[Merlin] Everlasting

[gigantomachy]

Notes: I can't seem to get anything finished these days. Ideas become bunnies become a few frantic hours between work and sleep spent pounding at the keyboard and hoping that I can finish before the next one hits. Maybe it will work this time.

I haven't written second-person in almost a decade. I missed it. (And I imagine that can be taken a few ways.)

Written with heavy influence from the soundtrack The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford by Nick Cave & Warren Ellis, and The Golden Archipelago by Shearwater, which is a whole album about islands and destruction and doom and beauty and that's all I really need to get the thoughts working, ha. Also, Devil's Spoke by Laura Marling, which is my new eternal Arthur/Merlin theme, oh my god. (Thank you for introducing me, vazavati.)


Summary: Merlin remembers, where all others have forgotten. And he waits. Arthur/Merlin, with guest appearances from several others.
Warnings: Vague spoilers for 2.12 (like, really vague; you just aren't going to get two paragraphs if you haven't seen it), liberal blending with traditional lore, angst and woe and a small bit of non-graphic slash.




everlasting
(your skinny arms hold a lantern up)


It is not the knight that you love, no, not the golden creature carved of legend and antiquity, one hand on the hilt of Excalibur, the other spread wide to encompass a land that shivers and sighs his name like a prayer. Not the knight, though he is wondrous to behold and even you cannot deny that --

--but there was a time before his armor was burnished gold by the memory of a nation (and then a world, no matter how he's changed with each telling), a time when you saw the boy beneath; golden, certainly, but misshapen with an indulgent youth, pomposity and the piteous cries of a frightened servant, a hand so terrified he looked to you as a savior. The world may overlook these things, cast them aside until only the name and the glory remains, but you cannot.

For this was the moment you faced destiny with open eyes, this was the moment your world changed for ever, you and he nothing more than two proud boys toe to toe one brilliant spring morning, there on a grassy field that set the tableau for all stories to come.

And this is why you cannot forget. It is not the knight that you love but the boy beneath the layers of armor and padding, laughing eyes hiding the fears that lurked there, just beneath the surface. (He once asked, studying you and your bloodstained hands as you knelt over the carcass of an autumn stag, if you'd forgiven him that first meeting. You told him no without hesitation, and when he made to ask you told him only that there was nothing to forgive. It was easier, then, to remain outside the tidal flood of sentiment that whispered legend, even as you shaped those currents to suit your needs. For you, it was always him, only him, prat and king and beloved as one.)

You remember him best as the boy (that happened to be a prince) who rode your dreams, who became the man (that happened to be a king) who rode your soul, the mark of his life an indelible crest upon your heart.

Eternal.


.


You remember the day she left, the way his shoulders slumped for a month. He wore his grief like a token, pinned there on his sleeve for those with eyes to see it, so certain in his naivete that he could have done something to prevent this.

You remember being caught on your way to the forest to burn that cursed skin. He did not ask questions as you lit the blaze, only held you awkwardly as you sobbed into his shoulder, lips moving soundlessly against your temple, the remembered weight of a tiny bottle like searing heat in your tightly-clenched fist.


.


You'd thought, when there was time and the luxury for it, that your magic wasn't made for this. Your magic could bring a barren field to fertility, could call blossoms from an apple tree in the depths of winter. Your magic could shape a wall from the earth itself to protect a village in peril, could heat a bath to the perfect temperature without fail -- barring distraction, of course.

You'd thought, but you'd long before given up lying to yourself.

Your magic could release a volley of arrows so thick it blotted out the sunlight, could freeze a man's heart solid within his chest. Your magic could turn a knight to dust with a gesture, could create a fog so thick and so deep that an enemy could wander within it forever and never find his way free.

Your magic could not offer succor to the hurting. Your magic could not mend a body ruined, no matter how desperately you searched for the proper spell, no matter how deeply your love ran. Your magic could not turn betrayal into fealty.

The truth of this is a knife in your side. It haunts you, for you have hated suffering as fiercely as you have loved him.

(You never could call daylight from darkness, no matter what the stories may say.)


.


this is why i turned away
to slowly break under the lashes
this is how i learned a lie
that power breeds regeneration. (1)


.


Even after he knew, even after the crown and the burden were firmly his -- there were times you were afraid, weren't there? That it was a dream soon to end, that one day he would come to his senses and remember his father's words and light the last great fire himself.

You remember the nightmares, in bits and pieces, even now -- how you'd doubt and then hate yourself for doubting. How he'd realize how many had died when you could have moved earlier, all just to keep your secret safe a while longer. (How he'd recall that his men had died screaming, in fear and pain, in fire and ice, in darkness and light.)

You hated how little it took to call those old fears forward, how in your pride you thought that if you were not immune, he certainly wouldn't be able to resist such thoughts.

As you watched him sleeping the night after her first visit, you'd never been so relieved to be wrong. You'd thought, then, that you could never love him more.


.


But it was never so simple; by then (by now) you should have realized that. Your love for him is a thing that cripples you, even as it is your strength.

For him, you cast aside legions like chaff.

For him, you would destroy the world.

It never seemed enough.

(It never will.)


.


This, you thought, was what was right, even when you both knew with certainty that it was not.

He bowed over you like the limbs of some golden willow, limned in flickering candlelight, your name on his lips as his hand sought yours, holding tight. It felt right like that, sweat and saliva and breath mingling, your tender bodies pressed and held close until you were both breathless, both trembling, curled into each other beneath spun wool and wolf's fur.

You left each time with fresh bruises, but you knew they had never been the result of anger. It was only that the measure of his affection was too vast, the strength of his care almost too much to be contained within his fragile flesh. (Perhaps what you meant was his love, but you dared not think it, not in regards to you. He had love enough to wrap around his kingdom like a cloak, as if that alone could keep it safe for ever. He did not lie on his side in the hours before dawn and whisper his fears and hopes to Camelot, as he had when you were there. It seemed right, then, that whatever he felt for you, it was different.)

You understood what it was like to feel that way, like your love was a thing that could burst your seams and split the world asunder, could drown the land beneath the depths of it at the slightest urging.

The difference is that, you thought, yours could.

(You love him so much that you cannot comprehend a world without him. The thought alone was enough then to close your throat and set you to trembling with the gravity of it.)

How young you were.

Oh, how you learned.


.


Despite what the court may have sighed behind their upturned hands, you and he were never truly perpetual lovers. There were times in your shared youth, yes, castle rooms in winter, hunting tents in summer, wherever you could steal the moments in between.

But always, always under the proper circumstances.

There were days, weeks, sometimes months that would pass between those moments, time stretching on to years when the newly-crowned king asked the hand of a common maid -- a disgraced smith's daughter, no less -- in marriage.

He was many things, yes, but never unfaithful. (This, you think, is the most insulting of all the things the storytellers have changed; they'd wanted scandal, and saw fit to bend his life to inhabit that mold. Of all things, this was the one place he would never yield.) It was just one more drop in the well, just one more of the countless reasons you'd found to love him.

And as you were his, as he held you (as he held those he trusted most) to his own high standards -- you, of course, could do no less, though your love still coursed through you like a river, unceasing, scalding you to the bone.


.


Tell me you didn't know, he said, and his voice was a brittle, lifeless thing.

You only shook your head mutely, though your arms ached to reach out and draw him close, to stroke his hair and whisper promises that all would be well.

Alas, that too would be a lie.

You had not truly known, but it did not take a sorcerer to predict the affair. You had not forgotten the way she'd looked to him, long before she'd been a queen and he her champion. And how could you have told him, you wanted to ask as you wrapped your arms around yourself, how could you have made him see that she had never stopped loving him? That even now you believed she had love enough to encompass them both?

Love, you knew, had ever made him blind; sometimes to the things that mattered most.

How could you have told him, you wanted to ask, but you knew the answer. The truth was --

The truth was that you feared he would resent you for pushing that veil aside. For being the one to cast such unbecoming light on the woman he loved, whom he wanted to believe in so badly, still.

You thought, as you studied the curve of his bowed neck, that you felt the earth shift. You thought you understood how this was the beginning of the end of you all, how the dragon had been right all along.

You loved the traitors both, but your love for him was greater. You would have destroyed them without regret, but you knew that it would only wound him further.

You understood the boy-turned-man who would one day be his downfall, too. It was never his hate that drove him to his pronouncement, but rather a broken sort of love. After all, he had been his savior, too, and the boy had never forgotten that.

When he finally broke, you relented, pulling his head to your chest, letting his sobs rock your own frail body until you thought you would shake apart beneath the weight of his grief. And when it was over, you undressed him for the first time in years, as if you were still just a servant and he just a prince. You led him to his bed and into it (you did not follow), and brushed aside a lock of golden hair as you whispered sleep in the language of magic.

It was only in your own chambers that you let loose the cry you'd been holding since he first opened his mouth.

Love, you thought, would lead you all to ruin.

How very apt of you.


.


Look, isn't she lovely? He leaned over in his chair to whisper those words in your ear, his breath slightly sour after several cups of wine. He had sounded so pleased with himself, his head held high while the court dissolved into yet more worthless (but sometimes true) gossip around his table.

You tipped your head in a slow nod, and the lady met your gaze, her eyes as black and as deep as sin.

You saw the end.

In your heart, you knew you were undone.


.


It had been a beautiful morning, the slope vibrant with greenery, the lake just beyond a glittering jewel at the foot of the mountains. The chill you felt had only grown worse since the dawn, until your limbs felt like lead, heavy and unresponsive.

You screamed until your throat was raw and torn as she sealed you away from your magic, wove it into a figure of her own design. You begged her, you cursed her; you swore on your mother's eternal soul that he still needed you, because trouble loomed dark on the horizon and all that you were had been molded to keep him safe.

The end was coming, you cried, and you could not leave him alone. He still needed you.

(Perhaps as much as you still needed him.)

Her dark eyes were gentle, even as the stone rippled and hummed and closed in around you.

He'll need you again, she said.


.


It is her nature, cruelty and love intertwined like serpents, that brings her here.

His body is broken, his pulse a sluggish tide within his veins. You can feel it, weak as it is, like a funeral drum that beats deep within the earth, almost (but never quite) matching your own.

She cradles him like a babe, her too-green eyes glittering with unshed tears. His blood stains her robes, her hands; she presses one against your prison and it is a bitter benediction.

I would have saved him, you cry, and she shakes her head.

You could not.

You are all puppets, crude figures of water and earth that dance beneath the careful fingers of Destiny. It pulls and pushes; you follow, and are soon swept away.

It does not make it hurt any less.

I wanted to be there. You are already in mourning. His face is lined with age and duty, caked with dirt and blood; were it clean you might think him only sleeping. You ache to see how, just like then, it seems that all his troubles have been eased away.

He makes a quiet sound of pain; your love and your grief crowd you far more effectively than this stone ever will. She's watching your prison as if she can see you there beneath the stone. (When she closes her eyes the tears finally come.) For once, she looks every bit her age -- it's not much more than your own, you think, but she is a creature that will fade and die, where you ...

You're not sure, anymore. It means nothing to you, not when he is here spilling blood at your feet, the white of his ribs visible beneath ruined mail.

He will return for you, she says, not unkindly.

Oh, it does not make it hurt any less.

You must go. You think nothing in your life has been half so difficult as telling her to leave this place. The time you've had, it's not enough; it's never been enough and you know it never will be, not even if you had ten thousand eternities laid end to end in which to shape your fragile lives.

Where they go, you cannot follow.

What is left for you is a yawning emptiness so absolute your mind recoils.

He will return, she says again, and this time it is his hand she lays against the stone, impossibly large beneath her own.

You feel him then, his weakness and his spirit, and you pray it is enough to see you through.

I'm sorry, she says, aloud and quietly fractured, gathering him against herself as if he weighs less than air.

You know. She has played her part, as he has played his, as you have played your own and you know.

The boat awaits her, and she vanishes into the mist, moving slowly towards an island that does not truly exist in the heart of your little lake.

He will return, but you will not see her again. You know this for truth, like you know the sun will rise tomorrow, like you know the glory of his kingdom will crumble to ruin in his absence.

His blood is all that you have to touch him now, and soon you know the rain will come to wash it away.

You will wait.


.


in the cold light of a weakening star
unchain me
through the last shower of fire wheels in the air
i am life breathed in the radiant lie (2)


.


The years pass by, but not swiftly.

The forests rise and disappear, victims to catastrophe, to woodsmen and plague. The lake withers to a pond, which fades until there is nothing but a bed of smooth stones, strewn among the grasses. Even the creatures have moved on: where once great herds of deer foraged, an asphalt road splits the valley in two.

The air has changed. It has a different texture now, something sulfurous and gritty; it leaves stains upon your stone like verdigris.

You feel the gravity of time, seasons fading one into the other, centuries an impossible weight upon your frozen shoulders. The land itself is changing, and you are the eye of a great, ancient storm, unmoved as the world revolves around you. Empires, cities, people rise and fall as inexorable as the tide, and all these things mean nothing to you.

Your world is dilated, reduced to the pregnant moment of stillness between one breath and the next. Your world lies sleeping on the lost isle; you wonder if he dreams, and if he dreams of you.

You are forgotten, but you remember.

You are eternal.

You are legend.

Around your stone, the apple trees are ever in blossom, a promise unfulfilled.


.


One morning he will rise. (And it will burn you, that for all these centuries of calling his name, it is the land that draws him forth, blinking like a newborn into the dawn.)

He will come to you, lay hands upon the stone that is your prison (it will part for him like water) and he will draw you into his arms. He will breathe life into your withered body. Joy and love will unravel within you, his name a prayer on your lips until your voice is heard once more.

You will kiss him -- just in case he has forgotten -- and you will know then that he has not.

You will call him king. Prat. Beloved.

And he will take your hand in his own, and together you will descend that broken hill, laughing unto the end of the world.


.


over the fields and the arcs of the radial lines
that bind the waking world to the hidden life
of the empire
that moves without sound
through the air, through the ground
and that streams through each break
carved in the line
and dreams of us. 3


-fin
04.03.10


(1) Lyrics from Runners of the Sun, by Shearwater
(2) Lyrics from God Made Me, by Shearwater
(3) Lyrics from Hidden Lakes, by (you guessed it) Shearwater

I'm honestly not quite sure what to think of this yet. There are parts I really like, and parts I want to shake until they're all better and not, y'know, absolutely lame. Mostly, I think I'm just glad to finish something; lately, I've been feeling like the biggest flake in the world for ages and this is kind of like heaving a huge, much-needed sigh. :|

If you made it through, thank you so much for reading! Hell, if you just skimmed, we're cool; I know it's been done before.

Comments are loved (especially since this is a really new fandom, aaaah), and concrit is appreciated!

Comments

[nyargles.livejournal.com]

*squeee!* I loved this. The prose flows like poetry, all the parenthesis slide into place perfectly and it's sad and chilling and hopeful all at once. =3 Second person is ridiculously hard to write, but in this case just made me draw closer to Merlin. Sooooo good. ^__^

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much! God yes, second person is hideously difficult to write, trying to keep everything between too dry and too melodramatic and ... crossing your fingers a lot, really, haha. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[cheeyuu.livejournal.com]

Haunting, but seriously wonderful. This is probably one of my favorite Merlin fics I've ever read. One of my favorite lines is this one: "
(You never could call daylight from darkness, no matter what the stories may say.)"

Excellent work, I truly enjoyed it.

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Oh, wow, thank you so much. I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[ronsard.livejournal.com]

GIMME A FEW DAYS I HAVEN'T FINISHED THE SERIES YET D:

[arclights.livejournal.com]

IT WAS DELIBERATELY VAGUE, JUST FOR YOU, HO.

Hurry up already! I'm mostly done with two other hideous things. :o

[a8c-sock.livejournal.com]

Oh that was lovely. Beautifully written and nice inclusion od the legend.

I did like the last line particularly.

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I do love the legends, but god do things get confusing -- so it's kinda nice to take a cue from the show and just be like 'ffff yeah, we're just gonna tweak that bit' and move along.

...I imagine Merlin and Arthur would make the end of the world a lot more interesting. And, uh, bearable. (Except probably not, given the nature of the beast.)

[polychromator.livejournal.com]

Urm. Wow.
This was beautiful.
The prose was gorgeous. Like. I would sleep with this prose.
Unshamedly. <3<3<3
I give this my seal of approval. =D

[arclights.livejournal.com]

OH GOD SEAL OF APPROVAL IS ADORABLE. ;A;

Also, thank you very much!

[dr-composed.livejournal.com]

Aaahhh, the angstttt... It's so addicting, but so depressing, but sooo goooodddd... o.o I absolutely LOVE your writing style--it's so smooth and effortless, and it's been a while since I've read something (online, mind you) that used words I didn't know. Plus, the song lyrics locked into place beautifully, and it didn't come off as one of those stupid songfics in the slightest. (Though there are good ones. Just clarifying. =/) Anyway, amazing work! I am deeply moved. =O

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Oh wow, thank you! That's -- haha, ow, my ego just broke a window, I think. And I hope I didn't write anything too inaccessible? I had someone chew on me about that once, but it's never intentional, I promise. D:

And as someone who has written more than their share of (admittedly hideous) songfics in my misguided youth, I thank you for that. This album just has so many gorgeous lines that really strike me as in tune with the rebirth at the end of the world promised in some of the Arthurian legends, especially.

your skinny arms hold a lantern up
on the brightest array of the stars in their moorings
and summoning the holy light down
on citadels and the blackening sky
the collapsing sun, the burning wall
that approaches our eyes
you live again in the shuddering light --

Nnnnngh. I want to write them forever. ;A;

[dr-composed.livejournal.com]

Hahaha, glad to give you an ego boost...? xD (Everyone needs them once in a while...!) No way! The words may be long, and some of them rather obscure, but it flows so well and gets the feeling across so clearly that I wouldn't dare change any of it. =O The meaning is evident even without actually knowing the word, anyway. =D

Oh, I used to love writing songfics. Not so much anymore, but... xD The lyrics are definitely moving, I can tell you that. It makes me want to look up some of their songs. I don't have enough music with lyrics like that. o.o

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Context is a fabulous thing, but -- I just had no idea. Thank you for pointing it out! xD

It's got to have been about eight years since I wrote my last songfic, but I've never gotten over the habit of adding a lyrical sub-line to pretty much every fic I've ever written. And I highly suggest it! Shearwater is an absolutely amazing band, both musically and lyrically, as well as Okkervil River (http://www.okkervilriver.com/index.php?), the band they were originally an offshoot of (whom I still think have a slight lyrical advantage over SW, though the material is quite different).

-- okay so I'm a little sorry for gleefully shoving bands at you in a fic comment-comment, but they really are fabulous and if you ever get the inclination I'm sure you won't be disappointed. xD

[dr-composed.livejournal.com]

Haha, no problem. xD

Oh, I agree. A lot of times, I'm listening to a really good song while writing (there can be no writing without music, right?) and some line in the song strikes a chord, and I get so inspired, I very nearly just copy the lyrics down. I have to physically stop myself. xD I look forward to looking them up, just as I look forward to having the time to look them up... *sigh* Schoolwork. =/

Don't worry. My only disappointment is not being able to look them up straight away. xD

[giselleslash.livejournal.com]

This was just beautiful. My god, just lovely. The flow of it, the longing and darkness and hope...all of it so wonderfully executed.

I just love coming across something with so much depth and that uses such gorgeous words and phrases. I just fell in utter love with that last section, but the last sentence in particular. There was so much sorrow in their lives, but you've given it that spot of hope that is so heartbreaking, yes, because you just don't know when that hope will be fulfilled, but it's beautiful as well.

Really stunning work.

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Oh, holy cats -- thank you so much. *___* I'm glad you enjoyed it!

You know, it's really kind of depressing to think about; sure, they get together again, but there's no time to party because it's the end of the world and they probably don't even have time for a quick go-round in the back. :|

Except it's them, and I can totally imagine it being this entirely contented thing, kind of like -- well, sort of like that manly shoulder clasping before they go off to face the dragon and they're both pretty certain they're fucked and I freely admit that I forgot how to breathe during that scene because I've got a serious kink for fatalism, sob.

I sort of want to write that now.

[indielove92.livejournal.com]

I haven't read this yet, but I just wanted to say that Shearwater and Merlin/Arthur is probably the best combination ever. And would you mind if I friended you? I actually just got the 72-page dossier which goes with TGA and I'm still super excited about it, even though I've yet to look through it properly (or buy the album... tsk!) and yeah, it would be really cool to have someone to discuss this, the band and their super genius with.

(Comment on fic to follow, I promise...)

[arclights.livejournal.com]

You know, they just -- really absolutely are.

I would be absolutely stoked to be friends, but this is just a writing journal; arclights is the one to add. :D (Let me just preempt you and add you now, ha!) And ... actually, my last entry was crammed full of pictures of the dossier and still all I can do about it is flail and go oh my god guys it's so pretty and I'd ramble more but I'm late for work and must go now, sob.

It's nice to meet you! ♥

[lonelybrit]

Ouch, this was bittersweet but rather lovely all the same. I liked that Arthur still remembered and felt guilty over their first meeting, and adored Merlin's response to that question of forgiveness. Equally liked the take on the Gwen/Lancelot affair with Merlin realising that Gwen did love both men but equally realising how he would have responded had he not been sure it would have broken Arthur's heart even more. The second-person POV gave a nice dream-like feel to this, which was fitting considering Merlin's position, and the format of snapshots through time worked well as possibly continuous prose might have been too hard to read. Oh, and loved the ending - though the 'ouch' comes for poor Merlin knowing Arthur will rise for the land not for him - and the image of them facing the end of the world laughing. Because of course they will win. Great fic - bravo!

[arclights.livejournal.com]

I'm sort of a sucker for the bittersweet, and I'm afraid it comes out all-too clearly in my writing. Still, it's the two of them, so even in the worst of times there's always that spark of light, sob.

Seriously, though, thank you so much; I'm glad you enjoyed it!

[indielove92.livejournal.com]

Lord above, that was just... wow. Both the prose and the musical accompaniment (yes, I was listening to the album - properly - for the first time whilst reading this) became all the more poignant when teamed with one another, and made for a really mesmerising experience. The beauty and grandiose of this piece, alongside the subtlety and restraint, captured the essence of the legend and Merlin & Arthur's relationship perfectly, as well as being a great homage to the record that appeared to inspire it.

So uh, all in all, I guess... thank you! This certainly won't be forgotten in a hurry! :)

[arclights.livejournal.com]

Oh man, I feel quite honored that you think so! My first few time or two through the album was a little wishy-washy -- it was beautiful, but Rook was a one-hit KO on my scale of amazing and I was expecting to be struck blind the first time this time, too. Still. Still. I can't stop listening to it. I think, thematically, Everybody Makes Mistakes is most appropriate of SW's albums for them, especially in the Shine-verse.

Haha, thank you; I'm sort of blushing my cheeks off here at the praise and I don't think it's going to go away for a few minutes at the very least.

[indielove92.livejournal.com]

Oh, d'you know what? I was just the same. That was actually the second time I'd listened to the album, but the first time was through laptop speakers whilst I was trying to absorb the dossier, also for the first time... and really the album did just wash right over me. But somehow the beauty just seemed to slot into place whilst I was reading this fic, and it's stayed there ever since. I'm not sure it'll ever beat Rook, though (I mean, Rook has Home Life. Home Life.)

And I actually still don't have Everybody Makes Mistakes. I feel like this makes me a really bad fan...

[arclights.livejournal.com]

I was a bad person and downloaded the leak, and ... well, there were I few I liked instantly and I lot I was a little '........' about. I really loved the accessibility of Rook (IT HAS HOME LIFE, SOB which suddenly reminds me of something really funny (http://arclights.livejournal.com/179769.html)) and didn't feel that on TGA much. But I thought about it a little harder, and realized that was okay.

I only have a download -- I have no idea where you'd even go about getting a physical copy of that anymore. If you don't have those, though, I could send because it is wonderful and a lot of my pre-Rook favorites come from it. *___*

[indielove92.livejournal.com]

I'm exactly the same, I think. Rook is definitely their most instant album, but, unlike most instant albums, it just doesn't wear off. And that's what I love about Shearwater :) And boy, great fanmix! Which reminds me - I was just about to upload an M/A fanmix myself to my fandom journal, but sadly, I didn't manage to fit any Shearwater on it, so would it be ok if I added a little rec to your Shearwater-inspired fic on my post?

Download is awesome. If you could possibly send me a link to that I'd be most grateful. Although Spotify have now uploaded nearly all of SW's older albums onto it's catalogue, so I took the oppurtunity to listen to Everybody Makes Mistakes today and it is ridiculously beautiful. And Jonathan's voice, by god! So precious *__*

[arclights.livejournal.com]

THIS. God, this, exactly. It's still every bit as amazing to me as it was the first day it came out. And thank you! Though frankly, I'm a little unhappy with some of it, and I'm sort of intending on rectifying that by making a new one where I can be a little bit more experimental instead of going with strict interpretation. Time to load on the Cake Bake Betty and Neutral Milk Hotel! o/ You're completely welcome to do so -- but I want a link to the finished project, yes? :3

Here you go! (http://www.mediafire.com/?gjzo24nk3zt) My favorites are kind of a toss up between Wreck and Well, Benjamin. I love both Will and Jonathan, but the latter absolutely wins the 'who's got the better vocals' contest. Whiiiich is probably okay, since I think Will is slightly the better songwriter -- or at least the one whose style appeals more to me. I LIKE THE STORIES-AS-SONGS. But they're both my absolute favorites, so there's no rivalry, lol.

If you need anything else, I do have their full release discog, from Bursera Graveolens to Sham Wedding/Hoax Funeral (though I am missing one from a compilation) as well as a couple of live bootlegs.

[indielove92.livejournal.com]

Thank you, and of course! And I know what you mean, I always tend to stick to a very conventional route with those things... I'm still not completely happy with the mix I just made but I really can't be asked to load it all up again xD

Thanks ever so much! That's really kind of you. I don't have any favourites yet, but Jonathan's voice is really killing me on this record. I haven't listened to Will's ones yet... have to say, I do tend to skip his mainly because I don't get along too well with his voice (especially when it's placed next to Jonathan's) but as a lyricist, I think he's absolutely amazing.

Ooh, those would be awesome, thanks! Is it bad that I've never even heard of Bursera Graveleons...?