cow says moo

lololypopy  asked:

So many people are fighting for these lyrics interpretations 😥😥😥

1. Context is important in songs. “Olivia” wasn’t just about a girl. “Hey Angel” wasn’t a conventional love ballad. Music is, first of all, music. It is ABOUT music, refers back to music that has established a presence in its genre, shows what Harold Bloom called the “anxiety of influence.” “Olivia” is ABOUT love as much as it is ABOUT “Penny Lane.” “Hey Angel” is evoking obsessive love as much as it is an homage to “Bittersweet Symphony.” Honesty in music means an integrity to the truth of the music, and a smart understanding of it– of what music is trying to say, and how songs are linked. This is especially important for Harry, whose debut album is supposed to be heavily influenced by his understanding of rock ‘n roll. For instance, imho, the bass riff in “Ever Since New York” quoted from “Baby Blue” is intentional. By evoking it, ESNY is trying to influence our interpretation of ESNY, almost like an Easter egg thrown in to the music. Read the Wikipedia entry on “Baby Blue.” It’s a kicker.

2. Honesty in music doesn’t mean it’s literally autobiographical. Louis said his fav song in MITAM was “Love You Goodbye.” Did it mean Larry split up? We got a million hours of Next-To-You during MITAM promo. “End of the Day” wasn’t about a literal couple at a literal party. Pop music uses romantic imagination to tell stories in metaphors. Sometimes it’s darkly confessional. Sometimes it’s humorous. But always, the lyrics have been created by someone telling a story– they’re fictional. There may be truths in the sentiment of the songs; only the person who wrote it knows for sure.

3. Harry is a songwriter who likes shock and surprise. He likes jokes of all kinds– from dorky, groan-worthy jokes (“A cow says moo.”) to musical jokes. He likes writing provocative songs that invite speculation: “Something Great,” with Louis singing only the last lines, “Stockholm Syndrome” with its bondage imagery. It’s valid to speculate that “Carolina” is about cocaine. Harry probably anticipated this and enjoyed the thought of his fandom wildly speculating. He’s not going to tell. Who’s the “Sweet Creature”? He’s not going to tell (not until much, much later). Speculation SELLS SONGS. It’s great for business. It creates buzz.

4. There are a lot of ways to listen to songs. There’s the relaxed enjoyment of just having good music in your ears. There’s the intellectual understanding of musical theory and structure. There’s imagination about the true subject of the songs. In any case, I recommend not letting music cause any anxiety. Music, like creative writing or even non-fictional writing, is therapeutic for the artist. When Harry writes about heartbreak, he isn’t only reliving the heartbreak. In a way, he has made peace with it, and has transformed it into art. The fact that the lyrics seem so evocative and REAL means the songwriters did a good job. They made us FEEL something. Harry himself has moved on. We don’t need to feel angst for his life– he is a grown man, a professional artist. The music is exorcism for some ghosts, both in his personal life, and in his musical expression– these are songs that show his digestion and transformation of the music inside him. You can see how happy he was performing in the Today concert. The music is his craft and his livelihood. His obsession, now, is to present it well in performance, to do well in the charts, to collect accolades and respect. Remember this statement– doing well drives every aspect of his promo. His obsession isn’t the same as our obsession. The music is all new to us, but not to him. He has moved on. He is a musician, and it’s more important for him to get recognition as a musician.

Music is such an intimate way to communicate. It speaks to our imagination so directly and forcefully. It affects the most primitive parts of our brains, the limbic system, so closely tied to our instincts for survival: hunger, sex, fear, excitement, love, protectiveness. That’s why we have these unconscious and involuntary responses— it’s the damn nerves. Don’t blame yourself for responding to music the way you do. It’s built into your system, the way we all want to have good food and good sex. I want to send a little love to everyone who loves music in your own ways: you have feelings, you’re human, you’re alive. I love that you feel so intensely about music, because I do too.

Finally, it’s okay not to agree. It’s okay NOT to like Harry’s music. It’s okay to criticize the lyrics or music for artistic reasons. To me, being a fan means using my intelligence to judge merit for myself. Don’t beat yourself up for not liking something, and please don’t beat other people up. If you don’t like it, there are lots and lots and lots of other great music to listen to, I promise– music just as compelling, with just as great a backstory.

In which I seduce the villain of a side quest

Context: So this is the same Mae Gjallarfjall who seduced the pirate captain on the first game. In a later session, we have arrived at the capital of Fountland, which will serve as our base of operations for most of the campaign. The party decided to run some sidequests to make some cash and possibly find some loot. So we pick two bounties that are the opposite of each other. One is a dude who wants help fighting off an army of 5000 people, and the other is the army of 5000 looking for more help. Our way of completing both was… unusual.

DM: So, you guys arrive at the camp of five thousand men. One of them turns to you guys and asks “Who the fuck are you?”

Me (OOC): I pull out the job poster and tell him I’m looking for his leader.

DM: He points you the right way and wishes you luck.

Me (OOC): We continue on to the tent and I walk in without announcing myself.

DM: You find Meb in her tent, barely clothed and sitting on a throne made of men. She looks at you as you approach.

Me (OOC): I roll Persuasion to sway my hips seductively as I continue forward. *rolls +2 and ties Meb’s Initiative check*

DM: She raises an eyebrow at you and smiles. She greets you and demands that you state your business.

Me: *holding up her Help Wanted poster* I came to see about your job offer. You have five thousand men at your disposal against a single enemy, and yet you cannot best him? Why?

DM (as Meb): Ah, yes, I and my… rival, shall we say, have a contract in place. I’m only allowed to send one soldier per day.

Me: And for what ends?

DM (as Meb): To steal a cow.

Me: What’s so special about this cow? Can’t you just buy it from him? If you have the money for an army, surely you can buy a cow.

DM (as Meb): It’s a really nice cow. And he won’t sell it to me.

Me: Well, if you haven’t already sent your soldier for the day, I’ll go next and end this whole feud.

DM (as Meb): I like the sound of that. For now, find yourself a tent and rest up for the night. He’s tougher than you may think.

The rest of the party salutes and turns to leave.

Me (OOC): As I turn and walk out, I roll Persuasion again to sway my hips. *Rolls +3 and successfully seduces Meb*

DM (as Meb): Except you. *pointing at me* You stay. You’ve caught my eye… What’s your name, hun?

Me: Name’s Mae Gjallarfjall. Pleased to make your acquaintance.

DM (as Meb): Oh, we’re going to be far more than mere “acquaintances.“ (OOC): Roll Initiative.

Me (OOC): *critfail*

DM to me: You fail to notice her grab a whip from her throne as she steps towards you.

The rest of the party, meanwhile, comes up with a plan to con Meb by disguising Paladin’s horse as the beautiful cow. In the morning, McCooly (the dude with the cow) would feign loss and run away with the real cow, giving the horse to Meb as per the feud contract. I, however, was getting laid, so I missed all of this.

DM: It is morning! Cocka-doodle-doo! The cow says "Moo!” McCooly is waiting in his usual spot just between his ranch and Meb’s camp. Mae, you wake up very sore but strangely refreshed.

Me: Welp, time to take care of this job. (OOC): Doot doot doot. I head out to where McCooly is.

DM: He charges you with a very predictable path at a very slow speed, and winks at you. Initiative.

Me: *+2 Initiative, +3 Block*

DM: You successfully block. He says “Oh no, you are so fast! How did you ever see my attack coming?”

Me (OOC): I punch him right in the face with Storm Fist. *Rolls +2 for contact and +5 for damage, fail the stun chance, but land the cooldown reset*

DM: He looks at you funny and whispers at you “What are you doing, you’re supposed to go easy!” He then swings his spear at you again. It is very easy to read.

Me (OOC): *+1 Initiative* I notice, and +2 Block.

DM: You block again, and he says “Well, I guess I don’t have to hold back either.” He’s trying to shiv you with the spear. Initiative.

Me (OOC): *Same rolls as lats time.*

DM: You do NOT block, and you get shivved for 7 damage.

Me (OOC): That’s 3 after armor, I take it as HP. My turn?

DM: Yes.

Me (OOC): I’m going to poke him right under the jaw in that soft spot between the bone.

DM: I guess that counts as Bare Knuckle. Roll.

Me: *connects and does 5 damage* And now, I spend a fate chip to instantly reset the cooldown of Fist of Havoc, and I’m Smashing. *rolls 36 damage*

DM: …aw… why? You killed McCooly. He’s like, the coolest NPC ever, man.

Me (OOC): Afterwards I roll First Aid to keep him from being completely dead.

DM: So after he wakes up, he shakes your hand and compliments your strength, and hands you 90 gold to split between the three of you. He then takes the fake cow over to Meb and hands it over. Meb then tosses you an additional 90 gold to split, and blows a kiss at Mae.

PSA; Guys it’s Shameless. These starters are vulgar and not always the nicest. Be kind and don’t send anyone triggers that you know will hurt them.

  • ❝ You came all the way down here to talk about my pubes? ❞
  • ❝ This ain’t Macy’s bitch, you ain’t window shopping. ❞
  • ❝ The front door was locked so I came in the back. No pun intended  ❞
  • ❝ And everyone looks at me like I’m fucking up…. which I am! ❞
  • ❝ Whores dont get cars. ❞
  • ❝ You’re like a fucking cockroach. Able to live anywhere and feed off anything.  ❞
  • ❝ That bitch is crazy and not crazy like ooh you so crazy bitch, no! She almost beat me to death because i asked if there was any more broccoli. ❞
  • ❝ I totally almost drowned a slut! ❞
  • ❝ I’m the only guy I know that’s been given last rights 3 times  ❞
  • ❝ Circle doesn’t start with an ’S’. What the fuck?  ❞
  • ❝ I believe in a force that thinks it’s greater than myself.  ❞
  • ❝ The best gift you can give is neglect. Neglect fosters self-reliance.  ❞
  • ❝ … I’m talking hold-on-to-the-grass so- you-don’t-fall-off-the-Earth hammered.  ❞
  • ❝ The bat is for killing, not playing. ❞
  • ❝ Doctors are thieves, they just have degrees to keep them out of jail  ❞
  • ❝ What kinda hard liquor you got…and how much?  ❞
  • ❝ Welcome to the predictable consequences of using crystal meth  ❞
  • ❝ Liking what I like don’t make me a bitch. ❞
  • ❝ There’s no such thing as casual sex anymore. ❞
  • ❝ In the end there will be only the rich and the fucked. ❞
  • ❝ The one fucking day of the year I need to take a shower and the goddamn water’s turned off! ❞
  • ❝ I’ve been spending all morning talking about what a cow says. It’s moo, motherfucker. ❞
  • ❝ I’m fucking busy, Peppermint Patty  ❞
  • ❝ I believe the answer to that question, like the answer to most questions, is fuck you! ❞
  • ❝ Not everyone just gets to blurt out how they fucking feel every minute. ❞
  • ❝ Fuck you, fuck you, and especially fuck you. ❞
  • ❝ Give me liberty or give me meth. ❞
  • ❝ People fuck up. That’s life. ❞
  • ❝ But no one likes to hear a grown man cry. It’s like the verbal equivalent of a man wearing uggs.❞
  • ❝ That’s why women were invented. To think for you assholes. ❞
  • ❝ You were nicer when you were asleep. ❞
  • ❝ You need to stop biting, punching, and hurting people. ❞
  • ❝ The first rule you learn in this house, you hide the god damn money.  ❞
  • ❝ Did the two of us finish off an entire gallon of box wine last night? ❞
  • ❝ Because it’s never about me, and i’m finally making it about me! ❞
  • ❝ I trust you. That’s bigger to me that ‘I love you’. ❞ 
  • <p> <b><p></b> <b>MC:</b> Who's child is it?<p/><b>Luciel:</b> Gimme a second<p/><b>Luciel:</b> *crouches down*<p/><b>Luciel:</b> What does a cow say?<p/><b>Child:</b> Moo!<p/><b>Luciel:</b> What does a dog say?<p/><b>Child:</b> Woof!<p/><b>Luciel:</b> What does Elly say?<p/><b>Child:</b> It's Elizabeth 3rd!<p/><b>Luciel:</b> <p/><b>Luciel:</b> I think it's Jumin's<p/><p/></p>

Tom, Haz, and/or Harry owns a bright yellow coffee mug that has orange sunburst flowers and a cartoon cow that says ‘moo! moo!’

and its used enough that it was the thing Harrison decided to use instead of a measuring cup.

one of the boys likely has coffee or tea (mostly milk if its Harrys) in a cutesy little mug in the mornings….. so theres that.

This is inspired by @only-1-a and @s-erendipitinesspost about Alec being in socks all the time! (this is my first fic and definitely not what I thought my first fic would be but I had to write this)

When Alec walks through the door of the loft, he doesn’t expect a bundle of giggles to slide into him.

Perhaps he’d have been more prepared for impact if he hadn’t been so focused on the way Magnus looks in his stilettos, but before he can even think to close the door, a little girl is wrapped around his legs.

“Alec!” Madzie looks up at him excitedly, with seemingly no intention of letting go.

“Hey Madzie.” Alec scoops her up into a hug. “What are you up to?”

“Sock slides!” Madzie is practically shaking in excitement. Alec looks to Magnus confusedly, who only looks on in amusement. Alec lets Madzie back onto the ground, who quickly grabs onto his hand to drag him into the open expanse of the living room. Belatedly, he realizes she’s not wearing shoes.

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To Stand on Mountains

Requested: a Reid x Reader imagine based on the song “You Raise Me Up.”

“But when you come and I am filled with wonder, sometimes I think I glimpse eternity.”

He comes home late, long after the sun has slipped behind the skyline. It’s amazing that his legs manage to carry him up the stairs when his body feels so weary, when his mind seems to tired to continue on even.

These cases, they have a way of draining a person.

There is no point in turning on the light inside the apartment, he simply shuffles in the dim light, sets his shoes by the door and his bag on the couch. Will there come a time when the world doesn’t feel so dark that at times the absence of light is almost stifling? Perhaps it is only perspective, his perspective, the one afforded to him by virtue of his position. When your hours are spent chasing the embodiments of evil, the beautiful is harder to see.

But at the moment, what he can see is her, standing in the doorway of their bedroom, learning her head against the wall. Waiting. Waiting for him.

And he knows that he should say something, but even that sees to require more energy than he is willing to spend. What he wants is for the day to be over, to compartmentalize another loss, another spot of sadness into the file cabinets of memory. He brushes past her, busies himself with undressing. There is something soothing in the act of shedding the vestments of the day and putting on clothing that hasn’t seen what his eyes have in the last forty-eight hours.

She’s standing before him when he turns around, and reaches for his hand. Her skin is warm, soft, though her hands are strong enough to hold him together when he fears he might fall apart. There is no need to ask if something happened, that much is obvious. Instead she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He just shakes his head. Left, right. No, no.

Respecting the refusal, she pulls him onto the bed, now fitting both of her hands into his. Sitting in silence beside him, she searches his face for any sign of what has transpired, and finds only exhaustion. Still, she does not let go of him. Her grip is a sort of grounding for him, and with her his thoughts are far less likely to drift off to darker places. With her, his spirits are somehow – almost imperceptibly – higher. She brings him a sort of peace.

The beat of her heart echoes in the quiet, a steady of rhythm that sets a pace altogether different from his own. In all their time together, he never has learned the secret to staying so calm. He is restless, anxious, and always in a state of curiosity. Even when staring into the unknown, she manages to make herself feel right at home. There are only four places he feels at home: with his team, in Las Vegas, in a library, and by her side.

Finally he speaks. “I could really use a distraction.”

Though he asks for one, he isn’t certain what to expect. It stuns him nevertheless when she hops off the mattress to pull something from the bookshelf and turn on the lamp on the nightstand. The title earns her a confused look. 101 Knock Knock Jokes. That’s what this is, isn’t it? Some sort of joke? There’s no way she’s serious about this.

“Knock knock,” she says.

When five seconds slowly pass, he hesitantly replies, “Who’s there?”

“Cow says.”

“Uh, cow says who?”

A grin spreads across her face. “No, cow says moo!” Silly as it is, she laughs at it. And proceeds to read straight from the book in this manner, one joke at a time. It takes approximately nineteen before he finally laughs, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards, and she sets the book to the side. “I missed that sound,” she says.

“I missed you,” he replies. Around her a laugh comes more easily. Around her, he finds he has more reasons to smile, like when her hand fits perfectly into his or she looks at him the way some people look at the stars or she tells him she loves him. Tells him just so he knows, even with an eidetic memory, she never wants him to forget it. Never does she want him to doubt it. “I hate being away for you so long.”

“We need a vacation.”

There’s little he would want more than a few days away from work, with nothing to worry about but what he’ll read and how to make her smile. It won’t happen though. “You know I can’t get time off right now,” he sighs.

“I know. But…” Another quick dash to the bookshelf, this time to pull down a picture atlas. Instead of maps, it’s full of glossy pictures from around the world. “If you had the time, where would you want to go?”

She loves traveling. When she was in school, she took every opportunity to study abroad. On lazy afternoons she weaves stories for him about different places. What they look like, what they feel like. There is a list of places she wants to take him, all of her favorite cities holding pieces of herself she wants to share with him. In moments like this, he wishes he could go. He wants to be able to take planes and trains with her, let her drag him along for a spontaneous road trip, but he has responsibilities.

This though, this he can do. Reid flips through the pages of the atlas, looking long at each photograph. Sometimes he thinks he sees the world in the woman beside him, not just from her tales. But his mind is so colored by memories of her, connecting her inherently to a sense of wanderlust, that as his eyes scan the book he begins linking places to her, turning her into metaphors. The sun rising over the sands of the Sahara like the sparkle in her eyes, the depths of a blue Pacific wave like the gentle ebb and flow of her voice, the welcoming fjords of Iceland like the very feeling of her. She is an invitation, she is home.

“Here,” he says, pointing out a picturesque scene. Snow-dressed mountains stretch above a plain of amber grasses and magenta flowers. In the distance there is a family of black bears ambling along. He’s always hated the beach, but he wouldn’t mind a lake, somewhere quiet and peaceful, far from case files and serial killers - on the other hand, he knows that there’s roughly fifty serial killers in the United States at a given time, so perhaps the latter will never really be possible.

“Fairbanks, Alaska?” She smiles up at him. “Good choice. We could get a little cabin. Or maybe even camp out in a tent, weather permitting. That way we could see the stars at night.”

“Or the Northern Lights.”

“And we could hike up the mountains, all the way to the top.” He despises exercise, avoids it at all costs, but for her he wouldn’t mind. “Can you imagine the view from up there?” she asks.

While he’s never been to the peak of a mountain, he has an idea. It must be like soaring, the sensation of seeing such beauty from such great heights. Awe, and wonder, and a feeling of luck. Lucky to be there, lucky to experience something like that. It wouldn’t come without effort, but the climb would make it all the more worthwhile. No, he’s never seen the world from the top of a mountain, but he has seen Y/N. She makes him feel that way, leaves him breathless in sheer delight. She makes him happier than he’s ever felt, and she always finds a way to raise his spirits.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I can imagine.”

In the end, their weekend becomes a stay-cation. They cook salmon and watch documentaries about climbing Mount Everest while bundled up in blankets together. They venture out to the rooftop of the apartment building at 4 AM to see the stars, and they stay to watch the sun rise over the city. When she falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, he kisses her forehead, content to stay there as long as she wants.

It is a great big world, full of terrible things and monsters who look human. But for every stormy sea there is a gentle, cleansing rain. And for every unsub they track down, there is someone like Y/N, patient and kind. A living sunrise, the panorama view from the summit, the sort of person who makes you want to shout in joy.

And at the same time, the sort of person who makes you feel safe enough to fall asleep beside, knowing that only sweet dreams will be found.

The Gang as Drake and Josh Quotes

Pony: (I love you) SEE YOU IN CHEMISTRY.

Soda: I repeat things for emphasis. EMPHASIS.

Darry: Who accidentally drops their phone into soup?!

Dally: I bought milk but I drank it all the way home.

Steve: When life hands you free nachos, you don’t question it.

Johnny: I hear crying, oh wait, that’s just me.