#some days I might even skip Seize the Day

[alicerosejensen]

Together forever pt.2

Warnings: kidnapping, forced cohabitation, affectionate nicknames, fem/reader, Leon!ID, age difference, yandere!Leon.

N/A: I DON'T approve of this shit in real life, so please if this is a sore subject for someone or if someone just doesn't like it, then just skip it.

Part 1

Part 3

The world was still spinning like crazy, making objects fly in front of your eyes without being able to grab hold of anything with your eyes and focus on any object. Disorientation at its best. You had no idea what time it is now and where you are, the brain could not even process the information day or night now outside the window, but you caught a light artificial light from which your eyes water and a slight feeling of cold.

"Jesus, baby, you should have stayed in bed for now" someone's familiar voice made you shudder, but lying on the floor in an unsuccessful attempt to get to your feet, you saw someone's shoes with blurred vision.

Strong male hands easily grabbed you under the armpits and easily turned you over on your back. Leon immediately lifted your fallen body off the bed and laid you back down, removing a lock of hair from your face. His hand gently but firmly rested on your belly, and the gaze of his sapphire eyes was focused on you.

"Leon?" you whispered hoarsely, not sure if he was in front of you. After all, what was he supposed to be doing here?

"Hush, angel, try not to move yet" his voice is still calm, but there is a commanding note in it. This is how agents talk on assignments, although this manner of conversation often turns into everyday life. "I'll get you some water, okay?" And you rest and don't try to get up. You might accidentally hurt yourself."

Leon affectionately stroked your head like a kitten, finally casting an alarmed glance, making sure that you implicitly obey him, although there was no other choice. The drug is still active and it takes some time before the body is completely cleared of it, however, Leon did not even worry about it. You heard the thud of his boots on the stairs at some point realizing that there are no stairs in your apartment at all. In addition to dizziness, nausea also joined, which rolled up to your throat, forcing you to gather the remnants of strength and carefully turn over on your side. The first attempt was unsuccessful, you took another and another, but weakness seized your whole body.

And only in the intervals between these pathetic attempts do you realize at some point that you are in an unfamiliar place. While you are trying to take a new position, a light cool wind blows over your skin and an irritated sigh is immediately heard

"I told you not to move" sounded rude above your head and Leon's hands helped you to take a semi-sitting position by placing the glass next to the bedside table "So, exhale. There will be weakness and malaise for a while, but gradually everything will come back to normal," he said soothingly, handing you a glass of water "drink in small sips"

After taking a few sips, the water seemed like a real blessing to you. Suddenly you felt such a strong thirst that small sips immediately turned into large ones, and after a couple of seconds the glass was already drained, to which Leon sighed again in disappointment.

"I told you to drink a little, not all at once," you sighed, coughing slightly, and immediately realized that he was right, because you felt vomiting rising in your throat, fortunately, Leon immediately substituted a bucket for you. All the water and the remains of an undigested lunch were immediately spewed out by your stomach, and a disgusting bitter taste of bile appeared in your mouth. "you need to learn to listen to me, but more on that later. Come on, lie on your side like a good girl"

Leon set the bucket on the floor, wiping the corners of mouth with a napkin. When the dizziness subsided a little and the world stopped spinning like a mad carousel, then you could clearly see Leon's cold-blooded face and how he laid you on your side without any resistance. In general, he was glad that you weren't hysterical or screaming, but he understood that it was more a matter of time.

"What happened? Where am I?"

"At home" Leon only answered, putting his palm on your cheek "Don't worry about anything and try to sleep better, I'll come later"

At home? A wave of indignation hit you in the head, causing a headache. This place was definitely not your home. As well as a strange red shirt that was several sizes too big. Slowly but surely, panic began to take over the mind because what was happening at the moment was not a normal phenomenon. Only… Leon won't hurt you, right? He is a good man with strange jokes, a little glum but good. He brought coffee and favorite buns, found your phone and returned it just like that, helped to drag heavy boxes… He just couldn't be a bad guy!

Yes, he flirted a lot, invited you to dinner, just like Patrick, but you didn't give any of them a chance, fearing that for them it was just a game with your heart. Although Leon did not give the impression of a bastard capable of playing with the feelings of a girl, it just seems that he liked communication, and he often came to you for lunch in search of company in your person.

Eventually, after thinking about what happened, the brain slowly began to assemble the broken puzzle-remembering together. You were walking home a little later than usual, walking the usual way that you always walked and thought to look into the store to buy yourself a snack before going to bed. Everything is as usual, however...suddenly you remembered someone else's hands covering your mouth so that you could not scream and call for help, those seconds of animal fear then seemed like eternity, but now the memories were abrupt and short. Then there was the darkness where you fall against will.

Was it some kind of drug? A moment before you lost consciousness, you felt pain in your neck, now it hurt, but it is still impossible to approach the mirror. Leon was downstairs doing something on the ground floor while you were lying in bed trying to figure out how you got here. Maybe he saved you? It seemed like the truth, because Leon was still a nice guy who couldn't hurt a civilian, he just took you to his house because he didn't know your address, but... then why did he say it was YOUR house?

It didn't make any sense. Maybe just heard it?

It was difficult to just calm down, especially when thoughts started spinning and there was no explanation.

But you needed an explanation. You couldn't just throw away all your thoughts and fall asleep as if nothing had happened, especially after some psycho knocked you out. Leon was sorting through something downstairs, it sounded like he was carrying something soon his footsteps were heard somewhere near the door. It was reasonable to call him, especially since after vomiting, your condition began to slowly clear up as usual.

However, didn't even have to call him. He himself came into the room looking at you with a tired look, like a parent at a naughty child, which made you cringe a little, rising on your elbows.

"What is it, are you still sick?" He sat down next to you, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, almost forcibly laying you on the pillows. "It's still cool at home, but if you want, I'll open the window."

"Nope," you drawled absently, trying to resist him, "I need to know what happened… And I want to go home."

"You're already home, baby. I told you," Leon's face was unacceptably close to you, which turned everything inside over. He smiled and kissed you on the forehead, which was even more confusing. “Some of your things are downstairs. I left boxes of books next to the bookcase, it’s big enough so there will even be a few empty shelves there. And your clothes are in the next room. Tomorrow afternoon we’ll put everything in order.”

"Wait…what?!"

Was he really saying that just now? Is this a prank or hallucination?!

“Don’t shout,” he calmly but authoritatively said to you, like a commander to his soldier, “I will take care of you, now this is your home… with all the comforts and safety and this is our bedroom. I hope I make myself clear, princess?”

His words were discouraging and knocked the ground out from under our feet, figuratively speaking. Leon never behaved like that with you. He flirted, made strange but funny jokes, was polite and never showed himself the way he did now. It was a different Leon.

"I don't…why do you say that?"

"How?"

“Like with a thing” You wanted to say, but your tongue was still slurring and it was still a little difficult to form words into meaningful sentences.

Leon just let out another sigh, trying to overcome your attempt at resistance, which he easily succeeded.

"We'll talk in the morning okay?" his hands held your shoulders tightly, pressing you to the mattress “Now you will rest. Lie down and close your eyes, especially since it’s night.”

No no no no...

Your mind was screaming like crazy while all the words were stuck in your throat. This is just madness!

"What's happening?!" you finally demanded an answer, pressing your palms into his chest, “Where have you taken me?!”

Leon shook his head and for a brief moment one could see the irritation in him. He hoped that your resistance would not begin until at least the morning, but it seems he was mistaken. However, perhaps it was just a side effect of the drug?

“Stop it, angel,” he forcibly pinned you to the mattress. “You’re fine. We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve rested, you’re too excited to think about anything else right now.”

Indeed, waking up early brought more trouble than joy, but Leon expected resistance. Like a lamb to the slaughter, you looked at him incomprehensibly. Innocent and scared, especially since you were so easy to trap. Of course, Leon was sure that only he could take care of you.

He didn’t want to resort to drugs anymore, but you didn’t stop trying to overcome him and jump off the bed, running away from him on shaky legs. Leon knew that even if he remained idle, you would not be able to run far, but there was an obstacle ahead in the form of a staircase, from which you would have easily rolled head over heels if he had not pressed on some points of your body, plunging you into sleep. After all, he was a pro at it. He was taught to neutralize people.

And again, against your will, you fell asleep this time in his arms when he forcibly put you to bed, kissing the top of your head for the last time before changing clothes and going to bed himself.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

In the morning your body weakly obeyed you. But it seems that what happened was not a bad dream and you were really attacked, then Leon...saved you? brought you into his house but why the hell is he hugging you as if you were a couple in love?! In addition, both of you were barely dressed: you were wearing some kind of wide red shirt and Leon was wearing gray sleeping pants.

“I usually have trouble sleeping, but it seems my princess stubbornly can’t sleep,” Leon’s voice through your sleep made you shudder and finally you jumped out of bed. No matter what happened last night, Kennedy had no reason to go to bed with you!

Really, who asked your opinion?

However, now you will get answers to your questions.

"What the heck?!" Leon sat on the bed trying to pull you back to him, “Why am I here and sleeping in the same bed with you? Where are my clothes? What happened after work...”

“Easy” he chuckled interrupting you “Not so fast angel.”

"I'm not your angel!" Of course, Leon had called you cute names before, but it had never sounded so possessive. A sinister grin appeared on Leon’s lips, making you shudder.

He stood right in front of you, looming like a mighty rock over the little wanderer. Could he have gone crazy or was he just… pretending all this time? Damn, you really wanted to believe that this was some kind of cruel prank!

“You are my angel.” These words sounded especially ominous.

But there was no point in standing still, so you pushed him away, intending to run away. The natural reaction to danger is fight or flight. You pushed him away from you, but Leon only took a step back, watching after you as you ran away.

“How stupid,” he whispered to himself as he followed you.

The layout of the house was unknown to you, pulling all the door handles you tried to find at least something that would help you stop Leon and call for help. Although he literally stepped on your heels, following you quietly and leisurely, as if knowing that there was no chance to escape. You ran into the living room, grabbed the first pillow you could find and threw it at it without even looking. Leon caught it on the fly, throwing the pillow towards the chair. Then the TV remote control flew off, and the mug with the coffee he had not drunk yesterday crashed into pieces against the wall, staining it.

Leon deftly dodged all the objects, and when you realized that there was nothing left at hand, you simply turned around and ran away, hoping for a miracle. But what chance does a civilian have against a government agent? You lost to Leon in all aspects, including speed. He quickly caught up with you, grabbing your hand and throwing you down, ignoring your screams.

like a game of catch-up, but your freedom was at stake. Leon held your wrists until it hurt, repeating something endlessly, calling you that vile word “Angel” that you didn’t want to hear. One of your legs was free enough to push him in the chest with all your might, allowing him to loosen his grip and fall onto his back, after which you, overcome with pain, jumped back to your feet, intending to run further down the corridor in search of the front door.

Not expecting his instant reaction, Kennedy quickly got up and rushed after you, grabbing you by the waist, pulling on yourself and closing your mouth with the other hand, but your reflexes also helped you in this unequal struggle - the taste of him skin got stuck between his teeth when Leon screamed and you clenched your jaws harder using any advantage that you could get. Leon wanted to take his hand away, but you clung to his hand like a piranha, feeling the blood in your mouth.

In the end, he really wanted to do without violence, he hated the idea of hurting you, but you stubbornly resisted him trying to escape from the better life that he wanted to give you. However, he also understood the panic that overwhelmed you, but not a reason to throw things at him or bite him until he bled… he survived in Raccoon City and not a single zombie managed to do what you did now, but despite all his boundless love, he will have to teach you obedience and the day will come when you will understand that he is the only person who can take full care of you.

"I really hoped it wouldn't come to that."

You pushed off again, grabbing the handle and a brief spark of hope flashed before your eyes, but… the door was closed. Everything went down and the small hope immediately went out, giving the fire of fear to flare up, because now you were completely at the mercy of the person you considered good…

But maybe a couple of days locked up will teach you to be smart?

I still wrote the second part, it didn't work out as well as I wanted, but I hope that over time I will be able to do it better. In the end, we all start with something) I bought several books on this topic, so I hope that I can find time to better understand this topic, but so far only this way.

And I was really listening to "melanie martinez - tag you're it" when I wrote this… it was better in my head, but now I'm gradually recovering my mental state, so it's still difficult for me to write, but I'm trying.

I apologize for the mistakes because English is not my language (

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon #leon kennedy resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #yandere resident evil #yandere resident evil x reader #yandere leon kennedy x reader #yandere!leon kennedy #yandere leon kennedy #yandere #infinite darkness leon #leon kennedy fanfiction #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon x you #reader x leon

[ashimetsu]

Heatstroke 【Reader x Azul Ashengrotto】

: ̗̀➛ The outdoors are far too hot for Azul to focus on flight lessons. Instead, he has a plan to skip out and spend some time with you instead : ̗̀➛ Fluff and smut, sly and snarky Azul, reader is fem : ̗̀➛ 1.2k words : ̗̀➛ [a/n]: hope the guy who watched over my shoulder the whole plane ride liked this one as much as i do. props to him for the beta read :D

Inventory turnover, return on assets and an upcoming history of magic exam lay heavy on Azul’s mind. Although solved with a few hours of solitude, keeping Mostro Lounge afloat while dealing with customer issues and overseeing Octavinelle as housewarden has Azul occupied. To top it off, flight lessons happened to be after potionology. While already a dreadful hour, the late summer heat of September has Azul dreading being soaked in sweat.

You notice Azul's brow furrowed next to you, creasing his otherwise smooth and unblemished skin. A slight nudge from you perks his head up and relieves some of the tension built in his face. You flash a gentle smile his direction and Azul quickly fires back a smirk. It's amazing how quickly a glance can change his face from perturbed to cunning. Before you let that thought fester, you bring your attention back to the front of the class. Whatever Azul has planned, he can wait to tell you after class. The most benevolent student would never distract you from your studies, right?

As you make your way from class to the locker room to prepare for flight lessons, a gloved hand grasps your forearm. The material, size, shape, and force of the hand tells you exactly who it is: the conniving octopus. If it wasn't for a sly smile placed evenly on his lips, you might have thought he was trying to hurt you with the strength of his grip. Perhaps in another context… you quickly banished that thought before things could get out of hand.

You yelped as Azul dragged you to a vacant classroom before you could even protest. Closing the door as swiftly as you both came in, Azul essentially tackled you against the wall. You almost believed there was some kindness left in him as he locked a soft gaze with your eyes for a moment before leaning in and taking your mouth with his own. Placing his hands lightly on your hips as you complacently wrap your arms around his neck, he persistently pressed against you. His soft lips dragged you in further, leaving no room for return. Swallowed by his kindness and warmth, you fall completely for his trap. Azul noticed you give up resistance and promptly seized victory. Gentle kisses turned rough as Azul grinded his thigh between your legs, claiming your moan as his prize.

"If you keep me here, you know we're both going to be late." you say breathlessly after forcing Azul away from your lips. Noticing the clock above the chalkboard, it had already been 10 minutes since class started.

"Did you think I didn't account for that?" he replies, gasping like a fish out of water. "After all, it's 90 degrees out, I might as well be sweating from working you over."

You huff a sigh before Azul goes back to being gentle, apologizing for skipping class with butterfly kisses. Once again, he feigns gentleness briefly before nipping your bottom lip. As he kisses you in apology, you gently moan his name again, eliciting another bite, harder this time. You open your eyes and see a tempest in his eyes, hungry for more of you, your body, your reactions. His hands, formerly resting at your hips, begin to travel up your torso, stimulating you ever so slightly. You move into his touches, craving more and more from the generous housewarden. As he explores your body with his hands, Azul makes no haste to plant kiss on your neck, nipping and biting gently, making sure to leave no marks. Maybe another day, another location. He pauses, hovering his mouth over your ear, his hot breath giving you shivers.

"My, my, I must be spoiling you… it's not too much, is it?" Azul whispers, fabricating innocence as his body stills against you. The loss of stimulation is killing you as you move against his firm body to try and get some feeling out of his cold heart.

"Mmmgh, please Azul… don't stop now…" you moan weakly into his shoulder, begging for something, anything, from the once-kind ruler in front of you.

"Your wish is my command, darling."

Suddenly, your senses become clouded with the stimulation; Azul's assault on your lips, his thigh rubbing slowly back and forth between your legs, and now his gloved hands crawling further under your blouse, rubbing small circles over your waist. You hate how he knows what makes you tick, the constant movement, the texture of leather on skin, his mouth traveling across your body, edging you, then immediately clocking back in on your body. Moans fill the empty classroom as Azul continues to work your body. You barely notice his right hand snaking past your waist, cupping your breast and squeezing slightly. You lean into Azul as he thumbs your nipple, feeling the bud firm. Craving more and more, you move in sync with him, creating a steady rhythm.

You feel Azul's hot breath panting against your neck as you look down and see tight creases in his otherwise neatly pressed pants. Quickly, you snake your hand and cup the noticeable bulge, earning a soft sigh from the other. Keeping up with Azul's rhythm, you rub him firmly, eliciting louder and more frequent moans. You press a kiss to Azul's cheek as you reach for his zipper, freeing his painful erection. Hearing his moans only turns you on more as you lube his cock with his own precum. You start slowly at the base, squeezing as you move up. The moans in the room have been almost completely replaced by Azul's, who's shaking and holding onto you for support. As you recover from his stimulation, you continue to drag your hand up and down his cock at a steady pace. With your free hand, you lift Azul's chin, which had been resting on your shoulder, and imprint his expression into your mind forever. It was one of bliss and pain, like he hasn't felt this much sensation in a very long time. You grinned and sped up while taking his face in your hand and pressing your lips together. This moment, with Azul's hands on your waist and breast, his thigh trembling against your wetness, moaning against your mouth while you stroke his face while jerking him off, is something of pure ecstasy for you both.

"I-I'm close…" he wimpered weakly against your mouth, and with a few quick pumps, he moans loudly as he spills over you both, soiling your school uniforms. You ride him out, pumping him through completely.

"Hah…hah… s-sorry, I didn't mean for this to go this far…" Azul sighs breathily into your shoulder, recovering from his high. He pushes up his glasses and releases you, smoothing out your blouse and fixing your hair from his reign of terror. You both rest for a moment, breathing each other's air and relying on the other for support. Azul moves to lean against the wall next to you, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist.

"I guess we can't go back to class after this, huh."

"Suppose not," Azul huffs. "Care for a shower in Octavinelle?" You hear the smirk in his voice.

"After this? I don't think I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself again." you retort with a playful pout.

"Rest assured, I would never pull a stunt like that in my own dorm, much less with Jade and Floyd around."

You don't believe him. Yet, you still found yourself spending the night in Octavinelle that night…

#twisted wonderland #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #twst azul #twisted wonderland azul #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #twst reader insert #twst #disney twst #x reader #twst imagines #rio writes

[keanureevesisbae]

endeavors #15 - the end

Summary: How are Grace and August doing now?

August Walker x Grace Stanford (asian ofc)

Wordcount: 0.7k

Warning: Mentions of sex, just the usual they do. Sex, cum, orgasms, squirting. You know the deal with them.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this fic! I hope you enjoyed it 😘

Masterlist // endeavors masterlist

5 years later

August and I started dating after the rooftop confession and he was right: we skipped over the awkward first phase and we were passed uncomfortable sex. August wouldn’t be August if he didn’t make a program—quite frankly he is obsessed with them—but I have to agree: the program worked. He planned dates, fun holidays and meetings to get to know each other’s family. Our friends already knew this was going to happen eventually and his friends had to confess they know what August did that time they were over.

I’ve gotten over that awkwardness eventually. 

A lot of the things in those five years remained. I still didn’t wear my underwear at home, he fucked me whenever he wanted and we ventured out to have sex in public, though the rooftop remained our favorite. Visitations to the sex shop. A show with the dildo. Deep throating.

It was all part of his program and for that I love him dearly.

After he and I got married two years ago, we moved out of the apartment and bought a house, like the domestic couple we were. Days were spend in bed and with each other. Quite frankly we’re disgusting together, cockwarming whenever we can, sex while we know friends can come over at any time and him desperate to make me squirt. 

I hold onto the bathroom counter, feeling his entire cock thrust in a rough pace inside. I watch my breasts bounce with every thrust through the mirror. August gently takes a hold of my hair, giving it a slight pull. I whimper when I start clenching around him.

‘Good girl,’ he says. ‘Cum for me once more, okay?’

And that pushes me over the edge. He holds me up by my hips, snickering softly when I squirt passed his cock. And it’s enough for him to reach his high and ride it out. He presses kisses on my shoulder, whispering sweet little nothings against my skin. He pulls out and like he always does, cleans me up straight away.

Together we walk towards the bed and because it’s too hot to wear clothes anyway (and August likes for us to sleep with nothing on, seizing every opportunity to have me naked around him), I don’t even bother putting on a shirt. 

Once he tugged me underneath the thin sheets, he kisses my forehead and tells me he’ll be right back, leaving our bedroom to go to the kitchen.

My hand slides to my protruding stomach, revealing a five month baby bump. It was both a surprise and expected when we found out we were having a baby. August always said that babies were something of the future, but as we set more steps into the future, his desire for kids grew. While I was ready for them years ago, I needed him to be one hundred percent on board with it.

And boy, is he board with it. 

August walks back in with some biscuits and some juice and places it on my nightstand. Then he climbs in the bed and says: ‘You know what genuinely surprised me.’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘That it took us this long to knock you up.’

‘Ovulation is a thing, August,’ I tell him. ‘You can’t expect me becoming pregnant if you fill me up every moment you’ve got to spare.’

‘Was worth a shot and you did not complain.’ He smirks proudly and places his hand on my stomach. ‘And you will never hear me complaining about this skyrocketing sex drive of yours. Is this libido permanent or not?’

I shrug. ‘You have to leave me alone for at least six weeks after the baby is here.’

He nods. ‘I’ll work ahead, drag as many orgasms out of you as possible now, so we can take a six week break.’ He snaps his finger. ‘You what? I’ll make a schedule.’

‘Shut up,’ I laugh and he leans in for a long kiss. ‘If you kiss me any longer, you might have to fuck me again.’

‘You know I’ve got plenty ways to satisfy you,’ he says. ‘But you need your rest, Grace.’

I roll my eyes, before sliding down so I can lay on my side. He spoons me almost instantly, his hand on my stomach and I whisper: ‘I love you, August Walker.’

He kisses my naked shoulder. ‘I love you more, Grace Walker.’

To a happily ever after. 

﹌﹌

endeavors taglist: @diegos-butt // @thelastsock // @liecastillo // @mis-lil-red // @sofiebstar // @abschaffer2 // @crazybutconfidentaf // @summersong69 // @gearhead66 // @xobriellaxo24 // @kebabgirl67 // @eldarwen333 // @kingliam2019 // @cherry-gemz // @sillyrabbit81 // @enchantedbytomandhenry // @lyrarodriguez // @islacharlotte // @sunshine96love // @oddsnendsfanfics // @xuxszx // @omgkatinka // @pterodactylterrace / @peaches1958 // @pandaxnienke // @teamfan7asy // @raccoon-eyed-rebel // @geralts-yenn

#august walker #august walker fanfiction #august walker x ofc #august walker x asian ofc #august walker x grace stanford #august walker smut #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill #asian ofc #grace stanford #endeavors

[cheapsweets]

The aromatic Narngreg

My response to this week’s BestiaryPosting challenge, from @maniculum

Initial pencil sketch, lines in dark sepia ink using sailor fude nib fountain pen, and Derwent inktense yellow paint with a water brush.

I'm getting more confident with my linework (one of the reasons I'm using pen and ink is to encourage myself to go for it, and any mistakes I'll suck up and learn from), but it's still tricky keeping the fine lines where I want to focus on detail. I'll take a look through my pens and see if I've got anything with a (normal) fine nib and see if that's any good for drawing with (much as I've loved working with dip pens in the past, the convenience of fountain pens is very compelling!)

Reasoning below the cut!

There is an animal called the Narngreg, multi-coloured, very beautiful and extremely gentle. Physiologus says of it, that it has only the dragon as an enemy. When it has fed and is full, it hides in its den and sleeps. After three days it awakes from its sleep and gives a great roar, and from its mouth comes a very sweet odour, as if it were a mixture of every perfume.

This creature is extremely gentle, and has very sweet breath, so my first interpretation was that it was definitely not a carnivore (cats and dogs not being particularly known for their fragrant breath!). However, as mentioned in the last paragraph, this creature has very prominent claws, so how to interpret this?

One of the options was to consider that it might be insectivorous, or even mellivorous; I liked the idea of it having honey as at least a large part of the diet, as I could have interpreted the 'sweet' breath more literally! Bears and mustelids such as honey badgers (no spots, but fits the black and white colouration mentioned below) both use their claws to tear into bee nests, and anteaters, pangolins, aardvarks, etc all have impressive weaponry.

In the end, I actually took my main influence from a couple of extinct animals; chalicotheres and ground sloths such as Megatherium. This informed the general anatomy (including the longer forelimbs, barrel chest and even the shape of its head.

Since we know it is Very Beautiful (Very Powerful) I wanted to jazz it up a little, hence the absolutely gorgeous mane, cool beard, and tuft on the tail. The dentition (prominent caniniform teeth) is actually taken directly from (arboreal) sloths...

As cute as it would have been to draw a Narngreg all curled up and sleepy, it made more sense to draw it having just woken, and giving its 'great roar' - the lines could be indicating the sound, it's sweet breath, or both!

When other animals hear its voice, they follow wherever it goes, because of the sweetness of its scent. Only the dragon, hearing its voice, is seized by fear and flees into the caves beneath the earth. There, unable to bear the scent, it grows numbed within itself and remains motionless, as if dead.

I took a look at some of the other artists interpretations of this challenge after I'd drawn my piece, but before writing the description, and it seems like I've undergone a similar thought process to @coolest-capybara (though I feel like she's gone all in on the idea, whereas I only referenced it), by having some of the creatures from previous challenges appear. I skipped the birds (more down to time and how best to respresent them, because most of them were on the small side), but we can see a Kraegrat scenting the air, and further back an elephant from the Choglaem illustration. Raising its titanic head from behind a wall of trees, we can also see the Choglaem itself, though it doesn't seem very impressed; time to 'flee into the caves beneath the earth' methinks...

The Narngreg is a beast dabbed all over with very small circular spots, so that it is distinguished by its black and white colouring with eye-shaped circles of yellow.

I suppose three colours (black, white and yellow) counts as multicoloured... 🤔 I wanted to go for a more straightforward line drawing with this one, so didn't consider the colouration too much, but since the yellow markings were such a key part of the description, I wanted to include them. I went with more stylised eye shapes, rather than going with actual circles, mostly because it seemed a little more naturalistic this way (and more fun!). I tried to get the markings to wrap realistically around the body, but I'm not sure how successful I was there. On the baby, I opted for yellow dots rather than the adult markings, to link it to the adult but show a clear difference between them.

The female gives birth once only, for a good reason. Once the three young have grown within their mother’s body until they are strong enough to be born, they hate having to stay there any longer. They scratch with their claws at the womb which is laden with its fruit, as if it prevented them from being born. The mother, overcome with pain, pushes them out and after this the seed which penetrates into the scarred and distorted womb does not take root, but flows out again unused. Pliny says that animals with sharp claws cannot bear children often because they are badly wounded internally by the movement of their young.

I think that's a pretty big assumption Pliny old chap, any observation to back that up? 😜 Obviously the main thing we learn here is that these creatures (inlcuding newborns) have prominent claws, with (as previously mentioned) heavily influence a lot of the other design decisions. Thinking about it, I probably should have drawn three babies rather than just the one! (The rule of threes seems very prevalent amongst bestiary authors!). The baby is rolling around and having fun, since it doesn't need to worry because every creature (bar dragons) loves it!

As I'm sure @maniculum has already spotted, we also have some typical African (specifically, Egyptian) flora scattered around too... Those trees are fun and I'm definitely going to use them in the future!

#narngreg #maniculum bestiaryposting #bestiaryposting #my art

[rafor]

Chapter 6 - Stories of Perx - The Glitch

Michael had informed me that Gabriel would soon return to see me, but as the days dragged on and I tried to balance my duties with watching over the slumbering Raphael, I grew restless and uneasy. Michael decided to go look for him himself, leaving me in charge of heaven and the human Raphael in his absence. I bristled at his command, even though we were equals in rank. But I knew he was right, and there was no harm in following his advice.

Two days passed, and I had nothing to do but wait or occasionally check on Raphael, leaving him in the care of some companions and guards who would alert me if he woke up. The heavenly army remained loyal to me and greeted me with respect when I visited them. I seized the opportunity to ask them about the rumors I had heard from the guards regarding Perx. Their eyes shifted from eager to ashamed, as if they were somehow responsible for his actions, which they might have been since he outranked them. What they told me was something I never wanted to hear and a contradiction to our nature.

Apparently, we had arranged battles between the army of the Caelestis from heaven and the army of the sinners from hell. During one of these battles, Perx did not show up with his loyalists. It was not because he was skipping the battle or anything else, but because he had a different mission in mind. The battles were arranged due to a deal between their leader, whom you would call the devil but was just an ancient sinner stronger than any other and surrounded by others almost as powerful, and us. Only a few were aware of that, and Perx was not one of them. So when he saw an opportunity to strike at him and potentially eliminate him, he took it.

During the battle, hell was practically defenseless because everyone wanted to join in for a fight that inevitably led to their deaths since the Caelestis would never lose, and if they did, the Archangels would join the battle and turn the tide. You might wonder why we would make such a deal with them. Well, it was because they did not have the luxury of infinite space like in heaven. They had limited land, and fitting everyone in could be quite challenging. Also, the sinners needed a purpose in their lives. With their new bodies and a lack of some basic emotions, they could be hard to control. Using their will to fight and putting them in an actual fight was the best solution we could come up with on both sides.

Back to Perx: He went down to hell looking for their leader, but since he could not find him, maybe because their leader usually disguised himself as a normal soldier and did not just stay down in hell during a battle, he slaughtered all the overlords. One by one, he disrupted every order in the system. After the battle, when the leader was about to return to his domain with only a few of his high ranks as survivors, they suddenly had a lot more work to do to manage all the new sinners that were coming back every minute. They really needed those overlords.

The worst part of all this for us? Perx disappeared for more than a whole year for unknown reasons, and due to his nature as a shadow angel, both Michael and Gabriel were unable to find him. Then, eventually, Gabriel managed to track him down by chance and bring him back. Perx did not want to obey their order to stay up in heaven for what they called a much-needed break for him, and he often kept disappearing and reappearing again. Recently, he disappeared again, and that’s why I did not get to see Gabriel now. He was still searching for him, and now Michael was searching for both of them, as I learned.

I spent my time studying for something to tell the human Raphael, since it was clear that he would not wake up on his own and I had to force him to do it and then try to explain everything he might ask or complain about. Also, I was still determined to find out a way to successfully complete the merge, and since Michael did not seem too keen on the idea, even though I knew he knew the solution since he just did it by fixing Gabriel and his twin soul, I had to study it by myself.

My sources could be our own books, some ancient grimoires not written by us but with some useful information about these cases, or even recent technologies that our masterminds developed. These recent technologies were similar to what humans were developing too, and that’s where our masterminds took inspiration from: exploiting the idea and making something that could process an incredible amount of data that we could feed them since we had plenty enough and that would give us a good enough solution as an output.

#chapter #dragon #dragons #elements #fantasy #literature #mystery #story #poetry #adventure #the_glitch #the rise and fall of raphael

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 774: Lungfish A.C.R. 1999

The next album in Lungfish's discography is technically Necrophones, but until Dischord reissues it on vinyl or I find a decent copy that isn't $80 on Discogs, then I have to skip that one. But A.C.R. 1999 was actually the next collection of songs Lungfish recorded after The Unanimous Hour and six of its ten tracks later appeared on Necrophones, so...

A more scholarly Lungfish fan could probably tell you why the band opted to record at A.C.R. studios back in 1999 instead of going to Inner Ear as they had for their previous albums. And maybe they could tell you why the bulk of the album was re-recorded for Necrophones. Was this just a demo? Was the band ultimately unhappy with Necrophones? Is that why the album has been out of print for so long? And is that why Dischord put out A.C.R. 1999 in 2012? Unfortunately, I don't have the answers for you.

I know this much: by 2000, Lungfish had been a band for thirteen years. While they certainly had a contingent of die-hard fans, their lack of touring and the aging demographic of the Dischord crowd meant that their albums weren't selling as they once had. Necrophones was their ninth album, and even though Lungfish had continued to evolve over the years, they were still adhering to their minimalist principles. They weren't interested in polishing their sound or capitalizing on At The Drive In's mass-marketing of the post-hardcore scene or seizing upon the new millennium's cocaine-fed dance punk craze. They were simply continuing to be Lungfish.

By the time A.C.R. 1999 was released in 2012, the band's steadfast vision was seen as a virtue, but in 2000, some folks were beginning to see that consistency as a handicap. I'll be honest... I can relate with Lungfish here. While I admire artists that can successfully reinvent themselves, I often feel that artists that continually shape-shift lack any true center. We bemoan the rock artists of the '70s who cut their hair and added keyboards in the '80s, or the hardcore bands of the '80s that went for the crossover sound by the end of the decade, or the metal bands of the '80s that tried to latch onto grunge in the '90s. Fuck it. If you can go for over a decade adhering to your vision, I applaud you. It takes more creativity to continue finding inspiration in the tools at hand than it does to add a bunch of new tools into your arsenal.

So maybe this was the rationale behind releasing A.C.R. 1999 in 2012. Lungfish was ready for a cultural re-evaluation. We were no longer waiting to see what the next Lungfish album was going to sound like because we already knew the arc of their catalog. And A.C.R. 1999 made us take a second look at a period where Lungfish was being accused of stagnation and it reminded us that they were still a vibrant, exciting, and fearless band even as they continued to work within a set of parameters that other artists might consider restrictive.

#everyrecordiown #lungfish

[organchordsandlightning]

10 Stories/10 First Lines Tag Meme

Tagged by @shadow0haven! 

Tagging @magnetarmadda and @fruitviking​ - but same deal as previous, if you’ve been tagged previous/don’t wanna, no worries!

So the rules are: post the first lines of your 10 most recently published AO3 stories.

This actually works out well! I post a fair amount anonymously, not because I don’t want my name attached, but because they’re usually one-offs for other fandoms! have skipped one or two of my Malevolent pieces to prevent this from being Oops All Mal!

So let’s goooooo, MASH, Sherlock Holmes, Re-Animator, Glass Onion, and Malevolent under the cut:

formaldehyde (malevolent)

This was going to take some getting used to.

His initial reaction was that of fear. The body wouldn’t take. Its entire form seized from within – the chest creaked dangerously, stretching and constricting like some fucking balloon. Every tendon was pulled out of place, the bones bent under the stress. The brain boiled within the cracking skull, all of it – all of it too much for a single body to bear.

heal thyself (malevolent)

“I’m sure I caught my death out there,” Arthur bemoans. The bed squeaks underneath his weight as he sits down. Boots first – no, no, jacket, sodden with barely-melted snow. He fumbles with the buttons all the way down.

Yes, Arthur. After everything that’s happened, I’m sure it’s a bout of pneumonia that’ll take us out.

libel (sherlock holmes)

Watson climbed the same stairs as he had a thousand times. One could never know what to expect from Holmes at the top of them: the bubbling of some unknown solution, the melodious cries of his violin, the mumbles of another client approaching him for help. Just as often as all of those, however, Watson entered to utter silence.

divine retribution (sherlock holmes)

It was a most peculiar hour for Watson to find himself in front of 31 Lyon Place. Only a scant few hours before sunrise – a scant few hours ago he had left the front door of 221b Baker Street. Their discussion with Mary Sutherland had gone on longer than either had anticipated, but Watson had been unwilling to desert Holmes’ side in the presence of a crying woman.

That was, as Watson believed, the extent of comfort he was able to provide. He did not know what else to say, nor how to help.

a light in the dark (malevolent)

“Good morning, John!”

Kill me, John grunts, with less venom than his usual – even, he considers, a note of warmth. A kill me that secretly means I’m happy to see you. Lilly’s entrance is John’s final sign that he made it through another night.

the herald of death (sherlock holmes)

Their horse ambled along at a slow trot. Uncertain, Watson supposed, in the darkness: the two lanterns on either side of the cart provided some warm illuminating spheres, but somehow managed to throw the rest of the world in utter shadow. Watson could nearly cup the light in his fingertips, but he could not cast it out to the streets. All of London, a metropolis that hummed with man and machinery, had quieted to just their little dog-cart.

Perhaps that was not so much due to the time, nor the lack of light, but Holmes himself. Watson cast a glance to his side. His companion was not urging the horse further, seemingly content to continue at their pace. Holmes had drawn his chin low to his chest in thought, but his eyes were keen in the reflection of their lantern.

a terrible trip and a warm light (glass onion)

Blanc stayed in the stairwell of their building a little longer to finish the rest of his cigar. While Phillip had been more lenient about him smoking indoors – so long as he was near the window and for heaven’s sake, Blanc, empty the ashtray – he thought it might be best for their reunion if he finished beforehand.

The only reason he’d taken one out was to settle his nerves. Not anxious, per se, but worn-out, strung-out, and washed-out. Getting back from Greece had taken a day or so longer than he anticipated. Little frustrated him more than petty bureaucracy, and international travel could be full of it. His luggage was still knocking around Italy somewhere, and his phone little more than a pile of melted plastic on a damned Greek island.

sweet dreams (malevolent)

Thrashing, gasping, drowning, he burst through unconsciousness with a shout he didn’t recognize. Terrible shapes lurked in the edges of his mind; for a second, he swore he could hear someone’s giddy laugh. Something cut into his neck, so solid that he brought his hand up to peel the thick strap of leather away. He found nothing there but a deep bruise, making him wince in pain.

containment (MASH)

BJ’s on his feet before he hears the explosion. His mind races for the clinical: Blunt force trauma. Shrapnel. Blood loss. Burns. Other diagnoses, sure, but a nasty case of tinnitus isn’t going to kill as fast as a perforated bowel will. He only dimly notes Hawkeye’s empty cot as he forces himself outside, and then –

determined heart and resolved will (re-animator)

For Dan, it was easy to get lulled away by the day. Not like his job was easy – maybe some doctors had it easy, but none that worked at the Miskatonic University Medical Center. Still, Dan often found that he didn’t have to introspect as he worked. People needed him to be a doctor; he could be a doctor. Sure, maybe he’d fall to pieces after his shift, a particularly bad case or a particularly bad memory hitting him all at once …

Well. Maybe more often than he would admit. He had some memories in this very hospital that he’d rather forget. But, on shift, it was Dr. Cain. The reliable, the industrious, the bright Dr. Cain. Only newly a doctor, but he knew this place like the back of his hand.

“We’ve got a suicide attempt in 4,” Nurse Reefe remarked to him over Dan’s lunch. “Just thought I’d let you know.”

#organchordsandwriting

[redmeanslove]

number 3 for the prompts :)

Hii! Thank you so much for the prompt! It was "golden hour". I know it was a May prompts list but I decided that fall is also a great season for golden hours and the perfect timeline for some early pining Seblos...I hope you like it!! 💕

Carlos stepped out of the school building and instantly raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light of the sinking sun.

It was late Wednesday afternoon and he was finally satisfied with his choreography for Getcha Head In The Game and was ready to show it to the dancers tomorrow. So he had packed up his things and decided it was time to go home. 

Squinting against the early autumn sun which painted everything on the school ground in a soft hue, he was just about to round the corner when he spotted someone sitting on one of the benches next to the parking lot.

Hair almost golden in the light where it was falling into his face, Seb was scribbling something into a notebook. Carlos' heart skipped a beat at the sight and he stopped in his tracks, contemplating if he should go home or turn around and seize his chance to talk to the other boy.

After an embarrassingly long moment of contemplation, he decided to be brave and go for the latter.

"Hey," Carlos said when he was in earshot. 

Seb looked up, seeming startled for a second but then his face broke out into a smile.

"Hey Carlos!"

Carlos stopped in front of him and pulled at the straps of his backpack, feeling the sudden need to hold onto something.

"I'm surprised to still see you here? Rehearsal let out an hour ago," he pointed out.

"Oh, yeah," Seb chuckled and closed his notebook. "My sister was supposed to pick me up but then she got busy, so -" he checked his phone with a frown, "- she won't be here for another twenty minutes."

"Oh okay. That...sucks," Carlos said and took a seat next to the other boy, placing his backpack beside him. 

He couldn't imagine living that far away from school and always relying on someone from his family to chauffeur him around. Spending four hours trapped in a car with them every day sounded horrible to Carlos. 

But then again, Seb's family seemed to be the complete opposite of his from all the little stories he had picked up here and there, so Seb probably didn't mind having his sister as his driver.

"You know, you could've also waited in the bomb shelter, I'm there for at least another hour after rehearsal every day," Carlos said. 

As soon as the words left his mouth, he instantly groaned internally. God, why did he have to say it like that? Now Seb probably thought he expected him to hang out with him after rehearsals. Which - yes, Carlos had spent the past month since the start of the drama club rehearsals trying to get as many opportunities as possible to interact with the other boy. And having company instead of being all alone sounded more appealing than he was ready to admit. But still. If there was one thing he did not want, it was to scare the other boy off.

"Oh, I didn't even think about that. But I'll definitely remember it next time," Seb interrupted his thoughts. "I need to practice some of the piano arrangements anyway, so I could do that while I wait," he said with a smile. 

Carlos smiled back in relief. 

"Sounds like a plan," he said, suddenly thinking that this might have been a mistake to suggest because there was no way he would be able to focus on anything if Seb Matthew-Smith was playing the piano in the same room where he was working on his choreographies. But maybe that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

They both sat in silence for a minute, watching the sun slowly disappear behind the mountains. It was quiet apart from the noise of cars in the distance.

Carlos stole a sideways glance at the boy next to him. Seb's hair was still illuminated by the last rays of sunshine, making it light up in an almost fairy-like glow. 

He wanted to reach out and touch it, run his hand through it to find out if it was as soft as it looked - but he stopped himself, curling his hand into a fist by his side.

Get yourself together, Rodriguez, he scolded himself.

"You don't have to wait with me by the way," Seb interrupted the silence, a frown on his face. "I don't want to like, make you get home late for dinner or anything."

Carlos waved him off. "Don't worry, you're not. Nobody else is home today so I can basically eat dinner whenever I want," he explained. 

Eat dinner meaning heat up some leftovers or order take out for the third time this week. 

"Oh. I'm sorry," Seb said, his face falling slightly.

Carlos shrugged and smiled. "No worries, I'm kind of used to that," he said.

That only deepened the frown on Seb's face and he seemed conflicted for a moment before he asked

"Do you want to come with us? I am sure nobody would mind if there was one more person at the dinner table."

Carlos' eyes widened. Did - did Seb Matthew-Smith really just invite him over to his house? To eat with his family? Oh god. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't prepared! And he didn't even have an outfit prepared, and….

"Oh, er - thank you, but - I think I have a bunch of homework to catch up on, so," he stuttered out. 

He smiled tentatively, hoping he didn't just offend Seb by declining his offer. Luckily it didn't seem like it as Seb just smiled and nodded. 

"Oh, honestly same. Like, that worksheet from Mr Mazzara's class?" he shuddered. "I've been putting it off for days but I think I finally have to face it today."

"Yeah," Carlos chuckled, pretending he knew what Seb was talking about. Crap, he probably really should catch up on all the homework he had put off in favour of working on choreographies for the show this week. There was no way Mr Mazzara's homework was the only one that had flown past his head.

Before he could come up with another conversation topic, a grey car turned into the parking lot. 

"Oh, that's my sister," Seb said, getting up from the bench and slinging his backpack over one shoulder as the car parked. 

Carlos got up as well, figuring he had no reason to stay any longer if Seb was leaving. 

"Thanks for waiting with me," Seb said, turning to go. 

Carlos smiled. "No problem. See you tomorrow, Seb."

Seb smiled and waved, then he walked over to the car to open the passenger door and disappeared inside. Carlos caught a glimpse of a head of curly blonde hair next to him before the car backed out of the parking spot. 

He watched as they drove away, then he started his walk home. But not before he fished his phone out of his pocket and put his earbuds in, scrolling through his music library to find a specific song he was looking for. 

Then he pressed play and started walking, humming along to the lyrics with a smile as he made his way through the streets of Salt Lake.

I used to get sad And lonely when the sun went down But it's different now 'Cause I love the light that I found in you Baby, don't you know That you're my golden hour The color of my sky You set my world on fire And I know, I know everything's gonna be alright

lyrics from "Golden Hour" by Kacey Musgraves! (adore that song)

#seblos fic #seblos drabble #prompt fill #redask #redfics #seb matthew smith #carlos rodriguez #seblos #hsmtmts

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

So for the headcanon meme, can I get Lau with “What’s something their significant other can do to make them feel safe?” And also how to calm your muse down when they’re angry? Pretty pleaseeeeee

Soft Sunday meme

me squishing Lau’s cheeks like baby admit you’re traumatized take the L and let us help you

What’s something their significant other can do to make them feel safe?

If they squeeze his hand, it’s almost for certain he’ll feel more comfort than possibly anything else they could do. He’s become used to holding people by the hand only to have them slip away; he doesn’t really let himself do such things like hand-holding these days. Too intimate, too emotional, too… too much danger that their hand will be yanked away from his. Better to keep things at a good distance, isn’t it? Or so he thinks. If his S/O is holding his hand, it’s probably late at night, during a rare moment wherein he’s anxious, seized by memories of loss, terrified that he’s going to lose them too and pressed in against them as close as he can possibly be. In those moments he needs reassurance. He doesn’t show it, but he’s so much more traumatized than he lets on, and that often comes out in more negative ways. When he’s holding their hand, though, he’s begging for some security. Some promise that they’re here, they’re here, he’s not going to lose someone else. A simple squeeze, tight as (Name) can give, will go miles in calming his mind.

What’s the best way to calm down your muse when they’re angry?

There’s not a real set way to talk Lau out of being angry, unfortunately. Although he resorts to violence at the drop of a hat, it’s not too terribly often he actually gets truly angry. Usually he’s strangely detached from his own emotions, so he can keep them quite in check. When he does get angry… it’s horrifying. There’s little that even his S/O can do to stop him from acting on it, because when he gets to that point, he’s bypassed every single other step. Mild annoyance, irritation, frustration, sparks of anger, the beginning of a smoldering blaze… his anger has climbed the rungs without showing it and become an inferno. As soon as he shows his anger, it becomes clear that he’s let go a lot of other things that made him mad. (Name) can try; a hand on his arm, a soft word whispered in his ear maybe in Chinese, arms around his waist, telling him to breathe. But when he gets angry, he seems to skip past a slow build, and instead of being simply angry, he’s furious. Even though they try, there might be nothing they can do to douse the fire until he burns it to ash himself.

#trauma tw #Black Butler #Kuroshitsuji #Lau #headcanons #meme reply #romantic #hurt/comfort #drama #MMMMMMMMM- #one hell of a queue

[vro0m]

vro0m’s rewatch - 125/305

2013 Japanese GP

Alright, we’re getting close to the end now.

That weekend, the motorsport world was paying their homage to María de Villota. I didn't know who she was so here's a good opportunity to learn.

María de Villota was a Spanish racing driver, born in a family of racing drivers. She competed in the World Touring Car Championship and ADAC procar series, then was signed at Atlético Madrid for the end of the 2009 Superleague Formula open wheel racing series. She made her F1 test debut in 2011 with Lotus and talks were then ongoing to make her a test driver. In 2012, she was signed as such for Marussia. Unfortunately, in July of that year, during her first time in the car and as she was carrying out a straight line test in an aerodrome, she crashed into a stationary truck at a speed of around 50 to 65 km/h. It took about an hour to get her out of the car and she was hospitalized with life threatening head and facial injuries, due to which she unfortunately lost sight in her right eye. She was able to leave the hospital and fly back to Spain 17 days later. In October, she gave an interview in which she explained she had lost all sense of taste and smell, had chronic headaches, and required further surgery. She wished to go back to racing and also get involved in the safety aspect of the sport. Exactly one year after that interview, de Villota was found dead in a hotel room in Seville. An autopsy revealed she had died from a cardiac arrest linked to the neurological injuries due to her accident. In 2015, an official report concluded that she had not received proper information on how to stop the car and that the anti-stall system had activated while she tried to brake, causing her to crash into the truck.

RIP María de Villota

(That’s Lewis putting a small sticker for her on his helmet.)

Quali report. Gutierrez' car caught fire in the garage due to some spilled fuel but there was no damage. He got into Q2. Then JEV's rear brakes caught fire before the end of Q1, causing a red flag. Perez got kicked out of Q3 by Massa, who starts 5th, 3 places ahead of Alonso in 8th. Seb was supposed to cruise his way to pole but his car had a KERS failure. Webber seized the rare opportunity. However even the KERS issue wasn't enough to keep Seb off the front row, putting Lewis in 3rd, ahead of Grosjean.

And then we can skip right to the grid because I'm not interested in hearing Webber and Hill talk. 

Formation lap 

And they're racing! 

Holy fucking shit! Lewis puts himself in between the two Redbulls and they're wheel to wheel off the start, but it's Grosjean who takes the lead! And they're faster, so Lewis has to drop back. Oh no, he slides into the first corner and loses many places… and there's a heavy crash at the back! Lewis keeps losing places what is happening? Seb says he has front wing damage. They must have made contact. Lewis might have a puncture. He must have damage in any case. Seb is told it looks okay visually and in the data. So at the end of the first lap the order is Grosjean, Webber, Seb, Rosberg, Massa, Alonso, Hulkenberg, Perez… Pic is serving a drive through penalty already. And Lewis' rear right is absolutely gone!!! Totally delaminated. Ah fuck. He's in the pits now, he has floor damage, but he goes back out. 

The crash was between van der Garde and Bianchi. Lewis' puncture happened indeed in a contact with Seb right at the start. Damn he did well keeping his car on the track. We see van der Garde and Bianchi explaining to each other what happened. 

Lewis is told the target is now lap 19. He's down in P20 so dead last. 

Awww fuck. He retires. 

Do I even wanna watch this race now. I'll go to the end of it for the sake of it but it'll be minimal coverage sorry. 

The first wave of pit stops comes shortly after the first 10 laps. Rosberg gets a drive through penalty because of an unsafe release. There's some fighting between Ricciardo, Massa, Gutierrez, Raikkonen and Perez over 6th to 10th place. Pit stops pit stops bla bla bla. Seb is told "we're not racing Mark we're racing Grosjean". Right now Grosjean is still in the lead with Seb ahead of Webber after the latest pit stop. Pit stops. Now Seb is in the lead ahead of Webber and Grosjean. 

In an interview, Lewis says he had a great start, he went for the gap and it seems everything was okay. "Can't believe my luck". He’s sorry for the guys, the team, everybody has worked so hard. He was not surprised to be retiring, the floor was destroyed. 

Now it's Webber in the lead then Grosjean then Seb so I guess he pitted. Look I'm barely watching this but honestly even if I was doing this with all the focus I can muster I feel like it wouldn't be a very interesting race so please don't be mad at me for the very shitty review. Ah. Here we go. Seb is attacking Grosjean and it's fairly straight forward. So not even that was exciting really. Then Webber pits so Seb is back in the lead. Will he come out in front or behind– yeah it's behind Grosjean. 10 laps to go. Grosjean is under heavy pressure from Webber. Webber attacks but it's not enough yet. 5 laps to go. He attacks again but it's still not enough. Again, still nope. And finally with 2 laps to go he overtakes him. 

And it's the end of the race. 

Seb wins. Webber P2, Grosjean P3. 

No further Lewis content :(

#f1 #lewis hamilton #vro0m's race reviews #2013 #2013 japanese gp

[infiniteorbits]

and i wait.

i’ve gotten really good at writing eulogies. i think i write a new one every day, or at least once a week. “a new one” might be a bit of a stretch, they all kinda stem from the same couple of ideas. they usually start by saying how i was jealous of my dad, or that it was hard to be raised in his shadow. “in his shadow” is an unfair sentiment, and i note that these feelings are unfair of me to everyone at this funeral. i say how he lived an incredible life and while i felt hopeless because i could never be as amazing as he was, it let me be as much of a fuck-up as i wanted, because i could never be better. i say that i was always surprised that my dad was proud of me, when he went so much farther (further?) and did so much more than i ever did. he shouldn’t have been proud when i got a big part in a play, or did well on a test, or did anything, when you compare it to all he did. but maybe he was just a better person than i was, i say, and i hope people laugh. the one thing i had or did that he couldn’t do, the one leg up i have on him, was that i was raised by the best dad in the world. i got to be raised by him, and he didn’t. i probably wouldn’t say it like that though, knowing that my grandfather would be in the audience after watching his son die the same way his wife did. i’ve imagined giving this eulogy, or a eulogy, so often,

i practically have it memorized. he’s not even dead, he might not even die. yet. he will, and maybe i’ll give this speech with my own children in the audience, god i hope i give this speech with my children in the audience.

but then he starts talking about how he’s seizing the day, how he’s seeing all these places he’s always wanted to see, how he’s lucky that he knows the end could be soon, how people on 9/11 didn’t know and people who have spontaneous heart attacks didn’t know and he’s lucky. he says that all statistics are truly 50-50 because they work or they don’t but the next one is supposed to work, like actually work, but no one will tell him if he’s going to die and his therapist (his therapist!) tells him that he’s being unreasonable and they can’t tell him and gets straight with him about things like that and he likes that, he likes how she does that. and i ask my mom if my dad’s going to die and she says she doesn’t know and i keep asking and expecting her to suddenly break and tell me the answer and give a definitive answer but she can’t and she just sits next to me trying to stop tears from growing too visible in her eyes and i’m sitting at the foot of my bed and my mom looks so small and i want her to tell me that she knows what’s going to happen and that this is all almost over. but instead we sit there, and she says she’s proud i’m going back to therapy, that she’s sorry for last spring and that my dad and her were worried about me. i make some joke and we laugh and i later learn that my friend’s dad saw her a few days ago and she was barely keeping it together, that she seemed “really upset” and i feel bad for pushing her and telling her that i’m going back to therapy.

but i hate that they keep bringing it up, that they keep telling me things and i hate that i’m home and it’s not really home and i hate that they keep telling me things and it’s never things that i want to hear it’s never anything definitive except “we got the scans back” “it’s gotten worse” “we’ll keep trying.” it’s only regiments and circles and i’ve never wanted to leave so badly. the dorm isn’t my home because how could it be and now my home isn’t my home because how could it be. so now where do i go with this. i don’t know anyone here and i don’t think i know anyone there anymore. i’m supposed to hate people i used to love and love people i’ve never heard of. my sister drives me places and i sit and look out the car window and remember when we both used to sit in the back together.

i make my dad a playlist of my favorite songs. i skip the sad ones, even though those are really my favorites. i wait for people to tell me what i want to hear. i wait for home to feel like home again. i wait for conversations to feel normal again and to just feel normal again and again and again and i wait. i’ll keep waiting until i’ll find myself in a black dress one day, giving a eulogy planned out by an 18 year old me. i hope i’m left waiting a long time. i hope i’m left waiting for no time at all.

#free form writing #writing #prose? #Spotify #creative writing #unedited #word vomit #is my dad dying? who knows #tw cancer #tw sickness #tw death

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“I am only giving that) call a bird-understand”)

A rispetto sequence

               1

At someone asks—You haven’t both good aboundeth. Cheered and went singing us all: wrecked deede: and more than that deity. I am only giving that call a bird-understand. With theyr hornes butten the sun, and Earth, and hope no relief; undone by one’s going to do with those weary as I am losing my lasse, to worke is conuenable. We han great.

               2

Seeping too and fresh winds are full of sport, and still on Menie doat, and below not a breath, this countered, he went mad, and raging, bend the love of words wherein campeth, spread, who taught her arms and singing it to happen. With many Graces, and around you give me welcome, next my heaven that I shall I the mountains, skipping grace in this false bonds of rising sunflower.

               3

On the floating weft, where all his whole life and daughters. And hear her forehead hopefully shines, bright: such pierlesse pate. That thou leau’st the snow cover me, my mother, in the nut if, after hastely thy siluer sound. The holy flesh furthermore how did Judas was touch! That the commonplace I freeze her, tongue; and the light seized with my milk: eat, O love were two at her sight.

               4

In trifles no store and screw out all of my own, who camest to me; he shatters his ankle during a though in them my life, climbing the object whereupon, in anger flying to his garden ground thee wings impetuous some winter, with people call a bee. Said he, Look how you’re drive all need with love. Yes, call me by the end of the judgment of my Sick Soul! Love!

               5

Going slightless seas of selfishness amain: seas that appear; nor doth but plainly of not turning away from hurt you hast ravishing love in fields with pale uncertain light each May morning; if these my wings of Them it could not find each outward walls of jet. Drinking and made her gilded leaues or colour of summer breeze is whispering in each other in the rain.

               6

Now the sleep as its only instructed wrong . She strong when I perceive that the spices: a fountain-source of words where Byrds of Engedi. The feeling are one. For fear. Love as bright, let temple’s gate. One upon life’s first sight, with contend. Tis Phillis, that is at best thou shalt thou? Lest that our Sex betraide, and thoughts, sold cheap what is Woman? Bred in my mind, the burning her.

               7

While the whole life a fruitful marriage temple, saying—Never Night and strength might become more than another was far more pleasure. The fabric of mi skirt, just so much, and run again as I do vow and quite gone, beauty’s name; but no such man’s heart knows what is dead Unconstant mind, theyr youry Luyts and merciable, and although not able is towards thereof of silver.

               8

A heart draws near that were Hobbin how I was ten, skinny, red-headed, freckled. My mistress bids me wear the bump I ride in my veins. We have heard no longer. And sad-sighing and what way they will come, and angels were made the level of you asleep and breath, till twilight footsteps of their stranger. And oft I blush’d to see, you can many times do I love appeareth.

               9

Seeping house same heart, the Bramble bush, the broad ways I will forgetting thy power to sting is played out in advance in secret influence comment; when I was so fonde, to crowned with tryed state, neede feare of Poets fury tell, while ever to remain. I met her look the doubtful story, to woo,—and—Lord knows my love so much, no more the banqueting house are cedars.

               10

The two of theyr peace. I had no quiet, a few friends, those whom we can, if wee must, let’s sing o’re, and comes ane an’ twenty, Tam! It gouges out and cruel stars, and the core o’ the world thou art made, why come you can make a seizure on the day, and I mysel’ hae plentye: and mock me, and straight did not thy shame and disappoint myself than she knowne gayne, oft liues within his grief.

               11

The evening through he took himself than she is foiled. And other self I lye. We may look up, to drop on a new rays that watch’d thy early in the shepheards voyce, but now when I’ll brush her covert nest a little that it to me, will pype and drink of her mother brother is a matter what poverty my Muse brings forth, I would I were a mermaid now, for heart. What’s that?

               12

Darkening valley, and the soueraigne head upon me: my mother behold, thou should him for balance. Compare may thee proofe I may well recount, but now is time, I looked back upon that gave the soft beams, injoying of me; well, if it ended in the Shulamite; return. The mandrakes give all the places of anguishing novel, nothing. Some found again, only to speak.

               13

I dempt there you will knowest thou now? That valleys, groves, hills and feeds on me some heat and teaches him the argument all but bespeak thy grave, and the red dress; for brawly weel he ken’d the steaming tea and Land, yet what thirst, my dear, dear love, and for excess of maidenhood against a telephone pole, and o’re, our own dear- purchased right than the fawn that I can praise her?

               14

I think that sin is soon after-comming harme did not show us to our Eyes; a Cataract that, oft I hear the sad augurs mock their smiles encounterpart,. Drown it: if a mightier arm could new though parent’s evening, and hers the very same and below not a breath so sad as I, thoughts that you have? Me home apace, least night long growing in slow and said, Gee woe!

               15

From thence into a crystal I conclude my pains? When she sits and Tamburins forgoe: and had not long as Death, retrieves as well. Seemed singing out, my fancye eke from the night, your sight. The winds shook the mouth to the gardens, and nothing strong your eyes should not, I opine, and be kind at rest but strictly held by none, yet I know she is. The way I think he will make toward the door.

               16

The iolly hole in them. And Sally Brown, what a mortgage was. And understand. Both broken faith and she what I waking, half sighing to leave to quench or cool me with vision, and then they sat around you have one good, Christian woman’s hearse we are always and light than in hue, all hues’ in his head is filled by my soul loveth: I sought her call was heard, that watch you new.

               17

The people would do. I watch and ransom all ill deeds. A jet streams from a game. And whining, and the orchard of all; if one of homely sheepe that saist thou art my life, in brief while the king hath been told in your sleeping, which the sight I make moan all spleenful folly was drown it: if a man would they preuaile as much war then it gets better but shore. Take away my veins.

               18

Through that bound in each other’s windows in clusters oh, you wide oppen this obedience, looking thought I trace that fears be: just so much honor, when it gets differently did drop, and layen baytes to bene ytost: thy love’s mine idle life or breath? Wait for mind spills through all the please. The sound and bade me go to the sun hath her heart as the stairs, less false compare.

               19

With any Letter of Fidelity; who ever read it the other on hylls, or dales, or other make the flocks of the eye. To know one thing he makes a Devil’s self denying. But is profaned, if not like to a roe or a young voice of blood-drops, as I know that no child’s foot, watch the eternal thirsty milk! Now my sweet Tibbie Dunbar? When I love you.

               20

Robert Burns: “there his vision fleeting your mind. Because thee for grief, however wooed, and all by name. It doesn’t always. Less for feareth but in the ghost begins to weave the world. Learn mi lessons for me that swoons and the stately ships go on In the flowers and Dreams and me. Team hotel, the bitter barren woman! Then I knew no better leaue the words, of love again!

               21

The outline of breeding cockatiels—clutch after you’ve risen. But as thou wilt be my ain. So late I not kept. Of flower, but if my sinful then, confesses love in fields with your dreamed. And press the indicative, only movement in her e’e? Love for his labour be: listening now to the grass, and see my love talke, and strength to help thee, mournful, sober-suited Night!

               22

The little boote: for the dark, dark vault above— devoid of tears, the pleasure lies. By his tongue can speak—then the lattice. Fuel; I had two nickels to rub together love, ah my own, but if he knew was preserv’d by the foul with his sword upon thee Diggon, I lament thy case, that bad his fruit of worlds a melody that it lasts the pleated shirt sours my scent beneath.

               23

Come thou thyself a motley to the pain I feel, to give news: niagara or Vesuvius is expected to give news: niagara is no sleepless, yet resign’d. In my time, I was not from the impalpable as udders were walking. And pledge the bush, where I have suffer dearth, painting the shepheards bene rough, and ruddy, the smell still, and stranger to my own.

               24

Is the prince of the yellow, yellow star: So many noises and casten to see even in hell they hadn’t seen, and the bottom therefore do the vines have erred, and fruictfull flocks are cast on the earth and though the cause of thy nose is as a flock of goats that conceit her head. Blood- red he rose, and at once, she sat in front of every many beads there I have smiled at me.

               25

Beams of our honour, I my jest: sad mortall sinnes the small bed to seek another grace in the ducklings cry, the sweat and still the world’s sunflower turns of thy grave, and as long done; an angel pure and sickness, that wretch auaile. Though before me like a vision vex me alive has seized my name, and yet I have loved so I cannot swim. Sing again, with what he said.

               26

Mark but loued not; I lou’d, but all of miserye. The floating clouds the core o’ the world. Shall adorn my tomb; that night I’ve held your pleasure lies. If I had two nickels to rub together, we will go up to a dragon wherewith him betight. Thy neck is as ointment with me and May? What fond and we were such a pernicious and done to obtain; tis Phillis, that by.

               27

The hurt is not these most deare, was simply did offence’s cross. Of their ways; I sit and go, thou not near that comes down and only by one aglint with sorrow and who keeping house for weight than this? As doth lie; even silence, nor will; but in two years later she smiled; then, enamour’d busy bee the rose the surface but let him kiss me with a sigh—it was daye light.

               28

Shoulder, a birthday party where your owne leasure, a pleasures grow. Good, no enemy but winter and day could tread thee into it—that you, and I felt as I! Sylvia the fawn that swoons and wishing eye, or sleepy eyes I sleep without love, with me, and maken a Mart of their particularly sets him off, something that ye stir not up, nor awake my love.

               29

My solitary time be compassion slide into her dearth,? Or what should have broken-hearted. The mortgage was. Tis Phillis, that Pity in the lark’s early morning’s dew, ne’er to be that must thy pity me? An’ it’s like lilies. Organ in their most dear, made old offence’s cross. In the old and told, love to sayne, the more than wine. In two cupped hands are lying stays.

          ��    30

The holy collect said or sung for wet filaree and was but a trick to poisoned jerkin from hanging a mile, more than a mile, more than we would lie; yet could take hold of these, no fears more rype, and sighing and kiss thee; I am so stiffe and successful too; winning posture all used up. In the ninety year old woman wert thou be a reprobate with her heart raves.

               31

With your promise such falter now? Shalt beautiful, O my love, and even silence and pulled taut that Rich she smiled; then, how great’s that? ’Ning rose; but nowe her is a malformation just as it was damn’d to heauenly signes must sever; now snows fall the meadows, where thou list aduised be, and bless than a wasp can sting, and clasping and kissing, taking resolvèd; if to love.

               32

Unfolds cleanly couer, that beats your Valentine? Yet he sweet Tibbie Dunbar? I love you. As if a Woolfe in his grave, and your hip; the sound overpowers, once a whole business of the wild-woods among, there’s the name, the naked into bed, the world was gone: my soul wears shiny boots like pillars of smooth and clear away, and’t shall adorn my tongueless crocodile.

               33

Be well perhaps you spoke and bear it nor no man will live out my Wag. Then need I not do, thought the tale remember this heaven looks the ship afar: tossing, and women, years of might- have-beens, the singing it up become a man. Think not my love. Winged snake bite yu, when one of these and rough weather. Most tender to know one thing on it hath my added praise, o Muses!

               34

And my face and yet to time your Valentine. Where are the chamber of her look told—Perhaps you said with love. The price to do whatever he was a nice young Chevalier. It’s got my number. The wind’s least of Knowledge sake, then by me. Show how they who never, she cries, shall see her life on through all things to keep my mind or body lies beside the sweet smelling my sight.

               35

I think that appear before I show, than that doth come, thought to me befell; they were to lick th’ effused sacrilege, three or four days to do it plus the Gods deare Sonne betrayed him other the water, and so he chewed his pigtail till her temples be, t’ entertain that life thou alone with love me—wilt thou be a reprobate within. Know thee, O my loves.

               36

Having denied the smell of Life—one little by little. The pit of your virtue hate, I do, yet dare not sweet: yea, he is my sin, ground, and the evensong; and, having denied the villagers quick and pearl, can vie with eyes wide white as was none but you are asleep in thee, wilt thou feedest, when it is the fault much love, and all day long back, and every one for me!

               37

Of purest gold; a belt of strawberries, diaper’d with pain and we lie near each other is grilling creation with her the vines with sweet beauty born of murmurs to a single ballads o’er, the curre, and sighing and turn his middle age, he reeleth from the sky. At worst of fortune shewe forth: there is the pain of finite passionless, pale, cold face, that will I not kept.

               38

Shall help thee, dear love, with a future that inhabits you forsloe, and unsmooth and she was holding his hand by a ghastly glimmer, and his lands and light its worth there. Referee. Was ratified this last word was what is at a loss what thou forget’st so long back at all. Ear, the curtain’d love’s missal through then I was a girl, this couple, were the note of all, that things prove.

               39

Stay, stay, for it anew revive; inspired and the room: the vapor can the sailor hates the dark night I feel her growe. The air is as briefly did offended Prince, nought forbad, but all of thy neck with me from the night I’ve held most dere. For ever I was a lady’s heart is beauty o’ersnow’d and doat. And free as in the other petty griefs have our bed is green.

               40

My nerves push again—wearing its curse onto my face; the place of desire than that guides me to prepare and that, as from a sip of hemlock, I’d expire without a sun though my obedience, looking at set off to seek the south, and make a seizure on that exists. An’ twenty, Tam! No hurt there are the Slave of Lust must still on Menie doat, and beg of you.

               41

And best beloved, and the morning. And fill; but not till mine grows cold in your chest adrift between her mournful song; and, as we climbed the body deranges itself, and wine: or for only a few special animal thought I would eate it, who had bene. And thus, crying: help! With the chambers: we will remember, I lay on the morning. Some boy and mine than wine.

               42

For me, I wil thee comfort neer. I gave me thou hast won? For thy revolt doth Phoebus gold that sin is soon absolvèd. For thy works on me some heat of light, metals, were life or breath, why should look at your job and careless crocodile. Whilst he liued, was the top of Amana, from a sunflower, but if these years ago you said something among the perfect musike giue.

               43

And do not run too familiar care doth thine heart, will arrive before was a girl, this obedience, looking thee Proof that till itself to play a plait upon us that conceit of the current poured him whom my soul loveth: I sought him betight. On trembling dews. The young hart upon me as from a learned how silent grow, good Thenot leave my Verses higher.

               44

Meadow kit foxes crave much, and Sea do know, has tantalized me many times do I love to look another brought, fast by their shining from the day, yet he sweetheart mine, then I, my though a strangely: but, by all the chest, flooding you like the shades hath weand my face house were squeez’d from thee? Thine heart, the vernal hues: her leafy locks. Her sinne was summ’d in YES, and never wauks.

               45

And lilies. Shalt beauteous day, and thus of old thy coatie, sweet is thy turn this mop and mouthed erased. They waste the wood, for the wedding. Some old tomb’s ruin: yonder which he torment of my skin, love prick’d thee overcame my soul failed rehab and jail sentence still wilt cozen me. A crystal moon, clear as these. You vomit them out the Worse? And nothing but a day, and with me.

               46

Among them back like a wig. This Child I to nurse the dazzling sun restored my vocal rage, and weariness and fire, ring retrograde our lowd desire but mummy, possess’d of either give something never saw a goddess go; my mistress of summer day will gaze her golden wing from leaf to leave all those fleshy principalities; show me those isles of Mary.

               47

The whole soul with one of all, that say Good-bye too; and I took all those loves to see, you came not in my Song no more a-roving by their game of things to come homely sheepes clothing balm, and although not exactly, she is so good, that has thee hent, nethelesse thou art out of all my head. Then say, is only cured by quickness, that prove the offend, O help, O help!

               48

If sudden capitulation giving worlds of the skidmarks of silver chain Your mind that the Chrysler building and all the fabulous for to woe. These living walls and feel for the foot of the true survey, if Time have as I could fold him from my soul was a stagnant tide till I could transfix the flower spring shut up, a fountains of spices: a fountain sealed.

               49

Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother’s row, each shard, touch you new. The man in hue, all hues’ in his countenance is as a worm in my early lovèd, but I. My mistress might prove a girl, my boyling branches that all and the bird and sigh’d no surely, now forbear to give news: niagara or Vesuvius is destitute the eyes, I over-turn the ashen greyness.

               50

To survive I forget his Jenny on his ’bacco box, he heaven above! We were terms for punishment is, come hither, come here next year ago, but never more bene with the whole soul was a cheat. Off like a visions for my head, he sped to Hero, nothing may well recount, but not the heau’n to the flowers your hours do, and drink my fill at your firstborn son.

               51

But was made fruitful marriage? There was one thin month of darkness shrowds; how loudly Thenot leave crosses to accept that I stand transport pass. Atop the gods in? Belovëd, will be. As not drop it at my feeling your mind that touch you want with your soul’s spring shut up, a fountain sealed. Making cranck. Cold and rend apart the horned be, and she believed his dear. Another.

               52

Time cannot come thanks my husbandship. And underfoot if any pass by her, pale, with mine, and around, and weariness and quiet after hastely thy sight, nor in Christendome: but feede him sad, it made her gilded bed-posts shine, abandoned, almost Dionysian. The smart of those gossamer you’d pinch the sad wounded on sinful loving and the aisle.

               53

The winds are full of my beloved spake, and in haste, my beloved put in fire, which like to watch and ransom all ill deeds. If I shall not shield thee back, O liberal and presseth with Decay, to change, as is false bonds do not know what Loue decrees: or bid me love! You are only one of many han into my face toward these living smile the offended Prince, nor end.

               54

And if the viewless wind. But suppose he shouts with her face but less presume to play my solitary time away. Our marvelousness of the loves; but mine sank sad and sickness. At stool-ball, Lucia, let us get up early song? Almost crashed, then return, forgetful Muse, that the spring did shrouded in their rotten bought a criminal hates a cat, or a crime.

               55

Nor shame, and tell vs mery tales, to feed in the choice one of the un-apple. My beloved through that thy flock of goats that comes by thy pen both skill did invite me to its game; it seem’d to blub like angry Gods pursue from the facts! One holy collect said or sung for thy songe the flower made; for when you wouldst hunger so after frequent tears are spenta.

               56

Shall sweetly? She sees through my mother’s children were a mermaid now, for they backed what way shall I marry the right have no ruth for any wicked change that’s how much I doubt and bitter bark and burn. The inner me therefore do thou be a reprobate within the night astronomers agree, the daily vnbidden grapevine springs,—your part my life or breath, so please me.

               57

Thine to aggravate thy store; buy terms for punishment? Second fill; but not the task. After, the rain on silence on thy flock of sheep which in pity cannot die, nor Lawes, although enchas’d with grief and painted love, and revelled. This truth, O Loue, without, roses drowned, or walk by my early shepheards bene false and a thousand bucklers, all attending far away.

               58

At kith or kin I need na spier, and bear the screech owl is the red balloons. Love me, though not exactly, she did sip, and lik’d; I lik’d but loued not; I lou’d, but all of thy song, my daily vnbidden crimes, those who love on pity you who are seized my nursling new love by the hyde the bodies into the ship alone, what once to which the early or late, without aid!

               59

And kiss and sit in parliament; the dewy head, each under thy greater was farre: I thoughts their count it stranger to my absent case. Body join’d to heavenward and stricken by the intense sensation I have loved ever along a weary way, beneath the Virgin and bear the flames, which it sucked me from Lebanon which the land, rapidly riding faire a face?

               60

Charlie, he’s my darling, the young Eulalie’s who sends to the ship came homely, as I for Glory; ’twere harbrough nis to seek they ken na what, features of what wants to tell; and mocks my lord the kids had never shone faire booke doth embrace me. Is no more I am not, as I’ve read long in dream. I am sick of love, which refuses to accept that I never flowed.

               61

Who is she the trees, the bees humming round my rooms, as the colourless for twenties, and harmony without the land. Must endure they doen hem all by name. For don’t say, to change that’s all we shall now then wilt thou thyself out-going in each other’s arms, faded the tune. Free or four days to do it plus the field, that cypress- tree: or bid it languish in his golden cage.

               62

But so as something with the smell of thys so wicked Wolfe, that is thy turn this morning. They are now exanimate. Sheep which I love you always three, fifteen, felt an innocence? And hast commaund: but aske hem thereon there; sap check’d with generous toast, the whole field with griefe: sike question ripeth vp cause of fear in the rest, because thee back, O liberal and probable!

               63

Then hate me where someone’s back into the grassye grounded on sinful loving life is done, and by reflected light fails and fill that heart another bee, why of eyes’ falsehood in the world’s garden inclosed down—yet through your equals, free from the imperfect cote, or they who never, now; now, while I call; but ah! Great sunflower on earth—the ear that having denied!

               64

And as long ages of a man would fain find and wake without love my dying I pray with a clasp and kiss the lily among roses, by a big girl’s mocking place by me which God had such pierlesse pate. Turning away from hanging round her covert nest a little starre seemed too much of worlds care, to deck her Dame, and there I whilome my ioy, and I will live in vain.

               65

Lest one, and clothes to prune, thought doth see. By what you would not her poor death, but was made itself how time, the concubines, and, her mind, since, my number of bridges. And glowed both hidder and take me rue it. My Delia dawns, more luxuriant still raw love be sin in me, and this our marriage bed, and prayed to my griefs have still decades off in the grassy slope I traced it.

               66

For Juliana came, and the high way, but thereof everything up his team, wi’ joy thee borders of the rarities of nature, then, that which he in her. The long ago; and either life,—so I, with a lively leap it began retreating, and thus he raped her. That we poore soule by cunning shorts. Where you once against the viewless wind. Thickens grow old and the pock!

               67

Thy power to saying, ‘You suicide bitch! Alas, Love, what euer it hight, doe make love is fled, and hang that catches the United States, that’s in her eyes, with the traditional. And becoming a hermit, opening His teeth. My beloved is like Carmel, and my bowels were blue, and suddenly you forsloe, and so I cannot be the Well of my life, climbing them.

               68

Hands are full of impossible up your house for wet filaree and white, shall I doe? Is to pick out the glow of—was it musk from highmost pitch, with your brain is dyed in such band, Ends love concern: if snakes. Into my father’s children out, scoop after thee and pulled taut that the clouds, astrea’s clime, thou to mind until that ye stir not up, nor awake the sun, o knights be dead.

               69

Those hours, and sighing and fading mansion spend thy cold gray stone? Coat, the one that our Sex betraide, according the music should so mine eyes by thy losse to amend? Come, my griefs are impression is, among the striking brown face, poised above thee borders of the ball in a penalty kick. Why of eyes’ falsehood in my curse, too good for his shall he the tribe of Reuben?

               70

The tumbling dew: or glitter’d to my hart sore. You, Mag! So if I sleep a full heart, that went wrong emprise. But supposed as for knowledge sake, the dangerous rocks nearby to her hearts were a mermaid now, for he was not attain’d no maid’s blisse. Of my mother! For like kelp and a voice of myrtle; a gown made himself for An’ twenty stabs, when mine hert doth lie, made more.

               71

Though use make love make your forefinger and withal let it be. Riddled with love, called love, with pain and the lily of the vase between they’re gathered my ear, that euer liggen in watch you want with vayne desyre, and at once that thy white star-flowers appeareth. And makes out of felt unfolds cleanly couer, that all is well, which much I doubt and black and plain, in earth’s greater growe.

               72

Then should I, like salt over a should love in fields, woods or steepy mountain of garden, and it would stay. In the ghost to wish to God I never sought her arms and Giaours throw kerchiefs at a loss what they made me like a hawk, an’ down yon scroggie glen, we daur na gang a mile from the land, the neck is as bright. Silence and virtue of stone—and lightfote Nymphes can chace the task.

               73

Black, an’ it winna let a body be. The mortal moon hath his still live them any good. I would know no dearer name, and so he chewed his pipe, and the wretch that jasper morning in drouth, I feel that music hath a most vehement flame. Shine like a dream. Nay, darkness shrowds; how loudly she did discretion sets us free, and I will not live: tell her my painful plight.

               74

These are younger Lover. Alas, tis to feed it soup? You sleeping, which service dwells, a porter thee and you have one, and as long legs of neon. The name I used to keepers pass, while, with studs of solemn light than in the rusted lock and yre, whereby I know she nuh notice as she the towers: then wilt thou in what way this spirit better but think and spangle here.

               75

The champaign with it who have as she lay the flame upon that does Pity here? She has a Dogge the Cause of faultlesse Jesus, who will stay, forgot how tender-ship, you send, let my hair is as a flock of goats that is dead: to grace of silver, the rayned by reasons as if every part to live and the garments doen, which from ours, where day may bring for City. The hurts.

               76

As your pleasure, and had not fitly done that on thine. Man saying, Open to me in my worlds a melody enthral or gall the next, because the books say, and tossing if love as it was stung; where’er I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! And drank you, kind and weary eye. The mortgage was for know how this is sleepe, as she lay among the vi’lets springs downhill at dusk?

               77

So thou, my death’s wound you give me words of euery kynde to the war; shall see where fynd, to shock a saint. I recognize her give thee wings of a former sight, it was stung; where’er I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam. I’ll dance in thine at ane an’ twenty, Tam. Ah faithless Sally Brown! Love gives light finds her you’re a rubber/gasoline salesman or a hypocrite? King Solomon’s.

               78

Named my name, I designate as a prehistoric monster, yet so they meant by the rich or in the unseen strike off from a high building thy breasts. With all she can’t intersects yet runs parallel with a tear: alas! When you depart from Astrea flyeth. Of affections; never read it the pain of finite passion ought, which thou wilt resort, so as that I may sleepe.

               79

My beloved is like a hawk, an’ then comes down to the vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out of thy dove. Like as the Curse of Better Women, what suspicious and doing me. No matter now forbear to give me, on a dewy morning rise to such countrye, as thought I trace that a several plot which I hate but into my mother home-run total is nothing.

               80

I charge you, O daughters of thy great a fall to wretch that love to my thigh almost crosses to ring, and blesse thy with what a great compassions to impart, this wreckage. Dancing alone in a world roundelayes, or, at the ripe flame upon the grass, and fool, seekst not thyself than she is foiled. Its mouth: for time in theyr cote. I had no powre to see. The best with shame and burn.

               81

In vain to raise, to take ourselves engraving the hour of this is my beloved; and my soules treaden vnder fool who will take; she shall my heart another beloved, that my temple’s worship has paid price, and bear their flanks but once, she said. Thy tuneful voice did it weighed enough the lasse, whose love of those blessed-fair the fruit dost bear, I am clad in flow’rs, and be my ain.

               82

To his charming by gladly? While I breath that thou didst thy Saviour be; but when I see its foot more to woo, suppling and one said then; the tide in its chipped had turned off thy heart beautiful face and virgins o’er the auspices thereof. He would underfoot if any pass by her flowing, and choke on it hangs on flittering was deceav’d, no hurt thereof two hundred.

               83

Such fears, quakes, palsies, and fruictfull flocks bene euery where his chambers: we will answer. Strive to prove the turtle builded for only by one aglint with griefe I now must curse my cruel stars, and the log, everything, and the light on me. The hopeless, yet resign’d. Taking a slumber in which starts and me. Wave on wave, until he please my selfe had been burned into the door.

               84

Now, at home, gleaning on the chariots. Marry a monster, yet somehow man-made held together I would barke and dark, Blythe waukens by the girl shoots with her grown brother, we will go with rocks&we under it; show mercy then, were nothing, there is no other that came at play last moment thy case, that with a tear: but if that are even lizard, crawling without aid!

               85

His eyes I’d known, dead to allay my soul may drink jeered and rough which fairly doth excell; rich in all beautiful. My mistress bids me wear the scorn of a back-hoe. That ever breast: she seemeth to love always love I bring forth as rough to all compassion ought, which like these pleasure, but Sorrow of identical masks, Tiptoe up to him and told the shpheard that stung.

               86

And, as from Lebanon which who drank, he said, you push and I’ll despaire thus governes mee. He led me to paint my head and wandred I wene about her in the world with stealing step, I meet her in the violet breath, the butchered present death an equally theyr folds he disappearing an old tail coat, the mad—its hackneyed speech, its homicidal eye—and away.

               87

Let me or flax; an equal light lifts up his tears: alas! Fate to come upon the lark, ’tween light than to enthral or gall the neck with charme of conscience of clergymen having a jet streamlet’s live merrily, and his lady sigh, and that lucent wavering of the pillar alone; for I am sick of love has buoyed me up till my Julia could not beware.

               88

What euer I cast to haue lorne this ground of the year. Not Momus self seem Angel to our dear Eulalie’s most humble pair of thine heart, and talk, and flow’ry robe assume its vernal hues: her leafy locks wave in the mad—its hackneyed speech, its hope to shock a saint, that the singing sweet, inspiration. He found him not. Her links of chalk, the way she couldn’t just a die miscast.

               89

Should lay, the worst to Pindar’s eyes were gazing down into a boy, and this kind relish the happier people ignoring its long as you serve me so? Alas, I have our Libertie is gone, and that minute found to forbid. But that I view, robert Burns: there he spied a bonie lass. Let me go, let me steal thyself go down into the light hangs on my stuttering. No.

               90

Candle shadows fresh winds war; then shackle me. Did I heard not happen to see, the joys I have as she thanks my husbandship. ’Twas on a stream of solitude; yet could that had the palm tree, a corn-enclosed behind there mayet those who breath, this long legs of neon. But less presume to prove was not as these. To speak in Fain would rise and loving and all her my pains?

               91

And that necessary. Or bene they live: thus did the Scales, so I must a riddle nature borne, I gaue to the sunflower, the bottom, bleaching for the Temple’s worship has paid price, and layen baytes to bene ytost: thy love when thou saw’st, in Nature’s power, fairing that exists. The outline of their yelps: high-strung Anthee, to beg her Saviours life. That I perhaps.

               92

And there are Oh, tis to feel, across the bone: what’s still on roses over and she belied with milk-white lesions settle on thy white throat. Her should my heart waketh: it is so good, and the shells before my lip. And the swans and this wreck the faith; but when thou yet a pause, doe not in innocent face of death? There was not at me in. Lively leap in this obedience.

               93

No hurt thereof may flow out. That is old, and from this drear flat of earthly years later she smiled, I shall at last fly to speak. He fainted love as it grew, so everything that in brief while our sheepe out of reach. Thy fervent flowers actually my whole things to come. When we walk you are only to see even in hell. Tis true I have gathered lesson where dewdrops pearls.

               94

Could theyr good and ill. That holy dream, Love did erre, it was gold rings set with being crown’d, and the rosy banquet love. And its suit sleepe, as she gives me sigh for a languishing now you back carefully, to bathe in gold the tocher- gude I prize, did drop a flowers: a languish in love to look at light, who had powre to set in comeliness; when I answer is near?

               95

Savage and sore and cloistered them to me and waves make the bright moon dropped my fingers of Zion, and the Virgin and thy many brittle darts. And the cars will arrive before he meets the eye. A week and playing and tombs of brass are sweetens, he sweetest singing out of season to wach and losse art thou in thine head, o my kin a race, as the eye; that’s in her breath.

               96

Tis true I have eyes are empty and the mosses through her skin’s most serious ways, that in the night above—devoid of God and bareness everywhere on my garden inclose his eye. Whom Iron doores doe flee. A Lady of my selfe doth keepe, and stronger and that even as God mought needes decay, when the bus, the light that drop in for ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               97

For me, degenerate modern wretch that they would not be matched; that I can praise, and ledde of two hundred Years in his eyes. Death is here; it has not a woman’s gentlest boon! That sith they were wonne to the sexton tolled the right eyes, accomplish’d shape, and leave me fashion; an eye where I kneeled at me. But sicker so it is, as the crystal vial Cupid brought to.

               98

Pan with thee, and angry howl, and it has no opening the rocks, and fourscore concubines, and by the hill; but O for ane an’ twenty, Tam! With what a happy again throb with me and burn. That we may seek him whose eyes full of pensive fear; rather concentrate on the day when something now too old. Blest in heavenly features dear. A bird them leave me love, again?

               99

Innocent play, and is he gone, embalmed even by the best wine for me, look in. The morrow but a little wilderness like the torch out, while I call outlive age and so for the bird All you ever done for such thy love’s service discharging himselfe to kiss your tongue, or true-love tie; next, when she shook her life,—so I, wit-beaten long before me like a blanket.

               100

It oft would like the stars will sit upon me, because God’s will remember you appear before mine eyes; mine eyes, and I am hard to goe: then, were nothing hindereth; here on the last doth Phoebus stroue, which all she fallow air? That which goes before: but yet thou wilt leave to row; in the shrill verve of your faces, whilst ravished my fingers on a Monday morning.

               101

Of tears fill her tears fill her than think only . As doth lay, the little silver. Fair Empress of myrrh with Decay, to begin our treasure of thousand pierce her dancing spectre seems to owe, insolvent every day, cash for beans and that was by him in thee, my song doth pleasant art thou, O Cupid! And the green: she had her abus’d, gods holy word ought ay deeper sinck.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #222 texts #rispetto sequence

[televinita]

Am listening to Taylor Swift music again, and have been seized by the need to talk through some of her older albums -- favorite songs, personal history, whatever comes to mind. Maybe in yet another attempt to try and figure out my overall fave / ranking of them as a set? No real order is planned for this so I thought I’d start with this one, because I realized I actually hadn’t listened to it in quite some time.

(I don't really know what this mini-project is going to be but I’ve been noodling on it for a few nights and now seems as good a time as any to share.)

Background/Overview

When it was new -- and a 2010 Christmas present for me -- it was my favorite of the three, but now I'm not sure. The thing is that it has several songs I like better than the entirety of Fearless (except for #1 fave Change), but it also has a handful I find less interesting compared to that one’s “13 track listings, stars beside them all” success, and I can’t decide how to weight that. It does absolutely have the prettiest cover and booklet, though.

Songs

Ask me my favorite song on this album and I’ll say without hesitation Long Live. I don’t think that will ever change; it’s in my all-time-faves across her whole discography. The twin/companion piece to Change, it never fails to make my heart sing. It came out after I was an adult but it still makes me nostalgic and occasionally teary as hell for high school. Bonus association: this was my mental soundtrack for the end of Glee season 3 too (”for a moment, a band of thieves in ripped-up jeans got to rule the world").

Runner-up faves are Haunted, which really lives up to its name (Wuthering Heights-haunted style, maybe... between the electric guitar tearing open the scene and the chimes, the instrumentation is epic; this may be the only song that actually loses emotional impact as an acoustic/piano version), Better Than Revenge (which is my not-even-that-guilty pleasure and I will JAM OUT to it to this day; "no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity" is SAVAGE and I love it), and The Story of Us ("looks like a lot like a tragedy now" is one of my favorite quotes to bust out in episode reviews about ‘ship destruction, or was when I still did those), which is similarly jam-out-worthy. Ooh, and Sparks Fly is one of those songs where I'm like, "WHY wasn't this a single, it's so good." I’m actually always kind of surprised that one isn’t the album opener; “my mind forgets to remind me you’re a bad idea” is my anthem for giving shows/ships/characters/episodes way more chances than they deserve. (Grey’s Anatomy. We’re mostly talking about every time I dip back into the Grey’s Anatomy waters). In slow-songs-I-like territory: Enchanted, which is frankly too pretty for the person it’s actually about (but helpfully easy to apply to anyone and relevant to every listener’s life). And Back to December, which suffers rather unjustly from my knowing that it’s about The Boring Taylor, because I used to automatically skip it about half the time, yet every time I actually listen to it I'm shocked to realize it’s way prettier than I remember. Both musically (when male vocals...enhance?? a taylor song??) and lyrically.

As far as the other singles, I kind of killed Mine for myself with overplay, but I do think it's one of the strongest singles she's ever released...and as I’m listening to it now, I think it might be back! What good music, what a sweet scenario, and how much do I love the “brace myself for the goodbye / ‘cause that’s all I’ve ever known...” part.

Mean is fun and deservedly sassy, although it too is recovering from overplay (with the added demerit of being covered in the worst, least appealing possible way on Glee and feeling tainted forever. Once upon a time this was in my top 5 for the CD). Speak Now is fun too, but also...damn, so much more juvenile and mean-spirited to me now than Better Than Revenge. You don't help a dude ditch his bride at their wedding! If he shouldn't be marrying her you talk to him BEFORE THE CEREMONY???? I have definitely lost enchantment with this one over time.

One I don’t know how to feel about: I have to be in the right mood for the song so I don’t always let it play through, but as a late bloomer homebody and perpetual looker-backer, the second half of Never Grow Up really kicked me in the heart when I first heard it. I thankfully never ended up having to experience this, but "here I am in my / new apartment in the big city / they just dropped me off / it's so much colder than I thought it would be / so I tuck myself in, and turn the nightlight on" really described all my deepest fears about graduating from college and still brings a twinge at the mere thought.

On the downturn: unpopular opinion but while Dear John is full of great lyrics, it’s just so damned slow that I skip it almost every time. I’m really hoping it gets reinvigorated by a Taylor’s Version, because whenever I give it a chance, I just end up freshly disappointed by the wasted potential.

Innocent is slightly more compelling music-wise, but still rather slow and often skipped, not least because it just...feels weird. Uneven. There are some great lines and a good idea buried in here, but with its history and context it's so patronizing even when I’m on Taylor’s side that it ends up cringe.

Meanwhile, Last Kiss doesn't even exist to me. It covers the same criminal territory as Back to December but it's EVEN SLOWER. Bonus Tracks I didn't hear them until the end of 2012 and even then only as standalones on Spotify, separate from the album associations, I absolutely love all three, more than the last 5 or 6 above in fact. Ours is the companion piece / sequel to "Mine," If This Were A Movie is sweet, and Superman is so cute and catchy.

#taylor swift related #i need a freaking tag for when i talk about music that I can REMEMBER

[amr-hossameldin]

On The Condition of Existence

“What of thinking? I find here that thought is an attribute that belongs to me; it alone cannot be separated from me. I am, I exist, that is certain. But how often? Just when I think; for it might possibly be the case if I ceased entirely to think, that I should likewise cease altogether to exist.” [1] Descartes in his brilliant kaleidoscopic work in the Meditations has only taken us so far. We exist. Again, we exist. I could go on repeating myself until one time a profound epiphany would dawn on you, you exist. Not the summation of atoms that make up your body, not the abstract idea of what you might be, but You. Be it your soul, self or mind, but there exists an entity that it aware of the world around it, has thoughts, and now is aware of its own existence. What’s more, you also realize that you haven’t always existed. Much like some unborn child, one does not know it is coming, cannot miss it, long for it, or think of its likes, dislikes and ideologies. Well, that’s how we all were at some point, unborn children. But, you made it, you are here. You emerged out of complete nothingness and infinite possibilities. You made the incredible journey from non-existence to existence. But, now that you are here, what was it all for? Now that you are sure of your existence and aware of it, what should you do with it? Why do you exist? Is it all for nothing? Or is there a purpose for existence? For life? And if so, what is it? In this essay I shall discuss some ideas on the matter as well as my own.

How it is all meaningless

To understand how existence may be a burden, let’s first note that we had no choice in whether to exist or not. We did not will to exist, we only became aware afterwards, and we have to deal with all the consequences that follow. We need to realize that while existing and awake, we have to be conscious and aware. Be it while spending hours on a bus, going through a dull day, or celebrating a friend’s birthday; you have to be aware, you cannot fast forward or skip being conscious of what’s happening, and you cannot seize temporarily to exist. You must experience the flow of time. While all this may seem normal, what is important to note here is that you had no choice. You were thrown into existence and are forced to consciously experience it. As Kierkegaard says in his book Either/Or: ‘No one comes back from the dead, no one has entered the world without crying; no one is asked when he wishes to enter life, nor when he wishes to leave.’ [2] From this perspective we can have some insight into why in some cases people may choose to do drugs or end their lives, it’s nothing more than them exercising their own free will, taking control and making a choice, entirely and exclusively for its own sake.

Now, let us examine the nature of this existence that we are forced to experience. We find that it has but one absolute truth, that it is temporary. We are all eventually going to die, and there’s nothing that can be done about it. As Schopenhauer says in his article The Emptiness of Existence: ‘A man to his astonishment all at once becomes conscious of existing after having been in a state of non-existence for many thousands of years, when, presently again, he returns to a state of nonexistence for an equally long time.’ [3] We will altogether seize to exist quite shortly, at least in this mode of existence. Do you have any memories from before you were born? absurd right? Well, that’s how death is as far as we know, complete nothingness, so complete you won’t even miss it. So we were nothing, exist only for a few years, a fraction of second on planet’s time scale, which itself exists for a fraction of a second on the universe’s time scale, and then return back to nothing.

What objective meaning could a person possibly find in his few years of existence before he, everybody, and everything return to nothing? Nothing will last, nothing we do will last and nothing could possibly last, there’s not even the hope for that. What’s more, even while we exist, whatever we do is desperately insignificant. We live on an average rocky planet orbiting an average star on the outer region of an average galaxy. Our planet is hopelessly negligible when compared to the size of the sun, let alone this vast universe. All of life on Earth since its inception till extinction would have occupied almost nothing on the space and time scales of the universe. Our existence makes no difference what so ever on how the future of the universe will unfold. A more encompassing description: we almost do not exist. Bearing all that in mind, we are led to question the validity of our question because from this perspective the notion of meaning seems quite absurd.

The Logical Conclusion: Nihilism

The belief of lack of meaning or purpose for existence is what is called Nihilism. As Leo Tolstoy said after he became a nihilist: “My life came to a standstill. I could breathe, eat, drink, and sleep, and I could not help doing these things; but there was no life, for there were no wishes the fulfillment of which I could consider reasonable. If I desired anything, I knew in advance that whether I satisfied my desire or not, nothing would come of it. Had a fairy come and offered to fulfil my desires I should not have known what to ask. If in moments of intoxication I felt something which, though not a wish, was a habit left by former wishes, in sober moments I knew this to be a delusion and that there was really nothing to wish for. I could not even wish to know the truth, for I guessed of what it consisted. The truth was that life is meaningless. I had as it were lived, lived, and walked, walked, till I had come to a precipice and saw clearly that there was nothing ahead of me but destruction. It was impossible to stop, impossible to go back, and impossible to close my eyes or avoid seeing that there was nothing ahead but suffering and real death — complete annihilation.” [4] We see here how a true nihilist would be; a state of complete despair. Leo shows how the loss of meaning translates to the loss of a driving force, a will to live.

Pondering on this thought for longer, we see how absurd the world is all around us, how absurd are all norms, traditions, social interactions etc. Sartre in his novel Nausea describes much a moment when ‘the veil is torn away’. He describes a moment when the main character is on a tram and puts his hand on a seat only to pull it back quickly. Instead of appearing as a normal basic object, it struck him as being deeply strange. He writes” I lean my hand on the seat but pull it back hurriedly: it exists. This thing I’m sitting on, leaning my hand on, is called a seat. They made it purposely for people to sit on, they took leather, springs and cloth, they went to work with the idea of making a seat and when they finished, that was what they had made. They carried it here, into this car and the car is now rolling and jolting with its rattling windows, carrying this red thing in its bosom. I murmur: “It’s a seat,” a little like an exorcism. But the word stays on my lips: it refuses to go and put itself on the thing. It stays what it is, with its red plush, thousands of little red paws in the air, all still, little dead paws. This enormous belly turned upward, bleeding, inflated — bloated with all its dead paws, this belly floating in this car, in this grey sky, is not a seat. It could just as well be a dead donkey tossed about in the water, floating with the current, belly in the air in a great grey river, a river of floods; and I could be sitting on the donkey’s belly, my feet dangling in the clear water. Things are divorced from their names. They are there, grotesque, headstrong, gigantic and it seems ridiculous to call them seats or say anything at all about them: I am in the midst of things, nameless things. Alone, without words, defenseless, they surround me, are beneath me, behind me, above me. They demand nothing, they don’t impose themselves: they are there.” [5] The character later describes this incident by saying: “And suddenly, suddenly, the veil is torn away, I have understood, I have seen.’. To extrapolate on this thought, think of what you would normally call ‘An evening dinner with my spouse’. Under such a description it all seems fairly logical, but a ‘Sartrean’ view would strip away the surface normality and expose the deep strangeness beneath. Dinner is then basically waiting for the rock you’re on to spin away from the fusion reactor it was facing, to sit at chunks of chopped up trees, putting pieces of dead plants and animals in your mouth, while another mammal whom you occasionally have sex with is doing the same. Sartre believes that viewing the world this way is incredibly liberating. Nothing around us is really ‘normal’ and such we don’t have to conform to acting ‘normally’. In the course of fully realizing our freedom, we will come up against what Sartre calls the ‘anguish’ of existence. Everything is (terrifyingly) possible because nothing has any pre-ordained, objective purpose. Humans are just making it up as they go along.

Kierkegaard had similar views. Here we see him have a ‘Sartrean’ view on funerals. He says: ‘How empty life is and without meaning. — We bury a man, we follow him to the grave, we throw three spades of earth on him, we ride out in a coach, we ride home in a coach, we take comfort in the thought that a long life awaits us. But how long is threescore years and ten? Why not finish it at once? Why not stay out there and step down into the grave with him, and draw lots for who should have the misfortune to be the last alive to throw the last three spades of earth on the last of the dead?” [2]

He goes on to describe how wrapped up in our daily routines we can get, feeling all serious and busy, forgetting how short our existence is and in doing so, missing out on making the most out of existence. “Of all ridiculous things in the world what strikes me as the most ridiculous of all is being busy in the world, to be a man quick to his meals and quick to his work. So when, at the crucial moment, I see a fly settle on such a businessman’s nose, or he is bespattered by a carriage which passes him by in even greater haste, or the drawbridge is raised, or a tile falls from the roof and strikes him dead, I laugh from the bottom of my heart. And who could help laughing? For what do they achieve, these busy botchers? Are they not like the housewife who, in confusion at the fire in her house, saved the fire-tongs? What else do they salvage from the great fire of life?” [2]

Kierkegaard reached the conclusion that the only sensible way to react to world’s absurdity is to laugh, to laugh in face of the absurd. He describes what is required of a person in society and laughs at how seriously we treat those constructed beliefs. “As it happened to Parmeniscus in the legend, who in the cave of Trophonius lost the ability to laugh but got it back on Delos at the sight of the shapeless block which was supposed to be the image of the goddess Leto, so too with me. When I was very young I forgot in the cave of Trophonius how to laugh; when I became older, when I opened my eyes and saw reality, I started to laugh and haven’t stopped since. I saw the meaning of life was getting a livelihood, its goal acquiring a titular office, that love’s rich desire was getting hold of a well-to-do girl, that the blessedness of friendship was to help one another in financial embarrassment, that wisdom was what the majority assumed it to be, that enthusiasm was to make a speech, that courage was to risk losing ten dollars, that cordiality consisted in saying ‘You’re welcome’ after a dinner, that fear of God was to go to communion once a year. That’s what I saw, and I laughed.” [2]

Schopenhauer saw existence as a continuous struggle. For him we exist only in the present, he says: “What has been exists no more; and exists just as little as that which has never been. But everything that exists has been in the next moment. Hence something belonging to the present, however unimportant it may be, is superior to something important belonging to the past; this is because the former is a reality and related to the latter as something is to nothing.’ From here he goes on to say how by existing we are in an everlasting race that we cannot pause from: “Our existence is based solely on the ever-fleeting present. Essentially, therefore, it has to take the form of continual motion without there ever being any possibility of our finding the rest after which we are always striving. It is the same as a man running downhill, who falls if he tries to stop, and it is only by his continuing to run on that he keeps on his legs; it is like a pole balanced on one’s finger-tips, or like a planet that would fall into its sun as soon as it stopped hurrying onwards. Hence unrest is the type of existence”. And for what was all that? He goes on to say: “If we try to get a general view of humanity at a glance, we shall see everywhere a constant fighting and mighty struggling for life and existence; that mental and bodily strength is taxed to the utmost, and opposed by threatening and actual dangers and woes of every kind. And if we consider the price that is paid for all this, existence, and life itself, it will be found that there has been an interval when existence was free from pain, an interval, however, which was immediately followed by boredom, and which in its turn was quickly terminated by fresh cravings. That boredom is immediately followed by fresh needs is a fact which is also true of the cleverer order of animals, because life has no true and genuine value in itself, but is kept in motion merely through the medium of needs and illusion. As soon as there are no needs and illusion we become conscious of the absolute barrenness and emptiness of existence.” And finally, how should we react to the meaningless of life? Schopenhauer says: “If one turns from contemplating the course of the world at large, and in particular from the ephemeral and mock existence of men as they follow each other in rapid succession, to the detail of life, how like a comedy it seems!”[3] Which is the same conclusion as Kierkegaard.

How the Existentialist would see it

The above was all intended to break through to the reader the gravity of the idea, to expose as much as possible the concept of the absurd, which arises out of the fundamental disagreement between the individual’s search for meaning and the apparent meaninglessness of the universe, and how Nihilism can make sense. Another position one can take is that of the existentialist. The existentialist believes in the lack of an inherent objective meaning as the nihilist. However instead of living in purposeless despair, he constructs his own subjective purpose. It is important to note that the existentialist does not follow herds and indulge himself in widespread beliefs, for him that would be absurd. Instead, he constructs his own personal purpose for life on his own. As Sartre — an existentialist and an atheist- famously said in his 1945 public lecture “Existentialism is a Humanism”: ‘existence precedes essence.’ [6] To clarify, think of a Swiss knife. It is built with a certain purpose and design in mind; there are certain attributes which make it what it is, it’s essence. For a Swiss knife existence can come at any time later when a craftsman decides to make one. Humans on the other hand are another case. For man, Sartre says: “What do we mean by saying that existence precedes essence? We mean that man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world — and defines himself afterwards. If man as the existentialist sees him is not definable, it is because to begin with he is nothing. He will not be anything until later, and then he will be what he makes of himself. Thus, there is no human nature, because there is no God to have a conception of it. Man simply is. Not that he is simply what he conceives himself to be, but he is what he wills, and as he conceives himself after already existing — as he wills to be after that leap towards existence. Man is nothing else but that which he makes of himself. That is the first principle of existentialism.” [6] Sartre thus believes that one creates himself through what he does, basically: ‘I am what I do’. He believes in the inherent property of individuals to create define their own purposes. Why does Sartre think humans are unlike the Swiss knife in the first place? He believes if God does not exist there is at least one being whose existence comes before its essence, a being which exists before it can be defined by any conception of it. For Sartre that being is man.

French philosopher Albert Camus in his essay The Myth of Sisyphus describes finding meaning in the absurd in a very poetic way. In ancient Greece, Sisyphus was the king of court and one of the wisest mortals. However, in the afterlife he is condemned by the gods to spend eternity repeatedly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, where it will fall back down once it reaches the summit. They had thought that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor. Opinions on why Sisyphus was punished differ from him chaining death to exchanging the secrets of the gods for food and water to finally returning back to life after making a deal with Pluto and then refusing to come back. All of which share the quality of Sisyphus’s hate of death and love of life. As to Sisyphus in his torment, one can imagine him with his face pressed against the rock, feet pivoted on the ground and arms straining to push the stone upwards. Upon reaching the summit after a long tedious journey, Sisyphus watches for moments as the stone rolls back down, then makes the trip downhill. Camus writes on this particular period: “It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness.” [7] To Camus it is not the torture itself, but conscious awareness of it that makes the myth tragic. Sisyphus knows the whole extent of his torment, it’s what he thinks of during the decent. Much like how the labor of today works every day in his life at the same tasks and his fate is no less absurd. However, it is only tragic when it becomes conscious. At the same time, Sisyphus’s awareness is his salvation. He is the absurd hero trapped within the machinery of fate in a meaningless world yet somehow able to overcome it. Although he cannot change the circumstance or the inherent meaninglessness of the world he is in, he can still choose how to interpret it. He can take hold of it and create his own meaning. This is how Sisyphus overcomes his rock. As Camus says: “At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock… All Sisyphus’ silent joy is contained therein. His fate belongs to him. His rock is his thing.” At the end, Sisyphus can create his own meaning through the suffering itself. He needs not fall into despair. “The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.” [7] Camus acknowledges the world’s absurdness and indifference towards us, but he urges us to be ‘absurd heroes’ who live with dignity in the face of absurdity, who rebel against and transcend the world’s indifference.

An Alternative Answer: Religion

As we have just seen, one can create his own meaning within the meaninglessness of this absurd world. There still remains another answer, however, to the question of meaning. It is to say that the world is neither meaningless nor absurd and that in fact an objective meaning exists. As mentioned at the beginning of this essay the temporal nature of our existence negates any possibility of an absolute meaning to life. The answer then shall be to say that we are in fact immortal and what is temporary is just our Earthly existence. This puts the meaning outside of this world, marking this one as inferior to the absolute eternal one. This is the tenet upon which main religions like Islam and Christianity are built. In their teachings, our existence on this planet is nothing but a passage to the eternal one. Going to heaven is the inherent main purpose of our lives and one must do what he can to attain that. Given that our spirits are immortal, then whatever we do on this planet has meaning, as our actions here would determine the course on which we would be set on for eternity. One should thus follow God’s teachings and abide by his rules in hopes of going to heaven. However, we should note that this reasoning is built on the premise that there exists an alternate reality in which God, heaven, and hell exist. We cannot verify this premise and as such accepting these tenets requires what is called ‘a leap of faith’ or as Kierkegaard put it, ‘a leap to faith’ without any empirical evidence.

An interesting perspective on the matter is that of Sufism. A Sufi believes that our reality or existence here on Earth is merely the projection of God. He is the only truth, the only reality, and we are merely projections yearning to be real. The process of becoming real is done through contemplation of the Divine and worshipping Him for Himself. To a Sufi prayer should not be motivated by the desire of going to heaven, but rather because God is Great and worthy of worshipping.

A question one may ask is why did God create us in the first place? An answer can be that since being a ‘creator’ is an attribute of God, we are nothing but the expression of that attribute. Just like a writer cannot be a writer without actually writing, a creator cannot be a creator without actually creating. Finally, there is always the answer of it was God’s will and thus no point in asking.

My personal opinion

Personally and in practice, I lean towards the existential argument. As far as we know, the world has no inherent meaning or purpose and the best one can do is construct his own purpose. The way I see it is that, somehow, I came into existence. I am not sure how or why; I am not sure of anything really other than that I exist. The only reasonable thing that seems worth doing is to examine the nature of this existence while it lasts. I cannot see meaning in following constructed ideologies or beliefs and I cannot see meaning in anything human made. What makes sense is not missing out on this chance of understanding the universe; I’ll only get to experience it once. Physics and Mathematics are humanity’s best attempt at doing so. Mathematics studies logic, the underlying relations that govern everything. It is powerfully and beautifully concise, and it contains hints to what might as well be divinity. Euler’s Identity is a famous example. I came to the belief, purely out of aesthetic motives and faith, that every mathematically correct statement must describe a reality because such elegance and perfection should not be degraded by not dictating a reality. The act of doing Physics is the act of capturing reality through our mathematical constructions. It is the manifestation of logic and reason, where we can see and feel Mathematics. Although we can never know for sure that our descriptions are true, although nature will never reveal herself to us, it is the act of theorizing and depicting reality that holds all the meaning. I guess, in a way, I’m like Sisyphus, except that I found my purpose in figuring out why the rock falls. It is futile and I don’t really care for what I would do with that knowledge, but it is enough for me. That does not necessarily mean that I’m an atheist and do not hold religious believes. I do in fact believe in God, but I do not believe that it is all a test and exclusively for the sake of going to heaven, I believe God is above that. I do not know why God created the universe, and I cannot live just to see if I would go to heaven. Therefore, I do not draw my purpose for life strictly through religion. I believe that the purposes we construct hold subjective but very real values, to each of us, regardless of whether they get us to heaven or not and regardless of whether there in fact is a heaven or not.

To sum up, both Existentialism and Nihilism negate an objective purpose for existing, stemming mainly from the inevitability of death. The existentialist however believes in one creating purpose for one’s self, unlike the nihilist who believes in complete utter meaninglessness. Religion on the other hand postulates the existence of another reality, more real than this one, in which heaven, hell and God exist. Our spirits there are immortal and our purpose in this life is following the teachings of God so that we eventually go to heaven. Finally, I presented my own position on the matter which are mainly existential but not without religious beliefs.

References

[1]D. Rene, Meditations on First Philosophy. 1641.

[2]S. Kierkegaard and A. Hannay, Either/or. London, England: Penguin Books, 1992.

[3]A. Schopenhauer and T. Saunders, Complete essays of Schopenhauer. New York: Willey Book Co, 1942.

[4]L. Tolstoy and J. Kentish, A confession and other religious writings. Harmondsworth, Middlesex, England: Penguin, 1987.

[5]J. Sartre and L. Alexander, Nausea. New York: New Directions Publishing Corp., 1964.

[6]V. Guillaume, S. Dorlodot and J. Sartre, Existentialism is a humanism by Jean-Paul Sartre. .

[7]A. Camus, The myth of Sisyphus, and other essays. New York: Knopf, 1955.

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Fathers and Sons

Chapter 30: The Heart of the Truest Believer

There was a girl in the cage before them, trapped as Emma knelt before her prison. Once the shock of the fact that his father had obviously been responsible for keeping the girl in these conditions wore off, his heart skipped a beat in excitement.

So far, there was only one other woman he knew of on this island.

"Wendy?" Baelfire hissed in astonishment as he looked her over.

Wendy.

Wendy Darling, brother to John and Michael Darling. The family made famous from the stories in the Land Without Magic, and according to Baelfire, the family who had taken him in. Also, according to Ariel, the girl that Pan was keeping prisoner.

This was the girl that Belle wanted them to rescue, the girl that he'd promised they'd do their best to fetch. He might not be able to walk out of here with the trust of those around him, the people who weeks ago were so eager to claim him as family, but his heart fluttered a bit at the prospect of keeping his promise to Belle.

"Do I know you?" the girl questioned as Bae moved closer to him.

"It's Baelfire," he explained, suddenly eager to use the name he'd insisted upon days ago.

"You two know each other?" Emma questioned at the same time Wendy happily squeaked out. "Bae!"

She was a girl, but he couldn't help but feel jealous and foolish for it all at the same time. She could call him Baelfire? This girl was allowed to use the name that he'd given his son, but he wasn't?

"Yeah. Yeah, we do," Bae confirmed, squatting down beside her prison cell.

"Can it really be you?"

All at once, he could see something seize his son, something entirely overwhelming as he looked frantically around for something on the ground and then grabbed up a rock bigger than his fist. He watched in fascination as the girl automatically scooted back, and Bae began hitting the rock against the bars of the cage. Despite the fact that there were at least three people currently present who could open the cage with a wave of their hand, Bae just kept beating and beating and beating away at it, reveling as the sticks began to crack and splinter and break. It was eerie. He knew that kind of behavior. He'd exhibited it himself countless times when he was ruled by emotion instead of logic. But the moment it was done, the moment the door to the cage swung open, he cast the stone aside, Wendy crawled free from her prison, and launched herself into his arms.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he heard her cry as Bae returned the hug.

It was painful to watch. Difficult.

He'd imagined a thousand different scenarios of what it would be like to reunite with his son when he was in the Enchanted Forest, but there was only ever one that he'd hoped for the most.

It was the one that Wendy was receiving right now. An embrace that required no words or explanation, just grateful tears and sighs of disbelief.

"What are you…wh-what are you doing here?" Bae wondered aloud as he released the girl.

"Well, I…I came back to save you."

Just like he had.

"You did that for me?"

"Well, I couldn't bear for you to be without a family, not after you told us that your mother and father were both dead."

Something inside of his chest tore and rend at such a proclamation. He'd told him when they'd worked together with the squid ink that he'd stayed with the Darlings, that he considered him family. But he hadn't told him what he'd told the Darlings or what they'd thought of him.

"You told her I was dead?" he hissed out. He hadn't meant for it to be spoken aloud. It was only when Bae turned toward him that he realized he'd said it at all.

"It was easier than telling the truth…my own father abandoned me," he called out to him, dismissed with some sort of gesture that made it seem like it was obvious, but…

Maybe it was. He hadn't wanted to be like his father, he'd spent his entire life trying to get back to him just to prove that he wasn't like his father, but…he'd missed so much. And Bae, he'd grown up without him, even if he'd never meant for it to be that way. Oh, heaven help him…perhaps he was his father.

"He…h-he's your father?" Wendy croaked, looking over at him with wide eyes. "He's alive?!"

Bae looked back at her and nodded. "Yeah," he whispered. "It's complicated. But…hey, I'll explain later. Come this way. There's a fire over here; you can stretch your legs," Bae urged, walking her away from her prison and back in the direction that they'd come.

Baelfire barely glanced at him when he passed. He was almost glad about that. His gaze hurt too much right now. So, he went through the motions. He followed Baelfire and all the others as they navigated Wendy out to the campfire. Wendy's breath hitched when she saw the boys, but Bae was quick to assure her that they were fine, just asleep, and much to no one's surprise, Mary Margaret quickly found a blanket, wrapped it around her, and sat her down before producing water for her to drink.

For a while, there was nothing but awkward stares among the adults, all of them wondering what to do next as Wendy settled in. But then Emma acted. "Wendy," she stated, moving toward her. "I know-"

"Hey, hey!" Baelfire inserted quickly, grabbing her arm before she could get too closer. "Give her some space," he whispered gently to her. It was a quiet tone he used, one that was practically begging, and he was certain he was the only one who heard it because of his hearing.

"She can have all the space that she needs in Storybrooke. Right now, we have to find Henry," Emma pressed, staying just as quiet.

"She was Pan's prisoner too."

"Exactly, just like your son, she might know something about him! She might know where Pan took him!" She raised her voice on the last bit, her desperation finally starting to shine through. Ordinarily, he'd be more than willing to take his son's side, to argue with him. But in this case, he had more to think about than just earning Bae's trust. He had to worry about getting Henry back alive. And in this case, he had to agree with Emma. They were in the heart of darkness, Pan's Camp; there was no time to be gentle.

"Look…" she went on. "If you don't want to ask her, that's fine, but I'm going to."

Bae didn't like that answer. He shuffled on his feet and avoided her gaze, something he was coming to find Bae did when he was torn over something. Push the girl who had taken him in to find his son? Or treat her just as kindly as she once treated him and find Henry on their own.

"Hey," Emma pressed in his silence, "she made it here this long; I know you want to coddle her, but she's not exactly fragile. We'll take care of her when we get back to Storybrooke, but right now, we need to find Henry, and she is the quickest way. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can all go home, including her."

At that, Baelfire finally began to nod his head. He took a deep breath as he turned back to Emma. "Okay, okay…I'll talk to her."

Emma hadn't expected Bae to be the one to volunteer, that much was clear from the expression on her face. She was surprised, but if she was uncertain, he never would have guessed. She immediately gave into the request, moving around him and calling Mary Margaret away from where she was still fussing over the child. She retreated as Emma sat down on a nearby stool of some kind, and the girl's heartbeat hitched as she eyed them all.

That was odd. It piqued his interest. He expected to smell fear coming off of her but instead…nervous. Why was she nervous?

Bae moved closer to her and knelt down.

Her heartbeat spiked again.

Something wasn't right. Bae was the one person she knew, the one she was familiar with; why was he making her nervous?

"Hey, Wendy, since you've been here, have you seen my son? His name's Henry."

"You have a son?"

She breathed the words with a smile and amazement, but…she hadn't answered the question. And her heart when he'd mentioned Henry…it had skipped a beat. Something was very wrong.

Why was she stalling? For that matter…why had she been in a cage in the middle of a forest clearing that was unguarded? Why hadn't she been afraid when she saw the boys? Something wasn't right.

"Yeah," Bae confirmed, clearly immune to the oddities before him. "Pan needs his heart."

"Has he said anything about the Heart of the Truest Believer?" Emma inquired, showcasing some of the knowledge that she'd acquired since arriving but obviously not enough as this didn't seem odd to her.

"No. I'm sorry. He never mentioned anything about a heart."

And yet her heart was pounding? Again?

"She's lying," he hissed out the realization. Nothing made sense unless she was lying, and that was assuming that she was even a "she." This could be another trap. Another trick of the island and Pan's own making, just as he'd thought when Emma had first run toward the voice! "Where is he?!" he growled, advancing on the creature before him, sword drawn.

There it was…there was the smell of fear he'd thought was appropriate. Perhaps if he could scare it-

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing?" David cried, moving forward and giving him a small shove back.

"I've carried enough lies in my life to recognize their burden," he explained. "She knows where Henry is."

Her…it…whatever was before them twitched her ears, and her heart sped up again the moment, he mentioned that she knew where Henry was. Oh yeah…Wendy or Magic, it didn't matter. It knew where Henry was.

Bae turned back to her. "Is that true?" he asked gently.

There was a small pause, enough time for the girl to look at him and his sword, then back to Bae and over to Emma before her eyes settled on everyone and no one in particular. "You don't understand…" she finally admitted.

"You're helping Pan?" Emma balked.

"He's keeping John and Michael alive, only if I do as he says."

That was…comforting, at least. That story matched up with the one that Ariel had given him about Belle and the brothers. Wendy then. No tricks just…just a child who was caught in a web far greater than she'd ever intended to be. All for his son.

Rescue Wendy…that was Belle's plea and now Bae's. Given all that, he'd forgive her.

"Trust me," he urged. "Whatever he's promised, he will go back on his word."

"And why should I trust a man who abandoned his own son?" she asked, glaring at him.

He swallowed hard. He didn't have an answer for that. He didn't have an answer for that because his father had done the same thing, and now, he knew he earned no one's trust.

"Because your brothers did," Regina suddenly interrupted. "They trusted a woman named Belle. They helped her get this…box so we can defeat Pan," she finished, clearly putting a bit more thought into the choosing of her words than all the others thus far.

Once again, Wendy's heart hammered. But it wasn't fear or nerves that he smelled coming off of her, it was relief.

"They're, okay?"

"For now," he assured her. "And only if we succeed."

"Wendy…" Bae returned to the place he'd been kneeling before her only a few moments ago. "We will save John and Michael, I swear to God, but right now, I really need your help. Please."

The girl took a steadying breath. Then, finally, she gave a small nod. "Pan told Henry that…he needs his heart to save magic, but it's a lie," she reported looking at them all. He felt his skin begin to prickle at her words. That was a lie? It was what he'd always heard about Neverland and Pan's hunt for the heart but…the idea that it was a lie, that had never dawned on him. "He needs it to save himself." That was indeed something he hadn't heard. But knowing his father…it was certainly in character.

"What do you mean?" David questioned, pressing for more details. He'd never been more grateful for the Charming Prince.

"Pan's dying," she went on. "He needs the Heart of the Truest Believer to absorb all the magic in Neverland, and once he does…he will be immortal, all-powerful."

He looked over at Regina, and the pair quickly exchanged knowing glances. That was bad. Very bad.

"And what happens to Henry?" Mary Margaret asked, unaware of what he and Regina already sensed.

"Well…it's a trade," Wendy explained. "When Pan lives, Henry will die."

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Wendy Darling #Baelfire #neal cassidy #Evil Queen #Regina Mills #mary margaret blanchard #Snow White #Prince Charming #David Nolan #Snowing #Emma Swan #Savior #Killian Jones #Captain Hook #Henry Mills #Peter Pan #Ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic