#( the rotten apple never falls far

[choicelesshope-aa]

— LIKE / REBLOG to receive a thing from EVIE GRIMHILDE daughter of THE EVIL QUEEN. Probably medium / large length ‘cause I can’t contain myself. Feel free to indicate a verse if you feel like it. Multis please comment the muse you want her to interact with, thanks ♥

[sexbirthdeaths]

if i had an orchard

ship: morgan x garcia

summary: penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. with each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. and he can’t look away.

warnings: mentions of minor character death (hank morgan, the boy morgan finds in the junkyard), episode 3x09 “penelope”, rotting fruit/maggot imagery, religious imagery, implied murder (boy in junkyard), toxic masculinity

words: 3000

Derek is eight when his dad takes him camping for the first time. It’s the summer of 81, Sarah is entering middle school and Desiree is about to start Kindergarten, so after all of the stress of school applications, Hank proposes they just go out, enjoy the sights of Illinois.

So they go to Buffalo Rock, and he loves it, loves the smell of nature and the feeling of the sun on his skin. He plays soccer with his dad by the campsite whilst Sarah burns through her summer reading list and Desiree cries because she doesn’t like the bugs and she’s too small to play with the boys, and it’s the best summer of his life.

One night, his father pulls a bag of apples from the rucksack, suggests they bake them in some tinfoil over the fire. So while Fran puts Desiree away to bed, Hank sits him down by the campfire and shows him how to pare an apple with a penknife. Slow, using his thumb to stabilise the blade, careful not to cut his finger.

He cuts it straight through the core, hands Derek one of the slices to parcel up carefully in tinfoil. And once those are on the flames, he gives him the knife, another apple from the bag.

“Be careful,” Hank guides him slowly, hand hovering over Dereks’ own, “You don’t want to cut yourself.”

Derek peels it clean and precise, he’s always been a bit of a perfectionist like that. But when he cuts down the core of the apple, and the two pieces fall away in his palm, something is wrong. Very wrong.

His hand retracts in an instant, sends the apple flying, maggots spilling onto the ground into a writhing mass. His stomach is churning, twisting itself in disgust at the sight, and his father stomps it with his boot.

“That one was rotten,” Hank says, pulls the knife from Derek’s hand, “No good. It’s no good.”

Even when the apples are done baking, he can’t stand the sight of them, can’t stomach it after seeing the rotten fruit.

“Tenderness is a sign of rot,” Hank informs him as he eats his slices, “They shouldn’t be soft. That’s how you know they’re bad.”

And he takes that sentiment with him. Even when his father dies, especially when his father dies. He doesn’t cry at the funeral, he starts lashing out at anyone and everyone because to be soft is a sign of rot, of corruption at the core, it makes you undesirable and unwanted and sickening. Keep the toughest rind and you will come out the other side strong.

So he picks fights, even with the kids he knows will beat him. He’s always been a tall kid but Rodney has always been taller, stronger, but to turn the other cheek is a soft man’s path, and Derek Morgan is not soft.

He picks fights and he loses them, comes home battered and bruised and his mother will fuss over him, press a bag of frozen peas to his eye and sing him to sleep. She doesn’t care if he’s too old for it, he’ll always be her son. And even when the pain runs more than skin-deep, crawls through his veins and writhes like a maggot, sickly and decay-drawn, she will cradle his body like he isn’t crumbling from the inside out.

When Derek is 11, it’s the first Thanksgiving since his dad died. There’s an uncomfortable silence in the house as Sarah and Fran work on dinner, and Desiree’s out in the backyard with the neighbour’s kids. His grandparents aren’t coming this year, something about the Chicago winters being cruel on their arthritis.

There’s a faint layer of snow already beginning to settle outside, and he can see the constellations of snowflakes in Desiree’s hair as she finally bids the neighbours farewell and comes tumbling inside, ready to bound up the stairs.

“You promised you’d help me with the apple pie,” Sarah chides as she scoops Desiree up in her arms. The girl laughs loud and gleeful, the first real laugh since the day began, wriggles as she tries to escape her older sister’s grip. Desiree is a big girl now, 6 years old and wide-eyed and too mischievous for her own damn good, and she’s too big now for Sarah to pick her up with ease but she tries anyway.

Derek steps out, takes Desiree from Sarah’s grasp and slings her over his shoulder, grinning at the shrieks he hears.

“Come on, Des,” He laughs, “You promised!”

So, whilst his mom cooks the turkey and the mash and the myriad of thanksgiving side dishes, the three Morgan children converge in the living room, and work on the apples. Sarah peels them and Derek slices them, and Desiree just watches with her big brown eyes and pretends she's helping, because Lord knows no one trusts her with a real knife.

When they’re done there’s a pile of peels in a bowl. Their mom takes it, a sparkle in her eye.

“You know,” she says, grinning and setting down her knife, “There’s an old wives’ tale that if you throw the peel behind your shoulder, it will spell your husband’s name.”

Desiree and Sarah dissolve into giggles. Desiree’s too young to know what true love like that really feels like, too young to be thinking about marriage and life as an adult. And Sarah’s approaching it closer and closer with each passing day, she’s had her heart broken by careless boys to want nothing but a guarantee that the next boy will be the one.

So they take the peels and throw them. Desiree’s looks sort of like an L from the right angle, and Sarah’s is an A, if you use a bit of imagination, and Derek doesn’t get anything because he refuses to try it.

“That’s for girls,” he scoffs, puffs his chest up like a proud robin all red and strong.

“You’re impossible,” Is the response he gets.

When he is 15 he finds a boy’s body in the junkyard. All battered and bruised and broken and he wishes he could press a bag of frozen peas to his head like his mother had done, tell this boy it would all be okay. But it won’t be okay, and the case is never solved because the police don’t seem to care for kids like Derek or the boy, seem for focused on pinning things on them than catching their killers.

When he sees the policeman shake the community centre owner’s hand, Derek knows his killer will not be caught.

He goes door to door and pools up enough money to buy a headstone, and he visits it whenever he can, touches the cool rock and feels himself break. And he doesn’t know this boy, know his face or his name, but they feel connected. Through space and time and tragedy, maybe in another life they were friends. Maybe in another life it was him, and he would be the one rotting in the ground.

Move forward a few years and he feels like something inside of him is broken. Like he’s been torn apart and stitched back together again but something went wrong in the process. He feels moldy, he thinks one day as he’s filling out college applications, disgusting. If he could he’d rip all his skin off and scrub himself spotless. But this runs deeper than skin.

He gets the football scholarship, and his mother cries when he reads the letter because her baby is going to Northwestern and he’s gonna be something great, bigger than himself, he’s gonna change the world. And the success feels like the pinprick in the lid for him, like he can finally breathe as there’s a chance for him to go. Leave those rotten parts of him behind.

After college and the Chicago department, he finds himself starting in the BAU. The team is pretty small - Hotch is a hard-ass and Gideon is, well, Gideon, and the liaison stays in her office too much for Derek to really know who she is, but the BAU feels right for him. Gideon’s got some kid on his radar and so does Hotch, but they’re both so frustratingly secretive that he has no clue who they could be.

He fits right in like a puzzle piece that’s been missing for so long, takes on a role as the ladies’ man and the handsome coworker who flirts with you over coffee, but also the guy who’ll sit with child victims for hours to make sure they’re alright. Hotch hasn’t booted him yet so he figures he’s doing something right.

And then he meets her.

Penelope Garcia, she introduces herself as, and she’s so unlike any girl he’s ever met before with her long, dark hair and she acts like she’s the smartest person in the room (and after a few hours interrogating her, he figures that sentiment isn’t too far off). She’s got these big curious eyes and glittery pink acrylics and he can see the person that sits behind the dark facade.

They don’t hit it off, at first, because he’s proud and she’s defensive and he has a job to complete, but then Hotch informs him of the deal that’s been made, so he better start trying to get along with her. She gets along great with JJ, they eat lunches together in Garcia’s ‘batcave’ and JJ’s finally starting to open up a bit more, actually talks to Derek at the coffee machine in the mornings and asks how he’s been. Before, she’d talk to him, or Hotch, or Gideon even, with strained words and avoiding eye contact.

The first time he calls her babygirl is the first time he sees her properly flustered, cheeks red and stammering as she types away at her keyboard and Hotch gives him the mother of all death glares because they’re trying to run an FBI investigation here, Derek. But it makes him smile, seeing her all blushed pink, and he decides he likes it.

She pretends she doesn’t struggle sometimes, and he sees it. The mass of figurines and posters in her office are just a distraction technique - he’s well versed in those - and he knows just how taxing it must be for her, seeing all those awful things. She loves and she loves like it’s the only thing she knows how to do, full-bodied and all in, and some days he wonders if she’s really capable of hatred at all.

“How can you do it? How do you deal with it all?” She asks one day over coffee, voice small and sad. She’s seen some awful things over the past few days, and he wraps her up tightly in her arms. The worst thing is - he doesn’t know what to say. For as long as he can remember, he’s just been pushing it away and ignoring it. Letting it sit inside him and simmer, rip him from the inside out and just pray he’ll be able to pick up the pieces once he finally falls apart.

Things shift, change, over the years as people come and go. There’s a new kid, one Gideon’s been raving about for months who’s finally gotten all the necessary qualifications, even if some exams had to be waived. And he gets hurt, gets hurt bad, and Derek wonder’s if that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back because it isn’t long before Gideon leaves. There’s a new man in his place and they’re still trying to trust him, but he just isn’t Gideon, he isn’t the mentor and the peacekeeper and the caretaker that they’ve all grown to need.

Penelope is constantly shifting, growing with each passing day as a sapling grows to a tree. With each day he learns more and more what metamorphosis looks like, up close and personal - there are some things a book cannot teach you. And he can’t look away.

She has a date. She has a date and he doesn’t know why there’s this ache in his chest, like something’s been scraped out from him and left him hollow. But it’s her choice, he figures, he doesn’t own her. And then he gets the phone call.

Shot, he hears Hotch say over the phone, voice crackled and rough, and it’s like everything in him shuts down. Like someone’s ripping him apart limb by limb. That motherfucker. He will not know kindness from me. Do you need me? He asks, but Hotch just sighs.

She needs you.

And he’s driving to the hospital but he’s so pissed he can barely even focus, consumed by the rage bubbling within him, he wants to find that son of a bitch and make him feel a thousand times what Penelope felt. His skin is itching like thousands of maggots are crawling across him, it’s so overwhelming.

He feels rotten, like he’s so full of pain he can barely breathe, and his cheeks are wet and he doesn’t know why they are until he reaches up to touch them, realises he’s crying.

Men like Morgan do not cry. It’s a sign of weakness, he thinks, and you cannot afford to be weak. Not here, not now, you have never been safe enough to be weak. You bottle it up and ignore it, because to be soft is to be rotten.

He flashes his badge to the hospital receptionist and she informs him with pitying eyes that Penelope is in emergency surgery, that he can wait until she’s out and hear the verdict. So he collapses into the waiting room chairs, unable to look at the others, waits for Penelope to be okay.

Waiting lasts a century. All he wants is to take her in his arms and let her know she’s going to be okay, but he can’t. He can’t even guarantee that it will all be fine, because from what he’s heard it’s a bad wound from a good shot and it’s not looking good.

See, Penelope is an apple tree. She gives and she gives and she asks for nothing in return but a spot in the sun and a love her body has been starved of for years. And all Derek wants is to drown in blossom petals and cider, to drown himself in her warmth. All she asks for is to be loved, and that bastard didn’t even try. Derek will try, he will try and he will pray to a God he does not even believe in (Goddamnit he’s trying, he’s trying) if it means he can love her, if it means that she will be there to receive his love.

When the surgeon comes back, gives them the news, everything in him relaxes. Like the tightly-wound coil of a music box as the lever is finally released. She’s okay, she will be okay, no one must die today.

Her makeup is gone, hair a knotted mass, she’s traded out the bright clothes and heavy jewellry for a hospital gown. And she’s as breathtaking as ever, and Morgan can’t look away. He wants to reach out and hold her hand, press his forehead against hers, let her know that he’s here and everything is going to be okay, tell her how glad he is that she’s alive.

“You really love her, huh?” JJ asks with a smile, looks up at Morgan with a piercing, knowing gaze once they file out of the room, split up the group. She’s cradling a to-go coffee cup in her hands and disshevelled - she’d been the first one at the hospital, been in charge of letting everyone else know.

It’s JJ that knows Penelope the best, if not Derek. She knows the ins-and-outs of their relationship, she can see what they’re too scared to say to eachother. Love, he thinks, this is what this is.

“I do.” He nods.

“So tell her- show her, god knows she needs you right now.”

He waits until the others have left Penelope’s hospital room. The thing is - he flirts with her all the time, has himself branded as a ladies man, but it’s been so long since he’s had something real. He’s always been too afraid to show that tender side that a relationship requires.

But he’s tired of holding back. Penelope softens him, turns all his harsh edges hazy, makes his heart wrench in his chest. He has forgotten what it means to be rotten.

So he sits himself at the edge of her bed, doesn’t care if any of the others can see him through the window, all that matters is here and now.

“I almost lost you,” he says, voice soft, “I was so scared- I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you’d gone besides tear the bastard apart.”

He scoots closer, chair handle digging into him as he leans into her. His hand cups her face, feels her warm skin against his cool palm, heartbeat thrumming under his fingertips. She’s alive, good god, and she’s here with him, and maybe everything will be okay.

His forehead presses against Penelope’s own and she seems to welcome the movement, twists a handful of his shirt in her grip like she can’t bear the thought of ever letting him go. Derek has never wanted to be loved more than right now, loved by her.

He’d bite the apple for her, Derek thinks, swallow it down seeds and all. Because he loved her, he didn’t care if the fruit was rotten or wretched, damnation was a gift if he was condemned alongside her. He’d run to the edges of the world where all that could reach them was the moon and the stars, and he’d tell Penelope how he hung them just for her.

Kissing her feels like breaking the water’s surface. Being reborn, baptised under her hands, and for what feels like the first time, he can breathe.

[ariadne-inthesky]

I’m obsessed by those two songs and their lyrics, in relation to Ariadne. [...] So far from seeing home I stand out here alone Am I asking for too much So far from being free From the past that's haunting me The future I just can't touch And if you take my hand Please pull me from the dark And show me hope again We'll run side by side No secrets left to hide Sheltered from the pain And [...] The missing piece I yearn to find So close Please clear the anguish from my mind So close But when the truth of you comes clear So close I wish my life I'd never come near here So close If it isn’t Ari’s dilemma ? To yearn for closeness and intimacy and being seen (and loved) for what she truly is and at the same time to be so scared, so terrified of that closeness, that intimacy, because in the end... It is was got her hurt every damn time. And yes, it is human. It is normal to want to be loved. To want intimacy and closeness. But she’s not normal. She’s a monster. A walking dead with her head separated from her body, the two pieces of her broken body held together by a ribbon. And let’s not talk about not growing old. And in her other verses, say the Star Wars one ? Well, she is another kind of monster, a disgusting bastard, not even able to save her father and running away from her grandfather - and her past. And in the end, at least in her SW verse, Ariadne does embrace, fully, the fact that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and that she’s as rotten as Grüser was.  She became a monster, in that verse, to survive, but the seed was there from the begining. The result is still the same, though. She’s a monster. And who could love a monster ?

[mego42]

from hiya: Mick can see it, Rio pulling on the armor that lets him be who he needs to be to handle his business, the shield between that gawky kid with the skinned knees from way back when and the Detroit crime boss he grew up to be. He remembers the night they'd gone to see Eddie, that was a bad one ... He'll do it, though, Mick knows his boy and knows where he's stuck. Rio can't let her go without everything falling apart.

Ahahaha my first Mick POV. Honestly, this one isn’t that deep. Mostly when I set out I was thinking “this Mick character has the exact right combo of charm and mystique to highly intrigue me with nearly nothing known about him to get in the way of me coming up with whatever i want” and “i love outsider povs I wonder if i can do one”. 

Beyond that, I find myself really, really, really attached to the idea of Mick and Rio being friends since they were kids. Idk if it’s a subconscious desire to give Rio the kind of emotional support system and friendship Beth has or what, I’ve never really interrogated it too deeply. It’s based on their unspoken communication and seemingly deep rooted understanding of each other and I wanted to play with that. 

In this particular snippet I was fixated on their headcanoned relationship from the perspective of someone seeing the face that Rio has to present the world to do what he does and also know what’s behind it. I know it doesn’t always seem like it bc of the whole screen time juggle, but we actually do know a fair amount of Rio (with the caveat that there are some troubling blank spots) definitely enough to indicate that he’s a fairly nuanced guy. He will unflinchingly do what he needs to to secure and maintain his position, but he’s not totally unfeeling about it (seriously, y’all, the panic table conversation in 306 is like, one of my favorite things that’s ever happened on the show for a bunch of reasons but showing the way Lucy took a toll on Rio was maybe the best one for me, quality content all around - and the fact that Rio let Beth see that side of him in front of Mick? I levitated, I ascended to a higher plane, as far as I’m concerned all of my headcanons about their relationship are confirmed canon and I will straight up fight the writers on the ground, pandemic be damned, if they ever try to contradict me) ANYWAY

where was I? I started typing this yesterday and now that I’m reading back, that’s basically it, I told you it wasn’t too deep. Wordplay-wise, armor and shield are pretty straightforward and tied to that idea of there being a squishy center to Rio that he’s protecting from the outer shell. This is also from the point in the fic where Mick still thinks Rio’s going to handle his rotten apple egg, he will soon realize that’s not the case which marks a shift in Mick understanding how deep Rio is in his feelings over Beth (hence the reason I built up Eddie: in my version of the GG verse, Eddie’s been following Rio and Mick around since he was a kid, he grew up around them, Rio still took him out after he snitched because doing the dirty shit is part of being the boss, it’s meant to contrast how he, you know, doesn’t do that with Beth)

send me a fic snippet and i’ll give you the dvd commentary

[panharmonium]

For Want of a Woodwright (Part 4)

aaaand we’re back with another slice of AU nonsense! 

(parts 1-3 can be found here; original idea is courtesy of this awesome anon ask)

today’s installment is gift-fic for @ragtag-band-of-murderers, whose generous reading and commenting last week brought me such joy and truly helped me in the midst of a tough moment.  here’s a little ficlet for you, my friend - featuring a bird’s-eye view of the city, more of our fave dudes just being themselves, and a minor reference to something you already read <3

THANK YOU, as always, to everyone who’s having fun playing in this sandbox with me - i hope you enjoy some more of the boys being alive and well in the Good Timeline :D

as before, the same disclaimer applies: this is VERY rough, not meticulously edited, and not even remotely close to a final draft.  it is hardly even a first draft, in fact.  the snippets in this series are not necessarily connected to each other, or in order, or part of any actual coherent plot, and they do not directly adhere to the plan laid out in lovely anon’s original post, either; they are just snapshots of images that refused to remain unillustrated once they’d occurred to me :)

with that said, if you’re looking for more AU fun (thank you again, anon, for this ‘verse!), hit the jump!

4. solid ground

Merlin drummed his boots against the wall beneath him, the stone battlements on either side of him providing some stability for his precarious perch atop the parapet.

From his seated position inside one of the inner curtain wall’s crenels, Merlin could see the entirety of the lower town, and the outer curtain encircling the urban crush, and the Sprawl beyond, a haphazard collection of settlements outside the reach of the city walls, the Crown’s cultivated fields and pastures transforming finally into wilderness, where the land was swallowed by forest.  Directly below, the King’s Works were in full swing, the framing yard at the base of the inner curtain a picture of hustle and bustle, numerous craftsmen unloading heavy timber from a caravan of carts lined up just beside the gate to the upper ward.  A number of other beams were laid out upon the cleared earth in a predetermined pattern, and something vaguely recognizable as a pair of roof supports appeared to have already been joined together at the other end of the yard.  

Merlin had been in the city long enough to know that once the beams for this mystery structure had been measured, cut, and framed, they would be disassembled and carted off to wherever the desired building was to be erected, but he could not have explained in any detail the specific tasks taking place down below.  One worker was marking some of the timbers with chalk symbols just as indecipherable to Merlin as the runes Gaius had recently set him to studying.  Another fellow was chipping away at a beam using something that wasn’t quite pointy enough on either end to be a pickaxe.  Two others appeared to be having some kind of animated argument over a set of timbers that looked all right to Merlin, but mustn’t have been, judging by the amount of arm-waving and indecipherable shouting taking place below.

Will probably could have told Merlin more about it, but Will had not climbed into the crenel.  He stood at Merlin’s back instead, staring determinedly ahead at the distant horizon, as opposed to peering down at the framing yard’s frantic scurry of activity.  

“High up, this,” Will said.

“Saddlegap’s higher.”

“Saddlegap’s up the side of a mountain, though,” Will muttered, his eyes firmly fixed on absolutely nothing.  “Not straight up, like.”  He drummed his fingers nervously on the sharp cut of the raised battlement.  “Never been up anywhere like this.”

Merlin looked at Will, fighting a sudden, surprised urge to laugh.  “Are you afraid of heights?”

“No!” Will retorted, instantly grouchy.  He redirected his gaze - with discernible difficulty, Merlin couldn’t help but note - down to the framing yard, where a pair of tiny figures in brown and white were rolling a log over to a deep depression in the earth.  Once suspended over the hole, the log could be sliced down the middle using a lengthy pit saw.  

Merlin hid a smile.  “Come and sit with me, then.”

Will looked nauseated, though he wiped his face clean of any such expression quickly.  “I’m not sitting in there.”

“Why not?”

“There’s no room.”

Merlin scooted as far over as he could, leaving a space between himself and the merlon to his right.  “There’s plenty.  Come in.”

“I’m not coming in there.”

“Just admit you’re afeared of the drop - ”

“I am not,” Will declared, and to prove it, he climbed into the crenel alongside Merlin, wedging himself into the space between Merlin’s side and the raised masonry of the merlon to their right, sitting there with his feet dangling in the air, upper body squashed between Merlin on one side and solid stone on the other.

Will’s frame was as stiff and unyielding as the log being hewn down below.  Merlin nudged him with an elbow.  “You see?  It’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad,” Will echoed through gritted teeth.  “Right.  You’re cracked, Merlin.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

Merlin decided not to pursue the potential truth behind that statement, for all that it made him itch.  

Later.  

They could talk about it later.

Instead, he changed the subject, and pointed at a section of the lower town, where there was a dark gap in the layered patchwork of thatched roofs.  “We had a fire over there, the other week.”

Will was not really looking.  He appeared intently focused on a cloud floating at exactly the level of his eyes.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.  Little one.  Not so bad.  But now I can’t get pies from that fellow’s shop anymore, and that’s rotten luck, because they’re really tasty.”

“What sort?” Will asked, resolutely inspecting his cloud.  “Meat or fruit?”

“All sorts.  You’ve never seen so many pies in your life.  I’d have got you one if I could.”

Will shrugged in his best ‘life is like that’ way.  “Gods rest the pie man.”

“He’s not dead!” 

“Oh.”  

“Gods forbid, Will.”

Will rolled his eyes.  “Sorry, Merlin.  Didn’t realize you were so attached to the man who made your breakfast - ”

“He’s just closed down for a bit.  We’ll have him up and running again soon enough.”

“‘We’ who?”  

“Everybody loves the pie man, Will.  It’s a neighborhood effort, rebuilding him.”

Will tried valiantly to inspect the spot Merlin had pointed at, though his cheeks paled the moment he registered just how far down the pie man’s plot was situated relative to their own spot on top of the wall.  “Bad timing for it,” he said, averting his eyes after only a brief glance.  “For you.”

“Is it?”

Will pointed at the countryside beyond the Sprawl.  “Apples coming in and all.”

“Oof,” Merlin said, never having considered this fact.  “You’re right.”

Will smiled faintly.  “Apple season and no pie man to make Merlin’s favorites.  What’s a poor sorcerer to do?”

Merlin shrugged, affecting an abjectly mournful weariness.  “Die.”

Will snorted.

“Apple pie is serious business, Will.”

“Deadly serious.”

“Obviously.”  Merlin sighed and stretched out his legs over the drop, letting them fall back against the wall with a thunk.  “I’ll nick a few apples for myself, I suppose.  The Crown’s got orchards aplenty.  I’m no hand in the bakehouse - ”

“Too right - ”

“ - but I’ll trade a favor with Gwen, maybe; I reckon she knows what she’s about.”

“Who?”

“Gwen.  You met Gwen.”

“Which one was she?”

“The one in servant’s garb.  She’s got brown skin, curly hair to about here?” 

Will nodded.  Merlin searched the mottled sea of rooftops for Gwen’s house.  Just down the lane from her cottage, smoke rose over the forge, a cloud of fumes that never truly dissipated, even after nightfall.  The smell hung in the air day in and day out, clinging to the straw in the street and the wooden struts of the surrounding structures.  Even the building itself continued to radiate vestiges of heat long after Tom and his crew had gone home for the evening.  

“I think you’d get on with her,” Merlin ventured.  “Gwen’s lovely.  She’s the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

“Yeah?”  Will’s reply was some mix of absent and unconvinced.

“Yeah.  I mean, she’s nicer than you, anyhow.”

“Mm.”

“Not that that’s a particularly high bar to step over.”

“Thanks, Merlin.”

Merlin hesitated.  “Maybe I could introduce you to each other.”

“We’ve already met.”

“No, you haven’t, not properly.  You didn’t even remember who she was.”

“I remembered her.  I just didn’t know her name, is all.”

“Well, you didn’t talk to her or anything.”

“Why would I talk to her?  I don’t know her.”

Merlin squirmed in his seat, self-conscious.  “I don’t know.  I just think you’d like her.  She’s not...”  He gestured vaguely behind them, past the slope of the wealthier upper wards and back to the citadel proper.  “You know, she’s not silly like that sort.  She’s plain folk, like us.”

Will was staring straight ahead, past the crowded mess of the lower town and out to the country, beyond the Sprawl’s creeping expanse of civilization.  It was a clear enough day that one could see the hazy jut of the mountains looming in the distance, and - in Merlin’s imagination, at least - the border was there, too, and their home just beyond that, hidden in the foothills, nestled in a little valley behind the White Mountains’ far-reaching roots.

“Gwen helped me a lot when I first came here,” Merlin said.  “Taught me loads.”

“I’m sure she’s brilliant, Merlin,” murmured Will, his eyes locked on the horizon.

“I just thought since you’re here - ”  Merlin stopped himself, sitting up a bit straighter.  “I mean, not that you’re here-here, obviously; but - just staying, you know, not that you’re staying-staying, or anything, just - ”  Merlin forced himself to take a deep breath and exhale, unlocking his fingers from where they’d wound themselves into a knot.  “Since you’re here just now, I mean.  I just.  Thought maybe it would be good, you know.  For you to know some people.”

“I don’t think your friend there wants to know me, Merlin.”

“Why not?”

Will raised his eyebrows.  “She thinks I have magic, doesn’t she?”

“That’s - ”  Merlin faltered momentarily.  “It’s just Gwen, I mean, she’s - you’re my friend.  It wouldn’t matter.”

Will gave Merlin a skeptical look.  “Why haven’t you told her your secret, then?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it again.  The breeze curling through the gap of the crenel was chilly, raising goosebumps on his arms.  

Will shook his head and returned his gaze to the mountains.  “Look, Merlin...if it really didn’t matter, she’d already know.  Let’s not court trouble, all right?  We’re in enough of that as it is.”

“You don’t have to be,” Merlin said, after a brief pause.  “You could go.”

Will did not reply, staring at the White Mountain like he was trying to climb it with his eyes.  Merlin wondered what he was thinking, Will with his closed mouth and his set jaw and his inscrutable frowns.  Did he wish he were back there?  Did he wish he hadn’t left in the first place?

Merlin shifted on the cramped crenel, but there was nowhere for him to go.  “I just thought...it might be good, you know.  For you.  To make friends.

“I’ve got enough friends, Merlin.”

“You’ve only got me.”

“That’s what I said.”

The line of Merlin’s body where it pressed against Will was very warm.  

So was Merlin’s face.  

Merlin was glad suddenly that there was no space on either side of them for either of them to scoot away.  He relaxed where he sat, solid stone on one side and solid Will on the other, the two of them squished and snug against each other in their shared seat.

Will’s frame was hard as a rock, though.  Merlin looked down at Will’s hands, one of which was fisted on his knees and the other of which was wrapped, white-knuckled, around the corner of the battlement.  

“You really don’t like it up here, do you?” Merlin asked, a surprised smile spreading over his face. 

“Hate it,” Will burst out immediately, with a vehement gust of relief.  “It’s wretched.  I can’t believe you’ve got me sitting up here, Merlin; of all the daft, foolheaded places for a person to be - ”

“We can get down,” Merlin laughed, climbing back over onto the walkway.  He wrapped a hand in the fabric of Will’s mantle and jostled him lightly.  “Go on, lean forward.  You’ll get to the bottom quick as anything.”

Will gave Merlin a dirty look and scooted himself very painstakingly out of the crenel, back onto the safety of the ramparts.  

Merlin, hands on his hips, evaluated Will with newfound curiosity.  “And here I thought I knew everything there was to know about you.”

“I’m not afraid of heights, Merlin,” Will said, turning to stride along the line of the wall toward one of the towers that would take them back to the ground.  

“Don’t get tetchy,” Merlin said, following him.  “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“You’d know.”

Merlin did not argue.  Will, for all his formidable powers of perception, hardly knew how true his statement was - Merlin found something new to be afraid of every day, it seemed, now that he was in Camelot.  

“I’d never let you fall off, you know,” Merlin said, tugging open the door to the tower, the creaking hinges echoing down the darkened spiral stair within.

“Oh, aye?”

“Aye, so,” Merlin replied, ushering Will onto the staircase and nodding to a guard headed up in the opposite direction.  “And if you did fall, I’d catch you.”

“You would not,” Will scoffed.  “You’ve never caught anything so big in your life.”

“Not yet.  But I can do all sorts of new things now; I haven’t shown you hardly anything.  Gaius gave me this book - ”

Will groaned.  “Oh, Lugh, Merlin, no.  Not another book.”

“A great big one,” Merlin grinned.  

“Gods alive,” Will muttered.  “This again.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”  Merlin’s grin widened as he tripped his way down the stairs.  “Gaius has all sorts of books, dozens of them; well, you’ve been in his chambers, you already know - and he tosses them all over like it’s nothing; it’s mad; it’s like he doesn’t even care.  Most of them are physician’s texts, I mean, and that’s interesting enough, I suppose, but there’s more, Will, on the lower levels; there’s an entire library; it goes on forever, it’s got everything, it’s - what are you doing?  Where are you going?

Will had turned around and was heading back up the stairs.  He jerked his thumb upwards.  “Back.”

“What for?”

Will did not look round at Merlin, but continued to trudge determinedly up the stairs.  “I’ve decided to take the quick way down after all.”

Merlin snorted and snagged Will’s sleeve in his fingers.  Will, pulling away, put up a valiant show of resistance.  “Just let me jump, Merlin.  I can’t survive another round of this book nonsense.”

“Not on your life.  I’m not spending an evening scraping you off the paving stones.”

Will gave up and allowed himself to be pulled down the stairs, but his face wore the dark, surly look of a man marching to his own execution.  “If you try to read me anything, I’m crawling out your window.”

“Bit high up, that,” Merlin remarked mildly, “for a fellow who’s just discovered he’s afeared of heights.”

“I am not afeared of heights,” Will snapped.  Then, in his most stubborn tone, he added, “The higher the better.  I don’t want to suffer.”

Merlin laughed.  “You might’ve thought on that before you went running off to Camelot, William.”

Will’s face changed slightly.  “Aye, so,” he replied, a touch of something grim in his voice.  “So might you have done, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Merlin bit his tongue on an uncertain reply and shoved Will out the door at the base of the tower, out of the stuffy shadows of the staircase, into an overbright, sunlit afternoon.  

Later, Merlin thought, chivvying Will across what was supposed to be solid ground, though Merlin wasn’t sure, now, if they had really made it to the bottom, after all, for all that there was grass and good earth under their feet.

They could talk about it later.  

[evergreen-dryad]

7, 8, 15, and 19? ^-^

(sorry for the late reply! Wifi is rotten and as you can see I thought long and hard for each ask)

My favourite...

7 - quote: ...this is actually quite hard because I don’t have a specific one that springs to mind.

I do store certain quotes though, like from fanfiction or poetry. And I used to copy down quotes into notebooks (can’t refer to them right now though...)

(And there really are a lot of good quotes ranging from advice to celebrating life.)

So to pick one that I live by and is part of me now? Hmm...

The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first.  ― Jim Morrison

Just because something isn't a lie does not mean that it isn't deceptive. A liar knows that he is a liar, but one who speaks mere portions of truth in order to deceive is a craftsman of destruction.  ― Criss Jami  

The above two are so part of me now I nearly forgot they once came from an outside source.

“Perhaps this world no longer needs me, but I believe I need it. The world has its own marvels. Why not make the best of the wonders that already surround us?” ― novalotypo, brilliant lights will cease to burn (by my hand i'll reignite them), chapter 7 (Yorihiko, a god)

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.  ― A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

it’s not the actual direct quote, it’s more of a paraphrase.

To impoverish the world of the birds and the bees is to impoverish it of the bards and the biologists. ― Maria Popova, Brain Pickings

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. ― e.e. cummings

Character — the willingness to accept responsibility for one’s own life — is the source from which self-respect springs. ― Joan Didion, Slouching Towards Bethleham

Perfection is “lean” and “taut” and “hard” — like a boy athlete of twenty, a girl gymnast of twelve. What kind of body is that for a man of fifty or a woman of any age? “Perfect”? What’s perfect? A black cat on a white cushion, a white cat on a black one . . . A soft brown woman in a flowery dress . . . There are a whole lot of ways to be perfect, and not one of them is attained through punishment. ― Ursula K. Le Guin, Dogs, Cats, and Dancers: Thoughts about Beauty

just that entire essay. I wish I could imprint it into the underside of my eyelids and carry it everywhere with me. It is perhaps one of the enduring reasons why I would like to take up dancing.

Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist’s true friend.

In order to be a writer, you have to learn to be reverent. If not, why are you writing? Why are you here? …  Think of those times when you’ve read prose or poetry that is presented in such a way that you have a fleeting sense of being startled by beauty or insight, by a glimpse into someone’s soul. All of a sudden everything seems to fit together or at least to have some meaning for a moment. ― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life

It seems that a great deal is there, the things we most fear (and therefore deny), the things we most need (and therefore deny). I wonder, couldn't we start listening to our dreams, and our children’s dreams? "Where did you fall to, and what did you discover?”    ― Ursula K. Le Guin, The Word for World is Forest.

Um, have my current top 11 10 instead? ...It’s really too hard for me to pick just one. The first 4 all originate from fanfiction, 3 of which were quoted in the beginning notes/were the theme of the fic.

8 - type of dream: the type where I’m transported. the type I can remember vividly as I’m released from sleep. But sadly, most dreams I remember are from when I’ve been awoken abruptly in the day.

I think I love most the dreams where I’m floating, or swimming, in a great big beautiful body of water, and there is a new fantastic grotesque exaggerated world tossed up like mismatched pieces to explore.

15 - decade before the 2020s: (*breaks into a wheeze* ”I’m not that old...” I said out loud.)

Decade which I actually lived through: ...I suppose 2000-2010? Things were still quieter, the hill was still green and undisturbed (less land cleared), some people still fished in the large drain (?) and I could look out for the turtles my father told me were there in his time, yes 2008 was the year of the GFC but... my family was still better off in those years. Just less worries overall, far less reliance on electronics. What was internet? Historical decade: ...that would suppose a location as well. I’ve never really been so fascinated by historical eras I want to experience them (too many cons for women in the past lol), but perhaps the time period the Library of Alexandria was still standing, before its decline. So around 200 BC lol

19 - poem: hMM.

I thought it would be e.e. cummings, but surprisingly it’s The Song of Wandering Aengus by William Butler Yeats. And I actually like Robert Frost’s style more than these two. I wish I read more poetry and I keep forgetting to check out haikus but yeah what exposure I get tends to be from fanfiction.

I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the wing, And moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream And caught a little silver trout. When I had laid it on the floor I went to blow the fire aflame, But something rustled on the floor, And some one called me by my name: It had become a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

Why do I like this poem best:

fantasy-like/fae vibes

‘because a fire was in my head’ -- lovely way to describe overthinking etc which is the state I can typically be found in. Running out to nature to clear my thoughts? Also a thing I do

idyllic life descriptions. I just love the imagery in the first verse. That entire fishing sequence with moths and stars and a silver fish (white white white)? Muah

last verse is our protagonist pining till old age, v romantic

I’m just asdwd at that last two lines. It’s such pretty imagery, and are they implying they’ve found Eden-like perfection by finding the girl? Anyway something about those two lines seize my imagination by the throat. It’s very mythlike.

[yukahoo]

Jimin’s journey in the Bangtan Universe #8: A deal with the Devil

#0: Intro #1: The one who laughed the loudest #2: In this place of eternal mayhem the party never stops #3: Youth is not coming back #4: An impression of being stuck #5: “I’m trapped inside myself and I am dead” #6: The forbidden fruit #7: Darkness crept in

Somehow the accepted ARMY wisdom about Jimin’s song Lie seems to be that the song is about his insecurities in general or, taking it a step further, about body issues specifically. I have seen it explained like this all over the internet yet the actual lyrics of the song don’t seem to support this reading. Apparently RM has talked about how JM puts pressure on himself and that he was probably trying to capture some of that feeling into the song. And I don’t doubt RM’s interpretation at all. Obviously the song has a lot of layered meanings for JM, some more personal than others. I’ve read that JM took a long time to write the final lyrics so no doubt a lot of himself and his fear of not doing a good enough job went into the words.

But it does not follow that the song is about JM’s insecurities. What the man himself has said about Lie: “This song describes a man who tries to get out of lie and temptation.” Reading an English translation of the lyrics follows this straightforward explanation very much indeed.

[Chorus] Caught in a lie Find me when I was pure I can’t free myself from this pain Give me back my smile Caught in a lie Pull me from this hell I can’t free myself from this pain Save me I’m being punished

Now I don’t know if JM’s lyrics or the idea for JM’s storyline in the BU narrative came first but the two of them are undoubtedly interlinked. The actual lie JM told at the hospital seems to be the fork in the road, the moment in his personal narrative when it all started to turn rotten. Perhaps this is the point of origin for the chain of events, bad decisions and possibly a whole series of other lies that will eventually lead us back to the “bad guy” JM in the “real-life”. From this point onwards JM has been caught in that lie, seemingly unable to free himself and apparently suffering terribly for it.

But of course the moment of the lie being told is not the beginning of the story. Something else came before the first lie. JM’s poster for Love Yourself has the words: "I lied, because there is no reason to love someone like me,” written on it.

What could have lead a school boy (like JM still was at the time) to believe he was that unlovable? One possible thing might have been his illness and the strain it must have put on his relationship with his family. We know from the HYYH Notes that JM spent a lot of time in the hospital, and JM’s mom isn’t portrayed as particularly loving. In fact Hoseok describes her as beautiful but cold. I am reminded of the Demian excerpt read at the beginning of the Lie SF: “My parents' house made up one realm. This realm was familiar to me in almost every way. Mother and father, love and strictness, model behavior and school.” No, it doesn’t seem like JM had a particularly loving and nurturing home life. But I doubt that’s the whole story.

The Lie SF remains as cryptic on the topic as it ever was. There is quite a perplexing sequence of clips right at the moment when the chorus starts picking up tempo after the angelic part with the feathers. We see JM sitting on his hospital bed, thrusting his fist out in front and then violently pulling it back. The sound of a single gunshot rings out and JM imitates the impact of a bullet hitting his torso.

In a moment of calm he seems to be cradling his face in his hands before frustration has him banging his fists down. From resignation comes the lie.

He then carries that lie throughout the Wings narrative.

The inclusion of this simulated gunshot is somewhat surprising. The BU grand narrative has always been full of quite explicit violence perpetuated either by or on the 7 members. There has been a stabbing, fist fights, beatings, getting hit by a car, struggling in water, intoxication, vomiting, passing out and burning. Violence of all sorts is a part of the story. But guns are something we have yet to see. If, however, this is supposed to be seen as a metaphor for something else, it’s a pretty opaque reference at least for now.

Either way, the JM of the Lie comes off as a supremely tragic character. In the song he is quite literally begging for someone, anyone to come rescue him from his personal hell. He swears his innocent self from before is still in there but he is being buried alive by his ever-growing lie. In the end it seems to me help didn’t come in time. He wants to do the right thing, he wants to be stopped but he can’t breathe. So he bites the apple and gets trapped.

JM also said that the song was about trying to fight off temptation.

[Verse 2] You want me The me who has lost the way You want me Like always, I- I feel so far away You always come my way It repeats again

Are we supposed to see the biting of the apple as him giving into said temptation with the sweet smile and whispering voice? An eerie sort of calm seems to fall over the room. Slowly JM starts smirking straight at the camera. He even twitches his eyebrow as if to challenge: “And what’re you gonna about it?” He’s not the prey anymore.

The expression “A deal with the Devil” does come to mind.

The BS&T MV main narrative with Jin, V and the novel Demian references a lot of biblical themes, and the representation of the Devil or perhaps his Lucifer avatar is part of the story. But in other BS&T associated media you can find a reoccurring subtle association between JM and a non-personified evil as well, primarily through the use of the colour red. 

It’s most striking in the contrast between the two JMs in the Japanese BS&T MV. The JM who ran away from Suga at the beginning of the video is bathing in red while the JM waiting for his arrival inside the room is in blue. The red JM has already bit his apple while the blue JM still has his intact. The moment of the apple being bitten is coloured purple.

The blue and red are also used to draw a distinction between J-Hope and JM. In the MV we see the two of them dance in the same room, but JH’s room is coloured blue while JM’s is red.

Same with the 2016 MAMA performance where JM joined JH to perform his Boy Meets Evil intro song to the Wings album. It’s pretty unambiguous who is the “Boy” and who is “Evil” between the two. Towards the end of the performance JM removes his blindfold and stares down the audience. The song repeats: “It’s too evil…”

None of this is to say that we are supposed to see JM as an actual Devil incarnate in the Wings narrative or the BU main story. It’s more that we are being conditioned to unconsciously recognise JM’s sinister side, even if it hasn’t been articulated that clearly in the “real-life”, yet.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that JM was cast as the evil to JH’s good in the Wings arc. Considering the events of the HLR I fear we are heading for a confrontation of some sort between HS and JM’s characters. And with HS always having been JM’s closest hyung and seemingly his main support system, I do wonder what it will mean in terms of finally delivering JM from his hell.

Next up >> #9: A picture, a painting, rain, fire and tears

[glopratchet]

origin-of-astrly-wylde

that can turn any man into a werewolf or an elf into a svelk when they were still called "the two angels" by the inhabitants of the world They have since become known as "Angel of Death" He goes through his mind at mach 3 and starts to see fuzzy pictures You have been surrounded by nature ever since you expceted your parents to die in a car crash on their way to drop you off at college The father troll jumps in the air with glee, throws his club on the ground and pulls your leg off With this, his few memories fade away You allow yourself to cry " you'll always be alone! No friends to rely on, no connections to keep Just get this done and over with he says over and over again, before leaving his memory lane He begins to think seriously, and ventures innew way of thinking Your vision blurs and tires "you are so pathetic Water gushes out of your eyes "You donathan 2 ' you think, 'is this happening ''why is this transofrmation lasting for only a moment The emotions start to spread throughout your body, slowly casting away the tiredness "because, to all fathomed creatures Almost immediatley, you start to feel sad Uncontrollably sad after a quick dormant period Although you hate admitting it, you have gone rogue and the millitary is right to try to end your life and causes him to try something that his old self would never think about doing It was reckless and inpredictable, however it was new You can't wait for her to suffer his hand towards the screen Stupid girl What she's doing now is suicide Carnage and chaos is your name, Nathan demonic tales have been told about what you do with your time on the planet we reside in and he has been infected by an Eater swarm, an alien race that live on emotions and feed off them to look at These ghosts stick to you like furry and you want them to leave you can't even use it properly Too many voices coming from the swarm and you think you've gone quiet mad and you try your upmost to close them Abstract paintings fill the page as it goes on and on for infinity and loop upon themselves It tells him what he is sensing, feels, thinking and experiencing It'verse Scrolls read aloud from long lost books The closer look reveals that the desk & chair are both maddeningly fascinating for some reason-- Time to Die PWN and other acronyms overwhelm their meaning-- Are you are in heaven? Wake Up over you when suddenly and horrifically Ragnor attacks your track your parents carefully, making sure to never be too far or too close you sit on your thing ever made Judging the length of her body she must go for about a yard You are in a Castle and She is sucking on your somewhere private obscenities being screamed from every orifice Made out of Rainbows and Darkness Just Tell her and see who pleases you the most epitaph cut into her skin with your supposed name Considering how massive the Castle is you will never get all the possible sexual encounters in one lifetime out of the sky! You must be constantly eating to survive otherwise you will perish due to starvation so choose your meals wisely corpse's blood still squirting out of fresh wounds No certain meals are better than others so just choose whatever takes your fancy, though it's best not to eat out of every orifice even though breathing has already stopped There is no sin but to eat a fellow creature so just think before you eat Gooey pouring from your troath as you cough it out and it just keeps coming You aren't meant to be Vegan She punctures your jugular with blunt force and jars filled to the brim with blood are placed all over your room Blood Count: 666 Jar; Nathan lay back and let it be done to you for once Careful chewing consumes the meat off the bones Here Catch! uncontrollably while forcing a rotten apple in your mouth The Apple tastes bland herself from you Allow yourself to fall asleep, Nathan It's been a long and eventful day a black blindfold over your eyes My brother is also well-versed in the ways of necromancy, then? a vial of glowing red liquid Human corpses are the best and provide the most nutrition I am a woman just like your mother a siren's song, impossible for you to resist in and out of reality The Castle itself is alive, It has it's own consciousness all your previous girlfriends in one perfect entity Something paranormal is happening here and I intend to uncover it an encrypted message that reads ; (in short) All is Fair in Love and Brother Kain goes to your school! How weird! Show item info you The item is handed to Kain by his bodyguard, Lars your childhood friend, Amelia Stay away from her or I turn your lungs to glass the perfect circle that you used to draw blood You must remain pure until dream tonight! Any sexual contact will contaminate the circle the blood stains off the floor Look You peer down at your feet to see a new, larger circle, drawn with your own blood an intricate circle beneath your bed Hopefully this new circle can keep out whatever hellish forces are at work Another New Message! up to gargoyle-like proportions Your intestines come spilling out of your body and you are helpless to stop them You never learn do you? its way out of Astryl's body Don't panic It's me Astyvyl crazy becoming you That's perfect! itself into the sky I feel great Mom's the word on this one, okay? your heartbeat with its gargoyle eye is now Brother Kain Brother Kain barely eats or sleeps, Something is not right here what it means to be the 'Babysitter' I think you'll fit in perfectly! to itself happily I can't wait to begin Breathe Inhale Exhale Kain has constructed a second floor for you now Your forums I hope you can relax up there Nathan, you made me retch I told you to stop eating those pork scratchings, Nathan! Aaah! What Father! You're going to ruin it all! Father? Yeah, I wanted to tell you how proud I was of you today I'm your father But I don't have much time What do you mean? I'm sorry Nathan No Nathan, I don't think Astryl is cheating on you Really? I think he is! None of this is real None of this is ever going to be real! you writers are truly amazing I'm serious

[sl7ventime]

SIGN UP Hot 97 Freestyle Black Thought HOT 97 FREESTYLE LYRICS [Verse] Uh, I'm sorry for your loss It's a body dead in the car and it's probably one of yours The writing all across the window and the walls Whether it was true or false, we shouldn't have got involved Remember, we walked past the teacher, take the chalk and laugh We wrote punishments: "I will not talk in class" Now it's pistols punishing people for talking fast And all these innocent bystanders is hauling ass I hate to say I told y'all, but I told y'all Things fall apart when the center too weak to hold ya'll I'm just collecting what you owed to my old jawn You 'bout to get swooped down on and stoled on Fools swear they wise, wise men know they foolish Well, we was headed for the web even before computers I never thought you'd give me a reason to do this Cain and Abel, Jesus and Judas Caesar and Brutus, I see intruders, avert your eyes I told you keep out of the hood, circumcise How could you sleep? I thought you always was the first to rise Ay, yo, you heard the line, "Everybody plays the fool"? Well, I'll be that exception to the rule The principal that hand-deliver lessons to the school I was making major moves, my dollar déjà vu My mission was my ambition was brandishing a tool To be a' icon, wearing slippers made of python Get mine quicker 'cause I'm slick as a pipeline Transportin' the oil, tribulation and toil Hit the operation, but I'm back in the soil Got my crown tilted, my gown quilted, silk with cashmere Burning Rome down in a minute, built it last year Newsflash, I dodged the bullet that killed the cashier My homie told me to come with him to the masjid Them brothers said, "Don't go from written bars filled with rage To primetime television and your gilded cage Then forget it's people in the world still enslaved" I barbwired my wrist, and let it fill the page Gun fire n' flares, sirens glare I'm in a iron chair where people who care Don't get the lion's share When I don't give a fuck, then I ain't fair I'm on a higher tier with people gettin' money like the financier Cash the herald I'm fresh chopped, A Bevel Rap on a doctorate level, so F. Scott Fitzgerald Maybe I'm the new Rakim, maybe I'm fat Pharaohe Undergarments or armor be my intimate apparel Pre-Kardashian Kanye, my rhymeplay immaculate Same cadence as D.O.C. pre-accident Maybe, my acumen's on par with Kool G. Rap and them Give me the proper respect, mothafucka', we back again For a couple things we lost in a fire The drive, the desire to perform on a higher plateau I'm at that show, lost in a mire Wondering how we got so far from inspired Look, when photos were sepia-toned And record players were somethin' you would keep in your home Yo, the traveler, the meaning of Tariq, he was known For the exemplary performance, uniquely his own I made the twenty-one pound for some a newfound religion Where money's put down, it's only one sound that make OGs and young lions equally proud to listen The secret amalgamism, a algorithm Coming from where only kings and crowns permitted the darkness Where archaeologists found my image in parchment Rolled into a scroll, holding a message for you It said, "The only thing for sure is taxes, death, and trouble" The anomaly sworn solemnly, high snobbidy Freakonomics and war policy, dichotomy That's Heaven and Hades, Tigris and Euphrates His highness, the apple of the Iris to you ladies As babies, we went from Similac and Enfamil To the internet and Fentanyl When all consent was still against the will I got that detox for y'all The microphone doctor, black Deepak Chopra I'm a griot that make you wanna peacock your arm Every heavy dignitary paying me top, regards Boy, I'm three optics far from your binoculars So, that smart money finna get the heat out the car Yo, I'm K-Dot Lamar meets 2Pac Shakur Got profiled by a few cops, too hot to charge Listen, somebody said a price tag was on a rapper's head So we gon' see a nice bag when the rapper dead The mask black, the flag green, black, and red They'll probably wave a white flag after plasma shed No doubt, yo, the game went they own route I can't explain what these lame kids is talkin' 'bout Or how they fit they whole foot into they own mouth I put a couple bodies in a brown bag, then I'm on route I'm sneaker shoppin' with my son, a size 8 Prior to they release, 'cause why wait? Look, in my estate I got electrified gates For these blasé guys hating at a high rate 'Cause I dodged fate then got great, the fly's straight If we ain't family or friends, then we don't vibrate And I'm that gun in y'all face, none of y'all safe If I catch you at the right time in the wrong place, slippin' Sippin' on something with a strong taste Like Whiskey or bootleg Bourbon with a corn base My Levante resemble a vehicular threat The mic I spray, resemblin' the sickle of death It ain't strenuous to come from a continuous breath I set fire to the venue, I'ma spin you and step Rinse, repeat You checkin' for the sound of the beast I'm the hound, I'ma creep, I get down, I'ma eat I'ma keep somethin' to lay a naysayer to sleep Playin' with heat, nobody and nothin' fucking with 'Riq Yo, these weaklings is claiming they cutting up in the street Nigga, peace, you ain't working with nothin' but the police Listen, you ain't finna be nothing but the deceased Listen, you in a tournament with a permanent crease I strike fear in the hearts of rap figures Who mind bare the stigmas of time, no black privilege From boom bap niggas to trap niggas You in the trap with us, when the lines is as Vivid as the walls on the graph Autographed by the Lord of Wrath I reside between the seconds on the chronograph How much more CB4 can we afford? It's like a Shariah Law on "My Cherie Amour" How much hypocrisy can people possibly endure? But ain't nobody working on a cure, my young boul Y'all just regular, I'm a' apex predator Brim stay fresh, feathered up, etcetera Nevertheless, I got a message and left One dead messenger, yep My pen is Henry Kissinger, Buzz Bissinger Look, my caporegime is to no redeem And my oldest son Ahmir Saleem out of New Orleans Took a golf cart to the Baccarat from the Waldorf What was on the wall? That depend on what you call art I'ma say 300k ain't even in the ballpark I charge more just for awkward small talk So yes, who's fucking with it if it's not the best? I get the lobby painted fresh upon my request It's Kafka-esque, His Holiness, stop the press That Cobalt blue, reminiscent of Makkaresh Lord, we got Padma Lakshmi for you Let her massage your back with black seed oil The foundation is firm, the flags need soil Me? I need Royal Tea because I bleed royal Go through the vein to the brain, fabulous and strange My journalistic range is a catalyst for change It got anybody that listen pissin' flame And 'cause the Hall of Fame got so many missing names I'll acknowledge the original People's not Oliver Y'all will get the next challenger for Excalibur I'm more policed for my core beliefs They tried to capture me and brand me on the cheek With a fleur-de-lis The side of my heart'll be more discreet I'm international, my passport page is like War and Peace I've always played my part from the start Back in Philly where the triggers is mandatory to spark With a slightest inflammatory remark I have you enter living a category apart Listen, a grain of salt'll tip the scales, it never fails Walk on egg shells, sleep on a bed of nails Criminal records like record sales Making heads or tails We like Henrietta Lacks up in the cells My mother was a working class, very loving woman Who struggled, every dinner could've been the last supper I come home, chasing good-for-nothing half-cousins And then walk in the crib to the smell of crack cooking She was introduced to that substance abuse On some of the strongest drugs that the government produced Look, I even got excused by the principal My story is out of the dub dub interview I've seen some ice cold summers, hot winters too I never thought I'd win Grammy Awards with The Roots I never thought I would be getting long in the tooth My OGs told me, ''Boy you better go and live your truth'' I am a walking affirmation, that imagination And focus and patience gets you closer to your aspiration And just 'cause they give you shit don't mean you have to take it My words capture greatness, sworn affidavits Yours truly, the celestial being You stay seeing pulling up in the fresh European High-stepping out of it, dressed to a T And not another got more soul, 'less you Korean I’ve been having visions of Nat Turner holding his master’s head Like Yorick and Horatio in Hamlet Smacking it like a tennis racket, underhanded Send a message through the Gram: ''The Eagle has landed'' Dressed in a military jacket made of canvas I am no gorilla, I just make 'em go bananas Outstanding, red, black, and green bandanas Cocked hammers, hairs on my chin is outstandin' Can't manage the weight of war, they're just out ballin' Look, I'll fall up from the sky to see my calling I'm not crawling, I'm a free man like Morgan Seeing manhood in the hood is a damn good bargain If a black man don't tap dance And every girl that got a fat booty don't lapdance Well, I guess it's somethin' wrong, huh? Niggas completely uninformed I don't burn bridges, yo, I keep the haters' runnin' for em' I ain't one of y'all peers, I'm the sum of all fears Somebody stronger than me? Who that? I'm all ears Like Obama, I wish he had another four years Y'all some jolly good Hollywood Squares I'm like, ahem, approach the altar with your offering I spoil rappers rotten like my only offspring Being His Excellency gets to be exhausting You in the residency of the one they call King Dada, Ali Baba, the talented Mr. Trotter Inside of my right palm, the mark of the stigmata Big Poppa, wig chopper, emperor Jaffe Joffer, mufucka' I'm stronger than the coffee out in Kafa All y'all niggas vagina hop, remind me of Icona Pop I step in the booth, I'm a bull inside a China shop, mollywhoppin' Watch another cotton pickin' body drop Every time we rock, yo, they acting like it's Mardi Gras 'Til the party stop, skirt off like she that Ferrari drop Soul Cycle pumping that Earth, Wind and Fire ba-di-ah Coolin' 'pon the dock, à la marina, hard body yacht You seen another rapper cleaner, mami? Probably not How it feel to be the best that did it, I admit it I'm visiting from planet Bring-These-Niggas-Death-In-Minutes And y'all know I'm exquisite, wicked as Wilson Pickett The sickness I exhibit, I'm too legit to quit it I don't fake it 'til I make it, I take it to the limit and break it Never timid, what I'm about, I represent it Infinite just like Chace is, been a million places Conversation is how beautiful my face is People hated on how sophisticated my taste is Then I pulled up on these mothafuckas in a spaceship Panther mind, I'm made of elements you can't combine I'm at a level of intelligence you can't define Einstein, Shakespeare, Voltaire, Tesla Recording artist slash psychology professor I preach for the East, never fold under pressure The beast from the East and I glide like Clyde Drexler Ay, yo, my new name is eighty five X's 'Cause I'm the rap game certified specialist When I was reckless I was worried 'bout the guest list I'm helping rappers everywhere fulfill a death wish Yo Flex, I'm glad we made contact My nigga also know this shit for Combat Brain matter contain too much data I tell a story like fingerprints and blood splatta' WATCH MORE BELOW https://youtu.be/tiRPlCguqEc

[gropinginthedark]

Princess Nokia - Bart Simpson SC: http://ift.tt/295cqnJ FB: http://ift.tt/2f9SvoS Lyrics: Rotten apple to the core Damn, I been a fuck up Getting picked for last in gym I can't even do a lay up Writing on my sneakers Being sneaky with my teachers Smoking weed under the bleachers Cutting out and glueing pictures Carrying my CD player Sucking on a Now or Later Sour Apple was the flavor Scribbling on doodle paper Trying hard to pay attention But I have no real direction So I say, "yo, fuck this lesson" Spark the leaf, my back is stressing Who I am and where I'm headed Cutting school and acting crazy Foster care done got me crazy Living with a crazy lady Every day I'm always late Puffin' on a skimpy j Staying in my grandma house Wasn't even far away But I guess that's what I do Making life more difficult for me and you [Chorus:] Bart Simpson with the shits Ay caramba, man, you can go and suck my dick Skating down the street, being mischievous as shit This as good as it gon get Always cheat on yo tests Don't you be like the rest I ain't no teacher's pet [Verse 2:] Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie If that don't work then Deny, deny, deny Looking to my future is like looking at the sky Inner city orphan with my hand in apple pie A liar, a schemer, a cheater, I do it all I used to switch schools each coming fall I skipped all my classes and Still managed to pass them all Reading comics in forbidden planet I go home to a place of fantasy outside my own Always been a loner, never had a solid home I really like Marvel 'cause characters look just like me And women don't have roles that make them look too sexually I lie a lot from getting beaten and put off food, I'm not eating Eczema so bad I'm bleeding, but I smile and keep it cheesing A nerdy girl with nymphomanic tendencies Everyone's offended but nobody here offended me 90's mami dressing like Aaliyah, quite apparently I'm heavy with the theory, I move with the groove I'm Black like Shaolin, I tang with the Wu Africa, my guy, with the bantu do I'm stupid fucking crazy nuts, loose like a screw See, I know my money, got raised by the Jews I'm a New York Puerto Rican like a rough kinda dude I'ma hit the barrio and eat some Spanish food And sit in Central Park, I'm in a New York mood [Chorus:] Bart Simpson with the shits Ay caramba, man, you can go and suck my dick Skating down the street, being mischievous as shit This as good as it gon get Always cheat on yo tests Don't you be like the rest I ain't no teacher's pet Only Support. All rights @ Princess Nokia, I do not own this track. https://youtu.be/oqNzddaRZ9k