening. Though hers would not be a major career in the most important of all Italian theaters, it continued at intervals for a good number of years, and included several world premiers. 

In February 1911 Tina returned to Parma for La Gioconda and then took a well needed break from performing. During the summer, she learned the role of Minnie in La Fanciulla del West, and on 10 September, at Puccini's invitation, she sang the first of thirteen performances at Lucca's Teatro del Giglio with Taccani as Dick Johnson. Her success was enormous, in fact, greater than her predecessor, Eugenia Burzio, who had sung in the Italian premiere earlier in the season. Poli was immediately engaged to repeat the opera at Naples' San Carlo with Martinelli and Viglione-Borghese and at Bari's Teatro Petruzzelli with Corti and Mariano Stabile. After a debut at Palermo's Massimo as Gioconda in March 1912, she sang Minnie at Monte Carlo, again with Martinelli and Viglione-Borghese, and in late May she debuted at the Paris Opera as Minnie in a gala performance with Enrico Caruso.

In November, Tina sang in La Gioconda at Genoa and then prepared for the Scala premiere of Fanciulla. There were many sopranos who had vied for the honor, whose partisans had lobbied intensely for them, and the uncertainty had been a major story in Italian newspapers. Burzio reigned at Scala, but it was not to be. Tina's reputation as Minnie was by now so secure that both Scala's management and the composer agreed that she deserved the honor. On 29 December, before a star studded audience, the Milan theater presented La Fanciulla del West for the first time with Poli Randaccio, Martinelli and Galeffi. Tullio Serafin was on the podium, and the clamor was so enormous that the opera was repeated fourteen times.

Tina repeated Minnie at Monte Carlo in February 1913 with Martinelli and George Baklanov, after which she sang the role at the site of its Italian premiere, the Costanzi of Rome. In the spring there were concerts at Modena in honor of the centenary of Verdi's birth and on 15 December, Tina sang in the world premiere of Mascagni's Parisina at La Scala under the composer's baton. The cast included Luisa Garibaldi, Hipolito Lazaro and Galeffi, and there were twelve performances. 

On 10 February 1914 Poli sang in the world premiere of Smareglia's Abisso and on 2 April in the world premiere of Alfano's Ombra di Don Giovanni, both at La Scala. In May she sang in Tosca at Milan's Teatro Carcano with Garbin and Viglione-Borghese and in October Tina participated in one of this century's most important stage debuts, that of Beniamino Gigli as Enzo, at Rovigo, on 15 October. It was the scene of veritable riots; a star had truly been born, and there were thirteen performances. Tina's year ended with Un Ballo in Maschera at Piacenza, a revival shared with the equally celebrated Celestina Boninsegna. 

Rome's Costanzi welcomed Tina back as Gioconda, Tosca and Minnie in the winter of 1915, and after Gioconda at Naples and Aida at Firenze, she sailed for South America and her debut at the Teatro Colon of Buenos Aires. On 25 May, Poli debuted as Gioconda in a cast that included Perini, Lazaro, and Riccardo Stracciari. La Prensa referred to her as "a major talent whose voice can send shivers down one's spine, so present and immediate is the reaction". On 6 June she sang Santuzza and on the 17th, she sang in a concert with Caruso, Bernardo de Muro, Mario Sammarco and Lazaro. The season ended with Tosca and had included performances with the company at Cordoba and Rosario, where she sang Tosca and Santuzza, and at Tucuman, where she sang Santuzza.

Tina traveled from Argentina to Santiago, Chile, and on 27 August, she opened the season at the Teatro Municipal in La Fanciulla del West. The work was so well received that an additional performance was added; it was the only opera to be seen as many as four times. She stayed at Santiago for two months, singing Tosca, Aida, Gioconda, Santuzza, the Trovatore Leonora and Maddalena di Coigny and appeared as Aida, Tosca, Gioconda and the Trovatore Leonora at Valparaiso. Tina returned to Buenos Aires in late October where, at the Teatro Coliseo, she sang all of her Chilean roles except for Maddalena, and after a brief rest, she undertook a long tour of the Caribbean Basin. World War I was in its most intense period and the safety of the Western Hemisphere certainly seemed more attractive than the dangers of Europe.

On 29 January 1916 Tina debuted at Havana as Aida, and later sang in Tosca, Il Trovatore, Cavalleria Rusticana, Iris, La Gioconda, Les Huguenots, and La Fanciulla del West. Her tenor partners were Lazaro and Zinoviev; Enrico Roggio carried most of the baritone weight and Amelita Galli-Curci appeared with Poli in Les Huguenots (in Italian). The company stayed at the Cuban capitol for nearly two months, then toured to Cienfuegos, Camaguey, Santiago de Cuba, Mananzas and in the late spring, to Costa Rica.

In November Tina returned to Italy for Tosca at Bologna with Aureliano Pertile and Jose Segura-Tallien and in January 1917 she sang at Milan's Dal Verme in a gala concert, including act 3 of Aida and act 4 of La Gioconda. At La Spezia she sang Aida, and in June Tina debuted at Zurich as Tosca with Gubellini and Sammarco. After singing Santuzza at the Swiss theater, she returned to the Dal Verme for Aida and at Genoa, she sang in La Gioconda with Vita Ferluga, Folco-Bottaro and Galeffi. 

Tina decided that the climate in Europe was not what the doctor ordered, and in fact, work was difficult to find for nearly everyone in 1917. Many of Italy's most important theaters were closed, and those that remained open presented very shortened seasons. Havana again beckoned and Tina returned in December for Aida, La Fanciulla del West, Les Huguenots, Tosca, La Gioconda, L'Africaine, La Boheme and a new opera, Doreya. Her colleagues included the tenor, Jose Palet, Edith Mason, Maria Barrientos and the basses, Nicoletti-Korman and Virgilio Lazzari. The tour again included Camaguey, Cienfuegos and Santiago. In mid March 1918, the company moved to San Juan and Ponce for a two month season in Puerto Rico. Poli sang the same roles and added Amelia in Un Ballo in Maschera. In June, at Caracas, Venezuela she sang in Aida, Tosca, Les Huguenots, La Gioconda and Cavalleria Rusticana. 

The Great War was over and Tina returned to the safety of a victorious Italy for La Gioconda at Bologna, Milan's Teatro Lirico and Firenze's La Pergola. On 18 December she reappeared in glory for the first of eleven performances of Aida at La Scala. The next few months were spent at Turin with Cavalleria Rusticana and Aida. It was during the revival of Aida that Tancredi Pasero made his absolute opera debut as Il Re, substituting for an indisposed colleague. It is with some pride that the author acknowledges this event, since Pasero's debut has always been listed as at Vicenza in La Sonnambula much later in the year. And with pleasure, I also acknowledge that this information was kindly provided by Robert Tuggle of the Metropolitan Opera Archives. 

After La Fanciulla del West at Trieste's Teatro Rossetti, in late November, Tina debuted as Aida at Barcelona's Liceo and in December she completed her engagement as Gioconda. In January 1920 Tina sang thirteen performances of Aida at Trieste's Teatro Verdi with the stellar cast of Giuseppina Zinetti, Miguel Fleta and Carmelo Maugeri. Rome's Costanzi welcomed Poli back with seven performances of La Gioconda and Genoa saw her as Santuzza in March. May was spent at the Fenice of Venice, where Tina sang in Suor Angelica with Elvira Casazza and in Aida. In June, she traveled to London for a debut at Covent Garden in Tosca with Fernand Ansseau and Dinh Ghilly and was very poorly received by both public and press who recoiled from her strong vibrato and melodramatic impersonations. Tina left London after one performance, never to return.

However, on 31 July she was welcomed with an enormous ovation at the Verona Arena when she sang in Aida with Zinetti and Pertile. After La Gioconda at Turin's Teatro Chiarella, Tina returned for a very long season at Barcelona, appearing in Aida, La Gioconda, Un Ballo in Maschera, Lucrezia Borgia, Cavalleria Rusticana and Ernani, as well as in act two of Tosca during a gala benefit. Her reviews were nothing short of magnificent and in Gioconda, she was heralded by several critics as the greatest that the city had ever seen or heard. The Liceo and Tina Poli Randaccio would continue their love affair over several more seasons. 

In 1921, Tina appeared at Brescia and Trieste for La Gioconda, Palermo for La Gioconda and La Fanciulla del West, Rome for Aida, the Milan Arena for La Gioconda, Vicenza for La Fanciulla del West with Ismaele Voltolini and Stabile, Venice for La Gioconda and at Parma on 29 December in a stellar revival of the Ponchielli work with Giannina Arangi Lombardi as Laura, Irene Minghini Cattaneo as La Cieca, Voltolini as Enzo, Noto as Barnaba and Bruno Carmassi as Alvise. 

The new year found her in revivals of La Fanciulla del West at Naples, Milan's Carcano and at Turin where she was joined by Voltolini and Apollo Granforte. The Dal Verme hosted Tina in Il Trovatore with Zinetti, John O'Sullivan and Benvenuto Franci in October, and after eleven performances of Les Huguenots at Bologna with O'Sullivan, Poli returned to Barcelona for Aida with Aurora Buades and Lazaro, Tosca with Lazaro and Les Huguenots with Cassini and Lazaro.

Tina debuted at Cairo on 27 January 1923 as Gioconda and continued her season as Minnie and Santuzza, after which she repeated all three roles at Alexandria. Santuzza was the role of her return to Milan's Teatro Lirico in May and on 11 August she appeared at Venice's Lido di San Nicola in Aida with the riveting Gabriella Besanzoni. In November, Trieste saw Poli as Gioconda and on the 22nd, she sang in a gala performance of Aida at Rome's Costanzi in honor of the King and Queen of Spain. Zinetti, De Muro and Enrico Molinari completed the stellar cast and the conductor was Mascagni. Tina's year ended at Mantua with four performances of Tosca, after which she appeared at Brescia's Teatro Grande in Loreley. Neapolitan audiences appreciated her Trovatore Leonora and Romans admired her in L'Africaine with Pasini, Giulio Crimi, Molinari and Pasero and in Tosca with Crimi and Stracciari.

In the summer Tina debuted at Vienna as Aida with Maria Gay, Giovanni Zenatello and Viglione-Borghese, a revival that had to be repeated sixteeen times before moving to Kaiserdam, Germany in September. Berlin saw her Santuzza before she returned to Barcelona in November for another daunting season. This time Tina sang in Aida, Les Huguenots, L'Africaine and a new work, Suor Beatrice. Though Tina Poli Randaccio is primarily remembered in Italy as the quintessential Italian dramatic soprano, she had by now appeared in twenty countries, and with the singular exception of England, had been rapturously received in all. There would be a twenty first. 

1925 began at Naples with L'Africaine and on 30 January, Tina returned to the Costanzi for La Fanciulla del West with Crimi and Parvis. After further performances of Tosca and Aida at the San Carlo in February, she returned to Rome for Il Trovatore and Aida. The Lido di San Nicola at Venice feted Tina to a serata di gala on 1 August as the prelude to an engagement as Aida at the Fenice, after which she sang in Tosca at Rimini with Pertile and Viglione-Borghese. In October, she returned to Genoa for La Gioconda, and on Christmas Night 1925, at Bari's Teatro Piccinni, she sang Norma for the first time. Though she sang six performances, it was not a great critical success, and she decided to drop plans for several other planned engagements in the role.

Trieste's Teatro Verdi hosted Tina in Abisso and Il Trovatore at the outset of 1926, after which she sang in La Fanciulla del West at Genoa's Carlo Felice, in Aida and a Benefit Concert at Rome's Costanzi, and in Il Trovatore at Naples' San Carlo, the last with Ebe Stignani. Poli had been singing for a quarter century and it had been an enormously intense and successful twenty five years, but Father Time, as he will, began to play his inevitable role. After Naples, it was not until September that Tina again appeared on a stage, when she debuted at the Athens Arena in Aida with Franco Battaglia. And so, her year ended.

La Scala beckoned one more time, and, on 9 March 1927, Tina sang in the world premiere of Guarino's Madame de Challant with Francesco Merli and Carlo Morelli, and with these three performances she said farewell to the theater that had presented her as its first Minnie, and in four world premieres. 

Naples again welcomed Tina for Il Trovatore and Aida, and she debuted at Modena's Teatro Comunale in April as Gioconda, and, a week later she unveiled the role of Turandot at the Comunale. At Milan's Carcano she sang in Isabeau and at year's end she returned to Barcelona for the last time, appearing in Aida and La Gioconda, with identical casts, Zinetti, Aroldo Lindi, Granforte and Vela. 

In February of 1928 Tina sang in Turandot at the San Carlo and in February, she bade farewell to Naples as Gioconda. In April she returned to Rome, where, at the newly named Teatro Reale, she sang for the last time, when she appeared in Il Trovatore. Her last engagement of 1928 was as Isabeau at Livorno in a revival conducted by Mascagni. 

In 1929, Tina sang Gioconda and Santuzza at Milan's Lirico, Turandot at Nice, which is listed in the program as the French premiere of the Puccini opera, Aida at La Spezia and Tosca at Firenze's Teatro Verdi. In 1930, her only Italian engagements were at Genoa where she sang Isabeau, Aida, and Santuzza, after which she sailed to Caracas for a season as Gioconda, Tosca, Maddalena di Coigny, Santuzza and Elena in Mefistofele. There would be no further engagements outside of Italy, and few enough in her homeland though she continued to appear for another six years. 

In 1931, she sang Santuzza at Bergamo, Gioconda for Italian Radio both at Rome and Turin, Gioconda in Palermo's Teatro Garibaldi, Nedda at Isola, and Aida at Biela and at Rome's Teatro Adriano. In 1932 she sang in Gioconda at Crema and in Tosca at Milan's Teatro Puccini and at Brescia. 1933 found her again at the Puccini for Isabeau, at the Adriano for Minnie and Aida, and at Milan's Politeama for Santuzza.

In 1934 she returned to Norma, which had played so minor a role in her career, and she sang it at both Monza and the Lido of Pesaro. At Pesaro she also sang Santuzza, a role repeated at Milan's Arena. At year's end she sang Aida at Milan's Nazionale and at the Puccini she sang in La Forza del Destino, a role repeated at Foggia in early 1935. At Foggia she also sang Santuzza. The end came in early 1936, where at Asti and finally at Modena Tina Poli Randaccio sang her opera farwell as Santuzza. The career had encompassed nearly fifty roles, and had presented her on the stages of the World over fifteen hundred times, a monumental parade of memories for nearly two generations of opera goers.

After retiring from the stage, Tina abandoned musical life almost entirely, and died at Milan on 10 February 1956.

#classical music #opera #music history #bel canto #composer #classical composer #aria #classical studies #maestro #chest voice #Tina Poli Randaccio #dramatic soprano #soprano #classical musician #classical musicians #classical voice #classical history #classical #La Scala #Paris Opera #musician #musicians #history of music #historian of music #music education #music theory #diva #prima donna

[conjuremanj]

Hurricane Turning Ceremony In New Orleans.

A public ceremony to our lady of Prompt Succor & Ezili Dantor.

The ceremony is held every year in July. So if you want to attend see the island of salvation botanica website. Mambo Sallie Ann credits the powerful intercession of Erzulie Dantor and Our Lady of Prompt Succor for saving the city, and reminded everyone present that the storm’s last minute turn was not only miraculous but was the only thing that spared the city. The crowds of 50 plus gathered to attend.

Who is Our Lady of Prompt Succor. She is the Blessed Mother, Patroness of Louisiana, whose feast day is celebrated on January 8: The Ursuline Convent in New Orleans was threatened by a great fire on Good Friday in 1788. One of the nuns brought a statue with Our Lady holding the infant Jesus to the window and prayed: “Our Lady of Prompt Succor, we are lost if you do not come to our aid.”

The wind changed, turning the flames away and saving the convent. It is still customary for the people of New Orleans to pray before the statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor whenever a hurricane or harm threatens the city. On January 8, 1815, during the Battle of New Orleans, General Andrew Jackson asked the Ursuline Nuns to pray for him and the city, because the American troops were outnumbered. A courier ran into the chapel during communion to inform all those present that the British had been defeated. The battle was over in 30 minutes.General Jackson went to the convent himself to thank the nuns for their prayers. He stated, “The divine providence of God through the intercession of Our Lady of Prompt Succor has shielded us and granted this stupendous miracle. ”Pope Pius IX authorized the public devotion to the Marian title on September 21, 1851, and designated the 8th of January as its feast day of thanksgiving.On June 13, 1928, in a decree from Rome. So you see she is important to the city and the state of Louisiana and bring a Vodou state we incorporate Erzulie Dantor with our Lady because she is the spirit of not only passion but storms. She helps.

most of the people you see came to participate in this ceremony.

Joining in. If you can't make it or you want to just help frome home for us or if a storm is coming your way.

First. All dress in white (the color of purity), with red head scarves, or all red (the color of Petwo rites).

Get your self a Lady pic and Erzulie pic.

Offering To Bring. Bring with your or add a few significant offerings: white candles and flowers for the Holy Mother; Barbancourt Rum, Florida Water, candles, daggers, dolls dressed in red and blue with gold trim , spicy black beans, peasant cakes, unfiltered cigarettes,

last pray to both let the know what your looking for help in.

Asking those present to honor the protectresses with offerings, Mambo Sallie Ann ☝️also stated that the Loas have spoken to her in many ways since Katrina’s strike and that the spirit world is entreating all of us to be more mindful of the natural world surrounding us.

Lady of Prompt Succor.

This Voudou ritual is specifically designed to summon the protection of the spirit world against the devastating hurricanes that often plough in from the Gulf of Mexico. It is also dedicated to the Catholic Lady of Prompt Succor and to Ezili Danto, the Vodoun Lwa of Storms and Passion. Manbo Sallie begins each ritual with a description of the powers of each intercessor. The Catholic priests of local churches adjacent to the Mississippi River would bring out a blessed statue of Our Lady of Prompt Succor to literally face down the threatening hurricane and turn it in its path, keeping the city safe.

Erzulie Dantor above

Erzulie Dantor, on the other hand, is delighted by storms and the mayhem they can cause, however, if she is appeased with offerings and ritual, she will divert the storm's fury and protect those who acknowledge her power. Neither intercessor should be taken lightly, says Mambo Sallie Ann, and especially if Dantor is called it is wise to leave her offerings in thanks for her appearance and continued protection.

Just as in ceremonies past, the beautiful singing, drumming and dancing is designed to call Dantor, a powerful, fiery Loa, from across the Abyss to be present among us.

People if you follow me then you know I don't believe in its only a blk practice, spirit dont judge there not racist the mombo above yes is white but also has been initiated in Haitian Vodou and one of the few non blk women who really is.

#Hurricane ceremony #New Orleans voodoo #Voodoo ceremony #Erzulie Dantor #Our lady of Prompt Succor #Vodou #Haitian Vodou #like and/or reblog! #spiritual #google search #southern v #oodoo #follow my blog #follow me #reblog post

[kemetic-dreams]

What does history tell us as to why South America did not develop as much as North America?

Their many reasons of this factor:

Instability

South American countries that gained their independence from spain soon faced instability such as civil wars, coup d'etats e.t.c

South America was like the middle east during the 19th century. Most nations did fight against each other.

US Interventionism

Many people tend to point out this reason as well. The US did interfere and mostly supported coup d'etats in southern american nations like brazil, argentina, chile e.t.c in the 20th century as means as to protect it's own economic interests and to overthrow left wing governments during the cold war.

Colonial rule

South american countries which came under spanish rule except brazil were being exploited and their wealth mostly gold was extracted.

North american countries like the united states of america and canada which came under british and french were less corrupt and settlers who settled there did build up investment and worked hard to do so, however canada and the united states later became Industrialized and therefore became rich. South america on the other hand had feudalistic systems put in place by the portuguese and spanish. The hacienda system would remain in place in south america that were colonized by spain until the 20th century.

Hacienda System

Corruption

South America has been plundered by systemic corruption probably in countries like brazil, argentina e.t.c. Corrupt politicians including despots have been elected into power embezzling funds while leaving most of the population in poverty and misery.

Corruption in brazil has definitely existed since Portuguese rule where nepotism all began.

Corruption has always been rampant in south america while in the united states and canada, corruption is not very rampant as it is in south america.

The encomienda was a system where Spanish adventurers and settlers were granted the legal right to extract forced labour from indigenous tribal chiefs in the Americas colonies of the Spanish Empire. In return, the Europeans were expected to give military protection to the labourers and offer them the opportunity to be converted to Christianity by funding a parish priest.

The encomienda system permitted the Spanish Crown to convert its invading army of conquistadors into colonial settlers, but the system's flaws – maltreatment and significant population reductions from diseases – meant that it was eventually replaced by a system of low-paid labour and large estate management.

Feudal Origins

The Spanish Empire maintained two key objectives in conquered territories: extract material wealth and convert the indigenous peoples to Christianity. Under the category of resources the Spanish saw fit to exploit came the labour of any local peoples in the area. Encomienda was a feudal term which derived from the verb encomendar, meaning "to entrust". In medieval Spain, encomienda referred to the relationship between a landowner and those who worked the land. In a reciprocal relationship, the former received labour while the latter received protection. This concept was applied to land taken back from the Moors during the Reconquista and the colonization of the Canary Islands. Encomienda was then extended to the Americas colonies from 1502 (first in Hispaniola) as a way to justify what amounted to little more than slavery. In 1503 the policy received royal approval, and it spread from the Caribbean to Mexico and Central America, and then to South America as the conquistadors ("conquerors") used it as a means to extract resources and as a reward for their followers.

In a rather dubious justification for exploitation, a favoured European (encomendero) could benefit from free labour for any purpose whatsoever in return for offering local people a certain level of physical protection and an opportunity to be exposed to the Christian religion and so enjoy the ultimate salvation of their souls.

#asian #asian american #latino #mexican #aztec #ecomienda #kemetic dreams #brownskin #brown skin #native americans