#I can't believe this is the same man who wrote and sang and if a double deckar bus crashes into us

[theoreticalgirlspetborzoi]

Another day without Magnus burnsides not being real I'm like trans enby morrissey like Monday humiliation Tuesday suffocation Wednesday condescension Thursday is pathetic by Friday life has killed me

[morgana-ren]

Initially I had this idea hafter watching Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes (loved it, I highly recomend it) but, since I see quite the parallels between Coriolanus Snow and Ascended Astarion, here goes nothing.

Imagine an Astarion who gas a bard Tav as punishment, not letting them make a single noise for days, maybe longer, as he says he'll "consider" returning their voice once he believes they'll behave.

-----

I haven't read it, admittedly, but I'll add it to the reading list! This isn't a sexy or a kink answer but I tried, but if it's not what you had in mind, please let me know and I'll redo it.

-

Cruelty. You could call it that.

He calls it an object lesson. A point that must be impressed because it isn't getting through.

That's the problem with a songstress. So many ridiculous ideals of love and the safety in it. The irritating idealization of it all in their songs that are woven from the thread of absurdity. A reminder of naivety; of innocence.

It's utterly insulting.

The caged bird sings endlessly of freedom. Always, always. Looking to the sky with longing. Flapping restless wings, perching high in their cage, surveying land through gilded bars and dreaming-- romanticizing.

The song might be beautiful. It might break a lesser man. It might touch the soul--

(--that no longer exists, yet even now, he can feel the motif sew into his skin and touch something that should be there; a ghost in his flesh that he can't scratch out. He hates that goddamned melody, he hates it-- it plucks, and it pulls like a bird gathers seed from the soil to sustain itself. She used to sing to him before he truly became him, and she uses it to drain his resolve even now--)

Love is beautiful, fragile, and fleeting-- like a hummingbird. Meant to roam and seek sustenance. Freedom. Choice. It is beauty and truth and irritation and futility and rejection--

He won't hear it.

(--Love is filth and blood and sacrifice. It is seven thousand souls in fire and his own in the palm of a devil's hand. It is anything to keep her safe. It is what must be done. She will hate him for the rest of her luxurious life with him--)

She begs him. Begs him listen. She looks at him with those watery, pathetic eyes, grasps him with delicate, calloused fingers and a voice raw and cracking.

He loves her.

She is foolish and naive with ideals. She doesn't understand. She doesn't understand what it is to be captive. To be abused. To be used. She sleeps on pillows of silk. He forces the finest meals down her throat. She will live and she will like it.

(--She will come around, surely. He did--)

She hums sometimes. He can hear it. She does it on purpose, he swears. He hears it in his meditation. He hears it as she is in the cold and dark of the cells miles away. That same melody she wrote for him after he first displayed weakness and confessed to her his reliance on her. She sang it to him by starlight and campfire, in the dirt, at his absolute lowest when he was weak, and foolish, and nothing. She sat with him beneath the sky and gave her own confession in song and looked at him as though he hung the moon--

It stitches a pattern into his skin. He hears it. He cannot pluck it free. Even as he is different now. He is stronger, and better, and faster. More powerful. He can protect her now, he can protect them both--

(--More deserving--)

He waits. He waits and he waits and he waits. He is eternal. Time is nothing to him. It is nothing to her either. His sweet songbird, she will see and she will understand the greater picture. She will thank him. What he has given her is a gift. It is a gift, it is a gift, it is a gift--

She bemoans this, but she will understand. One day, she will. She will, same as he did. She is foolish, and idealistic, and simple-- But she will.

(--I love you as you are. As you always have been. You are enough, and I will always love you--)

If he could feel, he is certain he would be irritated. Annoyed. What a foolish girl he has chosen. She sings her same tired song rather than embracing a new tune. A better one. One suited to who he is now. The better man.

He takes her instruments. He binds her hands. He isolates her so that her songs will never be heard until she sings what he wishes to hear. Until that fucking song dies, and he never hears it again. He never wants to hear it again.

He is the master. She will obey. And she will come back to him.

(--He hears it in his fucking mind. He cannot make it stop. It plays on repeat. Some vengeance from his old, weak mind playing tricks on him--)

She doesn't sing anymore. Eyes as pale and empty as the moon. She can sing. She can play. She can repeat on demand, like a parrot. He has heard these melodies before.

She asks him what he wants her to play.

[stormblessed95]

JK singing a song about loving and fucking a woman. Are we... are we talking about the same person? Because whatever his sexual orientation, I do have a hard time believing this soft person who has been mostly raised by BTS will somehow end up singing about anything like fucking. He's like the biggest romantic out there, if anything, he'll sing about crying when Iron Man died before he'll sing about fucking anyone. Troll anon is crass and doesn't know the BTS members at all it would seem. Let us enjoy music for music's sake without making it about who is sleeping with who omg.

That would be nice wouldn't it. Lol if we could just enjoy their music without trying to guess who they are sleeping with based off it? 😂🤣 I AGREE.

Also, this is the same man who sang Euphoria as his solo song and who wrote and produced Love is Not Over as one of his first songs he got credits on for BTS . Lmao he is going to come with the sappiest of love songs on this album, if there even is one at all. I can't wait to see what is on JKK1!

Also, BTS are respectful wonderful people yes, but they also have sang/rapped about fucking people before! Doesn't make them any less respectful and soft too 🥰😂 they are and have been grown!

[lostfirefly]

Who cares if one more light goes out? Well, I do...

I was at the gym today and "Breaking the habit" came on in the player. I remembered the video from The Red Square in Moscow. This year it's been 7 years since Chester's death and even though the anniversary of his death is still a little over a month away, I want to share with you what I wrote just a couple of days after his death. As the years go by, the emotions are still the same.

~ welcome under the cut ~

I'm holding on

Why is everything so heavy?

On July 27, 2017, Linkin Park's first concert of their North American tour was supposed to take place. People in Mansfield were supposed to take pictures of their favorite artists on their phones, happily singing not only new songs from the album, but also old hits so dear to fans' throats. After two hours of endless high, they had to go home happy. With a million new impressions.

On July 6, 2017 someone was lucky enough to see the band's last concert. Just a week ago, it was unimaginable. But now it doesn't feel like a lingering joke anymore.

Why does it feel like night today?

Something in here's not right today.

On July 20, I was coming home from the movie theater, and New Divide was playing in my headphones. I was thinking that Linkin Park had a new album out, that they were starting their American tour, and that means that they would soon reach Russia. Well, what else does my fan's heart need? A concert, the band, Chester.

That same evening, when I was surfing x/twitter with a cup of delicious tea, I saw the headline "Chester Bennington committed suicide". My first reaction was that it's a stupid joke. I mean, really, how many times has he been buried before? It doesn't make sense. Within a couple seconds, similar headlines started appearing on various news outlets. The second reaction was that it's just yellow press. But inner doubts made you turn on your laptop, put your tea aside and typed those damn four words into the search box. Four words and the enter key separated me from the first reaction. And then I saw the links, the headlines. And you know, it was like a virus that infects every cell in your body. And then I saw Mike Shinoda's tweet. He's gone. The one whose gorgeous voice was in my headphones just a couple of hours ago, he's gone. In an instant, the world was emptied of one weighty man. Why weighty? I checked websites, Facebook, Instagram. Looked how many people were crying like it was their own personal loss. It was a loss to those who loved his voice and his energy.

I can't feel the way I did before.

My introduction to Linkin Park happened pretty much the same way my 90's generation did. It was 2001, I was 14 years old. I was waiting to visit an ex-friend who burst into my house with the words: "Give me the tape recorder. I want you to hear a song. There's a man with a very beautiful voice."

And there was Crawling.

"Who's that? Linkin who? Park?" you asked.

Three minutes of buzz for your ears, and you run to find a free cassette to re-record that Hybrid Theory.

In the evening, you typed the band's name into a rambler search to look for the man who three hours ago sang about something inside him pulling beneath the surface. And then Rambler brought up the music video for One Step Closer. Monks, warriors, red-haired Shinoda, blond Bennington.

At that moment, my life was divided into a before and an after.

Before Linkin Park and with Linkin Park.

And you realize you're screwed. Seriously, and for a long time.

Those strangers from the other side of the planet singing about such familiar things. And it's with them that it becomes easier for you to get through the school years with bulling, the first betrayals of friends, long stays in the hospital, going to university, defending your diploma, moving to another city, life changes. And, honestly, I want to say a huge thank you to the whole band for the fact that in all the difficult times, when I wanted to send everything to hell, they believed in me. And I believed that they would be proud of me if I overcame everything. And I did. With Chester's voice in my headphones. He was the only one who could sober me up and kick my ass with his screaming. And then, a second later, switch to a gentle timbre and soothe your wounded soul. And I always knew I could count on him. My faithful friend named Chester… My sweet Chester Bennington. You were my rock when no one else had the right words. You helped build the wall of defense I needed.

That all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you will forever be my motto for life, which you diligently scribbled in notebooks, notepads, and a magnetic board on the refrigerator.

You diligently gather information about the band members, getting stunned by the frontman's biography, and find forums. You get new acquaintances scattered in different corners of Russia and over the world. Probably one of the most beautiful periods of my youth.

These feelings, when you are just starting to get into music, forming your views on life, when you are still youthful to maximalism, when you are sure that you can do everything that others couldn't and still wear rose-coloured glasses. All this for me finally left on July 20, 2017.

What I've done.

That day, I felt sick. I felt physically sick. My heart felt like it had been crushed by a tank. It ached like a chronic cardiac patient. My head was filled with endless questions of "What? Why? How?" I don't want to judge the act. Knowing what demons were in your head, I understand that choice. I'm sorry we couldn't help you when you helped all of us.

Chester. My sweet Chester.

I'm glad I was able to go to two Linkin Park concerts. I was no longer separated from the band by thousands of Russian kilometers, but only half an hour by subway. And I was able to see the real, sincere Bennington. A man with absolutely crazy energy. After that, I went to different concerts of different artists, but I have never seen such a connection with fans with anyone else. One second everyone is like positive sectarians singing I'm breaking the habit tonight, and the next second everyone is ready to die to Faint. Two hours later you walk out of the concert complex with a sore back, gray voice, and torn sneakers, but you're happy. The dream of a girl from 2003 has finally come true.

Who would have said that in 5 years at the place where fantasies became reality, I will say goodbye to my favorite musician.

Who cares if one more light goes out

Well I do…

Chester's passing showed me that I still have a lot of pain and darkness that I'd been suppressing. He mirrored that pain. I once again, fully faced everything I hadn't really wanted to face in years. A few months that added up to years of sweeping those emotions like trash under the rug, pretending the house was clean. It wasn't. The trash just piled up under the bed. The pain didn't go anywhere, it stayed neglected and recycled.

It's a moment when you don't want to open yourself up to the harsh reality of having your favorite musicians shut the door firmly behind you, but perhaps you shouldn't be afraid to live in it. There is pain, humiliation, hunger, wars and terrible injustice. People have the right to show emotion. Not everything is the way I want it to be. A lot of things are not the way I want them to be. It's hard, and it's unlikely that I can fully accept the world as it is. But thankfully, I have a few outlets.

I don't want to stifle my emotions. I don't want to forget about them when sucked into a "normal" life where everyone asks you to be "normal". And I don't want to hide from my inner demons, because they are what make you and me alive.

But for now, I want to turn on From the inside again, like in tenth grade, to turn on full blast, black pencil my eyes and become a different person. It was that song that made my inner core strong and made me stronger. And, Chester… My sweet Chester, it's thanks to you again.

I tried so hard

And got so far

But in the end

It doesn't even matter

I hope you have finally found peace and your demons are off of you.

I'm sorry Chester won't get to take his kids to school, won't see his grandkids. Won't know what it's like to be 50, 60, 70 years old. And I think that would be great, because it certainly wouldn't age him. Chester's not gonna write any new songs. I won't be able to listen to Shadow of the day, Leave out all the rest, One more light, Talking to myself. When you know what they're about, you want to turn them off. After listening to Given Up, you want to run up to Chester and shout, "You're great!!!" It's a shame he had such a hard time with himself.

The news of him being buried won't fit in my head for a long time. Even the overwhelming love of fans, family and friends couldn't save him from himself.

I don't want to say goodbye. I want to say thank you.

Thank you for the inspiration, for the amazing story of struggle told in such a powerful and emotional voice. I will love this amazing voice forever.

His example encourages us to become sincerer. Darker. Gloomier because without the dark days, you don't appreciate the sunshine as much.

Chester had so many words about light and sunshine. His light and warmth has stayed with us and will continue to warm us even after many years.

Rest in peace, beloved Chester.

Good

Goodbye.

I'll miss you forever.

[acaplaya-musings]

Voiceplay-adjacent Visuals: Man of Constant Sorrow

Geoff's cover of Man Of Constant Sorrow was uploaded on the 15th of April, 2023 (the birthday of one of my best friends actually - lucky them). Geoff says in the description of the video: "As great as the song is, I always felt like it needed a bridge, so I wrote one. I fully expect some haterade in the comments section for that, but I love you all anyway." As far as I know, he has received exactly zero (0) "haterade" in the comments section for it, and nor does he deserve any! The bridge is great, and so good that those who don't know the original song (like myself and a few of the reactors I've watched) could think that it was just part of the original song (and did in fact think that), and those who do know the original might think it's from a completely different song! (Like one or two other reactors I've watched).

But anyway, enough about the song (and Geoff's mind-boggling ability to just write new lyrics on a whim, apparently), time to talk about the visuals! Let's go!

This video was filmed at "Big Oaks Ranch", which you might recognise as being the same filming location of Geoff's video for Take Me Home Country Roads (which I skipped over I know), as well as Voiceplay's videos for Daddy Sang Bass and Billie Eilish In 3 Minutes!

(Also check out how warm/saturated this shot is!)

A rare occasion of giving each of the Backup Geoffs different outfits despite it not being a theatrical/majorly-story-based video! We got Blue Shirt Geoff (wearing a polo with none of the 3 buttons done up on it), Light Shirt Geoff (wearing what I think is a pale-green shirt, but I'm not sure, with the top two buttons undone), Black Shirt Geoff (surprise surprise 😝😂) (t-shirt, so no buttons to speak of), and Plaid Flannel Geoff (with at least two buttons undone at the top, and open enough that you can see his necklace on full display!)

(Also that reddish brown belt gets a decent bit of usage doesn't it? Same one as two of the Cowboy Geoffs were wearing in Ghost Riders I believe, and I think it's been worn in Sixteen Tons and/or Big Bad John as well?)

Appreciation for the way the camera panned down along the train tracks, then panned up to Geoff, feet to head. We stan (also full necklace spotted here too!)

Sir how does your hair do that, how is your hair so good that you're giving me hair envy? (For the record, I have long, orange, wavy hair, and yet I can't help but be allured by Geoff's hair sometimes! 😅)

Let's talk about "Hat Geoff" for a minute here, because he's clearly the protagonist of this video, but in an interesting and uncommon twist, he's not actually the lead singer in this video - Light Shirt Geoff is!

(Also I'm genuinely wondering if that's an actual photo that he's holding, and if so, what's on it? (knowing him, my bet is that it's a picture of Kathy/him and Kathy <3 ))

Fun fact: Geoff's "guitar-playing" in this video is mostly just him faking it; doing simple strumming and stuff like that. He can't actually play guitar - or not in the typical way at least. For most of the instrumental stuff in his covers, he uses some sort of plug-in that connects to an electric keyboard/piano, iirc.

(Also the strings are barely vibrating as he's strumming, and I don't think he's even holding a guitar pick. I can't play guitar either though so what do I know? 😅)

Well he certainly looks good with it at any rate! 😁

"I can feel it like a bullet, no matter where I tread,"

(On my list of "movements/gestures from a Voiceplay/Geoff that I replicate nearly every time I sing it to myself 😝"_

"All my days I have been running from these GHOSTS within my head!"

The flowers placed next to Geoff's hat here, are known as "baby's breath", and apparently they've long been used as a symbol of purity, innocence, hope, and new beginnings. Their inclusion in this video would not have been for no reason!

(Also maybe Geoff does know a little bit about guitar-playing? Based on the way he changes hand/finger position on the neck of the guitar).

To just throw in an E1 subharmonic like it's the simplest thing in the world, while looking this good... god it's almost too much!

Also a bit of a fan of Plaid Flannel Geoff though ngl 👀

Genuinely some lovely cinematography in this video! (And apparently a lot of that is because of Geoff as well! Although Layne often helps out with the Steadicam)

Neat!

And I feel like it would be remiss of me to not highlight Geoff's message to people at the end: 😁

"I should mention that the train tracks I was walking down were not in use! So please please please don't go walking down any train tracks near you - trains are big and strong, and you are soft and squishy." [pfft, a Very Important Message indeed!]

I enjoy Man of Constant Sorrow for the fact that for the majority of the song, I can stay pretty easily on key with it (though often a couple or so octaves higher, of course). And that bridge is really awesome, and I could not imagine the song without it!

Only got a couple more Geoff videos that I wanna talk about (at the time of me typing this, at least), but they are my two other favourite videos on his channel (other than Way Down), so be prepared for many more screencaps! Stay tuned!

[zenaidamacrouras1]

Perfect song! I'm picking a perfect song in my extremely biased opinion from every year of my life and honor of my 42nd birthday. What better choice for a 1981 than Happy Birthday by Stevie Wonder.

This is in fact incredibly tight competition because Under Pressure by Queen and David Bowie came out that year along with Don't Stop Believing by Journey, Our Lips are Sealed by the Go-gos, I Just Can't Enough by Depeche Mode. It was a really good year.

So why is this song at the top?

Happy Birthday by Stevie Wonder is, in fact, a protest song that he wrote as part of his campaign to create a national holiday for Martin Luther King's birthday.

He released the song in 1981. His campaign to create a national holiday celebrating Martin Luther Jr. included some things that he was naturally good at, like having concerts where he sang the song, and some things that I suspect were incredibly painful for him, like being nice to Ronald Reagan.

In February 1982, Stevie Wonder and Corretta Scott-King presented a petition to the Speaker of the House with six million signatures in support of making Dr. King’s Birthday a national holiday. It was established as a holiday in November 1983.

...

To live in the same house as me is to wake up to this song playing on your birthday. It is absolutely one of my favorites.

It's one of my favorite birthday songs, one of my favorite protest songs, and just a really solid all around dancing in the kitchen while you're cooking dinner song.

The song being so damn fun is particularly impressive because the lyrics on paper read like a particularly dry letter to the editor. I mean, LOOK:

I just never understood how a man who died for good could not have a day that would be set aside for his recognition. Why has there never been a holiday where peace is celebrated all throughout the world?

And yet it is the most dance-able song! It makes me incredibly happy!

What better song to celebrate my 42nd year - The answer to meaning of life - than with a song which is about the search for social justice, taking time for celebrating Happy milestones and having a damn good time while we're doing it.

My list (I'll make a playlist)

1993 - Rebirth of Slick, 2005 - Up the Wolves, 1995 - Santa Monica, 1992 - Rebel Girl, 1981 - Happy Birthday

[tiffanylamps]

I wish you would write a fic where...after crying in each other's arms over Nam Sang Bae in episode 10, Joo Won volunteers to take Dong Sik home (as a partner should, he reasons), but takes him to his apartment instead when he thinks about the empty Lee family home and the hole in the basement where Yu Yeon was found. Dong Sik is too distraught to complain, so Joo Won just takes him and puts him to bed. And while Joo Won observes the man sleeping in his bed, he wonders why he did it, why did he feel such a strong need to make sure Dong Sik wasn't alone...basically pining very hard but being very unaware of it at the same time 😂 there is something about your Joo Won that makes me think you could project that kind of oblivious but helpless longing really well!

I wish you would write a fic where... Hey anon, I did kiiiiind of write this already a long time ago! But I wrote it as Dong Sik looking after Joo Won (who's in shock and dealing with mild hyperthermia, as a result of being in the February-cold seawater). It's a chapter from my fic By Desire, and Dong Sik is trying so hard to keep it together but he's numb as fuck (and at one point, dry heaves into Joo Won's kitchen sink because he can't believe he's lost another person). Whereas Joo Won is a mess. He showers and after receiving a phone call from Hyuk, he falls apart as the gravity of the evening's events finally sink in. He expects Dong Sik to hate him, and keeps trying to get Dong Sik to answer why is he being so kind to him? He brings up some stuff that happened in the previous chapter but Dong Sik doesn't want him to talk about it, so he puts him to bed. He wraps him up and waits until Joo Won falls asleep before leaving his side of the bed. He thinks about Min Jeong and how - when she was a child and distressed - he would stroke her hair to calm her down. But he can't bring himself to do it for Joo Won; he's terrified of what will happen if he gives in to that feeling (wanting. needing. pining). He thinks about leaving but before he knows it, he's fallen asleep on the end of Joo Won's bed, only to wake up to a phone call from Jung Je. He leaves without Joo Won knowing he stayed.

Here's a super rough snippet. It's pretty different to my current writing style and I don't like it all that much, but I hope you enjoy it:

“Lee Dong Sik,” Joo Won’s eyes are tearful, forlorn, and so, so sorry. Dong Sik swallows the tightness in his throat, his eyes are burning, and gives the lost boy opposite him a piteous smile, or as close to a smile as he can muster. Joo Won’s features fall into fragments but that doesn’t stop the older man from nodding over to the bed, “at least sit down, Inspector Han. You might fall over.”

Joo Won’s lip quivers but he lets Dong Sik send him back to bed anyway. “I don’t understand,” he mumbles through tired breaths.

Dong Sik bends and pulls the covers away and without touching him, he guides Joo Won onto the mattress. “Good. Now get under the covers,” he coaxes gently.

Joo Won moves awkwardly, his face grimacing, making that injury to his ribs all the more real. He gasps, his eyes snapping shut as he rides out the pain. Breathe, Han Joo Won. “Why-?”

“Lift your arm,” Dong Sik says gently.

Joo Won lies on his side facing Dong Sik and the older man takes his place, sitting in the curve that Joo Won's body left behind. Regrettably, he's reminded of how yin and yang chase after one another, but he sighs that unhelpful thought away. He used to do this for Min Jeong when she wasn’t feeling well or had a bad day at school, or the many nights she didn’t want to go home. He would sit with her and let her talk, sometimes when she was inconsolable, he would run his fingers through her hair until the tears eased off. If only he had seen the signs- if he hadn’t been so blind- if he had actually been paying attention- if- no, don’t do that. Not now.

The young man eyes him and takes in the extra weight on the bed, the warmth of central heating, and the soft glow from the bathroom light and… starts to cry. Dong Sik wants nothing more than to run his fingers through his hair but they're ice cold, rigid and unable to move. He shouldn't, he won't, he can't. They can't.

Joo Won chokes on a cry. He must be exhausted if he’s allowing himself to be so openly vulnerable and Dong Sik can't stop the pickling ache in his chest: a feeling he has only reserved for a select few. When did Joo Won become someone he cared for? Fuck. This isn't fair. The young inspector continues to cry quietly and doesn’t even notice when Dong Sik has a moment of weakness and brushes a tear away from his cheek. 

“I still smell like it... When will it go away?” Dong Sik knows what he really means: when will this pain go away? Never. That’s the truth, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Han Joo Won will always feel this pain: the pain of being involved in another person’s murder, the pain of not being there on time, and the sickening pain of physically holding a dead body whilst trying to stay afloat in winter-cold water. He will never forget this pain. Nor should he. 

But Dong Sik can’t possibly say any of that to him, so, he just settles with the next best thing: “Take another shower in the morning. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

“I don’t want to be myself.”

Dong Sik’s eyes sting. What a heartbreaking thing to say- why would he want that? Joo Won covers his face and sobs like a child: foolhardy, fat tears shed with his whole heart. Dong Sik is a loving man, he can’t stand to see others in pain. So, despite it being a bad idea - one that he might regret - he places his hand on top of Joo Won’s. 

He expects him to recoil, to push Dong Sik away and it would be okay if he did. What he doesn’t expect him to do is to open up beautifully, twining their fingers together like daisies opening their petals to greet the sun. They stay like this and it’s awful but wonderful- everything he needs, everything he shouldn’t have.  His stomach flips and it takes more than it should not be pulled down in Joo Won's embrace.

Joo Won sniffles, his eye finding Dong Sik. There was something there, raw and askance: anger, confusion, greed. He pulls away with a frown, “I don’t understand.” This again. Dong Sik runs a hand over his face, he can still smell the salt. 

“I don’t understand,” Joo Won repeats, his voice heavy from exhaustion.

That was half of the problem, Joo Won doesn’t understand and he’s earnest when he says that. It’s an annoyance, no, it’s utterly disarming. Dong Sik knows how to work a room just as well as he can play a person. He’s a conductor of a band that is slowly building to a symphony in size. He sets the pace and leads the players through each movement. 

It’s almost genius how he’s able to fashion his emotions into layers by toying with other people’s assumptions, or their ideas of social norms; in times of strife or battle, his sincerity is artificial for the means of survival. Anyone who knows him is aware of this, they can see through it and even call out his bullshit if they have the huts. They know that Dong Sik shines a mirror and lets others see what they want. But Joo Won doesn’t seem to understand how mirrors work. Whenever Dong Sik holds it up to deflect him, the kid will just look past the frame and ask Dong Sik what he’s doing, completely dumbfounded. 

It wasn’t safe for Joo Won to come to his own conclusions. The boy had a creative imagination, one that will only cause issues for the whole orchestra. He’s a rogue konzertmeister, who fucks with the whole piece by modulating the key. How is Dong Sik expected to direct the way when his konzertmeister is leading himself astray?

“You don’t need to understand.”

- there is something about your Joo Won that makes me think you could project that kind of oblivious but helpless longing really well!- Thank you for saying this! I take that as a huge compliment because it is something I strive to convey whenever I write from Joo Won's pov. He's just so loving but he doesn't what love is, so the way he feels is more of a burden to him than something he can harness and use for good. Obviously, he learns and grows, but it can take him a long time to get there 😩 I hope this was of interest to you, anon!!! Thank you so much for sending me this ask. I absolutely loved it! It's a fantastic idea and I think this sequence of events would be so interesting to explore through Joo Won's funny brain, especially in a time of tragedy. Hope you have a great day! 😊

[sab3rto0thed]

i don't believe in change in the usual sense―i don't believe people can change. if you are a small boy with daddy issues, then you will always be that person in some sense of the word. you can be thirty with children of your own, and it is my belief that a door in your face will always make you flinch.

i do believe in the death penalty, but only sometimes, because i am often wavering. you could argue that this is me changing, but i think my constantly-shifting attitude is just a facet of my personality. i am very good at playing the fool because half of the time, i am the fucking fool.

maybe i am just lying all over the place. maybe i do believe in the state of change, because i am constantly in one. maybe, if i was the storm, then you were the eye―and i was absolutely stoic in my belief that you would never hurt me. i tear down houses and you gently circle the damage, your thumb pressed up against mine. the calm after the storm, the rainbow after the rain.

call me the fool. call me the idiot. you text that girl all of the time, and i laugh it off. oh, i know how this goes. i know what it means when i am not the cool girl, precisely apathetic except for when we are having sex―you are not mine because i own nothing. text who you want, i am very good at acting like we are on the same level, as if i have let anyone touch me in three years.

tell me you don't love her like you love me―sex for sex's sake, you say, her hips and her eyes. when you slide your hands along my ribs, i imagine her feeble gasps. aren't we all just the same creatures, unwavering in our disbelief?

here was what i believed absolutely: you would never hurt me.

do you know how humiliating it is, to be so pathetic after i tell myself that i will not be pathetic for three whole years? do you know how awful it is, to work on covering those scars and narrowing those eyes and clenching those fists, only to be decimated by a boy with a small dick and an even smaller sense of self?

you tell me about your father, the man that abandoned you a few years after you were born. i do not tell you that my mother always reeks of cigarettes and how my own dad drank cough syrup to get wasted when he was on probation. i do not tell you how the fight that night was so loud i left the house for hours, absolutely on my own, and i crouched by the church in the dark. and nobody went after me.

oh, my god, dude. i don't tell you about the experience―your petty assumptions and frazzled attitude and hands on my waist would never understand. you preen about my writing―"the english teacher here would love you," you say, "i'll put in a good word." i don't need a good word, i don't give a damn what you've got to say―you haven't ever got the patience to read the things i write, anyway. when you dumped me and i sang to you, you scoffed, "jesus, this is like a whole essay." some of us at least put effort into our lies.

it is your girlfriend who reads my words―the one who thinks my assorted strands of hair are ethereal, that i gleam in the sun, that i am twice the actor you are and three times the writer. i don't tell her anything―i don't tell her about being fifteen and forced onto my bed, my bare freckled chest, the flimsy belt around my wrists, my frantic heartbeat. the rabbit, the rabbit. always the prey, an angel, a pretty little thing with a dainty waist and a soft voice.

you sing about your ex―how a night with her makes you want to slit your wrists. you don't have the guts to harm yourself, which seems to be a pattern with boys i date―obsessed though they are with the concept, when it comes down to it, they cower in the shower beneath the water stream. i never cowered―i would show you exactly how to angle the glass.

i wrote you a letter after we broke up, a scathing one that said god, i can't believe how hollow you are. i know that i am now added to the list of girls that make you want to slit your wrists―i can't blame you for that one, though. i mean, my bed is an awful place. you're telling me.

my friend always said that you are exactly the boy she would have imagined me with―fluffy hair, a nice smile, a guitar player, a pianist. a liar. my other friend tells me that she hears pianists are really good at fingering―i bury her alive, and then i find you and i punch you in the mouth and break all of your fingers. you don't need them, i promise. you suck at everything you do, including fingering. i remember you touched me for an hour and neither of us were smiling by the end.

i take the glass and press it to your palm, though―if you are going to be good at something, not including your shitty, lying lyrics, let it be this. you don't need your fingers for this, baby. i would know. just grit your teeth and find a good angle. there you go. that's it.

your girlfriend plays make me your queen by declan mckenna when you break up with me, and i am sure she is your queen now (lucky her!), but my offense is personal, because that song was dedicated to the girl i loved when i was thirteen, the one that slit her wrists and bled out in the bathtub. oh, i adored her. oh, are we seeing a theme here?

for a year, no one ever helped me. no one picked me up off the bathroom floor, wiped the blood from my mouth, steadied their hands. when you held me, i thought for the first time that i was safe with a boy. now, i blame you for the fact that i cannot like anyone unless they are brutal to me, unwinding my teeth, unraveling my waist, cracking my knuckles sideways. my body is terrible and disjointed and i am just a girl, really.

maybe it is this―maybe i was too mean for you, too rough around the edges. maybe that happened after―maybe i was a lying bitch, and that was our problem. you had already dated one lying bitch, and you couldn't have another. you know the type we are, with our untucked smiles and thin arms and best friends that hate you. you know.

perhaps it is this―i cannot love anyone that is not brutal to me because i have become all the more brutal.

[intolerancecare]

I have a classmate who was sang a song while approaching me. Like that crazy bastard. There are so many people who sings but it's different when it becomes a whisper. He also winked without any apparent reason. He is like that egyptian friend of that bastard. Same height as Jo? He is as crazy as them.

You and those effing internet people still thinks that I am head over heels crazy about him. I JUST WROTE THE STORY THAT DRAGGED ME TO HIM! He asked. He cried. I thought I should give it a try. He said he can't. I took my answer as invalid. He kept on sticking pretending he's a friend. He's confusing. No hard feelings. I allowed myself to just go with the flow. Like stepping on stones in a pond. Still shamed for considering him BEFORE HE GOT MARRIED! He humiliates me whenever he acts like he owns me because I am alone. I am always with friends, but he knows I am alone. How can you get away from him? What is good in that situation? That in my blog I wrote that I am taking the blame. Truth is, I want them to see that I am a victim. I also wrote that it was unrequited to let everyone know that I will not enter in an adulterous relationship. He is not handsome. Not rich. Not intellectual just clever. When he's name was given to be promoted, I deferred. I did not vouch. Just evasive. I worked with him, and I evaluated them whether they like it or not. He is just good with cleaning. That's all. His performance, if will appear expert, is because it was his routine for a long time. I think I also mentioned that our group prefers to be with him more than me. Because most of them are street learners if not adulterous, friends with adulterous. The oldest having 4 husbands. Money. Practical, street smart people. Not talented people.

My grandfather's brother married twice. One is an Australian. My mother said my grandfather had another child too. I don't believe her. Because his brother had, and they were accepted. My mother has distorted memory.

Arjun is not like them. My grandfather's brother was got separated then went home. Arjun was playing, pretending to be a friend. That was before and after his wedding. Indulging? He said I am insistent. like this? He continually whispered songs at work and stayed at my area even after I said that I like somebody else. I am not like him. I sing with my girlfriends. I did once to probe after his several try of teasing me and saying he is just indulging because I am insistent. He blocked me FB? HEAR YE... HE USES VIBER! Why are you tying me to him. I DON'T OWE HIM ANYTHING!

You think you will really love a man like that? I never liked him, but I kept my word. Not to him but to myself. If I really had a choice, I would not choose them. I was left to them. No man is an island. I was stucked with my Filipino co-workers. They know. Even Kuya Mon and Melojane knows that they were the one who approached me. I was just too elated (at work) to reject anyone. I had a different group of friends, but we were divided. I was left alone. Friends got married. Some left.

Second time that I was brought to rehab, I keep on asking them why and I keep on shouting this because this is the mistake that is almost a sin but never happened. I was stucked! I cried and shouted. Why? I PM'd them. I asked. I left KZ because I was struggling inside with other issue. I was moving on then, I have gotten away from him.

A lot of Filipino took a loan of around 250,00 and run away from Kuwait. I deserved to be locked? Imprisoned because of the F word? I was attacked before leaving KZ?

Kuya Mon? Girls and boys are possible friends in the Philippines. You think I am like arjun to him?! They keep on hanging out with us. GIRLS.

You can step away. I will not need that care. I hate it that I still have questions in my head. I tried. You know that almost everyone got married right? Why can't I try? Yeah, everything became haphazard after you. But I have learned.

[herrfivehead]

so if you only know ted from TGWDLM he just kinda seems like a dick at surface level. he sleeps with his married coworker (who tbf is also being cheated on with a much younger barista), he starts antagonizing bill in the doomsday bunker, he gets a little too invested in "working boys," and then when the hive is coming for paul and emma he fully intends on leaving them behind to escape in the chopper by himself.

and if you've watched NPMD and didn't know ted was pete's older brother, you might've been confused by tinky's line in "the summoning," when he says he wants to have a whole set of spankoffskis in his toybox.

this is because of a nightmare time episode called "time bastard," in which ted discovers his office is a time machine. he tries to go back in time to fix his past mistakes and get the girl he was always in love with (jenny), but actually ends up CAUSING these mistakes instead. even worse, he travels too far back, before his office was a functioning time machine, and now he's stuck 15 years in the past.

tinky, one of the lords in black that meddles with time, taunts him with this fact and gives him a box called "the bastard's box," where ted can hear himself trapped inside. it essentially breaks his brain, and with nowhere to go, he becomes the unhoused dude who sang about eating dogs or some shit in "la dee dah dah day." It's just wild that 15 years makes such a difference that ted can't even recognize himself when he looks at that guy.

in season 2 of nightmare time, there's an episode called "abstinence camp," and this is the ONLY canon instance we see of ted and pete interacting (even though NT2 did allow for the same actor to play multiple characters at once if they pre-recorded their lines, like jaime lyn beatty did in the following episode, pete was played by nick lang, who of course was replacing r*b m*nion as the "hot chocolate kid."). Ted's driving his brother to abstinence camp, less as punishment or belief but more as a rite of passage since he had to go through the same thing.

The reason ted drives as fast as he can out of the campgrounds is because there's a creature called Lumber Axe that kills anyone who so much as KISSES in his woods. halfway through the episode, pete is in camp solitary confinement and ends up finding one of ted's old porno mags stashed in the walls, and he knows it's ted because it literally has "property of theodore spankoffski" written on it. the fucking loser WROTE HIS NAME on his porn mag.

Also, you might be wondering what "hey melissa" is. Uh....don't worry about it. it's fucked up. it's an unofficial ep of nightmare time in which the production was scrapped but still recorded and put on youtube. essentially melissa (you know, mr. davidson's assistant) lures dudes into her apartment because she's part of a criminal organziation which believes dudes are...literal animals. not in the "men are dogs" kind of way, but as in "this man is literally a dog."

she keeps ted caged in her home with his fingers cut off to resemble a dog's paws, and would've done the same to paul, but paul pretends he's a cat to keep his fingers--as shitty as melissa is, at least she doesn't believe in declawing. ted does eventually get stabbed to death by melissa and her friends in that ep, so...i don't think the ep is badly written, it just feels like Dog Person Propaganda (TM)

actually, ted dies a lot. hatchetfield has multiple timelines, and you can bet he's dying in almost all of them.

TGWDLM: shot by mcnamara and turned by the hive

Black Friday: burns to death fighting for the wiggly doll that lex set on fire as his older self, implied to be nuked by the end of the musical as his current self

The Hatchetfield Ape-Man: shot by hidgens, bleeds out

Time Bastard: stabbed to death by an android and clone version of emma and paul, respectively (the episode "forever and always" is actually connected to "time bastard," as they have scenes which overlap), and then trapped in tinky's bastard box for eternity. basically for a brief moment in "time bastard" when ted visited the year 2104, he discovered CCRP was making an android out of emma's DNA and sent it to the past via the time machine where ted's office used to be. back in 2019, ted as the unhoused man crashes paul and emma's wedding, suddenly remembering CCRP's intentions, and yelling that the woman standing at the altar wasn't the real emma. of course he was right, and she and "paul 23," a CCRP clone of paul, kill ted because he nearly blew their cover.

Daddy: shot by sheila young, mother of sherman "one will be used exclusively for bathtime" young. let's just say it was a date gone wrong and sheila is a fucked up woman who acts as a conduit for the lords in black

Hey, Melissa!: See above

hi i have no intention of ever getting nightmare time because the zoom format is torture for me to watch but i am curious about the lore. what the hell is going on with ted

i've been laughing at this ask for like a full minute like. That's it. that's Nightmare Time in a nutshell

[bratbutcute]

You can't run away from yourself

Part 1 / Part 2

First of all, this is just a lil thing I wrote but it’s the first time I write in English so I’m kinda nervous (it goes without saying that English is not my first language).

Second of all, THIS IS A SPIDERMAN NO WAY HOME FIC IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT PLEASE DON’T READ IT. I don’t want the responsibility of any possible spoiler.

Third of all, this is a TICKLE FIC, if you don’t like, again, you’ve been warned.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: in my mind the different Spiderman are of this age.

Tom: 17, but in the fic he’s just mentioned.

Andrew: something between 25 and 30 (I refuse to believe this man is more than 30 yo, and yes I know he’s 38, but he’s not.)

Tobey: something between 37 and 40.

Just a little tease between two people who had enough of their tragic lives and just want some happiness.

~~

Peter bit his lower lip, a flustered expression on his face and an uncontrollable urge to giggle. He kept avoiding as much as he could to make eye contact with the man behind him.

The situation was quite absurd to be honest. Peter had found himself in this alternative universe a week ago with a younger and an older version of himself and fought alongside them. They encountered many enemies, some he had never met and some he unfortunately had.

After the weird magic man had healed his namesake from his wound, they were now waiting to be sent back to their original universes, but they were having some difficulties.

He didn't say anything, but he hoped that they could eventually find a way to communicate even in different universes. Even if the thought felt a bit egocentric, he actually liked these different versions of himself.

But to be completely honest, in that moment he wanted to murder one of them. His older self to be specific.

«So?» sing sang said man with a smile plastered on his face and a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

«Shut up!» he complained trying very hard to pout and fight his growing smile.

«You know you want to. You are literally me! I know I’d say yes if I were you.» Peter hid his face in his hands, trying to elude the teasing, but soon enough his Spider sense made him flinch and he instinctively caught the man’s wrist before he could land his attack. He looked down at the wiggling fingers of the other Spiderman and let a giggle slip.

«Was tha-»

«I said shut uhup!»

The other Peter smiled «Am I this obvious too?» and wiggled his fingers again. The younger squealed and immediately covered his mouth embarrassed, but there was still laughter echoing in the air.

«Stohop laughing! O my God yes! Yes, you are this obvious too!» he exclaimed, slightly shoving the man away.

«You are too pure for this world.»

«You do know you are saying this to yourself right?» they smiled at each other realising of how absurd all of this was.

«Well we are not exactly the same. We have our differences. We all have different physical appearances, we were born in different moments of time, we have different life experiences.» stated the older of the two, counting on the fingers of his captured hand.

Before he could add anything he was interrupted by an overly excited Peter, who was waiting to make a similar list since the moment they met: «But we also have a lot of things in common! Such as the people in our lives - well at least some names - or the interest for science, and-»

«And how ridiculously ticklish we are.» said thing was said with a grin.

«How can you just say this kind of stuff!?» complained Peter, covering his face. He couldn’t believe that one day, in a different universe, he had grown so confident that he could simply state such things without being overly embarrassed. Right now all he could do was feeling extremely self conscious about the blush on his cheeks and ears.

«At some point you stop being embarrassed and you simply start enjoying it. It saves a lot of time and frustration. And of course it's an excuse to mess around a little.» he put a hand on his shoulder, as to further reassure him. «Actually this brings us back to the question I asked you earlier.» he beamed, getting closer to the taller man.

«Do you want me to tickle you?»

This question was the result of the heartfelt conversation they just had, in which Peter stated that he needed to stop thinking for a moment and simply relax. In the back of his mind he actually pictured this scenario, but when he heard the words his mind stopped working.

«I-» he could feel his face burning with embarrassment. «You know you can’t just go and ask people this kind of things right?» Peter was really trying to sound pissed but that small and excited smile on his lips was the confirmation the older one needed to be sure he was really looking forward to it. He wondered how long had it been since the boy had just a little bit of fun, stress free.

«I think I just did. And… you know what? I’m going to ask this again. For the last time.»

He got closer and started pinching his sides, finding it absolutely adorable how such a simple gesture could elicit bubbly happy giggles from the man.

«Do. You. Want. To. Be. Tickled?»

In absolute ticklish agony Peter hiccuped an incoherent string of noises, trying to win his internal conflict. He actually did want to be tickled but the last person that he shared this gesture with was Gwen and.. he really didn’t want to think about her. But this kind of affection itself was something he had longed for some time now. He kind of needed that freedom to laugh and shut down all of his internal struggles and doubts for just a moment.

Since he couldn’t bring himself to answer, he let the chuckles flow, as Peter #2 lightly scribbled his sides.

Then it all stopped.

«Okay I'm tired, you don't get to choose anymore.»

«What do y-»

«Run.» when their eyes met goosebumps erupted on Peter’s skin, as he slowly realised what this meant. His heart raced in his chest, adrenaline pounding in his veins.

A shiver ran across his back, his webs ready to be shot as a small childlike smile started spreading on his face. Before he could ask anything he was met with the same request as before.

«Run.»

~~

Hi! I hope you liked this little fic.

Please let me know what you think! Any kind of feedback is appreciated (but please though make it constructive and not destructive, I have very little confidence rn).

And also, Merry Christimas and late solstice to you all ♥️ blessed be

[swimmingleo]

Changes: or to take the higher ground before it's too late

I'm going to be real here folks, I cry ugly tears to this song. Bad.

Changes is a song on Cam's album "The Otherside". It's country, it's folk and it's an album a bit influenced by changes in Cam's life (a change of label, personal life). She collaborated with Harry on the song Changes, as she opened for him on a venue and was already working with Tyler Johnson.

From what I gathered: Harry sent her the demo of the song, implying he made most of the writing on this one. What I'm basing this claim on is her interview for Rolling Stones (read it here):

I heard [the demo] and was just like, “Oh, this ache to outgrow something that you don’t want to outgrow!” It felt so good. I normally don’t take outside songs [...]

‼️DISCLAIMER‼️when analysing this song, I'm gonna go from the idea of it being written with a queer mindset (how surprising of me). Cam rendered the song beautifully and it is very much her own, but I believe Harry's input is consequential. After all that's his lil whistle and cute fishsona in the MV.

Sad queer analysis ahead.

Let's analyse the lyrics first:

There is a town

Somewhere down a country road

The speaker describes the town to us, from memory, from experience. "There it is, down the road, can you picture it ?"

I see it now

I take it everywhere I go

The speaker doesn't currently live in the town, they're on the move (nice throwback to the coutry road). But despite all the travelling, they realize the sedentary smalltown never leaves them. It's part of them. It left a mark on them.

The river sways, I can almost hear it now

As if to say, "You're not the only one who wants a way out"

The town is so real to the speaker they can sense it, eyes and ears. But it gets a bit dark: the river sways like it's trying to leave its bed. The river is envious of the speaker who managed to leave. The town is so toxic even nature wants to get away from it. Or the speaker resents the town so bad that they project their own resentment on the river.

So, I go

'Cause I don't wanna feel like I don't know you anymore

I memorize those roads

This is the call for the speaker to leave for good. Their motive doesn't seem to be ambitious or anything grand. They leave because they apprehend a feeling. Apprehending a feeling, something that may not even happen, is the way of an anxious person. Anxiety is the motive of their departure. However, they still memorize the roads leading to the town, just in case. Perhaps one day they'll come back.

Somewhere out in the big wild country

Someone's fallin' in love in a backseat

Givin' it away

Like their hearts won't ever break

Suddenly it's about love ! Young love, one that is lived in the small compartment of a car, somewhere hidden and safe in the big wild country. As if the countryside was unexplored and threatening.

God bless the young hearts sippin' cheap wine

Gettin' drunk with their friends for the first time

Thinkin' nothing's gonna change

'Til everything changes

The speaker looks at the youth with tenderness, wishing them the best. But once again, they're not in the town in the present time, they don't see the youngsters fooling around, they can only guess from first-hand experience. And it's very specific: falling in love, getting drunk with friends and thinking everything's gonna be easy like that forever until it's not and heartbreak ensues.

From there I hop in with the raw queer theme of those lyrics. It started by falling in love and it ended up in a heartbreak. In between, the speaker got drunk for the first time with their friends, people they trusted enough to let go a little, but in the end everything changed. Why ? Alcohol makes you forget about code of conduct, how you're supposed to behave. It makes you say or do things you might not have done sober.

We can interprete this chorus as the beginning of the end for the speaker. It's the only part of the song evocating the past, and it's fun and easy, but it's also where things started to get bad the way they are in the present. Something might have happened that first time the speaker got drunk and it marked the end of innocence and careless childhood, and it probably has to do with love as no other factor is provided apart from falling in love and heartbreak.

They never leave

They're all havin' babies now

Watchin' daytime TV

Livin' off the gossip of a cruel small town

They. With Harry, it's always You, Me, and They. They are having babies, all of them, like it's not a very difficult thing to do, it's just natural. They have the leisure of the day, not a thing to worry about, if not gossip. It's not implied anymore, the small town is downright cruel. Gossip fuels it, but on behalf of someone else, and that someone is most definitely the speaker who left and who describes its inhabitants in the most mundane way, perhaps with a hint of contempt. The speaker seems bitter.

So, I go

'Cause I don't wanna feel like you don't know me anymore

Don't recognize my face

Reprise of the pre-chorus except now, the speaker provides another reason for their departure. Not only they feared they wouldn't know the town anymore, they also feared being seen as a stranger. It's not like the speaker actually changed physically: but it might as well feel like it. Again, apprehension, anguish. As implied in the chorus, things changed to the point where the speaker feels they would seem like a whole another person to the rest of the town, a stranger, a threat to the integrity of the conservatives. So they leave before this shift in perception can happen.

There ain't nothing here for me anymore

They say they don't hear from me anymore

And I don't wanna hear it anymore

The town is not outwardly hostile. It's still the town that saw the speaker as a kid. The town doesn't understand why the speaker left, but the speaker won't give in and get in touch. They want to be as far away as possible, until they don't hear the questions, the river, everything. It's almost like the speaker doesn't carry the town in their heart at all. They want to forget it all, and it hurts everytime the town tries to lure them back in. The way Cam sings it is painful to me man

Somewhere out in the big wild country

I was fallin' in love in a backseat

Givin' it away

Like my heart won't ever break

Had such a young heart sippin' cheap wine

Gettin' drunk with my friends for the first time

Thinkin' nothing's gonna change

'Til everything changes

Yeah, just the confirmation of the chorus being the speaker's experience. I went ahead and assumed it was already lol but it's like a plot twist effect. It's dramatic. It's a personal song to someone.

TO MAKE IT SHORT to me this song is intense and very in touch with the queer experience. Though it describes a specific situation, it is surprisingly not that detailed or full of metaphors the way Harry often writes: this town could be literally any smalltown in the countryside. The backseat could be the one of any car, cheap wine is something any teen can afford. I like to think Harry wrote it for himself but is also aware so many people went through the same thing, and still will. I have to admit I'm heavily biased writing this, as the experience of a queer kid struggling to find their place in a well settled smalltown is familiar.

GETTING DRUNK AND QUEER IDENTITY is an analogy Harry already used in Fine Line when he sang "We'll get the drinks in so I'll get to thinking of her". To drink is to let go, to unveil the most subconscious aspects of yourself you might not want to deal with otherwise. You don't care about judgement and you get to explore those parts freely. In Changes, this is the last memory they recall before stating the changes and their departure. Perhaps getting drunk for the first time would be when they realized they're queer. Or acted upon it, causing their little world to shake. They chose to leave before it eventually wouldn't feel like a choice anymore. There is no life for people like them in a cruel smalltown.

SMALLTOWN BOY

This song reminds me an awful lot of Smalltown Boy by Bronski Beat. The song is about a queer boy having to leave the smalltown where he grew up because of persecutions and no future prospects.

Mother will never understand why you had to leave, Smalltown Boy

They say they don't hear from me anymore, Changes

But the answers you seek will never be found at home, the love that you need will never be found at home

There is nothing here for me anymore

Other people not understanding why they leave. People who can't truly empathize even when they mean no harm. They would never understand the speaker's departure, because those people get to find love and have babies and live a peaceful life in the countryside.

You were the one that they'd talk about around town as they put you down

Livin' off the gossip of a cruel small town

Yeah yeah. I really struggle with just seeing this song as nostalgia when such harsh words are being used. I do believe there is a part of fondness for that town, that countryside setting and the early days. But it's not all tender memories.

CHANGES AND ERODA

Of couuuurse we all noticed the adorable purple fish with the pearl necklace. It represents Harry, no question, as it whistles Harry's part. And of couuuuurse we all made the link with the erodian fish, and some even noticed they formed the bluegreener pair when their colors are inverted.

It makes sense for those fishes to be connected with this interpretation of Changes. Both works are about a small town, lost in the nature, where the people are watching, aware of everything that isn't normal, that is peculiar. The early life of the peculiar boy is similar in every way to the early life of the speaker in Changes. The fish in Adore You grows too big for the island and has to leave, and though Eroda makes amends with the peculiar boy, he leaves as well because his future, his fulfilment, is somewhere else. So does the speaker in Changes.

IN CONCLUSION

The more I write posts like this, the more endeared I am by Harry's world. How Harry writes for himself, but also for other people with songs like this. How nature finds its way in all that he does. How grounded he is, how he doesn't seem to forget where he came from. It really is such a rare thing to see in a mainstream popstar's writing and art. How can someone say he sold his soul to LA is beyond me

[issaxcharlie]

Ghost Of You 2/2

Pairing: Ghost! Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

Summary: Luke, Reggie and Alex have to assimilate their loss. For Luke of his girlfriend, and for the others of their best friend after suddenly learning that she didn’t have the future they imagined, and instead died 23 years ago.

Thank you to @cookiebuba for being the head of the entire idea and trusting me with it, and to Emy for almost holding my hand to force me to write🤣💜

PART 1 HERE

“It can’t be.”

“Luke, I-”

"No, Julie. You are not telling me that the woman of my life, the purest person who has ever stepped on this world, not only lost her partner and her best friends, but was only able to live her life for two more years and then ended in a horrible accident. It's as if life wanted to torture her before taking her too.”

“Love of ?... Zeppelin shirt you wore when you ran away. Of course.”

“I- It can’t be true, please tell me it’s not true, Julie.”

“Luke... she loved you so much.”

He falls on the floor. The impact is strong, as if his legs have stopped working.

"I know." He whispers slowly, his gaze empty as multiple tears fall from his eyes.

The rest of the gang threw themselves to the ground around him and hugged him with all their might, trying to unite his broken pieces without any success. Alex and Reggie each crying silently over the loss of their sweet friend.

“What day did she pass away? Alex whispers.

"Let me search, one moment." Julie gets up quickly and checks on her laptop to find a little note about the singer's death.

"The rising singer Y/N Y/L who had just released the biggest hit of her career passed away this afternoon in a terrible car accident after leaving the cemetery where her late boyfriend, Luke Patterson, was buried. Y/L was there in commemoration of the 2 years of the loss of the aspiring musician, who died from a sudden tragic intoxication along with the rest of his band. Something to rescue from this tragedy is that at least she's already reunited with her eternal love. May both rest in peace.”

“This can’t be. My Y/N can’t be gone. Not her, not like that.” Luke is still in denial, unable to believe that his little girl suffered such a terrible ending.

“Maybe she’s not. There's still a chance that she's also a ghost.”

“Yeah, Julie’s right. We need to look out for her, we can't write her off without trying to find her first.” Reggie's eyes sparkle with hope, rushing to cover Alex's mouth in case he says anything other than motivating.

Luke takes his flannel and disappears immediately. Both Reggie and Alex stare sadly at Julie who simply whispers a "go, he needs you." They nod and teleport to their friend.

As expected, Luke is in front of the window of an old music store. He met his girlfriend here so many years ago, the day his parents agreed to buy him his first guitar.

The store had a small section where customers could try out some instruments and she was playing the guitar they had there and singing for the small audience. It seemed like it was something she did often because both the workers and certain customers seemed familiar with the girl.

Luke was captivated by her from the first moment. The energy and passion that radiated from her in every move was unreal. He had never seen anyone happier, much less singing with a borrowed guitar from a small downtown store.

The store is completely abandoned, so without saying anything he comes in and walks towards the small stage.

The ghosts of two 12-year-old kids singing together into the microphone invades his memory. If they only knew.

"Do you remember what was the first thing she said to you?" Reggie and Alex sit next to him on the floor, looking straight at the very small stage. They both try to imagine what their friends must have looked like singing here together the first time. Luke totally invading little Y/N's presentation trying to captivate her with his 0% music experience and 100% of enthusiasm.

Luke laughs through tears. "You have the voice of a country singer."

Alex starts crying when he imagines her. He met her just a few weeks later so he knows exactly how she must have looked and sound.

Reggie smiles while shedding a tear, remembering all those afternoons Y/N convinced Luke to join them in their country sessions. He knows that's why Luke hasn't wanted to know anything about country or his songs since they got back. They remind him of his sweet girl.

“I was so offended. I still didn't know anything about music but I had already decided that I would be a rocker. If I hadn't already been so dazzled by her I would have left without looking back.”

“And what did you answer to defend your honor?”

"You think so?" The three of them start laughing while still crying. A heartbreaking mix of pain comes from their chests.

“C’mon guys, next stop.”

The three of them were teletransporting around the city during the day without any success. Luke's desperation increasing for every place the songwriter wasn't.

At night the three decide to go back to the studio. Luke is heartbroken, bloated after crying all day, eyes red and sore, and whatever it was that was driving him to continue, off.

His friends couldn't do much for him either because each was living the loss in their own way, concentrating on living their own pain until they could process it.

Julie wraps them in blankets on the couch and tries to fill them with love, making sure to hug Luke tightly, who seems about to fall apart.

“Does anyone want to talk about her? Maybe it could make you feel better.”

“She was my entire soul, the words and melody in each of my songs. I just, I love her more than anything in this world. I would give anything for her. My guitar, my voice, my songs, whatever it took for us to be together. I know it doesn't seem like it at this point, but we belong together.”

“We know you do, man.”

“I didn't tell you but I dream about her almost every night since we got back. It is always the same dream. She is in bed, leaving my side intact. She's wearing one of my shirts and hugging my favorite one while sobbing. She falls asleep listening to the ballad I wrote for her soaked in tears and no matter how hard I try to wake her up, I can't get her to see or hear me. I can’t get her. After a few minutes she gets up still asleep and begins to dance as we did so many times, but alone. Then she stops and starts crying again inconsolably. And that's when I wake up."

"I'm so sorry, Luke. She deserved so much more." Reggie walks over to hug him, his head resting on his arm while he sobs.

“We couldn't even say goodbye to her.” Alex cries, his eyes completely red.

“We already know that she visited your graves, perhaps we could do the same, dedicate a few words to her.” Julie offers in an attempt to help them find some peace.

Luke looks devastated, but he nods his head as tears continue to fall from his face, the ring that his girlfriend gave him going in and out of his finger. Alex hugs Julie while she strokes his hair in an effort to calm him down and Reggie runs up to get a notebook and pencil to start planning what to say to his best friend tomorrow.

The three of them hang around all night, crying, writing, hugging, remembering the spark of Sunset Curve. In the morning before going to visit her, they realize is exactly the 25th anniversary of that tragic night that changed the lives of the four forever. Luke nearly punches a hole in the wall upon hearing the sad coincidence.

Her grave is right next to Luke's, who has never been here before and can't help but feel a bit anxious.

“Don’t worry, I’ll start.” Reggie tells the guitarist as he takes a step forward, a small smile on his lips.

"Hello, princess. Long time, huh? I'm Reggie, by the way. In case you don't recognize me from the slight change in my hair. I am trying a little more gel, I want something more elegant and classic. What do you think? Yes, I also thought you would like it.” Julie and Alex smile at hearing him talk to her as natural as possible.

“I tried very hard to think of what to say, because if there is anyone who deserves my best words, it is you. And three things came to mind that I want to share with you.

First, the color yellow.

Yellow like the guitar you were saving for two years to buy. You did everything. You were a babysitter, you walked dogs, you worked in the school library, you sang with your old acoustic guitar in every cafe, basically everything that will let you win some money.

And the day before you could finally go buy it, my dad broke my bass in a moment of anger in one of his typical fights with mom that got really out of hand. At least he didn’t hurt her, huh? But when you're a kid you don't even think about the possibility that something like that could happen, you just focus on the broken instrument in your hand. I ran out and ended up on the stairs of your house with my face soaked and one of the broken pieces in my hand.

You hugged me and promised that everything would be fine. That I was always going to have you four and that we would always be family. You assured me that good things happen to good people. And I believed you, you know? You were always right. But now that I'm here, that I know you didn't have the happy ending you deserved, I'm honestly not so sure anymore.”

Luke and Alex start crying again, each hugging Reggie from one side. Reg tries with all his might to continue through the tears, while Julie looks at them with a broken heart.

“The next day when I came back from school a new bass was on my bed. You talked to Mom so she could take the credit for the gift, but coincidentally was exactly the bass that I fell in love with a year earlier when we went to check if your beloved yellow guitar hadn't dropped in price. Luke revealed to me a few months later that you had to borrow money from your mom in order to complete the exact money for that one.

How generous do you have to be in order to do something like that? how noble? How loving? How selfless? You were always more than I deserved. I was supposed to be like an older brother for you, but it was always you who took care of me. I have Julie and Carlos, and I'm trying to be with them as you were with me. I had the best step sister in the world to teach me, and I hope I can do you justice.” Julie starts crying too after hearing his words, and resists the urge to going to hug him because she knows that they need their space to let go all the suffering that they carry.

“Second, my leather jacket.

When we started the band we made a 100% commitment to being rockstars. And a very important part is the look. You accompanied me on a walk around the city looking for the right outfit to literally go sing to the people who were lining up in front of the clubs.

Anyone could have left me alone on that for multiple reasons, not even these two wanted to face the trouble. But you followed me without thinking twice.

The afternoon was over and we still haven't found anything. Our feet couldn't take it anymore and we had 10 minutes to run to the club. But we stopped by a little store that had a black leather jacket in the window and you said, Reg, this is it.

You excitedly took me by the hand and when I tried it on, the rest was history.

Then I tried to get the whole band to use them but these two boys without fashion sense didn’t want to. You, on the other hand, supported me and wore your leather jacket during all the Sunset Curve performances we had, convincing me that they were our good luck charms and that if we both used them everything would be amazing. Oh god, I miss you so much.

And third, a star.

I thought you were a star when I heard you sing for the first time.

I thought you were a star when you and Luke managed to write the whole Sunset Curve album in 2 months.

I thought you were a star when you bought me my bass, when you made Alex feel better after one of his strongest attacks, when you filled Luke with love and support when he needed it the most.

And I believe it now that I know you are gone.

If you are in heaven, you have to be a star. And not just a star, the brightest star of all. I promise to look for your light every night to wish you sweet dreams. I will also sing you some country since you were the only one who appreciated my incredible sound, I hope it makes you smile.”

“That was beautiful, Reggie. I’m sure she loved it.” Julie finally reaches out to hug him as Alex prepares to be next.

“Hey. I don’t even know where to start.

I- I guess I should start saying I could never pay you all the times you were there to pick me up when I needed someone the most. I went back to dancing a little again. It's not the same without you, but somehow it makes me feel you close. I also met someone, oh Y/N, he’s so special, I'm sure you would have loved him and I would have loved the opportunity to introduce him to you. You were always there.

You were there to support me when I decided to learn drums to cope with my anxiety. You sang the song I was practicing over and over to keep me company and reassure me that what I was doing sounded good.

You were there to support me when I told you I like to dance. We spent hours choreographing different iconic songs and just laughing and enjoying creating more memories together.

Not shocking at this point but you were also there for me when I confessed to my parents I’m gay and you gave me strength all those times that I wanted to fall because they no longer saw me the same way.

You were always my safe place. And I regret with all my heart that I couldn’t be yours.”

Alex breaks down. She kept them on their feet during her darkest days and they paid her off by causing her the most horrible pain imaginable. Julie and Reggie surround her in their arms while sobbing. The last one of the band standing moves closer to the grave and drops to his knees.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so fucking sorry.” Luke tries to be strong, but tears start falling like waterfalls from his eyes, his face red in a mixture of despair, sadness and anger.

“I will never forgive myself for leaving you alone. Baby, I've been without you for only 1 month and I’m going crazy, even with the boys and Julie by my side. I don't even want to imagine what you must have been through those two years. My soul is shattered just thinking about it.

At first when we returned I imagined you were happy after having fulfilled all our plans with someone else. And I thought nothing could hurt me more than that, but obviously I was wrong. Because although it hurt me that I couldn’t be the one who was with you, thinking that you had been happy gave me the peace to be able to continue. Now that I know that life took away your opportunity, the only thing I feel is anger.

Anger towards me, anger towards destiny. Anger at not being able to be together even after death. Since we discovered where you are, I have only been able to think of cross over and finally be with you again.

Or at least go back to the night before everything turned into a nightmare. Fall asleep with you in my arms one more time.

I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss, as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“Hello again, my love.

I can't believe 25 years have passed. First of all, I want you to know that I'm okay. Or well, the equivalent for ghosts that are destined to haunt the earth alone for all eternity. I made a friend for several years, Rose. I told you about her, remember? I know you guys would have been good friends, she was a ridiculously talented musician. Since she died I no longer had the strength to go back to the studio, but for a long time I enjoyed her company in one of my favorite places. She promised to tell you that I'm waiting for you. I will wait whatever time is necessary, okay? I love you so much, baby.

You three are always on my mind, and I think I can finally accept that the pain is just never going to go away. But lately something super strange has happened to me, let me tell you.

Throughout these years, in the darkest days, I see you. But, they were always memories.

A month ago, I started to see you having other kinds of experiences and I honestly don't know how to feel about it. Am I going that crazy? I selfishly hoped that you too were ghosts for so many years. I looked for you 5, 10, 15, 20 years. And just as I decide to give up, my head imagines you all over the city.

The first time I saw you singing Reggie's jam on the beach. You guys looked so happy, love. It filled my heart with peace for a few seconds, knowing that somewhere up there you are enjoying life singing together all day.

Then I saw my beloved Alex with a cute boy. My heart melted, I can’t even explain how much I wanted to run to hug him and gossip about it.

Baby, he looked so peaceful. I always wanted that for Alex. I didn't know whether to be happy or cry because that didn’t actually happen, so I did both.

The penultimate time was a few nights ago when I was walking in front of the Orpheum and I heard your voices. How wicked my mind is, right? A knife to the heart would hurt less.

And now, I can't even get close to your grave because I'm imagining you all again.”

Y/N doesn't know what to do, if she gets close enough will they disappear? What If they don’t? Will she bear to see them up close? She has been dancing with their ghosts in her dreams for so many years, but It’s not the same as doing it when she is fully awake.

She is about to run out of there in fear when the silhouette of a fourth person catches her attention. She doesn't know why, but it immediately reminds her of Rose. Could it be that she is imagining her friend too?

Curiosity is stronger than fear, like all those times when she got into trouble with her boys. She walks carefully towards her grave which is next to her beloved Luke.

“I swear I even miss your snoring and you biting my cheek after your goodnight kiss as you would say, in a gesture of love.”

“I don't freaking snore, I told you a million times already... and now I'm talking with my imagination, great.”

The band turns in shock towards the fifth voice. That's when she can see the girl's face and realize who she is.

“Julie? But, how?”

“Y/N?” Alex whispers on the verge of passing out.

She starts to panic, just before the boys can do something about it, a new person appears behind her.

“Hey, you took a long time." She turns around and jumps into the arms of who has become her only friend in recent years.

“Phoenix, thank god.” Her body continues to shake but she clings tightly to her friend while crying uncontrollably.

To say the ghosts are confused would be an understatement. And apart from that, the guitarist is having many conflicts with the jealousy that he is feeling at the moment. They haven't seen each other in 25 years and when they finally do, she runs into someone else's arms and clings to him like her life depends on it.

What does that mean for them? Is it too late?

“Beautiful, what's wrong? Who are they? Oh, wait. You guys were at the club a few weeks ago, you're friends with Willie, right?”

Luke feels like dying all over again hearing him call her that. She continues to shake but finally lets go.

“What? You can see them?”

“Shouldn’t I?” He looks at her skeptical and shifts his eyes from her to the ghosts.

“I- Oh my god. I'm going to pass out.“

“Baby, look at me.” Luke’s voice is a mix between a plea and a demand. The terror of knowing that perhaps he has already lost her without having had the opportunity to fight for her clouds his judgment and tears begin to fall from his face again.

25 years. 25 years fighting not to forget his voice. 25 years having him only in dreams, in memories, in melodies. 25 years waiting for him. 25 years on her own.

She turns slowly to meet those honey-green eyes she craved for so long to see, a painful smile from Luke makes her smile through tears.

She carefully lifts her right hand and gently draws it to his cheek, almost exploding at the feel of it.

“You came back. Oh my, It’s really you.” She jumps to the guitarist, entwining her legs at his hips, her arms tangled with all her strength around him, her head buried in his neck inhaling his scent. Tears coming out as if to drown her, all the pain and suffering that she faced all these years finally leaving her body.

Luke wraps her tightly in his arms, still unable to process what’s happening.

Alex and Reggie begin to smile without fully assimilating what is happening, while Julie begins to jump of joy.

“Babygirl, I'm sorry to ruin the moment but I have to rush to the club. Will you be okay here?"

“She's always safe with me." The guitarist growls, and Y/N starts laughing when she hears it.

"The jealous, protective baby in the beanie is right, don't worry Nix. I’ll go and find you later."

Phoenix nods with a smile and disappears. Julie begins to scold Luke while Reggie and Alex approach to touch the cheek of their best friend, still in the arms of the guitarist who does not seem to have any intention of letting go.

“We should go home to catch up. Reggie and I will accompany Julie, it seems that you two should speak alone first." Luke doesn't think twice and disappears with her in his arms.

“Good things happen to good people.” Reggie whispers as he hugs his friends and they start walking home.

Luke and Y/N reappear in the studio and they are both shocked for a few seconds. The girl trembles again in fear of dreaming.

“Hey, come here baby. Shh, I’m here, I promise.”

“Don’t leave me ever again, please.” He can see that it is very difficult for her to understand that is really happening, and to think that she lived without him not 2 but 25 years makes him want to cry again.

“I won’t. I promise, beautiful. Never again.” Luke wraps her in his arms, but she lifts her head from his chest to push her lips against his. The kiss is urgent, but they both instantly recognize each other and fit in perfectly. Luke picks her up again and gently lays her down on the couch, both desperate to feel the other, to recognize every inch.

“I missed you so much baby, I love you more than anything.” Luke whispers between kisses, not willing to have her an inch away from him.

“I love you my love. I love you, I love you, I love you.” She says while kissing the love of her life, happy for the first time in 25 years.

Before things get to escalate, the rest of the band shows up in the studio followed by Julie who clearly walks through the door.

"Let go of her man, it's our turn!" Y/N gets up quickly from the sofa while her boyfriend complains and she throws herself at both of them who pick her up as best they can and spin her in the air.

They put her down and Julie and her stare each other, both raise their arms and meet in a quick but sweet hug.

“You said my name back there, how?” The question that she has stuck since she met her finally coming to light.

“I met your mom many years ago when I came to visit the studio and realized that she could see me. We were friends for many years and I had the opportunity to see you grow up, but I always made sure to be upstairs when you came in in case you could see me too.”

“Well, now I understand how Carlos felt when he found out that we lived with ghosts. And It sounds like mom watches over us both from heaven.”

“Yeah, I’m sure she does.” Both girls smile and hug each other once more.

“I can't believe I endured 25 years without having those beautiful arms around me.” She whispers as they both lie on the couch, Luke has her completely cornered in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, baby. It breaks my heart that you have suffered that much for so many years.”

“It was not your fault. You lost as much as I did that night. Besides, I always knew that you would find me sooner or later. We belong together.”

“We do. I, I k-know we have way more to talk about but, who was the dude from the cementery?”

The insecurity in his voice is evident and Y/N can't help but smile. His emotions are complex, real, and nothing can make her happier than that.

“I’ll tell you all about my friend later, okay? For now... dance with me? I want to dance with the real deal.” He smiles and they both stand up, hugging each other as they slowly move through the studio as they did many times before life separated them.

The Luke in her arms is her Luke, the same one she has been waiting for so many years, finally back in her arms. And just as she thought when she lived, she will dance with his ghost for all eternity.

Thank you for reading✨✨

Taglist: @writerinlearning, @ghostofmgg @strangerthanfanfiction713, @thebloodthirstyvampress, @kinda-really-lost, @kcd15, @magnet-girl, @aliandthephantoms, @stxrkspidey, @pinkrockstar19, @s0uz4s, @shycupcakealissa @cookiebuba, @fangirlangioma, @sageellsworth05, @twist3dtinkerbell, @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve, @caitsymichelle13, @ifilwtmfc, @luckylouiebug, @bibliophilewednesday, @totomoshi, @siennanoelle01, @lunashadow6955, @bookfrog247, @morganayennefertyrell, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @rachelle3musicals, @imsydneywalker, @really-dont-forget-it @agentstarkid @talksoprettyjjx @kaitieskidmore1 @lukeys-giggle @katie-navarro @crybabyddl @cocopuffs0211 @marvel-ousnesss @blackhood5sos @tessxblxckthorn

Goy tags: @eternalharry @xplrreylo

[queenlucythevaliant]

What's a song* that you love that it seems like no one else in the world has heard of or appreciates?

*other forms of media also count

Oh! Oh! Let me tell you about my favorite song in the whole world.

It's "How Can I Keep From Singing," the hymn. In itself, not terribly obscure or underappreciated.

However, there's one particular choral arrangement (the arranger's name is Robert Hugh) that's dearer to me than I can possibly describe. It's not even on Spotify, and trust me, I know. I have listened to every single song on Spotify with "How Can I Keep From Singing" in the title and the word "choir" or "choral" in the artist's name trying to find it. It's not there. There's something close-ish, but I just can't stomach it. There are, however, a few live concert recordings of the Hugh arrangement on YouTube that I hoard like a dragon. This one is the best, I believe.

There are several reasons I adore both this song and this specific arrangement.

1. Both the lyrics and the melody are beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. Just listen. I'll put the lyrics under the cut, because I know it will be tough to catch everything in the YouTube video.

2. This arrangement is unique. It starts in crisp, clear unison (usually with a soloist, but in the version I linked they just repeat the first verse twice). The second verse and continuing it cascades the different vocal parts, creating a kind of echo. It also uses the first verse of "Amazing Grace" as a descant during the third, final verse. At the very end, it builds to a glorious, ringing sustained note that you can feel in very air if you perform/hear it live.

3. It also includes verses that other arrangements tend to neglect. Verses two and particularly three deal with suffering rather vividly; I don't think I've heard another arrangement that includes verse three.

4. Other arrangements also make smaller lyrical choices that I think weaken the piece. For example, most versions have "I hear the sweet, though far off hymn/that hails a New Creation." The Hugh arrangement says, "I hear the real, though far off hymn," emphasizing the truth of our hope, not just its sweetness. Much more powerful in my opinion. Likewise, lots of versions say, "...while to that refuge clinging." Hugh's arrangement uses, "...while to that rock I'm clinging." It's more vivid and again more powerful in my opinion, though familiarity bias could be involved.

5. This song is joy to me. It makes me smile and my heart swell, always, always. I listen over and over when I'm suffering with curse fatigue. I once wrote an 8-page essay on how this song is the epitome of Biblical joy (9th grade; I still have it, and it definitely could have been far longer).

6. It's also hope to me. Both our present hope and our eternal hope in Christ are beautifully, eloquently gripped in this song. It's a rebuke to a world that doesn't understand that man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

7. Personal connection. I'm a long-time choir girl, and was part of the same choral program through a local university basically from elementary school through my senior year of high school. The program was composed of several choirs through which you matriculated by audition as you got older. In the spring, during the one concert at which all six choirs performed, we always finished with this piece performed by all the choirs together. In my mind, when I hear this arrangement of this song, I am standing on the risers in my floor-length performance black. I am surrounded by fullness of sound and by other beautiful voices who, by Common Grace, are all praising God together even if they do not know it.

8. I've been singing this song (what feels like) my whole life. I learned what a death knell was because of this song. I sang it for years with my choir. I sang it at my nana's funeral. I am singing it now.

Lyrics

(typed out by me, so the typographical choices are mine. Color coding the last verse for your convenience):

My life flows on in endless song

above Earth's lamentation;

I hear the real, though far-off hymn

that hails a new creation.

Above the tumult and the strife,

I hear its music ringing!

It sounds an echo in my soul:

how can I keep from singing?

(Repeat)

(How can I keep (how can I keep ( how can I keep from singing?)

.

What though the tempest round me roars,

I hear the truth; it liveth.

What though the darkness round me close,

songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm

while to that Rock I'm clinging.

Since Love is Lord of Heaven and Earth,

how can I keep from singing?

(Singing, singing, singing, singing...)

.

(Amazing grace)

When tyrants tremble sick with fear

(how sweet the sound)

and hear their death knell ringing;

(that saved a wretch)

when friends rejoice both far and near,

(like me!)

how can I keep from singing?

(I once was lost-- but now I'm found;)

In prison cell and dungeon vile,

('twas blind-- but now--)

our hopes to them are winging.

(I see)

When friends, by shame, are undefiled,

how can I keep from singing?

(Singing, singing, singing, singing)

HOW CAN I KEEP FROM SINGING?

How can I keep from singing?

[themirrormarches]

i wrote some more stuff about August and his past.

(tw for: anxiety, abusive relationships, abuse, violence, and swearing.)

"Hmm hmm... you didn't have to look my way.. your eyes still haunt me to this day... but you did, yes you did.. hm hmm.." August quietly sang remnants of a song he heard a few months back. He was trying to straighten up his respective bottom bunk bed, remaking it after the frantic nightmares he had last night had messed it all up. The nightmares were more common now than they were. He heard the approaching footsteps and the opening of the door. "Hello, honey!" He chimed. No response. August turned around to see where they had gone.

"Max? What's wrong?" He asked sheepishly. Max's strong, unwavering gaze moved to August. "What? Do I make you nervous?" He asked back. "No, not at all," August quickly responded, returning back to his chore. There was a tense silence.

"You could have waited, you know."

"For what?" August turned back towards Max. "You know what. Don't lie to me," he answered coldly. August had no idea what he was talking about. He paused to think, but he couldn't think of anything. "I.. I don't know what you're talking about-" "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Don't lie," Max chastised. Oh. He suddenly remembered what he was talking about. Now it made sense. "Do you mean... that?" "Yes, that," he answered.

"Look, can't we move on from that, Max? Put the past in the past-" "No. Be quiet." August flinched and drew himself away from the other man upon hearing his harsh, cutting voice. "You were with a girl. A girl! But aren't I enough for you, August? I'm the man you're meant to be with!" Max angrily exclaimed at him. He just drew back further. "She was my friend. The same that taught me that lovely song. I haven't seen her in months!" August shouted right back. He was suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled up to his feet.

"Do you expect me to believe that stupid fucking lie?! Do you think I'm stupid?!" He did nothing but try to get away. "N-No, you aren't stupid- you're very smart. I'm sorry for thinking you were dumb, Max-" "Remember August, you are meant to be with me and only me. Nobody else can be with or near you. Got it?" August had enough. "No! L-Let me have my own life outside of our relationship!-"

SLAP.

August immediately recoiled in shock, holding his face. "You want more? Maybe a knocked out tooth? Or a bloody nose?" Max asked mockingly. "N-No... I don't," the other man answered distantly. "Good," he said, harshly ruffling August's hair. "Now who do you belong to?" "You.." Max smiled and kissed his companion's forehead. "That's right."

August didn't sleep well that night.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #08

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** TW/suicide of family member implied (it is marked ahead with ((text)) so you know what to skip) ~POV shift Mori~ In my old life I had spent 4 or so years as a historical reenactor for the mid 1700's through early 1800's on my weekends. My group mainly acted as pirates/privateers and sang sea shanties. We had done performances on different ships, but every time we were invited onto a period ship I couldn't make it, so I was geeking out when I saw the ship we'd be taking to Sindria. I prayed it didn't show on my face. Sure it was exciting for an other world's nerd like me to get to see a ship like this in use, but to everyone else it was a normal ship. The ship had two masts -both square rigged with a fore and aft sail at the back for better steering. Considering the reputation for the waters around Sindria I expected a bigger three mast ship for strength, but who was I to judge?

With only two masts, this ship probably only needed a crew of about nine people to allow for different shifts. It didn't look like it had room for many passengers. No doubt, Sinbad didn't expect to be bringing four extra people back with him. I was in full on research mode by the time I got on the ship, and I tired my best to not stand out or get in the way. Getting to look up at the rigging from on the deck was an experience. After everyone was settled I'd definitely make a point to look around more. I might even take one of the scrolls out and try drawing the deck of the ship since I never got around to drawing that gorgeous room in the hotel. I considered myself lucky that no one tried to talk to me until the rooms were being divided out -I had been hyperfixating so I might not have even noticed if they did.

Studying the ship could only boost me for so long. About 15 minutes before we left the port I could no longer ignore that my head was throbbing from exhaustion. This headache was undeniably becoming a migraine if it wasn't one already. I decided that sleep was the next thing on my agenda. Luckily, I made that decision around the same time the rooms were being divided out. I had figured I'd end up in the same room as Alibaba, Aladdin and Morgiana, but Alibaba was put in the same room as Ja'far and Masrur. Everyone put their bags down, and headed back on deck except me. I sat on my bed with my head in my hands as I started to let myself fully calm down. In the quiet it hit me just how much I had been using working on the scrolls as a way to avoid thinking about my guilt and lost home. I'd have to find time when no one else was in the room to work through these feelings. There was no way I could keep it bottled up until we reached Sindria. "Excuse me, Miss Mori?" Aladdin had re-entered the room and closed the door. We might not have been formally introduced but he was told who I was. "What is it?" I lifted my head to look at him, and tried to keep my expression positive. I felt the waves rising. A Magi was talking to a Prophet in private; something was bound to happen. The walls of the ship creaked, and I heard steps and the floor boards creak in the hallway. The wave got a little bigger. Silence hung in the air as the boy just stood there. Instead of trying to guess what he wanted I waited. His hands tightened around his staff. Aladdin looked nervous as he confronted me. "I know you say you've read Fate, but I don't think Fate is something written in stone. It's something that everyone makes together. It can always change." The hallway floor creaked behind the Magi again. The wave was getting bigger. Someone was definitely listening in, and there was only one King that was a chronic eavesdropper.

"I agree," I said bluntly. I wanted Sinbad to hear my answer. Ten years ago, he came to the conclusion that Fate was something already written as a way to cope with his guilt and trauma, and he thought he was 'the chosen one' for being able to read ahead through the waves, but he was wrong on both accounts. "You do?” Aladdin was surprised. It must sound weird coming from someone who read Fate. "I've read more than one Fate for this world, so I know there is no one true path." The manga, anime and OVAs were a little different after all. "And if Fate couldn't be changed then I couldn't be here." I turned so I was sitting facing him. "You see, I wasn't in any of the Fate I read. I wasn't even in this world until five days ago." The magi took a few steps towards me with wide eyes. Aladdin had felt very alone for not being from this world -now he would know he wasn't the only one. It wasn't a reveal that caused problems on its own when Aladdin explained in the original so I didn't see an issue in letting Sinbad overhear about me either- I had already implied as much the previous day. I felt the need to elaborated. "Everything I do changes the Fate I read because I wasn't here. For example, only one of the Fates I read showed the conversation where you all found out about the Kou Fleet. Remember how I yelled at Alibaba? If I didn't convince him to leave then King Sinbad would have knocked him out, and Alibaba would be kept asleep with medicine for this whole trip. Since I was there this time, I was able to change that." "Oh!" He brightened up a bit. "I much prefer things this way." "I agree. Like this it will be much easier for him to heal." I looked down at my intertwined hands. "I have no idea how this will change the Fate I read though." Aladdin hummed a question mark, but he didn't say or ask anything directly. I answered the obvious question to my words, "I can't read a Fate that I'm a part of, so now that I'm here I can't read how my actions are changing Fate. Eventually, the Fate I did read will become useless, and I have no idea if I'm changing it for the better." It was only as I said it that I remembered that Sinbad was listening. I had basically just told him that my usefulness as his Prophet would have a definite expiration date. All I had wanted was to let Aladdin know that he might not be able to rely on me for everything. I definitely wasn't thinking clearly. Aladdin cut into my thoughts. "Is that why the Rukh are so active around you? Because you weren't originally a part of the Flow of Fate?" "Probably." I didn't know what else to say. I knew I had to be making distinctive waves in the Rukh just by being here, let alone with all of my changes. "Miss Mori, where are you from?" I hummed in amusement at that. "I'm from much farther away than you or your parents-if you can believe it." I was from the same world as the person who wrote the original Fate of this world. There was no way I could tell anyone that. He was shocked again. It was written all over his face that he was questioning if I was really from a dimension farther away than Alma Torran. Aladdin gripped the flute that he always wore. "Then... Are you the person he didn't recognize?" "He?" Which 'he' -oh. I lowered my voice. "Ugo?" I put one finger over my lips and looked at the door. Sinbad has to remain ignorant about the Sacred Palace; he's too self-absorbed. Aladdin looked confused at my change in volume. He followed my gaze to the door and back then nodded. He didn't look all that surprised that I knew about Ugo. I kept my voice low. "Aladdin, let's talk more about this some other time. The walls have ears on such a small ship. And I'm exhausted." "Okay. Rest well, Miss Mori." Aladdin spoke at normal volume. I heard a scramble in the hallway, the magi left, and I put my glasses in the top of my bag for safe keeping. I could hear Aladdin through the wall. "Oh! Mr. Sinbad, Mr. Ja'far, did you want to check on Miss Mori too?” "Uh, yes. How is she doing?” Was King Sinbad's response. I could hear the nerves he was trying to

cover up. "Real smooth there, Sin." I mumbled as I finally drifted into unconsciousness. --- I was a young man of 20 some years. I had started a family. We didn't have enough money for food. I ended up taking a risky job because I knew it would pay better. ... No. I'm a six year old girl? I don't remember if I had parents, but I remember going to visit this old dog every day. ... If life was hard, and I had nothing to loose then there was no reason not to bet everything I had on one last round. How could I return to my family without money? The last time I saw my son he was three. Would he even remember me? ... Ya know, when you grow up with someone and everyone else can see your chemistry you'd think it would be obvious that we'd marry when we grew up, but she met someone else. ... I knew things were bad, but I never even considered that my neighbor was stealing from me when I was at work. Bastard stabbed me with my own kitchen knife when I caught him. --- I wasn't myself in my dreams. Every time I woke I had to ground myself and remember where and when I was. Rereading the scrolls I had made helped. Just how many Rukh had merged with me, and why? I had no connections to any of those spirits while they were alive. Was it just because ghosts like me? I wrote down every dream I had; their lives might have been over, but they were a part of me now. I was too exhausted to go on deck, and I could feel that there were still more lives inside of me that I had to get aquatinted with. When I wasn't sleeping, I was working on scrolls again since I at least had enough energy to write and draw. My breathing was getting difficult, and I was struggling with temperature regulation. I wasn't okay enough to tell if it was my body struggling with the changes in my magoi, like when Sinbad took in all the Rukh after the Fall of First Sindria, or if I was just sick. After making sure I could still use magoi manipulation I decided that it was probably the later. I mainly left that room for food, and I waited until almost everyone was done before going. I avoided talking to others too. If I was sick I needed to minimize my contact with others. Alibaba seemed to be in a similar state to me. We both found that staying near each other when around the others made them less likely to approach us with the depressing cloud that hung over us.

Those that did see me could obviously tell I was unwell. From their words it seemed like they were assuming I was just mourning -they were only half wrong. It gave me an easy excuse to leave, so I never corrected them. I did feel bad for worrying everyone. The whole situation sucked. I wanted to cry. I had been in lock down back home because of Covid-19 for 8 months as an at risk person (it's still Oct 2020 in this story). I was literally in a fantasy anime world now. I wasn't given a better immune system, but my boobs didn't need a bra anymore??? WTF?? If the current arbiter of Fate was me writing fanfiction, then they had a lot of explaining to do. ... Who was I kidding? I knew why I would write something like this. I wanted to see more stories about people like me -someone with my disabilities and life experiences- get to be someone "valued" even if they couldn't be on the front lines. My migraine wouldn't go away, and it wasn't the only part of me in pain. I think I got palpitations a few times -breathing was even worse during those episodes. If I hadn't had health problems growing up I probably would have been panicking. I knew it was stupid to not tell anyone what was going on with me. But would anyone even be able help me on a ship? Telling them would just make them worry more than they already were. Aladdin and Morgiana could tell something more was wrong with me; I couldn't fully hide from them while sleeping in the same room. They must have let the others know since they gave me some pain killers at some point. It tasted awful. I'm honestly not sure how affective it was, but it did knock me out. ((Skip to the next paragraph to avoid the trigger)) At least I was left alone most of the time. I had no choice but to sit with my thoughts about Balbadd. I grew up mourning. The blood on my hands might not be the same as losing most of my loved ones back home, but it was damn similar to when I was in high school thinking "if only one of us had answered the phone that day." The Balbadd revolt would have been much worse if I wasn't there. And even if I had said something sooner there was little that could be done to actually stop Al Thamen when they had their hands so deep in that country. Even with Sinbad there to sway Fate, Al Thamen would still find a way to spill blood. Even if I told Alibaba days in advance and he tried to talk to Cassim about it, Cassim wanted nothing to do with Sinbad, so any help that came from him would be refused. Cassim was twisted around Issnan's fingers and out for blood. I did the best I could. My actions did save some people. I'd have to take solace in that. --- I woke up to something wrapped around me, almost like I was tied down. I couldn't move my legs. I gave up trying to untangle my skirt and covers from me, and just pulled the skirt out from under the cloth belt -kicking the whole mass off like a cocoon. I had put my underwear on underneath and I still had the tunic on so I wasn't left totally uncovered. Star light shown in from the window. I had slept through another day. I couldn't remember my dream. Maybe I had finally returned to having my own dreams. The other beds in the room were occupied. My head was still swimming. I felt trapped. I needed something. I heard the waves outside, and felt the waves of Fate washing over me. Their sounds called to me. Back home I had used the sounds of waves to meditate and stim regularly. I had been hearing them all this time, but I wanted to see them. I didn't bother to slip on my flip-flops as I made my way to the door, didn't even think about grabbing my glasses until I was already on deck. It had been so dark below that I couldn't see anyway, and didn't realize I wasn't wearing them. The wave of Fate I had been following lead me farther into the space. When I hit it's end, the adrenaline that had got me that far died out. The night air hit my legs and I shivered. It was colder than it was at night in Balbadd. I thought we were heading south. Did I still have a fever? The cold reminded me that I really should have put on

my shorts or something before coming out here. The tunic just barely covered me. My vision was going grey scale. This was bad. Really bad. I recognized this feeling. I was about to pass out from not being able to breathe right. I used to have fainting spells as a kid because of my weak raspatory system and needed to carry smelling salts for a few years. The last time it happened was about five years ago -I had been really sick. My head was throbbing; my heart was pounding. Guess I was sicker than I thought. I needed to focus on breathing and getting to the ground. I stumbled to the bowsprit (the pole that sticks out the front of the ship) as support. I needed to get to the ground safely before I collapsed. I'd gotten a concussion once because I didn't get down before the black out hit. A wave crashed into me from behind. If I hadn't been putting all my weight on that wooden shaft I would have been pushed over even though it wasn't a physical wave. What in the world was behind me that would cause such a wave? I removed one arm to look back as my knees started to give out. There was definitely someone there. Their color balance didn't match anything I could remember, but they were really familiar. Without my glasses I couldn't really tell anything -especially since everything was becoming different shades of black. And I already had bad night vision. The light was fading. Shapes were getting harder to discern. Even though I was breathing deeper I hadn't managed to counter the fainting spell. I was going down. I definitely fell, but it didn't feel like I fell for long enough to hit the ground. The feeling across my back was really familiar. Someone had caught me.

Sometimes I was able to stay conscious when I fainted. It was kinda like ending up in sleep paralysis but with a -20 to all sensory inputs. Seemed like this was one of those times. I couldn't hear what they were saying or see them. It was like my head was deep under water. There was a pressure on my forehead. Were they checking my temperature? When someone faints you're supposed to lay them on the ground and position them so they can breath easier. This person didn't take first aid classes or forgot or something because I was being lifted upwards instead of laid down. It was really warm and comfy though. I liked this feeling. What was it? Safe? Was that it? I hadn't felt actually safe in a long time. I certainly didn't feel safe in that house back home even after everything was over. Maybe it was the feeling of warmth and safety. Maybe it was the way the waves were moving. Maybe it was the numbness that comes with blacking out. But whatever it was had stopped the pain. With the pain gone I calmed the rest of the way. I felt my spine straighten out onto a soft surface. The warmth faded even though something was now covering my legs. I was in a bed. The cold was back without a source of warmth to leech from. I definitely had a fever if I was this cold. Damnit. I grew up with all sorts of chronic health conditions and have always gotten sick easily. Even though I was now in an anime world, I was still me. Was I going to die in this world from some common illness that was already cured back home? We might not have had a lot of money back home but I was lucky enough to get a job with usable health insurance that let me work from home during a pandemic. I could at least get medicine every time I got a normal illness. I was finally able to afford to get and keep an inhaler. Not that any of that was of use to me now. My motor functions were returning. I rolled to the side and curled into the fetal position. I had lost everything. No home. No friends or family. Who would want to look after a stranger with nothing to give back? I was doing what I could to seem worthy of the main cast, but how long would that last? The story would reach its end in five years. What would I do after that? What was the point of all of the savings I had managed to make back home if I was going to be Isekaied? I had been the main bread winner and now my family couldn't even use my savings because I hadn't left a body behind as proof that I had died. All of the thoughts and feelings I was still running from were flooding through me. I couldn't even distract myself with writing scrolls or anything. This was probably for the best. Pushing things away for much longer would be unhealthy. And if I couldn't let myself feel miserable when I was sick and alone, then when could I? I let the tears fall. I hadn't been a loud crier since I was a kid, so I was caught off guard when I could hear my own sobs. I didn't have it in me to hide any more. The bed I was on creaked but I hadn't moved. There was a new weight on the mattress.

I wasn't alone.

The concept that someone was checking on me hurt harder. I didn't grow up in a healthy environment, so now feel immense guilt when someone shows me genuine kindness. But I am also aware and recovered enough to know I deserve kindness, so the guilt always paired with an equal amount or more of relief. I felt a hand stroke my hair. They wanted to comfort me. And I wanted comfort. The waves washing over me encouraged me seek out more. I used what little strength I had to pull myself against them. Having undeniable proof that I wasn't alone and that someone cares was overwhelming. The relief made me cry harder. I'd have to thank them later. But for the time being I'd pour out as much emotion as they'd let me.