So, I went to the screening and I’m going to share some of my thoughts and actions:
One of the top comments on the life feed on Rammstein’s page stated that Jonas needs to calm down, they think he’s given them seizures. I cackled, but it’s true; this film has a LOT of VERY frantic moments that are quite extended in some places. I’m not qualified to give an epilepsy warning, but I WILL say those prone to migraines or oversensitive to flashing lights/images or frantic editing might want to watch out.
I LOVE the way most of the songs are introduced, their ‘title cards’. The only ones I didn’t really like were Mutter (it took me forever to realise that’s what the words were going to spell out as they were written) and Feuer Frei! (font was tacky). Buch Dich’s one was fucking hysterical, though.
On that note, I really don’t need to see Flake’s pale flat arsecrack for a good solid lifetime now.
Irritated, abusive, sloppily dressed housewife Schneider is the best.
No matter how much it would have been rehearsed, him ‘kicking’ members down the steps to the second platform always look fucking painful.
The slow buildup at the start really does take a while to get going. If it’s for stragglers to get into theatre, very well done. I enjoy spooky sombre Rammstein and monk-like Ollie (did I mention how much I FUCKING LOVE monk-themed Ollie because I do).
Paul is a goofball and everyone loves him. Everyone is solemn in the procession across the walkway. And there’s Paul doing an exaggerated stomping march (think Till when he’s getting off the platform in Wuhlheide at the start of Ich Tu Dir Weh, that kind).
OH MY GOD IS SCHNEIDER GOING TO DO A BACKFLIP oh thank fuck no he’s not jesus man don’t scare us.
Nice closeups of Ollie, the forgotten bassist. Between Paul the lovable ham, Flake the abused glitter giraffe, Richard the prima donna, Schneider from outer fucking space and melancholy boyish titan Till, Ollie is somewhat in the background. Easily the most dignified, and he gets some shine here.
Speaking of the glitter giraffe, HIS FUCKING MOUSTACHE.
I will never get sick of the concert addition of the ‘tick, tick-tick-tick, ticka-tick-tick’ for Mein Teil. I love that little earworm.
Till’s finger-in-mouth girly pout at his now empty dick is priceless.
As much as Jonas needs to calm the fuck down with his editing sometimes, when he gets it right, he gets it REALLY right. Closeups of Till really shine at certain moments, I can’t wait to see in-between screens for something.
WAS THAT A VAMPIRE RICHARD WTF.
Reptile tongue Till is cool until the second time when it looks fake as shit, and lightening fingers Flake is distracting. Also, floating spinning Till made me wonder if the migraine had started and was messing with my eyeballs.
Fuckers leaving before the end.
Fuckers STANDING IN FRONT OF THE SCREEN as the after-credits come on.
“Bitte. BITTE. BITTE! DOWN IN FRONT!”
Flake staying behind to finish his parts, then casually fucking off as the show ends makes me cackle.
I feel sorry for the people behind fuckers who have banners in the crowds, I really do.
Till is melting ice-cream from his hair at one point. I know that’s not what it is, it just looks like that.
IS THAT A DERMAL ANCHOR ON HIS CHEST TILL YOU DAFT BASTARD DID YOU GET THAT FOR THE HEART BIT OMFG YOU ARE NOT A PINCUSHION.
I say that as I am jealous since I am unpierceable. I had two Till left-eyebrow piercings and numerous others, but my body tries to eat them and they never heal fully.
Headbutting microphones and smashing cymbals. FUCK INSTRUMENTS WE ARE RAMMSTEIN.
Speaking of which, where did Paul and Richard’s en-flambé guitars go guys you can’t just edit them out of existence where did you throw them to did you just really not like the security in the pit around you.
“Paul. PAW-AUL. Fuck it, Paul, okay. And I know it’s Flack-eh, but to me it’s Flake. He’s a Cadbury chocolate”
Surprise!!!! See, I haven’t forgotten about this fic. And somehow, I gained some inspiration to
write it again. So just in case you have
forgotten about it yourself, Part 1 is here and Part 2 is here.
The Weeping Willow –
She rests her head against the chair, smiling to herself as
she hears the chatter and laughs of her best friend on the phone in the
kitchen. She loves days like these. Days where she is able to step away from her
celebrity life and embrace the normalcy she so often craves. At least to the extent that she can.
She’s found herself craving it more and more these
days. Finding that for each day she is
in the studio she prefers two at home.
Sometimes she worries she’s become complacent with her career but she
knows that’s not the case. It’s just a
balance that she longs for. Her career
is established. Her life, not so
much. Or at least parts of it not so
much. The past few weeks have extensively
shown her that.
She rolls her head to the side to look out the window. It’s snowing.
Not that that’s a surprise. It is
winter in New York and snow is commonplace.
But for some reason, watching the flakes of glitter sparkle down over
the past few days has produced an unnerving feeling in the pit of her
stomach. Perhaps because she has told
herself a year ago that she’d always spend winters in Los Angeles. Likely because she’s been unable to get the
picture of Diana Hiddleston’s home out of her mind since she painted it three
weeks ago. And that memory just leads to another, this
one with Tom, sitting in his car as she raves about how she can’t wait to see
Suffolk, to see that home, as it’s blanketed in snow in the winter. The Hallmark movie she so desperately wanted
to see that she will no longer have the chance to.
Desc: Reader is a witch who has un-dealt with feelings for Kai. After learning that Bonnie, her best friend, has locked him up, she flees to rescue him from the Prison World, determined to tell him how she feels.
x x x x x x x x x x x
Bonnie sat by the crackling fire, brown eyes wide as she spilled everything.
“You WHAT?!” you gasped, hands flying to your mouth.
“Trapped him in the Prison World,” she muttered softly.
Even though she hated Kai, a part of her also hated herself for what she did to him.
Your nails had been clawing into your tender wrists while you listened, tears burning at your eyes.
“(Y/N),” Bonnie hiccuped softly, offering you a hand, “I’m so sorry.”
Your chest rose softly as you took her hand. For a moment, she smiled sadly. Then-
“Gah!?” Bonnie gasped, pulling her hand back and looking at her charred skin.
“If you were sorry,” you said through clenched teeth, “You never would have done this.”
“(Y/N)!” Bonnie called after you as you made way to leave the Salvatore house. A shimmering white shield arose in front of you, blocking your way. “I can’t let you do this!” she begged from behind you.
Your fingers touched the shield, cracks appearing underneath your fingertips as you applied force. It shattered under your touch, splitting into a million pieces as you threw the door open and sprinted far far away.
I will find you, Kai.
Kai was angry and you knew it. He really had been trying to be a better person. He was learning to love and be loved, but after being completely back stabbed ….he must be absolutely enraged, you thought.
It had been two weeks since arriving in the prison world, and over a month since Kai had been abandoned. The feeling of loneliness sunk deep through your skin. Every breath was yours, every movement was yours, every footprint in the snow was yours.
Until, it wasn’t.
You made way to the Salvatore house with a bag of stolen groceries in your hand. Glittering flakes of snow trickled from the soft white clouds, covering the ground in a layer of cold.
It was there you saw it. A separate track of footprints in the snow, and they led all the way up to the house.
Pulling your coat to your exposed neck, you sprinted through the snow and to the unlocked door, hands fumbling and shaking from nerves and cold alike as you stepped inside. The house was alight with warm light and glowing candles. You could sniff out a burning log fire, so you let the groceries fall to the ground and tiptoed to the living room, where you came skidding to a halt.
He sat on the couch, feet propped up, and a glass in hand. His face was unshaven, his clothes were stained red, and his eyes were emptier than ever.
“Kai,” you breathed in astonishment.
His eyes flickered up, and for a moment he didn’t move.
“Me,” you smiled pathetically.
He looked so far off from reality, unbelieving of what he was looking at. This was, after all, the second time he had been abandoned down here.
A soft smile tickled the corners of his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing here? I mean, I just knew, I wasn’t alone, but-”
“Because I have to be.”
Kai stood, dodging the edge of the table as he approached you slowly, emptied glass in hand. He backed you into the wall, his eyes narrowed. In a flash he had slammed his glass against the wall, the jagged edge coming centimeters from your skin as he breathed heavily.
“She sent you, didn’t she?” he said furiously.
“Kai-” you panted, turning your head away as he easily withheld your limp struggle to escape from his grasp.
He smiled, a malicious grin lighting up his face as he brought his lips to your ear. He placed them softly against your earlobe, whispering against your warm flesh.
“Pathetic. She stole away what I had and now I’ll take what s-”
“Shut up!” you snapped suddenly.
Kai cocked his head, moistening his lips and forcing you to meet his gaze.
“What was that?”
You opened your mouth, eyes red as the feel of the glass slicing your skin caused you to gasp sharply. Your hand wriggled free, snapping up and catching Kai’s wrist. The glass he held instantly melted through his fingers. His lip curled as he brought up his free hand, but you caught that too, swinging him around and pinning him into the wall with such force that the wall cracked behind him. He opened his mouth for a split second, and with both hands pinned above his head, you pressed your lips forcibly into his, silencing his thoughts. It worked. Through the confusion of it all, Kai lost his willpower to hurt you. You pulled back from the kiss and placed a finger over his lips. The horrible malicious expression he’d worn was replaced with confusion.
“I came down here because I wanted to save you,” you said, voice shaking.
Kai stared at you, awestruck.
“I know why you might think I helped Bonnie, but I was never a part of that plan. She may have been my best friend before, but she knew how I felt about you, and put you through this anyways, and I could never forgive her for that,” you cried softly. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about how alone you must be…how alone I was without you. Because I never even-” you gasped, your hands wiping away the crystal water rolling down your cheeks, “I never got to tell you I-”
Kai’s arms flew out, snatching you from your back and pulling you tightly into his arms. He held you for a while, cradling your head to his shoulder, lips on your forehead while you sobbed into him. Two of his fingers crawled under your chin, lifting it up so your eyes met his blue ones.
“I’m so sorry, babe, I just…have a tendency of being abandoned. And as you must imagine, that comes with some trust issues.”
You smiled a little.
“My instinct is to hate. And clearly hate it must be, for even my best could never be enough for anyone,” he said, eyes signalling the red stain in his clothing where Bonnie had stabbed him. “I can’t put my faith in anyone because it always gets shattered when I need it most, and no matter how fucking hard I fight for good…at the end of the day, I’ve been made out to be alone.”
Your eyes flickered downwards and back up. “Your best and worst side has always been enough for me,” you sniffed quietly.
Kai’s familiar & cheeky smile appeared, melting your heart into an oozing puddle.
Kai bent over you, lifting your chin up so that your lips touched. He pressed his lips lightly to yours, arms dropping around your waist as he gently coaxed you for more, easing into the kiss slowly. You craved the taste of his mouth, lips parting as your chests rose and fell lightly to the beat of the kiss. Kai explored your mouth curiously, with more caution and gentle passion then you would have expected from him. Then, he slowly pulled back, eyes closed. His breath came a bit short.
“Kai?” you murmured.
He smirked, his eyelids fluttering open.
“Sorry,” he said, his teeth gnawing at his lower lip, wrinkles forming in his forehead. “I’m just not used to that. It might take me a second.”
You giggled and touched noses with him.
“What is it, bear?”
“I don’t know,” he said, trying to piece together his words, “M-My heart is fluttering and- I feel this warm thing inside my chest.”
You snickered and wrapped your hands around his neck, “That’s called love.”
Kai tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. “It feels nice.”
You grinned and planted a kiss on the bridge of his nose.
I made meditation or worry jars today. I use them to calm my mind . I give them a shake and watch the glitter settle. And the best part is they are very easy to make!
Here is what you’ll need:
Now a couple things to keep in mind. I used dollar store jars and at first they leaked but after 8 hours they dried and no longer leaked. I think if I make more I will use mason jars that can seal better.
I read some reviews that said instead of glitter glue use clear glue and glitter otherwise the jars will be cloudy. I didn’t do it this way and mine didn’t turn out cloudy at all. But I did only use two small tubes of glitter and then added my own glitter.
Also I actually tried making 3 jars , but one time I got the water too hot and it cracked the jar. So be prepared and have oven mitts and towels on hand because the water and jar get very hot! This would also be a good use for moon water if you have enough.
The process: bring your water to a light boil. Fill your jar ¾ of the way. Add two tubes of glitter glue, three drops of food coloring and your extra glitter. I did more fine glitter and just a shake of the big glitter flakes. Stir the mixture , you can use a whisk or a butter knife . Fill the jar rest of the way. Leave some room at the top. Leave jar open until the water cools down. Screw on the lid and let the jar sit overnight.
From there I said a blessing over my jars and charged them with my intent for calming. Cleansed the jars with incense and tada! Easy as that.
DESCRIPTION: Your boyfriend, Sam Drake, is supposed to come home tonight from his job in South Africa, and you can barely wait to spend the Christmas season snuggled up with him… until he calls to tell you he won’t be home in time for the holidays, flaking on you last minute. Things seem utterly bleak… that is, until a Christmas miracle happens to drift your way…
Inspired by this song (I’ll Be Home for Christmas Piano ed. - Gary Girouard)
Despite you getting up every thirty minutes to turn the temperature up, the empty classroom is freezing cold. Your fifth-graders usually complained about the temperature all the time, but not today. They had been too busy chattering excitedly about their Christmas plans to each other, antsy in their seats for the final bell. It was the final day of the school term, and all of the students had been looking forward to going home and celebrating the holidays with loved ones.
You too are just as excited to go home, because there’s one person in particular that you absolutely cannot wait to see. Your boyfriend, Samuel
Drake, is coming home today, just in time for your 5th anniversary together. He and close family-friend Victor Sullivan (Sully as you like to call him), had been working together on an archaeology job stationed in South Africa for the past two weeks. You only got to see him a couple times a week through Skype calls and the pictures Sully had emailed you. You laugh to yourself, remembering the selfies Sully had sent of Sam wearing a Santa hat, posing ridiculously in front of the African diamond mines. You smile briefly, realizing how much you miss his loopy grin and easy presence.
He’s coming home, you think to yourself again, feeling the excitement bubbling in your chest. Sam’s finally back.
Adam looks down at the card in his hand, drawn on pink
poster paper and covered in glitter and Opal’s drawings (a bee, and a deer with
seven eyes and only three legs.)
DaDDy anD Kerah,
I hatE you lEss than
I am giving you my
favouritE stick to ProvE it
Shit. Opal is waiting, looking at him and Ronan expectantly,
and Adam can’t think. He is abruptly on the verge of tears, fists clenched,
thoughts boiling. Ronan looks at him, concerned. Adam forces a smile.
“That’s great, Opal. Nice capital letters.”
“Thanks,” she says, proud. “Also, can I have my stick back?
I gave it on a borrow. A short borrow.”
Ronan snorts and untapes the stick, handing it back and
ruffling her hair. “Go and visit chainsaw and her babies. They need feeding.”
Opal puts her stick in her mouth and marches off outside.
Adam exhales shakily.
“I – give me a minute,” he says, sinking down onto the
couch. Daddy. She called him Daddy. He… was a father. Adam couldn’t be a
father. He didn’t know how. He only knew the opposite of how. The pink glitter
card sent him back into his past, returning from kindergarten with his own
card, pink paper and all, proudly presenting it to his father, heart beating
His teacher said Dads liked father’s days cards. She said
his dad would love it. She said he would be happy with Adam. And he believed
her – he’d never made a card for his dad before, and maybe that was what he had
been doing wrong – maybe he just didn’t know how to be a good son yet, but his
teacher did, and now it was going to be OK and his dad would love the card and
then they’d go outside and play football like his friends did with their dads
It’s like he is five years old again, holding out his hope
in a cheap paper card, a drawing of himself and his father done in red crayon,
I love you daddy written on the inside.
“Pink is gay,” his
father says, looking at the card like he looks at Adam when he wets himself.
“I’ve told you pink is gay, haven’t I? This is a stupid card. I can’t believe I
pay tax to fund education like this.”
The card is ripped in
half and thrown in the bin, flakes of silver glitter sticking to the lino of
the floor. Adam doesn’t cry – his dad doesn’t like it when he cries (crying is
for girls. Are you a girl?) (no daddy.) (what are you?) (stupid.)
He hasn’t made a card since. And he doesn’t trust teachers.
But he remembers, and he wonders if Opal felt that hope handing him that card,
and he wonders if she ever doubts his devotion to her, and he wonders if he
says I love you enough for her to believe it.
A tear rolls down his cheek, dripping from his chin. Ronan
catches it on his finger, kneeling on the floor in front of him. “Hey,” he
whispers. “It’s OK. It’s OK – you’re here. Everything is fine.”
Adam looks at Ronan and sees what he didn’t have. Ronan
knows how to be a father – Ronan knows how to joke without being cruel, knows
how to encourage Opal without deluding her, knows when to make her eat
vegetables and when to let her eat ice cream for breakfast. Ronan’s affection
comes easily, naturally, warmly.
“I’m awful at this,” Adam says. It comes out as a sob. Ronan
just waits. He knows when to listen. “I… I’m not qualified to be a father. I’ll
mess her up. Break her. Ruin her.”
“Adam?” Ronan says, lifting his chin. It takes a lot of
effort to meet Ronan’s eyes. “You are not ruining her. You are helping her to
grow, every day. You are caring for her. You taught her to read.”
Adam sniffs, mind still jumping between past and present, to
late nights and tear stained pillows, lost and longing for affection.
“Are you listening? You are doing well. You are not your
“I just couldn’t bear it if… if I ever made her feel
anything like he made me feel,” Adam says, and this is new ground, because
Ronan knew all about the bruises but not about the tears. Ronan climbs onto the
sofa beside him, letting Adam lean into his side.
“Tell me,” he says. “Let it out. If it’s still there, so
much, even now – you have to let it out.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Adam whispers. “He’s stuck in me.”
“No. He doesn’t get to have that power.”
“He always had it. It’s like… his voice – that’s the voice I
hear when I fuck up. And I can’t change it. It’s always there. The feelings he
implanted in me are ALWAYS FUCKING THERE,” he bursts out, frustrated. There’s a
rotten feeling in him, like a puss filled spot that needs to be squeezed, but
it’s in an awkward place and he can’t reach and even if he cut it out he
doesn’t think it would remove anything. “I hated him,” Adam whispers. “And I
hated myself even more for wanting him to love me.”
Ronan runs gentle fingers across his back. “Don’t feel bad
for that,” he says, “Never feel bad for wanting family.”
“Not that kind of family.”
“And did you know another family? Did you have another
family to want?”
Adam shrugs. He used to think he didn’t deserve family,
because if he deserved family, his parents would love him. “I don’t think… I
don’t think I can love properly,” he says. “I love Opal. And I love you. But… I
lie awake at night after we fight, and I run my words through my mind, and I
match them to him.”
“You aren’t him. Did he ever say sorry?”
Adam shakes his head.
“You always say sorry.”
“Shouldn’t do anything I need to apologise for. I should be
better. You deserve better. She deserves better.”
Ronan grips his hand. “Adam. I am not a liar. And I am
telling you now that you are everything I want, and everything Opal wants. Do
you know how she talks about you? On the way to school? Non stop. “Kerah, I
think Cacti are my favorite kind of plant.” “Why’s that, Opal?” “Because Daddy
says Cacti are cool, and they can live with hardly any water, and Daddy is
always right, and when I grow up I’m going to be just like Daddy.”
Adam laughs, despite the sadness in his chest. “What high
aspirations she has,” he says.
“Yes,” Ronan replies, serious. “She does.”
“Adam? You are an intelligent man. View this situation
objectively. You are not your abuse.”
“But I still feel it,” he breathes, “I feel it every single
Ronan is quiet, hand still clasped in Adam’s. “I can’t
pretend to understand,” he says. “I only know the anger I felt for you, not
what you felt. And – I know that me saying you shouldn’t feel the way you do,
or that you don’t need to – well, it’s bullshit to you. You feel how you feel.
But… we can talk about it. I can help you fight this… phantom of him.”
Adam closes his eyes, wonders what he did to deserve Ronan. “I’m
OK. Mostly. Just… some things take me back, you know? When you shout, if you
are angry. When you slam the dishes in the sink – that was my mother, after he
hit me. I don’t know if she was mad at him or me or herself, but I hated that
noise. Those things take me back. And specific things – someone yelling faggot
in the street, a raised fist, a pink card – they take me back. And I get this…
anxious feeling in my chest, how I used to feel, and … it itches, like my new
life is a dream and I’m going to wake up in that trailer, shivering on the lino
in the kitchen whilst my dad pants and my mother bites her nails in the corner,”
he pauses, letting his thoughts gather. He’s never said this before; always
held it bundled up in a tight little part of his chest, simmering. “I hate this
power he still has – will always have. I broke free of so much and still… still
you can’t wipe it all away.”
Ronan kisses him, ever so softly. Adam tastes the salt of
Ronan’s tears on his tongue. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, “Don’t cry because I
suffered. Laugh because I am free.”
“I won’t shout,” Ronan says.
“You can shout. If you are happy shouting.”
“I’ll happy shout then.”
“I’ll do your dishes.”
“Nah. Opal can do them.”
“She’ll cover the dishes with snail slime or something.”
Ronan snorts. “Seriously though… I’m proud of you. For
everything you’ve achieved. And I’m proud of us, and our little family, even if
it is really fucking weird.”
“Tell me,” Adam says, “Tell me if I’m ever cruel. If I ever,
ever hurt you – make you feel guilty or worthless or ashamed – or if I hurt
her. You have to swear to tell me and I’ll fix it. I… can’t lose you.”
“I’ll tell you,” Ronan says. “And now, shall we take Opal
for ice cream?”
Adam whispers yes, kisses him quick, lighter from
confession. He is tired, and his heart is heavy, but the darkness buried in him
has unwound, loosened, lessened. Catharsis is tiring, but freeing, and all the
hands in his life are gentle, even his own calloused palms touch with reverence
and not hate.