#see i can never picture anything but one ok rock for francis i have no idea why. but et cetera is such a good song | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

harryandmolly · 6 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - two

Summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth -- 2007 Warped Tour style.

Warnings: Language, a lot of tongue

Word count: 5k

Valentina forgets, just briefly, why the fuck she agreed to this around the time she unloads the 30th box from the truck.

And then the gates open.

Val’s never been to Disney World despite the fact that she and her family have lived in Florida all her life. Her parents never thought of it as a suitable vacation or activity for their children’s growing minds. But she imagines this is what it looks like, feels like when the gates of the Magic Kingdom open in the morning.

She’s watching from afar when they start letting people in. Swarms of teens and young adults with multicolored hair and vibrant graphic tees pour in searching out solace and togetherness. They’ll find it here, she’s sure. She always did.

The first bands were on at 11:30am. She’s camped out at her now fully functional merch tent and the initial door opening rush has ceased. She’s officially back in the saddle, and officially exhausted.

Her feet are propped up on the table and her sunglasses are drawn low down her nose as she surveys the area and tells herself she’s not looking for that guy, the one she saw during load-in. The one with the legs.

A hand clamps down over her eyes and her instincts tell her to drop her feet and squeal. A low rumbling laugh falls over her shoulder. Her racing heart settles.

“Alex, you’re a prick.”

And there he is. All 6’1”, 130 pounds of him. Alex Gaskarth, lead singer of All Time Low, her second favorite goofball.

She looks over her shoulder at him and grins despite her grating words. He takes his cue to step around the table and present himself to her. He’s wearing a smirk and a douchey white snapback. He lifts his thick dark eyebrows.

“But I’m your prick,” he reminds her. She shakes her head and stands. He holds out his long, gangly arms for her to wrap herself up in.

She sways them back and forth and lands a friendly kiss on his cheek. “I can’t believe it took you this long to come visit. I half expected the bus would run over you when we pulled in here this morning.”

“Following you around the venue like a puppy is so 2005,” he chuckles, alluding to the not-so-secret crush he harbored pretty famously on her during her last fall tour with Streets. Despite the potential for awkwardness, Alex and Val remained friends. She even wrote with him sometimes when he was in the Miami area.

She claps him on the back and releases him. “What time are you on? Hurley.com, right?”

He grins proudly, rocking back on his heels. “Yeah, can you believe it? Fuckin’ Hurley.com! We’re on at 4 today.”

She bobs her head. “That’s a good slot. Long enough after lunch that people will be looking around for a set to catch.”

“Exactly. Rian’s out with the posterboard now walking the line.”

Val tossed her head back with a laugh. Walking the line was a time-honored tradition at Warped Tour for smaller bands. They designate members to walk around the grounds with a posterboard announcing their stage and set time. It’s a duty no one particularly likes because it’s hot and a little humiliating but the ATL boys always did it with gusto. Val’s pretty sure it had more to do with meeting girls than with the pride of convincing potential fans to come catch their set.

“I don’t miss that shit,” she admits.

He shoots her a look. “You must miss the rest of it, though. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

“Psychoanalyzing me already, Gaskarth? Buy me a drink first.”

She gently backs him off with her sharp wit. The truth is, Alex knows more about her than she’d probably care to realize. He’s perceptive as hell, which makes him an amazing songwriter. But here, at the merch table, where she can feel the heavily lined eyes of 17-year-olds staring at them curiously, she doesn’t much feel like getting into her personal life. Especially since she knows he has the ear of Raf.

“I will definitely buy you a drink at the barbecue tonight!” he offers with a glint in his eye.

“The booze is free at the barbecue.”

“That’s perfect, free drinks are my favorite kind to buy. I gotta bounce, I’ll see you tonight, kid.”

He bumps her fist with his and jogs off, holding the saggy ass of his skinny jeans up with one hand as he waves at a giggling group of fans.

When the smell of his Axe body spray and sweat fades, the watchful eyes remain. Val is used to them, had gotten good at ignoring them, but she’s a little out of practice.

They feel sharper than she remembers. She blinks hard, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She swallows uncomfortably and reaches for a water bottle.

Despite the 50/50 male to female ratio of attendance at Warped Tour and the general understanding that women are more a part of the scene than ever before, female band members, especially female drummers, are not widely accepted. She was bothered by it for a time, unsure how anyone could mistake her drive to write and make music as a way for her to sleep with band and crew. She kept everyone at arm’s length, desperate to keep from gaining a reputation. But it never mattered. She got one anyway.

Val shoots a glance at the gaggle of teen girls in Delia’s jeans and Paramore t-shirts. They pretend to be doing anything but gossiping about her. She turns her attention back to her chipping navy nail polish and smiles. Some things never change.

Shawn pulls the fabric of his t-shirt from where it clings to his abs and pulls a face.

“I’m fuckin’ drenched,” he mumbles. Seth nods, squinting against the sun. They’ve just come off their first set playing to about seven people from the Smartpunk stage.

“California is hot,” Francis whines. Shawn beans him with a plastic water bottle. Francis grabs it out of the dust and throws it back, but it goes wide when he gets distracted by something behind Shawn.

Shawn turns his head to look. Through the straggling crowd, he sees Raf and Val Moreno at the Streets of Gold merch tent looking like the casual rock gods they are. Shawn’s smile is shy and cornered on either side by a blush.

“Should we go say hi?” murmurs Vince, their guitar and drum tech.

Shawn winces. “Well we shouldn’t stand here and strategize about it, that’s fucking weird.”

But they do stand there for another minute or two, quietly hoping Raf will spot them and wave them over so they feel like the kids getting invited to sit at the cool lunch table. But he’s embroiled in what looks like a heated discussion with his sister, so they slouch off for a break under the merch tent with Dan and his battery operated fans.

Shawn’s a little relieved. He’s not sure he can be around either Moreno twin without making an ass of himself. He knows Raf, yes, they’ve been first openers on more recent Streets shows when they’ve come through Toronto, but that doesn’t make him any less of a total fucking dweeb around him, given how long he’s been a Streets fan. And Val, Val he’s never met and probably never should. Shawn’s not bad around girls but he has a funny feeling he’d go full idiot motor-mouth if he got to look deep into the soulful brown eyes of Valentina Moreno. Maybe he can go the whole summer without talking to her? Is that possible?

He contemplates the likelihood under the tent with his eyes closed. He hears some female giggling and looks up. There are about six 14-year-old girls staring at them shyly.

“Hey, Shawn!” one of them greets, shoved forward by the others to be their mouthpiece despite the shakiness in her voice.

Shawn beams and stands, looming over them. “Hey, guys! Did you catch the set earlier?”

The leader of the group looks annoyed. “No, only Carly did,” she gestures to a petite Latina girl behind her who looks horrified that Shawn Mendes knows her name now, “We were stuck at soccer camp until noon and couldn’t get here.”

Shawn ducks slightly to seem less large and intimidating. He looks around a girl’s pink hair to catch Carly’s eye. “Did you have fun?”

Carly blinks and clears her throat. Her friends look awe-struck. “Yes. Yeah, you guys were great.”

Shawn bobs his head. “Thank you. You guys wanna take a picture?”

They agree and hand him a little pink Razr. They gather around him as he squats partially to fit them all in the frame. He turns the phone around and expertly positions it to snap the photo. With hugs and a couple purchased t-shirts later, they’re off to bask in the glow.

“Shawn Mendes: setting teenage loins on fire since 1988.”

Shawn smirks at Francis. “Are you jealous about the 14-year-olds, Frank? Do we need to have a talk?”

The band guffaws. Francis’s face goes flat. “Fuck off, you know I love older women.”

“I do,” Shawn chuckles, shaking his head.

“This year is the year I marry Hayley Williams,” Francis reminds them all. Shawn tips his head back and lets his eyes shut again, resting up before the first barbecue of the tour.

“This is the year I fuck Bigfoot,” Seth chirps.

It’s the last thing Shawn remembers hearing before he drifts off in a nice post-show nap.

Val can’t really explains the bubble of nerves she feels as she sits in the front lounge of the Streets bus with her make up bag. She’s freshly showered and applying a cat eye when Raf steps out of the bunk area with a resigned smile.

“You look pretty,” he comments half-heartedly.

“Don’t sound so bummed about it,” she chuckles, sparing him a glance as she raises her eyeliner wand with a steady hand.

“I’m not. Sorry. I’m just… I’m sorry about earlier. I was being weird,” Raf mumbles, collapsing into the booth seat across the table from her.

Val gamely lowers her hand to focus on him. She sweeps a wave of almost too shiny stick-straight hair over her shoulder and regards him carefully. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not. It’s not your shit. And I always make it your shit,” he sighs.

Val bites into her lower lip, flipping through her lip gloss options. After a moment, she looks up at him. “It’s just… it’s been a couple years, Raf, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Raf swallows and Val feels his embarrassment in her gut like it’s hers. She winces.

“I don’t know why I still can’t be around her. I feel like such a fucking kid,” he rasps. He nervously adjusts the Taking Back Sunday snapback on his dark curls and huffs.

“It’s not like there’s a rule. You and Bea, it was fuckin’ complicated. And it was so hot and cold and on and off for a long time. You’re not a robot, you can’t turn it off because you want to. And even if she pretends she can, she can’t.”

He looks up. “Did she say something to you?”

“Jesus Christ, Raf, stop. I’m talking to you now as your sister, not as Bea’s friend. I cannot be your informant or your go-between. We’re not doing that again.”

Raf held up his hands. “Right. Yes. I’m sorry. Old habits. Cool. We’re good.”

Raf stands and heads for the door without another word. Val opens her mouth to stop him but his long legs carry him faster than her brain can come up with something comforting to say. She wrinkles her nose and pouts at the magnifying mirror.

With any luck, she’d get her hands on enough Jack Daniels not to be worrying about keeping 15 yards between her brother and his sometimes-girlfriend. But if she wants any booze at all, she’d better leave now.

She follows stragglers from the bus grounds to where they’ve set up the grills and stereos. There’s something romantic about wading through trampled grass, following bonfire smoke and pop-punk to get to where she wants to be. And when she arrives, she’s welcomed with open arms and open containers of booze.

The New Found Glory guys and Bea pounce on her first, doling out hugs and swigs of gin. Val feels her heart pounding against Ryan Key of Yellowcard’s chest as she hugs him because she’ll never be fully over that little crush. She flips off the Streets band and crew as they holler at her from a stack of strategically placed hay bales. They’re surrounded by a younger band she doesn’t recognize.

She gathers a plate of food, high fives Kevin Lyman and snags a beer before she strolls over to join her family. As she stands over them, she sees a familiar face.

“Val, these are the Forefront guys. Guys, this is my sister Val,” Raf introduces, pointing out Francis, Bobby, Seth, Vince, Carter and Shawn.

Val slides on a smooth grin and plops down next to Shawn, Blue Jays skateboarding boy from this morning. Because when life hands you lemons.

“Hi,” she murmurs, fluttering her eyelashes at him when his eyes go wide. He chokes slightly on a bite of hot dog and mumbles “hi” through a mouthful of bread.

She’s undeterred. From this close, she can see the little freckles on the base of his neck and the way his sideburns are curly like the rest of his hair. It’s refreshing – curls aren’t a thing in the scene. It makes him stand out. That and the foot of height he has on anyone that comes near him.

She’s heard of Forefront from Raf. She knows some of their music. They opened a few shows after her tenure as Streets’ drummer, so her familiarity is limited. She likes his voice, though. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to close your eyes and live in it for a while, let it take you somewhere. She has half a mind to close her eyes and just listen to him talk now.

But he’s gone quiet. She wonders if maybe she threw him off by planting right next to him. Val knows as both a confident woman and a female scene drummer she can be an intimidating presence. She doesn’t so much mind that, but it does throw off her game sometimes.

She drinks a little harder. He does the same. As he does, his body, previously turned away and closed off from her, opens up. He starts looking over at her when she laughs at something Francis said or when she makes her sly cracks that have the whole group roaring. Just once or twice she catches him staring just a little too long. If their faces weren’t bronzed out by the light of the fire, she’d catch his heavy blush.

Some of the group breaks off until it’s Francis, Shawn, Val and Naveen sitting around listening to Francis blabber over blink-182’s Take Off Your Pants And Jacket in the background. Shawn and Val are both picking at straw from a hay bale when the song changes to First Date.

Their heads shoot up like meercats. Val looks at Shawn with a grin. He goes noticeably pink at noticing the same song she has.

“I love Take Off Your Pants,” she confesses, “It was like, a turning point album for me.”

Shawn nods eagerly, tossing his straw aside and licking his lips. She watches the black ring bob distractingly. “Totally. God, Stay Together For the Kids? So fucking good.”

“Oh my god, legendary,” she agrees, pressing her lips into a gentle smile.

He gets his first good look at her for the night. He’s been trying to keep his eyes down, trying not to be weird, but she’s a little magnetic.

He notices her long, rounded fingernails and wonders if she wore them that long when she was still drumming. He wonders if she straightens her dark hair or if it’s that shiny all on its own. He looks at the fullness of her lips and imagines what flavor her lipgloss is. He stops himself when he realizes he’s thinking about how her flared hips would feel under his hands when she’s dancing to Beverly Hills by Weezer.

Now, though, since they’re talking, he has invitation to look at her. She’s a classic kind of beauty with a soft round face, deep, dark eyes and cupid’s bow-shaped lips. She’s kinda tall for a girl at 5’8” but still petite enough to make you wonder how she hits those drums so hard. Or, used to.

She’s beautiful. She’s been beautiful for years. He knows because he’s been a Streets fan since he saw them by happenstance at a little club in Toronto when he was a moody 14-year-old. They had only just gotten signed and were opening for Bayside at the time. He remembers quirking his eyebrows when she took the stage, that little hint of a smirk on her face, that look of “just you watch.”

She plays hard. She’s a damn good drummer. Naveen is a decent replacement, but Val Moreno was special. She is special. And she’s pulling on his hand.

“C’mon, Mendes, I need a refill,” she announces, tugging on him as she turns toward the tables of booze. His eyes fall to the snug back pockets of her hiphuggers. He licks his lips again and follows willingly.

“What can I make you?” he offers gallantly, holding his arms out to the bottles of booze.

Val’s eyebrows lift as she leans against a lamppost. “What is this, “Cocktail?””

Shawn grins at the reference and ducks his head. “I’m a bartender when we’re not on tour. Try me.”

This time Val’s the one licking her lips at the implication. Trying him doesn’t sound like a bad way to spend time.

“Whiskey sour,” she requests with a nod. He beams at the proffered challenge and reaches for a fresh solo cup, expertly whipping up her drink the way he makes them at The Copper Bar back home in Toronto.

He hands it to her with a raised eyebrow. She takes a sip, watching him as he watches her. She approves.

“That’s good. You know your way around a bottle.”

“I do what I can,” he says without a hint of false modesty. Her heart smacks against her ribs. She fights to soothe it as he leads her not back toward their friends but around the perimeter of the barbecue.

“So. First day. You shitting yourself yet?” she asks.

Shawn laughs and adjusts the backwards cap on his head nervously. She blinks and thinks of Raf for a flash of a second.

“Today was rough,” he admits, “We’ve been opening for some cool bands so we’ve had a lot of kids to play for recently. When they’re not trapped in front of you, when they can just walk past your stage to go catch Pennywise on main, I mean yeah, it’s disheartening.”

Val knows the feeling well but gets the sense the sage older sister vibe wouldn’t be appropriate here given how not subtly he’s brushing their hands together as they walk.

“I actually heard people talking about your set today,” she says. He lights up. She brightens up right with him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Some girls at my table said you were playing a keyboard. They acted like they’d never seen one before.”

Shawn shrugs. “I like the keyboard. Feels a little elevated sometimes. It’s different.”

Val slugs back another sip of whiskey and notices how light she feels. She hopes if she starts to float away he’ll catch her.

They make another turn around the perimeter and their cups are empty by the time they get there so they refill. By the time they come back again, Shawn is stumbling lazily, holding Val’s hand high as she twirls toward the table to grab a beer. She’s singing along, and not at all badly, to Pardon Me by Weezer. He watches her with a close-mouthed smile and sparkling eyes and he’s half in love and the other half is three sheets to the wind.

When they reach the table, she drops his hand and before he can feel dejected, she hands him a beer and drags him away from the rabble and the music and the cloud of weed and cheap booze toward the buses. It’s not subtle, it’s public, people are definitely taking note of who’s skulking off with who, and Val seems to pay it no mind. Shawn swings his head back to look at what they’re leaving. He avoids Raf’s watchful gaze and instead stares at Francis who looks a little impressed and a little fucking flabbergasted.

“Do you like touring, Shawn?” she asks, continuing to drag him by the hand like she knows exactly where they’re going. He’s pretty sure she doesn’t.

“I love touring,” he says honestly, hiccupping over the last word. She giggles and turns, walking backwards up the hill with a beer in one hand and his hand in the other. He wants to memorize this moment.

Val Moreno isn’t just looking at him. She doesn’t just know his name. She’s dragging him up a hill to god knows where with beers and it occurs to him there’s no bus call tonight because they’re only driving to Ventura in the morning. What the fuck is going on.

She’s plopping into cross-legged position on a patch of mud. He notices that she doesn’t seem to do much very gracefully, other than hit the drums. He lowers next to her and she releases his hand.

“I like touring sometimes. Other times it makes me… crazy,” she confides, narrowing her eyes at the fairgrounds below being broken down by venue staff. She blinks slowly. He watches her wet her lips and sip her beer.

“It can be a lot,” he agrees softly, unsure of how to answer. He finds himself wanting to be helpful to her in some way, in whatever way she might need.

He gets like this around girls sometimes. He wants to be whatever they want him to be.

She ignores his confused glance and drops her cryptic topic. Instead, she stares out at the floodlights painting the grounds pale colors against the charcoal southern California sky.

“Do you miss drumming?” he whispers.

She doesn’t blink, doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

He’s quiet for another minute. “Why did you stop?”

She looks at him warmly. He feels it down to his toes. She puts her beer down and turns to face him, shuffling between his bent knees. She plants her manicured hands on the tears in his black jeans and looks him over carefully. He feels himself go a little hard against his thigh under her study.

“Val?” he whispers.

“Hmm?” she hums, looking up from his impressive arms to his even more impressive face.

“You gonna kiss me?” he croaks, his mouth going dry.

Valentina grins wide. “You’re goddamn right I am.”

She doesn’t so much kiss him as maul him. She launches into his body, securing her hands by his where they’re planted behind him to hold them up. She plunders his lips, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, teasing the piercing to make him moan. She licks hungrily into his mouth. He pushes off his hands to pull himself up right and hold her tight against him, wanting to feel her chest against his, see if their hearts were pounding in time, if they were as in synch as their lips.

She sinks her fingers into his hair and tugs. His body tightens along with his grip on her. He whimpers loud into her mouth, sucking gently at her tongue. She cards her fingers through his hair like she’s desperate for something but he’s not sure what it could be because he’s given her everything he has in this kiss. He bites down on her lower lip when she makes to pull away to his neck.

She tastes like whiskey and beer and her hair is impossibly softer than it looks as he plays with the ends, the fingers of his other hand flirting with the hem of her shirt. She wiggles in his arms until his fingertips nudge underneath. His hands wander up over the perfect caramel skin of her back, over the band of her lacy bra, brushing the downy hairs on the nape of her neck. He thinks about lifting her arms and pulling off her tee but he resists, dropping a hand down to slide into her back pocket instead.

She gasps a little into his mouth at his teasing squeeze. She nips at his lips playfully, giggling into the kiss in a way she hasn’t with anyone in a long time. She knows she’s drunk, they both are, but this feels like its own intoxication.

She pulls back slightly to breathe, tucking her hair behind her ears. Shawn’s lips are swollen and his pupils are blown out. She flicks gently at his bottom lip with her tongue, enjoying the way his breathing hitches whenever she uses her tongue on him. She pecks at his lips, wriggling back into his hand as he experimentally massages her ass through her skinny jeans.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he hisses, grunting when she drops her lips to the freckles she noticed on his neck earlier.

Val smiles against the gently tanned skin, sinking her teeth in to hear him yelp.

“Oh, fucking Christ,” he mutters, gathering her in closer, unwilling to move his hands from her ass.

“Wanna leave a mark,” she murmurs, tonguing his throat. He nods without hesitation.

“Please, fuck, yes,” he rasps, already picturing how it’ll look in the mirror tomorrow morning, how long it might last on his sensitive skin.

Val nibbles and sucks like she’s got a formula in place and maybe she does but he definitely doesn’t care. It feels fucking good. It feels even better, somehow, when she leans back to survey her work and smiles. She likes claiming him.

“So sexy, Shawn,” she whispers into his lips through another sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He groans in agreement. Her teeth bump up against his piercing and she pulls back to lick at it playfully.

“This is sexy, too,” she comments, pecking at the corner of his mouth, feeling the enamel dig into her lip.

“Yeah?” he pants, blinking his eyes open to see her looking at him with a Cheshire cat smile and hooded lids. He licks the taste of her off his lower lip.

“I like piercings,” she tells him, tracing the sharp line of his jaw with her finger. It quivers under her touch. He keeps his eyes level with hers.

“What… what else do you like?” he nearly gasps. Her eyebrows lift.

“You wanna know what I like, Shawny?”

The low tremor of his voice has him nodding eagerly. He squeezes her ass again for emphasis. “Yeah.”

“I like your hands on my ass. And I like your tongue in my mouth,” she replies smoothly, hooking her fingers back into his curls and tilting his head to stroke her tongue against his.

He moans loud, obscenely, and tips back into the dirt with her on top of him. Her weight is comforting somehow, and the motion kicks up a breeze through her hair, sending a distinctly citrusy scent at him to overwhelm him further.

He hears himself speaking but isn’t sure why he feels the need to, especially since he’s literally talking into her mouth. “You smell good.”

She giggles and their teeth clash and Shawn feels a shiver rip up his back. It’s so casually intimate, feels couple-y and sweet, it makes Shawn a little dizzy. He grunts and tries not to rut into her like a teenager since she’s just lying on top of him and not making any moves to grind against him or take his clothes off. Which he’s fine with, he can totally handle himself. The raging hard-on in his cage-like jeans tells him otherwise, but fuck it. When’s he going to have this chance again?

Val likes feeling him solid and warm underneath her, between her and the briny-smelling dirt. She’s just interested in kissing him, in exploring the way their lips fit together and the noises he makes when she flicks at the tip of his tongue or scratches at the curls on the back of his neck. He’s not pushing her either, which is nice. He’s not yanking at her shirt or shoving his hands down her pants. He’s making her feel like he’ll take what he can get from her when she offers it. That’s kinda nice.

The flood lights go out below them. The party is over. The venue is broken down. They both jerk upright when the world around them goes absolutely dark.

Val pants. Shawn sits up with her between his knees. He groans.

“How are we going to get back? We can’t see anything.”

Val winces. “Yeah, bad planning,” She hops up and takes his hand, yanking him to his feet, “C’mon, baby steps.”

They do get back down the hill to where the buses are. It’s not easy, and they both fall a couple times, and by the time they reach the bottom they’re both certainly more sober. He walks her to her bus and swings her hand playfully, feeling like a kid dropping his date off and wondering who’s watching them from the windows as he kisses her goodnight. She gives him one last little peck on his lip ring before sending him away and crawling into her bunk.

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway @accioalena @randi-eve

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francisrosenfeld · 6 years

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“Sister Novis,” Lelia whispered, so softly that Novis, who had just returned from a rock climbing expedition and was struggling to put away her gear on a high shelf, almost didn’t hear her.

“Oh, sweetie, I didn’t expect to see you here, I thought your mother kept you busy with the preparations for the ceremony, your input is very important, you know!” the sister said, cheerfully.

“Not as much as you think. Bonding ceremonies are very prescriptive, other than the actual clouds involved, there isn’t much that can be changed,” Lelia replied.

“How can I help you, dear?” sister Novis asked, a little puzzled that Lelia had sought her out, since she didn’t know the child-cloud very well.

Lelia straddled one of the kitchen chairs, searching for words. She gulped, looked down, and said nothing. Novis didn’t push, she put a kettle on and went to the cupboard to get tea cups.

“Have you ever been afraid?” Lelia asked, in a tiny voice that sounded like fear itself.

“Of course I was! A million times! Who has lived and never been afraid! Is there something wrong? Someone bothering you?” the sister looked at Lelia, worried. The girl shook her head.

“No, nothing of the sort. There isn’t anything in particular, is just…” she stopped.

“Just what, dear?” Novis asked.

“Well, it is the ceremony,” Lelia started again.

“Oh, you’ve got stage fright, it’s perfectly normal,” Novis said, relieved.

“It’s not stage fright, that’s just it, I don’t exactly know what I’m afraid of, I just can’t picture what life will be like once I join the Simplex Cloud, I know it’s silly, especially since Ael had already been there and can’t stop talking about it. Do you know how intimidating it is for a cloud to have a sibling prodigy who is much younger and already joined the Simplex? What if I can’t get used to it? I don’t even know what “it” is supposed to be? What if I hate it? I’ll be there forever, you know? And everybody else seems so at ease with being fused with hundreds of other clouds. I am so afraid!”

Sister Novis sighed, then took the kettle from the stove and filled the cups.

“You are venturing into the unknown. The unknown scares us all, young and old, but it is also the most precious gift we get from life, our chance to grow and change. What would we look forward to if we already knew everything the future holds?” sister Novis said.

“I feel so silly, Ael tells me all these stories about the Simplex, and what she’s doing there, and dad spends all of his time there, but he’s also here, see? How am I going to get used to something like that?” Lelia asked.

“You are a cloud, yours is an inherited memory, I’m sure you’ll know what to do,” sister Novis appeased her.

“What if I don’t? I’m only half cloud, what if the human half can’t adjust?” Lelia said.

“Ael seems to be perfectly fine,” Novis replied.

“That’s why I feel silly even talking about it,” Lelia lowered her gaze.

“The unknown is a challenge for all of us, you can’t always be sure when you open a door what you’re going to discover behind it, but if you don’t open it, you will always be controlled by your fear. It’s OK to be unsure, or afraid, and it’s OK to make mistakes, too,” sister Novis answered. “And it’s OK to not be able to explain what you’re afraid of.”

“I was worried that you’d laugh at me,” Lelia said.

“Believe me, child, I would be the last person in the world to laugh at someone for being afraid,” sister Novis said. “You know that recommendation, do the thing you’re afraid of, and the death of fear is certain? In my experience I found this advice to work a lot better in theory than it does in practice.”

“What do you do, then?” Lelia asked.

Sister Novis paused, unsure if she should continue, she didn’t want to upset Lelia even more, but the girl was looking at her, with large eyes insisting on an answer, so she continued.

“You learn to live with it,” she said.

“Live with what?” Lelia asked.

“Fear, uncertainty, doubt, you just learn to incorporate them into your life. After you stop fighting uncertainty you get to see past it, and notice many doors open where you thought was just one. You think of your Bonding Ceremony as a sequence of events when in fact it is an expansion of possibility, like acquiring an extra sense, or being able to fly. You don’t know what to do with an extra sense, but you have a lifetime to explore its potential.”

“How do you know all this?” Lelia asked, doubtful.

“Because I stood in front of my own doors, wondering whether I should open them, baby.”

“Did you ever wish you didn’t?” Lelia asked.

“Statistically speaking, you are always better off opening a door than not opening it. Of course, statistics rely on the law or large numbers, so, the fewer the instances, the less predictable your outcome is. That’s why you need to move past mistakes quickly, you learn something from every experience anyway.”

“But…” Lelia hesitated, “that feeling of uncertainty, I never want to feel like that again, it is sheer agony!”

“Yes, it is.”

“You are saying I have to enjoy feeling this way?” Lelia asked, whimpering.

“I didn’t say you had to like it. Nobody likes it. I just said get used to it and don’t let it affect the decisions you make. If you make a decision while you set your fear aside, the decision may be right or wrong, but if you make it based on your desire to escape your fear, the decision will always be wrong.”

“Why can’t I just stay away from the things that make me uncomfortable?” Lelia asked.

“There is no place in the universe where you can be safe from your fears. Wherever you run, they will find you, it is like trying to outrun your own shadow, and just as life wasting.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just not be afraid of anything?” Lelia asked.

“Everybody is afraid of something, dear, and that which you are afraid of will torment you until you look it square in the eye and stop running from it.”

“What are you afraid of?” Lelia asked.

Sister Novis paused and frowned, searching for a good example of her fears. It wasn’t easy, but she finally found it.

“Hell.”

#science fiction #utopia #utopia society

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theoldestsoultrilogy · 6 years

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“From the beginning, I did not believe one word of his. He preaches mercy, but is in truth an ice-cold, sly, Machiavellian, and, what is worse – he lies.”

These are the razor-sharp words of a cardinal within the walls of the Vatican as recently reported by the German magazine Der Spiegel, one of the most influential political magazines in Europe. This is utterly unprecedented, guys. There can be no doubt now that we have entered a time unlike anything the world has ever seen before.

As I chart what I’ve excitedly dubbed the elite apocalypse and do my part to help tear down the dark prison pyramid and usher in the liberation of this planet from the evil control forces who’ve held it “through child abuse,” to quote Sinead O’Connor, many of you know I keep a very close, and critical, eye fixed on The Holy See.

And for very good reason. The the Roman Papacy is by all prophetic accounts the main stronghold of the old control world, and it’s fall will usher in the New Earth.

It’s no secret that, just like Sinead, I am no fan of The Vatican and regularly take jabs at the man I’ve decided to start calling (for reasons I explain below) “FRANCIS THE LAST”

https://twitter.com/Tiff_FitzHenry/status/1034551589053374467

https://twitter.com/Tiff_FitzHenry/status/1036262068838690816

https://twitter.com/Tiff_FitzHenry/status/1048034135359574018

Yeah, I know I can be a little brutal. But look, “the church” has presided over the largest child abuse cult on earth, which has committed the most mass crimes against humanity in the history of civilization on this planet. And I happen to really love children and humans for that matter, so that’s a big problem for me. My snarky tweets are more than justified considering the scale of pure evil we are talking about here.

I also despise the hijacking of spirituality (which we humans are naturally wired for) to centralize power which is then wielded extemporaneously, all over the planet, for the further centralization of even more power held by even fewer individuals in a closed elite system all while hoarding the planet’s wealth, secrets and knowledge. Something about that just that really grinds my gears.

The elites who lie to and subvert humanity are my mark, and I am possessed to destroy them.

I know in my bones that the “closely guarded secrets of the Catholic Church” will soon be revealed and that this will torpedo the Roman ruling state as we know it. But what I didn’t know, until a few days ago, was that there are four different very well-known prophecies which all predict that Pope Francis will be the final pope, that his fall is guaranteed, and with it will take down the Luciferian bloodline cabal, the Roman Empire, once and for all.

Yes guys, this is BIG! Get excited!

We’ve all been meticulously, intentionally, and repititiously taught that “the Roman empire fell,” however that didn’t actually happen. Surprise! Yeah, we were lied to. Can you even believe it? LOL 🙄 Anyone else sensing a pattern?

The truth is that the seat of power that was Rome never abdicated its throne, it merely changed forms. That’s another subject for another post just something you need to know going forward.

Likewise, we’ve all been socialized to believe that the institutions which currently exist on our planet should all be there—that just because they’ve always been there that means they always should be. I mean, says who? Right? We’ve also been brainwashed to believe that these massive institutions can not ever fall. “Too big to fail” trained us well on that thought pattern, right? But this too is a grand hoax. Nothing and no one is too big to fall, or fail, especially when they have failed us. When they have forsaken their people and their purpose. Just ask Harvey Weinstein, whom I have it on very good authority is penniless at this very moment, and who will spend the rest of his life in a jail cell and die broke and alone—as the vile monster should.

We need to start to become VERY comfortable with the concept that the largest institutions on Earth will and are falling, right before our eyes.

We have entered a new era, ready or not. This is a time like nothing that has ever come before. It is an age of authenticity, where the truth about what these institutions actually are is all being pushed to the surface. And the Vatican is no exception.

So, what did all these prophesies and visions say? What will all this look like and how is it going to end? I’m so glad you asked!

Let’s start with St. Malachy and his Prophecy of The Popes.

Malachy was a 12th century Irish Bishop who made a prophecy that there would be 112 Popes (FYI Francis is the 112th). He wrote short prophetic descriptions of who each of the 112 Popes would be based on certain identifying factors such as name and birthplace.

His prophecy was long ago officially approved by the Catholic Church and stored in the Vatican archives, in spite of the fact that it predicted the future destruction of Rome. It remained a closely guarded secret for centuries.

Here is Malachy’s prediction of the 112th Pope in full is:

“In the final persecution of the Holy Roman Church there will reign Peter the Roman, who will pasture his sheep in many tribulations, and when these things are finished, the city of seven hills [i.e. Rome] will be destroyed, and the dreadful judge will judge his people. The End.”

Alright now, calm down. I know that sounds scary as heck but remember, this is The Elite Apocalypse we are talking about—the end of their dark reign over our beautiful, sacred divine world. The destruction of the good moral righteous humanity is not at hand. We haven’t been the secret Luceferians deceiving humanity for centuries, brainwashing them on a mass scale, hoarding all the wealth and resources of the planet and stealing and eating babies, right?

Remember, this is the judgement and the destruction of the wicked. This is the judgement, and expelling of evil and darkness. When you think about it, we’ve already been living in our own personal apocalyptic hellscape of darkness for millennia.

Alright, back to Malachy. He prophesied the 110th Pope, Pope John Paul II, by saying “From the labour of the sun / Of the eclipse of the sun.”

Scholars confirm this prophesy by noting that the sun was in eclipse during the day and very moment of Pope John Paul’s birth on May 18, 1920, as well as and during his funeral on April 8th 2005.

Yes guys, that is very freaking weird.

Ok, let’s look at Malachy’s prophecy concerning the 111th pope, Pope Benedict. The prophecy says of him, “Gloria Olivae,” which means “the glory of the Olive.”

The Order of Saint Benedict, the chosen name of Ratzinger, is also known as the Olivetans. In choosing this patron he was quite literally the ‘glory of the olive’ personified.

Well, alrighty then. Now that it seems this Malachy guy was indeed legit let’s look at who he said this final pope will be, “Peter Romanus,” or Peter the Roman.

Pope Francis, a.k.a Peter the Roman

Pope Francis, originally known as Jorge Mario Bergoglio, was given a birth name that is quite telling. Bergoglio is derived from the word “berg” which means “mountain” or “large rock” in German. Mario is derived from the Latin name Marius which comes from Mars—the god of war. Jorge translates to George who is most associated with St. George “was a Roman soldier of Greek origin and a member of the Praetorian Guard for Roman emperor Diocletian” who was venerated by the Crusaders.

The prophecy points out that “Peter Romanus” is identified as the last pope. Like Bergoglio in Italian, Peter, means “rock” in Greek, just as Romanus translates to “from Rome”. Hence, Jorge Mario Bergoglio’s own name points to the fact that he is the very last Pope of Rome. Even his middle name — Mario — refers to a tendency to warmonger.

Plus, the father of the current pope was Peter, or Pietro, and was from Italy even though the family moved to Argentina.

Francis is Peter of Rome.

NOSTRADAMUS

He predicted that the last pope would flee Rome in December when “two suns” seem to appear in the sky.

Nostradamus said:

The great star for seven days will burn A cloud will make two suns appear The big mastiff will howl all night When a great Pope changes his territory. 2:41

Here is another interesting Nostradamus prediction regarding the destruction of Rome.

NOSTRADAMUS QUATRAIN #10-65

Oh vast Rome, thy ruin approaches,

Not of thy walls, but of thy blood and substance;

The bite of thine utterings will be such a horrible snip,

The point of the blade thrust all the way to the handle.

In Quatrain #10-65 Nostradamus predicted the ruin of Rome as the result of an inflammatory statement made by the pope against the enemies of Rome, that would result in a backlash and the ruin of Rome. The ‘enemies of Rome” are The People. Recently the Pope has repeatedly called for ‘silence’ in the wake of revelations that have taken decades to surface. This has enflamed the masses and promped two letters calling for his resignation.

Nostradamus however, tells us that Rome’s buildings will not be destroyed, only its occupants and idols.

Hmmmm very interesting stuff. I keep visioning the spoils of Rome being redistributed amongst the victims of abuse. Let’s all picture it and see what happens!

So, what did Edgar Cayce, the sleeping prophet, say?

Edgar Cayce

During the time of the Soviet Union, Edgar Cayce predicted that Russia would one day be an ally of the United States. He said:

“…for changes are coming, this may be sure—an evolution or revolution in the ideas of religious thought. The basis of it for the world will eventually come out of Russia. Not communism, no! But rather that which is the basis of the same as the Christ taught—”

The prediction came true after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, which Cayce also predicted.

Edgar Casey predicted that there would be one final papal reign after John Paul II, that his reign would be short, and that there wold be no further papal reigns after that. In other words, that Benedict would be the last pope to begin and end a reign and there would be no further Pope to complete a reign ever again.

Yeah, pattern alert! Ok now let’s talk about Fatima.

THE VISIONS AT FATIMA

The Three Secrets of Fátima consist of a series of apocalyptic visions and prophecies which were supposedly given to three young Portuguese shepherds, Lúcia Santos and her cousins Jacinta and Francisco Marto, experienced the apparition of Mary, starting on May 13, 1917

Of the three secrets, two were revealed at the time. The third and final one—kept in an envelope by the Vatican—was not made public until mid-2000.

Sister Lúcia chose not to disclose the third secret in her memoir of August 1941. In 1943, Lúcia fell seriously ill with influenza and pleurisy. Bishop Silva, visiting her in 1943, and suggested that she write the third secret down to ensure that it would be recorded in the event of her death. Lúcia was hesitant to do so, however. At the time she received the secret, she had heard Mary say not to reveal it, but because Carmelite obedience requires that orders from superiors be regarded as coming directly from God, she was in a quandary as to whose orders took precedence. Finally, in mid-October, Bishop Silva sent her a letter containing a direct order to record the secret, and Lúcia obeyed.

The third part of the secret was written down on January 3, 1944. In June 1944, the sealed envelope containing the third secret was delivered to Silva, where it stayed until 1957, when it was finally delivered to Rome.

It was announced by Cardinal Angelo Sodano on May 13, 2000, 83 years after the first apparition of the Lady to the children that the Third Secret would finally be released. In his announcement, Cardinal Sodano implied that the secret was about the 20th century persecution of Christians that culminated in the failed Pope John Paul II assassination attempt on May 13, 1981, the 64th anniversary of the first apparition of the Lady at Fátima.

The text of the Third Secret, according to the Vatican, was published on June 26, 2000:

“The third part of the secret revealed at the Cova da Iria-Fátima, on 13 July 1917.

I write in obedience to you, my God, who command me to do so through his Excellency the Bishop of Leiria and through your Most Holy Mother and mine. After the two parts which I have already explained, at the left of Our Lady and a little above, we saw an Angel with a flaming sword in his left hand; flashing, it gave out flames that looked as though they would set the world on fire; but they died out in contact with the splendour that Our Lady radiated towards him from her right hand: pointing to the earth with his right hand, the Angel cried out in a loud voice: ‘Penance, Penance, Penance!’. And we saw in an immense light that is God: ‘something similar to how people appear in a mirror when they pass in front of it’ a Bishop dressed in White ‘we had the impression that it was the Holy Father’. Other Bishops, Priests, men and women Religious going up a steep mountain, at the top of which there was a big Cross of rough-hewn trunks as of a cork-tree with the bark; before reaching there the Holy Father passed through a big city half in ruins and half trembling with halting step, afflicted with pain and sorrow, he prayed for the souls of the corpses he met on his way; having reached the top of the mountain, on his knees at the foot of the big Cross he was killed by a group of soldiers who fired bullets and arrows at him, and in the same way there died one after another the other Bishops, Priests, men and women Religious, and various lay people of different ranks and positions. Beneath the two arms of the Cross there were two Angels each with a crystal aspersorium in his hand, in which they gathered up the blood of the Martyrs and with it sprinkled the souls that were making their way to God.”

Along with the text of the secret, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, (the future Pope Benedict XVI), published a theological commentary in which he states: “A careful reading of the text of the so-called third ‘secret’ of Fatima … will probably prove disappointing or surprising after all the speculation it has stirred. No great mystery is revealed; nor is the future unveiled.”

HOWEVER….

Critics such as Italian journalist and media personality Antonio Socci claim that the four-page, handwritten text of the Third Secret released by the Vatican in 2000 is not the real secret, or at least not the full secret. The argument is based on the following:

Written on one sheet of paper: the text of the Third Secret released by the Vatican is handwritten on four sheets of paper. Father Joaquin Alonso, official Fátima archivist for sixteen years, reports in his book that, “Lucy tells us that she wrote it on a sheet of paper. In a taped interview, Charles Fiore quoted Malachi Martin as saying the following regarding the text of the Third Secret: “I cooled my heels in the corridor outside the Holy Father’s apartments, while my boss, Cardinal Bea, was inside debating with the Holy Father, and with a group of other bishops and priests, and two young Portuguese seminarians, who translated the letter, a single page, written in Portuguese, for all those in the room.”

Written in the form of a letter: another reason why critics argue the full Third Secret has not been released is because of indications that the Third Secret was written in the form of a signed letter to the Bishop of Leiria and the text of the Third Secret released by the Vatican is not written in the form of a letter. Lúcia was interviewed by Father Jongen on February 3, 1946. When Fr. Jongen asked Lúcia when the time would arrive for the Third Secret, Lúcia responded, “I communicated the third part in a letter to the Bishop of Leiria.” Also, Canon Galamba, an advisor to the Bishop of Leiria, is quoted as saying, “When the bishop refused to open the letter, Lucy made him promise that it would definitely be opened and read to the world either at her death or in 1960, whichever came first.”

Contains words attributed to the Blessed Virgin Mary: the text of the Third Secret released by the Vatican contains no words attributed to the Blessed Virgin Mary. Socci asserts that the Third Secret likely begins with the words, “In Portugal the dogma of the Faith will always be preserved etc”, words which Lúcia included in her Fourth Memoir, but which are included only as a footnote to the text released by the Vatican.

Contains information about the Apocalypse, apostasy, Satanic infiltration of the Church: in an interview published in the November 11, 1984 edition of Jesus Magazine, Cardinal Ratzinger was asked whether he had read the text of the Third Secret and why it had not been revealed. Ratzinger acknowledged that he had read the Third Secret, and stated in part that the Third Secret involves the “importance of the novissimi“, or ‘END TIME’ and “dangers threatening the faith and the life of the Christian and therefore (the life) of the world.” Ratzinger also commented that, “If it is not made public – at least for the time being – it is in order to prevent religious prophecy from being mistaken for a quest for the sensational.”Also, a news article quoted former Philippine ambassador to the Vatican, Howard Dee, as saying that Cardinal Ratzinger had personally confirmed to him that the messages of Our Lady of Akita and Fátima are “essentially the same.” The Akita prophecy, in part, contains the following: “The work of the devil will infiltrate even into the Church in such a way that one will see cardinals opposing cardinals, bishops against bishops. … churches and altars sacked ….” On May 13, 2000, Cardinal Sodano announced that the Third Secret would be released, during which he implied the secret was about the persecution of Christians in the 20th century that culminated in the failed assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II on 13 May 1981. In a syndicated radio broadcast, Malachi Martin stated that the Third Secret “doesn’t make any sense unless we accept that there will be, or that there is in progress, a wholesale apostasy amongst clerics, and laity in the Catholic Church …”

You know, exactly what we are seeing right now.

FINAL BONUS SIGN

If for some bizarre reason you’re still in need of further convincing that the nazi pedo pope, Francis the last, a.k.a Peter the Roman, will soon preside over the collapse of the Vatican state and the unholy Roman empire once and for all, here’s one last thing to consider.

Just hours after Pope Benedict’s shock resignation, lightening stuck the Vatican, hitting the top of St. Peter’s Basillica. Not once. But TWICE.

So, what is my take on all this?

Well if you’ve studied theology you know that Jesus had a brother named James. Many scholars believe that James was the first leader of the church. I believe James knew what Jesus truly came to teach, messages of love, liberation and the truth about the powers of our humanity. What Jesus came to teach was POWERFUL. But it was powerful to the individual and to the collective, empowering them in their direct connection with the divine source of all life, and counter intuitive to the entire concept of institutions.

So “Jesus” as we know him, and in particular what was supposed to be the intirety of his message, was hijacked by the unholy power hungry Romans, who stoned James to death and installed Peter as the first Pope. I believe Frances (ie Peter of Rome) will be the final Pope, the Rome’s rule of darkness will have been from the first Peter to the last, and his fall will usher in the destruction of the Roman Empire (cabal, Luciferian, control matrix, pedophile darkness) once and for all.

THE END.

Which will actually be the beginning 🙂

In Love & Truth,

Tiffany

Tiffany FitzHenry is a Hollywood Whistleblower and Author of The Oldest Soul Trilogy

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Is This The Last Pope? 4 Historic Prophecies Say Yes. “From the beginning, I did not believe one word of his. He preaches mercy, but is in truth an ice-cold, sly, Machiavellian, and, what is worse – he lies.”

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