muffled drum

Good lord, has anyone ever done a spiritassassin gif edit with W. H. Auden’s “Funeral Blues”? Because saaaaad!


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Astraphobia by reiqenarataka

Fic can be read HERE.

Hurt/Comfort, Fluff. Completed. Rated: G. Word Count: 1,950. 

Pairings: Reigen Arataka/Serizawa Katsuya

Trigger Warnings: Phobias, Thunderstorms.

The muffled cacophony of rain drumming down on the outside portion of the office’s air conditioner filled the small room, the gentle music emanating from Reigen’s laptop barely making a dent in all the noise. The only sound that could penetrate the wall of rain was the rumbling of thunder, resounding along with each flash of lightning that lit up everything in Reigen’s office.

“Reigen?” Serizawa called, walking over to the desk. A particularly loud clap of thunder followed his voice, and a small, vocal squeak came from Reigen’s desk- or rather, under it. Serizawa stooped down to look and there, finally, was where he found his boss.

Some images of Nyarlathotep

I love how Lovecraft’s monsters are so protean, enabling so many great artists to take some wonderful creative liberties with their interpretations of one the the great author’s most fascinating inventions.

“Will Murray, in “Behind the Mask of Nyarlathotep,” points out that not only is this Lovecraft’s first fictitious god, but it is te first t appear in more tan one Lovecraft story.”

-Leslie S. Klinger, The New Annotated H. P. Lovecraft


“And though this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods–the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.”

-H. P. Lovecraft, “Nyarlathotep”

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

—  “Funeral Blues,” W H Auden
Not Dead Yet (Part 5)

*Not that much interaction between our lovely “couple” this chapter but some good bonding with the Lost Boys and some potential foes. Things are cooking!*

Pairing: Reader x Peter Pan

Warnings: mild language, allusion to sexual assault (very minor)


After a few wrong turns and almost running headlong into a ginormous spider web I made it back to camp. The boys were still partying the night away. Do none of them know what sleep is? Speaking of…

“Hey, Devin.” I pulled him away from the others, “Where exactly does one find a place to sleep around here?”

“Turning in already?”

“I’ve had a busy day, I think some sleep is just what I need.”

“Okay, well, thankfully we already took care of that for you.” Devin led her to the near outskirt of the camp where a lone tent stood. “Nick and some of the others built this while you were out swimming. It has a cot, some blankets and a change of clothes we thought might fit you. Nothing major but it’s yours.”

“Thank you, you guys didn’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all the new recruits.” Devin shrugged, “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you.” I crawled into my little tent and took it in. It was a very simple living station. Aside from the mentioned blankets and clothes there was also a lantern fashioned from a coconut half and a cracked handheld mirror. The mirror was really unnecessary but a nice, if not slightly sexist, contribution to the tent.

I kicked off my shoes and stripped off my clothes until I was left in my undershirt and knickers. I hadn’t realized until after I was in a confined space just how hot it was on this island. I laid down on the cot using the unused blankets as a pillow and fell asleep to the muffled sound of the drums playing back in the center of camp.

~~~

When I woke up the next morning I had to take a moment and remember where I was. I wonder how long it’s going to take me to get used to waking up in a tent. I grabbed the set of clothes the boys left for me and pulled them on. A little loose but that wasn’t a problem.

I stepped out of my tent to grab some breakfast and was not in the least surprised to see no one else was up. After that late night I would be genuinely shocked if any of them were awake this early.

Taking advantage of the quiet I found where they kept the stores of food, grabbed a couple apples and wandered off into the jungle for a morning walk. What am I even supposed to do here? They say it’s a fantasy realm where you can have fun all day everyday but I can genuinely say that as of this moment I am bored out of my mind.

What am I supposed to do with all this free time? All I’ve ever done is work. Without any work to do or books to read I am at a complete loss.

I eventually made it to a different beach and sat down in the sand. I pulled my dagger from its sheath and studied it in the morning light. It was as simple as daggers come. Sharpened stone with a leather bound grip. There was something carved at the bottom.

R. Just R.

Was this someone else’s before they gave it to me? If so then what happened to its last owner? Did I even want to know?

What was it Pan said when I met him? That I should be lucky to see this place and live? I sheathed the small blade once more. This island had already instilled a sense of unease but with every passing interaction with its leader and the questions it raises the more danger I feel I’m in. A part of me is screaming to get off this island. Run back to the Enchanted Forest and never look back!

Then again, there is a part that does kind of like this place. The boys, at least the ones I’ve met so far, are friendly. It’s like a big family unit that I get to be a part of. There are no adults to boss me around or harsh chores that needed tending to. I should give it a few more days before deciding if I truly want to find a way to leave.

I went back to the camp and was pleased to see that some of the boys had finally woken up. I looked for Devin but didn’t see him amongst the multiple faces. I did see Nick though and stuck by him for the morning. I thanked him and the other boys for making my tent. Again they told me it wasn’t a problem and quickly drew me into a story about a one legged pirate and the legend of his golden treasure chest. I was getting into the tale too before the rest of the camp woke up and suddenly story time was over.

“What’s happening?” I asked.

“Training.” Nick shrugged. “We do it every morning before it gets too hot.”

“Oh right,” I remembered what they had told me yesterday about the combat practices they did, “Why do you guys train like this anyway? Neverland really that dangerous?”

“More dangerous than you’d think girly.” Another boy brushed past me. He was about my height with long mousy brown hair tied back with a string of leather.

“Who you calling girly?” I snapped at him and he glanced back to glare at me with only one dark brown eye.

“I’m calling you girly, girly. You may have the others fooled into thinking you’re one of us but you’re really just a weakling that’s only good for digging a ditch.”

“Excuse you? I’ll show you who’s a weakling!” I grabbed a tree limb off the ground and swung it hard at the boy’s head. He caught it and spun it around so fast that I tumbled to the ground. The other boys stopped their conversations as they watched the confrontation going down.

“Like I said, weakling.” the boy broke the branch over his knee, “Try to stay out of my way.”

“You little–” I bolted up but was restrained by Nick.

“Don’t let Slightly get to you. He’s been like that for as long as anyone can remember.”

“Slightly? What kind of a name is Slightly?

“What kind of a name is Y/N? You don’t have to be what you were named. A lot of the boys have different names than from when they were first brought here. You could change yours too if you wanted.”

“No thanks, I’ll stick with Y/N.”

We came to a clearing and the boys broke off into groups. Archers, spear-wielders, swordsman, and so forth. “Wondering where to go?” Pan was suddenly at my side.

“Kind of…” I fiddled with my dagger, “The closest I’ve gotten to weaponry and combat was my shovel and an incident with a wolf.”

“You fought off a wolf with a shovel?”

“What else was I supposed to do? Offer it a belly rub?”

“You’re really aggressive in the mornings aren’t you?”

“Only when you’re around.”

“Well,” he whirled me around, “Knowing your past experience I’d say you should join them.”

“The boys with the clubs?”

“Well it’s the closest we have to a shovel without actually using shovels. So, off you go.” he pushed me forward, “Also, if you have trouble or the others give you a hard time don’t go complaining or I will give them permission to beat the living hell out of you.”

“Aren’t you just the definition of charming.”

“I don’t tolerate pansies on my island.”

I had a biting remark on my tongue but held it back. Telling the leader of a pack of lethally trained boys that: if he didn’t tolerate pansies then he shouldn’t be there, didn’t seem like the smartest idea.

“You don’t need to worry about me. I learned not to complain a long time ago.” I muttered and walked over towards the boys that were practicing with the clubs. It was only a small group, Felix and some others I had only seen in passing but hadn’t talked to.

“Look who decided to stop by.” Felix grinned, “You wanna try this, really?”

“Yes.”

“It takes a lot of muscle power.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“If you say so. Then let’s get you started.” he whistled and one of the boys handed me a club. It was a couple inches shorter than what I was used to holding and a lot more top heavy.

“Trick to using a club correctly is shifting your weight.” Felix explained to me, “If you don’t have a strong stance when you’re fighting then someone can use your weight against you and you’re down.”

He stepped back and spread his arms out. “Go on, show me your best swing.”

“Okay,” I tried to dig myself into what I thought was a strong stance like he said and swung. Without as much as a bat of his eyes he shifted out of the way, slammed my club back with his and for the second time that day the momentum of the hit sent me spiraling to the ground.

“A strong swing but also very clumsy, slow and blaringly obvious.” Felix leaned over me, “You have the power but you do not possess the technique. Not yet anyway. Get up.”

I stood up and and recollected my club. “What do I do?”

“Put your weight into it. That way all the power will be on the other end of the club. Go again.” I went again and again and everytime I swung he blocked it and every other time I ended up on the ground.

The entire morning went on like this. Steadily trying to get better and turning black and blue in the process. No matter how much I improved it was just never quite enough. I was still too predictable, too slow. Eventually Felix got tired of trying to teach me and handed it off to a large boy with a thick gut named Curly. Curly was a lot more patient than Felix but didn’t hold back any either.

When the sun was almost directly overhead we were finally done. In a word I felt miserable. I was used to long work don’t get me wrong but there’s something about getting constantly pummeled with a wooden club that adds to the exhaustion. I would be lying if I said the experience didn’t stir up some bad memories.

I pushed them away as the boys and I headed back to camp for lunch and rest. Now that practice was out of the way we had the entire rest of the day to do whatever we wanted. Seeing as how I was drenched in sweat I decided that my downtime was going to include a cool dip.

Coming back to the pond I had bathed in the day before I stripped down and hopped in once more letting the water wash away the grime I had built up during training. I was up to my neck just soaking it in when I heard voices behind me. I turned my head and saw Devin, Nick and some of the other boys walking my way. They stopped upon seeing me.

“Problem boys? Can’t handle a naked girl?” I smirked at them. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, right Devin?”

“We didn’t know you were back here. We’ll just–”

“Just what? You really think I care if you dopes see me nude? Besides what’s between your legs there’s not a whole lot of difference. Or are you so hormonal that the sight of my bare chest will turn you into raving beasts?”

They became quiet and I rolled my eyes. “Stay. Leave. Jump in. I don’t care.” I relaxed back against the pond wall.

“I’ll take up that offer.” one of the boys shrugged, “Could use a soak.”

“Ben!” Devin held him back, “You’re not seriously going to jump in, are you?”

“Why not? She said it was okay.”

“Yeah. I’m fine with it.”

“So you’d be fine if say the entire camp decided to come and hop in while you are in there without a strip of clothes on?”

“As long as none of them try to assault me then I don’t see any harm.”

“I’m heading in.” the boy, Ben, jumped in. After a few tense seconds the other boys looked at each other and hopped in as well. They were awkward about it for the first couple minutes but relaxed after we started cracking some jokes.

Maybe an hour went by and my fingers and toes were looking awfully wrinkly. “I think I’m done for today.” I hopped out and the boys made some cheeky comments.

A loud whistle sounded from across the pond and my head snapped to the source. Pan was standing there watching our group with an amused smile. What was more unsettling though was his gaze on me. I know I didn’t care about the boys seeing me naked but Pan…it felt wrong. I didn’t want that creep seeing me like this, not that I’d let him know that.

“Get a good look?” I called across to him as I started to put on my clothes.

“Not much to look at.” he called back and the simmering anger below my skin started to bubble once more.

“Stop commenting on your reflection, I’m over here.” I said and even from this distance I could see the annoyance flash across his features. Devin and the others were failing at hiding their amusement as I pulled on the rest of my clothes and sauntered back to camp.

Leaving Pan alone with his sniggering Lost Boys and the knowledge I had soundly irked him I began to smile. I’m starting to think I can really like it here. So long as Pan continues to be so easy to mess with that is.


(Part 1) (Previous) (Next)

Tom Hiddleston reads
Funeral Blues
by W. H. Auden (1907-1973)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crépe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song,
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

—  Funeral Blues, W.H. Auden
dear almost lover

Your voice was the wind,
and I was deaf.
you sang to me in howling storms,
or soft whistles.

Dear almost lover,
there exists a world where I can hear the piano in your voice,
where your tongue presses the keys that play to me what words can’t say.
there exists a world where I can hear the chimes in your laughter,
the notes ringing in a blissful echo,
and I will look to you crying, my ears have never heard such delicate beauty.

Dear almost lover,
in this word I am deaf
and when you open your mouth
I feel the coldest. 
your voice is the wind,
and i throw my hands up to the sky
in frustrating agony…
so you stop speaking for a while.

At night, with my head resting on your chest,
you press your lips to my ear.
I can feel the muffled beating of drums coming from your chest,
I urge you to open your mouth,
and try again
slower this time,
in the darkness, I stare at your lips with wide eyes 
and strain my ears,
trying again.
you open your mouth,
I wait,
anticipation crushing my bones, if only we try hard enough this time, then maybe I can hear, sound returning to my ears, and you can speak instead of howl, and
we’ll be warm again.

But you look at me,
and your lips form into something that looks like ‘i’m sorry,’
what deafening silence,
when love could’ve been the most beautiful symphony.

So we fall into a battlefield,
where blame is our shield, and fault is our sword.
we fight.
that’s all we seem to do,
that’s all we can do.

Until the day you surrender,
or I do.
you don’t want to give up but there’s a girl who can hear your songs.
and I don’t want to give up but there’s a boy who’s voice I can hear.
at night, I leave all the windows open,
I fall asleep shivering in a wind that doesn’t feel like you.
what excruciating coldness, 
when love could’ve been the warmest fire.

Dear almost lover,
there has never been a more sorrowful story.
our love could’ve been music
a classic, that lives on for centuries
long after we stop breathing.

They will bury our bodies separately,
never knowing the love that almost existed,
the love that never existed.

-B 

long enough to call it courage (to live without a lifeline).

Summary: Nico flees, Will breathes, and the waters of the Mediterranean have plans of their own. (Or, alternately, “Dude, do you wanna tell me why that siren took my form to try and seduce you?”)

Quests teach you things about yourself.

For instance, since leaving for the ancient lands with Will, Nico has learned that he is a morning person. He has learned, through a series of nasty withdrawal symptoms, that he has an unhealthy addiction to coffee. He has learned that, when you’re not being chased by a horde of monsters thirsty for your blood, looking at the stars rattles your soul.

He has learned that it is easier to sleep when he is lying next to Will Solace.

Keep reading

5
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.


requested by ilovethemoose

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public
doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

— 

W.H. Auden, Funeral Blues

Once You Play
(Don’t own anything but the idea. This came to me and I just had to write it. Maybe someday I’ll go into better detail, but this is it for now.) It is amazing, how one thing can change a life and, in turn, all the lives around it. Even all the holders of the Sky Mare Ring, with their abilities to see and expect, can’t fully comprehend every single possibility of every single world. As the saying goes, the possibilities are endless. So when one Sawada Nana takes in her home, which seems much lonelier then it should, and her seven year-old son, who loses the shining happiness in his eyes day by day, she comes to a decision. It’s time for the holidays; and it’s summer anyway, so why not go to the beach? The way her Tsu-kun lights up at the words just cement her choices.

Keep reading

Setting Out Across the Adriora Sea

On my mattress boat I carried

a black and blue bruised body.

As I rowed,

    an infection in my fingers ballooned      and bloomed

              swelled with pus

I floated all the way to floral flows and stimmering

steam stutters, stepping

on moss and popcorn flowers going flicker flare

in violet chioggia fields. The beets and

beats and bleats surrounding me were

striped and intermittent.

 

Muffled hearts going drum drum narum thumb  grew

like mangos on waxy- leaved trees.

I picked a heart and smelled

to see if it was ripe. Onto the mud

the tissue curled as I peeled it. The red rinds

quivered with the trees in tandem.

With a string I tied the pulpy organ around my neck.

 

@http://fundamental-group-of-words.tumblr.com/

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

—  Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden

the swallowing blackness
whispers infinite secrets
like rustling bed sheets.
thunder, heartbeat
of nature, quakes
in our chests. blazing
moments of clarity flash
with such fierce energy -
not even the sky can be silent.
our howls, meant for the moon
blanketed by midnight clouds,
are muffled by the drumming
caresses of the rain on the earth.

the sky has come to meet the ground,
and we are caught in the rain.

—  Coyotes in the Rain
boy next door - l.h.

request: You move to Australia and are the boys neighbour

a/n: i wrote this a long time ago before i even started this blog so if it seems like the beginning of a fanfic then that’s why. but i already know i won’t be making a series off of this. hope you guys enjoy! 

Soft music drifted around your room from the speakers sporadically set up when you moved in a few weeks ago. You quietly muttered the lyrics under your breath while you skimmed over your handwriting in your notebook. Your hair fell down your shoulder so you mindlessly pushed it back with your hand, letting out a big sigh. As your lips carefully formed each word the singer belted out, you tapped your pencil against the paper.

Suddenly, a much louder and disturbing blast of music came from next door, your infamous neighbor practicing his band once again. You rolled your eyes, tearing them away from the notes you took the day before school as you shifted. The music continued to play and if you listened hard enough, you could hear the muffled voice of the lead singer.

The neighbors’ son was in a band, practicing every Tuesday and Friday. They played so loudly and obnoxiously that you couldn’t focus while their music broke through your train of thought. Your parents had already requested for them to play quieter or go somewhere else for practice, but supposedly the teens just didn’t care at all. You stared down at your comforter, listening to the muffled guitar riffs, drum beats, and melodies twirling through the air. Pushing yourself off your bed, you ran your fingers through your hair and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

As you walked down the stairs, you huffed with annoyance as the muffled music became slightly louder. You slammed the door behind yourself and walked across the lawn to the house next door. Chilling gusts of air blew strands of your hair into your eyesight as you squinted up at the second story. The music wasn’t muffled anymore as you approached the house, only becoming louder and more distinct until you could clearly make out the lyrics the singer was pouring out.

You reached the front porch and pushed in the doorbell, tapping your foot as your annoyance steadily increased. The music abruptly stopped after you rang the doorbell, your eyes trailing around the yard while you waited. Silence split through the air and you shifted uncomfortably, staring down at your shoes. Finally, the door swung open and revealed a sweaty teenage boy who you recognized as your infamous neighbor, Luke.

You stared up at him with a cold gaze, slowly raising your eyebrows as you waited for him to speak first. Luke’s lips broke into a smirk as he slowly bit down on his bottom lip.

Then, as if he snapped back out of his daze of checking you out like he always did, Luke narrowed his eyes as he said, “What do you want?”

“Can you and your stupid band stop playing so loudly? It’s eight o’clock and people are trying to study and go to sleep,” you retorted, crossing your arms while Luke humorously chuckled in front of you. Loud chatter and laughter from inside could be heard, but you didn’t dare break your unwavering gaze with Luke.

Luke was toying with his piercing, something he always used to make you fall for him. “You want us to stop doing what we’re doing just to satisfy one girl?” he questioned, incredulously raising his eyebrows. “That’s not how it works, princess.” He let out another quiet laugh and crossed his arms over his chest.

“First of all, don’t call me princess and second of all, you guys just need to stop! It’s really annoying and why would you even have a rehearsal at eight o’clock?” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. Luke pushed himself off the doorway and turned around to beckon his other bandmates. Three other familiar boys came walking into the foyer, mimicking the same attitude Luke had.

“Guys, please explain to my helpless neighbor why we need to practice here every week,” Luke explained, gesturing out to you standing on the porch. Michael, one of the boys, laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

“Because we have no where else to go to practice and Luke’s mom is generous enough to let us practice in the basement,” he responded, then added, “plus, we need to practice or else we won’t ever get famous.”

You scoffed and laughed a little at his statement, spinning around on your heel to return back to your abode. Luke watched in confusion as you jogged down the steps and began walking across the lawn. The other boys watched you in curiosity, their gazes burning holes into the back of your tee shirt.

Before you disappeared from their sight, you spun around and shot them another look. “Play loudly again and you’ll wake up tomorrow with a nice, shiny bald head,” you exclaimed, your
voice carrying across the lawn. The guys all winced, staring after you as you walked into your garage and closed it behind you without another word.

connerkent-archive  asked:

Break me :)

This is part of “A Perfect Soldier”. I hope this is angst-y enough for you.

-Send me a “Break Me”, and I will write an angst-y drabble.


Prologue 

Chapter 1

Ao3


Originally posted by like-a-sleepwalking

Keep reading

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

—  W. H. Auden
Funeral Blues by W H Auden
Tom Hiddleston
Funeral Blues by W H Auden

Funeral Blues by WH Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message: “He is dead!”
Put crepe bows around the white necks of the public doves.
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my north, my south, my east and west,
My working week and Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
I thought that love would last forever; I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one.
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can come to any good.