#Yes I did sing this once. I know what this poem feels like. I know what fabric a dream is

[emmebearpaw]

If you have like 45 seconds you should read what is probably my favorite poem.

[hoe4sports]

Donkeys can’t cook

Alexia Putellas x reader

A/N: This is dedicated to my fav little hater on here, you can find her here. This is a short short piece, I hope you have a good laugh <3

Also a moment for Alexia with brown hair😮‍💨

Warning: Humiliation? Idk, I’d be pretty embarrassed if I was the anon over here .

Summary: In a world full of haters, it simply dosent phase you.

-

The weather outside is shit, like proper shit. For Barcelona, it’s out of character by a long shot. It’s raining, windy and absolutely freezing.

“Hola! Donse estas, amor?” Alexia sings from the entrance, today’s victory against Madrid fresh in her mind.

“Hola, living room!” you chirp back, eyes glued to you phone.

Alexia trots into the livingroom, her clothes and hair drenched in water.

“Did you swim home from the stadium?” You tease, looking up from you phone.

“What swim? Are we gonna swim? It’s cold,no?” Alexia responds, clearly confused.

Her English tends to get sloppy once she’s tired or excited, it always makes you laugh.

“Did you see any fishes on the way home?” You try, hoping the rewording will help her out. As soon as the words leaves your lips, you can’t help but break out in laughter.

“Huh? My love, did you want fishes? I can shower, and get the pink fishes?” Alexia suggestes, shrugging in confusion.

“Baby, I’m messing with you! You look like you have been swimming because you are soaking wet from the rain” you explain, giggling at Alexia’s confused expression.

After taking a second to think through your sentence, she breaks out a smile at you.

“Ai, amor! You know my English isn’t good, you and your poems!”

You look at her and raise your brow

“No, no poems! I mean dichos!” Alexia says shaking her head while her hands work to take her jacket off.

“Come here, baby. I’ll warm you up”

Alexia practically throws her jacket off before she practically lunges into your arms.

“Mmm, hueles bien” she says breathing in the scent of your hair.

“Si, I had a shower when I got home. It was freezing, but you played so well” you comforts her, rubbing circles on her back.

Her heads lays down on your chest, ear as close to your heart as she can manage. She takes a deep breath before her body completely relaxes, practically melting onto you.

After a good 45 mins of her softly snoring in your arms, you are reading comments under a picture posted by the UEFA from an earlier match.

“Y/N looks like a donkey!”

“Gosh, y/n is so annoying”

“I saw Alexia’s girlfriend sitting on her phone during the match, so disrespectful!”

“Alexia could do so much better, she could get supermodels”

The first comment makes you giggle, then as you read; your giggles turns into laughs. You are desperately trying not to laugh loudly as Alexia is sleeping on top of you which her head on your chest. The laughing is forcing tears to run down your cheeks. Then, you see another comment.

“I bet the donkey can’t even cook! Alexia looks like she’s starving! It’s disturbing to watch”

The comment pushes you over edge, and you lay there laughing loudly holding a hand infront of your mouth. Its not the cute kind of laugh, but the hysterical laugh which makes you blush. You can’t hold it in as much as you want.

“…amor, you good, si?”

“Yes, alexia, s-sorry” and then you break out in laughter again.

Alexia cocks her head up from you chest giving you a puzzled gaze.

“What so funny?” She says followed up with a yawn.

You can’t explain as you are in a full blown laughter attack, shaking as you giggle. You turn your screen towards alexia, and she instinctively grabs it to look further.

“Que? Am I donkey? What’s a donkey? And why you laughing of the donkey? ” Alexia questions, rubbing her neck in confusion.

Your laugh is filling the room, and you try to hold your breath to explain it to Alexia.

“Okay, so, a donke-“

The laughter sets in again, and you can’t help it; you are suddenly screaming laughing like there is no tomorrow.

Alexia looks at you with a raised brow, but she feels very entertained.

“Amor, as much as I love your laugh, you make me worry! Breath!” Alexia says, still not getting it.

You take deep breaths, this time way more successful than your previous breaths.

“Okay, it’s hate comments. They say that you are becoming skinny because i can’t cook. Well, if im a donkey, then how am I supposed to cook!” you explain, Alexia holding in a giggle as you speak.

“I am not skinny? I had to get a new size in shorts last week because my bootie is growing! And what’s a donkey?” Alexia huffs, looking at you.

“Ok, so, you know the movie shrek? The grey tiny horse? uhhh, Barra!” You scream out as you remember the Spanish name for donkey.

“Que? Shrek? Horse? Barra isn’t a horse? Mi Vida, I’m confused. Are you sad about the comments, no?”

Alexia’s confusion makes you giggle, but you try your best to choke it.

“I find it amusing, it’s actually very funny” you respond, finally calm enough to talk.

“Okay, you are my donkey, si? My donkey wife?” Alexia suggests, smiling at you still not knowing what a donkey is.

It makes you giggle again, but you hold your hand in-front of you mouth trying to choke another laughing fit. Then, you get the hiccups.

You nod your head at Alexia, who is looking at you with admiration in her eyes.

“I’m so proud of you for not letting it get to you, you a strong woman, a strong donkey” Alexia says, reaching for her phone. Her face breaks out into a smirk as she sits back on her knees, clearly planning something.

After a few seconds, Alexia grins at you.

“Go see instagram!” Alexia chirps, throwing her phone in the other end of the couch.

You reach for your phone, popping into alexia’s account. As you see the picture, a picture of you trying Ingrid’s mom cinnamon roll recently. Then you see the caption, you break out in another laughing fit. Alexia smiles and shakes your head at her reaction.

She leans in to kiss you, closing the distance between you before stopping.

“Mi esposa perfecta”

Liked by Ingrid_Engen, Fridolinarolfo and 374,737 others.

Alexiaputellas Mi esposa burra es la mejor panadera

Ingrid_Engen I call tax for giving her the recipe, payment expected Monday 😇

Mapi_leon.04 Make that two, girlfriend tax

[cambion-companion]

Can’t stop thinking of a tav who just showers Raphael in attention and affection. It’s the little things like listening attentively to his plays and dramatizations whenever they ask anything, to looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, cupping his face as if he’s some kind of precious lovely thing instead of you know, A DEVIL

Just tenderness because that’s not something common in the world of devil and demons (I think?)

Ps: love your writing!

Hi! Thank you! I took the opportunity to write more Patron!Raphael, with a little bardic twist!

Raphael x reader (gn)

You were Raphael’s favorite.

This knowledge you wore with great pride and much to the aggravation of his other servants.

You had never expected a patron Fiend to be so dynamic.  His passion for the performing arts rivaling even your own.  You’d struggled being a bard for so long, working your fingers raw upon the instruments that refused to sing for you.  Your creative abilities severely stunted.  Until Raphael entered your life.

The cambion had carefully watched your passion to act and dance, recognizing in you his own desire to draw down the magic of words upon parchment.

You had been so eager to sign his contract, agreeing to serve him and spread his own creations to the material plane in exchange for unhindered, undiluted talent.

Raphael was quite pleased with this arrangement.  Under his mortal disguise he would often attend your little shows, his amber eyes glinting with self-satisfaction as he watched his little bird channel his creations. Through you, Raphael gained another taste of what being a god must feel like.

At the end of another long recitation of one of Raphael’s more laborious poems, you watched the guests file from the room and took a welcome drink of cool water for yourself.

Raphael leaned against the marble pillar, idly swirling a glass of red wine as he studied you.

“You’re not enunciating enough during the last stanza.”  Raphael tutted lightly, clicking his tongue against his teeth. “The attention of your guests lapses accordingly.”

You grimaced and rubbed your sore throat. “Sure, it’s my enunciation. Not the fact you drone on about the tempestuous nature of pixies for five minutes.”

Raphael’s smile didn’t reach his dark eyes. “For a mortal so favored by Fate, you certainly enjoy tempting it.”

“I’m not favored by Fate, I’m favored by you.”

“Well said.  Well spotted.”  Raphael chuckled and drained his cup before placing it aside and moving close, the fragrance of his musk burning your nostrils. His hand cupped your jaw and tilted your face up. “Not appreciated nearly enough, however. I labor long so that you may be the conduit of my brilliance.”

You couldn’t help but roll your yes, a twinge of unwelcome fondness stirring yet again within you for this curious devil. “I adore everything you create, Raphael.  Well…almost everything.”

“And what, pray tell, is the exception?”

You hesitated and pulled your head out of his grip, his long index finger trailing beneath your chin. “Well, that song about the hagspawn was pretty terrible.”

Raphael inclined his head. “Granted, it was not my best creation. Yet you did it justice, once you heeded my tender correction and stopped laughing.”

You rubbed your lower back at the unpleasant memory. “Yes…I remember your ‘correction’ quite well.”

“As always, it is my intent to make an impression.”  Raphael extended a hand which you took, preparing to be whisked back to his House of Hope. “Even amongst the most stiff-necked of my servants.”

A blast of hot air met your face as Raphael pulled your body through the familiar hellfire portal.  You didn’t mark the change, but Raphael had shed his human guise and now stood before you in full cambion form.  He stretched his arms and wings wide, clearing his throat before launching into a dramatic recitation of his newest poetic piece.

You sat in an armchair as far away from the roaring fire as possible, listening to Raphael’s deep voice paint the images of an epic tale. It was clearly another of his self-insertion stories with a protagonist modeled after how Raphael perceived himself. Which was a sight different than the reality.

Despite the blatant conceit, you couldn’t help but be drawn into the world he had created. You clapped enthusiastically at the end of his impassioned oratory.

As always, you were his biggest fan. Aside from himself of course.

Haarlep passed through the large room on the way back to the Boudoir he was often confined to.  The incubus wore a sleepy expression and the usual replication of Raphael’s image, carrying a mug of steaming liquid in hand.

“Raphael has just come up with the most exquisite tale, Haarlep!”  You said with excitement, not noticing Raphael’s glare on you soften slightly at your words.

“Believe me, cherub.  I’ve heard it all.”  Haarlep waved a dismissive hand in your direction and continued on his way.

“He doesn’t like me much.”  You said, a little put out as you always were at Haarlep’s disinterest.

“Pay him no mind.”  Raphael handed you yet another long sheaf of parchment whereon he’d scrawled more lyrics for you to memorize. “There is only one whose attentions you should crave.”

You glanced over his work and smiled, trying in vain to hide your delight at the new project. “Of course, but it does get a little confusing since you insist on him wearing your form.”

Raphael’s tail smacked your backside causing you to hiss at the sting. “Careful, little nightingale. Even my fondness for you has its limits.”

[jake-g-lockley]

Hi could I please request with any of the moon boys afternoon in the public library selecting a lot of books because they keep finding different ones by author's you love and they're carry them all and the elderly lady behind the counter thats been watching says that they are a lovely young man and a keeper. Thank you 💜 😊

Escape (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Wanna be tagged?

A/N: EEEE THIS WAS A CUTE IDEA. I had done something similar with the other two babies, so I hope you don’t mind me choosing Jake <3 yes the most unlikely place you’ll find this man is the library but let's go with it hehe.

Word Count: 1.6 k

Love can be blinding, and Jake feels like it is blaring in his ears through sonnets and poems. He learned from you that to love is to not hurt, but to let things be. To love is to be free. Your tender beauty and kindness had been his pride’s undoing. He didn’t realise that his heart got snatched away until it started beating by the song of your own heart.

The first time he met you, nothing in this universe could have prepared him for the blinding reality that he was going to face. He was so caught off guard by your appearance that he seemed to forget his own name. You had flagged down his cab, hair bellowing in the wind as the first droplets of rain hit the windscreen of his cab.

You immediately had struck up a conversation with him, jabbering away about how a crow stole your bagel in the morning. Jake couldn’t help but laugh at your story, letting your soothing voice rub at his hardened edges.

“Here, call this if you ever have another bad day. You don’t have to flag another cab, just give me a call.” Jake found himself saying, slipping you a note along with your change.

“Oh, you’re too sweet, you don’t have to do this!” You sighed but in reality, you wouldn’t know whether you had the willpower to not call him immediately after he dropped you off at the place you needed to be at.

And that’s exactly what you did. Jake Lockley, the handsome cabbie, became one of your closest friends. He had a sense of humour that made you feel at home, you’d always end up laughing a little too hard when Jake would cook up a joke. Soon, you were sitting in the front seat of his cab and he switched out his newspaper boy cap with sunglasses that complemented the vibe of his curly hair. You often found yourself looking longingly at him wherever he would blast the radio and start singing along to your favourite songs.

Today, you asked him whether he wanted to hang out at the library and he immediately texted you a yes, picking you up in less than 20 minutes. Jake watched as you rolled the window down, letting the wind blow in your hair as you smiled blissfully. The weather was tolerable and Jake was extremely happy. Your leg bounced as it usually did and Jake fought the urge to place his hand on your thigh and steady it, instead choosing to grip the steering tighter.

You skipped up the stairs of the library once you got there, and Jake followed you, absolutely mesmerised by the spring in your step. Once you realised that you were getting too far away from Jake, you hung back and took a hold of his hand, surprising him. He lurched forward, his chest colliding with your back. He immediately murmured his apology, still in awe with you.

You breathed in deeply, the scent of the library filling your lungs with a deep memory. Your grandma used to bring you here and read you books and she encouraged your love for them.

“If you wanted to escape, this is the safest way to do it, child.” she used to say and that's what you did every weekend.

Why did you bring Jake with you then?

The question plagued your mind as you pulled him through rows of books, the sound of Jake’s boots thudding against the carpet the only thing keeping you held down to Earth. Slowly, you let go of Jake’s hand and trailed off, absolutely enamoured by the books before you. Jake slowly drifted off too, his headmate begging for him to pull one of the books that he really needed from the shelf.

Jake rolls his eyes and pulls the book before turning to look for you. All his eyes saw were the rows of books, you nowhere in sight. Jake shakes his head and smiles to himself, gently tapping the spine of the book with the palm of his hand. It wasn’t long before he found you. A stack of books were balanced on your hip and supported by one of your arms, the other hand holding a book too close to your face as you scanned the page. You readjusted yourself as one of the books began to slip from the stack and Jake hurried forward.

He eased out the books from your grip and held onto them. You turned and smiled at him, blinking up at him with big eyes that made him feel mushy inside. You stood on your toes and placed the book you were holding on top of the pile Jake was holding, before placing a soft kiss on his cheekbone. Jake’s face flamed red hot. He’d never been kissed on the cheek before and he didn’t know how to react.

“Thanks.” he mumbled and his headmates roared with laughter like an old Hollywood laugh track.

“You’re welcome.” you smiled and turned, walking towards the next shelf, feeling proud of yourself for that move.

“She’s walking you like a dog, mate!” Steven chuckled as Jake began to float behind you again.

“As if you won’t literally pass out if you were fronting.” Jake huffed under his breath.

You frowned at the shelf, realising the book you wanted wasn’t there. You decided to ask Beatrice, the little old lady at the counter to check the records for you. Beatrice was already smiling at you, her favourite regular but there was something odd about her smile.

“Heya, Ms. Bea! I just need a title searched in the system.” you politely asked with a smile.

“Hi, darling, sure.” with a few taps of her keyboard, she announced where the book was and you grinned excitedly, almost uttering your thanks when Beatrice smiled at you again.

“You aren’t going to introduce me to the beautiful boy hiding behind the books?” she asked, and gave you a pointed look and your eyes widened instantly.

“Uh, yea! This is Jake, Jake this is Ms. Beatrice!” you quickly introduced them.

Jake carefully set the books onto the counter and took the lady’s hand, kissing the back of it. Beatrice giggled like a school girl and you gave Jake an exasperated look.

“Oh, dear, I most definitely approve. This one here is a keeper, alright.” Beatrice says and now it was your turn to cosplay a red tomato.

Jake let out a beautiful laugh that ringed deep in your heart.

“Really, trust me, my husband was like you, still is, comes here everyday bringing me lunch. I thought romance was dead but I’m so glad to see it blooming amongst the paths of unsaid words.” Beatrice says, clutching her and to her heart as she looks between the two of you.

Jake and you were frozen to the spot, your eyes as big as owls. You snapped out of it first, thanking Beatrice and pulling Jake with you, who quickly scooped the pile of books in his arms and followed you.

You quickly found your reading corner and sat down, Jake following suit.

“Sorry about Beatrice.” you say after the loud thudding of your heart settled.

“Why are you sorry about Beatrice?” Jake was taken back, out of all the things you could have said, you choose to say that.

“You’re probably weirded out by what she said, about romance and all.” you mumbled, hanging your head.

Jake was still confused at your words, trying to absorb them as silence enveloped the two of you.

“You know what, I really do not know what to say, so I’m just gonna show you.” Jake says, lifting your chin up and leaning towards you before you could make out what was going on.

His lips met yours so gently that you thought he had touched your lips with flower petals. Your eyes were wide open and you struggled to comprehend what was happening. Jake snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you against him, making your mouth drop open with a gentle lick of his tongue. Your eyes fluttered closed and you found yourself losing yourself to the momentum that had been caused by Jake hurling your relationship past the cliff of a very unknown cavern.

You were kissing Jake, you were kissing Jake fucking Lockley.

He pulled away first, keeping his face incredibly close to you.

“Okay, now I know what to say. I’m not the kind that particularly chooses to love romance but I think I’ll be okay if it is with you.” he shrugged. “Besides, I also think I don’t mind you seeing me old and wrinkly like Ms. Bea’s husband.”

You were stunned, this was not the way you intended your day to go. Your eyes welled up in tears and you busied yourself by taking Jake’s hand in yours and kissing his knuckles before holding it close to your chest.

“I was in love with you the second you threw the door of my cab open. Didn’t expect you to call at all, but when you did I felt like I took my heart and threw it at you, to hear your voice through my phone, that was everything to me.” Jake continued, gazing lovingly into your watery eyes.

“I might be in love with you too, Lockley.” you sigh, a teardrop escaping as your eyes closed. “Everynight, you’re in my dreams and you’re my escape.”

Jake let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding and gathered you close. It was going to take a lot to get him away from you. You soon found yourself with your head in his lap, your longing drifting into pure bliss as his soft poetic voice filled the air with beautiful words.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes (where’d she go 🥺) @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @bloodredwolfsbane @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr @cookielovesbook-akie @mandoloriancookie @pimosworld

[small-sinclair]

Musical Muse

Vincent Sinclair x reader

House of Wax Slasher band!au

Tw: Vincent was in a fire (he’s okay), some hints at sex but nothing graphic described, let me know if I missed anything!

A gift for @im-his-druidess and au by @arkunder

It was Vincent’s first night home for a 7-month-tour around North America. Late night FaceTime calls, texts messages, postcards, poems— it was good to see him home. The penciled in a two-week break for Lester’s doctor appointments and for a mental break. It was good to rest and sleep in for a moment. All three of them needed to recover from the accident—

He takes a deep breath and let it out slowly. He won’t dwell on it. Not now at least. Lester is safe and Bo’s hands were healing. That’s all that matters now.

Vincent tried to be quiet when he entered. He hung his base on the hook and stopped to look at the photos of you both. One of you two in the studio, another in a band shirt, and a lovely one of you and him at the alter, saying your vows.

As soon as he heard your footsteps flying down the steps, he felt his heart pull. “You’re home!” You shouted smiling, leaping up.

He threw his duffel bag on the floor in the doorway just in time to catch you. He spun you around in the air, smiling under his half wooden-plated mask. He blushes as your kisses littered his half-shown face.

“I missed you!” You yelled, giggling as he lowered you back to the floor. He rests his forehead against yours and held your hips just memorize you once more. “I really missed you, Vincent.” You lift your hands and hold his face. “You were gone forever.”

He nods in agreement. He didn’t want to sign anything, not just yet. Vincent didn’t want this moment to be over. Having you back made his unwritten melodies complete and he could hear notes play as he takes you in. You are his muse for most songs after all.

He took your hand and guided it to his mask, gesturing to you to take it off. Your feather-like hands took off his mask slowly and he closed his eyes, shivering at the cool air. His mask hung in your hand, and you smiled when you saw his face. He’s just as beautiful as the day he left you. Your free hand held his scarred cheek, his head leaning into your touch, while your eyes tracing every bit of him. He leaned down and kissed your forehead, your hand, then ending with your lips. He pulled away before holding you close to deepen his kiss.

He has time to make up. Seven whole months without your touch, your embrace… he is a sinner. Your sinner. His deity. He has to find forgiveness.

With ease, he lifts you up, carries you with his arms under your legs, and heads for the bedroom down the hall.

~~~~~~

As you slept on his chest, Vincent held up his song book, writing silently, as a watched eye on you. Your shoulders were bruised with his love and affection like his. He only wanted to be closer to you and more. What praise can he give but love for you?

A song will do.

A song just for you so others can sing praises of you, be followers of you, but none will ever be as faithful and loyal as him.

He hummed the chorus one more time before closing his book just in time for you to wake up. He sat his book aside and laid flat on his back. You nuzzled into his neck and left a small kiss over his adam’s apple. A relaxed sigh escaped his throat as he threw his head to the side.

“Did you miss me?”

He nods, tracing his answer in your skin, ‘Yes.’

“Bed was too cold while you were gone,” you noted, his thumb gently making circles in your back. “But sleeping in your shirt’s comforted me.” You drew a heart in the center of his chest. “I took care of the plants, too. The cactus gave birth so there’s baby cactuses. Guess that makes us grandparents or something.”

He smirks and chuckles.

Silence was warm and comfortable between you two. The soft thumping of his heartbeat made house feel like home again. “…I really missed you,” you murmured. You felt Vincent’s lips in your hair as he pulled you closer to him. In a way, that was him showing that he’s here and you’re safe. “For a while, I went crazy thinking you weren’t coming home. I saw the fire at that wax museum you and your brothers were playing, the wax falling Lester’s back, and they got a video of your mask melting…” your voice trailed as he stiffened at the memory.

If the silence is too loud, he can still hear his baby brother’s voice screaming in pain and agony. Bo and he made dirt out of the inferno, but Lester was trapped, scared and alone. He remember he took off his mask before running back on Bo’s heels; his mask felt too heavy to wear that night. He still sees how bright the orange and yellow flames were as Bo moved wood and metal off his back. He ended up burning some spots on his hands but he doesn’t care. He was just as desperate as Vincent to get their brother out. Each twin took an arm and raced out with him before the museum’s gas could explode. Bo and he cradled their brother then paramedics rushed to his side and took him to the hospital.

He remembered how the world of heavy rock and metal was quiet for the night.

That’s why Bo canceled two weeks of interviews that night, 16 days ago, so they can recover from everything.

He gripped your body tighter and held you closer. You figured he must’ve been scared because he didn’t give you room to wiggle or move. Your hands held his arms and closed your eyes. “I’m happy you’re okay and safe. I’m happy and thankful.”

Vincent made a soft noise, agreeing with you.

“Just want to stay like this and cuddle,” you said, not asking. Luckily he nods in agreement, lifting the blanket up higher over your shoulders.

He didn’t want anything else but this. Vincent wanted you in his arms, in his heart, engraved into his mind. He’ll finish the song and draw a picture of you to put up in the bus. For now, he’ll focus on you and the reality of this feeling.

The sunset over the town like a dream.

[taichoushadow]

Wouldn't change a thing | Kim Taehyung

A/N: fluff for @taeandpuppies happy birthday 💜

summary: Thinking back to his confession, surely you could have reacted differently.

Genre: fluff, just pure fluff. (maybe a tiny bit of angst. Blink and you missed it. )

Wordcount: 2.2 K

You've always wondered how love would nestle into you, how love would find a home within you. Sure, you imagined about it, imagined how it would be ur love someone like you've always read in books, you've read in poems.

Was it really possible to have that kind of love find you? Well, yes, yes it was.

To be laying here on these baby blue sheets, the comforting yellow walls with the added white and green accesoires displayed all over the room, some may say they would end up running with the splash off colour surrounding you but to you, to you it felt like laying in a meadow on an early spring day. The dandelions swaying in the slight breeze, the clouds just drifiting by being in their own element.

''What are you thinking of?'' The sweet sound of his voice would be the singing of the birds, bringing a sense of serenity to you. Turning towards Taehyung, you propped yourself up and looked at him with this beaming smile that he just couldn't resist and pinched your cheek lovingly.

The bed truly felt like laying on a cloud, being in your own world with the one that houses your heart and not having to think of the world below you.

''Just about you and me.'' You shrugged happily, not minding at all he has the flesh of your cheek pinched between two of his fingers, your smile growing just bigger at the action.

Putting the mark between the pages, he laid the book down on the nightstand and instead cupped your face between his hands as his eyes flickered over your face before he just shrugged aswell and left a sweet peck on your lips and patted his chest when he pulled away.

Getting yourself comfortable on his chest, you began to trace little circles on the skin of his shoulder and thought about how moments like these really were everything you have been thinking about before love actually did find you.

Naturally, when you first met Taehyung, you didn't think much of it. Ofcourse, he was kind, he seemed to be understanding and way more patient than you innitially thought he would be. You were careful about feeling affection for him, thinking nothing more than just being friends. You didn't even dare to imagine if he could fall for you but naturally even with the protected armor you couldn't help to fall for him fully and surprsisingly you were proven wrong on one summer night that love actually was infront of you all along.

''Remember the day when I laughed it off when you told me you loved me?'' You looked up at him, now picking at the hairs that were growing on his chin, Taehyung sighing loudly at the memory of that torturous evening for him.

''How can I ever forget..''

Giggling at his reaction, you thought back to that moment. How you looked at him suspiciously once you entered the car and he looked way too nervous based on the way he kept on picking his nails and almost running red lights. ''I do not have a drivers license but I think we would be more safe if I drove..'' You told him after telling him to park the car right at the parking 50 meters ahead. (You were thankful you spotted that one. )

''What is going on, Tae?'' It didn't seem like he was listening, his eyes looking around frantically and you were getting concerned at his behavior. Was someone following him?

Reaching out, you grabbed a hold of his hand and places a reassuring hand on his cheek, letting him know you were there and that it was okay. ''If you want me to get out, I-''

''No!'' the sudden loudness of his voice made you jump in your seat, your hand falling at your side, shocked at this strong reaction.

Shaking his head, Taehyung gulped and held onto your hands this time. ''No-'' He began, ''No thats not.. thats not it.'' He has never felt this nervous to be honest. This moment of baring his heart out to him was not something that he thought would be this scary. What could happen? A rejection would hurt for a little while but after that he could move on. There would be a 50 percent chance of a yes too.

Laying your hands on your lap, he dropped his head into his own and let out a little scream and took in some deep breaths. You watched this all with amazement, many, many questions visible to read of off your face.

''Taehyung, you can tell me, you know I will not jud-''

''-I love you.'' Again he interrupted you, but this time you were left flabbergasted and fully speechless as you openly gawked at him. The silence in the car that followed after was killing for the poor man that was sweating buckets right now, chest heaving up and down as if he ran a marathon at full speed.

You however wasn't even noticing the silence as your mind was jerked awake at that confession, going through every script you once imagined but this particular one did seem to be written now and you were unable to come up with an answer and just stared at the poor man waiting what felt to him like centuries.

So you did what you did best when it came to these moments -A habit that you somehow picked up from your best friend, and you were gonna strangle her later for that- you laughed. You laughed.

Maybe it wasn't even laughing anymore, it sounded like cackling to you and being the idiot you were, slapped his leg and told him he shouldn't joke like that but the way his face fell and his eyes seemed to be shimmering in the dim streetlights had you stopping abruptly and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you opened and closed your mouth but you were unable to come up with any word, let alone sentences and just watched how he fully seemed to be turning away from you.

''Wait.'' Ah. You finally seemed to have found your voice and you were startled by it, to be honest and tried it again, this time a bit softer.

''You- you were serious? Love as in love?'' You found the words one by one and hesitatingly asked wether he truly meant it but afraid of his rejection (ironically), you were approaching him carefully.

''Ofcourse!'' The sudden harshness of his voice made you wince but you suppose you deserved that. ''Why would you think I was joking, y/n, I-'' Closing his eyes, Taehyung rubbed his eyes in exhaustion and turned himself towards you again, open to a conversation, a discussion or whatever it would be. ''This is not laughable, I basically layed my heart in your hands y/n''

''Laugh.. Oh.. Oh! Fuck me, really.'' Now it just fully dawned upon you, that you actually laughed, you actually laughed right when the man you love too, basically confessed his own feelings to you all because you were unable to comprehend his words.

''Its not- I didn't mean- I love you..'' Now it was your turn to hide your face in your hands, slapping your own cheeks multiple times and muttering how stupid you were and how you didn't mean it and that you definitely were gonna strangle your friend

This however, made Taehyung chuckle, watching how you were having a breakdown over yourself was kind of amusing to him, only because you did break his heart but he was slowly becoming hopeful based on your reaction and you words, catching some of the sentences you mumbled out.

Once you came back to your senses, you peeked at Taehyung through the gaps of your fingers and the hint of a small smile gave you some courage to face him.

''Taehyung. I apologize for reacting like this. I promise this is not what you think it is..'' You started off, nodding at your own spurt of thoughts, choosing your words carefully now.

''It is not?'' Taehyung questioned, leaning back into the seat and just simply watched you look for words. He might wanted to make you sweat just a little now, but his hammering heart into his chest was telling him, he did need an answer and quite quickly otherwise he was definitely gonna faint.

Shaking your head quite aggressively, you reached for his hand and squeezed them with all your might as if he was gonna walk out any moment. "I actually cant believe it. That's why I laughed. I- I didn't know how to react." you bow your head in shame, stuttering and trying to apologize in every way you could think of. There was no way, you were going to let go of this man just because your mind was shortcutting thanks to his confession.

''Okay.'' That one word did put fear into you and somehow your mind once again decided that there was one thing left to do and that was-

Gripping his biceps, you looked up at him with determination dripping from your face, your expression stern as you nodded and Taehyung's eyes widened at the sudden moodchange. ''Uh, y/n..'' The hint of amusent was clear in his tone of voice but all you could focus on were his lips, going through every scenario you might have daydreamed about once and how this would end, yet when you didn't come up with anything this time around aswell, your mind was set and you pulled him towards you, placing your lips on his.

Okay, Taehyung was now 99 percent sure he was gonna faint. The softness of his lips he only could have imagined up until now, had his heart doing cartwheels and he was unable to move for a few seconds what to you this time around did feel like forever. Guess the tables were turned.

It didn't take long for Taehyung though to back to his senses, especially when he felt your grip loosening around his arms and did what any sane person would do, he cupped your chin and moved his lips against yours, tilting your head slightly to deepen the kiss needing to let you know this really was what he wanted.

If you could actually think in that moment (let's face it, you havent been doing that for atleast 15 minutes now) you would have asked him if it was okay to kiss him, but alas here you were just doing without any thinking.

Your own heart was now the one running a marathon when you felt him stiffen against your grip and when he didn't kiss you back, you were ready to apologize a million times more but the moment you were about to pull away the gentle hand of the man across from you, blacked out the many thoughts you were having now and calmed down your racing heart to a calmer pace when you felt his lips move against yours.

-

''I still cant grap the fact that you laughed.'' Taehyung laughs in disbelief still, playing with a strand of hair as he thinks back at the memory of pure shock.

''But somehow I still managed to get you.'' You prop up your chin on his chest, poking his lips and wiggle your eyebrows at him. ''It somehow did not scare you away, didn't it? '' He scoffed at that, dropping the strand of hair and flicked your forehead instead.

''Or-'' Taehyung begins, a smirk forms itself on his lips and pulls you even closer with his hand pressed against your back, tracing your lips with his thumb while licking his lips as he thinks back at the way he had you pressed against the passenger seat right after that kiss.

''- Or your kissing game was just too good, your lips clouded my thinking and you just reeled me in like this.'' Taehyung taps your lips before he bends down to kiss you just like how you kissed eachother the first time. Minus the not thinking part this time.

''I also remember you wacking the back of your friend's head when I brought you home.'' Taehyung chuckles, laying back down against the pillows, moving his hand over your back . ''It was really funny how she looked at you all confused while rubbing the back of her head.''

You let out a shriek of laughter, the way she just stood there dumbfounded when you kissed her cheek afterwards was something you always teased her with until this day still. ''Yeah, somehow it left an impression on you so I should thank her too.''

Taehyung hums, and feels how you lay yourself back down on his chest, together listening to the quiet of the evening and enjoying the last sunlight of the day that shines through the window.

Did he imagine something entirely else when he made up his mind to confess to you? Yeah, no one would think the other would laugh and not at all being a reaction of disbelief. He supposes that he wouldn't change of thing if he could go back in time and confess in a different way. Not like that was possible anyways, you were you and he loved you just because of that.

Besides he absolutely adores your laugh. It's truly like the blooming of cherry blossoms. A sight to behold.

[sixminutestoriesblog]

poppies

In Flanders Fields the poppies grow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

In Flanders Fields by John McCrae

I have always found the excerpt above, and the rest of the poem that comes after it to be pleasant to the ear, sweetly melancholic and, to be honest, more than a little creepy once you hit the threat at the end. The mental image of mostly desiccated World War I soldiers clawing their way out of the upturned soil, spilling flecks of half rotted uniform and red flowers from their bodies as they drag themselves forward after me just because I don't feel like holding a grudge against another country for a war nobody really should have been in in the first place isn't exactly what I suspect Lt. Col. McCrae was going for but its sure the picture he painted in my mind. Not cool, John. Not cool.

In other news, the poem did help make the poppy a popular symbol for war veterans that died in battle, especially overseas. These days red paper poppies are worn in jacket lapels and sold on street corners in multiple Western countries during Remembrance Day, Anzac Day and Memorial Day. Today that's pretty much the only association most of us have with the flowers but for the soldiers that lived during that time, the red corn poppies were a familiar sight, being some of the first and hardiest plants to grow in the churned up soil around trenches, the morass of no-mans-land between and yes, the freshly dug graves that grew almost as quickly as the poppies themselves across the battlefields.

Poppies were associated with the dead long before WWI however.

Hey, August babies! Let's talk about one of your birth month flowers (and keeping corpses in their graves)!

Did you know that poppies have been found in graves and carved on tombstones all the way back to Roman times? The Greeks and the Romans associated the poppy with forgetfulness and sleep. Giving the dead poppies was supposed to help them sleep in peace, though I did see one article speculating that the poppy seeds found in some graves was more akin to the old legend that the undead have obsessive-compulsive disorder and will be compelled to stop whatever they are doing to count scattered small items like seeds.

GIF by gifs-of-puppets

Who knew Sesame Street was so in touch with its darker side?

Back to the point, the Greek gods Hypnos (sleep), Thanatos (death), Nyx (night) and Morpheus (dreams) all have poppies as their flowers. Pappa means 'milk' in latin and the milky sap as well as the seeds of poppies have been used since ancient times to grant forgetfulness, peace and sleep, tracing as far back as the early Egyptian empires. Multiple opioids are made from the poppy with some of the most famous being opium, heroin, codeine and morphine, named after Morpheus for its dreamlike effect on the human brain and body. The opioid crisis has been with us since at least Victorian times and for many of the same modern reasons back then as well.

Speaking of escape from pain, Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, is associated with poppies as well. It was said that after Persephone was kidnapped by Hades, Demeter was so distraught that the gods gave her poppy seeds to help her sleep and escape her grief for a time. Afterward, the flower would spring up wherever her footsteps fell. The ancient Assyrians also associated poppies with agriculture and in fact, even today, poppies seen growing in cornfields are considered lucky and a sign of a good harvest to come.

Poppies in China are also considered lucky, or at least the smell of them is and they are a melancholic symbol between lovers too. The story I read claims that the poppies growing on his lover's grave gave a Chinese hero the inspiration he needed in battle.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz employed a poppy field to put its heroes to sleep.

Poppies should only ever be given in bouquet of thirteen. Any other number of poppies is considered unlucky.

Greek athletes would mix poppy seeds, wine and honey for an invigoration drink.

In Wales, sleeping with poppy seeds under your pillow will show you the face of your future lover or give you the answer to whatever question you were thinking of when you fell asleep. The seeds are a ward against forgetfulness.

[rubberduckyrye]

I have made a few realizations about Genshin

I think I've said it before that I fully believe that the Sun Children from Enkanomiya are allegories/related to the Archons, but there are some tie ins to the Archons we know of to the seven sunchildren of Enkanomiya. Orupeusu was bard-like and musical (Venti), Ion who can tell the future (Presumed to be the ability of the upcoming Hydro Archon, but it can also relate to Nahida's Samsara and access to Irminsul), Risutaiosu sculpting with clay, ectect--but it's Orupeusu that I feel has the strongest ties to Venti as it stands.

I feel like there's even something to be said about this detail about Orupeusu--that he made a vow to refuse to sing until his mother-figure sang for him, which she was forbidden to do as she was not supposed to speak to him.

You know what bard hasn't sung in canon in the original Chinese version? Venti.

(Yes I am aware Venti sang during the Weinlesefest event in the English version, but in the Chinese version, Venti did NOT sing. He has not sung once, instead recites poems)

I know that different cultures see "bards" differently from one another (I.E. the Chinese see bards as poets while we see them as singers) so that's probably why Venti doesn't sing, but... what if there's more to it than that. What if Venti has this tie with Orupeusu, and that vow.

What if the Sun Children were reincarnated into the Seven Archons?

There's also the fact that in Venti's voice lines, he recognizes you. He just, blatantly recognizes you when you don't recognize him. Isn't that strange? Like that's EXTREMELY strange, isn't it?

See, there's the thing--the shade of Orupeusu? He does meet the Traveler. He even deduces that the Traveler is looking for someone.

Like I'm gnawing on Genshin this is driving me CRAZY.

[diorgirl444]

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 ༊*·˚

@goodoldfashionedluvergirl

loud music and the flickering lights of candles danced from the cave. If anyone got close and peeked through the gaps in the walls, they would see the endearing sight of a group of boys trying their earnest best to sing happy birthday to a girl with curly red hair. and though it was grating and very out of tune one could not deny the sweetness that went with it. The girl in question was widely smiling, her eyes large and reflecting the joy of the scene appearing around her tenfold. The cake they held matched the scene. It was slightly mashed-looking and had slightly wonky candles but if you had asked anyone who tasted it would fondly say that it was simply the best cake they had ever eaten. After singing Charlie bowed and begged for her to blow her candles out. as she lent to do so she heard Todd whisper in her ear “make a wish”  

it was a marvelous birthday if ever she had one. When it came to presents, she was overwhelmed by their gifts and the thoughtfulness of it all. Neil had bought her a beautiful vintage copy of “the importance of being earnest, Charlie had given her a locket which held a photo of the pair of them as children, Pitts had baked the wonky cake, Meeks had nurtured a small seedling of a rose “for her name” he had explained and Cameron had found a pretty little music box which played the sugarplum fairy dance music which she had once mentioned that she longed to see. she felt their kindness settle in her like a gorgeous golden light of all that is good and right in this world. but the gift that meant the utmost to her was Todd's gift. He had gotten all their attention before announcing that he would like to recite a poem. This was understandably a significant moment. Todd never recited so when he said he was going to the other poets whooped, and cheered, slapping him on the back. Todd's eyes remained trained on Eva though.  

He cleared his throat before beginning and the noise ceased. 

“Light pauses to look at her, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

it knows that its glimmers and glows are nothing to the way her eyes glimmer and glow, 

the sea stops at her feet, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

it knows that its waves and curls are nothing to the way her hair waves and curls, 

the air even catches its breath when she appears, 

for it knows that it pales in comparison, 

yes, it too knows that its lilts and chuckles are nothing to the way her voice lilts and chuckles,

 

I too stop when she stands before me, 

for I know that I pale in comparison, 

yes, I too know that I am not worthy to catch the eye of such an angel, 

for I am not another angel I am simply a boy who longs to hold her close” 

When he finishes his eyes drop her gaze. 

The other boys are cheering again but neither Eva nor Todd hears them. They are too focused on each other. 

neither of them says anything again to each other that night till the time comes for Todd to walk her back to her dorm. They walk in silence but just as she goes to walk in, she pauses. “Did you mean what you said in that poem.” Todd nods too shy to speak. she continues “well I loved it Todd” he speaks then “you did?” she nods “I’ll prove it to you” he goes to ask how but before he can get the words out, she kisses him.  

and all she can think is that all the books she’s read are wrong. No fireworks are exploding inside instead she feels unbelievably warm and happy. He tastes like birthday cake, and she can feel him smiling into the kiss, but it does not bother her one bit. when they pull away his forehead still presses against hers and he whispers to her “happy birthday Eva Rose I hope your wish comes true.” she whispers back “it already has” and then she leans in again… 

hope you liked it happy early birthday eva rose <3

[prettyboykatsuki]

you can ignore this if you want cus really i'm just curious (extremely) about this poem

how to be a dog both fascinates me and confuses me bc i actually don't get it?? like the author said this poem is in fact about dogs but i'm just so ??? poetry in general is hard for me to understand but would you be so kind to explain this poem to me? like how do you perceive it? what makes it your favorite poem of all time? what type of emotions and thoughts did you felt when reading it for the first time?

sorry if the last question is too personal, you may ignore it. i'm just very much intrigued by this poem.

HI. thank u for this ask because i love that poem so much and i think of it every singe day!!! i dont think its my favorite but its definitely one of my favorites ever!!!

kane says he was inspired by a question in a song that asks "Do you want to be a dog?" so yes the poem is about dogs but i think it would be more accurate to say it explores what it means to be a "dog" and what it would be like for a person to adopt doghood as a practice.

ive said this before but dogs as a figure in greater society are associated primarily with ideas like loyalty, devotion and subservience and domestication. mans best friend but also the roles they are expected to fill. all dogs are manifestations of their owners will.

a shepherd, or a guard, or a being to love us unconditionally. dogs do not have the free will to choose these conditions. which isn't to say they are incapable of love - but it begs the question, if a dog understood the role imposed upon it, would it be contented with it in its entirety?

if a human with free will is to take on the mantle of dog, could it handle these kinds of restrictions? and is the awareness of the restrictions on you - paradoxical to the nature of being a dog? being a dog is by definition a role that lacks sufficient awareness of self.

play your role. listen to your owner. in exchange be fed, loved, and cared for - but never truly free. a dog doesn't long for freedom.

 Next you must learn to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control. You must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string, or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain.

in these conditions, to want freedom is in itself antithetical to the life of a dog. the life of a pet. could you, a human being, accept doghood?

the last line of the poem is what really cements in that being the central theme of it

"If you want to be a dog, you must learn to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all."

the only way to survive as a dog is to forget you are a dog at all. it is for you as a human being to abandon your status of self-awareness and free will in exchange. do not contemplate on the things before you. do not waver at the idea of freedom. you are a dog after all and dogs play their part even when the world is unmerciful. when you know too much you are no longer a dog.

You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog. 

a fugitive is also a kind of dog is a response to dogs who do not fit the mold we make of them - often abandoned or roaming the street etc.

in general - this poem to me largely is a thought exercises examining ideas like free will, empathy, and love through the lens of dogs and their complex relationship to human beings.

the first time i read it i was mostly shocked by how perfectly it suited the gojo fic. i found it closer to the end of writing and it perfectly tied in my ideas. but fundamentally - it makes me feel contemplative and inspired i guess. i just think its a great poem

[thevoidscreamer]

Here are some pictures of me looking normal. And tired. And joyful. And derpy. Point is… we’re all just people. Let’s love each other about it.

I don’t know if you can tell that I am trans. These days I worry less about passing and more about how to defend myself against attackers who feel like they have a reason to pick a fight. Yes, this has happened in real life to myself and to others. I’m done trying to fit into boxes, even if it’s meant to help me survive. People will know, or they won’t, regardless of my efforts. People will try to hurt me, or they won’t, regardless of my attempts to hide myself.

So instead, I’m preparing for the inevitable. The it’s-already-happened, just-get-out-alive moments that are coming my way. Because I am trans, I am non-binary, I am agender, I am aromantic, I am asexual, I am a gay boy, and anything else you could possibly call me. I am all these things, and I will flaunt it. Because, no matter what I do on the day-to-day, it seems that, during my lifetime anyway, there will always be people who want me wiped off the face of the earth and who feel it is their responsibility to aid their higher power in achieving that purpose.

Transness is beautiful. All queerness is beautiful. I am beautiful. And handsome. And ugly. And derpy. And joyful, and sad, and sexy, and sweet, and bloated, and titless, and muscular, and tired, and cuddly-but-also-don't-touch-me, and sometimes I have hives for no reason, and I am always changing my hairstyle, and I can't decide if I actually want to wear dresses or if I just think they're pretty on other people. But most of all, I am Not. For. You. I am for me.

If you truly feel I am leading you to sin, then go live in your church. I promise I will never go there. Still struggling? Then pluck out your eyes, cut off your arms, open your home, give up your possessions, and give all your money to the poor. Follow that book you seem to want to use to dictate everyone's life but your own.

Your sins are not my responsibility. I am holy. I am sacred. Your perversion of me is your own demon to do battle with.

I exist for me, I allow myself to be myself because I can. I allow myself to be, because I want to. Until I allowed myself to transition, I did not want to be. I wanted to end.

But here I am, years later, happy to finally be where I’m supposed to… in my body, living my life, caring for my family, my plants, my pets, rubbing cream on my eczema, eating good food, admiring the sun from a safe distance, helping my community, hearing my name cross friendly lips, whistling in the dark, and singing to the moon from the tops of the rockies, writing my books and poems!

Here I am, minding my own business, spreading love and kindness wherever I can.

Notice how none of that involves you. You know who you are, and, despite your assertions, I am not upset that you exist. I do not care that you exist. I only care that you want me dead. Stop trying to eradicate me and my way of life, and you will no longer be part of my business. Leave me be, and I won't mind you. You won't have to deal with me once you stop trying to "deal" with me.

Just let me be.

Just let us be.

And if you keep trying to wipe out our "way of life"lifestyle," you will fail. No amount of laws and restrictions and prayers and blame and deaths can stop queer people from existing. We'll keep being born, because this is just how we are. Queerness is inherent, and your rejection of it forces it to have a culture of its own, outside of yours. Attempts to legislate us out of existence or pray us into submission will inevitably fail. There will always be queer babies. There will always be an underground so long as you force us there.

So...

See me — or don’t. Close your eyes when I walk by, if you must. That doesn’t mean I don’t still exist. I always have. I always will. Please, just leave me be.

[mikuthedragon]

Venti had had enough >:(

Bodypillow!Venti who is jealous of the other bodypillows.

Featuring : Tone Deaf Bard and Great Explosion God Murder Dynamight

Bodypillow!Venti had been so excited for today to come. It was his birthday! Actually, he's more sad about his birthday than happy about it.. He's happy to celebrate his friend's birthday, happy he can remember him, happy he will receive attention from a certain someone.. o//o

He feels a certain melancholy from it. This isn't his birthday but his friend's.. but he can't always dwell on it. He'll just celebrate his friend as best he can.

Venti was patient enough when you kicked him off the bed the first time. But how could you hug that other man so tightly in your sleep >::(

Venti didn't want to admit it, but he's jealous, jealous of that other bodypillow. What's so good about him anyways ?? All he can do is cook, clean the dishes, be 3rd in his class and win the sports tournament.. No but seriously, why wasn't Venti being lavished with your affection ALL THE TIME ?? :(

No matter, atleast for today Venti can have all of your love on his birthday :)

But to Venti's dismay and disappointment. His beloved didn't even bring him to her Aunt's sleepover D:

A few hours had passed, where Venti cried.. He was stuck with his pillowform and couldn't walk on his own two feet. He's equally conflicted. He only wanted your happiness.. Maybe letting you go with that blazing guy was what you really wanted.. He almost convinced himself to let you go.. Maybe this is the epitome of his love for you.. Being able to let you be happiest with the man capable of doing that

It wasn't until he fell off the bed again, that he had realised he'd grown legs like the little mermaid! What could this be a sign of ? For once, he was happy to have fallen off the bed, so he could come to this grand discovery.

He doesn't know when or how he did it. But he suddenly felt himself running. Running where ? He isn't sure.. Running to you ? Most probably (not a serial killer moment) Running to his love Kira ? Yes that's what he was destined to do. To be with you

The bard breathless kept sprinting, he couldn't feel the ache of his legs. He could only think about how stupid he was to let you go. How could he let himself believe for a second that he should let you go. Could he claim he loved you if he didn't try until the end ? Who cares if you love Bakugou, he'll make you fall in love with him. He'll be so adorable, you wouldn't hesitate to choose him <3

At the front of the house, Venti couldn't help but smile, how blessed he was to get a chance to pursue you <3. He climbed to your window and quietly slid it open. He had found you fast asleep with a... LINK BODYPILLOW ?? omg he had more competition than he anticipated. Anyways, he dismissed the bodypillow. (kicked him off for good measure heh)

Hmph. The bard scared of disturbing your sleep, decided to write a love poem and sing to you whilst you sleep. Soon afterwards, he found himself dozing next to you and fell asleep on the bed.

"Huh that's strange, I don't remember bringing Venti with me ? Oh and what's this a letter ?"

Dear Kira, as I laid down in the bed we share

Almost dashed was our love story

How dumb I was to not dare

When our tale was never illusory

"Hm I wonder who left this for me, i'm lowkey scared ;-;. Who the heck left this last night ? It only it was Venti.."

woops Venti had just managed to scare you ahhhh. But atleast you sort of confessed ? ;w;

[creacherkeeper]

32 & 38 for the writing asks <33

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

Will I find O solitude

your plumes, your breasts, your hair

against my face, as in childhood, your voice like the mockingbird’s

singing Yes, you are loved, why else this song?

yom kippur 1984, adrienne rich

this is from a poem about the comfort of being with your people (jewish, queer, female, poc) but also desiring safety amongst the many and loving the stranger. and discussing solitude as like. being safe even if you dont have Your Safety with you, being able to just be out in the world as one of many

we were talking about text tattoos earlier and this is the one that i keep going back to tbh. "yes you are loved why else this song". just like. of course the world loves you, why else would it be singing? it really gets me

i found the poem rather by accident because we were reading adrienne rich for a modern american women writers class and i was idly flipping through your native land your life and just happened to spot the title of this one. and was like. oh jewish title. read. and then. got turned inside out. content warning for heavy topics but if youre marginalized & feeling scared with the state of things right now this might be one to read. as a gay disabled jewish trans man in the south who full stealths its. one thats near always on my mind

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

i've explained this to a few people but i very much write Like Math. sentences and paragraphs are like. equations in my head. once in high school my teacher was like okay write a random essay yall. so we did. and then afterwards she was like Trick Question this is actually your first draft and we're actually going to go through them and vary all your sentence lengths so it doesnt sound monotonous. and she divied up sentences into Short, Medium, and Long and then had us go and count how many we had of each to be like. gotcha your writing is repetitive. and i was the only one in the class who didnt have to change a single thing because i already had the exact same number of short, medium, and long sentences in my essay ToT

but the way i write is less like. what is Happening, put it Down. and is more like. okay i think this paragraph is most impactful with a short sentence, long sentence, two medium sentences, and two very short sentences. i know i want the long sentence to have three beats with asyndeton with soft consonants. and THEN i look at whats happening and plug it all in. since i've been doing it so long it's less? conscious now? but i do write very mathematically and write by like. rhythm and sound a lot of the time

[the25thviolence]

Writer Interview Thing

So this weekend I--- Lets roll this back a tad. So the beginning of this week I got super motivated to be creative but I work 4 day weeks of 10 hour shifts.  So I didn’t really time to do anything till now.  I want to finish 3 bits of writing this weekend and this is one of them. 

1. When did you start writing?

Actually writing in this form?  I’m not sure honestly.  I remember as like a teen writing poetry a little and writing my mom like a nice mothers day poem I made up.  She was convinced I took it from somewhere.  

Early writing was based on just too many feelings and or emotions inside of me and just needing a release.  Writing after that was because I could write to someone I cared about.  Which led to the early stages of this kind of writing.  

I actually pushed more into this because way back in the day when people rode around on dinosaurs a guy found some of my very first stories on a blog website.  He thought they were funny which is why some of my stories are the way they are today.  He also hosted my original website and writing for a few years back than. 

2. Favorite story you’ve written?

As the person who picked most these questions I don’t know why I fucking picked this one.  

I’m not sure, I really enjoyed writing the Summer Time Madness part with (Captain) Sean and the Kraken.  I have a huge soft spot for any part of a story where I use the ocean as symbolism for washing someone away.  

3. Favorite character?

I don’t think I remember all my characters to be honest.  It would be an insult to my own creation to not say Sean and the Girl/Princess/Ashley.  They’ve been in my head for over a decade now. 

Currently I really do enjoy Claire and the Baristas though. 

4. Best hidden message in a story you’ve written?

Hidden seems to be an abstract thought to me.  When I feel something is hidden it is apparently very obvious.  And when I feel something is obvious it is not noticed at all.  I think for now my favorite hidden.... You know I haven’t really fleshed this part out, written it, or come to a concrete thought on the matter.  But a certain character mite have connections to the girl from the star character from a very old story of mine.  Well Claire mite have that connection.  I’m not sure yet.  But the stars themselves mite be coming back to my stories. 

5. Why so many spelling and grammer errors? 

Short, because I can.

Long, hmmmm.  I didn’t like grow up smart.  I didn’t really start reading till like the 4th grade but than by the 5th grade I was devouring books.  Do to many personal issues in life (people dying and being extremely poor etc) I didn’t really try to do anything in school.  I graduated high school with one of the lowest possible GPAs because I thought I was going work at mcdonalds after I graduated.  Turns out I was so poor the government gave me money for college and I was able to attend community college and get an associates for free because of that.  The only and most depressing silver lining to having a parent die when your 12 years old. 

Basically I have no real education on the matter of writing.  

Also I can’t draw for shit. 

I can’t sing or make music for shit.  

I can’t paint. 

I can write, anyone can write.  I view writing much like someone would view painting.  Each word but a stroke on the canvas.  And every error or mistake but a drop of paint misplaced.  Now apart of something greater and beyond my control. 

I know its wrong but I heavily prefer my writing be a one shot.  Written once and released into the world.  I have slowly, very slowly, come to terms with editing and proof reading and all that nerd shit.  Its a process I am still heavily refusing to this day. 

Yes, grammer is spelt wrong on purpose you heathens. 

6. Any sneak peaks or future plans for writing?

Hmm

If the Moon can be apart of the story.  

A vessel of power. 

A weapon. 

A dramatic bit of symbolism. 

What of the sun than? 

7. Can you explain “The Void” and “Post Void”? 

Many parts of my life have shoved there whole hand into my chest and squeezed.  Every time it happens it feels worse than the time before.  I would call my high school years a void and everything after a post void.  I would call some years after losing someone I cared about in my twenties a void than post void.  And this rehash of loving people and losing people another void than post void.  Depression is crippling.  Depression has ruined every single tooth inside my mouth.  To the scars on my body to the tattoo on my wrist.  

Simply a void is when life wraps its cold star ridden hands around my neck and holds me still till I either die or stand back up. 

And post void is everything that happens after.  Consequences and all.  Standing back up always comes at a price and I pay it greedily each time. 

8. Does anyone in your family know that you write?

No? I guess some know I scribbled at one point as a hobby.  But no one for sure knows about Once Was A Stranger.  

If anyone is curious as to why.  I don’t trust my family with the deep bits of my existence.  As the youngest of 6 kids nothing I do will ever have a strong meaning. 

9.  “Why am I not a main character?”

I can’t tell if this a question from my good friend twchh or from Sean himself.  Sir, I could never capture your essence in simple words.  God could give me the canopy of the night sky and I still wouldn’t be able to put you into mere words with all that space. 

10. “How much of Once Was A Stranger is actually inspired by/based on reality and how much of it is me misreading it as that.”

Warning: A friend/peer/tortured proof reader asked me this question so I up chucked a metric ton of words on the subject.  This is the last question here and its full of non-organized words. 

This is going to be a really really really long answer and I will try my best to make it as coherent as possible.  I’ve reread this story multiple times to better answer this. 

Its so hard to explain everything without shoving 86 links with 86 different stories down your throat.  Once Was A Stranger was every bit of writing I ever tried to write in my life.  I was finally able to reign in my scatter brain and write a complete story in the style I desired.  I have some small regrets still on some parts.  I had really big expectations for the market scene where the Stranger gives his big speech.  I tried for a really long time to write that part and just couldn’t do it.  Which is why the scene is so.... off center and cuts off.   It works just well enough to fit its role in the story but I wanted so much more from that section of the story. 

I am already off track. 

I’ll start with the characters. 

Sean

Sean for all intensive purposes is my first character.  Like my first character ever.  Sean is a major carry over from my first stories I’ve written.  Why the name? Because I liked it.  Sometimes it reminds me of the Shawn meme from that one video game (SHAWN!).  Sean’s shtick is that he was a thought, a happy little day dream, a fantasy trapped in some girls head.  And he was used by the girl to make herself happy.  But one day he started slowly growing free will and becoming alive.  He would turn against the girl in her dreams trying to escape.  The girl would often “reset” him back to a basic little fantasy but suddenly it didn’t work.  I never finished this story, I knew how it was going to end, but I never finished it.  

Princess

Princess is just the---the girl---every single girl from every story.  Most precisely the girl from Beads that used Sean as an escape inside her own head.  I used to know a person a lifetime ago.  A very very very long lifetime ago.  This character was based off of them and the relationship I had with them. 

Jim

Now this one is funny.  While rereading the story I didn’t realize that this mite be read as a problematic name for people who knew me.  I’m not sure if this was a separate story or a part of Beads (Beads was my first too much for me to handle large scale failed story attempt).  

But Jim is named after an old one off character.  His full name was Jim the goldfish.  Jim the goldfish lived on an alien planet full of goldfish.  Jim’s wife left him and he was drafted into the army to fight in non copyright infringing battle suits (much like gundams but totally not gundams).  In this story the ruling class, the Kardashians (yes, those ones) were battling revolutionaries to keep there power.   They got this power  by abusing the exchange rates between there planet and earth.  And they used that money to get amazing plastic surgery and become famous on earth.   The “Sean” character, a guy in a pair of white nikes drifting thru space (was and still am a huge kid cudi fan) was drifting past this scene in the story.  

Stranger

Once Was A Stranger.   Not much in the story really takes inspiration from my life till the end.  But the title.  The act of writing this story.  The life I breathed into it and the immortal bit of lightning it threw back at me.   The title is very strongly based on events from my life.  Thus he was titled.  For he was a stranger.  Much like myself. 

List of all the references:

Stars: I have a great personal desire to escape life, all of it.  And stars are about as far away as you can get.  I once wrote a story about a fallen star who met a strange boy.  Boy and girl.  Sean and princess, etc.  Boy obviously had problems at home.  Girl was a star exploding with life not wanting to go back to the night sky.  Not that bad of a story I think this still exists and is readable somewhere.

Succulent plants:  A small reference to a person someone tried to make me friends with and the interaction of wanting to own plants but not being capable of keeping them alive so they were suggested to me.  I thought they best fit the character for this story.  Kind of like a foreshadow to Jim having a darker bit of torment inside of him. 

The Actual Moon

Honestly, I have no real clue.  I wanted something great to destroy.  I have more to explore and write about in future stories so I won’t get into too much detail.  Big kid cudi fan (man on the moon).  Its in space and away from here.  Big and bright and in the sky.   Also completely crazy concept to try and fight it.  

King/Princess/Royalty

The girl is referred to as Princess as like an emotional show of importance.  The way the girl from the star story was a star.  And in that same story her father was the morning star always searching for her till the last moment each morning.  The princess had a king.  Someone of authority who did not like the stranger.  What? A girl with a father who didn’t like the boy.  Crazy.  That’s totally never happened to anyone before.  

The napkins in the end scene.

Unicorn/Bear/Mysterious monster

These are all references to old bit of writing pieces or short stories I’ve written.  Sean even notes his white sneakers aka the white nikes story. And this is all a deeper reference to the fact all those stories have long been deleted.  I had a...

I had a. 

A blackhole void consumed my life.  

An irl friend had to come grab me out my house one day to make me move.  

I deleted almost every single part of my online presence because of that.  

Many references in Once Was A Stranger are from long deleted stories. I think I wanted to acknowledge them and pay my respects even though I was the one that deleted those stories.

Repeated phrases/bits

Because I find them entertaining and this was my story.  The telling time by the stars or sun.  Repeated phrases.  Etc etc etc.  My favorite part of Once Was A Stranger was slightly noting the writer was apparent to the characters.   It wasn’t breaking the 4th wall in my opinion because the writer, myself, was in fact also a character in this story.  

Sliding between Sean and Jim and different parts of the story

This was a major shoutout to Beads and to what that story could of been if I was a better writer at the time.  To make it seem like the Princess was trapped between stories.  A turn on the original Beads where Sean was strapped between stories.  

Sean/Jim 

Were they the same?  Different sides of the same coin.  Not to spoil future stories yet to be written too much.  They represented the split between my long time main character. I’m not sure if there any really parallels between nice Jim becoming angry and angry Sean becoming nice.  I think I was in too deep of an emotional space at the time of writing to really know. 

Baristas

I have no idea.  That just sprouted in my brain.  They became apart of the story than proceeded to get there own “spinoff” story.  

Late game writing

Yeah yeah yeah yeah

Yep

You read these parts

I guess I should spell this out. 

Knife.

The void

This all hurts to talk about honestly. 

I’ve been kicking the words for this around in my head lately.  Hoping to write something that would relieve the pain a little.  

I was in love with someone.  It was unrequited.  And it caused a forest of stars to sprout and take root in my heart.  And it made someone very very very close to me hate me.  Hate me so much.  It felt like they stabbed me in my chest with a knife.  Trying to kill the forest of stars inside my heart.  To kill that love.  That unrequited love.  A deep bit of selfishness shared all around.  All because we loved the same person.  

As far as the story is concerned.  Sean, The Stranger, twisted and turned.  And now the knife was in there hand.  New name and all.   

The Ocean

As far back as Beads I have always used the ocean as a way to cleanse.  Clean.  Restart.  Change.  Give birth to.  The ocean is as much life as it is monstrous and uncontrollable.  The ocean cleansed this story and gave a rebirth to the boy and the girl.  Or a death.  They walked purposely into the open arms of the ocean.  

Ashley

This is the shortest answer.  Big fan of Halsey. 

I’m not very good at putting things in order.  Jesus H Christ that much is obvious.  I hope they shined random bits of light on some things. 

This is the end of this bit of writing.  And I am completely open to follow up questions.  I know only one person mite have them but you know how to contact me and scream insanity into my ear. 

[hopepaigeturner]

🎄Giftmas Day 6: Subscription Service--Philoise

Modern AU set about three years after the events of Six Days and Six Poems. But you dont have to read them to understand anything here. (Check them out on AO3 username: xxHope_Paige_Turner_99xx)

El recieves a book subscription from Benophie and starts chatting to another recipetant--@PlantDaddy01.

*~*~*~*~*

Christmas: Foreword

“What the?”

Eloise slipped open the envelope to find a little notecard.

Rare Birds Book Club: Welcome Aboard.

“It’s a book subscription service,” Sophie explained snuggled in Benedict’s arms. “Monthly, you get two anonymous blurbs to choose from, then it arrives all wrapped up to ensure it is a surprise!” Sophie’s eyes sparked, like when the pair talked about literature—particularly Sophie’s PHD. “They specialise in female authors—ofcourse—and there’s a whole community you can access.”

“We thought, with your big move, that it might be a nice reminder of home and a possibility for something new.” Benedict chimed in. “Until you find your feet and your favourite book café.”

“A new chapter,” Sophie added.

Eloise put on her best smile. She had always wished to fly the nest, but her heart still panged. No more would she be able to pop over to Benedict and Sophie’s for a late-night chat. She wouldn;t be able to pop down from Manchester for a comforting embrace and listening ear.

“Yeah…yeah.” She turned the postcard over, “I’ll give it a go."

1.Girl, Woman, Other by Bernadine Everisto

“I found the balance between the individual plots/styles and the overarching themes/structure of the novel to be a line well-toed. I feel it reflected the nature of race in Britain; at once so individualistic yet also overlapping.” PlantDaddy01.

“I agree with @PlantDaddy01. While I am not from a racial minority group, I liked how the book was intersectional, not just with race but class, gender and sexuality.” @E_classic-not-plastic_Bridgerton

“What do you mean by ‘intersectional’ @E_classic-not-plastic_Bridgerton ?"

“I’m referring to the idea of ‘intersectionality’. An idea that we need to look at issues through multiple lenses together—e.g. race AND gender—to fully understand the complexities of an issue. I can send you some articles if you want?” @E_classic-not-plastic_Bridgerton

“@E_classic-not-plastic_Bridgerton, that would be great. PM?”

2. Unwell Woman by Elinor Cleghorn

“Another great read! As a scientist myself, I found it very enlightening.” @PlantDaddy02.

PRIVATE MESSAGE:

El: A scientist?

Philip: What? I am a multi-faceted individual, a man who is “intersected by a variety of other determinations and ideologies”. Don’t judge a book by its cover, Eloise.

El: You read the essays I sent you?

Philip: Yes? Why wouldn’t I?

El: Oh, I usually overwhelm people with my opinions. Most of my family tune out or roll their eyes now. LOL 😂

Philip: Well those people are not worth your time—or are too narrow-minded to appreciate proper intellectual brilliance.

It had taken Eloise a while to respond after that.

3.Circe by Madeline Miller

Philip: I’m never looking at Greek legends the same way. Rick Riordan who?

El: I know it was so gripping! The description utterly entranced me, the romance, the heartbreak... Sorry that was a bit of an emotional spiel.

El: Also—Rick Riordan is still solid, thank you very much.

Philip: You like those too? After How to Train Your Dragon, that was my childhood book series. Going to be a bit controversial—Percy Jackson > Harry Potter. * goes and hides in his allotment*.

El: I TOTALLY AGREE!! I still hold the belief if stupid Universal hadn’t f—ed up the films then PJ would have been just as big as HP. FIGHT ME!

Philip: I think I know by now not to get in the ring with you—but always up to listen. Educate me El!

4.Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

Philip: Wasn’t there a movie adaptation about this? Have you seen it.

El: I heard. And not really. I don’t trust movie adaptations that much. PTSD from the PJ movies.

Philip: I understand the pain.

Philip: I’ve just look it up, T Swift did a song for it.

El: I’m always in two minds concerning TS. As a teen I really brought into the whole ‘she only writes about boyfriends’ crap. Gradually appreciating her music—especially Folklore.

Philip: Oh, Amanda loves her.

El: Is that a friend?

Philip: Sort of, not really.

Eloise decided not to look too closely at why relief flooded her system after that message.

Philip: Anyway, we could still see the movie.

Eloise’s heart stuttered.

El: Yeah, that might be nice. If it’s terrible we can throw popcorn at it.

Philip: I’d have to sort a couple things out, but you could come over to mine? Could only do Friday tho.

El: My roommates out this weekend so the flat is free. I have a sofa bed if you need to crash?

Eloise swore.

What the hell was she thinking?

Yes, she might have had a couple fantasies about Philip over the last months, (maybe more than a couple), but he didn’t need to know that.

However, a couple moments later a little star popped up in her notifications.

Philip: Sounds great. It’ll be nice to meet you in person. X

 El put her hand over her mouth—even though there was no one to see her blooming beam.

5. Oh no! Unfortunately, your surprise got lost in the mail!

Philip: Hey El. I know after last week you might not want to see me again. I get it, trust me, I do: a 24-year-old single dad with 6 year old twins isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. My life is a mess, I’m an utter mess. I should have told you about Amanda and Oli, that’s on me, and I am so sorry. I totally understand if you want to go back to messages or break contact.

But I really, really like you, Eloise. You’re smart, witty, intelligent, funny and gosh, just beautiful in every way. When I talk to you, for those moments, I feel like me. The real me. Not the reposnible dad, not the researcher, not the guy-with-the-kids. I can just be. I love it, I love us…whatever we are. I loved our night last week and I meant every word that I whispered to you under those covers and the ones I said when we woke up.

But I will respect your decision, Eloise. I will, whatever you decide. I don’t care if you want to return to being friends or pen pals…I just need my life to have you in it.

6. Diving into the Wreck by Adrienne Rich

Eloise tucked her book under her arm and rang the doorbell. She bounced on her toes outside the ground-floor flat and tried not to fiddle with her scrappy bun.

She hadn’t dressed up--hadn’t even applied makeup—on the virtuous idea of vulnerability. She had wanted to be Eloise, just Eloise—brash, coarse and raw. After all, Phillip was literally opening her heart up to her due to the invitation.

However, a ride on the bus had slowly eroded that conviction. She tried to inspect her features in the faint reflection of the window. No use.

The door swung open and Eloise’s heart fluttered.

Theo's smile transformed his face.

“Hi." He pushed his wire-framed glasses up his nose.

“Hi.” Eloise did a little wave. “It’s good to see you.” Philip startled slightly and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah—sorry,” he leant forward and kissed her cheek, “I just… his eyes slid over her body. “I am a very lucky man.”

“So am I,” Eloise replied with a blush, “a lucky woman that is—not man. Obviously.”

Philip chuckled and went to reply when—

“OLIVER! THAT’S MY CAR! GIVE IT BACK!”

Philip winced.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked.

“A wise man once told me to ‘never judge a book by its cover’.” Eloise replied, stepping up and entwining her fingers in his own.

“He sounds like an interesting guy.”

“The best,” she said, allowing him to lead her inside to start the next chapter of their story.

*~*~*~*~*

Post Christmas I might add to this, (so it's not just text messages) to add to the Six Moments series.

I used Phillip in this one even though I am more drawn to Theo (in the show, especially in comparison to bookPhilip). Although I have my own feelings about who showEloise's love interest should be.

[allthemusic]

Week ending: 28 January 1954

Already nearing the end of January, and we are seeing two songs, one familiar, one fresh but... interesting, to say the least.

Oh! My Papa - Eddie Fisher (peaked at No. 9)

It's this song again! Truly an unlikely hit, but at least this time we have lyrics? It's a very sentimental treatment of the originally-German track, all about (what else) the singer's papa.

There is still some Eddie Calvert-style trumpeting, but it's restricted to these little flourishes inbetween verses and chorus, which is a bit sad, since they're some of the best bits of the track! Annoyingly, there's also an absolutely fantastic trumpet introduction that got me way too excited for what then turned out to be a fairly average track.

But yes, I can't say much good about the actual songwriting. It's pretty run-of-the-mill stuff, all about how Eddie's dad was great, and he misses him. It's eulogistic, but bland, and lacks the kind of specific detail that would actually make me feel emotional about it all.

The musical backing seems to know that it's propping up lacklustre material, because it also just plods along gamely, with a plucky bassline, some vague, frilly strings, and, later on, some unnecessary but thankfully unobtrusive backing singers.

It's so different to Eddie's version that I actually wondered halfway through the first time whether it was actually the same song, but I think that's more because of the extreme blandness of this version, and not because either version is actually particularly radical.

I wasn't a raving fan of Eddie's version, but this version makes me appreciate it a bit more, because the bits of this I liked - the trumpet and some moments where the tune really soars - are all things that both versions had in common.

The public clearly agreed, since this version only readed Number 9. I don't know if that's because it's worse, though, or just because it's American, and thus wouldn't have been as easy to get ahold of. It's certainly a bit glossier than Eddie's version, as many of these American versions seem to be, and its been made a lot more palatable (and in this case bland). This includes Anglicising the title from the rather German Oh Mein Papa, which... fair enough, I can get behind that, especially once there are non-German lyrics.

The Happy Wanderer - Obernkirchen Children's Choir (2)

And then, just as I think the charts might be getting boring: this. To which I can only say... heh?! How did this song happen? And more importantly, why did this song happen?

I'm genuinely baffled. It's a song with a long and improbable history, going back to a guy called Florenz Friedrich Sigismund in the 1840s, who was writing poetry right in the middle of a not-actually-very-unified vaguely-patriotic movement retroactively called the Reformbewegung, whcih included the Wandervögel, who were all about walking and enjoying nature and getting away from the cities.

These kind of interlocking subcultures are one of my favourite historical corners, because they have links to all sorts of later movements as diverse as the New Age movement, Scouting, ecological campaigners, Nazis, modern pagans, heritage preservation people and also, like, nudists. But that's another post for another blog.

Either way, the poem apparently became popular, but it's only 1949 that it got this tune - even though it seems like a super traditional walking song! A guy called Friedrich-Wilhelm Möller wrote the tune we hear here, and then it got super popular in 1954 when a choir of children (many of them war orphans) from Oberkirchen in Lower Saxony, northern Germany, came to Wales to sing at the Llangollen International Musical Eisteddfod, and apparently this was the song that captured the British public's attention?

It all just seems gloriously odd to me. Like, eisteddfods are such a niche British thing, and not even that well known beyond Wales, and it just seems weird that the British public would a) actually listen in and b) pick up on this song in particular. German sentimental ballads do, to be fair, seem to have had more cultural cachet (either on their own or in translation) than I expected when I started this project. But stil...

Part of what confuses me is that this, even if it wasn't German and old, is a very weird recording. It's got these children singing, but their voices are high and quavery, like Snow White from the Disney film had been recorded and had her voice put through some very strange post-production effect. I can still tell apart most of the lyrics, which is a win, but they're oddly echoey and shimmery-sounding, not at all what you'd expect.

The standout lyrics that you will certianly pick up are the repeated refrain of "Falderi-Faldera", which soar up to stratospheric heights. They're exuberant and nonsensical - think a German "Fa-la-la-la-la" - and they do give the whole thing a jolly sort of effect. Again, it makes me think of the Seven Dwarfs a bit, and the scene where they're all dancing around.

The rest of the lyrics are pretty standard, all about the joy of walking. The first verse explains that this runs in the singer's family: "My father was a wanderer / And it's also in my blood / So I'll merrily walk as long as I can / And wave to you my hat." (translation mine)

We then get a rundown of all of walking's good healthy effects - there's fresh air, it keeps your heart healthy, lets you breathe better, lets your mouth sing - and then all the ways that nature sings along, from the little birds to the little babbling brooks. It's very 1800s.

And then we slow down and get a bit more stately for the final verse, as the singer explains that "So I carry my knapsack and my stick / Out into the wide world / And until I lie in the cool, cool grave / A merry wanderer I shall be" (it scans in German, I just couldn't be bothered translating meter!) I like it, actually. Genuinely.

So, we get two German songs, and while one was a much safer option, I think in this case the British public and I are in accord. The Obernkirchen children's choir is just a more interesting prospect. There's also something kind of sweet about it all. I've listened to it while writing this post more times than is probably wise, and I've still not got sick of it. Plus, as a bonus, I really enjoyed diving in the weird, tangled history of the thing. True, I have a degree in this specific kind of stuff, so I may be biased. But I think it's genuinely quite cool? I don't know, don't sue me.

Favourite song of the bunch: The Happy Wanderer