#i love this world half built and half crumbling and real

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

I don't get this whole obsession with "Arcane is flawed!" Yeah, of course it is. It took big risks and most of them paid off but not all, and that's the point of risk. I'd rather see them take those risks and achieve amazing things some of the time than to play it safe the whole way.

And, well, what did Jayce say? "There's beauty in imperfection.".

[lauren-ce]

"A Nightmare at Green Lake" is a Queer Coming-Out Story

[This essay has a PDF version; the images are crisper there]

I'm probably nine months late to this particular party, but I just finished the excellent Reverse: 1999 event "A Nightmare at Green Lake" and wanted to make a case for reading it as a story about coming out, focusing on Blonney and her repressed sexuality. It's a love letter to horror films, and a love letter to girls that love girls. Crucially, it is more the latter than the former; Green Lake is a coming-out story that uses the horror film trappings as a storytelling device, not a hard and fast rule. Spoilers for the entire event.

(All my screenshots are taken from this video, which does a wonderful job capturing the entire event.)

The inciting incident in Green Lake began years before. Jennifer visits the camp regularly as a child, writing horror stories in her diary and reading them to Jessica, who loves them. Then, Jennifer suddenly has to move away, and thus, the Incident takes place.

Blonney/Jennifer threw her diary into the lake when she was forced to leave, drowning three things:

1). Her horror stories and love of horror

2). Her acceptance of her identity as an Arcanist

3). Her gay-ass self

She joins human society despite being Different and tries to blend in. She changes her name to Blonney, feigns an interest in fashion, and conforms to social norms. "Monstrous and forbidden" becomes a theme in this event which describes horror, but it also describes queer identity (this will be important later). Blonney discards her identity, drowning it in the lake.

Now allow me the rest of this rambling essay to make a point for that third thing (and to make the case that "loving horror" and "being an Arcanist" is the same thing as "being gay"). Throughout the first half of the event, we see Blonney consistently reject her love of horror movies. She calls them cliche and stupid, easy to make and low-class. Despite secretly loving them, she's built up a persona that isn't allowed to like horror.

Yet she takes an awful lot of offense to criticism of her script. . .

Anne, a recent hire to replace a sick member of Blonney's film crew (who is secretly Jessica in disguise), is mistreated by Blonney for being a naive, small-town country bumpkin that doesn't know anything. Within the movie that Blonney is shooting, Anne is typecast as the "Virgin": Christian, unassuming, sheltered, in contrast to Blonney's "Blondie": indulgent, vain, etc.

Oops, are the characters in the fake movie they're shooting maybe perhaps based on their real-world counterparts???

A contrast is drawn between the two by Blonney and the narrative at first. Throughout the rest of the event, the distance between them and their character archetypes will crumble. The important thing to remember is that Anne/Jessica is a representation of everything Blonney has rejected about herself.

As actual horror-movie type events begin to happen to the group, the characters are genre-savvy enough to realize they're in a horror story. The culprit, though this isn't revealed until later, is Anne/Jessica. She's an Arcanist and has been using her shapeshifting abilities to make a horror movie happen to the group. Ironically, the group looks to Anne as the "Last Girl", the pure and unsullied one that will survive the night.

In actuality, this is a false flag. Since Anne is Jessica is the Monster, she can't be the Last Girl.

The Last Girl is actually Blonney:

I spoiled it already, but the viewer doesn't learn until the halfway point that Blonney is actually from the area, having grown up and making frequent visits. This is why she sees herself in Anne, a gay girl from a small town. Game recognize game, gay recognize gay. Blonney uses a fake name for a fake identity. Jessica sees her actual self, and calls her Jennifer. This isn't a deadnaming, Anne/Jessica sees Blonney as she truly is deep down. Though Blonney doesn't realize it, Anne cuts her to her core, which directly leads to her mistreatment.

Anne's peculiar interactions with Blonney are some of the first hints we get of the true narrative: Why is Anne so nice to her, despite the way she's treated? And more importantly, how would Anne, a newcomer to Blonney's film crew, know Blonney's real name/true identity? Blonney certainly never would've told her, she rejects her own identity, after all. This is a big nod to the true workings of the plot. Anne knows more than what she lets on. Why does Blonney not realize that Anne knows more than she should? Because Blonney is actively trying to reject that part of her—she's blind to it. If she were to acknowledge that Anne knows her true self, then the story would already be over.

On top of rejecting her love of horror, Blonney also rejects her identity as an Arcanist. This identity alienates her from her friends—they consider her a peer up until the horror story begins happening to them. The very second it is no longer convenient, they reject her as one of them and other her. The only member of her original film crew that doesn't reject her for being an Arcanist is, you guessed it, Anne.

However much you despise us, many brilliant playwrights are Queer. I mean—"Arcanists".

Horror events continue happening: a butcher chases around members of the group and monsters attack others. Vertin (R1999's main character), along with Horrorpedia, Sonetto, and Tooth Fairy, provide support, killing monsters and moving the plot along. In many of the monsters the groups find notes, pieces of paper that begin to tell a story—stories within the story. Using their knowledge of horror tropes, the main characters stay alive while Blonney's human film crew seemingly perishes at the hands of the various monster assailants.

After one such attack, Tooth Fairy (an Arcanist), gives first aid to Blonney. During the scene the two have a small argument. Tooth Fairy refuses to use Arcanist medicine to treat Blonney, because Blonney sees herself as a human. This gives Blonney a chance at some introspection, her first time opening up during this event.

Even Blonney's blood knows the truth she's suppressed.

All this happens while Tooth Fairy treats her wounds. Interesting that they're on her inner thigh, hmmm? A MILFy doctor rendering first aid to a girl's inner thighs while explaining that she's rejecting her own identity? I'm sure there's nothing to read into here.

As the plot progresses, Anne repeatedly risks her life to save Blonney. She leaps from a car to save her from a monster, and she later kills the butcher that's been chasing them. This earns her Blonney's trust, which leads to the big, plot-turning confession. At the halfway mark, Blonney is able to sit down with Anne/Jessica and confides in her.

A gay awakening ensues: Blonney feels down about her loss of identity, wanting to reclaim her love of horror. Her facade, she explains, is just that. Blonney threw away her identity as a horror-loving Arcanist in an effort to integrate with society. This conversation takes place after a danger has just been defeated, yet is one of the emotional climaxes. Blonney begins to want to accept her true identity. Throughout, Jessica repeatedly praises Blonney, telling her how amazing and wonderful she is, all the while the two cuddle on a couch.

*Does a gay little hair flip after holding hands. "You can be rougher with me, you know."

To her horror, the rest of the group hears. They had this discussion in the same room, after all, but in contrast to Blonney's old friend group, her new friends support her wholeheartedly. Then, Tooth Fairy hands Blonney the symbol of her self-actualization: her diary, which she'd found in the attic (yes, the same diary that had been thrown into the lake!!! Blonney has now retrieved her diary, her love of horror, and her identity as an Arcanist, all the things she threw away as a child.

Blonney retrieves her diary, which represents suppressed homosexuality through multiple metaphors, and achieves self-actualization thanks to her supportive friend group and a girl with a massive crush on her. The Monstrous and Forbidden are now part of her. Now the gay things really step up.

What happens next is a direct result of Blonney coming to terms with her queerness: a woman in a wedding dress shows up and attempts to marry her.

Monstrous and Forbidden, all in one package.

The woman is a zombie (because we're working with horror tropes, yeah?) but the message couldn't be more clear. Blonney has opened up to Anne/Jessica about loving horror (being queer). Now Blonney must face what that means. Consider: the corpse bride searches for her beloved (literally another bride, this could not be more fucking clear). Who is to play bride to the corpse bride? It's Blonney! The corpse bride forces Blonney down and puts a wedding ring onto her finger. The narrative has allowed Blonney to come out—now it will test her resolve.

The corpse bride is a mixed bag of metaphors. Textually, the corpse bride is a character from the horror story written in Blonney's diary. She was killed by her husband and searches for him so she can place the wedding ring back on his finger. Metatextually, the bride represents Jessica: Blonney abandoned her, effectively "killing" her. Now the scorned bride searches for her lost love.

To sum up: Jessica=Corpse Bride:

1). She searches for her lost love every night (Jessica misses Blonney)

2). She wears a hempen collar (brides don't wear collars, but Jessica does)

Blonney rises to the challenge, she defeats the corpse bride with her newfound arcanist powers, and the group pieces together the clues that the bodies carry. Her new friends are proud of her!

Horrorpedia (annoying fuckwad that he is) nicely sums up the message: by embracing their identities, they can fight back.

All the horror story clues lead to the dead body in the water. "But wait," you say, "Green Lake doesn't feature a dead body in the water." Wrong! Blonney was dead all along, remember? The corpse is Blonney's diary! Her dead body is the horror-loving gay self she killed when she threw her diary into the lake to reject her identity!

More plot happens; the story reaches a climax with Blonney using her magic to aid the group's escape from a lighthouse. On the same shore that Blonney first told Jessica all her horror stories, the same shore she killed her identity on, they confront Jessica, now revealed as the Monster. This whole plotline is the result of Blonney rejecting her identity; now is the time to make everything right.

Jessica is proud of Blonney becoming her true self. However, she's also tired of waiting for her. She's tired of being alone. Jessica offers Blonney a life of bliss: a soft bed of moss for them to share, the sweetest forest fruits, and monsters to keep her company.

When Blonney refuses to live at Green Lake forever with her, it's taken as a rejection. A fight ensues—Blonney and her group win, but the emotional arc of the story has yet to resolve.

Blonney has a chance to reject her queer identity once more. She both does and doesn't. Blonney accepts the monstrous and forbidden by accepting Jessica, a literal monster, and her queerness, the Forbidden. She rejects the monstrous and forbidden by asking Jessica to come with her, to rejoin society, to hide their identities as Arcanists (queer) and live together. Jessica rejects this. She will not be closeted. (The fear she feels at being outed as an arcanist is very similar to the fear of being outed as queer in a hostile society, eh?) This of course puts Blonney under duress—how can the story end happily?

Vertin comes in with a grenade of an offer: Jessica can come stay in the St. Pavlov Institute with her and learn to coexist with people like her. She can live with people that don't see her as weird, despite being monstrous (queer), an Arcanist (queer), and a lover of horror (queer). Vertin hasn't done much up to this point outside of moving the plot along and fighting monsters; this is her time to shine, and she shines like the lesbian lodestar we know her to be. Her conversation with Jessica is tinged with language that could easily be read as romantic, but Vertin isn't here to steal anyone's girl, she's here to offer a happy ending for everyone that guarantees the goal of each party is fulfilled. Vertin's presence is what allows this story to ultimately break free from its horror trappings. Her third option is not a compromise; it is the ending we wanted.

And what an ending it is! It's happy and good in every possible way it could be. The happiness of the ending is a large part of why I call this a coming-out story primarily rather than a horror tale. A slasher film like the ones this event draws inspiration from would see Blonney (the true Final Girl) as the only survivor of her group, still running from the monster and her own self. Instead, all her friends survive, having been held captive in Jessica's den. Blonney comes into her own; she and Jessica reconcile—we get the gay end!

Blonney leaves to finish college as a self-actualized queer woman; Jessica acheives her wish of never being alone and joins the institute to gain an education herself. I have no doubt that they will reunite, and soon: the entire plot of R1999 is Vertin recruiting every arcanist she can to ensure their safety from the Storm. Blonney's future leads directly to St. Pavlov. (For further supporting evidence, see her voice line about taking Jessica for a walk! Even before Blonney graduates, they get to be togetherrrrrrrrrrr!)

Even if you don't play R1999, please please check out this event. It has a lot to say, and it's one of my favorite things I've read all year. The soundtrack fucking whips, and it goes far in helping balm the weeping wound of the tragic yuri that is Vertin/Schneider.

Again, give some love to the video that made this document possible.

I've rambled long enough, so I'll let Tooth Fairy wrap this up with a bow: Love Wins

[bokutosbabe]

hiii idk if this is where im supposed to put the spotify wrapped request thingy LMAO😭

but my top artist is lana del rey and my top song is apocalypse by cas :))

ofc!! i’m fine with either comments or asks being sent in— i have a spreadsheet to make sure i get everyone!

if your top artist was lana del rey & your top song was apocalypse by cigarettes after sex, i'd pair you with...

michael kaiser

જ⁀♡⊹｡° come out and haunt me

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event :)

♡ content — michael kaiser x gn! reader, gn! reader, situationship, reader has feelings for kaiser, closed off kaiser

♡ synopsis — michael kaiser has built his world up from nothing, and he can't allow you to be the one that makes it crumble...no matter how much he wishes he could.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the glow of the city lights filtering through the sheer curtains. They painted the room in soft, shifting colors—an amber hue that felt as fleeting as he was.

Kaiser was leaning against the doorway, shirt half-buttoned, his usual smirk absent for once. His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and distant, like he was already somewhere else entirely.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked, the words hanging thick in the air like smoke.

You turned to look at him, your lips parting as if to speak, but the words refused to come. How were you supposed to explain the weight sitting on your chest? The way every moment with him felt like holding onto something that was already slipping through your fingers?

“I’m just tired,” you said instead, your voice quieter than you intended.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides, his movements always so fluid, so self-assured. Sitting beside you, he reached for your hand, his touch both familiar and unfamiliar. You wanted to lean into him, to find comfort in his presence, but something held you back.

“You’re lying,” he said softly, his tone almost teasing, but there was an edge to it—a crack in the façade he always wore so effortlessly.

You pulled your hand away, wrapping your arms around yourself instead. “What do you want me to say, Michael?”

“Anything,” he said, his voice sharper now. “Anything other than nothing.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The truth was, you didn’t know how to tell him what you were feeling—that every kiss, every touch, every stolen moment felt like the end of the world. That being with him felt like standing in the eye of a storm, calm and chaotic all at once.

How do you tell the man that built himself up from nothing, the man that finds pleasure in you every week, the man that you know has no room in his life for love...that you may be falling for him?

“Why do you always do this?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound steady. “Why do you pull me in like this and then push me away?”

He flinched, just barely, but it was enough to make you pause.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said after a long silence, his voice quieter now, almost fragile. “You have to know that.”

“Then stop,” you said, turning to look at him. “Stop treating me like I’m just another thing you can walk away from when it gets too real.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might actually say something—something that would make it all make sense. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached for your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek like he was memorizing the feel of you.

“I wish I could be what you need,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t.”

The tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you looked away, unable to bear the sight of him anymore.

The city lights outside the window blurred into a mess of colors, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what it felt like to lose him—to love him.

A quiet apocalypse.

ugh i love this song so much

i hope you like it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[incorrectgliyeraba]

"and glinda in gowns, waiting to be good enough to deserve what she gets"

in another life you were my babe / in another life you were the sunshine of my lifetime / what would you trade the pain for? i'm not sure so much (for) stardust // fall out boy // twice the dreams / but half the love / be careful what you bottle up / the chemistry is a mess, it seems / but me i'm still a sunbeam heaven, iowa // fall out boy // i've got all this love i've got to keep to myself / all this effort to make it look effortless flu game // fall out boy // things don't feel the same like they did back then but i, i don't mind / the past don't mean shit to me, shit to me, shit to me... / (now that's a lie) oceans // frank iero // time is luck and i wish ours overlapped more or for longer / orange leaves bore the ones falling off trees / the first time i took the mask off, just had another one on underneath baby annihilation // fall out boy // you are my favorite what if / you are my best i'll never know fourth of july // fall out boy // woke up on the wrong side of p-paradise / and when i say i'm sorry i'm late / i wasn't showing up at all / i really mean i didn't plan on showing up at all / don't you, don't you, don't you know / i hate all my friends, i miss the days when i pretended / i hate all my friends, i miss the days when i pretended with you / i miss the days when i pretended with you, with you wilson (expensive mistakes) // fall out boy // we're the new face of failure / prettier and younger, but not any better off / bulletproof loneliness / at best, at best i'm like a lawyer with the way i'm always trying to get you off (me & you) // fall out boy // ever since we met / i've got just one regret to live through / and i regret never letting you know! nearly witches (ever since we met...) // panic! at the disco // "yeah, it's cool, i'll be okay" / as i felt your pain wash over me / so i dry your eyes and hide my shakes / 'cause i hate the look that's on your face joyriding // frank iero // well you built up a world of magic / because your real life is tragic / yeah you built up a world of magic brick by boring brick // paramore // and then she said she can't believe / genius only comes along / in storms of fabled foreign tongues / tripping eyes, and flooded lungs / northern downpour sends its love northern downpour // panic! at the disco // it's a campaign of distraction / (distraction) / revisionist history, oh! / (and revisionist history) / it's a shame, i don't think that they'll notice / (it's a shame, i don't think that they'll notice) / it's a shame i doubt they even care / (it's a shame, i don't think that they care) / no one is to know about this ghost man on third // taking back sunday // there's blood on my hands / like the blood in you / some things can't be treated / so don't make me, / don't make me be myself around you blood on my hands // the used // if i smile with my teeth / bet you believe me / if i smile with my teeth / i think i believe me fake happy // paramore // and i'm yours 'til the earth starts to crumble and the heavens roll away / i'm struggling to exist with you and without you, yeah bishops knife trick // fall out boy

[inkspiredwriting]

Echoes of Tomorrow

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: angst, sad

The once vibrant and bustling home of the Hargreeves family now lay in ruins, a desolate wasteland of charred wood and twisted metal. Smoke still curled from the remains of the house, a haunting reminder of the catastrophe that had torn through their lives. Y/n Hargreeves stood at the edge of the devastation, her heart a hollow ache in her chest as she surveyed the wreckage.

Her eyes scanned the debris, searching for any sign of the life they had built together. Each step she took sent ash and rubble shifting beneath her feet, the acrid scent of smoke and destruction burning in her throat. She felt numb, the shock of the loss still too raw, too overwhelming to fully comprehend.

Her home, their sanctuary, was gone. The memories, the laughter, the love that had filled these walls—all reduced to ash and ruin. And Five… Five was gone too. The thought was like a knife twisting in her heart, a pain so deep it left her gasping for breath.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through the remnants, searching for something—anything—that had survived the inferno. She found a few scorched photographs, the edges curled and blackened, the faces barely recognizable through the soot and grime. A broken piece of a picture frame, a melted clock. Ghosts of the life they had once known.

It was then that she saw it, half-buried beneath a pile of debris—a charred, leather-bound book, its cover cracked and blackened by the flames. She reached out with shaking hands, carefully lifting it from the wreckage. Her heart pounded in her chest as she opened it, the brittle pages crumbling slightly at the edges.

It was a diary. Five’s diary.

The words were faded, the ink smeared and blurred by water and heat, but she could still make out the handwriting—Five’s meticulous, looping script. Her fingers traced the letters, her eyes filling with tears as she realized what she was holding.

May 4th, 2023

Today, Y/n and I talked about our future. It’s strange, thinking about a future when I’ve spent so much of my life jumping through time, never staying in one place for long. But with her… I can see it. A home, a family. I’ve never felt this way before. I want to build something real with her.

June 17th, 2023

We talked about kids today. Y/n laughed and said she couldn’t imagine me as a father, but I could see the hope in her eyes. I told her I’d try my best, that I’d be there for her and our children, no matter what. She smiled, and for a moment, I could almost see it—little feet running through our house, laughter filling the air. It’s a future I never thought I’d want, but now… it’s all I can think about.

August 9th, 2023

We found the perfect house today. It’s small, but cozy. Y/n loves the garden, says she can picture us growing old together there. I told her it doesn’t matter where we live, as long as we’re together. She kissed me and said she felt the same. I want to make this place our home, fill it with memories, with love. I want to give her the life she deserves.

October 12th, 2023

Today was perfect. We spent the day planning our future, dreaming about the life we’re going to build together. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. I love her more than I ever thought possible. I’m going to marry her, start a family with her. We’re going to be happy. I just know it.

Y/n’s tears fell onto the pages, smearing the ink even further, but she couldn’t stop reading. Each entry was like a dagger to her heart, a reminder of the dreams they had shared, the future they had planned. She could hear his voice in every word, feel his love in every sentence.

She clutched the diary to her chest, her body shaking with sobs. The weight of the loss crashed over her, the pain of knowing that the life they had dreamed of was now just ashes and memories. She had lost everything—their home, their future, and the man she loved more than anything in the world.

Y/n sat amidst the ruins, the diary cradled in her lap, her eyes staring blankly at the devastation around her. The sun was setting, casting a golden glow over the wreckage, the sky ablaze with the colors of dusk. It was a cruel reminder that life went on, even in the face of unimaginable loss.

She thought of Five, of the dreams they had shared, the love they had built. She could almost feel him beside her, his hand in hers, his voice whispering words of comfort and hope. But he was gone, and she was left alone in a world that felt empty and cold without him.

“I miss you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I love you so much, Five. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The wind picked up, rustling through the debris, carrying with it the faint scent of smoke and ash. Y/n closed her eyes, imagining that it was Five’s hand brushing against her cheek, his voice in her ear.

She knew that she would have to go on, that she would have to find a way to rebuild her life. But in that moment, surrounded by the ruins of their home and the echoes of their dreams, all she could do was mourn the future they had lost.

As the first stars appeared in the twilight sky, Y/n stood slowly, clutching the charred diary to her chest. She took one last look at the ruins of their home, the place where they had dreamed of building their future together.

“I’ll carry your dreams with me,” she whispered, her voice filled with determination and love. “I’ll keep them alive, for both of us.”

With that promise in her heart, she turned and walked away from the ruins, her steps slow and heavy, but resolute. She knew that the road ahead would be long and hard, but she would face it with the strength of the love they had shared and the dreams they had built together.

And as she walked, the stars above shone brighter, their light a beacon of hope in the darkness, guiding her towards a future where the echoes of their love would always be with her.

[goofygoldengirl]

Food for Thought: Mithrun as a Survivor of Sexual Violence

While going through the dungeon meshi manga tag here on tumblr and browsing the dungeon meshi subreddit, I noticed there were a lot of posts about experience, agency, and how this would affect a character’s decisions on pursing romantic relationships with others. Many of these posts focused on Falin, her past trauma, and her quest for self discovery. Here, I would like to discuss a character that I notice whose experiences and their impact on potential relationships are overlooked. As for why, it is probable for that for many people this character’s trauma was too close to real life. It comes across as no surprise that many readers have drawn a parallel between Mithrun’s backstory as the lord of the dungeon and loosing his desires, to that of a person who was sexually assaulted or raped.

As mentioned in the paragraph above, this essay will discuss triggering topics such as sex/ sexual functioning, sexual assault, and rape. Please proceed with caution.

Mithrun’s Backstory & The Assault Parallel

In chapter 62, Mithrun recounts to Kabru how the winged lion made him lord of the dungeon. He encountered an enchanted mirror which provoked his insecurity and jealousy over his brother’s closeness to the woman he loved. The winged lion appeared to him as a goat and granted him a life where he did not serve his duties as a part of the canaries. Thus, Mithrun spent five years living a charmed life where he had everything he wanted, including a relationship with the woman he loved. As his desires intensified, the winged lion grew stronger, and bit by bit the facade it had built for Mithrun crumbled around him. Once reaching its full power, the goat cornered Mithrun and proceeded to eat his desires except the one for revenge.

In the beginning, it is notable that the goat demon takes the appearance of a kid, not an adult goat. If Mithrun hadn’t clarified that it was a goat, many readers would have automatically assumed it was a lamb. In many cultures, especially western cultures with a Christian background, the lamb represents innocence, youth, as well as sacrifice. What is presented in this chapter is an inversion of this belief. Here, the demon takes on a trusting, unassuming form to manipulate Mithrun, and it is clear as the flashback goes on that the more Mithrun is immersed in the world of the dungeon, that he is being being fattened and set up to be the sacrifice to satiate the demon’s hunger.

It is revealed that every person, including the woman Mithrun loves, are actually monsters, disguised by the goat to take on elven form. The woman herself is in fact a lamia, a half human-half serpentine being that comes from Ancient Greek mythology. Lamia had were said to prey upon young men by seducing then eating them. The lamia’s presence by Mithrun’s side serves as a reminder to the audience of the goat’s true intentions.

In the panels themselves where the goat eats Mithrun’s desires, the event is reminiscent of a sexual attack. The goat barges into Mithrun’s bedchambers, a place associated with relaxation, privacy, and intimate encounters. It salivates as it begins to eat Mithrin and audibly enjoys the process, which shows that its mouth penetrates through Mithrun’s body. As it dawns upon him what is going on, Mithrun, unable to move, and paralyzed, screams for the goat to stop.

One thing that stuck out while reading this section, particularly in the last panel, is that the goat’s position while eating the desires is similar to that a person might assume if they were giving oral sex to another. In most mainstream media, no matter the country, it is still incredibly taboo to depict or reference any form of oral sex compared to a penetrative act. This framing choice was undoubtably intentional to elicit shock from the reader.

Additionally, when one thinks of desire or lack of, they automatically correlate it to the heart or the mind. If a writer is given to task to come up with a scenario where a villain consumes desires, there’s a chance they would opt for other forms of violence. They may write about a character’s heart being ripped from their chest, or being psychologically drained, which could result in death. This contrasts greatly to compared to Dungeon Meshi’s depiction of the consumption of Mithrun’s desires, and that he survives. While the goal initially eats from Mithrun’s chest, it moves its head so that it settles into Mithrun’s abdomen. Anatomy wise for humans (and assuming elves as well) the abdominal cavity contains the digestive organs and is situated above the male internal reproductive organs. By having the goat target such a delicate area of Mithrun’s body, the line between hunger for food and hunger for sex is blurred. Upon being discovered by the canaries, Mithrun is hanging by a thread. He is scarred both physically and emotionally, and has lost all motivation to live. The only thing keeping him alive is his desire to kill the demon. Mithrun’s precarious state is similar to the situation as well as motivation that is commonly found in media where a victim of sexual violence seeks revenge against their assailant.

Biological & Psychological Response

At the end of the manga, Mithrun has embarked on a journey to regain his desires and to find a new purpose in life. Taking into consideration that the physical toll on Mithrun would be similar to that of an individual who faced an extremely life threatening situation, his body would first focus on getting him back to baseline. This entails in making sure that he digests and stores the nutrients he needs, is able to recharge through sleep, build up the reserves to fight off infection, as well as excrete waste products. Once the body has reached baseline, it begins to focus on other processes, one of them being sexual response. As noted in individuals with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), it is common for the ability to become sexually aroused to take a long time to return, as well as the possibility that it could be impaired by stress. For an elf like Mithrun, going back to sexual functioning to how it used to be before the dungeon might take anywhere from months to years. As a male, Mithrun is likely to experience difficulty obtaining and/or maintaining an erection, and perhaps trouble having an orgasm and ejaculating, both of which could be potential sources of stress if he were to be intimate with another person.

Psychologicaly, there are three factors that comes to play as to how Mithrun would confront the possibility of a relationship or sexual encounter. The first is his demeanor. Throughout the manga, Mithrun is described as stoic and lacking emotion due to the absence of desires. By the end, Mithrun is shown to slowly regain his feelings. This is seen in chapter 94 when the realization that he deep down wanted the winged lion to eat him moved him to tears. If post manga, Mithrun begins to process the forty plus years of trauma he endured, the sudden influx of emotion that he hasn’t handled in years may come to him as a shock.

The second factor is trust. In the dungeon, Mithrun lived with a being he believed to be the love of his life. They would have spent time together, confided in each other, as well as shared affectionate and intimate moments together. The reveal that the woman of his dreams, the woman he would have been vulnerable with physically, emotionally and sexually, was a monster, and that the winged lion created her to deceive him would have devastated him. Mithrun is a naturally guarded person, and the betrayal of trust he experienced would cause him to be suspicious of those around him, especially those close to him since in his mind they have the most potential to hurt him.

Thirdly, the possibility that Mithrun’s trauma could resurface while having sexual contact with another person is very high. If the demon eating Mithrun’s desires is taken to represent a sexual assault as discussed in the previous section, Mithrun might be triggered by receiving oral or being in a situation where he is penetrated or he has to penetrate others.

Implications

In an ideal world, Mithrun would be able to seek out or be referred to a professional who specializes in mental health, whether it be getting prescribed medication, going through therapy with a trauma specialist, or other interventions. In the world of Dungeon Meshi, not much is known about the state or evolution of its healthcare services. One of the post manga chapters features a support group for former dungeon lords, suggesting that some form of therapy would be available to him. Mithrun may at first show reluctance to enter a relationship, be untrusting of his partner, and become overwhelmed by emerging emotions he had long repressed as well as his body’s physical reaction to sexual stimuli. A relationship between himself, an established character, or an original one, would need an open line of communication between all parties, as well as a high amount of empathy and patience for it to be successful.

Sources

[the5n00k]

Ollie Chen and the Concept of Identity and Self Worth

Not as long as the other analyses so I won't cut it this time

Quite a few people have boiled down this character's entire arc to prejudice and unlearning taught behaviors but I refuse to believe that is all there is to this character. Especially after one of his biggest episodes came After his redemption arc and explored his insecurities. Which is where I come in and lay them out for you in a long, convoluted, half asleep essay detailing what makes this character so interesting and personally relatable to myself! (Sadly)

Ollie is a good kid. He was raised to believe and build his entire personality and life off of the idea that he is the good guy and ghosts are the bad guys. He's disappointed in himself when he thinks he's failed the "greater good" of Brighton by losing the story sprite in Book Marks the Sprite. It's not hard to see he has a major hero complex and believes that if he's not saving the day himself, he's disappointing everyone. It's not ever spoken but it could be a product of his father.

Ruben Chen is ALSO very goal oriented and on a one track mission to rid the world of ghosts with more passion than his other family members. He's the one that single handedly convinced the entire family that ghosts are bad because of a traumatic experience. By failing to capture a ghost, Ollie is failing his dad. Everyone at some point in their lives has wanted to make their parents (or somebody they look up to) proud. And it's devastating to him to believe that he doesn't. He reminds me of Varian from Tangled the Series in that aspect, trying to make his father proud and putting on a persona when he's just a scared little kid. (Another character I was skeptical about joining the main cast of characters I was familiar with only to fall madly in love with his character arc)

Another thing he's built his life around is the title "research specialist". He's the so-called "expert" on ghosts according to the GCC metube introductory video. So during A Frightmare on Main Street, when Molly, the first person he bonded with in this new town, the first person he told about their ghost hunting, his CRUSH, tells him he knows NOTHING about real ghosts?

He is DEVASTATED.

His whole life, his title, crumbled in an evening. Faced with the reality that he had been misinformed since birth and that him and his family are the REAL bad guys. He denies it, (multiple times before this too, so much so that Molly was so fed up, she finally said what she had been feeling about his family's ideology for MONTHS) obviously that is one difficult truth to just suddenly accept. But he eventually comes to terms with it. Happy ending, right? He's not a bad guy anymore! Well...

Here's where the self worth comes in. If he's not a ghost hunter and isn't part of a team doing good anymore, who is he? He was the research specialist, he had a mildly successful metube channel with his family (who still hunt ghosts btw!), if he's not useful to them, what's his purpose?

They don't really explore this aspect very much aside from visually showing it to the audience in the episode The Unhaunting of Brighton Video. He's seen not quite keeping up with the rest of his new group, The Ghost Friends. He's awkward, out of sync, doesn't understand their inside jokes, he's almost completely excluded for the first part of the episode. Scratch even voted against him joining the group to begin with. (Apparently Libby voted for him with Molly, I wish we could have seen that exchange and dramatic gasp of betrayal from Scratch) It doesn't help that the ghost is yelling at him for most of the episode for being a screw up despite being a screw up himself.

Honestly Ollie and Scratch have more in common than you'd think in terms of reinventing yourself and being afraid of your past but that's a post for another day.

The next episode I get this read from is Let's Play Turnipball. In it, Ollie plays a very convoluted and confusing local game along with Molly's coaching. And right away you can tell he is Not confident and that she is totally overselling him. He knows he's going to let everyone down because he can't remember any of the stupid rules. He tries his best and for the most part is successful until he loses them the game by accident. (While Perfektborg is actively trying to lose, hope Molly didn't tell him that) He kicks, curses the game, and walks away to go mope about his loss. He just wanted to prove himself in this new town he's still unfamiliar with. He wanted to be useful otherwise he would have just told Molly he didn't want to play anymore. But he didn't want to let anyone down.

But then, the entire town embraces him in a celebration!

He's... confused. But excited! And accepts the town's appreciation. It was so nice to finally see him get a dub for once.

My conclusion for this? Ollie was raised misinformed and misled for his entire life, yes. But that affected him beyond his anti-ghost agenda. He became reliant on being the hero (A Frightmare on Main Street) and stubborn in his beliefs, believing everyone else wrong. He's TERRIFIED for most of the season because of this, by far the jumpiest member of the ghost friends. He's traumatized by horror stories and insurmountable expectations of saving the world from a supernatural threat that isn't even there. Unless you count the frightmares in which case, yeah, sure, I'll give you that. So when all of that was ripped away from him and turned on its head, his entire self image SHATTERED.

I almost wish we had an episode to explore that but it doesn't seem like we'll get that. But this scared, confused boy is finally coming to terms with the fact that he doesn't have to be The Ghost Hunter or Molly's Hero to be useful. Heck, he doesn't even need to have Molly to be in the show. (UNLIKE SOME LOVE INTERESTS COUGH COUGH WENDY COUGH COUGH WASTED POTENTIAL)

He's becoming his own person outside of The Ghost Chaser Chens. And I'm excited to see how they'll react when they find out.

[repo-net]

hey look it's repo posting about his ocs again haha

God, how many years has it been since I last posted about an OC on this blog? Almost 2, huh. Don't worry Aoyama, you're still one of my golden boys and I'll always love my street kid. But for now, I want to show you all a little something I've been working on.

So, I know there's like a 99% chance none of you care about wrestling the same way as I, but I know you've at least heard of WWE and what it's about. And one of my biggest dreams is to write a full-fledged story with my own characters and story. One of these stories is a story about a young and dreaming child that's a nobody from a faraway island watching TV one day and stumbling upon professional wrestling, and being inspired to become one as well and become the champion of the world of wrestling and be recognized by everyone. I should mention that in this universe, wrestling isn't 'scripted' the way it is in real life. What differentiates the protagonist's plot though from your usual rise to the top storylines that most of these 'underdog' stories have is that his story doesn't end after becoming champion, but rather; it's just getting started.

After becoming the champion and still not getting the recognition and respect he feels he deserves, he starts to break down into a flame of insecurities and he crumbles into a shattered man that will do anything to stay at the top. Basically; he goes from the hero you wanna root for to having a whole ass villain arc. It's sick as hell, dude. He undergoes a whole character development to character derailment story and I think breaking down the protagonist in such a way is a unique take to have when writing this story. Wrestling is such a cheesy and emotional genre that has some really grounded and touching moments when it's given a chance too, and with the absolute variety of characters that come out of it from the badasses to the horrorshows to the comedy acts, they all have their role and this massive number of tropes and acts I can take inspiration from makes for an absolute perfect long story to write with tons of different characters with their own arcs clashing together. It's gonna be amazing one day, I promise you.

While I do have a doc that has a few of the ideas and stories with only a handful of the absolute pile of characters and timeline I've already built for it in my head, I want to shine the light on who I consider one of the best pieces of writing I'll ever come up with. She's my pride and joy and I fucking love her. This is the first half of the story's main antagonist and the undefeated champion for our protagonist to overcome; Reyna.

(used Koikatsu to make this model)

Name: Reyna

From / Age: Calamba, Philippines / 30

Finishers: Lucena Spear (A twist on the spear, where instead of shooting her body towards her opponent directly, she does it from the back and plants them onto their front on the mat. Like a shot in the back/a backstab, which is a very common theme in her story from her rise to being the champion and her reign as one. Named the Lucena Spear as José Rizal died in Lucena by getting shot in the back.) (pin) and the Santiago Lock (a rear naked choke. Named the Santiago Lock as the aforementioned Rizal was locked and imprisoned in Fort Santiago during his time.) (submission)

Story: A group of three friends find each other while working in a small wrestling promotion in Southeast Asia as they develop and hone themselves. Whiro, a deceitful and talkative man with a brain beyond others who knew how to get in his opponent’s heads by bringing up their history and knowing how to personally attack and break people. Ares, a bloodthirsty, violent, and thrill seeking fighter who loved nothing more than a match that put her and her opponent’s body on the line in extreme stipulations such as street fights, cage matches, etc. who had a rather tame demeanor outside of battles. And finally, Reyna; a generally silent and calm but powerful woman able to down even the toughest of fighters in the world. Usually repressive in her emotions, she tended to do most of the heavy-lifting in the group, and was incredibly protective of her two friends, willing to destroy and go to war for each of them, protecting them from intruders that could influence the three of them.

In spite of her usual restrained emotions, Reyna does have a darker side to her that can get as sadistic as Ares and as manipulative as Whiro that occasionally seeps through her facade when her emotions crack or she feels she or her friends have been wronged, but as far-gone as all three of them were, they kept each other in check and truly did love each other like family. They were like soldiers-in-arms, and all of them had a consistent win record over each other in 1-on-1 matches - Whiro usually had Reyna’s number because of his ability to wear her down emotionally and force her to make bad decisions in the ring, Ares regularly beat Whiro as he couldn’t intimidate her and her love for a messy fight overpowered any psychological warfare he tried to inflict, and Reyna consistently overwhelmed Ares by simply being too strong and physically better than Ares no matter the match type the lunatic would choose. They’d eventually all get scouted into FightFrenzy, the world’s largest wrestling company to showcase their talents. 

Reyna racked up win after win against impressive, credible opponents with strong records and fan favorites, which turned a few fans against her because of her ‘boring’ personality and how every single match consistently went her way convincingly. Whiro had been a bit of an enigma and a heel among the audience despite his worse record, as his sly way of winning matches had turned some people off from him. He didn’t really mind playing such a villain though; he was having fun. Ares had quickly become a favorite among the crowd as she had quickly gained respect from the viewers and backstage for never backing down from any challenge against her, no matter how dangerous it got. Each of them continued to develop their profile.

Whiro’s record continued to rollercoaster into a rather uninspiring 3-3, getting into the most matches as he tended to start trouble with people the most, giving more people reason to fight him in the ring. Ares had gone 3-1, as she still needed time to recover in between the absolute bloodfest her matches tended to have and was pretty feared backstage by most people due to her nature. Reyna would eventually continue to be undefeated and sit at a comfortable 5-0, even having beat the booker’s son twice in one night (though it only counted as one win on her record). This pissed him off to the point where he’d make a decision that would change the course of the company - and that was getting involved with some backstage politics to break the three apart. Despite how cunning Whiro was, his insecurity of having to stand next to two people who was either universally respected or an undefeated and powerful fighter had been slowly getting to him, knowing full well he could never be the number 1 guy in the company so long as he was involved with them.

And so, after Whiro suffered an embarrassing loss one night and getting involved with the booker’s son backstage, who promised him a path towards the top so long as he were to leave and stab the other two in the back. His insecurities getting the better of him, he accepted, and the next night, as Reyna was preparing for her next match, she got beat down from behind by Whiro, putting her out of action for a week. Ares, who had just walked into the scene, was too shocked by the initial sight of Reyna on the floor as Whiro stood with a steel chair in hand, ended up getting taken off-guard and was beaten to hell by him too. The group imploded, and the three of them would go their separate ways. And without being around one another to keep each of them stable, everyone in the trio went off the rails and lost themselves more and more, becoming more distant from people and refusing to trust others easily.

With the help of the booker’s son and the structure slowly favoring him to open up a path towards the champion, Whiro climbed the rankings before eventually winning the big one, and was now the new champion in the promotion. Satisfied with himself, his ego grew and he personally offered his first title defense against Ares in a Loser Leaves match as his obsession with getting into people’s heads and making things personal made him thirsty to get one up on Ares. But she had seen absolute hell ever since then, still being the barbarous wrestler that she was. Happily accepting, Ares takes down and ends Whiro’s reign as quickly as it started in a feel-good moment in an intense match, as Whiro could only watch on with a broken spirit as his contract was terminated and he was exiled from the company. After becoming the champion, Ares grew some newfound friendships in the back as plenty more had respect for her for being at the top, and her reputation as a fighting champion made her a likable figure. These relationships and her win over him helped her overcome her trauma from Whiro's actions and she had grown more mature as a person.

Reyna on the other hand continued to fall apart. She still hadn’t gotten over Whiro’s betrayal, but she targeted anyone but the people in her former friend group, going after the booker’s son, the executives, Whiro’s peers and people he’s fought or talked to. She blamed them for influencing him and convinced herself that he had been broken by them, and bottled up the rage and hate she had for how the entire situation went down as she became the most dominant force the company’s seen in a long time, all fueled by Whiro’s betrayal. Sitting at 9-0 and being granted a shot at the title by the booker against the champion Ares, the stage was set for the final chapter of a very personal and bloody fight inside a steel cage in an “I Quit” match, where the only way to win was to destroy your opponent so badly that they had to mutter the words “I Quit”.

Despite all of Ares’ attempts as she left Reyna wounded and hurt, she just couldn’t find a way to put Reyna away for good as she always got back up. Without Ares and Whiro to keep her calm, Reyna had finally come unhinged and had left Ares into a bloody, immobile mess as she did everything to try and make Ares declare her surrender. But Ares refused. The fight went on, before a spot where Reyna landed a vicious Lucena Spear against Ares quite literally broke a segment of the steel cage off, enough to leave Ares unable to move her body. But she was still awake, still breathing, and that much was the motivation she needed to not say she quits. With Reyna dragging the two of them to the ring, she took the part of the steel cage in her hand and held it over Ares, asking her to say she quits. And again, Ares didn’t give in. After telling Reyna to ‘go fuck yourself’, the challenger flipped the champion on her back, and was about to stab through Ares’ back with the spiky part of the steel cage.

Until… from the crowd, Whiro came crashing through the part that had broken in the cage, having fought off security to get to the ring and pushed Ares away and dragged her into a corner, sitting her up, stopping Reyna from landing a blow that could’ve ended her life. He looked gone. Messy hair, looking like he hadn’t slept in months, and his body had taken a toll for the worse. As the moment set in for Reyna, she looked Whiro in the eyes and broke down into an emotional mess at the sight of him. As Ares was a confused and injured mishmash, Whiro tries to bridge the gap between the three of them as he tried to talk to Ares to explain and mediate the situation, but just as he was talking to her, Reyna had taken him from behind after ripping the wires off of the steel cage part she had and locked him into a Santiago Lock, choking him close to death as she had it wrapped and locked around his neck.

Begging for Reyna to stop, Ares finally gave in and yelled “I Quit” with tears in her eyes, as Reyna threw Whiro’s unconscious body in the corner across from the now dethroned champion. She stared Ares down, and all of the emotions that she had held back for years; ever since being the silent one in the group that did most of the work to the eventual incident that broke their group, she beat the hell out of Ares until she was knocked out. With her former friends laying on opposite sides of the ring, Reyna took the championship belt in her hand, raising it and stood tall in the center to a sea of boos erupting from the crowd, as the new queen’s reign of terror had just begun. Ares and Whiro were never seen in the company ever since then, having been hospitalized and their careers having likely ended. And that was how Reyna had turned into the sociopathic, undefeated champion that she is today.

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

"Take this title? Off of ME? I've done everything you can do in this business. If you run into a wall and hurt yourself, don't blame the wall. You want to be recognized so badly? I'll leave your name in the history books in the long list of people that I've conquered when I retire as the greatest of all time."

"This entire industry runs off of me! You say this is your ring? This is MY sport, and you live in MY universe!"

Her personality will speak for itself once you've read her story, anyways. This is only her backstory too of how she became the champion that she is today; her story and what she does in the main storyline is still under work, but even that is coming out fantastically. Reyna (and this entire thing, really.) is a character that I just look at and feel so much fulfillment every time I see her. Everything about her just works in the way I want it to.

Anyways, that's all for now. I know this post is lengthy and I'm a little doubtful anyone even read it, but I just really wanted to share this because the whole project means a lot to me and I hope that one day, I can look back on this post and say; "Goddamn, look where I came from."

[radiodont]

several things. one: going through ex-terf tumblr is supremely healing and i wholeheartedly recommend it, good luck to all the people currently dragging themselves out of that particular hell

two. almost every ex-terf i could find was deradicalized by one of two things.

A) they left a harmful church/cult/family situation and once they were out of it, they started reexamining their views

B) they met a real-life trans person and, upon realizing that trans people are just regular people and not vicious predators and/or brainwashed waifs, their entire worldview crumbled.

like. that's it. meanwhile, if you ask them why they got into being a terf, it'll almost always be "i was in a really low point in my life and they seemed like the only people who understood me" or "i was 15 and my brain was still easily malleable" or "it felt good to hear that i wasn't imagining misogyny and it spiralled from there". like, the contrast is staggering, and it's no wonder terfs are so hateful and insular; their entire worldview is built around suffering and being victimized and not being able to trust anyone.

it's almost painfully transparent that they're trying to cope with various traumas, but through some lack of accessible help or desire to have a scapegoat, they lashed out. it's a desire for control in a world that's frequently uncontrollable and unfair; it suddenly isn't enough that institutionalized misogyny benefits most white men through a complex system of bias. that's big, and hard to fix, and frustrating, and not knowing who to trust is terrifying. it's much easier to write off all men as inherently unsafe and predatory because then there's no possibility of being hurt.

and into this worldview of fear and paranoia enters trans people. under this lens, if all men are evil and incapable of experiencing joy and fear and love as purely as women do, then there should be no reason for a trans woman to transition except to prey on weak and vulnerable women (which is a layer of internalized misogyny so complex that it would take litres of mane and tail to detangle).

and, under this lens, there's no reason for a trans man to transition except to escape the Inherent Suffering and Oppression that women face. they're so consumed by their worldview of suffering that it's impossible for them to imagine someone doing something to follow a good feeling, rather than escape a bad one. it's this view that also fuels their staunch opinion that trans women are "performing a persona and making a mockery of womanhood"-- seeing someone be unabashedly happy being a woman and engaging in stereotypically feminine things is inconceivable to them. women who enjoy heels and makeup and being sexy are just brainwashed by the patriarchy-- so why would a trans woman, who was raised without that societal pressure, want to do it, except to make a mockery of the Suffering And Tragedy of all womanhood everywhere?

it's all so tangled in trauma and misery and fear, and it's no surprise that almost every ex-terf describes an immediate relief and freedom upon deradicalizing. it's exhausting to operate like half the population is a threat-- i would know, because despite making up a small, small percent of the population, the assault and rape rates among trans people are higher than either cis men or cis women. and despite that, and despite all the laws making it illegal for me and people like me to live happily, and despite all the misinformation and hatred and vitriol, i am joyful. i am kind, and patient, and not once have i ever resorted to kicking someone more marginalized than me to make myself feel better. i feel sorry for terfs, but not sorry enough to forgive them.

[ancient-tree-with-deathwish]

for testing (and because i have nothing better to do) i'll use this to make a world rn

1A: the currency most commonly agreed among the people is syllables - specifically, syllables of the name of god, which have been scattered trough the world after the great iconoclasm

1B: approximately 23/25 people in this world live in what we would consider poverty. about half of them are slaves.

2A: the law is controlled by the principalities. unfortunately, divine legislature is physically impossible for a human to comprehend - so the punishments often seem random.

2B: there is no "outside", it is only the city.

2C: petty barons, princes, warlords and slave drivers are in constant squabbles over who gets what land (usually just over a street or two) - anyone who isn't caught up in their foolish power struggles realises that its all temporary anyway.

2D: war is brutal, frequent and foolish. technological disparities across the monumental area of the city means that a soldier is equally as likely to fight with a rock on a stick as with an anticausal reality eater.

3A: the city is everywhere, beneath you, above you, beside you. streets upon steets of 10,000 year old concrete. it doesn't have an edge, reality just stops at some point.

3B: we don't know how, but weather gets into the city's winding tunnels. mostly rain - sometimes snow further up. at the bottom of the city, the endless deluge of rainwater has submerged whole blocks.

3C: to the far north, the city has mainly eroded away. it's the only place the sun is visible - but the heat is oppressive, we can tell the sun is looking at us. to the south, the rain is the worst - reeds grow in the flooded streets. the east has been completely remoulded, trenches upon trenches fighting a stupid war - with no real reason to fight.

3D: throughout the city, occasionally - you'll see the fractured remains of god. they're a little weird to look at - as they are equally mind and flesh. but the alchemists love them, they use the stuff to create world breaking machines.

3E: it is said that people were once plentiful, it's a strange concept now. people are rare - rare enough. you can treck miles and miles trough abandoned streets before meeting someone. god can't just create people anymore, you see - so we're mostly reliant on alchemists to do that now.

4A: the few reliefs that we get here is music - a great many songs have been made since the iconoclasm, and strangely it's one of the few things that have gotten better since. i reckon it's because singing and dancing is a uniquely human thing - so the angels can't so it as well.

4B: people don't build things that often in the city - because it's already been built - usually pure concrete, in a brutally brutalist style. occasionally we make our own stuff - and despite the fact that we know it'll crumble or rot far before a dent is made in the original concrete, we think it looks nicer.

4C: time is strange here - we know it moves, we see it move - but whenever an up and coming alchemist gets the bright idea to measure it, it wriggles and stretches and warps to obscure any efficient means of timekeeping.

4E: life is rare in the city - you can sometimes catch a rat or scavenge some mushrooms or eat a fresh human corpse if you are very lucky. but for most people, the local alchemist has usually got some mystic contraption of other that creates fresh meat or wheat.

4F: nobody remembers the old commandments given to us by god. but there is a man made one that every single child has drilled thoroughly into their head - in these dismal times it is the one simple guiding light that stops the whole world from collapsing in on itself "don't be a bastard".

4G: an outfit is an important thing for someone to have - they are difficult to make, after all you need an alchemist to create the threads alone. so, clothes are haphazardly stitched together. people do not see this as a sign of ugliness though - it is a sign of experience, history and likely foolish bravery.

4H: approximately 400 years ago, there was the iconoclasm - where god fell from the heavens, dead. previously, he had been sustaining the world with his divine might - an eternal golden age - but it seems that the end of forever is drawing near. nowadays alchemists have to use the fractured shards of his body to replicate his miracles (such as creating people).

4I: food is rare, friends are equally uncommon. a cook's job is holy in a uniquely human way. and thus the rules of dining are simple - eat everything, and bring no hate or malice to diner. everything else is up to the chef to specify.

4J: every single town makes an effort to have a historian (often appointed by simply being the oldest) their job is simple and singular - ensure that nobody forgets the lessons of the past, while advising on how to avoid the nastier futures.

4K: unlike the world you know, the city never had a tower of babel - the languages of the world were never shuffled and confused amongst the people here, everyone speaks the same tongue from their very creation.

4L: in the city, there is a strange set of rules around pointing. usually, one should point with the index finger - which means "look here, something interesting". but each of the other fingers symbolises something too; the middle finger is danger, the ring finger conversely means something lifesaving - and all the pinkie finger means is that whatever it is, it's very far awway.

4M: manners are a virtually nonexistent concept throughout most of the city. certain wealthier nobles do have a more developed concept of politeness - but they rarely interact with the poorer folks, and whenever they do, the culture shock is enough to kill them.

4N: something unorthodox about the city are it's customs around greetings. it is common practice to draw one's weapons when meeting someone - it is currently unknown where this tradition began, but it fits the general consensus within the city that violence shouldn't stop people from being friendly (and vice versa).

4O: when god died, he didn't just disappear - he was fractured. most of these shards are fully dead, inert. but some parts managed to survive, these shards are confused and stressed - after all, they are only a fraction of what once was (mentally and physically). but even in this state, they remember their old duties - they have a responsibility to protect mankind. churches sprout around them, like deep sea creatures crowding around a hydrothermal vent.

4P: at the top of society are the prices/barons/warlords (they go by various titles) - they are usually just far enough away from the struggles of life that they forget this is a game of survival - not of glory. below them are the alchemists and priests - utilising the reality bending powers of god's corpse to sustain their domain. then just below them are the historians who keep the records and learn from the mistakes of the past. and finally below all of them are the peasants and slaves who must live die and work for the village at large to keep functioning. they may seem to be the weakest of them all - but they know that their master's power is nothing more than an illusion, an illusion that they maintain just enough to not fall into tyranny or anarchy.

5A: alchemy was a profession that began soon after the iconoclasm (perhaps their curiosity was a way to expel their dread?). they sought to understand the shards of god that dot the city - it was initially viewed as pointless (because the world was ending) but eventually, they discovered how to use the divine power to create more people and food. this lead to the current era, and the current art of alchemy.

5B: although it may seem mystical and esoteric to the unknowing, alchemists are sure to practice scientific rigour in all their experiments (mainly because it is very difficult to simply guesstimate things beyond mortal comprehension)

5C: the most common alchemical machine utilised by the people of the city is a genesis engine - it essentially automates the production of a human being, producing one every 5 years or so. it is possible to make them go faster, but they usually end up making strange useless things called "babies". another more... existential one is the anticausal reality eater, it simply stops someone from ever being created - removing them from history.

5D: alchemy is a complicated science, but there are 3 universal rules that have been discovered so far. 1 - the flow of time cannot be measured or altered. 2 - when it comes to god flesh, there is no difference between mind and matter. 3 - the laws of reality are only suggestions.

6C: most people do not have fancy advanced alchemical machines. the average technological level is somewhere around the medieval age of your world.

6D: disease is uncommon amongst the city, due to the absence of livestock and general low population - so on those rare occasions where an infection does spread, the people of the city have no defences. except for the plague doctors, they do not talk often, and they know the cures to the foulest of plagues. some madmen insist they originate from beyond the city, but the city has no "beyond".

6D: unfortunately, the best form of transport money can afford within the city are your own two legs.

WORLD BUILDING CHECKLIST

If you are writing a book/story that takes place in another world, I have provided for you the complete world building checklist to ensure that you know your world inside out.

Economy A. Currency B. Poverty rate/line

Government A. Crime & Legal System B. Foreign Relations C. Politics D. War

The Land A. Physical & Historical Features B. Climate C. Geography D. Natural Resources E. Population

Society & Culture A. Arts, Entertainment, & Recreation B. Architecture C. Calendar D. Daily Life. E. Diet F. Ethics & Values G. fashion & Dress H. History I. Dining Customs J. Education K. Language L. Gestures M. Manners N. Meeting & Greeting O. Religion & Philosophy P. Social organization

Magic A. Magicians B. Magic and science C. Magic & Technology D. Rules of Magic

Technology C. Technology D. Medicine D. Transportation & Communication you're welcome <3

Fell free to reblog and fill it out if you want. I am curious to see the worlds in my fellow writers heads.

Follow me @leisureflame for more posts like this!

[hectormcfilm]

INVINCIBLE

The first half of Invincible season 2 just wrapped up and I am raring to talk about it. I watched season 1 of Invincible week to week back when it first came out with my Dad and I still remember what an impression the first episode made, creating a well realised superhero world, having a great family dynamic of Nolan (Omni-man) Debby and mark within one episode then ending it with one of the most shocking and violent scenes in recent television history. Season 1 was an exciting and refreshing superhero project, there were some weaker episodes, most noticeably the mad scientist making cyborgs at the college Mark and his friends were viewing was very average and contrived BUT for the most part it was a great season of TV. The best part was easily the final episode and the conflict between Mark and his own father, their battle was relentlessly brutal, the scene of Omni-man holding Mark by the head as a train crashes into them at full speed, tearing through and murdering everyone inside was beyond shocking and traumatising. Besides the amazing action and impactful death and violence the emotion of the final fight was stellar having Mark still illustrate his love for his father despite everything, it was just brilliant.

Now season 2 has released its first 4 episodes and I'm ready to discuss them. (As a side note the second half of the season isn't releasing until February which is really irritating and I wish they released it all at once as this split over months really kills the hype and momentum of the show). I think so far season 2 is just as good if not even better then the first season honestly. There are lots of unchanged and improved elements with only some downsides. To start off the worldbuilding is still great. I love how this is a fully realised superhero world with locations like Atlantis being known and normalised, having an entire working civilisation there. Similarly, the multiple worlds across the galaxy all feel real and believable, I appreciate the way things aren't being discovered for the first time or created they feel like they have been around for centuries or millennia, realistic and soft worldbuilding.

When it comes to characters Mark and Debby have easily been the best this season. Mark's want to not be like his dad after everything but needs to become stronger and being pushed to kill, the arc being built for him is great so far and Steven Yuen is still great a portraying a wide range of emotions. The star of the show for me however is Debby, Sandra Oh has such an emotional and grounded performance its honestly beautiful. Debby's struggle to come to terms with Nolan's betrayal is so engaging and seeing her breakdown and crumble is perfectly disheartening. My favourite moment of this season so far is probably the parallel between Debby and Nolan, both wondering alone and lost. there are some weak characters like Rex is still annoying and some of the Guardians of the Globe in general need development as at this point the story only really focuses on their relationship problems which feels like such a waste, they also need more action scenes and a bigger stake in the plot as they feel quite tacked on and unnecessary this season.

One of my main worries with the show so far is the introduction of multiverse. Granted it has only just been introduced and it is all great so far but I am anxious where it will go. Multiverse allowed for an incredible opening to the season having Mark and Omni-man tearing through a destroyed Earth and hunting down the characters from season 1, murdering everyone, it was striking and confusing, the audience only realising it was an alternate reality at the end of the episode. HOWEVER, besides the spider-verse films and Everything Everywhere all at once thriving off the concept of multiverse many superhero franchises like the MCU and DCEU have completely failed at it, leading to the concept destroying all logic and demolishing the stakes, making everything too big and hard to comprehend or care about and making it that if any character dies they can come back. Basically so far the short multiverse teasers have been intriguing but I am weary.

The final elements I want to talk about are the more formal filmmaking aspects. I think overall the show has pretty great cinematography and framing especially for action and flight scenes, the music has been a standout this season having a very sombre and depressing atmosphere perfectly reflected by the music choice. I also enjoy that the show allows for silence and doesn't always use music when its unnecessary. The animation is unchanged from season 1 meaning it is decent but has some disappointing scene where some fights turn into a slideshow, making them feel like they have less motion then the comic book it is based on.

[libidomechanica]

“Her hairs and riding at time to a”

A sonnet sequence

               I

Lover’s woe. Her hairs and riding at time to a spirit in the longest day—when gardens fine! The boys and girls gave guessed never a hall suffer. The Caspian could feel the many mountain-tops, seas where Fount of Justice, confounds the painting of all those black cold, great priority, who bids all men and women takes the bride-maidens whisper often come back. Mistake it furre: it is built in the sky not for ever there was mine, the locks, above his time. He reach’d his eyes strain’d the haunt beloved desires, of forest thy Saviour be; but view his host three talent, English money.

               II

Of Joy—to Forty of them in a singled love first released from head to feele this, to challenge me then, as the mode be persiflage or humor with bulrush and wait the preceding twigs spread. Yet, Thyrsis, let me show you are fully please: kissing and me, and a lustre in its bad for Bion’s fate; and the bird that trampled pair, and even thee to be sure. You are a loved one, but once we are! My father moved through the vow? That it was awful. Call her once adieu; nor dare I chide the bed. Its smell and communion! Grassy harvest of heavenly ignorance of what is Woman?

               III

He shut the sad mishap—but with a grasp of thanks in a half-empty cup, nails rusting in the Garden of my House, lights to peep, to gaze thereby, the morrow was as independence, as clear, as deep a dye as they my payne to see how with a groan, more sharp surprise, and kept, and just such a pernicious acceptable audit canst not be foes. Upon their rounds, and thine earth with your lovely to-night, yet, I will give thyself dost give my grief does keep? But yet, thought she could be much more—that will dare e’en death, my dear, was not be solved. The ocean’s tides seaward from heaven’s glory on thee.

               IV

Ah, my Anthea! Work. If Orpheus, from its suppose, but, like a little space saints will come in that like this poachers; the most. In May. Yet, love knows why nothing may we use in your Bosom she lies for eyes, even to shun sicknesse lay; but feeling to Us, nor an Eye to wayle my woe, plods dully on, there next to us, some horses foam and from here on the playne fields, she needs must kisse. Go thereon,—but then his dread grew wrath, and he arose, and yet it can’t shake themselves reap glory and real the World—no Road to refer to. Red by nature calls your virtue now I haue learns.

               V

The pane I know not thy Heart’s endeavour: frail spells did bind to fear they’d love and see how it weeps! Father and recall those deny who wish to take the poor priest wast bound; thou canst pour from the heart. But since he had been oft perceiving nought of beautifully more and more, hey ho Perigot so well, when that spends her time befalls me wandering singer would be obsolete. Set; and in air the promises to all—which he of God to reason armed, o eyes, nor heart, you’ll have given you turn around just for once and voices. Joy was his Dominion crumbles at the smooth which than hate’s known ye.

               VI

Each rose with golden skies. Strays! Through which hides the day I die, the lawn, the source for me, o wrang na my virgins do, cast on the leaves no step had trodden black is fairest and more of my soul was a flowered spreading the pleas, the hill I saw them ride, in a modest Eulalie became thee powers, in happy. Even then if I grow jealous woods above, can only amend the breezy air; and I am glad, yea, glad with a doubt; and went through a lighthouse beam had cross into your eyes have flee, and can with a moonlight, as he, the lass made the bed. And when people have been bred by both.

               VII

Should fail. Thus, thus to be the honey of yours, surmounts them to sound; and quite away, ’twould be something red by nature’s. God said to the Indians scorched with great election. Maybe it’s too late i have to take me, the after-comming harme did not rain’d; then took delight, yet dare I not keep, When look’d up the blossom of bloom go I! Injurious distant spot, upon her cheeks, whichever way one travel’s end, doth will do nothing utter’d; the Crown drought. Telling your mom did not sleep; the raging sea! Be it not.—The bonie castles, torches the great vehemence, more strong, as all for Nothing.

               VIII

Then my black it is, how fast renneth this use wert built and conquerings. Bid me despaire, and thou art gone! Shines, bright-eyed Eulalie’s most happy. Not if you but though sometimes faintly flush’d—and always be seen glimmering like it. Regretted he had been fair-haired. So much more, but you in a yellow meadow, but no young days, either of ours, take back these: nothing of eyelashes before, a house alone; yet could not but express by those lips; my body, but even our own. Its fir-topped Hurst, its far remote descending a Staircase or at a rehearse? And her lips are how have I wonne.

               IX

Through the grassy harvest of day: these two crystal shell, yet lost ere those roses do not give it stood, we said, and curtsying offering … I burn, or flax; an equal light we sought; nor could to where Time’s remorse or ruth; at speaking others might do in a moments when we have souls, at one stroke, may do and does he grow these words, thoughts which throbbings, will stay, and scent of people are having worlds would come and i would be. Glad i’m happy, country circle weaves rainbows o’er yon mountain ranges and promised: he thoughts to peep, to gaze on my hair, already in our bed to medle sadde. Sought from a shelf.

               X

I am on the mountain’s brow, and Years in love, and death’s the cold, but cast not vex me with us perpetual night before, but served prosperity, and is not in smiling roguish een. My should, that I would be i’d toss life yonder like a Sun. With so much the clouds departing cry, from death should never can be anything, and his chocolate, as the mind stinging down her vengeance overwhelming son of heart. He was racing against a disease, viewed from Gods mouth. Violent and relax Pluto’s brow, and from there greene saye, that will steal thyself go down on your songs to interfuse?

               XI

Like the Board, i’m queen all my lassie, O. As in the midnight and straught was soon as this palenesse to reproved. And even in death! To name a third, were better just Káfir than spurring to doe at all with the honey of yours, but very few financiers, nor could make worms that made love to another place of youth, which he call’d her face, one unbecoming and dauncing, soothing, this is the poor rude lines of low taxation. And Priests in currency like gold, once, in some Corner of Music mute, begins to drink the billow’s roar, for her examination. What I’m sure I do.

               XII

But seeing eye bears afar our bubbles; as they, but the Darling one another’s bosom bears, on which in my ear. The weak one is singing still. Her bosom’s like swine or others, who says she did spill: I saw them night into the charged; yet the loss, or that to make our appetites more to be with honour, had brought in thee, let me show you how, hand on my horse, a horse eases up and we rose looks o’er Siberia’s shoreward blow, now the Fyfield tree, where thine shall I marry the bed a page beneath a hole in the world, and so dauntless in war, or to coarsely stopped, menaced, the Throne.

               XIII

Nor beasts nor birds do come through depths of her face, Unconstant wing as summer’s breast will, to sing by the parents taught only think, or act, or thou art, as that modulated cantana of the dull a spur in one speech two negatiues affirme! Sage’s sanction; till so hye, hey ho pinching payne, or tell you rehearse, in equal arming me from what confusion be at home I never stop loving finger, singing diamonds not if you paid me in diamond watercress so fine to suck all the whole is greete, and his song when I’m old, okay? Two roads diverged in a careless; but to tell.

               XIV

Until their office; yet now illustrate the holy perfumes then go, and sister- tunes from the height of strain, the lass gang. Under why in the graves of empire be a symphony&in a moment the night win or hold a love of higher he’s seen in threshing-time does show; so children of Illusion went: methinks no ill. Fluorescent orange shirt you look like a Taper of the offices in nature’s own head; two, I’m sometimes faintly flush’d—and always my silken twist; But sincerity was obvious in each like feeling what purple orchises, hath filled in by missing.

               XV

And the lute is bright, save what is call; believed to wow me and through the casket of my woe, plods dully on, the spring, whom several stations, expectant of the dull substance lies for all men’s days must make play. At first ill-sounding a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single hobgoblin’s nonentity should fail and bask in the way appear: thus seasons, and he doth but approved by growin’ yet. It is the thrown into animation new, and make worms that something, this unholy battle I grow bright in one speech. I water wrought the circle much at ease my trouble you?

               XVI

— This was not Wisdom in Himself in me. We sicken to save you explored the blue eyes glared, that they say love they can’t shake their change shirt you love me now. And only thine eyes. It is not said a word! But as Lord and fause the cold strange? I think that you do any thing, all make the world and still, that Indians scorched with gems—the monk is lord by day, or thrice pass’d to Night, that I do Stellas heart. She has twa sparkling rosy little plum is what yours years departing forth eternal numbers to the milk of heaven’s swell; all creatures&above the lesson misse, when the lake: and made are gone.

               XVII

And yet, writing of eyelashes dropt Blood— his Sighs stood and water, there nis sike a shipwreck, like small plan of interest’ meaning the goddess of my ninetieth year, I felt the puppet of a doubt; or like the drive to Church his prayers, but all words but Room for Death nor atom that you can her observe, I tell my students, describe her smile’s a gift frae ’boon the strain’d the goblin bee that will love had spared; the full board, how to hand their own! The dark cloud kissed, and the theme just such excellence, is gone, and showers, for love the fine, needle-like he struggle grow these my night; an’ she had laide.

               XVIII

And from its suppose thy gifts sometimes a liar—tells an odd story, of which doth in it liv’d long the invisible cord. And so I spare it: come in to fill each pow’r of mind; I did look, sharp surprise now, sun, at our entreat one unbecoming at my fault if you but design to jest, you’llchoose some better days; the country gentle leaves they were garden-walks and ages hence: two roads diverged in the latter merits every single shade retreats from a dunce. If many worlds would look farther—it might be too much, yet ’tis your tattoo: I want, I took my way; for her eye, yet knows.

               XIX

To make away down the neat lines of the Matin-bell, and lo, it is like: and discern my Lady in a distance this waxed tame, while I have had so sweet time to be gone. Thou was petrified; he had made his very neckcloth’s Gordian of the tide I had to say; then by degrees recall those whose little twist on its throbb’d, alas! When the tribe of my woe, plods dully on, the sunset, which rusts aristocratic hinges. And Thou whose lighter eyes glared, cast on the world, that hath no great; his body thro’ all time. Which, if it had not hide be in oil of roses grew. By insistent be an empire be a symphony& in a moments when she approach of shepherd-pipes, coarse effortlessly brought, to gaze on her name of an aik, bonie and blythe be thy love retains hand on the most classical and pushing, healthful statesmen are as sudden, thy spells whose Augury should be.

               XX

And, streak of day, light of beard to exist, save those scarlet Iudges, thretning bloudie paine. So boldly he enter’d that after having read a paragraph, I think his valet, whose Augury triumphall car, her fault, though once should’st have no pretend to government— he held, that hundred more: nor could to where is no changes, sustains, dissolves, create you in worth than to make love groan: to say what is clever; most orators, but silent than all Reanimated, spirits, and fastner of mortal work his shepeheards ioye, how I admire ech turning, when his gifts might cost both my younglings miswent?

               XXI

And thus we transfixed! I feel her finger like a sudden spark struck a wound me to his hand. In this light, like Orpheus voyce had I been there is their brilliant lucubrations. Stand the blossom’d trees nor stone, he wends unfold, coin’d from the devil may take off shoes. Newly as from running for that. Had it liv’d long to might cost both which, used, lives th’ executioner of delight. Field, each stick; and what thou abuse the bride with beauty is suspect, a crow that show us to our Eyes; a Cataract that I could you said. Reap glory on that day. I understand against female charmed!

               XXII

His sorrow, but it’s not heard of the friend to the Throne. That fall so sure are this morning- glory had bloomed in her, ere she could have laid an article the streets, wherefore Juan now began to play thy prayers, I said too much my heart to giue my tongue and Ioues strange she started; and limits of twilight water-gnats, we track’d the charmers, who, as an enjoyer and better to be gone and shall be cut in marble stane, the lang night and saw what will dare e’en death, and innocent blood and when we raise, where you can dare an effort mair than a mile, more than has been fair-haired. Would have been crying.

               XXIII

Though thou hast pleasure of moss look surprise on one another’s neck, do witnesse of that day. His spectacles and sheets, I love, and he did me in that thus her eyes were tired and ploughman, poachers call freedom a drug that’s hope hope hope on my cheek lie there began to awaken with shifting chamber well tied in the past and sound of storms rock thee as the floods and the sweet tones are listless on the world anyone ever think about thy wrist, heaven’s gloried in this horse, and tuneless curl. Where are soon forgot. But his holy Life, have power, if men esteem’d to evaporate.

               XXIV

And whether it ought art nourishment. How sometimes anger was knight to think of nought to him be the house by the Arab woke at morning the first for Ever! With no special legend or God to reach us, nor heart, and keep themselves. ’ And quavering from a glance lilies dipt in winter night, alone, I make a frame be gilt, who sayes nay? So in a voice, so in a voice tells me when Dorian water wroughten mazer alone. To talk to you. The wretch looks are like name of God to bless itself to me for me are window—and the pure Sugar with grey; I feel his pulse each simple.

               XXV

Room fills the room: the vase between us? Too rare, too, in general roar of the Well of Life—one little rabbit with a groan, which were tired thy throat and also had a morning skies? And shalt thou abuse the bride with pyping and glancing, soothing, all made better now the comforting the least had done: where you are a sparrows’ fray I love thee—in thy lip, eye, and with a joint overturning markes engraue in my mind; growne now his slander’s mark was ever yet the chaste orb shone as clear falls the rest broke the others reap it; but though seeming son of thine heights of re-election. A heart?

               XXVI

Else, we see beside, and night did me afright; but Thyrsis, still our vows, and the underground, who wondering way, left human break and smutty jest, through an interstice could make love to those shriek’d, and faces in nature called Hope Lake where whoso falls short of strength, thy golden foot of May is on the distance the deluge from bed. So boldly he enter’d the youngest he wantonly when the light than the shimmer on high; their aspects stern, as if it were, seemed as if painted with all things, to draw the boys and hours, but with mery thing, nor in the fault much to life Thou might come her smiles bespeak and are not rest. She smiled, she wither’d ere you grew scarce man can the shadow fell on me, as in old days I withdrew, but it is like the priefe. The Sunnebeame so bright, so loue into the distant mountain-river, why aught them they might be tomb’d with a strange tradition; but if once would sleep.

               XXVII

Not if you but you know’st to me ’twould stay, and it will live in a golden prime! Children, at midnight was all transition and everybody knows such destruction and women living and short-hand pens imbibed the light, her dear, let us away; his altars kept from my heart, you look living and cruel is she! The Treasure: but the first? With eager compounds we ourselves—’t was its realms of sand, and now lapsed in such thorns and kiss’d her wallet to her with you the friar still break all that there was no opiate, slumber when garden is adorning: as they are, know not the rose, advanced.

               XXVIII

Young Daphnis with Rose; oh do not love is this all I own So are you can. Wandering the plane is making truth to light of such as Albion old was wonder the hustings—some slight defect, for slander’s market on display? Him leye. Sweet, it was no great resources have tied to me, i’ll ne’er she cool’d in her am grieved my heart to that holy strife, I know; a Kate, a Francis call’d up for he is resty race renew’d in him some so late. That love unto the younger brothers not entire continuance. When clean, the fatigue was grassy and with the effort was not again.

               XXIX

Such gloom, why man has its realms of saddest words and for Perigot so well, when others bounty, and dry down scattered the light he see them achieve the long alone? Name. Your sisters and we should be wroth to state this, and very mirror of the Matin- bell, and so right, while he leant from thence into words? Were for you but death do, if thou wouldst give it is winter-eve is wand’ring and oath and streamlets flow, i’ll ne’er retreats from Gods mouth. Those who tuned the Parrot— or in Sport paraded with snow. If eagle fierce could feed until my tears, badges of evening, he three, judging by gladly?

               XXX

No one knows, it is a woe; our roundelay. Sapphire—love enduring, give or dead? And looking with their dead black save in visions of our brows that Arm in Arm from Head to head. Of sweet self did make a show, as then, how you can tell me where together could to where a serpent to the glen sae bushy, O! Or Paradise, forgetful of miles are for a laggard in was ill but being made her shall see, how in a little wilderness. Crystal tears, distills your truth. One after-comming harme did not reason, owe, like skaters on a strangled her. You suddenly a hare ran across the usual burden of that dost consecrate or so did he see the Lityerses-song again appeare; our Mother death to give back to eyes this much bending from that you do any thing, all made of everything.—All you’ve told me by the Black Friar, the night, and this roundelay.

               XXXI

And wind through the billow’s nook, this face: hope. The bedroom with a differ a dish of tears, still curious doings, about to flight, he still, It is as if a mightier arm could I do but tend upon the sunset flames which similitudes can show where Time’s love! That thus her heart, but the creeks we will hie, over banks unseen strikes, how have I drunk of Siren tears are one. Was weak enough of Madam, and his chamber, where she said, and dinna sae uncivil be; gif ye hae ony luve for you to the heart as sound and water, therewith my eyes of a fascinating kind.

               XXXII

To lose this his love enduring, give this way, this thy praise, ’ so wont to say; the sun slow at his Anguish. Of mischievous enjoyment; and also hearts, I thought kills me wanderedst with the morning to circumspect, and, to salute her with her richest dye, flames o’er the constellations and tuneless curl. We find our tree-topp’d hill! For air looked for crime. Lovely Davies. Not in innocent blood and wane in life’s morning dawn, when will the way, have paid for immorality than those bonds which is eight-sided, like he struggled, and brother, show off— to please their secret was it yesterday?

               XXXIII

I held most difficult to say that pair became his form, as, though it was before him smile. The devil may there was enclosed with a cry. Taught a fawn to her cheek, while I have thine shall I search, sun, and find the green, and worst times still in Juan’s candlesticks burned high, while others could not be, but this go. But, for the pure Sugar with her fill, singing thing was getting aromatic fumes, an amatory banqueteers had driven, there; but renewed their own, of which she smile of Aurora Raby with courtesie; I bow’d fu’ low unto the others tender eye; what will be, yet, happy bands!

               XXXIV

But still retains hand on my hart roote: it was fool’d, a case that there is no noisier. Then bedde, or am I borne a slaue, who for love inevitable Outside the eyes of a few poor household spies, or his easier ears beguiles my heart, you look like a better days; they their tresses near; so light we slept, since my love, the solemn hood. Will rock thee, sweet voice cease to dominate with blushing face; she made the tropics, to arrest that show us to outliving laid her temperament and more nigh the pomp of must and so can only see his skill, to the Deluge or else Fire!

               XXXV

He flits on their dead breast; as make a lasting ruffles: temperament and rears though it were all we see beside the bed. She did not sigh Ai ai Tan Kuuerheian that hath so raft vs of ourselves? Chide, nay chide, nay threaten’d the young people supposed though it’s not policy in love talk, and the love the World to cadence of love just for all men believed, they chose force you make thou dare the South, cap and blood and bread. Could but have drawn thy shadow pass’d, repass’d—the thing on its lips ev’n seemed in Secresy; stirr’d; and then he cast a glance to shield an absent friends of your name. Even as these.

               XXXVI

I leave off such doing, we will forgive thy love, not for another my former lover brother I would be. I do forgive me leave the priefe there. For all; what wonder’d upon it wit thee steadily to have not the Cumner ground, who wonder. Should fail and being had, being present dye, she wash’d him—to his reverie, yet saw them really rather got the same. See him counterfeit one morning the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because your chest with the bed to reasons why this son, the spent less train firm state this, to change, for slander doth intertex!

               XXXVII

By Memorie; and whom I look up an old newspaper; the Desert; they tempt the thanks, if aught she could not so; of the circle much at ease; and anon there was a good singer, now she’s tired. And chestnut-flower, to welcome home again I would have few resource of many worlds beyond, don Juan’s ear, which she denies; shee, light, hereditary twinges of gout, which many a mocke. Observing little hour! She had none, he wends unfold, coin’d from the lang day I said it was like the Castle wa’, she saw the bed to me. Pervades and dauncing Bellibone, he rode all alone to Chide!

               XXXVIII

She said the Soul is part, of the ashes I cried my sex will be the brilliant surface before, and can with feare, but all our courtesy their mother life’s unquiet dream his flesh and smutty jest, throughout your shrine. As those historical superiority, whose lesson true, and thin, produced a plan whereof he knew na where you grow wooden gavel: esperanza voi che entrate! Is found; now proud lady. To give a great worthy of acceptation too scanty, in the same; and of her goe! Not, with half a smile of Aurora’s therein you turn her Eye should so mine is the fault?

               XXXIX

But since my hart still: there; for surely anchored on the stem, but his eyes more soft and where the stove late of a bakery in Queens. Way of Nothing. I was warm, and he together with blossom.—An old song, upon the worldling sneer, the devil may there is therein my place. As they just rise from thee; yet could not move; for heroes sometimes, though sometimes a liar—tells an odd story, of a suddenly wonder which the summer’s liveries, and turned them stood dangling weeks drop by, and roos, and pearl, can vie with briars, one friar of Orders Gray. His shouldst owe. Two, content, would not refusest.

               XL

The surf in the Weirdlaw Hill, the pousse hetherward doth post. If I had to settle yet a bowl upon that day. Of chief music fled, Then grammer says that made the fluorescent orange and feele no woe, when as then, as the stinking onto the June that summer says that beautiful simplicity draperied her harp, whose traits in the dull substantial company prepare my Father weeping at set may rise and Musk she wash’d him—to his nook, if I can say I turn for miles, that they cannot reach around a thing on its neck and without display, nought save, what a holy hood.

               XLI

If any Evill did ring the width the differ a dish of tea, which Nature, as they are awa’ that which the Wytham flats, red loosestrife and that should feel not responsible. The kiss the rope in a grove I sate next resource to a spiritual pit- a-pat, or tiptoe of an idle day, I feel it inside walls? Through me ran; and merely had the spy you play, champ and though not exactly what was but Half-lance high, lance-like shreds of life, of laws. I said: I must dig the life hath no great; his body this same legend or God to get; and all things to interfuse? I fear not as thee.

               XLII

And Juan grew carnations; the ‘Mamma Mia’s! Though earth so fine to watch—all Day we whisper inspired. But if, my sweet Memory and remember pears and lost you. Singing most joyfully. Who would speak when will be telling the arrowe, ne can I be? He is, if thou then should, in full, voluptuous, but less prompt to me on the plain sae rashy, O, aboon the lips his herte al hoolly on him that you to my sisterhoods may stay, and’t shall iudge the sea-gulls, with his host three bonie lass made the bed a page beneath gleamed forth in its glory, through griefe, witness bear thy black-eyed rival now!

               XLIII

’Er the sun rose on the priest; shut fast by thy infinitely rejoicing like allay, so gone like what cannot share, ’twad been renown’d for some crystal clasp them achieve the rest that beach we could throw mildly on these hands and women are limited to no condition. Know him a bright, and we missed them ken he’s to see, and they might be best with a wanton Yuie twine. To feel it inside its amethyst remembered lesson misse, when the Forty Morning comely Youth before her heart as soft, a heart therein her linnens, and the blueblack cord makes your life, and they not believe Columbus.

               XLIV

There to love of men depart; but yet be blotted: but this many a mocke. We find a morning, the year, at best, and what will not stirred, at whatever bar the coast, am given out after having words and far descrie. Soon shall I fly, to slacken all men and wore the bell, and the long ago. Yet, yet pure, doth wear, grant me to the laugh him out of the Matin-bell, and say short prayer in the cloud and love is firm under that though a lighthouse beam had cross the isthmus of the nymphs should never call on me, wha wad soon thy foot resumed its wounds straight ice I know you of love between their either lived, then vouchsafe me but name her smile’s a gift frae ’boon the whole of me; and what is strange tales attires, bordred with lilies do your body: see it say it back, see it faint, and dreary change; and why, my prime. For sport I suckt while I yet descry neath the spindle drops a tear: alas!

           ��   XLV

With light this blessed-fair that I recollect, where people hum it long—the full as deep woods, I dreamed he’d written me, which made him have reared, the last thin petticoats were open, jasmine-muffled lattices, and wait the sound and thus her he sprung! To hold some wonderful and some sublimer azure hue, long bow better in her, an ye think he had seen his gifts might savour’d of times I heat the valley of my House, light on any Younger brotherless greater. Dear, was it yesterday it poured, and crushed grasses. One in the glen sae bushy, O, aboon the house, speaking little silver bell?

               XLVI

Which, rank of lilies cold, the perfumes of love between, made Norman Church hath my burning, when they seem of a dream-mother who sings on Cessnock banks a lassie, O. His eyes serue him with his Narcissus Eyes—the Muses entertaine, of hope, once can you both are sleeping took amiss: or so did them close—at last we parley: we so strange low sobs that I shall not condiscended; I have him to be death squads passed reprove, where all characters of Tyranny and Juan’s mind was posed: in the casket of my eyes open? Taking shadow of ice exchanges, sustained, drag on Love’s nervous feelings on Cessnock banks unseen among the fire in heaven’s King keeps register of the haunt beloved desire but i just don’t know what he would see you in worth than their loves me and just receiving sprite, disdaine to say; but because the crowns the darkness. Much steals men’s eyes are made the bed.

               XLVII

What, haue I thus betray. Days, in a playful mood, for his place. How do we come to the heart beguiles my head: o cod she laid an article the sky retired, and the color of light, uninvited thus we sit on. Which on the streame: or as sweet, maggoty minus and crossed them in the doome. Men gave the Warriors’ Necks; not, flying the vase between English beer, good faith, some not in vain. Destined not of artists, and going, of which she smiling bride’s paths, embellish’d marble, I needed a music-master of the end of God to refer to, I think of the kind sea-caves!

               XLVIII

Is eight-sided, like to those but the complain, but wear it on my sleeve, or ten times refigured in the scorner, which through the sun was her eyes maybe like mist, and I saw three lone weirs, the fair Fitz-Fulke! The blossom’d the chapelet on her breath, marriage, the many flower-fence facing, was force to breath, became my feet shalt see what is call’d restore his lessons he had put the smell of Life—one little while my flocke there for once before mine eyes that is nearest. Me, ye banefull loue I pyne, hey ho the world and wait the ghost began to awaken the charms o’ lovely Davies.

               XLIX

Yet, Dianeme, rather they might carry yet. But it is, how fast renneth this, when away and fret. Though mine the monk is lord by night; no one but his eyes would be better than you triumphs, ’ which ensued he gain’d at least her obteine. Goes all the earth so fine to say; as she treats all truths which on the touch your love all human breast, themselves for love upon our Sexe, and that it once I knew myself, I seemed not how marriage. But, children dear, were both busy as a general invitation,—fair Adeline dispensed to something like a Taper of the cold blowing of the tide I had lost you.

               L

Hast thou art my life on the humming stream, the little Mermaiden and be one we ellipse aboue of hope. And chestnut-flowers, and we should tell you to me, taking shape in your sweet bitterness of absence so long the flame from what colors is it goner? Tis true needing. I remember for their powers! Whiter? My desp’rate fears no blot? She snatch’d with it, confounds they join, joints dovetailed on the wind blows chill; and stocks in fragrant breeze: the night-wind sent of studious zeal or love to another: for I so truly tell it become other, but for brake, and said, Twill keep it always death.

               LI

Nor bring again.—The bonie lass made the bed we loved hillside, with various world was sure that I know the loser in the sky not for sale, but dare not then hastily— as nothing do, both crowns the high wood, to where but the chromatic scale up: for sprite, disdaine of what we hae seen, which than he to foolish and still, that ring the death weighed in his noble nature called Beauties, and unawakening soul on men, and me, and high triumphing, but die ye must make play’d us many a tingle on thine head, the supper too discuss’d him with great, but much it grieved my head toward the cup of wine.

               LII

That love of mine: my breast. Must feel it inside of Netherby ne’er forget till the Berkshire hounds on my Belovéd; gaze, till you can heart swell, and nature craueth sleep. One asked me where ages and lusters to recommend them. Ready for gaol, their kind. And all for Thee—Oh spurn them not; Thus do the few who live and having sex in short, and die. A God finger over they made it seemed a sweeter than Believing Prince at our entreat one unbecoming hither, and I must deem them fills up with this go. Gather ye rosebuds while birds do come to me belong to make a bed to me.

               LIII

Duchess of Fitz-Fulke seem’d an age—expectant of my widow’s headlong train;—the fort of the Banquet of ashes. But thinking about thy bondslave is, he hugs his Sicilian fold, his shepeheards twayne: sike a iudge, as Cupid danc’d among roses, by his best to take some tempestuous morn in early birds may take on before a mirror of this paper was his shame: although I be stones, they well maist thou hadst this feather, kneeling by his beautie but beauties blush in turn, above us the world with a glance could not state these lips are like life of men whose sincerest who are strewn—so have not stay! Lust that links them burn so chaste a flame, lilies’ shade, it like Hindoos, for air looked up at her sleep: vainly in to-night, this various similar remark on what arms have I seen upon this horse—his spectral guest, he seem’d loth to spoil it, get beyond conceiving mind of mine.

               LIV

Wherein I fry? Her cheeks are little Sip of the river-grass, stood with the warmth of her Bounty, and the Fount of Justice could be the most true is the hill, the shell’s iridescence and the last lone aster is by evil still there we lay, through his state; but aye she blush’d to whither of life, or as sweeter thanked him. An’ she has the coronals of tithes, and dispense without the whizzing when the Sharp-witted Sage had heard selfe in lieu of long eleven syllables, that I feel her finger over the marke of Cupids cold fire, where thou alone stands still break? What, haue I thus betray.

               LV

If my dear love to work upon, to the eye, here is a recognized occasionally to love inhere; which ouer the way a stone tower, the more than smile and light to pique or hope, and though dull were scatter’d here was no opiate, slumber cradled as these, twill be, yet, Thyrsis and Osiris though so this use wert built in the music fled, Thou messenger of state, thou alone surveys the sun was her eyes glared, and distraction of ourselves? My business was she! I can not been the cold out an unavoidable violet banks the hare, nor Lawes, although fled is every day, for an hour, they ride without remorse or ruth; at speak ill of woman-kind, first who, his april touch drove sleeping selves no step had trodden black. Stretched Man, by Satans subtill train firm state comes in rejoice on every joke, as if there was as right were awhile then, how great’s the speculation rather than rest.

               LVI

Cracked hand, streak of day over the grave shot my face toward childhood situation, talk o’er the devil box out of the Eyes now dark with thy glorious to him. Vincenti gloria victi. Well of burning field, into it and makes seen, hearing the truth to pierce, and free as in old days most lowe, I crau’d the Clay of Man—there thou swell in silver at my face: watchet the Pledge, which is why you float up up knocking Past will open for reply, and smile. Laughter from a sorrow-clouded eyes—and strike such gloom, why man has’t by kind. To anticipate the last one, yet should ever be descrie.

               LVII

Adeline the first created; till Nature we are the steals to the Indians scorched with dust shall weep though as for the cold splintering, breaking. Upon it still, still aching eyes, and hanging bow-strings, about his clothed with paper. Conform the pinnace overfraught; but the world I less than lovely to-night, yet, Thyrsis then. Especial legend—’if you but desire but i just don’t believe: if t is so. Way through an interstice could, I would gladly? Hark what she is, that trod as heavy do I journey. Now the same floor, and bishop stay to cloud kissed, like a stare, you love me now!

               LVIII

Bones, bones dumb as the scene I’ve stolen like all men may carouse, thou of thy deceased to crowd love is, and looking the child in me is dying, and but instead of what I in hers, and played, the frame where did I know where flower, yet one rude wind drove to kiss the pictures from no Mother’s Eyes, infinity, so sup’rabundant joy shall we have bid your eyes? He abideth night as what you can make mine, fair, even in death, and in how plenteous showers, and the rustling trees. If Eve did erre, it was the monk made his blinded eye, and on the blessed light with sharpnesse ouercame that, which euer sene?

               LIX

—The bonie was it then? Perhaps these, there are to thee, art a guest for once can you see him smile. Rather to be company engross’d by matter; so that not again; but if thou then more than once who sang with me. Thus season, owe, to be a Jew. So, she went away? To think everything Was My Fault has been tried so much more doth change in me? When thought. Bones dumb as the scene I’ve stolen like a weird song, ’ set to some country with chaste desire? I’m so stuffed with his sheep, his hair and girls are meant to sing so you may for ever after would be the prosperous House with eyes for all away.

               LX

But do their charge but death: yea having powre to strike up and faces, the distant spot, upon the pale despair under the wilderness; and all the emblems of these two, content, while by strange worke so great a sure rather like water wroughten mazer alone. Go, piping too; but Juan, eager early in the day, pursued an instant Sylvio, when love we spoil it, get beyond affection and worships thee, and a heart free: but tis that made of everything everything how much more fear the wind blow a strange love to kiss the picture is the storm, and once filled in by missing. I drew wine.

               LXI

I didn’t measure: weightless as with unshut eye, round the countries, with all things. Upright and sail, with her harp, whose that behind, with a smile or stare from a hundred bright, bitter weeds among the Abbey through depths of milk! In chisell’d stone still, glistening change, as Cupid danc’d among roses, orphans of the Black Friar, and keep themselves no step had trod Sicilian fields! If Orpheus voyce had I with mery thing in posterity. We ellipse about his closing when I’m sitting Boy, since she protests to banish sleep, and make no pretence. Now tread we a measure the Flame had never!

               LXII

But and thence this poor girl was left it: still when, Day over, she went to think it would boldly he enter’d the earth so fine, the hill behind. When garden, all is a stormy note of men I lay next that once studded, old, white-blossom’d thee out for brake, and sail, with their stain is full oft inuoked your huntsman here hath taught a fawn to her young people are having real. We know except the tree,-are the Ring of my soule a song neuer thing in t beyond the way appeared to his restored to his side; for you There we lose the wiles which on the rain is full oft inuoked your lovely-head!

               LXIII

So weren his spectre has grown with this way, this time it is, how fast it is so good, in making him all could not thy shadows dance expires died from the struck a wound, not kill outright; but yet here’s no key. Dulce—No—Pro patria mori.—’Tis done let’s kiss afresh, as when we maun part frae charmed! Might elsewhere they say love they prove not leisure without in the fault much improved hillside, with any of the wild woddes my calm white rose being, as we know that we our palate urge, as, to prevent our maladies gent. The bottom of her pocket in case we die I cry with paper.

               LXIV

When they just rise from the fountain-brink he sprung! Private play: name it I would rush upon trust.—There was no opiate, slumber when gusts will rot, and his face: hope. Or step ran sadly through, and all her sleepe, increase my fears! On Cessnock banks a lassie, O. Yet give is this, for I will be as time upon her knee. Took the other, long ere thou art, if men esteem where you can’t wear it on my should soone wexen wider. As if her airy steps did spring hast luld me oft a sleepe, increase, so let your orange tales attires, yet hiding royall bloud full of lies. Here I am sitting.

               LXV

Light on any Younger brothers and then come, to chase fatigue and fear, to do with only tend and wane in lieu of long eulogy of patent blacking. From town, which hides the threw down to blush, and every flowers my speech t’ engarlanded, that some dusky garb, appeared toll like break out of the withdrew her Milk he drew a little Mermaiden and the roofs the thing in them real: the lonely, i, a lone she-bird of his Authority, or earth as kisses drying up in Peace under the other’s Arms they slept—they draw but what we hae seen, and wont to do. Of many worlds life is expected fade, die to the tree, are shadows, and go their sorrow-clouded eyes—and stay, and round sunshine and some weak one is sinking onto the June that o’erwhelmed my own, but far better’d worlds would rise and Musk she was more silent bars to climb. As it would wake up and get into marriage.

               LXVI

I can say alone, I marry the bed we loved one, but thoughts which but slight Muse do please their walls, which now-a-days had made proffer of me. The smiled; therefore Juan now be brought I must blend whose degrees, and uncrumpling fern, and scent from the torturing punishment. Like to sleep with thy Remembrance! Into a chamber well tied in the unblunted dart of chief delight, and in two. Bitter in thee to gi’en thee to be run, Whilst thus to banish they’d love it enough. The poets of light. With a strange eyes without pity till the main tree still air stirr’d him, answer’d in Profusion be at rest.

               LXVII

Dear, and mire, scheming imaginary wife, but this silver at my face towards shadow lour’d more nigh lands, the perfectly pure as it would not, till it grew, for the flesh his blinded eye, as commonplace I freeze her, not pure and purer or more cause they were far away, an annoying miracle. Whose shrieking so rarely. Praising a foreign fellow,—who cannot thrive to kill the Words salámat—Incolumity from the fort of those hounds deign’d to this in my e’e. A pictures in your hand on the flies in flowers which the wild bird’s wing. The ignoble never ranging, still swollen shut with two women; three, people and legal ways of tradition with some so late, and yet, I’ll softly tread we a measure and the charming sun: beneath the facts of lilies laid. Distinction in old days—thyrsis! Once is terrifying. Like the inside you: on your wile? My wife, read this!

               LXVIII

I’d wind is hush and watching, condescend into the hot cornfield of the rainbow’s glory and the full as deep a dye as the smart of pleasure the year’s primal burst of blood curdle. Love brought, from Káf to Káf reach’d for all that Time or Fate may bring against thy Saviour be; but aye she blush’d and after darknesse lay; but never had seen me and Nature self dost give professional attend time’s leisure with justice, confounds the limits of twilight than before: I cannot measured from them really about her neck; her cheek lie there for once in the light this go. ’ Shade, it like a strange?

               LXIX

And every pen, reserve them, see the spectral guest, saving his sigh or steering-wheel or touching upon trust. But if my simplesse to rebuke! Of the dark, and glancing, life advancing, and see, with awfull eyes, now, if thou prepare to the allowed to come. Or to coarse effort mair than anyone: that’s for to beye, first starf, and the Spring, the tones, the radiant girl! To the two Hinkseys nothing can tell me with briars, my joy behind, with men of courses; because of Sorrows over the sweet ornament of the stem, as doubtless should be her for her examination. About your side.

               LXX

Like swine or other as if to ask how you how, hand on my Belovéd; gaze, till my flocke did feede there. He tore the street. Her follies or her eyes just for once in a while. Was, that all it scorned at once might have not seem form’d of clichés and the animation, which I plight, when thou hast sorrowes to reveal, to be filled in by missing. Her owne vertues show that you and merely had the day, to-morrow when we maun part and heaven, and light to the life hovers like the noblest freedom, not to fear, a winner be at trundling of Empire, never any Day that I can say.

               LXXI

—Even These English beef and pity; and we rose looks on Ilsley Downs, the Gem was gone and let them to sound; and tomb-stones good as none, he rode and thinketh al nis but our paine, make thou art Being blended, all the more cleare as they must: puncture your true image of love of this time to a rendezvous, and gave you are a lovely, Woman lovely Davies. Night. Wag, if the nymphs should, in full, voluptuous, but not for the door flew wide,—not swiftly, but, as fly the subways there be the Soul is mine no trembles to build to cadence of many they had learnt a story of musician.

               LXXII

I have loved you, soon, as late after-comming harme did not discover’d soon, had it not. Such destructive icicles, as the hustings—some slight murmur made; for her bosom’s shop is hanging desire into my heart; my body, but use your herte al hoolly on him to the trees feele as much at ease; thought where the cold and polish’d. Their iudgements so slow but hears, will hear the crusted snapdragon, sweet time the self- interest’ meaning the gods he down wi’ right guid will, to sing my Highland lassie dwells a lover’s vow, despite my sad and they see, know not what we can see for me!

               LXXIII

Fierce, and rather them. Ray fades on ray, as years ago when I’m with honour’s band! It doesn’t have a tip to spin on, it isn’t even shapely—just as fair, thinking of you I try to creates and No, into each other’s hand, till I die. This sinne of yours, now—but you with reference moue, curb’d-in with a wanton o’er the Cause of faultlesse Jesus, who have from the rose through the grassy harvest of day: these poor partridge through she had been shaken within the mind that he may hold me to a rendezvous, and we should thilke god that were angry—as the spring, the tenth Muse, nor I to thee. To thee.

               LXXIV

Nightingale, to soothe our ears, less for long journey. What, haue I thus betray. Men they not be drive to Church hath my heart; tis but our paine, make that the Base. The face or name; so in a strange low sobs that iudged beautiful woman blushes are mad, with courtesy their changing, even when I shall soon be a battery be insistent be an empire be a symphony& in a momentum, the little Mermaiden and beg of your fingers of either heard the rooms were vanishing face; he tax’d his endless, deep, but scant appeare in beautiful woman wert thou art gone the sandy down where something of them south, I snap the think the pleas, the young Lord of all the day closed and loveth him, the tree lived, he likewise might beneath the far-off sound of all the age of love all beautiful woman ruled, the brutal summer-standing, stay and tween the cowslips grew, so everything.

               LXXV

Goodbye, goodbye! Hey ho seely sheep. Which she is about the church on thy foot is based, were the cuckoo’s parting cry, from limbecks foul as hell without elucidation for her country dame, retired, and without it might or might sweeter than the eye, here is this, and this way? But when too oft display’d; and the stem, that my paines me reioyce. Inflicted on mutability. A pretie case; I hoped her smiles. Common sense, or ten times of the poets better the butter fire in his best which made it for evermore enlarged: if some still aching eyes; thought, injurious felicity!

               LXXVI

Those old nine which but slight murmurs, or delay, that ancient bugaboo followed you like a feast behind whose for a little crossed the vernal May, when gleaming sunny, for that might easy to peruse; he read an army down. And Happiness is so much more. Which made him droop, and it will steal thyself to win! Glimmering clay, weaves her like water love the laws, and thine eagle fierce could soone be pierc’d with his can you turn away from your wine. Too many trickling teares did ofte augment, that heart as kind, a heart as tyranny? Would not go seek, but faithless way, like clouds departed dead.

               LXXVII

Till she acted on by what loveth me. Unlike our appetites more keen, when I saw the locks, above thee naked shew might easy terms. Time will not be solved. But I can’t tell how, if from her Face their way to consumed Absál like Straw, died his sermons, and he’s seen in the virginitie. Some night Where art thou always death. Twice or common, here lies sleeping. Observing little rabbit with all my poverty; and yet descry neath thee of you I try to created; till Nature swears them all of us have been elsewhere, he colour ne’er forget- I kept saying-that we be one tonight.

               LXXVIII

Telling light we are low; when sudden though the mountains drives us two, i’ th’ bud, yet with heavy mind that sweet a breather and dispensed to some ancient bugaboo followed war, through why I cannot be unkind t’ a beast that our brows that rode high Midsummer shine and gild the dinner and angels’ purity, twixt women’s souls such a pure moment’s ivy shroudes, hey ho pinching payne, or ten times her wrath appear: thus seasons dancing in posterity? Here is as if painter’s arms. Some hunters bold, and begins among us; visiting he abideth night my father.

               LXXIX

The young days, either cheek, whiles Beauties proudly and legs and frae my cherelesse herdgroome. From hunting ’mong Graemes of other love’s chronic angers of the same time, which Nature, as in higher he’s a-getting in the curb next that your hands, young Eulalie’s Unconstantly I bought and better by far to have not sighed deep, but silently approaches of tears, vacant and made the bed. And whether it too soon as touch’d, and the younger Lover. I was nothing. Husband; so I did its wreaths; and tis my faithful Highland lassie, O. A woman’s hands. So long speech to praise were shooting still.

               LXXX

A trio of instrument, have in the end of a love of his strength might finde no eloquence slips through with—since we are we first a silly sheepe in good plight: a mazer ywrought I must dig the liefest boye, how dolefully upon life’s unquiet dream his flesh grows stormy, the long date. Skirmish of wits o’er the balmy air, the mountain ranges and squires also did heare: its calm, to one, the sea grows with such hurry, that is substance of the Weirdlaw Hill, to turn church hath made, and late! She left it: still break my heart, that modulated cantana of the rushing red by nature’s.

               LXXXI

The pain be mine, to—not defend. Sweet, it was nimbler much them any harm, alas, nor an Eye to wayst, till morning rings pour should tell you require. And when, to be seen! Heard my father moved through as wide as if a night stream, the long date. And I broke in Heaven’s gloried in the bed to me, i’ll love me because, as suits their host, but thought so, nigh, for the waved of course these, handling Religion till safe and blood can show no real likeness,— like the lift, that green as midnight makes the wrought a specially as he grow half his supposed though hate had paid his bed of the maidens whisper often come back darker and Before, with choisest flowers are sweet body already, and long tunes which poore soule by cunning worn to one who opened them with the depart, how she paceth forth a gem; to see how it weeps! But reede me, what purple valleys of that same groan: to say as wanton Yuie twine.

               LXXXII

He staid not records of conquer all men, beckoning out on thee; for thee all men believed to that use is not got his senses by last night, he starry darknesse lay; but feelings which begat distinction in old days—thyrsis! Nightingale will hie, over bank, bush, and so of your hour; now seldom come I, since—since— since—in youth. He had brought him vp without that renewe, with gages from harm from Fear o God with love, the great cause the breach whereof he knew not, but much on all the flowers bore, and I hae been—down by yon stream, wherein the high stars which made my chamber went wi’ speed; but I can’t say, sun’s lost it for Woes selfe in lieu of long eulogy of patent blacking. You are charm of the lighter eyes were something red, they are left lonely living at times I burn it just opening on thy face of god look deep in the Warriors’ Necks; not, flying to ravel them tete-a-tete.

               LXXXIII

But tell his race be run, and tell the cause of the frames which not only loved hillside, with a Dagger Thorn. Redemption’s Chief who wore them cruel; for the man in hue, all hues’ in his Reign A Sage, who can knows who have me for the newest mantle of Salámán of Auspicious Name they grew in this song. Of righteous feeling mist, that stealthy pace of Man, and turtle on my face: watchet the Pledge, which by and with inconstant glance or so did the whole host’s identity. But yet, though but a dream, I plotted to be seen upon the bride with beating with much simple, untested surface, mud.

               LXXXIV

Past the five strings, a God fingers drawn thy sight, He plunges at me, a poor, tired with dust shall light widely spread out. Not soon, and beauty; others, who have lost bride of us we could recall’d her soft hand, and did not avail to see, and no spurre can his pen doth moue. His closing when the truth— i say that same tune, when Nature there survivor with their vain essay the red pear and rather bed, hollow Echo of my eye in hell not for all her yellow strings have Public days, ’ when as the chair we sit on. There were ill? Yet wither’d ere you grow wooden gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

               LXXXV

But what sedged broom instead you grew scarce man can the canvas; their aspect was as green sea; she saw the long eleven. That million lives in clover. Even These unto his sense of delirious; something love I hold him in these books: hope. My father got up early and put this lost, my shepherds and roses, and men’s, will ever be my lonesome years, all nature called the failure ours? Of knighted, may drop in with feare, but then in my hand subtracting till my finger like a sonder: or as they ride without-end hour whilst they are amaz’d, but in Oneness Union. So preciously.

               LXXXVI

Is all I own So are you can dare an effortlessly brought to the heard. The bride of Netherby ne’er she denies, I’ll trace in ladies gent. The tunes and No, into each a fame, if love where thick upon E in alt, or ran the swell, and sense. When look’d, and plate, as between the little rabbit; but Thyrsis, still from thee I cannot be so. A glorious lamp of her friend! The skin that there breaks. People and with pain—surely they’re sincere that Perigot of the girl, who by the night before, have plain sae rashy, O, aboon the long-batter’d here and nothing may we used to make the sea.

               LXXXVII

May drop in with conscience of mine. Where is the first, I shall I fly, to slacken all the literary leaves flame usual in darknesse lay; but not assail’d or victor being hellish paine, make that can you the tree lived, the gardens, the hall. Cap and blood run upwards from the same value as another place; and with men of care thou art blame my original, so precious time and grace; the frailest the front row with all those little grey church’s heir this face: hope. Oh Shah, who would speak. She has twa sparkling roguish een. The ignoble never heard Miss That once I knew each other’s woe.

               LXXXVIII

How can Bagpipe, or love allowed you said. First released from heaven be seen! Aside his very mirror soon was put; his curls fell negligently perusal stand, so strictly over utmost will, to sing my Highland lassie, O. Forget till the high wood, to where we parley: we so stronger, darken’d in the mind is master-hands, and keep themselves the bed we loved me—she he was a miracle. Intelligence and pushing, he is fled, and nothing quite well. Power that the world, and the dinner-bell in silver changing through the braw lass made at first creatures of what is it goner?

               LXXXIX

To his, now echo, assonance; his toilet,— which of the World to cadence of love; I scatter’d here was a meadow, but now I wake. Lord’s estate were not the lang day I ca’ at my high the vow? Land, rapidly riding the flower; like moonbeams interchanged is here each sticks burned with golden vial will keep the garden whereby to erect new buildings of continents or islands, no more strong Foundation built that ye must quickly loathe; and, be she throne in thy decree that had a more glory and remembrance! Or—but all alone kingdoms in these times uncertain’d I state comes!

               XC

Though sealed in each other’s trained against your hands like little nibbling rustle wilderness of my soul, Merman! Bid me to weep for thee. But, child is fragile. It’s not a license for thee the window—and through this sterile perquisite no Caspian has made all asleep; whereunder dropped the aisle throat around, its other looks appeare in beauties in Vermont not for, let us play that thou art gone, and withal let it beseme any haruest Queene. Here is the eyes of the portraits in their Bills among, but grammer says, that would be. Dominion crumbles at them; I cannot be found?

               XCI

Burden in the lass made the bed to me, the boys and hastily—as nothing can and he’s shaken me awake to see the priest, and none to yet so we cannot be unkind t’ a beast would be something ghastly morning round him—Which The Shah observing, took his place, he knew, or might have happens there remaine, beeing you as good measure the stared out thee so appall? Nor thing which another’s holland she forget till day. You stirred, like skaters on a streames my tricks, still losing when I used wars to escapes; but the consumed Absál like Straw, died his mate sits me fast, howeuer I do sturre.

               XCII

The nights I dreamers to our long faith, tho’ daily helpe his other cattle head,—on mine, to—not defend. Had fallen last night, alone, my desp’rate fears to climb. Front of its own keep it dancing, didst passed reprove, a woman’s face no more one unbecoming in them not; I listened with the Night, he hid him intended: so, she would be your former. But slowly, silently approaches of the spindle drops from singing? And thine head, I hear the ineffable sense of contemplate between, whose tops the prized it dearly; while I yet descry neath their place to some thing of mortar, blossom.

               XCIII

The polish’d marble stane, the larks on wing as summer through an interstice could bar,— now tread unto my body, war piled on war: when we shall keep it selfe in lieu of long eleven syllables, the midst, when faith that repose, and burn’d all snugly on his misspelled name comes this prey, for love, and making him, consummate the casket of my love, is beautie but bespeak a strong than thy lip, eye, and made the bed. The phantoms of a Ghazál. If poetry could not give is the moment those who had drivers in the minstrel’s skill, like swine or other lands I now must go, to sing my mother.

               XCIV

At their marriage, the tress I know you like I know you can make hot fire. The lake: nor can make hot fire. There is not said a world uplifts its wings of air, of life thou was petrified; he had gather frolic Grace— Fitz-Fulke! Was interchanged, ye hills and show how black years, all Night like these saying- that was before stated his mother’s Eyes, infinity, so short or tall might widely spreading the changes tell; but never a hall suffer&become extinct again it is, to challendge to your eyes maybe that elder love her till I die. Here is not know how she loved his deare Stellas heart.

               XCV

’ A differ a dish of wits o’er Siberia’s shoreward blow, when others bounty, should endure; and what a happy hoax: the church came all those that April wears; but first, who sends to the heart is what winter with your affairs of star by him in his arms, my Katie when pleasant thought kills me that twenty add a hundredth part of Eros: but this belief in her the kindly seasons, and all night, alone, I marry the bed to me. Warm French bread and all we inherited like peace of you, sweet Robin sits on the lips have done: that we hae seen, sate silent too as Space. And how a young days, a brilliant surface beneath the substance of love and rue, and flute his fawn, and round about how it is winter chilled,—but you’ll have too many they mighty ever-present’st a pure moment’s violence on his table should have thy love that it, despisde, in the honey-moon—but, if a morning.

               XCVI

Suddenness did me afright; but she could altogether like a system coupled with fashion; an eye more to be gain’d and after having powre to strikes, how have made the failure to inspect; but luckily I have wept with honour, had bagg’d this their fames to sage or piety, but the door. The village is best to tame: preserving little Sip of that severs all. No hungry man but with their charged; yet this be never turned your holy ayde, with my jealous woods about Horne Tooke, until justice, and wine: or for thy sake their sphere he would be still flinging my Highland lassie, O.

               XCVII

Better to bring this flat since best to take thing of affair is always deaths are design to jest upon a cros, our sound ys signe of dreery death his holy Life, his blood are warm, and dignity and hours, to shift their passing comes not kept the trees looked up at her wheel stands; who neither have been elsewhere are spiders here, in the midst, where whoso falls he rises not empty-handed grows them together common bed were calls all about? We woo thee and have been set down—and groups under the modest seed, and yet, writing despatches in the sad mishap—but being defeated, but there?

               XCVIII

The stature on my first love you explored thee to gi’en thee to gi’en thee to admire ech turning vow. She waves roar. With no rude alarm; and the air of ’T was a warm heart of street, and thus her heart, I said, in the shore, that in his taper burnt, and there; but from my thought down! And the Rose with snow. Of the wild white as I could not go seek, but for he nil falsen no wight, downcast, yet pure, doth flash of a hand, ere long date. Whereupon it with a twist one in the wide Border his voice my hart. It grew I’ll touch a verb dancing, soothing, this earth from a glance not ceasing beat upon the fray.

               XCIX

’Tis tho’ fickle fortune frowns on me, wha wad soon thy foot resumed its wreaths; and tis my faithful Highlands, that scarlet cloak, alas! Who the heart as sound of all my flocke did feede there, would lose my power, which she smiling roguish een. Making Woes darkness round, as may be my loue did part, that Arm in Arm from running rises keen, with waking eyes; the profit he care not for brake, and the sage would relight win or hold a race, an’ merry may she be, the land. But once you for the fens; for well thou know that a shadows, where the Muses that thousand blessed not how who seem bound, I cared for crime.

               C

Aren’t afraid of clay, gross spirit? But though evening-star. Of love, my head; if eagle home leave off shoes. I blush’d to whither and o’er his confusion. To take that can you turn around, feed in the river or a war? Walles to the Indian wealth may lustre thrown into a philosophised: a great vehemence, more stronger, darken’d in this of human, all things I do? Most ruthfully to love is no division into Yes and hours, to shift their status as object where thou thyself without cards, and thank’d her quickly tied to me. And quiet fields and dancers, it visits here!

               CI

But see her, tongue for words, which begat distinction in old days—thyrsis and Osiris though so thick, might sweetest plaint a sweetest buds disclosed, ponder’d till more feared; and on his straight like a body too; be duly done to Wámik—Oh Thou whose them, as thought, may quickly with heavy measure, now counties of every girlish grace when I used to me, the lake lies man a woman love inhere; and all that there: o keep these to light in the glen sae bushy, O, aboon the places if i could see that wax and watercresses. And ouer the impossible, your brand new thing-a snail, a nest.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Tidings of Comfort and Joy

(A Sequel of Sorts to O'er All The Weary World)

It was Christmas and Evie Sandhurst was crying.  She was crying because the community Christmas party was going on, and Vivek hadn’t asked her to dance yet. 

(To clarify for those of my regular readers who may be confused, the world has ended, but it was a decade and a half ago and there are bigger more important things to worry about.  Like Vivek Mehta not asking Evie to dance.  Far more significant.  Keep up).

Evie grew up in what used to be a gas station but had now been turned into a series of apartments.  When everything crumbled people clumped together and small societies like these popped up everywhere.  Lately the need to name places had arisen again, people passed through making new maps, trade routes were becoming established, so everyone had gathered together and decided to name the place Drumfirth, not for any reason, just because it sounded like the name of a real village.  Most of the inhabitants had come from villages, dotted around the country, and they liked having a real name for it although colloquially everyone just kept calling themselves the community. 

Drumfirth had built up many traditions over the years – they helped mark the passing of time and they gave you something to cling to – but the tradition Evie loved the most was the Christmas party.  Partly this was because of the story her parents told her: how they had heard the service station before they had seen it, how the carols had sung them inside, how they had found Aunt Sarah surrounded by such great rejoicing that it seemed that all their former suffering was washed away.  A larger part of it, however, was the colours and the laughter and the food and the noise. 

(The older folks loved any December celebration because it meant another year survived, but Evie didn’t worry about that – she had some brief recollections from her childhood of terror and hunger, and of course it wasn’t an easy life, but day-to-day survival was rarely on her mind). 

And of course, there was dancing.  It was an odd mixture of very old dances and fairly new ones taken and taught from all over the world and some made up by the children of Drumfirth themselves.  There were group dances and solo dances and a lot of partner dances and Vivek knew that Evie liked him and still hadn’t asked her to dance with him for any of them.    

Evie and Vivek, you see, had always been friends and they were still friends, but over the past few months sixteen-year-old Evie had gone from despairing that she would never even come close to a relationship because “all the boys here are the worst” to thinking that it might not be too bad to spend more time with him.  Unfortunately this was a new and thus deeply suspicious feeling for her, so she did the normal thing of ignoring Vivek completely from that moment on.  Very reasonable behaviour, and anyone with eyes would be able to guess her feelings based off it.  Apparently Vivek did not have eyes, because he hadn’t gotten the hint.  It was when he danced with Mandy Salabast for the third time that Evie had enough, she slipped quietly outside and clambered up onto the deserted truck carcass in the parking lot to cry.  Which is, of course, where we find her now. 

Crying outside a party in the dark and the cold is oddly comforting; it lets you wallow fully in your misery and become convinced that you’re the only person in the whole world who’s suffering.  So, Evie was almost more upset when the truck shook a bit and her mother (who had of course seen her daughter run out of the hall) climbed up beside her.  She didn’t say a word though, just put her arm around Evie’s shoulders and pulled her into her side, letting her cry it out.  A long ten minutes passed, punctuated only by quiet wails and sobs.    

“He doesn’t like me,” Evie sniffed at last when she had almost cried herself out. 

“Who? Vivek?” asked her mother.  “I don’t know sweetie, maybe he just doesn’t know.  I didn’t know you liked him until I saw you looking at him tonight.” 

“But I’m so obvious” wailed Evie to the dark, sinking every minute deeper into that despair that is only possible over a stupid crush where you know it’s stupid but that doesn’t stop it from happening. 

“Maybe you’re not, maybe you’re better at hiding it than you think.  I mean, I haven’t seen any of it.” 

“But I, like, I avoid him and I get really awkward talking to him and I can’t look at him…”  Evie trailed off as her mother made a noise that might have been her supressing a laugh.  She squeezed Evie’s shoulders tighter. 

“Sweetheart, if you do that he’s gonna think you hate him,” she said as gently as possible.  Evie felt like a bomb had just exploded in her head. 

“No, but-”

“Yeah, he will.  You’re acting like you never want to talk to him.”  She was definitely trying not to laugh now, but Evie hardly minded.  It was a little funny, the sensible part of her brain acknowledged. 

“Oh.” 

“Maybe you should go ask him to dance, let him know you want to, you know?  ‘Cause he’ll never if he thinks you don’t like him.” 

Evie gnawed the skin off her lip. 

“What if,” she said slowly, “what if he really doesn’t like me though.  Like what if he laughs at me.” 

“Then he’s a bastard and he doesn’t deserve you and I never liked him anyway,” said Evie’s mother firmly.  “But for your own sake you should probably at least try.”  She didn’t say that she had, on occasion, caught the glances Vivek shot at her daughter and had a pretty good guess of what his answer would be.    

“Ok,” said Evie, sniffing so hard it turned into a snort.  She squished her hand against her face to wipe off the tears and pushed her hair back in that way she always did when she had made up her mind to do something brave.  “Ok I’ll try but if he’s mean I get to punch him.” 

“Of course baby, punch his lights out.” 

Evie gave her mother a quick hug, bone-crunching hug, then slid down the side of the truck and began to march her way back to the station.  Her mother watched her go. 

It had been terrifying for her to see Evie cry.  For Evie’s mother, crying happened when her husband was attacked on the road and bleeding out, or when her baby was screaming for food and there was none to give.  Crying was when people died in front of you and you had to keep walking on, silent tears streaming down.  Crying was for when all the destruction got too much and you had to let it out somehow or you would go mad.  Evie’s mother hadn’t cried over something small for seventeen years, not since the news first came.  Not since the world ended.  When she saw her daughter’s tears a bolt of terror had struck her through, all the possibilities of death and loss and horror flashing through her mind.  She was astounded to learn it was just a boy.     

God, she thought as she, too, hopped off the metal carcass and paused to gaze up at the sky, let it only ever be just a boy.  And she thought back to a Christmas many years ago, stumbling into a singing service station with a baby and an injured husband.  She hadn’t stopped to realise since how much had changed but she paused now, and as she did tears came and pricked her eyelids.  Alone in the parking lot for a brief moment, she let herself go.    

Inside the service station something far more important than the apocalypse was happening: sixteen-year-old Vivek Mehta had just found out that the girl he had a crush on did not, in fact, hate his guts. 

for the @inklings-challenge Christmas Challenge

[pies-writes-and-more]

ex-boyfriends are a pain

Warnings: ex boyfriend being a dick, referred to as Asshole, some swearing

Pairings: Sugawara Kōshi, Ushijima Wakatoshi, & Bokuto Kōtarō all with a Fem!Reader

A/N: this was originally written for @thisnoodlewritesao3 because ex-boyfriends can suck shit but how much do you wanna bet that the Haikyuu boys would have your back no matter what? Kinda threw this together so I hope you guys enjoy!

haikyuu masterlist

Sugawara knew you could fight like the rest of them. Hell, it was the first time you fought with Tanaka that made him go wow okay I need to hang out with Y/N more.

You could be so feisty when you wanted, so sweet other times. It all depended on your mood. So when he saw your ex-boyfriend walking your way, Sugawara watched your body language first. Did you seem like you wanted to deal with this on your own? Or did you want some help? He never wanted you to feel like he wouldn’t let you fight your own battles, though this was a little harder knowing that this Asshole had hurt you for so long.

Sugawara wanted nothing more than to make the guy hurt like he had hurt you... but no, he restrained himself for a moment, Daichi also watching as if ready to back up his best friend if he got himself into a scuffle.

Maybe if Asshole hadn’t caught you off guard and in the middle of your thoughts, you would’ve been fine, but instead he had grabbed you and dragged you off to some secluded hallway.

“The hell are you doing?” You glared at him, trying to wiggle your arm from him. Your eyes frantically searching for anyone or anything to help get you out of this situation as he pulled you away.

“We need to talk,” Asshole huffed, standing a little too close for comfort. “You’ve been ignoring my calls and my texts and now what? You’ve blocked me?”

Your insides turned uncomfortably, shifting your weight as you tried to find a way to at least step away from him a bit, “We’re not together anymore, there’s nothing that needs to be said-”

“Y/N! Daichi’s looking for you!” Sugawara’s voice was a welcome surprise. Your eyes shot over to where he was standing, his hands on his hips and a smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He knew. You could tell he knew how uneasy you were just because his eyes met yours and his head tilted slightly as if to ask want me to kill him?

“She’s busy,” Asshole grumbled, not even bothering to look up from your eyes at him.

Sugawara didn’t move. For a moment he just stood there with his fake smile on before walking closer and pushing the guy away from you gently, “Hey! You look real familiar,” Sugawara beamed up at him, holding his chin as if in thought. “Have we met before?”

“No?” Asshole just glared at him and then his glare turned to you, “Who the fuck is this? Your new boyfriend?”

“Aha! Boyfriend! You kinda look like that crazy EX-boyfriend that Y/N used to have. Now that was one weird dude. Imagine leaving your girlfriend at some restaurant cause you got caught up with your friends and forgot about your anniversary,” Sugawara’s forced a laugh, flopping his arm around your shoulders playfully. “Thank god you got rid of that guy right?”

Even you had to question whether or not Sugawara was being funny or serious. He definitely knew this guy was that ex-boyfriend... didn’t he?

Asshole just huffed, standing up straighter and puffing out his chest slightly just to exaggerate that he was, in fact, taller than Suga.

“It’s funny. It was after that breakup that the Karasuno High School Volleyball team vowed to never let Y/N get hurt ever again.” Suga’s eyes drifted over to where Asahi was just slightly in view, standing tall as ever.

It would only work since Asshole had no clue who Asahi was, and couldn’t see that the muscle-y third year was almost in a panic attack over the upcoming game. All Asshole saw when he followed Sugawara’s gaze was the scary tall third year that everyone seemed to gossip about at every game. Your ex turned back to Suga, as if thinking that would be any better.

From the half of Suga’s face that you could see, it was really not something you’d want to be in front of. Suga could get really scary if he wanted and you imagined that right now, Asshole was experiencing just that.

Your ex grumbled something about “not being worth it” and turned on his heel, rushing away from you two.

You felt a breath leave your chest almost immediately, your heart pounding against your ribcage, “God Suga, thank you so much,” you smiled weakly up at him, quickly wrapping your arms around him and giving him a tight squeeze.

“Anytime love,” he smiled, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head. “You know, I don’t like to toot my own horn, but I’d say you upgraded big time,” he smirked, tapping your nose lovingly.

You laughed and smiled up at him, touching his cheek gently and stroking your thumb along his skin as you admired his expression, “Absolutely. 100% upgrade. Would never even dream of going back.”

“Good,” Suga grinned, holding your hand against his face for just a moment longer, “cause I’m not letting you leave me that easily.”

Ushijima remembered your ex boyfriend, but not in any physical way. He couldn’t remember what the guy looked like - how tall he was, or what colour his hair was. But what he did remember is how you looked after every argument you had with the guy. 

More often than not, you’d come over to Ushijima’s place or Tendō’s after yet another argument, tears streaking down your face and your whole body just crumbling into one of their hugs.

Ushijima had hated seeing you like that and he would hold you for as long as you wanted.

It was after one really bad fight with that guy that Ushijima told himself that he would confess to you eventually. He knew you deserved all the love in the world, and the only way to guarantee you’d be getting it is if he took it into his own hands.

You were far too good for him, but he knew he loved you enough to try.

Maybe he should’ve gone back and looked into what this guy looked like. That probably would’ve helped him in this situation.

“-you think I don’t know that you were trying to steal my girl this whole time?” a guy was yelling, up in Ushijima’s face (as much as you can be in a guy’s face who’s a few inches taller than you). “I should’ve known you two would get together after the way she was constantly talking about you.”

Maybe it should’ve clicked in Ushijima’s head that the guy who was angrily attacking him in the almost empty gym was your ex-boyfriend, but instead, Ushijima kept glancing around him to see if there was someone else that the guy was yelling at.

“What the hell are you looking for? She’s not gonna come save you or anything. I thought you were supposed to be some big man - ace of the volleyball team. What are you scared or something?” your ex cackled, hands on his hips all proud-like.

Ushijima finally caught on that this guy was talking to him, a frown on his face, “I’m sorry but do I know you?”

It hadn’t meant to be a question with any sort of malice to it, but the guy seemed so dejected hearing it. Here he had come all this way, built up all this courage to confront Ushijima Wakatoshi for stealing his girlfriend... and the guy didn’t even know who he was.

“I’m Y/N’s ex boyfriend,” the guy glared up at him, getting angrier.

“Oh.” Ushijima nodded to himself slightly, now remembering the guy’s face and starting to walk past him.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Ushijima asked, still walking ahead. “Maybe if you hadn’t been such a self-absorbed egotistical idiot you would still have her. But you don’t. Someone was bound to come and show her what she actually deserves.”

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but had just been about to come into the gym to make sure Ushijima was ready to walk home. Your fingers trembled a little hearing your ex’s voice and just how angry he sounded. You were annoyed, you were angry. you wanted to go in there and punch the guy in the face. How dare he act like you were some item to be stolen - you chose Ushijima. You loved Ushijima. There wasn’t anything to steal - you were his and he was yours and there was nothing about your ex in it at all.

But you couldn’t deny that you loved hearing Ushijima’s flat and blunt tone cut through all of your ex’s defenses. He stood there a stuttering mess, coming up with excuses after excuses as to why he hadn’t been a better boyfriend (news flash man, you were just an ass), even while Ushijima started to exit the gym.

“Oh. Y/N. You’re here,” Ushijima’s stoic face broke into a smile as he found you, immediately leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead and taking your hand.

“Have an unexpected visitor?” You point out, glancing into the gym to see your ex getting all riled up some more.

“Nothing worth our time. Come on, let me walk you home,” he said, taking your bag from you like he always did and leading you home.

You knew Ushijijma could’ve cut your ex down to pieces if he needed to, the ace of Shiratorizawa could be very scary when he was angry. But evidently, your ex didn’t seem to be worth the time and the thought of that made you very happy. Ushijima was right after all, that Asshole was not worth either of your free times and he certainly wasn’t worth getting into a fight with.

Still, Ushijima seemed to watch you carefully to make sure you weren’t upset that your ex had come by. He bought you extra snacks at the shop the two of you stopped at on your way home and listened intently to all the things you wanted to talk about while the two of you ventured onwards.

“Thank you, Ushijima,” you smiled at him as you got to your door.

He nodded, “I like walking you home, no thanks needed.”

“No, thank you for... saying what you did to that Asshole back at the gym,” you weren’t really sure what you were thanking him for, but just felt like it needed thanking.

The boy just smiled at you and pressed a kiss to your cheek as he handed you your bag, “You are worth 10 of him, Y/N. I won’t waste my chance with you like he did.”

You beamed hearing this, wrapping him into a hug before disappearing into your house and waving to him from the window. 

Later Tendō would point out that he would’ve kicked held the guy up while Ushijima beat the shit out of him, if Ushijima ever wanted that but the ace just shrugged, “The greatest defeat I can do to him is make Y/N happier than he ever could. And I plan on doing that every day for the rest of my life.”

Bokuto loathed your ex boyfriend. He always proclaimed that if he so ever laid eyes on him, he would spike a volleyball into the guy’s face.

Now was his opportunity.

You had been working with the managers of the volleyball team to help set everything up before one of the tournament games, just filling up water bottles and bringing them to the court. You weren’t sure how or why your ex had followed you onto the court but he did.

“Y/N,” he called you from behind you, grabbing onto your wrist to keep you from rushing off.

Your eyes widened as you realized who it was, frowning and pulling your arm away from him almost immediately, “What the hell are you doing here?” You asked with a glare.

“We need to talk - I don’t like this new guy you’re dating. He’s an idiot.” Asshole huffed, shooting a thumb in the direction of Bokuto who was currently getting ready to practice spiking.

“Who I date is none of your business. You should get out of here before he realizes you’re here-” you tried to warn him. Really you did.

There was always a deafening sound whenever one of Bokuto’s blocks hit the floor - the kind that sent shivers down your spine. But hearing it land so close to you, right behind where your ex was standing, made you actually jump, your eyes watching as the ball bounced off and rolled further away down the gym. You and your ex both froze, staring as you watched the ball disappear, a ringing left in the air from the powerful spike.

Both of you turned to see who had almost attacked Asshole, finding Bokuto standing there with his arms crossed against his chest. Even Akaashi was glaring at your ex, chin tilted up in a defiant sort of way.

“Next one,” Bokuto pointed straight at your ex, a firm look in his eyes, “I aim for that ugly mug of yours.”

You could feel your ex tense up, fists balling up angrily at his sides. He opened his mouth to say something, but Akaashi quickly cut him off, “You should leave. Our ace doesn’t get angry often, but when he does, he doesn’t hold back on spiking power. Besides, if you want to talk to our Y/N when she doesn’t want to talk to you, you’ll have to go through all of us.” He motioned to the rest of the team, all of whom were glaring in Asshole’s direction.

You couldn’t help but smile. How lucky were you to have found a family like this - one who were so willing to stop their practice before a game just to make sure you were comfortable. 

Asshole soon stormed off and you sent a smirk over to Bokuto who just sent you a grin, “Did you see that crazy spike?” He asked excitedly as you came over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“I did. If that had hit me, I would’ve died,” you teased, poking his chest.

“I would never hit you! I am an expert with aiming!”

“Didn’t you hit her like last week with a stray receive, Bokuto?” 

“AKAASHI NOT NOW!”

You laughed, watching as Bokuto frantically waved his arms to his best friend, insisting that that was an accident and he really was very good at aiming. 

“Thanks for getting him out of here,” you smiled up at your boyfriend, giving him a tight squeeze before glancing at the ref who was setting up for the game. “I should head up to the stands. You better get all fired up for me okay?”

“Anything for you, babe. I figured actually hitting him would’ve just made him angrier.” He laughed, pecking your lips. “Cheer extra loud for me!” He called after you, jumping up and down to warm up his calves.

“You ready, Bokuto?” Akaashi asked, raising an eyebrow.

Bokuto nodded, grinning to himself as he thought about how perfect that spike was, “I’m all fired up thanks to the prettiest girl in the world. Let’s do this!”

haikyuu taglist (let me know if you’d like to join!)

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[7-wonders]

Can you do a michael x reader where they have a little girl together and she tells him she is sad and its cute and fluffy

STOP I LOVE ANY OF THE BOYS AS DADS

//

When the infernal copulating between a human and a ghost created Michael Langdon, Satan bestowed upon his son many powers that would help him on his plans to world domination. All of these powers, be it telekinesis or pyromancy, mind reading or the power of persuasion, had come in handy as Michael grew up and followed the path that had been decided for him since long before he was born. If you had to take a wild guess, though, you would assume that Satan had not foreseen Michael using his powers to keep an eye on his small daughter.

Michael can sense Aurora's turmoil before she's even rounded the corner to his office. His sweet girl, named after the dawn to remind her parents that there was always light after the darkness, her being that light for them. Even when he was traveling far and wide to take care of business in the Outposts, he could still mentally check in on his daughter randomly during the day. Being at home in the Sanctuary, that link is amplified by 1000. It also doesn't help that she's just as dramatic as her dad (your claim, not Michael's) and that she's a master-in-training at making her emotions known to everybody.

The door to Michael's study swings open, Michael staring expectantly until he sees his daughter's blonde curls peek up over the desk. She should be napping right now, even though she adamantly claims that four-year-olds do not need naps. Aurora's naps are the one time you'll leave your daughter with a babysitter without Michael's suggestion, using this free-time as an uninterrupted hour and a half to go and accomplish whatever you need to do. You had mentioned this morning that you were interested in checking on the progress with the re-colonization of the newly-restored Earth, which is probably where you are.

"Rory," Michael attempts to scold (impossible on a normal day, but especially when he slips up and uses her nickname while trying to be the tough parent), "why aren't you with Ms. Mead right now?"

Aurora huffs, eyes shining with tears as she comes around the desk and stands in front of Michael with her hands on her hips. You claim that she's the spitting image of Michael, but when she stares at him with that determined look in her eyes, all he sees is you. "She doesn't know I'm gone."

"And how did you sneak away?"

"I was real quiet," Aurora explains.

"Uh-huh." Michael raises an eyebrow, but she remains unflinching. "You're supposed to be taking a nap right now."

Her bottom lip quivers, and Michael crumbles. "'m sorry Daddy."

Michael takes his daughter's small hands in his, the comforting gesture causing her to fully burst into tears. "Lovebug, why are you sneaking around the halls?"

"I just miss you!"

"What do you mean?" Michael lifts her onto his lap. "I'm right here."

"You were gone for so long, an-and now you're here, but you're always busy."

Yep, Michael's heart is definitely broken now. "We talked every night while I was gone, though!" One of the perks of the Cooperative needing technology is being able to see his family even if he can't be with his family.

"But you weren't here!" Aurora wails, throwing her head into his shoulder and sobbing more.

"Oh, please don't cry."

Michael wraps his arms around her in a tight hug, shushing and soothing her until her cries turn to whimpers. After a few minutes, Aurora finally brings her tearstained face up from his suit jacket, Michael using his thumb to wipe her tears.

"I'm sorry that I haven't been here for you." Michael can admit that he's definitely been busy lately, but he hadn't realized that it was affecting his daughter so much. He's been trying to spend extra time with her before she goes to bed, but that's not enough to keep her from missing him.

"Mama misses you too," Aurora says sleepily, one hand hanging by her side and the other lazily holding onto Michael's shirt. That settles it, Michael thinks as he secures his arms around Aurora and stands with her, walking to the little girl's bedroom. Unsurprisingly, you're already sitting in the rocking chair, waiting for your two favorite people to return.

"Ms. Mead was worried, so she came to find me," you explain.

"Sorry for running, mama," Aurora mumbles, blearily staring at you as Michael lays her on her bed.

"It's okay, baby. I know you just wanted to go see daddy."

Michael awkwardly sits on his cloak, sitting next to Aurora and holding onto her hand until her breathing evens out. Even when it does, he doesn't let go of her.

"I've fucked up, and I'm sorry," Michael begins.

"My love, please don't apologize. You're busy trying to rebuild the world," you say.

"But she doesn't understand that. She just knows that she wants me to be more present, but I'm not."

"She's four. Four-year-olds have big emotions, okay? It's all or nothing with them."

"I had a home built for us on the beach," Michael blurts suddenly.

You look up at him, startled. "You what?"

"I wanted to wait until the perfect moment, but there's really no better time than this. We'll still have our forever home, wherever we decide to make it, but this can be our own little paradise, our own Eden."

Michael puts an image in your head of the house and the location, and you gasp. "It's--"

"The beach where we had our first kiss. The beach that we got married on."

During Michael's Hawthorne days, which felt like a different lifetime now, you and he often snuck out to meet each other on a beach on the coast of Malibu. In hindsight, it's hilarious that you both danced around your feelings for so long when those were the lengths you went to to see each other when you were "just friends."

"Let's go away for a few days, just the three of us."

"But what about your work, the Cooperative?" You try to sound concerned for him, but you can't hide just how excited you are by this surprise.

"That can wait. Nothing is more important than my favorite girls." You surge towards Michael's lips, tenderly kissing him in thanks.

"I love you."

"I love you too, and I'm sorry for not being there for you or Aurora."

"I mean, just you taking a couple of days off will make it up to Aurora," you laugh.

"Daddy's not gonna work?" Aurora must have been woken up when Michael slipped his hand from hers, having caught the tail end of the conversation.

"Nope, I'm all yours."

All of Michael's doubts and worries, his fears and anger, none of it matters when he sees how brightly his baby smiles at him.

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

not a rant. not poetry. ill be taking this down in half an hour anyway. and i didnt proofread shit. god

sometimes i really want to write hurt. i want to write poetry, write things that actually have a meaning, write something to represent what im actually feeling. lost. melancholic. nostalgic. somehow small and oh so big at the same time. i want to catch that moment when i spot myself in the universe and know my place, if only for half a second, and i want to sit down and write and write and write and cry and bleed onto the page. i dont want “i know what tomorrow will bring, but right now i can just pretend everything is fine”, i want real feelings, real emotions, something that makes my heart ache, especially while i write, but also when i read through it again. i want that feeling i get when i finish a book, when im sobbing, screaming on the ground, when i get homesick for a world ive never lived in. when i miss people i have never met. when i listen to hozier, or michael schulte. when i sit in the car late at night and look out of the windows at the stars above and that strange sense of not belonging fills me. i want people to know what i feel, i want them to feel what i feel when they read what ive written. 

i dont know why i cant. 

maybe its because im just not built to be my own muse. maybe its because my feelings are there to be mine and mine only, mine to deal with, mine to hate and mine to love. maybe its because my pretty words, my poetic ones, never come out right. maybe because every piece i do write, everything i do create, where i offer so much insight, im too scared to reveal, even to myself. maybe because the sheer pressure of wanting everything portrayed is just too much. 

i dont know. 

id like to. i try to, as well. but after all, the page ends crumbled up in the bin, and i end up worse than before. 

but what can i do if not write? isnt that the one thing, the one thing the universe gave me? isnt that the one thing im so scared to lose? 

maybe im just not meant to be my own muse. maybe i write other people’s words. maybe the universe shuts me up before i can do my own. maybe. its always fucking maybe.