#the whole thing is like poetry

[purgaytorysupremacy]

“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway.”

Sade Andria Zabala, Coffee and Cigarettes

Dean edition

[tang3r1n]

cute idea but hero!chizome grappling with a hopeless crush on all might’s daughter figure (jus a chick he took under his wing izuku style)

like UGH. he’s such an old-school gentleman FUCK. he sends flower bouquets with your favorite flowers and like a 4 page letter with the most beautiful and eloquent language used to talk about how in love he is, and he talks like he’s fucking dying. exhibit a;

“i would lay myself at your alter, goddess, my insides laid out for your tasting, your pleasure— please eat of my flesh, consume me whole and let me feel accomplished as a simple, filling meal for you.

oh i beg of you, let my soul forever intertwine with yours, let me feels the silk of your skin, the heat of your breathe, plunge your hand into my heart and cherish it. sink your teeth into my neck and devour me.

i yearn for you, lovely thing. warmly, obsessively, lovingly, carnally, i can only hope you pity my foolish desires— my insane ramblings of fanatic and desperate attempts to gain your affections. please, please by the grace of all that is just and fair, let me worship you. let me treat you as you want to be.

i pray to no god but that of your body, of your mind, of your soul. there is no religion outside of your teachings, my muse. your word is my law, my written oath, music in the grand hall, the rain, the air, the existence of love. i would sooner accept death and the failure of my life’s work than to even acknowledge the existence of beauty that shines brighter than yours.

i beg of you, let my lowly hands hold you, let my soiled and ugly form touch and feel you, let me court you, my fair woman.

let me love you.”

omfg and he’s so petty. randoms in the street and fellow heroes flirting with you? he’s sighing and scoffing dramatically before completing dissecting their speech patterns, body posture, heroing skills, physical appearance, literally anything he can to make them leave you two alone

i feel like he doesn’t care abt how he looks (i mean duh no nose.) but the second you mention liking muscles he’s suddenly finding excuses to flex and stretch around you non stop, he’s doubling up his workout routine and bulking like a MOTHER FUCKER to see if you’re staring yet.

AAAHHH idk i just love chizome and need him insanely badly.

[beaft]

finding out that most other people have an internal monologue fucked me up so bad i swear. what do you MEAN you have a little voice talking inside your head the whole time? does that not drive you nuts???

[flowercrowngods]

The Last Day.

Steve doesn’t remember what drove him here — he doesn’t remember a lot of things lately, not that he’s mentioned that to anyone. They don’t really question these things anymore. Fucky vision, nightmares without sleeping, or things that just get lost in the everyday grind of remembering to do normal things like eat or drink or where the fuck he put his glasses.

So, he doesn’t remember what drove him here, if he was supposed to get something or if he just needed to get out of the gym, needed to breathe some air that’s not filled with anxiety and grief and the pressure of survivor’s guilt and why and how and when around every corner, behind every door, underneath every donated item and in every bite of stale peanut butter sandwiches.

The library was never a place of comfort for him, and he honestly never really cared about it one war or another. If pressed for it, he couldn’t name five books in all of these shelves. He never really looked.

But now, in the semi-darkness, the empty shelves are somehow daunting. All useful books were taken, children’s books donated to all the families that stayed, all science books stolen by people who were sure they could fix this, could get behind this, could build generators and water refineries and all that shit.

Somehow, the negative space in these shelves draws him in, and he takes a deep breath. A breath that Dustin would like, probably. It smells like books. It smells old. It smells like, somehow, somewhere, there might still be a constant in this world. Something that will remain. Like maybe there will always be a library that smells of old books. No matter how often the world will end.

It’s a strange thought. But comforting. He trails the shelves, not really looking at the books, walking too fast still to make out the titles in the dim light, but he refuses to stop. He refuses to stand. To linger.

The next two rows are completely empty, and it makes him shiver. Robin probably has a name for the feeling. Maybe melancholy. Or maybe he’s just haunted. Susceptible to absence.

Or maybe they’re the same feeling.

Blindly, he reaches for a book, because his hands begin to tingle and he really needs something to do before his lungs catch up and his brain finds out that he’s somehow almost about to panic, or to relapse, or to drop to the floor if his legs don’t regain feeling soon.

He keeps walking, the book in hand. It’s a slim edition, bound in leather, and it feels really old. Looks like it, too.

Michael Bruce

He carefully flips it open, the old paper crackling with the movement, and he wonders briefly if this is the part of the library that’s usually watched like a hawk, the part where you’re not allowed to touch the books without supervision and certainly not without reason. Maybe. Maybe this Michael Bruce hasn’t seen a real face in a long time.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to find out that they’re mostly poems—and of course they are, old books are almost always filled with poems.

He opens the book at a random page, still needing to settle his hands, his heart, his mind. The title makes his heart drop. “The Last Day.”, it’s called; still his eyes glide over the lines, intrigued.

Twas on an autumn's eve, serene and calm. I walked, attendant on the funeral Of an old swain : around, the village crowd Loquacious chatted, till we reach'd the place Where, shrouded up, the sons of other years Lie silent in the grave. The sexton there Had digg'd the bed of death, the narrow house, For all that live, appointed. To the dust We gave the dead. Then moralizing, home The swains return'd, to drown in copious bowls The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Okay. Sure. So, maybe this Michael Bruce dude is not the best company when the world is sort of ending. But somehow Steve can’t stop reading, and for the first time he kind of doesn’t want to stop reading a poem. This one’s different anyway. This one just… it gets him.

Images of Barb flood his mind. Eddie. Chrissy. Max. Everyone who was lost, everyone who has an empty coffin in their grave and an NDA penned to their name.

To the dust We gave the dead.

The labours of the day, and thoughts of death.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to go back out there. Head to the gym and fold clothes and check the missing posters and make phone calls to find out, to make sure, to keep in touch. The labours of the day. The thoughts of death.

Shaking hands flip the pages, two at once, because he doesn’t want to live the last day; doesn’t want to hear about it. He needs to know how it ends, needs to make sure, needs to find out, just—

A pause ensued. The fainting sun grew pale, And seem'd to struggle through a sky of blood : While dim eclipse impaird his beam : the earth Shook to her deepest centre : Ocean rag'd, And dash'd his billows on the frighted shore. All was confusion. Heartless, helpless, wild.

Suddenly, what little light was left to stream through the windows disappears, stealing the words from beneath his eyes, and before he can look up and breathe, the door to the library bursts open, revealing a panicked Robin.

“Steve?”

“Robbie?”

“You… You better come see this.”

He hears it in her voice. The resignation. Oceans raging as the fainting sun grows pale. Confusion. Helpless, heartless, wild.

He closes Michael Bruce and runs toward her on numb legs, not ready to find out about the new apocalypse he’s gonna find outside the library. And seeing black skies through the windows and pale faces behind them, reflecting against the growing darkness, he wonders if he shouldn’t have skipped through the last day. The Last Day.

Terror in every look, and pale affright Sat in each eye ; amazed at the past, And for the future trembling.

Steve, too, is trembling. And Robin’s hand in his is shaking just as much.

Poetical works of Michael Bruce : with life and writings. William Stephen ed. 1895.

[shalom-iamcominghome]

What I like a lot about judaism is... It can wait. It can wait. Especially on shabbos it's just... You can wait. Life can wait a bit.

And that's really nice in a world that moves at a breakneck speed, demands you move with or be left behind. I've always been left behind because it's hard to keep up, but I find that I can actually just... Let things happen when it comes to judaism. You think a people, a religion that's thousands of years old doesn't have time for you, or wouldn't be willing to wait for you? I doubt that you'll be left behind, truly.

[whenyoulosesmallmind]

Nicklas Bäckström & the Washington Capitals (+ nickeovi) ― Immortality, Clare Harner | insp.

credits: x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x. x.

[wehaveagathering]

Matt Rempe // b. June 29, 2002 Derek Boogaard // b. June 23, 1982; d. May 13, 2011 Chris Simon // b. January 30, 1972; d. March 18, 2024

Rest in peace, Chris Simon.

Like You, Roque Dalton; translated by Jack Hirschman.

Michael Mooney / Tim Nwachukwu / Jared Silber / [screengrab] / Michael Mooney / Joshua Sarner / Len Redkoles / Jared Silber / Sarah Stier / Joshua Sarner / Michael Mooney / Chris Tanouye / Andre Ringuette / Paul Bereswill / Bruce Bennett / Bruce Kluckhohn / Jim McIsaac

[just-some-moss-and-bones]

because i love you in green.

but you love them in pink.

(an accidental poem that i wrote as a rant, but it needed more weight)

Something about being aroace spec

and feeling like i cant offer close relationships

in the "propper" way,

and so, i never will

have that deep connection

with the people i love

because they dont see me as someone

who can love in that way.

And its not their fault and its not really mine

because were friends and i love them

but they love other people

in a way i dont understand

and even if they loved me

it wouldnt be right

because its

diferent.

because i love you in green

but you love them in pink

[lemongogo]

why do i love the conflict more than anything else . the misery . the incompatibility that spreads like oil slick . wanting so desperately for resolution that never comes . hmmm

[moregraceful]

my hot take as a person with an english degree and a library degree is that some of the dorkiest fiction and poetry ever committed to paper in the english language came out of the iowa writer's workshop so it is at best goofy and at worst completely futile to argue that your average amazon unlimited writer is having a more deleterious effect on literacy and literature.

[shitty-proendo-blackout-posts]

car ride! vroom vroom.

[kandicon]

Is nobody talking abt Nova Storm being a potential trans woman?? Like she not only takes Thundercracker's place but also has his sonic booms?? The show has gone over nonbinary people and gender conversations already, this is not out of the relm of possibility at all.

If nobody's gonna talk about it that just means I'm gonna talk EXTRA about it. Headcanon time.

Okay, so obviously Starscream was the one who did the surgery. He'd be all to happy to have unique colors w the removal of Thundercracker's blue and be the only boy in the group. The chance to stand out even more amongst his trine AND a free opportunity to stick his hands in some internals and do as he pleases?? HELL yes.

He was only a little upset that Nova Storm wanted to keep her sonic booms and he couldn't take that mechanism to stick into his own internals. Just a little.

Skywarp started doing makeup because Nova Storm took interest in it. Which of course meant Starscream also got into it too because he would not let his trine walk around with messy lipstick! Don't they know they're an extension of himself?! Their image is his image and they will look the best. Both Skywarp and Nova Storm have shaky hands from their outlier abilities. Good thing no-smudge paint can last without wear for months, no war or prison could ever get in the way of a perfect face of makeup.

Nova Storm realized she was a femme during the war, which is the main reason she got Starscream to do her transition and not a less biased, less unethical actual doctor. It had downfalls, but it was also one of the trine's closest times during the war. The three of them, all sitting around a room meticulously planning "Thundercracker's" death for months, because Nova Storm's a writer and no way she's gonna give up the chance to act out one her stories in real life. Skywarp is so proud of the fake tears she made at the news to this day (Starscream learned mascara just so Skywarp could wear some that day to get it all runny). Y'all will think that the Decepticons' most guarded secret has something to do with the war, or a Shockwave experiment, but no. The Decepticons' closest kept secret is Nova Storm's transition.

Everyone can kinda agree that it was probably the best for Nova's transition to be secret, "Thundercracker" was a very public figure as one of Starscream's trine. It would have been an easily available weakness for other Decepticons or Autobots to attack to hurt Starscream or Nova Storm. But the main reason was for the tragic death story potential and siblings scheming together.

Skywarp and Nova Storm definitely had their whole finishing each other's sentences before her transition, but they totally played it up even more afterwards.

Nova Storm got so happy and euphoric when people started to refer to her and Skywarp as sisters (usually with a negative "s" word before it. Ex. Scary, sinister, spooky, etc.). She still feels euphoric over it, but it's much more normal for her now and then she realizes she feels less about it because is so much more normal and common now and that makes her even happier. It's just a thing for her now!! It's a correct thing and it's natural and that's exactly how it's supposed to be.

[milkyspine]

— gynecologist, room 202

[faaun]

Jack Marsh (2005), Friendship Otherwise - Toward a Levinasian Description of Personal Friendship

[candaru]

thinks forever and ever about how Caroline was a bad person who did bad things out of love before eventually becoming GLaDOS and being a bad person who did bad things but for Herself this time. and then eventually doing one (1) good thing out of love.

and how that one good deed will never make up for any of Her past actions, and She is in Hell (Aperture) forever. but She did, one time, do something kind. it will haunt Her forever and She will never know peace about it. but She did do it.

[wlwgang]

I actually don’t think I’m strong enough to make it through the rest of brokeback mountain this shit is devastating