#how do i do the stanza thing?

[lotrmusical]

My high school did a yearly poetry recitation contest (Poetry Out Loud), so Oh Boy do I know some poems. My favorites are Ozymandias and "the world is about to end and my grandparents are in love," by Kara Jackson. Also in 8th grade we had a Poe unit and had a class contest to make the best music video of the Raven, so I still know a good chunk of that.

i hadn't heard of the kara jackson one! just read through it and enjoyed it, particularly these lines > 'grandma returns to her love like a hymn, marks it with a color. // when the world ends will it suck the earth of all its love? /will i go taking somebody’s hand, / my skin becoming their skin?'

[bookwyrminspiration]

I don’t know if I just haven’t found the right poetry yet, if I’m engaging with it wrong, or if poetry just isn’t for me, but man I wish I understood and connected with poetry on the level the rest of y’all seem to it looks nice

[halfdeadwallfly]

i'm writing a poem and for the most part i feel pretty good about it but just...... the shape of it is wrong. and idk how to fix the shape without breaking lines / adding / subtracting words which i don't wanna do. but the look of it on the page just doesn't sit with me right. i am so frustrated.

[bit-odd-innit]

They’re about 20 minutes into the movie when Steve feels the familiar dip of weight against his shoulder.

He can’t stop the pulse of fond bemusement that surges through him. After all, Eddie had insisted on picking the movie this week, insisted that it was “an unfathomable travesty” that Steve had never seen it, insisted they had to watch it despite the bruise-colored circles under his eyes, the discreet flex of his hands disguising the tremors he gets when he’s over exhausted. Steve says nothing, lets the movie run, and once Eddie conks out instead of switching to something more his speed, he keeps watching.

The movie’s not Steve’s taste, but it’s not bad. He hasn’t been big into cartoons since he was a kid. The animation is strange yet fascinating, the characters’ movements equal parts natural and off-putting. He drifts in and out of the story, though enough of Dustin and Eddie’s ramblings have sunk in that he’s able to follow along. Whenever a name or location he recognizes pops up he turns to Eddie and says, smugly, “I know what that is.” Eddie replies with a soft exhale that ends in a low hum. His breath skitters across Steve’s throat. Steve shivers.

Eddie’s got this little bank of noises he makes when he’s sleeping. When he crashes after drinking too much, he snores. When he’s asleep but not deep enough to rest, he mumbles—sometimes giggles, too, which is really unsettling if you’re not expecting it. And when he’s dreaming, good or bad, he hums.

They’ve been doing this—whatever this is—for long enough that Steve can tell when Eddie is having a good dream and when he’s having a bad dream. (It’s not weird, he counters to the tiny, horrible Robin voice that lives in his head.) The bad dream hums are low, dredged up from the base of his chest. The good dream hums are high, slipping out from behind his teeth. Steve can’t read music but he took chorus in middle school and he’s hung around Robin while she learned a new piece for band so he’s got an idea of how the note…thingy works. If Eddie’s dream sounds were a song, the good dreams would be at the top of the bar, and the bad dreams would be at the bottom.

Except now, as the movie nears its end, the song changes.

At some point Eddie’s legs had curled up beneath him, his face buried in the join between Steve’s shoulder and neck. Steve can’t hear as much as feel the noises vibrating against his skin. He feels the thrum of bad rising into good, then dipping into something in the middle and holding there. They’re stuck at the center of the stanza (Stanza! That’s what it’s called!) and Steve doesn’t know where to go from here.

“Eddie?”

The arm Eddie is leaning on has gone a little numb, so Steve uses the other to sweep aside the curtain of hair drawn across the side of Eddie’s face, his fingertips grazing his cheekbone. Eddie’s lips part. A new sound, a different sound escapes him. He pushes in close enough for those pink plush lips to press against Steve’s collarbone. Heat curves around the back of Steve’s ears.

“H~eeey.”

He doesn’t want to wake him if this is a good dream. Eddie’s an open book. Eddie’s told him he’s been sleeping like dogshit, that the night terrors have been particularly horrible this week. It’s a joke, a little. The two of them share weird hours. They create bits about how bad things are, how awful they feel about their relationships with people they love, how awful they feel about themselves. It’s fun, until it isn’t. Steve’s seen Eddie’s whole personality swallowed by the wet sand of sorrow. He’s seen him sink into himself and surface with something else, something bright and exuberant and loud and false. If Eddie feels good Steve doesn’t want to ruin it. But if Eddie feels bad—

“Hey.” Steve hooks his palm to rest beneath the ridge of Eddie’s jaw, his thumb pressed into his dimple. “Eddie. Wake up.” Eddie’s eyebrows cinch, a sigh gliding across Steve’s knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, dark and spidery, his lids hanging low over hazy eyes. He blinks, owlish, then tilts up to meet Steve’s gaze with a slow, dreamy smile. “Hi,” he whispers. “Hi,” Steve chuckles in reply.

“W…” Eddie’s mouth works like its full of sunflower seeds; deliberate, purposeful. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Why’dju stop?”

“Stop…what?” He glances to the muted blue static of the screen. “The movie’s over, bud.”

Eddie blinks again, slower. He’s so sweet like this, soft and syrupy, so when he breathes a laugh Steve can’t help but mirror it. “Oh,” Eddie exhales, then leans forward and kisses him.

The hum of Eddie’s dreams are now against Steve’s lips. Those lovely little middle sounds are now inside Steve’s mouth. He swallows them, feels them knife down his throat, wedge between his ribs, twist into the open valves of his heart. He pulls back.

Eddie giggles again. Pouts. “You stopped again.”

“Oh, honey,” The endearment wrenches out of him, involuntary. He smoothes the worry lines out of Eddie’s forehead. “You’re tired, huh?” Eddie makes a non-committal noise. “Okay.” Steve sets his feet and secures his arms behind Eddie’s back. “Okay,” he groans as he lifts him, spins him towards the stairs. “Okay. Time for bed.” Eddie’s still in a half-conscious limbo as Steve navigates him upstairs, mouthing indelicately at any piece of Steve’s skin he can find. It’s untenable, and Steve’s not proud at how he launches Eddie in the direction of his bed, sprints to the en suite to splash cold water on his face before helping him undress. “Take it,” Eddie murmurs when Steve unbuttons his jeans, and Steve needs to sit in the center of the floor for a moment before proceeding. “That’s not what this is.” “Wantchu t’aveit.” Steve shoves him into a pair of flannel pajama pants and stuffs him beneath the sheets. Eddie curves onto himself like a mollusk, and Steve sinks at his hip, brushing his bangs away from his closed eyes. Steve feels himself split down the middle: One part already downstairs; one part already nestled in the contours of Eddie’s body.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve says, and moves to stand. Eddie’s hand closes around his wrist. “Stay?” His eyes flit open, brief, earnest, pleading. “Please, stay.” And, well. They’re going to talk about it tomorrow. They’re going to talk about the movie they didn’t watch, and the moment they half-shared, and the reason its so hard to sleep apart yet so easy to sleep together. Not now. Now Steve shrugs into shorts and a t-shirt, slides in beside Eddie. Now, when Eddie’s limbs tangle around his own, he tugs him closer, lets something deep within himself settle. “Stay?” Eddie asks again. “Go to sleep, honey.”

And he does. And they do.

[doves-of-aphrodite]

Sappho - Queer History and what Lady Aphrodite had to do with it

As it’s currently pride month, I couldn’t think of anything better suited to talk about this month than Lady Aphrodite’s role as the Patron of Lesbians.

Sappho’s poetry was mostly lost, and only fragments remain, with the first of these fragments and the one which is considered to be the only completed one (as there are only two parts where it’s hard to understand it) is her Ode to Aphrodite, through which Aphrodite gets labelled the patron of lesbians.

This poem is written in Aeolic Greek and Sapphic stanzas, a meter where three long lines of the same length were followed by a fourth shorter line. It was written in first person and was one of the most important things which proved that Sappho was in fact queer, as the person mentioned to be the object of her desires was female . The poem was written in form of prayer to Lady Aphrodite, and was written how most Ancient Greek hymns are, in three parts.

The contents of the poem were the speaker asking for Lady Aphrodite’s help in her longing for an unnamed female who’s caught the speaker’s eye. The speaker (who it’s believed to simply be Sappho) asks for Aphrodite’s help in easing her pain from the unrequited love she’s experiencing. After being invoked, Aphrodite appears to Sappho and comforts her by saying that the woman who rejected her will someday pursue Sappho herself. The poem ends with the speaker asking the goddess to help her in all her future romantic struggles.

Overall, this poem showed Aphrodite as a kind and caring goddess and helped cement the idea that she is happy to help wherever she can, no matter if it’s homosexual relationships or heterosexual relationships you find yourself in, which would help a lot of people come to terms with their sexuality, and would help a lot of her queer worshippers nowadays.

[firstfullmoon]

SOLMAZ SHARIF: I was recently reminded of a story of a political prisoner—I don’t know if I want to share this. . . This political prisoner, who had been convicted and was facing the death penalty, was in a large cell with about twenty other political prisoners. Periodically, the guards would come and call one of their names and take that person out to be executed. When this political prisoner’s name was called, the prisoner stood up and started singing “The Internationale.” The whole cell sang along, and that was their farewell. But when the prisoner went into the hallway, the guards told them that they weren’t going to the gallows. They were being transferred to a different prison. The guards took them to the latrine, and while the prisoner was in there, they realized they wouldn’t have wanted “The Internationale” to be their last song, and started reciting a poem by, I believe, Hafez from memory.

For me, the why of poetry has become the reason revolution must happen to begin with. It’s no longer the conditions that make revolution inevitable, but what’s waiting for us on the other side of it. That required me to be more vulnerable—removing the conceptual frame was an act of that allowed vulnerability. . .

ALINA STEFANESCU: That reminds me of how my parents made me memorize poetry. They said: If you find yourself in prison, if you lose your home, family, livelihood, everything, the poems you remember will keep you whole. At the end of the day, alone in a cell, no one can steal the stanzas you remembered. The recitation itself is a radical act of refusal. Maybe poems sustain the hope and selfhood that carceral systems aim to extinguish.

SOLMAZ SHARIF: I love that. I was reminded of poetry’s capacities at the beginning of the pandemic. When lockdown started, some of my artist friends who work in other mediums suddenly couldn’t do any work. I remembered, for readers a poem is something you can carry with you anywhere, and for poets, writing a poem is an action that you can undertake anywhere. You don’t need physical materials. I hadn’t decided to turn my attention toward those qualities, however; I was forced to. My idea of poetry is tied inextricably to my early understanding of carcerality and war—both of which evaporate all that seems solid. And poetry seems especially able to survive these things. I bristle at the word hope, but the poem’s scrappy thereness is enough for me. In an interview late in his life, Mahmoud Darwish says, “poetry changes only the poet.” Some people understand that statement as pessimistic or cynical or jaded. Or maybe see it in line with Auden’s choppily quoted “poetry makes nothing happen”—a quote betrayed in the two words that follow: “it survives.” Auden is often quoted to fall neatly into that neoliberal ethical bypass of so much American literature. But I see the Darwish quote as honoring that even when a poem can’t be anything else, that it will be enough. I’m surprised by this turn in my own work, but the lived practice of poetry in my life made it inevitable.

— Solmaz Sharif and Alina Stefanescu, in conversation for BOMB Magazine

[beneathstarryskies]

For @actuallysaiyan because you're my bestie and deserve the world! ❤️

A/N: Just some soft/fluffy drabbles for Dante, Vergil, Nero, and Sparada x reader

Warnings: lots and lots of fluff, slight angst, mentions of pregnancy in Sparda's drabble, suggestive themes but nothing explicit, fem!reader

Dante

The setting sun lowers against the horizon. The bedroom slowly grows darker and darker. The passing time doesn’t bother you because right now you’re suspended in the most loving moment you can imagine. It wasn’t difficult for you to talk Dante into sharing a lazy day spent mostly in bed with you. He didn’t have any pending missions today, and the one time the phone rang he blissfully ignored it in favor of pressing the sweetest kisses on every inch of your exposed thighs, enjoying the trembling muscles and the soft gasps that left you every time he inched closer to where you needed him most. 

Now, as the sun goes down, he’s hovering over you. Your hands card through his messy white hair, and you admire the way the evening sun reflects on his snowy eyelashes. The blue of his eyes shines even brighter in this light. His lips curl into a mischievous smirk when he notices the softness of your features as you look up at him. 

“You like what you see, sweetheart?” he asks. 

“So much,” you giggle. “You’re beautiful, Dante.” 

He turns his head, the thick curtain of hair concealing the blush on his cheeks. This gives him time to seek solace in the soft curve of your neck, and he takes the chance to kiss your skin softly to make it seem like this was his intention all along. You massage his neck and shoulders, and all the while you can hear him purring softly. Finally, he looks at you again. 

“Baby, can I make love to you?”

You’re surprised he’s only just now asking. His body is burning to finally make love to you. All day long, you’ve been caught in this haze together. You turn each other on over and over, but neither wanted to break the spell by suggesting you finally take him inside of you. 

“Please, baby,” you kiss him softly. “I want you.” 

Dante lines himself up at your entrance. He takes his time teasing you both by prodding your hole with his leaking cockhead. As he slips into you, inch by inch, you’re both panting and gasping over how good it feels. Your walls just open up to him with such ease. You can tell by the slow roll of his hips, that Dante doesn’t intend on rushing things at all. You spent all day laying around together, touching each other, and kissing. Now, he’s quite happy to make love to you all night long. 

Vergil

You’re happily seated on Vergil’s lap. One of his arms is wrapped securely around your waist and the other is holding his book open as he reads to you. The poetry falls from his lips like honey. As he turns the page, he kisses your temple softly. You’d found him sitting in here reading happily by the window. You’d slipped into his lap, and he was so enraptured by his reading that he’d barely noticed. His arm went around you almost by instinct, and he continued reading. It wasn’t until you’d looked up at him with your wide eyes and a sweet smile, and asked oh so nicely for it, that he began reading to you. Hours have passed now, with him reading quiet, romantic poetry to you. Your eyes are heavy and you let out a soft yawn. 

“Do you need a break, sparrow?” he asks softly. 

“No, keep going,” you smile up at him.

“As you wish,” he kisses your forehead softly. 

He starts a new poem, and you’re hanging on as long as you can. Vergil holds onto you a little tighter as your body goes weak against him. He’s barely made it to the third stanza when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep. He chuckles softly at the sight of you sleeping in his arms.

“I suppose that wasn’t one of your favorites,” he quips to himself. 

He closes the book and sets it on the small side table. He lets you sleep on him for a little while, then gently carries you to your shared bedroom. He lays you down on the bed and kisses your forehead before tucking you in. 

When you wake up hours later, you pout at the prospect of being alone in bed. You get up and wrap yourself up in a blanket. You can vaguely smell something cooking in the kitchen. As you walk in, you’re greeted by the sight of Vergil wearing the light blue apron you’d playfully bought him that says “Kiss the Cook” on the front. He has a cookbook open and propped up on some cans. You realize he’s trying to make your favorite dish. 

Nero

Nero has been away from home much longer than either of you would’ve liked for him to be. Finally, one morning, he makes the phone call you’ve been waiting for. He tells you he’s on his way home, only interrupting once to tell Nico to “can it” as she teases him for how soft he is for you. He’ll be home by the end of the day. You decide to call in to work so you can be home when he arrives, then you set about making all kinds of preparations. Starting with making him a cake, chocolate with raspberry swirl. You put a roast chicken in the oven and put a bottle of wine in the fridge to chill. Then, as it gets closer to time for him to arrive, you take a long shower and slip into his favorite of your silky nighties and a long robe. You put on a bit of makeup to look your best for him. 

However, you wait and wait for him. The chicken gets done, and you don’t even know if you should bother waiting for the sides. With a sad sigh, you wrap up all the food and put it away. You make yourself a sandwich and munch it down before going to bed. 

It’s past midnight when the front door opens. Nero is sheepish as he walks into the living room, expecting you to be worriedly waiting in the living room Instead, there’s no sight of you. He goes to the kitchen and sees the table all set for a romantic dinner that didn’t happen, and his heart drops. 

He goes upstairs and sees you sleeping peacefully in the bed you share. As quietly as he can manage, he undresses before sliding into the bed beside you. He’d tried to tell himself he wouldn’t wake you, but now that you’re in reach he’s not sure he can resist. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. You feel his lips against your shoulder as you begin to stir awake. 

“Baby?” you ask softly. 

“It’s me, angel. I’m sorry I was so late,” he cuddles against you, pressing his face against your neck. “The van broke down and we were fixing it.” 

“Oh! Baby,” you roll over in his arms and begin kissing him so sweetly. Nero just melts into your soft touch. You cup his cheek, “I’m so sorry, baby.” 

“I’m home now, angel. That’s all that matters.” 

Sparda

Your eyes are wide as you take in every detail of the vast castle. Sparda’s large hand envelops yours completely as he gives you the grand tour. Sparda can’t remember the last time he invited someone here, although he guesses that’s to be expected. It’s been centuries since he stayed at the Fortuna castle last. After his sons found him in the underworld, he came to this place. He wasn’t sure what he expected to find in Fortuna. Perhaps just a peaceful place to die if nothing else. Instead he found you. You’d begun by delivering him supplies. One rainy day, he’d invited you inside to warm yourself up by the fire in the large entrance hall. He’d served you tea and cookies, and found himself genuinely enjoying your company. As time went on, he invited you in more and more often when you stopped by for your deliveries. Like most on the island, you’d been raised to view him as a god. However, you’d quickly moved past that when you realized how much you enjoyed his company. 

A little at a time, the Dark Knight began to fall in love with you. You shared his feelings in abundance. When the time came for him to invite you to move into the castle with him, he’d felt quite nervous about the whole ordeal. You’d accepted with a kind smile and a sweet kiss. Love was in the air. Today he was giving you the tour, and tomorrow you would call this castle home. 

He walked you through the vast libraries and gallery halls. Then, he walked you into the residence halls. He showed you the master bedroom first, then the nearby guest rooms. They were furnished so beautifully, but the emptiness of them hit your heart with sadness. 

“We can find uses for them,” he says as he leans down to kiss your cheek. 

“Maybe we could turn one into a nursery?” you suggest with a playful wink. 

For a moment, Sparda is truly flabbergasted. His eyes widen as he stares down at you, trying to piece together if you’re serious or not. He hadn’t considered having more children. Would he only let them down the way he did Dante and Vergil? You cuddle against him and giggle. 

“Only when we’re ready, of course?” 

“So,” he smirks, “You truly wish to carry my child?” 

“Of course!” 

He hoists you up in his arms and begins to carry you towards the master bedroom once more. 

“There’s no harm in trying,” he says. 

[fakebutilikeyou]

how the poem on Wilhelm's wall foreshadows all of Young Royals S3 bc my YR brianrot won't go away

the poem is "The Shield-Maiden" by Karin Boye (the same author who wrote Crisis) and while we only see the first stanza, it's a lot longer. Here's the entire english translation.

I do think it’s important that the only part of this poem that we see in the show is the first stanza. It’s Wille’s perspective on what it means to have come out and be in a public relationship with Simon.

He’s romanticizing being with him and the “battle” he’s fighting against the expectations of the crown. He sees his love with Simon as armor that will protect him and arm him against the battle with his role as Crown Prince.

Simon is what makes him feel strong. For example, Wille wasn’t brave enough on his own to admit it was him in the video and it was only after Simon chose to be with him that he was strong enough to do so.

Stanza 2 continues his romanticizing of the reality of being in an openly queer relationship. The “giants that fell” is the ideal prince that he was expected to be. The court and tradition tries to keep them apart but their love was strong and bright to him like lightning.

The darkness is the burden the monarchy is putting on everyone in the royal family. Wille believes that he can escape the threat of this darkness by relying more on Simon (bonus that he joined the choir so they literally did sing together).

In Stanza 3 the POV switches to Simon. Where Wille dreamed of being public as something freeing, Simon had a taste of what the media would be like after the video and couldn’t dream of the same things as him. Instead of being “armored and strong” he dreams of “blood and death”.

Wille can dream about their love being armor against all of these things he’s already dealt with but Simon wasn’t ready for battle. In S3 we watch the court and media tear him down, the mortal wound is Simon having to delete himself (i.e. his instagram, writing songs & singing).

Stanza 4 starts with saying you didn’t even notice that I fell, you didn’t even notice that this battle is killing me. Even as we can all see that Simon is suffering, Wille can’t because he’s too distracted with the battle that he’s still fighting against his role.

“With steady hand the shield you held” Wille is still confident in their love’s ability to project him and he continues using it to help him get through his birthday dinner. He’s only brave enough to say all the things he does to his parents because Simon was by his side. (If you rewatch this scene you can notice Wille continually looking over at Simon for support.)

I see stanza 5 as the conclusion. The fire is Simon’s dream (or nightmare) and the dream of roses is Wille’s romanticizing of all of it. The third line is the death of their relationship/the end of the battle.

Wille has lost the battle but still won in a different way. He stops fighting to try and be the traditional crown prince he's expected to be. In the end this is what allows him to dream of Simon again.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk 💀

[manicpixiefelix]

alone with you

{ One-Shot for head, heart, hand. }

Summary: In a slight diversion from the events of he wanted to be in love (but you got in the way), Felix finds you outside the maze, and can't bring himself to believe you're anything more than passed out. So in denial, he brings you inside, gets you cleaned up, and dwells on the events of the night before, waiting for a best friend who will never wake up.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. THERE IS A MOMENT WHERE FELIX PICKS UP AND CARRIES THE READER, I APOLOGISE IF THIS IS IMMERSION BREAKING FOR ANYONE.

Warnings: you are dead in this one. ANGST, felix being in absolute denial to the point where its upsetting, felix dwelling on the argument from oliver's party and being in absolute misery. sad times at saltburn. so much denial and angst. felix interacting with your dead body as if it's alive (taking care of after a night out, nothing more)

A/N: 3103 words. so this is based on this beautiful prompt by @r1dd1kulus, however i do have to apologise that i tweaked the original prompt. it's mainly now just felix being in massive, upsetting denial and a study on reader & felix & the maze & the fight. i would have loved to include the lunch scene and the family being shocked and possibly playing along, but i'm genuinly sorry but i couldn't get it to work in a way that didn't feel like Weekend At Bernie's. which is a terrible thing to refernce at the start of my arguably saddest fic yet. love u, please let me know what you think, especially because i did some fuckery with the style and formatting idk have a time :o)

The poem used in the fic is the first stanza of Love's Philosophy by Percy Shelly.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

"Fi, please -"

"God you're cold," Felix pulls you into his lap, limp, quiet, still in those beautiful green garments from the party, "can't believe you slept out here, no wonder you're freezing," he mumbled to himself. Its still early, only just broken dawn, but he's been up all night, searching for you.

Without thinking, he pulls off his robe, maroon and still fluffy from a recent wash, and gently manoeuvres you to get it on. Now in the same white singlet from the night before and his pyjama shorts, he cradles you to him.

"Sorry for getting mad last night," he mumbled into your hair, delicately picking leaves and grass from you, "and making you wait out here; I should have known," his breath catches; he holds you tighter, "really should have known, of course you'd be out here." Then, barely above a whisper, he takes your ice cold hand, "love you."

When you're quiet still, unresponsive, he thinks about how messed up you were when he last saw you, stumbling, almost faceplanting on the dancefloor, how he'd chosen to leave you like that. Another wave of guilt, another apology murmured against the cool skin of your temple. It had been a truly rough state, no wonder it had hit you so hard. So he scoops you up, keeps you close, and carries you back to the house.

"Fi, please -"

"Duncan," he calls out, seeing the tail of the butler disappearing around a corner as he cradles you, carries you up the stairs. Duncan stops, peers back around, tired look in his eyes; Felix wonders if he'd slept either, "Y/N had a rough night, we'll be taking breakfast in our room," he informs. Duncan gives a tight-lipped smile and nods, gaze momentarily sliding to you in his arms.

"Will there be anything else, Sir?" When he means is everything okay?

"That's all, thank you, Duncan," Felix returned the tight smile and continued on his way.

He's not sure if he should be annoyed or concerned at your stubbornness, but he is gentle with you nonetheless, closes his bedroom door behind him with his foot and takes you straight to the bathroom.

"I didn't mean it," he murmurs, picking the pearls out of your hair that he'd watched you meticulously place the night before. You're propped up in the bath, and he's kneeling beside, desperately hoping you'll open your eyes to the sound of his voice, "about wanting you out for the rest of Summer, I couldn't even go one night." Everything he does is with care, wiping off your makeup, "don't know what I'm going to do when the semester starts," he says distractedly, "can you pull the kind of strings to let us share a room? If anyone could it would be you."

He takes his time with removing your costume, respectful of the detail you'd put into it, not wanting to damage any part if he could help it. When he runs the bath he apologises for it being so cold at first, but makes sure it never gets too hot.

"Let's get you warmed up," he's seen you naked more times than he could ever count; there's nothing lewd about this moment, all he wants is to take care of you. For just a moment, he holds your wrist, fingers against the soft skin where your pulse should beat. It must be weak after last night, or he's misremembering and holding the wrong spot, "love, can you hear me?" ("Fi-") Fear flickers in his heart briefly, but he disregards it out of hand, "remind me to never let you get this fucked up again," he tries to calm his own nervous heart. ("Please -")

He washes the sweat and grime and dirt of the night off with the body wash of yours that he's always loved the smell of, even if his own clothes are sopping wet from the effort by the time he's done.

"Better?" No response, "well when you wake up you should be feeling better at least. Warmer too."

And he dries you, and dresses you in the most comfortable clothes he knows you own, and tucks you into bed, telling you with a sigh to sleep it off. The clothes he throws on himself are comfortable too, the sweater he chooses from the back of his closet has always been too big on him, but he feels like he needs it now, needs to pull the collar up over his face for just a second to hide in it from the world. But just a second. Because he's fine, he tells himself, everything's fine.

There's two plates of food at the door; he's not sure if you'll be up to eat your before lunch, so he puts it on the dresser, shoving aside the delicate and meticulously chosen jewels and accessories you'd collected for both costumes last night that neither of you even touched. When he thinks too hard about the disappointed, heartbroken look you'd given him when he'd disregarded so much of your hard work last night, a lump forms in his throat.

So he heads to his balcony to eat, and try not to think about last night.

"Fi, please -"

But he can't. The details haunt him with how they all blur into each other. Laughter and lights, trying to drown out the betrayal of Oliver, the way you were please edging on betraying him too it seemed. Everything getting better, getting worse in a cycle - "I'm not a monster for having a heart, Felix."

He feels like a fucking monster.

The truth he'd called audacity and blamed on the drugs in the box that you'd pushed into his hands as you'd flayed his already damaged ego -

"You just don't like what the lies he used to keep you around say about you."

"I'm done with you."

He's never regretted something so immediately, but you knew him best, if anyone was going to be able to tear him apart at the seams, it would have always been you.

"I'm done with you."

"I'm done with you."

But he was too wounded to do anything but double down. Kick you out. Fuck.

"Fi, please -" he'd made you cry. He was going to spend the rest of his life apologising to you for last night, and even then he'd never feel like it was enough. Because he was fucking aching, and hated himself, and saw you through the crowd when it hit him just how badly he'd fucked up. Couldn't face himself, his mistakes. Double down; he could blame it on the alcohol or the drugs or the betrayal, but it was his own fucking fault. Fuck. Instead of just enjoying the night, he watches Oliver catch you before you can fall, and he feels the spite and self loathing in his veins.

India was pretty and willing and there. When he takes her by the hand and tells her how magical the maze is, he's only thinking of you. He's thinking of every time he'd ever suggested trying to get lost in the maze because he was bored, and every time you'd followed him in without question. He remembers making out and hooking up and giggling as the two of you hid from Farleigh and Venetia; you two knew the maze far better than anyone else did, it was your place.

And he thinks about the evening where he found you with a copy of one of the many books from the library, laying in the middle of the maze, frowning up at it. Seventeen, hiding from the last days of Summer heat before it was back to school.

"Percy Shelly," you recognised Felix by his footsteps; no-one in the world could ever know him better, "writes nothing like his wife," you announced. He's having trouble getting a read on how you feel about this. But you snap the book closed and sit up, "what are you up to?"

"I wanted to see what you were up to."

Groaning loudly, you flopped back down, clearly bored out of your mind. You announce that you want to do something, but you don't want to be around people - Felix doesn't count, Felix never counts when you talked like that, he was yours, and you were his; indefinable. So he gets snacks and you have a picnic, but as it gets dark enough to see the stars, you're still strangely in your head. He's leading, because sometimes you get like this, even at this age, so you loop a finger through one of his belt loops and trust him to lead you to safety while your focus drifts elsewhere. He's even carrying that Percy Shelly book for you. It's a years old tradition; the maze always seemed to put some kind of spell on you. Sometimes Felix could even feel it too. This place was your place, this place was magic.

When he glances back, you're looking into the hedges, fingers snagging on the leaves, dipping further in to where all the vines and branches twist together and become impenetrable. Lips moving, he can't quite hear what you're saying, surprised that you're saying anything at all, but he can't help but stop. You run into him, and it's like the spell is broken.

"Everything okay? Sorry I was -"

"- talking to yourself," he laughs, but not unkindly. Judging by your suddenly pensive expression, however, you seemed to have been at least aware that you were doing it.

"Thinking about one of the Shelly poems actually, he's actually pretty alright, even if it isn't Frankenstein."

"Wait, he's Mister Missus Frankenstein -?" it's genuinely news to him, even at seventeen himself, but you clearly find his wording endearing.

"Yeah, but he's a poet," you grin. Very suddenly you look to your hand, still out, finger looped in Felix's belt loop by his hip, "um, he's good is all," Felix isn't used to you sounding flustered and is a bit caught off guard by it. He knows you don't judge each other, you never have -

"Which one?"

"No, it's- I don't remember, I'll get it wrong or something, it's stupid, I was just trying to do some Summer reading for school -"

"Come on, you were just -"

"Dunno, Fi, I forgot!" You practically shouted, taking your hand back to cross your arms, shrinking in on yourself in a surprisingly childish manner. Felix goes very quiet as he tells you it's okay, that you should just head back, it doesn't matter. Your footsteps still follow him, however, even as he makes a wrong turn in his confused, vaguely upset state. You don't correct him, you don't leave him, you just follow him, as you always have.

He hears your deep breath when you take it, hears you sigh in the way that means you're settling yourself, and it's like he can physically feel his heart ease when he feels that same pressure by his hip. Two fingers this time, curled in his belt loop. He doesn't look back, he still gives you whatever space you need -

"The fountains, um, mingle with the river," he can hear the awkward nerves in your voice when you start speaking, but he knows better than to interrupt, "and the rivers with the ocean, the winds of -" you pause for a long time, he can only imagine your face scrunched up as you tried to remember, "gimme a sec," you muttered, "this isn't quite the part I keep thinking about so I haven't been thinking about it as much."

"Surprised you even remember this much; your memory is so cool," Felix means it very genuinely, and your abashed laughter is like music to his ears.

"Okay, I think it's; the winds of heaven mix forever with a sweet emotion..." you trail off.

"It's nice," Felix offers, but you're quiet. Actually, you stop; it tugs on his belt loop.

"'s not the part," you frown, but can't look at him, "and I keep thinking about this part, and then I feel weird for thinking about it, because I'm like, this feels... like too much. Like I feel like a freak, even though, like, we're us."

You and Felix had been YouAndFelix for years by this point.

"What poem is it?" Felix asks softly, beginning to open the book, but your face scrunches up in embarrassment, snatching it out of his hands with your free one.

"Fuck, don't read it, fine -" you tuck the book under your arm for safekeeping, wearing an embarrassed little scowl. Then, under your breath you admit, "read it like twenty times, just this one bit, it's burned into my brain it feels like." And you let go of his belt loop, crossing your arms as you nervously shift your weight from one foot to the other.

"Spit it out or I'm going to make you do it in a way that's, like infinitely more embarrassing, and I won't let you leave until you do it that way," Felix threatens. You make a face, asking what the hell he intends to do; Felix puffs out his chest, "I'm gonna make you tell me it like it's one of mum's trashy Mills & Boon novels that she thinks we don't know about; gonna hold your face real close and make you look me in the eyes while you say it," he pauses, deliberating, "I might make stupid faces, I am still deciding on that -"

"Okay," you say softly, all quiet and nervous and surprisingly sweet.

"What?"

"Just maybe," you give a nervous laugh, "don't make faces; it might be easier for me if you're being weird about it - why am I even doing this, you're not holding me at gunpoint, I can just -"

But then Felix is stepping up to you, two fingers delicately lifting your chin, leaning in so your faces were inches apart.

"Better?" Low and warm like he's straight out of a romance film, he takes the moment serious, smiling softly.

He can see in your eyes that you're still nervous, but there's no-one else in the world who looks at him the way you do. None of them have even come close; he doesn't know when exactly either of you realised, but neither of you have even of a shadow of a doubt that you love each other. Moments like this seem to remind him. The maze is a magical place.

"With," you take a deep breath, focusing on him and only him as you reiterated the last line you'd given just before, "a sweet emotion;" you swallowed hard, "nothing," you blink hard and restart, an endearingly nervous shake in your voice, "nothing in the world is single," you take a deep breath and oh, he knows you well enough, knows why the line hits you in the chest, the same as it just hit him, "all things by a law divine, in one spirit meet and mingle," you wet your lips, finally having gotten over your nerves. Your gentle smile makes this whole moment shine, "why not I with thine?"

Of course he kisses you, fucking of course he kisses you! Of course it takes the two of you another half hour to get out the maze despite the entrance being around the corner, what's he going to do? Not make out with you until the two of you can barely breathe? No! He'd drown himself in you and that moment if he was physically capable of it? He's never felt so damn romanced in his life!

YouAndFelix. You are his. He is yours. Undefinable. Inseparable.

In the present he was barely eating anything compared to the amount he was tearing apart until it was essentially breakfast sand. He'd felt drunk and betrayed and desperately wanted to hurt you. It was the easiest way to hurt himself.

So he took India to the place he spent years falling in love with you, and defiled that magical sacred damn space, with his cock in the first poor, willing girl who didn't even matter to him.

"Fi, please -"

He needs you to wake up soon, needs you to say something, needs you to say anything to band aid over that stupid fucking fight that he wishes more than anything that he could take -

"Fi, please -" You were sobbing. You were fucking sobbing, begging, and he left.

"Felix, darling," his mother's voice from downstairs, peering up at the balcony. Hand up, shading her eyes, the workers move around her, clean up as if she's not even there, "is Y/N still with you?"

"Yeah -" asleep, asleep, warm and resting and tucked in and safe and sleeping it all off, every bad thing from last night. Wake up. Let me say sorry.

"Duncan said they were under the weather, is everything alright?"

"Sleeping off last night," he keeps playing with his breakfast sand. The jam holding it together makes it look like viscera. Too much jam. Too much blood. Too much. All too much.

"Will you both be making it to lunch? We're about to serve."

"Yeah, I'll -" what if you don't wake up for lunch? What if it's worse than he thought? Or what if you're still being damn stubborn and the joke's on him.

Please let the joke be on him. After last night he deserves it.

"- we'll be there."

He'll do anything for you to wake up.

"You're right," he should have said, "I know you're right. I know you're trying to help me because I can't see clearly because I don't want to face the world if that's what Oliver thinks of me. Because I love him. I love him for who he is now, I don't care where he came from, but it makes me sick to think that Oliver thought I couldn't love him - couldn't even spare him a second glance, if I didn't, at first, think I have to save him.

I use the people I love. I take everything for granted, even myself. Even you; especially you. I love you the most, I use you the most. I know I don't want to lose one of the people I love the most because he bruised my ego. I know you want me to see that. And I do. And I see how good you are to me, how good you've always been.

YouAndMe. You're mine; I'm yours."

"I'm done with you."

And the last thing he hears from you is the despair in your voice, cry as he leaves -

"Fi, please -"

[aspoonofsugar]

do you think the song out for love says something about Camilla and veggie and to veggies character arc

Hi!

Yes, it does. I want to talk about Vaggie in other metas too, so in this analysis I will focus on her relationship with Carmilla, since this is what you are mainly asking about.

Before I start, though, I am gonna link to you this meta by @hamliet, where she talks about the main message of the song:

You're gonna fight without gloves And when that push comes to shove Yeah, you just might rise above Long as you're out for love

If you love, you might rise above. So Vaggie, a fallen angel, regrows her wings by choosing love and protection over hate and revenge. The meaning is crystal clear. Love makes you worthy of Heaven. Just like in the finale Pentious ascends thanks to his selfless sacrifice.

This is the meaning of the song when it comes to theme and to the series as a whole.

At the same time it is not by chance this theme comes out so strongly in relation to Carmilla and Vaggie, as they are both tied to "love".

FAMILIAL LOVE AND ROMANTIC LOVE

Carmilla Carmine: So I, I'll be your keeper Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll keep you safe and keep this secret

Vaggie: So I, I'll be your armor Do whatever it takes, I'll make the mistakes I'll spend my life being your partner

Carmilla and Vaggie are set up as foils in episode 3, when they share the song Whatever It Takes. This ballad is a love song, but Carmilla and Vaggie express two different kinds of love:

Carmilla is singing to her daughters (familial)

Vaggie is singing to Charlie (romantic)

This is a pattern throughout the show:

There are two versions of More Than Anything - the first one is about a familial bond, whereas the second explores a romantic relationship

Sir Pentious gets redeemed after expressing his feelings for Cherri (romantic) and sacrificing himself for the Hotel Crew (familial)

So, Hazbin Hotel goes out of its way to celebrate all kinds of positive bonds: platonic, romantic, familial. All of these relationships are enriching and help people grow. Vaggie and Carmilla are two characters linked to this very concept, as they are ready to fight and suffer for their loved ones:

Both: Whatever we go through I know I~ (Carmilla: I'll be your keeper) (Vaggie: I'll be your armor) Whatever it takes (Carmilla: I'll make the mistakes) (Vaggie: I'll make the mistakes) Whatever it takes

They are both warriors, but fight for love. They are out for love. However, Whatever It Takes also highlights a major difference between them.

TRUST AND SELF-EXPRESSION

Scrambled Eggs is an episode about trust. This is true especially for Carmilla and Vaggie, who have opposite secrets:

Carmilla killed an angel

Vaggie is an angel

Throughout the song the conflict between Heaven and Hell is mentioned by Carmilla and is present in subtext in Vaggie's stanza, as she looks at her old home.

Both are struggling under the pressure of these truths and are confronted by a loved one:

Zestial: Carmilla, what troubles thou? Losing thy composure is unlike thee. Carmilla Carmine: It's nothing, Zestial, really.

Charlie: Vaggie, don't say that! You do so much! It's- Vaggie: I'm sorry. I'd… I'd like to be alone for a minute.

Carmilla chooses to open up to Zestial and tells her daughters how much she loves them. Vaggie instead closes herself off and refuses Charlie's attempt to talk. She is singing to Charlie, but Charlie herself isn't present to hear her out. Even when it comes to their respective secrets...

Carmilla says hers in the song:

Carmilla Carmine: I always thought that I would keep blood off my face But when that thing attacked, I had to act To cross that line and keep them safe But if anyone knew, then all of Hell would rise to war And who's to say who'd survive the fray? I might lose the ones that I was killing for

Vaggie only alludes to hers in the lyrics:

Vaggie: When I saw your face You made me feel like a stranger in a brand new place And it felt so good to be understood But there's so much I wished that I could say

Vaggie meets Charlie and feels like a stranger in a brand new place because at the time she is in fact a stranger in a brand new place:

So, Carmilla is able to express herself, while Vaggie can't. This isn't surprising, as Vaggie is basically a child-soldier:

Adam: Do you really think I wouldn't recognize one of my top girls just cuz you're out of uniform? You were on the front lines, I wouldn't forget a bad bitch like you. It's why I named you after the best thing ever. Vaggie.

She is brought up in Adam's army and is taught that love is conditional. She is one of Adam's best fighters, but the moment she makes a "mistake", she is discarded:

Lute: Sinful filth like you has no place in heaven.

This is why she feels Charlie will love her only if she is useful and never messes up:

Vaggie: I'm supposed to make your dreams a reality. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to never fail you. (...) If I can't help you, what's the point of me?

This fear of abandonement and rejection is also at the root of Vaggie's inability to tell Charlie about her past:

Adam: I guess I'll just tell little miss butterflies and rainbows that she's been fucking someone who's killed-- thousands of her people. I'm sure your relationship will be fine.

Still, despite her communication issues, Vaggie's heart is in the right place:

Rosie: If there's anything I've learned, it's that words are cheap, but actions, they speak the truth. So, what have her actions said?

Vaggie is a person of few words. This may be why she has less songs than other characters. Still, she lets her actions speak, so she is given a ballet lesson by a very talented ballerina:

DANCING THROUGH LIFE

Carmilla has a ballet motif, as her outfit resembles that of a ballerina and her two daughters are called after protagonists of famous ballets. So, it is only natural that she teaches Vaggie a new way to fight through dancing.

Vaggie was taught to fight with hate and anger. So, her fighting style is aggressive and focused on attack:

Carmilla: You leave yourself open with every swing. You fight like someone unafraid of harm, and this is what you'll take advantage of. Angels wield no shields, little armor and fight with reckless abandon.

Carmilla tells her she should instead dedicate herself to love, protection and defense:

Fuel yourself with the fear of losin' That somebody who's your reason to live Harnеss your heart and you can't help choosin' To fight with all you can give

Vaggie shouldn't just fight. She should dance:

She shouldn't hate:

I see you're driven by your detestation Your every step is stoked with animus You need a different type of motivation Or there's no way that you can handle this

She should love:

Out for love~ Love~ Think of who you care about Protect them and be out For love~ Love~

Vaggie listens to these teachings and applies them in the finale, in two ways.

She sings her love for Charlie in More Than Anything Reprise:

Vaggie: You've already done so much So many lives you've changed So many souls you've touched And in the end, if it's only me you've saved Charlie and Vaggie: There's something that I've been dying to say More than anything, more than anything Need you to know I love you more than anything More than anything

As stated above, Vaggie doesn't sing much in season 1, but in the final episode she gets a short moment to express how she feels to Charlie. This is in contrast to Whatever It Takes, where she sends her girlfriend away before she starts singing. More Than Anything Reprise shows Vaggie's progress when it comes to self-expression.

She follows Carmilla's advices while fighting

On a practical level she covers herself up in a battle suit inspired by Carmilla's outfit, she wears a harness on her heart and ties her hair:

Vaggie: I'm not used to fighting with long hair.

On a thematic level she reveals her wings and defeats Lute, when the exorcist threathens Charlie:

Lute: So, I'll spare you the pain of seeing your demon bitch die.

And Vaggie eventually chooses not to kill the other angel:

Lute: Do it, then. Correct your mistake. Vaggie: Seriously, you're pathetic, you know that? Ready to die rather than accepting mercy? No, live. Live knowing that you only do because I let you, the failure.

Vaggie is asked to choose between her hate for Lute and her love for Charlie and she chooses the latter. This is why the scene ends with Vaggie leaving Lute and flying to help Charlie. She is given the chance to get revenge, but doesn't take it. She is given the chance to hate, but she loves:

I know you're thirstin' for vengeance, Vaggie You're out for blood But you'll only stand a chance if you're out for love

This is important in two ways:

1- The macrochosm - Vaggie refuses Lute's ideals and defies her expectations. For Lute it is normal that Vaggie is going to kill her. After all, Vaggie is discarded because she shows pity to a sinner, which makes her weak. Still, Vaggie bests Lute in a fight, so she is now strong. It is only obvious then that Vaggie has snapped out of her foolery and is ready to kill. She can correct her mistake. She did not kill the cannibal child, but she can kill Lute. This is how Lute understands the world. And yet, Vaggie doesn't finish her off. By doing so, she moves away from the mentality Lute embodies. She is strong precisely because she can show mercy. Adam is wrong. Lute is wrong. Vaggie isn't out for blood. She is out for love.

2- The microchosm - Vaggie sparing Lute isn't just the morally correct choice, but it is Vaggie's first step into healing:

Husk: (To Vaggie) This one. Judges everyone and everything because she hates herself.

Vaggie hates everyone because she deep down hates herself. She despises Heaven and Angels because she can't forgive her involvement in the exterminations. So, Vaggie hurting Lute would be Vaggie hurting her past self. As a matter of fact Lute is Vaggie's dark mirror. She is who Vaggie might become if she gives in to hate.

A person who hurts others:

And herself:

Vaggie instead has to value her life, so that she can protect others. She must save others and heal herself. Only in this way she can be by Charlie's side. She needs to let go of self-hate to embrace a healthy love. Vaggie's arc is her learning self-love through her bond with the Princess of Hell.

Obviously this journey is just at the beginning and our Angel of Love has a long way to go. How will her story contiue? We can make some hypothesis, which once again stem from Vaggie and Carmilla's foiling. This is just a theory, so take it with a grain of salt, but Vaggie may have a secondary personal antagonist in Hell:

Why is that so? It's because Scrambled Eggs sets Vaggie and Velvette up as foils.

RESPECT(LESS)

Velvette and Vaggie are opposites in their interactions with Carmilla. Both girls are younger than the Dancer Overlord and could learn a lot from her. However, Velvette refuses any kind of mentorship and shows no respect:

Velvette: Mad that I acted respectless? Well, it's cause no one could respect this! You're long past trending! Sorry, bae, but I ain't swiping right! You've lost your relevance-

Vaggie instead comes to respect Carmilla and learns from her:

At the same time, both Velvette and Vaggie confront Carmilla about her secret:

Velvette: 'Oops!' Did I strike a nerve? 'Cause when I brought out the angel's head, couldn't help but observe, that your wrinkled face was turning red! And why are you avoiding war? That's what the guns you sell are for! Thanks to my being respectless, one thing I'm starting to suspect is You know why this angel's headless! Do you have a disclosure?

Vaggie: I know what you did on extermination day. We can talk about it inside, or I can yell about it out here.

They call Carmilla out on killing an angel and keeping this knowledge to herself. Not only that, but both argue that it is necessary to fight back to stop the exterminations:

Velvette: We found it during Extermination day. If these Holy Rollers can be killed, the game has changed. We can take the fight to them. The boys and I have come up with a full assault plan!

Vaggie: Miss Carmine, I'm here on appointment from the princess to enlist your aid in the defense of hell from the angelic extermination. We know an angel fell at your hands and we need to know how.

Still, Velvette fails to get through to Carmilla because she uses war rhetoric:

Velvette: Oh, I get it. So Grandpa is too pussy to fight, so I guess there's no point, right? Oh, what's the matter, Fossil? Too senile to make a real power grab...

She speaks of violence, strength and power.

Vaggie instead convinces Carmilla to help because she mentions the necessity to fight for loved ones:

Vaggie: We didn't pick this fight, but it's here now. And they aren't going to stop with us. You didn't see the look on their leader's face. With us out of the way, it's only a matter of time before they come for the rest of you. They won't stop until all of hell is wiped out, so you can help us make a stand here together, or you can stand alone tomorrow.

She speaks of protection, love and comraderie.

In short, Vaggie succeeds where Velvette fails. Of course, this is true for Charlie's group in general when it comes to the Vees:

Vox: My dear people! We at VoxTek Enterprises have always been at the forefront of innovation. And now, with this new oncoming threat, we are shifting our focus, to your protection. We are pleased to announce VoxTek Angelic Security is coming soon! Trust us, with YOUR safety.

Katie Killjoy: Breaking news - Extermination day is cancelled! Charlie Morningstar managed to fend off the angelic attack with more than just nice words.

The Vees make big declarations of how they are gonna protect the people of Hell, but in the end it is Charlie and her friends who fight for the sinners.

When it comes to Vaggie and Velvette specifically, it is going to be interesting if their foiling is expanded. If so, then I guess Velvette is gonna help Vaggie mature a little bit more, so that when our ex exorcist faces Lute (her nemesis) again, she is gonna be ready for it.

[starfallforest]

Stop putting 'Too Sweet' by Hozier in your Sylus playlists

I am sorry—this was clickbait. I don’t actually care what you do with your life. But I need you to hear me out for just a second, okay? I am extremely not neurotypical about two things: Love and Deepspace, and Andrew John Hozier-Byrne. And I have seen more than one person in the tags talk about "Too Sweet" by Hozier being a perfect song for Sylus and MC. My only discourse about this is that Too Sweet is a song about a man who makes continuous self-sabotaging life decisions being incompatible with a partner who has her life put together. In my humble opinion, both Sylus and MC are hot messes of people in completely different ways. Anyway, it’s a good song so I don’t blame you for putting it in every playlist ever. In fact, you should. But if you're into this song, I want to show you a couple more pls pls pls 🙏​

I might just be autistic, but both Hozier's music and Love and Deepspace have something extremely important in common… and that’s BEAUTIFUL MEN YEARNING!!!1 And that’s not even to mention the haunting, raw sexuality we can project onto the stories that each of these things feeds to us. That's why I needed to make this post on the 1% chance that someone might hop on this brainrot train with me. So let me present, for just a moment of your time (if you're willing): other Hozier songs that fit Sylus so well I want to combust about it.

De Selby (Parts 1 & 2):

“At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God—at the start—couldn't bear.” [azlyrics] [gaelic translation]

Imagine just casually writing THE love song that so beautifully says, “Before you were in my life, I kinda understood how God felt before he created the universe.” Excuse me? Andrew just dropped this stanza on us without so much as a cw: fuck you. And if that sickening portrait of gnawing loneliness isn’t enough, we have all the Genesis God references. Since all the LIs in the game are at some point likened to gods or rivaling gods with their power, then add the reverberating instrumentals and chillingly slow vocals in this 2-minute killer, tell me how this song does not fit Sylus. Not only that, but we also have imagery of his lover descending upon him like the night (which is invoked during Part 1 in the Gaelic verse), and I know that’s on the nose for Sylus but come on. I need you guys writing smut to have an orgasm during De Selby (at least Part 2) because it might change ur brain chemistry I'm just saying.

“When you fall on me like night—I wanna kill the lights.” [azlyrics]

This song still rules irt its playing with darkness symbolism, but it also refers to the darkness in the singer’s lover—which in Sylus’ case is MC and we all were there when she shot the guy in the heart like his freaky eye was telling her: “And your heart, love, has such darkness—I feel it in the corners of the room…” my goddddddd stop right there I can’t handle the METAPHORrrr. You think Sylus gives a flying fuck about MC’s frivolous morality bullshit? No he wants her to embrace her own darkness, sit under the blankies with him and cuddle after doing crimes and a beat poetry session. This is some fucking Hannibal Lecter beyond-dark-romance shit. I’m not even trying to write a dissertation here (and yet…)

Talk (from Wasteland, Baby!):

“I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of, That's found in the last witness before the wave hits, marveling at God… Imagine being loved by me.” [azlyrics]

Not only does this song utilize insane Greek mythology metaphor and Biblical comparison but the overall meaning of it is, “I want you so bad, I need to speak poetically to hide how down bad I am for you.” That sounds kinda like Old World Sylus and all his pretty nicknames to me.

NFWMB:

“If I was born as a black thorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, Fuel the pyre of your enemies… Ain't it warming you, the world going up in flames?” [azlyrics]

This whole song just some hard, deep and steady yearning for 4 and a half minutes. Are you kidding? The acronym in the title stands for Nothing Fucks With My Baby, which is sung in the chorus like some quietly violent war chant—soft, dark, and powerful. Anyway don’t tell me Mr. Sylus “Give me a list and then go to bed. I’ll take care of it” Loveanddeepspace wouldn’t scorch the earth for the love of his life—or do one better and stand by her side while she scorches the earth herself; here’s the protective/supportive mans anthem you ordered babes.

It Will Come Back:

“I know who I am when I'm alone—I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need.” [azlyrics]

This song has repeated imagery that warns of the dangers of taking care of a feral animal, and then compares the feral animal to the singer as a lover. Like fuck off, that’s sexy and haunted. And we know that not only does Sylus love animals more than people, but he’s pretty animalistic himself if we are to believe that maybe he’s secretly a demon or something.

Arsonist’s Lullaby:

“Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.” [azlyrics]

Remember in Lost Oasis when MC goes on some tangent wondering what Sylus' past was like? Well it was this song. It's about troubled youth and learning to grow in your darkness. Also how cool is that imagery of demons? Hey Sylus, what do you have to say about demons? I'll wait. In the meantime I'm tattooing this shit on my clavicle

BONUS ROUND Through Me:

“Everytime I’d burn through the world, I’d see that the world—it burns through me.”

We got a man and we got some fire allusions so there ya go.

Blood Upon the Snow:

“To all things housed in her silence, Nature offers a violence.”

Blood upon the snow—it's red and white! Red!! And white!!! Also kind of a Sylus x Zayne anthem lbr

Ok I hope you found another song that inspires you to make Sylus art or fanfic with!! And before you ask, yes I've already assigned Hozier songs to every other love interest in the game. Ok thanks for reading!!! 🏃‍♀️​💨​

[writingsofanomnivore]

Of Poems and Consoles-Kenma x Reader

for @dira333

Words:920

Warnings- none, domestic fluff. Gender neutral reader.

9:17 pm

The bed is made, the dishes are washed, leftovers in the fridge, the clothes are folded and kept, and the cat is fed. All done before 9:30, just like every day, and just like every day, today is another normal Thursday. You came back from work just before Kenma and started with dinner while he began folding the laundry. After having a quick dinner with some updates on the new clients and partners of Bouncing Ball Corp, and how Kuroo had brought his son (aka your godson), and how Kenma couldn’t help but feed into his pleas and bought him another bag (one could even call it a sack) of candies and chips from the office cafeteria. Funnily enough, he even pulled up a little picture of ‘Uncle Ken Ken’ drawn by the little Kuroo. You must get it framed now. Maybe even keep it in his cabin on one normal visit to surprise both godson and uncle duo.

And now, both of you are in your bedroom, a steaming cup of tea on your little writing table ahead of you while your husband sits leaning on the backrest to end the day with a few games. The book and pen on your table look up at you, waiting for the time you’d pick up the pen and write a line or two. However, on this very normal and usual day, you couldn’t get the words or themes for a good poem. You’ve always written poems to find a sort of solace, comfort, to understand yourself, and to maybe even let go of the past in a beautiful way, but now, there seems no need for it. You’ve got a partner who understands you without words, without actions, without having to utter a syllable. A part of you is convinced that Kenma is a secret author, maybe even a poet with how he can calm you down with a few words that can brighten your dullest days. Here he sat, little whines and sentences of: “Kuroo, don’t do that; we’ll lose the game.” “Shoyo, are you sure you’re on the right server?” “Yes, Bokuto-san, I can see your character doing a 'woah'.”

The quick clicks on his console add a perfect white noise. Maybe you could write about your daily routine and these little things that make it specifically yours.

“

-and now I retreat from my day’s chores, The house is neat, the door is closed. I lie in bed but not alone A piece of me, I’ve always known Lies in him who I call home.

A day so new lies ahead of me It’ll start the same and end with glee For there’ll be this face I’ll get to see.

“

As I close the book I can feel the bed shift on the other side. Sensing him keep his phone on the bedside table, I look up. Golden eyes stare at me expectantly, waiting for the old tradition of being the first and maybe only person to read any new poem. Though I knew this poem was not my best, not extravagant, not the perfect representation of the routine I strive for or the impact he has on my day, I gave it to him without budging.

His eyes scanned each and every word, my squiggly handwriting not making anything easier. Taking a pause before each stanza and he let his eyes wander the last stanza before finally looking up. I don’t know why, but those eyes held so much comfort, speaking volumes. Languages I’d never know, words which I wouldn’t be able to spell could never compare to the love I can see pooling up in him. A little smile slipped from his pink lips, which I couldn’t help but copy. “I’ll never understand how you write so well.” Though you know your little poems could never compare to the secret poet he is, you hummed, “I think you’re the one to be credited here. The person without whom my day is null. For whom my heart beats daily and whose company I look forward to every day.”

The old Kenma would have been a blushing mess. He would have probably forgotten how to speak and would definitely not have taken your ink-stained hands in his right now. But this Kenma is not the same. The past five years have shaped him and you into the people you are today. This Kenma has seen you write your poems and collect the ones as old as 10 years ago. This Kenma has grown out of his shell, accepted the fact that he is so much more than the brain of Nekoma, found his worth, and, most importantly, a partner to love who loves him just as much if not more.

So this Kenma took your right hand, bringing it to his lips and holding it tight. He gently rubbed at the little cut you got years ago, the bump on your finger you were always insecure about because it was a callus from holding a pen for more than 15 years. “I love you,” he said, as if a statement he earnestly believes in, the way children promise you something but you know this is much more than that. Much more than three simple words. It was a promise, a promise he keeps every day. Loving you and always loving you. So you repeated them back with a drunk smile, sleep clouding your vision as you tried to keep your eyes wide open; wishing this moment could last forever.

[steddiealltheway]

Steve tries his hand at writing poetry. Emphasis on try.

It’s not… great. He never was the best writer in high school - just ask Nancy. But really he tries.

Unfortunately, his hobby is discovered by Robin who relentlessly makes fun of him, stealing his little journal away and shouting out some of his lines. Thankfully, the Video Store is empty.

Until Eddie walks in.

Neither Robin or Steve notice him, too busy fighting over the journal with Robin still calls out a few stanzas every so often.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, loud enough to get the pair’s attention.

Steve and Robin both look towards him. Steve turns bright red, and Robin races up to Eddie, giddy with excitement yelling, “Steve writes shitty poetry!”

She waves the journal towards Eddie who takes it from her. Steve races up to the counter but noticed that Eddie is already closing it and handing it back to him.

“I have my fair share of shit poetry. I’m sure we all do,” Eddie says casually, trying to brush off Robin’s comment, seeing the slight hurt in Steve’s eyes at the insult.

Steve smiles at him tightly, thanking him with a nod.

Eddie changes the subject.

Over the next few days, Robin, unaware of the damage done, will not stop teasing Steve about the journal. And, of course, she blabs when Nancy comes to the Video Store, unable to stop herself from talking or thinking when she’s around her.

Nancy laughs and comments how she would love to see if he’s improved at all from high school. Joking that maybe Steve can be published in the Hawkins Post.

Steve storms off to the break room, shame and anger taking over his senses. It’s stupid really. They’re just teasing. But Steve was actually excited to fill out this new journal he bought. To have something for himself that wasn’t just sports and babysitting and being known as a dumb asshole in high school.

After a few minutes, the door to the break room opens, and Steve pinches his nose, not in the mood to deal with anymore teasing.

“Hey, you okay?” A voice that is definitely not Robin’s asks.

Steve turns to find Eddie hovering in the middle of the room unfamiliar to him. “When did you get here?” Steve asks.

“A few minutes ago. Robin and Nancy filled me in on… things,” Eddie replies fidgeting with his rings.

Steve nods and sits on the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair. He deeply sighs.

Eddie nods towards the small leather journal Steve left on the counter. “Is this it?” He asks.

“My notebook filled with shit poetry? Yes,” Steve replies, the venom in his tone heavier than he intended.

“May I?” Eddie asks, hand reaching towards it.

Steve nods.

Eddie grabs it and opens it. He flips through a few pages, pausing, squinting, and sometimes zoning out in deep thought. He keeps flipping through pages, reading what seems like every word Steve has written.

Steve can feel the blood rush to his cheeks, embarrassment flooding his veins. Especially when Eddie’s eyebrows furrow while he looks at one page for a few moments too long.

After a while of unbearable silence - except the sharp turning of pages - Eddie says, “It’s not terrible. In fact, it’s actually pretty good.”

Steve scoffs, “Yeah, right.”

Eddie rushes towards Steve and squats in front of him, opening the journal towards the page he was stuck on for so long. “Steve. This right here has so much potential.”

“That right there, is pure shit. You heard Robin and Nancy,”

Eddie runs a hand over his face and admits, “Yes, some of these might be shit poetry. But you know what all of these are?”

Steve ignores the familiar sting of disapproval and deadpans, “What?”

“These are all great song lyrics.”

Steve groans.

“I’m serious!” Eddie says, he starts digging through the drawers in the break room, finally coming across a pencil. “May I?” He asks again gesturing towards the journal.

Steve nods.

Eddie begins scribbling on various pages, crossing out lines, adding to them, writing in the margins, and at one point it even looks like he doodles something. He closes the journal and hands it back to Steve. “Take those as you will, but I really think you’re onto something, Steve. You can always show me anything you write, okay?” Eddie says, resting a hand on Steve’s knee.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hands and squeezes it. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

Eddie beams at him and stands, pulling Steve up. “Okay, now you have to pick the next movie I get. Robin’s last choice was… not great…” Eddie continues his rant, opening the break room door.

Steve makes eye contact with Robin who gives him an apologetic look, and Steve glances back at Eddie - who is still ranting - knowing he mentioned something to her. Something blooms in his chest, knowing that Eddie understood how he felt before talking to him.

After Eddie leaves, Robin goes on a rambling apology, telling Steve she didn’t actually mean it. Except for a few parts. But then she tries to take that back and fails.

Steve laughs and tells Robin that really it’s okay.

That night, he turns through Eddie’s notes, taking in every word, applying corrections, and writing a few questions and replies to Eddie’s words.

He lands on the last poem he wrote and turns the page which was once blank. Now, there’s a simple heart with the words, “Never change, Steve Harrington,” under it.

Steve stares at the page for a few moments, heart racing. Then, he turns to the blank back section of the notebook and writes a few lines about a boy with curly hair and brown, doe eyes.

[gerogerigaogaigar]

In the wake of the Drake/Kendrick beef its become clear that a lot of people here don't know what hip-hop is and/or don't know how to listen to it. Instead of dunking on people's ignorance I'd like to offer up an educational opportunity. Hip-hop can be difficult to get into if you come from an exclusively white and rock oriented upbringing. It simply listens differently than other popular music and you have to learn how to listen to it. This is honestly true of all music, but white america grows up with modern rock and pop that more or less derive their structure from tin pan alley music of the early 1900's. Hip-hop is a derivative of the 70's disco scene. Disco had an even more dance oriented feel than the funk that it spun off from. And funk was already more rhythm heavy than the Soul and Rhythm & Blues that birthed the funk scene.

Hip-hop is, first and foremost, a black artform and I am not black. So I'm not trying to position myself as a community ambassador or anything, but I do get that there are some barriers that white suburban kids face when it comes to getting into hip-hop. I also know that I am very, very into hip-hop so being a suburban white kid is clearly not an excuse for dismissing an entire artform. And racism isn't something you are it's something you do. So its time to stop talking about Weird Al and Eminem* whenever someone asks if you like rap. Right now it is time to learn how to listen.

*all due respect to eminem, he's actually really good, but we aren't talking about white rappers right now

When listening to rap one of the first things you need to pay attention to is the rapper's flow. A rapper's instrument is their voice, but unlike what you may be used to rap vocals are part of the percussion. In the songs included below, try to listen for how the vocals create a rhythmic counterpoint to the instrumentals. and listen for how rappers use rhyme as well as rhythm to create a pleasing cadence. Don't worry about what they're saying, listen to how they say it.

All Caps We start with All Caps, an absolute beast of a song. MF DOOM meets the frantic energy of the beat with a steady even flow that feels effortless. DOOM interlocks Rhyme schemes and uses matching vowel sounds throughout the verses to create the illusion that he is just dropping thoughts off the top of his head. The maneuver he pulls in the last stanza always blows my mind. making a *pop* sound to onomatopoetically match the vowel sound in pot, got, and snot while also rhyming troubles and bubbles.

A Milli Next up is Lil Wayne. Much like DOOM he can bury rhyme schemes for days, but instead of a smooth even flow he goes in bursts of frantic energy to contrast the very steady beat.

Ultimate Denzel Curry is probably one of the best in the trap scene and Ultimate is an early track where he is nailing the lazy beat, angry delivery thing. his shouted couplets overlay the trilled snare to create a texture that is actually very typical of trap music.

Izzo (H.O.V.A.) Jay-Z has a triumphant tone and a sing-songy cadence to his voice. He tends to match the percussive parts of his raps to the downbeat of the drums and it further emphasizes the strings from the Jackson Five sample and his more melodic lilting.

Bad Character You might notice that Quasimoto sounds... uh... well its Madlib with his voice pitched up. Weirdly Quas has a totally different cadence than Madlib. The timbre of his voice is so distinctive but he raps so casually. It almost feels like he is disconnected from the beat, but he's still right on it. It is a weird quirky atmosphere.

ATliens ATliens is the first song on the list with multiple rappers on it. Big Boi is a master of the straightforward 90's gangsta style while Andre 3000 has a supernatural sense for where he is on the beat that allows him to dodge and weave around it. the two of them work together by giving a back and forth between the extreme steadyness of Big Boi and the extreme wonkiness of Andre 3000.

Protect Ya Neck The Wu-Tang Clan had a lot of members and Protect Ya Neck has all of them on it. It would take forever to explain the different styles of the whole Clan so I'm just gonna let you hear it all yourself. even if you can't tell them all apart it is still pretty easy to tell when they pass the mic.

Ready Or Not Wyclef Jean and Ms. Lauryn Hill are two of the best rappers, and also Pras is here. The interpolation of soul hooks that show off Lauryn Hill's singing skills were standard for the group, but Hill could switch from singing to rapping on a dime. Even when they are rapping there is a sense of soul music underlying their music.

Life's A Bitch Another track with a laid back beat. I couldn't tell you when Nas takes a fucking breath in this song. he just goes and goes. everyone on this is so smooth.

Fix Up, Look Sharp Finally I had to get some really rowdy shit on here. Dizze Rascal's flow is so bombastic. he hits every downbeat as hard as possible and almost drowns out the steady snare-kick beat with his voice alone. Like Jay-Z he is also very sing-songy.

To Be Continued ===> Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part4 | Part 5 | Part 6

[dduane]

In the TIL (Thematically Peripatetically) dep't

In the classic British war movie Ice Cold in Alex, one character who blames himself for a drinking problem that may have cost someone else their life declares he's not going to take another drink until he and the people fleeing across the African desert with him can sit down and have "an ice cold lager in Alex[andria]." This promise he keeps.

The interesting part lies in how the promise plays out on film.

A background issue (from the production standpoint) of what makes this scene so interesting is that it's always hard to get any scene right in just one take. There were apparently a fair number of takes on this shot.

The producers apparently tried hard to substitute something non-alcoholic for the beer, but this proved impossible, as there was no way to fake the head. So they used real beer.

John Mills, professional that he was, drank them one after another in multiple takes. As a result, co-star Sylvia Syms describes him as having been "a little heady" when they were done with that scene.

Another less problematic problem (as such things go...) was that the novel by Christopher Landon on which the film was based has the actors drinking a US beer called Rheingold... which the producers ruled out. They they felt there was no way the characters would willingly be drinking a German (or German-sounding) beer after being pursued across North Africa by the Afrika Korps. So Carlsberg was substituted.

...And it's at this point that things start to veer. @petermorwood was telling me about this, some of which I knew... but not about the Rheingold.

"Really?" I said. "You're kidding me!"

"Why?" he said.

At which point I did what any New Yorker of a certain age might very likely do under such circumstances: I burst into song. (And frankly, because you don't need to hear me doing that, here are the Golden Girls doing it.)

Rheingold was the best-selling beer in the New York metropolitan area, and apparently in New York state as well, at least partly due to numerous aggressive advertising campaigns on radio and then on TV. That jingle was known, in many permutations—including one in 6/8 time that appears in this stop-motion-animated commercial—by lots and lots of people.

Including me. So I sang it (at least some of it: I couldn't remember the final couple of stanzas) and Peter and I looked at each other in mild bemusement. "You think your mind's full of useless garbage," I said, "try mine sometime!" And we laughed and went back to whatever we'd been doing.

Out of curiosity, I then went over to YouTube to see (as I sometimes do) whether I was anywhere near the original key of the best-known version of the jingle while singing. Turns out I was pretty close. But along the line, I stumbled across the blog of a retired librarian who clued me in on something startling:

That jingle's music was ripped off, in whole cloth, from a French composer... whose authorship is apparently routinely obscured by the name of the music's (possibly better-known?) arranger.

Here it is, and apparently misattributed as above, in full classical glory: the Estudiantina Waltz. (Warning: the main chorus is a bit of an earworm, and you may not be able to get rid of it easily. I know I won't be, for the day anyway...)

...So that's the local installment of Today I Learned. May yours (if you have one) be way more useful and interesting. :)

[milgram-tournament]

MILGRAM Best Song Tournament, Round 1, Match 7 BACKDRAFT vs. IT'S NOT MY FAULT

Propaganda for both options under the cut!

Propaganda for BACKDRAFT:

"Backdraft may be a minute shorter than Bring It On, but it’s still over three minutes long, and it makes up for the lost minute with a complex form. The “Pressure! Pressure!” might be the only part that truly repeats.

At the beginning, Fuuta is showing off, acting cool. Then the music slows down as he ponders his verdict. Then the music picks up the pace again and gets more and more frantic as the consequences of his actions catch up to him.

See that structure in the three distinct verses that sound nothing like anything else in the song: cool, contemplative, and “oh no, what have I done”.

The “chorus” (burn burn!) never stays the same. You’ve got the “cool” first chorus. Then you have the muted second chorus as it sinks in that Fuuta’s victim was a middle-school girl, which leads into the tense final chorus (which is twice as long as the first) as the victim and Fuuta both burn.

The instrumental and the spoken-word from the beginning combine in the end, changing the mood of the stanza from confident and showy to panicked and desperate.

And the words… You can hear the wordplay in the last stanza, even if you don’t understand it.

Appreciate this chaotic masterpiece of a song."

---

- Fuuta being very cocky at first before realizing how fucked he is (it is kinda funny) - The use of spray cans and overall graffiti symbolism, it’s so good - The multiple eyes and people off camera showing how paranoid Fuuta has become, it’s really well done without being obvious - The name backdraft meaning when a fire deprived of oxygen gets a sudden influx of it. A kind of metaphor for what Fuuta did. Then it being shown through a spray can explosion, aaaa it’s really cool! - Fuuta’s overall look changing, being more realistic on how he actually looks contrasting Bring It On’s idealistic version of himself - Es at the end!! The only time Es shows up in a prisoner’s MV!!! And they looks so damn cool - Also the entire eye thing referencing the audience, he perceives us lmfao

---

"Back draft is incredible because it not only has great visual symbolism with the use of the spray cans but its visual symbolism shows a progression from ‘Bring it on’. In ‘Bring it on’ the channelling is glorious , fuuta is surrounded by people and fuuta idealised himself (taller , better teeth , better posture ect) , the people he cancelled were portrayed as these powerful rpg monsters but now in back now the channelling is portrayed as vandalism a crime as destructive , the ally is empty we only ever see others as hands or his victim fuuta is alone and fuuta is no longer idealising his appearance and his mind is now portraying his victim as a harmless cutesy drawing. This shows a change in how fuuta views his crime between T1 and T2. It wasn’t glorious, it wasn't justified , he was at fault. The fire being recontextsied as something out of control , all consuming and out of control which is the opposite of how it was portrayed in ‘Bring it on’ we really see how the vote has changed fuuta."

"There are so many things in the song that show a progression "

-“ deliciously scorched till your mouth waters” > “I don’t want any more”

-fuuta spray paints the camera hen as the end es spray paints him/the camera

-the pressure graffiti changing

"There’s so many interesting details like the applause towards the start of the song , the personality in the subtitles like them going from “Burn , burn!” To “burn , burn?” But the pressure’s punctuation mark stayed the same:   “pressure , pressure!” , the way FIRE is the only word in full caps till LIES. The thumbs down fuuta does during “the fights up here! Come up to the ring and face me!” Part which is like his T1 art , the way the lighting changes from green towards the start and becomes red by the end (stop go colours) , The way fuuta is constantly interacting with the camera , spray painting it twice and kicking it."

"Backdraft actually makes amazing use of the camera , things are often shown from the (camera)audience’s perspective rather than us seeing the events removed. We are there like we are the ones doing it/looking through the eyes of the person doing it. When fuuta/the others spray paint the graffiti of his victim and the ice gorilla it's from the audience’s perspective , we don’t see them do it, we see it like we are doing it. When the spraypaint can explodes it's like it’s exploding in our face and then when es spray paints fuuta at the end they are spray painting the camera(audience). "

"Backdraft makes the most references to the voting system and uses it well to make the audience re-examine if they really are any different. Aren’t we using little information and inferences to hold people accountable for crimes we have no stake in? Aren’t we causing unintended harm? Aren’t we judging them from the safety of our screens? "

"And on a more silly level"

-ARTHUR CONANT GOES SO HARD IN THE VOCALS!!!! COME ON LISTEN TO BURN BURN AND TELL ME THIS MAN ISN’T GIVING IT HIS ALL!

-cat mouth fuuta :3 how can you not love cat mouth fuuta?

-lowpolydog designed amazing graffiti 

Propaganda for IT'S NOT MY FAULT:

"It's Not My Fault is a beautiful song with a REALLY good song texture. Arisa Kori/Muu's voice is literally so amazing here, fitting perfectly with that confident and snarky appearance that Muu seems to want to give off. And just everything about it????? Muu did everything wrong free my girl- I love her bug design here, the pure drama of it and how she showcases Rei as a human in the bug world is so cool."

---

inmf!! have you heard the instrumental?! its just so good!!

the way rei turns the hourglass at the beginning!!! and it switches to when muu was at the top of the hierarchy!!!! that was such a cool detail!!!

BUG MUU IS LITERALLY SO CUTE. her smile at 1:19 🥺🥺

The way her voice drops at 1:30 and her 'KAWAISO NANO!!' at 1:51!!!

shes having so much fun while singing this weeeeeee

she's always pitiful!! shes always the drama queen 🥺🥺

please her getting the worst ratio while singing the 'im not guilty' song should alone be the reason she wins

---

"INMF is what got me into Milgram in the first place so of course I have to shill for it. I think its one of my favorite MVs Visually as the scenes set in the bug-web location are so visually striking. Muu and the rest of the bugs dark-purple skin and Muu's and neon pink hair stand out so much against it and it's so Pretty and Vibrant.

Storytelling wise INMF is amazing, it's a complete 180 of how Muu is seen in After Pain but not to the point where it feels like Muu is a totally different character. Muu is both a genuine victim and (in my opinion) a failgirl queen. She's trying her best to keep the image up but she is...NOT good at being a manipulative mastermind. And like After Pain before it, you can figure that out just through the visual and lyrical storytelling, that to some extent this is Still Also a Role Muu is Playing.

It's good! It's really good stuff! Muu is a character of cycles and After Pain and INMF work really well as a cyclical story about bullying. I think Muu should Win on having Good Storytelling and Fantastic Visuals and Being a Worst Girl. You should do it for all the girls in the world who are the Worst."