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blood-injections · 2 months

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you should tell me about the band au i'm so fascinated by the band au

YES I SHOULDD I FINALLY HAVE WIFI BACK(hopefully it doesnt disconnect Again .its been a frustrating week) AND I CAN FINALLY BRAINROTPOST ABOUT IT OKAY SO

Where to start lets seee. This au is at the like. "Google docs loredump but ive been obsessed with it enough that ive been drawing and ive written a couple little silly but not quite significant bits" stage still lol. Theres funkobra and jetpoison but the funkobra is like SLOW slow burn theyre just weird gay besties that fuck around and make out sometimes but arent actually Together in any way so theres this horrible tension and theres bits of like. See kobras a little slut so hes being gay with sandman and show pony and even an oc that has his own band and so the funkobra is. They dont know why the tension is like that until like. The literal last chapter when they're . Ohhhh shit. We GAY gay. That makes sense. At least thats the plan. The jetpoison is a lot less slow lol they meet and are like ooh you pretty and yeah.

So the first like half of this au is set in the city and actually its less of a fab four band au and more just Kobra's rebellious punk phase au because its focused around him and the Band isnt all four of them together until like. Way on in the story. Poison is even a sort of antagonistic foil character until then too. Because hehe venom sibling angst and theres a few moments where its poison thats the catalyst of Kobra's like. Character growth via spite. Also this au is kobra kid 🤝 jet star being some badass motherfuckers like damn.

So they're in the city, Kobra's like seventeen, not Kobra yet, knows hes trans but not a word for it and isnt out to Poison but Poison Knows enough that hes like. 'Hey i know you dont like this' whe they have to dress to a code or something, and they cae up with a name he likes when he was like way younger bc he hated his deadname so hes already Koda. But hes never been like hey I'm a boy. Poisons a couple years older and works a lot because its just them so he has some office job he hates and the city is on his ass for crow training or something which. He really doesn't want. Because hes in no way loyal to bli hes risking a lot just by keeping himself and kobra off the pills and keeping bli from realizing that. He isnt thinking of being a rebel yet or getting kobra out like in most fics or headcanons no its kobra that ends up dragging poison out. Poisons super overprotective to the point of being a asshole about it because its just them and hes seen too much and knows that you cant get away with getting into trouble forever, and kobras always getting into trouble, and better living has a eye on him because hes autistic and also poisons like labelled as Kobra's caretaker by the city since its just them, and bli is also on poisons ass with that because they want kobra for some kind of test because hes aging out and wont be like a minor and they want to 'fix/cure' him. So poison worrys, poison babys him, because his only goal is to keep kobra safe however he can because hes fucking terrified that his little brother is going to be taken away and hes seen what people come back as when bli takes them to be 'fixed.'

And kobra gets this, he does, and he loves his brother, but he hates him, he hates it, he feels trapped and coddled and between poisons sternness and what the city wants with him and even the city regulations on how he as a female has to look, he feels he has no freedom or privacy and hes cooped up as all hell. So he gets into trouble. He sneaks out no matter how poison tries to keep him from it or ground him, he sneaks out and hides his hair and steals poisons clothes and goes and bes a boy where he can because to the city his days are numbered and hed rather risk it all to have a little fun every night and just be himself than live some boring lie like hes medicated and obedient like everyone else. He doesn't want to rot like that. Poison wants to keep him safe, wants to keep him alive, but Kobra wants to live. Because his mindset is a very reasonable one of 'whats the point of being alive if you're miserable,' but not in an 'i want to die because i am miserable' way but in an, 'out of pure fucking spite, i will change my circumstances, i will be what i want and i wont be miserable and maybe i will die trying but i will have died being happy' way. Because this kid is running on pure spite and rage and envy, of his brother, of friends, of killjoys, of martyrs. Hes angry about it all, Poison is just scared. UGH. me when the venom siblings. hghhdfjdjs.

So he sneaks out, stirs up trouble with street kids and droids and Show Pony, who legit sneaks into the city every so often just to cause chaos and stir up rebellion in the streets. This fic can pretty much be explained as: show pony is pete wentz and the battery city rebellion is the 2000s emo scene. They know everyone and they've got their claws in every little crevice. The suitehearts probably exist because of them, its their actions that domino to what ghouls doing when kobra meets him, and its how they meet that causes them to become friends and start a band, and it all traces back to Pony, its hilarious.

So he meets Ghoul and Sandman, because they're street gremlins together, and they jam a lot and basically play protest songs on the street with people watching out for crows in case they need to scatter and its just Sandmans bad singing and playing a diy guitar while Ghoul drums on some buckets, and sometimes Crab is there with an actual bass but he isn't that good lol. But its punk its to be expected. So he becomes friends with them and when they realize he can sing theyre like omg you should jam with us. And hes like ehhh but eventually does and realizes he loves it. And as time passes they all get more skilled and protest songs in the street turn into actual shows at underground clubs and like, these speakeasys that hide just under blis noses. And being a band is hand in hand with being a juvie halls because if bli was to catch them they'd be so fucked, so if you play music you might as well participate in all the other rebel stuff, and they do, kobra does, he becomes known and the makeshift band of fab four/suitehearts members before theyre the conventional weapons becomes known, he comes up with the name Kobra as a rebel name and hes surrounded by people that treat him like the boy he is.

Meanwhile his relationship with poison is getting more and more strained. Poison is getting desperate and starts trying to follow kobra when he sneaks out but kobras really good at losing him. When kobra is home hes hardly talking to poison anymore. Then some Shit comes. Poison finally manages to follow Kobra to his destination, and its on a night that the bands show is a big fucking dangerous distraction that they purposely gave bli a tip about. So bli storms the concert and the juvie rebellion uses the distraction to break recently caotured killjoy prisoners out of prison. Jet Star is among them.

So poison finds this concert, his quiet little sister up on stage, singing, with a buzzcut hes been hiding. And he storms throigh the pit to up to the front of the stage and kobra sees him and his singing falters and poisons pissed, he expects kobra to be pissed that hes here, but no, kobra looks fucking horribly terrifed at the sight of him and that makes poison falter in turn. And then better living fucking busts in, stun guns firing, and poisons in total shock and kobra grabs him and he ends up running from crows with the band until they get to the underground and its just. A mess. The killjoy prisoners arrive and this is like. Halfway or more through this story and the fab four are finally all in one place. And their band doesn't even exist yet.

Anyway poisons in on it all now and has whiplash and like, well kobras not stopping because his brother knows about the band or rellion or his being a boy, and actually poison sees the change kobra fucking made with that show and is sympathetic to the killjoys and oh that one is really pretty and so theyre terrified but actually pretty supportive of it all and so more time passes and kobra just starts. Dragging them along to practices and stuff. And they find themself learning bass and getting involved with the rebellion and then joining the band when they play and theyve just. Become party poison at some point. Jet star got back out to the desert before long but poison taked to them a bit and totally likes them. I havent planned what happens to make them finally leave the city, but poison, kobra and ghoul all leave to become killjoys, the band is just theirs now and they need a guitarist and like pony steps in sometimes and other friends but they don't have a permanent one. Poison reunites with Star and they vibe and shes hanging around a lot and just. Joins the band somehow. And they become the fab four and the conventional weapons and yeah. Thats the bones of it. Theres so much more and little things 💀 Oh and Ghoul and Jet are both spanish speakers and im rusty but its getting me learning and stuff again so im actually writing their spanish bits out and the venom sibs learning it and its honestly so fun. Star cursing out a exterminator in spanish is. Whew.

#the conweps

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franeridart · 4 years

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Anon said: i dont know what blue lock is but that art you just posted is making me interested lol

AHHHHH please getting people interested in it is all my life is about lately hahahaha it’s a sports manga about soccer! Kind of!! Definitely has all the good sides of sports manga, but it’s also different enough from the usual sports manga that I know people who aren’t huge sports manga fan who loved every second of it, please do give it a try if you find yourself with the time for it! It’s such a cool manga!!!

Anon said: I don't even like BNHA anymore, haven't for more than a year, but your blog still has me shipping the characters somehow. I live for your KiriBaku content (and your KamiJirou stuff, when you post it!)

Gosh, I’m glad I can make you like them still!! It’s such a compliment, honestly ;A; <3

Anon said: so i was looking through your art and stuff and was wondering "hey i wonder if theyve ever drawn voltron stuff" and tbh, i didnt expect you to have

To be fair, if you checked it means that at least a little you thought it was possible lol I haven’t watched anything past s1 of it though, so the chances of me ever picking it up again are less than zero

Anon said: You... are one of the loves of my life... and also the main reason I check tumblr everyday lol.

Anon!!! You’re gonna make me blush here!!!!! ;;;; thank you so much!

Anon said: i started reading bluelock because of u and now im obsessed soooo,,,,, thanks!❤️😭

SO HAPPY TO HEAR THAT!!!!!

Anon said: Hii, do you have a Spotify account? If you do, can you share it? I really like the songs u use on your arts, and I would love to see your Playlists Sorry if it's already on your FAQ, I didn't find it And sorry for my bad English ps. I LOVE YOUR KIRIBAKU ARTS THANK YOU

I don’t! I listen to all my music from youtube, because I’m that kind of person lmao happy to hear we share music tastes, though! And thank you so much!!! <3

Anon said: What's your favorite arc of ToG both story wise and art wise?

SCREAMS I don’t know!!!! I’ve been thinking about this ask since getting it I have genuinely zero clue I love all arcs so much for so many different reasons!!!!! The first that comes to mind when I think about it is the workshop battle arc, because I love Viole with everything I have and the whole arc (plus the build up to it too!!) hurts in the most wonderful way, but then I keep thinking about it and I realize there’s so many character I live for that don’t appear in it - I love the floor of death arc SO MUCH cause for one, there’s nearly all my favorite characters in it, and also because it’s such a good, dynamic arc?? everything that happens is so much fun and interesting?? also Hockney is there, and Urek is there, and Garam is there, and the Hell Train gang is all there, so!! AH and the hell train as a whole is so damn good (the dallar show???? my whole soul rests in there, Khun’s trust in Bam!! the coin flip with rachel!! Bam’s whole everything!!!!!!!! GAH) but my fav part of it has to be the hidden floor?? because!!!!!! it’s perfect from start to end, everyone in it is wonderful, Bam’s growth in it!!! GODS! My favorite scene in the whole webtoon is in the hidden floor arc, it’s how much I love it - THEN THERE’S YAMA and the whole arc there is so so SO good too, and the latest arc!! how good is the latest arc!!!!!

so yeah I can’t pick - art wise I think it goes without saying that SIU’s art has only gotten better, so the closest to the newest update you go the more I like the art.... though, my favorite Bam is still the short haired one from the Hell Train arc haha

Anon said: Oh, wow, how stupid of me. Like 2 months ago, I sent you a message telling you how much I loved your work... and I didn’t see it on your page, or anywhere else. Finally today, I discovered I had an inbox where you answered me... 🤦‍♀️... I still love your work, by the way...

AHHH yeah I always answer off-anon asks privately! And thank you so much for still liking my things!!

Anon said: Have you read the last haikyuu chapter? How did you feel about it?

I’ve reread it at least twenty times and then I went and reread the whole of the last game again and it’s been three weeks and I’m still thinking about it more or less constantly and feeling giddy happy about everything that manga has ended up being, genuinely one of the best manga I’ve ever had the pleasure of following till the very end - that’s how I feel about it <3

Anon said: I really like looking at your art it’s so therapeutic it’s wonderful please keep drawing I want to support you on Kofi and patreon and yet I am broke please just know I love u very much ok bye

Ahhhh it’s okay anon! I try to keep as little completely unavailable for my followers as I can, and I’ll do my best to keep drawing! Can’t promise the fandoms will always be stuff you care about though haha

Anon said: This is my FAVORITE art blog. Is blog even a word that ppl use anymore?? Idk but anyways your kiribaku gives me life and cures my depression so ily and thank u

I’m so so happy to hear that! Thank you so much!!! TTATT <3

Anon said: just now realizing your oc looks like the human version of kamakiri

To be fair the only thing they have in common is the green mohawk, but I get where you’re coming from! I was very happy when Kamakiri’s official colors came out exactly cause he makes me think about my boy, after all xD my love for Kamakiri is definitely biased, in that sense haha

Anon said: Just wanted to let u know im very gay for ur oc giulia that is all thanks

Anon I’m gonna cry I’m so glad you like her!!!!!!!!!! She’s one of my oldest OCs out of that group, it’s always so thrilling to know people like her ;A; <3

Anon said: I really like how you draw kirishima’s hair

Thank you!!!!!!!!!!! I have a lot of fun with it, though it does mean it ends up being kinda off canon more often than not haha

Anon said: hi! just a random question but how’d you come up with your name?

Fran is my name! Erid comes from Eridan from homestuck! Art is what I try to do! And that’s the incredibly interesting story behind my screen name haha

Anon said: Heya, so i sent the ask about the person who i suspect either heavily referenced or traced your art (i sent another ask about this tho im not sure if it went through) anyway, it was posted by ****************** you'll know it when you see it i think

Ahhhhhh sorry for how long this took me to answer, I went to check and it’s!!! fine, I mean, would have preferred if they had credited but I don’t think it was completely traced so I don’t mind too much, I used to copy art of people I liked too back when I was first starting, after all haha

#fran answers #many chattering tonight #anyway yes please do go check blue lock out I assure everyone it's a cool af manga #long post #also spoilers for tog in one of the answers #i went off there hahaha

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bibislut · 4 years

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Bitter-Sweet Days (Chapter 1)

Find it on Ao3 here

Chapter 1

15th May 2001

A short rap on the door signalled Draco Malfoy's entrance. The short, portly man spun round in his chair with a tight smile, gesturing to the seat before him.

"Sit down, Mr Malfoy."

Draco took his seat quietly. "You’ve studied the blood samples?"

The healer stared pointedly at the desk before him, pushing his glasses up his nose and clearing his throat. "There is no delicate way to put this Mr Malfoy," He looked up to meet Draco's eyes. "We have detected a kind of rare disease in your blood. There is no current cure for such a disease, nor has modern research found a cause. It just, simply, is."

Draco's vision began to swirl at an alarming pace, and his breath was knocked from him. When he found it again, it came in short, rapid bursts. His therapist said this was hyperventilating, and that he should try and take longer, slower breaths. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. He did his best to do so, and swallowed thickly.

"So what happens now?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.

"Now, you spend your remaining time however you wish." The healer smiled sadly at him. "We estimate two months, Mr Malfoy."

"Two….Two months…" Draco repeated quietly, mostly to himself. So this was it, this was to be his final time in this world. It was almost funny how he had spent so many years fearing he would die the next day, and now he had just started to manage to enjoy life, it was all to end.

---------

"What can I get for you?" The barmaid smiled at Draco, and he faintly wondered if she's just very good at customer service, or actually doesn’t recognise him.

"Another bottle of the '96 Elf Merlot; you can charge it to my vault." Draco slid across a piece of parchment with his vault details on it. After finishing his first bottle of the ridiculously overpriced drink, he had decided that he deserved another. His pale cheeks held a slight pink tint, and his ears were tipped with red, though he supposed it would take another glass for the slurring to become noticeable, and another glass after that before his hiccups would start.

He could feel a slight thrum in his veins and had to fight the urge to hum a song to himself. Just lovely, he thought. Perhaps he should spend the next two months drunk.

The sound of raucous laughter drew Draco's attention to the furthest corner of the bar, where a group of young people sat squished into a booth, cheering and toasting. Squinting his eyes, Draco could make out the all-too-familiar mop of curls belonging to Harry Potter. And yes, next to him sat Weasley and Granger, and on his other side sat the younger Weasley and Luna. Dragging his eyes back to Potter, Draco felt his stomach flip in a way that certainly wasn't the alcohol. Potter had filled out since school, and his dark hair had grown out, slipping over his eyes every time he laughed too hard. He now sported a trimmed beard, and as much as Draco wanted to think he looked like a vagabond, he had to admit that he actually looked rather handsome, and far too sexy for his liking. His brown skin held a pleasant flush, and as Draco watched, he spilled a drop of his beer on his tatty blue t-shirt, earning him a playful punch from the younger Weasley. They exchanged smiles and Draco felt his heart tighten.

He didn't even have a good reason, he knew full well that the two had broken up not long after the war, and now Luna was dating Weasley. Their monthly catch-ups were one of his favourite things, and a very useful source of information on the Golden Trio. Draco was very fond of Luna, and when she had spoken for him at his trial to reveal how he had snuck her food and checked on her whilst she was being held captive at the Manor, their friendship had only bloomed further. She had often asked him along to evenings with them all, but he had assured her that he wanted nothing of the inevitable distrust and awkward interactions that would ensue.

As he watched, Potter turned and met his eye, a small look of shock crossing his face. Luna turned too, and waved eagerly at him. He nodded back with a small smile and turned away, not wanting to draw any more attention to himself. He took a large gulp of his wine, memories of the past few years flooding his mind.

Harry Potter with dark hollows under his eyes, standing to speak for Draco at his trial. The awkward thank you, Potter, afterwards, as the two boys took it in turns to briefly glance at each other before looking away.

Harry Potter asleep on the sofa in the common room of the eighth year dorms when Draco came down to try and walk off another nightmare. The way the dying embers cast shadows across his cheekbones.

Thank you, Potter. For coming back for me that day.

Draco had tucked the note under Potter's hand before laying a blanket over him and heading back up to his room. Potter had smiled at him that morning at breakfast, and Draco had nodded back, hurrying out of the Great Hall with butterflies in his stomach.

Harry Potter with a scowl on his face when they got a new assignment. Harry Potter with a distinctive glow on his face when he flew in the eighth year Quidditch games. Harry Potter in tatty pyjamas rubbing his eyes as he came out of the bathroom. Harry Potter shooting Draco a thumbs up when he got his NEWT results in the Great Hall, and Draco just rolling his eyes in return, struggling to hide his smile.

Harry Potter asking what Draco was doing at the ministry a few months later. "I'm training to be a curse-breaker, Potter. Let me guess, you're already Head Auror?" he had drawled in return. To his surprise, he had laughed, actually laughed.

"Give it another month, Malfoy."

Harry Potter nodding to Draco whenever they passed each other in the hallways of the Ministry. These days, those small acknowledgements rarely happened. Draco supposed they were both just too busy.

Draco poured himself another glass of wine and almost spilled it when an all too familiar voice sounded behind him. "Its been a while, Malfoy."

He turned round with a perfectly schooled air of haughtiness. "You almost sound like you've missed me, Potter."

"I wouldn't go quite as far as that." Potter had the audacity to wink at him.

"Merlin's tits, Potter. You're making me miss that pretty little scowl of yours." Their interaction may have lacked the same vehemence and distrust that it often did back at Hogwarts, but the two men were certainly still as passionate about each other (though Draco supposed the exact kind of passion had changed too).

"What would you prefer? Want me to push you up against a wall with my fists in your robes like we're back at Hogwarts?" Draco choked on his drink, an all too enticing image dancing in his mind.

"Careful, Potter. Someone might overhear and think you're flirting with me." Draco's pulse was echoing in his ears and it suddenly felt too hot. What in Merlin's name was going on? Maybe he was passed out drunk at home and simply dreaming.

"So what if I am, Malfoy?" He was suddenly a lot closer, too close. He looked into the bright green of his eyes and wondered if he could actually get lost in them. Draco hissed and stood up abruptly, using his few inches to look down at Potter, pushing him away.

"Fuck off, Potter. I'm not in the mood for whatever your half-wit brain considers a joke." Draco's brain could barely keep up with the words that were spilling from his mouth. He rushed out the pub and into the cooler spring air. He needed space, he needed to be the fuck away from whatever had just happened. Draco could barely summon the self-control to not apparate drunk, and instead clumsily jogged to the next pub, and into their floo, giving his address.

His breathing came fast and the room spun around him. He kicked off his shoes as he fell onto his bed. He closed his eyes, counting his breaths until sleep fell over him.

-----

Draco woke with a hangover that was nowhere near as bad as he expected. With a groan he lifted himself out of bed, stretching with a yawn as memories of the night before came back to him. Potter's green eyes, Potter's freckles, Potter's flirting.

"What if I am, Malfoy?"

What the actual fuck? Firstly, this was Potter. He hated him, or at least only politely tolerated him, right? And even if he didn't despise him, since when was Potter gay?! Or bisexual, or just interested in men. Or interested in him?!

All these thoughts swirled in his head, and Draco had to steady himself against the wall. Maybe he was more hungover than he realized.

A shower - that's what he needed. And maybe a coffee too. Yes, he just needed to wake up a bit.

----

"Latte with an extra shot, please." Draco smiled politely at the barista as he offered her a muggle note with a 50 on it. She looked at him quizically and took it.

"Give me your wallet, Malfoy."

"I beg your pardon?" Draco spun around to meet Potter's eyes. He just smirked and took it from his hands, looking through it.

"Next time, when you're ordering just the one drink, try paying with one of these." Draco looked down to where Potter was waving a note with a 5 on it. Draco sniffed and grabbed the money and wallet back from him.

"Yes alright Potter, no need to be condescending."

"As if you've never been a condescending prick before," he chuckled and clasped Draco on the shoulder. "Come on, pick up your drink. Let's have a walk."

Draco hadn't realised he'd been staring until then, and he hurriedly picked up his drink and followed Potter out of the coffee shop.

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he tried to settle his nerves. "Sorry about last night, Potter." His voice came out much more timid than he intended and he frowned slightly.

Potter whipped his head round to look at him, coughing to try and hide his shock. "It's alright, I didn't mean to come on too strong." This was definitely one of the weirdest conversations Draco had ever had.

"I'm surprised to hear you admit that you were coming on at all," Draco taunted.

"Oh yes, the saviour of the wizarding world likes cock, isn't that a shocker." Potter’s voice was surprisingly tight.

"I mean slightly, Potter, yes." Draco paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm more surprised that you like death eater cock, though."

"Death eater? Don't give me that bollocks Malfoy," Potter huffed. "You know full well that I don't blame you for the war."

At that, Draco looked at Potter with an expression somewhat like a gaping fish. "You don't?"

"Merlin's beard, Malfoy. I thought I was supposed to be the dim one! I spoke at your trial, remember?"

"I just… thought that was a courtesy. For my mother." Draco's voice was incredibly small. Harry came to a stop.

"Pity party is over Malfoy, I don't blame you, alright? You were a kid, you were stupid, you were scared. We all were."

Draco turned away, trying his best to blink away his tears. He turned back to punch Potter in the shoulder. "So much for Saint Potter, did you just call me stupid?"

"And dim." He laughed and ducked out of the way of another smack. Malfoy couldn't help but laugh too. They continued walking.

"So, Harry Potter is gay…"

"Well if you want to get technical, I'm queer." They were both quiet for a moment.

"So were you really hitting on me?" Draco asked.

"Well...yeah." Potter ran a hand through his curls nervously, only helping to add to the chaos on top of his head.

"Oh dear, Potter. That won't do.I won’t have any kind of half-arsedness," Draco said playfully.

"So that's a yes?" Draco couldn't help but smirk at the way Potter perked up.

"You haven't even asked me a question yet."

"Oh, um, would you like to go on a date, Malfoy?"

Draco smiled devilishly. "Hmmm… I suppose so." The teasing didn't work however, as Potter beamed from ear to ear.

"Great! I'll owl you the details later!" He waved eagerly and set off at a jog.

"You don't even have my address!" Draco called, but he was already out of earshot. He couldn't help the smile that creeped over his face. He was going on a date. With Harry Potter. Merlin’s tits.

Harry Potter could be his boyfriend. How long had he wanted this? Nine years? He could go on dates with Harry Potter. He would know how he took his tea, how his day at work was. He felt giddy.

A sudden darkness washed over him, an intense weight in his stomach. What was he thinking? He was going to die. There would be no future for him. No anniversaries, no Christmases. No moving in together, no family. No arguments and make-ups. No growing old.

Tears fell down his cheeks. He had no future. He should owl Potter and tell him that he couldn't see him. Didn't want to see him. All it would do is cause more suffering in the long term.

But there was the voice in the back of his mind. You only have two months. You should spend it how you want, the rest be damned. He couldn't do that though, could he? That was selfish of him. Who cares about selfish? These are your last days.

#Draco Malfoy #drarry #harry x draco #Harry Potter #bitter-sweet days

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storyweaverofgondor · 4 years

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@jellicle-ho who just did their own and inspired me to make this! :) I loved hearing your opinions on all the Cats!

1. Quaxo/Mistoffelees

He’s just so much fun to write, draw and i have so many different headcancons for this magical boy. I love him!

2. The Rum Tum Tugger

Again, he’s just so much fun to write and draw! I love his dynamic with Misto so much - both in a romantic and platonic context - they are basically an inseparable pair to my mind.

3. Bombalurina

She is gorgeous and i am gay for her. Nuff said.

4. Munkustrap

I’ve really been looking at him recently and i have fallen in love. I love this boy very much.

5. Plato

He is so lovely and sweet. He’s also my little angst magnet.

6. Jemima

she was the first cat i fell in love with way back when i first saw Cats on PBS. she is the main reason i killed three VHS tapes. i love this tiny cat.

7. Alonzo

i always thought he was handsome but was pretty neutral on him. then @jellicle-ho converted me to the ‘Love Alonzo’ bandwagon and i haven’t looked back since.

8. Skimbleshanks

i really love the Train Dad. he is so handsome and wholesome. i need more of him.

9. Electra

She is basically me as a cat. Cheery loner goth girl of my heart!

10. Old Deuteronomy

i feel like his hugs could cure anything.

11. Jennyanydots

She is a good mom and a fun charactor. Skimbledots is goals. nuff said.

12. Cassandra

While Alonzandra/Casslonzo is one of my OTPs i used to find her very creepy. i now find her utterly fasinating so she has gone up quite a bit.

13. Demeter

While i consider Demestrap my ultimate OTP, i never really noticed her on her own until recently. the golden queen is slowly winning my heart.

14. Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer

in my head they are a pair so I’m putting them together. I love the chaos gremlins!

15. Pouncival

He is very cute but he also has a bit of a mean streak. Love him!

16. Coricopat and Tantomile

Psychics who are mysterious and goofballs? YES PLEASE!

17. Victoria

she was always my sister’s favorite so there was always a stigma to her in my mind but I’m starting to see her on her own merit and am slowly falling in love. her relationship with Plato is just the sweetest!

18. Jellylorum

I love her and think she needs more love!

19. Macavity

I love a good villain and he is a very good villain!

20. Tumblebrutus

I need more with this boy! PLEASE?!

21. Admetus/George

Sweet, confused baby boy! Granted, he may actually be a technical adult but he has no clue and just want to have fun!

22. Asapargus jr.

Love him! i really need more with him just . . . existing on his own merits tho? but his friendship with Skimble is so cute!

23. Exotica

I NEED MORE!

24. Etcetera

Yes, i know she’s low. Yes, i do love her. She is a ray of sunshine and the cutest cat ever! but . . . i wish there was more to her?

25.Grizabella

Story-wise very important. but beyond her bitterness and desire for acceptance there isn’t much to her character? great for coming up with headcanons but not so good when trying to decide on one’s opinion of her. also child me was a little scared when she first started singing when she originally showed up.

26.Gus the Theater Cat

he’s very old and was an actor. not sure where to go with this character

27.Bustopher Jones

Meh.

#Cats the Musical characters ranked #personal opinions and headcanons #no hate.#just for fun #long post #would i change it?#yes!#but i can't put everyone at number 1!

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continuallycrow · 5 years

Text

i wanna know (when the pain stops)

Linhardt has 'Good Days'. Linhardt also has bad days.

title from dread by nothing,nowhere.

basically this is what happens when my brain helpfully supplies me with "what if the reason linhardt naps a lot is because he has a chronic illness but they're not really named or recognised in the time period of three houses".

i listened to a lot of nothing,nowhere. and this happened.

can be read as gen or gay aside from the very last line which is gay. caspar and linhardt are both sixteen.

Linhardt always knows, when he wakes, whether it’s going to be a good day. Or at least, a ‘Good Day’. He’s taken to borrowing the air quotes Caspar loves so much when it comes to describing the highs. Mostly because it means he has the energy to do them, and sometimes, it’s the little things.

A ‘Good Day’ begins with sleep, late enough that the morning rising over Garreg Mach is bright enough to creep in through the drapes, but not late enough that Edelgard is knocking on the door, demanding in shrill tones that he “better not be about to skip a lecture again!” It means he can wake up, swallow whatever potion or herbal tea Professor Manuela wants him to try this month, and dress in his own time. He replaces the burned-out candle from the night before, puts away the book he was reading before he fell asleep, and straightens the bedsheets, sometimes tucking them in if it feels like it’s worth it. He pulls the curtains aside and the day streams into the room, illuminating the dust motes, the sun warm on his hands. He dares to think, perhaps, that today will be fine.

There’s time for breakfast, even, sometimes, and he can walk there. The monastery grounds hold his many fellow students, clustered in pairs and groups talking, or walking alone to their duties and classes. Annette and Mercedes bid him quiet good mornings in unison as he passes, and he responds with a greeting and small smile in return. He meets Ashe under the arches, and they walk to the dining hall together, the grey-haired boy spinning a tale of Alois and the stable cats, and as Linhardt listens to his chatter and not-too-distant birdsong, he wishes all days would be like this.

Later, he is the last to their classroom for Professor Byleth’s lecture, but only by seconds, since Petra spots him from across the courtyard and sprints for the door - and of course, he understands why, because he’s late so often it would be an insult to the professor to walk in behind him. As it turns out, though, they both arrive before the professor himself. Linhardt slides with almost ease into his seat at the desk he shares with Caspar, and it’s as though the shorter boy’s whole demeanor lights up. “Lin! You made it.” Caspar beams, and Linhardt’s chest blooms with warmth. “Of course,” he replies, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And really, it should be. Making it to class before the cathedral bells ring is supposed to be the easy part of academy training. Punctuality is a simple request, if he listens to what Seteth says.

Caspar only seems to grin wider. He scoots closer to Linhardt on their shared bench, and then Linhardt is being hugged. It surprises him every time, the affection that Caspar is so willing to give him. Others treat him like he’s made of spider-silk or blown glass, afraid to so much as bump into him in the hallways or land more than a tap during training. And of course, it’s sensible, for the most part. But it’s like Caspar can read him at a glance, and the embrace is the perfect amount of pressure, of warmth. So Linhardt allows himself to melt for just a moment, closing his eyes and finding the right way to return the gesture. For a few seconds, he forgets the dull ache behind his eyes, the heaviness in his limbs that even the short walk over from the dining hall has brought. All he knows in that short moment is Caspar.

“Your heart’s beating fast,” his friend whispers, shattering the spell. “My heart is always beating fast,” Linhardt reminds him gently. It’s one of the first things to slip Caspar’s mind, if he’s going to forget anything. He laughs a little as he pulls away, but stays sitting right by Linhardt’s side. It’s a good thing he takes notes with his right hand, while Linhardt uses his left. “Of course. I’m sorry.” “There is no need to be.”

Professor Byleth chooses that moment to stride in, and what could become of their conversation is lost to the respectful silence that sweeps the room. “Good morning, Black Eagle house.” A chorus of greetings in return. “We will begin today by recalling the sword blocking technique we studied last week. Ferdinand, if you would join me here…”

On a ‘Good Day’, Linhardt’s notes are neater than Caspar’s. His script is small, neat, slanted to the right in neat lines across his pages. On a ‘Good Day’, there are no ink spills or broken quills. There is simply the professor’s voice, and Caspar by his side, and when he’s asked to stand and demonstrate Recover on Edelgard as one of Bernadetta’s arrows goes awry, he’s more than happy to do so.

----

It stands to reason, of course, that after a streak of ‘Good Days’, and better days, and average-but-not-terrible days, the black clouds will come at their worst. And it’s just typical of Linhardt’s luck for it to all come tumbling down, just as he was beginning to hope he might feel better one day.

He first wakes to the bells chiming early morning - exactly what time, he can’t tell, because each toll sends what feels like earth-shattering pain through his head, radiating down his spine. It’s only because it’s early and the dormitory walls are thin that he finds it in him to grit his teeth, to hold back the cry that so desperately wants to tear out. He pulls the blanket over his head, but even the small movement is enough to bring hot tears to his eyes. It isn’t supposed to be like this, it’s incredibly rarely like this, but when it is, every time feels worse than the last.

He searches his mind for something to blame, to bury his head in the pillow and curse until his lungs give out. But there’s nothing there, nobody to spit at, because everything they’ve been doing, to try and help… it’s been working. Manuela’s latest syrup, infused with fresh herbs from Dedue’s small patch in the greenhouse, has had all but cured his headaches, pushed back the constant looming nausea to a level where he’s been eating three regular meals for weeks now. He’s been putting on a little healthy weight - putting on muscle , much to Professor Byleth’s delight, his hands hardly shake at all when he draws back the string on a training bow - and attending all his classes. He takes up weapons at the training ground and works to a programme devised just for him by the professors and Edelgard. A little more every day. Just three nights ago, he accepted Caspar’s offer of a duel after hours, and damn near knocked him across the classroom with his first successful Cutting Gale. He sleeps through the night, and only naps once a day, if at all.

He’s been getting better.

And yet, now, he’s powerless to do anything but lie motionless on his stomach, alone in his room. With the blanket pulled over his head, his feet and ankles are exposed and freezing. He’s always struggled to retain body heat, but the thought of moving to resolve the problem is too much. It’s all too much. So he shivers, and slips in and out of restless sleep, waking with tears drying on his cheeks more times than he cares to keep count of.

Daylight comes, and brings with it the soft sound of rain at the windows, because, well, of course it does. Linhardt’s father once hypothesised that his pain changed with the weather, and while experience has only served to prove that wrong time and time again, (he skates on the monastery pond with the others when mid-winter allows, and more than once has been bedridden as his friends frolic in the Blue Sea Moon sun - he missed Caspar’s sixteenth birthday, and is sure the regret will never leave him) it does seem that whenever the rain comes, so does the deep-set ache in his bones. He doesn’t see himself falling asleep again, at least not without a heavy dose of healing magic and another new potion or balm to try, and he knows that sooner or later, someone will come looking for him.

He doesn’t wait long. The thing about Edelgard is she seems to have a sixth sense when it comes to members of her house missing class. She must have a routine. Checking the infirmary, passing Bernadetta’s door to haul her, kicking and screaming, to the classroom, and then, coming by Linhardt’s room. Her sharp rapping at the door and the accompanying command of “Linhardt! Up!” is too much, too piercing, too painful. “Edel… please…” His lips are cracked, throat sore just from the effort of forcing out the words she probably can’t even hear. “I know you’re in there. Wake up!” When he doesn’t reply, she only goes on. “Come on, Lin! You’ve been so… spirited lately. So much better. I will not have you fall back to old habits. Open this door, before I open it myself.”

He knows she means it, and he doubts he’d be able to stand even if she gave him all day to do it, so he’s not surprised when the door flies open, hits the door with a thud, and reveals the princess in the light it lets in. She’s wet through from the rain, a sure sign that she’s made her way here without Hubert, as her advisor would insist upon carrying an umbrella for her. It wouldn’t do for a noble lady to catch a chill, of course. Something about that thought makes pained laughter spill from Linhardt’s mouth. How he wishes he could, one day, simply catch a cold and have that be the worst way his body could betray him. Edelgard strides in, and for a moment Linhardt fears she’s going to snatch the blanket right off him and order him to his feet. But as she blinks, her eyes adjusting to the darkness in the room, he watches her face soften, in familiar concern, and then even more familiar, pity.

Normally, he would despise her pity. But in this state, he’ll take what he can get.

“Again?” she asks, the anger in her voice melted away, replaced by a whisper. He closes his eyes against the disappointment in hers, and confirms, “Again.”

The Black Eagles all know of Linhardt’s affliction, though the Empire doctors don’t have a name for it. There was no way to keep it from the other students, either, though he suspects they think they know more than they do. He tried, of course, at first, to keep it hidden. Even lied to Caspar, whom he hadn’t seen in a year or more, and told him it was getting better, under control. Fainting at the steps up to the entrance hall within a week of enrolment had not been one of his finer moments, and had sparked a lot of questions and prying eyes. But by now, the students surround him with support, for the most part. He knows he frustrates them at times, with his constant exhaustion, his inability to concentrate or remember the point of conversations or the passages of the books he pours over, again and again, desperate to retain the information through the fog in his mind and the tears in his eyes. Sometimes it’s hard to remember a lesson, or call back a moment in battle. And it angers him, let alone them.

But now, Edelgard perches at the edge of his bed, he can feel the slight dip in the mattress as she settles there. She’s hardly the most affectionate of his classmates, but still, he appreciates the warm touch of her fingers on his icy skin, as she draws back his tangled hair from his face and ties it loosely with the ribbon he lost at some point in his sleep. He whispers a thank you, but the words are lost once they pass his lips. “You’re welcome,” Edelgard tells him anyway. “Are you absolutely certain… no. No, disregard that. You are clearly too unwell to come to classes.” She sounds as though she regrets even going to ask. “I cannot stay. But I will fetch your medication, and send for Professor Manuela the moment she is available. And some extra blankets.” Her presence is suddenly lost, but only for a moment, and he can smell sweet-mint. Too exhausted to even consider sitting up, he allows Edelgard to pour a small dose of the syrup into his parted lips, and somehow, swallows it without choking. She rearranges the blanket to cover him properly, and in lieu of a cool rag to cover his eyes, finds a small towel and lays it there, to block out the light. “Rest, Linhardt. Do what you do best.”

He hears the door close, and with the help of the medicine, manages to pass out again.

He guesses it’s mid-afternoon when he next wakes properly. He’s been roused a couple of times, first by Professor Manuela with some stronger medication and a couple of magical tests to make sure this is just another relapse, and not something that’s going to spread through the academy like the flu that did this time last year. When she’s sure it’s just him, she leaves, and the second time he wakes coherent, and she’s brought blankets from the infirmary, which he’s infinitely grateful for. He manages to thank her, and she gives him cool water to drink. When she tries to coax him into eating, though, he manages a few bites of something plain and unidentifiable before the dizziness overcomes him once more and he drifts off again.

He recognises the smooth heat of white magic before he even opens his eyes. He expects Manuela again, but instead finds Mercedes in a chair at his side, her brow knitted together in concentration as she casts healing spells over him. He watches her for a while, almost transfixed by the spirals of light bridging the space between them, until she notices he’s awake and closes her hands. “Linhardt.” She’s always so at ease, it puts his mind to rest too. “How are you feeling?” He takes a moment to answer, first assessing the state he’s in, and then deciding whether it’s worth lying to her. “Quite dreadful,” is the reply he ends up giving, with a rueful smile. “Though better than this morning. Warm, at least.” It’s a little easier to speak, easier to breathe. “Such is the way these things go, I suppose.” She stands up and picks her way over to his desk, bringing back a steaming teacup. “You absolutely must drink this. While another remedy is brewed, this will help.” The tea smells familiar, and Linhardt tries to focus on that instead of how much his body protests as Mercedes helps him sit up.

He insists on holding the cup on his own. Something about having a fellow student there, even if she is practically Manuela’s apprentice, brings a little shameful heat to his cheeks. “Angelica?” he asks, after a long moment inhaling the steam. “For nerve and joint pain.” Mercedes practically claps, which he thinks is ridiculous, because he’s a healer too. What kind of a healer would he be if he didn’t know the uses of simple herbs? He smiles anyway. “My favourite kind. Thank you, Mercie.” It’s slow, but he raises the cup in shaky hands and takes a sip. It’s perfectly warm, and brewed just right, and as he drinks, he feels a little more human again. It clears some of the clouds in his mind, at least.

Mercedes sits with him until the cup is finished, and she talks about the weather - it’s still raining - and an incident in the courtyard involving Ferdinand and a cat exactly the colour of his hair. It makes Linhardt smile, her insistence on filling him in on the day he’s slept away. She tells him Ashe and Annette are making sweet buns for dinner, and she’ll be sure to have someone bring him a plate, since there’s no doubt in either of their minds that he will see this day out in his bed. And when his tea is finished, she takes his cup and goes to help him lie down once more, but he pushes her away, albeit gently. “Not yet. When I want to sleep again, I will call for someone, if you leave the door ajar.” “If you’re quite sure, then of course. But I doubt that will be necessary. Your house have been quite desperate to see that you are recovering,” she tells him, still smiling. “Professor Manuela insists only one visitor. Perhaps two, if they’re quiet. But last I heard, Caspar was willing to spar someone for the honour, so…”

Despite everything, that idea is so undisputedly Caspar that it makes Linhardt laugh, for the first time all day. “Let him come. No, tell him I requested him, specifically. The others can wait.” “Of course. I’ll pass the message along, I’m sure he’ll be with you shortly.” She beams. “Take your syrup before bed, as usual. The new blend should be brewed by morning, Professor Byleth has been working on it all afternoon. I hope you feel well again soon, Linhardt.” As promised, she leaves the door open just a little on her way out, and he’s left to wait for Caspar.

He listens to the rain on the window for a while, and hopes that every set of footsteps to pass his room will be his blue-haired friend. Just as he’s wondering whether he should have asked Mercedes to pick out a book for him, though he doubts he’d be able to focus his eyes enough to read more than a few lines, the air fills with the sound of running boots on wooden floorboards, and Caspar comes rushing in in a flurry of cold air and wet clothes, though thankfully without his armour and weapons, so at least Linhardt knows he hasn’t come straight from a training session. “Lin!” Caspar’s excitement at seeing him takes over for a moment, and Linhardt winces at the sudden noise, enough to be visibly uncomfortable if Caspar’s reaction is anything to go by. The shorter boy presses his hand to his mouth and mumbles out a muffled “I’m sorry!” before getting his volume under control. “I’m sorry,” he says again, once he’s taken off his academy jacket and hung it on one of the hooks on the wall. He takes Mercedes’ vacated seat by the bed, and perches on the edge of it. “Hey… I missed you today.” The easiest smile of the day makes its way onto Linhardt’s face. “Hey, Cas. I missed you too.”

They talk for a while like that. Caspar takes off his boots, and the warmth of the room dries his hair, leaving it fluffy. His hand creeps across the blankets, and when Linhardt notices it getting close to his own, he moves to close the gap, entwining their fingers. Caspar always worries about being too rough when he’s like this, yet Linhardt still hopes that before tonight ends, he’ll get to feel his friend’s arms around him. Caspar hasn’t hugged him on a bad day before, and he’s too proud to ask for it, even though he thinks, or perhaps hopes, that it might take some of the edge off, the same way it does on the days he makes it to class, or the library, or the pond.

“Come closer,” Linhardt hears himself say, later on when the candles have been lit and the exhaustion is setting in. He can see that Caspar is tired now too, and most likely uncomfortable, leaning in to talk in the dim light and still sitting on that awful chair that Linhardt hates because it makes his back kick up a fierce complaint any time he tries to work in it. “I can’t move the chair any more, Lin,” Caspar points out, trying anyway. He drops it back to the floor with a thud, and Linhardt smacks his hand lightly. “Ow. You can get on the bed, you know. Idiot.” It’s a fond insult, and accompanied by a tug at his wrist, there’s no doubt that he does, in fact, want Caspar there beside him, quite desperately. Caspar frowns. “There’s not a lot of room. I don’t want to hurt you.” “When have you ever hurt me before? You won’t. I trust you.” “You trust me more than I trust myself, you know.”

“I know I do.” Linhardt pats the bed. “We’ll figure it out. Come on.”

Caspar looks as though he’s fighting an internal battle for a moment, but he sighs and relents, and moves from the chair to the space at his friend’s side. The pillows are all propped up, and he sits against them. He’s right, there isn’t much room for the two of them, but Caspar is short for his age and Linhardt, despite everyone’s best efforts, is thin for his height, so they’ll make it work. And Caspar is so warm, so familiar, that it’s all Linhardt can do not to collapse against him and, though he’s too proud to beg, beg to be comforted and held.

Because really, that’s what it all boils down to. To Linhardt, Caspar’s presence is safety, sanctuary. It means a hand to grasp onto when it all gets to be too much, an arm around his waist when he grows weak with fatigue, a voice in his ear that tells him it’ll all be alright, even if it doesn’t seem in the moment like it will be. Sharing the bed with him is awkward and painful, but if it means they can be this close, he won’t so much as whimper.

It’s a surprise when Caspar sighs, exasperation evident in his voice. “Lin, you’re hurting. Come here.”

And he’s resting on Caspar’s chest. His friend may be shorter than he is, but when they’re pressed up together, and muscle tension has Linhardt curled in on himself to be most comfortable, the difference is barely noticeable. He lets out a shaky breath, and cuddles closer, and to his delight, Caspar’s arms wrap around him and he cuddles back.

For a moment, the room is quiet.

“Better?” Caspar murmurs into his hair, so close and yet so soft it makes Linhardt jump. “More than better. Nearly perfect,” he admits, not sure when he closed his eyes, yet making no effort to open them. If this is a dream laced with medicine and pain, he doesn’t want it to end just yet. Caspar laughs quietly, and Linhardt feels the sound go right through him, flooding his veins with warmth and bliss. He decides he doesn’t ever want to move from Caspar’s embrace, right here in his bed. “Good. That’s good. You gonna be okay?” Linhardt yawns. “Oh, absolutely. I promise.”

“You wanna go back to sleep?” “It won’t help.” “Does anything help?”

“You do.”

“Me? Sure you’re not feverish, Lin?” Caspar is laughing again, and Linhardt feels like his heart might swell right out of his chest. “I don’t know how I do. But you’ve always got me.”

“Don’t leave,” Linhardt hears himself murmur. “I’ll sleep, but don’t leave.”

He hears the smile in Caspar’s voice. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.” And perhaps Linhardt imagines the kiss to his hair, as slumber pulls him in once more.

#fire emblem #fire emblem: three houses #fe3h #fe:3h #casphardt #fe lindhart #fe caspar #linhardt von hevring #caspar von bergliez #lincas #caslin #wtf is their ship name

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cynicalkairos · 5 years

Text

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

CHAPTER FIVE

Word Count: 3856

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Alcohol, Smoking, Self-Deprecation

Summary: Henry convinces himself to talk to Ted. Ted gets sober and makes a life-changing decision.

A/N: Oof, this took a while. Sorry about that. Life got busy and everything. But we’re finally there. Well, almost. Enjoy the angst (and fluff)

Previous || Next

—————

Henry knew that he loved Ted when he agreed to let Henry teach him how to dance.

It was really uneventful. There was no swell of violins, rose petals falling across the room, fireworks shooting off in the distance. If anything, it was one of the most mundane moments, perhaps, ever.

Well, at the time.

To the Henry sitting alone on the secluded balcony with a lit cigarette in his hand, it was one of the happiest memories of his entire life.

It was more than playing the game of loving someone and deciphering whether or not they reciprocate your love, a game that Henry knew all too well. But it was different with Ted. There was no debate over his attraction to Henry based on countless words and actions that Ted said and did over the duration of their relationship.

And because of that, everything that had to do with Ted gave him a sort of…self-proclaimed meaning, one that he decided was his purpose and not thrust onto him by others.

For a long time, Henry lived for one reason and one reason only: the apocalypse. After the deaths of his friends during college, he spent thirty years trying to find ways to stop it, find out when it was going to happen, and prepare for a life of survival. Henry felt guilty for not being able to prevent their demise, dealing with the pain through manufacturing a way to be the one who saved the day. And most definitely everything going according to plan without any help from anyone else.

With said apocalypse in full swing and demolishing the entirety of Hachetfield, Henry never expected Emma, four strangers, and one unconscious Infected to be at his door. And one factor he definitely did not theorize was falling in love with one of them.

Good god, he thought Ted was just an annoying asshole who badgered him constantly until he sobered up and closed his goddamn mouth for once. On second thought, Henry was initially attracted to Ted, but it was more physically than to his personality or anything else. It was characteristics like his lean frame and dark hair that fed his attraction. Even then, he didn’t know if his attraction to him was genuine or if it was the result of isolating himself for so long that one encounter with another person sent him over the edge.

Despite his feelings and all of the action happening in the house and outside, he dismissed the provocative thoughts of Ted that invaded his head and repressed them. “Once it ends,” the professor told himself. “Once it all ends.”

Henry spent his days in the lab attempting to find solutions and, over the course of the times that he ascended from the depths of his house, he watched the love between Emma and Paul grow. Of course, he couldn’t lie to himself when he thought about wanting that type of a relationship with someone, but every time, he reprimanded himself for not focusing on the task at hand.

The initial disappointment throughout the entire situation was that it never ended. Hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and before any of them knew it, it was nearly six months later.

Six months of Henry’s hopes and dreams crushed by reality.

Six months of Henry wanting to return to his normal life, yet knowing he never could.

Six months of Henry suppressing his emotions in favor of working on a cure for the people who fell to the apocalypse that never was going to work.

Henry sacrificed his entire life for what? Nothing. He missed out on finding love, being a parent, and starting a family just so he could chase the inevitable conclusion of failure. All of the things that he ever wanted out of life went to shit when the apocalypse destroyed the world around him.

Henry wallowed in self-pity for a couple more weeks with no hopes in finding happiness or any positivity from the outside world. He even replaced his usual turtlenecks and khakis with t-shirts and sweatpants, maybe jeans, out of complete negligence for his personal appearance. As an attempt to cheer him up, Emma used the information that Paul told her and weaseled the thought of Ted being interested in him. Henry didn’t believe her initially, but she assured him that Ted was interested in him of all people.

Then all of a sudden, those feelings returned to him in the same way a train would run over someone standing on the tracks.

Before that point, all of the moments that Ted would spend in his lab with him didn’t faze Henry one bit. He didn’t think twice about Ted bringing him his coffee every morning just the way he liked it or sitting there quietly as he listened to his concerns or anything that was on his mind. He only realized that Ted was flirting with him and trying to “woo” him when thinking back on those times.

The swirl of emotions that one conversation initiated engulfed Henry’s thoughts and effectively worked according to Emma’s plan to distract him from the current circumstances upon later reflection. All of his thoughts, no matter where they started, eventually wandered to Ted and, by this time, the attraction developed from the physical to everything about him.

He found himself laughing at Ted’s jokes, no matter how stupid or overused they were. Henry shared details about himself that not even Emma knew. Henry initiated more physical contact unconsciously, rather than deliberately like before.

After two painful days of emotionally losing control over Ted, Henry’s mind was relentless. The only subject that played in his mind was everything about Ted. Ted’s outfit that day, the way Ted smelt, even Ted’s facial expressions when he thought no one was looking. Henry wanted his inability to focus on anything but Ted to disappear.

So, he figured he would just tell him. Simple as that. Blunt, straightforward (despite how gay the confession was), and to the point.

“I find you attractive,” Henry recalled himself saying bluntly to Ted in between the repeated inhalation and exhalation of smoke from his cigarette.

It was a decent day and under the mental and emotional stress he was in, Henry was smoking on the balcony with Ted standing next to Henry and drinking a beer. This was a typical occurrence. Looking out at the Hachetfield skyline allowed both of them to reminisce on the days when the apocalypse wasn’t destroying humanity. They talked some but it was always relatively quiet, disregarding the occasional clink of glass or the sound of the exhalation of smoke.

When Henry said those fours words, Ted nearly choked on the beer and spat it out on the ground below them, avoiding death by beer. Once the coughing fit that ensued died down, Ted looked back at him to see Henry still calmly smoking his cigarette, as if nothing out of the ordinary was ever said.

Henry only looked over to him when Ted didn’t respond and he witnessed a flabbergasted Ted, jaw dropped to the floor and a stain from the beer that he choked on. The professor’s facial expression only turned mildly concerned while he said, “What?”

Even though his confession wasn’t a big deal to Henry, he found out later that it was monumental for Ted. Ted was sputtering and manufacturing a reply, until he just uttered, “What the fuck?”

“What?” Henry asked, shifting his stance to lean against the railing, the cigarette still dangling from his lips. “Good god, Ted. Get yourself together.”

“Get yourself together?” Ted repeated, clearly still shocked by Henry’s proclamation. “Fuck, Henry. You said that I’m hot!”

“And?”

“‘And?!’ You can’t just do that to a man! What am I supposed to fucking do?”

To be completely honest, Henry had no idea how to respond. He hoped that Ted would, you know, feel the same way, but he would understand if he didn't. Henry was— well, older than he was and had grey hair. Despite his insecurities, he rather enjoyed the freedom of not withholding his emotions anymore, no matter what Ted’s response was.

“I don’t know,” Henry said, shrugging and taking another drag. “I was reluctant to theorize about the aftermath.”

“Why not?”

Henry stared at his cigarette longingly, tapping the ash of the end and letting it drift to the ground below. He then looked up at Ted and met his eyes for the first time since his proclamation. Ted’s eyes were darting all over the place, scanning his face, his hair, anything he could take in at that moment.

“I was scared that you might not reciprocate my attraction.”

When Ted burst out laughing, almost dropping his beer in the process, Henry felt worried if Ted was okay or if his fears were coming true. Truth be told, laughter wasn’t on the list of responses that he expected. He didn’t know if Ted was mocking him or simply going insane.

“Are you fucking with me, Henry?”

“No—”

“I mean, why the hell would I not be into you?”

It was Henry’s turn to be shocked. The cigarette in his mouth fell and landed on his hand, leaving a small singe where it landed. Henry stamped the cigarette out, his eyes never straying from Ted’s. He watched Ted place his beer on the small table in the corner.

“Ted, I—”

“And just so you know, before you go and deny it, you definitely are so goddamn hot. Like when you traded your khakis for those jeans that one time— Wow.”

“Ted—” Henry attempted to protest and felt warmth flood his cheeks from the sudden compliment.

“Oh! And when you forgot to straighten your hair—”

Ted didn’t get a chance to finish his compliment to Henry when Henry cupped the sides of Ted’s jaw and silenced him with a kiss. He felt Ted still and then two arms wrap themselves around Henry’s waist, drawing him closer.

Henry could remember every detail from that kiss. The feeling of warmth emitting from Ted’s body, the taste of alcohol on his tongue, the brush of coarse hair from his mustache and stubble, even then he wouldn’t deny that he wanted more. To Henry, it felt…right, as if everything in his life was leading to this one moment. He never asked Ted about his experience from that kiss, but he probably did something right because there were more after.

After a few seconds, Henry separated himself from Ted reluctantly. He stepped back against the railing and shoved his hand in the inside pocket of his coat, scouring the space for another cigarette and his lighter. Once Henry found them, he lit one hastily and took in an inhale of smoke to ease the rapid beating of his heart. After another deep breath, he glanced over to see Ted slowly open his eyes again and locking with his own. Henry averted his gaze in embarrassment of being caught staring and toyed with the cigarette, taking a long drag.

“Henry, you just fucking kissed me.”

“Yeah,” Henry chuckled as smoke trickled out of his mouth, looking back at his cigarette to stop Ted from seeing him blush. “I suppose I did.”

Ted laughed with Henry joining in after a second. Ted took a few steps closer to Henry and took the cigarette out of Henry’s hand, extinguishing it in the ashtray. Henry then watched as Ted gently traced his fingertips along his arms.

He never thought that he would get this far. Henry believed that he would chicken out or never say anything, but not this. Here, he held Ted, he kissed Ted, he began the road of doing something he wanted to do for a long time. Henry couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t understand what Ted saw in him to even be in the room. Because of the way Ted talked about Henry, Henry figured he must’ve been a fraction of a bit attractive to Ted to get his attention.

Ted pulled Henry out of his thoughts when Henry noticed that his hands were on his jaw. Henry met Ted’s eyes and felt himself smile and blush even more. “Good god, Ted.”

Ted responded with wide eyes and a furrowed brow. “What is it?”

Henry placed his hands onto Ted’s shirt and gripped it tightly, balling the fabric up in his fists. He looked at his own fist, before meeting Ted’s eyes once more. “You’re such an idiot. You know that, right?”

“But I’m your idiot.”

“Yes, yes, you are.” Henry sighed dramatically and pulled Ted closer, a wide smile forming on his face. They gazed at each other for a moment. Looking back at it, it was the moment when Henry realized how stunning Ted’s eyes looked in the sunlight. Before, he only saw them in the fluorescent lights of his lab or everywhere else in the house. The sunlight accented the spots of honey in Ted’s irises that the lights inside the house masked through the terrible lighting.

“Are you gonna kiss me or keep staring?” Ted asked, intruding on Henry’s thoughts.

Suddenly, Ted’s lips crashed into his own, preventing Henry from responding.

Henry remembered the kiss that ensued was one of the best that he ever had, even though there were not many competitors for the title. The kiss quickly escalated from gentle pecks and soft caresses to deep kisses and needy touches. Soon enough, Ted tugged on Henry’s lip, asking for entry, which Henry gave immediately. Teeth clashed and, after Henry untucked Ted’s shirt, he grasped onto Ted’s hip in a way that was bound to leave bruises later. Meanwhile, Ted gripped onto Henry’s hair, hearing a muffled moan come from Henry’s mouth.

Being pinned against the railing didn’t stop Henry, though. Henry moved one of his hands onto Ted’s ass and gripped tightly, bringing him closer. The instant connection between the two caused them to separate, the feeling almost too much for either of them.

As the adrenaline of the situation drifted away, Henry took in several deep breaths and accessed his— well, compromising position.

Henry was leaning onto the railing of the balcony, hand still on Ted’s ass that, from this point forward, was never going to leave. Ted leaned his head onto Henry’s shoulder, seeming like he was trying to hide the bright blush on his face from Henry, but in reality, was seizing the opportunity to plant more kisses on his jaw.

Reminiscing over that moment, Henry couldn’t help but think about how fucking gorgeous Ted was in that position. With his hair sticking up in many different directions, his shirt severely wrinkled and untucked, and the red tint that his face acquired from either the lack of oxygen or the intensity of making out with someone, Ted looked almost…ethereal.

Almost two months later, Henry stood in the same position, watching that moment replay over and over in his head. It was the catalyst to the beginning of their relationship and their inevitable fight.

He was standing alone, watching the cigarette burn down into a pile of ash and trying to convince himself to do the unthinkable: talk to Ted.

Of course, it seemed a lot more daunting than those words let on. The possibilities were endless regarding how badly he could fuck everything up. He could say the wrong thing and initiate another fight. He could chicken out at the last minute and never talk to him, hindering what little relationship Henry believed they had left.

Henry knew that everyone was right. He had to do it at some point in time. He longed for Ted in his heart, but every time he wanted to go search the house for Ted, his mind told him that Ted would break up with him. He would rather not talk to him and remain together than talk to him and lose him forever.

Henry missed waking up to Ted’s outrageous bed head and the warm feeling of having his arms wrapped around Ted. He missed the random conversations that Ted’s mind manufactured and their constant use of cheesy pick-up lines that made each other blush. He missed each gentle touch, kiss, and word that they shared.

Fuck, he was in deep.

Henry was so in love with him that it hurt thinking of him and not being able to be near him.

Well, you could. His heart whispered. All you gotta do is talk to him.

Henry chuckled at the proposition. It was really that simple. He knew it was. The idea kept circling around his head for a reason and it was because of its simplicity.

You know what would happen. His mind replied. You would just fuck it up like everything else in your life.

As much as it hurt, his mind was right. He would fuck it up. Henry fucked up his life with his Workin’ Boys then and fucked up his life with Ted now.

Once the cigarette in his hand was rendered to a pile of ash, he blew the contents away into the surrounding air, watching as it disappeared into oblivion. Henry dusted off his hands and wiped them on his pants.

Then a notion struck him.

What if he just…disappeared? Then he would never have to have that fated conversation.

He shook the thought from his mind when he realized that Emma would drag his ass back here to stop him from avoiding it.

He rubbed his temples with one hand when his head began to throb from the abundance of emotion. Henry sat down and closed his eyes, leaning his head in his good hand. Combined with the pain in his hand, he wished that something would just numb all of the pain, whether it be physical, emotional, or mental.

Henry could hear Emma chastise him, saying, “You’re making things too complicated.”

Usually, he would never listen, but this time, he took her advice.

How did Henry confess his feelings to Ted? Simply.

If it worked once before, it might work again.

To win back Ted, he just needed to be extremely blunt.

Fuck you, mind. He thought, giving his conscience a mental middle finger. I’m gonna get my Ted back.

Henry stood up abruptly, regretting that decision immediately when another pang of pain spread throughout his hand and head. He groaned and moved to exit the balcony.

Expecting to have some time to prepare his words, he froze when he saw Ted standing in the living room, staring back at him.

Oh, fuck.

— — —

While Henry was having an existential crisis on the balcony, Ted hyped himself up in the mirror.

To give an accurate description of Ted’s mental status, imagine any teenage coming-of-age movie when the teen was getting ready for a date. Cheery, uplifting music and dancing montages, the whole package.

The only differences were that Ted was a middle age man and this was the apocalypse; everyone in that house abhorred music by that point.

A newly sober Ted regarded himself in the mirror. His hair was still wet from the shower and he actually didn’t look absolutely disgusting for the first time in a week.

Ted no longer reeked of alcohol but of some fruity body soap that Ted found in the cabinet. His hair wasn’t matted with sweat to the point that it was almost glued to his head.

Sure, he had to chug about four glasses of water to avoid dehydration, but he felt better than before.

The lack of alcohol really helped with helping him process what he was going to say and— well, everything that happened. (Shocking. I know.) Drunkenness didn’t really favor the thoughtful.

He spent so much time wallowing in the thought that Henry was in the wrong and should apologize that he neglected to put some of the blame on himself.

Henry wasn’t selfish and did things for himself. He always had others in mind. When Henry went out into Hachetfield alone, albeit it was a stupid decision, he did it so that none of the other occupants in the house would get hurt or die. He risked his life for the good of the people around him, not himself.

In conclusion, Henry did what he thought was right and necessary and Ted got angry about it.

When he saw the “blue shit” left unattended, anger bubbled from deep within him and he acted irrationally. He couldn’t help but toss it out. His Henry could have died because of that.

It wasn’t okay. His actions were not okay. He regretted saying every hurtful word, pushing Henry and everyone else away, and most importantly, hurting Henry.

He could never erase the look of pure despair when he looked back and saw Henry on the verge of tears.

He could never forget the sound of Henry smashing his hand against the counter and the crunch of the bones from the strong force.

Even in his drunken state, Ted heard everything. Every shout of pain, every curse to himself and others, every angry outburst from Henry. It only made him drink more and cry harder when he realized that it was his fault that Henry was like this.

Ted’s heart shattered more and more every time.

But now in his sober state, his love for Henry and his desire to fix everything only grew by the second. He was itching to simply be in the same room as him again.

Ted looked in the mirror at the final thing preventing him from hunting Henry down and apologizing to him.

His beard.

He neglected to shave while he was drunk, but now, he was faced with doing so. He could never talk to Henry with such horrible thing growing on his face.

Ted looked at the razor and picked it up slowly, looking at it.

He could go back to his typical mustache, but he needed something new. Something to show to Henry that he’s committed to moving on from their fight and embracing their future.

Fuck it. He thought. I’m gonna shave it. All. Of. It.

Before he could change his mind, he put the razor down and lathered on shaving cream over his entire beard.

Then he picked up the razor, examining it.

Finally, he made the first shave.

It already started. There was no turning back now.

Ted slowly watched as with every swipe of the razor, remnants of the days wallowing in self-pity went away.

Soon, he was clean-shaven. Ted had no idea if Henry would like it, but it was worth a shot. It was certainly something that he hadn’t done in years by now.

He ran his hand over the smooth skin and smiled. I don’t look too awful.

Ted rinsed off the sink and washed the hair down the drain, running the razor under the water as well.

He patted his cheeks with aftershave and quickly posed in the mirror, boosting his self-confidence.

Ted was determined to win the love of his life back, no matter what it took.

(I mean, seriously. The man shaved off his mustache.)

—————

A/N: I hope you enjoyed that. This shit show of a work is almost done. There’s one more chapter left. Feel free to like and comment. I really appreciate all of the support.

#tedgens #professor hidgens x ted #henry hidgens x ted #henry hidgens #professor hidgens #ted richards #snaff tedgens #tw: cursing #tw: smoking #starkid #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #ted tgwdlm

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lets-talk-story · 5 years

Text

Pied Piper of Hamelin

Hamelin town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The River Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity.

Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cook's own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats, By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats.

At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: "'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation -- shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation.

An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell, I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain -- I'm sure my poor head aches again I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "What's that?" (With the Corporation as he sat, Looking little though wondrous fat; Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister Than a too-long-opened oyster, Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle, green and glutinous.) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat!"

"Come in!" -- the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in -- There was no guessing his kith and kin! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone!"

He advanced to the council-table: And, "Please your honors," said he, "I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of selfsame cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture, so old-fangled.) "Yet," said he "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats: And, as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders?" "One? fifty thousand!" -- was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation.

Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled Like a candle flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling: Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives -- Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped, advancing, And step for step, they followed, dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished -- Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary: Which was, "At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And the drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, All ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!' -- I found the Weser rolling o'er me."

You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple. "Go," cried the Mayor, "and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!" -- when suddenly up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!"

A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation, too. For council dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But, as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty: A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!"

The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit, by dinner-time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bait a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe to another fashion."

"How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!"

Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling, that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter.

The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by, -- Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo! as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, -- "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than the peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more!"

Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that heaven's Gate Opes to the rich at as easy rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South To offer the Piper by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And Piper and dancers were gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six;" And the better in memory to fix The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's Street -- Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people that ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand.

So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men -- especially pipers; And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

#pied piper #pied piper of hamelin #poem #nursery rhymes #poetry #mice #children #music

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egg2k16 · 5 years

Text

Quotes from 12th grade

I forgot to upload these when I graduated, but here they are now!

8/28/17

2. Carlos "I'm giving up my health" 9/5/17 Mario "If we still here during lunch, we can sneak out!" Patricia "You want to sneak into class?"

9/18/17 2. Aliyah "It was hard" Morua "I know it was hard" Sabian "I know it was hard. I made it that way" 2. Brandon "My special need is aid"

10/3/17 6. Vicky "Valery, why is this such shit?" 10/4/17 3. David "Alright Mr. Morua I'll be right back" Class "MR. MORUA?!?!?!" David "Mr. Grana" 10/4/17 Karina "Deaf blind and very confused" Me "That should be the name of my biography" ~ Joselyne "If you're not a competitive person, then don't apply to competitive schools"

10/6/17 3. Luis "I was thinking about the cheese"

10/12/17 3. Me "Unchangeable and swole" Karina "You sound like a fuckboy trying to write a love poem" Me "Am I not a fuckboy trying to write a love poem?"

10/13/17 2. Me "A pity pizza, if you will" 2. Me "All those cans there look sexy" Karina "Your sexuality is those cans. How gay are you? See those cans?" Me "Yeah? Yeah"

10/13/17 4. Student "What movie is this, Captain America?" Students "Civil War" Student "But it's Captain America, right?" Students "Yes" Student "You could have just said so, damn" 10/14/17 Rafael "It's a butter knife, not a cutter knife!"

10/17/17 2. Morua "What are complement goods?" Carlos "Nutella" Morua "Nutella and what?" Me "Nutella and everything" Morua "Nutella and everything. You're not wrong, Valery"

2. Morua "You still have to pay taxes" Marcelo "Not if they don't know you're there"

11/7/17

3. Me “You think I'm not aware, yet what you don't know is that I'm increasingly aware every time I write an essay”

Grana “Ahh, it's almost like you're learning in school”

11/8/17

2. Morua “Disney stocks are very expensive. You would own the paperclip on the CEO’s desk.”

6. Vicky “Cortina”

Joselyne “Everything he says is ugly”

11/13/17

6. Regalado “Only positive stuff now”

Johnny “Oh, ok. Khan Academy is good.”

*silence*

*laughter*

6. Girl “I don't have time to take notes and I don't have time to draw!”

6. Me “It's a see-saw. It's a danger see-saw. Over a cliff. While it's on fire!”

6. Me “That's so pretty. Let's take a field trip to the Hagia Sophia”

Class “Mhmm”

6. Nathalie “I've never seen a Bible in my life”

6. Joselyne “Oh my God. He vored the Bible”

11/16/17

1. Mrs. Ski “Robert, are you still with us?”

Robert *almost asleep* “Yes”

11/20/17

2. Me “You know, that's your problem. You just hand out the tests and they’ll have to figure out what to do with it!”

Morua “You know what, Valery, you right”

11/27/17

6. Me “I like how the lady explaining the mandalas is a white lady”

11/30/17

3. Grana “You just rewrote a Hemingway novel!”

12/5/17

1. Ski “Bleeding hearts want to stop the dear-loving!”

2. Karina “I'm confused and concerned!”

6. Malo “This video is twenty long!”

12/7/17

?. “Don't blame me for your shitty immune system!”

12/11/17

2. Morua “Adulting waits for no one”

12/14/17

3. Rafael “The devil is his father!”

3. Andrea “I'm bullying myself!”

Lunch. Rafael “Oh that's right, I forgot! I'm mad at you too! You're all trash!”

Lunch. Lauryn “She said she liked dick.”

Me “DICK?”

Lauryn “Yes, exactly”

7. Rodriguez “When you're an adult you can make the decision of either moving back to Costa Rica or … Colombia?” “Yeah” “Yeah, I remember Costa Rica more because you're more emphatic when you talk about it. It's like the forgotten little dog”

12/19/17

2. Morua “Death taxes”

Brandon “There's a tax on dying?”

12/20/17

3. Grana “Oh yeah, if he was a cold stone killer. Stone cold. Hehe, ice cream!”

12/22/17

2. Me “What are we gonna do today?”

Joselyne “Nothing”

Morua “What's the phrase … comiendo mierda”

2. Karina “Kids are cool, but dogs are awesome”

?. “TRUST ME YOU NEED TO GO TO FUCKING COLLEGE”

1/16/18

2. Me “B E T !”

2. Morua *about Lord of the Flies* “And as the book continues, what happens?”

Me “Angry little boys”

2. Me “Just don't murder people. But if you do get murdered, then that's your fault”

Karina “Don't be a little bitch!”

2. Morua “The govt makes sure that your rights are protected”

Me “But are they?”

Karina “No they aren't”

Me “You right”

1/18/18

6. Malo “It's just France, except take out the nce”

6. Me “You can't have both, you bitch”

1/22/18

3. Grana “Do any of you recognize this band? (The Cure)”

Me “Are they … British boys?”

Grana “Yes they are British boys”

?. “I was prepared, just not for those questions”

5. Avila “Look at Carlos, making everyone look bad!”

Me “Wow, for the first time!”

Carlos “I know, right?!”

1/23/18

1. Andres “Who are you waiting for?”

Me “Jesus”

1/24/18

3. Karina “Ugh, English”

Me “You're a native English speaker!”

3. David “I love the murdering of families”

Carlos “You know, that's kinda hot”

Grana “At this point, nothing surprises me anymore”

3. Marla “He had the Dexter goods!”

5. Brandon “When you drive, you'll finally have a new perspective on life”

7. Rodriguez “I'm worried, I couldn't do that simple handshake. I wonder if I'm dying”

1/26/18

2. Joselyne “It's just ice, bro. Zane from Ninjago says this”

Me “Canon”

2. Morua “Let's say Agustin is talking in class. And I'm teaching the class and I hear talking behind me and I say, ‘Agustin, go to the office.’”

Agustin “That's just Mr. Sisak”

2. Morua “Robert, are you really living if the government protects you from Karina and the Mexicans?”

2. David “Wow, I can choose between Raul Castro or Castro, Raul”

2. Brianell “You can either choose Raul Castro or Raúl Cástro. One with an accent one without, and if you pick the one without, you die”

1/29/18

1. Samantha “Screw you and your detours”

3. Grana “Yeah, the pizza, pizza van hit him”

Carlos “Pizza pizza?”

Grana “Thanks for that, Carlos”

1/30/18

1. Me “I'm not a meanie”

Samantha “Yeah, she's not a wasp!”

1/31/18

3. Carlos “Did you get the goods?”

Me “Te pasaste la raya”

Carlos “Man shut yo mouth!”

Me “YOU shut your mouth!”

Class *ooo*

Grana “I'm gonna end it there on Valery’s victory”

3. Me “Your eyes don't grow, you grow into your eyes!”

3. Me “Are you still talking about your eyes?”

Kafruni “Is that why you need glasses?”

3. Me “He's a little bitch. You think a hardcore bitch would kill people who talk smack about them??”

3. Gio “You've heard of Atomic Blonde, now get ready for Hardcore Bitch”

2/2/18

Lunch. Joselyne and Me “various versions of Oscar Isaac came to my house”

2/5/18

1. Andrew “I'm a professional kayaker”

1. Andrew “Shut the fuck up, ugly. I'll leave you in the Everglades”

2. Me “What did we do last class?”

Karina “I'm the wrong person to ask that”

2. Isa “You got them ratchet-ass K Mart markers”

6. Khan “It's a phallus”

Me “I KNEW IT!”

Regalado “Obviously”

2/7/18

1. Ski “Quarter 3 is the toughest when it comes to grades, right Agustin?”

1. Ski “The little mosquito that could”

2. Morua “The last war the United States fought on US soil was the Civil War”

Karina “It's because we're smart”

Me “Are we?”

Karina “No”

Marcelo “It's cuz we have a moat”

Morua “Actually, two moats. Two big moats on either side with favorable countries on either side”

2/8/18

3. Tall “The tone is pessimistic and bleak, because that's how Poe is”

3. Gio “... Fortunado has the moral high ground”

Grana “Oh, so he's Obi Wan”

Me “ :D “

3. Me “It's over, Monstresor”

Grana “Ahh :D “

3. Me “Moral of the story is: There is no morality”

3. Grana “Yeah, it's like ‘Oh sorry man I stubbed your toe.’ ‘You're dead to me’”

5. Ivory “You're pregnant? Welcome to Chili’s!”

2/9/18

2. Me “It's okay. It's understandable. You're valid, Mr. Morua”

Morua “Thank you”

2. Karina “They're Other now”

Morua “Umm, we prefer Miscellaneous”

Me *dying from laughter*

Morua “Okay, it wasn't that funny, Valery”

Me “Let me laugh, Morua, damn”

2/2018

1. Me “It's a little bitch”

Sam “Yeah, but what kind of little bitch?”

2/23/18

2. Morua “Say hi, Kafruni”

Everyone “Say hi, Kafruni!”

3/7/18

6. Regalado “I wonder what they did in the medieval times with a solar eclipse”

Me “Johnny’s blind! Shit, that's the fifth one today!”

3/8/18

3. Me “Peacocks are just chickens. Any bird is a chicken if you try hard enough”

3. Grana “Peacocks, we know, are flamboyant chickens”

5. *Brandon just abandoned Brito*

Brito “I KNEW IT! I KNEW YOU WOULD BETRAY ME! WHY DID I TRUST YOU! EVERYONE ALWAYS LEAVES ME, MAN!”

3/9/18

1. Me “This is all your fault, Sebastian”

Sebastian “Okay”

6. Vicky “I have P.E. for sixth period”

3/12/18

7. D Rod “Lies, slander, and libel. Write that down, that I missed it”

3/19/18

1. Me “Drink up, bitch”

6. Regalado “Japan”

Diana “Oh, K-Cock?”

3/21/18

1. Sam “You're killing my vibes”

4/3/18

3. Mary “Did you finish the book?”

Rafael “Did I raise my hand?”

4/4/18

2. Morua “Now you guys can stalk Marco Rubio”

Sabian “We want you to stalk Marco Rubio!”

Morua “I'm not paid enough to stalk Marco Rubio”

Me “We'll pay you to stalk Marco Rubio!”

2. Morua “The average congressman is a white male -”

Me “Wow”

Morua “- and in their late 50s”

Me “I did not know this information at all before in my life”

Kafruni “Jaja, Valery”

2. Morua “This is our district”

Marcelo “Why is it like that. Why is it drawn like that. I disagree with our grouping”

4/5/18

3. Sebastian *about Norwegian Wood* “I kind of lost my train of thought during the interview, but it's cool”

4/6/18

6. Window *laughing but squeaking*

Nathalie “Window sounds like when you cleaning a window!”

6. Window “What happened?”

Me “You're laughing but you're squeaking so much you sound like when you're cleaning a glass window!”

Angelina *dying of laughter* “That's really good, Valery!”

4/8/18

7. Me *about the Star Trek vs Star Wars shirts* “I represented Star Wars. Are you proud of me?”

Rodriguez “Yes I am, my child”

Me “Oh my God, Patty, he finally recognizes me as his child!”

Rodriguez “I meant that in the spiritual sense”

Patty “You guys have a weird dynamic”

Me “But it works!”

Rodriguez *laughs*

Me “Sometimes a family can be a disgruntled 30-something year old man and an energetic 18 year old girl”

4/10/18

6. Regalado “It's a gradient of racism”

4/11/18

7. Rodriguez “Soon, a new Snapchat is gonna come out that will make the original Snapchat look old. What will happen to the last three years of your life?”

Isabella Ruiz “It'll be a fun time, it made me happy”

4/12/18

2. Morua “I don't get why this is so complicated. The exam is on the 24th. If you'd like, we can have a quiz in the days before about the days of the week”

4/13/18

~*Gradbash*~ After hours

Matthew “JUMANJI?????”

Capt Brianell “Matthew, I stick my 12 size foot up your ass!”

Brianell “Go the fuck to sleep!!!”

Rafael “Matthew, you turn on that light, you won't be able to see it!”

Karina “I love this sweater, man”

4/16/18

2. Agustín “Yo, can we all graduate together?”

Lunch. Rafael “Joselyne is my best friend”

Joselyne “What the fuck”

4/17/18

3. Gio “I don't know, I don't watch anime”

4/24/18

6. Regalado “The Bauhaus is a rejection of art nouveau”

Me “Is everything in art a rejection of something else?”

Regalado “Yes”

Hass “Hehehe”

6. Window looks at me

I look at window

Me “What?”

Window “What?”

Me “You were the one who looked at me first!”

Diana and Nathalie *laugh*

4/25/18

1. Shawn “Do I have to do para, par, pa, parisitm?”

Ski “Parasitism”

Shawn “That's exactly what I said”

1. Shawn “Dude, why is your example so long? An example is like, an example”

1. Shawn “What are you talking about? If the Earth wasn't sustainable, we wouldn't be here right now”

4/26/18

2. Morua “The President is Chief Citizen, the most well-known citizen of the United States, which we know… is a lie”

5/1/18

3. Karina “When you call us up, are you going to show us our essays-?”

Grana “Your Oscar Wao essay”

Cortina “Oh man”

5/2/18

2. Morua “I can't just fire Valery because I don't like her hair. Valery is incompetent at her job… plus her hair is dumb”

6. Regalado “It'd be a Venus, but since it's era, you have to put the Greek one”

Window “Jesus Christ”

Regalado “No, Jesus isn't there yet”

5/4/18

2. Morua “Writing papers is so easy yet you guys are always, uggggghhhhhh”

Me “It's because we like to write, we just don't like to write for school”

Jethro “Not everyone writes, Valery”

2. Karina “This is too much adult conversation, I'm gonna throw up”

5/7/18

1. Sebastian “Cadmium yellow!”

Vicky “Did you search up ‘Bob Ross yellow’?”

Sebastian “No, I put in ‘yellow Bob Ross’!”

5/11/18

3. Me “Would I lie to you about the X Men?”

Carlos “OOOHHH!!!”

5/16/18

4. Jose Diaz “What's a weaboo?”

Me “You don't wanna know”

Student “OOOHHH!!!”

6. Vicky, crying, mouth full “I love eating”

5/21/18

1. Shawn “You guys don't know how to take care of a child at all”

1. Andrew “What is this, a parent-teacher conference?”

5/24/18

3. Carlos “Hey Mr. Grana, for the playlist project-”

*Grana plays music*

Carlos “- Oh shit”

5/29/18

3. Marla “I love this song!” (Best Part by Daniel Caesar)

Carlos “What is this?”

Marla “Shut up, Soundcloud rapper”

Everyone “OOOHHHH”

5/30/18

?. “No cabrón, esto es un auto de última generación”

6/1/18

2. Joselyne “Today is Tom Holland’s birthday”

Me “Wow, and on the first day of Pride Month. Hmmm”

Joselyne “Hmmm!!!”

6. Me “You will get to mine, right?”

Morua “Yes”

Me “Awesome, thank you, my mom loves you!”

Matthew “That's what you always want to hear. My mom loves you”

6. Steven “Wait, do you want me to sign it?”

Me “Of course, that's why I put it there!”

Steven “I was so confused, you didn't pass it along!”

Me “Did I put it there for decoration? I put it there for a purpose!”

Steven “I got you, I gotchu”

#post #my school #quotes #good times

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whoisjinhwan · 7 years

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100 reasons to love yuta

that smile™

did i mention he invented smiling??? Amazing

his PERFECT smile its by far the best smile ive EVER seen in my life. not to be dramatic but yutas smile has cured any sickness i have ever head and have yet to have not to be dramatic but every time i see yuta smile and get that twinkle in his eye my heart grows three times in size not to be dra

his boldness. hes very straightforward its so refreshing

the way his eyes get so wide when hes surprised or enthusiastic im SOFT

HIS BEAUTIFUL BIG CHOCOLATE BROWN CAT LIKE EYES !

his lips i… gtg. theyre perfectly heart shaped

his insane versatility. give him a fuckign Clown Concept complete with hair and makeup, he’ll pull it off. no printer just fax

hes so witty despite not being 100% fluent in korean its amazing bc these comments just roll off his tongue

his charisma…. God Tier. he puts it out there that hes That guy

he moved to korea from japan and learned korean so fast that he gave taeil an identity crisis wow

yuta saying OKAY OKAY all the time thats the Nakamotto™

all (2) of his lines in firetruck

his hair is so luscious if sm ever tries to cut it i will personally Go Off

how does he look so good in yellow?????? he really did That

middle part!yuta

his medium/high pitched speaking voice? yes

HIS SINGING. his voice is so soft and sweet what an angel. i always have to prepare myself before his parts in songs so that i dont get a stroke bc his voice flows like liquid gold its so entrancing and addicting that got long and gross really fast in conclusion : give him more lines!!!!!!!!!

cherry bomb yuta focus ver. truly a smash hit legend deal with it

hes so dual hes like the human embodiment of sin but hes so GOOD. honestly how does he do That

the way he loves skinship it KILLS ME hes always holding someones hand, has his arm around their shoulder, etc.

hes highkey a sweetheart have u seen the way he takes care of his members?? how hes always right there next to them, comforting them, just overall being super sensitive

how he acts with the younger members

his friendship with hansol

taeyong said he makes all the other members feel confident :)))

yuta saying “good job” and praising winwin 25/8

accidentally holding taeils hand

when ice cream was found yuta gave winwin the first bite

yuta ft sword protecting taeyong while he barbecues

cooking assistant!yuta

how hard he tries to include all the members during interviews

hes so precious he named winwin winko im ugly sobbing

SAVAGE YUTA!!! yuta doesnt fuck around he knows whats up this boi rlly roasted his own company for not giving him enough lines King Of Being Petty he roasts better than this oven im about to stuff myself into

his love for his heritage. he always mentions japan in his interviews like “im from japan, can I speak japanese, back in osaka…”

nct life in osaka : tourguide!yuta wandering around his hometown with his members having the time of his life made me softer than it needed to

the famous takoyaki prank #fail it was tragic

yuta tightly holding taeyongs hand in the haunted house? cute !!

yuta trying to wink but actually just…. blinking? cute!!

yutas love for ferris wheels? cute !!

THAT cherry blossom pic. call moma i think theyre missing a masterpiece

i could listen to him speak japanese all day amsr whomst???

hes such a tease like its not an nct video unless yuta tries to flirt with the camera

@stylists stop giving him jackets!!! he doesnt WANT them

his rap in open the door, a religious experience

he grinded on a minion i think about this every single one of my waking hours How To Bleach Your Eyes

he has chicken breasts in his backpack?? what a frekkin weirdo…..

“we dont speak, thats alright” + that ONE HAND MOVE in 0 mile

his accent when he speaks english

his cute way of saying words he doesnt know how to pronounce

hes always given the hardest parts in choreo like the lifting parts in firetruck and he does it well even when hes hurt :((((

he way he talks. he has so many opinions like when he was on abnormal summit every time he spoke it was iconic, we love a woke king hes just. so Good With Words

he admires his dad more than anything in the world

his gaze/stare ohohohohoohoho my gosh!!!!!

this ?? boy ?? really ?? signed with sm as a vocalist, trained as a rapper, and now has the role of a dancer in nct 127? what is this talent, is he like… real?

his LAUGH! the way his shoulders rise and his eyes turn into crescents… wow

his airport fashion! looks after looks after looks after looks af

he is the single most Extra person ive ever seen with my own two eyes

that one time on nct life in paju when they were playing soccer and he… PUT THE BALL INSIDE HIS SHIRT TO SNEAK A GOAL??? i think abt this a lot

cant whistle for shit

he once said he doesnt smile in airport pics bc he wants to look cool?????????? a Whole Scorpio

clumsy!yuta opening a fridge and dropping a jar of spam on his foot

calling taeyong tsundere

“healing smile but I can do killing too”

“i dont cook but im a good cook”

cooking!yuta being confident that hes first place but then being eliminated

his cover of touch my body by sistar. Legendary

he played soccer for 11 years so he can singlehandedly murder everyone when it comes to sports its so Sexci

bUT he doesnt have the strength to do winwins morning exercises

he literally said his favorite destinations are rest stops because he can eat and relax

yuta in haarpers bazaar ended every other model on earth thats the Tea

when he wore that shirt with barack obama on it… thats Woke

his skin!!!!!!! always got that Glo. anastasia who??? becca whom?

he needs to wear muscle tees forever bc a r m s, im crying, can you hear my tears

YUTAS HANDS !!!!!!!! YUTA WITH HANDS!!!!!!!!! YUTA WITH VEINY HANDS!!!!!!!!!! THE HANDS OF YUTA

his fanservice he! really called us princesses and is always throwing up hearts this is an attack!

slytherin!yuta with a milk mustache in universal studios

supreme anime connoisseur

his drawing vs haechans drawing??

hes Highkey gay for winwin

mountain man? manly man? Who Know

forgot his own groups name???? New Culture Technology headass….

when he wears earbuds at the airport and looks like hes in a kdrama like what is he listening to? asking the Real Questions

yuta + lemon, a Tragedy

skater!yuta

yuta playing ping pong in nct life and getting super hyped up for no reason at all

when he runs his fingers thru his hair. gravity? idk her.

his favorite accessories are earrings and he always wears the ones his fans gift him

all his reactions are a1 wow, god of cute expressions

yuta eating happily makes my heart so full like do you see those cheeeeks!!!!

cherry bomb era… hes really a whole meal i am well FED

HEADBAND!YUTA

his shoulders = yes

the way he gets so nervous when he has to give a speech in tokyo dialect bc hes from osaka

if he were to be reborn he said hed want to be a woman my heart is BURSTING

he gives good advice. i love how he turns his own experiences into life lessons i love my Wise Boyfriend

“what kind of food is not important, who youre eating with is important”

people give yuta so much shit bc of his chin but i love how confident he is with himself. “you guys saw my teasers right? i was sexy wasnt i?” “i dont look for the camera, the camera looks for me” its so heartwarming bc hes That guy and he k n o w s

he said his ideal type is someone who knows the word “pain” like hes so much more than the smiley playful persona he has on camera if u dont think that super scorpio hides a shit ton of feelings and insecurities get off my lawn

hardworking!! hes improved so much as a dancer and hes always trying his best to make ncts broadcasts entertaining it makes my heart blush i LOVE him

he, nakamoto yuta, the light of my whole life, exists. hes Out There, living. i love being blessed everyday imagine not loving yuta thats :/ not relatable

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independentartistbuzz · 5 years

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Indie 5-0: 5 Questions with Brother Spellbinder

Brother Spellbinder have been heating up 2019 with their latest EP release of "We Were Children Yesterday." A collection of songs designed to tug at your heartstrings, the group writes from a heavenly and personal place. With a series of singles surrounding the record, the band is stronger and better than ever. We had the honor of catching up with members of Brother Spellbinder for a charming interview, below.

1. What is the inspiration behind your latest collection of songs and did you draw the piece from a personal place?

Our new 7 song EP includes a collection of newer and older material. I like to think of songs as mysterious manifestations with both conscious and unconscious elements, but here are a few sketches.

If You Change Your Mind was inspired by my work as a therapist in the last several years. I like quotes and a couple of the lines in this song are related to various words of wisdom I've collected. Birds of a Feather was written with gay marriage becoming increasingly legalized in the background, but was also inspired by personal experience and the Loving case. 20 Years Ago literally came together after we'd recorded most of the CD. Somehow it seemed to belong on THIS ep, so we delayed finalizing everything until we completed 20 Years Ago. Our upcoming release Aching Eyes, is an older song of mine. I sang the melody and words into an old tape cassette recorder a'capella while living in Pennsylvania. I was in a relationship at the time with a guitarist that seemed to be ending. He listened to the cassette one day when I wasn't around and found the chords immediately on guitar. It came out almost in one breath and has pretty much stayed the same in regards to melody and lyrics, but the band has given it a mystical, almost Tango feel.

2. When creating new songs, how long did it take to accomplish from start to finish?

I don't have a typical timeline. I have revised songs I wrote years ago and continue to write new ones. If a song seems to be missing something, but still captures my fancy, I let it lie dormant for a while then come back to it. Sometimes you discover the missing ingredient and viola! Other songs are just little gifts that tumble out. And as every songwriter knows, you better be quick and snatch the muse while you can. Those are usually relatively quick. Still, even when things come easily, there is still work to be done. I have higher standards these days than I used to so I will work on songs as long as I need to. 3. At what age did you realize that music is a career you wanted to pursue; what was your 'ah-ha' moment?

As a profession, I came to music quite reluctantly. Like many things, I was introduced to it through a relationship. But first the back-story! My father has been a life-long drummer and my mom started training to become a recording engineer when I was around the age of 4 or 5. Once she got fully into it, I spent a lot of time in recording studios. I thought they were sooo boring! But I always loved to sing. As a little girl, I sang to everything and everyone....flowers, rocks, bees. My first song was at like 6 or 7 maybe? I went to a Waldorf school, a private school that encourages a lot of play, imagination and music. Our main teacher Mr. Hall was a singer and we would sing in class almost daily. Later, I took up cello for a bit. But I always joked that I would never go into the music industry like my parents. However, in my early 20s, I had a boyfriend from St. Petersburg, Alex Ionoff. He had been in a lot of bands and wanted to start something here in the US. He kept asking me to sing over whatever he would be playing at the time. "Hey try this!...or could you make up something over this?" So I did. And after a while, I realized it felt really natural. It felt like a part of my heritage in a way. I don't know when the exact "aha" moment was. It was more like an evolution. 4. Who are your musical inspirations; what artists inspired you to start your career and find your musical passion? Hmm....so many influences over the years. But I'll go over some of the foundational ones. My dad gave me 3 albums when I was little that in some ways shaped who I am today. One was early Joan Baez and that's probably where I get some of my folk sensibilities. She played all these traditional folk songs I've come to love like Silver Dagger & John Riley, songs we actually cover now. He also gave me Scott Joplin's piano rags and Sheherazade by Rimsky Korsakoff. Scott Joplin was so whimsical, subtle, nostalgic. Scheherazade is passion at it's finest - exquisite romance and pain. All the elements that draw me to music. My step-dad had an album by Howling Wolf and I played that over and over. From that I felt learned about sensuality and the power of personality in the human voice. Oh and somewhere along the way, Ennio Morriccone came into my life. Pure genius. In the 90s I fell in love with the Cure along with other Brit rock groups like the Smiths, Cocteau Twins. As a child of a 60's rock drummer, this was something new and finally something my parents didn't listen to. They were rock but they were also different, dreamy, lots of pathos. I'm still a big fan. 5. What other treats do you have in store for us This year and what are you looking to accomplish as we head into 2020?

We have a whole bunch of other songs in the can and hope to release those this fall or early 2020! :)

Find the band online:

www.brotherspellbinder.com

www.facebook.com/brotherspellbinder

www.instagram.com/brotherspellbinder

#brother spellbinder

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lost-boy-grey0 · 7 years

Text

I. My first thought was, he lied in every word, That hoary cripple, with malicious eye Askance to watch the workings of his lie On mine, and mouth scarce able to afford Suppression of the glee, that pursed and scored Its edge, at one more victim gained thereby. II. What else should he be set for, with his staff? What, save to waylay with his lies, ensnare All travellers who might find him posted there, And ask the road? I guessed what skull-like laugh Would break, what crutch ’gin write my epitaph For pastime in the dusty thoroughfare. III. If at his counsel I should turn aside Into that ominous tract which, all agree, Hides the Dark Tower. Yet acquiescingly I did turn as he pointed, neither pride Nor hope rekindling at the end descried, So much as gladness that some end might be. IV. For, what with my whole world-wide wandering, What with my search drawn out through years, my hope Dwindled into a ghost not fit to cope With that obstreperous joy success would bring, I hardly tried now to rebuke the spring My heart made, finding failure in its scope. V. As when a sick man very near to death Seems dead indeed, and feels begin and end The tears and takes the farewell of each friend, And hears one bit the other go, draw breath Freelier outside, (‘since all is o’er,’ he saith And the blow fallen no grieving can amend;’) VI. When some discuss if near the other graves be room enough for this, and when a day Suits best for carrying the corpse away, With care about the banners, scarves and staves And still the man hears all, and only craves He may not shame such tender love and stay. VII. Thus, I had so long suffered in this quest, Heard failure prophesied so oft, been writ So many times among ‘The Band’ to wit, The knights who to the Dark Tower’s search addressed Their steps - that just to fail as they, seemed best, And all the doubt was now - should I be fit? VIII. So, quiet as despair I turned from him, That hateful cripple, out of his highway Into the path he pointed. All the day Had been a dreary one at best, and dim Was settling to its close, yet shot one grim Red leer to see the plain catch its estray. IX. For mark! No sooner was I fairly found Pledged to the plain, after a pace or two, Than, pausing to throw backwards a last view O’er the safe road, ‘twas gone; grey plain all round; Nothing but plain to the horizon’s bound. I might go on, naught else remained to do. X. So on I went. I think I never saw Such starved ignoble nature; nothing throve: For flowers - as well expect a cedar grove! But cockle, spurge, according to their law Might propagate their kind with none to awe, You’d think; a burr had been a treasure trove. XI. No! penury, inertness and grimace, In some strange sort, were the land’s portion. ‘See Or shut your eyes,’ said Nature peevishly, It nothing skills: I cannot help my case: ‘Tis the Last Judgement’s fire must cure this place Calcine its clods and set my prisoners free.’ XII. If there pushed any ragged thistle-stalk Above its mates, the head was chopped, the bents Were jealous else. What made those holes and rents In the dock’s harsh swarth leaves, bruised as to baulk All hope of greenness? Tis a brute must walk Pashing their life out, with a brute’s intents. XIII. As for the grass, it grew as scant as hair In leprosy; thin dry blades pricked the mud Which underneath looked kneaded up with blood. One stiff blind horse, his every bone a-stare, Stood stupefied, however he came there: Thrust out past service from the devil’s stud! XIV. Alive? he might be dead for aught I knew, With that red gaunt and colloped neck a-strain. And shut eyes underneath the rusty mane; Seldom went such grotesqueness with such woe; I never saw a brute I hated so; He must be wicked to deserve such pain. XV. I shut my eyes and turned them on my heart, As a man calls for wine before he fights, I asked one draught of earlier, happier sights, Ere fitly I could hope to play my part. Think first, fight afterwards, the soldier’s art: One taste of the old time sets all to rights. XVI. Not it! I fancied Cuthbert’s reddening face Beneath its garniture of curly gold, Dear fellow, till I almost felt him fold An arm to mine to fix me to the place, The way he used. Alas, one night’s disgrace! Out went my heart’s new fire and left it cold. XVII. Giles then, the soul of honour - there he stands Frank as ten years ago when knighted first, What honest man should dare (he said) he durst. Good - but the scene shifts - faugh! what hangman hands Pin to his breast a parchment? His own bands Read it. Poor traitor, spit upon and curst! XVIII. Better this present than a past like that: Back therefore to my darkening path again! No sound, no sight as far as eye could strain. Will the night send a howlet or a bat? I asked: when something on the dismal flat Came to arrest my thoughts and change their train. XIX. A sudden little river crossed my path As unexpected as a serpent comes. No sluggish tide congenial to the glooms; This, as it frothed by, might have been a bath For the fiend’s glowing hoof - to see the wrath Of its black eddy bespate with flakes and spumes. XX. So petty yet so spiteful! All along, Low scrubby alders kneeled down over it; Drenched willows flung them headlong in a fit Of mute despair, a suicidal throng: The river which had done them all the wrong, Whate’er that was, rolled by, deterred no whit. XXI. Which, while I forded - good saints, how I feared To set my foot upon a dead man’s cheek, Each step, of feel the spear I thrust to seek For hollows, tangled in his hair or beard! - It may have been a water-rat I speared, But, ugh! it sounded like a baby’s shriek. XXII. Glad was I when I reached the other bank. Now for a better country. Vain presage! Who were the strugglers, what war did they wage, Whose savage trample thus could pad the dank soil to a plash? Toads in a poisoned tank Or wild cats in a red-hot iron cage - XXIII. The fight must so have seemed in that fell cirque, What penned them there, with all the plain to choose? No footprint leading to that horrid mews, None out of it. Mad brewage set to work Their brains, no doubt, like galley-slaves the Turk Pits for his pastime, Christians against Jews. XXIV. And more than that - a furlong on - why, there! What bad use was that engine for, that wheel, Or brake, not wheel - that harrow fit to reel Men’s bodies out like silk? With all the air Of Tophet’s tool, on earth left unaware Or brought to sharpen its rusty teeth of steel. XXV. Then came a bit of stubbed ground, once a wood, Next a marsh it would seem, and now mere earth Desperate and done with; (so a fool finds mirth, Makes a thing and then mars it, till his mood Changes and off he goes!) within a rood - Bog, clay and rubble, sand, and stark black dearth. XXVI. Now blotches rankling, coloured gay and grim, Now patches where some leanness of the soil’s Broke into moss, or substances like boils; Then came some palsied oak, a cleft in him Like a distorted mouth that splits its rim Gaping at death, and dies while it recoils. XXVII. And just as far as ever from the end! Naught in the distance but the evening, naught To point my footstep further! At the thought, A great black bird, Apollyon’s bosom friend, Sailed past, not best his wide wing dragon-penned That brushed my cap - perchance the guide I sought. XXVIII. For, looking up, aware I somehow grew, ‘Spite of the dusk, the plain had given place All round to mountains - with such name to grace Mere ugly heights and heaps now stolen in view. How thus they had surprised me - solve it, you! How to get from them was no clearer case. XXIX. Yet half I seemed to recognise some trick Of mischief happened to me, God knows when - In a bad dream perhaps. Here ended, then Progress this way. When, in the very nick Of giving up, one time more, came a click As when a trap shuts - you’re inside the den. XXX. Burningly it came on me all at once, This was the place! those two hills on the right, Crouched like two bulls locked horn in horn in fight; While to the left a tall scalped mountain ... Dunce, Dotard, a-dozing at the very nonce, After a life spent training for the sight! XXXI. What in the midst lay but the Tower itself? The round squat turret, blind as the fool’s heart, Built of brown stone, without a counterpart In the whole world. The tempest’s mocking elf Points to the shipman thus the unseen shelf He strikes on, only when the timbers start. XXXII. Not see? because of night perhaps? - why day Came back again for that! before it left The dying sunset kindled through a cleft: The hills, like giants at a hunting, lay, Chin upon hand, to see the game at bay, - ‘Now stab and end the creature - to the heft!’ XXXIII. Not hear? When noise was everywhere! it tolled Increasing like a bell. Names in my ears Of all the lost adventurers, my peers - How such a one was strong, and such was bold, And such was fortunate, yet each of old Lost, lost! one moment knelled the woe of years. XXXIV. There they stood, ranged along the hillsides, met To view the last of me, a living frame For one more picture! In a sheet of flame I saw them and I knew them all. And yet Dauntless the slug-horn to my lips I set, And blew. ‘Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came.’

#poetry #words #roland #the dark tower #robert browning

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rivertate-blog · 7 years

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i wanted to be tall // self para - summer break

tw: misgendering, verbal and physical abuse.

As long as River keeps moving, they’re fine.

The routine they’ve fallen into is simple, easy, familiar, just a few steps removed from what their life looked like in high school. They work as many hours as possible, waiting tables with an artificial smile and a voice that doesn’t sound like their own (because there’s nothing like working in the service industry to make you hate most people), gritting their teeth and staying quiet when they’re referred to as the wrong gender because they need this job. They paid for a YMCA membership for the month so they’d have someplace to train and practice, and they use it as often as possible, even if getting to the closest one means taking the subway. When they aren’t doing either of those things, they’re taking over the brunt of cleaning the apartment, going grocery shopping, dragging things to the hole in the wall laundromat the next block over, or hammering out random drawings for strangers on the internet for a little extra money. Anything to be out of the house as much as possible, because where their sister’s cluttered apartment with too many people crammed into it used to feel comfortable it now feels claustrophobic. Anything to avoid stopping, because as long as they’re busy, as long as they keep moving, the their past experiences and lingering present fears can’t get their claws in and drag them down.

Tonight, though, they’ve broken that routine, taking a day off from work for something they didn’t think they’d end up doing. After all but being run off their team in Indiana, River had been wary of forming new friendships at their much larger high school here in Brooklyn, wanting to balance embracing a newly accepted identity with personal comfort and safety (they’re also self-aware enough to know that they were sort of a paranoid, anxious wreck at 16, even more than they sometimes are now). Keeping to themself during junior year had been simple; the size of the exy team had allowed them to fade into the background outside of the times they were active on the court, when no one would care what their pronouns were or ask invasive questions.

Senior year had been a different story, the school’s dropout rate meaning they’d been one of five 12th graders left on the team. Their overworked but supportive coach had made it her goal to try and encourage them to be friends. Maybe she’d been hoping it would help their performance in class and on the court if they had each other’s support. To River’s chagrin, their four former teammates had started going out of their way to do things together and invite them. They’d been desperate enough for some semblance of social interaction that they’d ended up going along with it, spending what scant time not spent in school, practice or work at each of their various houses or apartments. It had been more of a glorified study group than actual friendship, or maybe River just hadn’t put in enough of an effort to get to know them, with their sights already set on trying to get good enough for Palmetto State. Even so, they must’ve left enough of a mark on the group that their former team captain had gotten in touch and invited them over for a class reunion of sorts.

That’s how they ended up here, upstairs at the house where said former captain, Nakia, lives with her grandparents, playing some weird multiplayer fighting game they don’t remember the name of. Only four out of the five of them are present; Fransisco landed himself a scholarship to the University of Michigan of all places, and is staying there this summer, but Jade and Rafi had both been around. The conversation flows easily around them, River only sort of participating in favor of listening. Nakia and Jade both ended up at NYU and Rafi’s at Syracuse, and they’re honestly happy to know that all of them have made it to college. They’re quickly reminded of the downsides of interaction with people from high school, though, when Jade tries to get their attention and the wrong name comes out of her mouth, makes their skin crawl. They glance over at her, raising an eyebrow.

“Who?”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” she shakes her head. She looks genuinely apologetic, but it isn’t her first time slipping up with their name today, even after they’d had to spend a decent amount of time explaining everything earlier and their patience is starting to wear thin despite themself. “River. You want a break from the controller?”

They hadn’t really realized they’d been hogging it, too preoccupied in losing the last few rounds spectacularly to Rafi. They quickly hand it over.

“Jade…” Nakia sighs, glancing away from the screen for a second to look at her while she reaches for Rafi’s controller, “you’re gay, you should be better at, like, remembering this kind of thing than any of us.”

“Being gay doesn’t cure my shit memory,”

“Apparently not.”

“He got his name changed in the middle of senior year, dude,” Rafi chimes in, reaching across River to lightly punch her in the shoulder. “Get with the program.”

They don’t even say anything, just look at him in a sort of bemused fashion until the realization dawns on his face. “Shit, sorry. They got their name changed. I’ll get there, I promise.”

“I know you will, it’s fine,” River says, even if it isn’t. It’s hard to be patient with people when patience is exactly what they’ve been denied in the past, but it doesn’t feel worth the energy to stay upset with the ones who are genuinely trying, not when they can still hear the faux-friendly voice of a journalist asking them if their gender gets in the way of their relationships with the other Foxes. Still, going back to being misgendered is hard after a school year of it not happening more than a few times early on (they probably have Paxton being a year ahead of them to thank for that). They miss being in a group of people where being nonbinary doesn’t make them the weirdest or most fucked-up person in the room, as awful as it feels even thinking about it that way.

They pull out their phone to check the time, deciding that it’s probably getting late enough that they can leave without feeling awkward about it. “I should probably go,” they say, standing, “I don’t feel like walking home in the dark.” It’s sort of a lie, they did it all the time in high school, and Nakia probably knows that, but she doesn’t say anything about it. She smiles at them as they’re making sure they have everything.

“Need me to walk you out?”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you, though. It was good seeing you guys.”

****

Dana’s sitting at the kitchen table when they get back to the apartment, a cigarette dangling loosely between two fingers. She’s staring out of the window, which is opened just a crack, probably to try and make the smell of smoke less obnoxious, but it isn’t really working. They should know better than to say anything; she doesn’t do it very often, and almost never inside, and she looks more tired than she usually does. But they’re still a bit frustrated from Nakia’s place, and even if being a Fox gives them plenty of exposure to cigarette smoke the smell still makes their skin itch and crawl. “Do you have to do that inside?”

She doesn’t even glance at them, exhaling a heavy breath. “Fuck off.”

They resist the urge to roll their eyes, even if she isn’t looking. It’s apparently been that sort of day. She probably had an audition or something they forgot about. They pass her to head into the living area, toeing off their shoes next to their small pile of bags, before walking back into the kitchen. If nothing else, they can make dinner tonight in an attempt at a peace offering to improve her mood. If it doesn’t help they can just ignore her until she sleeps again.

Perhaps foolishly, they try to make conversation as they forage for a clean pot and the last box of dry pasta from their shopping trip earlier in the week, mentally adding ‘dishes’ and ‘grocery shopping’ to their to-do list. “Bad day?”

“Had an audition and choked. Again.”

“I’m sorry. You’ll get the next one, I’m sure.”

“I’ve been at this for almost five years now. I think I’m running out of next ones.”

“It takes lots of people a while to get their break,” River shrugs, filling a pot with water and hefting it onto the stove. “Not getting a few parts doesn’t mean you won’t get there.”

“Does your crowd of rejects down south buy that nice-guy positive-attitude act? Because I don’t.”

It stings, but they know she’s trying to provoke them. This particular dance is years old. They keep their voice level when they turn around to face her. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean. You always talk like everything is going to work out in the end if you just try hard enough, but it doesn’t work like that If it did, I wouldn’t be here.” She discards the butt of her cigarette on the tile floor, stubbs it out with the heel of one sandal, crosses the tiny kitchen in only a few quick strides until she’s in their space. “And you don’t have to pretend that you care what happens to me, because I know you only put up with me because you don’t have anywhere else to go until school starts.”

“That–that isn’t true! None of that is true.” River feels like they know exactly where this is heading, but they also feel helpless to stop it. “You’re my sister, of course I care what happens to you. I could stay at Palmetto all year if I needed to, but I don’t. I come back because I want us to be siblings. I want to be better than I was when Mom and Dad were pitting us against each other.”

“Is that the sob story you sold your coach? The only reason anyone thinks you’re worth their time is because you’re decent with an exy racquet. What are you planning on doing when you aren’t an orange charity case anymore? You think the pros want someone with your team’s reputation on them?”

She’s just trying to get under your skin, River thinks, but they can’t even bring themself to care because it’s working. “It’s happened before. I have to try, Dane. I’m a Fox for a reason. This is the only chance I have.”

“You and the rest Class 1.”

“Okay, you know what? You’re right. I’m just one person in a sea of hopefuls.” Their volume is rising, but they don’t care. “But so are you! Just because you’re struggling doesn’t mean I will.” River sees her hand before it moves, and it’s probably a good thing they do, otherwise she probably would have broken their nose. As it is, flattening themself against the fridge means her right hook catches them across the side of their face instead. For a moment, they don’t do anything, just bracing for another impact, pushing past her out of the room when it doesn’t come. They lock themself in the bathroom, exhaling a shaky breath, and they don’t let them self think about the horrified look on Dana’s face or the rust taste of blood in their mouth because it isn’t even about being hit, they’ve taken worse on the court. If they think about it they’ll think about how badly they had wanted to hit her back, and that’s not who they thought they were. “River?” They hear her voice, slightly muffled on the other side of the door, but they aren’t in the mood for it, they aren’t going to try and play nice right now when she’s the one who started it. “I don’t want to talk about it right now, okay? We can talk in the morning.”

#self para #if this format is butchered I'll fix it later orz #this is monstrously long and it hurt me to write #tw: verbal abuse #tw: physical abuse #tw: misgendering

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cosmosogler · 7 years

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today i did a lot of laying around. not literally laying, but otherwise being lazy.

i don’t know why i feel so confused... i feel really disoriented in my dreams, and sometimes i am sort of unable to follow what’s going on as it happens. and then i stay confused after i wake up for a little while. and my head hurts, because of course it does.

in the morning i chilled out i guess. guess what i didn’t work on? that’s right, the self esteem worksheet!!! i will try again tomorrow.

at around 11:30 i gave up hiding in my room because my eyes and head were starting to hurt and made myself some pasta for lunch. i ate a few bites and then threw it away. even a pile of parmesan cheese couldn’t encourage my stomach. then i drove out to my therapist’s office and talked about stuff. i think we got somewhere this time.

it’s hard to explain in non-conversation form. and i’m not sure how to start.

i went through a quick demonstration of my family tree and talked about some stuff regarding the hawaii trip coming up in a few weeks. i realized that i can see her the week we leave though since we’re leaving on thursday and my appointments are on tuesdays. so that was kind of a relief. and i went through my plans in the case that i am unable to continue group therapy, and in the case that my coverage gets re-approved.

and then we talked about my self esteem worksheet. i talked about some of the stuff i brought up yesterday in my post, but i decided not to talk about my dreams because there just wasn’t enough time.

... it’s strange. i don’t particularly like anything about myself, but it’s not like i don’t make what i think are the best decisions in the situations i find myself in. so, like, i’m not being an asshole on purpose at the very least. i don’t understand why i hate myself so much. like yeah i was a pretty nasty teenager... as teenagers can be. but these days? i don’t hurt no one on purpose except myself. and also bugs i guess.

maybe i used to understand why i hate myself, or at least had a solid goal in mind with it, but i forgot. maybe it’s because i’m not eating enough. it’s hard to remember what happened this morning let alone a couple weeks/months/years ago. the plus side of not having enough energy to think is that you don’t think about things too much. the downside is, of course, that you CAN’T think about things too much.

i gotta... look at my worksheet and write some new rules down. i’m too tired right now and my eyes hurt too much. my eyes hurt while i’m typing this too but i gotta think some stuff through and i won’t be able to keep track of my train of thought unless i am writing it down. and i type a lot faster than i write.

we’ll come back to that later. after therapy i had trouble getting home because the construction guys are doing the other half of the roads in my neighborhood. at least i wasn’t the only one who had no idea what was going on. i saw grooves and tire tracks all along the wet pavement on basically every road. some turns were completely blocked off but you couldn’t see that until you were at the turn. i had to get out of the neighborhood to the access road through the entrance. it was pretty lucky that no one was trying to get in. there’s a wall blocking off your view of the access road until you’re halfway onto it.

then i watched three whole episodes of soma which was reallllllllllly obnoxious with my headache. i jumped so hard at one of the scares that i pulled something in my knee. afterward i talked a little bit about philosophy and existence and stuff with asher. like... what would it be like if you met a digital copy of yourself.

after that i took the dogs outside for a while, and watched mom and dad leave for the movies, and made myself some potatoes in the oven. they turned out really good! i even ate most of the meal. about three quarters. and i put away some of the ornaments that my brother and i had taken down from the kitchen shelves to clean. and i dusted, i forgot about that. i might have to dust the game room a lot more thoroughly, or try to convince mom to JUST THROW AWAY THE BARREL MONKEYS. JUST THROW THEM AWAY!!! I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE THE BARREL IS??? WE JUST HAVE TONS OF INTERLOCKING PLASTIC MONKEYS SCATTERED AROUND THE GAME ROOM AND THEY MAKE IT HARD TO CLEAR THE SHELVES BECAUSE THERE’S RANDOM JUNK THAT MAKES EVERYTHING TAKE FIVE TIMES LONGER TO GET OUT OF THE WAY. not to mention the plastic mountain that we used to play with my sister’s polly pockets on. it was a completely different color when i had finished dusting it. none of us has touched that thing in at LEAST ten years. mom keeps all our old toys like “oh maybe YOUR kids will want it someday!!!” and it’s like “mom this is a broken jagged piece of a lego.” all of the links have syrup on them from when my brother never washed his hands. we’re still clearing cheeto dust out of the gamecube controllers’ buttons...

there’s so much random crap taking up space on the game bookcase. like “clue jr.” instead of digging through MY room and messing with MY stuff when i’m not home maybe mom could focus on cleaning the public areas of the house???

i’m still really angry that she went through all of my things while i was away. i keep my room devoid of anything incriminating of course anyway but being reminded that she really will just come in here and dig through my box of letters from grandma pearl or whatever was... frustrating. i don’t got “anything” to hide (that’s in my room at least), but that still doesn’t give you permission to just go through it any time you like. you don’t HAVE to know that i’ve used about half of my stationery and have a stash of stamps. you don’t HAVE to know that i kept the paper andrew hussie autographed and it’s in my closet.

i am so glad that i go to great lengths to hide stuff like the queer superhero comic i bought. by keeping it on me at all times. or just keeping my room such a mess that it’s impossible to find anything.

i do need to clean my room... i could do that tomorrow. i got eve to successfully use the stepping stool to get on the bed today. so i don’t really need to block off every other access point to the bed any more. and if she starts trying to jump up there again i can just move the bins back. there doesn’t need to be random stuff all over the floor too.

then i watched another episode of soma and here we are. i spent a while clicking through web sites aimlessly... sometimes you just want to look at pictures of gay space rocks ok? i’ve got two episodes of soma left.

self esteem. i guess the best way to approach having a better self esteem is to not overthink it? overthinking isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it can lead to a lot of uncertainty... it should be similar to the best approach to being “happy,” or at least, at ease. just... invest your attention in what you’re doing right now. crowd out the misery with a bunch of fun things that you want to be part of.

that doesn’t cure depression of course, and there’s gonna be times where you’re just gonna be depressed (or not think highly of yourself), but it’s a good habit to get into anyway.

at this point... i think it’s important to figure out where the low self esteem is coming from, and what exactly it is i’ve been telling myself all these years. i need that information in order to change it. it’s gonna feel bad... but maybe it won’t come back unexpectedly any more.

still not really sure where to go from here. doing the writing exercise might help. i will try to get back on top of my pile of garbage tomorrow morning. i’m going to go to bed early tonight to try to give myself enough time to sleep for once. i haven’t been sleeping enough on top of not eating enough and it’s wearing me out really fast. i also need to call the group facility at like 12:30 to figure out what my next step will be. either i can go back that day, or i gotta wait longer. there’s not really any way to know until 12:30, so i will try not to worry about it until at least 12:00.

another thing i can try tomorrow is, when i finish soma, to load up one of the tv shows i got a few episodes into and then stopped watching. i need to see something new. and i’ve got like a dozen tv shows in my bookmarks that i’ve wanted to get to but never had time/energy. may as well plow ahead now.

i feel like i should wrap up the post soon, but it’s only 11:40, which feels... too early. but i don’t really have anything else coherent to say. just a lot of feelings that i don’t know how to articulate right now.

maybe i should draw some fan art. maybe that would help me feel a little better and less bottled up. i don’t really have a lot of outlets with which to express my enthusiasm. most of the time i just feel like i’m going to explode.

i hope you are doing ok, and that you have a pleasant night. or at least... less unpleasant than usual, if that’s how it’s going right now.

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penbetweenthelines-blog · 7 years

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Hamelin Town's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty, Almost five hundred years ago, To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin, was a pity. Rats! They fought the dogs, and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles, And eat the cheeses out of the vats, And licked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Split open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. At last the people in a body To the Town Hall came flocking: 'Tis clear, cried they, our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation — shocking To think we buy gowns lined with ermine For dolts that can't or won't determine What's like to rid us of our vermin! Rouse up, Sirs! Give your brains a racking To find the remedy we're lacking, Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing! At this the Mayor and Corporation Quaked with a mighty consternation. An hour they sate in council, At length the Mayor broke silence: For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I were a mile hence! It's easy to bid one rack one's brain — I'm sure my poor head aches again I've scratched it so, and all in vain. Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap! Just as he said this, what should hap At the chamber door but a gentle tap? Bless us, cried the Mayor, what's that? (With the Corporation as he sate, Looking little though wondrous fat); Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? Anything like the sound of a rat Makes my heart go pit-a-pat! Come in! — the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure! His queer long coat from heel to head Was half of yellow and half of red; And he himself was tall and thin, With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin, But lips where smiles went out and in — There was no guessing his kith and kin! And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire: Quoth one: It's as my great-grandsire, Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone! He advanced to the council-table: And, Please your honours, said he, I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun, That creep, or swim, or fly, or run, After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm On creatures that do people harm, The mole, and toad, and newt, and viper; And people call me the Pied Piper. (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe, To match with his coat of the self-same cheque; And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled Over his vesture so old-fangled.) Yet, said he, poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampyre-bats: And, as for what your brain bewilders, If I can rid your town of rats Will you give me a thousand guilders? One? fifty thousand! — was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. Into the street the Piper stept, Smiling first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept, To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shrill notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats, Brown rats, black rats, grey rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, Cocking tails and pricking whiskers, Families by tens and dozens, Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives — Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser Wherein all plunged and perished — Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary, Which was, At the first shrill notes of the pipe, I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe: And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards, And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! 'So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, 'Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon! And just as one bulky sugar-puncheon, Ready staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, Come, bore me! — I found the Weser rolling o'er me. You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple; Go, cried the Mayor, and get long poles! Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats! — when suddenly up the face Of the Piper perked in the market-place, With a, First, if you please, my thousand guilders! A thousand guilders! The Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council dinners made rare havock With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; And half the money would replenish Their cellar's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gipsy coat of red and yellow! Beside, quoth the Mayor with a knowing wink, Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something for drink, And a matter of money to put in your poke; But, as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty! The Piper's face fell, and he cried, No trifling! I can't wait, beside! I've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph's kitchen, Of a nest of scorpions no survivor — With him I proved no bargain-driver, With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find me pipe after another fashion. How? cried the Mayor, d'ye think I'll brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst! Once more he stept into the street; And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet Soft notes as yet musician's cunning Never gave th'enraptured air) There was a rustling, that seem'd like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling, Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering, And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running. All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the children merrily skipping by — Could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. But how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, As the Piper turned from the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However he turned from South to West, And to Coppelburg Hill his steps addressed, And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop! When, lo, as they reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children follow'd, And when all were in to the very last, The door in the mountain side shut fast. Did I say, all? No! One was lame, And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, — It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; For he led us, he said, to a joyous land, Joining the town and just at hand, Where waters gushed and fruit-trees grew, And flowers put forth a fairer hue, And every thing was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer, And honey-bees had lost their stings, And horses were born with eagles' wings: And just as I felt assured My lame foot would be speedily cured, The music stopped and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before, And never hear of that country more! Alas, alas for Hamelin! There came into many a burgher's pate A text which says, that Heaven's Gate Opes to the Rich at as easy a rate As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North, and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart's content, If he'd only return the way he went, And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavour, And Piper and dancers were gone for ever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here "On the Twenty-second of July, "Thirteen hundred and Seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix The place of the Children's last retreat, They called it, The Pied Piper's Street — Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labour. Nor suffered they Hostelry or Tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the Great Church Window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away; And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbours lay such stress To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick land, But how or why, they don't understand. So, Willy, let you and me be wipers Of scores out with all men — especially pipers: And, whether they pipe us from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise.

Robert Browning-The Pied Piper of Hamelin

#robert browning #poetry #children #pied piper

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