#are you happy now album

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

photos taken by me, circa summer 2019 // Third Eye – Florence + the Machine // Make You Proud – Jensen McRae

[kana7o]

[I used to know my place was the spot next to you]

[lil-lemon-snails]

"I can't ignore what's under dancefloor boards, The rhythm of my heart a dead-as-disco beat, But I still move my feet, to slip out of this groove, I'm free" ~ 2econd 2ight 2eer, Will Wood, The Normal Album

I have been plagued with visions of LDR Sun every time I listen to this song and I NEEDED to get this out of my system @spadillelicious when do we get to smooch the boy pLEASE

v textless version and close ups under cut!! v

[buglaur]

fireworks show 🎆

material preview version is very cute also :)

i struggled with the lighting on this one so badly, but it turned out alright in the end.

i actually started it last year for new years 2023 but never got around to finishing it, hence no progress pictures this time sadly lol. i do have a very low-res, first draft, test gif though

stills 🥳

[starrylevi]

Levi who has an untitled album in his phone and it’s all pictures of you. Most are candids in which you’re caught off guard. He’s talented at taking pictures without you noticing. There’s a picture of you sleeping, another of you snuggled up against his chest, one of you belly laughing, and more. However, his favorites are the ones that are the most ordinary, the ones that you personally don’t think are all that special. In these pictures you’re doing the most mundane things like laundry, washing the dishes, watching television, engaging in your favorite hobby, etc. He thinks you look beautiful in all of them. He doesn’t believe there needs to be a reason for him to take these pictures. You simply existing is reason enough for him.

[isbergillustration]

Very considerate of the Mountain Goats to wait until the day after I handed in my degree to release their new album so I can dedicate all my time to going insane about it. Quick painting while listening through for the first time.

[amaliatheartist]

I am such a sucker, and I’m always the last to know

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

(so many of my favourites actually don't fit in the poll options ffs 😭)

[seaofreverie]

Sparkstember Day 1: Halfnelson

This album is SO GREAT!! On my first listen I was immediately very impressed by it and I really love how it has this very particular early 70s rock sound that I'm a big fan of, while still being distinctly Sparks and its own special thing, at a time when Sparks was just starting to become its thing - the heart of it all was there from the very start! While it's not my top #1 favourite Sparks album or even one of my top 5 favourites (which is a nebulous category anyway that's likely to change and shift with time of course, and not even something I pay THAT much attention to) it's definitely still UP THERE and a very special album in my heart that I revisit quite often. Especially when I need something to simply relax but also appreciate some of that early Sparks' experimental and... almost whimsical? sound.

This album also reminds me of winter, a very snowy one at that, and that's in big part because of when I started listening to it for sure, but some of that vibe is already there in the music anyway if you ask me. Walking around a Christmas market in the city and hearing random tunes from this album playing in my head all the while, that's one great memory I have from last year. If I were to give this album some sort of visual representation it would definitely involve a lot of browns and other earthy tones - it would be very dark and mysterious without being scary or truly unnerving necessarily - think something like the Edith Piaf (Said It Better Than Me) music video, but less colorful and involving more wooden materials (yes, this is VERY specific and also definitely an image that's supported by that wintery association, as well as the imagery that my brain came up with for Simple Ballet, but more about that below...).

Favourite songs (and other highlights):

Wonder Girl

Roger

High C

Fletcher Honorama (the entire atmosphere this song has is incomparable with anything else)

Simple Ballet (this one was a later favourite but the IMAGERY and atmopshere here is, once again, very special, I actually developed an entire music video idea in my head for it at this point, even if it feels very vague)

Saccharine and the War (probably my favourite on the album)

No More Mr. Nice Guys (THAT guitar solo!! a real mind-blower on my first listen too)

[confettidogs]

Taylor Swift sang “were you standing in the hallway, with a big cake, happy birthday” to me on my birthday and my life is complete. I will never need anything else ever again

@taylorswift @taylornation

[pardonmydelays]

huh

[whollyjoly]

for some reason i can't explain i know saint peter won't call my name

nothing that lives, lives forever - an immortal soldier!alton more au

(1.1k of snippets from my old guard(ish) au where alton more is old, too old, and has been living and fighting far longer than anyone should. full description/other thoughts at the bottom. tw: blood, violence, mentions of death)

Alton clicked the lighter closed, running a thumb over the silver case. The night was warm, sticky in a way that he never could get used to. He sucked in a breath from the cheap cigarette, letting his head fall back against the rough side of the barracks.

It was quiet. Typically, there would be no end to the commotion coming from the small building, one of many that littered Camp Toccoa. The wall of sound was ever-present, no matter if it was shouting or laughing or snoring. But whatever the cause, there was always noise. 

No matter if it was a blanket of noise he knew well, unchanging except for the language and the scenery. Soldiers are soldiers, and some things are a constant. It could almost be comforting, if it didn’t also mean that the need for soldiers was a constant as well.

However, tonight was a Saturday, and it was one of the few weekends that Sobel had allowed Easy the use of their weekend passes. Almost every man in the company had jumped at the chance to get off base, to travel home if they could and spend time with loved ones. The ones with farther-flung hometowns had spirited off to Atlanta, happy to spend their time drinking and dancing and fucking instead of slogging through another run, three miles up, three miles down.

Normally, Alton would have joined them in their carousing - it was easier to pass the time with the effortless camaraderie built during a training camp than bored and alone. 

But today had been a bad day. The sound of swords and the shift of sand beneath his feet followed him out of his nightmares, the humid summer of Georgia morphing itself into the baking, dry heat of the desert. 

His shouts must have been real, because when a hand came to shake him out of his dream, the first face he saw was not that of a grouchy NCO, but of a blood-caked Saracen, eyes alight with righteous fury. 

Alton didn’t think. He had grabbed the knife from under his pillow, an old thing that had been sharpened more times than he could begin to count, and was on the man in less than a breath, pressing the blade into the side of his neck. The familiar thrum of blood beat against his fingertips, the grit of sand scratched his gums. He knew what he had to do, had done it a thousand times, a thousand thousand times, what was a little more bloodshed spilled across his feet-

Alton had blinked, and came to himself in a rush.

Instead of an unnamed Saracen, the ashen face of Johnny Martin stared up at him, eyes wide behind the knife.

Alton drew back his hand, retreating almost as quick as he had lunged earlier. He mumbled a quick curse and apology as he stepped out of arm’s reach from the man. It wasn’t until Martin’s eyes widened even farther that Alton realized his tongue was slipping out Arabic of all things.

Usually, Alton was better about remembering himself, who he was almost as important as where he was. But for whatever reason, his demons had decided to catch up with him that night.

After a quick smile and some quip about the Krauts in his dreams, he managed to wave an only-slightly-mollified Martin off. The shorter man apparently hadn’t forgotten it though, if his watchful eyes during chow that morning were anything to go by.

Alton was just glad that no one else was awake to see it, at least. That was the last thing he needed.

And so, instead of joining in on a weekend of broads and booze, Alton found himself waving away the invitation by an eager Smokey and bemused Alley. When the horde made their way out of the barracks, fantasizing in bawdy terms about their planned misadventures, he felt like he could breathe easy.

Fucking finally.

~~

Alton took another drag from the cigarette. He watched the smoke curl, up and up until it faded into nothing amongst the darkening sky.

The lighter was a welcome weight in his hand, grounding him to this time, this life.

The design was worn by now, details barely visible after a half century of worrying. It still managed to amaze him, sometimes, what people could do with the smallest of canvases. Alton didn’t feel the same wonder however, wasn’t as mesmerized by the beauty man could create as he once was.

But in the quiet moments, he could still appreciate the time some French craftsman took to transform a hunk of metal into a small token carried around by a dead man.

Luz had spied the lighter one weekend, and laughed at him for using something so old-fashioned. Alton just shrugged, not caring to admit that he was still getting used to having a light at his fingertips. It wasn’t all that long ago when he was still lighting a pipe with a flintlock pistol, and not so long before that when he would carry around a flint and steel.

Time was passing all the more quickly these days, technologies changing and advancing, and everyone was obsessed with needing things to be quicker, cheaper, simpler. Alton scoffed. He could hardly find it in him to care.

He glanced down at the lighter in his hand, shifting it back and forth in a practiced motion and watched as the light skittered across the sides. 

It had shown flowers, once. A veritable garden of carnations, daffodils, and lilies of the valley, with leaves spilling across the front panel onto the back. They represent good fortune, he was told. Good fortune, luck, and hope. 

When the merchant described it to him, eyes ablaze with a passion known only to those with wares to sell, Alton didn’t try to hide the snort that escaped his throat. 

Fortune and Luck had abandoned him long ago, and hadn’t returned since waking up in a battlefield abandoned by all but the dead, sword in his chest and blood in his mouth. 

And what the fuck was Alton supposed to do with hope?

It was the quote on the back that had caught his eye, all those years ago in a street market in Reims. The beveled edges had faded with time, the familiar letters Alton traced were more memory by now than any physical mark. Une vie honorable est une vie éternelle.

An honorable life is an eternal life.

Alton couldn’t help but stare at the message, both then and now. He hated that goddamn word. Immortal. Unending. Eternal. 

They were such flowery words, used by people who craved what they couldn’t have, what they shouldn’t. The romanticized idea of the everlasting, the fountain of youth, the gift of life! Alton was sick of it.

This wasn’t life. He was a fucking dead man walking. And he sure as hell didn’t do anything honorable to deserve it.

months ago, while thinking about the absolute insanity of the almost...cavalier? attitude we see alton more have over the course of the series, an idea hit my brain: what if there was a reason nothing seemed to phase him - not panzers, not being a breath away from a car wreck, not bastogne, not speirs? what if this wasn't his first war? that thought spiraled me into a minor insanity that is this: my immortal soldier!alton more au, loosely inspired by the movie the old guard (2020). the idea is that, once upon a time, there was a soldier in a land many centuries ago. one day, he died in battle. and then, he woke up. and then he died. and then he woke up. over, and over. drawn to countless battles, conflicts, and wars, each one etching itself into the core of his soul. a never-ending cycle...until one sweltering summer, where he found himself at a training camp at the foot of a mountain. anyways. at some point, i plan on writing this as a full story, but that is admittedly a long ways away. however, in celebration of alton more's birthday today, i wanted to post my favorite scene that i've written for this au! it's set sometime at the beginning of the story, in the early days of camp toccoa. mostly, it's just a character study of this version of alton more. hope you enjoyed! and of course - happy birthday alton more!

(song insp.)

taglist: @sweetxvanixlla @coco-bean-1218 @bucky32557038ww2 @georgieluz @samwinchesterslostshoe @xxluckystrike @next-autopsy @ronald-speirs @land-sh @ronsparky @panzershrike-pretz @theredrenard @kyellin

[maraudersarecanon]

How is every single song Speak Now vault track aziracrow-coded?

[httpiastri]

dear everyone,

a while ago, i hit 1.5k followers on this blog.... i didn't want to get too sappy but i really wanted to write something, so:

the fact that over one and a half thousand individuals follow me is truly insane and too much for my little brain to grasp. i want you to know that i'm so extremely thankful for each and every single one of you and this makes me so so so happy. this is way more than i ever had expected when creating this blog.

i made this account back in june purely for my own enjoyment; i created it mainly because i was disappointed in myself for having stopped writing, since writing has been such a big part of my life since forever. ever since i stopped writing about kpop, i had barely written anything at all... i made this account just for fun with no pressure and no expectations, and before i knew it, this blog turned into something so special for me. the blog, all of the people i've met through it and all of the moments we've shared, all mean the world to me.

honestly, i'm not sure what i would do right now if i didn't have this blog and this community. these last few months have been pretty rough for me, but i've always been able to come back on here and gain a smile or some laughter. you've all helped me so much, even if unintentionally – every single interaction helps me push forward. i'm eternally grateful for every single like, comment, reblog and ask i've received on here, and your kind words really do mean the world to me. i don't know where i would be without you.

i hit 1k a while ago but didn't celebrate it properly, so i decided to make an 1k/1.5k-celly that i will be releasing soon (when i have more time to actually write)(hopefully at the start of december). please stay tuned!

and once again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you all so so so much. you truly are the best. 🧡🧡

[burningcomputerpersona]

my cds (and cassette tape) finally arrived in the mail today!!

[kkkindered]

@of-elitiism inquired ;

[ Marcus ] The workday has come to an end about a hour prior to the moment he'd dared to knock at her door. He hadn't been around this half of the campus in a while so, admitedly, it did feel slightly intrusive to wonder around , checking the plaque on every door as he searched for whom he was looking for. More than once he had to remind himself that he too taught at this school and he wasn't doing anything not allowed. When he'd finally came across her classroom there was a flicker of hessitation before he'd announced his presence with a knock.

"...Mrs. Sylva?" He called as he slowly pulled the door open. "Sorry to bother, i think someone must've made a mistake today. Is this yours?" A thick, heavy Claude Monet picture album was extended her way, Marcus carrying it with ease in his wide, strong grasp. "...someone left it in my office."

Delphine is packing away brushes and oils when someone knocks.

Finally done with a day of fielding questions and critiquing artwork. Falling into the routine of double checking oil containers, placing unused canvas back to their spot and placing unfinished works to dry. Something feels off, however.

Something is missing.

Though she hasn't glanced at the desk where her things are yet. She has a feeling that it'll feel lighter than it should.

The door hisses open as she turns off the sink tap. She turns and nods at the call of her name. ❝ Hello —,❞ a pause to remember the name, ❝ Mr. Visarion. ❞

Brushes she was rinsing clink against the sink basin. Delphine steps from the sink and drags her hands along the apron still around her hips. He gets a once over. She has glimpsed him when she had first been assigned in to the school to get acquainted to the staff.

Taller than her.

Eyes leave his crown to look at his hands, stopping before him.

Something was missing.

❝ No bother. Thank you. ❞ Waving away the words.

She takes the album and flips through it. Counting the pages to ensure none are missing.

All here.

She looks up at the man again, ❝ A student had a class after mine and asked to look through it before school ended. It seems like he forgot to return it. Again, thank you. ❞