prithee, o great destiel: bear me only pleasant news
when dawn my heart breaks cross’t
pray, sweet picture: paint on my canvasséd soul;
a message more lithe than it’s messenger-
evils turn doth evil’s turn; but one spits my eye,
the other; my shoe- pray, good messr., where you’ll run frew?
o! thine eyes to glitter falsely with dawn’s blue baubles!
o! thine hands haply to clasp in thanks, nigh yet prayer!
o! that you have len’t your knees a’fore your patron as i might the maddona in prattled comfort o’ worship!
o, dear lordship, i lay my head to thine boots, mine suit laid yet lower than the hems of your own! employ this invention of mine, brave weapon: keep up your blade; for the gnashing of dawn’s teardrops do rust all the bright swords!
bear bright pleasants; fine caites and gemstones: no such jades! thrones may be carved of jade; go to, my lord, but see you any such jade lying suit to bear waiting, to hold weight? carry, sweet lordship, tales of higher rounds in the dark valley, where beneath such roads even the pale halv’d light o’ sickened moonlit’s hope does nigh reach!
carry on those red wings of scorching sun fortune, dear destiel- wave that blue and valiant flag of sky before you, and let it cloak all the world’s stage behind!
this is also why they’re so gayjts like a les miserables thing
The Bizly trope is GRIEF and a deeply internalised self-hatred.
There is either s gaping wound in their chest where a loved one was violently torn from their heart. OR a belief that they are something undeserving of love because destruction is all that they leave in their wake.
Volatile, lonely people in a world of glass that cuts deep.
as a psa
-i’m in the middle of changing my major and getting a new job
-my usual beta reader is in the middle of a compsci degree and busy as hell
-my other beta reader is about to give up romance/porno for lent
expect a little over 35k words of scythebelts as soon as college takes it’s boot off my neck- or, more likely, expect it with the end of lent and the return of our lord and savior jesus christ, on easter sunday.
standing in my kitchen wearing wet jeans eating stove corn just how life be just living my best world
who wanna read a play i wrote its real sad and horrible and i wrote it in six hours and it’s perfect and divine
as a psa
-i’m in the middle of changing my major and getting a new job
-my usual beta reader is in the middle of a compsci degree and busy as hell
-my other beta reader is about to give up romance/porno for lent
expect a little over 35k words of scythebelts as soon as college takes it’s boot off my neck- or, more likely, expect it with the end of lent and the return of our lord and savior jesus christ, on easter sunday.
six wips dead nine human casualties
i need to be asleep but i was gripped by the sudden need to refine an old velrisa design idea
writing about dnd characters is just about writing an idealized version of yourself getting emotional closure and feeling secure in their place in life. that’s why it’s fantasy writing.
and a very pleasant hello to the scythebelts enjoyers.
need my friends who dont date men to stop being so weird when other people like men. told my friends abt the guy im seeing and their first response was "oh no its a man i thought you liked women" LIKE WEVE BEEN OVER THIS IM A FUCKING FAG I LIKE WOMEN AS WELL AS MEN AND WHATEVER ELSE CAN YOU NOT BE A DICK FOR LIKE 10 SECONDS PLEASE AND THANK YOU