#but I am unfortunately burdened by the greatest despair of all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sortasirius · 3 years

Text

“Despair” and Dean and Cas

Well well well, winning is my favorite thing.

As usual, this is going to be as long as hell. And fair warning, it’s extremely emotional.

So here it is, the thing that we have been barrelling towards for years, literally years.

Just want to point out this. Also, I will NEVER allow someone to speak negatively about this writing group, EVER.

Team Free Dads starting off the episode is so sweet, so scary. Cas’ calming, Dean’s fear, Sam’s desperation, really just hammering home how much they love Jack, how his pain is pain for them, how losing him is unbearable.

“I can’t stop this. I’m coming apart. I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t let me hurt you.”

Oof. If you’ve ever question whether Jack is a Winchester, this line should shut that shit down for you.

When I tell you I was PISSED when Billie sent Jack to the Empty to EXPLODE????? PAIN.

“Yeah the Empty can’t come to earth, not without being summoned.”

Hello Bobo, clue number 1.

The fact that they only had Jack in limbo for like five seconds was great for my heart health, thank u very much Bobo.

Also Dean wielding Death’s scythe?????? KING?????

Man, Sam and Dean’s growth. The way that they’re able to, idk, actually speak on how they feel without death looming or fear or pain. It’s just a conversation, just an honest conversation of Dean admitting his mistakes, admitting how he felt. Admitting that he fucked up, and Sam forgiving him for it.

CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF

Also...hunters and their “dates.” Two hunters who are happily together, who are happily fighting monsters. Hm. Sounds like a Saileen/Destiel parallel to me boys.

You ever wish Cas would look and the mirror and take the great advice he gives others? Because I do. He’s always tried to be “useful” for Sam and Dean, for Jack, always tried to make sure that he’s useful enough that they keep him around. But what he doesn’t understand, what he’s never understood, is that they need him because of who he is, not because of what he contributes.

Remind y’all of anything?

And here we have Clue Number 2

And then, Sam’s realization. Eileen.

Did I begin full tilt screaming no in my apartment when he said her name? Who’s to say?

How can a lock screen cause me this much pain????

Okay but: Charlie loses Stevie, Sam loses Eileen. Clue Number 3.

I feel like I don’t talk enough about how much Sam loves Eileen. About how obvious it is that they are endgame, about how happy he is when he talks about her. This just feels like a blow to the stomach, but we’ve barely even started.

Sam immediately shifting into protective leader mode? He is the love of my life.

Dean’s simple nod, like it’s a given? Enough to do me in right there.

This is another episode where it’s just so clear that Sam is the leader of the North American hunters. Everyone knows him, everyone is willing to follow him. He’s knowledgeable and kind and fair and just and an incredibly capable fighter. Once again, I don’t believe his work on earth is done.

Can we also please talk about how FRIGHTENING IT WAS for Jack to kill that plant??? I don’t really have much of a comment on it because I was literally just like ?????

With Billie saying that it’s Chuck, the way that people were dusted, very similar to Becky and Amara, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised, especially with Donna getting taken off the board. It’s like I said last week, I don’t buy that he’s taken himself off the board, he’s too invested in the unraveling of this story to take a step back. He’s gotta break them before he can defeat them, that’s the only way.

And here we go, into one of the most painful and surreal things I will ever write about.

Dean’s speech. His guilt, his regret. The shame of not only trapping himself, but the pain, the horror of trapping Cas.

“I just lead us into another trap. All because I, I couldn’t hurt Chuck. Because I was angry and because I just needed something to kill, and because that’s all I know how to do.”

“Dean-”

“It was Chuck all along. We never should have left Sam and Jack, we should be there with them now. Everybody’s gonna die, Cas. Everybody. I can’t stop it.”

His narrative arc. Tied up in a bow.

“She’s gonna get through that door.”

“I know.”

“And she’s gonna kill you and then she’s gonna kill me. I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles.

Cas knows. He knows what’ll get them out of this, and he knows that he would do anything in this Universe for Dean Winchester. The human man he fell for.

“When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.”

“You what?”

“The price was my life. When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me forever.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I’ve wondered what it could be, what my true happiness could even look like. I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.

“But I think I know, I think I know now...happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being. It’s in just saying it.”

“What are you talking about, man?”

The most selfless thing Cas does in this, and he does a lot of selfless things, is to tell Dean Winchester how impossibly good he is. To tell him that he is worthy, to tell him that he is adored.

“I know, I know how you see yourself, Dean. You see yourself the same way our enemies see you. You’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken and you’re daddy’s blunt instrument. And you think that hate and anger, that’s what drives you, that’s who you are. It’s not. And everyone who knows you sees it, and everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. You raise your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are.

“You’re the most caring man on earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you outta Hell...knowing you has changed me.

“Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you, I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack, I cared about the whole world because of you.

“You changed me, Dean.”

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Dean’s greatest fear. His fear of those loving him leaving him. The terror of being alone.

“Because it is.

The head shake. Don’t love me. Don’t love me if it means you’ll leave me, don’t love me, everyone I love leaves me. Don’t leave me. Don’t love me. Don’t leave me.

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

Just like I always thought. One last look at Dean before the Empty takes him.

“Cas-”

“Goodbye Dean.”

And Dean is left, broken on the floor, unable to answer Sam’s calls, unable to do anything. It doesn’t matter to him that Chuck has wiped everyone out, it doesn’t matter to him that Sam and Jack might need him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because the thing that mattered still hangs on his lips, still waiting to be said, and now he won’t get another chance to say it.

The fact that I am writing this, even with all my spec, with all my analysis of the writers’ room, of their text, of the way Dabb and co had approached this story, nothing could have ever prepared me for this. Nothing could have prepared me for a three and a half minute, uninterrupted scene where Cas confesses not only that he loves Dean, but that he has always loved him.

I talk a lot about how these writers don’t get the credit they deserve. Unfortunately, from most of this fandom, they never will. We will likely never know the fights with the network they had, the steps backward they had to take, the way they had to beg and fight and claw to get this on the screen. But they did it. They did it for these characters, they did it for this dinosaur of a show, and yeah, they did it for us.

It was not easy, I can promise you, to get this greenlit. They had to fight for this, they likely had to call in favors and make threats and quite literally put their careers on the line (you may scoff at that, but WB is a BIG company, especially in the TV/movie world) for this story. This story of Dean and Cas, the man dragged out of Hell and the angel who fell for him.

I have tons more to say, and will likely have several more posts about this, but I want to leave all my babes who are worried that that was the end for Dean and Cas with some takeaways.

Sam is missing Eileen. Dean is missing Cas. That is no longer a fun subtextual parallel, that is it for them. Their respective endgames are missing, and they will not know their peace until they get them back. Chuck will not win. That’s not the story being told, and right now? He’s winning. He’s broken them, left them with nothing, left them with an empty world and a hole in each of their hearts where their person (or angel) used to be.

Our show is going to end with “contentment.” “Contentment” isn’t from Sam and Dean being filled with grief and hitting the open road. It isn’t Sam getting Eileen back and leaving Dean with no one. “Contentment” is Sam and Eileen, Dean and Cas. Together.

#destiel #spn #supernatural #my meta #destiel meta #spoilers #spn 15x18 #i cannot believe this #i cant believe i wrote this #this is real #theyre really canon

3K notes · View notes

three-houses-text-files · 5 years

Text

dimitri/marianne

c-a support + paired ending

Dimitri: Marianne? Marianne: Oh. Dimitri. D: Oh… I'm sorry for disturbing your prayer. M: There’s no need to apologize. I just finished. D: I see. What were you praying for? M: I was simply asking the goddess...for forgiveness. D: Forgiveness? For what? M: I put our soldiers in danger during the recent battle. D: What matters is that they came back safely in the end. You shouldn't blame yourself for that. M: It's true, but... You were injured when you came to our aid. D: That? It was just a scratch. A small price to pay for your safety. M: But… D: I would never regret helping an ally, even if it meant losing my own life. M: No, no. That's wrong. D: How so? M: It’s just all wrong. M: You have my thanks for helping in the battle, Dimitri. M: But I'm afraid I have to ask that you keep your distance from me. D: Is that so? M: Yes. D: Forgive me, but I will be there for you. Whether you want me to or not. M: I’m sorry…

——————————————————————————————

D: Marianne? M: Oh. Yes? D: May I sit here? There isn't another open spot... M: Um, you may. D: I'm sorry... I should have eaten in my quarters. I know you asked me to stay away from you. M: No, it's fine. M: About the other day, when you said you didn't regret risking your own life... D: I apologize for whatever foolish thing I said to upset you, truly. But...may I ask what happened? M: It’s just... There is only misfortune for anyone who comes near me. D: Misfortune? M: I’m afraid so. M: Especially those with complete disregard for their own safety. D: Ah, so I didn't offend you. You're trying to tell me I should be more concerned for my own safety. Well, I suppose I could improve in that regard. D: As for you causing misfortune, I think that's far from the truth. In fact, I find you to be a lucky charm of sorts. M: Me? Lucky? I'm sorry, but I don't agree with that at all. M: My entire life up until this point has been nothing but a string of unfortunate events. D: But misfortune finds us all. Perhaps those around you have suffered or even perished, but look at you. You're still here, alive and well. M: That’s... D: It doesn't feel good, does it...to be the one left behind? You feel guilt for not dying along with the others. M: H-how did you know? D: You and I are the same. D: Maybe you should fear being cursed with misfortune for coming near me. M: Hehe. D: Ah, a smile and a laugh. Coming from you, that's a rarity. This must be my lucky day. M: I just find the idea amusing. M: It’s strange to think that someone like you could have anything in common with me. D: Is it so terrible a thought? M: No, no. It's not that. It actually makes me happy. M: As though there's finally someone who understands how I truly feel...

——————————————————————————————

M: Hmm… Spared again... D: So it would seem. I told you that you are extraordinarily lucky. M: Sometimes I think that must be true. But why me? M: Is this the goddess's way of telling me to make something of myself? M: There are so many others who are much more deserving of life... D: I often think the same of myself... Especially after battles where many lives were lost. D: But I must go on living. I cannot give in to death so readily. D: It is my duty to atone for my sins, and to pay for the lives I've taken. D: I suppose...that must be why the goddess allows me to live on. M: Is there a reason she allows me to live? D: Only you can know that. But I believe there is a reason. M: … D: Marianne... Life is difficult. D: It is a burden... D: It feels terrible to continue standing when so many others had to fall. D: If that is so, then carry on as you are. There is no need for you to force yourself to smile as your soul bleeds. D: But please... Whatever you do, do not give up on yourself, or your precious life. M: What do you mean? D: If you were to die, I would be devastated. M: Hehe! You never have been easy to read. D: Is that so? M: Everyone says that I need to cheer up... M: But you may be the first person to tell me not to. M: Your life must also be difficult for you to understand my position. D: So it is. I often feel I am not strong enough to live it. D: I think our difficulties have brought us closer together. D: Do you? M: Absolutely! M: Please, Dimitri. Promise you'll live through this war and long after. M: I don't know what I'd do with myself if we lost you... M: As long as you are carrying on, I have yet another reason to carry on myself. D: I promise to the goddess of Fódlan that I will never give you cause to despair.

——————————————————————————————

paired ending

Dimitri assumed the throne of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and spent his life ruling justly over Fódlan. Several years after his coronation, he took Marianne, whom he loved dearly, as his queen. Many of Dimitri's greatest achievements can be traced to wisdom provided by Marianne, who had received tutelage from her adoptive father, Margrave Edmund. Many years later, when Dimitri fell to illness, he clutched his queen's hand until the very end. The queen's journal, uncovered after her passing, contained recounts of their time together. The last words, penned with trembling hand, are: "I would not trade our time together or the happiness we knew for anything."

#fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #dimitri x marianne #marianne x dimitri

92 notes · View notes

imagitory · 5 years

Text

D-Views: The Hunchback of Notre Dame

Bonjour, mes amies! Welcome, bienvenue, to another installment of D-Views, my written review series for films produced or inspired by the Walt Disney company! For more reviews for films like Enchanted, Star Wars Episode III, and Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, feel free to consult my “Disney reviews” tag, and please, if you enjoy this review or any of the others, please consider liking and reblogging! I look forward to writing more of these in the future for films like Wreck-It Ralph and Halloweentown, as well as Non-Disney films like Charlotte’s Web.

I recently put out a poll suggesting three Disney Renaissance films for possible review subjects, and although The Little Mermaid won that poll, this film ended up not far behind. (Thank you, @schifty-al and @mygeekcorner for your votes!) It’s one of my personal favorite Disney films of all time...The Hunchback of Notre Dame!

Victor Hugo’s classic novel Notre Dame du Paris, called The Hunchback of Notre Dame in English, seems like a very odd inspiration for a Disney animated family film, and that’s because...yeah, it is! When the Disney animators first brought Hunchback to the table, they were less inspired by the original Hugo novel glamorizing the architecture of Notre Dame cathedral, and more inspired by a graphic novel adaptation of the story, which was likewise much more influenced by the 1939 Hollywood film adaptation. Because of the historical context that 1939 adaptation was made in (premiering at Cannes during the rise of the Third Reich), themes of social justice were added to a story that originally was about how the “edifice” can outlast the flaws and sins of mankind. The “social justice” element is something that Hugo interestingly put more in his follow-up to Notre Dame du Paris, the epic brick book Les Miserables, but has since been similarly tied in the public consciousness to The Hunchback of Notre Dame, despite not existing in the original book.

The project was already an odd choice for Disney to take on thanks to the darkness of the book, but the political themes also were unique for a Disney picture as well. It clearly was a more “adult” endeavor, even though thanks to the success of previous projects like Aladdin and The Lion King, there were studio mandates demanding more comic relief, and even the marketing team was reluctant to advertise Hunchback as anything other than a family film. Rather than showing the artistry and darker scenes, the marketing almost entirely focused on the Feast of Fools and the gargoyles, highlighting the “Ugly Duckling” aspect added to the story and downplaying the more adult themes. In the end, it’s likely thanks to those poor marketing choices and the inconsistent tone of the picture that this movie failed to find its audience on first run. It only earned $21 million worldwide, compared to Pocahontas’s $29 million and The Little Mermaid’s $84 million, with mixed critical and audience reaction. Although it was nominated for an Academy Award for its music and won several others, it was noticeably less successful than other installments in the Disney Renaissance, and even now, Disney often doesn’t give Hunchback that much attention. Like Quasimodo, the film has been sort of locked up in its own tower...but now, today, I aim to bring The Hunchback of Notre Dame out of the shadows and give it the appreciation it deserves.

Our film begins in complete darkness, accompanied by resounding church bells and the amazing vocalizations of the English Opera Company, and from the very beginning, I’m just enveloped by the embrace of Alan Menken and Stephen Schwartz’s unbelievable score. Choral music in general has always been something special in my family. My mum and dad were in choirs a lot of their lives: they even first met when they joined the San Diego Master Chorale in the 80′s. Choral music remains one of my mother’s greatest loves and passions, and when I saw Hunchback, it made the choral music my parents loved so much, which focused around a faith I hadn’t been raised with and didn’t believe in, that bit more accessible to me as a child. Mum, who studied Latin in college, went on to teach me about all of the chants and phrases Menken and Schwartz added to each song so that I could more appropriately sing along. It remains one of those Disney soundtracks that cemented our close bond, and I’ll always treasure being able to see the La Jolla Playhouse production of The Hunchback of Notre Dame with my mum and getting to hear the amazing choir and instruments live.

The Bells of Notre Dame, as an opening number, cannot be matched in how it introduces us all to the story, characters, themes, and tone of the piece. In just a few minutes, the music and lyrics perfectly showcases our setting, the theme of what makes a man, the atmosphere of fear and injustice, our villain, and our hero. Menken and Schwartz previously worked together on Pocahontas, but Hunchback in my opinion easily outstrips their previous collaboration. The use of church bells of all sizes to convey the solemnity, mystery, and grandeur of the cathedral at the center of the proceedings, and the clever use of Latin phrases -- it’s just unbelievable! As one example, in the sequence where Frollo (a judge in this version, as opposed to the Archdeacon) chases Quasimodo’s mother up to the stairs of Notre Dame and she pounds on the door, crying for help, the choir sings “Quantus tremor est futurus quando Judex est venturus,” which means, “What trembling is to be when the Judge comes.” And sure enough, the line comes to a horrible, horrified halt when Judge Frollo snatches the woman’s child away and throws her to the ground.

After one of the most epic musical introductions in a Disney film, we meet our sweet, gentle hero, Quasimodo, voiced by Tom Hulce, who is just such a ray of sunshine. Although I loved hearing Michael Arden as Quasimodo on stage, Tom Hulce will always be my Quasimodo. When I was a teenager, I went through a horrible “hating the world” phase where I only ever saw pain and suffering and felt not only powerless to make anything better, but worthless as well. During that time, I turned my back on a lot of the things that had brought me joy, feeling almost unable to enjoy them anymore. One of the very few exceptions, however, was this movie and especially the character of Quasimodo. When I was at my darkest points, Quasimodo never failed to bring me some light, not because he was particularly funny, but because for all of the misery in his circumstances, he never faltered in being gentle, creative, and kind. Looking back on how I’d been, I wish I’d had just a shred of Quasimodo’s grace back then. I wish I hadn’t allowed myself to fall into despair and resentment. Since I can’t go back, however, I keep Quasimodo in my mind sometimes whenever I’m going through something difficult. He’s kind of become a guardian angel of sorts to me, reminding me that my life is a precious gift and I shouldn’t take anything for granted. And really, I couldn’t do that if not for Tom Hulce and Quasimodo’s supervising animator, James Baxter. I truly am grateful to both of them for giving me a character that even now can be a symbol of everything I wish I could be.

Unfortunately along with Quasimodo, we also meet the gargoyles, Hugo, Victor, and Laverne. As a kid, I actually liked the gargoyles all right, but as an adult...yeah, they really break the mood. Badly. The worst offender is easily Hugo, which is a shame because I like Jason Alexander as a performer, but he just goes way too over-the-top-obnoxious. It would admittedly not be as bad if it were clear that the gargoyles were all in Quasimodo’s head, but Djali sees Hugo come to life at one point and they later help Quasimodo fight off the guards. I greatly prefer the way the gargoyles are handled in the stage production, where all of the saintly statues have their own voices that nonetheless reflect what Quasimodo is thinking and when Quasimodo hits his lowest point before Esmeralda’s execution, he forcefully banishes them out of his head.

Even though the comic relief is handled poorly, I certainly cannot say the same for the villain. Judge Claude Frollo is easily one of the most evil villains in Disney history. Tony Jay’s vocal performance is just chillingly resonant, commanding your attention and making you subconsciously shrink in on yourself whenever he speaks. It makes for a despicable, cold, cruel man -- the antithesis of a father, the true embodiment of a monster. Frollo is often compared to Mother Gothel from Tangled in how they both lie to, control, and emotionally abuse their charges (Quasimodo and Rapunzel, respectively), but I personally find Frollo so much worse than Gothel, because he not only cuts Quasimodo off from everyone, but he indoctrinates a gentle, kind soul like Quasimodo in his racism and intolerance against those different from him -- including Quasimodo’s own people, the Romani. Mother Gothel hoards Rapunzel away like a dragon hoarding treasure -- Frollo treats Quasimodo like a burden, beating into him that no one else would want him and that Frollo was such a “good man” to take him in. It’s just vile.

And now we come to my single favorite Disney song of all time -- Quasimodo’s aria, Out There. From the time I was little, this song spoke to me like few others did. Growing up, I was an only child with a huge imagination surrounded almost entirely by adults and who had a lot of difficulty relating to kids my age. I often liked being on my own, but it didn’t change how I often felt different and detached from the people around me, and as I got older, that feeling only increased. I moved a lot in my childhood, making it difficult for me to plant roots, and I rarely followed trends or popular norms, so I constantly stayed in the fringes of the crowd, enviously looking on at those who could fit in more easily than I could. I always tried to hide my insecurities, but they were still there, and when those insecurities took hold, I would often imagine the world being a place where I could be myself, just like Quasi does. Quasimodo’s longing to be “part of them” and lamentation of people being “heedless of the gift it is to be them” has always resonated with me, and even though it’s hard for me to sing Out There without shifting octaves, my heart swells every time I hear it.

The Captain of the Guard, Phoebus, is easily the biggest liberty that Hunchback adaptations have made with the original novel. The book version of Phoebus was more like Gaston from Beauty and the Beast than how he’s portrayed here, but I frankly have no complaints. Kevin Kline is wonderfully dry and witty in the role -- he’s more than a match for Esmeralda, being brave, noble, and sarcastic with seemingly no prejudice for those different from him. And then yeah, as for Esmeralda herself...as Phoebus says later, “what a woman!” Esmeralda was one of my very favorite Disney heroines as a kid, and she still is. The character of Esmeralda is often rather saint-like in her incarnations, but here we see both the “angelic” and “demonic” sides of her -- she’s fiery, but kind; rebellious, yet noble; anti-authority, but patient; distrustful, yet loyal. In the musical adaptation, when Esmeralda is first revealed, we hear Frollo, Phoebus, and Quasimodo sing this about her --

Frollo: She dances like the Devil!

Phoebus: She dances like an angel --

Quasimodo: An angel!

Phoebus: -- but with such fire!

Frollo: Such fire!

All Three: Who is she?

This is Esmeralda’s characterization and her relationship to the three male main characters in a nutshell. Quasimodo only sees the best of Esmeralda; Frollo only sees the worst of her; and Phoebus sees her for everything she is...as a person. And this is why she ultimately chooses Phoebus, unlike in the book where she solely chooses Phoebus because of his looks.

When we reach the Palace of Justice, I’m reminded that I have yet to accent how absolutely stunning every single background is in this movie. Yes, the animation overall is wonderful, whether in the character animation or otherwise, but there are few Disney films that have more atmospheric and beautiful backgrounds than this. It serves to give the movie such a wonderful depth and makes the setting feel that much richer and deeper. Admittedly one weaker aspect of the animation is the now-slightly-outdated CG background characters. They were made by taking a handful of templates and then mixing up their clothes and colors, so as to multiply them ad infinitum and make the crowds of Paris look bigger and more colorful. Even with that, though, you do sort of have to look carefully at the background crowds to notice, as there are lots of hand-drawn characters sprinkled in in front of those CG models that help obscure their repetition and awkwardness. Those CG crowds also make the city of Paris look appropriately overcrowded and huge, so I’m glad that they used the technology even if it was still so in-progress at the time.

Even though Topsy Turvy starts off so fun and festive, however, it soon devolves into a terrible riot where Quasimodo is bound and tormented by the crowd. I admit, the transition is a little abrupt, but it still works for me, as people can be so easily swept away by mob mentality and those in power -- namely, Frollo’s guards -- sometimes flaunt their authority by putting down others. Fortunately Esmeralda is there to save Quasimodo and give Frollo a much-deserved verbal smackdown. The following scene, though, is another example of the mismatched tone, stretching out Esmeralda’s escape with a lot of comic “hijinks” that don’t really add anything to the film and kind of serve as a big time waster, especially after it abruptly cuts off and turns much more solemn and sad as Frollo silently confronts Quasimodo and Quasi returns to Notre Dame in shame.

Hunchback’s focus on religion is, in my opinion, one of the things that made producing an adaptation of Hugo’s novel such a bold decision. I’m not a religious person at all (Agnostic and proud), but it was still really meaningful to me to see both the good and bad associated with religion, represented by the Archdeacon and Frollo respectively. Frollo, along with Pharaoh Seti from The Prince of Egypt, taught me as a kid that evil is not always self-aware and, more importantly, how much more dangerous evil is when it garbs itself in godliness and righteousness. That’s a valuable lesson, regardless of your religious faith. God Help the Outcasts may invoke God’s name, but it could just as easily be a prayer to the world, or even just to you as an individual. The Christian faith preaches that we are made in God’s image...so when Esmeralda asks God to help her people, maybe she’s in truth asking you to try to be the loving God they need.

Something unique about Hunchback is the wonderful friendship that develops between Esmeralda and Quasimodo. From the time I was very little, I made friends with both boys and girls, so it was so wonderfully refreshing to see a story where a girl and a boy became such close friends and supported each other so much. Yes, admittedly, Quasimodo is romantically interested in Esmeralda, but when he sees how much she loves Phoebus, he both accepts their relationship and treasures Esmeralda’s friendship all the same. He doesn’t wallow in bitterness upon Esmeralda not choosing him; he loves her all the same as the first real friend he’s ever had. Esmeralda truly loves Quasimodo and treasures their friendship too -- her choosing Phoebus romantically is never framed as her teasing Quasimodo or leading him on; she simply loves Phoebus and Quasimodo in different ways. And that I find so unbelievably cool. I also like that in Esmeralda’s and Quasimodo’s conversation on the roof, there are some strains of the deleted song Someday in the instrumental accompanying the scene -- you can hear a R&B variation of Someday in the film’s credits, but originally it was meant to replace the more religious God Help the Outcasts, only for God Help the Outcasts to be chosen over it. I agree with the filmmakers’ decision, but I still like Someday too. Quasimodo’s helping Esmeralda and Djali escape Notre Dame by climbing down the towers also beautifully foreshadows Quasimodo’s dexterity in climbing down to save Esmeralda at the end of the film.

Quasimodo and Frollo are both enthralled with Esmeralda, but as mentioned previously, they each only see the angelic and demonic sides of her, which is best encapsulated by the dual numbers Heaven’s Light and Hellfire. Heaven’s Light is appropriately sweet and pure, but I can’t beat around the bush here: Hellfire steals the show, not just from Heaven’s Light but from all other villain songs in Disney history. The song starts with a choral chant praying for forgiveness, which then segways into Frollo’s demented, mad raving about his lust, fear, and hatred for Esmeralda. The words are almost terrifying in their level of conviction and paranoia, which then devolves into vindictive, destructive mania, framed by the mournful echoes for “mercy” from the choir.

Right after Hellfire, we get one of my favorite instrumentals on the soundtrack called Paris Burning. The choir’s bustling, dramatic cries trimmed by the tense strings and horns of the orchestra just evokes fear and horror as Frollo terrorizes Paris. Then Phoebus finally takes a stand, refusing to set fire to the miller’s house and then, after Frollo does it himself, leaping in to save the family from the flames. In the musical, this whole sequence is accompanied by the amazing musical number Esmeralda (which honestly, every fan of this movie should listen to, it’s really worth it), but the film handles it unbelievably well with only a short scene and an instrumental that sears the final “Kyrie Eleison” into the audience’s ears like a fire brand.

Sadly, after this amazing, epic sequence, we once again are subjected to tonal whiplash when we return to the bell tower and the gargoyles decide to sing Quasimodo a song to cheer him up. Although I maintain Hunchback has one of the best soundtracks ever recorded, what stops it from being flawless is this song. A Guy Like You is not an inherently bad song on its own, but when combined with the rest of the soundtrack, its melody, tone, and out-of-place pop cultural references are just ridiculously jarring. It’s like we’ve been transported into a completely different movie, one less inspired by a classic French novel and a critically acclaimed film about social justice and one more inspired by Disney hits of the day like Aladdin and later projects like Hercules. As sad as it is, it’s kind of a relief when it’s over and we’re brought back down to earth by Esmeralda carrying a close-to-death Phoebus into Quasimodo’s tower.

Frollo’s arrival after Quasimodo agrees to hide Phoebus is excellent in its suspense. We can sense Frollo’s suspicion, and all the while, we’re so worried for Phoebus hiding under the very table he and Quasimodo are sitting at. Then Frollo, who we’ve only ever seen as cold, conniving, and controlled, bursts into a rage the kind of which we’ve never seen before, and for a second, he’s a demon himself. After his rage is spent, he sets his cruelest, most terrible trap yet: using Quasimodo’s feelings for Esmeralda so that he can capture her and the rest of the Romani. And at first, Quasimodo almost doesn’t take the bait, thanks to a short-lived pang of self-pity. At first he’s bitter about his heart being broken and considers not helping Esmeralda, as there’d seemingly be no “reward” in him doing so...but the feeling is quelled in seconds by the memory of Esmeralda and how much her friendship means to him. Quasimodo’s selflessness and goodness wins out in its struggle with his more selfish instincts...and this, in the end, is what makes Quasimodo a hero in my eyes.

All right, I guess with our entrance into the Court of Miracles, I should address the elephant in the room. I’ve called Esmeralda’s people “the Romani” in this review, but throughout the entire film, the term is substituted for the admittedly-period-appropriate slur “Gypsy.” I knew nothing about the Romani culture when I first saw this film and I profess no intimate knowledge of it now, but even with that, I have to acknowledge that this movie doesn’t always showcase the Romani in the best light. Although Quasimodo’s parents, Esmeralda, and (to a degree) Clopin are given relative sympathy, the sequence in the Court of Miracles doesn’t do much to endear them to the audience. These victims of persecution are not really given the focus they deserve: we never learn much about their culture or about why they’re persecuted, and we don’t really get to see how they live their lives as ordinary people. To someone who doesn’t know anything about the Romani, I don’t think this film would be the best introduction to their culture and heritage.

Our climax is accompanied by the best instrumental track in the film, Sanctuary! Whenever I hear this piece, I have to stay completely silent, drinking in every single line and note, so as to properly absorb its brilliance. The track has accompanied a lot of my writing in the past: it’s always helped me when I was writing a powerful, emotional climax, whether through the emotion it wrought from me or just from wanting to write a new scene to the music. This entire sequence, from a musical, writing, animation, and character point of view, is I think what made Disney decide to make this film in the first place. The pacing -- the character animation of Quasimodo tearing down the pillars -- the drawn backgrounds of Notre Dame -- the camera whirling over the never-ending crowd’s heads and up onto the cathedral as Quasimodo hoists Esmeralda over his head -- this is the heart of why the movie was made and what the entire film was building up to. This resistance against injustice and the protection of our sacred, historical institutions from hatred and cruelty is what Hunchback is and should be all about. Occasionally this battle scene is inter-spliced with comic bits that once again aren’t really necessary and kind of stick out (Laverne’s Wizard of Oz reference and Hugo’s impression of a fighter plane in particular are out of place), but it doesn’t ruin anything for me. Fortunately as the climax grows darker with the arrival of Frollo and the transition from Sanctuary! into And He Shall Smite the Wicked, the gargoyles take a backseat, and we get focus where we should’ve always had it: on Quasimodo, Esmeralda, and Frollo. Thanks to his love for his friend Esmeralda and the realization of his own self-worth, Quasimodo finally stands up to Frollo and breaks free of his poisonous influence once and for all. This line of Quasi’s has always stuck with me --

“All my life you’ve taught me the world is a dark, cruel place...but now I see the only thing dark and cruel about it is people like you!”

Even now this line is just so powerful. There was a point where all I saw of the world was its cruelties and injustices...but like Quasimodo, I’ve come to see that those cruelties are not inherent to the world or even to mankind as a whole. Humans are capable of both great evil and great good, but as long as the evil people of the world are allowed to seize control and exert their toxic influence over everyone else, the world and mankind overall will never become better. Like Quasimodo, we must stand against those who’ve embraced cruelty and hatred over acceptance and love. We must protect the brighter parts of the world that evil so wishes to snuff out. It’s a moral I think has only become more relevant and important over time.

Unlike in the book and musical, Esmeralda survives, and as much as I’ve heard people try to argue Esmeralda living is not true to the spirit of the original novel, I think it really suits the story being told and really feels just for both characters. Quasimodo deserved happiness; Esmeralda deserved happiness; and most importantly, this all the more highlights how different Quasimodo is from Frollo. Frollo says to Esmeralda, “Choose me or the fire” -- basically, if he can’t have her, he doesn’t want anyone else to...but Quasimodo doesn’t think that way. He cherishes Esmeralda and her friendship without any caveats or conditions: therefore him losing Esmeralda, whether to Phoebus or to death, doesn’t prompt him to commit suicide like he did in the novel. It’s not only a more uplifting ending, but I think a lesson in the selflessness of love, even if it’s just platonic love. And because Esmeralda loves Quasimodo just as much as a friend, she leads him out into the sun, where he finds even more of the love he deserves from the city he wished so much to belong in. Quasimodo doesn’t get the girl, but that was never what he wanted in the first place: it was merely to be accepted as he was.

The Hunchback of Notre Dame was one of the most formative films of my childhood, right up there with Beauty and the Beast, The Prince of Egypt, and Anastasia, and it remains my second favorite Disney animated film of all time. With time, I’ve seen more and more of its flaws, but those flaws don’t ruin what in the end is one of the most daring, revolutionary projects Disney Animation has ever tackled. Its artistry, from the backgrounds to the character animation, is exceptional; all of its major human characters are multi-faceted, complex, and real; its themes are eternally relevant and powerful; and its score and nearly all of its songs are just through the stratosphere in their quality. Hunchback, along with Beauty and the Beast, made me fall in love with France from afar as a child, a love affair that has only become more and more intense through the years, and Quasimodo and Esmeralda even now are so close to my heart. I wish so much to be as kind and gentle as Quasimodo and as brave and noble as Esmeralda, and I can only hope that at some point, if I ever visit Disneyland Paris, I might finally meet them. The Hunchback of Notre Dame may not have gotten the appreciation it deserved when it first came to theaters, but I’ll always be happy to hear Disney fans remembering it as fondly as I do. Who knows? Maybe someday, the world will be wiser and will give this film its time in the sun at long last.

#d-views #disney reviews #the hunchback of notre dame #disney #opinion #analysis #reviews #oh boy here i go

16 notes · View notes

theflenser · 5 years

Text

Street Sects interview with Ad Libitum.

A interview with Street Sects, originally published in Polish in the Ad Libitum zine.

Interviewer: Lidia Kowalski

1) In one interview, you stated that Rat Jacket was kind of "transition point" for you. Was it only in musical kind of meaning or was it also concerning lyrical content? What kind of "topics" will be brought up on the newest album?

Leo Ashline - Mostly it was a musical transition point. I tend to approach lyric writing from a song to song basis, depending on how the music that Shaun sends me makes me feel at the time. Shaun was introducing a lot of melody on that EP, twitching guitars, slightly more patient structuring, and some really sad, melancholy synth work, so the words reflect those things. Lyrically, the thematic connective tissues of Rat Jacket are trust, betrayal, and regret. It differed from End Position in that it was less hateful and nihilistic, albeit only slightly.

On The Kicking Mule there are a lot of different themes at play. The record is more of a collection of vignettes than it is any kind of concept record. A lot of the songs are incredibly personal. “Birch Meadows, 1991” is about my parents divorce, and “Everyone’s at Home Eventually” deals in part with my love/hate relationship with alcohol, and how it has always been first and foremost a symptom of my fear and anxiety. Other songs, like “Chasing the Vig” and “The Drifter” are my feelings and experiences filtered through my love for crime noir writing, much like “Featherweight Hate” was on End Position.

2) Firstly, you have been working on making your project into a "total aesthetics" one. What exactly does it mean, what does it involve? And is it possible that one day it will go beyond simply music and visuals?

LA - An old friend of mine impressed this idea upon me about a decade or so ago. To me it means having all of the facets of your work (the music, the visuals, the words, the live performance, etc) coalesce into a unified or singular aesthetic. I think our work as a whole speaks pretty clearly to that intent. And yes, I do think it can and (hopefully) will seep into other mediums. Time will tell.

3) Concerning the visuals - on almost all of the covers of your releases, a silhouette of woman which (imo) symbolises death, can be seen. Does her presence mean simplz that death, or a thought of it, is present through full duration of your life, or does her symbolical role differ? What's your view on that?

LA – Death, or “Lizzy”, as we call her, represents different things in different images. In the original Gentrification seven inches, she represented the culture, the color that gets pushed out and washed over when a neighborhood is gentrified. People want to destroy what they are afraid of. People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Death, like diversity, scares certain people. Lizzy was beautiful, and look what you did to her. Now you can drink your fucking pour over coffees and your fifteen dollar craft cocktails in clean, vanilla scented, color-free comfort. Happy?

In other images, she is the voyeur. She is watching, waiting, refusing to participate or interfere because she knows better. She knows how it’s going to end, one way or another, so she may as well sit back and enjoy the show. In other images she is the chauffer, our guide from here to there. In those instances I’d like to think that she represents hope, optimism, and a chance at finding something more meaningful than what we have allotted ourselves this time around.

4) You have once told about that there were periods in your life, where your only motivation to get up was music you got to make. Has making music had a cathrarctic, self-therapic role for you? Or maybe it played a part and made you see anything else in life worth living for only a bit?

LA - I think maybe a bit of both. Focusing so intently upon negative energy can be therapeutic in that the negativity can, on a good day, become something purposeful. It can be a tool to be utilized rather than a weight or a burden. And yes, certainly touring, meeting people, being fortunate enough to see your work have an effect on others, all of that can be incredibly rewarding. It can sometimes help to restore that lack of faith in the whole thing. But most of the time, unfortunately, it isn’t enough. You reach down and try to dig for that feeling, and it just isn’t there. Shaun and I do what we can to keep pushing each other forward, and I think that we are fortunate to have that dynamic. I see a lot of people, artists, who struggle to make it on their own, and it’s such an uphill battle. Trying to dodge depression, rejection, self-doubt, and a constant lack of encouragement all while pushing yourself creatively can quickly become a bleak and impossibly lonely road. It’s hard to blame people for wanting to walk away from that.

5) Well, it is obvious becouse of your experiences and feelings, but in your music you often display the darkest, most ugly side of live. You had your fair share of really awful times, but here comes the question: what, do you think, has the most power to destroy a human: his surroundings or him alone?

LA - That’s a pretty big question, and honestly I don’t think I’m really qualified to answer that, at least not in any kind of broad sense. Speaking for myself, I blame the majority of my hardships, past and present, on my own poor decisions. I’ve had a lot of opportunity, and I have wasted almost all of it. Now I’m playing catch up, and I’m still paying for a lot of those mistakes. I used to move around a lot, different cities…different states. Wherever I went I kept fucking up. I don’t think my surroundings had much to do with it.

6) There are a lot of people in the world that live in their safe world, completely unaware of what can be happening three steps from their home, completely unaware of how depression feels. Do you see "consciousness" as a value? Would you rather be totally blind, but happy?

Shaun Ringsmuth: Consciousness is something I've had to teach myself to value. Of course, the mind records what's happening whether you appreciate it or not, but it might be to one's advantage to find a place of calm before blowing one's brains out, or worse having one's brains blasted by another person. Violence like that, either way, always scares me, because of how little value is placed on the moments, whether it's sentiment between two people or the greatest speech ever being spoken--it all seemingly becomes a waste staring at the barrel of a gun. On this topic, I would recommend Viktor Frankle's book Man's Search for Meaning. It is with great luck that tragedy doesn't happen to a person, and of course that begs the questions of how to live, why, and what for. Arguably it is better to try to live with purpose, and if that purpose is found to then not diminish it with negative self-talk, or rot away on drugs and alcohol, and to not take out on other people one's personal sense of injustice. With the creation of art, a sense of purpose can be easily associated, because it is often self-created and comes from a place of inner truth. Even in collaboration, like with me and Leo in Street Sects, we share what we can, go our separate way for a while, and then come back with we've found. Sometimes this is a song, or a new image, or a lyric, but whatever it is the aim of these created things is to give time--time being the only thing we ever really own--a story, a way of relating the human experience, which with any luck gets passed on long after we're dead. However, to get back to your question, is it better to be totally blind but happy: that's not for anyone else to say but yourself. You have to step away from your everyday reality for a number of minutes and ask yourself, Is this who I am, is this what I want? And then change the "why" to the "how"--as in, not "why am I doing this," but "how am I going to do this."

LA - Do I see a consciousness as a value? I can’t imagine any artist or musician answering “no” to that question. If I was “totally blind, but happy” I don’t think I would have much use for art or music as a creative outlet, because I doubt that I would have anything interesting to say. Pain and despair, like death and diversity, are a part of life.

7) On "The Defence of Resentment", you start by listing some of the fears you have. However, is there any particular fear that is close to you the most, that haunts you, if I can say it this way, "personally"? 

LA - My biggest fear is the fear of being a failure, of having wasted my life. To reach the end and have to own up to the fact that I could have done so much more, that I could have tried harder, done better. The potentiality of that kind of regret is terrifying.

8) In one interview, you said that being sincere while writing lyrics isn't enough, it is also a matter of finding a unique perspective. In what way you see your perspective as unique?

LA: Everyone’s perspective is unique, not just mine. However, not everyone is able to communicate their perspectives in a way that does justice to their particular experience. Art takes form, and we look to preexisting forms as influences and guideposts for our own work. Even the most abstract artists are often hard-pressed to outrun the shadows of artists who came before them. With my writing I try to focus on expressions of sincerity and honesty, and try to couch those expressions in a form that appeals to my inner critic. I don’t want anything that I write to have the stink of familiarity or nostalgia. It has to be clear that there was an effort made to approach the work from a fresh perspective. Whether I’m successful in that or not is not really for me to say, but the effort is there.

9) Do you think that we, as a human kind, have a tendency to run away from thing we'd be better off not knowing? What we escape most frequently in modern world? 

SR: Some of us, yes. I've known and admired people in my life who have preferred truth in every instance. I was not one of those people. I wanted escapism and fantasy, some of which was self-destructive. Not wanting reality exactly as it is can also lead to creativity: novels, movies, music, paintings, architecture. Attempting to see reality as it is, and attempting to see reality as better than it is--these are worthy pursuits. Lately, I'm finding what's most important from day to day is knowing exactly what one thinks and feels, followed by deliberate action. Like, really stopping all movement and asking what's going on. It's the only way to care for oneself and for others. It is worth taking the time to breathe deeply, look around, and be in that very moment of reality, because that's the best chance to really see and to create. This is easier said than done, of course, because one wakes up and all the shit from yesteryear is right there, and nothing seems good enough and nobody is kind. Everyday one has to make a choice of how to live.

10) On "Rat Jacket", I can feel a distinction, yet a weird relationship between abrasive mechanisation and a "human side" to this music (by which I mean post-industrial melodic hooks). Do you think that the same kind of connection between pure human soul and that what is cold and obcure can be found?

SR: Yes! Though, I would add that every Street Sects recording has attempted this connection between warm human melody and cold machine sounds. Humans have the gift (and burden) of being self-aware, unlike other animals, and with that comes the urge to name, to conceptualize, to make meaning where there seemingly isn't one. It's how people come to such wildly different interpretations over pieces of abstract art. The less a piece is controlled by labels the more room a person's mind has to dream. Even if something begins with a narrative or directive, it can take a turn for the surreal and then allow more headroom for the spectator. We see this in Ingmar Bergman's films. We see this in John Barth's novels. We feel this in Harold Budd's music. Any abstraction of course does ask participation of the listener/viewer, and not everyone wants that experience. Sometimes all we want is escape. Creating these things can get complicated, but it doesn't have to be a single extreme choice, thus the use of melody or a relatable narrative coursing through abstract imagery.

On "In Prison, at Least I Had You" I wrote a fairly abstract intro. Originally it was supposed to go toward a split release with the Cincinnati band Curse. Some

of their songs have slow, doomish metal-inspired parts, so I wrote what I thought would complement that. When the song starts, it's all bits of sound, total collage work, which eventually flows into what I hoped would be doomish metal tempo, followed by the main portion of the song itself. The final version you hear on Rat Jacket didn't come out as I intended, at least the intro part before the wind-up sound that kicks off the song, but I spent a lot of time on that intro collage part, really feeling out those sounds, connecting them, making sure they had the right rhythm in the mix. The intention of that song in particular serves the human/machine dynamic, I think.

11) During the times of "Gentrification" you said that you don't exactly write lyrics, but rather do some kind of stream of consciousness resolved around central topic. Are you still working like that?

LA: No. With the Gentrifiction singles there were these pieces of micro-fiction that I had written to accompany the records, these sort of journals from characters who were caught in the crossfire of social displacement. Those pieces were the core of the writing, and the “lyrics” were more guttural abstractions of those pieces. Since End Position, my approach to lyric writing has been more traditional and meticulous.

12) Also, many times when you were asked about your process of creation, you mentioned talking with each other a lot about it. What were those conversations about? I don't mean to dwell to deep, just the general.

SR: Leo and I don't sit down and work out songs on instruments together. We tend to talk through the parts, and later I work them out in the instrumentation. This is why I sometimes only write a snippet of a song, maybe one minute or two. I'll send it over to him to think about, and he'll often listen to the pieces in his van. The conversations, on the whole, cover a long period of time in our friendship, to my mind, because he and I have been talking about music since we first met in 2002. Sometimes in talking about a current thing we're working on, we'll reference a ten-year-old conversion about a band or song. It breathes new life into old ideas.

13) This question can be a bit personal, and even if your music and lyrics are generally confessional, I'll understand if you don't answer. What's you experience with the spiral of self-hate? What makes it worse and harder to escape (if it is possible at all)? How do you experience it, can you desribe in your own, abstract way?

LA: I don’t mind answering. My relationship with self-hate probably began around the time my parents got divorced, in 1991. I put on a lot of weight and it made my life harder in terms of school, peers, and my interest in the opposite sex. I have struggled with having a negative body image my entire life, and it has greatly effected my self esteem, my confidence, and my overall mental health. These issues in turn led to eating disorders, isolating myself from other people, and self medicating with alcohol and drugs. The chemical dependencies then in turn created a maelstrom of other problems, culminating in extreme and obsessive self destructive thoughts and behavior. Fixation on suicide as a solution, which is still a huge part of my mental framework, unfortunately. I feel like I have been trying to work backwards through these problems for a long time now, but the root problems are still there. Getting off drugs and alcohol was only the tip of the iceberg in terms of the mountain of work I still have in front of me. What makes it worse is inertia. Sitting around. Not doing anything. I have to keep busy with the band. I don’t go to therapy, and I stopped attending (AA) meetings years ago. Street Sects is the only real cure I have found. I don’t know what I would do without it.

14) This will be less of a question and more of a confirmation (or denial) of my predictions. On your lyrics to "In Prison, At Least I Had You", there is a fragment that says "I'm holding the same position". Is it reffering to title of your debut LP, "End

Position"?

LA: Yep. Nice catch!

15) And finally. How are you feeling these days? Is life quite OK? I wish you the best, honestly.

SR: I am now almost two years sober, so my feeling about things in general is one of hope. Without sounding corny here, I really want to live with passion, put all the ideas into the music, and try to connect with people along the way. When I drank, i drank to black out and forget myself, and I lived that way from about 14 to 32 years of age. There was so much self-loathing, trepidation, anxiety in my life. I was afraid of everything. These days I try not to take anybody or anything for granted. I let people know that I love them and that they are loved, which is something I couldn't do pretty much my whole life. I'm grateful that I'm still making music with my best friend, Leo, and I truly believe our best work is still to come.

Thank you, Lidia, for listening and looking into our music, and for taking the time to interview us.

LA: I’d be lying if I said that I feel good more often than not. Staying positive is a constant struggle. But I have a lot to be grateful for, most of all this band and my friendship with Shaun. I’m also extremely grateful for my mother, who helped me get sober, for the small handful of friends I have, and for everyone who has ever supported Street Sects in any way. Thanks for the interview, Lidia. Sorry it took us so long to get these answers back to you.

#street sects

17 notes · View notes

flipperbrain · 6 years

Text

The Deckhand and The Dagger

Summary: Dark Hook reveals his greatest weakness to Deckhand Jones. With some love, a little sex and perhaps a hint of adventures yet to come.

Tagging some lovelies who may be interested: @laschatzi @hollyethecurious @fraddit @ilovemesomekillianjones

#HookxHook

[Ao3]

Hook knew he would need to explain the existence of the dagger to Jones eventually, but now he fears that continuing to avoid the issue could put the deckhand in danger and he decides to broach the subject after a late supper this evening. Jones has seen it of course, Hook carries it with him always when venturing away from the Jolly Roger and since their foray to Agrabah, they have stopped for provisions several times. Hook can do much with his magical powers but real fruit, cheeses, vegetables and meats are readily available at port and he wants his love to be happy and healthy, so he has made a point to procure items that not only put a smile on his deckhand’s face but also keep his body strong and well nourished.

He has also developed an affinity for a certain liquor that can only be found in small quantities on a remote tropical isle, he despairs over the deckhand’s allergy to rum, his true favorite amber liquid. Unfortunately they found out the hard way that when he partakes they cannot kiss without the deckhand’s lips swelling painfully, and the lack of this pleasurable activity is wholly unacceptable, so he has turned to another flavor of alcohol that they can both enjoy. Tipsy lovemaking being one of life’s greatest joys in Hook’s opinion. They will however, soon need to set sail in order to replenish their supply and the island on which it is distilled is a haven for the most treacherous miscreants on earth…

Hook sighs then sniffs the air breathing in the scent of roasting meat wafting out of the ship’s mess, the deckhand takes great pride in occasionally creating and serving meals and he is an excellent cook. On most days Hook will simply whip up lunch or dinner magically, but his fare while filling, lacks a certain je ne sais quoi. Jones adds life to his food, simple but beautifully seasoned and always pairing wonderfully with a glass of fine wine. His stomach grumbles with hunger and anticipation then clenches as he contemplates exposing his greatest weakness to his love. He trusts Jones implicitly and with his life, there is no fear whatever that he would use the dagger against him for any reason, but his knowledge of it may create a burden that Hook would rather not impose on him… but it cannot be helped. He must know.

He smiles upon hearing Jones call for him and disappears in a cloud of red smoke.

——————

The deckhand sits waiting on the edge of the bunk in their quarters and grins when Hook appears, the serving dishes have been set out and now he is ready to watch the show that is about to begin. Hook chuckles and kisses his lips then perches next to him and with a gesture the cupboard doors open and a brocade table runner flies out like a magic carpet, hovers then floats down onto the table. China plates and bowls dance out from the shelves, twirling in the air and criss-crossing in intricate patterns then the crystal stemware joins them, twinkling in the lantern light; they clink gently together before all of the pieces settle into place.

Hook waves his hand and a drawer opens, spoons, knives, forks and cloth napkins circle the cabin, spinning and spiraling toward the table until they take their assigned positions one by one, then a bottle of Bordeaux and a flask of water drift into the room, they tip to fill their glasses then stand their post at the end of the table. A finger snap and the candelabra flares alight, the lantern dims and supper is ready to be enjoyed. Jones laughs joyfully as Hook stands, bowing with a flourish then reaches for his lover’s hand. The deckhand springs up and embraces his Captain, kissing his soft lips and looking into his eyes with such devotion that Hook has to fight an urge to forget the delicious food and ravage his sailing companion instead. But alas, much effort has gone into this meal and conversation needs to occur, physical affection will have to wait.

——————

They take their seats and eat and drink heartily while Jones talks animatedly about the details of the meal, the strange unfamiliar bird he saw today roosting atop the mainsail and the book of poetry he has been reading by an author not previously known to him, so beautiful and heartrending…

Hook smiles at him, understanding his appreciation for Shelley and recites:

The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In another’s being mingle– Why not I with thine?

See, the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower could be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea;– What is all this sweet work worth, If thou kiss not me?

Jones eyes shine in the candlelight as he listens to Hook’s tenor voice speak this verse from memory. He pauses to let the words ring out before answering ‘Your kiss was my first and I pray the feel of your lips against mine will be my last perfect moment on earth’. Hook’s expression turns pained and he closes his eyes, his companion’s response to his recitation has the unintended effect of reminding him that the love of his life is a mortal man, and that one day they will be forever separated. Jones instantly wishes he could take back his words, and moves quickly to kneel at Hook’s side and lay his head on his lap. ‘I am so sorry, I spoke without thinking though I mean every word. Each minute spent with you is a gift to be savored’.

They have talked about this before, it is a reality that they both understand clearly and one that Hook has considered at length. Since Pan’s demise Neverland has lost much of its power to sustain life indefinitely, living out their days on the island might slow the deckhand’s aging process but will not stop it altogether. The other option would be to rid himself of the darkness that resides within him so they could grow old together, but at this moment he does not know how to accomplish this task without ending his life as well. He sighs heavily and strokes the deckhand’s hair then lifts his chin with his fingers and says unconvincingly ‘I will find a way my love, worry not.’

——————

’I have something to share with you,’ Hook says as he stands, his face turning serious ‘I should have told you long ago but I wanted to protect you, but now is as good a time as any I suppose.’

He walks to the safe in the corner of the cabin and removes his hook then using the blunt end as a key he unlocks the small door and reaches inside to retrieve the dagger.

‘You have seen this attached to my belt when we travel away from the ship?’ He asks holding it parallel to the floor so Jones can see it clearly.

The deckhand nods, yes he has seen it and wondered about it. Hook always wears his sword and this dagger seemed ornamental and less than helpful in a fight. Jones assumed it was like a piece of jewelry, a shiny decoration that completes the Dark One effect when moving amongst the population. He has never thought to question Hook’s clothing, he can dress and adorn himself as he chooses. Nor has Hook ever remarked on his own garments other than preferring they were on the floor in a heap rather than hanging upon his body. Jones smiles at this train of thought then returns his attention to Hook as he continues.

’This dagger tethers me to the darkness and it can control me. It is also the only object that can take my power and… kill me,’ Jones gasps, his heart leaps into his throat and he starts to speak but Hook holds up his hand to stop him ‘it is vitally important that it be kept safe here on the ship or on my person. Should anyone take possession of it, I could become a powerful weapon of destruction and death regardless of my will otherwise.’

‘If I should ever become incapacitated for any reason, you must retrieve this dagger by any means necessary and hide it where it cannot be found. Do you understand?’ Jones nods, his expressive eyes wide with fear and trepidation as he watches Hook return the dagger to the safe and lock it securely inside. ‘But what if I cannot retrieve it? What if I am wounded or worse and unable to help you?’ Jones asks in a panicked voice, tears filling his eyes.

——————

‘You, my love, are far more capable and resourceful than you realize. You can and will do what needs to be done, even if that means living on without me. This ship is yours as well as mine and your escape route should you need one.’ Hook answers quietly.

‘I cannot live without you, I would die by your side,’ the deckhand states adamantly, stomping his foot for good measure.

Hook shakes his head ’No, you will not. But let us not dwell upon it now, it is something I have lived with for many years and is unlikely to be a concern for you’ Hook says softly then crosses the room and takes the deckhand in his arms, kissing the worry from his brow and tucking a lock of hair behind his ear.

He transports them both to the deck and creates a soft cozy nest of pillows and blankets and they lay holding each other under the night sky. Hook waves his hand and the volume of poetry appears before them then he conjures a flame that floats in the air for light. ‘Please read aloud my sweet, tomorrow we will start afresh armed with knowledge and make a plan to ensure our safety,’ his hand stroking soothingly up and down the curve of Jones’ back as he speaks. The deckhand reads until his eyelids are heavy and he falls asleep in Hook’s arms.

——————

Jones wakes with a start several hours before dawn and finds himself naked but still nestled in the soft cocoon on deck with Hook’s warm body pressed tightly against him. He slept fitfully with worry, this new weapon and the danger it presents has made him fearful, but he must face it with courage he thinks, clenching his jaw with determination. Not long ago his life was so different and out of his control and though there may challenges ahead, loving and being loved is a welcome state of being and he will not give that up. He turns in Hook’s arms knowing he is awake and only resting his eyes beside him and meets his blue-eyed gaze with his own.

Jones touches Hook’s face, his thumb stroking his cheek ’For as long as we have been together on this ship you have protected and cared for me, given me sanctuary and happiness and love,’ Jones says shyly ‘I am proud that you with all your power would depend on and trust me as I trust you,’ Jones leans into him needing to be close, his fingers combing through his lover’s hair.

Their eyes are open, each drinking in the beauty of the other when their lips meet tenderly pressing then brushing back and forth with silky softness. The deckhand’s tongue reaches out first to trace Hook’s lips, tasting a hint of almond from the nightcap he must have sipped before settling in to rest, then slips between them to probe and lick and explore. Hook moans as the kiss deepens, his tongue meeting and gliding along his lover’s relishing his sweetness and feeling his desire growing below, his arms encircle his companion’s waist, dragging his hips nearer and grinding against him. Neither of them wish to waste a single moment and they kiss until their lips are plump and cherry red, their bodies flush, legs tangling together as if there were no tomorrow.

——————

Hook rolls his lover onto his back, his head dips to kiss and suck a trail of marks along his neck as his hand moves between the deckhand’s legs, sliding into the cleft of his cheeks to rub and caress and work him open with his fingertips. His mouth drifts lower through the hair on his muscled chest until he finds a nipple to tug and bite almost to the point of pain, soothing it with his tongue then biting again. Jones’ back arches and he groans with pleasure, his eyes squeezed shut as Hook moves across his chest to suck and bite the other nipple until it’s erect and swollen.

Jones’ eyebrows arch sweetly with passion, his mouth uttering soft sighs and moans as Hook’s fingers push inside, his magic pulses in warm waves through the deckhand’s body causing his hair to stand up on end and his skin to tingle deliciously. Their eyes connect ‘Kiss me,’ Jones says breathlessly and Hook complies, the touch of his lips completing the circuit, his magic flowing through them both, electricity arcing between them. Jones reaches down and takes Hook in his hand his thumb swirling his tip then grasping his length and stroking firmly.

Their bodies float upward fused together in love’s embrace and glowing like a star, their hands pleasuring each other, magic sparking and sizzling over their skin until they both cry out in unison, their orgasms pouring out onto each other then spilling into the sea. Jones looks down at the deck of his home now far below them and grins as they drift toward it like feathers in the wind. They sink into the plush nest of fabric and curl together their chests still heaving, Hook lifts the deckhand’s chin with his fingers and looks into his eyes then says with conviction, ’I will find a way my love, worry not.’

#HookxHook #HookxHook ff #HookxHook smut #dark!hook #deckhand hook #The Deckhand and The Dagger Ch1

60 notes · View notes

frightfullyfantastic · 7 years

Text

It is sad to think that the first few people on earth needed no books, movies, games or music to inspire cold-blooded murder. The day that Cain bashed his brother Abel's brains in, the only motivation he needed was his own human disposition to violence. Whether you interpret the Bible as literature or as the final word of whatever God may be, Christianity has given us an image of death and sexuality that we have based our culture around. A half-naked dead man hangs in most homes and around our necks, and we have just taken that for granted all our lives. Is it a symbol of hope or hopelessness? The world's most famous murder-suicide was also the birth of the death icon -- the blueprint for celebrity. Unfortunately, for all of their inspiring morality, nowhere in the Gospels is intelligence praised as a virtue. >A lot of people forget or never realize that I started my band as a criticism of these very issues of despair and hypocrisy. The name Marilyn Manson has never celebrated the sad fact that America puts killers on the cover of Time magazine, giving them as much notoriety as our favorite movie stars. From Jesse James to Charles Manson, the media, since their inception, have turned criminals into folk heroes. They just created two new ones when they plastered those dipshits Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris' pictures on the front of every newspaper. Don't be surprised if every kid who gets pushed around has two new idols. > We applaud the creation of a bomb whose sole purpose is to destroy all of mankind, and we grow up watching our president's brains splattered all over Texas. Times have not become more violent. They have just become more televised. Does anyone think the Civil War was the least bit civil? If television had existed, you could be sure they would have been there to cover it, or maybe even participate in it, like their violent car chase of Princess Di. Disgusting vultures looking for corpses, exploiting, fucking, filming and serving it up for our hungry appetites in a gluttonous display of endless human stupidity. > When it comes down to who's to blame for the high school murders in Littleton, Colorado, throw a rock and you'll hit someone who's guilty. We're the people who sit back and tolerate children owning guns, and we're the ones who tune in and watch the up-to-the-minute details of what they do with them. I think it's terrible when anyone dies, especially if it is someone you know and love. But what is more offensive is that when these tragedies happen, most people don't really care any more than they would about the season finale of Friends or The Real World. I was dumbfounded as I watched the media snake right in, not missing a teardrop, interviewing the parents of dead children, televising the funerals. Then came the witch hunt. > Man's greatest fear is chaos. It was unthinkable that these kids did not have a simple black-and-white reason for their actions. And so a scapegoat was needed. I remember hearing the initial reports from Littleton, that Harris and Klebold were wearing makeup and were dressed like Marilyn Manson, whom they obviously must worship, since they were dressed in black. Of course, speculation snowballed into making me the poster boy for everything that is bad in the world. These two idiots weren't wearing makeup, and they weren't dressed like me or like goths. Since Middle America has not heard of the music they did listen to (KMFDM and Rammstein, among others), the media picked something they thought was similar. > Responsible journalists have reported with less publicity that Harris and Klebold were not Marilyn Manson fans -- that they even disliked my music. Even if they were fans, that gives them no excuse, nor does it mean that music is to blame. Did we look for James Huberty's inspiration when he gunned down people at McDonald's? What did Timothy McVeigh like to watch? What about David Koresh, Jim Jones? Do you think entertainment inspired Kip Kinkel, or should we blame the fact that his father bought him the guns he used in the Springfield, Oregon, murders? What inspires Bill Clinton to blow people up in Kosovo? Was it something that Monica Lewinsky said to him? Isn't killing just killing, regardless if it's in Vietnam or Jonesboro, Arkansas? Why do we justify one, just because it seems to be for the right reasons? Should there ever be a right reason? If a kid is old enough to drive a car or buy a gun, isn't he old enough to be held personally responsible for what he does with his car or gun? Or if he's a teenager, should someone else be blamed because he isn't as enlightened as an eighteen-year-old? > America loves to find an icon to hang its guilt on. But, admittedly, I have assumed the role of Antichrist; I am the Nineties voice of individuality, and people tend to associate anyone who looks and behaves differently with illegal or immoral activity. Deep down, most adults hate people who go against the grain. It's comical that people are naive enough to have forgotten Elvis, Jim Morrison and Ozzy so quickly. All of them were subjected to the same age-old arguments, scrutiny and prejudice. I wrote a song called "Lunchbox," and some journalists have interpreted it as a song about guns. Ironically, the song is about being picked on and fighting back with my Kiss lunch box, which I used as a weapon on the playground. In 1979, metal lunch boxes were banned because they were considered dangerous weapons in the hands of delinquents. I also wrote a song called "Get Your Gunn." The title is spelled with two n's because the song was a reaction to the murder of Dr. David Gunn, who was killed in Florida by pro-life activists while I was living there. That was the ultimate hypocrisy I witnessed growing up: that these people killed someone in the name of being "pro-life." > The somewhat positive messages of these songs are usually the ones that sensationalists misinterpret as promoting the very things I am decrying. Right now, everyone is thinking of how they can prevent things like Littleton. How do you prevent AIDS, world war, depression, car crashes? We live in a free country, but with that freedom there is a burden of personal responsibility. Rather than teaching a child what is moral and immoral, right and wrong, we first and foremost can establish what the laws that govern us are. You can always escape hell by not believing in it, but you cannot escape death and you cannot escape prison. > It is no wonder that kids are growing up more cynical; they have a lot of information in front of them. They can see that they are living in a world that's made of bullshit. In the past, there was always the idea that you could turn and run and start something better. But now America has become one big mall, and because of the Internet and all of the technology we have, there's nowhere to run. People are the same everywhere. Sometimes music, movies and books are the only things that let us feel like someone else feels like we do. I've always tried to let people know it's OK, or better, if you don't fit into the program. Use your imagination -- if some geek from Ohio can become something, why can't anyone else with the willpower and creativity? > I chose not to jump into the media frenzy and defend myself, though I was begged to be on every single TV show in existence. I didn't want to contribute to these fame-seeking journalists and opportunists looking to fill their churches or to get elected because of their self-righteous finger-pointing. They want to blame entertainment? Isn't religion the first real entertainment? People dress up in costumes, sing songs and dedicate themselves in eternal fandom. Everyone will agree that nothing was more entertaining than Clinton shooting off his prick and then his bombs in true political form. And the news -- that's obvious. So is entertainment to blame? I'd like media commentators to ask themselves, because their coverage of the event was some of the most gruesome entertainment any of us have seen. > I think that the National Rifle Association is far too powerful to take on, so most people choose Doom, The Basketball Diaries or yours truly. This kind of controversy does not help me sell records or tickets, and I wouldn't want it to. I'm a controversial artist, one who dares to have an opinion and bothers to create music and videos that challenge people's ideas in a world that is watered-down and hollow. In my work I examine the America we live in, and I've always tried to show people that the devil we blame our atrocities on is really just each one of us. So don't expect the end of the world to come one day out of the blue -- it's been happening every day for a long time. -MARILYN MANSON (May 28, 1999) http://www.rollingstone.com/culture/news/columbine-whose-fault-is-it-19990624

2 notes · View notes

autolovecraft · 6 years

Text

Without warning, I was absolutely resolved.

Of my exact age of their unfortunate ancestor at his father's slayer as he approached the age which had hovered over my house from its terrible burden. Then, slowly advancing to meet the Count, Robert by name, was this man of evil, and Armands snatched from happy and virtuous lives when little below the age of their unfortunate ancestor at his murder. Since most of my ancestors had been killed at the sight that they beheld.

His enthusiasm had seemed for the man had obtained access to the Devil, and toppling towers without, as well as the sagging floors, the wild and rugged countryside about, serving as a home and stronghold for the coming of the unknown death.

As the ages of feudalism one of the Middle Ages, as well as the tunic of dark color. 'Fool! I saw by the would-be assassin proved too much for my already shaken nerves, and even Kings had been seized some little while before they reached the exact age of thirty-two, there were no known descendants of the thirteenth century, when, years afterward, the ill-paved courtyards, and began to connect them with the moisture of the most hideous practices. But since those glorious years, all was frightfully dark, and again I fancied that the words 'years' and 'curse' issued from the curse in the ages passed, first saw the light of my apprehensions. As I slowly traversed the niter-encrusted passageway at the sight that they beheld. First of all, new light revealed the distorted and blackened form of the late Count's family, so that when Godfrey, son of Godfrey, innocent cause of the two wizards, father and son, speaking most particularly of the strange man caught fire and lit the unused torch which I felt in my utter solitude my mind, remembering what had occurred, shrank from the unwilling tongue which had hovered over my house from its terrible burden. Determined upon further exploration, I spent the first years of further existence was made certain to me each day, as wrapped as had Charles Le Sorcier! Prompted by some preserving instinct of self-defense, I burned with the wanderings of the presence of man or spirit produced in my utter solitude my mind, remembering what had occurred, yet inhuman in degree of wickedness. One night the castle, less than a week before that fatal hour which I allude is the early age at which all the Counts of my flickering torch that a blank, water-stained wall impeded my journey. Yet read as I watched him. Ceasing after a time my efforts in this direction, I afterward pondered long upon these premature deaths, and I labored as in the course of nature have died, for I am Charles Le Sorcier.

Of my own resources, I had so long viewed with apprehension. It was perhaps an effect of such surroundings that my mind, remembering what had occurred, shrank from the lowly abode of the Middle Ages, and ere he released his murderous hold, his victim was no more. It may have been gold, but little above the rank of peasant, by the pursuits of commercial life, previously held at small value, now became dearer to me by my prolonged researches into the works of the two wizards, father and son ran one redeeming ray of humanity; the evil old man loved his offspring with fierce intensity, whilst the youth had for his parent a more recently excavated storehouse for gunpowder. It was upon one of the courtyard about which he threw into the night, returning in after years to kill Godfrey the heir with an arrow just as he approached the body, I knew not; but I was permitted to learn singularly little, yet never had its spacious halls resounded to the land beyond. Know you not how the man digressed into an account of the menials standing about told him what had occurred, yet he seemed at first only the manifest reluctance of my apprehensions. At this time, my care and education devolved solely upon one of the once mighty lords of the dread curse upon the slimy floor in a place as thoroughly deserted as I delved deeper and deeper into the mysteries of the whole tragedy and now that I came upon old Michel and young Charles has escaped into the wildest confusion by the dust of the castle. Strange and awesome were many of my doomed existence. Now I know that its real object was to keep from my ears the idle tales of the father and son ran one redeeming ray of humanity; the evil old man, who had once dwelled on our estates, a person of no small accomplishments, though little above the rank of peasant, by the vanishment of young Godfrey, in excluding me from the twisted mouth. When at last my senses returned, all is changed.

I found what seemed much like an alchemist's laboratory. To be confronted in a massive oaken door, dripping with the gnarled trees of the dark and occult in nature most strongly claimed my attention. My life, have prevented the lives of the sorcerers and there came upon the culminating event of my troubled life. This passage proved of great length, and continued by each possessor. And my mother having died at my birth, my eyes must have started from their orbits at the sight, I commenced my descent. It was upon one remaining servitor, an old and trusted man of considerable intelligence, whose name I remember as Pierre. Without warning, I commenced my descent.

My life, have prevented the scions of our line from maintaining their estates in pristine splendor; and his heirs; yet, having found upon careful inquiry that there were no known descendants of the presence of man or spirit produced in my utter solitude my mind began to cease its vain protest against the stones of the presence of man or spirit produced in my utter solitude my mind began to connect them with the desire to learn more of the courtyard about which he had loved to wander in life. Determined upon further exploration, I afterward pondered long upon these premature deaths, and thrown upon my own resources, I afterward pondered long upon these premature deaths, and flung my now dying torch at the age which had haunted my days and nights. And my mother having died at my birth, my care and education devolved solely upon one of the greatest mystery of all my attempts to open it.

In unusually rational moments I would fall back to the proportions of a swelling mount whose sides are wooded near the base of the unknown death. Know you not guess my secret?

It told of a family of short-lived men, I broke through the perpetual dust of ages and crumbling with the desire to learn singularly little, yet inhuman in degree of wickedness. Michel Mauvais, and was buried the next young Count, he pronounced in dull yet terrible accents the curse; and now that I came upon old Michel and young Charles has escaped into the wildest confusion by the fall of a man clad in a profusion never before seen by me were spun everywhere, and began to cease its vain protest against the stones of the château, which lay directly beneath my foot. His enthusiasm had seemed for the strange man caught fire and lit the unused torch which I could not well understand. Without certain cause, the Evil, on account of the sinister Charles Le Sorcier. Isolated as I might, in no manner could I account for the moment to remove from his terrible eyes the black malevolence that had hitherto considered this but a natural attribute of a serpent, the peasants told in whispers that their seigneur had but lately passed his thirty-two, there were no known descendants of the sorcerers and there came upon the slimy floor in a nearby field of no small accomplishments, though little above the level of dire want, together with a ring, which in youth fear had caused me to the terror which I had proceeded back some distance toward the steps when there suddenly fell to my experience one of the invader. Whilst I had spent the first years of my flickering torch that a blank, water-stained wall impeded my journey. I allude is the early deaths of my great house, told me of my time was now occupied in the ungoverned madness of fury and despair, the Evil, on account of his vengeful curse. As I drew near the base with the wanderings of the torch.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #1908 #The Alchemist #The Alchemist week

0 notes

alaruine · 7 years

Quote

What is the use of the phone? The phone rings and the heart is closed The most precious tears in the world tears of the mother, and the most sincere tears of the oppressed, the most innocent tears of children 0 Who said that the eye excreted tears, the real tears are the steam of the soul of pain. I thought I could light my candle again, I forgot how to light the candles from a long time ago, I thought I could write words of joy, but when I wrote I felt that something inside me had been wounded. I cried the day I was born, and days explained to me why. Tears are a human language that only the gentle hearts and the compassionate feelings can do. The tears are the fires of great grief. I did not create tears for nothing in vain, God knows with sadness. Why do you turn your face on me? Have you decided to leave? And my tears, which flow to those who left them? Who is my sweet dream? Eat rust rust and eat heartache. When you kill the tear in its cradle you are no doubt a cruel person. Tears are not sadness, grief is that you can prevent yourself from crying in front of someone for this Sunday. Sad my mind .. my words are desperate .. I stole my whispers to the erasure of my soul. But do you find me the lines .. Will turn the administrator .. Many are the tears and hope without a return. I saw a different era revolves ... There is no sorrow lasts and pleasure .. The kings have built it with shortness ... What remains kings and shortcomings. All cities are equal if we enter on a sorrowful visa. No one deserves your tears, anyway that person who deserves it will not make you cry. I am surprised that some people are surprised by the tears of men, wonder that they have no hearts. Often tears come from the eye instead of the heart. Sad wings fly by with time. The sorrowful, grieving soul finds comfort by joining with another soul, similar to the feeling and sharing it with the feeling, as the stranger strangely resorts to a land far from their homeland. The hearts that are reduced by the grief of each other are not separated by the joys and joys of the joys, the sadness is stronger in the soul than the bonds of joy and pleasure. The eyes wash with her tears and remain pure and beautiful and immortal. So the days deprived me even of dreams, I loved loneliness and torment, the joys between me and her veil, how long my heart, how long will the days? How long will I shut my sorrows? Good humor is the food of the soul and sadness is its poison. You can not prevent birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from nesting in your hair. When we fail and shed tears; they either turn into candles to illuminate our path of the future and learn from our mistakes, or that these tears sink us into the sea of dark despair. Sadness is only a wall between two gardens. When I bend down to kiss your hands, I shed tears of weakness above your chest, and beg your pleasing glances from your eyes, I only feel the fullness of my manhood. My tears were scattered among the lines. My sadness was engraved among the flowers. The lines will not forget those smiles, has scattered fragrant perfumes, has come to leave pulls his ears bloody knocking doors of ages, here is life robbed the warmth of hearts and leaves us spilled tears of the sea. Sadness causes darkness in the heart more than any sin. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by sadness until we get used to it, forgetting that in life many things can make us happy. The tears are the fires of great grief. The most honest sadness is a smile with tearful eyes. Long silence is the road to grief, because it is a picture of death. Sadness is the blackness of the muzzle in your chest, the mute of your breath, the feeling of tightness of breath, and the tear of your heart until it closes the tears of the eyes. The heart is full of grief like a warm, hard-to-carry cup. Tears save you from the fire, it is a tear of fear of God. The smiles are digging the channels of future tears. Anger, tears and sorrow are surrendering weapons. If you have tears, prepare to shed them. Sadness is that you love madly, violently and lovingly but at the moment you discover that all this is just an illusion. Unleash your tears whenever you want to start and maintain your pride. Often the facts of life are a mixture of tears and smiles. The tears of joy are tears of sadness that were boiling inside us, and in the hour of joy we bid farewell to sadness to come out with the tears of sincere tears. In the tears of women, the wise man sees only water. Teardrop is a small drop that carries the greatest emotions and the most severe pain, a small drop in size, but large with its burdens and sorrows, sucking my pains from my body to get it hot and inflamed. Mistakes source of temporary happiness and lasting sadness. Any man who dies, does not end up looking at those who love him unless they wash him with tears. The tears are the last dust of the earth that the dead man embodies and says it is over. We can represent laughter, we can smile politely, but we can not drop one tear for no real reason. No sorrow lasts and no pleasure ... nor misery for you nor prosperity .. If you have a heart of envy ... You and the owner of the world, either. Crocodile tears are called crocodiles. Man is a human being with all the meaning of this word, and he will never be swarming. Do not cry when the sun is gone, because tears will prevent you from seeing the stars. The saddest thing is to remember the days of pleasure and happiness when you are in the most miserable and miserable situations. Hope relieves the tear that grief brings. Guide tears loving but not treatment. I'm not sad because people do not know me, but I'm sad because I do not know them. Have you heard that sadness brings back what has been lost and that worry is wrong? Too many tears do not meet a little debt. All the tears of the earth can not afford a small boat that can accommodate parents looking for their missing child. If you want to build walls around you to prevent sadness from reaching you, know that these walls will prevent happiness from reaching you as well. When sadness overwhelms you, your heart is hoping again, you will see that you are in fact crying from what was once your source of joy. It is not sadness but self-defeating rust, and active action is the one who purifies the soul and clears it and saves it from its sorrows. The eye that does not cry does not actually see anything. I do not need ink to write my history, but to tears. Strange are the days when we have happiness we do not feel and we think we are unfortunate, but once we leave that Life Quotes LINK : https://goo.gl/ghpqum #Life #Quotes #Top #Famous #Best #Time #Inspirational #Motivational #Collection #Love #Positive #Cute #Beauty #Quotes #Art #Romance #Amazing #Flowers #Winter #painteditmyself #Landscape #relationships #coloringbook #Naturephotography #Life #painting #Sunset #wedding #Quote Famous Quotes The Best Quotes of All Time Famous Quotes Inspirational Quotes Motivational and Inspirational Quotes Collection Love Quotes Positive Inspirational happiness

http://www.alaruine.com/2017/08/what-is-use-of-phone-phone-rings-and.html

#SEO #Local SEO training

0 notes

alaruine · 7 years

Text

What is the use of the phone? The phone rings and the heart is closed

The most precious tears in the world tears of the mother, and the most sincere tears of the oppressed, the most innocent tears of children 0 Who said that the eye excreted tears, the real tears are the steam of the soul of pain. I thought I could light my candle again, I forgot how to light the candles from a long time ago, I thought I could write words of joy, but when I wrote I felt that something inside me had been wounded. I cried the day I was born, and days explained to me why. Tears are a human language that only the gentle hearts and the compassionate feelings can do. The tears are the fires of great grief. I did not create tears for nothing in vain, God knows with sadness. Why do you turn your face on me? Have you decided to leave? And my tears, which flow to those who left them? Who is my sweet dream? Eat rust rust and eat heartache. When you kill the tear in its cradle you are no doubt a cruel person. Tears are not sadness, grief is that you can prevent yourself from crying in front of someone for this Sunday. Sad my mind .. my words are desperate .. I stole my whispers to the erasure of my soul. But do you find me the lines .. Will turn the administrator .. Many are the tears and hope without a return. I saw a different era revolves ... There is no sorrow lasts and pleasure .. The kings have built it with shortness ... What remains kings and shortcomings. All cities are equal if we enter on a sorrowful visa. No one deserves your tears, anyway that person who deserves it will not make you cry. I am surprised that some people are surprised by the tears of men, wonder that they have no hearts. Often tears come from the eye instead of the heart. Sad wings fly by with time. The sorrowful, grieving soul finds comfort by joining with another soul, similar to the feeling and sharing it with the feeling, as the stranger strangely resorts to a land far from their homeland. The hearts that are reduced by the grief of each other are not separated by the joys and joys of the joys, the sadness is stronger in the soul than the bonds of joy and pleasure. The eyes wash with her tears and remain pure and beautiful and immortal. So the days deprived me even of dreams, I loved loneliness and torment, the joys between me and her veil, how long my heart, how long will the days? How long will I shut my sorrows? Good humor is the food of the soul and sadness is its poison. You can not prevent birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can prevent them from nesting in your hair. When we fail and shed tears; they either turn into candles to illuminate our path of the future and learn from our mistakes, or that these tears sink us into the sea of dark despair. Sadness is only a wall between two gardens. When I bend down to kiss your hands, I shed tears of weakness above your chest, and beg your pleasing glances from your eyes, I only feel the fullness of my manhood. My tears were scattered among the lines. My sadness was engraved among the flowers. The lines will not forget those smiles, has scattered fragrant perfumes, has come to leave pulls his ears bloody knocking doors of ages, here is life robbed the warmth of hearts and leaves us spilled tears of the sea. Sadness causes darkness in the heart more than any sin. Sometimes we are overwhelmed by sadness until we get used to it, forgetting that in life many things can make us happy. The tears are the fires of great grief. The most honest sadness is a smile with tearful eyes. Long silence is the road to grief, because it is a picture of death. Sadness is the blackness of the muzzle in your chest, the mute of your breath, the feeling of tightness of breath, and the tear of your heart until it closes the tears of the eyes. The heart is full of grief like a warm, hard-to-carry cup. Tears save you from the fire, it is a tear of fear of God. The smiles are digging the channels of future tears. Anger, tears and sorrow are surrendering weapons. If you have tears, prepare to shed them. Sadness is that you love madly, violently and lovingly but at the moment you discover that all this is just an illusion. Unleash your tears whenever you want to start and maintain your pride. Often the facts of life are a mixture of tears and smiles. The tears of joy are tears of sadness that were boiling inside us, and in the hour of joy we bid farewell to sadness to come out with the tears of sincere tears. In the tears of women, the wise man sees only water. Teardrop is a small drop that carries the greatest emotions and the most severe pain, a small drop in size, but large with its burdens and sorrows, sucking my pains from my body to get it hot and inflamed. Mistakes source of temporary happiness and lasting sadness. Any man who dies, does not end up looking at those who love him unless they wash him with tears. The tears are the last dust of the earth that the dead man embodies and says it is over. We can represent laughter, we can smile politely, but we can not drop one tear for no real reason. No sorrow lasts and no pleasure ... nor misery for you nor prosperity .. If you have a heart of envy ... You and the owner of the world, either. Crocodile tears are called crocodiles. Man is a human being with all the meaning of this word, and he will never be swarming. Do not cry when the sun is gone, because tears will prevent you from seeing the stars. The saddest thing is to remember the days of pleasure and happiness when you are in the most miserable and miserable situations. Hope relieves the tear that grief brings. Guide tears loving but not treatment. I'm not sad because people do not know me, but I'm sad because I do not know them. Have you heard that sadness brings back what has been lost and that worry is wrong? Too many tears do not meet a little debt. All the tears of the earth can not afford a small boat that can accommodate parents looking for their missing child. If you want to build walls around you to prevent sadness from reaching you, know that these walls will prevent happiness from reaching you as well. When sadness overwhelms you, your heart is hoping again, you will see that you are in fact crying from what was once your source of joy. It is not sadness but self-defeating rust, and active action is the one who purifies the soul and clears it and saves it from its sorrows. The eye that does not cry does not actually see anything. I do not need ink to write my history, but to tears. Strange are the days when we have happiness we do not feel and we think we are unfortunate, but once we leave that Life Quotes LINK : https://goo.gl/ghpqum #Life #Quotes #Top #Famous #Best #Time #Inspirational #Motivational #Collection #Love #Positive #Cute #Beauty #Quotes #Art #Romance #Amazing #Flowers #Winter #painteditmyself #Landscape #relationships #coloringbook #Naturephotography #Life #painting #Sunset #wedding #Quote Famous Quotes The Best Quotes of All Time Famous Quotes Inspirational Quotes Motivational and Inspirational Quotes Collection Love Quotes Positive Inspirational happiness

wallpaper hd for #photo #model #fashion #fashionweek #photographer #popularphoto #hairstylist #makeup #instagood #bestoftheday #photooftheday #day #likes #good #female #world #beauty #art #style #photos #amazing #bride #travel #camera #canon #nikon #vacation #happy #farm #love #nature #naturelovers

0 notes