“But It Refused”--a spell for going on when it seems impossible
You will need:
-a large square of sturdy red fabric
-fabric pens in dark colors
Cut your square of fabric into a heart shape. It should be a little larger than your hand.
Write, on the fabric, things that give you hope–reasons to live, reasons to go on. Names of friends and loved ones, things you’ve seen or hope to see, things you’ve done or hope to do, animals you love, music or lyrics you like. Anything.
Once you’ve finished, take one side of the heart in each hand and tug on it gently in a pulling-apart motion. Say, “It tried to break, but it refused.”
Put the heart in a prominent place where you can see it.
*Should you accidentally rip the heart, use fabric glue or a needle and thread to put it back together while whispering the incantation. It’s not a sign.
For the anon who requested the bed-sharing trope. It kind of turned out peculiar.
“make it look pretty, but train it to kill”
The timer sharply ran at ten o’clock, and Nesta plucked the micro-device out of her ear, tossing it onto the soiled Earth. Her heels crushed the piece of tech, and soon her legs stalked forward, hands holding the edges of her ruby gown swishing around her. Once her high-stiletto shoes reached the marbled tiles, she dropped the silky fabric, a slight breeze in the crisp night kissing her skin.
Rounding the corner of the castle grounds, her eyes darted over the faceless security patrols who spared her a passing glance, some daring glance over the high slit of the dress on her right leg. She merely smiled prettily, running a tongue over her lower lip, painted with blood-red lipstick. Her fingers dipped into the curve of her breasts, and she smirked at the dazed and glazed looks cresting over the younger guards marching past her. Snapping the golden embroided invitation out of her bra, she winked at the flustered males, and continued her walk. Fanning the invitation against her face, she studied the towering columns and dark, tinted windows peeking from the upper walls.
Flipping her brown strands gleaming with golden flares, Nesta Archeron stalked to the entrance, listening to the faint whispers of orchestra’s melody and courtesan’s small talks.
She considered it a shame midnight would end with cacophonies and rumors. Pressing the papyrus into the butler’s white gloved hands, she stared down the escort who stepped from the long line of males and held out his elbow to user her up the gilded stairs. The escort swallowed and she dismissed him with a sparse look, striding up and into the gleaming castle. Inside, drafts of warm currents pierced her flesh, the beating sounds of blended notes spiraling throughout the domed room with glass chandeliers sparkling from several quadrants. Low murmurs arose as she stalked through the entrance, a bland smile curled onto her face. When an arm reached out, slightly bent, Nesta gladly took it, and stepped into the lines of circles to dance. Faces turned away from her, the attention of wave’s receding lapping into the back of the mind, as she disappeared from the main sight, and the next guest walked in.
“You didn’t walk with an escort,” the male voice murmured. “Meaning your date’s not here or you want to be scooped up by some other higher ranked—more than a courtesan in the royal courts could offer.”
Nesta offered him a sharp smile, one cultivated from dancing with the viper and drowning in poisons. Her eyes turned towards the warm body offering pouring heat, and blinked at the hazel eyes intently studying her under those dark brows that framed his rough, unshaven face. Wide shoulders corded with thick muscles roped around to his arms, and the black coat hung unbuttoned across his buttoned shirt.
He dipped her low, and leaned back as his eyes skimmed over her exposed collarbone.
“If it’s the first, I frankly don’t believe you’d be stood up,” he leaned down to caress a breathe against her collarbone. “But you already look powerful enough to not need someone else. So what is it?”
They arched back up, and resumed their small circles of steps and little twirls.
A third option, she silently mused, allowing the music to bounce around them, their bodies swaying together in synchrony. Noting the guards slipping behind the curtains and hugging the shadows along the walls, she cocked her head. A distraction fit perfectly as all the royals would be dining and dancing in the other secluded areas, choosing to grace the other invitees later on in the night.
“Want to go somewhere else?” she murmured, weaving her around his chest, each step they took too precise and full of the tensions lurking beneath the luxuries exteriors.
A flash of a grin. “Anything to loosen you up, sweetheart.” A hand strayed near the small of her back, guiding her to one of the dimly lit hallways. Goosebumps flew over her skin as she felt focus slipping from her.
A hush fell over the crowd, the faint tinkling of the glorious music halting. From the opposite direction of the entrance, two goldened and darkened double doors had flung open, one shadow of a figure descending the curve of slanted stairs.
A crown of pure obsidian—no fringe of gold or silver or diamonds or rubies. Not when the King’s own phantom absorbed all darkness and riches. Not when the King’s soldiers had pillaged her own village, one lower-ranked cornering her into the barn the night her house had been set afire. Not when she’d been separated from her own sisters, and then sought her revenge for seven years.
A cold smile settled on that square face—ancient and heavy, full of curses and endurance, eliciting pulses of hatred and demise to pound through her veins and echo within the crevices of her own heart chamber.
Every shape and figure bent, bowing to the King. Nesta let out a low hiss, clenching her teeth.
The music began, sharper and faster, and clean cut blade caressing her ear.
“You still want to get out of here?” the male muttered, not bothering to mask boredom.
“I’m going to greet the King of Hybern,” Nesta said, and started to detach herself from the male’s arms.
A hand wrapped around her wrist. “This is your first time attending this type of event, isn’t it?”
“What?” she snapped.
“Talk to the King and have your head disconnected from the rest of your body.” Those hazel eyes stared down at her, contemplating more than she liked.
She arched a brow, and debated whether slipping out her opinion. She refrained.
“No one’s allowed to infect his presence,” the male recites. “Unworthy to near his space, and worthy to watch from afar.”
That complicated things for a bit. Her information briefing hadn’t been exactly accurate, it seemed.
“But if you want to catch his attention, I suggest you tug down that dress.”
Nesta shot the male a sharp glance. “Excuse me?”
A shrug. “These things get quite dull. I wouldn’t mind a little blood spilled.”
She matched his grin, and they sashayed towards the fringes of the east hall. Rolling her shoulders, she tilted her head, and watched the dark robed King stalk through the corridor, the backs of guards swallowing up his form.
She pressed her hands against the male’s chest, and said a bit loudly, “Let’s find some privacy.” Tucking her face in the crook of the male’s neck, she allowed him to guide her into the darkness and away from the glamor of the middle of the ball.
“Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, stroking her hair. Nesta noticed the patrols closing in towards them, most likely about to command them to return back into the ballroom. Nesta wrapped her leg with the open slit around the other male’s, and kissed him fully on the lips.
A cry of protest rumbled from the male’s throat, but he quickly absorbed her lips, wrapping her around him, one hand grounding around her hips, the other pressing against the small of her back. A low growl thundered from the base of his throat as they broke apart for air, a crazed and wild look flailing within those hazel eyes, and those orbs raked across her form as if seeing her for the first time.
He leaned down and slammed her against the wall, the shadows of metal and steel streaming away from them. Nesta watched a guard retreat from them, shaking his head, and resumed soaking in the warmth of the stranger of a male. He held her tightly, emanating warmth beyond her once dreams, and devoured her. She groaned as he slowly nipped his way down, exposing the pale column of her throat. A thumb stroked lower from her waist and fingered the fabric of her gown. Her finger lashed out and she tilted his head back up, capturing his mouth within hers, and they waged their own war between teeth and tongue, soiled in the seconds of heat and devourment. His own fingers travelled up over the curve of her shoulders and down, leaving lingering sensations of desire and need erupting within every pore.
A loud crackling sound of metal grinding had Nesta peeling away from the male and mentally scolding herself. She’d gotten too cooped up in the moment, and allowed herself to become too exposed. By the cold, dark eyes of the one wearing the blackened and solid crown, the King of Hybern had spotted another prey, those fathomless eyes staring at her tousled state.
He jerked his chin at the male embracing her, dark eyes flickering. “Out,” he droned.
The hazel eyed male smoothed his hands down her back and tightened his hands on the small of her back, grasping the folds of the back of her gown. A second later, he abruptly released her and stalked into the light where the tinkering of music sounded.
Coldness flooded her once again, an emptiness settling within her core.
The King stalked towards her, and Nesta flattened her back against the wall. She knew that predatory look, the one who forged her into the pillar of ice and steel.
Her hand itched down, as if covering her slit in the dress.
“You dare disrupt my halls,” the King mused. “To lose yourself in feeling.”
Dark eyes, dark heart.
“I wonder what it would be like for a damsel to lose all sense of feelings,” the King pondered.
Nesta spotted the syringe, and danced around the first stroke.
Cold eyes, cold heart.
“You cannot escape,” the King warned, and reached out a hand, which Nesta realized was dripping with blood. “The end of this hallways lies for my…experiments. You’d do your country an honor to join them.”
Nesta knew, knew of the experiments, of the agony, of the horror, of those who walked out there, and were never the same.
Not when Tomas, her first lover of six years, had volunteered service to the King, and returned with dark eyes, a dark heart, cold eyes, and a cold heart.
Nesta unsheathed a dagger from her knife strap, and allowed the reflection of the blade to arc within the darkness.
A weapon to match that inked soul.
A sick smile. “I see,” the King said slowly, and tossed the syringe to the side, the sound clattering.
He lunged towards her, and grabbed her wrist so harshly the knife dropped. He tossed her against the wall, her head colliding with the hard surface. He reached down and ran a finger against the blade.
The strength the King possessed—but the deed had been done.
Nesta smiled, and watched the King prick his finger.
Dark to flame, shadow to madness, lunacy to bone.
Nesta stalked to the syringe and tucked into into her thigh strap securely. Then she strode the King of Hybern, who stared at the domed ceiling with criss crossing beams with an empty look. That ancient face now glazed over, the pulse at his neck fading.
Nesta leaned in. “Not so fun to be experimented on, is it now?” she whispered. “Took me six years to concoct.”
Blood gurgled from the King’s lips, the strangled sound lighting her veins.
“I know you’re going to die. Slowly. But I have to leave now. So,” she twirled the hilt of the dagger around her fingers, her red nails flashing in front of the King, “I’m going to have to speed up the process.”
Nesta Archeron drove the blade. Not through the heart where layers of armor awaited, but across.
She’d practiced this move too many times for too many years.
In utter patience into utter completion, where the head flew across the spine and body and rolled across the ground, coming to a halt. The crown slithered off the black hair and crashed against stone, the sound of the rim of the onyx and ink symbol echoing through the corridor.
The King’s body crumbled at her feet.
Dark eyes lolled up and dark heart unbeating. Cold eyes ripped from this world and dark heart ceased. Picture perfect.
Footsteps neared, and Nesta braced herself.
She stared at the hazel-eyed man, who merely looked at her, and then at the body—and the head.
“Cauldron boil me,” he managed to gasp out, and crossed his arms.
Nesta waited, finding herself oddly rooted to the ground.
“What the hell?” the man snarled, and Nesta angled the knife carefully under her arm and wrist. “You killed my kill, with less blood. Damn my ego and mission.”
She blinked, and stared at the large sword in his hand.
Too obvious, yet obviously typically male.
She silently scrutinized the male in front of her, hearing the distant and clunky patter of footsteps. Slipping the knife into his free hand and damning the aghast look on his chiseled face, Nesta tossed herself against the wall, mustering one of the facades she knew too well.
“Hands up!” Large seas of coats and suits swam through one end of the hall, swords, metal, and steel pointed towards them.
A tear leaked down her face, and Nesta reminded herself to not wear waterproof mascara again. By the looks on the castle’s guard’s face, she’d successfully portrayed herself as the damsel in distress.
“He—” she hiccuped, and stared at the body and head, waving her arms frantically. “He killed the King of Hybern!”
Nesta booked it, slipping out and pushing past the guards, slicing those limbs who reached out to ensnare her. It was another maddening dance, one learned from monstrosity, and living as a corpse within.
She hurried away, away from the male and from the dead and from the memories.
Her eyes turned away from the castle as she stalked away and leaped out the entrance, the stares of many driving her away. Hitting the rendezvous point, she didn’t cast a look back at the towering, tall, and dark castle. She slipped off her shoes and unhooked the rope wrapped around the stern of a slim boat, and pushed the vessel into the river, quickly jumping in. Balancing the boat, she picked up the paddle and rowed, ignoring the beat of the drums of the peals of alarms.
She didn’t bother to catch her breathe her arms continued to move in synchrony, once to a longing beat of music and desire. The cold air kissed her skin, whispering little slivers of words and gentle caresses.
Nesta stared at the moon as she quickly rowed, hours seeming to pass by as she passed by, listening to the chirping of crickets and unidentified howls. In the wilderness, she coexisted.
The vessel hit the edge of the river, and she dragged it under the cover of mosses and overgrown leaves. Trudging up the bank, Nesta listed the edges of her gown, and slipped back on her heels.
She caught the light from the distance, and followed it, ignoring the branches reaching out with ghostly hands to chain her back. Nesta picked apart the sharp tendrils and trudged forward.
A hand wrapped around her elbow, and she jerked back to no avail, only to have her entire body encased by another towering one.
Her body flared in response to the other male’s heat.
She stopped squirming and hissed lowly.
“Kill the King,” the voice snarled. “And frame me? Whose damned side are you on?”
She shrugged as well as she could. “Saw the opportunity and took it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She twirled around, not before she shot him her infamous viper’s grin, her knee flashing out.
Through the darkness, the moon shining down faint rays of shine, Nesta could recognized the hazel-eyed male.
“How’d you escape?” she bit out.
A roll of eyes—that much she could decipher. A closer look, and she saw flecks of blood coating his hands.
She walked forward, her back to him.
Nesta didn’t understand the underlying feelings running undercurrent through her, her heart vying to trust him, her mind accepting him.
She continued her trek forward.
Those bloodied hands found the small of her back.
“You wondered about the contact who gave you the false invitation?” the male murmured. “That was me. My dealings include women desiring to meet a courtesan or indulge in royalty for one night. Their fantasies fill my pockets with gold.”
The orange glow grew brighter, and Nesta picked up her pace, the male behind her easily matching her strides.
“I didn’t pay your dealer one trove of gold to merely worm into a man,” she noted.
A pause. “No. I plan on returning the trunk to you.”
Nesta faltered a step, and the male crashed into her. His arms instantly wrapped around her, and she sucked in a breath.
“Because you killed the man that killed my parents,” he murmured against her ear. “For having more balls than I.”
Nesta could make out the lanterns of the inn, and jerked her head to it.
The male released her and gave her a nod.
They stalked through the clearing, and Cassian opened the doors.
The receptionist gave them wary looks, observing the muddied fringes of Nesta’s gown and the red painting the other male’s black tux.
“A single room,” said Nesta.
“A single room for me as well.” Cassian winked at the receptionist, while Nesta surveyed the dimly lit entrance, too small for a large command of troops to search through. The back alleys had potholes to impeded vehicles, while the insides did have the array of tables and chairs to use as shields and weapons if utilized correctly.
The receptionist coughed. “I only have one spare room available. You’ll have to share.”
Nesta glared at the male next to her. He merely held up his palms and leaned across the front, winking at the receptionist. “Are you sure?” he said lowly.
The other woman flushed. “I’m sure.”
Nesta held out her hand. “I asked first. Give me the key.”
Cassian slapped a bloodied hand over her palm. “No way. You owe me.” His eyes bored into her.
The receptionist coughed, and Nesta reached out with her other hand for the key.
Cassian’s other hand went into his suit and came out with a thick wad of bills. “One night, one room. Give me the key.”
The traitorous female handed him the key, and Nesta’s jaw hardened. She attempted to disentangle her hand from the male, but he gripped her tightly.
The receptionist took out a pen, and scratched something down. “Name?” she asked.
The male looked at Nesta, full of surety. “Cassian,” he drawled out, and stroked a thumb down the back of her hand.
The receptionist cleared her throat, and eyed both of them. “The room may be single, but has a King’s bed.”
Cassian dragged her deeper into the inn, a cocky grin etched onto his face. No doubt the fate had worked in his odds.
“Release me,” Nesta snapped, but her heart snapped back the opposite. Cauldron, what was happening to her?
The male released her hand, but wrapped an arm around her waist. “You think I’d let you sleep in the wild?” he asked, and guided her up the first step of stairs. “We’re sharing the bed.”
“No,” she simply said.
“Oh really?” he arched a brow. “But who paid for the room?”
Nesta said nothing, and stalked down the hallway until he reached her, those hazel-eyes dancing over her.
“You owe me,” he repeated. “You killed the man I wanted to kill.”
“The King was not a man,” she sneered. “A monster beyond humanity.”
The male inserted the key through the last door, and pushed it open. He beckoned her in, and she pushed past him.
“I don’t see why you’re full of ire,” Nesta continued. “When you were the one who allowed the King to look at me.”
“Because I decided to have you use your feminine wiles so I could get close to him. You think I expected you to be the King’s assassin?”
“Sad you didn’t claim the title?”
Cassian leaned forward, his nose pressed against her forehead. “I’m sad that you’re going to make me sleep on the floor, Nesta Archeron.”
Her eyes flashed. “How do you know my name?”
That cocky grin. “I do make it my business to know those who request false papers, sweetheart.”
She crossed her arms and kicked off her heels. “How’d you escape?”
Cassian unabashedly started to undress himself, shrugging off his coat. “While I didn’t have a damned boat, I did have legs that walked at the same snail pace you were rowing.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “Excuse me?”
Cassian leaned down and took of his shoes, displaying the soles, beaten and reinforced with secondary material. “Once I killed the guards, I followed the trail of red, and followed the sounds of the rowing through the river.”
The male flicked the buttons of his shirt, and displayed the toned and muscular, thick skin underneath. Nesta felt her body warm up, and she took a step back when he stalked towards her.
A hand yanked the frills of her dress up, wielding the torn scraps of fabric. “The layers of your gown were my breadcrumbs.”
Nesta cursed. This was too sloppy.
Cassian seemed to read her mind, and shook his head. “Looks like you’re going to have to destroy that dress, sweetheart.”
Before Nesta could open her mouth, Cassian ripped her dress off of her.
Nesta’s knee lunged up again, but he caught her kneecap. “A cheap shot.” His hands released her knee, and he grinned. She steadied herself, and grabbed a pillow and blanket, tossing them on the floor. Within the movements, she stuffed her thigh strap within the pillow covers.
She wouldn’t risk more mistakes tonight.
“What are you doing?” Cassian growled.
Nesta stripped the remains of her gown, and yanked the complimentary bathrobe, hanging over the single chair, over her shoulders. “Sleeping on the floor.”
She laid on the floor, ignoring the cramps shooting through her back from the paddling, and wrapped herself within the blanket.
Seconds later, her body was lifted within her cocoon of warmth, and tossed onto the bed. The pillow slammed into her face a beat later. Snarling, Nesta started to disentangle herself from the blanket, but a body hovered over her.
“I will not force anything on you, if you are worried about that,” Cassian snarled equally back. “You are meaner than you demons, Nesta.”
Her name sounded seemed to be filled with more life, rolling off his tongue.
“You don’t know me,” she hissed. “Who I am, what I’ve done, or what I will do.”
The body rolled off of her, and daftly whacked her with a pillow.
She arched off the bed and crossed her arms.
The male laid across the bed, his chest decorated with scars. His eyes locked on hers. The pillow rested within his fingers again, and when he moved to whack it again, Nesta pounced, and landed on top of him.
Cassian stilled. And then slowly reached out to move a piece of hair that had fallen across her face. “Who says I can’t try to learn?” His breath fanned across her face. “I want to know the woman who can dance like hell and put a royal in hell.”
She laid a hand across his chest, and traced some of the scars, noting the rise and fall of his chest.
“I don’t think—”
The pillow hit her squarely across the jaw.
“I’m trying to knock some sense into you.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating from his chest, deep and rich, and full of life. “Don’t think,” he whispered, and dropped the pillow. “Feel.”
Nesta looked into those hazel-eyes and damned her brain.
She leaned down and kissed him fully, and surely, staring into those warm eyes and warm heart that opened for her, and felt her veins spark with the sensation of desire, shivering into the heat and security in the single room with a King’s bed.
Hi guys! I hope you enjoy this little ramble! its a bit long 7400+ The story starts towards the end of the situation Finn finds himself in, if that makes sense? lol! Anyway they are all in uni so like 18/19 (modern day-ish) I hope you like it! And a special thanks to @lily-pop-2 for her encouraging words! xD
You love Poland? Why hahahah. It's not often that I see someone say they love Poland, or any central/eastern/southern European country really.
Do I love Poland?
Do I love Poland?
YOU MUST BE NEW HERE. THERE IS NOTHING I LOVE MORE THAN POLAND.
POLAND WAS THE MOST ENLIGHTENED COUNTRY IN MEDIEVAL EUROPE.
POLISH ART AND MUSIC SHAPED ALL OF WESTERN CULTURE.
POLAND HAS BEEN WIPED COMPLETELY OFF THE MAP THREE TIMES AND REFUSED TO FUCKING DIE.
DO YOU KNOW WHO CONTRIBUTED THE LARGEST NUMBER OF TROOPS TO WORLD WAR II AFTER THE SOVIET UNION, BRITAIN, AND AMERICA? NOT CANADA! NOT FRANCE! THAT’S RIGHT, FUCKING POLAND.
OH, WHAT’S THAT YOU SAY? WASN’T POLAND CONQUERED OUTRIGHT AT THE OUTSET OF WORLD WAR II?
IT SURE AS FUCK WAS. BUT THE ARMY REFUSED TO STOP FIGHTING. THERE WAS LITERALLY NOT A SINGLE SQUARE YARD OF POLISH LAND RULED BY POLES, AND 400,000 POLISH SOLDIERS JUST SAID “WELL FUCK YOU TOO” AND FOUGHT FOR THE ENTIRE WAR.
DO YOU KNOW WHO BROKE THE NAZIS ENIGMA CODE? OH DID YOU THINK IT WAS BRITAIN? IT WASN’T BRITAIN. IT WAS POLAND. THEY GAVE THEIR ALGORITHMS TO THE BRITISH AFTER THEY REALIZED THEY WOULD BE IN NO POSITION TO USE THEM.
DO YOU KNOW WHICH COUNTRY RAN THE MOST EFFECTIVE RESISTANCE MOVEMENT IN WORLD WAR II? DID YOU THINK IT WAS FRANCE? YOU WERE WRONG. POLAND.
DO YOU KNOW WHICH COUNTRY BROKE THE BACK OF THE SOVIET UNION BY HOLDING SURPRISE DEMOCRATIC ELECTIONS AND OUSTING THEIR COMMUNIST OPPRESSORS ALMOST OVERNIGHT? POLAND.
AMERICA DIDN’T END THE COLD WAR. WE JUST GOT ALL THE GOOD PRESS FOR IT. THE SAVAGE GROIN-KICK THAT ENDED THE USSR CAME FROM POLAND.
WHAT COUNTRY HAS BEEN MORE RESILIENT THAN POLAND. WHAT COUNTRY HAS FOUGHT HARDER FOR ITS RIGHT TO EXIST THAN POLAND. WHAT COUNTRY’S HISTORY IS MORE STUDDED WITH HEART-STOPPING, HEART-BREAKING, HOPELESS, HEROIC ACTS OF DEFIANCE THAN THAT OF POLAND.
THE WESTERN POWERS HAVE BETRAYED POLAND’S TRUST AND HEROISM SO MANY TIMES, BUT POLAND KEEPS FIGHTING BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT POLAND DOES.
AFTER POLAND WAS CONQUERED IN WWII, THE SECRET UNDERGROUND ARMY THAT FOUGHT HITLER THROUGHOUT THE WAR TOOK THIS OATH:
“Before God the Almighty, before the Holy Virgin Mary, Queen of the Crown of Poland, I put my hand on this Holy Cross, the symbol of martyrdom and salvation, and I swear that I will defend the honor of Poland with all my might, that I will fight with arms in hand to liberate her from slavery, notwithstanding the sacrifice of my own life, that I will be absolutely obedient to my superiors, that I will keep the secret, whatever the cost may be.”
I HAVE CHILLS. FUCK. FUCK.
POLAND’S CURRENT POLITICAL SYSTEM MAY BE A GODDAMNED MESS, BUT I KNOW THAT NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS TO POLAND, THERE WILL ALWAYS BE A POLAND. POLAND’S GOING TO BE THE LAST MAN STANDING. WHEN WE’VE REDUCED THE PLANET TO A RADIOACTIVE WASTELAND, THE PEOPLE WHO CRAWL OUT OF THE RUBBLE AND STICK THEIR FLAG ON THE GLASSED HILLSIDES OF THEIR FORMER HOMES ARE GOING TO BE THE POLES.
I approach every morning with a blank canvas in my mind… but even on nothing but white I still see the vanishing point. That spot at the end where the goal I am trying to get to exists. I place lighthouses along the way… beacons of hope and despair and greatly clouded clarity that all amalgamate into something that somehow shapes and forms my day.
Color slowly begins to fuse its way in… with good mornings and how did you sleeps… with agendas for the day, the tasks at hand, the new messages and questions and pleas for help… colors crash and melt and burn and fuse together.
I see music in color… its both an affliction and a luxury. Theres a term for it and those who are affected by it either end up losing their minds or embracing their inner being. And this last year of my life has been a great collision of both.
Shapes come together to factor my reasoning. When faced with an issue I dont see fires or calamity.. I see squares and circles, and little boxes with things and crumbs of what is to come.
And what is to come?
And what shall it become?
Colors run… bleed… spill across my day. Shapes and forms and circles and cracks in the armor. Its all the same really, depending on your lens. My lens is not rose colored nor deformed, but rather enlightened. thats what it seems anyhow… because I see… I see…
“…If you could see the you that I see when I see you seeing me, you would see yourself so differently… believe me.”
anchors exist for many reasons. Lighthouses exist for a few.
Hold me down. Hold me around…. give me a direction… hope… I dont know… i still believe… I do… I always will.
My day is shaped by the next message… the immediate and post supposed thoughts. The projects and clients and deadlines… the words and reminders.. the regimented trips to be watched like a hawk as I put a tiny cup to my mouth.
People mistake silence for disinterest.
But…. I am the one to be chased in this great dance. theres always someone waiting. someone watching. someone making notes and throwing my heart to the side to stomp upon my mind. But they dont get very far… because my mind is expansive beyond its parameters.
now you see how you are, the wisdom mixed it with all the scars go on out and watch all the fools pass themselves on by they never knew, they never do, it was always up to you you gotta go out and get it for yourself.”
Colors smear… across the page of my day… the skin of my day… the cracks and crevices of my brain filled with that which I cannot feasibly hold in my hands. Water takes the path of least resistance you know…
“this wisdom is sacred, Mister… you must always share it. Its been given to you as a gift for others. I am trusting you to not let it die within you.”
and so promises are kept. because promises were kept.
Sacrifices are kept.
Solidarity is kept.
“..we only have what we remember”
Colors collide and crash and battle… the war… the worn… its the same sometimes. sometimes its the game we must play. The sound never ends.. never stops… it never will. Nothing nullifies the noise. Nothing satisfies the shapes. I simply close my eyes when I can… retrieve myself in another world..
Summary: AU. When the reader’s shot at a better life is
stolen from her, she continues to see the person responsible all over
town. After a series of unfortunate events, will she learn that there’s a
fine line between love and hate?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 3,115 (what is a drabble, really)
Warnings: language, drinking, pranking, anger, much yes
A/N: I might be evil???? Also this is ending up as my longest story because I can’t shut up. Also also, Happy Thanksgiving to my American followers. Hope your dinner goes better than this one.
Prompt: Jeonghan falls for a foreign fan after she moves to Seoul Requested by: @jeonghanlife Word count: 4,168 Genre: Fluff, slight angst Warnings: None!
A/N: OHMYGOODNESS WHAT A LONG DRABBLE. Okay so I’m so so so sorry this took forever to write. There was school stuff and I fell sick and yeah a lot of stuff happened but I’M FINALLY DONE YESS. So I hope it’s up to your standard! Thank you so much for requesting!!
Most teenage girls would have a favourite boy band, and you were no different. You adored Seventeen, you promised yourself that you’ll protect the 13 boys no matter what and you told yourself that if you were to ever meet them, you would break down in tears.
Which is probably why you ended up in a uncontrollable mess when you found out that you were fortunate enough to get in for one of their fansigns.
The Winter Solstice Festival was one that Rhys had always loved, but now there was another reason for the High Lord to celebrate, for it was also Feyre’s birthday. Though he’d noted over the preceding week that she was seemingly disinterested in the preparations, Rhys had started making his own plans. He had to, for as High Lord of the Night Court his presence was expected at both the Court of Nightmares and the Court of Dreams.
There had been times when he would also have received an invite from The Winter Court since the festival was the centrepiece of their wheel of the year, but after what had happened under the mountain with the Winter Court children, he was now persona non grata there. His mouth twisted with a bitter pang at the memories. He wanted to find a way to heal that wound, but now was not the time.
It was customary for the High Lord to attend the Court of Nightmares at dusk for the lighting of the Bael-fires that would see them through the long night, and the beginning of their dark revels, which since they quickly descended into gross excess meant he could slip away, under the pretence of enjoying his own private rituals. That odious task done he would speed to Velaris for moonrise and the Festival of Lights. The city would turn out all it’s lights at nightfall, relying upon the moon alone for the next few hours while they feasted. Then at Midnight, the citizens joyously rekindled everything again, signifying the return of the Sun and the rising cycle of nature towards Summer.
In preparation, the people decked everything in many-coloured lamps, candles and decorative glass icicles and snowflakes, which sparkled on every tree and from the house eaves to honour the Winter and better reflect the lights. The whole city became a vibrant garden of glowing colour and sparkling crystal, with the denizens of the Rainbow outdoing themselves in displays of creative magic and artistry.
Gifts would then be given to family and dear friends and the nights revels truly began. The music and dancing went on until dawn when the whole town would wait in hushed awe to see the first rosy light of the sun breaking over the mountains.
It was considered especially lucky if it snowed that night and this year it did.
Magic was used to slow the snowflake’s melting or to swirl them in dancing zephyr-like shapes about the squares. Rhys wondered if Feyre would deign to use some of her water-magic to create something interesting, but it seemed that she did not share his enthusiasm for this festival.
Rhysand would leave for The Court of Nightmares in a few hours. He had not wanted to put Feyre through another dumb-show there but he’d hoped she would enjoy the sights of Velaris. Going up to their room to dress for the occasion, he found her sat upon the bed, knees pulled up to her chest and a frown deepening on her brow.
“ I’m sorry I have to do this Feyre, you know I’d much rather spend all the evening here with you, especially as it’s your day.” He offered.
“ Doesn’t matter” She muttered.
“I don’t want to go out anyway. I can see it all from here, and what’s the point, I’m just not feeling it. You go.. enjoy it. I’m not going to be good company so I’ll be better on my own tonight.
That stubborn set of her jaw, he knew all too well. It would be useless arguing with her but Rhysand hoped still that the sheer wonder of it would tempt her out despite herself.
“Darling.. if you’re sure ?” He asked. No answer but a sullen nod.
“ Very well, I’ll attend to my “duties” and see if you still feel the same when I come back. I know this day was never something you celebrated.. but everything else has changed.. why not this too ? “
“ Hmmph.. that’s about as likely as you giving up wearing black!” She retorted. “ It’s just how I feel. Just.. let it pass Rhys.”
Considering his chosen apparel, a suit of velvet so dark that it seemed to eat the light that fell upon it, and a crown of glittering jet, he sighed.
Not going to plan at all so far.. maybe he should cancel the fireworks that would write her name in giant sparkling snowflakes across the harbour and the surprise party he and Mor had set up..
He said nothing more, but brought her a mug of her favourite tea, and kissing her cheek, Rhysand High Lord of the Night Court swept out into the dusk, and prepared to strike awe into the other half of his kingdom.
When he returned, Feyre was nowhere to be found. He reached for her through the bond and found only that her adamantine defensive walls were well and truly up.
“Oh fuck. “
Where would she be?
Finding Mor, she confirmed that Feyre had stormed out of the town house about an hour ago, when they brought her the cake.
“ Since she definitely doesn’t want to be out on the town tonight, I think she’ll be somewhere secluded.. like the cabin maybe ?”
It was a possibility. At least he hoped she was there and not out in the woods somewhere.
He should have taken her reluctance as a final answer, but his own desire to celebrate her day, her existence in his life, had gotten in the way. He needed to apologise, but she was most likely not in the mood to hear it. But wait a minute.. maybe something she’d said earlier, might break the ice he could feel from her end of the bond.
It was true, he hardly owned anything that was not black, or midnight blue, or richly dark. But magic was a wonderful thing.
A few minutes later he was outside the door of their little cabin, feeling very uncomfortable, but hoping the gesture would at least make her laugh. Anything to see her smile at him again.
babe now i don't know if you're up for writing taegi but your latest jikook drabble (which is actually So Good i'm in lov) makes me think of the same au but with taegi on it. i know tae is clumsy but let's pretend bcs you know tae is one handyman jungkook recommend to yoongi and as returning the favor that is introducing tae to yoong, yoongi decided to recommend jungkook when jimin was asking for one (you know which happened in your latest drabble) so yeah but do what makes you happy babe n_n
i promise, taehyung-hyung is great, jungkook had said. yoongi eyes the man standing at his doorstep dubiously. he’s got on a backwards snapback, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, and looking every inch more like an abercrombie model than any handyman yoongi could imagine.
“… you’re taehyung?”
“yup,” taehyung says, popping the ‘p’ sound. “you’re yoongi?”
“min yoongi. hyung, to you,” yoongi answers automatically. the kid is annoyingly tall. yoongi eyes him for a few more seconds before reluctantly stepping back to let him in. taehyung is holding a toolbox, yoongi notes, and it’s about the only thing about him that seems legitimate. yoongi makes a mental note to berate jungkook for sending him someone who’s obviously new to the job.
“so, jungkookie says that your light switch isn’t working?”
‘isn’t working’ is an understatement. jungkook had probably been trying not to scare him off the job. yoongi scoffs, beckoning for taehyung to follow him to the living room. taehyung, to his credit, doesn’t even blink at the sight of the maimed light switch. namjoon had really done a number on it.
“well, i can definitely see the problem,” he says.
“can you fix it?” yoongi asks.
“sure i can. i’ve been told i’ve got magic fingers.” he wiggles them in yoongi’s direction with one eyebrow arched teasingly and yoongi scowls, looking away to hide his blush.
“yeah, well. we’ll see about that.” it’s a lame retort. yoongi could do better on his worst days, but something about taehyung makes him uneasy. it must be the words ‘yolo’ printed on his t-shirt - definitely not the handsome slope of his nose or the way his grin is charmingly square-shaped. yoongi doesn’t care about those things one bit.
yoongi is shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of music blasting from taehyung’s phone. taehyung shoots him a sheepish look as he pulls his goggles on, a small drill in his hands. “hope you don’t mind. i work better when there’s lots of noise.”
wouldn’t there be enough noise from him drilling through the wall? but his music taste isn’t bad - yoongi is fond of listening to san e himself - so he lets it go with a shrug, opting to lean against his couch to observe.
yoongi quickly notices three things. taehyung sings to himself, which yoongi would normally find obnoxious, but for some reason, he finds the way taehyung mouths some of the lyrics off-beat and bobs his head along strangely endearing. secondly, he’s good at what he does. yoongi knows enough about electrical wiring and carpenting to know that what taehyung is doing is absolutely unorthodox and against all normal procedures of what fixing this light switch entails, but somehow, it’s working. he’s pulling at wires, reaching past the wall and attaching things where there wasn’t anything before, and the lights are flickering on.
thirdly, yoongi notices that taehyung is really fucking hot. like, completely yoongi’s type kind of hot - he’s tall, clearly smart enough to fuck around but somehow still get things done, and he really does have magic hands. so maybe that’s four things. but yoongi stops counting. taehyung’s phone blares chris brown and that’s kind of off-putting, but yoongi lets that go too.
taehyung finishes up, giving the switch a few experimental flicks, and it works perfectly. “i didn’t bring the right stuff to fix up the wall, so i’ll have to come back another time.” yoongi thinks he might have to have namjoon over to break some more shit if that’s what it takes to get taehyung to come back. “but for now, the light should work fine.”
“thanks,” yoongi says, digging in his back pocket for his wallet. “how much?”
taehyung quickly waves a hand. “oh, you don’t have to pay me. you’re jungkook’s hyung.” yoongi is about to protest, and taehyung notices. “just get me dinner. there’s a really sweet lava cake place that opened a few blocks away and i’ve been dying to go back.”
yoongi flushes, glancing away. had he been that obvious? “lava cake? do people eat that shit for dinner?”
“i’m not most people,” taehyung says with a blinding grin.
no, he isn’t. yoongi sees that already. it’s heart-racing, looking at him. discomfiting. yoongi hadn’t even known he’d yearned for such a sensation until now. “i’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow.” it comes out more like a gruff question than yoongi had intended, but he’s just relieved his voice is working.
if possible, taehyung’s smile widens. “you’re cute, hyung.” yoongi sputters but taehyung leaves no room for objection. “it’s a date, then! i’ll get jungkook to send you my number.”
and staring at taehyung’s happy face, yoongi thinks he really ought to thank jungkook after all.
“hey, kid. i’ve got a job for you.”
“a job? just ask tae-hyung to - ”
“no. it’s not really a job. think of this more like a… thank you gift.”
jungkook hesitates. “what is it?” he sounds wary, and yoongi is tempted to drag this on, but doesn’t, when he remembers that jungkook is the one who’d brought him and taehyung together, inadvertently or not.
“i got back in touch with park jimin recently. he’s doing well. got his own place. a job. hasn’t aged a day, either.”
“… so?” jungkook says, voice tight.
“he’s got a leaky faucet.”
jungkook exhales harshly over the line. yoongi bites back a smug grin. “don’t tell him it’s me coming.”
Taekwoon: brunch hour. hair rumpled from sleep, yawns as he walks around the kitchen. hot coffee in his favourite mug, the aroma thick in the air. isn’t wearing his earrings, and only half-changed out of his sleepwear. a cookbook picked at random off the shelf, and flipped through until he finds something he wants to eat. a gust of cold air from the fridge as he opens it. dozens of reminders and his nephew’s pictures stuck on the door with cute magnets. turns the radio onto a music channel, sings along as he cooks. barefoot on the tiled floors. gradually wakes as coffee kicks in.
Jaehwan: the bright, sunny afternoon. the shadows are short beneath his feet. overlarge sunglasses covering his eyes, sleeveless shirts and daringly short shorts. music playing from his phone as he walks around town, singing along. standing at busy intersections and watching people rush back and forth in the afternoon heat. ducks into air-conditioned malls when it gets too hot, and wanders around the stores until he finds someone he knows. loud, happy and boisterous, practically glows beneath the sun.
Hongbin: twilight hours, the evening, when the sun is about to set and the sky looks like it’s on fire. large, square-shaped glasses perched on his nose. white shorts, slip-on shoes, t-shirt and a cardigan with the sleeves rolled up. hair tousling in the wind. strolls around the neighbourhood before nightfall. a cream-coloured polaroid camera. a lot of standing around, sitting down on swings or trying to cram himself onto the kid’s rides when nobody’s looking. likes to lie on the grass when it gets darker. tips his head back and relaxes in the night air.
Hakyeon: tea in the morning, sugar cubes and a little bit of milk on the side. folded-up newspaper with doodles in the margins. half-finished crossword. house slippers, soft pants, a loose-fitting shirt. blinds and patio door open. birds chirping outside, the sprinkler a rhythmic beat of the morning. a plate of breakfast set off to the side while the news is read out loud on the radio. a notebook and a pen with the day’s events penned onto grid paper. fresh mint-scented face wash, fluffy towels. leaves the house and joins the morning bustle.
Sanghyuk: late-afternoon heat. tank tops with plunging necklines, shorts and flip-flops. a large watch-shaped tan on his wrist, overlarge neon-rimmed sunglasses. an icy treat brought from the passing ice cream truck. skateboard beneath his feet and keys hanging from a lanyard he’s had since he was thirteen, flapping out of his pocket as he rolls down the street. goes through parks with the splash pad, and doesn’t mind going for a quick wade in the pond or getting his hair wet under the spray. shakes it off afterwards, splattering water everywhere and grinning like a dork.
Wonshik: an early morning run, right at the crack of dawn. chilly, but his temples are damp with sweat already. a ragged, well-worn sweater and loose track pants. the sweater is gone by the time he’s done. music player in hand, headphone wires bouncing as he jogs. brand name shoes. maybe a hat if it’s going to be sunny. a bottle of brightly coloured sports drink on the porch, the hose pouring a gush of water over his head afterwards. muscle shirt underneath, tattoos out, ankles showing because his socks are too short.
Hi! Im a folk with spd and I was wondering if you know any fun apps for stimming/stress relief.
Hi! So I (Mod Logan) have an iPhone, so my suggestions may not work for all phones - this is obviously open to follower responses of all kinds though, because I won’t know every stimmy app on any platform!
Blendoku - a color-sorting game where you line up colors in a variety of orders, where the colors may all be variations on the same color or a variety of different colors. Price: Free (may have in-app purchases, I don’t remember)
Miracle Modus - a collection of colored light patterns that move in a variety of ways across the screen and can be changed and modified by the user. Price: Free.
Monument Valley - a puzzle geometry game, where you move a character called Ida through many ‘impossible’ geometric shapes. Extremely soothing music and beautiful colors. Price: Initial game is free, also has in-app purchase of more levels.
Dots - connect dots of the same color and try to form squares. Price: Free, offers in-app purchases for more themes and different versions of the game. (Two Dots is a separate game made by the same people that has more of a storyline with it, as far as I can remember).
2048 - yes, there’s an app for that. Slide tiles of the same number together and try to get the 2048 tile. Price: Free.
Piano Tiles - tap the tiles in the correct order in a variety of games. Price: Free, offers in-app purchases.
Flow Free (and Flow Bridges) - connect the colored dots and cover the whole board. Price: Flow Free is initially free and I believe offers in-app purchases, I think Flow Bridges is $0.99 USD.
Pancake Tower - literally you’re just stacking pancakes on a plate (pancakes with faces.). Price: Free.
Android apps (most are also available for iphones, if I’m not mistaken, but I’d double check):
Neko Atsume - most people have heard of this app by now, but for those who haven’t–it means ‘cat collector’ in English, and all you do is trade fish/gold fish (the currency of the game) for food and toys that you put out for different cartoon cats, who come and leave fish and presents for you after playing with the toys (and you can watch them play, which is the stimmy part, along with the music!). Price: Free
Skyburger - like pancake tower, but with a burger, and you usually have specific orders to fill but there are also free-play levels where you just stack as many burgers, onions, etc on the bun as possible. Warning that the app causes the phone to vibrate in your hands if you mess up an order. Price: Free
Juice Jam - sort of like candy crush, but a little less bright and I find a bit easier. Stimmy because it’s still got lots of bright colours. Free, but with in-app purchases for boosts & extra lives.
Words Free - Basically a word-find puzzle but your finger on the phone traces pastel colours across a white background. Price: free
Here’s a start, with mostly free apps that should all be available on the App Store!
Paris-based artist Pierre Kiandjan draws his inspiration from music album artworks, optic art, and Mœbius comics. As he selects consistent color mixes, he aims to create illusion of motion, space, or temperature. The challenge consists in gathering simple shapes within complicated blendings: “I cross shadow and light effects with eclectic shades and patterns. This way, I try to shake things up a little in the realm of optic art. I usually begin my work "away from keyboard”, so I look for the best patterns, mainly feelingly. I also impose some constraints on the way I draw: using grain texture and square format.“
This time of year everyone gets to be someone else. Caked in make up, wigs and masks we roam the streets hopped up on sugar!
I love fall, this is my season. There’s a sense of change in the crisp, cold air. Just cold enough for a leather jacket! And even though it’s always last minute, I love dressing up as someone or something else and going out with friends or doing a show on Halloween.
In this post Id like to talk about the masks we wear the other 364 days out of the year.
I just took a couple days to myself, no crew, no band, no lover… Just me. I can’t remember the last time I flew somewhere on a trip without my posse! It was exhilarating.
As I was walking through the airport, I started imagining myself as the only human on this planet. And it got my thinking, How I would dress, act,eat, and drink if there was no one else around? Do I base my interests on how I’m perceived by others? Or am I truly being myself in a world so influenced by how others think?
Looking around at all the strangers, I thought of the veil we wear for other people, and the judgment we place on others based on whether or not we can identify with or understand the “category” they fall into. The pretty chick with way too much makeup for the plane ride, or the dude next to me overly trying to convince me he’s a millionaire (but he only flies red eyes for appearances). Would they still go about their day the same way if there was no one else around?
Everyone wants to have it (and everyone) all figured out, it’s our nature as humans.
We have categories for music, sexual orientation, race, personalities, personality disorders, relationships, spirituality etc.
We are living in a constant state of “who am I, who is she, what is he? I’m scared, what is that? That’s different!! Eek! That makes me uncomfortable! I don’t understand that!! Where am I going in life!?” Fear!!! Ahhhh!
Well, maybe it’s because I’m not a teen or even in my 20s anymore, but in my 32 years of life..what I’ve discovered about myself, is that I do not fit fully into one box or the other in ANY aspect of my life.
To quote the great Jack Black “My essence cannot be labeled!”
Before I go on, I must be clear: I realize that it is a huge comfort for some people to find a place where they belong, a community or category where they fit in. I’m not knocking any community or group, because I am also surrounded by likeminded people and am in a musical circle that has helped shape who I am.
I’m talking specifically about not hiding behind the mask you put out there as “yourself” and Never restricting yourself to a clique.
I’m talking about truly thinking of yourself as the Only one. Uniquely You. An original. And loving yourself for it.
And don’t be afraid of other people or bring them down just because you can’t fit them into any of your social squares.
It’s my personal view that as SCARY as it is to accept ourselves and each other for what we really are, if carried out, it is truly a path to happiness.
A lot of people speculate, and come to their conclusions of who I am, what I believe,who I love, and more specifically how I choose to love, or what my sex life entails….
“Everybody wants to know what I got going on below, everybody wants to see buy they’ll never get all of me”-Gonna Get Mine, Halestorm
My music is a spectrum of colors some not see able to the human eye.
My love is unfiltered, unapologetic, naked, vast and as mysterious as the ocean.
I am both light and dark, soft and strong,
whole and afflicted.
My beliefs aren’t written,and are unorthodox, and my own.
My life is Mine.
So, to name myself as just one thing or another would only scratch the surface to everything I am inside.
And I’m not saying I go around confessing every dark secret to everyone! This is for me.
Joe told me something the other day that stuck with me. “ if you are going to do anything, make sure you do it for you”.
I’ve had to accept, and now am very proud of ALL of the little pieces that make me who I am. I’m proud that I don’t fit in.
Career-wise, before we signed to Atlantic records (who always encourage us to be ourselves btw), every record company we met and showcased for told me, “we like what you do, but have no idea where to put you or where you fit in this industry ”.
And 10 years later, still the oddball, but it was “sticking out like a sore thumb”, taking risks, and being ourselves that got us here.
I am writing this to encourage all of you to be braver than those who try to name you. Take off the mask, Love Yourself. Be your own label. Your own genre.
Remember It never pays to be a copy of someone else. That person already exists. Be something the world will only ever see once …Be You
“So you think that you know what I am, but you don’t”- Sick Individual, Halestorm
Who Am I? I am Me.
I am Lzzy Hale.
That is my label, that is my category.
i went to the eye contact experiment in Paris today, at the Place de la République. the concept is pretty easy : sit down in front of a stranger and look them in the eyes for 1 minute. here’s a little retelling while it’s still fresh in my mind.
- everyone’s eyes were a bit watery. some people blink a lot. i kinda wanted to hug everyone.
- you have more or less of a connection with people, but you’ll feel it. in any case, it is pretty intense, no matter who you’re with.
- the first person was a girl with the most beautiful blue eyes i’d ever seen. it was my first time doing this, and i had no idea what to expect. i sat down and i stared. and - it’s kinda incredible. because these eyes hold so much, the world around you kinda goes out of focus for a while, and the only thing that remains is that blue eye. we chatted a bit, i thanked her and went my way.
- the second one was a young girl with wild hair, dark brown eyes and thick eyebrows. she looked quite young, so i asked her how old she was. she said 16. she told me my gaze looked full of love and compassion, and invited me to share what was going on in my mind these days, so i did. she invited me to close my eyes for a second, think about an emotion, and try to transmit it to her with my eyes. i thought about my new friends, and she told me it was love she read in my eyes, and i told her i also read love in her eyes but with a lingering sadness, and she told me she was thinking about this guy she considers her soulmate, but he already has a girlfriend. i said that i wanted to travel, and she asked why i didn’t. i said it wasn’t that easy, and she seemed to think that it was. she was young, and bright, and her name was Aurélie. you go girl.
- third person was another woman, with incredible almond shaped eyes. she was doing yoga in her spare time, but was considering making this hobby her job. she had a beautiful smile. we didn’t talk much. i thanked her and went on my way.
- the fourth was a middle aged man, greying hair, squared glasses. it was also his first time doing this. he had very long lower eyelashes, and beautiful eyes, and i told him so. we were disturbed when someone started playing some music right next to us, but we managed to stay concentrated. i mostly chatted with him. his names was Gilles. he is a journalist. i asked him if he was happy with his life, and he said that right now in this moment he was. i said i was studying graphic design, and he told me my face was made of graphism. “your arched eyebrows, your eyes, the shape of your mouth.” by then i was pretty cold, so i thanked him warmly, and decided to stop for a bit and just look at all the people sitting down.
i didn’t even last 5 minutes before i wanted to go again. this is both draining, and so interesting that you want to do it all night.
- the fifth. oh, the fifth. he sat in front of me, we took each other’s hands and we looked. and we looked. and looked. and it was the most powerful and intense connexion i’d had so far. we didn’t grow tired, or weary, we were just completely connected to one another. i felt like he understood and accepted me completely, despite never talking to him. it was a bit overwhelming. when that feeling went away, i suddenly really, really wanted to kiss him. to be more connected or some thing, i don’t know, but apparently so did he because he leaned in closer and squeezed my hands. i refrained from kissing him, because it wasn’t socially acceptable. we stayed like that, what, maybe ten minutes just staring and holding hands and smiling and just. i have no idea what the fuck happened but it was really incredible. since we both felt it, whatever the hell “it” is, we talked. and exhanged numbers. then he kissed me goodbye. his name is Alvaro.
- the sixth, and last person i saw was a thin woman, with blond hair and big green eyes, though they held a multitude of colors, from brown to green and yellows and blue. they were amazing. her eyes were jumping, and she blinked a lot, and that’s because she wore contacts, and i told her her eyes felt like adventure, and she told me she was a comedian and an actress, and talked about her latest role. we talked a bit more. but i was really cold and it was getting late, so i thanked her, got up and was ready to take my leave.
i saw Alvaro, who was taking the same metro as me, and when my stop arrived, he kissed me gently on the cheeks, and my heart actually skipped a beat and THAT IS SO NOT HAPPENING anyway we’ll be meeting for coffee sometime next week.
my point is, i definitely do not regret doing this. it was an amazing experience, and i can’t wait to do something similar again. if you’ve got the chance to maybe do something like that in your life, GO FOR IT. you’ll feel better.
i love how dramatic my son nursey is???? he’s so much like he buys dex three different flower arrangements and memorizes a musical number to perform in front of everyone for their one month anniversary and dex, through heart shaped tears is like, “babe i told you not to be dramatic” and nursey is like honestly confused as he steps off of the stage that he hired 3 guys to help him put up in front of the haus like, “thats why i cut the jazz square babe this is so lowkey”
Their ninth album is “utterly entrancing”, “mesmerising” and “an incisive portrayal of emotional vulnerability”, the critics said. Fans, too, lavished praise on the album, noting a return to melodicism after the fractured and fatigued King Of Limbs five years ago.
Many of the songs are elevated by guitarist Jonny Greenwood’s orchestral arrangements and the presence of the 13-person choir from the London Contemporary Orchestra.
The band haven’t spoken about the record since it was released, but Greenwood dropped into BBC 6 Music to chat to Matt Everitt earlier this week.
Their conversation covered the “traumatic” recording sessions, Radiohead’s career-spanning live shows, and their rejected theme song for the Bond film, Spectre.
The setlists for your recent live shows have changed radically every night. How many songs did you rehearse?
We started with 120. It’s crazy. I mean, it’s just every song we’ve done. And then we gave up and realised that was stupid and got it down to about 60 or 70, and we played 24 songs a night. So there’s a lot to choose from.
What was the thinking behind that?
Variety. Keeping it fresh and interesting. It drives our crew crazy, as you might imagine, because they don’t know what to do with the lights. But that’s okay. We’ve always been like that. We’ve always decided the setlist just before we play.
The image that’s grown around Radiohead’s studio work is that it’s very tortured, very emotionally draining… a very difficult experience for everybody concerned. Is that is that true?
It’s by turns really exciting - and there’s usually Thom [Yorke] in the middle of it getting very excited and motivating everyone and getting worked up about how well it’s going - and then there’s periods when nothing’s happening and it’s just not working and it’s frustrating.
But it’s like that for everyone with work. When it’s going well it’s such an exciting and “up” and happy time that gets you through anything, really. It’s only torturous looking back.
We recorded No Surprises [from 1997’s OK Computer album] and then worried about it. And then we recorded it again because it didn’t sound very good. And then we recorded it again. And then went back to the very first recording and released it.
So it’s tortuous in that way. It’s not like you’re sitting looking for a kick drum sound for two weeks, it’s more effort than that. More hitting brick walls over and over again. That’s just how it goes.
What are your memories of headlining Glastonbury in 1997 - a gig that is now regarded by many as one of the greatest Glastonbury performances ever.
I just remember it being very stressful and the monitors breaking and Thom walking off because he couldn’t hear anything and it just being a disaster!
It was pretty bad. It was like, “We can’t hear ourselves, and we don’t know what’s coming across,” and then I remember asking Andy Watson, our lighting guy, to illuminate the audience so we could finally see them. I remember that. You can’t hear what you’re playing and you hope everyone is hearing each other and that something is coming across, but it was a struggle.
You released your track Spectre on Christmas Day - explaining it had been intended as the theme as a James Bond theme, until Sam Smith’s track was chosen instead. What happened?
It wasn’t right for the film, what we did. So we thought, “Great! Then it’s ours. We can finish it how it’s meant to be and we can release it.” So that side of it was really positive, you know?
But I guess there’s lots of people interested in who does it [the Bond theme]. There’s a lot riding on it and the song we did was just too dark or whatever, so that’s fine. [It] means we get to have it back and it’s ours and we got to put it out.
We’re really, really proud of it. Why be attached to an old fashioned idea of what a James Bond thing was and it being a big deal? It’s like it’s sort of stupid to get worked up about, really.
A Moon Shaped Pool features a lot of arrangements by the London Contemporary Orchestra, who you’re a great champion of.
Well there’s songs like Burn The Witch which, very rarely for us, we managed to get strings on near the beginning. We left it unfinished on purpose and left lots of room for the strings and we never do that usually. Usually the strings are the icing on top.
At the end of Daydreaming I got the cellos to all tune their bottom strings down about a fifth [of an octave] but then still try to play the music. So you can hear them struggling to stay in tune and you have the low growl sound.
You want to use strings in a way that isn’t just pastiche and that can be hard to avoid. That was fun, trying to square that circle.
I was lucky enough to see a couple of the recent shows and it looked like you were really enjoying being on stage.
Yeah, it was really enjoyable. I think we’re appreciating being in a band with each other in the moment and enjoying the sound that we put across. So it’s a very happy time, yes. What can I say? There’s nothing to complain about really!…