#it looks so. melancholic /pos

[finleyforevermore]

I actually don't know what you'd title this but this post probably would serve as an explanation! Uhhh, enjoy!

First off, we've got quite a few names here, so let's go through name key!:

Endermes (@ender-outlaw as Hermes)

Silmes (@soursileu as Hermes)

Vellmes (@allergic-to-four-leaf-clovers as Hermes)

Amores (@amorvincitomnia-14 as Hermes) (hey knock knock guess what you're Hermes now :D)

Atpheus (@literatureisdying as Orpheus)

Finchpheus (@flowers-floating-in-space as Orpheus)

Euryauden (@tellme-o-muse as Eurydice)

Eurysyd (@sydneyofalltrades as Eurydice)

Perzeephone (@ziipzeepzop-eez as Persephone)

Finades (me as Hades!)

Ok, it's "The Actual Point Of The Post" time!:

Endermes is having a BALL during Road to Hell.

Vellmes' RTH in one word: Spins. So many spins.

Segue brought to you by Daisy's (@meowydoe) Fate being The Fate That Waves At Eurydice During Any Way The Wind Blows & Hey, Little Songbird™

Amores, during the section about Orpheus in Any Way The Wind Blows: "I love this child so fucking much you don't understand-"

During Come Home With Me: Hermes: "You wanna talk to her-" Atpheus, no hesitation: "YES."

Eurysyd is fucking FLABBERGASTED during Come Home With Me.

Sequoia, I wholeheartedly believe that you would straight up start glowing at some points. The "The Song™" section of Wedding Song is one of those times. /pos

Endermes draws out the "old song" in Epic I. ("It's an ooooooold song")

Perzeephone is booping ALL THE NOSES in Living It Up On Top.

Silmes loudly exclaims "Oh SHIT-" after tasting the wine after Orpheus' toast in Living It Up.

Euryauden + Atpheus: Gayest All I've Ever Known Of All Time

Comedically grumpy all throughout Way Down Hadestown.

Atpheus fucking LEAPS in front of Euryauden when Finades notices Euryauden in WDH.

Segue brought to you by The Fates (Josie (@/meowydoe), Satanic (@satanic-witchcraft), and Annabeth (@two-minute-notice)) having a great time during When the Chips Are Down.

Eurysyd has the saddest "Gone, I'm Gone" ever /pos

Silmes is PISSED at Orpheus during Wait For Me Intro.

Atpheus does the vibrato on "WAAAIT" that Reeve Carney did on his last performance in Wait For Me. I just get that feeling. /pos

Wait For Me, aka Finch Starts Fucking Glowing Moment #2. /pos

Slooowwly turns head to look at Finades when she sees Eurydice in Hadestown during Why We Build The Wall, like, "oh no you did NOT"

"....anybodywantadrink?"

During "Our Lady of the Underground": *Lowest, most gravelly voice imaginable* I don't know about you, BOOOYSSS!

Lots and lots and LOTS of twirls during OLOTU.

During Way Down Hadestown (Reprise): "I did what I had to do." "Yeah sure whatever."

Vellmes, with a "it's not all bad"-like voice: "What she was instead was dead....dead to the world anyway!" You're only dead to the world, it's not alllll bad!

Yet another segue to appreciate how fucking amazing Eurysyd's "Flowers" cover is. Please give it a listen.

During Come Home With Me Reprise: Euryauden: "I called your name before-" Atpheus: "I know!" "You heard-" "NO-"

During Papers: Orpheus: "I'm not going back alone. I came to take her home-" Finades: W H E E Z E

Segue brought to you by the most melancholic "Nothing Changes" ever. /pos

During If It's True, Atpheus is fucking PISSED. Screams out "is this how the world is??" like Dónal Finn (west end Orpheus actor)

Finchpheus is less pissed and more heartbroken. We can throw in a voice crack on "is this how the world is?" for good measure.

Scream out "I believe that THEY ARE FEW!" during If It's True like all the tour Orpheus actors.

During How Long: Perzeephone: "What are you afraid of?" Finades, genuinely confused: "...what?"

Perzeephone: "He loves that girl, Hades!" Finades, who genuinely couldn't care less: ..well that's too bad!

"What's that noise...?" during Chant Reprise is played for laughs like in the Broadway previews boot.

We can reinsert Persephone's verse in Chant Reprise. You know, for funsies!

We're doing NYTW Epic III too. Screw the Broadway version.

Epic III, aka Finch Starts Fucking Glowing Moment #3. /pos

Finades + Perzeephone: Dorkiest Lovers Desire/They Danced Of All Time.

Amores keeps giving Finades the "don't you fucking do it" glare during His Kiss, The Riot.

Silmes, during Wait For Me Reprise: "Don't you dare fuck this up, Orpheus--"

Everyone is crying when The Thing™ happens and after The Thing™ happens. Iykyk.

Vellmes knew it was coming but is still in disbelief.

Endermes is more confused than anything, even if she knew it was coming.

Silmes is trying not to appear effected, but still definitely cares and is effected, even if it knew it was coming.

Amormes is going THROUGH IT. Like, "visibly close to tears" going through it.

Perzeephone has the most poignant "We Raise Our Cups" because ofc she does. /pos

#casting my mutuals! 🌟 #hadestown broadway #hadestown the musical #hadestown musical #hadestown #orpheus and eurydice #hades and persephone #orpheus #persephone #eurydice #hades #hermes #atropos #lachesis #clotho #orpheus hadestown #eurydice hadestown #hades hadestown #persephone hadestown #hermes hadestown #the fates hadestown

[sirnavergi]

i saw one of your oc arts and please please tell me about them!!

(more specifically i saw the one you captioned "designed what remiel looked like as a kid today" and-- !!!!! the colors!!! the shading!!! it's amazing)

AHHH HELLO!!! THANK YOU SO MUCHH

I’ll do my best to explain it! I’d like to mention that the artwork isn’t actually a canon scene that happens and is moreso? symbolical 🤧 If that makes sense.

The characters name’s are Soleil (she uses any pronouns! In case me switching them gets confusing!) and Remiel, Remiel being the kid, obv.

I’ll have to go into my world building deets a lil so . apologies for that bc it’s usually kind of loaded😓

Soleil is something I call a guardian. A guardian is basically a piece of The Sky, a personification of sorts. The Sky is sort of like a god. In the very, detached, concept beyond your comprehension kind of way, that doesn’t communicate or really intervene as itself. Simply just. exist as the biggest thing, the thing everything else branches off from.

And Soleil, is one of many guardians. A guardian is the heart of a universe! They emerge in empty spaces within the ether, and fill it with a world that directly parallels their consciousness, their feelings etc.

Soleil is special in the way he interacts with everything around her. In a way she can hear all the faint melodies of everything that exists, including the sky itself! Which she actually kind of, hates! He thinks the sounds coming from The Sky are always very melancholic and upsetting. Therefore when Soleil finally gets to make their own world, a sort of veil appears, that hides The Sky away from her world, and “silences” the sounds.

Inherently, Soleil also shares the same melody with The Sky, as they are a part of it whether he likes it or not, but he refuses to acknowledge this. Drowning out their own sound, the sound of The Sky, with the sound of every living being on their world.

The world continues to thrive in this fashion, with Soleil existing as a distant observer to her creation for a loooong time until one day. A kid is born and this kid? Has the same melody as The Sky. This kid, is Remiel!

Remiel is a lot of things, I can say A LOT about his childhood, which I won’t get into right now as It’s not important to the context of the drawing. Main things that he is, that matters right now, is that he’s quite literally Soleil’s perception of The Sky, hidden deep somewhere in their subconscious, becoming a real physical tangible person in the world that emerged from their feelings!

This frustrates Soleil, they tried SO HARD to keep that sound out of the choir, to tune it out, to drown it out and now its back.

Okay so to sum it all up here. Soleil is created by The Sky, and is a piece of The Sky. Remiel is created by Soleil, but represents The Sky.

If, for simplicity’s sake I refer to The Sky as Soleil’s mom, to make the dynamic easier to understand, Soleil is Remiel’s “mom”, but Remiel is a literal representation of Soleil’s view of her own “mom” which Soleil hates, but despite this she’s also a lot like and shares many traits with her “mom”. And it’s just a big mess of, I’m your creator (mom), but you’re my creator, but we’re also similar, we are the same, but we’re not the same, you made me and I made you. And so forth.

Remiel doesn’t grow up to be the best person, that’s why I chose to draw him as a child. I think that’s especially when the interpretation of this dynamic as more familial hits hardest, because it could also be seen as directly reversing the dynamic, where Sol is a very old thing, as old as their universe quite literally, and Remiel is just a kid, about to hear a lot of things he wont like. ^_^

The more maternal interpretation also makes me upset /pos as Soleil’s issue is not really with Remiel or The Sky, but it’s with herself and her feeling stuck, unable to detach herself from their creator and it’s misery.

Sorry this is kinda messy n all over the place I hope I could get the main idea across at least😓 THANK YOU SO MUCH AGAIN! For the ask and the compliment :3 It means a lot!

#key answering questions :3 #v teatime #i type like im allergic to periods i fear #apologies to all🤧 #kid remi kills me bc hes like 40 now n hes the worst persoj ever lmao #i love soleil teatime shoutout to her #hiding this in the tags but while soleils solution to their #distaste of the sky is to shut it out #a different guardian #whos names aposis #does the oppossite and creates the worst ever world ever . just to try n get the sky to #quote on quote see them #ummm theres also aaa bunch of stuff with guardians who straightup fail #n cant create a world #ok i will shut up now thank you so much for the ask :3

[cloudninetonine]

i’m the meantime, enjoy my first time drawing Ring’s Zelda, Bell! I honestly only had some aspects of her outfit and her hair planned out so the colors aren’t set i’m stone n stuff!

(the everything round text is the name of the brush i was using because i just got it and was testing it out)

LOOK AT HER SHE'S SO PRETTY AND MELANCHOLIC!!!!! (/pos)

I love her colour pallette Arti! Hope you stick with it!

#cloud answers

[tragedicn]

name:  Zhihao Hong aka:  deity of filial piety and war strategies  /  lesser god of secrets age:  ???? gender:  female (she/her | they/them) occupation:  wandering god orientation:  demosexual  /  demiromantic

traits:

pos:  protective, intelligent, observant, witty, loyal, reliable, talented, atheletic, benevolent, generous, calm, dutiful, selfless neg:  secretive, distant, regretful, melancholic, burdened, guilt riddern, naive, repentant, reckless, paranoid, disobedient, cautious, mournful

FILIAL PIETY  ⸻  respect & obligation to aging parents  ,  honoring the family name  ,  and group harmony  .

            zhihao was born into a small family with some distinction . . . a family of soldiers  ,  a family that served the emperor each generation  .  her great grandfather  ,  her grandfather  ,  her father  ,  her brother . . . the men of her family were all soldiers that served in the royal army  ;  all were honorable people and dedicated members  .  when war broke out  ,  her brother dutifully served and lost his life during battle  ,  leaving the HONG family with just two daughters  ⸻  zhihao and meiying  ⸻  and aging parents  .               zhihao had to take up as the ELDEST of the family  ,  the leader  .  a protector  .  while she had been a rambunctious child that insisted on learning martial arts and swordplay with her brother  ,  where her father did  (  almost reluctantly  )  teach her and she kept up training by herself when her brother left for the capital to join the army  .  practicing in the quiet dawns and bustling dusks  ,  zhihao had been a dutiful daughter under the watchful eyes of her mother and aunties . . . trying to become a DILIGENT and responsible housewife  .             it's restricting  ,  there's so many rules . . . there's so much to do  ;  but  ,  zhihao bows her head and does as she's told . . . the only time she has to breathe is at dawn when she wakes before the rooster and in the dark of night when everyone slumbers  .  of course  ,  she could have given up the blade and let her body grown soft and supple . . . let her callouses heal and her muscles deteriorate  ,  but old habits die hard . . . she might be a homemaker  ,  but she is also a PROTECTOR  .             as battle raged on at the borders and through the lands  ,  zhihao was not blind to the plights of those away in the distance whilst she lived peacefully . . . but she knew one day  ,  that violence would come knocking at the gates of her village  ,  the emperor requesting more AID from able men from each household and for the HONG home  ,  there left an old man  ,  his wife  ,  and two daughters . . . zhihao knew what she had to do  .

WAR STRATEGIES  ⸻  she learned to use her disadvantages to her advantage  ;  and her enemies' advantages to their disadvantage  .  while women of her age bring honor to their families by marrying distinguished men  ,  she tried to bring honor by going to war in her father's stead . . . to both protect her family and to live up to the HONG name  .

            it's unheard of  ,  a woman going to war . . . but zhihao is blessed with a name that sounded neither feminine nor masculine  ,  and a body that could easily be mistaken as a rather lanky man  .  zhihao lived in the shadows of her brother when it comes out that her brother had been a man that joined the army and lost his life  ,  praised for his patriotism . . . though  ,  all that really brought was hurt and sadness  .               she often attributes her feminine visage to her mother  ,  saying that she looked more like her mother but had her father's personality . . . which is proven true with her fierceness in battle  .  she does whatever she can to avoid suspicion and quells rumors with challenges to fights . . . she makes a name for herself  ,  enough that people stop speaking of her name and stop suspecting her for someone who she isn't  (  a woman in disguise  )  .             though she is much slimmer  ,  much shorter than most . . . zhihao uses her brain and skills she's learned to her advantage  .  she's more nimble  ,  easily missed  ,  a WILDCARD for her squad as no one expects her to come at them from below  ,  no one expects her to be able to slip through the cracks . . . she may not be the strongest or the tallest nor the BEST  ,  but she knew to use brains over brawn  .  she led her squad to many victories and continued to do so until the trickles of war came to a slow end  .

ROAD TO RECOGNITION  ⸻  with numerous victories  ,  it leads to distinction and recognition  ;  yet  ,  instead of taking on her promotion and rising through ranks  ,  she sheds her disguise and comes clean . . . though a liar  ,  she had brought about a wave of peace and formed strong bonds  .

            holding her head high when she came to admit her lie amongst numerous comrades  ,  she found no shame . . . she protected her family  ,  the land  ,  brought honor to her family's name just like her great grandfather  ,  grandfather  ,  father  ,  and brother  .  though she may not have been a MALE  ,  she proved that women are just as capable as a man  .  while not all are as talented or as lucky as her  ,  she proved that   (  given the chance  )  women can accomplish big feats  .             and yet  ,  even at the insistence of the emperor to take on the helm as the land's FIRST female general  ,  with people willing to follow her after having proven to be an asset and a reliable partner . . . she bows her head and declines  ,  now she has come clean to her country of her lie . . . she must return home and beg forgiveness from her family and ancestors for doing something she had been told not to  .               ❝  i will return the day my country needs me again  ;  but  ,  today  ,  i must go home and beg forgiveness for being disobedient and repent for my lies  ,  ❞  she says as she turns to leave . . . the weight of returning home and facing her family seemed much HEAVIER than facing that of the emperor  .  she dreaded it . . . 

SECRETS  ⸻  something that is kept or meant to be kept unknown or unseen by others  .

            had she never said anything in front of her comrades and before the emperor  ,  no one would have noticed  .  it's not as if she acted any different  ,  perhaps she changed a bit of her demeanor to be seen as more MANLY or changed her mannerism to mirror that of males . . . but many just believed her to be snobbish and soft  ,  pampered by her parents  .             zhihao would have continued her charade to the day she died  ,  had the war not ended  .  she'd have taken this secret to the grave  ;  but  ,  to her luck  ,  she needn't carry this secret for much longer  .  feeling like she owes her friends the truth . . . she comes clean  ,  comes out that she's been a LIE . . . and leaves it to her former comrades to decide if they wish to continue to befriend her or not  .             though  ,  it's a secret she means to carry to her grave  ,  it was a secret that her FAMILY knew of . . . after all  ,  the HONG family was missing a child and a conscription scroll  .  they hid this a secret  ,  zhihao begging that she will explain once she comes home  ;  but for the sake of their honor and for the sake of not being exiled for treason  (  for not having sent a son  )  . 

DEIFICATION  ⸻  an unwanted side effect that she had no choice in . . . 

            zhihao was faced with both relief and upset from her parents  ,  but above all  ,  she garnered the INTRIGUE of numerous deities that followed the woman through her  ❛  adventures  ❜  as a male on the battlefield and yet still tried to reclaim her spot in society as a woman  .             not only did she garner the attention of higher beings  ,  stories of her feats became legends and she began to be worshipped and looked towards . . . placed upon a pedestal as a hero but also as someone who embodied filial piety as she declined distinction to return to take care of her family  .  it's this very act of becoming a legend and being worshipped that let her ascend to another state . . . easily welcomed by deities  ,  zhihao finds herself an immortal and a DEITY being worshipped for filial piety and war strategies . . . but there came whispers that her name was also used to claim secrecy  ,  to ensure that a secret may never come to light  .

#( zhihao | misc ) #finally! done!

[rottenbratty]

uhm hey, i hope you will read this. i follow your blog since a year now, because of the "nihilistic" posts, melancholic-beautiful-dramatic(/pos) posts and poems or quotes. but sometimes i see you reblog things about physical health like eating disorders and etc, and together with the mental health posts, i came to say that i hope you're well and i am sure you will get through this. i know its hard to believe sometimes when people tells you this, but you need to keep your hopes up, everything changes, nothing stays forever and i am sure you'll be safe at some point. if you're not happy now maybe you should look at the little things on your daily life or online that at least makes you smirk and for even a second, make you forget about your problems. you're not alone nor will be, and you can always seek online help if you're on your lower!! please please please never give up on your life, it's hard, sometimes you won't have energy to get through it, but you can always pause it, take a deep breath and maintain yourself sane. cry when you need to cry, never hide your sadness because that's what make us humans, but never let bad thoughts consume you. be safe, you are loved, stay well, seek forward, live long, love yourself. 🫂🤍💝

— P

:( you don't know how much I aprecciate this, I don't even know what to say lol I'm so bad with words

I've had a really bad time these last few days for a lot of different things but reading this cheered me up a bit :( I really needed this <3 thank u so much !! you are so sweet wth TT

I hope u have a wonderful week, be safe!! lysm

[witchypuffball]

marukabi uvu

Jesus fucking Christ (pos)

They are stupid as hell look this picrew i made a year ago and I’ve showed everywhere 

Real answer: My dear anime boys, blorbo and scrunkly, it’s been 3 years and i still can’t let them go

Swear they have everything, opportunity for absurd ideas or memes lol; of course, evil and fucked up themes to play with (their past together, obsession, unresolved feelings, lots of them. Kirby is ever forgiver but never forgets. Will shut the clown’s mouth when necessary)  and, dare i say, sweetness. Cuteness appears surprisingly a lot here! 

Fun in a relationship its important, and they both can drive each other insane in the best way (Kirby is obv more mild but he knows to joke around too).

Also, milky way wishes has that melancholic space aesthetic that i should totally play more with!

Conclusion: They are stupid and fun and ridiculous but also have that fucked up spicyness that’s so necessary for the mentally ill like me. Im aware that it’s not for everyone, but that’s okay

#Dedicated to artist 79x I owe everything to you #would a toxic ship..... HAVE THIS?!?!?!? *Shows you darling dance by kairiki bear Soraru x Amatsuki cover* #asks

[hyperpsychomaniac]

The Woodchuck Leader Assessment - Chapter 5

DT17 Fanfiction

Summary: When Launchpad’s ability to supervise children is called into question, Dewey tags along on a Junior Woodchuck trip to support his best friend.

Chapter 1

Also cross-posted on fanfiction.net.

***

Despite saying ‘ow’ multiple times, Launchpad had been prodded way more than he was comfortable with. The doctor had kept at it until he’d mercifully declared he didn’t have any broken bones and could go home. Launchpad usually didn’t like hospitals, apart from the food, partly because he could never understand what everyone was doing to him, but mostly because he didn’t like being left alone after his friends had to go home. But today, he would’ve happily stayed overnight if it meant he could just go straight to sleep.

Finally free of his tormentor, Launchpad pushed his soggy clothes into his duffel bag with leaden arms. No broken bones, but his entire body ached. He had bruises absolutely everywhere and his muscles felt like he’d way, way overdone it at the gym. His stomach was still knotting up with cramps and he’d only stopped coughing up water about an hour ago.

And he couldn’t stop sneezing. Launchpad felt another coming on, screwed up his face, but to no avail as it only came exploding out with greater force. It jarred his whole body, and Launchpad groaned.

“Bless you.” Della stood in the doorway to the hospital room.

“Oh, hey. You got here quick.”

“Um, yeah? You dropped my kid in a river and I got a call to say you were both been taken to hospital, of course I…”

Launchpad lowered his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Della held up her hands. “No, no. You jumped in after him! I didn’t mean… wow, I’m bad at this. I mean… thank you. You jumped in after him; you got him out. That’s the important part.”

“Is he…?”

“He was right here…” Della leaned back out into the hallway. “Dewey. Come on, sweetie, it’s okay.”

A sneeze sounded from down the hallway and then Dewey stuck his head around the door. He was far from his usual exuberant self, shivering and wrapped up in one of Della’s spare jackets.

Launchpad swallowed the lump in his throat. They’d said Dewey was fine but it was different actually seeing him standing there. This time, he’d been strong enough to save his friend. “Hey Dewey, how are you feeling? That river was really cold.”

Dewey stared up at him, wide eyes filling with tears, then rushed him. Launchpad dropped to his knees and grunted as Dewey slammed into him, buried his face against his chest, and sobbed into his one dry shirt. “I thought…” Dewey finally choked out. “I saw you go over the waterfall. I didn’t know what happened to you, and you were only in the water because of me, and…”

Launchpad squeezed him back tight. “It’s okay, I get it. It’s scary, huh?”

Della stepped over and gently squeezed her son’s shoulder. “Huey told me the guy assessing you was a real jerk. Both to you and the kids. Why the hell have they got someone like that in the Junior Woodchucks? If I get my hands on him…”

“I’m going to talk to the Duckberg head leader,” said Launchpad, as he rubbed Dewey’s back. “She needs to know he hasn’t changed. I don’t know why they even brought him back.”

“Won’t that look bad? You dobbing him in when he’s probably going to give you a bad report?”

Launchpad gulped. He hadn’t thought of that. “She’ll… she’ll listen to me. And I’ve got to try, even if Jack’s report gets me kicked out. He made me feel like garbage as a kid. I can’t let him talk to kids like that.”

Dewey sniffed as he extricated himself from Launchpad’s arms.

“You okay, honey?” said Della.

Dewey pushed the remaining tears from his eyes and squared his shoulders. “You’re not garbage, LP. If Mr Russell won’t give you a good report, I’ll go in and give you one. I mean, I’m not one of your Woodchucks so I can assess you, right?”

Launchpad ruffled his hair. “I’m not actually sure. But thanks.”

“Come on,” said Della. “The other parents have picked up their kids already. But I figured I could drive the bus back for you. You’ve been through enough for one day. It’s the least I can do.”

Launchpad’s shoulders slumped. “Aw man, thanks Della. I need to sleep. And it’ll be way comfier on the back seat than in the driver’s seat.”

“Um… right.”

***

“Launchpad, Launchpad!”

“Huh?” Launchpad snorted and sat straight up, then winced and put a hand to his stomach. The world spun in a groggy dimly lit soup and, for a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was.

Concern creased Della’s face under the harsh bus lighting. “Aw, man. I’m sorry. You were really out of it. I already took Dewey and Huey home, you slept right through it. But you can’t stay on the bus all night, you’ll be super stiff.”

Launchpad sneezed, then rubbed at his beak. He could already feel his muscles stiffening up, although he wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. It was dark outside.

Della grabbed up his duffel bag and carried it into Mr McDee’s garage for him, so at least he didn’t have to do that. Launchpad trailed her inside. He picked his jacket up where he’d left it slung over his curtain railing, put it on, then sunk onto the sofa.

“You’re… going to sleep in that?”

Launchpad hugged his arms. “Yes.” Somehow, the jacket felt warm and safe.

Della looked about awkwardly, then tucked the duffel bag away into a corner. “Are you going to be alright? You know if you need anything… ?”

Launchpad smiled faintly. “No, I think I just need to sleep. Not on a bus. I’m probably going to feel this in the morning anyway.”

Della winced. “Yeah.” She rubbed at her arm. “Listen, I know you and Dewey are real close anyway. But what you did… I mean, you didn’t have to do that, and…”

Launchpad blinked up at her. “Of course I did.”

Della’s shoulders slumped. “Aw LP, I… stuff it…” She thew her arms around his neck, eliciting a grunt, and her fingers dug into his jacket. “Thank you.” She held him for a long moment, before pushing him back. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

***

As he strode into the Duckberg Junior Woodchuck headquarters Launchpad checked over his prompt cards yet again. He’d written a few of them himself, most had input from Violet and Huey, and they’d had to explain the one to him that said ‘conflict of interest.’ Despite the preparation Launchpad still had no idea how this would go down. But he had to speak up for his Woodchucks.

As he approached the Duckberg head’s office, voices carried down the hall, and Launchpad stalled.

“I’m done I tell you. One ran through camp and…. and I don’t think he was even wearing any underwear. I had to retrieve three items of my clothes from various trees. What the hell does ‘Boomer’ mean anyway? And then the damned kid had to go and throw himself in the river; I can’t deal with crap like that anymore. I don’t need to go on camping trips to do assessments, let me handle the paperwork, and if you need me to chew out any of your leaders who get out of line, I’m your man, but keep those kids away from me.”

Launchpad gulped and forced himself into movement. “Um…” The door to the head’s office was open, and he knocked tentatively on the frame.

Jack whirled around. “Launchpad…”

Behind her desk, Emily Hooterman, head of the Duckberg Woodchucks, stared wide-eyed between the two of them and visibly winced.

How the heck was he supposed to do this with Jack here?

“I’ll… just… yeah, I’ve had my say, Emily. I’ve… paperwork.” Jack moved for the door, stopped, then loudly cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry.” Launchpad stepped back to let him through.

Jack moved into the hall, slowed, then spun around and stabbed a finger into Launchpad’s chest. “What you did was really dumb!” He glared at him for a moment, chest heaving, then lowered his finger. “But, I guess you can swim through a bloody raging torrent, so… I’m glad you and the boy are okay.” And with that he turned and ambled off down the hallway.

Launchpad stared at his old leader’s rapidly retreating back. What the heck had just happened?

“Wow…” Emily shook herself. “Launchpad, sweetie, you look… it’s okay. Get in here and close the door.”

“Um, sure, Ms H.” Launchpad gulped, shut the door, then sat down in the chair across the desk from the old owl.

She looked at him over her glasses. “Launchpad…”

Launchpad winced. “Sorry. Emily. See, this is why it’s great my Woodchucks can call me Launchpad. It is going to be so much less confusing for them when they’re adults.”

Emily didn’t appear to be listening. She stared at is chest, then a faint smile touched her beak as she looked back up. “You’ve put on your swimming badge.”

“Ah, yeah…” Launchpad fingered his sash self-consciously. The morning after Della had taken him home, he’d woken sore and stiff, and a little melancholic. He hadn’t had the energy to do anything useful, so he’d ended up going through some of his old Woodchuck stuff. He hadn’t realised he’d been looking for something that reminded him of Calvin, not until he’d found the old badge. As he’d held it in his hand, it had seemed silly not to put it where it belonged. Even then, when he’d sewed it on, it’d felt like a tiny hotspot on his chest, something that shouldn’t be there, and any second someone was going to call him on it. “I mean, the kids saw me swim over a waterfall so, I guess, I can’t really pretend that, I, I can’t…”

“Sweetheart,” Emily said gently, “you’ve more than earned that.”

Launchpad straightened. “I need to talk to you about something important.”

“Your assessment?”

Of course. Jack had already handed it in. Emily had read it. Launchpad could feel his guts tightening, but he shook his head. “No. Not exactly. Mr Russell… Jack…” He pulled out his prompt cards and shuffled them shakily. One slipped to the floor. He groaned and looked at it mournfully. He was still too sore to stretch that far. As long as it wasn’t the ‘conflict of interest’ one.

Emily winced. “Launchpad, wait…”

Launchpad’s gaze hardened. He shoved the rest of the cards back in his sash as he turned to Emily. “I don’t like the way Jack spoke to my Woodchucks, and I don’t think he should be in a position where he can make them feel like… like he did to me when I was a kid. I know he’s supposed to be the one reporting on me, and this probably looks bad, but… well, I’m really mad at him.”

Emily sighed. “You wouldn’t be the first leader who’s complained. But I think your Woodchucks may have solved both our problems for us.”

“Huh? How?”

“Did you hear what Jack was ranting about when you walked in here? Your kids scared him, or at least really annoyed him. He just came in here to tell me he’s done going on trips. He still wants to help out with the Woodchucks, just as long as he doesn’t have to deal directly with the kids. And, well, he’ll probably still upset some of the adults but I think they can handle him.”

“So, he’s not…”

“He’s not going to be anywhere near the kids.”

“That… was easier than I expected. I mean, the last time he got kicked out, it took…” Launchpad lowered his gaze and rubbed at one of the bruises on his chest.

Emily chewed her lip. “Listen, Launchpad, lets back up for a second. I need to apologise to you. I don’t assign the assessors. Jack got put with you. When I found out I meant to give you a heads up. But I got busy, and… I’m sorry. Especially after everything that happened with the Duck boy, look, I’m so, so sorry. I know it couldn’t have been a fun trip for you.”

Launchpad shrugged. “So… does this mean I still get to be Woodchuck leader?” He tried to keep the hope out of his voice.

Emily picked up some sheets of paper from her desk. “Well, Jack’s assessment was certainly… interesting.”

That told him nothing. Launchpad gulped as his gaze sat squarely on the far too thick document in Emily’s hands. “I don’t know what he said but… I know what I did wrong anyway. I shouldn’t have left the kids alone with him all night. He just… he just upset me, and I didn’t mean to, but I ended up spending the whole night up on the bus. I dumped them on Jack, and maybe it would’ve been okay if it’d been someone else, but I wasn’t there to stop him talking down to them. They’re my responsibility, and I screwed up. Whatever else he’s got in there, he’s probably being unfair, but if that’s there, then… it’s true…” He hung his head.

“I’m not surprised he upset you, given your history, and, well… Jack. It’s okay, and like I said, I’m sorry I put you in the position. But he doesn’t decide who stays and who goes. I do. Most of his report was, well… standard Jack. Although he rambled on a bit more for you than I’ve seen him do anyone else. He says he still thinks you’re crazy, but at least you’re crazy enough to do something dumb to actually save a kid… I think he intended that as a compliment.”

Launchpad raised his head. “Wait, he said that?”

Emily shrugged. “I think that may have been what he was trying to do when he bailed out of here. And tell you off, but, you know, that’s Jack.”

“So I can stay right? I mean I figured you keep sending me assessors, I probably was doing something wrong.”

“Launchpad, the biggest reason you keep getting stuck with assessors is because you’re the only one of our leaders looking after your Woodchucks by yourself. If you had a parter or two, you’d be able to back each other up, and we wouldn’t have to keep sending someone to check up on you to settle down concerned parents. But,” she winced. “It does help if you don’t wake up hibernating bears.”

“Okay, I’ll try to do better next time…”

“You did plenty good, Launchpad. And I get how hard it must’ve been jumping in that river for you.”

Launchpad smiled faintly. Jumping in the river had not been hard the part. Not to go after Dewey. “Thanks.”

“Look, I think Jack’s gone. But if you need to stay a few extra minutes to be sure…”

“There was… something else I wanted to ask you about,” Launchpad said in a rush, before he could chicken out. He hadn’t written it on his prompt cards because he hadn’t wanted Violet and Huey to see it yet.

“What is it?”

“I… I just wanted to know if it’d be okay if I… look, the kids got a bit stupid, partly to help me, partly because of the stuff Jack said. What they did with Dewey, I don’t think they realised how dumb that was, and I…” Launchpad pressed back into the chair and hugged his arms. “I wanted to ask if I could tell them about Calvin.”

“LP… You… you don’t need to ask me about that…”

“I mean, I think they kind of know what happened from what I was yelling at Jack. But I thought maybe it would help them understand how stuff can go wrong even when you’re trying to help someone? And that how they talk to people matters, and… I’ll leave out some bits but I thought I should ask first, because Woodchucks is supposed to be fun, and, well… I guess its just not a very nice story.”

He looked up, and far from looking horrified, Emily was smiling at him with watery eyes. “I think that’s a great idea. You might even… maybe you could share it with some of the other Woodchuck groups?”

“I… I don’t know…”

Emily held up her hands. “Sorry. Just, yes, of course, just tell your Woodchucks. But let me know how it goes?”

Launchpad nodded as he stood to his feet. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Launchpad, wait.” Emily got up and moved around her desk to meet him at the door. “Is it okay if I give you a hug?”

“Yeah, Ms H. I think I need that.”

This time, as she put her arms around him, she didn’t correct him.

#launchpad #launchpad mcquack #dt17 #dt17 launchpad #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #della duck #dewey duck #launchpad needs a hug

[kyuus4ku]

ooh you're doing a roast/praise ur big three thing ??👀 could you do mine ?

It's taurus sun, scorpio moon and cancer rising

i literally can't tell if it's bad or not tbh😭😭

HII NIMI !! hehe of course! i had a lot of fun with your chart 😋

zodiac ask game

taurus sun

okay, hands down: i could never say anything bad about a taurus. in my experience, the least toxic of all signs I MAY BE BIASED BC I LOVE TAURUSES but you guys are just so down-to-earth and easy-going, and like... you take things as they come, and that's what i really respect. you value security, and your sense of stability is thrown off only when you're really mad or triggered. i could say you're very realistic? not the type to look at things in an abstract point of view, and your understanding of things is firmly rooted in how tangible they are. how you perceive what's real or what matters is what you use to depict your current state of mind or self-identity. you're calm most of the time, and some people may mistaken you to be dense? it's not that you're dense, you're just focused on what actually matters to you. though your water moon and water rising kinda contrasts with your earth sun HAHA i'll get to that in a while. as i mentioned before, you value security, and if you lose that, things get a little haywire. it takes some time for you to adapt to change, depending on how resourceful you are. i'd say the taurus sign is the balance point between it's earth sign companions: virgos and capricorns. you have capricorn's problem-solving tendencies, but control also matters to you, just as it matters to virgos. but you're right in the middle, so both practicality and stability work hand-in-hand for you. you're not obsessed with control, but your preference for it is kept in check by your ability to view things practically?

scorpio moon

scorpio placements are complex as fuck /lh /pos YOU'RE SO HARD TO READ KSHDJSS like scorpio suns, your personality is multifaceted, and you value privacy. your mind is constantly trying to absorb and decipher your environment, emotions, and thought patterns. i wouldn't call you sensitive, but i'd say you feel emotions very deeply, making it hard to cope with them sometimes. because you constantly try to understand the world around you, your environment can have a significant impact on your state of mind. scorpio moons are really reserved, but somehow, you can effortlessly make people trust you. people find a sense of belonging in you, because one, you don't judge them, and two, you know what it's like to feel emotions deeply, so that can add to your sense of compassion, making you very easy to talk to since you're more or less empathetic. even if you don't understand someone else's emotions, you try to, because i suppose you know what it feels like to be misunderstood, invalidated, and confused. i could say your compassionate to a flaw, and have a tendency to look out for others more than yourself, depending on your own self-growth and how you look at yourself. this kinda contrasts with your sun, because water placements are understood to be sensitive, while earth placements value logic above all else. your chart isn't bad HAHA though i guess internal conflicts can be a little stressful at times.

cancer rising

you have the same rising as me 🧐🤝 i won't be saying this from my pov, but according to the typical stereotypes perceptions of cancer risings. emotional, but so very kind. cancer risings are moody HANDBS but that's only because there's so much going on in their minds and hearts, and not knowing how to channel it can be very discouraging. at first glance, people recognise you as distant and reserved, but you are extremely protective of those you care about, and really defensive when it comes to your emotions. fear of rejection maybe? you keep a distance to avoid people rejecting you, but you possess a heart of gold. i only hope you don't hand over your heart to people who don't know how to take care of it. being misunderstood is something you're used to, because sometimes, you don't even know how to explain your feelings yourself, which can result in a long-lasting state of gloom. like your scorpio moon, you feel emotions deeply, which can make you the melancholic type sometimes. nevertheless, you're understanding, and that's due to what you've been through. a great listener, and a safe place for the people you trust. you utilise your sadness to find the beauty in things, since you're not the type to view things superficially. you need to understand what, why, and how, because if you don't, you lose sight of the point in everything. you're sensitive, but that isn't a bad thing. i suppose your taurus sun can keep your rising in check, but your scorpio moon could make those waves of intense emotions two times more intense, or it could help you try to understand what you're feeling. it's purely subjective.

#asks.txt #zodiac.asks #nimi <3

[rose-wine-selfships]

About Me

Hey everyone! If you want to know about your local, rose loving, wine drinking self shipper, then here’s your chance to do so! Feel free to know a bit more about me in a little more intimate detail through this page. Also, thank you all for getting me this far my dear followers! I love and appreciate you all dearly! 🌹🍷✨

Name: Christina/Rose (for this blog)

Gender: Demi-female (Pronouns: She/Her & They/them)

Favorite Color: Pink

Zodiac: August 9th (28 years old) Leo (Proud Lioness baby!) ♌️ 💚

I am:

-A self shipping enthusiast

-Biracial/Chicana (Mexican American)

- A white passing WOC

-Bisexual 💖💜💙

o()xxx[{::::::::::::::::::::::::::::>

- ENFJ - Melancholic Temperament - Lawful Good - 2w3

- Kindness Queen - Honorary Karamatsu Girl - Tsundere Collector

- Neurodivergent (Diagnosed)

I have:

* PDDNOS/Atypical Autism

* Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

* Attention Deficit Disorder (a mild case)(ADD)

* Somatic Symptom Disorder (SSD)

Things I regularly blog on my main account:

- Anime stuff

- Various fandoms

- Animal videos

- Beauty & makeup

- Current news & politics

- LGBT+ issues

- POC issues

- Neurodivergent issues

- MEMES

- Multicultural stuff

I do have an 18+ blog dedicated purely to NSFW (and partially weed) content. If you are 18 or older, and you don’t mind that stuff, please DM me for the link if you want to follow my side blog also! I’d appreciate it. 👍

Atsushi Nakajima is the 💓love💓 of my life, and he’s my main fictional husband too.

Oscar Francois de Jarjayes is another 💓love💓 of my life, and she’s another main 🩷fictional spouse🩷and part of my current hyper fixation in terms of special interests. If you want to talk about her I will gladly discuss ANYTHING related to her. I just LOVE her THAT much! 🌹✨

The third spouse that wormed his way into my apple-like heart is Wally Darling from Welcome Home! He’s another love of my life and I’m utterly OBSESSED with this travel sized puppet guy. I love him so much and I’m REALLY uncomfy sharing him.

I also have an original F/O character that is the main protagonist for my fan made series called “Ronin: Wielder of the Cursed Blade” and his name is Yuuma Daichi. He’s a Ronin, or wandering samurai who is on a quest for vengeance against his former master. Feel free to look around my blog and see some more fan art of him and the series if you want to! 😁👌

Here’s the link to Yuuma’s personality profile:

Other links:

#updated profile #updated currently #about me #pinned post #self shipping promo #self shipping community #rose talks #rose promotes her blog #rose rants #rose announcement #autistic self shippers #self shipper #add self shippers #feel free to reblog this post #feel free to look at this my dearies!

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {11}

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler-Evans

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Angst, Slight embellishment of actual real-world media

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**NOTE: A WORK OF FICTION. NOT CREATED TO GARNER HATE OF ANY SORT.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You were reeling. You didn’t know if you were more furious or hurt. After everything, after the last few weeks, therapy, the revelations, the openness between you, your tears, and struggle this was where you were. Lost. Confused.

 After sitting in your office or almost an hour after the end of your FaceTime call with Chris examining the screen record of Chris’ background and the one from Ana’s picture you’d gone through every single scenario. You’d even branched out to scenarios of those scenarios and at the end of it all you’d settled on was something wasn’t right. Everything pointed to your husband being a liar, your husband playing both angles when in fact he as a low-down dirty asshole. You were reluctant to believe it especially with all you’d been through together in therapy. The emotions he’d expressed couldn’t have been faked. Only an actual sociopathic psychopath could have faked it. that possibility had you wondering if your husband was a sociopathic psychopath.

 This new light on the situation didn’t help you keep focus for the day. Concentration was pointless, working was pointless. Every couple of minutes you were thinking about it again. wondering where they were right now if they were together if they were laughing together about how easy it all had been. Needless to say, you were now looking at “platonic” actions in a whole new light. You now looked at the video of them together at TIFF differently, you looked at the interviews they did together and the body language differently. You even looked at the times they’d been together when you called him while he was filming. Your insecurities were at an all-time high.

 Those insecurities are what had you on a private jet bound for San Diego, two days before your scheduled trip to LA that was supposed to have you meet up with Chris. You’d followed your gut, insecurities, and fears here because you had a feeling something was up, and you refused to sit around and ignore it any longer. You’d played the dutiful wife, the wife who played the trust card. You’d played the faithful and devoted wife who did everything in her power to save and strengthen her marriage. It was time to play a different card, the stealth wife. You were going to get to the bottom of this one way or another.

“Hello?”

 “I hope you’re not just going to roll over on this one.” Your mother’s voice resonated and you sighed out in the backseat of the chauffeured truck.

 “Mama, for goodness sake,” you began before she cut you off.

 “What would be for goodness’s sake is you putting both of them in their place, especially her. A man can be as faithful as Jesus but there will always be snakes and Jezebels slithering through the garden of Eden.”

 You rolled your eyes. You didn’t have the time or patience to listen to her scripture riddles. “Mama, I don’t have time for this.”

 “Do you have time for a divorce?” You almost fell out. She had the uncanny ability to take it from zero to two hundred in two seconds. This was not different. Still, she had a point.

 “I will take care of it. I’m in San Diego now and I’m going to confront Chris.”

 “Take a beat, I say confront her first.”

 “What?”

 “Yes, both parties are equally complicit but sit with her, get a feel for her. You’ll be able to tell her intentions within the first two minutes. I’m not saying go and beat her ass off the bat. It’s what I would do, but there are ways to be tactful in a situation like this,” she suggested.

 You had thought to go to her and rip out her hair then give her a nice souvenir in the form of a face scar to be used as a reminder to stay away from your husband. You’d also thought to play devil’s advocate and go behind enemy lines and assess the situation from her side. You’d left both options open and decided to go to the horse first. Hearing your mother’s thoughts, you decided to go with her plan. You’d go see the snake, Jezebel, first.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Almost an hour later, you were sitting in a hotel room in front of a set table with an assortment of foods before you.  Your mind was racing but you felt strangely calm as if you were slowly gliding through the air in zero gravity. It would have been peaceful, but your heart felt heavy.

 “Uriah?” Her accent was very clear. You also heard her shock and confusion. When you turned to her she had a smile on her face. She was a pretty woman. There was no lying about it. You could see why men would fall for her and her big hazel eyes, striking bone structure, plump bottom lip, and exotic accent. Thinking about that you saw what would draw him in.

 You smiled widely and stood. “Ana. How are you?” She returned your smile and stepped to you with her arms out. Once before you, she threw her arms around you hugging you. It was unexpected and your first red flag.

 “I’m so good. How are you? Oh my goodness I love this outfit you look amazing.” She was being overly friendly. This was a sign she was overcompensating for something. You played her game and carried in with small talk.

 After a few minutes, the two of you sat down across from each other. “Chris didn’t mention you were here.”

 “I know. He doesn’t know. I wanted it to be a surprise. So please don’t tell him.”

 “Oh, that’s so sweet—so romantic.” Her smile slipped for a moment. You didn’t miss it. She smiled again and straightened her back coming back to being the picture of friendliness.

 “I wanted to have a bit of lunch together just us girls. It’s been such a long time since we chatted. I just wanted to catch up.” You knew it was believable. You were not an amateur actress.

 “That sounds nice.”

 “I remember a few things Chris mentioned that you liked. Cucumber sandwiches, dragon rolls, and that salsa from your country that you said you couldn’t live without. I hope it’s the right brand.”

 Ana’s eyes roamed over the food on the table with a huge smile on her face. “Wow, he told you about all this?”

 You nodded and sipped your tea, “He did. He talks about you a lot. I can see he likes you.” Ana looked at you and studied you as if she were searching for something. You suspected what she was searching for. You kept your cool.

 “Yeah, we’re good friends. He’s a great man. You married a keeper.” You slowly nodded and took up one of the California Rolls before you. It was one of the two sushi products you would touch. From your example, Ana did the same and made a plate with a little of everything.

 The two of you ate in silence for a few minutes. After some quiet, you chatted about the business, upcoming projects, silly stories floating around Hollywood, fashion, makeup, and travel. It all seemed normal. If you didn’t have the fact in the back of your mind that she was fucking your husband then it was possible to become friends. In another life, the two of you may have become friends. You may have been good friends.

 As you spoke about trivial things, you formulated the right path to go. You couldn’t be too direct, and you couldn’t be too passive. You had to find a way to ride the line between the two.

 “I hope everything is okay with your family. I heard the break Chris took was because of a family emergency,” Ana led a little over an hour into brunch.

 “Yes, it was. We went through some things that had the power to break us. It was important we took the time. I wasn’t sure we still felt the same way about each other anymore.” It was true. Sometimes you had to reveal something personal to open the gates. Ana’s hand reached out for yours and rested on top in a reassuring way.

 “I’m sorry. I had no idea. Do you want to talk about it?”

 “No, no need. I want to distract myself. How are things with you? Anyone in your life that makes this crazy life of fame better?”

 She remained quiet for a little while then toyed with the straw in her Fiji water bottle. Her eyes didn’t go back to yours though. “Things are okay. They could definitely be better. I never realized how much fame could be so lonely. You have millions of people watching you all the time. Tens of them around you but still you can feel--.”

 “Alone?”

 Ana looked to you and nodded with a melancholic smile. “Yeah. I don’t expect you to understand. You have Chris.”

 “He’s been pulling away for some time. It may just be our workload and our maybe we’re not the same people anymore. We might have outgrown each other. I understand.” It was a stretch but in the light of new details maybe it wasn’t. Ana watched you and you tapped into your actress side and played up everything you felt a little over two months ago.

 “Oh Uriah, I’m sorry. Do you think--.” Ana paused looked down timidly then bit her bottom lip before she spoke again. “Do you think he’s having an affair?”

 Bingo, you thought. Nothing you’d said since this brunch began had any path to eluding about an affair. The fact that she brought it up was suspicious. “Do you think he is? You’re with him a lot more than I am these days.”

Ana looked at you. you felt the air in the room change, her eyes got slightly darker. “How would I know that?”

 You shrugged and took up a beignet. You loved that the powdered sugar just melted in your mouth.

 “Wait, are you insinuating I’m having an affair with Chris?”

 “I never said that Ana. Why would I even say that?”

 Ana straightened her sitting position and held her head higher. You knew what was coming and you loathed it. Either you’d slipped somewhere, or she was seriously on edge about the topic.

 “Oh, I see. You asked me here under false pretenses to play nice and sugar me up hoping to get me to spill something. You told me some sad story about your marriage hoping it would give you the optic of the sad victim so I could feel sorry for you. Wow. These questions weren’t you being a friend or a decent person. You were trying to find out of I’m having an affair with Chris. I can’t believe this!” She sprang to her feet and walked away from the table.

 “You’re overreacting, Ana. I never accused you of anything. All I wanted to do was catch up with you.”

 “Bullshit!” She rolled her eyes, turned her back to you then looked at you again.

 “By you coming to me like this it shows how scared you are. Do you feel threatened by me, Uriah? Worried that Chris likes me more than you? Scared that our connection is better than yours?” She was trying to get to you, you could tell. You refused to play this game.

 “Look, Ana, I’m not here to play games with you.”

 “No, you’re here to see how much of a threat I am for your marriage. What you should be thinking about is do you actually have a marriage still?” She didn’t give you a chance to reply before she walked out the door slamming it behind her.

 “This bitch!” She just moved her next chess piece—the knight.

 ~~~~~~~~

When you got to Chris’ room that evening you were even angrier than you were at brunch with Ana. You should have thrown her out the fucking window instead of playing nice with her. Yes, a tactical approach was the best but a show of dominance and violence was always a good move. You hadn’t made one misstep. You didn’t take the con too far, you weren’t too passive or direct. She had always been on edge. She probably was suspicious from the moment she walked in. You knew better than anyone a guilty conscience would always see a threat even where there was none. You were a threat though. You knew now she wasn’t as innocent as she pretended to be. That made you wonder just what the fuck was going on.

 According to Chris’ assistant, he was busy doing some last-minute interviews and events for Knives Out. You took advantage of the quiet and time alone by thoroughly scanning his room, especially where the backgrounds of his facetime call and her image looked identical. There was no mistaking it in person. They were the same. After you roamed around the room wondering just what the walls would say if they could talk. Would they tell you all their sorted secrets about your husband and a particularly hazel-eyed co-star? Would they speak of his fidelity and boringness or would they speak about his betrayal?

 When you’d thought yourself weary, you moved on to ways to relax which included taking a long bath and feasting on room service. It was a good distraction but that was all it was—a distraction. One that you knew would end as soon as Chris got back. You would have to address the literal elephant in the room the picture.

 You were so distracted by the view from the living room window and your tumultuous thoughts and feelings that you almost didn’t hear when the door opened, and Chris walked in.

 “Uriah.” You looked to see him standing there dressed in perfect business casual wear with his hair perfectly tousled. You would never think he was unattractive. For a few moments, his eyes left your face and roamed over your robe-clad body and down your exposed leg. As he scanned you, he walked more into the room.

 “Hi.”

“You’re not supposed to be here in San Diego. I thought we were meeting in LA.

 “I know, I just—wanted to be here.”

 Chris sighed and sat in a seat across from you. you found it a little strange that he hadn’t seen you in a week and he hadn’t come over to greet you or initiate contact. As you were going to bring it up, Chris began speaking again.

 “Checking up on me?” His words rubbed you the wrong way. Turning around to face him you crossed your legs not caring that they were fully exposed.

 “Should I be checking on you? I wasn’t aware you needed checking up on.”

 He kept eye contact with you. You could see the tight clench in his jaw and the straight line of his lips. He was annoyed.

 “Did you lure Ana to lunch and accuse her of having an affair with me?”

 Closing your eyes, you sighed and cracked your neck. You’d just jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. The bitch had tattled and moved her second chess piece at the same time.

 “Don’t lie to me Uriah,” Chris warned through tightly clenched jaws.

 “I did not accuse her of anything.”

 “So, you did lure her to lunch and treated her like a homewrecker and threatened my career and name in the industry?”

 “Are you kidding me, Chris?”

 “Are you kidding me, Uriah?!” He sprang to his feet like a firework shell shooting into the air. You could feel the anger coming off of him.

 “I cannot believe you would do this! Why would you do this?”

 “Me? Why would I do this? Why would you do this?”

 “What are you talking about? What have I done Uriah?” You got off the couch and made your way to your purse for your phone. If he wanted to play the fool you would enlighten him. once you found the picture you shoved it in his face.

 “What the fuck is that?” You watched him as he scanned the post then rolled his eyes.

 “It’s a post.”

 “No shit it’s a post. Did you send her that sweater?”

 “So what? I wasn’t going to wear it, she liked it so I gave it away.”

 “And this?” You pointed to the background of the picture and then went to the still of his facetime call.

 “What about this? Why does your background which is here, identically match hers?”

 Chris looked at you like you were bat shit crazy as if he had no idea who you were.

 “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy. What the fuck is this?”

 He didn’t speak, he just stared at you.

 “I’ve suppressed the urge to ask the question because of everything we’ve been through these last months but come on Chris. I can only be so complacent.”

 “Ask the question, Uriah. I dare you.” It was another warning. You flared your nose and hesitated. You knew if you asked it you’d be right back where you were before therapy. The hurt on his face was evident. He looked as if he were holding back tears.

 “Ask it!”

 “Why do your backgrounds match?”

 “They are hotel rooms, I’m sure they are all identical.”

 “Bullshit!” You walked away from him and to the window.

“Did you come here to confront her--to confront me?” You clenched your jaw and fought back your tears.

 “I wanted to see where your head was and the opportunity arose to see where hers was too,” you explained.

 “Satisfied? Was her denial enough?”

 “She didn’t deny anything. She threw her cockiness around instead. Did she tell you that when she came running to you to get sympathy and create an even bigger wedge between us?”

 “This isn’t about her Uriah. This is about you. I thought you trusted me. I thought we’d moved past this and had turned a page and were moving forward. I thought we were stronger.”

 “I thought so too. I really tried not to come here with this. I debated it but Chris how can I look past this? If you were me, what would you have done?”

 “I wouldn’t come here accusing you or your costar or fucking!”

 “For the first half of our marriage you accused me of fucking Christiano! I just need you to explain this to me.”

 “I have nothing to explain. This wasn’t my room. She wasn’t here.”

 “So, she wasn’t in here dressed like that with you? You weren’t fucking her before this was taken?”

 He didn’t speak right away. He looked disappointed. He sighed and walked away facing his back to you.

 “I don’t think we’ll ever get past this.  The last two months were a waste of time. I thought we could move forward and be stronger because of the pain and the struggle but I don’t think we can.” He turned back to you in time for you to see a tear roll down his cheek.

 “I never lied to you. I’m not playing you either. That picture was not taken here. She’s never been in here.” He dropped his head and wiped his tears away. “I don’t think I should be here either.”

 He didn’t give you enough time to speak, he just walked out the door leaving you alone. You didn’t know what to think or believe at this point. You knew you weren’t crazy. You also knew that this bitch had shown her full hand. 

~~~~~~~~~

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TagList: 

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#rumor has it fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #Chris Evans X black reader #chris evans smut #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

[maxskulline]

Plotted starter with @mononezu

Max is used to the endlessness of things. The relentless rain of Po Town, chipping away at the softened, red bricks of their houses until it could pour freely through the holes it left in its wake, has bothered her on very few occasions. You cannot be spoiled for choice when you’re a survivor - and Max has mastered survival to near perfection. She is adaptable, and because she’s adaptable she can be ignorant to the endless snow of Chirchester, or the way her fingers ache in the cold whenever a gig has come to an end. 

Sometimes she even finds comfort in those endless, vast things. Her life changed too rapidly, too drastically, and now she needs to take a breath and figure out where the road will take her next. 

Music’s always been a life line and from the moment Max had picked up a guitar, she finally felt like she had found something to claim her own. Entirely hers, something no one could take from her - a skill. A talent, even, because it takes more than handling an instrument to understand music on a deeper level. It speaks to her in a language Max can grasp, and it fills her mind with melodies and tunes and rhythms. At first she grew very frustrated that she couldn’t match a single word to these sounds, but once she taught herself how to read and how to write, the last piece of her puzzle fell in place as well. It was a ponderous start - her very first, self-written songs sounded clumsy and unfinished, like raw and unpolished ore. But they were hers. She made the songs with the damaged pieces of her heart and she loved them even if no one ever got to hear them. 

The songs Max plays on the streets of Chirchester are more refined. A handpicked choice of 7 songs, upbeat and melancholic and angry, lyrics that resonate with other people, too - that’s why the crowd is picking up with every time Max sets up in the Center of this snow-kissed town. Word spreads fast in such a small town, but she really isn’t doing it for the clout or for the money. This? It is hers. She’d play even if no one paid for it.

And so another gig comes to an end tonight. Heavy snowclouds cast a pink hue across the glittering roof-tops, a sunset many tourists happily brace the cold for. She bows her head when the gathering crowd claps, and thanks everyone personally if they come forward to fill Mr. Rimes’ hat with Pokédollars. But, when she raises her head she will find that tonight’s going to turn out a little different - because she’s almost face to face with the duly familiar coordination of black and white and hot pink, colours that freeze her in place for more than one reason. Black and white is a combination Max has not moved on from yet, the resemblance is too close. 

If her cheeks were flushed due to icy temperatures before, they’re positively feverish now. This face, towering over the crowd - she recognizes it. He’s among the very few Max had bothered to ask about when he showed up on the TV. There’s not much she knows, only that he is one of Galar’s Gym leaders and that he throws out some pretty sick tunes. Latter’s the only part Max cares about, but seeing him a few feet ahead, a looming shadow among a blur of pastel and white - and, frankly, the skinniest giant she’s ever seen - feels a little surreal. Still, Max throws him a smile, because she’s honoured to know he’s stopped for her music. 

Once she’s all packed up and Mr Rime warming up in his Pokéball, Max, who notices that Piers hasn’t moved on and almost looks like he’s waiting for her, breathes in her courage through a cigarette. With the guitar shouldered and her scarf wrapped back in place, the girl marches forward, finishes her cig and shoves her freezing hands back into the deep pockets of the yellow coat. 

           “I’d say I’m a fan of your music if I didn’t know you’re hearin’ that all of the time, probably. Thanks for stoppin’ by, though. It means a lot.” 

#mononezu #💀 Every inch of me is aching knowing there’s a space awaiting for me to fill. (Post-Game) #DJAFKLKAJF I GOT A LITTLE CARRIED AWAY but i was just so excited to start this lmao #like i said...this is an aesthetic i didn't know i needed until now #Pls don't feel like you have to match my length!! i just rlly like to set the scene lmao

[nana-luna]

Chiedi e ti sarà dato, mate. @the-not-so-dark-age, che ti piaccia, anche se magari non segue alla lettera il 106 ^^ Piuttosto che ripetere l’inquadratura frontale ho provato ad azzardare un momento un po’ più “intimo”/”vulnerabile” e malinconico - avevo anche pensato ad una lacrima che alla fine non ho disegnato più-. E spero ti piaccia anche la grafite blu C: Colore a parte, è più morbida di quella che uso di solito e spero lo trasmetta anche al disegno :V Ti chiedo ancora scusa per la lunga attesa… e per questo paragrafo logorroico. For the english folks who want l’antico vaso tradotto: Ask and you shall receive, mate. Hope you like it, even though id doesn’t follow exactly ch106. Rather than repeating the front view I tried portraying a more “intimate”/”vulnerable” and melancholic moment - I even thought of adding a tear but ultimately didn’t. I hope you like the blue graphite too C: Beside the color, it’s softer of the normal one I use and I hope it gives a softer look to the drawing too :V I apologize again for the long wait… and this loghorreic paragraph. P.S: drawing Armin with short hair gives me more pain than getting run over by a car did. I need morphin and long hair armin fanarts.

#send requests in ask box #armin arlet #aruani #shingeki no kyojin #snk106 #attack on titan #l'attacco dei giganti #snk #aot #attacco dei giganti #drawing #armin arlert #fanart #titan shifters #sketchbook drawing #blue graphite #colored graphite #sketch #sketchbook

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 102: Faint Waves

I have been wanting to write about the meditative exotica of Faint Waves (aka Justin Weems) for a while, but every time I get ready to do a write-up, I learn another release is imminent and so hold off. But now is the perfect time to look back at Faint Waves’ wonderful year, given that Justin has just issued his most accomplished and far-reaching sets of songs yet: the magically transportive and guitar-led Hideaways II EP (following up 2017′s standout Hideaways EP) and the jaw-dropping Paradise Lost on eclectics, featuring one of my favorite tracks all year in the Dream Chimney dub of the title track. One thing that stands out immediately from the entire Faint Waves catalog is the mastery of melody; almost every track Justin produces contains some sort of irresistible ear-worm hook that I’ll end up humming or whistling for days on end (see “Cherry Blossom” for perhaps the most potent example). And underneath the melodic magic, he synthesizes his varied interests in synth pop, new age, tropicalia, film soundtracks, chill out, and adult contemporary into an adventurous and narcotic balearic haze.

Faint Waves - The Night & The City (Self Released, 2018) “The Night & The City” is spread across three mixes, with the original’s intro marrying textured basslines to Steve Reich-ian idiophones. After a hushed pause, the beat drops alongside faux-brass melodies and epic string sadness, marching away until a beatless midtro sees trumpets wavering over chill-out bass. And after floating a while in this zoned out space, the propulsive rhythms return and transport us back to the late-night urban atmospheres. The “Big Chair Mix” sees the horn melodies of the original transposed to Mark Barrot-style new age vocal pads and accompanied by neon arpeggiations. The beat comes crashing in with a 90s ambient house flair…an echo smothered break-y rhythm ranking among Justin’s very best. And the original’s dramatic beatless section is made all the more powerful here, as heady vocal samples drift over Chromatics incantations. The “Fargo Mix” is more restrained, with harp patterns and vibrant mallet tones giving way to vintage vocal pads and bleary (french?) horns. The drums are now reduced to a heroin jazz sway, with deep natural kick and brushed snare work supporting the sundown ambiance. The remaining cut is “After Hours Dealing,” nailing the sound of rain soaked city streets late at night with its feverish house pads and bass synth comforts. Marimbas and brass weave twilight nostalgia over a snare, kick, and hi-hat pulse while cerebral noises flash in the ether and moments of cinematic ascendency rush in, with everything flowing upwards towards a turbulent sky and noir horns breaking through the clouds like streaks of moonlight.

Faint Waves - Rain Rhythms, Vol. 1 (Self Released, 2018) Gentle yet effected rainfall underlies every moment here, joining first the smooth e-pianos, drums, and soft basslines of “Rain Rhythms No. 1.” This one evokes wistful views of a calm and grey sea from a faraway window, with every sound filtered through delicate yet tripped out echo fx. For “Rain Rhythms No. 2,” sparse dubwise hand drums sit below pads swelling in angelic harmony. It’s like a warm glowing fog, with pitter-patter cymbals keeping time, glassy vibraphones decaying to the horizon, and a midsection of floating beatless reverie. Piano and synthetic woodblock drift on waves of sunshine in “Rain Rhythms No. 3,” with a far-reaching and emotional melody played on pads sounding like heavenly sirens. I’m reminded of Aeoliah’s Angel Love, with transportive ivory heartache flowing above hazy rainforest rhythmics and affecting new age spells. And as time progresses, I find “Rain Rhythms No. 4” more and more compelling. It’s a deep plod into the heart of a dark forest, with sparse tambourine sounds forming the only rhythm aside from occasional kick drums. Wavering and slightly dissonant pads intertwine with deliriously beautiful yet heavily compressed pianos, while marimbas fall like water dripping off leaves. This is one of the few times unsettling and ominous vibes peak their way into the Faint Waves soundworld and their presence is all the more effective and interesting given the sharp contrast with the flowing beauty of the preceding three pieces.

Faint Waves - Amarsi Un Po (Self Released, 2018) “Amarsi Un Po” is a slight detour into the world of old Italian film soundtracks and pop, with string synths swelling in an orchestral prelude for the mediterranean flow to come. An airy drum shuffle, organic and embellished by thunderous timpani drums, is accompanied by sprightly music box melodies and irresistible reed instruments. And at some point the beats drop out, giving way to a string and acoustic guitar interlude evoking springtide romances, with adventurous solo flourishes and the sounds of coastal sunshine. Even better is the “Island Mix”, with seabirds and oceanic samples underlying the building string atmospheres. The rhythms here have a hypnotic flow rather than a shuffling stutter and the mediterranean reeds are replaced by spacious flutes and tropical marimbas. The guitar interlude is still preset, only now the six-string is smothered in celestial reverb and mostly floats alone, aside from foggy string plucks and the ever present sounds of nature. The Sketches from an Island vibes are strong on this one.

Faint Waves - Paradise Lost (eclectics, 2018) “Paradise Lost” comes to life on a swaying hand percussion groove and blowing synth wind. Rainsticks and deep blue ocean chords sweep in alongside tropical chiming melodies and gleaming mallet instruments, their lilting descent recalling nothing so much as the seaside bliss outs of Bonnie & Klein. This is especially true as swelling cymbals lead to a moment of pure balearic wonder, with exotic acoustic guitar explorations over moving synth chord tidal waves. The Dream Chimney dub takes the magical template provided by Faints Waves and transforms it into some long lost Coyote jammer. The kick and double time cymbals flow hypnotically with massive dubbed out synthbass bouncing through space. New age chimes flow through the mix like some universal ether and the rattles of the rainsticks are every present, stretched and looped into a cosmic breath alongside the sunset pads. Glassy marimbas are locked into an otherworldly dance; a melancholic descent that I would be fine living in forever. And all the while, flashes of acoustic guitar are refracted through prismatic fx, hitting those prime Max Essa vibes. Wisely, the guitar-led beatless stretch is preserved, only now chimes fall like shooting stars and the guitar is heavily obscured by heady reverb and galactic synthesis.

For "Sea of Dreams,” seagulls fly and converse above washing waves. Cymbals swell and introduce a massive kick drum pulse, circled about by gentle bongos and melodious Angelo Badalamenti pads that wrap the body and soul in euphoric warmth. Mystical vibraphones dance in a playful jazz flow and at some point, the kick picks up steam to bring in a spellbinding trumpet solo, both incredibly surprising and masterfully played. Faint Waves has worked with brass before but never like this, with such naturalistic warmth in the impressive jazz runs, sounding as if Miles Davis was scoring a sunset on the adriatic. The Rollmottle mix sees skipping house rhythmics soaring over sparkling blue waves…percolating, hypnotizing, propulsive. And as deep house pads repeat in hallucinatory syncopation, a towering Italo bassline fades into focus, bring us right into that eclectics wonder zone of dark disco and slow motion future balearic. Rollmottle also takes the original marimbas and morphs them into balls of energy bouncing off the sides of the mix, while claps decay eternally over the vibing cymbal work. And after a crucial bass drum drop out leaving just soaring basslines and ocean ambiance, that amazing trumpet solo drops from the sky, now hovering in jazz majesty over the chugging rhythm storm.

Faint Waves - Hideaways II EP (Self Released, 2018) Hideaways II starts with one of the strongest Faint Waves tracks in “Bonita,” as woodblock introduces some truly stunning guitar work. My mouth was agape the first time I heard it, as nothing else in Justin’s catalog hinted at such romantic riffscapes and gorgeous moments of blue sky harmonization. It’s the kind of sonic addition that sweeps his music towards the upper echelons of balearica, referencing strongly Phil Mison, José Padilla, and especially the recent work of Blank & Jones in its mixing of vaguely Spanish six-string fantasies and placid tropical downtempo. And behind the sweeping acoustic layers, new age chimes splash like sea spray, hushed pads add stirring oceanic ambiance, and synth leads sparkle like golden starlight. If there is any justice, this one will appear on a future Milchbar // Seaside Season compilation. “Tanzania” follows with a powerful downbeat rhythm and chiming synths and flutey pads joining forest fauna, while rainsticks and jungle atmospheres background vocal pads shimmering with meditative new age splendor. But the actual melodies skew closer to downer 80s synth pop, resulting in a captivating mix as a new age/world music palette is used to craft something that would fit in an episode of Twin Peaks.

We then find ourselves afloat on the “Mystic River” as cymbal swells bring with them a melody that is hard to describe, causing me to choke up, tears to well, but also a sense of warmth…vivid nostalgia, fond memories of old, wistful romances. The track features Amparo and sits somewhere in that Tommy Awards and Farbror Resande Mac zone, with glacial downtempo married to cold glowing space atmospherics. The cymbals occasional skip in cerebral patterns and there are these soft narcotic guitar riffs, evoking Cocteau Twins, Talk Talk, and other classic examples of moving post-rock. Following this trip, we find ourselves in some clearing in the jungle, as the starlight of “Wind Whisper” shines down in overwhelming brilliance. The track sees Maricopa leaning synth work swirling together with understated yet affecting mallet instruments, all over a classy downtempo rhythm with hints of blissed out jazz in the swelling basslines and marching cymbals and shakers. The journey ends with a reprise of “Bonita” and synthetic waves and solitary woodblock underlying the deeply cinematic guitar playing. Its beauty is brought into sharp focus here, untethered as it is to any rhythms or synth atmospheres, with the delicate yet confident runs and harmonies floating out to that magical realm where the sea meets the sky.

(all images from the artist’s and label’s Bandcamps)

#faint waves #eclectics #amparo #justin weems #new age #ambient #adult contemporary #soft rock #balearic #tropical #synth pop #filmic #cinematic #otherworldly #transportive #rollmottle #dream chimney #album reviews #digital reviews #bandcamp #2018 #sun lounge #octagon eyes

[tao-tayo]

Assistance

      Behind the façade of a clean white building are the melancholic stories of the Bulakenyos. The Provincial Legal Office of Bulacan is a witness to all these.

      Hours would not pass by without hearing another story of loss and suffering from the indigent people of Bulacan. Personal letters manifesting the undesirable state of life of the poor vying for various need may it be medical, financial or burial awaits us every single day. Our task is to draft affidavits for these indigents and assist in the notarization of the said document.

      They smile back as we greet them a good morning but their eyes are filled with gloom, sorrow, and fear of what tomorrow will bring. Their bodies need nourishing and their minds need assurance that help is coming.

-Indigent P.O.V-  

      I am walking under the striking hit of the sun with heat drilling my skull, entering air-conditioned offices with no hint of where to pry. After two wrong office doors, I finally came across the right one. “Papagawa po affidavit”, I suddenly exiled. A young girl wearing a white polo shirt came to me as if it is nothing new to her eyes and what I need is such an easy task.

      My papers fed her eyes. My story told in just a glance. “Kapatid po kayo? Asawa po kayo? Anak po kayo? Kayo po mismo?”, she asked me in an instance. “Kailan po namatay?” These are just some of the questions asked that I answered with a heavy heart. There is a lump on my throat making my voice shake as I answer. “Last Friday lang po”, I answered with tears forming in my eyes.

      Who would want to be the brother, the sister or wife of a deceased loved one? Who would want to be in and out of the hospital to accompany an ill family member? I asked myself in silence. I simply breathe and stand on the side.  

      All seats in the office were occupied. As I observe while waiting for my document to be finished, I saw a mother carrying her son with cerebral palsy, an old lady wearing protective glasses for her eyes, a man wearing a face mask who continuously cough and another woman wearing an orange shawl on her head seated on the bench from left to right. I cannot help but wonder how they managed to complete the requirements by themselves.

      The old lady cannot even read with her eyes. The employee just held her hand and placed it on where she was supposed to sign. When asked if she has someone with her that day, she left a sigh and said “wala ho, may sariling pamilya na po ang anak ko.” with a downhearted voice.  As the old lady finished, I opened the door for her as I make eye contact and flash a  smile. She smiled back as if we weretelling each other that everything is going to be okay at the end of the day.

      After five long minutes of waiting, it was now my turn to sign. I just held the pen and did not bother on what is written on the document. What I can only check is the spelling of my name written in bold capital letters. How can I even understand it when it is written in English?  I do not even know what an affidavit is for and so, I attached my signature. Right after, I watched them put a stamp and press the seal to notarize the document.

      “May babayaran po?”, I asked before receiving the paper. “Libre po yan ma’am,” the girl answered. I finally exhaled because the money I have is just enough for my long commute. Before walking out the door, I said “Thank you po ma’am.” She smiled with her eyes and said “Ingat po kayo..” I felt her sympathy in that simple gesture.

      Now what juggles in my mind is to finally get home with money to be able to bury my deceased mother. After a long day, I finally arrived at home with my mourning family waiting for the money I managed to ask for.

---

      This is the everyday scenario in the Provincial Capitol of Bulacan. A long line of indigents from every part of the province waiting for their turn to be entertained. Every story is different on its own. Some need to be operated on, most ask for continuous medication and others need financial assistance for the burial of a family member.

      No amount of smile would console these people but the act of genuine service would mean hope for them. It seems that part of them remained in me as I knew their stories. It made me look into the reality of life and made me hope that there will come a time when these people would get through the hardships of living.

#special #shortstory #g13

[devourer--of--books]

blinking in the starlight

I am so excited to tell you that I actually did it. You may ask yourself, what is this crazy bitch up to now?

So, as some of you might know, during Tagatha Ship Week 2016 I originaly had planned to do a Tangled AU one shot. It turned out messy because I had to rush the whole thing to be able to write it in one day, so that draft was deleted. However, I decided to go down this road and write an actual multichapter story. I think it will be about 12 chapters long? Maybe a few bonus chapters along the way? Not sure yet. What I do know is that updates will be slow, perhaps once a month? I keep all information on progress and updating on my profile at FF.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4592257/), so if you wanna know what I’m up to or when the next chapter will be posted, check it out.

Disclaimer: I do not own The School For Good And Evil series and all characters belong to Soman.

Warning: As always, language, because I have a sailor’s mouth. Not half as many as in “if you’re not the bride”, but stil.

- Cece

Caged Birds Don’t Sing

Happy ever after is a little more boring than Sophie thought it would be.

As she finished another book, the blonde young beauty couldn’t help but frown. Yet again, the princess rode off into the sunshine, with a dashing prince, to a ginormous diamond castle, and guess what, “they lived happily ever after, the end”.

How… unoriginal.

Sitting at the big chair placed at the center of the library, Sophie let mind wander around a bit. How about a plot twist? “Princess decides to travel the world”? Or maybe “princess makes new friends and throws the sickest party ever after”?

Not that she was ungrateful.

Sophie had everything one could wish for. She lived in a magnificent luxurious tower, with maids that attended to her every will, all kinds of beauty cosmetics to make sure her wellbeing was a hundred per cent perfect, and she had the most handsome prince in the world.

She had fancy groom-rooms, tons of jewels and dresses, all the shoes a woman could ever hope to own. She was beautiful, rich, charming and she lived the dream. She was a real life princess.

It’s just… When she read about in her fairytale books it always seemed a little bit… greater? After all, she couldn’t even remember most of her own story. She was just a child when it happened.

“Lady Sophie?” her personal maid, Kiko, called by the door. “It’s time for your bath”.

Kiko had been assigned to her a few years ago. She was a little darling thing and definitely an upgrade from that annoying Beatrix girl that used to occupy that position. Beatrix always had that small smirk on her face and the only thing worse than her attitude was that look she sometimes sent Sophie. It made the princess’ blood boil.

Blue eyes filled with pity. Ugh.

Yes, Kiko, the sickly sweet maid that could never look her in the eye was definitely an upgrade.

“Oh” Sophie raised her eyebrow, slowly looking away from her book while lazily uncrossing her long legs “Is it lavender or enchanted bubbles?”

“W-which one would your highness prefer?” Kiko asked quietly, eyes looking downwards to Sophie’s velvet pink heels.

“Both” She answered uninterested, dismissing the shy maid.

The same thing, every day.

Wake up, morning routine, breakfast, free time, lunch, free time, lessons, free time, afternoon routine, free time, guard switch, dinner, free time, night routine, sleep. Wake up, morning routine, breakfast …

Ugh.

You would think that for someone with so much free time, Sophie would have found something to do with it. The thing was, it was called free time, but there was a surprisingly lack of freedom involved.

No matter how many times Rafal explained it was for her own safety, Sophie couldn’t help but wonder what could lie beyond the enormous walls of her tower.

It was a dangerous world, all kinds of sorcerers and black-magic-users could attack her, bandits could get her, she could even end up as a meal to some savage beast, bla bla bla. She got it, really.

But she had already read and re-read every book on the library, no matter how many books her prince would bring her. Her maids took care of the tower, no need to cook, or clean or anything. The gallery could only fit so many portraits and Sophie knew every single detail by heart.

She would ask him when he got home. After dinner, tomorrow.

But tomorrow seemed so far away…

“Sophie?!” The rude exclamation echoes from the main room, and Sophie’s mood turns south very fast.

Aric, the main general of her guard.

Also known as the bane of her existence.

How many times she complained to Rafal about him? Her prince would always dismiss her frustration, presenting her a new jewel as a peace offering, and while Sophie appreciated the gifts, she would trade them all for a chance to kick Aric’s sorry behind all the way down from her tower.

Aric was rude, bad mannered, scary as hell and his only joy came from working the other guards to death and annoying the daylights out of her.

“Lady Sophie, Aric” she gritted her teeth, forcing a polite smile, as she entered the room. “Know your place, will you?”

“My apologies” he smirked, mock bowing, violet eyes never leaving hers.

As always, Aric was dressed in his sweaty black and green uniform, wolfy smile in place and looking at her with that superior attitude that pushed her buttons in all the wrong ways.

Sophie suppressed the instinct of backing away from him, knowing that acknowledging his attempt to intimidate her would only serve to amuse him.

“Apology accepted,” She granted eyeing the general cautiously. “What are you doing here?”

“Master Rafal sent a falcon today. He’s coming for lunch tomorrow, so the guard switch will be done earlier” Aric explains, toying with the small dagger he carried in his sleeve. “Didn’t he tell you, lady?

"No.” Sophie answers, crossing her arms while transferring her weight to one leg “Why would he do that?”

“Does it matter? Ask him yourself.”

“You should stop this attitude, Aric. A little bird by the window told me you were late to work yesterday. Careful, or…”

Aric tensed up, his right hand gripping the silver dagger.

“Or what? I’m pretty sure where I go is my business. You, however, should watch your step…”

“Is this a threat?” Sophie asks, her voice low and incredulous.

A shiver goes down her spine as in a swift movement Aric throws the dagger.

The sharp blade shatters the window, the shards barely missing the blonde waves of her hair and the general smirks while admiring his work.

“I thought I saw a bird. They’re common at this time of the year. Interesting, I keep seeing them near the windows, don’t you agree that they should know their place and mind their business? Accidents do happen, could be dangerous.”

Sophie doesn’t say a thing, green eyes glaring at him.

“Don’t forget to close the curtains; It will take a while to get that window repaired and Master hates birds inside the tower” Aric taunts her in his way out.

Kiko and some other maid appear to clean up the shattered glass, but Sophie doesn’t stay to see the damage. It’s everywhere, and the curtain is probably ripped. Great.

She’s partly furious and partly terrified, her hands shaking like a leaf.

That tended to be the effect Aric caused every single time he went within a ten-meter radius from her.

Not that Rafal would ever let anything happen to her. He promised.

And soon enough Rafal would be back home. Then she could ask him.

Ask him to take her with him the next time he left.

.

.

Sophie is hopeful.

She always is this time of the year. Is near her birthday (tomorrow) and Rafal always visits on her birthday. Ever since he rescued her he visits every two months or so (running kingdoms must keep him busy), but he always stays an extra day or two for her birthday.

Usually she goes straight to bed after her night routine, but today, Sophie sits by her bedroom’s window.

It’s a beautiful view. The forest that surrounds the tower looks emerald green during the day, but Sophie liked it better during the night, when the moon and the stars color the trees in shades of grey and silver. Beyond the trees Rafal told her there are kingdoms, full of evil kings and witches.

Sophie doesn’t doubt him, of course not, but she can’t help but think that it was quite a waste for such beautiful woods to be infested with beasts and bandits and for such evil kingdoms to produce such an alluring light.

Oh yes, the lights.

The beautiful lights that came into view a few days after her birthday, at the beginning of spring. At night, one by one, the lights colored the sky, orange, yellow and gold lit up the sky, irradiating warm and comfort.

Rafal told her it was a festival. The witches set fire to the sky so all the birds would be burnt and fall to the ground.

And that’s why she should stay in her tower, where she was safe. So no harm would ever come to her.

My little bird, Rafal called her.

Because Sophie was a princess for a reason, you see.

She could sing.

But unlike any other singer, she did not sing songs. Oh no. Sophie sang people.

Rafal, mostly.

Everyone had a special tune, an essence. Her prince asked her to sing his at least once every time he visited. He told her that his tune reminded him of the birds that sang every day outside his window when he was a child.

That it made him feel young.

Sophie did not understand what kind of bird could sing such a melancholic melody. Rafal would laugh and then whisper in her ear:

“Blue falcons, Sophie. They are native from my kingdom.”

She wanted to ask more.

But she didn’t, and the information wasn’t offered either.

Tonight, sitting by the window, bathing in moonlight, Sophie tried to remember.

Rafal’s song was slow and husky, in a dark and dangerous pace.

Her mother’s song used to be soft and sophisticated, like an expensive velvet dress.

But Sophie couldn’t remember her own song.

She sang it every day as a child. But, like magic, she forgot.

Rafal told her it might have been a scar from pos-trauma. From her fairytale.

Sophie doesn’t remember when it was exactly, but she might have been around ten.

She lived in a luxurious house in a big estate. Her mother had inherited from a wealthy uncle or something. She loved Sophie’s voice, told her to sing every day. Her father wasn’t much of a fan.

One day, a dark old wizard attempted to kidnap her, so he could sell her voice for money to buy more ingredients for his potions. Rafal was passing nearby and heard the fighting between her father and the wizard.

Her mother hid her in a closet. Told Sophie she should stay there.

Sophie remember screwing her eyes shut and singing her song quietly.

After what felt like hours, someone came to her rescue.

A dashing young man, with shiny white hair and intense eyes greeted her. Told her that her parents were dead, but he was a prince and could keep her safe.

Even back then, Rafal was gorgeous.

And she lived happily ever after ever since.

Tired, Sophie decided that maybe she should have gone to bed: Now, she was tired and Rafal liked her better when she looked her best.

.

.

Stupid Aric.

Sophie’s high heels clicked against the expensive dark marble floor as she paced back and forth, her hand gripping the hairbrush hard enough that her knuckles were turning white.

He should already be here.

The guard switch was done earlier. Aric was supposed be here already. If Rafal arrived and he wasn’t here, his mood would be ruined.

Then, there was no way for Sophie to ask him her birthday gift.

To leave with him.

Oh, she was going to kick Aric out of this tower.

As soon as he got here.

Distracted by her angry-pacing Sophie did not hear the sound of the door opening.

A cold hand gripped her shoulder and she screamed on the top of her lungs, tripping on her heels. Instinctively, Sophie pointed her hairbrush to the stranger, wielding it like one would a sword.

“Woah.” Rafal exclaimed, backing away, hands up in mock surrender. His serious composure was intact as always, but his eyes looked amused. He offered her a hand.

“Hello.” Sophie answered, taking up on his offer “What do you find so funny?”

“Your brush” He told her, brow raised “What would you have done if I was actually an intruder? Get back or I’ll brush your hair?”

“Well, if the intruder was you, it would have worked. Your hair looks like it hasn’t seen one in weeks.” She noticed, taking up on his appearance.

As always, Rafal was dressed in a black outfit, detailed in gold and red, the huge cape trailing behind him, made out of grey-ish feathers. However, his hair was a mess, differing from the usual soft spikes it was usually sported in.

Rafal lifted a brow.

“Really?”

He walked in the direction of the giant mirror in Sophie’s room. His hands fondled with the white locks, sealing them in place.

“Aric usually remembers me to do this before I come inside.” He tells her, frowning “Where’s Aric?”

Sophie can feel the dread of telling him the general is not there and she decides that no, Aric isn’t going to ruin this.

“He must be checking on something since guard switch was done earlier. You can look for him later.”

“Sophie” Rafal narrows his eyes “Where’s Aric?”

Plan B it is then.

“You haven’t even wished me happy birthday yet.”

Her prince seems to calm down a bit.

“I’m sorry, my little bird.” He approaches “Happy birthday.”

“It’s quite alright” She answers, the fake tears drowning her green eyes.

“Please, don’t cry, Sophie.” He hugs her close and whispers compliments on her ear. “I have a gift for you”

“Do you? I was thinking about asking you…”

“Later, my little bird. For now, I’m hungry.” Rafal says, backing away, and Sophie follows him on his heels.

“It’s kind of important, Rafal, and…”

Her prince does not hear and she stops trying to catch up with him.

.

.

“So, you said you had a gift for me?”

The two of them are sitting in the library; Rafal is sipping his coffee (as he always did after lunch), seated at the big chair in the center of the room while Sophie nervously plays with a book, not quite looking him in the eyes, but standing directly in front of him.

“I do” He answers.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a small box. A ring box.

Sophie eyes go wide.

“Yes”

“I’m afraid, my little bird, this is not that kind of ring”

Sophie’s excitement dies when she notices her prince’s serious demeanor. He puts the mug down, leaning forward, not once breaking eye contact.

“This is a safety ring, Sophie. It’s not a toy. You’ll wear it every day, 24/7. You won’t be taking it off for showers, for beauty treatments or for sleep. If you take it off, I’ll know you’re in danger and I’ll show up immediately. You’ll most likely never have to, but just in case, so we won’t have a repeat of today’s hairbrush incident”

He pulls Sophie’s hand away from the book, and slowly, slides the ring up her finger.

The piece itself was probably one of the most beautiful pieces she ever got from him, and that’s saying a lot. The ring shines in pale gold, dark reflexes running along the metal. Underneath, the words “True Love” could be read in silver. It was very light and delicate, but, somehow, Sophie felt like it yet another thing weighting her down.

“Happy birthday, my little bird. Now, how about you sing me my song again?”

“Thank you, Rafal”

Sophie finds herself singing his song four times in a roll. She quite enjoys the pleased look on his face, as he closes his eyes and lies back on the chair, expression twisted in the rare form of joy.

“Now, my little bird, I need to talk to Aric.” He excuses himself, heading to the door.

Sophie gets up from her chair so fast Rafal actually stops walking. She throws herself in front of him, blocking his way, sheepish smile and hopeful eyes.

“Remember that thing I wanted to talk to you about?” She batted her eyelashes at him, pouting.

“Oh, right”

“Well, since it is my birthday, and I now have a way to stay safe 24/7” She told him carefully “I was thing that maybe you could take me with you when you leave this time? To see our kingdom. I thought it might be a good experience for me, since one day I’m going to be a queen and…”

Rafal’s stoic expression and unreadable eyes were killing her.

“No.”

“But I…”

“No, Sophie.” He said firmly, trying to walk around her.

“Why not?” She asked, grabbing his arm, pulling at his sleeve.

“Are you not happy here, Sophie?”

“Of course I am…”

“Because if you’re not, I can arrange for you to live in a half-assed cottage in the middle of the woods, living out of nothing but berries and water, vulnerable to every single wizard and beast on the forest!” Rafal snapped.

Sophie suddenly lets go of his sleeve, her face losing color as real tears threaten to roll down her face.

“You wouldn’t”

“You’re right; I wouldn’t, because you can’t handle yourself out there. You’re weak, Sophie! Weak like a freaking chicken waiting to be somebody’s next meal! Don’t you understand, no one will ever care for your safety the way I do!”

She lets him walk around her, and as he finally reaches the door, Rafal signs, not once looking back:

“I won’t be home for dinner. Tell Aric I’ll be back in two weeks.”

She’s quiet.

“And Sophie” He adds, “I don’t wanna hear another word about you thinking about leaving this tower ever again”.

The door closes with a soft noise. Almost as soft as the quiet sobs she lets out as soon as he leaves.

.

.

Sophie spends another night sitting by her window.

She warns Kiko to let Aric know Rafal’s message, but after dinner, her maid tells her Aric never showed up to work. She also asks if Sophie need anything but the blonde doesn’t feel like dealing with Kiko’s over sweetness at the moment.

As she stares at the forest, Sophie wonders if it would be best if she left.

Not forever, of course. Just for some time. Away from Aric, from Kiko, from her maids, from the guards…

From Rafal.

Her ring shines in the moonlight.

“Happy fucking birthday.”

Language, Sophie. She can hear Beatrix’s voice taunting her in an old memory of her etiquette lessons.

This is her mouth. Her window. Her bedroom.

Her cage.

She’ll curse as much as she wants.

…Besides is not like anyone can hear her. The walls are thick and it’s late. The only ones awake are the guards posted on the staff levels and in the forest.

A quiet song is audible, and Sophie turns her head down to look at the small bird that sat by her window. She opens it with extra care not to scare the bird away. Upon closer inspection, she can tell it is tired. It’s night after all. Birds are usually day-time creatures.

The song is sad and Sophie can feel it tugging in her heartstrings.

She tries to touch the little animal, but as soon as she reaches for him, it flies away.

Sophie tries not to feel jealous.

It’s a bird. They’re supposed to be free creatures. That’s why Rafal won’t let her built a cage for them to keep her company.

Then why don’t you ever let me go…?

Sophie shakes her head. Nonsense. Rafal is just protecting her. He loves her.

She retracts from the window, deciding that yes, just for today she’ll leave it open. Rafal wouldn’t approve, but if Rafal wanted the window closed then he could come home and close it himself.

Looking back, if Sophie had indeed closed the window, our history might have gone in a completely different direction. Fate has a funny way of intervening in our lives.

.

.

It’s four AM when Sophie hears it.

It’s not very loud, but the soft sounds reach her ears and wake her up. She looks around for the source of the noise, when her eyes lie in her open window.

There’s hook on her window sill. Probably linked to a rope. With an evil bandit coming up to her bedroom, where no one could hear her.

And if he climbed up the tower and got through the guards, what could she do…

Her eyes darted to the ring.

She could call Rafal, he would protect her!

… but then he would be completely right, wouldn’t he? She was just some damsel in distress, like a princess in her fairytale books.

She moved her hand away from the ring.

“You’re weak, Sophie!”

No, this is something she could do by herself.

She walked slowly, making no sound, to the other side of the room, crouching near beauty supplies where the shadows were darker to help blend her blonde hair in the moonlit place.

Finally, after what felt like forever, the intruder sneaked into the bedroom.

Covered in a dark cape, hood covering most of their features the intruder drew a bow, arrow in position, while scanning the room. Sophie held her breath, not daring to move a single muscle.

The bow was put down a few seconds later, returned to their back, as was the arrow. She noticed the intruder carried a big satchel and walked around in heavy hunting boots.

Then, they signed.

“Finaly”

To Sophie’s surprise, the intruder was apparently a woman. At least, they sounded like one.

With all her attention on the so-called woman, who was now walking around the bedroom, Sophie nearly missed a new character’s arrival.

“I don’t think so” the new voice said.

It belonged to a man, about as tall as Rafal. But there’s where all similarities ended.

This man wore a military based uniform, much like her guards’, but instead of black and green, his was light blue and gold, a glowing sword attached to his belt, his feet covered by hunting boots. His features, while still immensely handsome, were rounder than Rafal’s and the strangers hair was several tones darker than her prince’s was, more like her golden sun-kissed tresses.

“You simply don’t know when to let it go, do you?” The first intruder questions the man, arrow ready.

“I told you I would hunt you down. I’ve been told quite a few times that I am a great hunter.” He answers, wielding his sword.

“By whom? Your fangils?” The caped woman mocked.

Despite drawing out weapons, they didn’t show signs of attacking any time soon, the banter between the two getting to a level Sophie would almost label flirty.

This was going too far. If these intruders decided to go at each other’s throats, then Sophie would be doomed. Again, she felt tempted to take off the ring…

No, she just had to do some quick thinking.

The first stranger was a priority, she had a long range weapon and was closer to her, so Sophie had to take her down first. But how…

Her eyes laid on her beauty supplies. Of course!

As quietly as she could, Sophie sneaked her hand to grab a small jar.

Imported from Maidenville, sleeping-rose’s petals.

Great to get rid of under eye bags and it’s tea had anti-insomnia properties.

Also, good for knocking people out in a few seconds or so through inhalation.

Please work.

The jar collided with the front of the hood, knocking the woman to her knees, shards of glass everywhere.

“What the actu…alll…?”

She tried to get up but the petals did their magic. Limp on the floor.

On the other side of the room, the man lowered his sword.

“If this is a trick, it won’t work, witch.” He threatened, but worry was clear in his voice. “Witch?”

He was coming near and Sophie started to panic. He would see the petals and it wouldn’t work unless he got really close to the woman’s face.

Okay, now what to do, what to do, what to…

Is that a brush?

“What would you have done if I was actually an intruder? Get back or I’ll brush your hair?”

Sophie would show him.

With all her might, she threw the hairbrush at the stranger. It hit the center of his forehead and Sophie swore she could see his blue eyes roll back as he too fell down, face first on the floor.

So. That happened.

She did it. Holy… she actually did it.

Who’s week now, Rafal? I’ve got two intruders in my bedroom, and you know who neutralized them? Yours truly!

Oh, god, she couldn’t wait to take off the ring and summon Rafal! He would be so…

…Angry that she didn’t take it off when he expressly ordered her to do so.

And if Rafal got angry with her again then he would not even notice her skills. He would probably double the security and then her tower wouldn’t even have windows!

What to do then?

#the school for good and evil #school for good and evil #sge #Agatha #Agatha of Woods Beyond #Agatha of camelot #Sophie of Woods Beyond #Sophie #Tedros #tedros of camelot #rafal #The school master #kiko #beatrix #tangled au #blinking in the starlight #my fanfics #my writings #dev's updates #tagatha

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Dylan Deaf Jam

Zimmerman failed last night to resolve one of my longest standing differences of opinion with my wife Beatrice. Beatrice is from the “Dylan is an icon of the sixties who writes great lyrics but who has a lousy voice and arrogant personality” point of view.

I’m from the “authentic cultural spokesperson whose unique voice and enigmatic personality are as inseparable from his lyrics as the lyrics are inseparable  from the music and the message” point of view.

I resist “the icon from the sixties” point of view because it turns Dylan’s timeless compositions into nostalgia acts. I agree with the “great lyrics” observation but always feel like Beatrice is setting up the polite quid pro quo of devastating criticism with faint praise followed by the real message…“his voice sucks and he’s an a-hole“, which she unfailingly does.

I had seen Dylan perform live four times before Beatrice agreed to go with me to see him about ten years ago at the Finger Lakes Performance Center. That night, Dylan seemed angry at the audience and infuriated with his own songs, so his performance was brusque and furious. Beatrice who believes that an entertainers first job is to entertain, (which means as the song goes to smile when they are low )was put off by the moody seemingly indulgent performance which fueled her original biases especially the A-Hole part.

“He never even talked to the audience. He never connected. Why didn’t he at least tell a joke or something,” Beatrice wondered and would continue to wonder until last night.

I said “the guys not a comedian and he’s not a lets all get together by the campfire and sing cumbaya type of guy. He is what he's always been  which is exactly  what he is at any particular moment and what he was that night was pissed off for whatever reason and that’s good enough for me” and it was until last night.

Last night we took the tie-breaker with us, our thirteen year old daughter Lydia. Point of reference, Lydia attended her first concert of her young life a week before, Green Day at the Blue Cross Arena. She loved it. Lydia plays guitar herself and blew us all away last week when she brought home the self-portrait in pencil she had been working on in her advanced art class. The Lidder Kid has some talent.

Dylan played at a much smaller venue, one of my several alma maters, the Rochester Institute of Technology. The choice of venue in itself is interesting. Is Dylan playing to smaller houses because he seeks the intimacy of smaller crowds having exhausted himself on the stadium circuit or does he no longer have the drawing power to book larger spaces.

The main reason we got the tickets in the first place was to expose Lidder to Zimmer as well as to RIT. We tried to get two tickets for just me and the Lid but since we had to buy a group of three minimum, Beatrice went along for the ride.

Whatever, twenty minutes after the scheduled starting time of 8:00 at 8:22 to be precise the sound system crackled to life with a rapid fire minimalist introduction apparently pre-recorded by an invisible emcee featuring garbled clauses like “The poet laureate of rock music and his generation……..thought to be washed up in the eighties……. His last two albums are two of the most critically acclaimed albums of his career thus the history of American recordings….the author of a currently best selling auto -biography…..Bob Dylan and his band.

Dylan came out in his black outfit with black Stetson. The members of his band, two guitarists a bass player and a drummer were also dressed in black, two of the four in cowboy hats kinda like Dylan’s. Dylan went to the piano on the left side of the stage and the group broke into “Maggie’s Farm”.

Blistering.

Bitter

Pertinent

All of the elements of working on Maggie’s Farm intact and primal. Lyrics mostly clear and decipherable. Off to a raucous start. Liddy applauded. So did Beatrice. I felt not only renewed but also partially redeemed.

Just before Dylan hit the stage, a friend of mine came over and told me that he had researched the set list. There were fourteen songs plus an encore of two. This would be a sixteen round contest. Round one was a winner.

My favorite fighters were guys like the Sugars Rays Robinson and Leonard, Alexis Arguello, Jerry Quarry, George Chuvalo and of course Muhammad Ali. As these guys got older, I used to count of each off their rounds one by one hoping that somehow they’d win each round but with equal fervor that they would at least survive the round. Then I get into the minutes per round, hoping that somehow they could win ninety five seconds of each round and keeping score in my mind as they neared the magic number of eight which would win them a decision if they didn’t get knocked out. I found myself using the same accounting system with Zimmerman on this night.

Round two was It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue. Dylanologists remember this song as the response Dylan used so many years ago when he was booed off the stage at the Newport Folk festival for committing the unforgivable sin of going electric. Since then, it’s always been one of my favorites. An anthem I use to chart my own changes and willingness to leave behind whatever is/was no longer needed.Dylan remained to the side and guitar less as the first words hit the air.

“You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last. But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast“

Unfortunately it sounded more like this

Ulleeenowuneeulas, whatchoo wishookeegrafaaaaaaaa.

Dylan hunched over the mike, growling, confronting the mike like a gambler keeping his cards close to his vest because he’s got such a bluff goin’ that if anybody sees the pasteboards he’s screwed for the whole ante. I could see Beatrice frowning and Liddy looking confused.

I could not give Dylan round two even though I wanted to.

Round three was another of my favorite songs, the haunting and magically melancholic Visions of Johanna whose first line is:

“Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?”

The only word I could make out was night.

Through the entire song, the only words I could understand were “Visions of Johanna” and I knew the song well.

For any of you like Liddy who don’t know the actual words, let me quote the first verse  as Dylan wrote and published . Read them and weep because last night they disappeared completely into incomprehensibility.

“Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet? We sit here stranded, though we're all doin' our best to deny it And Louise holds a handful of rain, temptin' you to defy it Lights flicker from the opposite loft In this room the heat pipes just cough The country music station plays soft But there's nothing, really nothing to turn off Just Louise and her lover so entwined And these visions of Johanna that conquer my mind”

Whoops, I made a mistake. I forgot that between Baby Blue and Johanna, Dylan sang Lonesome Day Blues. The fact that I forgot about it, tells me all I want to know about the effort.

Next came a song I won’t forget for a long time, no matter how hard I try. Dignity, another one of my favorites. If Dignity is clarity than this rendering was particularly undignified. If Dignity is plunging into a compost pile and emerging as if from a Halloween hayride with the ghost of Aunt Helen then the effort had some saving grace. Once again Dylan’s verbal articulation was puddle muddy and he continued to hover by the keyboard still not strapped in to his axe. I got the feeling that he might not be strumming’ at all on this evening. Still when he gave his howling a break and hurled his oxygen into his harp, some of the magic returned. The band, minus one geetar was carring the weight of this concert as if it  had just pulled into Nazareth which seemed allright with everybody especially the integrationists amongst us who knew deep inside that there could be no segregation of lyrics and voice from music. The music in spite of the singer continued to soar even as the lyrics because of the poet continued to disappear.

At this point thirteen year old Liddy turned to Beatrice and commented “everything sounds the same” . The Trickster nodded in 'I told ya so' acquiescence.

The show went on as it must.

I recognized Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee immediately which nudged it/them towards the win column even as it/they lurched and lumbered fitfully amidst the graceful thundering wonder of the musicians.

I grabbed Liddy by the hand and with the approval of Beatrice, we headed to the floor for a closer look. One of my weird aptitudes is my ability to wade through a crowd. When Dylan had played with Petty and the Dead at then Rich Stadium before a crowd thirty times this large, I had managed to work my way to the edge of the stage. The secret of getting through a crowd is knowing how to dance with it rather than shove against it. When ya dance the crowd dance, openings appear.

Of course, I was so much younger than I’m older than that now.

The closest we could get was about fifteen rows back as this crowd was much less fluid, hardly any dancing or even movement to make advancing through it amenable. A calm brick wall.

It was from here that we heard and saw Dylan sing three slower numbers in which he had more control of the lyrics as if he actually knew the words and was going to sing them. Po' Boy, High Water (For Charley Patton) and Girl Of The North Country. I could see Zimmy pretty well but Liddy was being blocked by taller folks in fron of her. I lifted my little girl up as high as I could for as long as I could so she might get a glimpse of the great man. With the way she’s growing and the way I’m deteriorating physically, maybe that was the last time I’d lift her up like this. Made me kind of sad but kind of proud as well.

I started to believe that maybe the reason we couldn’t hear Dylan clearly for the first half-dozen songs was the fact that we couldn’t see him. Ya know, that weird reflex that confronts us when we feel the need to shout at a blind man.

By the time Liddy and I got back to Beatrice , we were already learning the illusion behind that reflexive truth. I’m no longer a thin man but there was definitely something going on here and I didn’t know what it was. I started wondering if Dylan did.

The last five songs of the show , Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again, Ballad Of Hollis Brown, Honest With Me, Standing In The Doorway and Summer Days proved to be a split decision. Three of the songs I was relatively unfamiliar with so I couldn’t very well be disappointed with them. As a matter of fact one of the songs that I never heard before, Standing In The Doorway, sounded more familiar than most of the songs that I knew by heart based on the rate of decipherable words per lyric.

One of my favorite songs, Stuck Inside Of Mobile With The Memphis Blues Again was even more deconstructed then any of the previous numbers. I even resorted to whispering the chorus lyric into Liddy’s ear in the hopes of convincing her that these songs actually had words which meant I kept repeating “Oh Mama can this really be the end” over and over which I think is exactly what Liddy was thinking when she was looking at Beatrice and wishing she were somewhere else,  wondering when the growling would cease. Of the final songs, Summer Days was by far the best. It sounded world class and indicated a rally in progress.

The band left the stage and I wondered if they would bother with an encore.I also wondered whether there was going to be enough applause to merit a return that could be anything more than hypocritical. Amazingly enough, the crowd didn’t move and began to applaud some even igniting about two dozen of the traditional lighters. Sno nuff, it worked. The band re-appeared.

The encore consisted of Like A Rolling Stone and All Along The Watchtower. These two turned out to be the best efforts of the evening. I later found out that the band had been encoring with these numbers through the entirety of the tour. It sounded like they had played them before and everybody knew the words and the music.

In the past when I’ve heard Dylan howl the anthemic “Like A Rolling Stone” he would stretch out the line “how does it feeeeeeel” and the audience would sing along with him. This time all but the required two e’s were missing as was the audience participation. More stenography.

Between the two numbers Dylan, as if sensing the tension between me and Beatrice, did the unthinkable. He told a joke. The joke went like this, as he introduced one of the band members Dylan said . “He comes from Louisiana so he stretches rattlesnakes across the front of his car. Calls ‘em windhsield vipers”

He introduced another band member by saying the guy was “so tough he shaves with a chain saw”. Then a magnificent version of All Along the Watchtower prologued by what sounded like an electirc version of Exodus turned everything upside down. Like all champs Zimmy came through in the end.

A little before the encore, I realized that I had been listening to the music through the ears of Liddy and watching the performance through the eyes of Beatrice. During Watchtower I watched and listened for myself and what I saw and heard was exactly what I wanted to see and hear other than the fact that Dylan never touched a guitar.

The concert reminded me of the Ali-Bonavena fight in which Ali looked listless and distracted throughout the fight until he finished off his clumsy, lumbering foe with a sudden knockout in the final round which removed from the judges the task of ruling in favor of the clearly inferior fighter.

That’s the task that the last song removed frrom my critique. I didn’t have to rip Dylan any further.

On the way back to the car Liddy said, “I expected more” which pretty much sums up most people’s feeling about Dylan even as we forget how much we already have.

Beatrice said to Liddy “ I want you to keep this ticket stub because someday, you’ll be telling someone that you saw Dylan and they’re going to want proof”. From Beatrice, that’s high praise.

I guess the joke worked and there are many here among us along the watch tower who think that life itself is but a joke.

As for me, well it had been ten years since the last time I was in the same room with Dylan. Ten years from now he’ll be 73. I’ll go again but I won’t expect to get real close to the stage even though the crowd will be less than half a thousand.

I suspect Liddy will be amongst them. She might even be holding me up next time. Beatrice and me will still be arguing.

Some times I’m a tick or two slow on the uptake. Sometimes I forget where a I am and with whom I’m with wherever I am.

We in Rochester are fortunate to have the National Technical Institute for the Deaf as part of our Rochester Institute of Technology. RIT is where Bob Dylan played in the concert that I have just reviewed.

When Dylan was leaving after completing his first fourteen songs, he paused in the middle of the stage raised his hands to chest level , palms out, fingers extended as if he were signaling “ten” while simultaneously wiping an invisible windshield using both hands.

From my distant seat, the gesture looked oddly quaint.

From where I sit now, I begin to understand. Dylan was using the universally accepted gesture of silent applause used by deaf folks, waving ten fingers. I bet the people in front of Dylan, part of the under whelming audible applause, were returning his gesture. The crowd on the floor nearest the stage and the performer were silently validating one another. A conversation was happening. Thus the non-hypocritical encore that followed.

Because we have so many deaf folks in Rochester, particularly in Henrietta; the community where RIT is located, I have become accustomed to interpreters speaking sign language at most large gatherings. At the time, I didn’t think it was unusual that to the left of Dylan, off stage, a woman was interpreting the concert. As I’ve mentioned in the review, up until the moment that Dylan silently applauded, he positioned himself to the far left of the stage. In fact, Dylan was as close to the interpreter on his left than he was to his lead guitar player on his right. If you count the interpreter as a member of the band, then there was Zimmy right smack dab in the middle of things. I make a practice whenever an interpreter is present to observe the sign language she is providing. I’m amazed at how quickly they can take complex ideas and instantaneously turn those into a lovely, commanding body language just beyond the reach of my intellect.

Now before me, I was watching a woman trying to signal lyrics like “You must leave now, take what you need, you think will last. But whatever you wish to keep, you better grab it fast“ which as I mentioned in my review sounded more like this“Ulleeenowuneeulas, whatchoo wishookeegrafaaaaaaaa“.

Ulleeenowuneeulas, whatchoo wishookeegrafaaaaaaaa“.

Imagine the problem of trying to turn THAT into body language.

But by God, she was doing it. Maybe she had the written lyrics in front of her or maybe she was doing the best with what she thought she heard or maybe because she was so much closer to Zimmy she actually heard what none of the rest of the audience sitting in the seats could hear. Her interpretation sort of resembled a hula set to rock music. It was thing of beauty to observe, very sensual, very seductive.

I’ve heard it said that hula is all about the stories being told by the hands of the dancer and that some times the stories are so risqué that at the end of the dance, the dancer has to go and wash her hands out with soap. None of Dylan’s lyrics needed that kind of sanitization unless she was hearing something different than I was which she most assuredly was.

Later, Beatrice commented to me that this was the first and only time that I ever wished that I were deaf and understood sign language. I would have been spared Dylan’s ghastly croaking and would have been able to understand the words.”

Ouch.

I ,of course took it one step further in defense of Dylan. Is it possible that Dylan was actually singing in deaf speak. If you’ve ever listened to a deaf person speak, it has it’s own unique sound and actually doesn’t sound a whole lot different from

“Ulleeenowuneeulas, whatchoo wishookeegrafaaaaaaaa“.

Could Dylan possibly be this aware and sensitive?

Something had in fact happened there and until now I didn’t know what, had Dylan known all along?

Why not. He’s Dylan, I’m Krell. There���s a difference. Big difference.

I ran these ideas past Beatrice who assured me that I was getting a little carried away.

From Beatrice, that’s high praise.

Beatrice had one further idea. Rochester is the home of Mitch Miller, the originator of the famous sing along with Mitch concept of fifties teevee. Mitch and his crew would sing a song and invite viewers to sing along by following a bouncing ball that danced over lyrics to the song which appeared at the bottom of the teevee screen. When Dylan performed at RIT he played in front of a backdrop upon which were projected different images during the show. Beatrice suggested that next time, the words of hislyrics should be projected on the screen with the bouncing ball so that everyone, not just the deaf could understand the words and sing along.

I think she’s got an idea. I can see it now. Network teevee. Right After Desperate Housewives. Sing along with Bob Dylan. Might catch on.

You read it here first.