#The original says sonnets/poems

[coldinpantsreboot]

Feyd Rautha: You know, there's this wisdom. If a man kills a couple people for you, he loves you. If a man kills a hundred people for you, he just loves to kill. However, I find that I can combine the two.

Paul: Put the knife down

Feyd Rautha: You first.

[caprisunnydays]

Stardew Valley x Reader Bachelor Headcanons

Alex

Before you and Alex got together, you probably became long time friends

He was def like "damn they hot" but then when it became more than just that he was like "DAMN THEY'RE HOT"

It's been a bit since he's felt those silly little butterflies, it genuinely makes him nervous

Que him leaning against a wall like "Hey bbg" but he's sweating bullets

After his confession, he feels much better, and the nervous air that only you could really pick up on has disappeared

Very PDA, arm is always around you, probably not in the back pocket but if he's tipsy enough then boom it appears

Insists on going in the mines with you but saw a slime and wanted to dip so bad but you protected him <3

"Heh...I totally wasn't scared. Don't worry babe I'll protect you" nah boy

He feels his heart melt every time he sees you and Evelyn baking together, or her just acting like your grandma

Even George has become a grandpa figure, giving advice with alex or general things

Alex is secretly insecure about himself, but with you, he finds room to grow as a person and find that those worries are unwarranted

Though he doesn't say it often, you make him feel seen, and he truly appreciates that

Elliot

(Personal fav right now so I'm about to go OFF)

If you picked romance for his book he's imagining you both as the main characters

Not a complete parallel because he's like "can't be creepy" but a teensy bit

Speaking of "can't be creepy" he has written multiple sonnets about you since realizing his feelings

Unlike some of the other bachelors, he embraces his feelings more, using his passion to inspire his writing and other endeavors

Heavy on the gifts and courting stuff

Gives you love poems at least once a week he has so many piled up but he doesn't wanna go overboard

Says the sappiest things all the time with this love struck look in his eyes

PRETTIEST MANNNNN

Words of affirmation kinda guy, he's poetic like that

Leah pokes at him for being a simp but mans could not care less he's proud

Picks out pretty sea shells that wash up on the shore and gives them to you, and they're always intact!

Big fan of the flower dance and looks forward to getting to dance with you in front of the entire town! maybe your worst nightmare but he's just happy to show you off (and his dancing skills lol)

Speaking of which, mans is gonna teach you how to waltz and a bunch of other old timey dances

At some point he WILL show up in the pouring rain to profess his love, or give you flowers, or both

You're like "Elliot we're literally dating was this necessary and he's like "OF COURSE MY DEAR"

He'd love heartstopper

Harvey

Insert too sweet by Hozier

Silly little doctor guy tries to avoid you but can't help but be drawn to you

He sees you running around doing your daily tasks, and just watches you from afar from the window of the doctor's office

Maru notices and tells you to come in sometime cuz her boss ain't gonna get nowhere by himself

When you start coming in more often he can feel himself die of embarrassment when he fails to make interesting conversation

Is very worried about your health though and fusses when you pass out in the mines/street

He gets even more adamant about you taking care of yourself once he's confessed

Way less nervous though!

Looks at you with adoration eyes when you do anything

Tipsy Harvey is a cute Harvey because he starts spilling his guts on how often he thinks of you

Whenever you're not busy with work he appreciates you stopping by the office, just to talk about both of your days

He yaps to everyone about you btw

Doesn't mean to but when someone brings you up he's like "oh yes me and my partner love to-" or "my partner loves-" etc etc

I used to not be a fan but he's such a sweetiepie

Sam

"I just love a guy who plays guitar <3" - u @Sam

That's it

I JEST

Originally he's like "hey come and hang out with me, Sebastian, and Abigail"

Then you start coming over and it's just you both alone

He's not creepy about it, just wants to spend time with you one on one

Loves showing you the songs he works on and if you want he'll show you how to play guitar too!

He's also happy with how well you get along with Jodi, always trying to get you both to bond, it makes him feel nice that you feel like you're apart of the family

Once y'all are together he does sneak you in anytime he gets the chance

He'll text you like "come over" You : I've gotta be up at 6am Him : "PLZPLZPLZPLZ-"

OG golden retriever bf

You both go shopping at Joja at 3am for fun and goof off

Or go run around in the forest taking aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos

Sebastian

You can't tell me he's not an arctic monkeys kinda guy so insert R U Mine? By Arctic Monkeys

It took him time to warm up to you

When he did you became one of the few people he could hang out with after a long day of socializing and not feel drained around

I can see him doing things that aren't always super platonic and thinking he wants to do them because

"Platonically" holding your hand, cuddling, etc

At town events he stands all close to you, complaining about how much he hates it, but showing disappointment when you mention leaving

Everyone's like are y'all dating and he goes NO way too fast

When you both finally ARE together though he's actually much less affectionate and public, but it doubles when you're in the comfort of his basement room

Finds the most joy in keeping you trapped in his bed with him until noon when you say you should be working on your farm

Especially in the colder months, then you can also share his mom's pumpkin soup

He's almost catlike with his affection

Another guy you run around and take aesthetically pleasing pintrest photos with, but his are more grunge esk

"Accidentally" leaves his hoodies at your place but he likes seeing you in em

I imagine that the characters have those closets filled with the same outfit, so when you try and give him his stuff back he goes "nah" and whips out his 100th hoodie

Shane

PACK IT UP SAVIOUR COMPLEX I mean what who said that

After you rescue him from the depths of his depressive alcoholism, he feels guilty for having feelings for you

Part of it is because he's like "fuck do I actually like them or is it just cuz they basically saved my life" and partly because it feels painfully stereotypical

Not a lot changes, though he is a lot more open to you then he is with other people, even with Marnie

Helps out with your chickens when he has free time

Talks to them about his problems and once you almost walked in on him ranting about his feelings for you (bro was shook)

But once he's confessed, well, he's still insecure about some things, but accepts your help with stride

Jealous easily, but tries not to show it

Acts of service kinda guy, so if you need him to run an errand while you're swamped with farm work? He's on it

Pulls up to your farm with a bunch of snacks and a bag full of movies for you to pick from

He sets it up while you take a shower to wash all the grime and dirt off from a days work so you can just come and cozy up on the couch with him

You're also basically besties with Jas, such a sweet girl, always asks you to play jump rope with her

You both go "say no to drugs" to her l o l

Marnie is also now your bestie so even when she's not working you can get stuff from the shop #WIN

I loooooove stardew valley it's so cool so great

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[withasideofshakespeare]

In light of recent discoveries, I will be changing the name of this blog to honor the true author of these 37/8 plays we all know and love: Christopher Marlowe.

It has been unequivocally proven as of this week that Marlowe did not in fact meet his judgment in 1593, but rather lived on to continue his career as a great poet and playwright.

Previously, it was believed that his works left unfinished and the body identified as his were solid proof that the plays he wrote under the name of “William Shakespeare” could not have been written by the same hand as the great Tragical History of Doctor Faustus and Hero and Leander.

But as of this week, it has been proven that this evidence has long been misinterpreted. It is true that he left behind unfinished poems and that there was a body identified as his. In fact, it is even true that the body identified that day was his.

Where generations of scholars went awry, however, was in their lack of consideration for the spirit of the man whose body died that day. Using modern technology including EMWA (electromagnetic writing analysis), it was discovered that William Shakespeare did physically write the plays, but it was the spirit of the great Christopher Marlowe who was behind them via the ancient art of human consciousness possession (HCP).

Yes, you heard that right: it has been scientifically proven “Shakespeare’s” posthumously published folio which brought us some of our most beloved plays is simply radiating with electromagnetic particles that suggest the mind behind the text was not Shakespeare’s but Marlowe’s, in possession the former’s body.

I study English rather than paranormal writing analysis, so I can only explain what little I know about the subject, but from what I understand, analysis of an original printing of the first folio produced these results. Modern paranormal expert Sam Winchester says of the discovery: “It reshapes the fields of both English literature and paranormology. Most cases of PoP [Possession of Poets] are fairly low-profile. It’s rare to see a case like this. We studied the folio by analyzing the IPs [inspiration particles] and comparing them against a text authentically written by Marlowe and then one we could expect Shakespeare’s possession by Kit wouldn’t have influenced—his will. The IPs analyzed from over six hundred lines of the folio were similar in shape, color, and potency to those detected from lines of Marlowe’s Faustus, Tamburlaine, Edward II, and Hero and Leander but markedly different from those of Shakespeare’s will. The variations in the hue of the particles between Marlowe’s writings while living and those produced after his death via his possession of William Shakespeare showed that “Shakespeare’s” plays were consistent with the particles we see in other cases of PoP, proving that they were in fact written posthumously by the mind of Marlowe and the hand of Shakespeare.”

Anne Hathaway, actress and immortal wife of the late William Shakespeare said that she was “not surprised” by the new development. “Will sure seemed odd after ‘93—sorry, that’s 1593 for you all. He became suddenly obsessed with writing plays and sonnets. I was pretty excited about the sonnets initially until I realized most of them were written to some twink and not me. I suppose that’s how these things go. I still think Will would be proud of his legacy even if it wasn’t entirely his.”

Winchester recommends that “Shakespeare” scholars worldwide “acknowledge Marlowe as the true author of the plays, sonnets, and poems both out of respect for the mind behind the verse and to avoid being possessed [them]selves.” He says that paranormologists have “no reason to believe that Marlowe isn’t still out there waiting to add a few more plays to his repertoire.” In fact, he and his team are currently analyzing Tom Stoppard’s plays to rule out the possibility of another case of possession by Marlowe.

[highladderbed]

My Orion and The Dark review

After watching the movie I saw alot of other reviews on tumblr saying that the movie shouldn't went on the path it's on because it just fumbled it completely. But I think the way it went represented the book it originated greatly since it was a kid's book and kids here are the one that made it. That's why it's very messy because kids don't care about how consistent their stories are, what will please people or not. How is that not inspirational? Making something on your own and sharing it with others even if they'll hate it. Yes there are movies that are bad because corporations don't care but we shouldn't really accuse that with every movie that doesn't get a high rating. How many times have we put something off on the fear that it's not good enough. At school when my teacher asked us to write a poem I tried my best to make mine have deep meaning based on my own experience and after that I got a B- and after that a C both because the poem didn't have artsy language in it even though she literally gave us Emperor's new sonnet that literally had nothing in it. By having Orion tell the story it implied that he overcame his fear by himself whether through a dream or imagination. He seeked help not the other way around. And even if as an adult he was still scared. He literally helped two generation get over their fears of the dark before it was completed. Not many media use the framing device anymore or even twice at all. And by then he's already an old man who lived a happy life with the girl he got the courage to sit next to. Just my insight.

[savventeen]

everything but words

pairing: wonwoo x gn!reader rating: G wc: 339 words summary: Wonwoo's actions have always spoken louder than words. You finally decide to do something about it. warnings: mention of anxiety tags: fluff, romantic fluff, implied friends to lovers, first kiss a/n: this was originally a yoonkook drabble i posted on twt for the prompt "things you didn't say at all"; for @ryusha-rose who chose fluff over angst this fine evening lol

Sometimes, you think about all of the sonnets Jeon Wonwoo has written — think about all of the poetry he's inscribed onto your moleskin heart with everything but words.

A warm cup of tea placed into trembling hands reads something like:

I might not be able to take the anxiety away, but I will always be here to give you something warm to drink — something to soothe the spirit, just a bit.

A fuzzy blanket draped over tense, exhausted shoulders reads something along the lines of:

Sometimes the world can weigh heavy and jagged across our backs, but I will always be here to make that burden a little softer, maybe even a little lighter — if you'd be willing to share it with me.

When Wonwoo sends you yet another playlist simply titled "for y/n," you hear:

The world is so, so big, and it's easy — too easy — to lose both ourselves and each other in the chaos and cacophony. But I will always hear you. Strangers from across time and space will play and sing the things from our souls that neither of us has ever learned to say, and I will always hear you.

And beneath that, a whisper that sneaks out of your headphones and tucks itself into your heart:

I will always hear you, y/n, and I hope you will always hear me, too.

And quieter still, a whispered poem of your own:

We could be a melody.

When you finally build up the courage to turn that poem into a song — the song you think your heart has always sung — you gently cradle Wonwoo's face between two sweaty palms, and for the first time in your life, you put to words the orchestra that swells inside your chest whenever you think about one Jeon Wonwoo.

Then he gives you one last wordless poem, his beaming, breathtaking grin an overture to the start of something — and the kiss that you share is the sweetest symphony that you have ever had the privilege to taste.

[chiyeko-kurea]

one of my favorite poems + my analysis

i wanted to share it with you guys:)

(VERY poorly translated, sadly never as good as the original)

« Je vis, je meurs » Louise Labé, Sonnets, 1555

« I live, I die: I drown and I burn,

I endure at once extreme heat and cold;

Life is at once too soft and too hard,

I feel boredom mingled with joys.

At the same time, I laugh and I cry,

And I endure many torments of pleasures,

My fortune fades away, and lasts forever,

At the same time, I wither and I Bloom.

Thus I suffer love’s inconstancies

And when I believe I will suffer more,

Without knowing, I find myself at peace.

Then, when I feel my joy is certain,

And I am on top of what I could wish right now,

Love casts me back into my former grief. »

.

So there’s a few things i would translate differently.

1) I would write « I drown and burn » without the other « I » because in the original poem, the idea conveyed is really that the feeling of drowning constantly is parallel to the one of burning, happening in the same time in the author’s mind while being completely opposite.

The idea of drowning constantly (that I personally really relate to) = therefore maybe also feeling like suffocating/ choking constantly, not being able to breathe and a constant weigh inside the chest.

+ sinking further and further until one day reaching rock bottom -> the idea of giving up on ourselves?

Or you could also interpret the word ‘drowning’ as fighting to stay above water, to gasp for air, being between sanity and trying to stay there because if you give up you will drown into insanity and darkness that is trying to pull you in. With that interpretation you also get the idea of tiredness and eventually having to give up if you know you’re doomed to drown anyway, but you can’t stop trying to survive.

But i think in this case ‘drown’ is more that achingly slow, constant, oppressive feeling of slowly sinking opposed to the complete chaos of burning fire and being actively consumed alive/ having a fire inside ur mind.

2) Second verse is also poorly translated. It would be more like ‘i burn while enduring chilblain’ which is completely different from the original verse but closer in terms of meaning, to me. Same idea of opposite feelings, i think everyone interprets differently.

3) 3rd verse IS JUST SHIT!! WHAT IS THAT TRANSLATION?? It’s so lameeeee! Ugh. The idea that i felt in the OP (original poem) was like ‘Life is to me too listless/ limp/ (=basically ‘soft’ but in a pejorative way. Life is boring, tasteless, nothing worth much, nothing that excites her mind.) Also she says ‘TO ME’. To her. Her life, not life in general. Basically, how life is to her, « towards » her. But at the same time, life is too hard to her (not « for » her!) to the point it’s like torture.

4) The next verse is kind of a résumé of her whole fucking life. That i would translate as ‘i have great ennuis intertwined with joys’. « Ennuis » could be, indeed, translated as ‘boredom’, (the way i understood it) but also as ‘problems’/‘worries’. Basically either a long, dull, boring, worthless road with sometimes great joys/ or if you got for the different meaning of ‘ennuis’: lots of terrible problems and disasters in your life but sometimes also great joys, both mingled.

5) « love’s inconsistencies » -> Love is written in the OP with a capital letter. I don’t really think it’s necessarily romantic love, but love in general: what you experience, live, feel, discover, which is basically essential to life. Imagine a life where you don’t love any type of music, book, movie, food, weather, people, feeling, taste, smell… But primarily, I think she means that Love (as an entity rather than a simple feeling) kinda throws her around; and she is a ‘victim’ of it, she suffers from it and its intensity, unpredictability, force. She is condemned, as a human, to be a subject/ slave of love. She is not, and never will be, in control of that -and therefore her life.

6) The two last verses are so poorly translated it should be a crime. The idea behind them is really interesting!

« And I am on top of what I could wish right now » -> when she has everything she could wish for, she has obtained and achieved everything she ever dreamed off, longed for, ached for, when she has reached what is the ultimate completion of her desires that would grant her happiness; and finally everything that bothered her and kept her from tasting a freedom and peace of the soul is gone; when there’s nothing more she could possibly need or even wish for; she doesn’t. Feel. Happy. Anymore. She loses it. She feels the same as she used to before. It’s a never-ending cycle. She thinks she finally has it all, but it all crumbles, again and again and she can never keep it. She can taste it for a bit, but then it vanishes and she is right back in her ‘primary misery’.

She feels joy, she feels happy, she thinks it’s gonna last forever: it never does. For me, it really convey the idea of relapse. You get clean, you feel great, life is good, but then, how could you even think it was gonna last anyway? You relapse, fall right back in your misery.

I haven’t analyzed (corrected) the 2nd quatrain and the first tercet because this post is already very long (so i just corrected the most important ones)

and i don’t wanna bore you😭 but if you like poetry we could discuss it together if you want🫶

[hamliet]

The Best Modern Romeo + Juliet

...is a subplot in The Wizards of Waverly Place. Yeah, the Disney show. I said it. In a time where Florida's taking Romeo and Juliet out of schools, we need this.

It's the only adaptation I've seen in modern day that has Juliet's personality right--her feisty, dreamy, and determined self. I was watching the whole thing going:

Juliet is strong! And smart! And funny! and Romeo is adorable and adorkable and sappy but sincere! The plot might seem obvious--a feud between vampires and wizards--but it turns out to be so much more mundane. The families hate each other because their sandwich rivals are business rivals.

Of course, in the end Justin and Juliet's love for one another enables the Russos and van Heusens to lay down their wands and put away their fangs. The way in which this happens, though, is very funnily told.

But the references and commitment to Romeo and Juliet continue even after the original subplot episodes! In fact, the story ends up almost told in reverse, which is amusing.

See, first Juliet gets trapped with Justin in a museum when the sun starts to rise. Since she'll crisp up if that happens, Justin directs her to allow herself to be controlled by the mummy, since he can take her out of the museum before she broils. He promises to come back for her. Except, after Juliet agrees and leaves with the mummy, Alex arrives to save the day. tl;dr, if Justin had waited a moment, Juliet would not have had to go with the mummy. This is a clear reference to both Romeo and Juliet's flaws in the original play (although, can you call it a flaw when they're both at great risk of dying because their city streets are basically a war zone), and also to the fact that if Romeo had just waited five more minutes before drinking the poison, Juliet would have woken up and they would have escaped.

In the original play, Juliet is encased in her family tomb. Where does the mummy take Wizards!Juliet? His tomb, where he encases her in stone. Justin eventually rescues her with Alex and Mason's help, only for things to then go very wrong, but hey, romance always stumbles in Act 2.

While Juliet is off looking her real age of like, over a thousand years old, Justin tries to move on with varying success. The one he most obvious falls for is Rosie... a reference to Romeo's first love interest, Rosaline.

In the play, Rosaline does not exist to show that Romeo is actually flaky, as cynical modern interpretations assert. Instead, Rosaline exists to be the stereotype of a passive woman. She's a direct parody of Petrarch's Laura, or Dante's Beatrice--both women whom they literally deify as spiritual guides in their poems, but in Petrarch's case he never even spoke to Laura (yeah. yeah.) and Dante never made a move on Beatrice. But their literary works hold this up as holy, because a woman who has sex? Even in matrimony? Less desirable. Less holy. The point of Romeo and Juliet is that Juliet is very human and never "less" because she marries and has sex with Romeo.

Romeo's poetry for Rosaline is deliberately cringey and uses the worst cliches of Shakespeare's time. You're supposed to groan. But Romeo's sonnet at the end of Act 1 is created with Juliet. She's literally saying a couplet, and then he says one, and so on. The poetry when Romeo speaks to and of Juliet was, in Shakespeare's day, incredibly original and stunning. In other words you're supposed to see Rosaline as Romeo being in love with love, and Juliet as the fruition of this.

Anyways. Back to Wizards. Rosie is an angel. Rosaline in the play swears herself to perpetual virginity in a holy vow (but is not a nun, so yes, Shakespeare is pointing at this like "u sure girl?"). Justin's love for Rosie is an infatuation, not real love as it is with Juliet. She's able to quickly manipulate him into bargaining with the devil to destroy the entire world because Rosie became a fallen angel. However, Rosie eventually realizes she loves Justin, truly, and that helps convince her to save Justin from himself and to move back to heaven, where she'll be his guardian angel.

Even though it's told in reverse, this entire arc references the main theme of Romeo and Juliet as a play: being human is good, and love redeems and saves the world. Even though Romeo and Juliet die, their love saves Verona. Rosie's love for Justin might not be requited, but because of it she helps Alex save the world. That she fell from heaven and found love makes her a better guardian angel in the end, not a worse one.

In the end, Juliet reunites with Justin after she's been brainwashed by said devil character, Gorog, which calls back both to the Mummy's mind control and to Justin's and Rosie's story. When Justin, Alex, and Max defeat Gorog, the spell breaks. Juliet expresses horror at what she's done and begs for forgiveness--only to find out that Justin doesn't want her to beg for it. She doesn't need to. She's there, and that's all that matters.

Okay, even besides the Romeo and Juliet arc, The Wizards of Waverly Place is pretty good for a kid's show. It's got very clever moments, and it's clearly a satire that pokes fun at Harry Potter, Twilight, Beauty and the Beast (Alex and Mason), Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella, The Mummy, Night at the Museum, Back to the Future, and more. But you can tell the writers are doing this because they love the original stories, not out of mean-spirited cynicism. It's self-aware without breaking the suspension of disbelief for viewers.

Said suspension of disbelief mostly comes from the characters, who are very well done and have good arcs. Alex and Justin's relationship is at the heart of the series, which fits because the main theme is family. Although Alex at first seems like a slacker on her way to delinquency and Justin's the model student, they are actually far more alike inside than they are different.

Both Alex and Justin know that because of the wizard competition, they only have a limited amount of time to prove themselves. Alex's philosophy is essentially "let's eat and drink and be merry for tomorrow we die/lose our wizard powers," while Justin's is "study study study and be perfect and never lose the power!" But at the heart of both is fear of a coming loss--not just of their power, but of their relationship.

They know one of them will lose powers to the other, and the foundation of their relationship especially in the earlier seasons is helping each other out with magic. It's through untangling Alex's magic-brewed disasters that Justin shows he loves Alex, and it's through asking Justin for help that the normally proud Alex shows that she loves and trusts Justin. You might call it their love language. Without it, can they still even be close?

The ending was perfect because it inverses what you'd expect. Alex goes back to help Justin, knowing that this means she won't win. Justin admits that he messed up and did not actually win, giving up his power because Alex was the rightful winner. And as a result, they are both rewarded: Alex keeps her powers, and Justin also gets to keep them via Professor Crumbs appointing Justin his successor. (Max's story was always more human-world centered, so him getting the subway shop and not his powers fit well for him, too.)

Speaking of Professor Crumbs, I liked how he and other characters like Harper (especially) and Zeke explored the family theme beyond just the Russos. Harper essentially got adopted by Alex's parents because her own parents suck, and Professor Crumbs clearly views both Justin and Alex as his proteges with a fatherly affection. Family can be blood, but it can also be made. So it was fitting that each sibling got a piece of family legacy: Alex as the Family Wizard (extended blood family), Max as the subway shop owner (human parents), and Justin as the next Professor of Magic (found family).

So yeah. If you're looking for a feel good show, this is a good one to check out!

[t0mcruize123]

stuck with you

Part three🎀🫶

I liked writing this part A LOT ngl it’s a little snippet of the smut to come in part 4 so prepare yourself 🤭

~Part 3~

Rain splattered onto the hotel window as the tv screen blared colourfully. We’d planned on heading out for LA today but it’d been raining for hours, and Ray refused to leave the hotel. Instead, me and Charlie had been flicking through channels all day and playing truth or dare. It sounded boring but to be honest, I was having more fun than I’d had in weeks. I was learning so much and he wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d originally thought.

“It’s supposed to be 8 fish sticks,” Raymond mumbled as Charlie set his food in front of him.

“You want 8?” He sliced the 4 fish sticks in half, “There’s 8.”

I smiled as he sat down next to me on the bed, “Once he’s finished we’ll hit the road.”

“We don’t have to go out today, if you don’t want to,” my gaze flickered from him to the tv, “It’s getting late.”

“What would we do if we stayed here?” His voice lowered, “Watch Tv and play games?”

My tongue darted over my lips instinctively, “Yeah…if you want to.”

“And if I don’t?”

Was he messing with me? He was close enough that his arm was brushing mine and I couldn’t tell if he’d shuffled closer or not.

“Well then we’ll have to find some way to keep you occupied,” the corner of my lip lifted as my stare slid to his. His eyes were piercing in the light and my head began to spin.

A smirk played at his lips, “Oh yeah?” I liked playful Charlie but I had to admit angry Charlie made my heart pound the most. there was something about his hands and the way his voice rose as he yelled that made my stomach flutter. I shouldn’t have been attracted to something so toxic and yet I found myself falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.

“A sonnet,” Raymond mumbled and our heads snapped to his.

“What?” Charlie’s brow raised.

I nodded to the tv, “A fourteen line love poem.”

His lips parted, “How does my brother know what a sonnet is but not money? How is that even possible?”

He clambered to his feet and turned to the window, “You take a shower Ray? Hm?” Ray continued to eat as Charlie’s voice rose, “Ray, you take a shower right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right?” His hands flew up, “It’s the same thing as the rain, you get a little wet.”

Ray continued to ignore him and I cut in, “We can just go out tomorow Charlie-“

“And if it’s still raining then? We’re wasting valuable time!” He rested his palms on the window ledge, “What do you say Ray, what do you say? Huh?”

“Course the showers in the bathroom,” he stared down at his plate as Charlie rolled his eyes.

“That’s the end of that conversation,” he murmured lowly and I covered my mouth to hide my smile.

The sunlight beamed down upon us as we sat in Charlie’s car in a comfortable silence. Charlie had just made a call and was quietly thinking whilst I sat at his side.

“It’s so beautiful,” I squinted as I looked up at the sun, basking in its warmth.

“It is,” he agreed, though his gaze was on me rather than any star in the sky, “So are you just here for your sisters wedding?”

I nodded, “Yeah…it’s quite embarrassing actually.”

He frowned, “What is?”

“I actually planned to meet somebody there,” I confessed quietly, “I haven’t dated anybody in a while and my sisters trying to set me up with the best man at the wedding.”

His lips parted in surprise, “Oh..what’s his name?”

My mouth opened to reply though I stilled, “I’m…I actually can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember the name of your date?”

“I’ve never met the guy! And to be honest, I have no care for him, I’m only agreeing to go on a date with him for my sisters sake.”

He thought about it for a moment, “Why is she trying to force you with him so much?”

“Because…,” my stomach twisted, “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”

“How long is a long time?”

I pinned him with a glare and he drew back, “No judgment I promise, you can tell me.”

But it was just so embarrassing, “A year.”

His brow rose ever so slightly and I argued, “You promised no judgement!”

“I’m not judging you, I’m judging the guys in your area,” he mumbled quietly, “How have you not had a boyfriend in a year? Are all the men you’ve ever met completely insane?”

I looked to the side to hide my flaming cheeks, “What do you mean?”

“I just don’t understand how you of all people, can’t attract a boyfriend.”

“Oh I can,” I cut in, “I just reject the men that come my way. I haven’t been particularly lucky in the love department, I’ve dated many dickheads in my time.”

“Oh really?” He gave me a soft smile, “I’m not very lucky either, I haven’t dated anyone in a few months. I jusr don’t have the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “You know my last boyfriend dumped me on Christmas Day.”

His jaw went slack, “What?”

“Mhm, said I was getting too fat,” I grinned, “It’s alright you can laugh.”

“But that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, you’re figure it’s-“ he swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure, “You know it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

His fingers brushed mine ever slightly and I inhaled sharply. It’d been a long time since I’d physically reacted to such a small touch, and I liked the way my heart began to pound. When I was with Charlie, my head didn’t spin and my palms didn’t sweat. I was simply comfortable, and for some reason that made me surge with confidence.

Before I could rethink it, I swung my leg around and clambered over onto Charlie’s lap. His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise though his hands instinctively came up to my back. I’d never felt the desire to kiss somebody like this before - like if I didn’t, I would’ve have survived another second. I needed the air he was holding, I wanted it back.

My face moved closer to his and his pupils dilated though the lighting had not changed. His hands rubbed small circles at my back and I felt small shocks run through my body. My clothes were a barrier between his hot hands against my skin, but we were in a crowded area and I wasnt going to get so carried away in public. I just needed one kiss. A distraction to feed this insatiable desire coursing through my core, I just needed him before we went our seperate ways. We both wanted it, I knew it in the way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and how easy we fit together. I wasn’t fighting anymore - I was completely vulnerable in front of Charlie and yet I felt completely safe.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as his hand slipped beneath my shirt and he grazed my stomach with his thumb. I released a pent up breath and the corner of his lip lifted as he trailed his nose across my jaw. He seemed to enjoy taking his time and my heart pounded as his eyelids fluttered. He’d been so surprised but clearly he needed this as much as i did.

A gasp escaped My lips as Charlie pressed his mouth against the skin of my collarbone and glided his tongue across it. He kissed me as though he were tasting me, and I pulled him closer with desire. I needed his wet mouth on mine, his tongue slipping through my lips, his hands in my hair.

But he was holding back. Torturing me with small teasing kisses that were driving me insane.

He moved impossibly closer and kissed the corner of my mouth, making me lick my lips instinctively. He groaned and I could feel him growing hard beneath me, desperate to fill me but trying to restrain himself.

“Just give in Charlie,” I murmured lowly, and I didn’t care how pathetic my voice sounded as I begged. I could feel the size of him between my thighs and I grew hot and slick on his lap.

“You’re so needy you’d settle for riding my thigh right now wouldn’t you?” He smiled against my lips, “But I’m not giving you that right now, darling. When I take you, I’m taking you fully and completely.”

I drew back and his gaze seemed to darken, “When I fuck you I want all of you, and not in a crappy car but in a bed where I can see every inch of that beautiful body of yours and do everything, and I mean everything…I’ve imagined doing to you.”

His hands tightened at my hips and I swallowed back a moan, “Now be patient.”

God, he made it sound like it was easy, “And if I don’t?”

His brow raised in warning, “Then I’ll have to teach you.”

He made it sound like a threat but I’d never been more turned on in my life. We were both still fully clothed and yet my panties were soaked and my legs were so open they were pressed against the car door - This was a new low, even for me.

There was a yell in the distance and both or heads turned to the side, “What was that?”

Charlie looked to the store at our left, “I told Ray to stay in there but I don’t see him.”

I climbed off his lap and together we made our way out of the car, “Ray?

Cars began to honk and the sound of people arguing grew louder and louder. My pulse thrummed as we rounded the corner and turned onto the new street. I hadn’t known Raymond for long but knew that to find him, you’d probably have to just follow the sound of chaos.

“Ray?!” Charlie yelled, his steps perfectly in sync with the pounding of my heart. We rushed down the street and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Ray standing there.

In the middle of the road.

Traffic was standing still surrounding him and a tall man was shouting words I couldn’t hear from so far away. Charlie cursed under his breath and made his way through the crowd.

“Hey it’s alright! It’s alright!” Charlie rushed to his brothers side and I followed closely behind, “Hey it’s alright, I’m so sorry about him. Raymond come on.”

Ray took a step in the wrong direction and Charlie touched his arm, “Raymond come on Ray, come on,”

“It said dont walk,” he mumbled defensively and I noticed the sign with block letters.

Charlie looked at me and I shrugged, “It does say don’t walk.”

He shook his head though I noticed the small smile playing at his lips, “Don’t encourage him.”

[evilstars]

I'm on poem 68 (yay, another sonnet!) of David Young's translation of the poetry of Petrarch and I so desperately wish I could read the original text. Granted, this was all written between the 1330s-70s-ish, so the Italian would be tough to understand even to someone who reads Italian (which is what he talks about in the introduction).

I'm unsatisfied with the idea that I'm never going to learn everything I want to in my lifetime and that's troublesome for me (didn't Plath have something to say about that?). It makes me want to stay up all night and absorb everything possible. I wish I didn't have to sleep. I could learn Latin, Italian, Spanish, and French feasibly during my lifetime, but the medieval versions of the same languages wouldn't necessarily be accessible. Works on the same principle as the fact that Chauncer's translations of Petrarch are kind of useless to me; it's a headache to get through because I am not familiar enough with the English used.

I digress, Petrarch is foundational to the works of Shakespeare (duh, sonnets), so I don't understand why I haven't encountered Petrarch much in my formal education? I don't think I read any Petrarch in my Intro to Poetry class or any creative writing classes. I've only ever encountered Petrarch in my philosophy classes, which is where I rediscovered him as I used to really enjoy him in high school.

David Young chalks up the disinterest to "the impression that what was attractive in the sonnet sequences of subsequent practitioners was their introduction of the non-Petrarchan and even anti-Petrarchan elements" and possibly because readers would "repudiate some aspects of stale Petrachan rhetoric," but I find it difficult to share similar sentiments. Ezra Pound and T.S. Eliot are listed as Petrarch dislikers but I think they missed out. As stated, his work is foundational, and so it's worth the read for that reason, if nothing else.

I understand the annoyance possibly rooted in the fact that his work is inherently repetitive (e.g. the subject scarcely changes unless the addressee changes, recurring motifs of Apollo/Daphne, or describing eyes as 'stars'), but I think that's kind of the point? Missing out on it for that reason would also mean missing out on such an interesting meshing of Christian/Pagan themes, contemplation of life and death, love and obsession, and even, at points, offers some insight into Italian history and 14th-century politics (such as 53). I'm surprised he wasn't considered blasphemous for some of the themes in his work tbh. I think there's a meditative element to that repetition, where you enter his psyche and come to understand his point of view; it evokes empathy for him as someone who has presumably experienced similar feelings as the one he professes to feel.

I find it important to state that I don't think Petrarch's endeavors are futile or his affections pathetic, because those sentiments addressed even in the introduction are troubling to me. Reading his poetry makes me want to understand the limits, or better yet, the expanse of his devotion. I want to live that feeling while I'm sitting there, reading the page. I want the poems to become an inextricable part of me. His poems make me feel truly alive and entirely ignited in a way very few things do.

[cedarxwing]

Random worldbuilding stuff

De figuris Veneris, Chapters 6-8

The Shermans were the family Dolarhyde would have killed next if he hadn't been caught in Red Dragon (they lived in Oklahoma instead of Pittsburg, though).

Paregoric was not a controlled substance until 1970 and was still available over the counter without a prescription in some states until the 90s.

Lily of Florence. Hannibal would have seen this flag hanging from the Palazzo Vecchio during his time in Italy.

The Salon of Lilies is where the directors of the Uffizi Museum and the Belle Arti Commission met at a joint session to argue if Hannibal (aka Dr. Fell) or one of their nephews should be the new curator for the Palazzo Capponi (Hannibal, Chapter 19): "The two committees were a contentious and prickly assembly--for years they could not even agree on a venue, neither side willing to meet in the other's offices. They met instead in the magnificent Salon of Lilies in the Palazzo Vecchio, each member believing the beautiful room suitable to his own eminence and distinction. Once established there, they refused to meet anywhere else, even though the Palazzo Vecchio was undergoing one of its thousand restorations, with scaffolding and drop cloths and machinery underfoot."

I couldn't help lifting from the Red Dragon dinner scene.

Mason Verger was a member of the board of the Baltimore Philharmonic. He says in Hannibal that he never attended any BSO events, but that would be a plausible way for them to meet in a world where Hannibal never became a therapist. I thought about adding him to the dinner scene, but he doesn't really have a place in this story.

Benjamin Raspail (the original Franklin Froidevaux) was gay and hooked up with James Gumb in the books. John's line about his playing doesn't hit as hard in the movie because Raspail was still "listed as a missing person." The line is darker here, but follows period-typical attitudes about queer death.

Hannibal's special interest in Florence is because he's half Italian. From Hannibal, Chapter 21: "Dr. Lecter believed, from fragmentary family records, that he was descended from a certain Giuliano Bevisangue, a fearsome twelfth-century figure in Tuscany, and from the Machiavelli as well as the Visconti. This [the Palazzo Vecchio] was the ideal place for research. While he had a certain abstract curiosity about the matter, it was not ego-related. Dr. Lecter does not require conventional reinforcement. His ego, like his intelligence quota, and the degree of his rationality, is not measurable by conventional means." Guiliano Bevisangue is fictional. The name Bevisangue roughly means "blood-drinker" in Italian. Later: "He delighted in the writing style of Neri Capponi, banker and emissary to Venice in the fifteenth century, and read his letters, aloud from time to time, for his own pleasure late into the night."

Autoimmune encephalitis was not discovered until 2007, so Hannibal's knowledge is anachronistic.

The Woolly Bugger fishing fly was invented by Russell Blessing in 1967 and was popularized in 1984 when an article was published about it in a fly fishing magazine. Now it's one of the most popular fishing flies of all time.

For Hannibal's letter, I quoted The Complete Poems of Michelangelo, Sonnet 89, translated by Joseph Tusiani, but Hannibal would have translated it himself. He flips the pronouns in the English version. The homoeroticism of the poem might not have been obvious if Hannibal was reading an older Italian edition without context. For more info see "Michelangelo and Tommaso Cavalieri: The Dual Nature of Love and Desire" by Isaak Loewen (2020).

Identifying typewriter make and model based on a letter was almost impossible after many companies began sourcing their typeface from the same manufacturers in the 60s-70s. The terminology Will uses ("alignment" and "off-foot") comes from the SWGDOC Standard for the Examination of Typewritten Items. Off-foot means the character prints unevenly.

Next: Chapters 12-19

[zoeyfeistpoetry]

Ode to the maternity mourning dress at the RAMM.

Let Love clasp Grief lest both be drown'd,

Let darkness keep her raven gloss:

Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,

To dance with death, to beat the ground,

Than that the victor Hours should scorn

The long result of love, and boast,

`Behold the man that loved and lost,

But all he was is overworn.'

– Lord Alfred Tennyson - In Memoriam A.H.H

Why do I obsess and perplex?

O’ Maternity gown encased in Perspex.

Are you clad in down from Ravens and Crows?

Thousands have flocked and pondered your perpetual pose.

Exhibition never-ending, a homage to piety.

Melancholic elegant product of propriety

Delighted by daydreams, enticed by your mystery.

Inferring from prior learning of culture and history

A scattered past and a displaced origin story,

that starts with silks from the Bombyx Mori.

Sailed across the empire, which the sun never sets.

This is the most conspicuous consumption ever gets.

Dyeing was a privilege proposed to the rich.      

Pride steeps in your fibres, sorrow in every stitch.

You are gorge, baby. Proper.

Made-to-measure.

Forster’s bundle joyously pinked and pricked.

You are novel, handsome, stylish, hand-picked.

Deep Mourning sickness for one hundred-plus years.     

You are a bathetic and British barrage of tears.

Pathetic and Prudish. Grieving maiden, mother, and crone.

I see birth and life and death, and none stand alone.

You are more than just a dress; you are a relic of the past,

While the fabrics of culture shift you ever last.

Zoey Feist - Spring 2023

Annotations

Odes: - A formal, ceremonious lyric poem that addresses and often celebrates a person, place, thing, or idea. Most odes in contemporary poetry are irregular odes that take liberties with the form.

RAMM -Royal Albert Memorial Museum – Exeter

Epigraph - In Memoriam A.H.H.” (1850) narrative elegy in 2,916 lines. Tennyson believes it is better to keep the pain of grief fresh in honour of the deceased.

Rhyming Couplets - Traditional for love poetry/sonnets - reinforces devotional tone.

Stanza One:

The vocative “O " invokes something or someone. Invocations call upon deities and spirits for aid, protection, inspiration, and allusion to the religious sentiment of the dress.

Ravens and crows provoke funeral imagery. Feathers became a fashion and social status symbol in the Georgian Era. "The Ladies, the Ladies, have, however, so stripped us of birds for their bonnets " Ornithologist - John Gould, in 1865, blamed his inability to supply a bird exhibit at a museum on women.

Propriety: the state or quality of conforming to conventionally accepted standards of behaviour or morals. Social Propriety pertaining to death and mourning was still strict in this era. Product has two meanings here as the result of propriety and is also a manufactured item.

Stanza Two:

Scattered - occurring or found at intervals or various locations rather than all together. Displaced - take over the place, position, or role of (someone or something) - implies/reminds of British colonisation.

Bombyx Mori - the Latin name for the Silkworm. Mostly found in India. India was part of the British Empire and called The British Raj -or ' The West Indies'. The East India Trading Company would have brought the silk back to England. Silk was a traditional fabric used for mourning clothes.

The saying “The Empire on which the sun never sets” was an expression used to explain the vastness of the British Empire between the 18th and 20th centuries.

Conspicuous, obvious, noticeable, or attracting attention, often in an undesired way. Conspicuous Consumption - Conspicuous consumption is the purchase of goods or services to display one's wealth.

Stanza Three:

Pun: Dyeing – Dying. Funerals were often expensive, grandiose, and public, reserved for the middle and upper classes. Although mass production of dull black fabrics was easier during the industrial revolution, brand-new and bespoke garments were only affordable to the middle and upper classes.

Puns: Tailoring Jargon: Gorge- The depth of the neck. Baby- A stuffed cloth pad on which a tailor works his/her cloth. Made-to-measure - made specially to fit a particular person, or room or purpose. Paired with the word proper (suitable/appropriate). Pinked - Made with care and skill. Frederick Forster was the leading retailer of mourning attire. ‘Forster’s bundle joyously’ is a pun made from the term "bundle of joy" and a tailor’s bundle, in which all the components of a garment are bundled together. Referencing infants and pregnancy. Frederick Forster described his range of attire as “novel, handsome and stylish.” Hand Picked - clothing rack at a ‘draper’ The rise of capitalism during the industrial revolution meant a growing economy. The government encouraged the middle and upper classes to grow the empire's economy.

Stanza Four:

Pun: Deep Mourning – Morning Sickness. During ‘deep mourning’, a widow should wear a deep mourning dress ‘, widow's weeds’ for a year. Black silk or crepe was the conventional material used in mourning garments. In the last nine months of this first mourning year, the amount of crepe worn would gradually reduce. Which is also a full-term pregnancy. This maternity mourning dress has been stuck in this phase/term since being manufactured in 1912.

Bathetic and British barrage of tears: Anticlimactic symbol of British domination. Barrage - Two Meanings 1. a concentrated artillery bombardment over a wide area. Military imagery and imagery of widespread empire through force. Shelling of tears - however, was not a technique used until WW1 1915 – making this an inaccurate reference. 2. An artificial barrier across a river or estuary to prevent flooding, aid irrigation or navigation, or generate electricity by tidal power, barrages were invented in the 1800s. Reminds of the Industrial Revolution

Pathetic and Prudish - Sad and Proud. Maiden, Mother, Crone. The Triple Goddess is the tri-unity of three distinct aspects of womanhood/ three figures united in one being. Georgian women occupied the domestic sphere, had minimal societal roles and had limited opportunities. These are three roles she has in the domestic sphere. Virgin or Child. Wife and Mother, Crone or Spinster.

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Got a favorite poem by John Donne? It’s okay if you don’t, I was just curious :)

Hmmm, that's a hard one.

The question makes me think that there's a sort of "natural mode" for reading poetry, where you look at the poem and get a strong impression of the thing the poet is trying to communicate, and "naturalness" is a special property of the poem that's related to that. Somewhere in this description I'm gesturing towards the idea that the reader has to piece together what the poem is "about," but not like there's one "obvious" interpretation that's the "correct" one, or even several equally "correct" ones (contrast this with, say, a good novel, where there are several "equally correct" ways to interpret it). The reader has to put together a picture from scratch, rather than just sifting through what's already there.

Having said all that, my favorite John Donne poem is the long one (I think in Holy Sonnet 10, the last section?) where he says that he's responsible for death and original sin and stuff, because it was he who raised all those questions, so he's not going to be fooled into believing anything comforting (like divine grace). It's about doubting the existence of God, with hints that the speaker may actually be an atheist (to convince you that you're not an atheist?), and I like how it reframes the questions in a "creative" and "audacious" way. It's like "the atheist is a jerk because he insists on seeing the universe in a boring way that makes it impossible to believe in a loving God, while I am a cooler, more creative atheist who has ideas that seem more convincing but which require that you make an effort to understand them in order to disprove."

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

25, 30, 32, 38 😘

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

In original fiction: Detroit is the only [redacted] character who knows how to drive. She can drive stick. This never comes up, because nobody ever drives a car. She's kind of sad about this because she really, really wants to show off.

(I am very excited for you all to meet Detroit and everyone else soon.)

In fanfiction: Buck and Eddie have completely different preferences in ice cream. Buck likes more 'out there' flavors and also enjoys mint chocolate chip. Eddie thinks mint tastes like toothpaste and would like to know what's wrong with a good classic chocolate. This has been touched upon briefly - if I recall correctly, in The Hating Game AU and in a ficlet that will be added to the Fractals from the Lightning Bolt collection - but I've never really gone into detail about it and they have yet to have any kind of conversation about it in a fic despite the many imagined arguments they've had about it in my head.

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

Oh yes, dreams play a big role in my writing, especially in my original novels. The power of dreams is a recurring theme in my writing and many of my original ideas started as plots that I dreamed up and hastily wrote down in the morning before I forgot. Hints of that have shown up in my fanfic, most notably in the Reincarnation AU. In two of my current WIPs, dreams and what they mean play a pretty significant role as well.

I haven't ever dreamed of myself writing in my dream, just dreaming a plot that I liked and held onto upon waking. But who knows what might happen.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

I have a few. I'm a sucker for Neruda's Sonnet XVII. But there's a title of a fanfic that has haunted me for years: "pressed against the pending physics of my passed-down last name." It just rolls off my tongue and bounces around in my head so nicely. I love the alliteration. And it conjures up such a specific circumstance, about how you struggle against the frustrating bonds of the family you were born into, and how it can seem impossible to escape.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

I will often get up and act out dialogue. I will also, occasionally, get into sex positions to try and figure out where I want limbs to go. This has led to me contorting my body in some pretty weird ways because I'm being both myself and the other person. XD

[stoicbreviary]

Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius 1

Much like the poems by Ellis Walker on Epictetus, I came across these sonnets by James Vila Blake on Marcus Aurelius quite by accident. This time, in search of poetry with a Stoic character, I found them scanned in an obscure corner of the internet, the digital equivalent of a dusty shelf in a back room, and I have yet to hold a physical copy in my hands. Though I have always preferred the feel of real paper, this version will surely do for the moment. 

I had never heard of the author before, and a bit of digging revealed that James Vila Blake (1842-1925) was a Unitarian minister, best known for his essays, sermons, and as an editor of hymns. Though I am largely unfamiliar with the Unitarian tradition, I was quite taken by his words on the mission of his church: 

Love is the spirit of this church, and service is its law. This is our great covenant: To dwell together in peace, to seek the truth in love, and to help one another. 

Beyond all our theological bickering, it would be nice if more of us could hold to such basic principles. 

In his foreword, Rev. Blake explains how he came to write these poems, so I will only add how happy I was to see someone taking the time to reflect on the writings of Marcus Aurelius with such reverence and affection. If I had a gift for verse, I would attempt something similar, as a sort of homage, but I can only manage my cumbersome reflections. 

There are 31 sonnets here, each working from a specific passage in the Meditations, plus a proem and and epode. Blake includes these sections of the original text before the poems, both in the Greek and his own translation. 

Now while my Latin has become passable over the years, I have sadly never been able to move beyond the most rudimentary grammar and vocabulary for Greek, and so I cannot make any judgments about the quotations I see here. For the sake of completeness, I have included the Greek as it appears in the scan, fixing only the most obvious typos, and I have left the rest as it is. 

If you happen to have any talent in Greek, and you find glaring mistakes, which are quite likely in such a transcription, I would encourage you to embrace the task of a thorough edit. I'm sure a proper academic could do this in very little time, by comparing the Blake copy to a scholarly edition. Your effort would be of great help in keeping this fine work alive! 

—3/2010 

* * * * * 

Sonnets from Marcus Aurelius James Vila Blake THOS. P. HALPIN COMPANY, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS Copyright by JAMES VILA BLAKE, 1920 TO THE Rev. A. W. OXFORD, M. O. LONDON, ENGLAND 

FOREWORD When I had read the book of Marcus Aurelius many times, and was reading it after a long interval once again, which was also in company and aloud, I noticed the worthy matter for poetic treatment presented by the great Emperor’s noblest and most characteristic sayings. I marked such passages, and they remained for many years marked and no more. 

Then I remembered them, recurred to them, and found my former impression confirmed. Hence these heroic hymns, as perhaps I may call them, the sonnet appearing to me the poetic form most suitable and germane. Do or can the lofty thoughts herein versed, gain from verse? The reader must judge, and possibly the fortunes of the present recital may afford some indication whether the stern and high terseness of the original can profit by the expansion, diction and imagery of verse. 

Certainly in clarity, no; but in persuasiveness, possibly yes. The question seems much like a query whether excellent drawing in ink can gain by brush and color. What is proper matter for poesy, is a question belonging to poetic technics, and there is wide space and a thousand species between a geometrical demonstration or a bit of chemical nomenclature, and the heroics of a ballad; but at first blush perhaps it may be surmised that whatever thought is big enough and humane enough, may lay all Nature under contribution, and need not disdain the warrant of poetic fancy, trope, form or diction. 

As to the diction, for aught that appears, the word rondure which Shakespeare liked, is as good as roundness, or sphericity, or circularity, or curve, or curvature, or concavity, or convexity, or circumbendibus, and if this be granted, poetic language scores a point perhaps, though I have known poets and others look askance at “rondure.” 

The Greek and a prose rendering are placed together, and the sonnet opposite them. In the rendering I have not sought to give a literal transcription of the original, but rather the embosomed spirit and redolence of it. But it may be hoped this will be acceptable, since for those who might disapprove the Greek is added. 

The text is accepted from “The Communings with Himself of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Emperor of Rome, together with his Speeches and Sayings. A Revised Text and a Translation into English, by C. R. Haines, M.A.,, F.S.A. London, William Heinemann. New York, G. P. Putnam’s Sons.” 

—J. V. B. 

The Greek excerpts are taken by means of a photo-etching process. Of course the result would have been more elegant if I had employed a Greek compositor; but the virtue of the text is not affected, and J have done what I could under the conditions. 

* * * * * 

PROEM 

Marcus, thy stoic wit lacks naught in-door;  Out-door methinks thou shouldst be more at play,  Hill, vale, wood, brook, be fellows by thy way,  And wider wanderings on the sea-green shore.  Thou shouldst a stilly meadow pool explore  For doubled lustres of the early day,  Or soft reflections of capacious gray  That hath the meadow’s verdure tented o’er.  O if a rose had trembled to thy kiss  More than some culprit quailed before thy power,  Mayhap I had not now been writing this,  Thou being too great to gain thy day and hour.  Well, well, wide soul thou wert, kind heart, mind’s dower,  And to thee I am pious and submiss. 

* * * * * 1. Εωθεν προλέγειν ἑαυτῷ: συντεύξομαι περιἔργῳ, ἀχαρίστῳ, ὑβριστῇ, δολερῷ, βασκάνῳ, ἀκοινωνήτῳ. πάντα ταῦτα συμβέβηκεν ἐκείνοις παρὰ τὴν ἄγνοιαν τῶν ἀγαθῶν καὶ κακῶν. ἐγὼ δὲ τεθεωρηκὼς τὴν φύσιν τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ, ὅτι καλόν, καὶ τοῦ κακοῦ, ὅτι αἰσχρόν, καὶ τὴν αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἁμαρτάνοντος φύσιν, ὅτε μοι συγγενής, οὐχὶ αἵματος ἣ σπέρματος τοῦ αὐτοῦ, ἀλλὰ νοῦ καὶ θείας ἀπομοίρας μέτοχος, οὔτε βλαβῆναι ὑπό τινος αὐτῶν δύναμαι: αἰσχρῷ γάρ με οὐδεὶς περιβαλεῖ: οὔτε ὀργίζεσθαι τῷ συγγενεῖ δύναμαι οὔτε ἀπέχθεσθαι αὐτῷ. 

At early morning warn yourself thus: Today I shall happen on busy-bodies, ungrateful fellows, insolent boors, deceitful plotters, spiteful churls, unkind neighbors. All these ills have befallen them by reason of their ignorance of good and evil. But I have understood the nature of the good, that it is beautiful, and of the evil, that it is ugly, and of the ill-behaved man himself, that he is of the same source, kith and kin, with me—not of the same blood and flesh, but sharing in reason and a divine part; for which cause I neither can be injured by any one of them (since no one can wrap me up in baseness) nor can I be angry or hold bitter feeling against this kinsman of mine. 

—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations 2.1 

1. 

When the sun riseth, consider what he sees,  And tell thyself that surely through the day  Thou shalt see like the sun. Not hills, and trees  On them, green meads, kine grazing, lambs at play,  Soft clouds, and birds sipping at brooks—not these  I mean, albeit they sparkle wide away;  But surly men, churls, fops at insolent ease,  The gossip, knaves that envy, steal, betray.  But what! If so they be, be so must I?  Or to do like them, is that arms to meet them?  So hapless they in sense, ’tis mine to ply  My wisdom for them, not flout or ill-entreat them.  Fine wit ’s most dowered, and hath his best estate,  When civil most to wits less fortunate. 

[pjlowry]

Last year I released this book of poetry that took almost a decade to put together. 500 Sonnets is a massive collection of original poetry that I am quite proud of... which is actually my 9th poetry book.

500 Sonnets is currently for sale on by Smashwords and Amazon at the following links:

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1466864

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CL7H9B3S

While I took a break from poetry after finishing this massive book, I am happy to say I have been writing poems over the last few months. Because of that progress, a new book of poetry is in the process of being written.

Thanks for your support, PJ