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unniekiwi · 1 year

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Itto and male reader who is a yukionna yokai (ice demon) who seeks warmth from itto and just hug him randomly

𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝖨𝗆𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗍. 𝖨𝗍𝗍𝗈 𝗑 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝖾! 𝖱𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖱𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖧𝗎𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖧𝗂𝗆 𝖱𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗆𝗅𝗒.

THIS REQUEST WAS SO CUTE! I WAS SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS! I hope you enjoy it!

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ꒱࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ

You and Itto have known each other since you were little, so you live together, sometimes it gets messy but… you get out of everything, right? Itto is a cheerful and extroverted oni, always talking and giving affection to everyone. You, on the other hand, are more introverted and not a big fan of affection. He talks a lot, but when he talks a lot, he talks way too much. You only talk the necessary, but with your favorite Oni you talk more.

Let's say Itto is the sun and you are the moon, that's how everyone describes the two of you, the Sun Oni and the Moon Oni. Itto always shows a smile, a day smiles and laughs a thousand times, you only smile hopefully once a day. But he is always the one who makes you smile, you also smile when he takes you to the forest and you see nature and its night splendor.

Even though you have improved a lot, because before you were afraid to talk to humans since they hated you since forever. But Itto was there to give you the push. In fact, if you go out for a walk (other than in the woods) around town, you go out with him, if Itto doesn't accompany you, you don't go out.

From all the times you have gone out with him you have noticed how warm he is, not only because of his personality that makes anyone feel important, as he is very attentive to people, but also because of his body temperature. It's probably because of how much he moves and how nervous he gets when he sees that he is going to be beaten in onikabuto fights. But if you just get a little close to him, it's like having a stove. Many times you have felt like hugging him, but it goes so against your personality and pride that pulls you back.

There have been so many times when you have wanted to give him a hug, and Itto notices it. He senses your dubious look and your lips in a line, he always jokes that you think "AH, how Awesome is Itto, My MejoR aMigO!". But you just roll your eyes with a little smile and tell him how stupid he is. Until one day, Itto came running up to you, as you had arranged to go for a walk in the forest.

-[Name]! - He stopped dead in his tracks with his hands on his knees, looked you in the eye for a moment. - No, I wasn't running away from anyone. How could you think so badly about me? - Itto laughed and ran his hand through his hair, you just stared at him intently with your hands tucked into the sleeves of your kimono. - Look, come here. I'll show you something. - He grabbed you by one sleeve to move you with him. He took you deep into your favorite forest, Chinju. - Tatatatachannnn. - Itto pulled out a bracelet made by himself from his pocket. Your eyes widened slightly. You didn't know what to say. Itto was already tying the bracelet on your wrist, you looked at his wrists and he had one just like it. When he finished, Itto smiled at you and continued walking until he sat down in your favorite place, on the riverside. You stared at him from where you were.

-Itto. - His head turned with a small smile as he was looking at your bracelet with a smile. - Thank you. - You went to Itto's side and sat down next to him. You spent the night talking about many things, there were times when you were silent. Itto in your moments of silence watches you, you smile with your eyes closed and then you always caress the grass looking around you.

The next morning you woke up early to make a special meal for Itto, you spent the whole night thinking about what to make him for breakfast, since Itto doesn't care what you put on it he will eat it, you put ramen, etc… and nothing more and nothing less than candy lollipops, his favorite. You also bought limited edition cards, so he can use them in those games he spends all day playing (chill, he's not a gambler). When Itto got up from the amazing smell of food, you hugged him as he appeared through the door scratching his eyes. Finally. Itto's eyes widened, he was surprised, finally, you hugged him. This was one of his biggest dreams, his face filled with tears of joy and a wide smile formed. He hugged you and moved you from side to side.

-Are you crying? - you asked in his arms.

-No, it's just that the smoke from the food is hurting my eyes. Wait. You made all this food for me?! [Name]! - Itto cried again, he was so happy, no one had ever done anything like that for him. Wow, and when he saw the unlimited cards? He cried again and hugged you again.

#genshin headcanons #genshin x reader #genshin impact itto #genshin impact #arataki itto #itto x reader #itto x y/n #itto my beloved #cute headcanons #cute genshin

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edupunkn00b · 6 months

Text

Meus ex Machina, Ch. 3: Alone

Edited public domain image of two hands reaching for each other, lit in deep blue and neon green.

Prev - Alone - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan is left alone in the Mad Lads HQ when the team leaves to battle Hesper. But first a peek at three years after they purchased the old Louisa May Alcott museum… -

2093, Concord, MA, USA

“When will they ever stop? When we teach them a lesson?”

Patton’s hot chocolate rattled against the pair of teacups set on either side of it, the force of the hand slapping the table shaking even the pictures on the wall. “Now, Kiddo,” Patton inhaled, exaggerating the movement and giving the pair a gentle smile. Let’s all take a—“

“No! I will not take a breath! And I will not calm down and wait for the Powerless running the government to follow the arc of progress or whatever pacifying bullshit—“

“Language!”

“Papa Bear, it’s alright…” Patton's oldest friend's voice was soft, soothing. He brushed his hand, pacifying or calming, it almost didn't matter at this moment. They couldn't all be frothing at the mouth. “Let him get it out.”

“This isn’t simply some phase I will get past!” He growled, jerking away from the other two. “We’ve been trying things your way for three years now and look where we are!” Arms flung out at his sides, he looked around their newly finished HQ. “We have to hide away behind a forest laced in tripwire because the only thing the Powerless know how to do is hate.”

He stood, shaking his head as he stared at the vidscreen, the latest atrocity playing out in full spectrum splendor. “Maybe it’s time we used our powers for real change and made them stop.”

2105 New Boston, MA, USA

The spiral stairs closed up the moment Silvertongue’s head cleared the opening and Logan was left alone in the cavernous main room. The orange warning lights slowly faded away, returning the room to its earlier almost sunny glow. After scanning the walls for any sign of the cameras he was certain would be active, he gave up. Perhaps Silvertongue might show him where they were. Or maybe even Patton.

He shuddered at the memory of that soft, teddy bear of a man with his hand raised, admitting he’d at least attempted to kill someone.

Who the fuck are you to judge, Sanders? You nearly slaughtered thousands.

Rising to his feet, he walked the perimeter of the room, moving the mech carefully between the wall and the high-backed sofa, then again, sidling past the large table. He peered down the hallways at either end of the room and through the doorway that led to a room filled with computer screens and what looked like several medbeds. Advanced, far more advanced than Logan had even seen at the research center at the University.

White hot fire sizzled through his veins at the thought of his old school, burning away to a dusty, empty ash. His degree was his hope, his path out of the life his genetic lottery loss had cursed him with. Sagging in his suit, he tried to maneuver his way through the just-slightly-too narrow doorway but all he managed to do was nearly trap himself under the lip of the door.

Fuck if that wasn’t the way he wanted to be found when the super hero league showed up again.

Next he tried the hallways and, while they were wide enough, the ceiling dropped significantly in both directions. He would need to stoop-shuffle his way at least fifteen meters, with no way of knowing if there’d ever be room enough to stand. It didn’t matter if the elevators would fit his suit if he couldn’t get his suit to the elevators.

Unless he planned to live in the front room, he was going to need his chair to get around the base.

You’re talking like you’re planning to stay.

He’d left the chair next to the big doorway. Stepping carefully, he approached the panel Silvertongue had shown him and freed his hand from the mech’s cavity. He told himself he was only testing the lock but when the door whooshed open, phantom muscles ached to run and leap outside. To pound against the grass and not look back.

Where would he go? Wanted by Abracadabra, wanted by the University. Unwanted anywhere else. Except… He looked around the room, the plate of chocolate chip cookies still sitting on the table. Unwanted anywhere else except here. The overgrown grass outside was still trampled from their path through the woods. Silvertongue had hiked six miles each way to fetch him.

Maybe it was worth finding out why.

He tapped the panel again and watched the door whoosh back down, hiding away the rest of the world, then he put his arm back in the mech and opened up his chair.

In his rush to get out of the suit, Logan had forgotten to crouch before beginning to climb out of the cavity. He only remembered once he’d completely extricated himself from the machine and hung from the mech’s clavicle. He panicked and his arm seized, fingers spasming into a useless claw before losing his grip and he fell to the mech’s feet with a thud.

Pain shot through his head and his back and he looked up from the floor just in time to see his suit tilt toward him. The piercing wail of the Abracadabra DC’s alarm system filled his ears and he cried out, covering his head with his remaining arm.

But the Picker Bot just kept coming, looming over him, hands at the ready to tear and fold him into packing totes. Cold, heavy durasteel grazed his scarred head before the bot froze with a tooth-rattling clang.

When the bot remained still, , Logan uncovered his eyes and saw he was… safe. He’d managed to stay tucked in a tiny triangle of space between the bottom of the door and his mech, its shoulders pinned against the wall above. Shaking, he lay there for an unconscionably long time until he thought he could breathe. His back and his side ached, and his head throbbed. He reached up, tentatively tapping the growing lump at the back of his head. His hand came away wet.

Careful not to bump the mech and knock it out of its precarious position, he squirmed out from his pocket of safety and dragged himself over to his chair. He’d opened it up often enough on his own to be able to manage. He just… he hadn’t been quite so tired the last time he’d done it. By the time he’d wrangled the thing open, his face was drenched with sweat and he’d pinched two fingers in the folding mechanism.

Panting, he leaned against the open chair for a few minutes before pulling his way up and into the seat. Grateful for his remote mech controller, he set the device in his lap and slowly, slowly, slowly shuffled its feet forward until it stood properly. The battery was running low, but he managed to get it into a corner and down in a crouch, facing outward, to make it easier to climb into later.

The humiliation of having to ask one of the Fantabulous Four for help getting back into his mech was too much to even consider as an option.

When his breathing had finally slowed to a more measured pace, he turned his chair around and headed to the room with the medbeds. With any luck he could find some gauze or a wash kit or something for his head. The bleeding had stopped, but it had left his hair matted and gross. There wasn’t much to be done about his shirt, but it was likely none of them would even look closely enough at him to notice the dried blood at the back of his collar.

He puttered around the room but the space had been built for giants. Even Ultraviolet, the shortest of the Powered group, was at least a half a foot taller than Logan when he’d had his legs. In a chair, the equipment and shelves along the walls were hopeless out of reach. He scavenged what he could from the drawers below the sink and underneath the medbeds, finding a box of gauze pads and rubbing alcohol. Fortunately, he could reach the faucet itself, and the sensors actually registered his presence, instead of seeking out a face-shaped object at ‘eye-level.’

By the time he was done cleaning the gash at the back of his head, Logan was exhausted and cold, his now clean but wet hair dripping down the back of his neck. He’d lost track of exactly when they’d left, but he wasn’t sure how much more time he would have. Hunger called to him and he snagged his unfinished cup and three—three!—cookies from the common room. He ate one and wrapped the other two into a napkin for later. There wasn’t much else to do but pick a hallway and explore.

He finished his drink and tucked the cup between his thigh and the chair and rolled to the left. The corridor was long but wide, and his chair easily fit through, with enough space for someone to even walk alongside him. Doors dotted the hall, each closed, with a rectangular panel to the right of each. He touched the first one as he passed and the door slid open revealing stacks of linens and towels. The door opposite it held an assortment of electrical panels and switches, some sort of breaker room.

If the rows and rows of circuit breakers were all still active, the Powered’s facility was huge. Several banks were labeled with what one might expect, first floor lights, kitchen appliances… Three sections were marked as ‘med bay,’ and ‘computers.’ And one entire bank simply said ‘SECURITY! DON’T TOUCH! —V’

The entire left-hand panel was covered with red switches, each covered in a little plastic bubble in what Logan could only guess was an attempt to prevent accidental changes. Tiny LEDs blinked beside each switch, and additional wires ran out from the top of the panel and into an old-fashioned analog alarm bell drilled into the top of the cabinet.

Whatever the hell that controlled had to be important.

Logan let the door close and began to roll away, but returned to the linen closet when he shivered again. Palming it open, he pulled out two thick towels. One he draped over his shoulders to absorb some of the water from his drippy hair, the other he partially unfolded and lay over his lap like a blanket.

He rolled further down the hall. The next door opened into a fitness center with impossibly large free weights and exercise machines, tumbling mats and bars. Despite the modern equipment, the sunshine streaming in through giant windows, the whole place was entirely too reminiscent of his physical therapy room back at the hospital.

When he was still struggling to regain his speech, the ‘therapists’ had simply talked over him like a piece of furniture, moving his arm and what was left of his thighs and left shoulder like some ragdoll. At least when the director was watching. When she wasn’t, they’d let him sit in his hospital wheelchair for the requisite hour and a half, waiting for an orderly to bring him back to his room.

Logan let the door close and moved on.

The final door didn’t lead to a door at all, but instead an elevator. ‘True to Janus' word, his chair fit nicely and, if he’d manage to find a way to get his mech suit to fit down the corridor, it would fit inside the metal and glass cage as well.

He rolled inside and turned around. Instead of a bank of buttons, there was simply another rectangular panel. Shrugging, Logan pressed his palm against it and the wall lit up with options. None were numbered, simply listing destinations. Giddy with choice, Logan read each one aloud. “Roof garden, observatory, swimming pool, tech lab, library…”

Well, all were labeled as destinations except for ‘Basement.’

Confident no-one would wonder what he might want with a visit to any of the other locations, Logan decidedly tapped Basement and held on as the elevator zoomed down, his stomach left somewhere in his throat, lights zipped past the glass compartment until, at last, the elevator stopped with a dull thud and the doors opened.

Hallway lights flickered to life as he rolled out, but there was no hum of electricity and, when he looked closer, the lights appeared chemical, illumination flowing and swirling brighter, following his path like those old-fashioned glow sticks he’d read about as a kid.

The corridor was much narrower here, still wide enough for his chair but certainly not wide enough for his mech. Without the hum of electricity, it was quiet, the ever-present whine of his own wheelchair’s motor almost deafening as it echoed against stone walls. The mortar between the stones was old, and Logan guessed it might have been part of the original house that had once stood in the place. Or he would have, had that strange elevator ride not taken him as deep as he suspected.

The first door he encountered opened to a small closet filled with bedding, cleaning supplies, and an enormous first aid kit. Besides the elevator, there was only one other door in the corridor, all the way at the end. A bit of light spilled out from a square window set in the door.

And something was moving on it.

He rolled closer, still too far away to clearly see. Logan was still several feet away when something pounded against the door, rattling the window. He stopped his chair.

“Jannie?” a muffled voice called, scared, wavering. “Jannie! Is that you? No… Jannie? You said you’d come!”

Logan froze, afraid to breathe.

“Jannie? That’s not you. Where are you? I hear you, not you. Always not you. Just that one time, well sometimes. It’s so hard to tell the difference between your whispers and your visits, but there was that one time…” The man’s voice started babbling, the banging growing louder and faster. “Jannie! Jannie jannie jannie jannie jannie jannie…”

The banging matched the tempo of his words, each growing louder and more insistent.

“Jannie!” The voice bellowed and Logan rolled backwards, the narrow corridor without affordance to turn around properly. “Jannie! Jannie! Please! Why don’t you come back?” He rolled so fast he passed the elevator, slapping his hand against the panel. The door opened immediately and he rolled inside, the haunting voice echoing down the corridor.

“Come on, please,” he whispered to the deaf device, slamming his hand on the elevator controls and hitting ‘Medbay.’ “Please close, please close, please close…”

“Jannie…” One last, pitiful cry pierced through his chest as the elevator door slid closed and the compartment shot up to the main level. Logan rolled out of the elevator and into the hall, bumping into the far wall. His hand shook too much to properly control his chair and tears poured down his cheeks.

Who the hell had they imprisoned down there?

And was he next?

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instruth · 11 months

Text

Today is the sixth anniversary of my first poetry book, Poetry By Experience. I have taken three rather long poems from my book (collectively titled, A Trilogy of Poems, Parts 1, 2 and 3), and put them into one poem. It is now a really long poem. I have decided to post them for poetry lovers and for my fans from various poetry groups, to share my joy on the sixth anniversary of my book - edited, and neatly re-compiled into one poetic story.

I hope you like it. It’s entitled:

REMNANT MEMORIES OF HOME

(An Anniversary Re-compilation)

FAIR LAND of glory loveliest song of morn

Smiling parks red roses set among thorns

Eager are the pigtailed gals busy to pick

Gallant swains fall in line ready quick

Gay day begins with a cheerful visit

Butterflies flapping floating in their flit

Love songs from the robins for one and all

Joy of my youth ever pleasing as I recall

Blooms linger when seasons cause delay

Young hearts get patient to wait and stay

Innocence and ease enrich my simple life

Nature overrides all hardship and strife

Simple folks endear in humble happiness

My daily loitering brings surplus gladness

Pausing to admire the glory of dawn

Watching the deer with her little fawn

Grazing on tapestry green by the slope

While bees and grasshoppers shyly elope

I dream of the maiden I secretly love

Like cooing doves wooing in their cove

Crossing quiet brook to watch her charm

Yonder fence lies her cultivated rainbow farm

I bless the approaching brilliance of day

When all around me freely lend a play

Contentment fills my soul cheers my heart

A pastime frolicking joyfully never to part

Simple pleasures and joys in sweet succession come

Dancing pairs bring sweet memories for dreams at home

Restful sleep follows in peace when the day is done

Alas! These lovely charms are past and gone.

FOR greed has turned thy greens to yellow

No encore, no cheer, from grass to fellow

To the north, a new field, thy children flee

From the womb of Mother Earth set free

Freedom stings not numbing thy pain

New owners destroying thy smiling plain

Thy glassy brooks no longer reflect

Mossy paths mirroring a land neglect

Fallen leaves of nests for charging ants

Echoing the loud cry of thy poor vagrants

Wealth accumulates as thy land decays

Dry wind carries its stink day after day

Peasantry once gay now in great despair

Humbled down to breathe its own foul air

Times have altered thy once fair train

Rolling swiftly to dispossess thy grain

Thy packed lawn of fond cheering crowd

Empty, without the sportsmen’s shout

Devoid of the clapping scene of delights

The polo ponies run their winning flights

Looking across the sea on its weary shore

Generous provisions shall come no more

Bitter sweet is the sense of dreaded hour

To face the tyrant in his rigorous power

Covering the solitary rounds in wandering

Hopping along rugged paths, staggering

Awakened memories roam thy present ruins again

Capture my heart but changing to the past in vain

In all my loiterings on thy plains, O Mother Care

I now see the gifts of griefs I have to bear

Give me hope in one Almighty I can trust

Not to reason, only doing thy will I must

That I may come home to write my story

Around a fireplace to tell all its history

What I have seen, learned or knew,

Willingly to be buried, reborn in you

POVERTY drives us to a different shore

With a promise for hope that there is more

Is this a greener pasture, a new found joy?

Not a splendor but a treacherous decoy

Groups cramped in pigeon holes on a stand

Large families packed in a home without a land

Hoisted home up in the sky swiftly built

No warm blankets just share a family quilt

Good Heavens! Greater sorrow newly imposed

Hard labour! Native walks no chance to be proposed

O Fair Land, why hast thou caused us to leave

To this distant shore unknown, far more aggrieved?

Do thou, o sweet Mother, weep in vain

Thine fair tribes now add on to thy pain?

Thine children knock at doors for bread

Chilling bones in hunger desperation led

Good neighbors forced to sell their daughters

Not through any faults of theirs that they should falter

Bless me - why, had we brothers any sister

Our decision would not have been better

Painful to watch sweet little girls in tears

Pretty innocents in their helpless years

I weep as I watch them in their charms

Shaking wildly in their fathers' arms

Grieving mothers kiss their mindless babes

Strike their breasts looking skyward sadly in gapes

I see the fairies and nymphs degraded

In my dreams I see my heaven has faded

These are the hard truth in times of shame

Best to forget, needless to share, no one to blame

In the city their statesmen talk as their ale goes round

Laughing, cheering with haughty looks profound

Such luxury migrants can ill afford

Even simple pleasures dismiss accord

Wealthy men arrive from world around

Suits and hats stunning ladies surround

A wanton wealth designed in tempting display

Painful truth in my mind I mindlessly survey

For I am sickened by this man-made pleasure

Toiling in the distrusting hearts of false leisure

Accumulated wealth stored in pride

Buy a lass to play as an obedient bride

Repossess the cuddly space of the poor

For their horses, hounds and more

Lawful acquisition to rob the timid folks

Stealing their meals of oats and yolks

Dressing up their females well adorned

To reign secured while simple folks mourn

Statesmen to their sons divide the wealth acquired

To their siblings, wives, married relatives

as required.

Beating my chest in sweet memory

recall

In senses with unfailing truth reveal it all

Oh past the plain the surging joy prevail

That which I have loved can never fail

That broken teacups I have taken with me

Stirs my will daily sipping my humble tea

No tales no news from barbers or farmers

It's fine - all return at meals as we gather

No theatre, no ballad, no talent time

Everything comes handy in sublime

Make our own feathered balls and stuff

Marbles rolling, guessing games and bluff

Obscure yet it sinks deep in our souls and hearts

Those simple treasures, everlasting will not part

My vacant mind frolicking in the pond

Caress my soul, my spirit neatly bond

Contented on my stool writing my poetry

Pass my time in imagined peasantry

Raise my native strength for greater gain

Instead of indulging in pitiful afflicted pain

Plant my seeds, pull out the weeds annoy

With compliments from God, my daily joy.

©Johnny J P Lee

25 May 2023

#poetryportal #writerscreeds #inkstainsandheartbeats #bitsofstarglow #poeticstories #spilledwords #writingthestorm #poetscommunity

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byneddiedingo · 1 year

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Warren Beatty and Natalie Wood in Splendor in the Grass (Elia Kazan, 1961)

Cast: Warren Beatty, Natalie Wood, Pat Hingle, Audrey Christie, Barbara Loden, Sohra Lampert, Fred Stewart, Joanna Roos, John McGovern, Sandy Dennis, Phyllis Diller. Screenplay: William Inge. Cinematography: Boris Kaufman. Production design: Richard Sylbert. Film editing: Gene Milford. Music: David Amram.

This overheated melodrama, released the year after the introduction of the Pill, could almost be a valedictory to the 1950s. Deanie Loomis (Natalie Wood) and Bud Stamper (Warren Beatty) are two hormone-drenched Kansas teenagers in 1928 -- though the attitudes toward sex were still prevalent thirty years later -- unable to find an outlet for the passions they are told they should repress. He is under the sway of a bullying, motormouthed father (Pat Hingle in an over-the-top performance that's alternately frightening and ludicrous), while she has a frigid, convention-ridden mother (Audrey Christie). She goes mad and is sent to a mental hospital. He goes to Yale and flunks out. Such are the consequences of not having sex. The truth is, Splendor in the Grass is not quite as silly as this summary makes it sound. Kazan's direction is, as so often, actor-centered rather than cinematic: The performances of the four actors mentioned give it a lot of energy that at least momentarily overrides any reservations you might have about the psychological plausibility of William Inge's screenplay, which won an Oscar. There's also Barbara Loden as Bud's wild flapper sister, and Zohra Lampert as the earthy Italian woman Bud winds up marrying. In the end, the movie becomes almost a documentary of a moment in American filmmaking, when censorship was beginning to lose ground, and things previously unmentionable, like abortion, became at least somewhat tolerated. The film itself could almost serve as an indictment of the attitudes that produced the Production Code, which hamstrung American movies from 1934 to 1968. What distinction the movie has other than as a showcase for performances comes from Boris Kaufman's cinematography, Richard Sylbert's production design, and Gene Milford's editing.

#Splendor in the Grass #Elia Kazan #Warren Beatty #Natalie Wood

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amitapaul · 11 days

Text

29/18

#24GloNaPoWriMo #amitasinfinity

18/4/24

Format Final

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#24GloPoWriMo

Prompt Dated : 2024 April 18

Response No : 1

Poem No: 18

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Prompt : Write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else, and explains why.

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Featured Poem :

Today’s featured participant is Cutting Hail, who brings us a dreamy, gentle poem in response to Day 17’s musical prompt.

Cutting Hail

a day ago edited

Splendor in the grass

In the morning, I will enjoy

the snoring of sleepy bees

resting in the pansies,

the ants tiptoeing

on the blades of grass,

the slow car in the distance

caressing the asphalt.

We’re used to rest our heads

upon the grass

and listen to it grow.

At home,

the beat of the fly

trying to surpass the man made glass,

the soothing hand of the child

opening the window,

the siren call

of a Teams call

you will put on hold,

your cavalier king charles

snoring on your chin.

At night,

the song of stars

reflects your presence,

reflects the reflection

of our hidden suns,

the leaves hug the trees

in the soft summer wind,

the daydream cosmos

dance to the melody

of the stream.

I think I am going back to the morning,

if you’d like to come along.

(This might be a bit rushed, but I had fun looking at the garden and letting the imagination go guided by the sound of this song).

****

Splendor in the grass

( Pink Martini )

I can see you're thinking baby

I've been thinking too

about the way we used to be

and how to star a new

Maybe I'm a hopeless dreamer

maybe I've got it wrong

but i'm going where the grass is green

if you like to come along

Back when i was starting out

I always wanted more

but every time I got it

I still felt just like before

Fortune is a fickle friend

I'm tired of chasing fate

and when I look into your eyes

I know you feel the same

All these years of living large

are starting to do a sin

I wont say it wasn't fun

but now it has to end

Life is moving oh so fast

I think we should take it slow

rest our heads upon the grass

and listen to it grow

Going where the hills are green

and the cars are few and far

days are full of splendor

and at night you can see the stars

Life's been moving oh so fast

I think we should take it slow

rest our heads upon the grass

and listen to it grow

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Poetry Resource :

Our resource for the day is the Best American Poetry blog, where you’ll find new and old poems, close readings, and essays/reviews not just of poetry, but dance, art, and more.

April 17, 2024

"October 1999" by Bruce Beaver [Introduced by Thomas Moody]

Bruce Beaver (1928-2004) has been called one of Australia’s “least known great poets” by Dorothy Porter and a “poet’s poet” by Timothy Schapcott. The two epithets reference the same quality: that of a poet who was underappreciated by the wider reading public but whose importance to contemporary Australian poetry has never been questioned by those readers who, perhaps, matter most: poets themselves.

Beaver published thirteen collections of poetry over the course of his life, winning almost every major Australian literary award. His fourth book of poems, Letters to Live Poets (1969), was a seminal collection, groundbreaking in both its form and style. Beaver’s conversational, epistolary voice, at once personal and worldly, was entirely new for Australian poetry. As Schapcott writes,”Nothing like this had been written in Australia before.”

Bruce Beaver was central to Australian poetry’s development towards more expansive horizons as both a poet and mentor. He was one of the original board members in 1964 of the highly influential journal Poetry Australia, which, with its embrace of international movements and openness to experimentation, was at the vanguard of poetry in Australia for over a decade. Throughout his life, Beaver’s apartment in the beachside Sydney suburb of Manly, which he shared with his wife and was built on the ruins of his childhood home, was a welcoming meeting place for younger writers and poets. Despite his waning health in his later years, Beaver continued to publish his poetry, with his final collection, aptly titled The Long Game and Other Poems (2005), sent to his publisher, University of Queensland Press, just before his death.

October 1999

Got my gal, got my Lord, got my song

Gershwin, Gershwin, Heyward

It’s come! Spring’s second month with

hot and cold days and the last

October in two thousand years.

This time the fin de siecle’s

crazier than even the frogs

could imagine, even though they

invented nutty ends of centuries.

This time more bombs, earthquakes,

floods, droughts, gun-murders as well as

more pink and white blossoms

in the perfectly sane streets, full

of not-so-sane human beings.

But most of them are in love, including

me because we’re still alive

enough and the weather’s warming up.

It’s like the Old Testament: great poetry,

lousy theology and a God –

damned God –

MmStill there’s the Lord

to come in the New Millennium and this new

Spring. Blossoms and bombs. Every

Spring’s mad with love and wars,

babies aand murderers. And if you think I’m

not going to keep on chanting about

it, you’re nuttier than the century’s end.

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Prompt :

And now for our (optional) prompt! Today, we’d like to challenge you to write a poem in which the speaker expresses the desire to be someone or something else, and explains why. Two possible models for you: Natasha Rao’s “In my next life let me be a tomato,” and Randall Jarrell’s “The Woman at the Washington Zoo.”

In my next life let me be a tomato

BY NATASHA RAO

lusting and unafraid. In this bipedal incarnation

I have always been scared of my own ripening,

mother standing outside the fitting room door.

I only become bright after Bloody Mary’s, only whole

in New Jersey summers where beefsteaks, like baubles,

sag in the yard, where we pass down heirlooms

in thin paper envelopes and I tend barefoot to a garden

that snakes with desire, unashamed to coil and spread.

Cherry Falls, Brandywine, Sweet Aperitif, I kneel

with a spool, staking and tying, checking each morning

after last night’s thunderstorm only to find more

sprawl, the tomatoes have no fear of wind and water,

they gain power from the lightning, while I, in this version

of life, retreat in bed to wither. In this life, rabbits

are afraid of my clumsy gait. In the next, let them come

willingly to nibble my lowest limbs, my outstretched

arm always offering something sweet. I want to return

from reincarnation’s spin covered in dirt and

buds. I want to be unabashed, audacious, to gobble

space, to blush deeper each day in the sun, knowing

I’ll end up in an eager mouth. An overly ripe tomato

will begin sprouting, so excited it is for more life,

so intent to be part of this world, trellising wildly.

For every time in this life I have thought of dying, let me

yield that much fruit in my next, skeleton drooping

under the weight of my own vivacity as I spread to take

more of this air, this fencepost, this forgiving light.

***

The Woman at the Washington Zoo

BY RANDALL JARRELL

The saris go by me from the embassies.

Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet.

They look back at the leopard like the leopard.

And I....

this print of mine, that has kept its color

Alive through so many cleanings; this dull null

Navy I wear to work, and wear from work, and so

To my bed, so to my grave, with no

Complaints, no comment: neither from my chief,

The Deputy Chief Assistant, nor his chief—

Only I complain.... this serviceable

Body that no sunlight dyes, no hand suffuses

But, dome-shadowed, withering among columns,

Wavy beneath fountains—small, far-off, shining

In the eyes of animals, these beings trapped

As I am trapped but not, themselves, the trap,

Aging, but without knowledge of their age,

Kept safe here, knowing not of death, for death—

Oh, bars of my own body, open, open!

The world goes by my cage and never sees me.

And there come not to me, as come to these,

The wild beasts, sparrows pecking the llamas’ grain,

Pigeons settling on the bears’ bread, buzzards

Tearing the meat the flies have clouded....

Vulture,

When you come for the white rat that the foxes left,

Take off the red helmet of your head, the black

Wings that have shadowed me, and step to me as man:

The wild brother at whose feet the white wolves fawn,

To whose hand of power the great lioness

Stalks, purring....

You know what I was,

You see what I am: change me, change me!

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Poem Title :

The Desire of the Old Banyan Tree by the Padma River

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Poet : Amita Sarjit Ahluwalia

Poem 29 / 18 th Day

%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^%^

Day Eighteen

on APRIL 18, 2024

Welcome back, all, for the 18th day of our 30-day challenge.

********

Today’s featured participant is Cutting Hail, who brings us a dreamy, gentle poem in response to Day 17’s musical prompt.

Cutting Hail

a day ago edited

Splendor in the grass

In the morning, I will enjoy

the snoring of sleepy bees

resting in the pansies,

the ants tiptoeing

on the blades of grass,

the slow car in the distance

caressing the asphalt.

We’re used to rest our heads

upon the grass

and listen to it grow.

At home,

the beat of the fly

trying to surpass the man made glass,

the soothing hand of the child

opening the window,

the siren call

of a Teams call

you will put on hold,

your cavalier king charles

snoring on your chin.

At night,

the song of stars

reflects your presence,

reflects the reflection

of our hidden suns,

the leaves hug the trees

in the soft summer wind,

the daydream cosmos

dance to the melody

of the stream.

I think I am going back to the morning,

if you’d like to come along.

(This might be a bit rushed, but I had fun looking at the garden and letting the imagination go guided by the sound of this song).

****

Splendor in the grass

( Pink Martini )

I can see you're thinking baby

I've been thinking too

about the way we used to be

and how to star a new

Maybe I'm a hopeless dreamer

maybe I've got it wrong

but i'm going where the grass is green

if you like to come along

Back when i was starting out

I always wanted more

but every time I got it

I still felt just like before

Fortune is a fickle friend

I'm tired of chasing fate

and when I look into your eyes

I know you feel the same

All these years of living large

are starting to do a sin

I wont say it wasn't fun

but now it has to end

Life is moving oh so fast

I think we should take it slow

rest our heads upon the grass

and listen to it grow

Going where the hills are green

and the cars are few and far

days are full of splendor

and at night you can see the stars

Life's been moving oh so fast

I think we should take it slow

rest our heads upon the grass

and listen to it grow

*****

Our resource for the day is the Best American Poetry blog, where you’ll find new and old poems, close readings, and essays/reviews not just of poetry, but dance, art, and more.

April 17, 2024

"October 1999" by Bruce Beaver [Introduced by Thomas Moody]

October 1999

Got my gal, got my Lord, got my song

Gershwin, Gershwin, Heyward

It’s come! Spring’s second month with

hot and cold days and the last

October in two thousand years.

This time the fin de siecle’s

crazier than even the frogs

could imagine, even though they

invented nutty ends of centuries.

This time more bombs, earthquakes,

floods, droughts, gun-murders as well as

more pink and white blossoms

in the perfectly sane streets, full

of not-so-sane human beings.

But most of them are in love, including

me because we’re still alive

enough and the weather’s warming up.

It’s like the Old Testament: great poetry,

lousy theology and a God –

damned God –

MmStill there’s the Lord

to come in the New Millennium and this new

Spring. Blossoms and bombs. Every

Spring’s mad with love and wars,

babies aand murderers. And if you think I’m

not going to keep on chanting about

it, you’re nuttier than the century’s end.

*****

In my next life let me be a tomato

BY NATASHA RAO

lusting and unafraid. In this bipedal incarnation

I have always been scared of my own ripening,

mother standing outside the fitting room door.

I only become bright after Bloody Mary’s, only whole

in New Jersey summers where beefsteaks, like baubles,

sag in the yard, where we pass down heirlooms

in thin paper envelopes and I tend barefoot to a garden

that snakes with desire, unashamed to coil and spread.

Cherry Falls, Brandywine, Sweet Aperitif, I kneel

with a spool, staking and tying, checking each morning

after last night’s thunderstorm only to find more

sprawl, the tomatoes have no fear of wind and water,

they gain power from the lightning, while I, in this version

of life, retreat in bed to wither. In this life, rabbits

are afraid of my clumsy gait. In the next, let them come

willingly to nibble my lowest limbs, my outstretched

arm always offering something sweet. I want to return

from reincarnation’s spin covered in dirt and

buds. I want to be unabashed, audacious, to gobble

space, to blush deeper each day in the sun, knowing

I’ll end up in an eager mouth. An overly ripe tomato

will begin sprouting, so excited it is for more life,

so intent to be part of this world, trellising wildly.

For every time in this life I have thought of dying, let me

yield that much fruit in my next, skeleton drooping

under the weight of my own vivacity as I spread to take

more of this air, this fencepost, this forgiving light.

***

The Woman at the Washington Zoo

BY RANDALL JARRELL

The saris go by me from the embassies.

Cloth from the moon. Cloth from another planet.

They look back at the leopard like the leopard.

And I....

this print of mine, that has kept its color

Alive through so many cleanings; this dull null

Navy I wear to work, and wear from work, and so

To my bed, so to my grave, with no

Complaints, no comment: neither from my chief,

The Deputy Chief Assistant, nor his chief—

Only I complain.... this serviceable

Body that no sunlight dyes, no hand suffuses

But, dome-shadowed, withering among columns,

Wavy beneath fountains—small, far-off, shining

In the eyes of animals, these beings trapped

As I am trapped but not, themselves, the trap,

Aging, but without knowledge of their age,

Kept safe here, knowing not of death, for death—

Oh, bars of my own body, open, open!

The world goes by my cage and never sees me.

And there come not to me, as come to these,

The wild beasts, sparrows pecking the llamas’ grain,

Pigeons settling on the bears’ bread, buzzards

Tearing the meat the flies have clouded....

Vulture,

When you come for the white rat that the foxes left,

Take off the red helmet of your head, the black

Wings that have shadowed me, and step to me as man:

The wild brother at whose feet the white wolves fawn,

To whose hand of power the great lioness

Stalks, purring....

You know what I was,

You see what I am: change me, change me!

*****

Happy writing!

0 notes

vintageviewmaster · 1 year

Photo

Caption: FEMALE ORIOLE

Booklet Description: 6. ORIOLE "How falls it, Oriole, thou hast come to fly In tropic splendor through our northern sky? At some glad moment was it Nature's choice To dower a scrap of sunset with a voice?"- Edgar Fawcett. The male Oriole is the gaudy one with markings of bright orange and black, the family colors of Lord Baltimore after whom one species is named. The Oriole's nest is a proper house for a winged creature who has no more fear of falling than has a fish of drowning. Why should other birds plaster a mass of mud, twigs, and grass to the crotch of a tree that would support ten tons? It is the less showy female bird who weaves their dainty hammock that swings with the breeze at the twig end of the tree.

Brand: View-Master Packet Title: Wild Birds of North America Reel Title: Wild Birds of North America Reel Subtitle: In Natural Habitat - II Reel Number: 895-B Reel Edition: N/A Image Number: 6 Date: 1955

#view-master #viewmaster #wild birds #895

0 notes

tonkiparts · 2 years

Text

Youtube haiki reddit

If you're thinking about taking a little walking tour to see all of them, you can check out the haikus and locations of the seven main spots below, and read more of his haikus here. Just as his fiction and nonfiction directly present this conviction, his haiku as racial discourse indirectly express the same conviction.” But, more important, the new point of view and the new mode of expression he acquired in writing haiku suggest that Wright was convinced more than ever that materialism and its corollary, greed, were the twin culprits of racial conflict. At our research lab, we thoroughly test Haiku against wind, rain, and heat to ensure that your fan will maintain its performance and. Old World Europe meets natural Hawaiian splendor at historic Haiku Mill - a stunning property located on Maui’s north shore, off the famous road to Hana. We build our covered-outdoor models with corrosion-resistant finishes, virtually silent IPX2-rated motors, and aircraft-grade aluminum airfoils that never droop. Go outside right now and lay down in the grass and let the single blade of grass speak through you. If your haiku is about a blade of grass, as Bash said, go to the grass. Yoshinobu Hakutani, one of the leading experts on haiku in the United States and a Wright scholar, edited Wright's haiku collection, and wrote of his work in that area, “The four thousand haiku Wright wrote at the end of his life were a reflection of changes that had occurred during his career as a writer. With Haiku, outdoor use isn’t an afterthought. Think of what you heard, felt, tasted, smelled and saw. Also, there are 38 Big Belly recycling bins on Fulton Mall that feature various poems. In the coming weeks, two more poems will be added to the facade of the Center for Fiction. You can check out a map of their locations here, and see photos of them in the gallery up above. The haikus are currently up at seven locations including the Fulton Mall shopping district, BRIC, and the Mark Morris Dance Center. "The project commemorates the achievements of a major Black writer, who lived on Carlton Avenue in Fort Greene in the 1930s, while also inspiring residents and visitors alike to 'read' the city in new ways," the Poetry Society said in a statement. Those haikus are now the subject of Seeing Into Tomorrow, a new public art project by the Poetry Society of America in which some of those verses have been turned into large-scale installations around Downtown Brooklyn. Poet Kimiko Hahn has called Wright's haiku work "some of the finest in the West.” He was incredibly prolific, writing about 4,000 of them during that 1959-1960 period, and ended up choosing 817 for a manuscript which would prove to be one of the final projects of his life. But over the last year and a half of his life, he became entranced by haikus, the traditional Japanese verse form, which helped him process, as the Poetry Foundation notes, "illness and grief over his mother’s death and reconnect to the natural world he had long associated with Southern violence." Writer Richard Wright is probably best known for his landmark essays and books depicting and confronting racial injustice, including Native Son and Black Boy.

#Youtube haiki reddit

0 notes

timetravelauthor · 2 years

Text

Giving a nod to literature

If there is one thing I enjoy about writing fiction, it is pointing a spotlight at other works of fiction. In several of my twenty published novels, I refer to classic poems, short stories, and novels. I love tying the themes and lessons of other creations to my own.

In The Mine, Joel Smith, a time traveler, thinks often of the butterfly effect in Ray Bradbury's "A Sound of Thunder." In Indian Paintbrush and Sea Spray, grieving female protagonists find comfort in the "splendor in the grass" passage of Wordsworth's "Ode to Intimations of Immortality." In Caitlin's Song, four characters discuss "She Walks in Beauty," Lord Byron's ode to his cousin's wife.

In The Fountain, my current work in progress, I do more than pay lip service to highly celebrated works. I explore them at length.

In two chapters of my novel, Cassandra Lee, a teacher in 1906, leads discussions of Pride and Prejudice and The Red Badge of Courage. In another chapter, Annie Carpenter, the youngest of three siblings who discover time travel and the Fountain of Youth, waxes poetic about Jo March, a character in Little Women. Novelist Jack London dazzles Annie and other high school freshmen when he discusses The Call of the Wild, his most famous work.

I also mention Madame Bovary, a novel by Gustave Flaubert, and a smattering of other works. I do so to develop characters and themes in my own novel and to demonstrate the importance of reading, literature, and language in the early twentieth century.

During the turn of the last century, before the advent of the internet, television, and talking motion pictures, literature was one of the few affordable and meaningful entertainment options. Novels, newspapers, and magazines like The Saturday Evening Post were central to the lives of millions. So I made them a part of my story.

In The Fountain, I use the classics mostly to illustrate situations. Miss Lee struggles to motivate the boys in her classes until she switches from books like Pride and Prejudice and Little Women to The Call of the Wild. Paul Carpenter, a Vietnam deserter, suffers through a discussion on shame in The Red Badge of Courage. Annie reveals her ambitions while giving her class report on Jo March.

The Fountain, the first novel in the Second Chance trilogy, is now in the middle editing stage. I plan to release it by September 2.

0 notes

male-beauty-sfw · 3 years

Text

#male beauty #Warren Beatty #Splendor in the Grass #warren beatty edit #splendor in the grass edit #actor #film #celebrity #retro #1960s #100+ notes #classicfilmedit

113 notes · View notes

pierppasolini · 6 years

Photo

Splendor in the Grass (1961) // dir. Elia Kazan

#Warren Beatty #Splendor in the Grass #Elia Kazan #my caps #my edits

38 notes · View notes

mamavanheat · 2 years

Text

Record Collection MasterPost

Below the read more is a list of my current record collection. I’ll update the posts as it grows. Most of my collection was found thrifting so the condition of some covers and records are not in great condition, however I still love them all. 💕 tumblr has been stupid and keeps deleting some of the albums under A but I’m trying to fix it lmao

Steve Allen “Steve Allen Plays Bossanova Jazz”

Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass “Whipped Cream & Other Delights”

Paul Anka “Feelings”

Paul Anka “Gold”

Paul Anka “Young, Alive, and in Love”

Arctic Monkeys “AM”

Chet Atkins “Nashville Gold”

Bad Company “Desolation Angels”

Joan Baez “Blessed Are…”

Joan Baez “From Every Stage”

Joan Baez “Joan Baez in Concert”

Joan Baez “Joan Baez in Concert Part 2”

The Beatles “1”

The Beatles “ ‘65”

The Beatles “1967-1970”

The Beatles “Abbey Road”

blink-182 “Greatest Hits”

Pat Boone “Love Me Tender”

Pat Boone “Star Dust”

The Byrds “Mr Tambourine Man”

The Byrds “Turn! Turn! Turn!”

Carmen Cavallaro “Dancing in the Dark”

The Carpenters “A Song for You”

The Carpenters “Made in America”

Cher “Dark Lady”

Cher “Take Me Home”

Chicago “V”

Claudine “The Look of Love”

Joe Cocker “I Can Stand A Little Rain”

Nat King Cole “Love is a Many Splendored Thing”

Nat King Cole “The Very Thought Of You”

Sam Cooke “Portrait of a Legend 1951-1964”

Cream “Disraeli Gears”

Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young “4 Way Street”

John Denver “Back Home Again”

John Denver “Greatest Hits”

John Denver “I Want to Live”

John Denver “It’s About Time”

John Denver “Rhymes & Reasons”

John Denver “Rocky Mountain High”

Neil Diamond “Stones”

Donovan “Barabajagal”

Donovan “Donovan”

Donovan “Greatest Hits”

The Doobie Brothers “Best of the Doobies”

Jimmy Dorsey “The Fabulous Jimmy Dorsey Plays His Biggest Hits”

Tommy Dorsey “The Best of Tommy Dorsey”

Earth, Wind, & Fire “Electric Universe”

The Graeme Edge Band “Paradise Ballroom”

Elvis “Elvis’ Golden Records”

Elvis “Mahalo from Elvis”

Fire & Rain “Mercury”

Ella Fitzgerald “Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Harold Arlen Song Book Vol. 1”

Fleetwood Mac “Rumours”

Don Fogelberg “Souvenirs”

Foreigner “4”

Aretha Franklin “Aretha’s Gold”

Bobbie Gentry and Glenn Campbell “Bobbie Gentry and Glenn Campbell”

Leslie Gore “I’ll Cry If I Want To”

The Grass Roots “Leaving It All Behind”

Green Day “Greatest Hits: God’s Favorite Band”

Greta Van Fleet “Anthem of the Peaceful Army”

Greta Van Fleet “The Battle at Garden’s Gate”

Greta Van Fleet “Black Smoke Rising”

Greta Van Fleet “From the Fires”

Sam Harris “Sam Harris”

Sam Harris “Sam I Am”

George Harrison “Living in the Material World”

Justin Hayward & John Lodge “Blue Jays”

The Jimi Hendrix Experience “Electric Ladyland”

Buddy Holly and The Crickets “20 Golden Greats”

Engelbert Humperdinck “After the Lovin”

Etta James “At Last”

Jefferson Airplane “After Bathing at Baxters”

Jefferson Airplane “Crown of Creation”

Jefferson Airplaine “The Worst of Jefferson Airplane”

Jefferson Starship “Spitfire”

Carole King “Tapestry”

The Kinks “Sleepwalker”

Bonnie Koloc “Hold On To Me”

Don Lanphere Quintet “Into Somewhere”

Julian Lennon “Valotte”

Ramsey Lewis Trio “Hang On Ramsey!”

Gordon Lightfoot “Cold on the Shoulder”

Gordon Lightfoot “Summer Side of Life”

Gordon Lightfoot “The Best of Gordon Lightfoot”

Little Feat “The Last Record Album”

Little Fear “Time Loves A Hero”

Lene Lovich “Stateless”

Steve Lyon “There’s No Place Like Mars”

The Mamas & The Papas “The Mamas & The Papas Deliver”

The Mamas & The Papas “Presenting The Mamas & The Papas”

Barry Manilow “Here Comes The Night”

Melanie “Gather Me”

The Monkees “Headquarters”

The Monkees “The Monkees Deluxe Edition”

The Monkees “More of the Monkees”

The Moody Blues “This is the Moody Blues”

Maria Muldaur “Maria Muldaur”

Mystic Moods Orchestra “English Muffin”

Mystic Moods Orchestra “One Stormy Night”

Graham Nash “Wild Tales”

Juice Newton “Juice”

Peaches & Herb “2 HOT!”

Peaches & Herb “Greatest Hits”

Bonnie Raitt “Green Light”

Smokey Robinson “A Quiet Storm”

The Rolling Stones “Big Hits (High Tide and Green Grass”

Linda Ronstadt “Heart Like A Wheel”

Linda Ronstadt “Simple Dreams”

Tim Rose “Through Rose Colored Glasses”

Bud Shank & the folkswingers “Folk ‘N Flute”

Silk “Smooth As Raw Silk”

Simon and Garfunkel “Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, & Thyme”

Simon and Garfunkel “Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits”

Sonny & Cher “All I Ever Need Is You”

Sonny & Cher “In Case You’re In Love”

Rod Stewart “Never A Dull Moment”

Harry Styles “Harry’s House”

The Temptations “Greatest Hits”

The Temptations “House Party”

Tiffany “Hold An Old Friend’s Hand”

Jethro Tull “Songs from the Wood”

Conway Twitty “Conway Twitty’s Greatest Hits”

Bonnie Tyler “It’s A Heartache”

Various Artists “Country Love Vol. 1”

Various Artists “Let Yourself Go! Limited Edition Collector’s Album”

Various Artists “Time To Get It Together”

Various Artists “Vintage Music: Collectors Series Volume One”

The Vogues “Memories”

The White Stripes “The White Stripes Greatest Hits”

The Who “It’s Hard”

The Who “Magic Bus (The Who on Tour)”

John Paul Young “Love Is In The Air”

Film Soundtracks

Guardians of the Galaxy “Deluxe Vinyl Edition”

The Hollywood Knights

Oklahoma!

Saturday Night Fever

The Sound of Music

Stardust (1974)

#kat’s collections

27 notes · View notes

this-doesnt-endd · 2 years

Text

To the little group of people who have apperently made splendor in the grass edits, wheres the edits to lanas say yes to heaven

1 note · View note

wwilloww · 4 years

Text

athair lusa | pjm

athair lusa, the ground ivy, springing up from the soil with rich, purple flowers and broad green leaves.

Origin: Ireland

Pairing: Jimin x FaePrince!Taehyung

Genre: Folklore. Suspense. Fae!Au.

Rating: NC-17

WC: 2.4k

Summary: “Is it not a strange request,” Jimin says, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?” While on his way to draw water from the well, Jimin slips on a rock. When he stands up again, the world around him seems unrecognizable, as if everything has been dusted with an unfamiliar enchantment.

Warnings: Possessive behavior.

A/N: This story, also known as “The Fairy Dance,” is a story I grew up to, one that was told to me over and over. I consider this to be part of a larger personal project to queer the stories I grew up on. It’s an effort to normalize the presence of queerness in lore and unravel gendered expectations within folktales. Because of this I’ve done my best to stick to the oral telling of this story in both content and style - meaning the writing differentiates itself significantly from my usual style! This project is special to me and I truly hope you enjoy it. I can’t wait to hear what you think of it.

Thank you to @jingabitch for helping me when I felt most stuck with this! Thanks a million to my love @ot7always for editing the image in this banner and listening to me ramble. And of course a hUGE THANKS to the lovely folk in BTS Smut Hub for being my constant inspiration and motivation.

And finally, this is part of @ksmutclub’s Twisted Fairytale collaboration!

masterlist

Athair-Lusa.

In a town on the western most coast of the Isle, there lived a young man with hair that shone like the rays of August sun. He was beloved by the townspeople, known for the enchanting melodies that lifted from his lips like birdsong, ensnaring anyone in range. His name was Jimin.

One day in late November, as the night began to draw in, Jimin set down his reading and readied himself to go out into the darkness. He preferred the stillness of sunset and often went out at this time, just to hear the soft hymn of the world slipping slowly into sleep.

Now, it has long been known that the Veil between worlds is thinnest in November. As the remaining veins of summer fade from the land, spirits and creatures of the other worlds come to press up against the thin border between their world and ours. Even nighttime comes to linger, snatching time away from the golden fingers of the sun.

On this night, Jimin decided to take his walk to the well to gather water. He swung his wooden bucket over his shoulder and set off into the darkness. The trees stood tall above him, watching his path. Jimin felt the hair on his neck raise, as if something was watching him from the shadows. However, rather than turning home, he lifted his face to the night sky and sang. The music spilling from his lips split through the darkness of the night, and Jimin felt a sense of peace wash over him.

As the small stone structure of the well came into sight, his foot slipped. He could feel his ankle twisting, and then the feeling of falling through empty space. The air wooshed up around him as he fell.

His back hit the hard earth of the path, crushing the breath out of his lungs. For a moment, Jimin simply lay there, taking deep breaths to calm the fright in his body.

When he lifted his head, his old wooden bucket was nowhere to be seen. Instead of a path hardened by thousands of years of travelers, Jimin lay on a soft field of grass, shimmering emerald green beneath the full moon. Around him, everything seemed as if it had been touched by an enchantment. The trees, whose leaves had dropped a month ago, were now blossoming with flowers of the most brilliant colors. The chill of the winter air was replaced with a soft and warm breeze, lifted off a summer sea. And as he looked up at the sky, the moon hung twice as large, as if she had come down from her high throne in the sky to take a closer look at the goings-on of the people below.

As Jimin sat up, he saw a great crowd gathered a short distance away. As his vision cleared, he realized that they were circled round a fire that danced and leaped and seemed to reach out to the figures surrounding it. As if his mind had been wiped clean of thought, Jimin stood and began to move towards the crowd, mystified by their tall frames and slender figures.

Jimin himself was of average height, his body built like the land. Ready to work, ready to dance. But at this moment in time, Jimin’s body drew him forward towards the beings that stood round the fire, till at last, he stood in the very midst of them.

They held onto their silence, watching his every step. It was at this moment that he thought to be afraid. But as he made to step backward, to step out of their circle, he realized he could not.

Panic began to rise in his throat like bile, setting his muscles alight. Just as he opened his mouth to scream, the crowd around him turned and parted and a handsome young man stepped into view. Jimin’s eyes widened as he took in the figure, who walked like a prince. He wore a red sash, deep as freshly drawn blood. A golden band dressed his long dark hair, shining like the sky on the eve of a new moon.

Jimin’s heart thrummed in his chest as he realized the handsome prince was approaching him. He walked slowly towards him, allowing his eyes to rove over the young man. When he finally reached him, he bowed and extended a hand. An offering.

“Is it not a strange request,” Jimin said, “to ask me to dance when there is no music?”

The prince raised his head from the deep bow and swept his hand into the air. Instantly, the sweetest music carried through the night, surrounding them. He took Jimin’s hand with one of his own, wrapping the other one tightly around his waist. Jimin gasped as his chest was brought to the prince’s, their closeness sending warmth to his cheeks.

"What is your name, dear stranger?" Jimin asked, his brow furrowed. His words seemed to stick in his throat, bewilderment flooding his mind. Such a handsome stranger had never wrapped him up like this before, in such beauty, in such enchantment.

The prince smirked. "You may call me Taehyung."

"Are you a prince of these people?"

"If that is the word you use—then yes."

Jimin opened his mouth to ask more, but the Prince silenced him with a twirl, sending all thought of questioning the strange being before him out of his mind.

They danced until the moon became tired and went to sleep beneath the darkness of the horizon and the stars took their leave from the dance floor. As the prince twirled him round the fire, it seemed as if Jimin was gliding through the air. He had always been known by the townsfolk for his light touch and graceful step. But in the prince’s arms, Jimin’s body felt different. The strain of the movements was eased and he felt boundless energy spring up in his chest beneath the attentive gaze of the prince.

"I have never seen a man dance with your grace," the Prince mused, his gaze falling to Jimin's lips. "Or known one to capture such beauty in his every movement."

Jimin was not used to such flattery. His cheeks were painted with his embarrassment, he ducked his head. The Prince was quick to lift his chin, bringing his face ever-so-close.

“Do you like me, sweet boy?” the Prince asked, tilting his head.

“I do not know you,” Jimin replied, slowly. “How do I know if I like you if I have just met you?”

“There is an eternity to get to know me.” A smirk flashed across the Prince’s sharp features before he pulled Jimin tightly against his tall frame and spun him further into the dance.

Twirling around the fire, it became easy to forget the rest of the world. For that moment, all that existed was the feeling of his feet leaping off the ground, and the low music, and the feeling of being held so tightly by his partner.

Just as Jimin began to feel like time was slipping away from him, the figures around him stilled and the music slowed to a complete halt. The prince still had his arms wrapped around the smaller man, his face pressed close and curious.

"Will you dine with us tonight, dear Jimin?" the prince asked, his voice threaded with sweetness. Jimin's gaze fell to the prince's lips where a small smile played along the pink, plush corner. He wondered when the Prince had learned his name.

Before he could answer, the ground rumbled and split open, a long staircase descending into the darkness of the earth. The prince held out a hand, and hesitating, Jimin took it. Despite the warmth of the tall man's palm, Jimin's skin erupted in goosebumps.

The prince led him down the flight of steps, the rest of the dancers following silently behind. It seemed as if the stairs might never end, the rock around them becoming darker and warmer as they descended. After an unspeakable time, the steps widened and a great hall appeared before them, lit by thin candles that stood as tall as Jimin. As he looked up at the ceiling of the hall, he realized there was no roof, despite the depth to which they had descended. Instead, a yawning darkness looked down upon the company and untethered, unsourced lights bobbed gently through the air as if upon an invisible current. Before them lay a great table, heaped with every delicacy Jimin had ever conceived of and decanters filled with the most aromatic wines.

The Prince squeezed his hand tenderly, guiding him to the head of the table. There, the Prince took the golden plated chair and motioned for Jimin to take the one beside it. Gratefully, he bowed his head and slipped silently into the seat, admiring the gentle merriment and splendor laid before him.

As Jimin took the scene before him in, the Prince leaned closer to him, reaching out to twirl a piece of his light hair between his fingers.

“I’ve always wanted this,” the Prince said, his eyes never leaving the man’s hair.

“W-what?”

The Prince seemed to catch himself and pulled himself out of his reverie.

“I am a collector of beautiful things,” he said, as if that explained his strange words.

“I don’t understand.”

The Prince smiled softly, running his finger down Jimin’s nose and over his lips.

“Then drink and be merry,” he sang, his voice strung together in the most beautiful melody.

A dark-haired lady came between the Prince and Jimin, holding a jewel-encrusted decanter. Bowing her head, she first filled the Prince's cup, her hands wrapping slender and delicate around the silver handle. But as Jimin watched, he realized there was a slight tremble to her movements. He looked up at her, only to see her eyes darting to and from the Prince and his newest companion.

The young lady came around Jimin's other side, and as she leaned over to pour his golden goblet full of the sweet wine, she whispered in his ear, "Eat no food, and drink no wine or you will never see your home again."

With that, the woman stood abruptly and disappeared down one of the many hallways that spotted the great chamber.

Jimin quickly set the cup down on the table. The Prince took note of this, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

"My dear, sweet Jimin," he said, his voice threading through the air like song. His voice spoke of softness, of tender touches exchanged in the dark. And yet, as Jimin gazed upon him, he saw the coldness in the Prince's gaze. "Do you not enjoy the taste of my wine?"

"No, no," he said, quick to unravel the tension of the moment. "I am simply not thirsty."

The Prince leaned into him, a smile spreading across his lips. "After all that dancing, you must be thirsty." He brought the cup to Jimin's lips, but he held his mouth shut.

The others at the table had fallen silent to watch the Prince hold the goblet to the man’s lips.

A large one with silver hair that fell to his waist stood abruptly from his chair, knocking it back in the process. "Whoever comes to our table must drink with us," he growled, grabbing Jimin's arm. A deep shock ran through him, stopping his heart.

At that moment a red-haired lass, her hair split into intricate braids, snatched Jimin's free hand and tugged him from the grasp of the large silver-haired being.

"Run!" she commanded, tugging Jimin towards the stairs. The pair wove their way towards the entrance, dodging the grasp of the dancers.

Around him, Jimin could hear the bellowing anger of the Prince, echoing off the walls of the hall as if he stood in every corner. Chairs and platters crashed to the floor as his subjects jumped up, attempting to stop his exit.

While Jimin was not large and while he did not hold the brute strength that many men boasted about, he was graceful and swift. Guided by the red-haired woman's agile steps, his pace was quick, as if he had learned this kind of dance many many years ago.

The pair sprinted up the steps, hand-in-hand, until they emerged into the dark night. The coolness of the early winter air washed over them, bathing their red faces and stinging their lungs. From the satchel that hung round her waist, the woman withdrew a vine. She grabbed Jimin’s hand, opening it up so she could place the plant securely. With tenderness, she wrapped her hand around his, closing it in a fist.

"You are safe for the time being," she said, her breath heavy with effort. "Take this, and hold it until you reach home. No one can harm you." Jimin opened his palm to look down upon the large-leafed plant. Athair-Lusa. Ground ivy.

"Thank you," he whispered.

The woman nodded, a sad smile playing across her lips. Her eyes shone with the kind of grief that only one who knows their own destiny can hold.

Jimin could hear the sounds of footsteps running up the stairs and so he took the white and green plant and turned his back on the field, the stairs, and the man who had held him so tenderly; and he ran. He ran along the sward and through the forests surrounding the town, past the well, and across the path. At last, he reached his home. He threw open the wooden door and locked it behind him.

His heart beat so quickly and furiously he worried it would pound its way straight through his ribcage. Behind his back pressed to the door, he could hear a great sound emerge from the forest and a voice cried out to him—

"The power I had over you is gone through the magic of the herb that ties you to this world. But when you dance again to our music, you will stay with me forevermore, and nothing shall hinder that eternity."

Jimin closed his eyes, clutching the herb to his chest. When he had regained his breath, he made his way over to the small bed tucked in the corner of his small home, folding the leafy plant carefully beneath the collar of his shirt.

It took a while before sleep came for him, and when it did, it was restless and dreamless.

However, Jimin kept the magic branch safely tucked into his clothes every day and the Fae never troubled him.

But it took many years before the sweet, low sound of music and the searing eyes of the Prince left his dreams.

taglist: @ppersonna @thatlongspringnight @myimaginationsrunningwild @ladyartemesia @ezralia-writes @ggukcangetit

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putschki1969 · 3 years

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H-el-ical// LIVE Limited Production Album Song Commentary 〜「H-el-ical//」Edition 〜♪ Fili

In this weekly series all H-el-ical// songs from the limited albums (only available at the live venue and through mail order) will be discussed. Hikaru and the composer Hideyuki Gushimiyagi will talk about the song production and share some inside stories. There will also be comments from other creators that participated in the making of the individual songs. Please be sure to check out everyone’s thoughts. A new video airs every Saturday at 20:00 (JST).

The first video in the series covered「pulsation」! The second video is a commentary on 「Avaricia」. The third instalment featured 「Splendore」. Next up was 「Amanhecer」.Then 「yolcu」.Followed by 「TSUMUGU」 . Last time they talked about 「Existence」 .

This time producer Akihiro Tomita will provide answers for the questionnaire.

Go HERE for my post about the H-el-ical// Album MP3s

Summary/Highlights 〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

Just like “Existence” this song was never released on YouTube, it is only available on the album (see my link above). The title is Gaelic and means “Poet”. Hikaru wanted something with a somewhat grassy feeling, something that made her think of grass-covered plains. Gushi was clueless at first. Hikaru clarified that she wanted something earthy and green. Eventually she was super happy with the final result. She says that she is very familiar with this type of song. Many Kalafina songs felt earthy and vast, as if you were standing amidst grass-covered plains. Still, it was refreshing to sing such a song all by herself. This is actually Gushi’s favourite song of the album. In his mind he was thinking of Irish sheep herds and such things. First and foremost though, he wanted to create a link to Hikaru’s activities as member of Kalafina. As mentioned before, there were quite a lot of exotic and oriental elements in Kalafina’s music so he let himself be inspired by that when composing Fili. When she got the first sample with one verse and one chorus she tried to come up with a few lyrics. She wanted it to have an earthy atmosphere. Eventually she realised though that this song was not so much about the earth itself but rather about its history. The history of each individual but also the course of history, past, present and future. The song is about connecting all those parts, about people who bind everything together by transmitting pieces of history throughout many generations. It’s from the point of view of a narrator. It’s very far removed from Hikaru herself, probably the most fantastical song in the album. Gushi says his composition and Hikaru’s lyrics are pretty muvh a perfect match in this song. They really were on the same wavelength, maybe because at that point they had already worked on so many songs together and were used to working with each other. It’s almost a little compilation of THEIR history.

This time sound producer Akihiro Tomita will provide answers for the questionnaire.

What was your impression when you first heard the song? Mysterious. He liked the majestic chorus. The exotic melody, this poet’s story and Hikaru’s singing really impressed him. He used some super fancy words to say all of this so Hikaru and Gushi are a little embarrassed. They then talk a bit about what exactly a producer does and that his role is quite important for the creation of the final product.

Any difficulties? No, with Hikaru’s amazing skills as singer he knew that she could handle the 6/8 time signature and exotic melody so he had zero worries. Once again Hikaru is a little perplexed to receive so many compliments. While Tomita himself didn’t encounter any problems he feels like Gushi probably felt a lot of pressure to deliver a good song for Hikaru. And yeah, it’s true, it took a lot of courage for him. He wanted to live up to the expectations of long-time Kalafina fans. He wanted to honour Kalafina’s legacy but at the same time come up with something that was unique to his own style.

Anything you want the listeners to pay attention to when it comes to this song? He thinks this song is the most unique in the album and it makes you feel as if you are traveling through different worlds. Right now we can’t travel overseas due to COVID19 so everyone should listen to this song and get immersed in the atmosphere. Breathe the air of all the contintents throughout history and embark on a journey all by yourself. Hikaru and Gushi discuss that the whole album kinda feels like you are taking a trip through all kinds of places because there are so many different genres and all the titles have a different language. It’s almost like an international experience. Gushi is inspired to travel to all the places that inspired the songs on this album (although right now he doesn’t even have a passport and of course, the corona situation needs to be resolved before any travelling is possible). Hikaru says he shouldn’t travel by himself, the whole H-el-ical// should come along. It’s a big wish for all of them.

This is the final song of the album. It took about a year to finish the whole thing. Next week they will start talking about the songs from “elements”.

LIKE the video and SUBSCRIBE to her channel!

#kalafina #hikaru #video #summary #my summary #fili #hikaru//#helical #h-el-ical//#helical video series

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