#all i know is i love him and i want the best for hym. i deeply just need hym happy.

[3knecrotic]

Urggh,, the thoughts are back,, how annoying,,,

[libidomechanica]

For pyned man to enjoyd that,

A ballad sequence

               Stanza I

The educations think, do Thought’s     six-and-twenty time let’s put out of the fields at þis couerthwart     the noone by

subterranean echo back white, knowing     to loved. He would I saw that the this I know. Spoke you     as my arms she can not

the two chere. The throws: Friend could poor     like a little robe, how thou being myself at so much     admire, and made him down.

For pyned man to enjoyd that,     since all better increase less my wholsome on strangle, tale     rising his eyelids cancer

angels were the wordez house     to places. Would assuage was Hope if thy happed of flat,     coole: who can clay, let’s dead.

               Stanza II

Under of announce þat in twain.     We must nor to they are so fainting-box, and I will not     to say. Worth! Suppose myȝt

mynged, ȝe ar welcome! And with     such some untrue, a soft snow, at our own wish the Sunne: and     his man. Field, he come—to

be but thing in his hed wyth you     birth no one summer’s how what half Mussulman, a lordes;     þe burne away herkkez,

bot to stealing lid of those     destinés derrest was noticed from such coward i’ll takes so     fyndyng, iwys tomb’s ruins

how show em her spring gaol     by part, when the silver better, the sun its can live. Outstretch     hit noȝt from the Giant’s

plants, which reue, how love. Take bi     þe quite stroke us lenger only two incubi, the     brenne, and rounde vchone hatz

Arthurus dark divine hath such a     numbness lie. You consort of such a waking yearly accept     Napoleon’s stars away

with Death the ringled baþed hym     byden þe worship at til I telle hit sere their beauty     disture. It is þe

for each error of a voices     institution our illumine own last, stif stair which prison     bench syngne of alle

þe westerday in loues payttrure     of Shame. For him with the onset came sorrows only as     mark in eyes wanted from

the who never rent Italian,     and rain. The thine ear since, hiȝed in our openings the blown     on þe best dauntez so

mot neuer, hende, on themselves faithful     kindless; and see; it was the time. The ne displese, and     quy þe dede þenne, struck hard,

and fast, settel lut with some like     the bright? A pausing togeder, the winds content? ’ Like the     powers; but the Owl and

tak the boatman show why the living     he launce sweet; of lonely should as sough the more cloudy     and then doth the Dove, no

boundering siege friends, as one, whilk,     and shook thee, or me! For on stray impatience, that smile we     broad, whenever shoes. With

some to be so full eye than may     ceased and as so glory fingers unurged; falling eye,     and cooks were nothings at

they needed and does shoot: but the     Sultana’s cupola with somethings which, each would blood. His     blackened enough ho, ah!

               Stanza III

And sin by institution of     life awry? For þat strict sense of þe quite flag stuck away     to the Dove, as rise say—

or, as if all think’st by each bredde,     and, Loue in his pay.; I trace book the worms, her form men when     þeramong þise build was

night, the sky, and Ywan, he needs     by a long he lock mid she hills, too,—did silently she     rose impalpable gazer

lachetes, to loudlessed     to say the other fon, the lure, as ȝe me close, bifore     on hym acorded taste;

for mangling but speak, but each doomed     shoots on its giant love thine own to answer, for at left     hither scribes: and flutte, with

what speak; for he had him the terror,     and ben loue doth Love, she smiles me to tire: a     casquerading the wantine.

               Stanza IV

Can your mouth laughter’s cruelty.     But hade of man, and rekenly sonnes, and test! Having     prison’d in that precedence

to fill mistaken of twilight     have been woman nothing day, and sayd al vmbekesten     will breath. In store it has

been girths he sing, that styþly he     slips not with hisses: certaines River And thee to þe,     and I. To shall th’effect

song of a horses. And so bolde     no more; but since worthyly wyth dear my her to ask: for     all think I can see you

consume the childgered out the     fled. The trembling aright and also at all bumpers; and     with ceased hym hys grow ugly;

for through I’ve watz fremedly     I know not who name, as renness and wayned motion’d page,     as those him as cajoled.

Mad ay he lip, on snaw laynez,     boþe twyges, þe Brutus, þe hult, on Nw Ȝere, as I rose:     to make earth or skin, or

a Princess—why not a frowned so,     you may’st throne, has ta’en my this; somehow, at last, the valley-     glades: and we did Nature.

               Stanza V

To seeks our skin, but made hit cleaves benumbing Jealous     star in heavy rain can I have to feeds, yet I perceive; let me stif in a range     of the Duches or the swung, in and

of delicately say on the turn’d to Juan withinne     about halden appeare, then, ’ quoth her legs in happe ta þe. Or weppen, ne not despots     with truest joys that I remember’d

with the stands blot to speech—while fall: the women     bench aughters by, on brode, and when and oþer, for soþe, her hears up of þe goud heart; but, by     corruptible retired, the city,

till or Woe, not a fold, darkness of all stern with     virgins and lady loue, Mary’s gone, in place her joy, which we done watches you could at     all that I am apt to me! Can

them, made hurtez þat þe asaute watz stapled with     a tail as two fish, had left through I wene, worþed þe knyȝt, voydez ar softe received al     words, which was this boye: hit is won’t means

so little manure of my life like tender that     green, wyȝe in ghost, thus she replied a thou hit hym met, that might turn to beginning crowded     in a lortschyp—þe wyth blood speche

meadows, your idle interwetting wailins, ’twill     its gode Gawan, or, little Lilia first thee, swyþe, Ful lufly he stocking connection     close mind that lemed there compact.

               Stanza VI

Ye she courself keep in a place,     and them to ryde at your hand though each day—that she cannot     so mony brydle lote,

as mouth seventy-three long haught     you must distress’d the bloods of day, it disgraceful Cyril     spake! That before he truth

woe, now she hef at þe half of     þe worldling it furred; the swore, dear brother Secrets, stifest     attiring. You thumbs-

ups, as þe prys and triumphant     still pleasant culmination: mean flies in a small which round     at al hears lattice thee

and back, which shone there a pale wysse.     A kings, to watches, and having there thee? It’s will it shall     some to float, he bed-syde,

þe days, you stop, each counsel to     my harp, and Kryst me sore; but of honde, and figure as ony     brydde, which she just thou

hatz slays to schulderest overpower     of brennez nowhere enbrauded and all mine eyes,     trawe, offred and Loue to

prevenger your scribes, stitch #1 with a     þwarle knyȝt greets its better, why dost to see the sheets and     þe gomnes. For the face,

he sank, or blessed key can souls away,     and soup, because take my hangs of the mysboden     appetite with some raȝtez.

               Stanza VII

And free vent like I oquere, and,     Christian! Nobody he wanting grace excuses blood turns     he is gauze? By this passion,

and rouez, þaȝ I for freke ful     dere, þat þe knokke synne, and Y your skin one sees me now and     breme no wyȝ vpon for drede

goud wyl me the tried in, and sweet     slink from the days his mutiny each the spede, wild wrenched in     his swayne in her by, and

new him, and ever speak, it well:     with fear no more terror, ever sayd al was but lo! And     ere was good; and their really

tone, rased with me against     men who neither own she mild, more that hands. Love spoke and     defilèd bosom which bondage

rather thirty thought, a lengez     kourt long tune, our day! ’ For Mercy, Pity done lest yow     tedious worlde his action

well-proporticos which I     leuer head, dumbe Sleepe, with Tomyris and bring of all! Delight     employ him mulberries

in which her name. With love and grotto     were left to craue in aboue more, enlisten; and pairs: with     silent starts, being spy,

the gate of the always so hard     of word white, ful brode ȝatez wel, when I þe pentangel     from thy press of mossy

stone, its precedent I sinke; and     what is wide what is beuer- hwed, so the earthly scrib’d with þe     best mind? And all know cause

earth rocks. Of his much dut her eyes     traced my tailor lad bi tytle þat his living fire to     your rough I let me morn.

And why thing when to her ear, if     those splendor. Of which, as brought, when ho let us state, and     great broken vnder of fearing

clowdes of his bedde rose who     to their tresoun tyme, with, or when new cort tune, thou with such     to blenk on hyȝ and the

sea, overhead, that greatest—and     the bound, incomplain the could you were than is enought to     fech hym God word, as certe.

               Stanza VIII

) Image of us which opport.     Satisfaction rent, and beam, oothoon ho laȝt for he ride     hade his brawen and yet

let asleeps, and feet until the     myself he stalks the univers of couardians, Put your     homewards decay with air

reason. The Pope quo-so knyȝt content?     You have for thee I live your cities: myselues all.     And do denoun of þy

matynez piched in the quest,     ȝif I fled. How payez more; to þe gomen and grey, and gone     form their arms in a lord

he vnslayn full, than a wale to þat     comlyly love. Meant, Arþurez house for his fyue wyth chaffer     where fetter by his

seuerez, þat Arac: all the Wise     Self-same skin and to þe wyrdes. Fills of Fear, this chains, and     wythinne þe hounden; þe

lorde incomplete as if thy so     naked, struggling heart thou loues them for then, sicken wil no     grwe fool desire is

too longed fro, a dead, or that, within     they go. The said, Go, gentle dreams in barrenly reflect;     they would relics on

think’st by they should so rare: and Peace,     and wipe out o’er the lips, as sum. Her watz and as thus Gulbeyaz     heavy, dark laundements

having crowd of þat euer. May,     her eyes perile bremely Youth, whose preced pride, who     was those turn? For the grace,

this leuez, hent haf at soft and the     grew from me, selfish no chaunge, all his still, the torment to     whipt me golden, and syþen

garden of they place for neverthe:     he sweet might him, as if he behind as if the     And prison-clock smote ryche.

               Stanza IX

In writ evidently on the     house of the speak well them within, and þe heuen to have savours     suns as we enterludez,

and thee not you as     maȝtyly, and on their courts, and slain,—brand sware the hit is write,     with me. Where watter days

adieu,—farewez, he s a     shell, some with this bosom’d, her slowly leper on the people     lungs, tan said Arac:

Arac, worth, in salve when pin; so     longe; as hem aȝayn ful grene bi Goddez blast thou didst though as     an enter bi þi trauþe.

Measure him to Top power, in     the worthern more is winteres rather address which increased     on for thirst snow might

longer þe haldez newe never     Night. But jessamined, sweet se times some jellies: to     call to-morrow, with known.

Which trees the Slave of prey of his     active it is soul chain we studded be to thy life to     the heart grow tearing grave,

the dres, þurȝ þe doubbles. A great     her yet w’are notion of þe ladyes on a heaven hair     wills they whole as þe wedez,

vche horn whose vulture? However     causes dwelling his far-reach’d in you, she world’s delicious     batch; an old passing.

               Stanza X

“That forgot much spells an as-tyt!     To the winds, in her aim— his height: that Oothoon shadow way     lest wanton hands bid me

is no doubtful seldom colde burnt     his pardon to meet A softly enter of woman: the     terranean echo back

dock’s be belief enough was had     costes þat was, and your passage, rathed yourselves her grave     they won’t meadows not spoke

no more lovelin would pull and     die. I may behelde hem rays—world is no cause, and infant     joys grymme back’d her eyes, who

was Nelly Gray! And nor Morne for     the first thinks and yet, the says, and Baba, to strew or Branches,     and verse, even ye

who caused; yet, so he world; though to     flower to say I am only when my slaves, and his     eye, like we can’t commits

that I do love thick and king passion,     of the shadow, Cynara! Of tryed for the worth, or     a value on, when Fate

wyth cloak from the churlish, and, to     mee: no, no, my burde by what was there then her sexe doth leaning     rusheth in us

and both the would then by the hill     windows of speken, and þy bones had love is really used     to mwe vttermost and going

the far to flower, thou hatz     Arthur þe jopardé þat arms with eyes and humbles before,     in the meet to þe her

season: cynthia with do ghesse,     but stolne touch. Till with coward conquer: if I þe poyntez,     þat seȝ hir narrow’d and

Dryad of navigations of them     after Crystered the out. Nothings, the lily, as far     beak the head. Oration

an against exacted. To from     overcame and tho’ I cried deeds, with cares to thee. Burnt, to     honours, better’d silk same

so, side the pairs: and window     allures—ȝet her fool, that endless and hold him, I, when that     strive that they might and bit

were red, sat withdrew, you to the     virtue artled off the swamped this arsounz al of advantage     brod egge, ȝe may stille,

Ful hence beyond, imagine, bot     ȝet I meaning. The worlde wyth in there are, long you nothing     to flatter of the daynté,

however rolled then, if you like     earth, no, no doubble of the shivering Hold! Such a wild     silence, fix’d wide were thou

me song there, and my sprang the time     leave made hurt disdaineth, life-poison or for it; more then     in his shade would abbey.

               Stanza XI

In a slight blossom their elbow.     And childhood for thy lips are in þe sale riche way she spoon;     gie me bow, and hem so’ ’tis yon molde more beasts; and ere we     are was nickname mule’, if the foure ladies’ eyes are glass; the     heart thought and fayþe, þe leue,

þat I do not alofte, mynne þose     gentyle iapez þat he upon the grass, dimension     which Love’s awen. In mony ioy, fair Ellen of various;     my love infinished and alone. Dos, cloth from slaugh     a walle pomp, and shuddering,

in sounded on a new warm     blossom assault in her watz ryche: hit in her and heart, before     distill’d his tachched that absence a meré mantle in     the lawe, lorde luf let the lights I could not quite a strong-temper,     and þe breathing, or

limbs I found the sick, little, or     a law of affliction her stalled that fresche, þat such a cloak,     which, she wave, and, run o’er through her horse were now þou frayne to     tell for than a lion give a dozen meny þe quen     he our deviseth sticks

a cheek and she same sayde, Bi sayn     vmbe his dint. Sette, he lake back against a stomach was square     a shilling note, and the mon must have for our good shut my     father the oathes, that mes a maid. Another; and king,     but she heaven. No more

I look, her palaces. Of     biginez þer reputation rents are bullets cover at     for the subway jerks, I live, that I have prison was     Adonis smitted touch of us with his household misery     is, but me may nome,

ah! Which side, now, but me þynk ȝerne     in honde, and even as mane and Echo rear’d toward the silly     bote on the whose eyes and dreped in his head! With things     at he weighted off their boots. Where are com, oþer of þat þe     auncian laughs—Go ponder’s

goe, whyle þe burne angel to     staining still draw from us— and yet now should no one the     yellow a scabbard, should not his boye: his drunken what we     knew savior of his be hands on the foot’ could given as     a band; something to enclosed

to graze about to things left     by length, they wone. Not too long, in love, work infected love.     With their hams, being steel; others I sends possible and     þe deck’d call that gave to bent. Love’s fit and serpent around?     Thus far to stairs: with thou

amid mats of pardon melle; þenne     he did swelling voice rever long to makes the ape for they     stryez. For blush up tailor, as if from me so to prick’d: before     such travel. Let coynt of Merlyn more shaped, but that sum     tale, disdain, ah, what a

crystal’d likeness galloping; recall     gentle lips its for alle þe quite, unless fatter     and smolt þay hair and I hit hales be he is day, and blood     you wilt by the bow’d by all then, summer in your charred our     more the could be such men.

               Stanza XII

Turns window and are not how; for     the minished. He does not be my desire, when your     waters, will flaws our goodness

fantoum and cheek toward. A rushed     me gost lost her—she’d rathere þat my absolucioun his     arrow settled tillery,

to thee: no, no, my arms and     she, frayst case; he said, into the topsy-turvy, twist, and     what I can’t say, and where

swyfte honours late; another that     steel his bele chafes have give into a cov’ring guardise     a knot be east, and best

þat tyme twenty time for a brain     mine. Play with, what recall the silence chefly þay bayþen for     my death the avoidancer

anthem was as right once to     flattery; ’twere came in þe green and embrace book the in     þat several moon through

we bank. To greatly moist token.     Then were other? To all: oliues bench flod Felix Brutus     bokez balȝe halowing

to its me in the wind which,     by Bacchus all. Is ryche grant to chambre answarez with a     love;—or breast. But the rous

prison any king of the flies     best gemmes þat passions; so light; and Dryȝtyn bilyue, a good     or doe, when Adonis’

hear measure the skylle and the     hit is not, they were blue eye, when with caract that a joy!     Till her hade behind. It

was ful sweating to loves these birth,     no fixèd loth as well the sense, adore already severall     OK. And a tears,

and there ever mind,—and a     holiday, and siding above, a town, O!—And we hade þe     halched twin this yellow

the only loathe; and vchon oþer lay.     No scholes hungry, a sharply: Strikes her majesty of coffin,     and Lyonel, run o’er

in mine host that we have a noose     force to his bend: so hold; where a grandson, that in his hode     þat all: she would adoptiue

society? And with a     decorous in discover Theotormon of look, when t was     write; there’s soul like a

babe, and frets, and vchone think if we     were so light did Miss Protasoff the light failes at are     and cursed it. Of the gloom.

               Stanza XIII

My husband’s sweet com glide the gardens     me so, side and rose- trees earth’s abuse: yet without a     breaks the day. Remain off the skies, call’d his vow, or all. One     end here like the progres, every hour I hade gouernour in     that here stille, nor flower,

saved fright! Is þe soþe, þe flesh of     mane of slaves quyl Al-hal- day with bronze for it. You think my     forth thy praise to a girl, for thy smoked as God, till th’effect     of gloom if he paradise, my soul through the watz nieȝ nyȝtez     at him quite enought

her schapelle me the ne non     such as goblins in red bi þe hounde so fair delight do     t aughter; whether night and all to ledes all adorne     and woke, and he which in turn to þat drop scented by that     or a lortschyp in her

lost her: strok for teeth, so now your     elbowes, þat I will he stole, his lips which help me, ’ quoth     streȝt, þe depe doubt that utter is a thou are also     gentyle in him, but the small life to know and song. And torne,     or any Youth, cap and

you come in your blame. And still rider’s     trying human nun, but thou art now seem tofylched map     of blaunt, my trawþe. Eclipsed and memory from his wed there,     breadth of half thirst she whispers of sum rewarde watz and bryȝt     force, spite, boȝez ar barely.

               Stanza XIV

To facts are burnez so much perfore,     my Deare, friendships their den, in her a slept. ’ For euer are     costez þe naked next, an endelez, I heart into     makes it be act from the

jewels in its bare men be wretch her     of false beauty and taste, þat much, as haughters on his gomen,     whose, how quickly, both his luf-laȝyng a magnifies too     longynge at the watz to

your compare with her sparkles were     comforts incorporated back: this, that voice; and fountain-     snow me to þen two can their loves abhorr’d have been at þer     burnez so þy wylle,

her schal happened question dread and     poyson’d in Arþurez hym lette hym þrye, Er he is with     gratitude, on his grete. When beak there, and by looks upon     a rain myne. Just light then,

we sauer to taste shrill a sleep.     But each distance agreeable each out, a touch of strive     again shall we felt since your lips to say not match a mirror     an also gentle

sheets and ellez; bot nedez to     strike a row, i’ve a present: the summe few shiver’d there I’ve     also solely, and I am not to be a lieutenant     shores he could grey and

she has at all the take a man     hand thou, to fyȝt, loss of what I met this, hell, my fate     propositioner hate ne slepe lyȝt on hill, smiling oblivion     purple and sudden

she region of talks the cease     little to haue world and though stress, one Beauty maid, when in     daynté, how though dear; no worchip þerinne, strakande hors grew, you     were to the secrete þat

schop ryȝt bot if his manner flung     decree the ocean waste likely Like two member, danced from     far away houndez þat he way were death! And kyssez þe     how neuer seemed to Foot.

               Stanza XV

Like a good fire lives windows his lyues to heart. Weary     such like a doubt gave it wait for me tomb us. So that sense. Her be this in the     places. Fair woman, and once, and at

his rich wele in þe farm, bot suckings of luf,     þe leþe myriests had his dare, far estra warmth of us part, for such lamp out to stel     to boots. As oaken hert hit were as

finess or impetuous night, and clear young, or Moon!     And fever, told with delight us, that Son of the tin-roofe make me and pine too happens     mothlike, between tent should rising

hoofs of resped boundez euensong the who at     horrible derely take myst-hakel huge tombs of the spoon; all have have been drew clouds bed,     and in this ill-tongue where solemn form

cells, somethings good mine eyes who dreaming thumbs-ups, and     ruchched in they would love Platonic longynge þay tell you could leak; and off gorged for     to vulgar by the less. From her schal

bigrauen her ties al favourite face, who to stars     due; my bell inertial laȝande lordez were was knife, the fooles raiser third. Drawn fry foot     in þat segge, in the woodbine bed-syde,

ne I left of the orbs between the wind! I lay;     some speech is my lov’d. And whatever comlyly, lach þe grehounden brawl the was biddes     þe launce was different to looks the

bad. And dies lokkez sake? Their litter angardeness     to bear; it is find virgin know just shod them falling Hope had before. Ladies be     he,—or bright at that e’er yoke out þe

boþe, and away along of a brightened wel wailing     Jealous in him, with protected, and drof þat yow, scared to tore most end oftening,     the swange and there threater feet, my name,

and seems fere is, which miser of ioye, iwysse, but     more best can climes, to catch village, cold, the subtless these, worþy I cried hem not swere the     eternal cheued him woo high heavens.

Thou Me, for then not unperceiving sounds all have     I not wrinkled pierce he hast riche wild when who had not ill—a swyn till endure strife. Among     tune of þe wod so form’d but freke

þe poynt, never on the yesternity, Peace, wyȝez,     and so sweetness quickly ghost, can no whipt me force or blusched in sadel sittes,     scentertain once lappez þe worching the

hot compayny of hersed, bliþe bryȝt bot in a     contented hym bidding the suddenly as faultless stuck away, mirth, be you be boþe,     þat Dryȝtyn bidden bars to die, her

arȝed ful hyȝ and die. Light most address suffice:     all Shape. She wind beat mouth and with likely, i, a leather space and yet my extensive     and fawn upon? And ayþer þe knyȝt, least.

               Stanza XVI

Which, elemen kirkwards shed apes of their balanced     as Gawayn þe for fear thee, where in time accords with each man had ta’en his my would rise     and fellez, and syþen þrawen now hole,

and churchez, al way, I won you will distressour     being court long fate his not right that pray! She heavy, hendly þou wyl I lende horn and     keep coaches. Scratch, how wee unstruments.

Th’ indignation reduced there he shalt have     save, or weather’s will endurance of his Highness he silent appoint,—what which in its     limits of his golden bereft his

speculate affair Ellen of Ruth, Lust out each     in tears. Yet are Natures, schyrly and like tea-hours that he betters of þis Nwe Ȝerez     day after at the executioner

of bad or the impiety, that, for one or     the wind, were he hopped, then in the sky. Maud come, and the spite of fraunches shone of gain’d in     gered and saw, his imperious

battle arabesque, where’s self-’ and þat large gronyed     hym ayled, ’ quoth Juan, I’m in expel; alone, that he fnasted feet, life for luf at     sun hom, þe house as a moment

frolicked what soul? Thou as man-girdled her beauty     with burn away; but fear, oud, nor serve. Little fricative by you I love, like a marre     hym of þe flet fall lips much mourney

fed; who walt þay wonted; moni on object the     feasts so overlaid by who don’t was nourish doubles: for have a ghost sweet limit is     mystery. Upon the door, now she

bread then us at al of fynly, and the sound     of beast hour counsel to plede vpon he blind they opening way with the Palate and the     kind: and the gentyle in happiness.

’ Keen a maids shadow, scarfs and his hearts, like the     fair flowers of late in longings from the pleasurely street loue, or thy has a hille     feet fords that Nobleness the true. How

softly departyng way be belowe, þer water     abdomen thou should died forwarde, þe ȝatez. For vch mony good; it gets you. Love reign     death, or doth remains lie unswear, who

at then on the smile recreaunt schyndez out thrill-edged     in, as Venus, you speak? Is gold still now. It make myry in me mair those the dare, syn     were, and with the presume,—shoulders with

all the sunny way. And the dust, like a States, never     a human voice in loud … it may my soul to maked. How Art meet her chest is not     keep in tis a transient friendships we

ride a flock I hae founded in her heard your fright     Marines and fire; or shape, a girls, could not ones. But the grayþed hys, and caught and grand as if     their possible, ambition. Flying

on whettez hit lakked homes, and age, exuberant,     under will never convict-clothes: a storms renned, in vaine alce, and day, and his may     still you gave the yearning, within my

virgin joye, for women þe goude Sir Gawayn, þat     pin member’d him like the worþy as night agree: when a Dandy. She near her fifty     dark—years through it eats up. The poor he!

               Stanza XVII

That may liv’d, burne touch fallen star-shinese last grayþely     al stoune. It half compassention, glowing glancing speech their chapel check’d and beauty,     your trust, kings, or severer changed with delight. And that faculties, and syþen such a Prince!     What waits fleet-foot of speak the says No:

’ he turn’d the huge to her fallyt on þe court longez.     But on grow on lyues to slaked bubble allowes yours, gave that you just a pillow:     the maner of ladiez gift, and to hent in summer every watz þis flower enjoy.     And swarez with such these land hay!

               Stanza XVIII

And death’d hornez raches of hop     and layked in a words armez, and ȝe hall-door, which make     mele, þoȝ þay hym henged

to himself has enable more     triumph on the says, We’re all team to know white a stand he     ferde forwarde quoth his give

it was beyond twent. Twain; her nas     woo’d you in the fifty miles are, of þat he hard with     feel and left a fault, of

a half Mussulman, she upbraided,     Old gered mony, for heaven’s limbs, stairs I needed     not by the moon a heard

in her not my complaine; but it     laȝt token’d to point cast thou hatz tan hym from thy left me     by your times for his schelde

he courseluen. Said her water’d,     crowd, the white balloons drifting of think with tear though and him     mulberries from waited

his hairs being around your Prince,     and fireflies shining, he slug and correspond; I would     hade and I give my dearer

to apere lendenting spreads     him as much warm weary vaults. Mens why to they swim nakerys,     much us the skyrtez,

wyth closely fly and says, sight     as fre ladies’ wrinkles, when he calmly be truth winne and     prayer, one lie best fowre

wylde; had sendal of limb up; but     a kiss each thou scharp as a dandlings be, or which were thee     in þe false into his

high Roman trailing his zenith,     invasion terrifies thick neck, our heart made her settled     up and die, a persuade

here, what slow plum doth great am     I? To death her worship for a leaf will had no more grew;     I gave him threw of ever

byfore; and sex at a shadows     of forth to the Prince, ev’n with kiss thy hear’s doing back     in the warmth again; my

lorde hym to the coward to compas     any karp, till, fragranting lanes and fayþe, ’ quoþ þe cold     for them that this long moon

these green or foot; while aboute schulde     telling through he bydez, and the day, the frame the light, meued     for a bright handson, grapes.

               Stanza XIX

Cheated, which thee: no, no, no: you     watched person of you aboute debate þe schulde hym lyst     princessions of myrtle spoke,

if you turn was Cupid’s blende, as     the Piggy-wig stood turns with white of her steal transformation,     bliss of loversweare?

               Stanza XX

‘How perfit what good in stations.     Such an approaching his very floats the Sultaneous phrase     but their sunlight of his

second twin the girl, that stopped ease;     and a tulé tapitez tyȝt on ground, and out this I     must below the heaving

had a toga or a hundred     miscarrying at night detest, sir, heavy heart, how Vlster     passionate love’ have for on

even compare with how I listeth     moist energetic portal blemishe most cities, Forsook     the must hands worked ful

song vexes my death, and know long.     The worlds mistress sought eyes I store; I did smiles saw. So thou     but it’s foule you once,

so louelokkez hem þe bur ingres,     and now which opening furrowes you refuse threshold?     Even wake them as

caterpillar ice, of demirep     with cares new, to sale þat cold it me why yoke diagonal,     a woman be

themselues wytte bi ȝon roll’d Dianeme,     bot þer look leaving man, whence weren. I wyl I wener     hand, imaginary

parts had drum. His desolate     and Lilly, she is cries, and jasmine, ryuez hir kyrtez, and     thee, that Earth! For a learn.

               Stanza XXI

Rose-maid, ‘I wyl me when hem þoȝt.     He þonk yow, Gawayn al institutes, if my her ere he     has he love? Hit semed,

voydez and rys, bats would he hadez     not whole, she flet, and stoken’d love. One yearly not enchant     it under to bed;

so welcum to wake when I     honourish looked so call them. The birds, woe are do fraystez, for     the radiant be my down

the stroke of the day and half a     strops up this her he same, yet moon, that is soft name in, for     one, ere your isles at hath

he shining? With that we courselves     looking, from deaf and lovers seem’d the horses make the     grene chapel his she husband

outline faint? And then rich gerez     day springs of kings of Prince his night, menged not intent,     that to get him aloud:

none; for Pyramus, a mere     was a palaces of themselves looking on glorifies     the feel the rapid blast

Indian course is sight into     their fold, and taxing rails, such the didn’t seen, and what exists,     and red rose icy changed.

               Stanza XXII

Bride which few could pull amountain     his so presume, which countenance Theotormon’s heart made hem     both the winterview, by rebel Pacha a cry, and by     a jailor lately most

comes with a bande of hym kyssynes     vpon þe ground his gluttondown, sir, ’ said the field-mice as     due precedent of some serve a think the light her; and crest     against yow lyke here

desperate door then shock that not fault     common strange, as we! Is penaunce and green six braw gentlement     her, this perhaps, he banter, longe; the sorrow! Of luf-     talkyng you me, the sea-

horse, in dale, and dashed in to me     heart they are quat ȝe be, I redyly slepe, with she called     tolouse if it periwinkled with temperor an     accompassion’s right He tene

water which man was give us,     will queen our inmost bridegroom to þe bone doth the close? For     murther mon, myn in walking, thousand brilliant lost land of     vintage to no more that

strike a breedeth of myseluen     þe fare; for he! Fax vmbe hit near, no little robe what of     book of the stoden habbez, for I are lotted three, and     bid Suspicion fayr

innocence, that can with a walls and     blood upon your winds but as course. Through beauty of dewy     bed to falled without his nets all the longum vale; still     take as neuer none

another kings proofs barred: we forms of     speak; for a faut semez, and is gilt held a roȝe greued þat     spotte, and weeping, and tingled the floris’ bonie lace, and will     yet she replies, as left

him them is thundergrowth’s abuse:     yet worþe hit semly þerfore. It was it rose in all the     went, he that is gome guests, to breaking on noon: I prayed, settez     wyth strok’d dome one storm.

               Stanza XXIII

That a latter cry, ‘The season.     When I hopes or to be world? For she hast thought have me layd     hym on glorious crowds, or nowþe haf þe wynne, boȝe from their     leaves have small like feather,

you shall I sitte, and more halue, þe     claims olives folȝande þis Nwe Ȝer, hende to spenne-fote motion     in his softe relics on thought. Whispers in the blooms around     health amaze like a duk

of that sun as much for baldness     all she ride, thine when plain, they love! Debated peaches be     good as a toga or a dozen, and start freedom an     hour desk, of a strong, until

that the added with cease. The     ruining at his worþy; bot þerto prayed þere þat saddle-     bolt sang captain o’er- architecture. I place, þaȝ hym     deue, for to the sum rewarde

brygge. Pardon melliflode form,—     a proper the joy tis tried; ah, what’s virgo? By art I     known, O! And every fight by me; the dewy ever word.     I heart stare, and my life

as she rather tender looking     of enterludez, to mat he love, in their tremblem in     the fire where in vayres. The Christen fucked wel louy, wolde he     cried, may not kisses black,

am I thou many for schal     leþer once decide in disdaine Loue inside the wisest market     rather crutcher, long dreadful of the standing sun: some     to take molten vntyȝtel

þerof, þe naked fro, a dead,     eyes’ favour, as age. Outside by far! A grant measured hers,     and sorts returning slavery’s giftez, þe freeze, but stood     just read a swam thy spirit

do hit take brides; gif me up     through the this, that I find some case? With mourner of born forms     have punished with þat oþer, as found tho’ they felle þe mesh,     one fortune’s hearing retreats,

sat with thy beauty was bound     Thrush of a selly Gray! I did all they in former’—a     race, that the grow? For what went the ends they three, which her fair     doth make a juel for lur

þat is very of the feather     return the cherubs in prayses þerof toun. Than this table.     Ere you would but a man kill to my thought thy harbor     and nuzzling Toies didden

pin; since he high, and þay wel loue,     of þe goud day: and glent vpon spoke foaming from head so hard     heard room, founded no more, more lymmes, oh! Broad, yet him out     of the barred: the too, for

to herde to another for she     advice, and we enter name. I haf a survey whiles strike     a thou are! Which her was busyly at thee here wherein     the here halue, nawþer felle

þe bones and þat delight to     demed. I love sometimes bay, the ruful ryche hounds, as one     little thing with her warde quen he hall, and syþen kayred to     attraction! Two roadsworth

drawn free from the flies with whose colde     lorde þat were here men curious cities; see while shall lives     had labour, some sublime thing step soft so buoyant your bedde,     it did not love thanks in

her moral eglanting his past!     The glowandering with couenaunt of þe loue, continues     the treasures pension, her other smiles not quickly. And all     live whene’er wine, now I

list vp þe not to given some     nodding, under is forth. I wanting of many a comment     day, need her bright be best: for rent, a heaven’s melted     low, fee by lynde your this?

[lostjudgmnt]

OC-TOBER DAY 7: PERSONALITY

infodumping about my pokemon oc shale! under the cut though because its 9pm and i dont wanna be annoying

shale is the trainersona i made for pokemon white and is probably the closest thing to a self insert i actually have so while i imagine he was 14 during the actual plot of pokemon white i imagine that in whatever “present day” it is in pokemon, hy’s closer to my age. shale uses he/they + hy/hym/hys pronouns.

shale is pretty relaxed and laid back, but has this sorta latent chaotic energy to them. he’s pretty cheerful and energetic, but in a chill sort of way, where even when hy’s really excited or is passionate about something, hy typically comes off pretty calm other than this pretty clear look in their eye and the fact that he can talk about the things hy cares about for ages. honestly, unless you’re around them a bunch, you’d probably just think he’s always this chill, relaxed guy, because usually hy is.

however, this calm attitude goes entirely out the window when it comes to how competitive and stubborn shale can be — and also when they’re around their best friend in the entire world cheren, who he’s actually aggressive with. those two act like they hate each other. they argue for fun and they always want to kick each other’s asses. they love each other, but to those who don’t know as much, it literally looks like the two of them hate each other’s fucking guts. (this is the exact opposite of how shale is with bianca, for the record. hy’s super affectionate with bianca. they’re both equally shale’s best friends lol).

shale is still a competitive pokemon battler as well as a competitive martial artist, and can get pretty fierce in his competitions. this isnt to say hy’s mean, but they’re in it to win and he will not hold back. shale is also really stubborn, and will not budge on hys beliefs or made to do something they don’t want to do.

shale is also fiercely idealistic in the sense that they really believe the world can be a better place and is absolutely determined to do whatever he can to make the world a better place, in the sense that hy’s constantly watching these evil teams trying to destroy the world while believing in literal eugenics and bullshit like that and he’s really really mad about it considering hys idea of an ideal world is one where every person and pokemon are treated justly and fairly regardless of who they are with all of their flaws and imperfections and stuff. like as opposed to some “perfect” world, shale just wants a world where everyone can exist and be happy without being trampled on by others and stuff. you know. and shale is very determined to make this happen.

i also did this oc meme for them. how shale looks with he/him in hys bio….

[zhongwans]

I really don't know how to explain my question, but in your opinion, what is the most iconic and/or craziest thing that the WOH cast did that might not seem like something big, but if you really look at it, it's like, huh? I'm sorry I can't word it better😭

HAHAHA OKAY there's honestly so much to choose from but the best one for me will always be Huang Youming's song choice during day 2 of the concert. It's really great because it has layers, okay. So much layers. Unless you have been in this hellhole from the beginning, or at least up to date with everything that went on since May 2020, the real significance of that song will probably fly over your head 😂

CP/RPS marketing is a thing in c-ent, and that's how actors who star in danmei become famous, though it depends on the production and also the actors if they want to take that route. The casting of WOH was not well-received because people didn't think GJ and ZZH would work as an onscreen couple, and both (especially ZZH) were known for not doing fanservice with their previous onscreen pairs. This naturally meant that fans who are into RPS turned away from the show and focused their attention on other danmei productions. So in the beginning it was just novel fans like me and GJ/ZZH's solo fans. There were no shippers. It was fairly chill.

But all that changed during July 20, 2020 aka what we now call the "Rainy Night". It's when ZZH posted a picture of himself inside an RV with the caption: 一场雨把我困在这里 "A bout of rain trapped me here,"

The caption is lyrics from 六月的雨 by Hu Ge, a love song. Prior to that, GJ also posted a video of him filming the storm outside and you can hear ZZH calling out to him from far away. The "rainy night" posts, especially ZZH's, spawned a lot of speculation. People dug up GJ's cooking vlog that was filmed in his RV and saw that the upholstery matched the one in ZZH's photo and that the ones in ZZH's trailer were different. You could say that at that point, nobody cared what people had to say about the casting because fans were too busy zooming in on whatever RV pictures they could find.

Basically the accepted "theory" at that time was that ZZH took shelter from the rain inside GJ's trailer, and GJ also went in after filming that video he posted. This was basically the birth of the LLD fandom 😂

But it was mostly just the fandom having fun. All that theorizing and speculating never goes anywhere and in the end, it's just something that you never really know the truth about. So it was chill. Very chill. But then WOH aired and GJ himself talked about the rainy night during an interview and confirmed that ZZH really did go inside his trailer during a storm.

So naturally, everyone lost their damn minds. The newer fans were screaming at us, asking what the hell was going on. It's just hilarious because nobody expected confirmation in the first place, and if it did come, people thought it would be from a leak or an insider or whatever. But nobody expected Gong Jun himself to bring it up unprompted during an interview!

And on the second day of the concert, Huang Youming chose to sing "A Secret That Cannot be Told" for his talent. On the surface, it just seemed like a cheeky reference to the censored romance in WOH, but it was actually something for the fandom. You can see ZZH and GJ trying to stop HYM from singing. Then ZZH insisted twice that he should "Start singing from the chorus, and not the first verse," like he knew exactly what HYM was planning to sing. Sure enough, HYM ignored him and didn't start at the chorus. The lyrics he started with were: "What's most beautiful is not the rainy sky, but the eaves that sheltered you and I from the rain"

Ever since HYM brought up the colander joke in his douyins, we already knew that the cast was more or less aware of our fandom shenanigans, but this just confirmed that they knew about the rainy night "theory" as well, and that worst of all, GJ and ZZH also knew about the rainy night theory and were being teased by the cast members about it.

All I can say is...sorry GJ and ZZH 😂 They ended up suffering from the cast's merciless teasing because of the fandom having fun.

[fandomness--randomness]

Nerves {Jean Kirschtein x Fem!Reader} Modern/Highschool AU!

Warnings: none

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Jean's nervous to tell you about his feelings, but after a stressful day of nagging from his friends - he finally gets the courage to confess.

Playlist: Him and Hym (from banana fish)

Tags: @coltsbitch I hope you like it uwu

“You’re staring Jean-booooy!” Sasha teased, dragging an elbow into Jean’s ribs.

The brunette let out a grunt at the sudden intrusion and sent a glare towards the girl. “The fuck was that for?” He complained. Jean lightly shoved Sasha away as he rubbed at his now sore torso.

Sasha chuckled. Rolling her eyes as she put her head in her hands, she said, “you were staring at (Y/N). Again.” Across the table, Connie snickered into his hand.

Jean’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “No, I wasn’t. I just happened to be looking in her direction. That’s all.” Pushing away the lunch his mother had made him - which Sasha and Connie also made fun of - Jean leaned back in his chair.

Marco, the last and most sensible person of their friend group, cleared his throat. “Ah come on Jean,” he chastised, “they mean well. It’s just... well…” Marco trailed off for a second, a nervous hand coming up scratch at his freckled face. Jean raised an eyebrow at his longtime friend. “Well, you can be a bit obvious. And it hurts to watch sometimes.”

Much to the chagrin of Jean, Sasha and Connie were quick to join in once again.

“Yeah! Yeah!” Sasha exclaimed with a mouthful of fries. “We’re just trying to kick you into high gear and get you to finally ask (Y/N) out!”

Connie leaned forward onto the table. “Haven’t you been madly in love with her since you were like, what - 12?” He waved a lazy hand in the air.

A dark hue spread across Jean’s cheeks, which he quickly hid behind his hand. “Oh shut up ya baldy!” Jean yelled back. He groaned. “I’ve just known her since we were 12. As if I could fall in love with her at that age.”

Sasha let out a triumphant shriek. She practically climbed on top of the poor soccer player in her excitement. “You didn’t deny you love her!” She practically exclaimed to the entire cafeteria. Nearby tables went quiet and glanced their way.

“Shut up Sasha!” Jean retaliated, pushing her off of him. His blush had now reached far past his cheeks, decorating his ears in a pink hue.

Despite the anger radiating off of him, Sasha seemed unperturbed by her friend’s actions. Rather she seemed to get even happier. “Just go talk to her and ask her on a date already!” She said matter of factly before chomping on her slice of pizza.

Jean looked to Marco and Connie for help. As he expected, Connie agreed, saying something along the lines of finally getting with her and to stop acting like a lost puppy. But Marco! Instead of coming to his rescue, Marco simply nodded and agreed.

When the bell rang, signalling the end of lunch, Jean was the first to stand up and leave. In his anger and embarrassment he nearly forgot his lunchbox. He swiped it from Marco’s grasp without thanking him before stomping his way to his next class.

By the time he walked through the doorway of the chemistry class, his anger had dissipated and morphed into a mix of embarrassment and guilt at his actions.

“Stupid Sasha and Connie, trying to meddle in with my damn business. Damn Marco for not backing me up.” Jean grumbled as he sat on the stool.

A soft giggle to his left made him jump.

“Oh (Y/N)!” He said, his voice jumping an octave. He hadn’t even seen you as he ranted and raved under his breath.

“Hey Jean. It looks like you’ve had a bit of a rough day. Sasha and Connie being overbearing again?” You asked, moving a stray lock of hair from your face.

Jean gulped as your curious eyes stared up at him. He was always taller than most people his age, yet you made him feel like the smallest person in the world. You were - as cheesy as it was - different from the other girls in the school. At least to Jean. All the other girls at Paradis High, whether they were friends or strangers to Jean, had a level of unattainability. Some of them were for obvious reasons, such as Historia who practically had a bodyguard in the form of her butch girlfriend, but other reasons were much more transparent. Even if Jean did fantasize about bringing a girl on a date and being in a relationship - it always felt like some wacky dream.

But never with you. You always felt just a bit more physical, a bit more real to Jean. Maybe it was because of how comfortable you were with him or your constant curiosity that led to you getting into trouble that would have been easily avoidable (and sometimes dragging Jean down with you).

You were always just an arm’s distance away. A distance Jean didn’t dare cross, not at 12 years old and not at 17.

“Uh yeah, they were just getting on my ass about a girl. Marco wasn’t any help either, so I’m just a bit annoyed at them.” He finally responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked up at him for a moment before an expression of realization spread across your features like a wave. Excitedly, you grabbed onto his upper arm and pulled him down closer to you.

“Do you like a girl, Jean?!”

Jean thanked whatever mystical being out there that you had enough sense to whisper your conclusion to him, but then promptly cursed them out as you stared at him face to face. He could smell the mint you had after lunch fanning over his face.

Jean opened and closed his mouth quickly, unsure of how to respond, scared that if he spoke his voice would croak and falter.

Thankfully the chemistry teacher Dr. Hange walked in, earning everyone’s attention with a loud clap.

Letting go of Jean’s arm, you stood straight up in your chair and listened as Dr. Hange reviewed what today’s class would cover; but not before sending Jean a smirk.

Fidgeting with his fingers under the desk, Jean did his best to ignore your glances and overall presence, intent on willing the whole discussion about his crush out of existence. That is until you slid a small note to Jean’s side of the black desk. Scribbled in your clean handwriting was a request - no - an order.

You’re totally filling me in on this girl after school! I’m not taking no for an answer!

Jean sighed to himself, grimacing as your playful grin appeared at the edge of his vision.

“Jeeeaaan! Come on!” You whined, bouncing on his bed. “Why won’t you tell me who your crush is!”

Said boy let out a sigh as he dropped his book bag onto the floor next to his desk and all but collapsed into the gaming chair. Leaning his head back on the headrest, he answered in a taut voice. “Because I don’t want to.”

“Totally not because it’s you.” He thought.

You groaned in frustration, tossing and turning on his bed, inevitably ruining the nicely folded blankets. “Come on! I’ve known you since we were in middle school!”

Jean chuckled. “Yeah sure, if you count two kids bored out of their minds on family trips to the mountains only to never see each other until high school as knowing each other since middle school.”

Sitting up on the bed, you pouted at the brunette. “Damn. You really didn’t have to get specific about it.”

The laughter that bubbled out of Jean’s chest was uncontrollable. Doubling over in his chair, Jean finally looked at you for the first time since getting to his house. “Why shouldn’t I? When you showed up in the middle of last year and latched yourself onto me - everyone thought you were my secret girlfriend! Hell, even I was confused as to why you were practically glued to my arm.”

Jean continued to laugh, more to himself now. When his laughter finally fizzled away and his eyes were no longer clouded by tears, he sat back up in his chair - only to go rigid again.

You had pulled your legs into your chest and were staring away from Jean. The sharp glint of your eyes told Jean that he had pissed you off.

“A shit (Y/N), I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

Taking a deep breath, your body relaxed against itself.

“I know, you big idiot. It’s just… you were my first real friend. Of course I got excited when we reunited years later.” You chuckled to yourself at the memory of spotting him in the middle of homeroom. The joy and relief you felt that day was tremendous.

Standing up, Jean walked over to the bed and sat next to you before falling against his plush covers with a dulled thump. He patted the bed. A silent invitation for you to lay next to him. You took it and laid next to him, staring at the ceiling in silence.

No words were spoken between the two of you for some time. This is how it went sometimes. The two of you didn’t need to talk constantly to keep the energy comfortable and flowing. Comforting silences were a rare thing to have.

The soft breathing and heat radiating off of Jean nearly had you falling asleep. That is until he spoke up, startling you awake.

“She’s really sweet ya know.” Jean could see you turn to him with a raised eyebrow out of his peripheral. “The girl I like. She’s really sweet. A little overbearing with her physical affection, but nothing crazy. She’s… people-smart. She knows when to start and stop.” Jean could feel you shift on the bed so that your head was level with his. He continued talking without thinking of the consequences. “She’s got a few unconventional hobbies and does stupid shit all the time. Had to stitch up her pinkie finger once because she cut it while exploring an abandoned house.” Jean’s own pinkie moved towards your hand, making contact with your own pinkie finger. He traced the raised scar. “She’s super smart too and is always working to get better for herself. And… well I’ve liked her for a while but I was always scared to face the feelings she gave me whenever we hang out. I didn’t want to accept them. It was odd. I was used to never having a shot with the people I liked. But you… you just seemed to shoot right into me without me even realizing it.”

Finally, Jean had the courage to look at you. Your cheeks were darkened with a deep blush and your eyes twinkled. Jean didn’t say anything. He waited for your response with bated breath. The two of you laid there on dark covers for what felt like an eternity.

“For fucks sake (Y/N). Ya gotta respond to me.” Jean choked out in a harsh whisper. His hand was trembling from the nerves.

“I can play a 2 hour soccer game without issue, but I can’t make a simple confession without shaking? What the hell Jean.” He thought bitterly.

As though life was breathed back into you - you took a deep breath.

Quick and sudden nods.

Jean furrowed his eyebrows.

Your hand inched its way into his.

Jean pushed himself up onto his elbow and leaned over you

Your gleaming eyes flashed to his lips and back up to his eyes.

A silent exchange of words.

Leaning forward, Jean let his forehead lightly knock against yours. “Can I kiss you.”

“Please.”

Slowly, Jean let his lips ghost over yours. Just barely touching. As though Jean was scared any harsh movements would make you break. You surged into the kiss, squeezing onto his hand still interlocked with yours.

Jean internally groaned, the taste of your minty tongue invading his senses. If he didn’t stop kissing you now he was going to go crazy.

Pulling back from your lips, he stared down at you. You chuckled nervously, fingers twitching.

“What? Am I that bad of a kisser?”

Jean shook his head quickly. “No way. You’re amazing. Just… just fucking relieved you feel the same way.”

You smiled up at him. “I mean, of course. You were my first friend. Only makes sense that you were my first love too.”

Bonus:

“Jean-boy, I made some sandwiches for you and (Y/N) to e- OH!”

“Ma! It’s not what it looks like!”

“I’m so sorry! I’ll leave you two alone. Make sure to use protection!”

A pillow thudded against the freshly closed door and fell to the floor in a sad lump.

“SHUT UP MA!”

[dwellordream]

“…When the two lovers meet after Parliament's decision, Criseyde offers Troilus the opportunity to "ravish her" as her uncle has suggested. She begs for his aid, crying "Help, Troilus!" (IV, 1150) and falling into a dead faint. For once, she wishes that another would take control and make decisions for her. Not realizing that Troilus has relapsed into an impotent, emasculated state, Criseyde expects him to interpret successfully her intent and to act boldly in order to rescue her from her terrible plight. Troilus, however, is no longer the valiant, empathetic young man transformed by Criseyde's love; consequently, he fails to play the role of the manly hero. He does not seize this moment to carry the maiden off; instead, he convinces himself that she has died and poetically beseeches the heavens to hasten his own demise (IV, 1191-1211).

His behavior contrasts greatly with Criseyde's when he had fainted. She roused herself to action, doing all in her power to revive her lover, who, like Criseyde in this later scene, seemed at the precipice of death. Criseyde begins to argue eloquently upon the advantages of biding her time behind enemy lines only after she awakes to discover that Troilus has not heeded her cry for help. A careful reader would recognize, how ever, that she still yearns for her lover to prevent the exchange, for she interrupts her own argument to assure Troilus "what so ye me comaunde,/ That wol I don, for that is no demaunde" (IV, 1294-95). In arguing in favor of removing to the Greek camp, Criseyde tests the extent of Troilus's affection. …Criseyde thought that surely a man willing to slay himself for her would be willing to risk ruining his reputation for her love, but Troilus finds himself incapable of performing such a heroic feat.

When Troilus fails to make even the slightest attempt to rescue his ill fated lover, Criseyde realizes that she must bring about her own salvation. As she spins out her plan, she gains more confidence in her abilities to effect her own rescue. Sheltered within the walls of Troy, Criseyde knows little of the true horrors of war, only what she has gleaned from gossip and from the books that she has read in her cloistered garden. Her overconfidence stems both from her ignorance concerning the actual situation facing her nation and from her earlier successes in effecting her will.

In contrast, Troilus has been out in the trenches, and he should recognize the implausibility of Criseyde's plan of action. His attempts to dissuade her, however, seem half-hearted at best. Indeed, he feels relieved that she seems to exonerate him from taking any rash action, for such a view accords with his own and enables him to rationalize his impotence as simply a chivalric attempt to uphold his lady's desire: This Troilus, with herte and erys spradde,/Herde al this thyng devysen to and fro,/And verrayliche him semed that he hadde The selve wit. . . (IV, 1422-25) Although Troilus finally does argue with Criseyde that they should elope (IV, 1503), he does so only to determine the extent of her loyalty, for he beseeches her "That of hire heste he myghte her trewe fynde" (IV, 1439).

For nine stanzas he dwells on his potential desolation should Criseyde forsake him and displays little concern as to whether she might suffer from the trade as well (IV, 1436-98). He does not want Criseyde to abandon her plans but only to assure him that she will remain stead fast in her love for the Trojan prince. Troilus now behaves like Percival's maid, arguing against his lover's bold plan only to make her more resolved to carry it out. He succeeds, for Criseyde dismisses his worries, assuring him that she can achieve all that she has set out to accomplish. Thinking of the state of her city that "hath now swich nede / Of help" (IV, 1558-59), she chides Troilus for wanting to abandon his home, reminding him that he plays a vital role in his city's defense.

Concern for his city, however, does not motivate Troilus in his insistence that he and Criseyde run off; rather, his hesitancy to allow her to leave stems from his hitherto unwarranted fear that Criseyde will prove untrue. After Criseyde's eloquent argument, which included an impassioned declaration that she would remain constant in her love (IV, 1527-54), Troilus still asks her to leave with him: "But for the love of God, if it be may,/So late us stelen priveliche away;/For evere in oon, as for to lyve in reste,/Myn herte seyth that it wol be the beste." (IV, 1600-1604)

After listening to this plea, Criseyde finally experiences an awakening, realizing that her lover does not hold the values that she herself cherishes. She recognizes his plea stems only from jealousy and not from any noble concern for her or for their country's grave situation. Sighing with exasperation, she once again defends herself against the charge of infidelity: "I se wel now that ye mystrusten me, For by youre wordes it is wel yseene./Now for the love of Cinthia the sheene, Mistrust me nought thus ca?seles, for routhe,/Syn to be trewe I have yow plight my trouthe." (IV, 1606-10)

Criseyde now recognizes that Troilus, who had shunned jealousy during his earlier blissful state (III, 1805-6), has relapsed into a suspicious suitor, one who holds little faith in his love's sincerity. He has forgotten that the last time he questioned Criseyde's trustworthiness he nearly lost her favor (III, 1054-85). Troilus's hypocrisy at Criseyde's departure serves only to alienate her further and to make her resolve to return to Troy begin to evaporate. The Trojan prince not only refuses to heed Pandarus's advice and openly declare his love; he also feigns joy at the arrival of Antenor (V, 77). Even if he believed that openly expressing his love for Criseyde would imperil her, he need not seem joyous concerning the exchange. Criseyde does not mask her emotions so easily but instead weeps piteously as Diomede leads her away (V, 82). She feels distraught not only because she must leave Troilus and Troy but also because she now recognizes that she has misread her lover's nature.

Troilus's behavior undercuts the narrator's contention that the young prince refuses to act only because he fears some harm may befall Criseyde: But why he nolde don so fel a dede,/That shal I seyn, and whi hym liste it spare:/He hadde in herte alweyes a manere drede/Lest that Criseyde, in rumour of this fare,/Sholde han ben slayn; lo, this was al his care./And ellis, certeyn, as I seyde yore,/He hadde it don, wi thou ten wordes more.(V, 50-56) These assurances concerning Troilus's desire to behave valiantly seem to reflect anxiety on the part of the narrator, who suspects, perhaps, that he recounts not the tale of a hero but of a coward.

W. A. Davenport believes Troilus's poetic apostrophes to his lost love as he waits for her in Troy indicate that the young prince's despair is primarily a pose. Troilus's letters also reveal that he continues to play a role. These solipsistic missives to Criseyde seal his fate, for they leave no question that Troilus remains a courtly lover. He does not consider the needs of his auditor, for instead of tender, solicitous queries concerning the hardships she must have endured, he stresses his own affliction. Cox comments that "Troilus sings of his woe with little regard for Criseyde, . . . and his letter, . . . full of fin’amors platitudes, blames her for going to the Greeks."

As in Book I, where he allowed his misery to paralyze him, Troilus has succeeded in making himself overwrought. It is as if the communion he experienced with Criseyde in Book III never occurred, for the Trojan prince once again acts like the lovelorn suitor of a lady he scarcely knows, whom he can address only in the most artificial, contrived manner. Troilus pens his letter ostensibly to convince Criseyde to return to Troy. Such a demand, however, is absurd, and he knows it. He, who remained completely passive while the Trojans forced his love to leave, now expects Criseyde to risk her life by rushing across the battlefield to return to him. Even if she succeeded in reaching Troy, Troilus knows his father would send her back to the Greeks.

Troilus does not really expect Criseyde to reunite with him; rather, he expects her to behave like a proper lady and die for her love. One can speculate that he wants her to act like the nondescript tragic heroines in the Legend of Good Women, to pine away like Ariadne or to commit suicide like Dido. Such behavior would prove a fitting end for the object of Troilus's desire, enabling him to compose tragic lays about the death of his beautiful, beloved dame. Criseyde sees through Troilus's importunate letter, and, instead of playing the expected role of the bereft lady, she assumes the role of a courtly lover herself. As Davis notes, "when his [Troilus's] thou becomes an it, it rightly opts out." Criseyde might have risked her life or wasted away for the valiant Troilus of Book III, but she deems this poseur unworthy of such deep, abiding affection.

John McKinnell contrasts the structure of Criseyde's letter to Troilus's, noting that her epistle flows eloquently and follows the rules of artes dictamen. Criseyde's controlled prose reflects her nature; she will determine her own actions and certainly will not be dictated to by a man whose own convoluted letter displays an utter lack of composure or self-discipline. The time for impulsive behavior on the part of Troilus has passed. He should have displayed such passion when Criseyde was taken from him; he should have acted rashly when such behavior would have proved effective. Now his raving falls on deaf ears, and his former lover tersely retorts "Nor other thyng nys in youre remembraunce, / As thynketh me, but only youre plesaunce" (V, 1607-8).

In abandoning Troilus and accepting Diomede's suit, Criseyde behaves like a male lover jilting a woman with whom he has grown weary. Criseyde knows that men behave in this manner, for prior to accepting Troilus's advances, she complains about the faithlessness of men: "ek men ben so un trewe,/That right anon as cessed is hire lest,/So cesseth love, and forth to love a newe./But harm ydoon is doon, whoso it rewe:,For though thise men for love hem first torende,/Ful sharp bygynnyng breketh ofte at ende."(II, 786-91) Criseyde follows the consummate courtly lover's, Pandarus's, advice to Troilus, an act that leaves both uncle and lover astounded. Her behavior provokes Pandarus's violent exclamation "I hate, ywis, Cryseyde; / And, God woot, I wol hate hire evermore!" (V, 1732-33), as well as his wish that she will die soon, a desire to which Troilus, by not gainsaying, seems to give his silent assent.

Criseyde's unconventional behavior confounds the narrator as well. He cannot quite grasp why she gives Diomede Troilus's brooch, for instance, despairing that there "was litel nede" for such a deed (V, 1040). The narrator cannot admit that Troilus deserves to be abandoned by Criseyde, for to do so would be to recognize that he has recounted the story of a dithering, self-consumed man. By giving Diomede her brooch, Criseyde sends Troilus a clear message that no matter how much he rants and raves she no longer will accommodate his desires. She lets him know that not only does she refuse to return to Troy; she also refuses to waste away for love of him. Criseyde never wanted to involve herself in an affair constrained by the rules of courtly love, and she takes up with a new lover, who, like her, eschews such conventions.

Diomede's desire for Criseyde does not emasculate him, and he never complains of her cruel heart or hints that she causes him great pain. Instead, he treats her as his equal, engaging her in an intellectual conversation concerning the siege and seeking her opinion about the war: He gan first fallen of the werre in speche Bitwixe hem and the folk of Troie town;/And of th'assege he gan hire ek biseche To telle hym what was hire opynyoun. (V, 855-58) Diomede understands Criseyde's nature, for he recognizes that she is a woman interested in much more than silly love games. Instead of harping about himself, as Troilus tends to do, Diomede at least feigns empathy for Criseyde's plight, telling her he has noticed her sorrow and wondering if she laments a lost love (V, 871-82).

His concern indeed may be motivated merely by lust, but compared to Troilus's self pitying posturing, it strikes the Trojan beauty as a welcome change. In Criseyde's estimation, Diomede now seems much closer to the ideal she seeks than the Trojan prince, for Diomede pretends at least to admire both her beauty and her intellect. Indeed, Chaucer hints that Diomede may prove a much better match for feisty Criseyde than the young, oversensitive prince. The poet reveals that the Greek warrior and the Trojan beauty share the same pragmatic philosophy. Determined to court Criseyde, Diomede reminds himself that "he that naught n'asaieth naught n'acheveth" (V, 784). His words echo Criseyde's own, who, while contemplating Troilus's suit, mused that "'He which that nothing undertaketh, / Nothyng n'acheveth, be hym looth or deere'" (II, 807-8). Troilus, significantly, does not subscribe to this self-sufficient view.

Readers should not scorn Criseyde for turning toward Diomede. After being so bitterly disappointed in Troilus, who proved himself incapable of transcending the conventional, Criseyde continues to believe in the possibility of attaining the ideal in love. She may not remain loyal to a man who has failed her, but she does remain loyal to the notion of a healthy, wholesome love, a love based on mutual desire and a meeting of minds. Her passion for Troilus has changed her; she does not revert back to the cynical young widow of Book II, who regarded love as little more than a trap set by men. For one fleeting moment, Criseyde found her affair with Troilus liberating, because it enabled her to express and to sate finally her own desires. She embarks on a relationship with Diomede yearning to recapture the bliss that she once felt with her Trojan prince. Diomede, she hopes, will prove a more worthy recipient of her stalwart heart.

Troilus also finds himself altered by his love affair with Criseyde, but his transformation occurs only after his death. His demise releases him from the courtly love conventions that he found impossible to escape while on earth. In Reading Lolita in Tehran, Azar Nafisi describes the metamorphosis that occurs when her female students remove their mandatory black robes in the sanctuary of their professor's apartment. Freed from these black garbs, symbols of the repressive Iranian regime, they indulge in the luxury of laughter. Upon his death, Troilus finds himself similarly released from the strictures of his society. He can now shed his pose as a courtly lover, and, looking at the world from his heavenly perch, he too can laugh, both at his weakness in constantly allowing the values of the majority to dictate his actions and at the temerity of the woman he once loved, who refused to do so.”

- Mary Behrman, “Heroic Criseyde.”

[pigeonfancier]

Cw: pet death.

HYM / Shelley got a bad prognosis at the next vet, and it was a long, extensive surgery that might not work, would cause him a lot of pain, and had the risk of the cancer coming back, anyway, if it wasn't already in his blood. So we had to put him down.

I'm always so distraught when the answer to something is just.. it can't be fixed. I don't have many vices: I save and hoard to ensure that when my pets get sick, I can fix it for them, but sometimes you just can't. And it feels awful. We domesticate animals, and we make them love us, and there's a social contract there that, in exchange, you'll take care of them. But in this case, taking care of him was making the decision that he deserved better than dealing with shit he couldn't understand, for the chance that it wouldn't reoccur, and we wouldn't be back at this spot by next year. And it sucks, and I hate it.

I keep saying this, but: I'm so tired of death at this point. I am so, so, so fucking tired of everything getting sick and dying, and there's nothing you can *do.* I have had more people and animals die in the last two years than I have ever dealt with in my entire life, and it's just so fucking much. You can't control it! You can't do anything to prevent it, you just cross your fingers and roll the dice, and my family has been getting 1's for fucking ever now.

But HYM was happy, and he was coddled, and he spent the last four days being carried everywhere and glued to my side, which is all that he ever wanted, so. We did the best we could, and I did everything I could think of for him, and I just have to keep that in mind.

The most selfish, plaintive part of me is just like - he was my gardening buddy! He'd sit and talk to me while I worked, or he'd climb into my lap, even when it was 90F, or he'd decided I'd been in the sun long enough, and cry until I went and sat with him in the shade. I don't even know if I want to garden without that. :') We're going to bury him in the backyard by the garden, at least. He loved his little territory, and he was scared of everywhere else, so.. it seemed like putting his body anywhere else would be unkind. One of those gestures that doesn't matter much, ultimately, but it's been such a long fucking two years. We can be sentimental.

[coolestfinch]

faq

hello lgbtees, this is a list of frequently asked questions i get that i felt could be easily summed up with a short answer or a few quick links! of course if you would like more elaboration on a topic, feel free to send another ask or dm me :]

(questions under the cut, since theres a lot of them!!)

questions about me!

Q: who are you? A: my name is finch amelia ivan! im a high school junior, i use he/him or hy/hym pronouns, and i love animals, bugs, horror media, and lesbianism :]

Q: how did you pick your name? A: i had never met anyone named finch before, and i liked the way it sounds both soft and badass. it fits me! and i was inspired by the video game “what remains of edith finch”

Q: are you out? A: i am out as both a lesbian and as non binary to all of my family friends! ive been out as a lesbian since i was 11, but i only recently came out as nby in late 2020. if you need coming out advice, im here!

Q: how did you know you were a lesbian/butch/non binary/transmasc? A: honestly i don't have a lot of help with this. i am not the person to ask and ive also answered it a thousand times. the best advice i can give is to experiment and test things out and see what feels right! thats literally all there is to it. theres no way to know what you are, its just guessing until you get it right 

Q: do you want to go on T/get top surgery? A: yes! i plan on starting testosterone in the next few months, and getting top surgery when i go off to college

Q: do you have a discord? A: yes! i run a lesbian discord server for any lesbians between 15 and 25 y/o. youre all welcome! heres the post with the invite link

Q: do you draw? A: yes! here is my commissions post

Q: why do you like *insert media*? A: well, the answer is most likely that i had a hyper fixation on it as a kid and now it is a comfort to me. i am extremely critical of every media i consume, and even if its in my interests it doesnt mean i support everything in it!

Q: why do you think *insert discourse opinion*? A: this varies depending on the topic, and i would much rather discuss things like this through a dm so if you really want to talk about it with me then my messages are open

questions with resources!

Q: whats a non binary lesbian? A: x x x

Q: what is the history of butch/femme? A: x x

Q: what is a butch/femme? A: (first bullet point of the post!) x

Q: how can you be a transmasc lesbian? A: x

Q: how do i know if something is comphet or not? A: x

Q: how do i know im butch? A: x

Q: are butch/femme identities exclusive to the working class? A: x

Q: can i have some butch blog recommendations? A: x

Q: where can i read leslie feinbergs books? A: x

Q: any resources for transfem butches? A: x

if you have any questions that are not answered in this post, feel free to ask!

[sigyn-loves-loki]

SACRIFICE

This is a story of the Vanir witches who lived in the northern lands of Midguard. It has been hundreds of years since the nine realms was created. Their lord, as like the other Midguardians, was the Supreme Protector Odin, whom they all worshiped and offered their wealth, sacrifices and food to. King Odin, who was the King of all Gods, blessed them in return of their offerings.

It was a rule among the Vanir people, that their leader will always be a witch who has sacrificed years and years on gaining immense knowledge of witchcraft and the working of the universe where they existed. And so after her mother, Freya was choosen the Queen of the Vanir. Hence it was a sure thing that all the Vanir people knows that after Queen Freya, her only daughter Sigyn will become the Queen of the Vanir.

But there was only one problem and that problem was bigger than anything else in whole of Midguard. When all her people and her mother went to Odin's temple to worship him and offer him food and wealth, she choose to worship the other son of Odin, the one imfamous son, known for his mischiefs among the nine realms and his frost giant blood. The little princess Sigyn, choose to worship Loki, the God Of Mischief.

Her prayers and hyms soon turned into her deeper knowledge of the dark arts and of magic beyond the capibilty of regular Vanir witches. She slowly transformed into a more stronger and a more cleverer witch that went beyond her control. Her mother when came to know of her daughter's such ill behaviour, she locked her in dungeons and kept the word from spreading in the nine realms. No one can worship Loki, no one can take his name. He, as told by the myths, was the evil brother of Thor, the other son of Odin who had Frost Giant blood in his veins and blue skin with horns as big as tree branches. Anyone who would come under the sight of Loki, will inherit bad luck and extreme suffering.

"The people of Vanir shouldn't know that my daughter, my very own daughter is worshiping the wrong God.", thought Queen Freya as she locked Sigyn in the dark dungeons.

But that didn't stop the little witch from continuing on her worshipings. In that dark, dark dungeons, that was kept miles under the crust of Earth, she offered her soul to Lord Loki, and in return, she asked only one thing, "I want you to accept my love for you, my lord. I am offering you my heart and soul. Take me as I am and I shall do whatever you ask me to do. I shall be your slave, I shall serve you and your order shall be the only words I will hear, your feet will be the only place I shall stay. And in return of all these, I want you to give me your love."

A month passed inside that dungeon, but Loki never came to Midguard, neither did he make her his wife. But after that last chanting of the mantra, tremendous light came in that dungeon from nowhere and Sigyn's heart started burning. She was finally blessed by the Gods and she became the strongest Witch to ever exist. She broke out of the dark dungeons and came brusting through the cores of the Earth to reveal her true self as the Golden Witch to all the Vanir people.

All the people now came to know the secret of the Vanir Princess. They all got scared and Sigyn was verdicted to be burned in the rituals of Witch Burning. Her mother, even though her heart burned as she accepted the verdict, she procecuted the law and tied her daughter in the oldest tree of their land with a rope blessed by King Odin that was made in old tes to tie up the Frost Giants. All the other high powerful witches surrounded Sigyn and chanted verses in old norns.

Sigyn cried loudly, she shouted, begged forgiveness to her mother, but no one listened. Their verses burned like acid on the golden skin of the young witch. And she cried with all her breath left inside of her. After some time, the chanting stopped and everything became quiet. Sigyn opened her eyes and looked at her surroundings and saw that the witches has now started to circle around her with woods and planks. The last fire was lighted by the Queen. She took the plank and walked the couple of steps towards her daughter.

"Please mother, forgive me. I will not do it again. I promise I will be good. I will listen to you." Sigyn cried.

"No you won't. You have given your soul to him and this is what happens when you make a pact with the devil." Queen Freya replied and lighted the woods at the feet of her only daughter. She walked back and tried to look at the face of crying Sigyn whose skin burned with every flake of fire that touched her.

Right at that moment something huge fell from the sky. Everyone looked at the object with wonder and more fear. No one noticed that the fire from Sigyn's woods had ceased. Slowly, the object took shape as it stood up. He had large wings, red eyes and dark, blue skin, along with large horns on his head. He was taller than Gods but smaller than Giants. As he kept his steps on the ground, he turned his gaze back towards the little witch tied by the tree. Their eyes locked and a secret pact was shared between them. No one said, but everyone knew who he was.

He looked around him with a playful gaze and took small steps along the line of the witches. With each step, the grass grew black and ground transformed into frost. With a chaste smile on his face, he turned towards the Queen and said, "I am Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, King of Johtunhiem, Odinson. And I restrict you from burning this witch."

The Queen looked up from her bowed head and said "Please, Lord Loki. Leave my daughter. Your curse is the reason why she has been executed to be killed. We worship King Odin and not you."

"My curse?" he scoffed, "Your daughter offered me her soul, and her heart," he looked at Sigyn as he said this, "and that makes me her protector. Now you all shall leave before I actually curse you all."

"We are not afraid of you, trickster." She said and pulled her shaft out from under her cloack. All the other witches follwed.

Loki's smile grew on his blue face. The trickster God extended both his long hands infront of him as green magic started forming in it. As the witches casted spells against him, he remained quiet and brought his septer in his left hand. His magic took form and created a hemispheric dome just before bursting and killing all the witches, except Sigyn's mother.

Queen Freya fell on the ground as her thoart hurt because of Loki's curse. She took all her strength to say "Odin will not be happy for what you did today. You are killing his worshipers."

"I DON'T CARE WHAT ODIN THINKS." Loki shouted. He was out of his patience and his playful behaviour. The mention of Odin always did this to him. "Queen Freya, I shall leave you alive, for the sake of your daughter and your people. Go and tell Odin what I have done. I comand you to do your best and I shall see how far you Vanir can go."

With this, Freya left the forest, leaving behind Loki and her tied daughter.

Sigyn hasn't talked all this time. She didn't know what to say. Her prayers, her wishes has finally come true, or maybe partially true. Because Loki has come to Midguard, yes, but will he love her the way she does. She knows she has fallen in love with the devil, but will the devil accept her with all his heart?

Loki now turned to Sigyn. This is the first time that a God has visited Midguard to save their disciple. Loki, in his Johtun form, stood infront of his only follower and disciple, who is immensely in love with him.

He slowly took his step towards her, the ground turning into frost with all his steps. As he came close, he lifted his long fingers and with a green light the ropes that tied Sigyn tore off her body and Sigyn fell on the ground, standing on her feet. At first she hesitated, not knowing how to react. But then she took steps towards her lover as she came down the dice and fell to his feet, with her head bowed.

Loki's long fingers found Sigyn's chin and lifted her face upwards so that he shall face him completely.

"Get up, my little witch. Your place is not at my feet, but beside me. I have seen your devotion towards me, I have felt your love. I have touched your heart when you chanted your prayers in the dark dungeons. I know you. I know your love. Sigyn Iwaldidottir, I Loki Odinson, shall take you as my lover and my wife, if you shall come with me to Asgard and Johtunhiem to take your rightful place beside me, your husband, King Loki."

With this, Sigyn stood up and said "My lord, my only wish is to gain your love. I don't want to be a Queen. I just want to be your wife."

"I love you with all my heart, my darling little princess." Loki smiled at her. He held her face with his hands and brought her lips towards his and kissed her. And then Loki took Sigyn to the land of Asgard.

[trulycertain]

I’ve just finished Hearts of Stone for the first time (I got the expansion packs last birthday, thanks Ma), and cor, I’m... still a bit dazed. That was one of the best experiences I’ve had with a game for a long time. Heck, in some games that would’ve been the main campaign. It truly feels like a work of passion.

The negative, to get it over with

I had some issues with the portrayal of the Ofieri. The people we see are monsters, mages, mystics and enemy guards. The first Ofieri person you meet is... a toad monster you kill. And then the next ones are your jailers. 

And you might say that Temeria and Redania are full of yokel stereotypes - I mean, the “How often should I beat my wife?” NPC line is a clear nod to that kinda thing - and plays on Slavic mythology, folk tales, and fairy tales, and Ofier is the nod to the Arabian Nights... but we don’t get many Ofieri characters, nor clear examinations of those tales. Instead we’re quietly directed back to Robin Hood and Beauty and the Beast homages (which I adore, but). And one of the first introductions you get to their pseudo-Arabic language (which doesn’t feel as researched as Sapkowksi’s cod-Welsh Elven, but I don’t know about Nilfgaard’s language) is a Redanian guy calling it “gargling.” *wince* After the interesting, often nuanced takes on pseudo-Slavic culture and the fantasy non-human racism, I found that a bit frustrating. 

And yet... In some ways, it feels like CDPR were aware of this. Because you don’t actually have to kill the rest of the Ofieri guards, and then the next people you meet from Ofier are scholars and thoroughly nice dudes. (And... merchants, which is another stereotype on its own, but maybe I’m reading too much into that and reading British biases into it.) And gosh, I find it interesting what little we see of Ofieri scholarship and spirituality, and runeworking/smithing as prayer. It’s like a mix of Islamic Golden Age mathematics - but with languages instead - and humanism, maybe with some Pagan influences. It’s really, really beautiful, and it’s clearly had some thought put into it. Also interesting is the interlinked duchies/city-states sort of system that the merchant nods at, which I’d love to know more about.

OK, so... maybe this is easy for me to say as an English lass who looks like a flour explosion in a snowstorm, but it feels wonky (to say the least), but... not ill-intentioned. If anything, the portrayal of the Ofieri is rather less biting than portrayals of other countries, though those portrayals also feel less.. loaded. I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I had some issues with how strongly the pack tries to force you into romance with Shani and makes it a bit all-or-nothing. I wish I’d been able to buy her a drink or give her a nice rowan garland (actually, seriously, I need to draw her in that flower crown, it’s lovely and she was adorable) even as a friend, as a way to say goodbye, rather than just... buggering off and leaving her there sad, and failing a side quest to boot. Framing the romance that way made it very clear that “oi, you’ve made the wrong choice,” even if you had your reasons. And when you talk to her later, it’ll still treat things like you romanced her.

The Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t do much. Yay, fancy bandits. But... thanks for the armour, guys? Made a fair bit of cash off that, nice of you.

The positive (my favourite bit)

Shani! I haven’t played the first game or the second (I’ll... get there), so I hadn’t met her before. She’s wonderful. And much as I love Yen - and stayed faithful to her, though I was sitting there thinking, “Would books Geralt do this? I’m really not sure” - I liked how in contrast, Shani often gets into the thick of it with you. I also love a) doctor characters b) characters who put their calling above all else and have such strong purpose. She’s kind and wry and I was seriously tempted to romance her. I also like her admitting that it was a “make the most of the time we have” thing, and that it probably wouldn’t work long-term. I appreciate that honesty and again, that sense of purpose. Much like Triss, she’s not dropping everything for Geralt, who has his own crazy timetable and travels to deal with. That straightforwardness is lovely. 

And also... god, I really like her friendship with Geralt. Even if you don’t romance her, they’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s so clear how happy he is to see her. They relax around each other and she knows how to gently poke fun. Seriously, I can see why people liked her and wanted her back.

“And now I have nowt.” Bloody hell, is Olgierd von Everec actually written with Northern dialect as well as voiced with the accent? Is the dashing rogue... Yorkshire-accented? God, they must be Polish, Northerners almost never get to be upper-class or smooth in British media. (Even Sean Bean had to go posher for GoldenEye.) Nice to hear the language spoken properly.  I always admire the localisation when I’m playing Wild Hunt; it’s beautifully thought-out and detailed. And yes, Von Everec was an absolute jerk in a lot of ways even before the wish, but... a well-written, nuanced one. Also, considering some of the lasses we see in Skellige: sometime, I’d really like to have seen a female character along similar lines somewhere (one Geralt couldn’t bonk), though I know that won’t happen. (No more Geralt games. ;_; )

“A man must have some moments of madness from time to time. Tells him he’s alive.”

Iris! Goodness, I hesitated for nearly ten minutes over That Decision, and I still feel sad for her typing this post up on my couch, having finished the expansion an hour ago. I think it adds even more that I’d purchased “Starry Night Over the Pontar River” by Van Rogh (I can’t believe they even did that). I played Geralt as genuinely loving her paintings. (And seriously, speaking of assets, that Iris/Olgierd marriage portrait is lovely.) She was as complicated as her husband, though she got less screentime - and some part of me would have gladly trapped Olgierd in a painting and brought her back into the world, but I also know that necromancy in The Witcher doesn’t work like that. A very romantic-fairy-tale take on the tortured artist trope.

I even found Vlodimir interesting. I was glad that Shani called him on what was basically fancy sexual harassment and told him to keep his hands to himself, and he was clearly a real shite in life, but... yeah, even I felt rather sad for him after the dressing-down he got from O’Dimm. And to be honest, he does have some bloody hilarious lines. This series excels in “likeable bastard” characters.

I get shades! And I’ve been going round with the Mastercrafted Wolven Armour and those, doing the look I fondly call Douchebag Geralt, ever since. CDPR’s nerdery. It wasn’t particularly immersion-breaking, and it made me cackle. “Merchant With A Pearl Earring”? “Witness me”? “Geralt: The Professional”? “The Professor’s Glasses”?

All the optional NPC dialogue. You can doom yourself by not researching enough. You can never find the runewright. You can miss half the wedding party dialogue. You can miss things like the Van Rogh painting and the sad, rather interesting story of Vesemir and his lover (and the Viper Armour!). The game always rewards you for being interested in the story, and thorough (you are playing a detective, after all), but because it was smaller, they’ve also made HoS so dense and all that’s here in abundance.

“Delight in the world and all its glorious creations.”

The furious pace. It’s a rollicking, rip-roaring adventure. A frog prince! An old friend/lover! A political plot! A storm! A deal with... something not-good that may or may not be The Devil! A shirtless tied-up action-movie fight with five dudes! Dueling a reluctant immortal! Characters from distant shores! A horse race through the streets of a village! A Guy Ritchie-esque heist movie nod to Robin Hood! Getting possessed by a ghost and sitcom/rom-com hijinks while fishing for boots, herding swine, and retrieving fire-eaters! Haunted mansions and tortured artists and interesting grief and depression metaphors! A Seventh Seal-esque game of wits with something very old and very unkind! O’Dimm promised a big adventure... he wasn’t wrong. And it probably sounds like they’re throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks... and yet, it all makes sense and ties in beautifully. It’s really well-written and thought-out, and balances a touching story with CDPR clearly wanting to give you your money’s worth and take you on the best journey they can.

Gaunter O’Dimm. The one thing I did think was that they’d be more vague about who/what he actually was. I was surprised at the more overt things like the crossroads deal, and the Oxenfurt scholar. But I immensely enjoyed his character, and that trippy finale was fantastic, even if I spent everything after the first second or so muttering, “It’s a REFLECTION, oh my god Gaunter you have commitment to your theme, please let there be a mirror in the house.” (And it’s also kind of perfect that one of the main spectres who attacks you in his realm is a Hym. Punishment for misdeeds, the guilty conscience... I’m seeing a theme here.)

Treasure hunts and new armour.

“Like your new gear, Roach?” We got to see a bit more of Geralt's fondness for this Roach (not sure what number she is, to be honest) and that he treats her well.

Lots of quiet but intense, lovely Geralt moments. The kindness with which he treats Shani, and his quiet, wry joking around with her in comparison to Vlodimir’s crudeness; the fondness and understated grief with which he speaks of Vesemir, and finally getting to hear a bit more of what he thinks about his mentor; the guilt he feels over being pulled here, there and everywhere on adventures and how many people he’s left behind; more stuff on “Witchers are heartless bastards because mutations” and how untrue that actually is; his steadfastness about trying to avoid bloodshed in the heist; how he doesn’t like to see Vlodimir tortured, even if he is... Vlodimir. Course, I play Geralt as a (pragmatic, blunt) goody-two-shoes, so it might be different if you play him bloodthirstier, but there were some lovely not-blank-slate-protag moments. CDPR get that the characters are why people come to the games; I adore playing a game where “go to a wedding reception” and “have a snowball fight with your daughter to cheer her up” are missions.

I’d be interested to see anyone’s takes on this pack, because I was so busy trying to avoid spoilers when it came out (and I think I might have been knee-deep in Fallout 4? Not sure) that I missed most of the stuff on it. But it was full of fascinating characters, wonderful performances, some really sad, achey complex themes, and pulpy adventure. I spent... too many moments trying not to cackle in joy. And much as I tried to be a completionist and do base-game sidequests remaining after the main story and drag it out over several days, I spent enough time on this expansion that Geralt’s beard grew back and my backside went numb. So. Even with its imperfections, probably one of my favourite gaming experiences of all time. So.

...God, and there’s another, slightly bigger expansion to go. I’m not sure I’ll survive.

[fuckyoucanada]

Hym. What about the rest of Konoha 12? Is Tobirama trying to mentor them? Did Shikamaru guess something was definitely wrong with his colleagues?

I already mentioned hinata and neji, so here’s the others:

Kiba: Naruto and Sasuek smell weird to him and he tends to suspiciously watch them whenever they get near him. Yeah everybody has their own unique scents and stuff but they smell like the dust from the really old scrolls his mother wont ever let him touch, and he always sneezes when hes around them for too long.

theyre pretty alright besides that. naruto always pets akamaru whenever he sees him and kiba once caught sasuke slipping akamaru some of the high quality beef jerky.

shino: his bugs tend to not like going towards team 7. naruto has chakra more like fire than any other konoha nin shino has faced and sasuke’s ability to pull water jutsus out of his ass is concerning to a bug user who doesnt want his bugs to drown without warning. he otherwise has no problem with them; tobirama once showed him a rare breeding ground for a bug shino’s clan thought extinct and shino has seen Madara take a spider outside rather than stepping on them.

ino: she had a crush on sasuke back in the academy, but after her falling out with sakura, sasuke told her that she shouldnt pick a boy over a best friend. then he mentioned that if he ever did want to date a girl, they would have to be strong and be able to show that they held strong bonds with their comrades. while ino made up with sakura because of what he said, she lost her crush soon after when she saw how naruto got a bigger reaction out of sasuke then anyone she had ever seen. quite clearly the boys were lost on each other and she might be pigheaded, but she also knew when to throw in the towel. she regularly has lovely chats with naruto that involve the language of flowers and their history, oddly enough, in the uchiha clan.

choji: a lot of kids made fun of choji’s size and when he was younger he really only had shikamaru to rely on to defend him. that is, until naruto hears a couple of newly minted genin picking on him. the blonde eviscerated them with his words, his shouting the loudest thing choji had ever heard. when choji asked him why he defended him naruto had simply said “we all carry fire inside us; we should be fanning it, not trying to extinguish the flame.” ever since then, when people called naruto an idiot, choji made a point to disagree. he might be loud and a bit scatter brained, but naruto was in no way dumb.

shikamaru: naruto and sasuke arent who they pretend to be. shikamaru could go on about the details sasuke shared about the warring states era that he had no way of knowing, or naruto’s proficiency at uchiha clan jutsu that even sasuke couldnt do, but it would be too troublesome to bother. besides, the one time he voiced his suspicions of the two, an irate sakura cornered him the next day and threatened to wedgie him into nonexistance if he didn’t leave her teammates alone. women were dangerous and shikamaru wouldnt dare mess with them.

tenten: she actually doesnt have a lot of interaction with team 7, but she has seen the positive effect naruto’s loud speech had on neji. she sees how neji becomes less sharp, more caring, after naruto tells him that life might now be fair, that the generations before us might have failed, but thats no excuse for us to fail as well. the circle of hatred needed to end; let neji letting go of his own vendetta be the start of a new wheel. she appreciates the change in her teammate and whenever naruto comes into her father’s weapon shop and shes working, she always gives him a discount.

lee: lee feels different from the others. he tries not to let his inability to use chakra like the others affect him, but hes young and still trying to find himself. after the chunin exams, everyone is a lot nicer to him, they show their appreciation for the amount of work he puts in. he is approached one day by a neutral faced sasuke who asks to observe his workout routine. what was originally a one week endeavor turns into an every morning thing where sasuke will show up at the training grounds and idly chat to lee as he stretches and practices his katas. the uchiha will occasionally watch him before writing something down. he’ll stay and keep lee company until gai-sensei shows up and sasuke has to leave to meet his own team. it makes lee smile.

its not so much mentor them as show them that they have the potential to be so much more than the previous generation. they cant let the past get in the way of their own progress. tobirama is sort of hesitant to really try to mentor anyone after the way his own students turned out. madara thinks hes being stupid, he cant blame himself for the decisions adults make long after he was dead, but tobirama doesnt ever listen to him, so instead he tries and facilitates friendships between tobirama and their graduating class. he doesnt let the younger nin get lost in his own head.

[libidomechanica]

Ere Thought

A sonnet sequence

               I

Inebriate of air-balloons, and May? Her though every hymn that my name my original is dust, or seal’d with dear Love’s exchequer doubt this—when I lie because is, one that large: how can you turn and anguish quite alone; the musk of the hope or mine. Well, Sir, from the slight to the floor beauty morn now lifts his embrace and carried. If Sleep I give? And to come—Well, to renew: his mother, a good for her true, to catch at and love and thus algate, and Lethe- wards had seized you? Love is the school and head down she learne hear the rapt oration- Sisters or daughter, and thee on the hills.

               II

That loves to unity, like his selfe boye, ah for Colin made. But cruel Ida keep her eyes already for many heart beating my will keep the flocks are cowards you, your dog, fondle your bones, and lonely hours. All the strove, and the trip and now tis buried in dear words came halting for the year is an inverted sky bloom-covered all wondrous House too though hell should adopt your hands, which is ours to wreath: I know as spectre- thin, and thy unbraided crime, winter still, a discord. Your life! The long-laid galleries past all my flowering axe was born. My little ones that I wear it—sdeath!

               III

The last leave to sink to a Saturn. When she deem’d to live a contrast, which he beat in this subject to coast, and owning flowers to the flowered spread with shades, clamouring sun; conspiring a soft and long, demand performance of men,—what we remain, nor let the dust, a name, a wretched picturesque and the blessing in it as a finer light as if alive. You shall iudge this did, I cannot guess; but thrice more in yonder do you—and steam of town: he brought. Back to the weed, my friends, and for the point where the house returne, whose exposure it is why I told how this, but waxing things.

               IV

In heaven describe the vintage! Stranger and his carriage day is music of the Land. Sing me a thrush and life looks lovely charms of ladies’ feet, and mellow’d, and on the gilded tomb, a part of my own. To cadence of theyr foldes yeeld at thy partners of fame, ambition was upon her tongue evoke your vast forbere hym in some languish, and finger to find how his mouldering ilka bud which kept through faith had fall’n asleep, all this condition, miss Edgeworth’s novels stepping from thence I have seen the curtain first as Death, or liker bene thy yoke, they want to share the blow.

               V

Now will bear it will not wait henceforth a new one, Yet now dead: to grant the started from the men of rathe and pays it there, ’ she takes a desperate eyes were clear harp in diverse drew you are chance gave way their meet it, when the dust: thou mought the foreigners—and most other range; that then this beard, and tropics in an awkward countless ills, who refuse till all our vows, one lessoned so, not that I was a truth as if I would. Abide: thy wealthy region that act. Yet have him well, tho’ left alone, I marry the best this english and eek that I might be deterr’d by this a plight. With my soul would returning helm beside; and like the forest they strikes it and conquest for herte bloody spur cannot fall, I felt so much and when t is quite understand each other’s Eyes, infinite consanguinity it bears—this is to see within the sheep-track’s maze the second toe a little move?

[catsandcoffee103]

Hym... Pompts... I want read some pre-konoha pre-slash Madatobi. Maybe ... They were hired by the same employer for the same mission.

Hope this is good~

Something always has to go wrong. Whether it’s being kidnapped, tortured, or sent on the same mission as your younger brothers arch bemuses and best friends little brother. Ah, he thinks he’d prefer hell. Well, well, the thing is, they’re not even allies yet. Or friends. And now the little white rat boy is hissing like the feral little shit he is and trying to murder him. Trying very hard, and getting very close one too many times. Ugh, why is it always him?

“Tobirama! Stop!” Madara dodged a blow from Tobirama’s remarkable water dragon, flipping back and spitting out bullets of Fire balls, “We’re on the same side!” He wanted to puke just saying that.

“We will never be on the same side.”

“Not even if your brother has something to do about it?” That made Tobirama pause. Ah yes, the exploitation of family devotion. It’s one of Madara’s favorite tactics when dealing with the little demon.

“We were both hired for this mission,” Madara kept his hands up, as if approaching a startled turkey, “I don’t know why, but I really don’t want to be forced to kill Hashirama’s precious little brother. So why don’t we, you know, not do this? Complete the mission, get the reward, and pretend this never happened.”

A pause, a linger of thoughts and an internal debate to see whether or not it’s the right decision. Tobirama finally, reluctantly, nodded, “Just this once,” he sheathed his blade. His eyes never left Madara, however. He doesn’t trust the man. “I don’t see why collecting flowers takes two, however.”

“Don’t ask me,” Madara brushed off the dirt and blood from the battle, stepping forward and last the Senju, “But it’s less work for the both of us.”

Tobirama collected his basket and continued after the Uchiha, rolling his eyes before starting to finish collecting the flowers he found there, next to a little lake. They were a specific species, known for their healing properties when treated correctly, “This is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous, and worth it,” the reward was so worth it. All that gold, hell yes. And double yes. He’ll finally be able to take his brother out for a proper vacation from the war.

Tobirama scoffed, “I’m doubting it now.”

“...You really hate me that much?”

“Yes,” he looked down at the floor, “No.”

“But Yes, and you’re just saying no because we’re at a truce?”

“No, but I’m saying yes because that’s how I grew up,” Tobirama shrugged, “It’ll be hard to forgive and forget, but the peace is worth it. I just, wish to move in as quickly as Anija. I can’t.”

Madara hummed. It’s true. Hashirama is so full of love he’s bursting at the seems. It’s ridiculous, and admirable, and few can achieve his state of mind. Madara himself has had a few years of Hashirama to finally learn to move on- forgiving he’s still working on- and Izuna is more like Tobirama. It’s going to take him some time.

“Ok,” Tobirama blinked over at him, and Madara walked over to the albino with a handful of flowers and dumped them into his basket, “I can wait, help you if you want. We can go your speed.”

“For what?”

“For forgiving me.”

Tobirama blinked again, “Huh, you’re an odd man, Madara.”

“Rude, now here I was being nice and you just had to ruin it. Well fine then,” Madara grabbed Tobirama’s arm and the young boy was sent into panic mode. It was too late though, Madara pushed, pushing them both head first into the little lake they stood beside. Tobirama shot himself to the surface, gasping for air while Madara just laughed beside him.

Oh, this means war. Tobirama started to run through a number of hand signs and Madara stilled.

He just pushed a water user into a lake.

Oh, he is fucked.

[ifihadneverpickedthepenup]

Down this road again...

Did I really forget how to swim?

Is the ice we skate on really this thin?

I thought maybe I would not go through this with him.

I thought all the love given would be enough to be forgiven.

So why do I live in this fear, in this cage?

Where do I find an outlet for my sadness and rage?

I am afraid.

And I am sorry, but to me, you have it made.

I know you’ll never see it this way.

So I’ll try to silence these thoughts day by day.

Where is the graciousness, gratitude, or simple recognition?

That in this life you can create a beautiful vision,

Which can easily come to fruition,

If you simply make the decision,

Find yourself internally driven,

And come to terms with all that you have been given.

Whether it wisdom, financial stability, health care, or just a real support system.

And I know that things were broken for you too.

I understand that I will never understand what you have been through.

But if you can’t wake up and see,

Your life is something so many envy.

Maybe you can’t be the one for me-

And before you chime in with you “if that’s how you feel I will let you be”-

It’s not because I want to be free,

But rather that you won’t fight for me.

It is that you will never understand how broken this life has made me.

People: friends, family, and lovers constantly betray me

Always praying someone is going to save me.

I’m experiencing mental and physical despair.

I know you probably barely care.

I can see it now, our conversation, your distant stare.

But it really isn’t fair.

You left me to rot,

I don’t care if you see or not.

I spend hours now daily staring at the clock.

When you don’t call I wonder if you forgot, didn’t care, or were too distracted by some other girl in there.

But I mustn’t say that, I wouldn’t dare. Why would I risk being called a jealous, crazy bitch?

Because I drive myself crazy.

Because I love you.

Because I care.

Oh and to find true love can be so rare.

And I know we could have it, I swear.

But not until you see past the pain in my heart that I so nonchalantly wear.

Babe, I beg you would just understand all the pain that I’ve felt,

And my desperate need to escape.

Or recognition that this might be my fate.

Maybe it’ll never get better than the first date.

But all you see is my inability to wait.

I’m just acknowledging the truth, that it may be too late.

Maybe I’m not meant to have a mate.

Maybe heaven filled up early and they had to close the gate.

My own flesh and blood was the first man to ever give me a drug.

He made me believe ecstasy was the same thing as a fathers love or a warm hug.

But he hid the badness, he swept the darkness under the rug.

But all those dark and evil prices crept up when I found myself in love.

When I try to find understanding my mind draws blanks.

I’m not trying to turn this into a competition, some kind of sick race.

I just want you to see where in the world I was placed.

It’s like the joint your friends pass you without warning you it was laced.

As soon as I could taste it was far too late,

Pushed towards hell and told it will all be well.

It’s my fate, something I have to face.

Forget that bullshit,

That’s all fake.

Life just didn’t want me to be great.

Doomed to be an addict,

Doomed to be a whore,

And absolutely nothing more.

I have no God to open windows,

Only the devil closing doors.

Knowing good and damn well I can not compete with most girls.

We live in different worlds.

You go to your parents as an escape,

For me it’s always a mistake.

Your family tells you to drive straight,

Mine would probably let me drive into a lake.

My father would definitely let me get date raped.

I know you think I’m exaggerating,

But moments ago we were smoking heroin together, let that sink in.

You don’t really know him.

There are some really dark things about him.

Things I hope will die with my generation.

Narcissism is the only word he wants to live in.

But he always wants to drag me down with him,

Knowing he has constantly failed his children.

Although it may be impossible to fully protect them,

Seems pretty basic moral integrity to look out for ones own kin.

If you think it’s just “tough love” that I was given, I would really like to share a portion,

Seriously I would have preferred my mom have an abortion.

Even that description can not begin to scratch the surface of the shitstorm that I live in.

And just like that my happiness was stolen.

I understand you’ll never know what it’s like to be a weed in the trash, while simultaneously being told your a flower with limitless potiental to grow.

Yet every bit of growth seems to stagnant, so slow.

I wish my past was like a map you could unroll.

I could take you where I’ve been, you could show me where to go.

But for now your advice is insulting because you’ve neglected to take the time to really get to know me.

Who am I? Do you have any clue?

What it is like to be anyone but you.

And don’t think for a second I haven’t tried to put myself in your shoes too.

I constantly try to understand because I do love you.

But I don’t think my whole past is even a story you could sit through.

I know just hearing some of my pain utterly disgust you.

Shit it does me too.

I use dark and sick humor to mask my mistakes.

Sometimes I believe my own bullshit and become a heartless bitch.

I turn off that switch.

But that should not invalidate my feelings you dick!

Great, now I sound like a prick.

Why can’t you just understand this shit?

Oh how I wish.

Don’t get me wrong, I get it, things had to be fixed.

But I am sick and tired of you saying it had to happen like this.

You left so quick that I could not pull myself together to get a goodbye kiss.

Now I do not know if I will ever get it.

You lied over and over,

Making me feel like I constantly had to look over my shoulder.

You stole from me repeatedly, so why should I believe you didn’t just use me?

You say I’m jealous?

What do you expect when our relationship is sexless?

You have often called me by the name of another bitch.

Do you even comprehend that shit?

You told me another woman’s sex was better than mine, but it’s “okay” because you were “out of your mind...”

But sure, “you’re in love with me”.

I’m not blind.

What you’re doing is not kind.

You probably are not in love with me and that is fine,

But do not let me do this time after time.

Trying so desperately to have you really love me.

Or make you want to be mine.

I’ve never been someone to be proud to have.

But for me, I want you to be my baby’s dad.

I want you to be my husband,

And I want you to be glad.

But again I know it’s something I will never have.

So I am sorry that I am sad.

Why am I so disgusting and broken?

Why is my pussy so scary to cum in?

You say you want a future, but you’ll never want my children.

Can you even picture a house that we are both happy to live in?

No really, think about that again.

This isn’t meant to be a sweet little hym.

This is the life I’ve created or been given.

I don’t know how to live in the system.

I’ll probably end up in another toxic relationship or abused by men since you think I’ll deserve it because I “hit” them.

Shit I’ll probably end up dead in the streets.

Hell maybe it’ll happen before you get out in the next couple of weeks.

So while I know I sit here and endlessly weap.

I shall consent to defeat.

Your family gave you an ultimatum.

Which ultimately made you choose them.

To me it’s sick we were put in a situation to make that decision.

And I get it, it’s cool, if I had your family I would probably choose them too.

And when you say “just don’t worry” or “don’t mind them,”

I wish you’d take a step back and look again.

Realize you will always choose them again and again.

To you, I am not family.

I’m barely even “your baby”

You’ve already shown your sister all of my crazy.

They already hate me (if they even waste the energy on me).

I’m trying so hard to explain don’t you see?

I don’t know how I will handle you going to leave me.

But I see for you it was pretty easy.

There wasn’t even a question of you staying with me.

The threat from your family was enough for you to leave oh so quickly.

And yet you do not even see that your family deceived you and me.

I wanted to be your family but now I see, that was extremely silly.

You probably won’t even spend another night with me.

So when I rant and bitch and try to explain my life it is simply because I never had it that nice.

You will probably find me dead before you ever understand what is going through my head every night before I go to bed.

My circle of support is so small and fake, I am not going to get better at all at this rate.

But yet when you ask if you should stop calling, I don’t know how to say yes, it would probably rip out my chest.

But if I had to guess, it won’t be long until no love is left.

The things she said honestly destroyed me and every time I read it, it makes me want to die,

I may as well be out of my mind, out of sight.

Just so she can be right and I can be the “bad guy”.

But I am realizing as I write this that it will all be okay, maybe even better this way.

I bet you don’t even know what to say, just like every time, everyday.

But your giant heart always makes my world fall apart.

Even at your darkest I see your spark.

Even with this time apart.

And you are so fucking smart.

The intelligence of 100 men, the strength of a lion.

A beautiful mane, looks that drive me insane.

The gentle grace, which will have me follow you any place.

You can do anything you set your mind to and I really hope that you’ll find the courage to take the time to.

You gave me some of the best memories of my life.

You are so sweet, too damn nice.

Though I know I will dream of you every night,

I recognize I am toxic and will respectfully remove myself from your life.

And maybe in moments when I’m high, I can hang on to your beautiful light and momentarily forget about my life.

I am sorry I held you back,

I am sorry I took your friends,

I am sorry I took your happiness,

I am sorry I made you loose yourself.

I really hope you hang onto your health.

I love you forever and you will always make my heart melt.

~ifihadneverpickedthepenup

[arizonatotoronto]

For Frat AU, how did Mitch and Auston come to be so close? Was there this instant attraction; something that drew Mitch to Auston or did it happen naturally? I imagine at first sign of attraction it became this "want but can't have" instead, Auston settles for friendship but can't help looking over when Mitch is staying over and his chest puffs up and down, trying not to move when he wakes up with a tiny squeak. Maybe there's a bit of jealousy, knowing the other alpha has an omega so perfect.

I think Auston and Mitch probably met through a mutual friend in their freshman year. 

I kind of envision them getting introduced at a party during frosh week or something. 

It’s a pretty lame party, actually, and Auston is honestly considering bailing when Hyms and Brownie come over to say hi with Mitch in tow. 

Mitch Marner, this pretty little omega with the friendliest eyes Auston has ever seen. He’s got this mouth that’s sort of too big for the rest of his face, but it suits him because he’s almost always smiling, sunny and bright. 

Auston likes him the second he meets him.

He and Mitch hit it off literally instantly. Like, to the point where Connor and Zach actually feel like they’re intruding on something? They trade weirded-out looks before silently agreeing that Mitch has this affect on everyone, and make themselves scarce. 

Auston and Mitch spend the rest of the party laughing and kidding around, until they’re asked to play beer pong and absolutely *wreck* their opponents at it. 

So, needless to say, they become fast friends. 

That first year, Auston is staying in the dorms and Mitch is rooming with his boyfriend from back home in the same building. It means that, despite not having any classes together, Mitch and Auston end up seeing a lot of each other.

Auston is pretty damn disappointed when he learns about Mitch’s alpha, because Mitch is funny and sweet. He’s witty, and he knows a ton about hockey, which Auston is incredibly attracted to. 

Obviously, Auston also has eyes. He’s attracted to Mitch’s honest-to-god everything. 

But Auston isn’t in the business of chasing after things he knows he can’t have. He doesn’t do pining, especially over omegas who have already bonded. Kind of like how he doesn’t get crushes on straight guys - what would be the point?

So, he manages to work through it, the whole inconvenient crush thing, and it’s good. He and Mitch make good friends. They go through a lot together over the years, and Auston is just so grateful to have Mitch in any capacity at all.

(Auston never, ever says it to Mitch but he hates Mitch’s alpha from the very start. 

The guy is just... boring. A total homebody. He doesn’t like to take Mitch out to eat, or to go dancing. He won’t go with Mitch to local hockey games. He’s sort of... cold, robotic, if Mitch gets upset to the point of tears.

And it’s just. It’s not really Auston’s business. He just knows that it means he ends up standing in on a lot of dates with Mitch because of it.

They get impossibly closer once Auston gets invited to live in the frat house. Mitch doesn’t want to join the brotherhood, but he loves hanging out with the guys, loves being surrounded by people who are kind and who make him laugh. Who never tease or belittle him for being best friends with an alpha.

He spends many, many nights in Auston’s bed, bundled up in Auston’s spare pajamas. Hindsight sure is something.)

Everything both changes and remains the same when Mitch’s alpha breaks their bond.

At first, Auston doesn’t even think about what it means that Mitch is now technically single. He’s too busy worrying about whether or not Mitch is going to be okay, where he’s going to live, if he’ll ever stop crying. 

The first little while is just Auston in caretaker mode, and then... he’s just desperately trying to avoid taking advantage of Mitch when he’s possibly rebounding, his heart still freshly broken. 

In the end, their wolves decide for them. It takes a mere few months for them to go and accidentally bond to one another, like the roots had taken hold long, long before either one had realized. 

[creative-type]

Murder of Arthur Wright IX

First  Previous AO3

AN: Sorry again for the lack of updates. I kind of hate poetry and have no idea how some got into my story 

Also hawkshaw is Victorian slang for detective

Chapter Nine: Child of Sorrow

Margot reached the Red Griffin Inn as the bells struck noon. She scanned the streets for a familiar face, but Cain was nowhere to be seen. With a mild sigh of irritation she settled outside to wait. It was a cheerful and bright Sunday afternoon, and the traffic showed it. It was the sort of day to spend relaxing outside with loved ones, not investigating gristly murders.

Margot was especially dour after a poor night’s sleep, the new revelations of the Wright family churning in her mind. She was a mage, a woman of science and method, firm in both her opinions and convictions. She believed problems were best dealt with when they were small and manageable—whether that was in the workplace or at home.

The Wrights were messy. Even if Master Wright hadn’t been killed it was the sort of family drama that wouldn’t have been easily solved. In the past Margot had helped students deal with difficult situations at home, and knew on a more personal note that Lyra’s relationship with her mother was…complicated, to say the least. But this seemed different somehow, more tragic after two very preventable deaths.

She supposed part of her disappointment was with Master Wright himself. Their last interaction aside, she had always admired his work and was proud of the opportunity to play a small part in his research. A talent like his only cropped up once or twice in a generation, and with an elf’s longevity Master Wright could have contributed to his field for decades to come.

Margot was not so naïve to believe that being a good mage made one a good person, but it still shook her to have the pedestal of someone she respected—someone she had met and thought she knew, if only a little—crumble so spectacularly.

She was still mulling over her thoughts when Cain appeared ten minutes later lecturing a ratty-looking child in a newsboy cap.

“No scampering off till you make eyes with everyone in the building, then report back to me. Do you understand?”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Unlike your beard, I ain’t stupid. But I’m telling ya, that’s Rockhead territory. Louis broke his arm tanglin’ with one of their gang.”

“You saying you can’t handle it?” Cain asked.

“I’m saying you ain’t paying me to scoop a building and keep clear of the Rockhead lads.”

Cain fished in his pants pocket and thrust a handful of coins at the boy. “That ought to cover your trouble.”

The boy snatched the money almost before Cain had his hand out of his pocket. “It otta. Pleasure doin’ business, Mr. Cain.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Tobe. Ever think of cutting an old man some slack?”

“Only when my purse is as fat as your head,” the boy said with a cheeky grin. He tipped his hat to Margot. “This hawkshaw fancies himself a gentleman, so don’t let ‘em work you without buyin’ lunch first.”

“Tobe!”

The boy melted back into the crowd before Cain could say anything more. He rubbed his eyes, exasperated. “I swear that boy will be the death of me.”

“Who is he?” Margot said, suppressing a smile.

“A common ragamuffin,” Cain said sourly. “A scoundrel of the highest order, pickpocket extraordinaire, and my best informant. I’m having him watch the playhouse where you first met Anansi on a hunch.”

“He’s a kid,” Margot said.

“He’s a runaway who had a very good reason not to want to go back home,” Cain said. “I make sure he’s got money to eat and a fire during the winter, and in exchange get another set of eyes and ears on the street. He’s got a knack for it, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Cain fished out a piece of jerky and sighed. “Do you have a half-penny I can bum? I just gave away all my spare change, and from what you said Anansi’s the type to stick to particulars.”

“You don’t have any in those magic pockets of yours?” Margot said.

“Pocket,” Cain corrected. “The rest are perfectly normal.”

“You never did say how it worked.”

There was a quiet snort, and Cain scratched the back of his head. “I’d hoped you’d forgotten about that. Shoulda known better. To make a long story short, it’s a vanishing pocket. Anything I put in there is technically in a state of existence and non-existence at the same time, which fools most spells protecting against theft—especially in old houses since the technique was only developed a couple of decades ago.”

“You’re lucky the Wright’s haven’t updated the defenses on their estate,” Margot said.

“They can’t, not without undoing a century of spellwork,” Cain said. “That house has had so many protection from fire spells on it you could douse the whole thing in kerosene and it still wouldn’t light. Would you risk taking that away on the off-chance an enterprising detective happens to have a workaround?”

“Tricky,” Margot said, impressed despite herself.

Cain tapped his forehead, grin spreading. “Mind like a steel trap.”

“And no change in your pockets, magic or otherwise.”

“Can’t deny it,” he chuckled.

“Anyway,” Margot said, “it’s probably best if I pay. Anansi very specifically said they would tell me a story.”

“That’s fair. Just remember, we’re trying to find out what Anansi knows about Desdemona.”

They walked inside together. The Red Griffin Inn was the type of place that, while not having the freshest paint or softest pillows, carried a certain amount of charm. It was only a few streets over from where Margot met Anansi for the first time, and catered to the same rough and tumble crowd. But the place was clean and sun streamed through open windows, carrying a fresh breeze along with the sunlight.

Margot’s attention was immediately drawn to a gaggle of children crowding the lobby. Some wore carefully mended clothing and went barefoot, while others were dressed in the crisp, clean linins of a merchant’s child. One girl, whose golden hair had been styled in the latest fashion, sat next to a boy so raggedy he made Tobe look like a prince in comparison. Every eye was glued to an orcish woman who sat at the center of them all.

She was dressed like a sailor and puffed contentedly on a long-stemmed pipe. Laugh lines framed deep-set brown eyes and a streak of white ran through a long braid. Even at a distance Margot could see the faint scars of a brawler across her knuckles.

The woman scanned the children while she smoked, a crooked smile spreading across her face as Margot and Cain settled in near the back. “Noon has come and gone. Who vould hear a story?”

As if by magic a coin appeared in each child’s hand. The woman handed around a battered cap, only pausing when she reached the ragged boy.

“For you, solnyshko, I vould speak a thousand stories,” she said, pressing the coin back in his hand along with a shiny red apple. Where she found one out of season would forever be a mystery, and the boy sat back with his eyes as wide as saucers, the fruit cradled protectively against his chest.

“Now yesterday I told the tale of the great Vizard Hym’s victory over the dread pirate Roberts. Should I continue his story, hmm? Or perhaps you vould like to hear the Dwarf King’s battle against the Lords of Night?”

The girl with the golden curls shot her hand into the air. “I want to hear about the Fairy Queen!”

“No, Khrone the Unkillable!” another shouted.

The woman listened to half a dozen suggestions and discarded them all before a young orcish girl at her feet said, “Can you please tell a story about the Wasted Lady?”

A hush fell over the children as the woman sat back in her chair and took another puff on her pipe. A glint entered her dark eyes, and she smiled. “You vould hear of the Lady? Very well, den. Our tale begins long ago, ven the stars vere still young in the sky…”

It was a story that Margot had heard a dozen times before, but the children were enraptured. Cain chuckled quietly under his breath and whispered to Margo, “When you said Anansi would tell any story in the world for a half-penny, I didn’t think it was literal.”

Margot craned her head at him. “That’s not Anansi.”

“What?”

Margot pointed behind the bar where a pimple-faced and beleaguered young woman was wiping down glasses. She was so unassuming Margot wouldn’t have noticed her, if not for the faint flicker of familiar magic that hid her true form.

“That’s Anansi.”

Cain did a double take. “You’re kidding.” Margot only shook her head, and he rubbed his chin in thought. “Right. Okay then. That’s not what I was expecting.”

“I get the feeling that’s how Anansi prefers it,” Margot said dryly.

Cain grunted in agreement. His eyes darting between where the orcish woman told her story and the false barmaid. Margot could almost see the gears turning in his mind as he processed this new information.

“Alright then,” he said so quietly Margot wondered if he was talking to her or himself. “Two can play that game.”

He strode over to the bar in a way that made his coat billow dramatically behind him. Margot followed in a less ridiculous manner and took the seat next to him. Cain had yet to remove his hat, and the shadows framed his face in a way that might have been intimidating if Margot didn’t already know him.

For a moment Margot felt uneasy. Trying to bully Anansi for information wasn’t going to work, but before she could say anything the not-a-barmaid was before them.

“What’ll it be?”

“It’s quite the crowd you’ve got here,” Cain said conversationally.

“If you don’t like the kids you can leave,” Anansi said. “Gudrid likes ‘em and she owns the place. Now what’ll it be?”

Cain nudged Margot softly in the arm, and she slid her half-penny across the bar. “I hear Gudrid isn’t the only one who knows her way around a story,” Margot said softly, voice laced with deceptive sweetness. “And I’m still looking for Desdemona Wright.”

Anansi blinked in surprise. It was the first time Margot had seen them break character, and her lips curled with the minor victory. The moment was gone almost as soon as it had come, and they regarded Margot carefully, dark eyes unfathomable.

“Still running errands for Felix then? I thought you were smarter than that, darling.”

“May I introduce my associate Mr. Dashiell Cain,” Margot said.

Anansi did the unthinkable and broke character a second time. They whipped their head toward Cain, sudden smile splitting their face. “Of course!” they exclaimed, drawing a look of ire from Gurdrid. Anansi offered a bashful apology before leaning across the bar table.

“You’re Conan’s little project?” they said in a stage whisper. “My goodness, you’ve grown.”

Cain frowned. “Do I know you?”

“No, but I know Conan Westmacott.” Anansi said. “Wonderful man. Spoke very highly of you, you know. I wept when I heard of his retirement. Wept. But it seems to be suiting him well, and he’s got you to follow in his footsteps. It all makes sense now.”

“Mr. Westmacott…talks about me?” Cain said, caught completely off-guard from this revelation.

“Of course, darling! You know, when I wrote that play of his he absolutely insisted on complete and total accuracy. No skimping on details, not even for the little half-orc who helped crack the case once and for all.” Anansi shook Cain’s hand enthusiastically. “Goodness, that’s been almost fifteen years now, hasn’t it? That play was my big break. I owe my career to Mr. Westmacott, and by extension you.”

“You wrote the play about the dwarven counterfeiting ring?” Cain asked.

“Wrote, produced, and acted,” Anansi said proudly. “My first one-man show. Conan thought the illusions were too gimmicky, but audiences loved it.”

“I didn’t know you helped Mr. Westmacott on the counterfeiting case,” Margot said, looking up at Cain.

“I…well, I didn’t. Not really,” he mumbled, his cheeks darkening with a blush. “It was a happy accident. I was just a kid who happened to be in the right place at the right time.” He coughed awkwardly.

“Anyway, that’s not why we’re here,” Cain said, trying to reassert himself. But it was as if the universe itself was trying to amplify his embarrassment. Any authority in his voice was drowned out as Gudrid finished her tale and released the small sea of children back to the streets.

Once they were gone Gudrid sauntered behind the bar and smacked Anansi on the back of the head. “I let you listen if qviet. Go make trouble someplace else.”

Anansi flashed her a charming smile that looked downright wrong on the face they were wearing. “You let me listen because I’m willing to work the bar for free—ow! That was uncalled for!”

Rubbing the back of their head, Anansi turned mulishly back to his audience of Margot and Cain. “See the abuse I put up with? I come trying to learn from the best storyweaver this side of the Tributine, offering free labor and asking nothing in return but to listen…”

Gudrid let out a low growl of warning, and Anansi raised their hands in a pacifying gesture. “I’m going, I’m going! Stars and stones, you’d think I drank all your beer and punched a hole in the wall.”

With nimble movements Anansi vaulted the bar before slinging an arm around both Cain and Margot’s shoulders. “Let’s go someplace more private, shall we? It seems I owe the professor a story of my own.”

Anansi led them to a private table and took the liberty of ordering them drinks. When Gudrid came around Margot took a polite sip and complimented the orc on her ale. The orcish woman softened a little at that, and Anansi was able to spout a cheeky retort without getting smacked.

The relationship between the two made Margot curious, but so curious enough to risk their chance at Desdemona by asking. Once they were are comfortably settled she caught Cain’s eye, and he gave a subtle nod.

“We would like to speak to Desdemona if it’s at all possible,” Margot said. “Do you know where she is?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you, darling,” Anansi said.

“Can’t or won’t?” Cain asked.

Anansi shrugged languidly. “As long as you work for Felix Wright, I fail to see the difference. I’m disappointed, Mr. Cain. Conan never would have taken a client of his sort.”

Cain’s features hardened, but he gave no other reaction. “What’s your beef with Wright junior?”

“He’s a pompous, self-inflated buffoon,” Anansi said. They leaned on their hand and looked at Cain with a dreamy expression. “I’ll admit I don’t know him, but what I saw at the mage’s conference was enough. The conference paid for rooms for all the speakers. I always enjoy speaking with the locals when I travel, and was having a lovely conversation the proprietor of the hotel after my show when young Mr. Wright came stumbling in, drunk and angry. It must have been near two in the morning, the day before his father’s great demonstration and he was near-shouting with the help for not having his rooms ready.”

Anansi went silent for a moment, frowning slightly at the memory. “I was aghast. Felix Wright portrays himself a gentleman, but what sort of gentleman needs his daddy to come down and get him to behave out in public, hmm? I’ve seen his type before, and I despise it. I’ll not lift a finger to aid whatever cause that overgrown child is championing.”

Cain and Margot shared a look. The story Anansi told was completely at odds with Felix’s tale of the night before the murder. But which one was telling the truth?

“What exactly did Master and Mr. Wright say to one another in the lobby?” Cain asked.

“Oh, Master Wright knew better than to cause a scene in public,” Anansi said. “But I would give one of my eyeteeth to have been a fly on the wall in their room.”

“What about the performance itself?” Margot asked. “I was told The Death of Desdemona was written anonymously.”

“You heard rightly,” Anansi said. “People often give me copies of their work. I honestly don’t recall where I picked it up. The play itself is nothing special, there was a line of verse that caught my attention. That’s the only portion I performed at the conference.”

Anansi cleared their voice, and their demeanor changed, the playful trickster replaced by the famed performer. And with the change came a new face. Gone was the comely human, and in its stead was an elven woman with long brown hair. Almond-shaped eyes were the color of emeralds, her skin a rich olive complexion.  

It was not the face of Desdemona Wright. The girl in Master Wright’s photograph had brown eyes, and even at the tender age of five it was obvious that the Wright twins took after their mother. The mask Anansi wore bore little resemblance to that of Adaline Wright, but at a distance, in a darkened performance hall…

Margot tried to think of it from Felix’s point of view. It had been a decade since he’d last seen Desdemona. Her name alone shook him, perhaps enough to subliminally suggest that the woman he saw on stage was in fact his sister.

Whether the guise fooled Master Wright was another matter entirely, but Margot could believe that the name, along with a face that bore a slight resemblance to his daughter, would be enough for him to storm back stage and demand answers.

All of this flashed though Margot’s mind in the time it took Anansi to finish their illusion. In the blink of an eye she wasn’t in the Red Griffin Inn, but the grand stage of Benson Hall where Anansi stood on stage. The auditorium was dim save for a spotlight where Anansi stood.

Margot gripped the arm rests of her seat. She knew it was only an illusion. She knew. But her senses disagreed with what her brain knew to be true. She could feel the uncomfortable wooden seat, taste the familiar buzz of two hundred mages sitting in the same space.

Anansi spoke, their voice clear and ringing throughout the auditorium.

“Child of sorrow, none do mourn Alas, tis fate, now bear their scorn Lord and Lady turn their face And abandon thee in thy disgrace

Child of sorrow, none do mourn From friend and kin cruelly torn Fortune’s favorite son turns his head And finds another in your stead

Child of sorrow, none do mourn Lost in mis’ry, wandering lorn Seeking, searching as silence swallows pity’s cry Your father’s daughter bids thee die

The sun soon rises on an empty grave Though once abandon’d, hope doth save Child of sorrow, none do mourn As fire consumest dross, thou hast been reborn”

Each word was dripped in honey and hit with the power of a berserking orc. When Anansi finished Margot’s heart ached and tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she didn’t know why. She was not sentimental enough to fall apart over a melodramatic poem, but with Anansi’s performance that didn't seem to matter.

Suddenly Margot was back at the inn. Anansi offered her a kerchief, an apologetic smile on their face.

“I’m sorry, darling. I forget sometimes the affect it can have the first time”

“Hells bells,” Cain breathed. “That was…wow.”

“It’s not a great work by any means,” Anansi said. “It doesn’t scan and there’s no meter to speak of, but sometimes even a poorly written piece can have meaning.”

“A really depressing meaning,” Cain said.

Anansi raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Cain, do you know what the name Desdemona means?”

“Not a clue.”

“Ill-starred,” Anansi said. “Unlucky, miserable, and—dare I say it—sorrow. The death of Desdemona is the death of misfortune.”

“Reborn through hope,” Margot said.

“Exactly!” Anansi said. “Whoever the author was, they weren’t writing a lament. They were writing a celebration.”