feast beast


(With my deepest apologies to Shakespeare and Dr. Seuss)

Can I kill my Uncle Claude?
Yes, I can, I can, by God!
I will kill my Uncle Claude!

Should I kill him in the house?
Should I kill him while he’s soused?
I could kill him here or there
I could kill him anywhere
Would I, could I, while he prays?
Kill him! Kill him! Wherefore stay?
I would not, could not, while he prays!

Not in the house, not when he’s soused,
Not with his sister, now his spouse!
Not while he prays, not while he feasts,
O, incestuous, adulterate beast!
I do not like my Uncle Claude,
I do not like that bloody bawd!

Say! In the dark? Here in the dark!
Would I, could I, in the dark?

Should I kill him in his bed?
Should I there strike off his head?
Kill him with his nightcap on?
Kill him when the churchyards yawn?
Should I kill him where he lies?
I will kill him, by and by!
I do not like my Uncle Claude,
I’ll kill him, i’ th’ name of God!

The play! The play! The play’s the thing!
The thing wherein I’ll catch the king!
No more ‘to be or not to be,’
I will kill him, you will see!

Kill him while he wears his crown
Kill him while his guard is down
Kill him with some poisoned wine
Kill him with this sword of mine
O, is the point envenomed, too?
I’m dead–Horatio, adieu!
But tell them, tell them, more or less,
Who it was that made this mess!

I did not like my Uncle Claude,
I killed him in the name of God!
Good friend, report my cause aright–
And now, goodnight goodnight goodnight!

You are twenty. You are not dead, although you were dead. The girl who died. And was resurrected. Children. Witches. Magic. Symbols. Remember the illogic of the fantasy. The strange tableau in the closet behind the bathroom: the feast, the beast, and the jelly-bean. Recall, remember: please do not die again.
—  Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath  
In which Harry is an onion....

It’s all about the layers.

Harry might not be able to say what he wants to say in interviews, and that’s ok. But he sure as hell can get it across through his music. After listening to the album I feel like I know him better, that I understand him a little more, and I feel honoured that he’s let me in. That’s all you can ask for from an artist, and it’s a masterpiece. 

There’s layers to the songwriting, where the lyrics seem simple but say a whole lot. There are layers in the production and melodies, giving the music a really lived-in feel that is reassuringly comfortable. And there are clear nods to the past which feels like we are getting a little peek into Harry’s record collection that he’s built up over the years. 

I wasn’t going to do a track by track, but honestly, I couldn’t stop myself from jotting stuff down as I was listening to it, so here goes, here’s my unfiltered brain-dump under the cut:

Keep reading

Resist (Primal May 2nd)

He hated himself for feeling this way, for thinking about her like that.  Raven was his friend his teammate, she trusted him. But if she knew what kept running though his mind…

How much he wanted those long strong legs of hers wrapped around him, or draped over his shoulders. How much he wanted to grab a fist full of her hair and pull her head back and run his teeth along her throat.  He wondered if she would try to fight him, or beg for him to stop, because beg would be the only thing she could do. Or maybe she would beg for him bite harder, run her fingernails down his back as he feasted on her neck. Beast Boy wasn’t sure which thought excited him more, and it disgusted him.

Raven was a person, she was not meant to be hunted like prey, or mounted like an animal.  Beast Boy knew that, so more and more he would find himself in the shower with the water as cold as he could make it trying to rid himself of these thoughts.  

He stood there his forehead against the ceramic tile, the icy water running down his back trying to think of anything other then what sounds Raven would make as he ravaged her, would she scream for him, moan, say his name as hands dug into that small yet perfectly shaped ass of hers.  He lifted his head up and let it fall back into the tile wall to punish himself.  

“Stop it!” his voice echoed in the bathroom.  He didn’t want to hurt Raven, she was the last person that he wanted to hurt. Yet it was hard to ignore the more base parts of him.  The parts that didn’t understand why it would be wrong just to take her.  They wanted to mate and that’s one of the strongest drives in nature.  

He looked down at himself, he was at full and almost painful attention.  Beast Boy wondered how he was going to ask Cyborg to somehow make the water even colder.  It was either that or he was going to have to go jump in the bay.

“Do you always shower with the water this cold?”

Beast Boys eye’s shot open.  He was sure that his out of control hormones had finally broke his mind and started making him hallucinate.  He really just didn’t hear Ravens voice behind him, it was all in his head. Then a pale thin arm came around him, and delicate fingers turned the knob. The water quickly warmed and steam was soon filling the shower.  

“Much better.” the voice echoed in the shower stall.  

Beast Boy could feel the rush of fresh blood blow his waist. He took in a deep breath and it carried her scent with it, distinctive, and delicious.  He felt like a chain twisted on itself.  Then he felt her hand on his shoulder pulling him back.  Beast Boy wasn’t sure if she was that strong or was he that distracted holding his impulses at bay but he let her pull him out of the stream of water so she could steep into it.

Beast Boy pressed his back against the cold tile wall, his left hand gripping his right wrist behind him not trusting himself.  Raven was right there in front of him, the shower stream wetting her hair, and running down her back.  Her skin was flawless a blank canvas. His mind raced to what it would look like under his, how it would look decorated with bit marks and kisses, how she would look after he claimed her marked her.  What the hell was she doing!? His right hand balled into a fist digging his claws into his palm and closed his eyes tightly, the sound of the water, the pain in his hand, anything to distract him from the thoughts of grabbing the lovely woman in front of him and doing unspeakable things to her.

“You want me don’t you?” Ravens voice was measured as always. She asked that question as if she just asked for the milk at breakfast.  

Beast Boy didn’t trust himself to speak, or trust himself to move.  

She turned away from the water to face him. “It’s Alright” she said softly.  He felt her rest her palms on his chest.  He couldn’t help it his eyes eased open, he could see her, hear her, feel her.  There was nothing between him and her but steam.  

“No Raven, it really isn’t” he choked out.

She brought her right hand up to his face, fingertips traced from the tip of his ear down to the base of his jaw.  "You want me don’t you?“ She asked again.  

“Yes” he let out like a held breath.

“But you have not taken me, do you know why?”

“It’s not right”  he said squeezing his eyes shut again. Trying to push away the thought that everything that his body wanted was right there in front of him, toned slightly flushed from the hot water and completely unprotected.

“Yes, Garfield it’s not right.” Her left hand still against his chest. She could feel his heart hammering away at his ribs.  "And you are a good man, so you resisted and you have been resisting for a very long time.”

“Rae I”

“Shhh”  She came even closer and craned her head in her lips inches away from his ear.

“You care for me, I know you do. It’s how I know you would never really hurt me.  It’s the reason why you have held out for this long. ”  

“Rea, I don’t want it to be like this”

“Garfield, ” god his name never sounded so good to him. “If you want dinner, flowers, and holding hands I want that too, but right now you are so” she measured the word carefully before breathing it into his ear “inflamed, that you can barely see straight.”  Her breath in his ear ate away at his dwindling will power. “I can feel you, I have been feeling you for weeks. We can figure the rest out in time”

Raven backed away slightly “look at me” her voice had an authority it didn’t have before forcing his eyes to open. “Now you can either come to my room and I will give you what you need,” She kissed him gently “Or I will come to yours and I will take what I want”  She spat out for a moment her eyes flashing red. Before she kissed him again biting his lower lip.   Then in a swirl of black she was gone the last thing Beast Boy saw was her smirk.  

Okay some of you might be a little bit confused. I actually wrote two different stories for this prompt. The one called Resist explored Beast Boy’s more primal side in terms of his attraction to Raven.  The thing is that many writers have done this. In fact take a look at @xaphrin ‘s collection on FF.net. Primeval and To claim and possess are incredible examples.  But primal can mean more than just sexuality so I wrote Protect. I wrote one to see if I could do it, I wrote the other to try to add something different. Enjoy.

what's cookin'

what’s cookin’ in the oven,

what’s boilin’ on the burner,

what’s roastin’ on the spit,
smoking on the grill?

what’s your mind musing on,
making & mixing up
to spill?

what’re you serving  
punchbowls full, on ice,
with fruit slices for flavor?

when do we eat - what’s the apertif’?

frozen or unthawed treats? 

should i grab a table
or a seat?

I’m thankful that you attend to 
my need to feed;
you enable me to feast, 
ravenous beast that i am…

anytime i visit, i savor 
the melange of smells & flavors 
you favor upon this mere shell of a human - 
being, heeding, reading to devour…

scroll that golden brown lit’ on down
to page’s end, like a true friend 
outside the ivory tower; 

lovin’ how you stir it up - sate me
to a measure of fullness,

‘til next you’re implored
to answer your calling - our need,
acolytes all - your highness

we’d gladly heed & it’d be great
early or late,
whenever - just to share a fête
with you;  

so what’s cookin…today?
6/17 - lebuc - what’s cookin’

am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone.
i’ve got a migraine and my pain will range from up, down, and sideways.
thank god it’s friday cause fridays will always be better than sundays cause sundays are my suicide days.
i don’t know why they always seem so dismal.
thunderstorms, clouds, snow, and a slight drizzle.
whether it’s the weather or the letters by my bed, sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head.
let it be said what the headache represents.
it’s me defending in suspense.
it’s me suspended in a defenseless test, being tested by a ruthless examinant that’s represented best by my depressing thoughts.
i do not have writer’s block, my writer just hates the clock.
it will not let me sleep.
i guess i’ll sleep when i’m dead, and sometimes death seems better than the migraine in my head.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
i am not as fine as i seem.
pardon me for yelling.
i’m telling you green gardens are not what’s growing in my psyche, it’s a different me, a difficult beast feasting on burnt down trees.
freeze frame, please.
let me paint a mental picture portrait, something you won’t forget.
it’s all about my forehead and how it is a door that holds back contents that make pandora’s box’s contents look nonviolent.
behind my eyelids are islands of violence.
my mind’s a shipwreck.
this is the only land my mind could find.
i did not know it was such a violent island, full of tidal waves, suicidal crazed lions.
they’re trying to eat me, blood running down their chin, and i know that i can fight or i can let the lion win.
i begin to assemble what weapons i can find cause sometimes to stay alive, you got to kill your mind.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
and i will say that we should take a day to break away from all the pain our brain has made.
the game is not played alone.
and i will say that we should take a moment and hold it and keep it frozen and know that life has a hopeful undertone.
am i the only one i know, waging my wars behind my face and above my throat?
shadows will scream that i’m alone, but i know we’ve made it this far, kid.
made it this far, made it this-
—  migraine (twenty one pilots, vessel) 
And the Birds sing no more by AzraelGFG | Chapter 68: Sansa
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

“Little bird, did you have a good time?” he asked and kissed her cheek, before picking up Serena out of her arms and kissing his little girl’s cheek, while her daughter flung her tiny arms around Sandor’s neck, happy to be in her father’s strong arms.

“Yes, we did,” Sansa said smiling. “Was your hunt successful?”

“Aye, Gendry killed a boar. It’s already in the kitchen and we will feast on the beast tonight,” Sandor declared.

“The beast is large enough to feast for week on it,” her uncle jested as he kissed his son.

At long last, a Baratheon won against a boar XD

i’m honestly so sad avpm is still one of the greatest things on the planet and the songs like honestly are so happy for me they make me sad and emotional so i havent been listening to them because i dont have a single person to talk to about it im stuck all by my lonesome