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#please forgive all the rhyming in the first sentence
marvelmaniac715 · 24 days
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I have recently begun studying the Aeneid at college, and we have just finished reading about Dido and her death. I can’t quite explain it, but I felt an overwhelming sadness and rage at her death. I have never felt such female rage before, but something in my heart cries out for my fallen sister, even if she’s fictional, doomed by the narrative from her first appearance. I wrote this poem to express my feelings, it’s not my best work and it doesn’t rhyme, but I just had to share how I felt about poor, doomed Dido, the Queen of Carthage:
Oh Dido, most unhappy of women!
Subjected to loss, time and time again
A brother through treachery, a husband through death
Then your heart itself through false love
Venus and her cruel, taunting sons destroyed you
Tore you apart until you were nothing
Scraps of meat for the lions to feast upon
And oh, how the gods feasted upon you
You died by Aeneas’ sword, his belongings in ashes beneath you
His love killed you in all the ways a person can be killed
But, in truth, no gods, no forced love, truly doomed you
It was we, who clamoured for stories
Who clamoured for art, and music, and sculptures
Mostly made by men who could not comprehend your grief
To them, a woman’s heart, and the way it breaks, is a source of amusement
Virgil was the one who doomed you first, your epithet sealed your death sentence
“Doomed Dido” - he never gave you a chance
It was mankind who made the gods, and the stories of old
Aphrodite became Venus, but lost none of her cruelty
Once folklore is written, it’ll rarely change
We know Pandora will open the box
We know Eve and Snow White will eat the apple
We know Orpheus will damn Eurydice by looking back
And we know you will die, struck fatally by Cupid’s arrow
To those who know your myth, they’ll think firstly of your death
Of a shining steel sword plunging into your vulnerable, exposed chest
There is little art that depicts you in your prime
Standing tall, sitting proudly upon your mighty throne, in a city you built through your blood and sweat alone
No, we see you upon your funeral pyre, eyes raised heavenwards
We think “poor, wretched Dido” - is that how we should view a Queen?
In 1666, the closest mankind could get to understanding you was a lament
A soprano dons your regal clothes and sings
“Remember me, but ah! forget my fate”
We have denied your request, all of us
You are doomed anew every time someone reads your story
Laid upon your pyre like a sacrificial lamb to slaughter
Yet another corpse for the gods to draw their power from
I do not see your story as a tragic love
I do not support Aeneas
Perhaps I did, before I knew you
Before I knew the force for good you were
Before I knew your grief, your fallen husband, the sacrifices you made to build Carthage
Before the man you were forced against your will to love sailed away for good
Now I see a monster, who knew what he was doing
He is no Odysseus, he is no Orpheus, though both men have their faults
He is the conceited, self-important child of a god
‘Founder of Rome’ indeed
I weep for you, Dido
Virgil gave you such power, such strength, then he tore it away
You had nothing at the end, you were led to your doom like a puppet on strings
Even this poem goes against your final wish
I cannot mention you without your tragic death before your time
I beg you, please forgive me, my Queen
You have always been so much more than a victim
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Touching 40 for Mac and Jack, please! :D
Oh thank you for the prompt - I do love some Mac & Jack! 😂 For Touching 40: patting them on the back
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Mac slapped Jack on the back, the force of the impact pushing him fractionally closer to Phryne, who stood a few feet in front of them.
“If you’re looking for calm under pressure,” she reminded her oldest friend sagely, “you simply can’t do better than the Inspector here.”
Jack coughed uncomfortably at the praise. “Well,” he said, “while I appreciate the compliment, the truth is you won’t find anyone more suited for navigation than Doctor MacMillan.”
He placed an affable hand on Mac’s shoulder, patting her vigorously and causing her to move forward a few inches. “A skilled surgeon who daily and expertly operates amid the infinite complexity that is the human body? Surely the roads around Melbourne will be child’s play!”
Mac shrugged off his hand and took his arm, linking it with her own to pull him even to where she stood on the footpath. “Nonsense, Inspector! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: you would be my first choice, and,” she continued passionately, “I truly believe you should be Phryne’s as well.”
With a pointed look at first Mac and then Jack, Phryne crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes.
“Look, if neither of you want to ride with me to Queenscliff, you can just say so.”
Jack and Mac looked at each other.
“So,” they said in unison, before turning as one and heading off towards his car together.
Phryne dropped her arms and shouted good-naturally towards their retreating backs. “Cowards!”
Jack waved vaguely in the air while Mac sent back a rude gesture.
Shaking her head, Phryne laughed and jumped in the Hispano.
That’s fine, she thought, revving the engine and grinning; they wouldn’t arrive for hours now and she’d have ages on her own to plot her revenge.
Child’s play. --- Touches Ask Game
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Shag, Marry, Kill
Harry Hart x Reader Request Warnings: Drinking Word Count: 1,605 A/N: I’m back! Although I wasn’t really gone, I see all your likes and messages. Thank you! Also, I have no first-hand experience in going to parties and playing the games mentioned below except for beer pong, forgive me. To Anon, I hope I met your expectations, and again thank you for the request! Request: “Could you do a lovely thing? A harry hart x reader where eggsy threw a birthday party and harry got too drunk and they took advantage of his drunkenness and asked him a bunch of stuff. They played shag, marry, kill and he only wants to shag and marry the reader. Make it fluff or smut, totally up to you. Thanks.”
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Kingsman's resident wizard deserves all the good things in this world for everything he's been doing for the agency. And for his birthday, Eggsy organized a party for him, and has asked you for help. You were tasked with the food since according to Eggsy, he's not posh and not a foodie unlike you, but for the drinks, Eggsy said he's got it all handled.
Everyone at Kingsman was of course invited. It felt kind of odd to see the staff and the agents in their casual attire.
It was a surprise party, Eggsy managed to persuade Merlin to "come over at his place for some drinks and board games" this weekend, and he also had to tell him that you guys would need “pairs of two to play, otherwise game night wouldn't happen.”
"SURPRISE!!!" Everyone shouted in sync when Merlin arrived.
"Oh my!" Merlin clutched his chest. "Happy birthday, Merlin!" You went in to give the man a hug, Harry and Eggsy followed and gave him a hug, too.
The party was pretty casual, everyone was just eating, drinking, and mingling around. People were complementing the food and were asking you about it.
Merlin declaring a toast and saying his gratitude wrapped the party, some of the guests started to bid their goodnights. But little did you know, Eggsy has more plans. According to him, it's now the beginning of the after party.
“It’s still a bit early to call it a night, how ‘bout we play some games?”
Eggsy started setting up the table for a game of flip the cup. He divided the remaining guests equally into two teams. It was intense. Everyone seems to manage to flip their cups after one try, only the ones who've already had too much to drink were the ones who struggled. An eruption of laughter and cheers filled the room.
Your team, with the guest of honor Merlin, won the first round. By the third and the last round, everyone's alcohol level had increased and seemed to be failing and laughing at their own failures, making the game harder than it really was. Your team managed to finish first, while the opposing team was left with two more cups. Apparently, some of your colleagues are not all stiff and posh, as was previously assumed. Well, the ones that stayed anyway. After the game, more people decided to head home.
"Now does anyone would like to play a round of beer pong?" Eggsy asked. "Eggsy why don't you play? I'll sit this one out." Eggsy has planned all of this and deserves to have fun as well. He took your suggestion and he paired off with Merlin. Merlin then encouraged his closest friend to play against them, to which Harry surprisingly agreed and chose Percival as his beer pong partner.
It was absolutely entertaining to watch these skilled marksmen play beer pong when they've already had a few drinks, though they're still somehow sharp with their aims. By the second round, they were getting really competitive and really drunk. You were secretly rooting for Harry and Percival to win against your best friend. And to your satisfaction, they did. It was refreshing to see your colleagues having this much fun. It was getting really late and more guests, including Percival, decided to call it a night. After a while, it was just you, Harry, Merlin, and of course, Eggsy who were left.
You were eating a slice of cake when Eggsy apparently has another game in mind. He asked, "Drunk Jenga?" to which you and Merlin replied "nah” at the same time. Looks like Eggsy really did his research in throwing a party. Although this was more of a young adult type of party rather than a posh formal party. Eggsy then suggested “Never Have I Ever.”
You started off with an easy one such as never have I ever got a tattoo. Eggsy and Merlin were also saying casual statements such as never have I ever given a fake name or never have I ever had a speeding ticket. Except for Harry, who were saying things like never have I ever peed in the pool, or never have I ever smoked weed. It was only after a few more series of never have I evers that the three of you started to realize just how drunk Harry Hart is.
The game slowly turned from finding out each other’s little secrets to finding out Harry’s secrets, or things he wouldn’t normally share when sober. Whether he drinks or he doesn't, one of you asks him further about it. Harry was very obliging and he answers each question to the best of his abilities. Fortunately, he’s still able to form coherent sentences. It went on and on, and Harry had no clue with what the three of you were up to. At some point you started to feel sleepy, and the four of you eventually ran out of things to say.
It was past midnight. You're sprawled on the sofa. Harry was sitting on your right, Merlin’s on the couch, and Eggsy was sitting on the floor. "Okay, okay, here’s the last thing we’ll play. We'll take turns, amongst the three of us, excluding yourself of course. Name who'd you shag, marry, and kill.” Eggsy looks around the group to see if you understood him. "I'll start," Eggsy said. "Bruv, I’d marry you, shag Harry, and kill Merlin. No hard feelings, Merlin."
“Aye, I’d also marry (Y/N). I’m afraid to say I’d rather kill my best friend than shag him, which leaves you Eggsy.” Merlin said. "You’d shag me, eh?” Eggsy playfully winked at Merlin and everyone laughed. "How ‘bout you, (Y/N)?”
“Sorry Eggs, I’m with Merlin on this one, I’d have to kill you. I’d shag Merlin, and I’ll marry Harry. Not just because it rhymes.” That earned a chuckle from the group.
“How about you Harry, who’d you shag, marry and kill?” Merlin asked him.
“Merlin, it’s mutual, I’d have to kill you too. Your genius can be a great threat to this world. And I'd shag (Y/N), and also marry (Y/N).” Harry said.
Hearing that seemed to snap you out of your sleepiness and drunkenness. Harry just drunkenly confirmed Merlin's suspicions. "Bruv, that's not how the game works, you —" Eggsy stopped when he realized what just happened.
When Harry drank to never have I ever fallen in love, you just chalked it up with him being drunk. Since Harry has once admitted that he has never experienced companionship, you simply assumed the man hadn't also experienced falling in love with someone.
And now you realize Harry's kind and subtle sweet gestures towards you wasn't a figment of your imagination just because you adore the man. 
The silence was interrupted by Merlin, "Eggsy, I think we should start cleaning-up." Leaving you with Harry to talk about what happened.
The two of you sat in silence. Unsure where to start.
"I like you, (Y/N), very much." Harry had too much liquid courage and he started to admit his feelings. "I know you might think I'm sad, and old, and that's gross. And I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it, being close to you, seeing you almost every day, I was feeling these inner stirrings whenever you're near, whenever you laugh, whenever you smile. You’re amazing, you’re smart. You’re someone I never thought I’d need... you’re all I want... and I, I... I just...” He trailed off.
"And you're a cute blabbering mess, Harry. I'd kiss you right now if you weren't so drunk." You replied
"You?... You would?" Harry wasn't sure if he heard you right. You took his hand and assured him, "yes, I would kiss you." Harry started leaning in to you slowly, you saw him close his eyes and then he fell asleep. You laughed a hearty laugh and it was heard all over Eggsy's flat.
"Well, someone's having fun." You heard Eggsy shout from across the hall. "Man down!" And you continued laughing. You let Harry sleep while you helped them clean up the place.
Once finished, you tried to wake Harry up. It took a few attempts before he started to stir. "Come on Harry, I'll take you home." He groggily responded with "really?" "Yes, you silly, you need to go home."
Merlin offered to help you, seeing as how Harry is taller than you, and drunk. It wouldn’t be easy to put him in a cab or take him upstairs to his room.
“Bruv, don’t take advantage of Harry while he’s drunk.” Eggsy jokingly told you before you left.
Once you and Merlin managed to put drunk Harry in bed, he said thank you and "(Y/N) please don't leave." You squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss on the forehead, "I won't."
"Thank you Merlin, guess I'll just crash on his couch." "Thanks to you too, (Y/N), the food was amazing. And don't tell Eggsy, I kinda knew. He wasn't very discreet with his plans." "Yeah, I had a feeling. Let's not break his heart." Merlin chuckled. "Thanks again, and good night."
You took the liberty of raiding Harry's closet for some pajamas and a blanket, and found a notepad by his desk.
"Harry,
As promised, I didn't leave. I'm downstairs if you need me. I also took the liberty of raiding your closet for something to wear. And I would also be raiding your pantry for breakfast, or I may have already done so by the time you're reading this.
P.S. I like you too, very much.
- (Y/N) "
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occasionalrpmemes · 3 years
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Will Wood: the Normal Album Sentence Starters
lines taken from the 2020 album.  edit as desired.  tw: violence, disordered eating, gender dysphoria, mental illness, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, death
01.  Suburbia Overture: Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally
“Trick or treat.  Merry Christmas.”
“Howdy neighbor!”
“Thank you Jesus!”
“It don’t look like survival, but buy now or die.”
“You’re not alone.”
“The lights are on, but no one’s home.”
“Takes a village to fake a whole culture.”
“Home is where the heart is- You ain’t homeless, but you’re heartless.”
“It’s the safest on the market.”
“You still gotta watch where you park it.”
“Give me your half-life crisis.”
“I can tell that you know where paradise is.”
“Parasites don’t care what your blood type is.”
“A snowflake only matters in a blizzard.”
“Everyone knows that nobody knows that.”
“Well, word gets around on hit number stations.”
“Smile and wave, boys, kiss the cook, live laugh and love, please pass the pills.”
“It’s only culture.  It’s only culture.  It’s only culture.”
“Didn’t they want your blood?”
“Why apologize when you turn blue and cold?
“Hey, fuck your culture.”
“Do you know the difference between blazing trails and slash-and-burn?”
“Hey, you’re only mortal.”
02.  2econd 2ight 2eer (well, that was fun, goodbye)
“The devil made me do it, but I also kinda wanted to.”
“Forget bored stiff, I got rigor mortis.”
“My third eye’s open and I like what I see.”
“If you knew what I knew, if you saw what I see- ”
“But I got facts and I’m not afraid to use ‘em.”
“I’m getting better one forever at a time.”
“If sick is defined by what’s different, well then pull the plug out and let me die.”
”Who I am, I choose through all the things I do.”
“If it rhymes, it’s true, but I hate poetry.”
“Well that was fun, goodbye.”
03.  Laplace’s Angel (Hurt People?  Hurt People!)
“Have you ever died in a nightmare?  Woke up surprised you hadn’t earned your fate?”
“Have you ever felt like Atlas, threw your back out on the axis, and collapsed and threw the planet away?”
“Nobody dies agnostic.”
“Nobody dies agnostic, but we still dial 9-1-1.”
“Am I really that bad?”
“Whatever you think of me, if you were in my shoes, you’d walk the same damn miles I do.”
“With my head up in the clouds, I can see so much ground.”
“From up here, you look like ants in a row.”
“It doesn’t take a killer to murder.  It only takes the reason to kill.”
“The difference twixt fate and free will is whether you’re singing.”
“You wash your hands of where you’ve been until you flood the second floor.  Neatly fold your skeletons, but still can’t shut the closet door.”
“The only ones in need of love are those who don’t receive enough.”
“You could break an angel’s fall, and ignore the Devil’s call.”
“It’s a small hell after all.”
“Man, no more than animal, is made of moral chemicals.”
“If you were in my shoes, you’d see I wear the same size as you.”
04.  I / Me / Myself
“I’ve been feeling lightheaded since I lost enough weight to fit back in my skin.”
“Am I pretty now?”
“For some reason, I find myself lost in what you think of me.”
“I wish I could be a girl, and that way you’d wish I could be your girlfriend, boyfriend.”
“Am I pretty enough to lie to?”
“Just little old me in a big, big world.”
“I’ve been feeling lighthearted since I gained enough weight back to cover my bones.”
“You’ll be walking out early, but the show must go on.”
“No, I know that I’m wrong.  But I love how you’re on my side when I cross that line.”
“It’s been a point of contention between myself and this body that they stuck me in.”
“The privilege of being born to be a man.”
”I am quantum physics; my witness brings me into existence.”
”Am I pretty enough to love back?”
“Am I pretty enough to fucking die?”
“I wish-”
“Don’t you think that there’s a chance that you could live without it?”
05.  ...well, better than the alternative
“My daughter’s growing up.  She’s gonna be a lot like me, but I don’t wanna be at all like me.”
“I don’t wanna be at all like me.”
“You’re telling me I’m holding up eleven fingers.”
“Stranger things than death can happen.”
“Everybody knows that nobody knows that.”
“Everybody’s in on everybody’s business.”
“This isn’t my first Christmas, I know mistletoe when I see it.”
“Baby, could you play along with me?”
“Baby, would that be alright with you?”
“When we find out what’s wrong with me, could you tell me how I’m right for you?”
“Could you tell me how I’m right for you?”
“Could you tell me if I’m still pretty?”
“If they could see the future back when times were simple...”
“If everyone’s sick, well then, nobody can catch it.”
“Everybody’s all up in my god damn business.”
“This isn’t my first kiss.”
“It’s better to be lost than loved, now, isn’t it?”
“Everybody’s all up in my motherfucking business!”
“This isn’t my first anything.”
“After all of that’s been done to me, could you tell me how, could you tell me how, could you tell me—”
“What’s so wrong about what’s wrong with me?”
“I’m just trying to do what’s right by you!”
06.  Outliars and Hyppocrates: a fun fact about apples
“Did you know that the hole in the apple didn’t come from the outside in?  It was eaten from the core and out to the skin, and that’s why you’ll never find the worm in it.”
“The disease is defined by its treatment.”
“You people make me sick.”
“Who’d want to be human anyway?”
“Why’d you come into this world or come out that way?”
“Isn’t it funny?  Well, not "ha-ha" funny, but y’know, funny.”
“I doubt that you would even if you could change.”
“You think it makes you special, but it makes you strange.”
“The things that make you special are the things that make you strange.”
“I am the shadows cast aside by gallows, and you the red-hot sky.”
“And if you’re believers, then why would you grieve for the dead, instead of a devil that you never prayed for?”
“Too weird to love, too scared to die.  Too alien to take you home.”
“Who’d want to belong to anyone?”
“I mean, what do people even do?”
“If you love me, let me let you go.”
“Five more minutes, please?  You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”
07.  Black Box Warrior - OKULTRA
“Bless the torpedoes!”
“For what?  For what??”
“For what it’s worth, if it was going to kill you, boy, it would have by now.”
“There’s no more looking back, it’s looking up or looking down.”
“Wonder if Christ-Consciousness would charge a cancellation fee.”
“Auf wiedersehn!  Au revoir!”
“Hello, welcome.  Why don’t you take a seat?  Get comfortable, relax, take a second if you need to.”
“Now, what’s bothering you?”
“Well, why don’t we start at the beginning?”
“Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?”
“Did you die before your day?”
“You got a better idea?  It’s about the best we could come up with.”
“What, you think ideas spread because they’re good?  No, they spread because people like them.”
“So here we are once again.  Holding, as it were, a mirror up to your mirror.”
“I guess it’s just something people do!”
“You learn to be an animal instead.”
“I never did think you better than this.”
“It’s you who are the problem.  Not the things you do, but something sick inside.”
“Boy, you really is defective.”
“Offer up your innocence, please ignore the side effects.”
“You’ve lost your mind and almost lost your life before, so you’ll be fine!”
“Why would you want to look back?  I mean, it’s no good looking back. So try to look forward now.”
“For what it’s worth, if they were gonna get you boy, they would have by now.”
08.  Marsha, Thankk You for the Dialectics, but I Need You to Leave.
“They could prescribe you any illness you’d like if you define the terms of your ailments.”
“A crow don’t know the smell of carbon monoxide.”
“How many years have you been on that couch?”
“Your draw a line in the sand where it ends and you begin, but the tide rolls in, so who knows?”
“A little identity never hurt nobody, but lately you’ve been focusing too much on yourself.”
“How many milligrams of you are still left in there?”
“Back in my day, we didn’t need no feel-good pills and no psychiatrists.  We just drank ourselves to death.  And god damn it, we liked it!”
“What’s a symptom, what’s a flaw, can it be both?”
“Well, I suppose that’s an answer.”
“Would you give up your humanity for just a touch of sanity?”
“They’ve discovered a cure for the symptoms of being alive.  It’s a painless procedure with a low rate of failure, but very few patients survive.”
“And a little conformity never hurt nobody, but lately I’ve been worried that you’re losing yourself.”
“What’s my prognosis?”
“Disease is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Tell me ‘so it goes.’”
“Better safe than sorry, and we both know the danger.”
“So doctor, could you run another test?”
“If our harmonies don’t sync, we can change our voices.”
“Don’t heed no evil wills of moral nihilists.”
“Don’t you make me waste my breath.”
“GOD DAMN IT!”
“Does aspirin kill you with the pain?“
“You’re not your thoughts, you’re not your brain, you’re just the character you’ve made.”
“What seem like separate body parts come together to believe they’re you, and not just chemistry.”
“It’s not the way that you were raised, or what the advertisements say.”
“It’s not what you pay for, what you pray for, what you want, or what you say.”
“Something tells me that you need, forgive me now if I misspeak--”
“Something tells me you prefer to be sitting there flipping through those old issues of People.”
“Well, that’s our time.  See you next week.”
09.  Love, Me Normally
“In lipstick on the mirror are the lyrics to my obituary.”
“Crossing my eyes, dot my T’s.”
“I was delivered holding scissors.”
“I live deliberately, I’m a quitter.”
“I never agreed to participate in this game.”
“Won’t follow my dreams, cause they all got me waking up screaming.”
“I’d rather be normal.  Yes, so normal.”
“I suggest that we keep this informal.”
“A normal human being wouldn’t need to pretend to be normal.”
“Well, I guess that’s the least that I owe ya.”
“C’mon, c’mon, and love me normally.”
“If I could live in third person, well, I don’t think life would be much worse than it is.”
“Is it courageous or escapist to leave the quarantine when you’re contagious?”
“It may just be a cold.  And besides, I don’t wanna get old.”
“I drank myself to death to be the afterlife of the party.”
“When the afterparty came, I was rolling in my grave.”
“Now, this is the part of the song where I talk to my audience.”
“There’s something I want from you hepcats tonight.”
“I want you to look to your left.  Look to your right.  Your twelve o’clock, three o’clock, six o’clock, nine o’clock, rock around the clock tonight–”
“I want you to find those points of no return, those singularities, those burning rings of fire in the beautiful pupils and the beautiful eyes of the beautiful boy, girl, neither, both, or in-between that you brought with you tonight.  And I want you to tell ’em how you really feel!”
“Jam that square peg in the round hole in their hearts!”
“You love them exactly the way that everybody else is.”
“I was nothing before, so I couldn’t have asked to be born.  I’ll be nothing again, so what am I between now and then?”
“Is there nothing to fear?  Cause shit’s getting weird.”
“So to God who made this man: you better have one hell of a plan.”
10.  Memento Mori: the most important thing
“If you’re lucky you’ll be surrounded by the ones that you love, when the lights in your eyes fade and life flashes by.
“One day you’re going to die.”
“Heaven, hell, nirvana, nothing, no one knows how it ends.”
“Rest in peace— or pieces.”
“Read your horoscopes, your palms and tarot cards.  But either way your destination ain’t very far.”
“You could drown, or choke, or burn, or be hit by a car.”
“What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but something will eventually.”
“One day you’ll look back at the life that you lead.  No more future left to fear that you’ll have the past to regret.”
“But your worries will be over if you truly realize— one day you’re going to die!”
“Take it away, hands!”
“In the fabric of time and in the vastness of space, a billion amounts to nothing in infinity’s face.”
“Your life never mattered, so who cares if it's a waste?”
“Well, one day you’ll be not even a faint memory.”
“You’ll never know what it all means.”
“Just keep this in mind: that everything and everyone goes with the passage of time.”
“No need to fear, ’cause when it’s here, you won’t be alive.”
“Try not to think about it!”
“So if you only have one chance, you oughta try your best to live as you like.”
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And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book
Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader
Word count: 2,200
Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.
A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 
It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.
The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 
His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.
Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.
Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.
There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.
“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.
On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.
Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.
The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’
Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.
Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.
There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 
A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.
Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 
Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.
The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 
Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.
Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.
You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.
“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”
“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.
“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”
Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.
The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.
He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.
Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.
The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.
Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.
Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.
Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.
“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,
Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.
“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.
“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.
“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”
You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.
“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”
Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.
“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”
Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 
“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy
“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”
The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.
It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.
Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.
He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.
“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.
Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.
And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.
‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.
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majwrites · 3 years
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Request: Imagine Martin Whitly helping age regression! reader
This one's for @sherazyjade (thanks to you for being the first to request smth😇) who requested Martin Whitly calming down the reader. hope this turned out okay since my knowledge and experience with age regression is very limited. Reader is a journalist and not related to the Whitly family.
Warnings: age regression, talk about murder, mention of a family history of mental illness, psychiatry, Martin Whitly
Spoiler: the real name of the bone collector from the Lincoln Rhyme TV show is mentioned
Today was the day. New York Times well known journalist (Y/N) (L/N) would interview Martin Whitly at Claremont Psychiatric Hospital. They weren't a stranger to interviewing criminals, after everything they had gone through they thought it would be better to face all their fears. This had lead to them being one of the most famous crime journalists in the United States though. (Y/N) was well known for making the cruelest serial killers beg for forgiveness and regret their actions by asking well researched questions. They'd been around the country. Howard Epps, Peter Taylor, Shane Casey...name them, (Y/N) has interviewed them all.
Except for one: Martin Whitly. But that would change now as formerly stated. Everything went smoothly at first. They entered the building, went through all safety checks and finally entered the cell of the surgeon. "Oh look who we have here", stated Martin, "the most popular of them all". "Good morning to you too, Dr. Whitly", answered (Y/N). They took their time to look around the room. For the fact that this was supposed to be a life long prison sentence this man really ended up in a good place. "I'd like to ask you a few questions, it's nothing Ainsley wouldn't have asked you before but this time I demand the honest to God answer and take your time to think about it if you haven't done that during the past 22 years", (Y/N) was set on revealing the truth and if Whitly would come at them with the same 'I am sick in the head' answer they'd lose it. The majority of their own family was mentally ill and they wouldn't tolerate it anymore, the way it was always used as an excuse to murder people. Sure, some people could pledge insanity but not this man. He had enjoyed murdering. And this interview would reveal that.
(Y/N) only had a suspicion as to what caused it, anything had gone well up until this point. Up until the moment they realized Dr. Whitly was on a leash. Which (Y/N) was convinced was even more dangerous than if they just let him run around freely. It stressed them out. Big time. And suddenly they were hiding under the table just like back in school when they were only twelve.
Martin Whitly was surprised, but despite being a serial killer he was also a doctor and he was definitely not stupid. He knew if anything would happen to a journalist (who also was one of the most famous journalists New York had to offer) they'd hold him accountable. So he remembered that he once knew how to take care of children. He was a father after all. So he got up from his chair and knelt down on his end of the table so he was on eye level with (Y/N). To be fair, Dr. Martin Whitly was a surgeon and not a psychologist so he didn't exactly know what was going on and how far gone the journalist was.
He started off simple. "Hey, (Y/N). Could you please look at me", no reaction, they were still looking at the ground. What next? Touching them would be a bad idea, it could trigger something worse. So he continued talking: "There's no need to be afraid. I'm a doctor, it's my job to help people". Nice one Whitly, 23 victims erased from the narrative. But it seemed to work. They looked at him. "Alright, that's better. Now would you like to tell me what's troubling you?, he put on the most sympathetic expression possible. A few seconds of silence followed. "It's not safe here", stated (Y/N). "See, (Y/N). Is any place on earth really safe?", mental note to Martin Whitly, this was a bad move. So he tried again. "I can assure you that we're safe here. You see the door behind you? It's one of the strongest doors this country has to offer. And as I said before, I'm a doctor. If anyone would attack I'd know many ways to get rid of them"."That would be murder and that's wrong" "Don't concern yourself with that, (Y/N). It would pass as self defense", it really would if someone attacked now and the surgeon would try to protect (Y/N). "If you say so", of course (Y/N) would question it. They'd always had the need to question everything. "Alright, now that we're clear on this could we get up from the ground", he offered a hand to (Y/N). They nodded and let him help them off the ground. (Y/N) sat back down in their chair.
A few minutes later (Y/N) returned from their state of distress, unsure as to what had just happened. They decided to let it slide for now and go on about this interview.
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devdevlin · 4 years
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raise your hand if you think Tom has a secret cockney accent and Hermione bring from London calls him out on it (prompt please, but take your time 😊)
Ahhh, Anon. Sweet, sweet Anon. You really pulled my leg on this one. I just… I’m gonna be straight up with you; Cockney accent Tom doesn’t do it for me. It just doesn’t at all. I… would not raise my hand, lmao. It’s just that Lord Voldemort accidentally using rhyming slang is just not a thing that I could take seriously at all.
But. BUT. In saying that, I am no quitter. Despite my personal opinion, I have managed to put together a v v small one for you! I hope you like it!
(Disclaimer—I myself have never used rhyming slang in my life, so plz forgive me…)
Tom was lying to her.
Years of friendship, and he was lying to her.
She’d had her first suspicions when she’d walked in on him and Rosier bickering, and he’d been speaking faster than she’d ever heard, and it sounded an awful lot like he’d forgotten a few consonants.
At the time, she’d chalked it up to her imagination and let it go. But then, mere weeks later, she could’ve sworn she heard him utter a tired ‘sandshoe’ after she passed him a plate of toast over breakfast in the Great Hall.
Her suspicions had deepened, but still, they were only that. Suspicions.
But another month later, she was positive she heard him tell Dolohov have a 'butcher’s hook’ in the dungeons for Abraxas. And with that, her suspicions solidified and she became convinced.
He was a liar.
And so, Hermione bid her time. She knew if she asked him while he had his wits about him, he would never give her a straight answer, and so, she said nothing and waited for the right opportunity.
And waited.
And waited.
But then, two months after she’d made the initial decision to confront him, she found him alone that Wednesday evening in the Great Hall at the Slytherin table, hunched over what looked to be a very long essay.
She didn’t hesitate in seating herself opposite him and was pleased to see that he didn’t immediately notice her presence.
Good. That meant he was tired.
“Hello Tom.”
He lifted his eyes for a fraction of a second in what looked like surprise and murmured, “Granger.”
Hermione smiled. The whites of his eyes had been red, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept.
Good.
“Is that your Transfiguration essay?” she asked. “The one that’s due tomorrow?”
A grunt.
“I finished mine last week,” she said, in equal amounts bright and unhelpful. “Quite unlike you, to leave an assignment so late.”
He grunted again and continued scrawling the sentence he was working on.
She watched him work in silence for a minute, which soon stretched onto two, and then ten.
“Tom?” she dared to ask only once she was sure he’d acclimatised to her presence.
“Hmm?” He continued writing, didn’t look up.
“I was wondering… what does it mean when someone says that someone’s brown bread?”
“Means they’re dead,” he murmured quickly enough for it to have been out of reflex.
Hermione straightened in her seat, and then she grinned an evil, triumphant grin. “I knew it!”
At her tone, Tom finally glanced up from his essay, his brows quickly furrowing. “What?”
“You thought I wouldn’t figure it out? You thought you could hide it from me?”
Tom blinked. “Granger. While I’d normally be reasonably happy to indulge you, I’m really not in the mood for your games tod—”
“I’m not Malfoy, you know! We’ve been friends for years now, you should know I don’t care how you talk! I don’t care where you’re from, or how much money you have. You know it doesn’t make a difference to me.”
His eyebrows lowered ever so slightly. “What are you talking about?” he asked slowly, carefully.
“You’ve always been so… secretive! You’ve never mentioned your family before. And you said you lived in London, but you never said where. But I’ve heard you when you think no one’s around. I’ve heard it slip out when you’re extra tired, and I’ve figured it out—you’re from the east of London, aren’t you?”
He held her eyes for a long moment. “You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, come on! Why would you trust Dolohov with this and not me? I’ve seen him come to class with his shoes on the wrong feet!”
Tom snorted but didn’t say anything as he went back to work.
“Tom,” she said. “Tom. I didn’t come from money or from magic either. You know that. I never had the best clothes, or brand-new books, or a house that had its own library.”
He answered her with silence. But then—
“You’re crazy.”
Hermione straightened. “Crazy? Crazy? Don’t you mean 'barking’? 'Radio rental’? ’David’?
Tom remained motionless, and for a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to bite. But then, he slowly glanced back up.
Hermione grinned at his sour expression. "You, Tom Riddle, are a Cockney,” she declared. “Why on earth have you been trying to hide it?”
Tom sighed in resignation, before he lowered his quill and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s ever occurred to you Hermione, but I share a name with Jimmy.”
Hermione opened her mouth, and then snapped it shut. Then, she opened it again and stated rather bluntly, “your name is Tom.”
Tom laced his fingers together over the top of his parchment, and gave her a look that said he was very quickly approaching on running out of patience. “Jimmy Riddle,” he clarified.
“I…” Hermione blinked. The name wasn’t familiar. “…I don’t follow.”
“Jimmy Riddle?” Tom leaned slightly closer, and when she still didn’t catch on, he said, “like piddle? Means piss?”
Hermione frowned. “Oh. Oh, well that doesn’t make much sense.”
“You’ll find that’s sort of the point,” Tom said tiredly. “But while it makes little sense to an outsider, it made perfect sense to the other children I grew up with, and if you think for a moment that I ever appreciated my name being substituted as a verb for whenever one of the others decided to let everyone know that they needed to urinate, then you’d be very much mistaken.”
Hermione shrunk back in her seat at the way he spoke of it, at the way his words hardened around the edges, and it was only then that it dawned on her that she might’ve struck a nerve.
“I… you can trust me, you know,” she said quietly, and Tom scoffed as he picked up his quill and went back to his writing. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
He grunted.
Hermione watched him work and bit into her lip, suddenly wishing she hadn’t been quite so smug about it, even though she’d been right. How was she to know he’d been bullied? It wasn’t as if he’d ever brought it up.
They again sat in silence for a long while, the other students slowly beginning to trickle in for  the dinner which would be commencing shortly.
Seeing a group of Slytherins heading in their direction, Hermione leaned forward toward him.
“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she tried. Still, he didn’t reply, so she swallowed her dignity and said in the best eastern accent she could manage, “…jellied eel?”
Despite her efforts, Tom still didn’t stop his work, and the only sound that passed between them was the scratching of his quill.
But though it’d only lasted a second, Hermione could’ve sworn she saw him smile.
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enasallavellan · 4 years
Text
Enasal Lavellan Pt: 55
A really short one today featuring Enasal’s sister, Shiral.
I couldn’t really figure out a good way to link it with the chapters between, so I just gave it its own little chapter.
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Shiral let loose another arrow, felling the fox as it attempted to flee. 
She picked it up by its over-sized ear and returned to the small fire she had started.  Enasal would have shouted and jumped and caused so much of a commotion that they would have been done hunting for the day.
Enasal was a terrible hunter.  No stealth, no tact, just pure and overzealous reaction.
How in the world was she faring leading an army?
It made no sense - none.  Enasal had never even been in a real fight.  Granted, when their clan set up in a spot for long enough, her little sister would fashion together some sort of dummy to practice fighting with her blades.  But a real, breathing thing?  Even on her successfull hunts, it had been dumb luck.  
No arrows for her though, because blades are just ‘so neat!’.  
Every time she thought of that, the guilt came creeping back.
Enasal, so bright with hope and excitement, bouncing back towards the edge of their clan after a long day of Arlathvhen activities - of being able to meet and talk with her own people for the first time she could remember.  They gave little trinkets to teenagers Enasal’s age, little things that said “I was good at this!”  
Her baby sister had returned, clinking with trinkets and wielding blades.  She had shown Shiral what she had learned into the circle group.  The teacher had been impressed with her, and his son more so.  
So much, Enasal had told her, that he had given her his own blades as a gift.
A boy had given them to her.
Shiral had screamed at her.  
Why would you take a present from a boy?
Never take a present from a boy!
What is wrong with you?
Are you stupid?
Enasal, no, I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!  Please stop crying, they’re good blades!  Look how many things you won!  I’m sorry, I was worried, I just love you, I don’t want anything to happen to you!
Their grandmother scolded her for it, said she had been cruel to ruin something so special.  Enasal had been so young during the last Arlathvhen that she had spent most of it clasping their grandmother’s hand, too small and delicate to warrant being let loose with the other children.
The other Keepers laughed and patted Enasal’s head.  At first she cried at the unfamiliar touch, but later seemed so keen on that same approval that she would hop up and down around them, show them little tricks a child could do, just for a kind word.
And they loved her.  She sang rhymes and poetry and they fawned over the child with the pretty voice and sudden wild spirit.  The other Keeper’s approval had made their own clan upset.  
“How could the child bound by Fen’Harel, be any good to the other Keepers, don’t they see it?”
After that, Enasal was deemed old enough to fully serve her sentence.
For a week, nothing but crying came from the back of the clan and if anyone helped, they received a harsh reminder of the new rules.
For nearly all things, the clan went to their Keeper - her grandmother.
But when it came to Enasal, they went to her grandmother's second.
It shouldn’t have happened - an entire clan overriding a keeper over such a horrible matter.  Sentencing an infant to banishment, and ripping a girl barely five years old from her grandmother’s arms.
Someone should have stopped it.
Their Keeper should have stopped it.
Everyone called her sister da’fen’harel, and yet her grandmother let it happen.
Shiral would never forgive her.
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monstersandmaw · 5 years
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CC humbly requests writing advice for a big shadow monster that is very bad at human social norms. Please hell CC I am very bad at this he~
Writing using You/Your is hard because I feel like I’m railroading the reader. I’m sorry for the please-help-me asks but I dunno who else to ask and I’m sorry urm yeh how do you make yours so fluid and nice?—CC             
---
First of all, writing itself is really hard, so you’ve won half the battle already just by doing it!! Well done! Don’t sell yourself short.
Working on the nuances of the rhythm and flow of a piece of writing is also really tricky. Trying to tell someone how to get flow in their work is like trying to teach someone expression on a musical instrument - everyone is going to have their own unique style which will make their music different, even if it’s the same piece...
However, I can offer some tips that I’ve found helpful if you like??
When you read other people’s writing that you admire, work out why the words flow so nicely. Analyse the writing of authors you admire, in whatever genre/field. Is it the internal rhthym of the words, or the rhyming? Have they mixed up short sentences with longer ones? Are they always starting sentences the same way ‘You did this, You did that?’ or are they shaking the grammar up too in order to vary the pace? These are all things I try to do when I’m writing, but it doesn’t always happen.
If you’re stuck in the mud a bit, work out why it’s falling flat. Have you got too much ‘tell’ and not enough ‘show’? (’he was cold’ vs ‘you recoiled reflexivly at the chill of his skin’ - boring description vs reaction) Could you tell that piece of action in a more eloquent way? Do you need to describe the details, or could you have your characters react to their environment in a way that will show us what’s going on?
DO NOT EDIT AS YOU WRITE. This will absolutely kill the pace. I can’t remember the source of this quote, so forgive me for butchering it a bit (I’ll edit it if I find out who said it better), but “The point of a first draft is to get the ideas down”. Write first, edit later, then let it sit (preferably overnight, but at least for an hour if you can) and then edit again.
Finally, if the second person (’you/your’) isn’t working for you, then write in third person (he/she/they) or first (’I’). Don’t force your work into the confines of a format that doesn’t flow for you. If you want to practise though, try small paragraphs so you’re not too daunted by a new format.
And relax. Have fun. Writing is supposed to be a way to condense your nebulous ideas down into a more structured format, and doing that is hard! It takes effort! It makes the brain work out, and it’s really really tiring! Be gentle with yourself, and try to write for you first of all. Write the stories that you want to read.
Good luck!! And try not to get overwhelmed or disheartened. You can do it!
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jcinthedance · 4 years
Text
DETAILS /  MANNER OF SPEECH.
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NUMBER OF SPOKEN LANGUAGES:      1  /  2-ish  / 3 + TONE OF VOICE:     high  /  average  /  deep ACCENT:     English DEMEANOR:     confident ( Selectively. )  /  shy /  approachable  /  hostile  /  other POSTURE:     slumped  /  straight /  stiff  /  relaxed HABITS:      head tilting  /  swaying  /  fidgeting  /  stuttering  /  gesturing  /  arm crossing  /  strokes chin  /  er, um, or other interjections  /  plays with hair or clothing  /  hands at hips / inconsistent eye contact / maintains eye contact  /  frequent pausing  /  stands close  /  stands at distance
COMPLEXITY:
vocabulary:  ◼◼◼◼◼  Living thesaurus emotion:  ◼◼◼◼◻  Dramatic  sentence structure:  ◼◼◼◻◻  Literally rhymes on a dime  
PROFANITY:
frequency:   ◼◻︎◻︎◻◻︎  Almost never. creativity:   ◼◼◼◼◻  I mean but I’m writing him- watchfulness:   ◼◼◼◻◻︎  cares too much about manners.
BOLD ALL THAT APPLY:      arse  /  ass  /  asshole  /  bastard  /  bitch  /  bloody  /  bollocks  /  bugger  /  chickenshit  /  crap  /  cunt  /  dick  /  frick  /  fuck  /  horseshit  /  motherfucker  /  piss  /  prick  /  screw /  shit /  shit-ass /  son of a bitch  /  twat  /  wanker
GIVEN PROPER RELIGIOUS CONTEXT:      christ on a bike /  christ on a cracker  /  damn  /  goddamn  /  gods damn  /  hell  /  holy shit  /  jesus  /  jesus christ  /  jesus h. christ  /  jesus, mary, and joseph  /  sweet jesus
THIS OR THAT:      contractions or enunciation  /  straightforward or cryptic  /  jargon or toned /  complexity or simplicity  / finding the right word or using the first word that comes to mind  /  masculinity or neutrality or femininity  /  formalities or abrasiveness  /  insult or injury / praise or equivocation  /  frankness or lies  /  excessive hand gestures or minimal hand gestures  /  name-calling or magnanimity /  friendly or blunt nicknames.
IMPORTANT QUESTIONS:
DO PEOPLE HAVE A HARD TIME UNDERSTANDING OR HEARING YOUR CHARACTER:   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.
DOES YOUR CHARACTER’S POINT ALWAYS COME ACROSS WHEN THEY SPEAK:   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.
WOULD YOUR CHARACTER INITIATE CONVERSATIONS:   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes  /  rarely  /  never.
WOULD YOUR CHARACTER BE THE ONE TO END CONVERSATIONS:   almost always  /  frequently  /  sometimes /  rarely  /  never.
WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE ‘WHOM’ IN A SENTENCE:  yes  /  no  /  only ironically.
WHICH WORD WOULD YOUR CHARACTER USE TO MAKE A COUNTERPOINT:   but  /  though  /  although  /  however  /  perhaps  /  mayhaps. / contrariwise !
HOW WOULD YOUR CHARACTER PICK UP THE PHONE:   hello  /  hey  /  hi  /  yello  /  yo  /  yeah  /  [name]  /  what’s up  /  sup  /  who is this? /  what do you want? /  can i help you? / other:  Who are you?
HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER END CONVERSATIONS:   walk away  /  ask if that’s everything  /  say that’s everything  /  give a proper goodbye  /  tell their company they’re done here  /  remain quiet  /  they don’t.
HOW DOES YOUR CHARACTER ADDRESS OTHERS:   titles  / first names /  surnames  /  full names  /  nicknames.
WHAT SOCIAL CLASS WOULD OTHERS ASSUME YOUR CHARACTER BELONGS TO BY HEARING THEM SPEAK:   upper  / middle  / lower.
IN WHAT WAYS DOES YOUR CHARACTER SPEAK STAND OUT TO OTHERS:   accent  /  vocabulary  /  tone /  level  /  politeness  /  brusqueness  /  it doesn’t.
TAGGED BY:  the wonderful @goobuster​ !! TAGGING:   I had to do this very quickly just because jervis’ speaking is fun but i’m too tired to tag anyone please forgive me--
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sorcierarchy · 6 years
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hi so i have a question !! do you know of any spells on protecting a relationship from external forces and negative energies ? if not fo you have any suggestions on what to use or do to create one ? thank u sm !!
I don’t normally answer spell requests, but I figured this might be a good opportunity to show how you can use a pre-made spell and deconstruct it if you need to adapt anything or make substitutions. So this post is about:
Deconstructing spells and making well-informed substitutions (and a love spell I guess)
The basic steps I’ll be walking you through are: reading through the spell as it appears in the book or online, identifying the purpose for each item or action, finding equivalent or more powerful items or actions as needed, performing the spell and knowing whether or not it worked. 
If you just want the fish then I guess you can read the first part and go home, but I’m giving you the “learn to fish” option (better deal, imo). 
(This spell is mine btw, so please don’t repost it anywhere. This also means it’s based on French Canadian folk magic, which might differ from your personal practice.)
The intent of this spell is: “These individuals are happy together and prosper, and are protected from hindering forces/energies.”
The spell:
- Two apples- One knife- One pack dry yeast (they’re usually about 7g)- 1.5 tablespoons of white sugar- 1.25 (one and a quarter) cups of warm water- 0.5 tablespoons (half) or 1.5 (one and a half) teaspoons- 1 tablespoon of oil- 3 to 3.5 (three and a half) cups of flour - enough twine or string to wrap around the apple, 100% cotton NOT synthetic (butcher’s twine for example)- Baking tray or bread mold- Oven
1. Before you start any kind of ritual, you want to cut both apples in half top down (vertical through the core). Don’t worry about perfection, it doesn’t matter, but you need to have this step done before you cast any kind of circle if that’s something you do. 2. If you have any kind of “pre-spell” activities such as casting a circle or cleansing your space, go ahead and do that. 3. Bring one half from each apple into the ritual space (”ritual space” as in wherever you do your thing, does not have to be an altar or anything of that nature… I do mine wherever is practical, in this case the kitchen counter) as well as the twine. Put the two halves together, wrap the twine around them three times and tie a knot. If you like to say something during your spells such as a mantra or a sentence setting your intent, to this while wrapping the apple and tying the knot. If short, repeat it three times. French Canadian folk magic often has short rhymes repeated during spells.4. You’re gonna bake some bread. You can use a different recipe than the one linked, and change the list of ingredients accordingly. When kneading, focus on your intent and the two people the spell is involving. There will be long pauses while you let the dough rise: what you do during that time doesn’t matter for the spell. The second time you let the dough rise, you need to put the apple into the center of the dough FIRST (so it is enclosed completely) and let the bread rise around it. Don’t worry if the bread rises funny or caves in the middle.5. Bake the bread with the apple in the center. Ideally you should use a bread mold, but you can just shape it roughly round and put it on a baking tray if you don’t have one. 6. Score a cross shape into the bread using your knife (straight sharp blades work best).7. Once the bread has baked and cooled, each party the apple halves are representing must eat a piece of the bread. Depending on the environment you’re in and the apple you used, you’ll have varying levels of edible bread. If your loaf looks roughly normal, you should be able to each eat from one extremity. The closer you get to the apple, the more chances there are that it’s gooey, undercooked, or mushy from the juices. It’s not bad for you, just kinda gross tasting. Feel free to eat it if you want. The more weird your bread looks, the more your center is sketchy. Wonky bread isn’t a bad omen and won’t affect your spell, it’s just physics and stuff. 8. Enjoy your magically enhanced relationship, and don’t forget that no amount of magic can help if there are too many mundane issues left unresolved. 
The rest of this is below the cut because this is already long af. The counter-spell is also under the cut, all the way at the bottom. Please forgive typos, I’m a very tired gay. 
Link to the upcoming giveaway, on the offhand chance you like free stuff.
Interlude:
Before you deconstruct a spell, it’s important that you determine whether or not the spell should be deconstructed. If you’re using a random spell you don’t know the source of, or something written by someone on the internet (like this one), you can usually make a significant number of (logical) changes and substitutions. 
However, in the case of spells that have centuries of history, such as spells found in old arcane texts and grimoires, the more you change the more likely you are to get an unpredictable result. Spells that have been passed down survive because they work as written, and every change will decrease it’s likelihood of success. Ideally, you want as many checks in the “keeping as is” column as possible, and very few checks in the “changes” column. Sometimes there are things you just have to modify because life has changed since the 1700s, and that’s fine, just make sure you’re changing only when necessary and using sensible substitutions. More importantly, be prepared to deal with any consequences that may arise. 
Deconstruction:
Here I’m going to give you the purpose and meaning behind each element of the spell. The next section will show you how to come up with substitutions.
• Apple: In French Canadian folk magic, it’s a symbol of love and unity. Each full apple represents the person as a whole, and we put the two halves together so they can come together. You want to avoid using only one halved apple, as that implies that each person is incomplete until they are paired with the other half, which can create codependency or abusive relationships. One tradition is to use a half with a stem to represent the male in the relationship, and a half without the stem to represent the female. This is obviously heteronormative and might not work for your situation, so in the substitutions section I’ll list some other options. You can also just ignore the stem situation completely, and just determine in your mind which is which. 
• Twine or string: The twine is representative of the relationship itself, keeping the two halves together. It’s all the good things in the relationship, such as communication, honesty, common traits, etc. We wrap the twine around the apple three times because the number 3 in French Canadian folk magic is used to “strengthen” a spell or intent. 
• Flour: Flour represents prosperity in the home. It does not represent excess. It is having enough to eat, to stay warm, to live happily and comfortably. The type of flour doesn’t matter.
• Other ingredients: Everything else is used as part of the bread making process, and has no significant meaning otherwise. 
• The joining of the apples step is explained pretty well already in the apples info, so I’m going to move on to the bread baking. Kneading the dough and preparing the bread are all symbolic of the time and work it takes to maintain a good relationship with someone, and are important steps if you’re able to do them. During kneading, you should be focusing on your intent for the spell. 
• Placing the apple in the center of the bread is to bind the symbol of the couple (the apple) with the symbol of prosperity and happiness (the bread). The water from both will mix, and water is like the “and” in your spell if it were a sentence. You’re saying “These individuals are happy together AND prosper”. 
• Scoring the bread with the cross is your symbol of protection from outside forces. Since French Canadian folk magic is heavily entwined with catholicism, the cross is a protective symbol. 
• Eating the bread can be considered both the activating of the spell, as well as the closing element. It is enforcing the properties as it is ingested by the people involved, and is symbolic that they have accepted the intent of the sorcier or witch. 
Substitutions: 
I obviously can’t possibly cover every single option here, but I’m going to do my best to give you a lot of suggestions that should give you a pretty good idea of what kind of changes you can make and how to adapt the spell to your abilities, correspondences, and what you have available to you. 
• The apples and twine can be substituted for anything else that would represent the individuals and a loving relationship. If your local folk magic has a symbol that is different from apples, you can absolutely use that instead. Likewise if you have a personal correspondence that is stronger to you, or tag locks for the individuals in question (just remember it’s going in bread, so hair might not be your best option here). 
• The stem situation, as I mentioned in the deconstruction section, is not a mandatory part of the spell. Nonetheless, I wanted to provide some alternate options. You can of course you two stemmed apples, two unstemmed apples, you can cut the apple into more than two pieces (so long as you can roughly fit them together, and you would use a corresponding number of apples), etc. Keep in mind that the stems don’t need to represent anything at all, and they can be unrelated to gender (for example, stem representing the taller person and no stem being the shorter one). You can make it whatever you want. If you would like the stems to represent gender, non-binary genders can be a bent stem, a half stem, an additional stem (just stick it in, don’t put glue on it please), whatever you want. Again, you can completely disregard the stems if it causes any kind of anxiety for you or if you’re like me and massively despise the binary implications of it. 
• If you can’t find cotton twine or don’t have cotton string, you can use anything else that would tie the two halves together. The important thing to keep in mind here is that it is going inside the bread, so you definitely don’t want to use synthetic fibers as they could melt in the oven and go into the bread (don’t eat that). The important thing is that there be something going around the apple holding the halves together. You could even use a long strip of dough from what you’ve kneaded. Another important thing is that you don’t do something that will go through the apples to keep them together, such as using toothpicks, as this has a different meaning and will change the intent of the spell. 
• The bread baking is a step that might be problematic for individuals who are not open about their practice, or who are physically incapable of making the bread because of the kneading, or multiple other reasons. If the issue is the kneading, you can use this no knead recipe instead.  If you’re dealing with any other issue for the bread step, you just need to find a substitute that would represent the same thing for you or for your culture. Some examples: using rice in place of bread, writing your intent to fill up an entire page of paper (or typing it and printing it out) and wrapping it around the apple, burying the apple outside, etc. If visualization is your only option, go for it. 
• Eating the bread is your activation step. If someone is allergic to gluten or has a dietary restriction, you can change the type of flour you use accordingly without changing the intent of the spell. If you didn’t bake bread, any alternative that feels to you like the intent of “the individuals involved accept the intent of this spell” will work. It can be as simple as them both holding the apple and reciting a line if you wrote one, or simply reciting the intent of the spell, etc. This step is going to be dependent on what you’ve already changed if anything. Ultimately, there should be an overall impression of completion afterwards. 
Counter-spell: 
You should always, always have a way to undo any spell that you’ve performed. I personally keep the twine somewhere safe, and will cut the twine in half or burn it if I need to reverse the spell. Alternative options would be to have a set of words as your counter-spell, or some other symbolic means of reversing the spell. Be careful that this information is only available to those involved with the spell, so no one wishing ill on the relationship can do any damage.
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dreamingawaydolan · 6 years
Text
Motorcycle Man {E.D} pt.2
Summary: What happens when Y/N gets caught up in a nasty protest and her options are run or go to jail and her only option to get away is a mysterious man and his motorcycle.
Authors Note: Here’s a part 2! So i’m not going to be as active as I have been these past few days because I’m going on a trip so sorry i’m going to try to post a lot before I live but yeah 
Request: Open
Y/N Pov:
I huff under breath realizing I have no ride home. I decide to head over to the local diner and hang out there since it is 2 in the morning I’m so lucky it’s 24 hours or else I would die. My studio is on the other side of town and I am not going to be walking that far, not with all the running I did today.
The diner isn’t that far either just a couple blocks away. I usually go there after my jail bust well not jail bust but ya know what I mean. It’s surprisingly cold out witch is very rare for New jersey at least during the summer. I sigh as I realize my clothing, a crop top with shorts. Sounded like a good idea earlier today but so did protesting.
As I was walking I couldn’t get my mind off of that motorcycle man I mental slap myself for not getting his name, heck we barely even had a conversation. He was a total douche though like yeah he had a right to be a little mean since I did get him put in jail but no need to bash on me for protesting like damn who put a stick up his ass?
I turn the corner and the “Allys” sign is right there all big and gold. I smile in relief that I didn’t get kidnapped on the way here. I open the door and the small bell rings making a couple of the truck drivers look up from their newspaper and one of the waitresses. The warmth hits me and I have never been happier. It probably isn’t even that cold outside i’m just a big wuss when it comes to the cold.
I take my usual seat by the bar and lay my head on the counter. “ Same as usual honey bun” Summer says while skating over to me. Summer has worked here longer than I have been coming here. “ Of course and a coffee the slammer got me tired” I lightly laugh. “ Honey you act like you went to prison you just sit on the bench handcuffed” She laughed while filling a mug with coffee. “ Ehh same thing”
I sit my head up and telling her and the cook bob about what protest I went to today and how I ran and got on a strangers motorcycle and how he wasn’t the nicest person I left out the part about him being really hot. When I finished I was out of breath and they were both wide eyes. “ sorry did I talk to fast” I shyly say while taking a sip of my coffee.
“ You are so much like your grandmother you know that’s how she met your grandfather by jumping in his mail truck but she was running from a group of girls” She laughed while going to help another table. I put some salt on my watermelon and take a bite it’s not as weird as you would thin.
I hear the bell ring and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing was It motorcycle man? What the crap who knew. I hurry and turn around before he could see me. That didn’t work since seconds after I hear the seat next to me squeak.
“ I’ll just have a coffee it’s been a long night” He says while looking at me shaking his head. “ So what’s so special about this park that you got me arrested for” He asked turning his seat to face me. I huff and shake my head. Like he cares he’s probably going to bash on it even more shouldn’t he be out with his hot model date anyway. “ Shouldn’t you be on a date with a hot model” I remark taking a sip of my coffee.
“ Well you see if I hadn’t gotten arrested than maybe me and her would be in bed right now butt I got arrested so she is probably sucking some others dude lips” He says while giving me a little wink. Eww gross I did not want to know that. Why was there some part of me that was happy he was here with me instead of that model
“ Oh man must suck not having sex with some model” I sarcastically say while biting my watermelon I notice him looking at my lips. Eww double gross. He just lets out a laugh I like his laugh it’s like the perfect volume. I hurry and snap out of my daydream
“ It does, so now I’m stuck with you and your gross salty watermelon” He gags. “ It is very good i’ll have you know don’t knock it till you try it isn’t that what all the girls say to you before becoming lesbo” I laugh while taking another bite. He just sits there in shock. 1 point for Y/N 0 points for motorcycle man.
“ I don’t know why they would I mean if there are other girl’s like you I would stick to dick” He fires back “ Hey that rhymed “stick with dick” it has a nice ring to it isn’t that your moto?” I laugh man this feels good going back in forth at one another.  
We go at it for a good half an hour before Summer brings out his food. He puts salt on his oranges and I cringe up “ Eww that is so gross how can you eat that” I fake gag “ hey don’t attack me ms.salt on watermelon” “ Imma call you that since I don’t know your actual name” He takes a bite out of his orange and hums “ Y/N” I simply say taking a bite out of my watermelon
“ Y/N I like it it has a fiesty tone just like you” He says trying to flirt but failing terribly. “ So the park” He goes back to what we were first talking about “ Right well I grew up in that park I met so many people there I made so many memories. My nana used to take me there everyday after she got off work and we would meet up there once a week before she” I stop myself from finishing the sentence it’s still hard for me to believe that she is really gone. Even though it almost been 5 months. My nana was such a strong and hardworking woman I would do anything to become the half the woman she was.
“ And I want my kids to make memories there but that can’t happen if the city is going to tear it down, so I did what I thought was best and held a protest” I wait for the man sitting next to me to respond but it takes him a minute
“ Oh man Y/N i’m sorry I guess it is more than a park huh? Man Im such a shithead for yelling at you before Im really sorry” He says putting a hand on my shoulder “ You were a real shithead but I forgive you I guess” I laugh. His hand was warm and I felt nice as weird as that sounds.
“ Wait you said you and your nana would meet up there before but then you stopped before what” He asked “ You can learn that information when I learn your name” “Ethan” He says the same way I did
Ethan. I liked it.
Me and Ethan spent the rest of the night well day talking about everything from our dreams to how many times we have came here. Turns out he comes here a lot crazy that I’ve never ran into him before. He said this was his and his brothers place to go to after winning a game.
I thought it was cute how he showed me his sweet and soft side. From just looking at him he just looks like a mean motorcycle dude who only cares about hooking up with girls and making sure his hair looks alright. But in reality he’s so much more.
I learned that he has a twin brother named Grayson and they are both studying Photography at NYU which I think is really awesome. He showed me some of the photos he’s taken and he’s pretty good.
Before we knew it the time was 8 and the morning rush was coming in so we decided to head back home. I was about to walk off before I heard him call out my name. I turn around and see him holding his helmet over to me.
“ If this is your way of asking me to come home with you then I can only imagine how you got that model to go on that date with you” I laugh he just shakes his head. “ No i’m offering you a ride you ass” He laughs “ Oh well I’ve never been on a motorcycle before” He gives me a dumb look before leaning his head back and laughing “ Um remember earlier today I was basically your get away driver” He puts the helmet on my head before I can even say no.
He hops on his bike and gets it started. Man he looked really sexy it’s crazy how hot someone can look on a motorcycle he puts on his leather jacket with ease and gives me a smirk knowing damn well I was string.
“ Whos the one that want to go home with me now”  He winks while patting the seat behind him.I jump on and hold on to his wait tight. “ Please you wish Dolan” I debate on if I should get on with him. Like he could kill me you never know.
I laugh to myself realizing how out of charter this all is for me. Getting on a random strangers bike, running from the cops, not coming home Stef is going to be so mad at me crap. Now here I am flirting with a boy I just met a little over 15 hours ago.
I join him on the motorcycle holding on tight to his waist partially being I was scared of falling off but I also just wanted to hold on to him. Wow I am an official creep.
“ Where to Y/N” Ethan says while pulling out of “Allys” parking lot.
I’m glad I finally learned motorcycles man name.   
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singingsuperhero · 6 years
Text
A Brit listens to Kinky Boots Broadway for the first time.
I do know the show, but the West End recording. This should be fun.
Price and Son Theme/The Most Beautiful Thing in the World
The opening is okay.
Why does Charlie’s father sound like he’s from County Durham? This isn’t Billy Elliot!
And now he’s gone posh.
There needs to be more rounding of the lips on the word “most.”
Okay, you’re doing a passable job so far, ensemble.
Haa-wire? What is a haa-wire?
Just lahk a?
This kid needs to learn what a dipthong is.
Nicola goes from Northampton to London to being a Scouser, back to London, back to Northampton...
WoRRld? WoRRld?
And Charlie’s father keeps switching birthplace. His accent screams Geordie right up until the world “path.”
Take What You Got
We don’t say “laundromat.” It’s a “laundrette.”
Okay. You say the word “can’t” a lot of times in this. You clearly “can’t” pronounce it, can you? Rhyme it with bark. There you go.
“Never knew what I wanted before.” The only saving grace about that line is the lack of rolled r’s. The rest of it sounded American. Sorry.
“Can’t.” Oh, here we go again.
Land of Lola
I’ll type this sentence before the song starts playing. It doesn’t matter if Lola is inconsistent with everyone else’s accents, as he’s from the other end of the country where it’s different. This is canon. Now, let’s see if this one’s done right.
I’m finding no faults so far. I’m up to the second verse and this is the best so far.
Okay, I’m not picking any faults with this.
Charlie’s Soliloquy
Just because you get the r sound correct does not mean that you automatically have the right accent.
Alahne.
Step One
Okay, this is slightly better. but the “oh” sound in “zero” and “hero” needs to be rounded more.
“Knew” is said like “you” or “stew.” It’s not rhymed with “too.”
“I gaht”. “I got.” They’re different.
Sex Is In The Heel
The first verse is good. Comparable to West End in consistency.
It’s funny that all the ones with this Lola are the best ones.
The guy singing about underpinning the heel has the best accent in the show.
The History of Wrong Guys
I’m used to the West End version, so she has a lot to live up to.
There are bits I’m willing to forgive, for comedic value.
“Naht.” Okay. I’m “naht” forgiving that.
BefoRe? MoRe? Ugh.
BoRe.
“Can’t.” It’s rhymed with “start.”
You’re saying “bom”, not “bum.”
WHY THE HELL WOULD THEY USE “FLAKE” INSTEAD OF “KNOB?” WHY????? THAT’S THE BEST LINE IN THE SHOW!!!! “KNOB” IS SOMETHING YOU’D HEAR. “FLAKE” ISN’T!
“Where you off to?” Couldn’t sound more American if you’d tried.
Not My Father’s Son
And once again, Billy Porter is near flawless.
This is the best I’ve heard the guy who plays Charlie.
Everybody Say Yeah
This isn’t not how I thought it started. Where’s the “Well Boss?” bit?
I’m nervous for this one. Chorus numbers seem to be worse than solos.
This vowel twisting thing does not work all the time.
Rhyme “Son” with “Sun”, please! They’re Midlanders, not Londoners!
Why is the chorus so quiet? They’re on a different level to the leads.
Dance/jumping on conveyor belt break. I can relax.
“Everybodeh?” It has a y at the end!
What A Woman Wants
Not bad... so far.
Okay. It’s official. Don has the best accent in the show. It’s spot fucking on.
In This Corner
Haa HoRse.
Half, in this accent, rhymes with scarf.
I’m not dealing with this anymore. I’m getting bored of spotting the same mistakes again and again.
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eighteleven87 · 3 years
Text
A style all his own: Breaking down my writing style, why I do what I do, and what it all means.
I have a writing style I consider somewhat unique, but it’s not one that is rare or exclusive to me, I wouldn’t dare say. To get a grasp on it, though, I wanted to share a few of the techniques I intentionally employ to make it the way it is, and accomplish with it what I have.
1) Keeping it conversational. I hate sounding hoity toity, and coming across snootish, so I try to “write the way people talk.” It connects me to my audience -- at least, my preferred audience, which is every day, regular people who just want to read something without needing to reach for a dictionary or pull up the thesaurus on their phone every other sentence.
2) An intentional shortness of vocabulary. I won’t even lie about it, I don’t have a huge vocab. I could but I choose not to because that would separate me from that connection I aim to find among my audience. Real people talk a certain way, and therefore reading the way they talk is easier than there being a separate way for each. So I use a lot of the same words, and I refrain from ever using words I don’t think people use all that often in the basis of real-world conversation.
3) And yet, am I ever dense. This is where things get weird with me. As much as I write to establish a general connection, I tend to write A LOT. I don’t know why, and I’m sure just seeing thousands of words on a screen turns of many of the people I aim to capture. But, I don’t really care. If you’re committed to reading something, then you’re going to read it. And if you aren’t, then it wouldn’t matter how long or short it was, you’re just gonna stop in the middle of the third graf anyway. If that.
4) And yet, am I never tense. OK, I did that for the rhyme and the sameness of points three and four, forgive me. But I don’t particularly care about framing all my words in the same tense (past, present, etc.) because that takes away from the free flow of writing I have, and I want my work to be as close to “brain-to-paper” as possible. Plus, again, people when they communicate aren’t just standing still as they consider which tenses they are using while they speak. Regular people tend to mix past and present and future tense fairly often. My writing is a reflection of that, not a dismissal of it.
5) Editing is for the birds. I rarely self-edit. Sometimes I’ll go back and correct a misspelling, or update a reference I had made to the correct reference, but I rarely sit down with my writing after it’s been transferred from my brain to the screen, thinking about how I could improve that which I had just written. You can’t go back and edit the words you speak in conversation; you can only hope they came out right the first time, or apologize for them. I like writing in the raw, as I shall term it. It feels more real, more authentic, and that degree of reality and authenticity doesn’t come across nearly as well if you’re sat there overthinking about everything you had just written.
6) Pack an emotional punch. I like good openers with even better closers. I try to make sure my closers are gut-punches while my openers are good enough. I never want my opener to overshadow my closer, leaving the audience with a feeling of, “That’s it?” I want to hurt people with emotion. I want them to think about what they’d just read. So I often leave on a somber note that inspires kind of a sad feeling among my audience, if only because it’s fun. But also because most people like that sort of thing.
7) References are fine, but limit them, and restrict them. Most people know who Tom Brady is. Or, I don’t know, Sylvester Stallone. A reference or two mixed into one’s writing to paint a better picture for the reader is cool, but I never try to get overly referential as many others do. Nothing says “Look at me” more than a glut of difficult-to-understand references that are also difficult to relate to. It comes across hokey and desperate to establish that connection. Keeping references to a few per page, and only that which you know your audience will understand, is the goal.
8) Don’t take it too seriously. While I take my writing seriously in that I treat it with importance and respect to the overall craft, I also am mindful and aware to the fact that very few people are going to read this. Or anything I produce. Such is the dilemma that isn’t, and that is what affords me the freedom to do as I do, and do as I please. Had I more of an audience, had I awareness that I even had an audience, or if I were writing for somebody else, or for money, then I would do what they wanted, not what I want. But, until then, this is my show.
That’s about it. Eight simple rules not for dating my teenage daughter, but for writing like me. Did I just break rule number 7 by referring to an early-2000s John Ritter sitcom? No, because everybody knows and loves John Ritter, and if you don’t know, then you’re on the wrong side of things here, so. Fix it.
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ireflectaut · 3 years
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Post One
I read several children's books over the last few weeks and picked my two favourites to deep dive into in order to learn as much as I can about why I liked them, what made them effective and what I can take from them to start creating my book.  
Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak is an iconic children's book for ages 3+. Sendak introduces us to a little boy, Max, and takes us through his journey to ‘Where the Wild Things Are’. Max has a fight with him mum for being unruly and wild and is sent to bed without dinner. He is angry and upset and escapes across an ocean to the world of wild things, where he can exert energy and play and be wild freely. Once he has worked through his energy, he realises he wants the comfort of home again and so he returns, across the ocean once more, and finds a peace offering from his mother; hot supper in his bedroom.  
I loved this book as a whole; it has such a beautiful child-like simplicity that is nostalgic and magical to read as an adult. The themes felt thought out, fully realised and relatable, which included Love, forgiveness, childhood anger, independence, and imagination.  
Love: Max leaves out of anger and forgets his home for a while; a home with a loving mother and a dog and a comfy bed, and he gets swept up in another world. Even when you are unconditionally loved, sometimes you need a break and to have space to miss it and realise how beautiful, safe, and important the people that love you are. He realises how necessary that is in being happy; he can survive on his own and have fun, go wild, do what he wants with no rules and regulations, but overall- Max chooses home.
His mother also offers a symbol of love to him, without even exchanging words; she leaves her son a hot homemade supper. This is such a great universally understood motif, that hits home for everyone – excuse the pun. In unconditional love, sometimes you don't have to verbally say you're sorry; the other person knows, because they know who you are and love you no matter what.
Overall, in the arch of the story, Max chooses his mum, and her love over everything else.  
Independence: Max left home because he wanted to, he created a whole world by himself, he became king of the wild things, he tamed them; and then he realised that he didn't want that, he wanted what he had all along. The fact that Max figured all of this out himself is so important to creating such a vivid character; he makes decisions and has character growth because of his exploration of independence.
Childhood anger: Sendak doesn't ignore it, he portrays it in a natural and non-judgemental way. We don't see max apologise for shouting at his mum, and instead he works through his anger by himself on his own terms. Sendak breaks the taboo of anger – it is a normal emotion for both kids and adults, and we need to learn to accept it in order to deal with it. Max literally tames his wild things.
Imagination: Sendak writes about Max’s imaginary world as if it is the obvious truth; he doesn’t say “and then Max imagined...” he says “That very night in Max’s room a forest grew” (Sendak, 1963, p.10)
“And grew -” (Sendak, 1963, p.12)
“And grew until his ceiling hung with vines
And the walls became the world all around” (Sendak, 1963, p.14) Sendak respects the concept of imagination as reality and in doing that creates a vivid and truthful world. Max’s imagination plays a crucial part in working out his anger; he is in a world with no boundaries, no rules, no parental guidance; he can do anything he want, and only with this power could he express his independence and feelings in order to work towards a healthy mental state in which he can happily return home.
Sendak uses a plethora of language techniques to make the book dynamic and beautiful. There is a real rhythm in the way the story is written; it starts off softy in the first two sentences, leads you in, and then amps up the drama suddenly on the third page, like the chorus of a song. Maurice uses similar amounts of words and structure in the sentences on the third page to make a lyrical and fast paced flow.
Language techniques
There is a real rhythm in the way the story is written; it starts off softy in the first two sentences, leads you in, and then amps up the drama suddenly on the third page, like the chorus of a song. Maurice uses similar amounts of words and structure in the sentences on the third page to make a lyrical and fast paced flow; when you lay it out on one page it looks and reads similar to poetry, great poetry; this is where the lyricality comes from. The similar sentence structure carry's you through easily, and the repetition of “And” makes it sing-songy.
A few techniques that Sendak uses that I liked:
“His mother called him “WILD THING!”
And Max said “ILL EAT YOU UP!”” (Thompson, 1957, p.1)
I like that Maurice uses all capitals for the dialogue here, it puts such emphasis and excitement, and makes it more dynamic to look at. It also emphasises Max’s intense energy that obviously can be hard for his mum to deal with. It shadows a reality of angry fights between parents and children- something that almost everyone has experienced and can be extremely hard to work through; we can't blame our parents for being stressed and affected by the intensity of raising children with so many other stresses in their life, and we can’t blame children for being unaware of the strain they are placing, or for expressing themselves.  
“That very night in Max’s room a forest grew” (Thompson, 1957, p.10)
I really like the lack of punctuation; no full stop, no comma after room, it makes it feel very childlike and sure of itself. Maurice has written the story as fact; there's no need for more context either.
Sendak uses alliteration with A sounds consistently, and uses other alliteration throughout, for example  
G:  
“... a forest grew” (Thompson, 1957, p.10)
“and grew” (Thompson, 1957, p.12)
“And grew until his ceiling hung with vines” (Thompson, 1957, p.14)
W:
“...a forest grew
And grew -  
And grew until his ceiling hung with vines
And the walls became the world all around” (Thompson, 1957, p.14) 
And then later:  
“And in and out of weeks
And almost over a year
To where the wild things are” (Thompson, 1957, p.18) 
There are many more examples through the book. He is a beautiful poet; a great skill for writing children's books.
“They roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth” (Thompson, 1957, p.20)
“And rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws” (Thompson, 1957, p.21)
The repetition of terrible makes it fun and easy to read; children or tired parents aren't getting lost in a sea of describing words (although there are plenty in the book, just not an overuse), we don't need four words for terrible, its unnecessary; we get the picture through the other describing words of claws and teeth and eyes and roars. It's not convoluted and still provokes an image, and when paired with the illustration, it's a perfect team.
Then, Max smells dinner for far across the world and wants to go home.
“But the wild things cried, “Oh, please don't go -
We'll eat you up – we love you so!”
And Max said “No!”” (Thompson, 1957, p.34)
The rhyming of go, so, and no is so simple but so effective. It drives the cadence of the page.  
“we’ll eat you up – we love you so!” (Thompson, 1957, p.34) is such a beautiful idea and comes from a letter Maurice got from a child's mother saying that their child ate Maurices letter back to them because they loved it so much. It's such a childlike notion, it's incredibly charming and odd. I like that Sendak isn't afraid to be weird.
“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, 'Dear Jim: I loved your card.' Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, 'Jim loved your card so much he ate it.' That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.” (Sendak, 2012)
“and it was still hot” (Thompson, 1957, p.40) Is the last sentence of the book, a sweet detail about Max’s dinner that his mother left him. This small but beautiful image; a hot meal, provokes many childhood images of my own, and is something that is a universal signal of home and love.  
The things I want to take away from Where the Wild Things Are to incorporate into my book are Sendak’s confidence in writing about themes that aren’t common or are thought of as taboo; themes such as anger in children's books, and the complexities of parent and child relationships, I also love the slightly abstract nature of Sendak’s writing and how he really explores imagination. I am very impressed with how active and assertive Max’s character is; I find that when I write, I can easily fall into having a passive protagonist, so this is something I will definitely work on and learn from.
I want to write my story as poetically as Sendak writes, I think it's a great way to create a rhythm and enjoyable reading experience that doesn’t rely on an abundance of unnecessary words; I think this is an important difference in writing an adult or YA novel and children's books; you need to get your point across concisely and vividly in a lot less words. In making my book poetic I will also use alliteration and make my sentences similar sizes. I also want to have a dynamic visual effect of the words in my book; Sendak uses capitals, and I will investigate other ways to do this too.
BOOK TWO:
Eloise in Paris by Kay Thompson
Eloise in Paris is a longer form book than where the wild things are and is for a slightly older market (aged 7 and up). This is clear from the more varied vocabulary and clear indication that the writer trusted the audience more with figuring out the context of what Eloise was saying and understanding the humour; “I always travel incognito” (Thompson, 1957, p.11) Eloise says with big celebrity sunglasses on. 
Eloise in Paris is about a 6-year-old upper class girl who travels with her mother, nanny and dog to Paris. The book is an exploration of Eloise as a character; written in the 1950’s, Eloise is an unconventional female protagonist for the time; she is boisterous, confident, eccentric and unforgivingly herself.  
I love this book for its incredible depth of character and playful writing techniques. It still feels contemporary and relevant 70 years from its creation, knocking down boundaries of how girls should behave and the idea of the four unit family (mother, father, and two kids) with its unconventional mother / daughter / nanny relationship.
Thompson initially wrote the first book in the franchise for an adult audience, which can explain its uncommon point of reference; the books don't have an obvious lesson or message as most kids books do, we just watch in awe as Eloise moves through the world moulding it to her own wants and needs, having a hell of a time doing it.  
Themes:
Growing up/wanting to be grown up:
Eloise has a strikingly individual point of view; and she seems to know a lot about everything, or at least is so confident that we believe that she can do anything. She mimics the grown-ups in her life, from language to behaviour, saying “And oh my lord” (Thompson, 1957, p.12) and pronouncing rather as “rawther” (Thompson, 1957, p.4). She says things like “well by all means send it up right away”; (Thompson, 1957, p.1) an unusually mature tone with a sense of adult urgency that is rare in children unless mimicking the dialect of adults. 
Unconventional family dynamics:
We don’t hear from Eloises mother almost at all in the whole book, we see her in the illustrations; but Eloise is never actually with her mum, but instead at a different table with her nanny, or watching her with others from afar.
Independence:
Eloise does what she wants, when she wants. If she wants to cross the road at the Arc De Triomphe without a care in the world, she will, and if she wants to loudly explore the hotel by herself in the middle of the night, she will. She is perfectly autonomous, something that many kids don't have and can only fantasise about. The book serves as a fantastic break from the rule abiding reality that many kids exist in.  
Womens liberation:
Eloise was born in the 50’s; a time where women were expected to be pretty and quiet, cook clean and pop out babies. Eloise rebels from the notion of the silent woman; she is funny, clever (she learns french!), charming and self-assured, and she isn't afraid of anything. She is a fantastic role model for children, especially young girls who are still being told to this day that their value is in being passive. I also like that that wasn’t even necessarily a thought over ‘lesson’ or point in the book, or it wasn’t spelled out; Thompson just let Eloise be whoever she wanted to be.
“Life magazine said Eloise was "the most controversial literary heroine of the year. She charms and terrifies like a snake." (Goodman, 2017)  
Language techniques:
Thompson has so much fun playing with the language in this book, and there is an incredibly strong sense of character that we can hear from her careful techniques.  
Onomatopoeia:  
“zibbity zap clink clank”  (Thompson, 1957, p.1)
“zambo sting sting stinger”  (Thompson, 1957, p.7)  
“clink clank pick up that phone” (Thompson, 1957, p.8)
“ne quittez pas and zuk zuk zuk zwhocky zuk zuk swgock zuk zucky zuk zuk zwock nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn” (Thompson, 1957, p.22) 
These are just some examples of the onomatopoeia that Thompson uses in Eloise in Paris. This technique makes reading it so amusing and strange and puts you right into the silly and unembarrassed mind of a child.
Phonetic spelling:
“Nanny is rawther long-sighted” (Thompson, 1957, p. 4), and  “I am rawther photogenic” (Thompson, 1957, p. 80) the use of phonetic spelling to signal accent; this book has a high chance of being read out as well, so this forces the reader to say rather the way Thompson imagines Eloise would say it, making for a more interesting and silly listening experience, also enriching the upper class character of Eloise.
Once Eloise is in Paris she starts saying “Nahnee”(Thompson, 1957, p.19) instead of nanny, which again conjures such a great image in the reader’s head of the slightly snobby and extremely flamboyant Eloise.
Listing:
Listing is a great technique to break up the structure of a text; and in Thompsons case it’s always funny: 
“Here’s what you have to pack if you’re going to Paris France
Mary Jane button hook
Pliers
Consomme container
Hotel kit
Here’s what else you have to take
Everything” (Thompson, 1957, p. 9) 
and a lovely little insight into the details of her world; Mary Jane button hook shoes matched with pliers and a soup container? It's clear that Eloise has big plans, and a million thoughts running through her mind. The lists Eloise writes are though it was written by an eccentric rushing around causing chaos.
Repetition:
“Get out get out get out” (Thompson, 1957, p.11) 
“Regardes which means look look look” (Thompson, 1957, p.14)
The repetition creates a fast paced reading experience, it rushes you through the sentence and throws you onto the next.
What I want to take from Eloise in Paris is the remarkable sense of character that we feel through the language that Thompson used, the silliness and the boundlessness of the capabilities of the character. I love the idea that a child can do anything they want without any real consequences; they should leave the reading journey feeling like they can be whoever they want to be, and achieve whatever they want to achieve.
I loved the engaging elements that make the book fun to read; from listing to onomatopoeia, these techniques are exciting for children to read and make sure that the book isn't boring or one dimensional.
I also want to take inspiration from the craziness of the world around Eloise; yes she is a little girl, but she is not normal in any way. She is unique; just like everybody else. I love the flamboyance of the crazy hotel she lives in, and that she creates mayhem wherever she goes. 
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portfoliosmedia · 4 years
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The 70 best phrases of Canserbero https://ift.tt/35TwfIo
This artist made it clear in his lyrics that a better future is possible.
In this article, we collect the 70 best phrases of Canserbero, a deceased Venezuelan artist and rapper, who composed mostly vindictive songs, social and also romantic.
As we will see, most of these phrases can be found in their letters. Many of them also have a poetic character. They deal with issues of love, oblivion, lack of love, emotions, social demands, death, injustices, religion ...
Who was Canserbero?
phrases of Canserbero
Canserbero was born in Caracas, Venezuela, on March 11, 1988, and died with only 27 years, on January 20, 2015, in Maracay, also Venezuela.
Canserbero was a rapper, composer and Venezuelan activist. Its original name is Tirone José González Orama. Through his lyrics, he composed rap songs of a vindictive and independent nature. His music became famous especially for Latin America and Venezuela.
Without further delay, we will know the best rhymes of this ill-fated artist.
The 70 best phrases of Canserbero
We will see the 70 best phrases of Canserbero, most of them present in their rap songs and in their combative lyrics.
1. I am not a gold coin, they taught me to be honest to believe me when the wolf comes out.
If we lie to those who love us, the day we need to be truly believed they will not.
2. And who does not die, only the one who forgets dies.
The people we forget are those who die, according to him, metaphorically speaking.
3. Love is that gun with which we all shoot at some time.
It alludes to love, which also makes us suffer, like a bullet.
4. Time heals wounds in an obvious way ... although no wound heals without scarring.
They say that time heals everything; Even so, the things that hurt us, even if we forget them or forgive them, mark us and define us forever.
5. We know people when we last see them.
Sometimes in a farewell, many things of the other person appear; many of them, essential things for oneself (or of vital importance).
6. If you don't sweep the shit today, maybe tomorrow you step on it.
Sometimes we must "make clean" with the past, that is, forgive, review, analyze ... to move forward and focus on the present. One of the most remembered phrases of Canserbero.
7. All we need is love
The theme of love is recurring in his songs. He speaks of love as a "salvation," or as the only important thing in life, beyond superficial things.
8. I invite you to dance lady loneliness on the planet. And sorry if the floor, but this heart squeezes me.
Loneliness is present in our lives; in some more than in others, and/or for longer. When we find someone who makes us happy, in a way, we stop being alone.
9. I kissed your feet to be in your tracks.
As a form of compliment.
10. Excuse my rudeness but damn the day when the sensibility came into my life.
It makes a pun, since rudeness and sensitivity are antonyms.
11. We walked without looking for each other although knowing that we were walking to meet.
Talk, in a way, about destiny. That we wander through life "searching", with our actions and without realizing it, to that person who will make us happy, to end up finding her.
12. Heart and body do not speak the same language.
Especially in matters of love, sometimes the heart (emotions) says one thing and what the body wants (physically) is another, and it is not easy to match.
13. I am in those times when drop by drop the mind runs out.
The mind (thoughts) also needs to rest.
14. I think it's time to forget your kisses.
It is a melancholic phrase, as of sorrow; It's not always easy to forget a person. In this sentence, he tells himself that "it is time" to do it.
15. It is Machiavellian to meditate alone where you lived everything with her.
Relationships are not easy, especially when there are third parties, or stories of the past "in between."
16. You are the cause of this feeling that I do not breathe from these cravings for oblivion and at the same time being with you.
Talk about the contradictions of love and heartbreak ... of oblivion and love that is desired at the same time.
17. That is why I no longer believe in my pillow, or in my shadow, that is to say anything. I don't even believe in my old man, if one day I tell you that I believe you, don't believe me that I believe you because I don't believe in my reflection anymore.
He speaks of disbelief, of not trusting us or of our own shadow. Perhaps for having lived negative or disappointing experiences with oneself and others.
18. Thank you for teaching me what to improve and knowing that not everyone should apologize.
We are all imperfect, and we can always improve as people.
19. We laugh and cry, we fall we get up, we enjoy the good, we learn from the bad.
In life, there are moments of everything; laughter, crying, pain ... We must learn to move forward and enjoy the good.
20. Try to save what is worth it, and throw away what is no longer useful, throw it away even if it hurts.
We must get rid of the things that hurt us and that don't let us move forward, and keep the good things.
21. My mind is my worst enemy .. he said to me: I will tell you what a lie is without thinking about the harm it would do to me.
The lies end up damaging in the long run. Of those phrases of Canserbero that make us think.
22. Although I don't believe in love at first sight, I believe in wanting at first night.
Love and passion are recurring themes in his songs.
23. Although I can not want to live without you.
He speaks of love as something not to be needed, but simply to be wanted, loved.
24. If not for those times when I usually breathe I could swear that I don't remember anything.
Also a kind of pun on your songs; Talk about oblivion.
25. And the worst part is that I know so much about you that I could teach intensive classes in your life.
Sometimes we know people so much that we could explain practically all their lives to others; Perhaps here it refers to the pain of knowing someone so much that they have failed us or that they have damaged us.
26. If this is not love then I am crazy for no reason.
Love often makes us seem "crazy," or act irrationally.
27. Let him who does not believe in anyone raise his hand and if no one raises them, I raise it.
Here Canserbero says he doesn't believe in anyone, perhaps because of disappointments.
28. As a paratrooper who forgot the parachute, this love collapsed.
Make a metaphor, and compare the parachute landing with a love that breaks.
29. You should close your eyes to a good smell, and slowly enjoy all good taste.
It focuses on sensations, smell, the enjoyment of a perfume or a smell.
30. I am already disturbed by the injustice that it causes to suffer, but still, I do not ignore the news before sleeping.
It is a claim letter; He speaks of injustices, which although frustrated, must be known and heard.
31. I admit that sometimes I get tired of fighting and would like to sleep to never wake up.
Sometimes the fight tires physically and mentally, so we must also rest and disconnect to gain strength.
32. Something as simple as that I go in you and you go in me as two pieces that fit perfectly.
It speaks of the perfect union between two people who want each other, and who sometimes feel like "one."
33. When I die, throw a pencil in the wooden box and do not let those in life do not want to.
He speaks of his death; He just wants to be visited - or remember, who knows - the people who loved him, not hypocritical people.
34. I am so confused I don't know whether to cry, bother or sit down to think, look for you or just wait.
Talk about mixed feelings, confusion and contradictions.
35. And you believing yourself better for having money.
Money is another thing, does not define or represent anyone. It takes away importance.
36. My eyes are betrayed when I hear his name.
The glances speak, since the eyes are very expressive, and it is difficult to hide from that. A reflection of Canserbero on love.
37. Ants are all just change the anthill.
We are all equal (in rights), even if we come from different places, and live in different places.
38. Please tell me you love me or I won't stop tantrums lying on the floor.
It is a way of saying that "if you leave me, I will be very sad", but in a bit childish words.
39. It is hard for me to think that there is another living being worth giving my heartbeat to.
Talk about the disappointment that people can produce; Surrender to someone to end up hurting.
40. Females like them were born to inspire wars.
Talk about the strength of women.
41. A kiss and a caress goodbye routine and thinks that if I leave you you will take his life.
The small acts of love from day to day, are what make us have illusion.
42. I am sincere so I don't want to, true things are said lightly even if they are hurt, life goes as it arrives.
It encourages sincerity and talks about its importance although it sometimes hurts.
43. We care about stupidities and forget that when we die we only carry what we enjoy.
It's another way of saying: Carpe Diem! Enjoy the moment! Well, life is short.
44. Well, my only defense is to explain this misunderstanding, give me another chance and I swear you'll want to grow old with me.
Another phrase with rhyme; Here he asks for another opportunity to explain the things that may have affected the relationship and explains his desire to continue.
43. I will not tell you that I believe that I will die without you, because I do not believe... I know that I am a warrior.
In this sentence, he speaks of the suffering generated by heartbreak, but of the forces, we draw to pull forward.
44. If with everything you have you are not happy, with everything you lack either.
Happiness is not having everything, nor wishing to have everything; It is to be happy with what you have.
45. I felt like butterflies what I know today are worms.
Sometimes emotions confuse us, or we realize things long after living them.
46. ​​Hate is sometimes so much that I hide it with a smile.
Hate, like another emotion, does not always hide where we usually think, but can be camouflaged in other gestures.
47. I feel like a madman trying to still trust someone on the planet of hypocrisy.
Another social claim; He talks about the hypocrisy of society and how difficult it is to trust someone.
48. All the evil in the world is in a man who beats to death with another. Where is all the goodness?
Here he indirectly refers to wars and the evil of the people who perpetrate them.
49. I do not know if there is a God but if I exist I am almost certain that he is not a great tiger with mane but rather that voice that most of us ignore and listen when we get into trouble.
He speaks of God as a voice that "guides" us and we turn to when we have a problem.
50. After all, death is so sure of winning. That advantage gives you a life.
A singing to life; It is a way of saying: "Let us live, since we die surely we die."
51. After all, being happy is what I must demand from you; If you are already happy without me I cannot contradict you.
Here Canserbero expresses that what matters is that the other is happy, and that if he is without us we cannot recriminate him anything.
52. Hopefully, those who always lie drown ... and once in hell, they burn forever.
Talk, in a way, about revenge. From wishing evil to people who have done evil.
53. I lack the air and the heart tucún, tucún, tucún. Today blood is going to run, I know where that one moves… Today I am going to become a criminal, I don't believe in anyone anymore. Unless I become a dead man. Today I will avenge my brother, as I swore to my father.
He speaks of revenge, of "social justice", of a harsh reality he lived ... You can tell he feels frustrated and angry.
54. There is only one thing in you that I admire: and that is how being so two faces, you can sleep so quietly.
He talks about hypocrisy and lies, and how sometimes people have two faces and hide it very well (or it seems that they are not affected by the damage they can cause).
55. I hate when this happens, having a dream and feeling that it was true even when you are already awake.
Sometimes we dream things that we want very strongly that are true; However, when we wake up, we are disappointed with reality.
56. God cannot duplicate what I think when I observe you because more than once I cannot enter hell.
It is another pun, it speaks of God and hell, and of a person ... Perhaps it refers to someone who has caused him harm, because he is in hell.
57. It is not a solution to give education to the poor if you give them a poor education.
This phrase reflects on the importance of education being a quality education, not just "education."
58. As time goes by, youth is over and you don't notice it until you lose half of your life without feeling the simple and special things. Like your people you hugged only at Christmas.
Talk about the "carpe diem", to seize the moments, because life goes by so fast and we don't realize it.
59. My arm tells me that love will take me away but hate taught me to be a lynx and not a fool.
Talk about innocence and mischief; love often makes us "innocent" and vulnerable, but when we live painful experiences we learn not to trust anyone.
60. Trusting who you love does not know if it is virtue or defect, even more knowing that nothing is eternal or perfect.
Talk about love, which can sometimes hurt because it can end.
61. And they believe that speaking straw they will silence a movement called sincerity, reality, truth or whatever they want or shooting at me they can make my voice die.
Canserbero claims to sing, saying that he will never shut up and that he will always say what he thinks, denouncing the injustices.
62. I would like to be less complicated and more understood, that the public understands more clearly what I write and say.
Here Canserbero talks about the desire for others to understand his lyrics and songs.
63. You should never let a comment complicate you because even improving the world someone will have to criticize you.
They will always criticize us, whatever we do. So we better do what we are born and what we want.
64. Today I just want to think about things that make me laugh yes. May they make me happy. Stop looking at gray clouds that you will wallow. Root all unhappy memories.
Talk about being happy, focus on the good things, enjoy.
65. It was perfect, as if it were a story. I could even create a defect, in case the perfect thing scared me. The fact is that for a moment I entered into reason and I was not dreaming, I was making love to you.
It is a quite poetic and rhythmic phrase; It explains what it is like to make love with a certain person. He talks about his feelings, about having the feeling that everything is perfect, about being a dream.
66. Never say "forever", "forever" or "forever" if whenever I turn around you stop being transparent.
Talk about hypocrisy, lies, and deception, very common in people, especially in love and relationship issues. Ask them to be honest with him.
67. We live training to make money or studying things that sometimes we don't even want, sculpting our bodies to be good and good because we know that to see hearts all are blind.
It is a phrase of vindication and social criticism. It speaks of what they instill in us, of what we reproduce as a society and of what we "pursue", sometimes without even wishing it.
68. I live in fear of doing the right thing with the wrong person or doing the wrong thing with the right person.
It is not easy to agree: do the "right thing" with the right person. Sometimes we only get one of the two things.
69. I want to see you shine like the star that made us leave a trace in this vast abstract universe.
It is another pun; Talk about the universe and the impact of a person through rhymes.
70. And if we die and go to heaven, I will escape hell and make love to you in a cloud in honor of our memories.
Many of Canserbero's phrases, like this one, are poetic; Talk about death, love, and memories.
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