#with apologies to Robert Frost

[thatsbelievable]

[yesterdays-xkcd]

Some say the world will end in fire; some say in segfaults.

With Apologies to Robert Forst [Explained]

Transcript

[A not-very-realistic view of the universe, in profile. To the left, a sectional view of the Earth, with its Moon and few clouds overhead, and a little Cueball standing, looking up. Extending to the right of the Earth, various stellar objects: some planets, some spaceships, another galaxy. Above them, on an artistically jagged white background, somewhat like a torn piece of paper, this text:] A God's Lament Some said the world should be in Perl; Some said in Lisp. Now, having given both a whirl, I held with those who favored Perl. But I fear we passed to men A disappointing founding myth, And should we write it all again, I'd end it with A close-paren. [To the right of the "various stellar objects", as if paired with the Earth at their left to bracket them, is a giant close parenthesis:] )

[trek-tracks]

Bashir: Miles, we've been drinking in my quarters for five hours now. Don't you think it's time to call it a night?

O'Brien: Come on, Julian, just one more. Maybe we could go play darts at Quark's...

Bashir: You can, but I'm exhausted. Did I not tell you how long I was in surgery? For six-

O'Brien: Six hours, yes, limbs everywhere, I heard you. And I kept the station's life support system from going offline for seven. Just a normal day at the office.

Bashir: And I'm tired. Go bother Keiko.

O'Brien: She's having a girls' night.

Bashir: Well, go have a girls' night with her. I'm going to bed.

O'Brien: But can we just -- as Yeats once said --

Bashir: No Yeats. We're doing a Robert Frost.

O'Brien: A Robert Frost?

Bashir: Yes. Miles TO GO before I SLEEP.

[pumpkinupsidedowncake]

Live(ish)blogging my reaction to The Road Not Taken, by Robert Frost, for posterity, part one: the long ass introduction I feel obligated to read.

Introduction by Louis Untermeyer:

Every time I read the lore behind poems I know, which is three times, I learn something that fundamentally alters my perception of the work. Only once have I appreciated the insight. This occasion was not that time.

Additionally, and I don’t know why I’m surprised by this, but this guy is such a Robert Frost simp. I truly don’t think there’s a better word to describe it. When explaining how at first only one magazine wanted to publish any of Frost’s work, Untermeyer basically calls all the other magazines cowards with shitty taste:

They were totally uninterested in poetry that refused to repeat the pretty platitudes of verse; they were afraid to consider a new kind of pastoral poetry which, instead of using the shopworn stereotypes of exaggerated country sentiment, showed the country in its quiet, sometimes drab, but always true colors.

Like, wow. Rip to those other poets. Who, you know, were well-liked enough to get published and all that. But no, I’m sure their art was nothing but unimaginative drivel, Frost’s number one hype man says so and surely he wouldn’t be biased.

Moving on: how the hell is “poetic radiator” a job description?! Now I’m picturing Frost sitting against the wall, making loud humming noises and intermittently saying things like “Poems are cool, yo! You should write one!”

Okay, finally some valuable insight. By my definition of valuable which is extremely relative.

Preferring a reality of experience to a retreat to a fantastic dream-world …

Idk if that’s the right way to end that quote. fuck it we ball. This quote is referring to Frost, and it interests me because of what it could say about Arthur’s gravitation towards Frost’s poetry in Malevolent. It also explains why I’ve never felt particularly drawn to Frost.

Yeah, I should say this for context: the only reason I am reading this book, the only reason I bought it at half price books in the first place, is because I enjoyed the poetry included in that podcast. Well, that’s half the reason. The other is that I don’t really get Frost. I appreciate his artistry, but the emotions he conveys are not immediately relatable to me.

Take, for example: the big one. Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening. The first time I learned of it was through the story behind Eric Whitacre’s choral piece Sleep. I don’t remember if I read it then or not, if I did it made no impression on me. Years later when I actually read and reflected on it, an admittedly childish dominated my mind:

why not just go into the woods for a time?

It’s bad weather, just get wherever you’re going late and blame it on the snow or forgetting something. Cell phones don’t even exist yet, you’re free! Nobody needs to know. The miles will be there when you get back.

I know what the poem is saying. I can understand the experience it’s speaking to, even. But unless I really try to get what it’s going for, I don’t. And that’s why I’m here, reading the longest introduction known to humankind, instead of working on the large assignments due tomorrow, as Robert Frost intended-in-reverse-as-in-definitely-would-not-appreciate-especially-since-he-was-apparently-a-teacher.

I want to get Frost’s poetry, or at the very least make my best attempt at it. I’m a nerd, I basically get a stat boost to this type of thing. I can do this. All I have to do is make it through this introduction. And then the actual poetry collection.

I did it. The introduction is finished. I’m being overdramatic, there were only like two pages left. The last thought I have to offer today is on the last line of the excerpt from Frost’s “The Lesson For Today”:

I had a lover’s quarrel with the world.

It’s described as what he wants written on his tombstone. My first thought was “same”, my second was “wait a minute, is this just a universal thing?” and my third was “no, it’s because I refuse to pick a struggle.” Meaning not everyone would describe their existence as such, but plenty of people probably would.

So yeah. This has been a journey and it’s literally just passing through the gateway. Thanks for watching, like and subscribe, I will be back with more at some point.

[thiefree]

Whose woods these are I've no idea.

I thought I'd find the village here

[d3adgayw1zzydraws]

..I'm just gonna... leave this here..

..I'm sorry

I once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden

another huge thank you to Caspervi for this beautiful commission✨

[mochie85]

As part of your 1k celebrations I would like to submit the following prompt for consideration 😁♥️ feel free to bend it to your will.

Your colleague Loki finds himself in your rooms at Stark Tower for (fairly) innocent reasons.

You arrive back unexpectedly. He hides, at first.

✨✨

Fairly Innocent

One Shot Masterlist | Follower Event Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

A/N: I apologize, with my whole heart, that it has taken me this long to finish this request. So long, that I have reached a new milestone since this request was made. But I hope you enjoy it. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Explicit. Smut, hand job, oral (female receiving), slight DOM vibes, voyeurism, shower scene, mention of 'toys'. Happy ending. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Your room was dark and cold. The curtains were shut leaving a small sliver of light shining from the cityscape outside. There was a stillness in the air from being untouched the last two weeks. “Now, where did she put you?” Loki hummed while looking around your room. He wandered in, using the access code you had given him. His prying eyes scanned and noted how orderly you left your room. And even after some time away, the room still smelled like you. Like citrus blooms on a winter morning.

Loki lent you some practice daggers a while ago and was keen to get them back. They were dull and lightweight. Perfect for beginner enthusiasts like the Widow, who wanted to add a new skill to her ledger. Whom Loki had promised to train, alongside you, in Asgardian combat.

Loki rummaged through your bookshelves, thinking you might have stashed them along with your books and souvenirs from your travels. He knew you loved to read. Your voracious appetite for mysteries and novels rivaled his own. He noted Robert Frost and Agatha Christie situated alongside the many romance novels.

Peculiar, he thought. He’d never known you to be interested in such fiction. You two had always discussed classic literature or Asgardian poetry. A Cheshire grin appeared on his face as he took a book with brightly colored Post-it notes sticking out of the top pages. He opened the paperback to a dog-eared page that was clearly read and reread extensively.

Lucy moaned as Cade’s fingers dipped inside her wet pussy. Trills of pleasure ran up her spine, making her unable to stand any longer. He gently stroked her as he whispered on her neck, “Don’t fight it, baby. Let go for me.”

Loki shut the book closed with wide eyes and a wider grin on his face. “Well, well, well. Who knew that the Avenger’s little darling liked to read smut?!” He said to himself looking at the volumes of romance books you had. He was quite impressed by your ability to surprise him. He thought he had you figured out. He might have to tease you about this when you return from your mission.

Loki searched your closet next, but he couldn’t find the daggers. He combed through hangers of clothing and shelves of shoe boxes till he stumbled upon several silk bags with rope tie enclosures. One bag had the length and shape of the daggers he was searching for. How sweet of her to care for the daggers and stash them in a silk purse. Loki opened the bag and reached in but was again surprised at what he found.

He pulled out a black, patent leather collar with a gold buckle. Glistening under the bright closet light, was a heart-shaped tag, hanging from the center. The name ‘Darling’ was inscribed in cursive. Stunned, Loki looked inside the sateen bag and pulled out what he mistook for his daggers- a short, riding crop that matched the patent leather of the collar. Hanging from the handle was a gold chain that had a tag etched, ‘Darling’s Master.’

An intrusive fantasy came unbidden in his mind. It was of you on all fours, with the collar adorning your neck and him standing behind you rubbing the tip of the crop against your dripping heat. “What other deliciousness are you hiding, my dear?” he whispered as he stowed the collar and whip and reached for another silk purse. Every bag he opened had a different set of negligees. Each one was more lascivious than the last.

The smile on his lips got darker as his body started responding to the different scenarios playing in his head. Each scene- novel and unique, to the set of lingerie he opened. More than once, he had to stop himself from reaching inside and rubbing the fine lace between his fingers. “Nope! No,” he chided himself. “Focus. I’m here for the daggers.” Loki took one last look and walked away before he could swipe one of your lace panties and put it in his back pocket like some pervert. “Daggers. Daggers…where are you daggers…”

He couldn’t stop smiling at the revelation he found. Memories of his last interaction with you played in his head under a new context. It was as if he was seeing you in a different light. Truth be told, he did always find you attractive. But he never once pursued it thinking it wouldn’t be favored by you, or any of the team. You didn’t get the title “The Avenger’s Little Darling” for nothing. You were beloved by all. And he was the untrustworthy, extra baggage that the team had to deal with so they could have Thor on their side.

He knew he couldn’t have you.

One last place he looked was your bedside table. If it’s not here, she must have taken them with her. Opening the drawer, Loki shouldn’t have been surprised at what he found, but he felt an exhilarating chill crawl throughout his body, nonetheless. A vibrator. A large, blue, silicone toy that was tapered at the end, was resting neatly inside. You naughty little minx.

Loki couldn’t help the state of arousal he was in. He stood up and stared at your toy, his fingers running puzzled against his lips. He imagined you spread on your bed, lost in the throes of your passion. What do you think about when you have your toy tucked inside your wet cunt? Who’s name do you moan when you’re at the edge of your climax about to fall? And how can he conspire to make sure you think of him?

Surprised, Loki looked up as he heard the keypad of your door unlocking. In a senseless rush, he closed your drawer and cloaked himself invisible. He didn’t want anyone to find him snooping around your belongings. He stood still as he blended with the shadows of your room.

He shouldn’t have hid. You did give him the access code to your room. You trusted him enough to be in here. But there was something so intimate about the things he found. He felt exposed and guilty. Loki didn’t want anyone to think of him being nefarious with you.

A small sigh of relief flooded him when he realized it was you, back from your assignment. He opened his mouth to speak and announce his presence, but he couldn’t. So many questions rushed through his mind. He wanted to ask all of them! Yet, he was struck immovable by your presence.

Had you always been so lovely? Had your eyes always been that bright and alluring? Your smile, an invitation for his lips?

Were his discoveries about you finally shedding light as to who you might be, underneath the perfect façade you seem to have cultivated for yourself? Everything he found was, he swore to the gods, erotic and arousing. But it was the fact that you surprised him that made his level of attraction to you grow.

You walked in with a heavy sigh, setting your duffel bag down on your bed and your boots onto the floor. You didn’t bother turning on your lights, as you zipped your body suit down and peeled off your armor. A rather tame set of black lace underwear shaped your body. Your exposed skin turned a rich shade in the darkness of your room.

Loki noted some bruises and scars peppering your body. The fresh welts were colored green and blue indicating they were recent and most likely acquired from your latest mission. You massaged your neck and rolled your shoulders trying to ease the ache settling into your bones.

Loki watched as you made your way, routinely, to your en suite and turned on the lights. A loud rush of water from the shower rumbled through, disturbing the silence that had enveloped you both. It took his entire strength as a god to keep standing where he was and not follow you to watch.

New fantasies came unbidden in his mind of you naked and wet in the shower. I need to leave. I need to depart before I do something that both of us would regret.  He waited till he heard you close your shower door. The water made loud splashes as it hit against different curves of your body.

A few more minutes and Loki found he could move again. With a shaky breath, he exhaled and made his way to your door. He would’ve continued if it weren’t for your small sighs. Soft moans and whimpers traveled to his god-like hearing. She’s touching herself?!

Loki balled his fist to elicit pain. His fingernails dug deep into the pad of his palms, trying to overcome the overwhelming state of arousal he was in.

“…Loki…”

He stopped and nearly fell to his knees. You said his name! The honeyed tones of your moans dripped over him. Coating his entire body in primal need until it reached his cock and hardened.

He couldn’t leave now. He wouldn’t. He turned on his heel and slowly lifted his cloak, risking everything by pushing the door slightly more open.

Loki licked his lips at the sight of you lost in your orgasm. Your head was thrown back as water trickled down your body. The droplets guiding his eyes down…

…down…

…to where your fingers played with your aching cunt. Your hands explored your curves. Every dip. Every hollow. Every scrumptious mound that he wanted to devour himself.

He stood at your en suite door, his arms holding the frame above his head. He didn’t trust himself to come closer to you. Not until you allowed it. Not until you saw how his eyes became ravenous at the sight of you touching yourself to thoughts of him.

“Loki!? What the hell are you doing?” you screamed out, startled. His eyes traveled back up to yours as you finally acknowledged his presence. Your body turned flush from the heat of the water and the embarrassing situation you found yourself in.

Loki freed himself from your door and tried to answer. Nothing came out but a quivering breath and a small growl of desire. His eyes narrowed and he bit his lip. He took a step forward and closed your bathroom door behind him making your heart drop.  He slowly made his way to you. Sluggish feet carrying him across your tiled floors. “Don’t stop on my account, Darling.”

“Why are you here?” you demanded.

“I heard you call out my name. And I am nothing if not a benevolent god who answers your prayers.” It was as if a switch was turned on and Loki couldn’t stop until he had you.

He watched you back into the tile of your shower. You looked like a caged animal put there for his viewing pleasure. “Why are you here?!” you repeated. It’s too late to be demure. He’s seen everything.

“I came looking for the daggers I lent you. I looked everywhere in your room. I couldn't find them.” Loki’s voice was deep but clear. You could hear the dangerous desire in his tone as he reached for the door to your shower. On instinct, you reached for the handle, stopping him from opening it.

The chase became real. He had to have you. The last hour he spent combing through your suggestive belongings had built a naughty little version of you in his head. Like a puzzle. It was the most erotically charged moment he’d ever spent. And now? Now, you were denying him!

“Last chance, Darling. If you want me to leave now, say so,” he said with a smile. “But I promise you this. I won’t stop till I have you.” His breath steamed the glass doors. Your heart pounded inside your chest as you looked into his dark eyes.

You let go of the handle and stepped back. Loki opened the door slowly, anticipation building up and pooling in between your thighs. “Good girl.”

Loki walked into your shower, still clothed. The scalding water penetrated through his white cotton shirt making it translucent under the spray. You could trace the lines of his muscle underneath.  His hair became slick and affixed itself against his face. He towered over you, as he leaned over with one arm against the shower wall.

Fuck!

He lowered his face. His nose brushed against the tip of yours and you could taste his breath against your lips. “What were you thinking about?” he asked looking deep into your eyes. “And remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”

You quivered at his voice. You looked down embarrassed. “No, no. Look at me.” He said grabbing your chin and forcing you to look back at him. He kept his fingers on your face, gently stroking your jaw.

“I was thinking about you,” you admitted. Your voice was so small. You felt so fragile in his hands.

“Go on, sweet thing. What prayer can your god answer for you tonight?” he encouraged. You were mesmerized by his stare. His voice lulled you to a sense of heat and longing.

“I pictured…touching you,” you started. “I fantasized about your body holding mine.” Loki licked his lips and the tip of his tongue brushed against your mouth. It tingled and the sensation moved throughout your body, awakening every cell within it.

“Like this?” he asked, grabbing your hand gently and placing it underneath his soaked shirt. He guided your hand up his torso and held it there. You could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he guided you over his stiff nipple and then down his lean abs.

Loki didn’t take his eyes off you once. He watched how your eyes widened at his boldness. How your lips parted when you finally touched him. How your whole body moved just a fraction closer to him, capturing him in a lust-filled haze of his own.

He continued steering your hand down his body, past the hem of his pants to his aching bulge. He was big. And hard. You couldn’t imagine what he would look like, what he would feel like, once he took it out. He kept your hand on his cock, driving your hand up and down. “Keep your hand on me,” he instructed. The steam from the shower did little to prevent the shiver that ran down your spine. Nor did it hide the wetness that was now dripping from you.

“Can you feel how hard I am for you?” his arms encircled your body, pulling you closer to him. His mouth incased your lips in an uncontrollable kiss. He weaved his deft fingers into your wet hair, pulling your head back to kiss you at a deeper angle.  He inhaled deeply, smelling the clean scent of your soap and shampoo.

He groaned into your mouth when he felt your hand reach inside his pants and squeeze him tightly. Loki’s eyes rolled back as you expertly palmed his stiff cock. You felt the veins pulsing in your fingertips as you pumped his dick mercilessly. He leaned over you, caging you between the wall and his eager body.

“Don’t stop, Darling,” he whimpered in your ear. “Don’t stop.” Loki bucked his hips into your hands. He captured your lips one last time before he moaned your name, releasing the pent-up arousal he’d been holding in. He fell apart in your hands, and you continued till you milked every last drop from him.

Before the water could wash away your efforts, you licked off two of your fingers, tasting his offerings. “There she is,” he said with a devilish grin. He was waiting for the real you to come forth. You seemed so demure and shy at the beginning. Nothing at all like what he found out you were. The one who reads erotic novels over and over again. The one who hides their toy on the bedside table, ready to go. The one who has a patent leather collar with their pet name etched into it.

Loki growled at the memory. He will see you in that collar. He’ll make sure of it. “But for now, I want a taste,” he said to himself. Loki started with your mouth, sampling himself in your kiss. You winced slightly when he reached for your waist. Reacting from a sensitive bruise that you acquired from your mission.

“Do you think your body can handle a couple more bruises from me, Darling?” he asked earnestly. You swallowed thickly and nodded. Loki proceeded to grab your hips and hold you in place, while his mouth eagerly marked your neck. He continued down to the base of your throat as he knelt in front of you. He captured your breasts with his tongue, paying them each attention. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gathering the white cotton in your hands as you fisted it.

When he reached your stomach, he was gentle and sweet. His hands secured your waist, pushing you slightly higher. “Wrap your leg around me,” he directed. You obeyed and placed your left leg on his shoulder.

Drips of water still fell from the shower. Loki licked and slurped each drop that fell onto your thighs. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe on your warm cunt. “Fuck…Loki,” you screamed when he latched onto your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He looked up at you and watched you as you threw your head back, your ecstasy showing through.

“Did you like that, Darling?”

“Mmyes,” you whined. “God, yes!”

Loki repeated his actions, holding onto your thigh, as he savored your clit. You couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Your knees were weakening, and you had nothing to hold onto as your hands slipped against the tile of your shower wall. “Loki, please,” you panted.

“I need to be inside you,” he moaned. The sooner he can make you cum in here, the sooner he can properly bed you on top of your sheets. He looked deep into your eyes and you almost didn’t recognize him. Hunger and desperation were hanging on his brows. The sight of him in between your legs, the feel of his lips latching onto your folds, the weight of his fingers thrusting inside you. It was all-encompassing and all too consuming.

“Oh, God! Loki!” you screamed as he inserted another finger. You laced your hand through his drenched hair, pulling every time his tongue flicked your nub. “Please, I need you inside me too. I need…” your breathing came in harsher. The steam almost suffocating you as you come closer and closer to that edge, waiting to fall.

“Don’t fight it, Darling. Let go for me,” Loki quoted your book, making you clench around his fingers. One last thrust into you and you screamed your release. Loki lapped up your swollen pussy with a greedy smile, making you shudder.

Hours later, you and Loki were lying on the floor of your room. Blankets and pillows surround you while your legs and arms tangle with each other, holding each other tightly. You were running your finger up and down his chest as he read aloud a passage from one of your “smutty romance books,” as he called them.  

His voice was magnetic and hypnotizing. Every word he said came to life inside your head. “Hmm, we might have to re-enact this one,” he teased after he finished a scene.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the last word you said. It just came out. You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. From bending to his will and wanting to please him.

“I was curious about something,” he grinned, biting his lip. “Which I hope you can enlighten me...”

“Yes?”

“When I was looking for the daggers, I came across this.” He conjured up your patent leather collar and held it up against the dim light. He next conjured up the matching riding crop and showed you the tag that was hanging from the handle. “Who was your master?” Loki asked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer. “Why do you have this and not them?”

“I never had one,” you admitted sheepishly. “I bought that in hopes of using it one day. But we never worked out.”

“I see,” he said with a devious smirk.

“It was so pretty. I couldn’t just get rid of it.”

“Sit up. Hold your hair, while I put this on you.” You obeyed his instructions. A pool of desire is already forming in between your legs as he tightens the collar around your neck. The heart-shaped tag, ‘Darling’ felt heavy and cold as he placed it neatly on the base of your throat.

Loki wiped his thumb over the tag of the whip. Newly etched, in bold letters, was his name instead. “Well, it’s mine now, darling,” he grinned as he tested the switch on his hand. The sharp thwack stung his palm. Your heart started beating quicker.

“On your knees,” he growled.

“Yes, sir.”

🏷️ @emarich7 @michelleleewise @coldnique @psychospore @lokisgoodgirl @silverfire475 @fictive-sl0th @springdandelixn @wheredafandomat @goldencherriess @peaches1958 @salempoe @thomase1 @kkdvkyya @a-witch-with-words @mischief2sarawr @sarawr-reads @vbecker10 @peachymallow @irishhappiness @cakesandtom @simplyholl @here4thefanfics @tallseaweed @immersed-in-mischief @joyful-enchantress @lokisninerealms @kikster606 @glitterylokislut @loz-3 @slytherclaw1227 @chantsdemarins @the-lady-amphitrite @eleniblue @km-ffluv @lokidokieokie @n3rdybirdee @melsunshine @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokischambermaid @cjand10 @asgards-princess-of-mischief ++

[aba-daba-dooo]

Things my students have said as Psych quotes

Shawn: “As a former child, I apologize on behalf of all former children.” 

Lassie: “You’re still a child.” 

Shawn: “That’s debatable.” 

— — — 

Gus: “So today we’re going to read some poems by Robert Frost.” 

Shawn: “Isn’t that the guy with the white hair and the eyebrows and he makes winter?” 

Gus: “You mean Jack Frost?” 

Shawn: “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard it both ways.” 

— — — 

Shawn:“My dad dropped me down the stairs when I was a baby. It happens to everyone.” 

Jules: “My parents never dropped me.” 

Gus:“Mine either.” 

Shawn: “I’m starting to think that’s why I’m like this.” 

— — — 

Gus: “What’s going on in that ADHD brain of yours?” 

Shawn: “Serial killers!” 

Gus: “What about them?” 

Shawn. “I… don’t remember. But I will eventually.” 

a few minutes later 

Shawn: “I remember now! So there’s this guy and he put bombs everywhere.” 

[futurebird]

I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a (fig. 4) and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

(Image Source: https://www.mbari.org/news/genetic-research-offers-new-perspective-on-the-early-evolution-of-animals/)

[redroomroaving]

Fic Masterlist & Geraldus Discord

Harper Prince Hamlet

First things first! You! Are you a fan of Harper Geraldus? Would you like to speak to other fans of the best Harper Prince?

Come join us in the Hamlet!

Masterlist of works:

Geraldus x Rolan

The Harper & The Tower: (E, updates x2 a week, Longfic) Geraldus & Rolan post game finding romance over books and healing, sugar, smut, good feelings, exploration of respective traumas and growing together.

Spring: (E, shortfic, WIP) Regency AU exploring Geraldus & Rolan, CW abuse, a huge amount of pining, forbidden romance, wet shirts etc

Don't burn alone in the dark: (T, what if, WIP) what if scenario exploring the game events with Geraldus at Last Light Inn, Rolan being a mess

H&T smut one shots:

The Habit of Perfection: poetry & smut, apologies to Gerard Manley Hopkins

A simple meal: cooking & smut, apologies to the Tower kitchen

Conjuring Majesty: balcony appreciation & Rolan feeling sorry for himself

A quiet retreat somewhere lovely dark & deep: cabin smut, apologies to Robert Frost

The aftershow: post opera smut, switching things up

Winter: Rolan failing at iceskating smut

Marked for prey: Spell battling sparring smut, apologies to most of the Ranger spell list

Donnick x Abdirak

Sufferer, I shall: (E, CW: BDSM, heavy themes, religious angst, COMPLETE) Loviatar & Ilmater stand in sworn opposition, and a badly injured Abdirak is recovering in the Temple of Ilmater. Exploration of contrasting gods of pain, romance & smut

Around willing whip, a rope bound: (E, CW: light BDSM, rope bondage, religious themes) Follow up and epilogue of sorts to Sufferer, I shall

To Suffer, to live: (E, CW: short smut, heresy, flagellation) continuation of S,IS & AWW, ARB

Small Sanctuary: (E) follow up, smut and fluff with some religious angst and soup cooking

Kar'niss x Klaus

Trusting. Trusted. (E, CW: Lore accurate drider content) What if Kar'niss was part of the Circus? A one shot romance exploration with a lot of support and sadness.

Conductor, Ringmaster (E, CW: More lore accurate drider stuff) Follow up from Trusting, Trusted, following Klaus x Kar'niss on some dates across the planes with the touring circus.

Geraldus x He Who Was

Of my sin: (E WIP, CW: trauma, dacryphilia) Shortfic, takes place in Act 3 following the Bhaalist cult, exploration of troubled relationships with returning to service.

They asked for no pickles: (HWW x Geraldus, E modern restaurant AU, COMPLETE) A little short fic because He Who Was loves pans that spawned out of a fic prompt challenge.

Shadowheart x He Who Was

Communion of shadows: (E, CW: Trauma, COMPLETE) Shadowheart/Shadar-kai mystery solving squad, exploring a lot of Shar/Ravenqueen lore and two really evasive people driving eachother insane

Halsin x M!Durge

On nights without much sleep: (E,CW: Durge stuff, COMPLETE) heavy on Redemption Durge angst, Halsin x Durge finding a lot of healing, nobody getting any sleep,

Klaus x Lia

A Dash of Scarlet: (E, smut one shot) spun off from H&T, shameless happy smut for Lia and Circus Husband

AUs:

The Red Harp: (HWWx Shadowheart, Rolan x Geraldus, E, Penny Dreadful AU) A monster hunting squad feat He Who Was, Shadowheart, Rugan, Geraldus, Jaheira, Minsc, Aradin and more to come.

Written in Glitter (or how we fell in love and took down a mega corporation along the way): (multi, Klaus x Kar'niss, Geraldus x HWW, Rolan x Haarlep, Abdirak x Donnick) modern au following the trials, tributions and loves of the roomates of 33 Rivington Place.

[the-fallen-stones]

I am bad at hiding. If you are my friend, you might recognize me. For that, I apologize.

You may call me anything you like. I enjoy and encourage nicknames. But if you need a name, Mica works.

If you would like me to write something for you, you can request it, and I will if I can. It may not be immediately. But I will try.

A warning, my descriptions can sometimes be graphic, or a little violent. It is usually metaphorical, though, don't worry.

I like both storm and calm. Chaos and comfort. I enjoy things that invoke thought, or creativity. I love hugs, snuggles, animals (especially dragons and cats), tea, fiction, and poetry.

Please do not bring up politics here. It's not that I don't care. But I've anguished myself enough over them and honestly, I need a break.

Never assume hostility! It was probably an accident. My tone comes across weird sometimes.

Tags:

#storm's eye - things that strike me, and I'd like to come back to.

#mica speaks - anything original, by me.

#mica reblogs - empty reblogs.

#mica elaborates - reblogs that are not empty.

#mica rambles - I have rambled.

#mica rhymes - my poetry.

#mika doodles - my art.

#mika's music - my favorite songs.

#mica recites - my favorite poems or stories.

#mika inquires - I ask questions.

#mika responds - I answer questions.

Credit for the image goes to @poetryforall.

My wonderful mutuals:

@kimu-dem - Keeper of comfort.

@thatrando13 - The wanderer.

@carrotsinnovember - A gentle friend.

@hersurvival - Blanket fort against thunder and snowstorms.

@caustic-splines - Writer of old love letters.

@abiethewizardduck

@randomshowerpoems - The wise wordsmith.

@poemsofanentomologist

@galaxys-universe

@literaryvein - The bright storm outside.

@same-skies

These titles can always change, as I know you better. If you'd like me to use a different one I certainly can.

Some of my favorite songs are;

One Day You Will Fly Too, by Aimee Carty,

Come Along, Does the Swallow Dream of Flying?, Egg and Soldiers, Pelicans We, Half Past Three, Run, and Linger Longer, by Cosmo Sheldrake,

Glow in the Dark by Vian Izak,

Rush of Life, My Neighbor's Car Alarm, Desire, and Rain, by Tony Ann. (Classical.)

Experience, Fly, and Eros, by Ludovico Einaudi. (Classical.)

Ilomilo by Billie Eilish,

Two, Sun, Eight, and Light by Sleeping at Last,

Big Black Car and San Luis by Gregory Alan Isakov,

Passing Through by Kaden MacKay,

The Mountain Song, Be Nobody, and Better is the End, by TopHouse,

Changing Days, Irish Eyes, I Can Never Give my Heart, and Rocket, by Rose Betts,

The Sound of Silence, by Simon and Garfunkel,

Walking in the Air, Time, Orinoco Flow, and Carol of the Bells, by Libera,

And many more.

Some of my favorite poems are;

Tug'o'War of Heartstrings, The Night Sky, Together, With a Window Between, A Heavy Wait/Weight, A Veil Not Yet There, Sharks in a Zoo, A Faustian Deal, Denial, The Voice of a Loved One, Explosions, Tribute to the Ocean, The Vast Expanse of the Ocean, Nurturing, Stalagmites in my Brain, and How Can I Put Those Boxes Away? by The Shower Poet,

Fire and Ice, and Walking by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost,

The Sunshine Kid, Paper People, and 59, by Harry Baker,

The Spider, by Robert P. Tristam Coffin,

Run With You, by Atlas,

A Litany, by Gregory Orr,

Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors, and Details of the Woods, by Richard Silken.

And many more.

Some of my favorite books are;

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis,

Breadcrumbs, by Anne Ursu,

Ella Minnow Pea, by Mark Dunn,

Holes, Wayside School, Small Steps, and There's a Boy in the Girl's Bathroom, by Lois Sachar.

Hoot, Scat, Flush, and Chomp, by Carl Hiaasen.

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, Starry River of the Sky, and When the Sea Turned to Silver, by Grace Lin.

And oh, so very many more.

Poems I have written;

Teach Me, Silent Serenade, Space Can Die, Weak Resolve, Boundaries Drawn, The Candle, Vacuum, One Pace, Adventure With Me, Stagnant, Workaholic, Sirens Can Cry, Dreamt of Loss, The Chalkboard, Shush, and many more to come.

Once was a girl, who would talk to herself. Stories, tales, thoughts in passing, of the past, future, of the sky and leaves, wind and breeze, of storm and calm. She longed to speak in a cadence. One to soothe. To heal. Doesn't everyone want that, to heal? To be somebody to someone, to have a voice like an anchor, eyes like a vice, that soften, that go warm like a bird's shelter?

Storm seeks calm. Calm seeks storm. They find a balance. But never, never do they stay still. She couldn't stay still. Her mind was a hurricane. And sometimes a breeze, sometimes a song to put you at ease, and sometimes, tight, coiled like a spring.

The calm wasn't who she was. Nor was she as much of the storm as she thought she was. Dear, she was a fire. She'd dim, and grow brighter. Her voice would get high when excited, she'd smile. Her embers couldn't rest. She'd smoulder. Then big stewing pots would bubble over. She'd speak in paragraphs, eyes like beacons, stumbling over words and not always making sense...

But it was beautiful. She loved, she loved deeply. She wanted to be loved, too. And she was. But when the smoke gets high, water and frost meeting that bright smile all too many times, it blurs out the hands, hearts, the words reaching, seeking...

She was silenced. Of course, the embers still burned. But the very things she stifled were the things she was beloved for. And she couldn't hear them.

But slowly, wet wood dries, my dear. You can't always cry. Time passes by. Wounds heal, scars fade, even when clouds pass over the stars. She was stronger than that.

She learned again to love. And though she had times she couldn't muster the songs, the words, the strength to hold on so tight, she began to heal.

Please, my dear, have patience. She is still healing.

Burnout is a dangerous thing. If you are stuck it never eases, never ceases. And things that brought you peace are no less, then, but grievous. It feels like Sisyphus himself is in charge of pulling you out of that rut. My dear, he can't.

The world moves so fast... I can't help but be dizzy. The facts and the future, like stones, whizzing, past my head, I bustle, I catch them, I'm busy...

The earth turns fast but not as fast as my head. Live, die. Fireflies. On my deathbed. I crave a rest, but I get anger instead. For injustice, for fury, the memories I shed...

Give my hands to the stars, fire for every digit. They fall from the sky when in darkness I fidget. Tear through the clouds, but then cry when I can't fix it. My brain is a void and...

I just.

Can't.

Bridge it.

[alexanderlightweight]

What if the New York Institute itself is an angelic eldritch creature? It has stayed dormant for a long time, but with Alec as the new Head it awakens and adores him and Magnus just falls that much more in love with Alec?

Thank you!! I love your writing so much!!

I loved this prompt (I actually have a fic where Alec IS the institute) so this was right up with what I enjoy!

Uh so this was supposed to be not as soft but then the Institute got involved and wanted Alec to have something nice because of his childhood so we skipped some of the angst

I hope you enjoy!

—

Alec grows in the shadows of the New York Institute.

A small child kept away from the light and hidden, his parents enemies of what is to be his new home.

Alec learns to be silent. To keep out of the way of the older shadowhunters and to keep busy to not distract his parents.

Eventually, he finds a room full of a bright light and Alec finds himself mesmerized by it.

It’s colder here, like the ice Alec sometimes gets in his juice but his mother’s gaze is colder still, his father’s care a layer of frost.

The cold of the blue light doesn’t scare him and Alec reaches out, his pudgy fingers too short as he tries to touch it.

There’s a sound, like the door is being opened and Alec turns, terrified at being found and he trips.

Falling into the light.

—

Alec doesn’t remember what happened after.

He’d think he was found unconscious and put to bed but his mother wakes him with a harsh shake of, ‘he’s too old for naps’ and it’s clear she doesn’t know.

Any other shadowhunter would have left him there, and Alec knows he didn’t crawl back by himself.

The idea that he has a hidden ally — someone or something that might actually care about him — blooms and Alec bites his own lip harshly, because he can’t smile.

Even if hope is slowly unfurling, he can’t let it show.

Otherwise, it will be taken away and then Alec really will be all alone.

—

Magnus is annoyed to have to visit the Institute in person, but there has been an official change in leadership and his presence has actually been requested, not outright demanded.

So he walks into the Institute without a care. His own wards recognize him but the angelic power that normally is abrasive against him seems… not absent but uninterested in poking at Magnus.

No alarms go off, but everyone stops what they’re doing to look at Magnus.

A woman approaches him, tightly coiled curls and sharp brown eyes that look over him warily, but not aggressively.

“High Warlock Bane?” She asks, which is several steps up from Maryse Lightwood spitting ‘warlock’ at him.

Still, Magnus won’t hold his breath.

“In the flesh,” Magnus smirks and he looks her over carefully, “here to meet the new Head and Commander.”

He wonders if she’s one of them but she only nods and then gestures for him to follow, carefully making sure she turns her back first.

It’s a new courtesy, but hardly a risk when Magnus is in an Institute full of shadowhunters.

Magnus is powerful, not stupid.

“They’re one and the same.” She says without any introduction, “Alec Lightwood is taking over solo. Maryse and Robert have retired to Idris.”

“Oh?” And while their surely repellant spawn will be just as much of a thorn, Magnus is gleeful at the prospect of rarely seeing the elder two. “I’m surprised they didn’t stay to make sure I wouldn’t nefariously influence their heir?” It’s a little more snide than he usually allows at the start of a nephilim interaction, but he’s feeling giddy.

The shadowhunter stops in front of a solid mahogany door and she frowns, and then gives him a wary glance. “Robert and Maryse Lightwood will never again step foot in New York, or her Institute.”

And with that confusing but titillating piece of information. She opens the door and announces his presence and then sighs.

“Apologies, High Warlock Bane. I seem to have forgotten where the meeting would take place.”

And Magnus suddenly wonders if instead of an office he’s about to be led to an interrogation room.

Which will not be happening.

Except he’s led up a dizzying staircase of delicate marble to a door of glass and wood and when his guide opens it, he’s welcomed by plants and clean air and pure but alien magic.

“The Commander prefers to often have first meetings in the greenhouse. Normally he remembers to tell me—“ and she raises her voice like there is someone else listening. “However it must have slipped his mind for the last two weeks.”

They take a turn and Magnus finally sees the new commander and oh—

Oh no.

Alec Lightwood isn't repellant at all, though he may be a brat considering the smirk of pure amusement he sends Magnus’ long-suffering guide.

“Thank you for coming, High Warlock Bane. This is Mirai, my second-in-command.” And he turns to Magnus, all tall, muscular limbs and a gorgeous face and hazel eyes dappled in the false light of the room. “Would you like refreshments, or prefer to provide your own?” He asks, like he actually wants to know and it could be a trap, it should be a trap but then Alec Lightwood sits back down and motions across from him.

There are two chairs, equally made and comfortable, as Magnus discovers when he sits. There is a short table between them with nothing on it but an almost empty mug of what smells like coffee.

“You’ve provided such a refreshing place to talk considering my last meeting here.” Magnus says, because it’s clear they’re not tip-toeing around things with the way he’s being treated. He summons a little flourish of magic as he twirls his fingers, “but I do know a place with the best bagels this side of Brooklyn.”

Nothing goes off. No alarms and no weapons drawn and Magnus is delighted despite himself.

“That sounds nice.” Is all he actually gets in a response, Alec Lightwood blinking at him as if he’s in a daze.

“Sir, do you even know what a bagel is?” Mirai, helpful to have a name, is trying to be quiet but Magnus activates battle magic before going to the Institute.

He can hear her and Magnus is charmed when all Alec — perhaps it’s Alexander? A much more fitting name for him, more to roll off the tongue and savor — does is sigh and pointedly hand her his almost empty cup, dismissing her second.

“I know what a bagel is.”

—

“Are you sure this is a bagel?”

Magnus is being asked but it’s not malicious, it’s confused and Alexander is poking his bagel suspiciously. “I thought bagels were the long, skinny bread loafs.”

“Alexander,” Magnus can’t help the way his voice goes helplessly soft or the intimate way he calls Alec Lightwood’s name. “That’s a baguette, darling.”

And the endearment is equally an accident and Alexander is staring at Magnus with shock.

And it’s not the horrified kind.

He’s got pink sneaking up his neck and his cheeks and even tickling the corner of his ear Magnus can see.

“Right.” Alexander says and then, rather helplessly he picks up the bagel and takes a rather large bite.

It’s clear he’s not expecting the filling because he holds a hand over his mouth politely for a moment and there is a little smear of schmear on his lip.

Magnus uses magic to clean it away without thinking and they both awkwardly pause, as he remembers that this is a business meeting.

Not a date.

“Right, your wards?” Magnus is asking but Alexander has already taken another giant mouthful. Cheeks like a burrowing chipmunk and Magnus summons a handkerchief and passes it over.

Less temptation at this point.

There’s a moment of very pointed silence as Alexander chews and Magnus takes his own, smaller but no less delicious bite.

“Is there a way to make your wards a little less—“

Ah and this is the point where Magnus is disappointed. It’s fine, Magnus is used to being disappointed, it will be fine.

“Uhm, this might be a weird thing to say.” And Alec is nearly fidgeting, fingers wiping on the napkin nervously. “Is there a way to make the wards a little less well, intimate?”

Magnus stares blankly as Alexander blushes like skin baked at the beach.

“Intimate?” Magnus hears himself say blankly.

“Yeah the magic in them is, it’s nice. Really. Your magic is lovely and really sweet and friendly—“ and Alexander is off blabbering on a running commentary of similar words and components.

“Alexander.” Magnus finds himself interrupting, “What do you mean by the wards are intimate? You can feel the magic?”

“Is that… not supposed to happen?” And Alexander looks truly lost, “I thought it was a natural progression of taking over the Institute. I mean, I didn’t expect it to be so lovely and so interested in me. But it is getting a little…”

And Magnhs waits for the words ‘too much’ and then Alec sighs.

“If we’re being honest it’s actually really distracting. I don’t mind it when I’m alone, but if it could stop being so touchy when I’m in meetings with the clave or training I’d appreciate it. And maybe if it stays out of the shower.”

Alexander is looking anywhere but Magnus and he’s ripping off a little corner of his bagel, like it can distract him.

“The shower?” Magnus repeats, all his delight in not being considered too much dissipating at the thought that Magnus’ magic got to see and touch Alexander in the shower.

And Magnus was unaware of this.

It’s unacceptable.

And if his magic has ruined this for him he’s going to… go destroy a realm or two until it’s exhausted and behaving. And then he will complete the process by flopping on Ragnor’s floor and waiting until his dear cabbage gives up and calls Cat.

It’s his tried and true method of getting over betrayal.

And Alexander peeks shyly over, like he has any right to be so adorable when Magnus also wants to see if Alec can lift him.

It’s too much for Magnus.

He came expecting a battle of wits and daggers of bigotry.

Not brunch in an angelic greenhouse with a dazzling man of complexities who hadn’t ever had a fucking bagel.

And who is blushing and shy because Magnus’ magic has been stalking him and possibly feeling him up in his own shower.

—

Alec doesn’t really understand where he went wrong.

It might have been forgetting to tell Mirai about the change, but Alec has been busy with the official change in position.

He honestly just forgot.

Though he’ll let her think he’s just keeping her on her toes.

But Magnus Bane didn’t seem too upset and he showed his magic—

and wow Alec’s wondered what his magic might look like but wow

—and then Magnus is being devastatingly charming and offering food and Alec knows what a bagel is okay.

He’s had them before.

He tends to swipe a couple that are in the kitchens for prep and a handful of protein because he doesn’t have time for proper meals.

And it turns out those are not bagels.

They are in fact.

Baguettes.

Around him the Institute threatens to croon sadly and Alec really can’t concentrate on both his Institute, the wards and still focus on Magnus.

Because Magnus is just as magical as his magic.

Which obviously. Since it’s his magic.

The bagels are actually fine and when the Institute offers to tap into the mundane internet and send recipes, Alec shoves a bite of the unknown food hastily in his mouth.

The last thing he needs is his Institute getting interested in mundane culture.

Again.

It’s delicious but unexpectedly messy.

Alec feels like a child again, but instead of the angelic power core cleaning his face, or the wards it’s Magnus actual magic.

It’s—

Alec shoves an even bigger bite into his mouth and tries not to think about how nice Magnus’ magic feels and how gorgeous Magnus is.

Around him the Institute brightens and hums consideringly and Alec sends it a mental scolding.

He needs to concentrate.

On Magnus.

Well on Magnus’ magic.

[april-is]

April 19, 2024: Dear Proofreader, David Hernandez

Dear Proofreader David Hernandez You’re right. I meant “midst,” not “mist.” I don’t know what I was stinking, I mean thinking, soap speaks intimately to my skin every day. Most days. Depending if darkness has risen to my skull like smoke up a chimney floe. Flue. Then no stepping nude into the shower, no mist turning the bathroom mirror into frosted glass where my face would float coldly in the oval. Picture a caveman encased in ice. Good. I like how your mind works, how your eyes inside your mind works, and your actual eyes reading this, their icy precision, nothing slips by them. Even now I can feel you hovering silently above these lines, hawkish, Godlike, each period a lone figure kneeling in the snow. That’s too solemn. I would like to send search parties and rescue choppers to every period ever printed. I would like to apologize to my wife for not showering on Monday and Tuesday. I was stinking. I was simultaneously numb and needled with anxiety, in the midst of a depressive episode. Although “mist” would work too, metaphorically speaking, in the mist of, in the fog of, this gray haze that followed me relentlessly from room to room until every red bell inside my head was wrong. Rung.

--

Today in:

2023: The Socks, Jane Kenyon 2022: Ode to Friendship, Noor Hindi 2021: Heartbeats, Melvin Dixon 2020: Sunday Night, Raymond Carver 2019: Virginia Street, Jennifer Hayashida 2018: What Seems Like Joy, Kaveh Akbar 2017: Aunties, Kevin Young 2016: For the Union Dead, Robert Lowell 2015: The Cambridge Afternoon Was Gray, Alicia Ostriker 2014: Spirit of the Bat, Peggy Shumaker 2013: Thanks, W. S. Merwin 2012: Sweetness, Stephen Dunn 2011: I Remember, Anne Sexton 2010: Letter, Franz Wright 2009: 23rd Street Runs Into Heaven, Kenneth Patchen 2008: HOUSEHOLD ACTIVITY NO. 26, J.R. Quackenbush 2007: from Briggflatts, Basil Bunting 2006: The Chores, Frannie Lindsay 2005: Direct Address, Joan Larkin

[oleandrsstudio]

This week’s #zine #review is of “Stranger in a Strange Land: Poems of Other Places” by @stephaniejohnsonpoetry!

The poetry in this chapbook focus on liminal space: specifically, the borders between the country of Australia and the U.S. state of Ohio. In a world of international airplane travel, borders are made up of paperwork and people as much as lines on the ground. Reading the poetry here made me feel thoughtful about which places I call home and why. My favorite of these poems was “With Apologies to Robert Frost”. It made me laugh.

#poetryzine #chapbook #chapbookreview #zinereview

[forgedcold]

17, 37

17. Quotes, songs, poems, etc. that I associate with them

This is probably cheesy but I think of the poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley (the 'I am the master of my fate/I am the captain of my soul' one). I also think of The Old Astronomer to his Pupil by Sarah Williams specifically for the 'though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light/I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night' bit. And Robert Frost ('But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep').

As for songs, there are a lot. But one specifically is Masterpiece by Motionless in White.

A prisoner by my own hands 'Cause if I can't have me, then no one can I need to heal what I inflict But I'll burn that bridge when I get to it As I play roulette with a broken gun I confess these sins with a sharp and spiteful tongue So how do I apologize And put the tears back in your eyes When every canvas that I paint Is a masterpiece made of my mistakes?

37. What they really think about themselves

So, about that time he said this:

I don't think there's really any possible way Megatron will ever move beyond thinking of himself as a monster (granted, I think it's a very skewed perspective because there's no way he didn't acknowledge himself as a monster when he was killing).

All things considered, he was a monster for wanting to defy his function. He was a monster for what he thought and wrote. He was a monster for participating in blood sport. He was especially a monster as a genocidal tyrant. Even if he slaps on a different badge that doesn't mean the monster is gone - the only purpose really of him putting on an Autobot badge, as much as it pissed everyone off, was to hold himself accountable for his actions. If he stayed a Decepticon, what reason did he have to actually stop/lessen violence and cage the monster?

He became an Autobot, but he still had to fight against the part of himself that wanted violence. The part of himself that enjoyed it. The ending of MTMTE/LL is dubious, but he'd have to spend the rest of his life stopping himself from wanting to pull a trigger or react with his fists. He had to look to others to act as his conscience because he couldn't trust himself to do the "right" thing. He didn't know how to separate himself from who he had been and who he was becoming. I think the question he'd constantly ask himself is: is this the monster or is this me? And who is "me?"