#I can't keep the rhymes for my life

[idiotprodigy]

Translating In Memoriam, image from mtmte #41

请在我灯火昏黄不定时伴我身旁，

当热血踟蹰，当神经不安的

刺跳，在心病之时，

在万物的回转都缓慢的时刻。

请伴我身旁，当我善于感受的躯体

在巨响中摧残零落，当信任失去光华；

和时间，一个散布灰尘的疯子，

和生命，一个喷吐怒焰的妖鸟。

请在我信仰干涸时伴我身旁，

当人如晚春的飞蝇，

产卵，蛰刺，歌唱，

作出他们美丽的小屋，然后赴死

请在我生命淡去时伴我身旁，

来定下人类挣扎的尽头，

和生命黑暗低沉的边缘上

永恒白日的微光。

阿尔弗雷德·丁尼生

——《悼亡》

tbh I'm not planning to do poetry this early in my translation exercises, but mtmte quoted this one and it's a good poem.

"be near me" has a beauty in itself.

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[propertyofwicked]

revenge

she just loves to cause chaos on the timeline, especially with the recent news of her best friends unemployment.

fewtrell!reader x platonic!f1grid smau

masterlist the playlist

yourusername has posted!

liked by landonorris, logansargeant and 75,926 others

yourusername training.

view all 5,421 comments

user1 she really said james vowels sleep with one eye open

landonorris timbers? shivered.

⤷ yourusername keep this attitude up and you're next.

⤷ landonorris who's first?

⤷ landonorris does it rhyme with tames towels?

user2 uh oh james is gonna reinstate the y/n williams ban

⤷ user3 there was ban? why?

⤷ user2 it was rumoured that james banned her from williams after australia due to a "heated conversation" about alex driving logan's car eek

⤷ yourusername i prefer the term "defending the innocent"

alex_albon remind me never to get on your bad side

⤷ yourusername as if you need reminding, albon

⤷ alex_albon i said i was sorry :(

⤷ yourusername you were specifically told no eating my cookies, no bullying logan and no bribing him for them either

⤷ yourusername and i caught you shouting "ill give you a tenner for that cookie u evil american bastard"

⤷ logansargeant and how do you plead alex_albon?

⤷ alex_albon ...guilty, your honour 😔

yourusername has posted!

liked by lilymhe, logansargeant and 22,367 others

yourusername 'wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad...

tagged: lilyzneimer, logansargeant, oscarpiastri

view all 2,511 comments

user2 get him back lyrics in the caption??? what does it mean???

⤷ user4 'get him back' like enacting revenge on jv?

⤷ user3 i was thinking like she's getting pre-traumatised logan back?

⤷ yourusername perchance. mayhaps. potensh.

⤷ user2 you can't just say perchance??

user5 heavy on the "wanna make him feel bad" huh

user6 did someone say...twin bitches?

⤷ yourusername twin bitches.

⤷ logansargeant twin bitches hopping off a jet skiiiiiiii

jensonbutton have a good summer break guys!

alex_albon how burnt is he?

⤷ yourusername he's looking a little red....

⤷ oscarpiastri im covering him in aftersun as we speak

⤷ yourusername he looks like a squashie

⤷ logansargeant tf is a squashie?

⤷ logansargeant nvm i googled it you guys are mean

yourusername has posted!

liked by lilymhe, logansargeant and 13,470 others

yourusername that one unemployed friend on a random tuesday

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell, lilymhe, logansargeant

view all 2,713 comments

yourusername p.s why have i been golfing more than once in the last week what has my life come to?

logansargeant too soon....

⤷ oscarpiastri not soon enough

⤷ logansargeant yo?

⤷ oscarpiastri i meant the joke not your career

lilymhe i love you, i love you. lets never go golfing together again.

⤷ yourusername what about pirate themed mini golf?

⤷ lilymhe i could be persuaded, but only if we dress up

⤷ yourusername deal. but i bagsy being a parrot.

landonorris you should stick to minecraft

⤷ yourusername google “lando norris biting the curb in 4k”

maxfewtrell the day you get good at literally any sport is the day i will stand corrected

⤷ yourusername oh yeah? and hows your career in sport going?

⤷ landonorris gagged.

⤷ yourusername the man dubbed no-wins for the majority of his career is piping up?

⤷ landonorris im on your side???

user5 all of y/n's friends absolutely violating her golf skills is sending me

⤷ yourusername friends? bro it's my own flesh and blood

yourusername has posted!

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and 42,391 others

yourusername my favourite animal is lando resisting the urge to get behind the dj booth

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell

view all 1,892 comments

user8 tell him to stop resisting.

pietra.pilao you look so pretty 🤍

⤷ yourusername leave my brother, run away with me 🤍

user6 i don't understand how she knows like everyone??

⤷ user3 she's max's sister, but closer to oscar and logan in age so she met them when max was in f4 & f-renault

⤷ maxfewtrell ...much to my dismay

⤷ user4 logan really out here ensuring lando is never far from a fewtrell

⤷ yourusername truly 🙏 you'd think he'd be more grateful...

logansargeant nice shoes....

⤷ yourusername it’s my payment for being a portable friend, therapist, and comedian

⤷ logansargeant comedian is pushing it - pain in my ass, maybe

⤷ yourusername it'll be my foot in there next if u don't stfu

⤷ logansargeant kinky

maxfewtrell that is my 3rd pair of shoes ruined. you owe me.

⤷ yourusername were you not the one shouting "we should do shots!" anytime i came back to the table????

⤷ maxfewtrell doesnt matter. not everyone has rich friends to buy them news shoes when people throw up on them

⤷ yourusername true, not everyone does - but you do??

⤷ maxfewtrell he’s not my friend. we’re lovers.

⤷ pietra.pilao ???

⤷ landonorris ???

⤷ yourusername ???

creds to @/lecomptedelee on twitter for the picture

[friday411]

🍿Rally, Resist🍿 🍿and Rerun!🍿

We stand on the shoulders of giants Like the heroes of Stonewall's riots We all should take pride To be turning the tide Against hatred and pseudoscience!

-=<+>=-

I have tried to keep real life out of Tumblr, but I can't anymore.

I have several disabilities, and the only way that I was able to get treatment for my "pre-existing conditions" was "Obamacare",

Even worse, I have had to rely on Medicaid since January.

I won't have that soon.

Doing these limericks and getting the incredibly kind support from this awesome community has really been keeping me sane.

Thank you so very, very much!!

-=<+>=-

I've started a side-blog – @friday-911 – as an outlet for the bitter rhyming satire that's been pouring out of my brain since the election, so I can keep it lighter here.

-=<+>=-

Limerick list folks --

I will **NOT** tag you from @friday-911 **UNLESS YOU ASK!!**

Please LMK if you want off this list of (99.9% Sherlockian) limericks.

-=<+>=-

WARNING!! ⚠️ @friday-911 ⚠️ PREVUE

Political Satire Ahead!!

Springtime for Hitler is shocking Because of the evil it's mocking. Now the dictator's new But we know what to do Stand up and laugh at our mock-king!

-=<+>=-

"Rhetoric does not get you anywhere. Because Hitler and Mussolini are just as good at rhetoric, but if you bring these people down with comedy, they stand no chance"

- Mel Brooks

-=<+>=-

Sign up for weekly snarky sarcasm from @friday-911 in the comments here...

-=<+>=-

@calaisreno @helloliriels @naefelldaurk @peanitbear @totallysilvergirl

[shalomniscient]

ONCE UPON A TIME...

⤷ a series re-imagining famous fairy tales with assorted genshin women !

⤷ featuring:

beauty and the beast [eula lawrence] ➳ on the edges of mondstadt, nestled in the frigid mountains of dragonspine, is a lonely, forgotten castle. word around town is that within the cold stone walls is a monstrous beast, a scion of the cursed lawrence family. you are content to live your days far ignorant of such a rumor, but when your father gets into a terrible accident in the mountains, you have no choice but to take your chances with whatever lurks in the castle to save him.

the little mermaid [raiden ei] ➳ the world above the water has always fascinated you. the tales of rolling hills and towering mountains, vast plains and mystical forests; and of course, the people. the people who sing and dance and run along the shore, carefree and lively. you wish, and you wonder, what it's like to be part of that world. your wish is granted somewhat on a stormy night, when a ship crashes against the rocks and scatters its human occupants to the waves. against what you've been told, you rush to save the one person you can find--a beautiful, purple-haired woman, dressed in fine, ornate clothing. it's a meeting that will change your life, forever.

snow white [arlecchino] ➳ your step-mother wants you dead. you know as much, when she cast you from your own home and into the cold woods, setting a hunstman on your tail. you barely escape with your life. the little cottage you stumble upon as you run, and the seven little fools you find inside become your saving graces. you spend your days there in peace, and even meet a handsome, dual-tone haired prince who passes by the cottage ever so often on her hunts. but peace, as you've learned, is fragile, and your world is upended again when your step-mother discovers that you're alive. and you can't help but wonder--is a happily ever after simply not in your cards?

rapunzel [beidou] ➳ when you were born, your parents gave you to a sea monster. you don't know why, and you were never told why. all you know is that you are this beast's prisoner, forever to be locked away in a tower by the sea. there is no escape for you; the only exit is the window, and the only thing waiting beneath it are jagged rocks and harsh waves. the beast comes and goes, ascending your tower using your hair as a rope. he calls your name in a singing rhyme, and you let down your hair. only one night, it is not the beast whom climbs through your window--but a charming, pretty pirate, who brings the first light of companionship to your life.

cinderella [jean gunnhildr] ➳ life is not easy after your mother's death. your father does his best, yet the woman he brings home to replace her is cruel. but she makes your father happy (or at least, you tell yourself as much) so you keep your head down and do as she and her daughters order you to. it isn't too bad. the attic is your refuge, and the barn mice keep you company. in the dark you gaze through the window at the glittering palace in the distance, and you let yourself dream of a sweeter life. but magic--magic has a way of turning dreams to reality, and there is more magic in your life than you know.

⤷ notes/disclaimers : ➹ this will not be a 1:1 retelling! i will of course do my best to be as close as possible to the source material, but since i will be incorporating genshin lore into this as well, i will be taking several creative liberties. also, some of the source material is... dark, and i'll be changing that because i personally don't enjoy writing dark content of that level. ➹ this is currently not the finalised list! i plan to add maybe two more characters, but i have yet to figure out how to work their corresponding fairy tales. ➹ unfortunately, there won't be a upload schedule! as much as i wish i could write only this for the next few weeks, i have other life things to handle, so i'll only be working on this in my free time. nonetheless, i'll do my best to get them up as soon as i can.

[thewritersaddictions]

Day Two: John Price + Masturbation

Your photos are always in Price's breast pocket, protecting his heart from the mission. You bring him home to you every time he leaves you in the early mornings and arrives back at the flat late.

When Price finally leaves the base at nearly two in the morning, he doesn't expect you to greet him. He excepts to find you snuggled up in your shared bed with his shirt wrapped around your frame. Drool falls from the corner of your mouth, hair wild from constantly moving around in the bed.

All the lights are off in the flat. Nothing shows anything of life except the sound of humming and quiet moans. It doesn't send Price into a panic. He knows those sounds. The humming of an electric toy and the moans of his pretty girl pleasing herself.

He should be jealous that he isn't the one making you moan like that, but he can't deny you your pleasure. He's been gone nearly a month, and it's not like the two of you have rules about this.

Your polaroids are always sitting in his breast pocket, and any time he's missing you, he pulls them out, and it gets his cock hard under those military pants.

Typically Price would drop his shit by the front door with a loud thud and make his presence known, but tonight he feels like letting you continue without knowing of his presence. He's quiet on his feet as he makes his way towards your shared bedroom. The low light of the bedside light glows over your skin.

Your legs are wide open, and a bright blue vibrator teasing your clit. Nipples are pebbled and taught as you roll between your thumb and pointer finger. Your neck is exposed in such a delicious way, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you get closer and closer. Your legs start to shake, and your moans get higher and higher.

Price can't hold back any longer. His pants are too fucking tight, and the urge to slip his cock, or honestly his head between your thighs, is growing at an alarming rate. He wants to feel the hold of your thighs as you cum.

He doesn't bust in through the bedroom door, but you're definitely shaken out of your equilibrium as you open your eyes with shock. Your chest falls and rises as you try to catch your breath. "John?" Your voice is scratchy, which only tells your dear boyfriend that you've been at this a lot longer than he's been privy to. You start to pull the vibrator away from your leaky cunt, but Price shakes his head. "Don't stop on my accord, love." The belt on his pants lands on the floor with a thud, and he walks over to the little desk in your bedroom, pulls the chair out, and takes a seat. "Did you miss my cock that much, baby?" He teases you, and you hum as you watch Price reach into his pants and pull out his girthy cock, pre-cum leaks from the angry tip as Price's eyes never leave your cunt.

"Show Daddy how much you missed him." Prices say as he starts to slowly jerk himself. This comes as no surprise to you; Price loves to watch. Loves knowing that no matter if he's home or away, you only are thinking of him when you're making a mess between your pretty thighs.

With that, the vibrator comes back to life. Pressing it gently into your overstimulated clit. "You were so close before, I could tell." You hum and open your legs wider, giving Price more of a show. "So close, Daddy." You mutter. "I could tell baby, had your legs shaking and toes curled." The faster your legs shake, the harder Price pumps his cock. Trying to keep pace and rhyme with you the closer you get. "I'm so close, Daddy." You moan out as your chest starts to rise and fall faster. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you are just seconds away.

"That's okay, baby girl. You can cum whenever you want. Just know that we are nowhere close to being done. I've been gone for far too long, and Daddy wants to taste his pretty girl-wet fucking pussy before I sink my cock in." Price's words push you over the invisible edge. Your eyes clamp shut, your toes curl. You feel as if the world has stopped around you for one second. The only;y thing you can hear is the wet, slick sounds of Price pumping his cock.

Posted on 10/02/24

Completed on: 06/27/24

Kinktober 24-

[serpentarius]

been trying to wrap my head around the cancellation of "Our Flag Means Death" and why it hurts so fucking much. lots of folks who are much more eloquent than I have summed it up perfectly, but I still think it’s important I add my voice to the matter. 

It really, really sucks that the hurt is being compounded on us every time another queer/minority-led show gets prematurely cancelled. and for a long while, we also had to deal with the many shows that deliberately queerbaited us, which was a shitty and traumatic experience unto its own. And even though we’ve largely surpassed that early-‘00s-flavoured brand of queerbait now, mainstream queer media is still predominantly white-led. With the cancellation of OFMD, we've lost one of the very few intersectional queer shows in the mainstream. Shouldn’t we be beyond asking for crumbs at this point? Shouldn’t we get unabashedly intersectional shows helmed by and starring queer, BIPOC, and trans folks without them being axed for no rhyme or reason?

It’s exhausting at this point, honestly. OFMD has done so well in terms of viewership and engagement and fan response—almost entirely due to word of mouth and little thanks to the Max marketing team, mind you—and even still the show got cancelled? Can they make it make sense????

For me, the thing most akin to this OFMD situation was when Sense8 got cancelled. And yes, the fandom fought, and we eventually DID get a movie that wrapped things up years later! That gives me hope for OFMD, that maybe another network will pick it up, or maybe they’ll be able to make a movie someday. But what makes me sad about cases like Sense8 is knowing that the creators still had to force the narrative around the amount of time they were given. That the corporate overlords who only care about numbers and profit dictated how much time they had to wrap up their story.

And it fucking kills me that DJ only wanted one more season. One more season to complete the vision.

I'm just so mad that queer people are constantly being jerked around and used for profit and then left high and dry. And then we're given excuses like "oh there's no budget" or "oh there's not enough viewership, that's all it is". like, sure, maybe those are contributing factors, but then I look at all the useless garbage shows that have little viewership and high budgets that keep going forever and then I think "hmmmm, the math ain't mathing." It's fucking transparent; the corporations can spew all they want with their rainbow capitalism and talks about diversity, but the evidence is clear, and they can't convince me homophobia/racism/transphobia/etc. is not a factor in these decisions.

Anyways, back to OFMD. OFMD made me fall in love with fandom again. I drifted away from fandom for a while in my 20s, and while OFMD wasn't the first fandom that drew me back into the madness, it's certainly the largest. The sheer amount of creativity both within the show and outside of it has blown me away; I've read some of the best fics, seen some of the best art, and witnessed some of the most incredible creativity from people in this fandom.

And let's not forget the role of the show's creators and how they've interacted with us fans. They made us feel seen. And made us feel loved and valid, even when we were being weird and loud and horny. It's so fucking rare to see that. But they understood; understood that the show they made was for us, for any of us who've been marginalized or made to feel Othered or different or stuck in life or unsure of our identities. And they gave us so much love for it.

The story... man. The unique combination of quirky humour and bright visuals and dark, introspective moments, the gorgeous costumes and soft, lovely, unabashed queerness, and veteran actors and new actors all getting to shine, brilliant comedic actors getting to show off their dramatic chops and vice versa. For me, seeing Rhys Darby - an actor I've loved for a long time, but who I never thought I'd see in a leading role - getting to be the romantic lead in a queer role? And seeing acclaimed director/producer/screenwriter/actor Taika Waititi play opposite Rhys, as an indigenous Blackbeard? Fucking incredible. OFMD Edward Teach you will always be famous to me.

Anyways... despite my long ramblings here, I still don’t think I've been able to get to the root of WHY exactly this show has inched its way under my skin and stayed with me in the way it has. Maybe I'll spend years trying to understand it. But I DO know that it's in part to do with seeing both older queers AND a diverse range of queerness onscreen, in a way that I've never seen in media before. I DO know that OFMD has forced me to look inwardly, and allowed me to realize some important things about myself. About my own queerness, my own identity, things I'm still figuring out. I've cherished being able to see myself in Stede, in Ed, and each of the crew members. In Roach’s love for cooking, in Oluwande’s ability to mediate; in Jim’s quick temper, in the way Izzy builds walls to guard his heart. In Buttons’ quirkiness, in Wee John’s sass, in Frenchie’s ability to turn pain into humour; in The Swede’s silliness, in Lucius’ bluntness, in Pete’s soft heart beneath the skepticism. Lastly, OFMD has inspired me. To create, to write, to draw, to devour other peoples' works and worlds while I sit in sheer, overflowing joyousness at their talent.

so yeah. the news of this cancellation is upsetting and hurtful and disappointing. And it's making us cry, and it's making us grieve, and may make us hollow and numb at times because we've lost yet another thing we love so deeply before it was meant to go. It's so much more than "just a TV show". It means more to us than any passive mindless idiotic mind-numbing bullshit - because even though there's a time and a place and a purpose for that type of media, it's the thought-provoking work, the work that creators pour their entire hearts and souls into, that hit us deep in our own souls. The work that changes our lives. The work that has the ability to save lives, as I know OFMD has done for so many. 

please know I'm sending immense amounts of love and strength to those of you who are also hurting. we'll get through this, one way or another, and I'll keep up with the hope that we'll get more someday; but in the meantime, I'm holding you tight. ❤️️🫂

[savshaikyuu]

                       𝙎𝙐𝘽𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉

Hi, if you're comfortable can you make NSFW headcannons for denki, kirishima, iida, bakugo, and if possible on another post during any point in time for ushijima, daichi, and kags. Could the read be female and dark skin also I'm not sure if you include body weight but could she be chubby. And for the denki and daichi one could you put in spitting and biting if you're comfortable of course. This is my first request so sorry if it's too long but I read your terms and wanted to try to be as detailed as possible while trying to make it make sense and could you keep me anonymous. Have a great day!

Ushijima | Daichi | Kageyama x Dark Skin!Chubby!〚FEM〛Reader

warning(s): sexual content, multiple positions, spitting kink, biting kink, roleplaying kink, established relationship.

read more: bnha ver.

a/n: woooo okay 3rd haikyuu work! and this request was actually perfect? like this is an example of how detailed but not excessive a request could be hahaha so no worries! so sorry for taking forever my love. and to clarify yes this is their time skip adult selves. thank you, anon!

USHIJIMA

PLEASEEEEE the way this man will handle you so fuckin' easily. he doesn't need to brag or tease, he has so much dominance when he does it, it's INSANE.

Ushijima is such a big fan of fucking you when he's standing.

like he loves the fact that he can hold you up and have you clinging to him as he fucks you good.

the position also gives him the nice chance to look at the way his fingers squeeze your chub, loving how your body just effortlessly molds to his.

loves to give you lots of sloppy kisses and is one to be in between your thighs like clockwork. </3

your thighs has to be his favorite part of you high-key low-key if you know what I mean,,,

he literally avoids positions where your legs aren't wrapped around him and or can't see your face.

you're a whole package deal he doesn't want to miss out on, plus he loves the way you grab at him during sessions where he really toys with you.

if he does do anything with your back facing towards him, it doesn't last for long.

he so in love with you he wants to see (and hear you) enjoy every second of it.

DAICHI

Daichi is the type of guy to be at your mercy no matter the shape.

although he does like seeing you ride him. that is an immediate 10s across the boards for him.

regular cowgirl or reversed it doesn't matter, he just likes seeing you work yourself on his cock and the light layer of sweat that dews your skin because of it.

is a fan of licking you up and biting the places he feels. there's no rhyme or rhythm at all.

it's almost like when he's making love with you he just goes by whatever his brain says next.

bite her thigh? okay. spit on her cunt before demolishing it? sounds perfect.

as long you both know your limits, you two are so very raw and open to each other.

it's literally like… mindless.

just seamlessly into each other and enjoying the moment.

it's what he loves you best in moments like that. <3

KAGEYAMA

he has a bit of a… role-playing thing to be honest.

like Kageyama wants to see you in his fan jerseys and like, fuck you in them.

you being his biggest fan in daily platonic life is what keeps him going, but you playing a part of being like an excited groupie is what keeps his cock up jjfchdfhh

sorry you cannot convince me he wouldn't be into that. 😭

like he definitely outgrew his ego… but when it comes to you?? he's the MAN!

he feels as though when you guys do stuff like that he's relieving his best moments in a different way.

feels like you understand him and doesn't shame him.

if there's ever anything you want him to do to he is 100% super willing to do it too.

does not mind at all because of his much you have done for him. :')

unexpectedly sweet ik but like the fact he doesn't have to feel ashamed or hide kinks makes him so open and relieved to be around you!

usually when he's feeling extra greatful, he fucks you harder with a bit more kisses and passion.

      🏐 all rights reserved © 🏐

[helly-watermelonsmellinfellon]

Recently, through Twitter, I have become aware of the fact that modern American parents have been very ignorant of their parental duties when it comes to their children. Parents are banding together to complain about the schools their children attend because their kids are getting bad grades in class, or they're getting detentions for doing bad consistently, or they're being held back because they're just not at the same level as their peers.

There was an entire thread of some woman whining about how the school was failing her kid, because his English class grade was so bad. There were thousands of comments agreeing and various reposts with anecdotes from other parents with similar experiences.

"My 26 y/o son can't even write a check for God's sake!"

And one single person finally replied with, "Do you guys not teach your kids anything at home before they start going to school?" Which then spawned people with actual common sense questioning the level of involvement these people had in the lives of their kids.

This is what led to a large surge of people complaining about how it's the school's job to teach them everything and they did their job just keeping them alive.

Now, I don't want to be mean, but it's gonna come across that way.

Parents are lazy these days.

When I was a child, my Nana and mom had me learning with Hooked on Phonics before I entered pre-K. I was 3 years old and already sounding out words that rhymed. I was practicing how quickly I could say them in under 30 seconds so I could progress to the next lesson.

mat hat sat that cat vat pat bat fat lat rat brat

etc...

When I was in pre-K(4 years old), they had a single, really old computer that had a bunch of Winnie the Pooh CD-ROM games. Because I always got my work done faster than everybody else, they let me use the computer because I could actually read and follow Pooh's instructions, and it kept me busy.

And when I entered kindergarten for the first time, I was really surprised to see that Hooked on Phonics was actually part of my curriculum and I was already very well ahead of everyone else. My mom and Nana took traching me very seriously. They not only read to me, but they would also get me Madeline books and cassette tapes from the children's library downtown. And then I would listen to the cassettes telling the story while reading the book at the same time to get used to the words.

At three years old, I was helping out in the kitchen, learning all of the different kitchen utensils and types of measurement. My mom often went between English, French and American Sign Language at random times so I picked up a lot of stuff that way. We never had a computer in the house for the first 12 years of my life, but I did have an old keyboard to learn how to type. Nana gave me basic piano lessons for a couple years. Mom taught me how to hem my clothes because she would buy me bigger clothes, hem them to size, and then let them out as I grew. Hell, Sperm Donor taught me how to write a check when I was 8. He was also a Financial Adviser, so I got a lot of lessons on money management, investments, and 401Ks and shit.

All these incredibly simple things ended up benefiting me later on, because I was so far ahead of all of the other students that it consistently put me at odds with them. I was better at reading, cooking, sewing, music, languages, etc... I was allowed time to do whatever I wanted while the rest of them had to catch up.

There is a lot more to being a parent than just making sure your kid eats three meals a day and doesn't die in a stupid way. And it seems like a lot of parents these days have completely forgotten that they have a duty to their kids beyond the feeding and clothing thing.

Certain things SHOULD be taught in schools, like how to balance a checkbook. But if it's clear that the school won't cover it, why aren't YOU doing something about that? And why do so many parents have no clue what the hell their kids are even getting up to in school? Why don't y'all get involved in your kid's lives?

[bambisspeckles]

Day Twelve ✿ Bookstore Date -- Kyle

Summary: Kyle takes you to a bookstore! WC: 599 <3 Song of the day: Mein ❁ Deftones

"You look excited doll, can practically see your bones shakin'." Kyle teases, as he takes in your excited, wide eyed stare.

"You don't understand Kyle," You turn to face him, grabbing his shoulders as you gently shake him for a moment. "I have been wanting to go to this bookstore for years! The selection of classics in this store is huge and they have some original copies of books on display. I'm pretty sure you can even purchase some of them!"

From the corner of your eye, you can see a small smile spreading on Kyle's face as you ramble on. He moves one of his hands to your waist while the other opens the entrance door. When you step inside you can't swallow back the gasp that bubbles from your throat, your eyes as wide as saucers, and your nose filled with the scent of old paper. It's not a very large store but you can practically see the history in it.

"Hi welcome in! Is there anything I can assist you with today?" The sales clerks cheery voice bringing you back to reality for a moment.

You smile at her, shaking your head politely before grabbing Kyle's hand and dragging him through the aisles. You walk so quickly he stumbles as he tries to keep up with your pace.

"Slow down sweetheart, M' gonna fall if you keep dragging me like that!" You smile at him sheepishly, squeezing his wrist gently as a silent apology before slowing to a stop.

"Sorry! I'm just really excited." He slips his hand into yours, bringing it up to his lips so he can kiss it softly.

"Don't have to apologize love, Jus' don't want to run out of steam before you're done looking at everything." A small grin spreads across your face and you go right back to dragging Kyle across the store, only this time you're mindful to walk at a much slower pace.

Eventually you stop at a small display, inside the glass there's one of the original copies of "Three Young Rats; By Alexander Calder."

"What's that love?" Kyle asks, looking at the display over your shoulder.

"A nursery rhyme book." You respond simply, your eyes scanning the blurb of information next to the display.

"Children's book?" He tilts his head to the side, eyes squinting as he attempts to read the blurb of tiny letters.

"Sorta, it says here "Calder's 85 illustrations are as direct, delightful and disturbing as the nursery rhymes they depict." I think they're like darker nursery rhymes." He hums at that, a smirk gracing his face as his gaze moves over to your face, pinched up in concentration.

"Doll?" You hum, slowly ripping your gaze from the display and looking at your lover.

"Yes Kyle?" He pulls you toward him, his hands running up and down your waist and hips, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Can buy you a few things if ya want. Just try not to run my bank account dry." He gives you a little wink, his hands squeezing your hips before he pulls away.

"Are you sure Kyle? Stuff here is expensive and I don't want you to go broke just because I like old books." Your boyfriend lets out an amused snort, and you pout. "I'm serious! I'll feel bad."

He smiles softly, his head angled toward you.

"Swear on my life, jus' grab one or two books, won't be that bad." You bite your lip, batting your lashes at him cheekily.

"You are so getting it tonight Kyle."

He just laughs.

[pareidolla]

hello.

can you tell me what your biggest gripes normally are when people write broken?

like, I get the feeling that there's a fine line between "adorable pathetic sopping wet cat" and "annoying pathetic sopping wet cat" and I personally find Broken in the former. but I cannot really tell what the line is.

I have written Broken before and not to self promo but here is the link in case anyone is curious; like it got positive reviews for the most part. Still, would be nice to know.

hello dearie!! i'm so flattered you asked ♡

i did write this little post about broken a few months ago, and i'd like to first reiterate that i don't want to be labeled an arbiter of broken characterization or anything similar. one thing i admire about the stp fandom is how we all contribute our own distinct flavor to the characters, and i don't want anyone to feel like they're writing broken incorrectly simply because it differs from my interpretation. if i ever were to write a broken fanfic then his voice would be completely off (i just can't help but make him act cute!! he's just an anime girl to me!!!!) so honestly don't place too much stock in my opinions.

with that being said — i'd say my biggest gripe when it comes to depicting broken is when he's pathetic, flat-out, without any rhyme or reason to his actions. he can't perform basic actions, he cowers away regardless of who he's interacting with, and yammers away about giving up just because.

for anyone struggling with writing broken, i think you should first and foremost understand his motivations. ironically, tower is a great place to start here!

one could argue smitten and broken could have switched princesses, with smitten accepting the princess's nature as a world-ending divinity and broken's mirror image being someone equally hollow. except, that's not what either of them desires. smitten wants be the perfect knight in shining armor who whisks away the princess on horseback, and broken?

its easy: once you let her in, you'll be safe forever.

she doesn't want to hurt us. she's just doing what she has to.

what's the point of fighting if she's just going to win everytime? it hurts being sliced to pieces.

broken's main desire is to be safe. you ultimately gain him by failing to be a hero: giving up, expressing hesitance in a key moment, or fruitlessly struggling against a power so much greater than you. as a result, his princess, his love, appears not as a horrific creature, feral beast, or vicious demon, but as a a goddess, someone capable of protecting him.

think of tower less as the dommy-mommy broken was so incredibly horny for he cut his own throat just to kiss her feet, and more as a hurricane. a force of nature which tore apart his home, showed him the frailty and meaninglessness of his life, then offered him both meaning and shelter within her eye of storm—as long as he gives his body to her. which is ideal for broken because it restores the control he's lost by, ironically, offering it to someone else. if he is obedient and lovely and grovel then his savior will take pity on him and he will never suffer again.

to return to my main gripe, if we understand broken desires safety and fawning is his trauma response, then we should know it obviously wouldn't be triggered by every little thing, especially in a controlled environment.

for instance, if broken was invited to a game night with the boys then he's not going to be sobbing pathetically in the corner like a child. he is, and i cannot express this enough, a grown adult man. there are several approaches to writing this—personally, i'd have him decline the invitation outright, muttering excuses about being too busy and he'd sour the mood anyway. if wrestled into it then he'd sit quietly, trying not to take up too much space or attract attention, and then fudge a game once or twice to keep the others happy. ultimately, he doesn't care about winning, and just wants to avoid any fights.

having said that, being conflict-averse does not imply cowardice. broken is a hater, and i love that about him. he's very empathetic and gentle and sweet and the perfect boyfriend, yes, but he's so fucking sassy it's amazing. broken may shy away from conflict but there are several scenes where he expresses his disbelief over how unusual the other voices all are, bickers with them, or straight-up insults them in their face.

like, i'm chill with interpretations where broken secretly admires the voices and aspires to do better, especially post-para apotheosis, but most of the time he hates their fucking asses. he wholeheartedly believes he is the only normal person in a sea of freaks. a caged bird watching as the other birds fling themselves against a glass window. yes, he is a pitiful little sheltered pet who let's out a sad whine every few minutes but please he still has his teeth!!

phew. okay this got too long. uhm! i don't really know how to end this ♡♡♡ i will say i did like your fic! i've been starved for non-wholesome smitbroken look at those boys enabling eachother. if anyone else is reading this, please go forth and create your own broken fic; i will read and i will enjoy it. this is a threat.

[kerryweaverlesbian]

A friend of mine asked for advice on writing a poem so, I figured I'd share it more widely. This is how I personally tend to go through the process (although sometimes poems just come in a stream of consciousness and I'm like damn where'd you come from???)

This gets long so, under the cut

To me, a poem is circling around an idea through building a structure, so:

1. Figure out a key idea that connects two things together("smoke is a metaphor for hidden places" + "Mary Supernatural's relationship to motherhood" = "Mary Supernatural's hidden feelings about motherhood explored through the metaphor of a house fire")

OR a scene where something very sensory is happening ("eating a live octopus", "running on a cold day")

2. Write a short paragraph of whatever comes into my head as I think about that. Connections to other works, random lines, images, concepts. The ideas can be cliché and shit and not be used in the final piece!!

I'll do one rn for the octopus concept:

"What could the octopus be a metaphor for? Struggling to create a piece of work? Like how I rotate pieces of media around in my head for a while sometimes without getting a clear thought on them, as I am with Mouthwashing right now. The struggling kick of life. A life without hands, only senses. A constant reaching forever. Maybe a squid would be better, it releases cloudy ink...? But it's not as big as an octopus. Poem speaker confused between squid and octopus. The sensation of being strangled from the inside by the octopus tentacles. Fighting against yourself and your own instincts to give up. Tears forming as ideas form. Salt and copper. The tongue is kind of like a tentacle in itself. 'I swallow it, until it becomes mine'."

^ this helps solidify the ideas of the poem without having to battle through 3 or 4 drafts while looking at a blank page willing ideas to come out. Sometimes I just do that part in my head but it can be helpful to refer back.

What I love about poetry is that you can just skip to the exciting bit! You don't need a bunch of characters or scene descriptions or dialogue. It can all be the bit that makes you go hell yeah cool cool cool!! (<- guy who finds literary analysis cool)

3. Whichever of those ideas speak to you, use some to write a first stanza. The rhythm can be whatever sounds good in your head:

"I'm eating an octopus

(Live)

With gusto,

It's fighting me back but I bite."

So now we have an established rhythm! For this one it's

7 syllables [no comma]

(a short aside)

3 syllables,

8 syllables.

Now for the rest of the poem I can use that same rhythm, which keeps me focused. If you don't want to come up with your own rhythm, there's plenty of established poetry rhythms and rhyme schemes, if you google "types of poem" they will appear as if by magic. And of course you don't have to use a pattern at all. Again, this is just what I do.

To be clear, I don't tend to literally count out the syllables, you can feel what the rhythm is by saying the poem out loud (which you should do FREQUENTLY as you write to make sure the emPHAsis doesn't go ON the WRONG word). There's poetry terms for emphasis but I don't know them because I only did up to AS level poetry 😉

If you ever find the rhythm isn't working, change it. It's your poem. Do whatever you want. Changing the rhythm can also be used to show "this is a change/escalation in idea". It's a song with a bridge.

4. Keep talking about different parts of the metaphor in that structure:

"The tentacles writhing

(I chew, I chew)

A battle,

A hunt for the truth.

The hinge of my jaw

(It hurts, it hurts)

Unkindly,

I stick in my tooth."

^ I often slip into rhyming, this also helps not get stuck thinking of literally any word from the english language that could be used. As Monica from FRIENDS says, "rules help control the fun!"

"The [something] of muscle,

(My tongue? Its leg?)

My burden,

My begging for proof."

^ my close personal friend square brakets when I can't think of a description this instant! Wooo!

"[Some sort of 5th stanza that has an end rhyme for proof, maybe with the "salt and copper" concept?]

I'm eating an octopus

(Live)

But I'm winning

It's hard, but it's worth it, the fight."

^As you can see I added an extra syllable for the second to last line, you gotta just listen to your heart sometimes. When ending things I like to harken back to the beginning! It can be a little cheesey sometimes but that's okay, poems are allowed to be cheesey!

That's my general approach. Something that really, really helps with writing poetry is also... reading poetry. You get to experience a lot of rhythms and rhyme schemes and ways of talking about ideas and how different poets use the foundation of a poem to express their meanings. Reading this poem back, I was writing spontaneously but I can very clearly see influences of A A Milne (my mum's favourite poet!), The Jellyfish by Marianne Moore and my dear friend @lesbianjoannaharvelle 's poem I wish I could draw for the theme of wrestling with creativity. Our works are in conversation! Isn't that cool!!

Anyway. Kiss kiss.

[exhaslo]

Hey girl!!! I was wondering if you could write something about yandre!miguel x shy!reader to IFHY by Tyler The creator. If not that’s okayyyy

I had to google the song lyrics to know what it was about haha. Def different for sure...Personally, not my cup of tea, but I can try and make it work.

Also, my next story after Over-Time will be a Yandere!Miguel x Gamer!Reader! So I hope you enjoy that one when it comes out!!!

Warning: Language, thoughts of murder, possessiveness, stalking, thoughts of abuse, kidnapping

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I never would've thought that Feelings could get thrown in the air 'Cause I accidentally caught that I need some new boxing gloves, shit got hectic whenever I fought back For example, ten minutes can't go past without you brushing my thoughts That's fourteen forty a day so I'll say a hundred and forty four times I think about you or something like that Lost match, the fucking thought of you with somebody else I don't like that cellular convos getting left in the wrong 'Cause I get so fucking mad when you don't write back This isn't a song I just happen to rhyme when I get emo And find time to write facts (fuck) I love you

How could anyone ever thought about claiming you as their own? Especially since Miguel had decided to make you his. Not that he officially told anyone, but it should be common knowledge. Miguel spoke to you and that was enough.

He didn't want these feelings at first, because he knew what would happen. You plagued his mind constantly, unable to let him breathe for even a minute. It all started out simple enough, but then it kept getting worse as time went on.

Miguel loathed the thought of someone dating you.

For every second the two of you share a room and you don't look at him, oh it boiled Miguel. How dare you not give him the attention he deserves? How dare you not give your love to him as much as Miguel does for you.

Miguel knew everything about you. Every like and dislike. Miguel knew your pattern going home. He knew how you worked. Miguel followed your every movement.

Miguel did everything in his power to understand you. He would always be right behind you, no matter what.

Don't you realize how much Miguel loves you?

How much you are supposed to love him?

I fucking hate you But I love you I'm bad at keeping my emotions bubbled You're good at being perfect We're good at being troubled Yeah

I fucking hate you But I love you I'm bad at keeping my emotions bubbled You're good at being perfect We're good at being troubled Yeah

Miguel had done so much for you. He had tried to hide these obsessive feelings, but how could he? You were beautiful. Miguel went out of his way to make sure you felt loved.

To make sure that you relied on him!

So why the fuck were you not giving him more attention?

Why the fuck were you just stuck at giving Miguel hugs and pats on the shoulder?

Miguel was starting to lose his temper. What did he have to do to get you to understand his feelings? To get you to understand your feelings for him?!

WHY WERE YOU DOING THIS TO HIM?!

Girl you fucking with my emotions The fuck is all this noise about? I even considered picking up smoking You turned to a bitch, who let the dogs out? But in my dog house My bitch is the raddest Crazy who makes me the happiest Can make me the saddest Look, Alice Let's get lost in your wonder-er-land, fuck an atlas You're perfectly perfect for me What the fuck is this, practice? Actually, if you even consider leaving I'll lose a couple screws in due time, I'll stop breathing And you'll see the meaning of stalking When I pop out the dark to find you And that new dude that you're seeing with an attitude Then proceed to fuck up your evening Make sure you never meet again like goddamn vegans 'Cause when I hear your name, I cannot stop cheesing I love you so much that my heart stops beating when you're leaving And I'm grieving and my heart starts bleeding Life without you has no goddamn meaning Sorry I'm passive aggressive for no goddamn reason It's that my mood change like these goddamn seasons I'll fall for you, but I love you

Miguel was furious. How dare you play with his feelings like this? How dare you agree to date anyone else while Miguel was right there for you?

Oh, how Miguel considered following you home.

Oh, how Miguel considered killing that scum of a boyfriend you had.

You were just confused. You just needed to practice with someone, right? You just wanted to be perfect and ready for when you finally confess your feelings to Miguel.

RIGHT?!

Miguel had to keep his cool. He knew that this was just a short-lived practice for you. He still had to be there for you. To show you your mistakes. After all, Miguel couldn't live without you. You belonged to him and you knew that.

You fucking knew that, so why the fuck were you playing this game?

I'm bad at keeping my emotions bubbled You're good at being perfect We're good at being troubled Yeah

The sky is falling, girl, let's try to catch it The sky is falling, girl, let's try to catch it The sky is falling, girl, let's try to catch it tonight The sky is falling, girl, let's try to catch it The sky is falling, girl, let's try to catch it The sky is falling, bitch, let's try to catch it tonight, come on

The smile Miguel hid as you cried onto his shoulder. Your practice boyfriend didn't understand you as well as Miguel did. He kept hurting you like this. Making you feel like you've done something wrong.

Which you did.

Miguel would just welcome you into his embrace. Comforting you as he thought of about killing that son of a bitch. You were made for Miguel. You were his.

So, Miguel was going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.

This was your last chance.

Come on baby Even though I hate you I still love you I love you And Salem I know I'm passive aggressive (I'm sorry, fuck) (Come here) I like when we hold hands (You're the best around) See I get jealous (fuck) And if I see that nigga (if I see him) I just might kill him (look) (Look, I wanna strangle you, till you stop breathing) Love, love, love (Spend the rest of my life, looking for air) (So you can breathe, or we can die together, you and me) (Fuck, look) I'm in love (love) I'm in love (love)

You were so beautiful. Miguel could never hate you.

But he did.

But he loved you.

You were still with that practice boyfriend, holding his hand as he joined for a work dinner party. Miguel just smiled as he burned holes in that fucking asshole's head.

How dare he claim you.

Unable to withstand this pain, Miguel pulled you to the side. He needed to hear your voice alone. He needed you to want his attention. Miguel just needed you to admit your feelings for him.

As the two of you talked in the balcony, Miguel withheld his breathe as you reached for his hand.

The smile you gave him was unlike any other.

Miguel tuned out your words as he watched your lips move. The temptation to take you away and make you his. How sweet Miguel would treat you.

"Miguel, I'm sorry...but we should see each other less."

And then you had to fuck it up.

You blew your last chance.

I fucking hate you But I love you I'm bad at keeping my emotions bubbled You're good at being perfect We're good at being troubled Yeah

Yo, so why is Samuel such a fucking dick? He isn't such a badass actually He's only here because he ran away Because some shit happened back, home he's actually a dweeb Yo, what happened?

Washing blood off was no easy task. Hiding the body was much easier.

If only you had admitted your feelings.

If only you weren't being difficult.

Making his way to the basement, Miguel hummed lowly as he faced you. The light was dimmed, but Miguel could see you clear as day. You had a new look in your eyes.

Fear.

Miguel just smiled as he approached you, watching you flinch as he went to hold you. This was your lesson. This was your punishment. You should have listened to Miguel.

Now, you were Miguel's little prisoner. His darling girlfriend. You were never going to go against Miguel's wishes ever again.

"I love you so much, (Y/N)." Miguel chuckled as he kissed your head.

His hand stroked your cheek, waiting for your response.

"I-I....I love you too."

There is was.

Why did it take so long for you to admit that?

But it didn't matter anymore. You were now where you belonged.

With Miguel.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed, def different than what I usually write.

Hope I did a decent job with the song tho!!!

[boomboom-tanjiro2019]

Easy

PROLOGUE: EX! Reader X EX! Ace

Description: Angst, lots and lots of angst. Rich! reader. Whitebeard meddles in Ace's love life. Reader can be a piece of shit, but not always don't worry. Ace can't catch a break. Maybe smut eventually? Did I mention angst and heartbreak already? It's gonna be a lot of funny ridiculous over-the-top moments though, mostly. Angst but also ridiculous-extra stupid-shit. Reader does some wrong but so will Ace. HAPPY ENDING (No one dies and everyone gets what they need in the end)

(I decided to not continue my our beloved summer au because I wouldn't have had enough freedom due to the story already being set in stone, but I love the idea of an exes angsty romance so I decided to make another one that's kind of similar except more on par for the characters.)

5 years ago'

“Because… I hate you.” 

Three words for Ace’s worst fear to come true.

The worst part about it for you wasn’t even the look on his face, or his insistence for you to not end it.

It was because you didn’t even know why you did.

Why did you hate him? Why was that the first thing that came to your mind to say? Is it so he wouldn’t hold on? When did you start hating him?

It was easy.

It’s easier to convince yourself of a lie than it is to accept what’s right.

At least in this case it was.

You wish his eyes didn’t hold so much emotion, how you could see exactly how he was feeling. It was like he had gotten shot in the chest. It wasn’t a backstab, it wasn’t out of nowhere, you hadn’t betrayed him and waited till his guard was down. No, he knew it was going to happen, he just didn’t have time to prepare himself. If anything, it’d make it easier on the both of you.

His eyes held so much emotion, every feeling clear as day.

Maybe you could learn to hate that too, but maybe you already did. Yeah, yeah, you do, of course you do. It’s selfish to try and convince yourself and everyone around you that you are too good of a person to do so, or that he did something wrong to make you hate him. You just did. No rhyme or reason. Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong... but maybe you’re just horrible.

Sure, he’d probably hate you for all eternity, hitting him where he was weakest…But did it matter when you feel like you’ve been falling down a hole, trying to grab onto something, trying to delay the inevitable? You’d been falling so long, but the rope you were holding onto would snap any second now. Then where would you be? Falling with a broken rope because you tried to hold on, where would that get you? Then it’s all for nothing, you’ve done more damage than good. The rope would never help, it would only snap. Maybe that’s why you let go of the rope. Maybe you hate the rope because you knew it couldn’t help and you’d keep falling either way. It’s hard to hold onto something when you think it’ll all be for nothing. Anyway, it didn’t matter what the reason was, because that’s what you’d tell yourself.

You’d make up every reason, whether it was true or not, find everything about him despisable. 

Before you walked off, you made a point not to look at his eyes again.

Not because you’d hesitate. Not because you’d turn back. Not because if you took one glimpse at his warm, sad eyes you’d crumble and take back everything you said.

Because you hate his eyes.

He doesn't say anything as you walk away, he just lets you leave, and you weren't going to stick around long enough for him to change his mind.

"When love is supressed, hate takes its place."

-Havelock Ellis

[burningvelvet]

random excerpts from lord byron’s diaries that feel like tumblr posts from the 1800s

“My mind is a fragment.”

“I am too lazy to shoot myself.”

“Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was asked—but not inclined to go any where. Hobhouse says I am growing a ‘loup garou,’ a solitary hobgoblin. True.”

“Sleepy, and must go to bed.”

“Whether ‘Hell will be paved with’ those ‘good intentions,’ I know not.”

“Got up—redde the Morning Post containing [..] a paragraph on me as long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual.”

“I wonder what the devil is the matter with me! I can do nothing, and fortunately there is nothing to do.”

“Last night, party at Lansdowne House. Tonight, party at Lady Charlotte Greville's—deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparted—nothing acquired—talking without ideas:—if any thing like thought in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which we were gabbling. Heigho!—and in this way half London pass what is called life. Tomorrow there is Lady Heathcote's—shall I go? yes—to punish myself for not having a pursuit.”

“What a strange thing is the propagation of life! A bubble of Seed which may be spilt in a whore’s lap – or in the orgasm of a voluptuous dream – might (for aught we know) have formed a Caesar or a Buonaparte.”

“Oh that face!—by te, Diva potens Cypri, I would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another Troy.”

“I have found increasing upon me (without sufficient cause at times) the depression of Spirits (with few intervals), which I have some reason to believe constitutional or inherited.”

“I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d., 1814). Is there any thing in the future that can possibly console us for not being always twenty-five?”

“Past events have unnerved me; and all I can now do is to make life an amusement, and look on while others play. After all, even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it?”

“Redde a little—wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke says is bad company. ‘Be not solitary, be not idle.’—Um!—the idleness is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to wither them,—and yet—and yet—always yet and but—‘Excellent well, you are a fishmonger—get thee to a nunnery.’—‘They fool me to the top of my bent.’” (Quotations from Hamlet)

“I wish I could settle to reading again,—my life is monotonous, and yet desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy, and burnt it because the scene ran into reality;—a novel, for the same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts; but the thought always runs through, through ... yes, yes, through. I have had a letter from Lady Melbourne—the best friend I ever had in my life, and the cleverest of women.”

“As to opinions, I don't think politics worth an opinion.”

“Tells Dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like Fame to my ears—to be redde on the banks of the Ohio!”

“This journal is a relief. When I am tired—as I generally am—out comes this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over; and God knows what contradictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else), every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor.”

“Mr. Murray has offered me one thousand guineas for The Giaour and The Bride of Abydos. I won't—it is too much, though I am strongly tempted, merely for the say of it. No bad price for a fortnight's (a week each) what?—the gods know—it was intended to be called poetry.”

“I will not be the slave of any appetite. If I do err, it shall be my heart, at least, that heralds the way. Oh, my head—how it aches?—the horrors of digestion! I wonder how Buonaparte's dinner agrees with him?”

“If I had to live over again, I do not Know what I would change in my life, unless it were for not to have lived at all. All history and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it give us but years? and those have little of good but their ending.”

[illuminatedquill]

Story Summary: Purrgils and a nursery rhyme from his youth have shaped Ezra Bridger's life in ways that even he is not aware of . . .

The Research Survey Mission (22 BBY)

After an agonizing hour being held up by Republic Security, he finally made it to the hangar bay where his escort was waiting. Dodging precariously between the space fighters, grimly masked clone pilots, and their long-suffering mechanics, he weaved his way through the active hangar with a desperate determination.

The war against the Separatists continued to stretch on with no end in sight, he knew. It surprised him that his scientific study had been approved by the Senate, considering all the funds being tied up in the war's progress. His sponsor, Senator Amidala, had taken an interest in the study of purrgil hyperspace travel routes for humanitarian reasons and had lobbied the Supreme Chancellor for this study to be funded.

Wheezing with the strain from sprinting - something not done since his Academy days - he finally skidded to a stop in front of the vessel assigned to the survey mission: an old, but functional looking G9 Rigger class freighter.

"I'm - my apologies for the wait," he gasped out between heaving breaths. It wouldn't make a good first impression if he vomited in front of his team here -

And speaking of his team . . .

Clutching at the stitch in his side, he peered at the two individuals selected to be his escort. First, the pilot: a young human woman about his age, with raven black hair and a feisty expression on her sun-browned face - a beautiful face, he observed, that looked better suited for a leading role in a holo-drama rather than a drab military flight uniform.

The pilot looked impatiently at the chrono on her wrist. "You're late," she remarked, sounding grumpy.

Still taken aback by her beauty, he took a full five seconds to compose himself. "Yes - I'm sorry about that," he replied. "All the new security; I wasn't expecting - "

The second individual on his team gave a sardonic chuckle. "First time on Coruscant?" asked the second person.

He nodded, looking the other team member up and down with a rising skepticism. He was a young boy with short brown hair, some of which was kept in a thin braid that trailed past his shoulders. A strong, serious face with piercing blue eyes - similar to his own - gave the impression that little escaped the boy's attention.

More importantly, he wore the traditional brown and white robes of a Jedi Knight. They fit him well, despite the boy's youth.

Smiling slightly, he asked, "And you must be . . . Master Depa Billaba?"

Amusement glinted in the youth's blue eyes, breaking through the stoic expression. He barked out a laugh. "No, I'm afraid not. She had other pressing matters to attend to. I was sent in her place."

"Ah, I see. Are you another Jedi Knight, then?"

The boy pouted. "Someday. Soon, I hope."

He stuck out his hand in greeting. "I am Master Billaba's padawan. My name is Caleb Dume."

Dume's grip was firm and steady; the skin on his palm was rough, callused from years of hard work and battle. Far rougher than I would expect any young person his age to be.

Inwardly, he felt a small pang of sadness for the young Jedi; a war was a brutal experience to go through, even for the adults who were prepared for such an event. He couldn't imagine the toll it was taking on the young.

Even if they were Jedi.

"My name is Ephraim Bridger, Jedi Dume. A pleasure to work with you."

The Jedi nodded in acknowledgement. Ephraim turned to the pilot -

"Lieutenant Mira," she answered bluntly before he could ask. Ephraim noticed the emphasis on her rank. "And I'd like to actually start flying now, if either of you don't mind."

She turned and stalked onto the freighter's lowered ramp, disappearing into the ship.

Ephraim blinked and turned to Dume. The young Jedi just shrugged. "Can't keep her waiting," he said politely. Both of them soon followed the pilot into the waiting vessel.

"Guess not," Ephraim muttered. "Oh, this is sure to be fun."

"I hope so," said Dume earnestly. "Could use a break from this war. So, what are we hunting?"

"We're not hunting, Master Jedi. We're searching for something. A creature long rumored to be nothing more than a myth, save for scattered reports from spacers over the Republic's long history."

Dume glanced at him curiously. "What would that be?"

Ephraim turned to him, grinning widely. "Ever heard of star whales, Caleb?"

The Star Whale (13 BBY)

"Alright, alright," laughed Ephraim. "Time for bed, young one."

His son, Ezra, was encased in a bear hug, scrambling to free himself. "Ah, come on, Dad. Five more minutes, please?"

Ephraim considered the offer - until he glanced over his shoulder to find his wife, Mira, giving him one of her patented glares. Her eyes - a lovely shade of violet that he always found himself admiring - pierced through him like a blaster bolt.

Deflating a bit, he whispered, "Not going to happen, buddy. The boss says no."

The child twisted in his hug until he could look over Ephraim's shoulder. Mira blew him a kiss.

With his typical accuracy, Ezra mimed to catch it and pressed the kiss to his heart. It was a time-honored ritual every evening, before bedtime.

"Okay, then," said his son. "How about a story instead?"

Ephraim laid his son gently onto the floor, feeling the aches in his lower back. "I would love that. Head up to your bedroom and choose one. I'll meet you there in a minute."

Before he finished his sentence, Ezra raced up the stairs in a flash. Ephraim snorted and turned to look at his wife. She was throwing a hooded cloak over her shoulders, obscuring her figure.

"I'm heading out now, love," she said to him, voice muffled through the thick cloth wrapped around her head.

He went to her and gave a kiss on the bridge of her nose, the only exposed skin available due to her outfit. They had been doing this for a while now . . . but the worry never faded from his mind.

Since the Empire had come to power, he and Mira had taken over an old communications tower to spread messages throughout the galaxy with other groups of people who were fighting against the growing tyranny of the Emperor and his cronies. It was dangerous work.

But someone had to do it. Someone had to light a candle in the long, vast night that had fallen across galactic civilization.

"Be careful," he said quietly. Mira smirked at him, in her typical impish way.

"I always am," she replied. "Sing me home, when it's time."

"Of course," said Ephraim. He watched her slip out the front door, biting his lip. In his mind's eye, he could see her dodging through shadowed alleyways, dashing across empty streets, finding their hidden speeder . . .

Come back safe, darling, he thought.

"Dad!" came his son's voice, interrupting his mood. "Are you coming up or what?"

Ephraim chuckled, feeling grateful for the distraction. "I'm heading up now," he replied.

_ _ _ _ _

"Star whales?" asked Ephraim. "You're sure?"

Ezra nodded. "I found some of your notes - "

Ephraim groaned. "You were snooping around in my office again?"

The boy flushed with embarrassment. He sighed deeply. Mira had noted it before he did; their son had a predicament for getting himself into trouble. Nothing serious as of yet, thank the Force.

But in these dark times, it could spell greater danger down the road.

Especially given his . . . talents.

"For the last time, there is no candy hidden in my desk. You ate all of it."

"Right. Sorry, Dad." The apology would have seemed sincere if not for the smug grin plastered on the boy's face.

He reached over and ruffled his son's hair with fond exasperation. Ezra giggled and waved his hands away.

Ephraim sat back in his chair thinking of all the stories about star whales he knew of. Finally, he said, "Do you know I saw a star whale once?"

His son's eyes went round as a moon. "Really?"

Smiling, he said, "Oh, yes. It was a scientific study. I actually met your mother on that mission. And there was a Jedi, also."

"A Jedi?" Ezra's mouth went agape. "Who were they?"

"A young human boy, actually. Not much older than you. His name was Caleb Dume." A gentle pang of melancholy went through him at the old memory resurfacing; he had not thought of the young Jedi in the long years since that mission.

He wondered if Dume had survived the purge.

Somehow, deep in his heart, he was sure that the boy had made it. Palpatine had been vicious in his extermination of the Jedi Order, but there was no way that all of them had been killed. Rumors continued to pop up from all over the galaxy . . .

He shook his head. Ezra was watching him, waiting for the next part of the story.

"Oh, yes. We spent a week in deep space, tracking down a pod of purrgils," he continued. Ephraim felt the old sense of wonder and awe grip him as he remembered the towering, majestic creatures. The pod had passed by their tiny freighter, flowing around them like river water.

Closing his eyes, he could envision the golden splotches on their skin mixing with the vivid purple - and those eyes. Those giant, glowing eyes. Being looked upon by the star whales felt like an almost religious experience with the calm, magnificent intelligence behind those eyes appraising the explorers' small forms.

"The sounds they made . . . oh, it was like they were singing," he explained. "It shouldn't be possible in deep space, but the purrgils somehow manage to do it. And they did it so beautifully."

"It sounded like music?" asked Ezra in a hushed tone. He nodded.

"Like little songs," confirmed Ephraim. "I believe it's how they speak to one another."

"Did they jump to hyperspace?"

Ephraim nodded in confirmation. "Their tentacles in the back stretched far, far out. I could see lines glowing on them, brighter and brighter and then - they were gone just like that." He snapped his fingers on the last word to illustrate his point.

"Wizard," whispered his son.

"Totally wizard," he agreed. He stroked his beard. "But then something odd happened."

Ezra sat up in his bed, gripping the covers tightly. "What?" he demanded. "What happened?"

Ephraim stroked his beard, drawing out the pause for dramatic effect. Watching his child squirm in anticipation was always a fascinating experience, which he secretly enjoyed.

Finally, he broke the pause and leaned forward. "One of them stayed behind," he said.

His son's expression turned puzzled. "Really? Why?"

"Ah, well, I have only a theory on that," Ephraim confessed. "But I feel that it is true. You see, purrgil pods are a community. They take care of each other, watch out for one another."

"Like you and Mom," Ezra pointed out. Ephraim smiled.

"Precisely. They are also the only creatures with the capability to emit noise in the deep vacuum of space via their songs. Space is large and vast and dark, Ezra. My theory is that even purrgils can get lost sometimes. So, one stays behind to sing them home."

"Even purrgils can get lost," Ezra repeated, sounding sad.

"All beings, large and small," said Ephraim, "need help sometimes."

He watched his son ponder that for a few moments. Then, Ezra said quietly, "You say that to Mom sometimes."

Ephraim frowned. "What do I say?"

"She asks you to 'sing her home' sometimes. Or you ask her. And then one of you leaves during the night."

He felt an icy fist enclose over his heart. It seemed that he and Mira's covert activities hadn't gone unnoticed by their son.

"We do say that," he confessed. "It's just a saying."

Ezra's face turned to him, with those piercing blue eyes that were an inheritance. "Do you think someday, someone will do that for me? If I get lost?"

Ephraim felt the icy fist close tighter. "Your Mom and I will do that for you."

"But what if . . . " The boy's voice trailed off, refusing to give voice to the fear that had arisen in him. But Ephraim knew what Ezra was going to ask.

It was the same question that he and Mira struggled with every night since their child had been born.

What if you and Mom aren't here anymore?

He reached forward and enclosed Ezra's hand in his own. So small, so soft, so warm - and so fragile.

"You will meet others," he said firmly, "who will love you just as we have. I promise it, Ezra."

His son just gazed at him. "You promise?"

"I do. You are so easy to love, my son. You will find someone who loves you like it's second nature to them - and if you ever get lost, they will sing you home."

The Rhyme (4 BBY)

He sat in the cockpit of the Phantom, gazing through the canopy at the field of stars. Whenever things on the Ghost got too quiet, he liked to sequester himself in there and just enjoy the mechanical ambience generated by the shuttle's machinery.

They're out there somewhere, he thought. The purrgils.

His encounter with the legendary creatures, still so recent, had left him in a curious state. Ezra couldn't shake the sensation that this was not the last he would see of them.

Unbidden, an old memory rose to the surface of his thoughts. His father, Ephraim, telling him stories of the star whales.

One stays behind to sing them home.

Ezra smiled faintly, despite the gentle sadness he felt rippling beneath the recollection. Not too long ago, he didn't want to think about his parents. Thoughts of them were a source of pain that he did not want to revisit, especially when he was just a street-rat scavenging on the streets of Capital City for survival.

But now, with his new family. he could remember his parents freely. The memories were no longer a burden; the pain hadn't lessened, but the others helped him to bear their loss a little better.

He reached into his pocket and took out the holo-recording that Sabine had found for him on his birthday a year ago. Pressing the button, the recording flared to life, showing a static image of his family - before the Empire had come to take it all away.

All beings, large and small, need help sometimes.

Ezra gazed softly at the holo-image, feeling the old pangs of loneliness. Despite his time spent on the Ghost, some nights he still felt . . . lost. Like he didn't belong.

"Even purrgils get lost sometimes," he muttered.

"Is that so?" came a familiar voice from behind. Twitching in surprise, Ezra stole a peek at the source.

It was Sabine. To his surprise, she wasn't wearing her standard Mandalorian armor; rather, she wore simple sleeping wear consisting of a plain shirt, shorts, and slippers.

She arched a curious eyebrow at him and gave a little wave. "Hey, goober," she said.

"Hey, Sabine," he replied. "What brings you here?"

Sabine shrugged. "Just checking up on you. You weren't in your room. Zeb's snores don't seem too horrendous tonight, so I was wondering why you weren't sleeping."

"Actually," he admitted, "Zeb's snores help me sleep. Guess I'm so used to them now as background noise. If he's not here, I can't sleep so easily."

She laughed. Ezra felt his ears flush red at the sound.

Play it cool, he thought firmly. Be cool.

She shuffled up to him and pointed at the co-pilot seat. "Mind if I join you?"

He gestured at the empty chair. "Be my guest."

"Thanks." She sat down, still scrutinizing him with a curious look. "So, what's this about purrgils? You still thinking about those gas pods?"

Ezra snorted. "They eat the gas, they're not - well, technically - okay, yes, I'm still thinking about them."

Sabine giggled. "I'm just messing with you, Ezra." Her face turned serious. "What does this have to do with your family?"

He blinked, suddenly remembering the holo-recording playing in the space between them. In a flash he turned it off, feeling self-conscious.

"I don't know," he replied. "I was just thinking about them for some reason."

Ezra turned to look out the Phantom's canopy again. "My dad used to tell me about the purrgils all the time when I was younger."

"Really?" asked Sabine. "What did he say?"

"That purrgils apparently mate for life. There's more myth than fact about them, but that one is true. Despite their fearsome appearance, they're also really gentle. They won't attack unless directly provoked."

Sabine sat back in her chair, absorbing this. "Wow. Surprising."

"How so?"

"Purrgils don't make any kind of evolutionary sense, goober. Far as we can tell, nothing hunts purrgils. They are at the top of their food chain. And yet . . . " She waved a hand at the stars in front of them.

"They just exist. Just travel from star to star and occasionally take a pit stop to munch on some gas," she finished.

"And to annoy spacers like Hera," Ezra added.

Sabine snorted. "True. They continue to do that, maybe Hera will become a predator to them."

That elicited laughter from Ezra. Sabine grinned at him.

When his laughter died down, Sabine asked, "What else did your dad know about the purrgils?"

Ezra thought about it, then said, "The pod doesn't jump together. Not for long distances. He saw it happen, in person: one of them stays behind."

"Why?"

He closed his eyes. "To sing them home, when it's time."

There was a silence from Sabine. Then, he heard her murmur, "Even purrgils get lost sometimes."

"Yup. You get it."

Ezra opened his eyes. "My parents used to say that to each other sometimes. 'Sing me home when it's time'. One time, I asked my dad what would happen if I got lost and they weren't around anymore."

Sabine was quiet.

"He said other people would find me someday and love me like they did. That if I got lost, they would sing me home, just like the purrgils do," Ezra said. His eyes glazed over with tears.

"Some days I feel lost," he confessed. "I'm grateful for you and everyone else here, but it's not the same as it was with my family. I miss them so much sometimes."

Ezra let out a little bitter laugh. "Sometimes, when I was younger and still on my own, I wished that the purrgils would come and take me. That I could be anywhere but stuck on Lothal without my parents. It didn’t matter where we went - they could take me to another galaxy, for all I care."

All the horrible, seething emotions whirled and twisted within him. Ezra closed his eyes again and took deep breaths, trying to enact Kanan's Jedi calming techniques -

Sabine hugged him. Ezra let out a small breath that he didn't realize was being held.

"I'm here, Ezra," she said. "I'm here for you."

He melted into the warm embrace, just allowing himself to feel the strength and surety of his friend's presence fill the deep, dark cracks that his emotions had opened in him.

"Thank you," he mumbled, his voice a little ragged.

After a long moment, she released. Looking into his eyes with an expression of utmost seriousness, she said, "Look, I'm not much of a singer but I'll do it for you."

Ezra stared at her. "What?"

"Better me than Zeb. Or Hera and definitely better than Kanan." She shuddered at the last name.

"What are you talking about, Sabine?"

She rolled her eyes. "The singing, goober! I'll sing you home if you get lost."

His mouth fell slightly open. "You . . . you will?"

"Yeah. Just don't expect opera level talent here. Give me something simple to sing."

Ezra felt his mouth widen into a grin. "I never really thought about it."

"Come on. You have to know some music, Ezra."

He thought hard for a few seconds. Then he remembered something from his past - an old nursery rhyme his parents used to sing, when he was much younger.

"You got something," said Sabine. "I saw it click in your head, judging by your expression."

He looked at his friend, his mood cautious. "Okay," he said, "repeat after me."

Ezra took a deep breath.

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run . . ."

The Girl Who Was Broken (1 BBY)

It had been a week since Ezra disappeared.

In the distance, despite the fading light of early dusk, Sabine could still see the smoke rising from the rubble of Capital City. It would take years to rebuild to its former glory. Years that the inhabitants of Lothal would now have, thanks to her friend's courageous sacrifice.

Yes, she felt proud. That's what she kept telling herself and the others, too.

But deep down, a wound remained. An Ezra shaped hole that refused to be filled from all the celebration and praise and joy from everyone around her.

I let him go. He's gone.

She shook her head vigorously at this last thought. "He's not gone," she said aloud.

But her words were snatched away by the rising evening breeze. She sighed and leaned against the balcony railing, taking in her surroundings.

Ezra's comm-tower. His home before he came onto the Ghost.

She knew Zeb and Hera would soon be making plans to leave. The Rebellion needed their talents desperately elsewhere. The war with the Empire had tipped in their favor with Thrawn's defeat but it was far, far from over.

She understood why they had to leave - and why she was deciding to stay. Ezra had asked her to see this through, not them. Sabine acknowledged the logic behind the decision to split up the remaining Ghost crew.

That didn't stop it from hurting, however. She and Ezra had spent plenty of nights conversing about this very subject; what they would do, should the worst come to pass.

But every plan they had come up with included them sticking together. Never had it occurred to them to plan about what would happen if they were separated.

And now he was gone.

"He's not gone," she said through clenched teeth. "He's not!"

Her shout became another casualty of the wind, snatched away in a heartbeat.

He couldn't be. She would know if he was . . . no, she was sure of it. Ezra was still alive out there, somewhere.

The trail had gone cold just outside the Unknown Regions. Hera had taken the Ghost, with her and Zeb, picking up the trail of debris from Thrawn's fleet halfway across the galaxy.

They could go no further. Neither of them voiced the obvious fact aloud on the trip back to Lothal: that no one who went into the Unknown Regions returned to tell the tale.

Ezra's lost out there. He's a smart boy, she thought. He'll figure it out. There's got to be some Jedi navigation techniques he can use.

Until then, all she could do was wait . . . and watch over Lothal, as she promised.

A memory came to her, rushing through her mind like the evening's breeze.

One stays behind to sing them home.

It was a silly idea, she knew. A child's hope.

But she had promised.

Sabine turned her gaze upwards, looking up at the starry night sky of Lothal. Somewhere, in between those pinpricks of tiny, scattered light, was her best friend.

She imagined his face, letting the image of him fill her mind.

And then . . . Sabine began to sing, fighting against the rising wind on this Lothal evening:

"Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. Pick a path and all is done. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf run. The night is falling, and the dark will come. Loth-rat, loth-cat, loth-wolf flee. Follow my voice and run home to me."

Her voice wavered at the last verse. When it was done, she hung her head for a moment, letting the tears fall freely.

Had the wind carried her voice away? Maybe, in her most foolish of hopes, it had carried her song to wherever Ezra was.

That he knew she was there. That someone was trying to bring him home.

Sabine slammed a fist on the railing. "That was so stupid," she whispered. "There's no way he heard that."

It was an idiotic idea that the singing would be heard by Ezra. She wasn't a purrgil.

But Sabine knew, deep down in her heart, that she would try anyway.

I will sing you home, Ezra Bridger. Every night, until you come back to me.

~ epilogue ~

The Lost Boy (11 ABY)

He sat on his haunches, exercising his Jedi patience. Before him, a field of plain, unblemished rocks; the gray skies of the strange world he had crash landed on so many years ago threatened a downpour soon. Ezra scratched idly at his beard, studying the rocks with interest.

Finally, he picked one. With a small smile, he picked up a pebble and chucked it at one of the oddly shaped rocks a few feet away on his right.

It bounced off the rock's exterior - and then the rock leapt into the air, revealing the small, crab-like creature that laid beneath it. Or, rather, was attached to it.

The Noti - as Ezra had come to know them as - used the rocks as defensive camouflage when the nomadic bandits came passing by. Since the planet they were on had so many of them, it became a habit of the bandits to just pass them by without much attention.

The little Noti scrambled in place for a few seconds and then froze at the sight of Ezra.

"Ezra Bridger," it said in a tiny little voice.

"Hello, friend," he replied pleasantly. "The village is looking for you. It's time to make camp."

The Noti, by Ezra's estimation, was still a child. The village elder had approached him earlier that morning, babbling like crazy. He still wasn't fluent with their language, but the gist of it was that they were looking for one of their younglings that had gone wandering off.

"Ezra Bridger," said the young Noti uncertainly.

He shook his head. "No, they're not angry with you. Just worried."

Thunder clapped nearby, the sound roiling over the barren wastes. The Noti immediately disappeared underneath it's rock shell again, afraid.

Ezra sighed, walked over to it, and knocked gently on the shell. "Hey, it's going to start pouring soon. We need to start heading back - "

A gust of wind rose with the incoming storm, and, for a frozen moment of time, he heard something.

A voice, singing. As if from far, far away.

A familiar voice. A familiar song . . .

Ezra went absolutely still, his heart hammering away inside his chest. He strained to listen over the rising gale -

There. There it is.

" . . . follow my voice and run home to me."

And then the voice was gone, carried away by the storm wind.

But he heard it. Oh, yes, he heard it.

Ezra smiled to himself.

"Not bad," he remarked. "You're a better singer than you think, Sabine."

He felt a tug on the hem of his robes. Looking down, he saw the Noti clutching a tiny fistful of the blood-red fabric.

"Ezra Bridger?" it asked.

Ezra knelt down and patted the little creature. "Don't be scared. Stay close to me, okay? We need to go now."

The Noti chirped back an answer in its own native language, sounding cheerful.

"Yeah," Ezra agreed. "It's time to go home."