#the larks song

[footprintsinthesxnd]

The Lark’s Song

Summary: Florence Lark joined the ENSA to do her part for the war effort. On a daily basis she is surrounding by charming young men, so why would David Webster the any different. His blunt personality seems to draw her in but with the world at war, can they make it through? Warnings: not too many warnings for this chapter, some swearing

When Two Hearts Meet

Florence tapped her foot rhythmically against the wooden floorboards of the stage, as the music played out from the band around her. Some light chattering from the men in the front row distracted her, eyes hovering over the man at the end of the row, who seemed too engrossed in his novel to listen to her singing. As the instrumental section came to an end she took a deep breath, drifting across the stage as she began to sing again.

“We'll meet again

Don't know where

Don't know when”

Florence preferred singing to the English troops, they always knew all the words and would sing along with her. It was in those moments that Florence felt that she was doing the most good to help boost their morale. The American troops, however, seemed disinterested. Too many of them were smoking, playing cards and talking, but the one dark-haired soldier at the front bothered her the most, his nose buried in a red, leather bond novel. A few of the officers at the back watched her intently, swaying along to the music, whether it was more out of respect for her or because they didn’t have any other plans for their Saturday evening. As the song came to an end, a pathetic round of applause followed and Florence found herself excusing herself, leaving the band playing Glenn Millers' ‘In The Mood’.

Florence lit the cigarette, bringing it to her red lips and inhaling the nicotine deeply, warmth filling her lungs until she exhaled, watching as the smoke wafted gently into the starry night sky. She wondered if her brother, Tom, was looking up at the same sky right now. Whether he was looking up at the same moon somewhere in Normandy. Her father probably was. He often sat in the small back garden of their terraced house, looking up at the sky for any planes. He had been in the Royal Flying Corps back in The Great War before it had become the RAF. He’d flown a Bristol Type 22 two-seater fighter plane with his best friend, Eddie. Eddie had sadly lost his life when their plane crashed which was the same accident where her father lost his right leg. He had been desperate to sign up again when war was declared in 1939, thinking that if he went to fight it would spare his son but being 41 and only having one leg meant he wouldn’t be accepted, so he’d signed up for the home guard instead. Florence often wondered whether having a uniform again gave her father a sense of purpose. After their mother died 8 years ago he’d been lost but had put all his effort into raising his two children and being the best father he could. This was probably why both Florence and Tom had such a good relationship with their father.

Florence took another long drag of her cigarette when she was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind her. She spun around quickly, expecting to see a half-cut paratrooper trying to make some kind of advance towards her. She’d had to fight off her fair share of unwanted attention from soldiers before and she wasn’t afraid to sock it to them. Instead, she was met by a rather handsome, kind-faced man. His lips pulled upwards into a friendly smile but as Florence’s eyes drifted over his frame she couldn’t help but roll her eyes when she saw the red leather-bound book held tightly in his right hand.

“Oh, it’s you. Sorry, I don’t do private shows, if you didn’t pay attention the first time that’s your loss.” She turned her back to him, allowing her eyes to settle once again across the rooftops of Aldbourne.

“It’s nothing personal,” he spoke up, moving to stand beside her. Florence could feel the hairs on her arms prickly in his presence and a light blush spread across her cheeks. “I just think once you hear one singer, you’ve heard them all. It’s always the same songs, the same dances. It just doesn’t hold my interest anymore.”

Florence snorted, turning to face the man who decided it was a good idea to insult her entire career.

“So what do you want, some strip tease or something? I’m sorry if the ENSA is too tame for you, Mr…?”

“David. I’m David Kenyon Webster,” he reached his large hand forward to greet her but she just brushed him off. “Well Mr Webster, I’m sorry if it’s too tame for you. Maybe you should try some of the London clubs if you’d rather have that sort of entertainment.”

David Webster looked rather shocked by her outburst but reached out towards her.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.” He looked at her sincerely. “I’m just not like the others I guess.”

“Well, at least you sat through the whole performance. Most of your comrades either left or started playing cards. I think your officers only stayed out of sympathy.”

David nodded slowly, contemplating what to say next. “If it’s any consolation it’s not your singing. Your voice is beautiful but most of us have sat through quite a few performances and since Normandy, I guess we’ve all lost something.”

Florence nodded understanding, “I understand what you mean. My brother Tom was at Dunkirk. The last time I saw him he was so different. He’s lost the spark from his eyes, the light.”

David placed a hand on Florence’s shoulder, looking down at her, his chocolate eyes glistening under the light of the moon, illuminating his pale features in contrast to his full head of brunette hair. His eyes were tired, dark purple shadows enveloped his eyes and his forehead was wrinkled with worry lines. He was handsome. Florence had rarely found any of the soldiers she sang for actually attractive, many of them thought they were good-looking and certainly acted in that way but David was different. He was the kind of man who didn’t realise how handsome he was.

“Thank you, David.”

He smiled brightly at her. “You’re welcome.”

“So, what book was taking up so much of your attention?” Florence asked, reaching out to grasp the small book, prising it from David’s fingers and fingering the pages carefully. David just watched in amusement as her eyes danced over the pages.

“Oh well, that’s not what I was expecting. I didn’t realise Paratroopers read classic,” she mused, enjoying the feel of his eyes watching her fondly.

“Well most of us don’t. I’m an exception,” he chided, allowing his shoulders to relax now that he no longer felt as though he was under interrogation. Florence handed the book back to him, “I approve. It’s good to know some of you read more things than Dick Tracey and Flash Gordon.”

Webster scoffed, “Yes. I feel that many of them lack the basic, functional skills to hold an adult conversation.”

“Well you’re right there,” Florence smiled up at Webster and he could feel his cheeks heating up under her gaze once more. “It was a pleasure talking to you Webster but I really must be getting back before the boys start to miss me.” She squeezed passed him and Webster chased himself for staring at her like a fool instead of moving aside.

“I look forward to hearing you sing again,” he called after her and to this she just laughed, not bothering to turn around and Webster watched as his hips swayed rhythmically in her red dress as she disappeared.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lover Boy Webster. Who’d have thought the infamous Florence ‘I don’t take shit from anyone’ Lark would let the likes of Webster into her panties,” Leibgott’s dulcet tones called from behind him, followed by the sniggers from Luz and Toye.

“Oh give it a rest, Liebgott and Florence’s panties are none of your business,” Webster snapped, his glare harsh as he watched the three men appear from behind the tent.

“Who knew Webster could be so jealous,” Luz gave a low whistle but Webster wasn’t about to wait around to hear what else they had to say. He extinguished the cigarettes he’d just lit, stomping it out under his boot and following the music back into the tent. Florence's voice called to him, wafting like a soft lullaby and pulling him back inside. She was like some sort of mermaid, dragging him down to the deep but also like a songbird singing life into these dark days. Webster wasn’t sure when he’d become so poetic, especially about a woman but he found himself scribbling notes in the back of his notebook, her name flowing from his pen like he’d been writing it his whole life.

Tags: @georgieluz @iceman-kazansky @yeahcurrahhe-e @lieutenant-speirs @blvestxr @dustyjumpwjngs @theflyingfin @jump-wings @kafka-ohdear @kmc1989 @mads-weasley @docroesmorphine @liptonsbabe @lena-basilone @sweetxvanixlla @hesbuckcompton-baby @ronsparky @allthingsimagines @whollyjoly @bucky32557038ww2 @panzershrike-pretz @malarkgirlypop @hanniewinnix @inglourious-imagines @l13bg0tt

[pittermogged]

hello !!!!!! I drew this massive piece to celebrate 1 year of me getting way too invested in this podcast ! I tried to fit as many NPCs in here as I could + hope you guys have fun trying to find them all ,,

also available as a print on my inprnt!!!

close ups under the cut !!

[ganem-ouchie]

Shaking in my boots

Songs of Origin link

[bunubunss]

where does a mind like yours wonder₊˚⊹⋆

[microwave20001]

"slipping through my fingers all the time" but its henry and mercedes looking at their two beautiful boys

[theepitomeofamess]

tiktok's hype over harpy hare feels the same as their hype over too sweet when hozier release "unheard."

don't get me wrong, both songs are phenomenal in their own right (and props to harpy hare for encapsulating the unbridled joy of playing and performing with your friends only to learn years later what the nursery rhymes you'd sung were really about), but oh my god are the other songs overlooked. yaelokre is out here awakening wonder i genuinely don't remember ever being given space to have.

Hartebeest? adrenaline like running as fast as you can and rolling down hills.

And The Hound? haunting like campfire stories and realizing that a parent lied to you.

Neath The Grove Is A Heart? "foolish dreamer, be awakened," "how do i begin when the roof is ever changing?" i will never not weep to this song, it will play every time i do inner child work.

not to mention the story they're weaving? meadowlark is such a fucking rich world created through one of the oldest methods of storytelling and passage of a culture's history from generation to generation. and the dynamics between the members of the Lark, the found family of it all is so heartwarming i can't watch "meeting milestones" enough.

i don't know what happened in the fandom about "crickets" and whatnot? i just got here this morning, all i'm saying is yaelokre is a master storyteller, brilliant musician, and deserves the world.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 64

Jaskier has been cursed to turn into a Lark during the day for years now. It makes following his dreams very difficult, what with a lark not being able to carry a lute nor his money pouch, but he just waits to move at night, when the magic turns him back into his human form. Which means he technically has a very awful sleep schedule, but that's not what we're focusing on. Jaskier is sat in a tree one afternoon, trying to sleep, when a horse neighs below him. He peeks down and to his surprise sees a witcher. A witcher! What stories he must have! Jaskier must follow him so that he can ask him questions once he becomes human again! So a very sleepy bird follows after Geralt, twittering and singing all the while. Geralt evidently notices, but ignores the bird for the most part. That is, until the bird lands on Roach's back. Geralt sighs. These birds will stop at nothing... He reaches into his pack, and plucks off a few pieces of bread, and scatters them along the road behind them. He watches as the bird eagerly hops down and pecks at them. Jaskier isn't usually one for eating off the ground, but he's technically a bird right now, and he really mustn't let free food go to waste! It's only after he's finished his banquet that he notices the witcher has ridden off. Oh drat. He'll try and find him that night. When he's not so tired. The next day, Geralt is sat at his camp with Roach, and is surprised to see the same hungry lark as yesterday flying over to sit beside him. Geralt once again shares a bit of his food, and even gets to pet the bird's head. He admits he's grown a fondness for the little lark. That afternoon, just before the sun has set, Geralt is armored up and ready for a fight. Roach is tacked up, he has his potions, his swords, his lark, his oils, hi- Wait, his lark? The lark keeps insisting on following him, until he finally shoos it away with a firm "Don't come. It's dangerous." and the bird seems to understand. Geralt is unnerved at the implications, but he has a contract to attend to first.

Geralt wakes up the next morning, bloody and beaten, no longer high on potions. It was very nearly a pyrrhic victory, it seems. Geralt brushes himself off and looks at his surroundings and sees that the monster and him tore the forest up a bit during their tussle in the night. He's walking back to his camp when he spots it, a fallen tree, and next to it, his lark. Geralt races over, and sees that the tree is pinning the lark to the ground by one of it's wings. The lark opens it's eyes and chirps frantically at him, kicking it's little legs and batting it's free wing erratically. Geralt manages to get the lark unstuck and mends it at camp. He plans to see to the lark's healing, and then release it back into the wild. This is complicated by the lark turning into a man in the middle of his camp later that night.

[macksartblock]

I wanted to do a tattoo hc thing and it turned straight up Nark I guess 

[perrine-enthusiast]

ANYONE OUT THERE WHO WATCHED THE STREAM LIVE???

Also a little help for people who didn’t know the language like me-

[serpentineshine]

~ “Take it far, give it a name! Places forget, stories remember.” ~

Yaelokre’s work is so inspiring to me, i adore their artwork and musical storytelling. i wanted to draw something to celebrate the release of My Farewells to the Fields / Bird Cage Blue and Yellow so i drew the Storyteller character!

Yaelokre’s Songs of Origin are out now on youtube and streaming now on spotify! please give their songs a listen if you like folk music, storytelling, and general whimsy :) and congratulations to Yaelokre on their release!

[lepetitdragonvert]

A Lark’s First Song

Artist : Rene Cloke

[ratislatis]

',:) Requests??? HEH. Well there's like ten million in my head but actually Rat since you've already blessed the world with yassified Sparrow, how about some yassified Lark? (I remember you mentioning that Lark is your jewelry model! I'm dying to see him!!!) 💜💜💜

I hope this is what you meant by yassified

pov you get dragged into playing mermaids with your best friend's 5 year old daughter who will not stop talking about fish

(requests are open <;3)

[justbearsart]

my side of an art trade w/ @undefbug

[introverted-bard]

Love, Me Normally

Transcript:

Sparrow: So if you just, like act super cool and normal at this dance and you have a fun date that goes normal and is- is not weird, and you take off that mascot suit and maybe, like, wear deodorant, I think everything will be cool. And I'll be proud of you, and then…

Normal: W—

Sparrow: [softly] Yeah!

Freddie: Woah.

Normal: You're not proud of me?

Sparrow: [quick, important, pause] Nah I mean, I love you a lot. I don't know proud— Proud is like, I want to show you to people and be like, “This is my son!” And I definitely don't want to do that—

Anthony: Lark's like—

Lark: Ah pah-pah!

Freddie: Oh my God.

Lark: Pah-pah! No, nuh, he doesn't— I mean, he doesn't— he means what he's saying. He doesn't mean to mean what he's... Agh!

Anthony: Lark starts hitting himself, he’s like—

Scary: Hey, why are you being such a d*ck?

Lark: It's doing stuff to us. It’s—

Normal: Uh— It’s— It—

Lark: It's the drunkness, and also it's this place that we're in. He wouldn't be saying that if he was just sloshed at home.

Normal: Well, he'd be thinking it though, right?

Lark: I mean, uh— [stutters]

[kazz-brekker]

me listening to random songs earlier today while doing boring finance data entry and thinking too hard about saruon/galadriel/adar

[gl1tt3ryd34th]

Update: I made a redraw (first drawing) of my Yaelokre oc art (second drawing) to give it some better proportions and details than the original. I feel like the first one had a better shape of blue for the background, but the proportions of the mask and the lack of details on it, as well as the white marker outlines bothered me. I enjoy the second version a lot more. Hope you´ll enjoy