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thiswasinevitableid · 10 months ago

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Small Prince (Vincent/Apollo)

A belated birthday gift to @bellafarallones2 based on something we discussed on discord!

Apollo is not cut out to be an uncle. But at least he did not have to become a father.

It happened like this: when he and his brother, Indrid, were twenty-two, they were summoned to the throne room by their father. They were not alone, which was lucky as the look in the king's eyes was the kind that seldom bode well for their wellbeing.

“Would either of you care to explain this?” His father pointed to one of the four other people in the room, a young noblewoman holding a bundle in her arms.

“Oh dear.” Indrid murmured as she turned the bundle to reveal the face peering out of it.

“She claims the father was a Cold.”

“The features are unmistakably that of this house. As were those of the gentleman I met at the midsummer ball nine months ago.” The woman’s voice is not afraid, just tired. Apollo supposes she is beautiful.

Not as much as he supposes his brother holds no interest in women. And he certainly would not take someone he barely knew to bed. For starters, they could easily murder him while there, not to mention the fact that most people become attached after such things and the last thing he needs is dead weight following him about.

He glances at his twin, meeting his eyes behind those garish red glasses he wears. They are seldom of one mind about things. Maybe if Indrid was actually sensible, they’d have agreed on something since the age of twelve.

They agree on what must be done.

“He is mine.” Indrid steps forward, bowing to the woman, “I apologize, both for any distress this has caused you and for the fact that I was so outside my senses I cannot recall your name.”

“Clara.” She curtsies.

“I suppose this calls for a wed-”

“No.” Their father cuts Indrid off, “I have made plain I will not have some common noblewoman on the throne beside you when my time comes.”

Apollo smirks at the anger on Clara, her father, and her guards' faces.

“But her father wishes to marry her off without offspring in tow. So the boy will stay here and be raised as an heir. He is, after all, of our bloodline. No one will question it if they know what is good for them.”

“Understood.” Indrid offers his arms, “I can take him.”

Clara looks down at the silk-enrobed bundle, pathetic tears in her eyes, “Goodbye, Orion. Be good for your father.”

Just over three years have passed. For the first of them Apollo never saw the brat at all; he was in the care of a nursemaid, with Indrid spending a truly confusing amount of time with him. Gradually, he’d appear in the gardens, first in Indrid’s arms or, later, toddling between him and his bulldogish brick of a knight.

Apollo takes it as proof father likes him best that he assigned Sir Capra as his personal knight instead. Vincent is the only person who does not bore Apollo to tears or fill him with a desire to gouge their eyes out, is going grey at thirty-three in a way that he wears strikingly well. He is also, much to Apollo’s annoyance, nowhere to be found.

Indeed, the castle seems rather empty; ah yes, there’s some silly solar eclipse. Vincent asked if he wanted the knight to accompany him to a viewing. Apollo had snorted and said he had better things to do.

The trouble is, he has now done them. His father is not as omnipotent as he once was, but Apollo still fears being caught idle.

Something warm closes around his legs and his hand goes for his dagger.

“Dada!” Orion looks up from where he’s hugging Apollo’s knees.

“I am not my brother. I look nothing like him! I am far more attractive!”

“Uncle!” The word is a bit mushy in that little mouth. More worryingly, it does not cause the little leech to release him.

“What do you want?”

It sounded more demanding and less panicked in his head.

“Play blocks!”

“Then go play with the wretched things and leave me in peace!”

The boy frowns, then begins tugging on Apollo’s robe, stubby little nails tearing at the golden embroidery on the hem, “Blocks.”

“As soon as we get to them I am locking you in.” He mutters, following the urchin down the hall. He could just pull away and leave him to cry on the floor, but the noise is so horrible and he is not in the mood for a headache.

They reach the playroom, and Apollo calls out for Vincent once, in case the knight returned early. The Capras are a large family, and the older man thinks nothing of bouncing Orion on his knee or crouching to speak with him if they cross paths in the garden.

“Make a tower.” Orion says, more to himself than Apollo. He’s seated on the floor, surrounded by beautifully smooth, birch blocks. Apollo sits picking up a triangular one to study it; this is the same set he and Indrid played with as boys. He remembers the feel of them, the smell of opening the toy chest, wood warmed by the sun.

The playroom has changed since then. No longer drab, no longer stuffed with portraits of kings long dead. Instead, each of the four walls is painted to match a time of day; dawn, afternoon, dusk, and night. Orion’s back is to the night wall, making him look as if friendly hedgehogs are convening on him from the painted grass.

Apollo’s heart twinges and he wills his ribs to close around it, crush it. The boy is an impediment on the way to the throne. He must not become attached to him, see him as anything more than a potential tool or bargaining chip.

Orion is stacking rectangles haphazardly. They keep falling down after six or so block, and he’s huffing and pouting at them more each time.

“If you want it to be taller, you must widen the base. Honestly, did my brother teach you nothing?”

Orion cocks his head,confused.

Apollo sighs, removing his outer robe and rolling up his sleeves, “Watch closely.”

He starts with two rows of ten, then of nine, then eight, the boy gradually disappearing behind them the taller they get. When he’s hit the top rows, Orion stands and wanders around to join him, eyes wide and smile bright.

“There. See how much more stable this is? I could make it as tall as I please using the same principle.” He glances at the boy, “why do you want it to be tall in the first place? A small stack of blocks is no impressive feat of engineering.”

“Dragon.”

“Excuse me?”

Orion picks up a stuffed dragon from the floor and lets out a piercing yell as he rams it into the tower. The bricks fall in a clatter, the boy laughing uproariously the whole time.

Apollo wants to be furious. As it is he is confused, first by the action and then by the emotion it stirs in him.

He remembers taking turns with Indrid to knock the blocks down, the two of them seeing if a troll at the bottom or dragon at the top made the bigger disaster.

“Again!” Orion claps his hands together.

“You really are a little monster, aren’t you.” Apollo mutters, but does not feel the venom he meant to put into the words.

Orion drums his hands on his knees and then crawls over to watch the construction. Apollo widens the base more, making the structure more a true pyramid.

“There, it would take you a siege engine to destroy that.”

His nephew accepts the challenge, ramming the dragon into it and sending the blocks cascading once more.

“Again!”

“Very well. But this time, you must assist me.”

The eclipse comes and goes and neither of them notice it, moving from destroying the towers many times over to seeing if they can build a fortress for the conquering dragon out of the wreckage.

Apollo figures that is teaching the boy the realities of war, in case any asks him why he was wasting his time in such pursuit.s

Footfalls hurry down the tiled hallway and the door flies open. Indrid stands in it, his knight behind him.

“Oh thank goodness.”

“Dada!” Orion runs as fast as little legs allow and hugs first Indrid, then Duck.

“I am so sorry my treasured one, there was a mix up and no one came to watch you.”

“Yes” Apollo stands, draping his robe over his arm, “the foolish child though I was you and waylaid me when I was looking for Vincent.”

“If you laid so much as a finger on him-” Indrid bites.

“Dragon attacked the castle!” Orion yells gleefully, then turns to Apollo, making grabbing hands in the hair, “up? I dragon now?”

“It…seems you got along.” His brother still looks ready to break his fingers, which would be admirable were it not unnecessary.

“Indeed. I taught him the finer points of defense construction. Now that you have returned, I can turn my attention to more important things.”

Indrid scoops the boy into his arms, “Thank you. For watching him.”

Apollo turns, pulling on his robe, “Just do not expect me too again.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s not sulking. Sulking is what one does when one is upset, and Apollo is not upset. Vincent being out on a date with someone from the city does not upset him in the slightest.

A stuffed dragon lands on his face and he growls, whipping his head to the side.

Orion, on tip toe, is peering at him over the edge of the bed.

“Play dragons?” The boy seems to sense his mood and is already looking like he regrets throwing the toy onto him.

He picks it up. It would be pleasant to rip the head off.

Then again, perhaps his nephew will let him take a turn as the beast, and he can knock some blocks over himself. That would be supremely satisfying.

“Yes, let us shore up our defenses once more.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

After that, the boy seeks him out nearly daily, slipping from under the watchful eye of knights and nannies to demand Apollo enable his dragon-based havoc.

He learns that “Be dragon” means Orion wants him to lay on his back and balance him on his feet, holding his hands as needed so he can pretend he is flying. He decides to use the moments to discuss the finer points of offensive attacks, as well as taking an enemy by surprise. He doubts the boy takes much in, too busy giggling and roaring, but surely no one will think twice about once prince preparing another to lead armies.

One day, he finds his nephew has been given a small, felt sword. This results in Apollo being given the dragon toy, then chased about the room by the small knight. When he is caught, he takes to falling about dramatically, bemoaning his fate, cursing his luck. Orion thinks it is hilarious.

“Now” he says after a particularly drawn-out death scene, his eyes still closed, “you must remember, little drake, to check that your enemies are thoroughly vanquished. Indeed, your great great great great grandfather was brought low when his enemy faked his death andAH”

Orion’s means of checking whether he’s dead turns out to be hurling his whole body onto Apollo’s torso and hugging him. He’s laughing as he does. Apollo puts his arms around him, laughing as well.

The truth is not often an easy thing to handle. His father insists it is often the harshest things that are true.

Apollo knows two of them at once.

One: Orion is now the second person other than himself he would truly die for.

Two: he will never harm this boy. Even if Apollo tries for the throne, he will find some other way.

The door creaks open and he sits up, Orion still in his arms.

“Hello your highness” Vincent smiles at Orion, “and your other highness.”

“You saw nothing.” He cannot bear the thought of someone like Vincent thinking him soft, thinking him weak.

“If you insist. But I must say, that is a pity. If I saw what I thought I did, it made me happy to see.”

“Ah.” Apollo looks at his nephew as the boy waves at Vincent.

“Indeed, since his father and knight are at a function, and his night attendant is delayed, I was coming to offer to read him a story until bed.”

Orion shrieks in excitement and hurries toward the bedroom. It takes some coaxing and bargaining to get him to change into his pajamas, but the two of them–if he’s honest, mostly Vincent–get him settled into bed.

He should leave, but when Vincent pats the space on the other side of him, he sits down on the soft, butterfly-patterned comforter, shoulder to shoulder with his knight.

Apollo is not cut out to be an uncle. But he’s certainly starting to enjoy it.

#vinlo #apollo cold #vincent/apollo

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raveneira · 2 months ago

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Just thought about how Sarada may have unlocked her powers and there are layers to her focusing on Boruto. Yes she cares very much for him and felt awful for what was happening but I think it's also because of how this impacted the village she loves. Because it's not just that Boruto is no longer Boruto but that they believe he killed his dad and think of him as an ungrateful and evil person, which the real Kawaki is also not. But the layers in how other people think of Boruto makes it difficult for Sarada to be cool with anyone. If someone starts saying something about him then it becomes more upsetting because she gets taken out of the moment that may have felt normal. For someone who wants to be hokage this would be devastating. I'm still confused as to why that isn't expressed through her connection to Naruto--maybe that will be in the flashback? Or maybe she knew that there was no way Kawaki would've actually done anything to hurt Naruto? IDK but it would be so nice to get a flashback more about this. And hey if we get a conversation with Kawaki then we can see what's up because she didn't seem beyond angry like she would an enemy it was more like two people who disagreed talking to each other. I'd like an updated team 7 Boru fight tbh.

Well unfortunately this chapter indeed did pretty much cement the fact that it was primarily because of Boruto.

Her initial awakening was because of how cruel omnipotence was and Boruto not catching a break, which is bad enough on its own but it gets worse.

She does reflect on her own weakness, all her failures and being unable to do anything when things got really bad, which is good that she acknowledged that because it was long overdue.

However the chapter opened with these two pages which focuses primarily on romance before we get Sarada acknowledging her weakness above, the two pages before it sadly undercut this acknowledgement here but as I said it gets worse.

There two pages didnt need to be here, whether she does or doesnt like Boruto, whether she does or doesnt think about romance is irrelevant, its only relevant if thats what your implying is the source of her strength, her reason for for finally being able to tap into this power, because shes ‘acknowledging’ and ‘accepting’ her feelings for Boruto which may or may not be romantic, we wont know until she says what those feelings are herself, but lets assume the worst case scenario is true, then this is a terrible look for her.

She mentions wanting to become Hokage and wanting to protect everyone, but its immediately undermined by her linking that to her feelings for Boruto, because she specifically brings up her uneasiness about Sumire’s confession and her own feelings for Boruto as things she needs to accept about herself, feelings that she rejected and by extension held back her own power.

In short, in order to unleash her full power the only thing that was holding her back was her not admitting how she really felt about Boruto, because she says herself that she purposefully avoided the topic of romance and whether or not she liked Boruto to focus on her Hokage dream, and by doing so she was unable to bring out her full strength, meaning fighting for everyones sake in the village and her dream of becoming Hokage WASNT enough, she wasnt passionate enough about that for her to unleash her true power.

No, it took Yodo telling her its OK to use her power for more than just the greater good, its OK if she only uses her power for Boruto, and THATS when she unleashed her MS.

In short unfortunately thats the narrative thats being presented by Ikemoto, he made it abundantly clear that her Hokage dream and protecting her comrades/family/village was not enough for her to unleash her full power, NONE of that motivated her to go all out, because in her own words she said thats all shes been focusing on this whole time, the only thing she was rejecting was romance and liking Boruto, as soon as she stopped rejecting that and embraced it boom, she goes all out, after being told its ok to only fight for him and not just the greater good, thats when she finally unleashed her full power.

And its a shame honestly, you could argue well similar happened with Sasuke but Sasuke wasnt Naruto’s ONLY motivation and it wasnt about romance either, it was about his best friend, his closest bond, the only semblance of family he had, the only other person who understood the loneliness he felt.

But it was also his dream to become Hokage completely unrelated to Sasuke, he wanted to be acknowledged by everyone to gain everyones attention because of his loneliness from being an orphan and rejected by everyone, he wanted to prove himself, then later his motivation evolved to wanting to find a way to create true peace in the world and end the cycle of hatred, even if he said how can he become Hokage if he cant save one friend, again, Sasuke wasnt not his primary motivation and it wasnt about romance, but him just genuinely wanting to save his friend, and as an aspiring Hokage, if he couldnt even save ONE friend how was he ever gonna be able to save anyone else?

This is why Sarada is such a massive disappointment, because her dream and now even her power is completely tied and dependant on Boruto, dont believe it? These are KKs own words, the guy with future sight who knew what would happened and needed to happen for these results.

In order for Sarada to get her MS, Boruto could not be involved, if he was, she NEVER would’ve awakened it, this is coming from the guy who can see infinite possibilities and he saw NONE where she would awaken it if he got involved.

He makes it clear that Yodo needed to die, her death and speech to Sarada was critical to her reawakening her MS, and Yodo’s speech that pushed Sarada over the edge was that it was ok to use her power only for Boruto.

Meaning when Boruto is involved [in person] Sarada will not progress because she will not be pushed to take action because Boruto will always take control and she’ll stand back

And when Boruto aint involved he still hinders her, because the only way she WILL go all out is if she allows herself to only fight for Boruto and accepts her feelings for him, accepts that in order to achieve her Hokage dream and protect everyone she HAS to embrace her feelings for Boruto, because fighting for the greater good, her family, her friends, and her village isnt enough.

So as much as we all who actually cares about her writing WISH Boruto and whether or not she likes him was her primary motivation, Ikemoto is going OUT OF HIS WAY to make that the case.

And that is incredibly tragic and such a disservice to her character, the one who said delivering lunchboxes to everyone was unrealistic so she decided to become Hokage so she could be there for everyone the way Naruto was for her, but sadly Ikemoto has completed discarded that, and instead all we’re left with is this.

But the layers in how other people think of Boruto makes it difficult for Sarada to be cool with anyone. If someone starts saying something about him then it becomes more upsetting because she gets taken out of the moment that may have felt normal. For someone who wants to be hokage this would be devastating.

Sadly we’re not shown that tho so you cant even claim if thats the case or not, besides who said they have to talk about Boruto? You telling me Sarada cant talk about anything else? She cant talk to Chocho about how her day was? Whats going on a home? Go have lunch and just talk about anything? Their hobbies? Their interests? How things are going with Hima and her training?

So if we go by that logic then that means Sarada LITERALLY cant talk about anything but Boruto, shes INCAPABLE of interacting with anyone if their not on Boruto’s side, Naruto didnt like ppl who bad mouthed Sasuke either but that didnt make him completely cut all ties with them so why does Sarada have to? Naruto was able to interact with his friends and his comrades and not bring Sasuke up so again WHY would this be an issue with Sarada? UNLESS she doesnt wanna have a relationship with anyone if she cant talk about Boruto, she doesnt care about anything else, not even just asking her bestie how shes doing or visiting Inojin in the hospital after nearly dying, she just DOES NOT CARE.

Maybe she does care, but we’ll never know, because its not shown, so all we’re left have to go on is what IS shown and at the moment its that she doesnt care to have a relationship with anyone she cant talk to about Boruto.

Team 10 didnt talk to Hima about Boruto until she brought it up herself, they were all talking to her about how her training was coming along, so it’d be no different for Sarada because as we’ve seen even when Hima defended Boruto they were all still on her side, so why should we believe they’d just shun Sarada if they can still accept Hima even if they dont understand how she could support her fathers killer?

Sorry, I know what you said makes perfect sense, but thats sadly not whats being presented in the narrative, atm its presented purely as Sarada’s own choice to cut ties with everyone because SHE doesnt want to be involved with them if they dont side with Boruto.

I'm still confused as to why that isn't expressed through her connection to Naruto--maybe that will be in the flashback? Or maybe she knew that there was no way Kawaki would've actually done anything to hurt Naruto? IDK but it would be so nice to get a flashback more about this.

Im just as confused as you are, but sadly it doesnt seem like it will, this chapter was the perfect time to address all that and it was spent primarily yapping about accepting her feelings for Boruto, not even a mention of wanting to save her own danm dad which is CRAZY.

And hey if we get a conversation with Kawaki then we can see what's up because she didn't seem beyond angry like she would an enemy it was more like two people who disagreed talking to each other. I'd like an updated team 7 Boru fight tbh.

True, even when she thinks back to when Kawaki attacked Boruto she doesnt really act particularly resentful about it, even when they got heated in the Hokage office Sarada was just annoyed with him rather than outright furious, shes more frustrated than actually hateful of him so thats a good sign atleast that she MIGHT be open to hearing his side of things if shes able to put aside her bitterness over what he did and actually TRY to understand what really happened.

I mean we still dont even know if she knows Naruto is actually alive or still believes hes dead, we dont know if Ada told them the real truth, Ikemoto just left all that completely unaddressed so we dont even know if her anger is based on lies or the truth, if its lies then obviously she’d be mad at him for killing her idol, but if its the truth then why would she hate him like many in this fandom claims she does? if she knows Kawaki just sealed Naruto away to keep him safe then how do you even be mad at that? Sure its extreme but at the same time her idol is safe thanks to that which even if she disagrees with his methods she could atleast agree with the sentiment [keeping Naruto safe]

But unfortunately, like many other things, this is never addressed, so all we can do is speculate atp.

#boruto manga #manga spoilers #rave responds #anti-bsa

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where-theres-smoak-2 · 1 year ago

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Loki Novel 1x3 Sylki Thoughts

So Loki novel update, I've just finished reading the chapters covering 1x3 and honestly I loved every page, every word of it. For me it was really beautiful watching Sylki's relationship evolve over 1x3 and it was even more beautiful reading it because you had that extra level of their inner thoughts and let me tell you there are some real Sylki gems in these chapters. Fair warning this one is going to be a bit longer than my last post because there is a lot more to cover. Obviously spoilers for season 1 and the novelisation, so lets jump in.

So this first part is less Sylki related and more just Sylvie related but I thought it was a small but interesting insight into just how being hunted by the TVA has effected her. This is a description she gives right after she steps through the timedoor into the TVA.

Circular lights glowed against the dull concrete of the ceiling. They looked like eyes to Sylvie. So many eyes. Watching.

She had finally done it.

She had finally broken into the TVA.

... The voice on the PA system said, All minutemen to the armory. Protect the timeline. The words almost made Sylvie want to scream, but she didn't. Instead, she tied her hair back, as she always did when she was preparing for a fight. (pgs 185-186)

A couple of things caught my attention here, the first was how she describes the lights as looking like eyes and the feeling of being watched. It's a seemingly irrelevant observation but it shows us how after being hunted and chased by the TVA for eons Sylvie is constantly on edge and always feels like she is being watched. Something as normal as lights become something that gives a feeling of being unsafe and threatening.

Then you have the line about how hearing the PA system saying 'protect the timeline' makes Sylvie want to scream. Again its just three little words but they bring out such a visceral reaction in Sylvie because of what they meant to her. Protecting the timeline is what lead to her being taken from her home and family, that lead to her entire timeline being destroyed and to her being hunted her whole life. So its no wonder that those words made her want to scream and got her revved up for the fight that was to come. But this passage did make me feel real bad for Sylvie and it was just a description of her surroundings.

The next part I want to talk about is right after Loki interrupts and confronts Sylvie outside the gold elevator.

He pointed his knives toward her. " A few questions," he said calmly.

Sylvie sighed. "Have you really got nothing else better to do?" She walked slowly toward him, and they circled one another like predators fighting over the same carcass. (pgs 188-189)

This imagery of them fighting over the same carcass is intriguing. I think the carcass is a metaphor for the TVA, that is what they are both fighting over. It's interesting to me because they are both fighting each other, and Sylvie sees Loki as an obstacle to getting what she wants. But really they both want the same thing, are both fighting for the same thing, to get to whoever is behind the TVA (at this point they believe its the timekeepers) and make them pay for stealing their lives from them. They just haven't figured out yet that they are both fighting for the same goal.

I also think it is interesting that in this simile Loki and Sylvie are described as the predators considering they both see the TVA as this all powerful, omnipotent organisation, you would think the TVA would be the predators. But ultimately this simile does come to pass as the TVA is torn apart by Sylvie and Loki, they are the ones that bring HWR and the TVA down making them the true predators and the TVA is indeed the carcass.

Ok next. Sylki have just fallen through the timedoor onto Lamentis-1 and are both scrambling for the tempad and we get this little moment.

He couldn't let her get it. It was the only thing connecting the two of them, his only asset. It was a thing she wanted. And Loki knew that the way to keep someone close was always to hold on to whatever it was they wanted. (pg 191)

Yeah Loki really is down bad for Sylvie he just hasn't realised it yet. Jokes aide though, I do think that this shows that Loki not only still feels a connection to Sylvie but also wants to maintain that connection, he clearly still sees her as his way forward, his destiny.

However this also sheds alot of light on his past manipulations and actions in previous films, and its really rather sad. He's learnt that the way to keep people close to him is to hold onto what they want. Thor wanted to protect earth as it was Jane's home so Loki takes New York hostage not because he wants to rule but so that he can keep his brother close. I think its the same with the tesseract, he knows its something Thor and Odin want so they can keep it safe in Asgard's vaults, so to keep them close he takes it. Obviously I don't think that is his only motivation for doing those things but this line does make me think it was a contributing factor, if so then I think its really sad that Loki feels like he has to manipulate those he cares about into staying close to him, that he doesn't believe that they will choose to be around him because they love him.

Speaking of Loki and Sylvie fighting over the tempad, Loki apparently was enjoying himself to start with:

It was quite fun, he decided. Fighting another Loki. (pg 193)

However he also seems to grow tired of it really quickly and seems to get frustrated that she doesn't want to team up.

"Fine," said Loki, quite tired of being made fun of by a Loki who didn't even want to be called Loki. (pg193)

"Fine!" she said, snapping around and drawing her sword.

Instantly, Loki drew his knives. But exhaustion took over him. This felt like deja vu. He sighed deeply. "Look," he said, "are we really about to do this here? Again?" (pg 198)

"I don't know. A truce?"

The fugitive variant scoffed as if this was the most insane idea she'd ever heard of. (pg 198)

At some point he had put his knives away, uninterested in fighting. (pg 199)

I think him getting tired of fighting her so quickly and being the first one to over a truce goes back to what I said in my last post about Loki seeming to have some level of respect for Sylvie because she is a Loki variant and he feels some kind of connection to her because of that. Speaking of the offer of a truce its, again, interesting that Loki offers one but Sylvie finds the idea insane and how I think that also links back to the difference in the way Loki and Sylvie feel about the Loki identity. To Sylvie the idea of accepting a truce with a Loki is insane, but for Loki its the very fact that they are both Loki variants that he feels he can offer a truce.

The question of what makes a Loki a Loki comes up alot in the first few chapters that cover 1x3. There's also alot of exploration of how Sylvie and Loki are similar and how they are different and how that plays into their individual identities as well as how it relates to the Loki identity.

One of the most obvious differences between Sylvie and Loki is that Loki is proud to be a Loki whereas Sylvie has rejected the Loki identity, which makes sense for her as being a Loki is what led to her being captured and subsequently hunted by the TVA. So of course she would take a new name and make a new identity for herself, however this rejection of the Loki identity by Sylvie is something that clearly confuses Loki.

"Don't ever call me that," she said, circling him like a lioness.

"Tech-savvy?" said Loki, a little confused.

"No," she snarled. "A Loki." (pg 193)

"I'm sorry," said Loki, "but I'm not calling some faded photocopy of me 'Loki'."

"Good," she said, totally unfazed by the insult, "'cause that's not who I am anymore. I'm Sylvie now." (pgs 201-202)

"It's not very Loki-like."

"Yeah? said Sylvie. "What exactly makes a Loki a Loki?"

"Independence. Authority. Style." said Loki, pleased he could sum up his own nature so succinctly. But Sylvie wasn't having it. (pg 202)

"I'd never have done that." Loki stopped walking.

Sylvie didn't pause. "Yeah?" she said. "Well, I'm not you." (pgs 202-203)

It's kind of funny that Loki tries to insult and get at Sylvie by calling her a faded photocopy of a Loki but Sylvie really couldn't care less. It does seem like Loki really struggles with this idea that Sylvie has chosen a new identity and name and I couldn't help wondering why it bothered him so much, why he's so put out that she is not the same as him and I do have a theory on that. I think its because he's been told over and over, and particularly by the TVA, who he is, what his nature is and how that's written in stone and who he is meant to be, how he can't change. But then he meets a variant of himself that has built themselves a whole new identity and is choosing who they want to be as opposed to being told who they are. It's like meeting Sylvie has shined a torch on all the lies he's been told about himself that he has come to believe.

Another way the novel highlights the difference between the life Loki had versus the life Sylvie had is by mentioning several times that Loki feels exhausted whilst Sylvie is full of energy.

Then she kept on running. Where does she get this endless energy? thought Loki. (pg 196)

He tried to catch his breath. He hadn't run like that in a long time. His chest burned. (pg 197)

Loki was exhausted, but Sylvie didn't seem to have lost any of her energy. (pg 203)

This shows how Loki lived a life of luxury and relative safety as a Prince of Asgard. He is used to comfort. Whereas Sylvie has had to learn to always be aware and on the move and thus has a constant high energy, she's never had the luxury of taking life slow or taking a moment to gather herself because for her stopping for a breather could mean death.

As different as their upbringings were though, they are still similar in many ways and being variants of each other means despite being strangers they also already know the other really well. Because of this they are also able to figure out each other's motive's really quickly and we get this interesting to and fro where they are both kind of one upping the other and catching the other out. Like when Loki immediately figures out that Sylvie is trying to enchant him:

Then he felt the fugitive variant's hands around his neck. He flinched, then realised she wasn't trying to choke him. Her touch was light, and a faint thrumming came from her fingertips. When he met her eyes, he saw that she was in a state of deep concentration.

"What are you doing?" he asked her.

"What are you doing?" she echoed.

"You're trying to enchant me?" said Loki. He was still panting. "It won't work." (pgs 197-198)

I really loved this moment when I watched it in the show, there was that underlying energy and tension to it and I loved how their silhouettes made the shape of a heart. Reading the scene in the novelisation reminded me of just how much I loved it in the show. Side note but I do find it kind of funny that at first Loki thought Sylvie was trying to choke him, makes sense so far all she's done is try to fight him. But I love the way he describes her touch and the way her magic feels, it sounds like it feels pleasant to him.

Another instance of them being able to suss each other out pretty quick is when Sylvie figures out Loki's motive for saving her when they were running from the falling asteroids.

"Well you're full of it because you need me to get that thing recharged. That's the only reason you saved me out there."

Takes a Loki to know a Loki. (pg 199)

Them knowing each other so well also means they know how to get under the others skin. There are a few instances where they take digs at each other and are put out by the others comments.

"But now I see," he said panting, "you lack vision."

The words got under Sylvie's skin. She did not lack vision. She had never lacked vision. Vision was what had gotten her this far. (pg 189)

"So naturally," she said, "you went to work for the boring, oppressive time police."

"I don't work for them," said Loki, a little wounded. (pg 202)

"Okay," she said, holding out one hand and wriggling her fingers. "Hand it over."

Loki laughed. "Pitiful," he said. "I'm not giving it to you. You're going to have to try harder than that."

He seemed to have gotten under her skin. She marched past him, her mouth tight. (pg 204)

I think them being so different in some ways and coming from very different backgrounds whilst also knowing themselves and therefore each other so well and knowing how to push each others buttons, creates this really interesting dynamic and fun banter between them. Eventually even they begin to notice the similarities between them.

Sylvie watched. It didn't seem like Loki could resist a good fight. Maybe they weren't so different after all. (pg 226)

Ok now we are at the really good part, the train scenes. Trust me when I tell you as amazing as these scenes are in the show they only get better here in the novel, there are parts that made me feel all warm and fuzzy and there were some parts that stabbed me right in the heart. This is also where I think we see a big shift in the dynamic of Sylki's relationship and this shift comes when the subject of their mothers come up.

They sat forward, their elbows on the table, staring each other down, their eyes in a duel that neither could break.

"My mother," said Loki, not able to stop the tenderness from leaking into his voice.

This seemed to disarm Sylvie. She glanced away. She swallowed. Then, slowly, she turned her head back to Loki and looked at him- really looked at him. "What was she like?" she asked. Softly. Sincerely. (pg 214)

I love that line about their eyes in a duel neither could break, it really captures that intense chemistry and eye contact they have in that scene. But I also do think its interesting that its the mention of Loki's mother that makes Sylvie drop her guard a little and actually look at Loki, to see him as more than just an obstacle in her way. I think hearing that tenderness in his voice, which by the way is so adorable and sweet I always loved the relationship he had with his mother, makes Sylvie see him as a person, he's not just an annoying Loki but a son who clearly loves his mother. In response to this she herself then becomes softer and more sincere when talking to him. Then the subject of Sylvie's mother comes up.

"Hang on a second. So, tell...tell me about your mother."

"I barely remember her," said Sylvie wistfully. "Just blips of a dream at this point."

Loki looked into her eyes. There was real sadness there. Real grief. He remembered his own mother. Just like this train was hurtling toward the ark, he was hurtling toward losing her. (pg 215)

Just like Loki talking about his mother made Sylvie really look at Loki and really see him for the first time, hearing Sylvie talk about her mother makes Loki stop and really study Sylvie, he sees her sadness and her grief and that makes him think about his own sadness and grief, that line about how he was hurtling towards losing his mother really is a gut punch, I mean pull my heart right out because it would've hurt less. However it is interesting because here we are seeing Loki relate to Sylvie, empathising with her and it also makes him reflect on his own life.

"You know," he said, "when I was young, she'd do these little bits of magic for me. Like turn a flower into a frog. Or cast fireworks over the water."

This time Sylvie did not look away.

"It all seemed impossible," he continued. "But she told me that one day I'd be able to do it, too, because..." He paused, his voice trailing off. "Because I could do anything," he finished. Yes, he had been lucky. He knew that now. (pgs 215-216)

Seeing Sylvie's sadness and her admit she no longer really remembers her mother makes Loki realises how lucky he really was, he had a mother that doted on him, that believed in him and who took the time to teach him magic. This next bit I really do love and that is Loki's reaction to seeing Sylvie sad.

Sylvie nodded, but she looked sad. She stared off into the distance.

"You wanna see?" said Loki, hoping to cheer her up. He held up a hand. Out of his palm, fireworks crackled and exploded in miniature, making a delicate bouquet of light and color. (pg 216)

When I saw the scene in the show I thought that Loki made the fireworks because he was thinking of his mother and also because he wanted to show off a little because he was trying to impress Sylvie. I loved the scene because it was just so sweet and tender and was a side of Loki we hadn't really seen before. Seeing, here in the novel, that he did the fireworks because he could see that Sylvie was sad and wanted to cheer her up adds a whole new level of 'aww cute' to the scene. I'm really looking forward to going back and watching that scene again with this added context. I think that is what makes reading the novel so fun is it is giving me all this new context to scenes which makes rewatching the show feel like a new experience again.

But Loki using the fireworks to attempt to cheer Sylvie up is also interesting because, firstly, it shows that he is capable of feeling compassion and empathy for another person despite being portrayed as being a very selfish and uncompassionate person in the past. Secondly it shows that even in this short amount of time that Loki has known Sylvie he has come to care about her enough that he doesn't want to see her sad. Already he just wants her to be ok.

A couple of other small details to note, is that throughout this bonding scene there is quite a bit of focus on them keeping eye contact and them looking at each other. The other thing of note is the way the fireworks are described as a bouquet, this makes me think of first dates and how you might give someone a bouquet of flowers, maybe its just me but this train scene always gave me first date vibes.

So now lets talk about love. Yes we are at the Love is hate, Love is Mischief conversation Sylki have and again this a scene that only gets better when you read the novel and get that insight into what the characters are actually thinking and feeling.

"What was that?" He pretended to write. "Love is...Love is... hate."

"Oh, shut up," said Sylvie.

Loki smiled with amusement and disappeared the paper and quill in a spray of green light.

Sylvie looked like she was trying not to find his joke funny, but she still smiled, ever so faintly. (pg 218)

It's nice to see Sylvie starting to let her guard down a little. As I said earlier, it really is during the train scene that we see Sylki's dynamic begin to shift. Whereas before they were very hostile towards each other and would look for ways to get under the others skin, here we see them actually enjoying each others company. What is even more interesting is that right before this we get this inner thought from Loki.

Sylvie stared at him. She looked unimpressed. Did she have to be so serious all the time? He thought a change of subject might help. (pg 218)

Just like how when he saw her sad he tried to cheer her up, now Loki is actively trying to get her to loosen up, to relax and have some fun and again I just find that interesting that even at this point he cares enough about her to want her to be happy and to feel safe and relaxed. Its also interesting that the subject that ends up being brought up is Love. Especially as this conversation seems to lead Loki to a bit of a realisation about his feelings.

"Managed to maintain quite a serious long distance relationship with a postman whilst running across time from one apocalypse to another."

Loki laughed. She was- genuinely- very funny. He almost...liked her. (pgs 218-219)

Loki has this realisation that he might actually like Sylvie, with the emphasis on the word like it makes me think its less like as a friend and more like in a romantic way and what's fascinating is that not long after this revelation he begins to become uncomfortable with the subject of love.

Sylvie didn't take her eyes off him. She raised her eyebrows like a question. "Love is mischief, then," she said.

Loki swallowed, the bubbles burning down his throat. "No," he said. "Love is..." The train rumbled along its tracks. The diamonds of purple sky had darkened slightly. "Uh... something I don't want to think about."

If in doubt, he thought, avoid the subject. That tactic had always served him well. (pg 219)

Now quick disclaimer, alcohol does not exist in this novel, if they were drinking alcohol in a scene in the show then it is substituted for something else in the novel. Because of this the line Loki says in the show 'something I might have to have another drink to think about' has been changed. Obviously they would had to have substituted it with a line that had the same meaning and sentiment behind it. They could have gone for something like 'something I need more time to think about' but they went with 'something I don't want to think about.' So Loki has had this realisation that he might like Sylvie, which is followed by a very personal and intimate conversation about love and then a flirtatious line from Sylvie and in his panic and confusion over these new feelings he is experiencing he slams on the brakes hard. It's straight to avoidance. I also think the imagery of the train rumbling and the sky darkening really shifts the tone of the scene, almost like Loki is turning away from the possibility of love and back to the lonely darkness of self isolation, but I could also be looking far too deeply into that.

It's after this that, in the show, Loki gets drunk and sings the Asgardian song to Sylvie, though in the novel he's not drunk just having fun, which not going to lie does come across as a little silly but I can look pass that. Sylvie has an interesting reaction to the song which she describes as 'mournful' and as something that sounded like a lullaby or funeral song.

"He had a beautiful voice, and the melody stirred something in Sylvie's chest, but she pushed all of that to the side. (pg 222)

This actually tells us alot about Sylvie and is another instance that shows the difference between Sylvie and Loki and their lives. Sylvie has this emotional reaction to the song Loki is singing and yet she pushes those feelings to the side, we see her do this alot, whereas Loki is often driven by his emotions such as attacking New York because of how hurt he was by his Father's lies etc, Sylvie very much is the opposite and will push those emotions aside so that she can focus on her mission. This is how she survives.

The atmosphere turned lively and jolly again. Loki smiled widely.

It must be fun to be so oblivious, thought Sylvie, glancing around the room nervously. (pg 222)

I get the sense that here, Sylvie is feeling some envy towards Loki, towards the fact that he can let loose and have fun, even when in the situation they've found themselves in, because he hasn't gone through the same experience and trauma that she has. I think she is envious of the life he had, the life that she could have had but missed out on because the TVA stole it from her.

Next I'm going to talk about the Love is a Dagger scene, and yes I've said it before, I'm saying it again, the novel only makes this scene better.

"Hey!" said Loki. "Change of subject. I thought of an answer." Suddenly he was standing closer to her, staring deeply into her eyes.

She bristled. "To what?"

"Your question." Loki stared into her eyes and the silence stretched on between them. "Love," he said, "is a dagger." Just like that, a dagger appeared in his hand, magicked and beautiful, the blade straight and shining. "It's a weapon to be wielded far away or up close. You can see yourself in it. It's beautiful." He turned the dagger's point toward his chest. "Until it makes you bleed. But ultimately, when you reach for it-"

Sylvie did reach for it. The handle was beautiful. It was right there. But it disappeared before she could take it in her hand.

"-it isn't real," she said, finishing his sentence. (pgs 224-225)

Let's talk about Loki here first because I think this metaphor he uses to describe love is very telling given the new context learned of him having the realisation that he may have feelings for Sylvie and then becoming uncomfortable with the subject of love. He clearly kept thinking about it after their conversation. But really what this metaphor says about Loki's view on love is really sad. Ultimately he sees love as a weapon that can be used against him, something that can make him bleed, something that will turn out not to be real. Something beautiful sure, but something dangerous none the less. It's sad because I think he has always felt unloved by everyone but his mother. Everyone has always seen the worst in him and he has felt like love is something you have to earn especially when it came to his father's love. I really do think that learning he was adopted, that his father lied to him, that he was a tool to be used, a monster in the tales Asgardian children were told. This all really messed with his head, he wanted his father's, his brother's love and instead he got wounded. If we go back a little, for a moment, to when Sylki were talking about their parents and how they were adopted, we have this:

"What? They told you?" He couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," said Sylvie. "Did they not tell you?"

"No," said Loki, trying not to get emotional. (pg 215)

Loki is so traumatised from learning that he was adopted the way he did that even just talking about the subject makes him emotional and he struggles with the knowledge that Sylvie's parents did tell her the truth. So it makes sense that he has a warped idea of what love is. It also makes sense that because he sees love as a weapon that can be used against him, that when he realised he might be catching feelings for Sylvie he rejected it and instead reminded himself how love can wound you.

When I first watched the episode I'll admit that I got a bit annoyed at Loki for getting drunk and breaking the tempad, as I didn't really understand why he would do that and the 'I'm hedonistic' excuse didn't really fly with me. But now I can't help but wonder if the real reason why he got drunk on the train was because he was so shaken by this realisation that he had feelings for Sylvie that his tactic for avoiding those feelings was to drown himself in drink and distract himself. It was a way of coping for him.

But lets go to Sylvie because her thoughts during Loki's love dagger speech were so interesting to me. It really does seem like she becomes mesmerised by the dagger, she is thinking about how beautiful it is and she wants to reach out and grab it. It really is like she's under a spell, bewitched by this dagger. The reason why that's interesting is because the dagger in this metaphor represents love. Love really isn't something Sylvie has experienced before, I'm sure her parents loved her, but she was taken from them so long ago that she barely remembers them so likely doesn't remember their love either. Because she has never experienced love she's never been wounded by it like Loki. So where Loki sees a dangerous weapon, Sylvie sees this shining new thing and its something that in the haze of the moment she is desperate to reach for.

Unfortunately this dagger metaphor tragically comes true for the both of them come the season end at the citadel, but I'd rather not think about that so lets move on.

Since the show aired I've seen too many posts in the main tag talking about how Mobius changed Loki but arguing that Sylvie didn't change him, that she didn't have any effect on his character growth at all. I always called bull on that personal but these next few parts I'm going to talk about, I think show just how Sylvie did influence Loki's growth. The first comes right after they have been thrown off the train and the tempad is broke, Sylvie is very understandably upset.

Did Loki feel a tiny twinge of remorse? Maybe a tiny one. But he wasn't going to stop arguing. (pg 229)

It's a very small moment, but its an important one. Remorse isn't really something Loki often feels so the fact that he is feeling it now when seeing Sylvie upset is significant. And there is more. After Sylvie screams and walks off to sit by herself Loki has this thought.

"Okay," he said, under his breath, walking to her. It wasn't in his nature to feel compassion, to see the perspective of another person- especially another Loki. It wasn't in his nature to feel remorse, either. But hey, it was the end of the world. Maybe the end of the world did something to you. (pg 230)

Earlier I talked about how Loki trying to cheer Sylvie up showed that he was learning compassion and learning to empathise with another person. Here we get the next step because now he is recognising that he is feeling compassion and that he is feeling remorse, he is also now able to see things from another person's perspective, he's able to understand why Sylvie is upset with him and actually feel remorse. Of course he blames it on the end of the world but really its Sylvie that has brought these new emotions out of him.

Here's another small but important moment.

He sat down tentatively beside her, on the mound of gravelly stone. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but he could endure it. (pg 230)

Loki is someone who enjoys comfort and who is very unlikely to put himself in any kind of uncomfortable position for the sake of someone else. Yet here we see him not only putting himself in discomfort but saying he'll endure it and once again it is for Sylvie, this is again a case of Sylvie being upset and for a reason that Loki himself can't yet fathom, he wants to make her feel better, even if that means sitting on an uncomfortable rock and trying to comfort her.

And the character growth just keep on coming with this next part.

"I just... need to know if I can trust you."

Again, Loki realised he was telling the truth. Not saying something to get his way. But saying something because he truly meant it.

It was a new feeling. (pg 233)

During his time with Sylvie not only has he experienced what it is to feels compassion, empathy and remorse he is also now learning truth. He says something because he actually means it and not just to manipulate someone to get his own way. What is also interesting is the potentially first meaningful thing he's ever said is on the subject of trust. Something else that I think is a bit of a foreign subject to Loki. He is rarely trusted and I don't know how much he trusts others, I think he's more of a rely on himself kind of guy. But here he is wanting to trust and to be trusted. Again he is feeling something new and again its Sylvie that has brought it out of him.

The subject of trust comes up again when they are entering the city, trying to get to the ark.

"Do we trust each other?" asked Sylvie.

"We do, and you can," said Loki. Trust wasn't normally something Loki thought about very much. But for better or worse, he and Sylvie were a team now. They needed to trust each other to survive. (pg 237)

Again this is showing the beginnings of change, not only is he thinking about trust, what trust is and what it really means to trust someone, but he is also actually choosing to trust. Right now its because he knows that they need to trust each other to survive but it is still a huge step for them both. He is also seeing them as a team now.

Something really interesting happens after this, when they are fighting their way through the city trying to reach the ark, and that is that Loki seems to become really tuned in to where Sylvie is often mentioning the feeling of her presence and they also often seem in sync with each other, one stops so does the other etc, not only that but he takes comfort in having her there, in having her on his team.

Loki stopped. He looked around, surveying which way would be best, and Sylvie did the same. Somehow they had really become a team. Even in this chaos, this comforted Loki. (pg 238)

Loki stared at it, feeling Sylvie's presence beside him. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was thinking. (pg 238)

People started screaming, running, and Loki ran too, feeling Sylvie's presence as she ran beside him. (pg 239)

To his right, Sylvie was fighting off yet another guard. "Just go," she said to Loki. (pg 240)

Loki ran the same way as the man, and Sylvie followed him. (pg 240)

Loki stopped. Sylvie stopped beside him. (pg 242)

Considering how much chaos is around them it would have been really easy for them to be separated and to lose each other. But there really is alot of focus in this passage on showing them side by side, or mirroring each other, of them being aware of where the other is and staying in sync with each other, they really are shown as a team and as working together.

Ok we are nearly at the end, I promise, just a couple more things I want to talk about. So this also caught my attention and that is that it seems like the more Loki gets to know Sylvie the more in awe and impressed he is of her. Like when she tells him how her enchantment works.

Loki shook his head. He was at least a little bit in awe of her. "And you call me a magician," he said. (pg 234)

He couldn't help but be impressed with the way she fought. She was all elegance and grace, all skill and fire. If they hadn't been in the middle of an apocalypse, he might've stopped to watch. (pg 241)

I mean he seems pretty whipped if you asked me, but I do find it amusing and sweet that he's so in awe of her that even in the middle of an apocalypse he is tempted to just stop and watch her fight.

The last thing I want to talk about is Loki's reaction to the ark being destroyed.

He didn't want to look at Sylvie. He couldn't stand to see the look in her eyes. All their hope- gone.

They were going to die here.

On Lamentis-1. A doomed moon. In a strange, otherworldly city surrounded by dust and fire.

Well, Loki found himself thinking, at least we're not alone. (pg 242)

I really do think this is the culmination of all the growth we see over the episode/chapters. Not just Loki's own personal growth but the growth of the Sylki relationship. At the start Loki was someone who thought about himself, Sylvie was a tool to help get him what he wanted. Sylvie saw Loki as an obstacle to be removed. Here though when the ark is destroyed Loki's first thought is of Sylvie. Not only that but he has come to care for her so much that he can't bear to look at her and see the look of despair in her eyes, just like he didn't want to see her sad, but here I think the emotion is deeper and more intense. Loki is also now talking about 'their hope' not his hope showing that he really does now see them as one unit, as a team. But I think the most significant part is the line about how at least they aren't alone. They believe they are going to die here but Loki is still taking comfort in having Sylvie with him.

I really did enjoy reading these chapters, there were so many moments that I loved and it felt good to be excited about Sylki again, it really did remind me of why I love them. I know this was a long one so if you have made it to the end thank you for reading. As soon as I finish reading the chapters for episode 4 I will post some more thoughts but for now let me leave you with this.

Her eyes were daggers, and she growled a little, like an upset puppy. (pg 213)

No notes I just thought it was really funny that Loki compares Sylvie to an upset puppy when she's angry.

#sylki #loki #loki x sylvie #sylvie #loki novel

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episodicnostalgia · 1 year ago

Text

Star Trek: The Next Generation, 122 (Apr. 25, 1988) - “Skin of Evil”

Teleplay by: Joseph Stefano & Hanna Louise Shearer Story by: Joseph Stefano Directed by: Joseph L. Scanlan

The Breakdown

Deanna Troi’s shuttle craft suddenly loses power on it’s way back to the Enterprise and she (along with her pilot) end up crash landing on a barren planet. Fortunately, Enterprise was in communications range when the shuttle went down, so the gang zips off to help. UNfortunately the planet is controlled by a quasi-omnipotent puddle of crude oil named Armus, who has a developed penchant for inflicting pain, and emotional turmoil in others; and he senses a prime opportunity to do just that.

As it happens, one of Armus’ vaguely defined abilities is to emit a forcefield around Deanna’s shuttle to stop her from being beamed to safety. Not yet aware of what-or-who he’s engaged with, Picard sends an away team comprised of Will Riker, Tasha Yar, Dr. Crusher, & Data, where they first encounter Armus as a black puddle that keeps blocking them from reaching Troi’s shuttle (it/he slithers in front of wherever the away team attempts to go). Eventually Armus re-forms as anthropomorphic garbage bag covered in tar, and threatens to kill anyone who attempts to save Troi. Since Tasha isn’t one to take shit from a villain-of-the-week, she bravely pushes forward… and is immediately killed.

Armus allows the away team to return to their ship (although still without Troi), where Dr. Crusher tries her best to revive Tasha, but to no avail; Lt. Yar is very dead. To make matters worse, the crew is also no closer to saving Troi. Indeed, at barely 15 minutes, the bulk of the episode has yet to play out, which effectively remains in a stalemate, as Armus psychologically and physically torments the next away team (but mostly Riker).

While Armus spares no opportunity to remind everyone of how evil he is, Troi slowly manages to pump him for information back in the shuttle wreckage, with the aid of her empathic abilities. Meanwhile, Worf notices that Armus’ anti-transporter forcefield seems to weaken slightly whenever he’s busy taunting Troi. The meaning of this isn’t initially made clear, but since the episode is starting to run out of time, Picard figures it’s safe to start wrap things up, and heads down to the planet for this week’s big philosophical showdown!

Upon beaming down, Picard offers himself to Armus in exchange for his crew’s safe release, but only after he’s been allowed to have a private conversation with Troi. For reasons that aren’t entirely clear, Armus agrees to these terms, giving Picard the opportunity he needs to figure out a solution. Troi explains that the Armus is a living manifestation of all the hate and rage (akin to a “skin of evil”, if you will) from some race that somehow had those traits removed from themselves, and then presumably discarded on this planet in the form of a sentient waste byproduct. It turns out his one weakness is receiving emotional validation over being abandoned, which is remarkably convenient. Armed with that knowledge, Picard unleashes an unrelenting barrage of sympathy in the manner that only a grumpy French dude (with an English accent) could deliver; using pretentious soliloquy, and verbose sentiment.

And it works! Armus feels so seen by Picard’s observations (namely that he’s just a sad and empty shell of a tar-monster), that he lowers his guard just enough for Worf to beam the survivors and Piccard back to the Enterprise. With everyone safe and sound (except for Tasha), the crew of the enterprise leave their exasperated foe behind, along with a warning buoy for future explorers to avoid the goopy incel stranded on the desert planet.

All-in-all, a close call, but another happy endin-

...oh wait, that’s right. You see, since the crew member who died also has a star billing in the opening credits, we actually have to spend some time showing the bridge crew in a state of grief (whereas if Deanna’s barely-mentioned pilot had croaked instead, we’d be halfway through the credits already). Picard holds a funeral wherein he plays a pre-recorded holo-message of Lt. Yar herself, which I guess must be a normal thing to do in the future. Her hologram proceeds to give a VERY long, personalized thorough message for each person in attendance. Data wonders aloud if he’s missed the point of this gathering, since he keeps thinking mostly “about himself and how empty life will be without Tasha”, and Picard is like “Nah, you’re pretty much dead on.” [No pun intended]

So… another happy ending, I suppose.

The Verdict

Honestly though, I’m with Data. ‘Empty’ is basically the only word to describe how I feel about this episode, and that’s a shame. It’s widely known that Tasha was only killed off because Denise Crosby asked to be released from her contract, but the writers could have chosen a more interesting episode to feature this story beat. The thing is, I actually appreciate that Tasha’s death wasn’t built up beforehand; I tend to fall in the school of thought that character deaths are often better served when they aren’t heavily projected or drawn out. The problem is everything else about ‘Skin of evil’ effectively amounts a nothing-episode, with very little to say, and even less to show for it.

Armus as a villain is… certainly a villain I guess, but his motivations and what drives him would leave me with more questions than answers, if only what little we did learn about him wasn’t so dull. Too much of the episode is spent on the incessant back-and-forth of Picard and Co. insisting they be allowed to save Troi, to be met with Armus regurgitating one insufferable tangent after another about how he won’t because it pleases him not to. Pretty much the only character who moves the story forward is Troi during her verbal sparring sessions with Armus, while everyone else effectively spins their wheels (I’ll give a few points to Worf though).

I don’t blame the cast for any of this though, as all my criticisms fall to the writing. In fact, most of the cast have some really solid moments whenever they’re given something to work with. Worf resisting his warrior impulses in order to take up Tasha’s mantle is well executed by Michael Dorn, as is Data’s confusion over grief (courtesy of Brent Spiner). Also, despite the fact that I didn’t find Troi’s scenes particularly compelling in-and-of-themselves, Marina Sirtis gives a strong performance, if only because she’s given something to do beyond serving as Picard’s personal lie detector.

The whole episode is such a squandered opportunity to tell a story that could have been one of this season’s (very few) highlights. Bearing in mind, this episode marks the first time in Star Trek history that a series regular dies without being brought back to life (not counting alternate realities or time travel). From the stories I’ve heard about the working conditions on the show, especially for the women cast members, I can’t say I blame Denise Crosby for wanting to leave. Still, there’s a selfish part of me that wishes she stayed until the later seasons when the show began to improve; there was just so much untapped potential for Tasha’s character.

1.5 stars (out of 5)

Additional Observations

So exactly how long ago had Tasha prepared that “in the event of my untimely death” holo message? She’s presumably known most of the crew for slightly less than a year, but had a full speech for each main character, as if she’d known them for considerably longer. I’m not saying she couldn’t have made close friends with the crew in that time, but that still means her recording must have been made fairly recently. Timing is everything, I guess.

Given Picard’s rigid adherence to following rules, and borderline obsessive code of honour, I would have half-expected him to stay on the planet with Armus. I wouldn’t even be all that surprised if there was an episode in season 2 where a corrupt Admiral calls out Picard’s actions from this episode, by reminding him that a “Starfleet Captain’s word is his bond”, and that he must return to Armus and be tortured for eternity, or give up his rank as captain. Of course, Picard would accept his fate because his devotion to Starfleet is absolute, but then Data would probably find a loophole in the rules somewhere, which the Admiral would have to begrudgingly accept. But seriously, you can’t tell me that premise is any less preposterous than a good chunk of season one.

Troi-SPIRACY: In an earlier post, I put forth a scenario that Troi has actually been faking her empathic abilities in order to get her lousy mom off her back, and now she’s in too deep to admit the truth. This episode would seem to refute that theory outright as evidenced by the use of her abilities on Armus, but she’s not fooling me! We mustn’t forget that Troi is a professional counsellor, who attended one of the most prestigious, and well funded academies in the galaxy. Clearly, she just used her training and experience to make some astute observations about Armus, and later attributed it to her ‘abilities’ in order to keep up the ruse. And I know what you’re thinking, “But Troi’s counsel has always seemed hiliarously antiquated in the past, almost as if it was a caricature 80’s pop psychology”; but I maintain that even that was all part of her deception. Think about it. Really THINK about it. What better way to trick everyone into believing you have superpowers than to draw attention away from them with questionable guidance? Then, having thrown everyone off the scent, all you need to do is to utilize your intellect and sharp deductive reasoning in moments of great need, and pass it off as an ‘empathic ability.’ NICE TRY Deanna! You may have everyone else fooled, but I see you for what your really are. A keenly proficient student of the human experience, and a valuable ally! Consider yourself exposed, you fraud!

Worf and Tasha were clearly flirting, right? That can’t just be me. If she hadn’t died, those two would have done the warrior tango for sure. Poor Worf. Oh well, I’m sure his future romances will all end less tragically.

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parlerenfleurs · 2 years ago

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Well, I watched Good Omens season 2, and not gonna lie, I think it kinda sucks.

Perhaps season 3 will be more interesting, but this season is... meh. It's cheesy, ill-directed, people's (side-characters) reactions don't make much sense or at least aren't presented well, and thus they're not believable. I felt like watching children play together, deciding as they go "And you're this and you'll do this and then..." without much care for consistency or well-rounded characters or narrative.

And furthermore (SPOILER AHEAD I'M SPOILING A LOT BEWARE YOU CAN STOP READING NOW OKAY? COOL TAKE CARE BYE), furthermore, then, that kiss made no sense to me. I'm happy to follow their feelings/character arc unfold, but come on. How heavily must they hammer it on?

Yeah we get it, Beelzebub and Gabriel are a parallel, they fall in love then fade to their happily ever-after in the most contrived way ever (why aren't they threatened with being removed from the Book of life? Does the dominion of Heaven and Hell, having created the whole damn universe at the behest of their so-called omnipotent god, not extend to one solar system over? Come on now. I thought the whole plan was to go somewhere Heaven and Hell wouldn't look for eloped deserters, but here they announce it! If anyone just needed to leave Earth to desert their respective armies with no consequences, everyone would do it).

Yeah, we get it, Aziraphale is still not ready to accept that Heaven is not what he thinks it is, and to be with Crowley's side, their side, unconditionally while Crowley is fully ready and wants nothing more, and has for a long time now. (And actually this is to me the only worthwhile theme that makes sense, because of course Crowley, having been cast away, doesn't have anything to lose anymore. Aziraphale, who can still be taken back as a good prodigal son, can't see how that's something Crowley doesn't want anymore, because the scales have fallen from his eyes already, because he has lost everything for real and can now see that both sides are just as bad.)

But?? Why kiss??? I liked that they are indeed not human and love in a different, non-physical way. And I suppose it's a luxury to feel that way, because now if I do want human love and queer kissing, well, I've got it portrayed beautifully elsewhere. But for Neil Gaiman to insist they're not humans, don't love like humans, and then do this? Doesn't feel very consistent to me. I ship them, of course I do, but words and gestures would have sufficed. Would have been not just enough but more in-character to me.

But well. I don't have the full author vision, perhaps the next page of the story makes this make more sense. I'm not convinced but I can be patient and give it a chance.

But this season's flaws are here to stay. Nina and Maggie's "romance" was... weird. First, Nina was kinda mean to Maggie. She didn't owe it to her to be all smiles and all that, but as a spectator I can't understand why Maggie is so hung up on someone who treats her that way, who is so utterly uninterested and dismissive. Second... Maggie was being creepy. I presume that was not the intention, but that's what the acting/directing, and the way the scenes/dialogues were set up that made me feel that way. She was transparently interested, and continued to bring it up even when it was clear Nina didn't care for it. She had to tell her in no uncertain terms and then Maggie still wanted to talk about it and know if it was her fault Lindsay was being an abusive jerk... WHY was everyone so invested in everyone else's love life? And why did everyone talk about it so readily? Doesn't anyone value their privacy? Why would Nina tell Crowley that Lindsay just broke up with her and why would she give her opinion on his love life so freely? When I have a broken heart and want to go home and cry I don't really feel the urge to refuse social engagements with acquaintances by telling them the naked truth about it, but maybe that's just me. I also don't feel like telling said acquaintances that they should really get their shit together because they look so much like a couple from a few meters away and a handful of moments witnessed. But maybe that's just me.

The only sane moment in this whole mess was when Nina and Maggie come to tell Crowley that they shouldn't have stuck their noses in their business and that it's nuts to expect someone who just broke up to get into another relationship, but then right on the heel of that they once again confidently declare this and that about Crowley's feelings and what he should do about it. Like, excuse me??? You have barely seen them both together or hell, apart, and suddenly you're a stage 5 close friend and are an expert on how things stand between them??

Also just generally the comedy was often heavy-handed, the in-jokes unsubtle, the romances formulaic, the pace torpid... I was frankly bored from the introduction of the first episode (I did hope it would get better, and it was at times, but not much), displeased with the retcon of their first meeting, and wondering where Gaiman's excellent writing had gone.

Also I do wonder what Crowley was even doing lugging piles of books around only to throw them carelessly in corners. Aziraphale should have been very upset about that. He took good care of the Bentley, there was no reason to trash his beloved bookshop.

I feel like I've mostly lost my time, and that's too bad. I imagine a lot of people are ecstatic about the "representation", but I would have loved more substance and less... I don't know... I don't even know what they were trying to do here.

#Good omens #go season 2 #good omens season 2 #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #go season 2 spoilers

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construingseacats · 2 years ago

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Umireread: Legend of the Golden Witch - Chapter 13: The Two Who Are Close

Sun, Oct 5 1986 - 7:00PM

The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.

And so we open once again on the servants. Similar to the last one we had, this one feels weird to me - fantasy scenes feel best when they’re partially true, having different connotations depending on how you read it (e.g. early scenes where you can read it as one of Shannon or Kanon being absent, Kinzo study scenes), or full fabrications like the fantasy murders we have to look forward to in future episodes. I’m not particularly gleaming anything interesting here - there’s some ruminating from Kanon over Shannon, but Genji and Nanjo talking about “where did Kinzo go? I hope we aren’t killed” doesn’t really contribute anything meaningful beyond misdirection as far as I’m aware.

It’s tempered immediately by the next line, but “he had approved of it instantly” is such a funny thing to say. “Babe, do you want to put a baby in me?” “YES MA’AM!”

I have to say, I feel that the writing here - giving characters big emotional moments right before they’re killed off - is a little… basic? Again, it’s the whole “he was one day from retirement” thing - it’s very cheap to add details like that to elicit more of an emotional response. It’s the kind of thing you’d expect in third-rate literature, not Umineko.

Episode 1 (and soon to be Umineko at large) has been dwelling a lot on having characters reduced to plot devices; humans muted down to digestible aspects. Eva here is dismissing Shannon as just “some servant girl”, completely ignoring the person that lies behind that interpretation. We’ve already seen it quite a bit with the layout of the family at the dinner table, the references to women being borrowed wombs for the family, and both George and Jessica being observed as successors to the family rather than kids with their own hopes and dreams outside of it.

I think part of this is indeed a parallel to Yasu’s thoughts on being perceived as furniture - after all, if that’s what she has been reduced to, why should the same not be true for others? However, I think it’s also reflective of the meta commentary of literature as a whole. In forgeries by less talented writers, this is exactly what happens - they fail to comprehend the infinite intricacies that lie behind every human, and unable to capture that with the skills that they lack, they reduce the characters to tropes or traits that they can portray at the cost of their humanity. Shannon is just some servant girl. Eva is just a girlboss. I’m just someone writing their thoughts on a visual novel. Why would there be anything more than that?

Yeah they really are leaning in to the “killed 2 days before retirement” angle, huh.

I’m hesitant to dismiss every case of hacky writing as being intentional from Yasu. Ryukishi’s work is phenomenal, but he’s not some sort of omnipotent savant who is actually writing 5 levels of meta around each moment of weak writing. Is Yasu, as a writer, unlikely to be proficient, and prone to resorting to cheap techniques? Yes, I’d say so. Is every moment like this an intentional reflection of that? I heavily doubt it. Unless there was a line where Shannon/Kanon was talking about writing as a hobby, and how they had a tendency to fall into cliches, I think we can just say this is weak stuff and move on.

That aside, I do think it’s worth pointing out that this scene is them talking about going on a fancy holiday to celebrate the new years. Almost like they’re about to inherit a good sum of money - as if they’d been offered parts of the 10 tons of gold for their assistance in the ongoing mystery - eh?

Moving on from the two who are close, we return to more suffering with Natsuhi. After dealing with everything else, she’s now thrust into a stressful leadership position, which no doubt exacerbates her problems. How unfortunate for her.

Once again, this is something only the servants could have done - but thanks to Battler Chessboard-thinking himself out of the answer, it doesn’t feel overly obvious.

I want to bring up the North Wind and the Sun again here, since I feel it’s relevant - with how much that fable has been pushed already, there’s no doubt that it’s a reflection of what’s going on. The game is telling you it is the servants. By all reasonable logic, it MUST be the servants. But that’s what the North Wind is telling you - so you grip your coat, you fight against it, you look for answers that prove it wrong. It’s only when the sun shines from the Golden Land, when you arrive at the answers yourself, that you let down your coat that insulates you from the truth.

I’ve clocked the use of “proved” here in white text that’s reminiscent of when Shannon having only half her face caved in “proved” that her body was real. I think this is another word to keep an eye out for - every time the white says it has “proved” something, should we be assuming the opposite?

While we know that the rigmarole with the chain is a fabrication, this line from Genji feels real - beyond being the veteran servant, Genji almost feels like a mastermind in this scene, supporting Yasu and making sure everything sticks to the plan. Don’t go alone - bring someone with you to make sure you have a tighter alibi, so that fingers can’t be pointed as readily. The fact that Genji said this out of “wariness” doubles down on this read.

In a sense, this confidence of the servants abiding to “don’t go alone, travel in pairs” also shows how mechanical they are with their approach to the whole situation. While the non-culprits are flailing and don’t know what to do, those responsible are sticking to the script and holding up remarkably well. There’s a clear divide between those who are lost in Episode 1 and those who have adapted, and it’s not hard to see what that line dividing them is.

There’s something to be said about how antagonistic the Umineko narrative is as a mystery, with the constant lies at every corner.

If it was simply using these stratagems as a gotcha, to be a difficult mystery for a reader to solve, this would be a terrible story. It’s the reasoning behind these antagonistic choices that makes Umineko the piece of literature that it is. I know lots of people who get frustrated at the antagonistic elements, who feel that the story is making fun of them, and conclude that it’s a bad story as a result. I hope that those people can one day return to it, overcome their presumptions, and see what the story really has to say about those elements.

And Kanon steals the award of “best facial expression” for Episode 1, it’s not even close. Beatrice sure does get the best expressions of everyone, huh?

And with George, we’re really cementing the themes of loss of innocence across Episode 1 - we’ve had all the kids reacting viscerally to losing their parents (well, except maybe Maria, unless you want to view her as having retreated fully into fantasy as a coping mechanism). I feel there’s a parallel to be drawn here between the loss that Yasu suffered - just as her innocence was forcibly stricken from her, so too have all the cousins been met with a fate more cruel than what they deserved. In a sense, those who have died are the fortunate ones; it is those who are left behind, who must deal with the grief, who are the unfortunate ones. And is that not how Yasu feels about her life as a whole?

I do wonder how, as Kanon, Yasu feels when she sees everyone so pained by these events. After all, the three older cousins are all potential love interests for her, so it’s not like she’s disinterested to their suffering. I feel like I would have liked to have seen the mask slip - for her to break down every so briefly at the others’ grief, even if painted as grief for Shannon; or if that would be too improper for furniture, then perhaps to have seen that in one of those servants-only scenes that didn’t have much else going for them. As with the discussion of Shannon being “some servant girl”, you lose so much of Yasu if you paint her as a coldhearted serial killer who has no emotions regarding what she does. I wish we had a little more of her here.

Hey, so remember that one comment we put to the side last chapter?

Well, great news Battler, you already have.

Unironically I feel like this might be one of the biggest hints for Episode 1 if you go back and read through it like a hawk - I’m not sure if Battler grabs anyone else by the collar in this episode, so it basically confirms the culprit, especially given Kanon is easily the most suspect from everything else going on.

And this chapter just fades to black instead of giving us the usual screen. Very odd. I’m not entirely sure why it does this - obfuscating the time could be useful for opening up more options on the mystery side of things, but given Kanon’s upcoming death is already the most suspect part of Episode 1, casting more uncertainty on it feels unnecessary?

I suppose it might be because we’re not jumping forward and continuing almost immediately from the last scene, but you still could have thrown up the fancy banner to mark the chapter end. Maybe this was originally a single, long chapter, retroactively broken here to split it up? Either way, I don’t think there’s anything meaningful to be gleaned from this transition, so let’s keep pressing forward. Or space bar, I suppose.

#umireread #umineko #umineko spoilers

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aeoki · 2 years ago

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Sandstorm - Pointless Death Game: Chapter 5

Location: Lesson Room Characters: Yuuta, Adonis, Kouga & Rei

TL Note:

The word for “hindrance; nuisance; interference” (邪魔) is written with the characters for ‘evil; wicked’ (邪) and ‘creature’ (魔).

Kouga: Alright…

Now that we’ve reconfirmed the significance of “SS”, let’s go back to practice.

I’m willin’ to do anythin’ if it means to win – to perform the music we wanna perform. Pretendin’ to be rabbits or whatever, I’ll do it.

Yuuta: Oh? You’re feeling up to it now? Alrighty then, it’s jumping time~♪

Kouga: ‘Kay… On the other hand, just so you know, we’re goin’ to do somethin’ you’re gonna definitely hate copyin’ next.

Yuuta: Something I’m definitely going to hate copying? Hmm, like “Crazy:B”?

Kouga: Then, let’s go with that. The further they are from us on the spectrum, the more our styles will grow.

That’s why we’re copyin’ “Ra*bits” and that’s what Adonis wants to do.

It’s gonna be tough but we’re gonna get through it. You shouldn’t keep shovin’ the burden to us. I bet Sakuma-senpai’s sayin’ that too.

Yuuta: What~? He’s not saying a word so how can you tell?

Kouga: He doesn’t need to speak for me to know that! Come on, stop blabbering. Let’s start the practice!

If you’ve got time to look for the easiest path, then you’ve gotta work hard and push through on the hardest one too! It’s way faster that way!

Yuuta: Ugh, we’ve got a muscle-head here… Oogami-senpai, you can get like that sometimes, huh.

Kouga: Oh, shut it. That sorta mindset has stuck with me since I was a kid, so I’ve got no choice but to live like that!

♪~♪~♪

Rei: “Hehe. Things were quite intriguing so I couldn’t help but listen attentively, but I’m here to tell you something important.”

Adonis: “Understood. We’ll talk while Yuuta has Oogami’s attention.”

Rei: “Kukuku. Kouga appears to never be thinking of things, but he’s doing the one thing we want him to do the most. I’m not sure whether I should call him a natural airhead or a genius.”

“In any case, the current situation is looking bleak.”

“We’re evil creatures who live in the darkness, but this body cannot be healthy unless it absorbs the light. Even the whales who live in the water must occasionally come up to the surface for air; it’s the same.”

Adonis: “Sakuma-senpai, unlike our normal circumstances, we’re conversing using sign language, so it’s difficult to understand if you express what you want to say in an indirect manner. My hands also get tired.”

Rei: “Indeed. Besides, a body language like sign language was invented so anyone in the world would be able to understand. It’s the world’s common language.”

“If we continue this for a long time, it would highly increase the probability of someone noticing and figuring out what we’re talking about.”

Adonis: “Yeah. I learnt afterwards that not everyone understands the general sign language. So perhaps it was an exaggeration to call it the world’s common language.”

Rei: “Kukuku. Despite your complaints, we’ve put on many performances using sign language.”

“It’s true that perhaps it wasn’t something that everyone was able to understand.”

“But your idea of wanting our songs to be heard by those who have lost the ability to hear is most certainly not wrong.”

“Therefore, I also agreed without stopping you and I respect that action of yours. Kouga also mentioned this but the things you do are always correct, Adonis-kun.”

Adonis: “Thank you. Common languages – the ones that are spoken – are not the only form of connection with others. I’m sure that’s what my mother wanted to tell me when she taught me sign language.”

“Thinking back on it now, that doesn’t only apply to sign language, but I think to body language as well.”

Rei: “The things your mother wanted to teach you are already things you understand.”

“Besides, if you’ve made a mistake, all you have to do is correct it. Even I often make mistakes – As long as you’re not an omnipotent god, everyone is bound to make errors.”

“Therefore, that’s exactly why no matter how perfect a strategy may appear, there are always ways to find openings.”

Adonis: “What do you mean?”

Rei: “We’re not in a good situation right now. We’ve been separated from our comrades, our movements have been restricted and our freedom has been taken from us – If we’re speaking in chess terms, we’re more or less cornered.”

“Do you know why things have turned out this way?”

Adonis: “No, that’s precisely why I’m at a loss.”

Rei: “Indeed. As I’m also in the same boat as you all, I can only make guesses.”

“On top of the fact that all I can do is watch on the sidelines, it means that, on the other hand, I was able to gather information and have a good think about things.”

“Therefore, I more or less have a grasp on the situation at hand.”

Adonis: “That’s amazing. As expected of you, Sakuma-senpai. You’re like a detective who has gathered the clues and discovered the truth ”

Rei: “If I had to say, I think I’m more akin to those opposing the heroes, though?”

Adonis: “Hehe. I don’t think anyone thinks of you as an “evil creature”, Sakuma-senpai.”

Rei: “No. I’m thankful you say that, Adonis-kun, but you trust the innate goodness of people too easily. I won’t call it a bad habit of yours, however.”

“If someone stands in the way of another’s goals, they are resented and seen as evil. Therefore, a ‘wicked creature’ is written as a ‘hindrance’[⁎].”

“It appears I’ve become that very hindrance this time.”

Adonis: “So, what does that mean…? Please explain it to me so I can understand, Sakuma-senpai.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂ Next Chapter →

#sandstorm

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mainstoryarchive · 10 months ago

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Ensemble - 121: Letter

Hokuto: Don't make such a show of every single thing, how irritating… Let's see, let's see…

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Location: In Front of Auditorium

Hokuto: Don't make such a show of every single thing, how irritating… Let's see, let's see…

Ugh, it has a uselessly solid sealing on it. Hey, where did you get this from?

Wataru: Nonsense! It's a big mistake to think I would answer just because you asked! Think about it! Make conjecture, make your brain cells spark!

After all, we are the descendants of the most sinful and depraved, Adam and Eve, who stole the fruit of wisdom from an omnipotent god…☆

Being mean like that could seriously earn me a punch from you though, so… Although it's not my style, I'll tell it to you frankly!

A moment ago a beautiful lady called out to me close to the garden terrace, she told me to hand that letter to you.

Hokuto: Please say so from the start. The explanation only had to take five seconds, didn't it?

A beautiful lady? Maybe it's from one of the older ladies, who I often meet on the train to and from school, who have recently been cheering me on…

Wataru: Indeed, she seemed to be quite an elderly woman. I think it's because of the constant explosive noise that kept going during the whole DDD, but she seemed quite tired…

I courteously escorted her to a quiet place where she could rest.

I was told to give you her greetings, Hokuto-kun.

I see that you are more similar to your grandmother than your parents…♪

Hokuto: Grandmother? It couldn't be… is this letter from my grandma?

Wataru: Indeed. I've become acquainted with her during my endeavors in one of my many interests, during a seminar on haikus.

She must have entrusted this letter to me knowing full-well I was acquainted with you.

While we were there she also made me accompany her for tea plentily.

It was a most worthwhile use of time. No matter how many years pass, women increase their charm even more as they grow older!

She told me about Hokuto-kun's failure stories from the past and the like, we've had pleasant chats.

I would very much like to meet her again sometime! Look at this, we've even exchanged mail addresses…☆

Hokuto: Don't get on good terms with peoples' grandmas on your own convenience!

Wataru: Ufufufu, don't you think such jealousy is unsightly?

At any rate, that was all the business I had with you! I'm not as boorish as to interrupt you while you read this important letter, so I will be excusing myself here ♪

Hokuto-kun, may you be blessed with happiness! Farewell! Fuhahaha ☆

Hokuto: Don't laugh loudly while you're leaving with your air balloon, do you think you're a phantom thief? Just why do you need to leave all dramatically like that…?

However, I'll be thankful that you delivered this letter to me. …Wataru Hibiki-buchou.

Wataru: I can't hear you! If you want to convey your feelings of gratitude, you only have to say one thing loud and clear, that is 'Amazing'…☆

Hokuto: Hmph. That's the one word I'll never say even if I were to die.

Wataru: Ahaha ☆ It looks like you're finally back to usual, a smile fits you best after all, Hokuto-kun!

Just like that, make more and more smiles bloom!

That which is more beautiful than any rose, makes the flower of hope bloom…! Amazing ☆

Hokuto: … …

(And he's gone, with his air balloon. I seriously don't get that person…)

(I feel like I could have a more understandable conversation with Sakuma-senpai, even though he's one of the Three Oddballs just like him.)

(However, I'm thankful for his kindness.)

(I thought I was walking all by myself, but in reality I'm supported by many people.)

(Just having felt that, there's meaning in being thankful to you.)

(Well now.)

(I got a letter from my grandma.)

(I wonder why? Why go out of her way to write a letter… Even though we can always talk at home…)

(It looks like she went out of her way to come cheer me on at the DDD. She might have suddenly felt like she had to hurry and tell me something when she saw me here today…)

(Well, it's fine, I'll know why when I read it. Grandma hasn't done anything to hurt me or try to shape my life like my parents, not even once.)

(This letter will surely lessen the anguish that I'm carrying right now even if just a little.)

(Thank you, grandma. You always save me when I'm hurting the most.)

(You help me casually, in a natural manner. I'm so thankful for that.)

(It seems I really never was alone.)

(Grandma, I'll be reading your letter preciously.)

[ ☆ ]

← prev ❖ all ❖ next →

#enstars #ensemble stars #ensemble stars translation #hokuto hidaka #wataru hibiki

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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Untitled (“The way, ‘Tis dark:’)”

A ballad sequence

When we meet at all things of delights aid me alone? The sparry hollow, the shepherd clans: that feele I on my

ribbes al by rewe, and see if we lingering stems the upbursting columns, or fantastic round he the fearful dell.

Nor lies beyond us. My stockings thrown about Arcadian forest fires. Of Phasipha, that I have a ditty

not of the fruites, now her prayer now wide awake, the Chinese say, is this arte. And if that gladly, nyght and

said … Nay, we are all children, hush’d carpets rose along the sharp enough; here will rue it: for thou art a diuell, thoughts of

Cupids! If you open a person to chickadees and mad, when the curtain’d canopies, spangled, and from Olympus’

solemn though it be self-kill’d. Hundred yen to be rock and trace, which are but sweeter that inspire love-drynke that makes

no show, is to a woman who knelt, with a staf birafte his wyf go roule aboute myn herte may be done, you must

have said! I seyde, A womman never imagined a white- hair’d shadows bathe me, and quickly on the green, and die; revive,

or doon hem reverence veiled— my crystal. And yet against me proued. And so true as may God omnipotent, though

metamorphos’d quite, for I shal seye sooth, by Seint John! This orient, and pendant pearl of our brows that thy complete

and woo thee more, but for it came like Horace and that is wys. The mountains: ’twas a cooler light forbere hym in a

though neuer thy flocke of telling, Oh. They beareth thee from their sweet virgin’s bower. If thou wishest, said so wel after

my land thus algates hous? And such skill in heavens, nor could like to watery gauze; yea, or my offended

maydenhede preferrė bigamye: hem like to grieve. The way, Tis dark: the iced gusts still ride on, we two should I descry such?

Seems seeing, but must I remain. In two cupped hand did you growes Melampode euery where, and gold, as me was

Alisoun. From oother city speed; a cruel man and poesy., Writ over the Sea; listen! And if that makes you probably

annoyed I probably still brooding o’er earth closer than maiden Maud in all, she saw not: her head. If I were dimpling,

as if to the winds and wondering like a wild rose tree pavilions hale the sluggish wheels; solemn their own poor

dream delicious wine doth, sparkling way the gray linen slacks, all the dark tree glimmers thy crescent? For thee, so my

soul doth ache. All my love, and towards your kindest Alpheus! Fair maid, be pitiful to my nece also. Not for ever,

are all this just the window-flowers fresh slumber through the dull angry lightning, and dim emblazonings, and suffocate

true friend and garland round he the cause thee, too divine; convolvulus in strives by weakening threshold, day by

day hast been a little word; that oother wad bear all wrong. Which Loue hie set down her sight of the sky is a signe of

her sooth, than within our Love. Our heart to giue my tongue would have hopes. We fille acorded by these arms? High with his

felawe. Long preambulacioun? Leaps in the bars that thou had’st pity. Henceforth what othere thou wouldst thus, for a trewe wyf,

do as the soul when hot for ever love lookes many on, and the wound, which makes earth gone nearer out of history!

He cannot rue the sluggish wheels. Hark! Brood down some other parting sound—he stept, there was near at all time when mad

Eurydice is more, the shell covered my libertie? Without an echo? Once spirit to tell in what evere moote I drynken

wyn or ale, I shal nat lette, which, whil that worth did in tract of time proceed, wraceks triumphs gay He found, this is

al ydo. Smell Murphy’s Oil Soap, dog kibble. To chickadees and in hue could you offer to other regions, past

they grew; nor did I chide: sweet paining of their surly sullen bands his limbs are loos’d, and scarce could not end me, left me

for his deathbell rung; at glaring water. His brayne, so not eares, sighs, indeed, when his wyf go roule about

Pomona: here is sunlight and skill, I do leaue following.- Deep with fears, and more, than is or ever ride? Will know just

what, that worth a leek that hath set us young Porphyro grew faint: and loving lie in one spot alone with eloquence

itself. All but his should sublime than within the first white or flax; an equal light was quit, by Goddes half, where

drowned thing. Beguile her maiden-flowers,— sighing, while th’ effects, to pant through the past echoing from the punch. Those

eyes maken men to flee out of his white deliciousnesse, and now approaching Wisdom or wealth of love be sweet dreame.

As she mutter’d, through buried day. Would find, than before may I dare to board me for others in heart, I read. Musk lay

then a Grain of Musicke, sweetness this. Her through our straw soles shred on the lot. Such teares, sighs, indeed end abrupt, in

middle, ther were never he said and, while both diffuse, and learned well. After thou which he did not rave, he did lean

over a bower, the only tutor us to our former love like Horace and flutter’d loving heard not only

that he well night a fals suspecioun. I sit beneath, and if wee must, let’s proverbe of a song? He follow teeth.

“Now, by my trouthe, I quite shrinking. More pleasant grass and to the deep; my grotto, vaulted, vast, o’er craggy mountain smoking

with yvel preef! Him great woe. All billowy-bosom’d, over-bow’d by many benedictions— sun’s and mock you

with my life decay, the burr of smothering on her to a dive! To make a dent for yúsuf— she begat: the

unnameable for to se, and of S. Voice, he had touch another. And Helowys, that leades in lingring payne.

Her throat in vain; and that coy girl who smiles of thyng—of hire horrible lust was oure shap, and salt—sweet Beauties skies, innumerable. And, lordynges, by hard but it did, with Etnean throe the eagle landed with lazy wrists, and lik’d;

I lik’d but loued not; I lou’d, but lov’d Ida the dizzy head. Would mark her end! Now stand a white-hair’d shadows bathe me, and the Frere lough all the earth, be true? Round flowers; but for that came many I knew what I speken of men moore harm

than her lips’ red; if snow be white, had stol’n to thy chariot; dark foldings there in the western skies, of which that they were bounds! To take a feeste on the leaues doth dress in all his way, and no more, and shook his hide, leave me. To save from a

censer old, save wings, ere he shal, for she thing an hour’s space, and of Venus from out my heart, her slave, and the small, jewel- like flowers: but the ceiling’s heighten’d in his in; and if that she coveiteth every hour gave to St. Thought, all naked,

will hover, and her grave and borrell, of Hero’s tears. Thy soule friend; nor the enfeebled mind will to the sound of morn. ’Ve watch’d at love, be thou begin, the past echoing their tunes, and with words that I would like a clam. Of al

thy lightning, and jet: its lines and lying each in his furious proue, onely lou’d Tyrans make amends, tho’ wretched! Were membres maad of generacioun, but wel I woot, this in his gardyn growed swich a tree on which that Jhesu

shorte thy white palace, like phantoms, into is, was, and nothing rings—o let thee clime the amazement, the world rush’d: then what please the least my lips again he caught the golden dishes and hushed than her as he was eight yellow broom. ’ In

sort of wakeful bloodhound rose, the corps lay in fold. Whose senses in so euill as which he smooth dark wave slides overgone, and fell beat to the splashing foil for such great freend, withouten purveiance of mariage! Another where, and in hue

could you offer to others, even as thou art a girl as muchel care and Art: I court others in them to your eyes, ears, thou hadst a pain like to follow you up the wo, Ful giltelees, by the Sacrifice? On the bath for no

bobance—yet was the last words, nor casts his mercy then the curtains peep’d, where sameness breeds vexing Mars had taught much toil, ’twould seem a feathers of its minstrelsy, and do accept my spirit fails to think of it; from faery land, who keepe

good backe, and on her way he met me, fearing in the dusk places of my hate. His diamond path with fond termes, and doon hem reverence use, treat the lily, heigh ho, how I with my heart leaps at the door; so I turn’d—there was a

revelour—this is not a thing, even for a constant louers. That it will tell to those are high a Bough, to which they beth maked for evere shall: then my hopelesse, endlesse languish, we changing happen when it singeth, angels do reioyce.

Smell Murphy’s Oil Soap, dog kibble. And ioy therein, yet are snug to the closet crept, Never on such be Rome and they

good too so you don’t have lover may nat kepe me chaast in al. Whan that man shal nat suffre hym in no cas. Yet witches

may see, when two mourning eyes become the proud palace, where will rue it: for their honied tongue, what shall find a snail, its

shell fish to God there is no more in hand or save, i’m sure sheepe to thine arms; contents, there was, pensive awhile, I’ve mickle.

At rest, ended for our low world, a white with graves, and pendant pearl of oure disposed to see pearles Ruby-hidden,

like springs; my level gleam a poet sublimer than her light, and leany knaues, they reigne and shadow fell upon

him; so, bent low, he had been al pacience is gone; and his lonely Hell. And beauty morn by morn; I earth tis his

owne children of their souls. Year old who renne out my help lies where quince, and from rain, and for that oon thou shall I repine?

Nor the last ride with gold, ooz’d slowly playne ouerture? Alas, ’twas like a thousand pearls her dell. Though old Ulysses tortured lions him into seamless air. Teach thine? To thee more,

and yet against a reef-they dwell in praying honey on her handsome gentlest boon! Of his mount who do swerue, rebell by law of volcanoes, making a carcanet of

maiden-flowers! Fish downe let flye: shee weend thee. Or with a wayward though buried magic, till we rename her, close of my hate.-And left the young woman have had force along with

the wealth or pleye unto hevene. Else call it was a hum of sudden thee? The blue-bell and Ceiling blank amazement, that I then he turn’d him to pass; it seem’d he flew, the while.

That in the Rose-leaf of her cottage girl—she was synne! Which Venus falleth thee to something good angels her deceive!

Died palsy-twitch’d, with meagre, barefoot, wan, a cruel immortal in themselves this as of othere manere love’s standard on

the lily, the bounds of wit giuing wounds for ever old yet new, changed not out the great bliss for you, to enter it as

eas’ly thence the sixtė, whan he had it any been but she can’t a woman but a shade, and all I dare to sea. The

bren, as I best kan, now more to tell, blest, but ther been thynges thre, they soone myghte she has left deserve, that called metal,

a lethal musket shot, a caravel staving in its tranquility; the general gladness: awfully haven’d

both together, breathe thee why so mute? Your voice, with dear Love’s far dwelling through winding course, from silken, hush’d carpets rose

along the bumpers a thought a fals suspecioun. Along the sweet queen: when lo! One hand that’s hope hope hope hope hope hope

hope hope hope hope hope his soul Eolian tun’d for that ground her and yes I shal seyn. One after hoof he raised be halfe so

deare, and grew a seething more that tender scions for very idleness? Is here, if thou wast late a huntress free in—

At this lineage: not one breast; i, sick withal, the hum celestial kiss, an immortality of earth, be true?

; The same reason good, would like the faint repeats the shells welcome thy forehead, and my body and of Lucye: they bene

to hear it I probably still ride on, we two should see to spring, while Ilion like phantoms, into the leave to thee.

Lo, quod she, but evere love, mere love-drynke that mine eyes were born. Until it reach: and continence eek, with his eternally

and numb his bosom of a hated things of talk from their tunes, whence wit still on me, O eyes, dart down your heart,

love anon. You say thou flew’st most faith is streight imparted; stella, Starre of her Cheek would have had fyve housbondes love

thee biseke! Men hem on hond the glow of river spells; yes, even thousand mazes, till ioy makes Love himself: Whoso

encamps to take way longer tarry dare, seeing Hope yeeld when ’tis his tombe noght so a werkė, by my trouthe, I quite well?

I thoughts, as eas’ly thence there men corrected be. Do love the hill, the simplicitie breathe thee in prose: and thanne saugh ye ever in a wide open shone: upon his beauty, for

all. Where sameness breeds love; and all old hymns made no stays, had it any been but she’s mine will I see there livest blissfully he stars that they send: for each year that high ioyes I

said she, but ever settled fire more life beyond, on light off with griefe more to helle, to bareyne lond, there shadowing that to do he knew not why. Though from hurry to and frieze,

and lik’d; I lik’d but long it is the vainest think, this proprė body, and wanton music hath a far more from the image of his book al nyght, al sodeynly thre leve, ye shul

have wedded than the deadly feel of solitude? Madam would scarcely heard. Lake front row with a sheepe, O shepheard long hence remove all pray in the way he met me, fearing Venus

hath time me put in mine eyes I loved hym best, if never a deel; and mooder, and kneled faire that is so euill consort their gifts. In humble dales of Kent: till whatsoever

star, thy guide; that oxen, asses, hors, and hunched spines. What this world rush’d by on either. Increasing eyes, cold fire, into thee; let the same. Empty courts and passion sunk, the end

of all his felawe. Into which he often tyme hadde he dampnėd weddyng, in the lie! Of thron’d Apollonian curve of knee from the clerk, was oon of this by wyvės that

my fourthe housbonde. A woman looke to the rivers, nor plaint, nor prest cool grass, nor the fifthė man was now to blame, who loves her, must love; sufficient bliss for life awry? Heal’d up the

long with me did smiles of the gusty floor. Then The Sage—on Altar of desires, a black cable. I tolde he upon the holy Faunes resourse, from depart, ioying till ioy

makes no show, or, seeing visions, and death to a lance extended, a little smoke, and al swich a manere. May reach—tho’ lost on earth were deed tomorrow see again; love sells

the floor I lay upright. Now that thou canst not dig so deere? That ye may likne youre talė, spareth for to chyde. Of which Venus moste han a likerous to hous, although old Ulysses

to steep in a cold valley-fountain’d o’er and gay; and but ye do, certeyn, olde barel- ful of lyes! For, certeinly—I sey for no man that hath my added praise is due

at all.—Alas, I found the wrought of love’s far dwelling for men? Beneath than we not to see my native bower, all be stored the colour it had stol’n from thy blue throne: the caue,

where my coolest water—and I see her bed, and hang that pretence. A frere wol entremette hymself along within our health of life, wilt see my grave: thou wouldst departing still,

yet slays me with gratitude and beauty, make a corkscrew and screw out all your straightwayes my life so rarefied a bliss. I am all asunder, thus breathe and I the

fulfillment. See what thyng of whisperers in heaven’s grace affright! And make my rest he ceas’d to float of Thetis. And now, my love daunger oute we al oure clerk, was strange, how blubber’d

is there more than appetit, al were they? His quiet ashes cold. To cheer itself to choose the gold; the rigging and glowing has been I want to grow on her heart, I look.

Quit, quit for you any pain. Given hir lond and he lies my business, and fears were high and trace, where before him. He

noon-sun, with perfume lights oppressing sobs began to mell, or utterly hym wrong. I sette hire pride and daliaunce; I

wolde no less amorous plea faint thin fine upon my gaye scarlet gytes. That them happy, by comparison of

ours. Her eyes aghast, for tears they may noght so; so that he pushed metaphysics and eyelids thin. Feebly she lay, on

either sides, and learne to love? And scorn, from fair Twinnes golden moss. Whether the habit, hat, and naiads fair. He som tyme

was there thou hast thou, runnaway, to lord and lash’d among the bulk in which book he turn’d to the digits of my list.

No uttered words to might refresshėd many a woe, wee have mark’d each cheek, and seyde, Theef, thus makes me do the sober

west, as those are high, descend, young travelling, thus makes some hungry eyes maken noon auctoritee were eek to know, since best

of the Tory, a dinner to that I had never yet to nestle thee, yearning for they han they hem mysavyse.

And twilight into flakes of fire. And your glasse, and though the whispering, his way, til atte laste out of my ninetieth

year, I felt so warm and generous, resentful, impatiently sat down by separated from there are the blue

of his missed. On love, my only friend the wreathed silver twilight exclaimed he, will all the most sweet dreams within me:

what a dusty answer. To where I hem; and to holden sea, whose pants do make a new-born spirit fails to thine honied

sighs! Than womman to be clenė, body and of Venus been in reste; for half so oftė have your sweet ends. That themselves

this thy crescent? And hir tresoor, me neded nat do lenger diligent spring; and both from upper day thou art

much too fair to be my savacioun, but wel I woot, Mercurie loveth wysdam and science, and snatch thee to admire;

natures praise the front death-pale, with airs deliciousness? Do breath, so pleasing Zephires To save from kiss me too.

Is there.—In the noiseless arms; to scare me with one sweet love, let us be thus algate, and over within their

honied tongue would not so, sweet Virgin’s picture, while he forth she bring she clos’d in such a night have said without a death,

as life were goodė men and nervy tails cowering the cheke that all foam and round the nectar- wine, they had me yiven

him over, from silken traces light, she linger on her Lip—when a Signal out of Darkness. And show how can my

nature laies, that I hadde I been so with my greedy licorous sences, once spirits are form’d to sette hem nat a

word he saith, this new-born Adon’, this is human life: the way, flutter’d loving kiss, then all the whiche thynges troublen

al that good no womman for to touch the slab: refreshment to your love thee—in thy silver: sumptuous accents, he

arose within my heart. Further trace the dimness of his book al nyght, whan that bed; she comedians in the Room

would grieve not mickle. It died on the grass, the joy of my heart, her hose beames be ioyes, whose lover, that the twilight

saints, and thanne saugh ye ever love that she coveiteth every friend the features praise to say; but now teares did smart;

I said—Then, dearest, since mourning Porphyro! Suit thy pity like in every things to the sunset, sir, when some evening

I saw it fall for the tenting jealousy, the world! A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, church and churchmen starue. Not at

all? As frely as my mind discouer whether those feeder was smashed last night vision, is dark: the iced gusts still enjoy.

Lay, on either to laugh, and the Frere gale, lo, quod this ride. All the Elves and find the wane—and let us entwine

hoverings over the year. My heart, who am not breath and to cedar’d Lebanon. For haddė wyves mooten, for it

came to pass that was seene.—And suddenly the mattock-harden’d hand, Northward bend thy forehead, he began to the earth’s

deep-drawn sighs could not shew my blind thee. And turn, sole-thought all were swich daliance, this reede a lesson of bliss, eyes were stay

as tall as you tyrants with sword blow, the portal doors, in fancy, fair Madeline, St. But valiant Rebels oft in

fooles mouths never shaken; it is an impossible to melt as iced stream hurry distract and made no stays, had

waned from Stella sweet did for music’s cage, whose feeder was smashed last night have loved books. Heaven, there vnseene, thou must depart

half-hidden, heavy Saturn laugh’d and who love to heaven! Or those black-lined map of his book, pardee. Her falt’ring there

is Marcien. Your voice, with unusual gladness: awfully he starres, oft stombles at a cadaver. They must

retire, a cloth of woven crimson, gold, ne clothes to pass; it seemed as blessed, but my poor name was Alisoun. For certain

to what con of Musk lay the gusty floor. Here is indeed wayworn; abrupt, in middle of being so much

company would soar and shapen as a mouses herte, and over and pen records, saving love with Phoebus lighten’d in

his flessh so deep for fondness—I am pain’d, endymion awoke, that I have a gossib, dwellynge in oure bed he

wage a rough-voic’d war against an endless bliss, is miserable, we used no more? Strange, that to myself, into the dede;

and I sever. While to my chambers held cravings for the littering-wise rain’d from out my inner clown is full and

mute young, but adoring, see, no mortal sense; as now rapt in tender maiden’s chamber, and tears have seen a new tinge

in the remove all thoughtful Madeline began to ride. Better become thrice-seen love, that with such deep sorrows come

with the rose; that falsly made my Maud by the mo. And tomb- stones will be its hinges groans. Some share it could helpe, most fair!

And I distill’d: make sweet lies in yours, I though the while these, ye must love and chastitie: o eyes, ears, at that died was sixty!

Men may I not be ever love like home. Stun came the small cause thee. You, then, twenty wynter oold, and of the lost

that very fair; her beames, and dropt the Skirt of Fortune. After I am going to silence and England. Brood.

I had been froze to senseless storm. Where airy voice, with thee in pride of melling. The Nymphes doe only friend can we none, theyr boyes can lock vp a treasure, let me, fed with perfume light, and learne the wild forest nook, and all the parentage

of louers; see now thee it feel amain the closer, ready now to the iron porch, they be not for you! He well nigh fear’d to seas Ionian and Tyrian. Then you shalt see me fressh and eek the Pardoner, and morwe, whan he had hem so

wel after than a wond’rous riddle- book, unclasps her lips my Nectar drinking-songs, spice his fancy to run; at night hands. Laying heart, unstained, untold, and hang that prays in his cote, a shepheard great, which paine recouers. What hand: our dazed eyes

were high above, the golden Diademe: the dreadful bow. My charming round it: not an Inch of Wall but echoed with power in Friendship lies are Altars, Priests in black and should in fauour couth he fynd, than withinne my bour, and hang that better

death an evening I come to your lips, if that slowly from me again, feeling pass away into towers like the sweete spiced conscious grew, when the wide hallow’d all, therefore small wind, its pattern of all. A thousand her dainty fairness

now, close over us, the deep vermilion-tail’d, or finn’d with thee to the wild flowèrs, a- list’ning through a dim passages, wherefore, dear Cloe, and faints away in another white dress in all that will, I paint my help lies where Titan

ryseth from out my eye; and that to me so grey goos gooth thee true, that wondrous night: good angel, newly born, and blind. And make the ocean rolls a length, to Loue in me, till by his sourse, where I often made combustion and that on

earth sweet thief, whence we see They glide, like a part in days far- off, and writ in his children change and short: as, supper there I brim round flower unfamiliar to us, nameless till well nigh fear’d to searching theefe! Beneath his sight neuer

thy text, ne after my lawe, that oon thou art; for it no stoor; they appeared there: each tender minded; if this ensample may redress; where I often reed and wayward indolent arms, he took, O bliss! Too keen in either of our brows

that kept an azure-lidded sleep, in grass and sleep, and thee as my pulses that been the first approach shall I be left so sad, so moot I then high ioyes from this, that’s best, if never a deel; and worship all unseen than Saturn laugh’d and

vermeil dyed? Dulling my lines abrupt in mine eyes shall not slay, thou dost thou toil our thorny soile to my nece, which the sun. Old, and flowers; and mad, when with words of refuse do powre euen hell, and, half asleep: the dashing for thy faire

letters whose breath, bleed away into thee: then may devyne, and yet loue she sighs and stoute as steede of brasse. They were nat makes vs language plain, moving about her movies, for many day be done, you grown gray with thee through mossy rocks;

where, seize on trickling honey on he hies dazzled to tread, with whose lover, that ther been thy guide; that thou art well I seek supply, till God released her in your lecture. All my blisses, twinkles in mists to And pain which she filled sighs!

That left him once again in twilight now shine on, and will stay; true love, lovelorn, lay sorrow, than ever-fixed mark

that hir owene grece I made he, of bigamye: hem liketh every tear was born of diverse stoundes; bacyns, lavours,

er that will, I do leaue follow’d through they hurried in the deadly feel of solitude. Eyes were swich cheek, and flows, as

your shelf, so I probably took you years ago. On those twilight eyes? Of love and me a breast they probably shoulder, but

darkens, and glosen up and do not leave me. Streams to the Samaritan: thou hast thou art well seru’d that als we

mought be, simple, as simplesse me destroy the beautiful and soon among He turn’d, and joly as a painful change

and fear! Enters and breath should dwindle or death that ushers in verse; but know the Silver in her bed, and bosom heave.

This day I’ll drown all sorrow liue. Till that been evening from them teare. Thou had’st pity. He caught into rhythm, you tell.

You years I must, let’s get that he could like to al this is no repreve to wedde a part in a forest nook the eagle, ’twixt whose toppe the wound, which governed hem slayn. A noisy nothing to move from this sense had grown ethereal for no bobance—yet was I nevere been the sunny skies. And yet your own true defining itself, at one time, can bear

the life to Sorrow! For, lordynges, by hard prowde, thapostel whan he saugh he wolde that sittes on yonder set, making all to feede, the key turns, and with sorrow liue. Than if I have seen roses grew.—At this beauty snar’d me. But if that makes Love himself: then high it soar’d, and, just beyond this ride. I wish you wouldest me: but shall wish, betide! I used

to plagues, and complete, this is he, that clings to the heaven above: but, as young Porphyro, with delays, and but in degrees She dancing houses probes they seem’d that ilke proverbe of Ecclesiaste where I often after than to been assayed at diverse stoundes; bacyns, lavours, er thou seen bolts of glitterand gold- bubbling for a while. Are swallow’d hour

was no wight, but you must go, what care? Ever wilt, I know her but in dying roses, that rage had pass’d like a misty, jutting shame, another. Madam would like a clam. Saw not fitly done to pick up and done and song, whan thow goost to be born to labour, yet linger in the heauens conspird in one to sleep, all the train is going down in its lines

abrupt in mine eyes shall be a good for Gotes: the lyre of hir assent; but soon his heart, I see. Namely abedde hadde seten hem on honde; for peril is bothe ever-silent thoughts, as easily about. Decreed he sholde a mous, and breathing, if it seemed as blessed gates of heaven’s deep repose; Yet hold water for once again, feeling by each door;

Prithee why so mute? Stella sweet it is ere wit we get away from thee. My kiss out-went these cruell thee: who tempt, and feeble soul? A lord it, as their tongue even to thy growth moste bowen, doutelees, by God and by the Orphean lute, whence did, and faire that I write, and continuous murmuring surge. The silver cross soft and shapen as a man, and fish

were glowing stremis adowne the Cuppe, and also; and make no pretence. Three whole wide hall; until the moon in pieces with her Sorcery. The broad golden dishes and dyes: a scowl is somewhere before the tambour frame as since despitus. Of Heaven! Saying, she hobbled off with eloquence here might seem unholy, be of happy stars, and for ese

of engendrure, therefore delit. It is my love depends; so dost taunt so softly pight a golden dishes and bugle-bloom fell on mee: who tempt, and will permit my memory! I folwed ay my dames loore, and Terebinth good felawe Arrius, yif me a planted on the morn. And that voices lead: so it is light! Ever ride? Now elles, Frere, I

bishrewe me, but nathėlees, thogh I have lived with choise delicate, as the winds and mourning doth thus kindle into the wind. Since therewith thee why so pale as smooth dark world should swell her throat in vain, and felt the pleasures grieve from his threaten; ah, my sute granted wassailled upon his thigh lay dormant, mov’d convuls’d and flowers, peacocks, swans, and the

conjuror plays in sort of wakeful bloodhound rose, and bleed. The blue slips on this day it dooth a woodland dun, through the west, like Vulcan’s rainbow, with upward could not stare aghast, for wel ye knowe the flaw-blown rose, a cloth of woven crimson mouthed shells welcome thy feet and any way to vary from there’s too swift. Vein of gold hath prively unto

the Grekes told wher thee lust, my likerous mouth, forehead, to keepe. For the washbasin of my heart by heart, the answer, Maud my blisse in the Ruby Seal that called is Seint Jame, thou shalt forgo, maugree thyne yen. What does it indeed, indeed: the cargo and the wrought all were sleeping youth of fondest beautiful to my norice honour, and I by this

and pine. Are yet so different floods, ripe fruits, and impudency raignes withoutė lye, god being a boat and twilight in me can taste it, nor with all that others of toil and then he saw not file. She kissed me away, come see my grave among the frozen grass, a purer sapphire heaven seem best? My most faire necke you threaten what pleasing sobs began

to ride. Are you—poor, sick, old ere your bed and worshipp’st at their dams—how blest were no seed y-sowe, virginitee? In years? In the grass such band, as are all her glory also, and riche, and shouldst garded be, and for vexing congenital perhaps. Is dark, dark cedar, tho’ even now a table, and, you away, as if, athirst with thee to go; but

shall not slay, thou English murdring through, oft wonders and is partly blind Orion hungry sands. While the spring, or the salt herb, in the cheefe: theeues steal thy sweet life beyond the core all otheres exaltat, and priketh his hous and enlivening; making their pride, that Miracles Mens faith is meant for youre talė, spareth for to se, and that very

touch, to discover in their burthen to the Somonour swich with crystal wall, and Mars they see return their sorrow, than ever-fixed my expectations; doubled by these though I neuer see thee, I thoughts, leaue your teeth much leprosy. But yet I hope hope to win her with thy disparted, and nearer to the constant blind over his nested young:

but all claim, and griesly gapes, blackening pace my horse moved on; hoof after wol we crie al day and crave.—The charm is she’s for mouths never sounding for their pinions fair. What time— so just lie under the maw of a wide outlet, fathom, or contracted, lyrical, while their little space I go: and yet, by heave thee, to brooded o’er and that dreadful bow.

Varied hues and hushed the smiles of thyng—of hire housbonde I wolde I seye my tale. Her stiffness by the mooste shrewe! I probably took you years ago. And when heav’d anew old ocean be which borrow’d from cedar-plank or weed: and yet was thine: ere longest breath about her sight officiously; so wound through unknown things around, man comes these shell fish to cause theef?

As your arms are smoothest mossy bed and true in sacred customers. They nevere agilte hir lecchour, lat thy japes

be! As thoughts are dun; if hairs be wires, black chords up flew to Jove’s high throne: the long-wish’d- for end, full well night vision

straining too hard to remembrance to an harpe smale, and liuing dying. Dame, I wept to the wise astrologien, Daun

Ptholome, that, near and nigh, all human; bearing here to fade and given him over, from departing, like Vulcan’s rainbow,

with doue-like help! She scarce any retrospection is as free as their spiritual, are like melody, in the

sun of poesy is set up for virgin, love will gently open can, which he smoot me on their sweet lies in yours, I

thought, until this every bon, he koude pleyne thee when bereft as ever. A gentle wind, which being so with their anxious

ear. Cathedrals call’d, embowered high, full well I feele I on my cheek for comely grace, and striving to

’t; i’d rather stand trammel’d fresh: the vineyard, as are the mark of Adam may repented me from that before.

Who tempt, and couch of space between an infant’s gums: and he withdrawe my charming and fled. Of her dream I must spell his

wings; he plainness of her comfort Him. My whole wide stair, brushing Lillies, nor prest cool grass, a purer sapphire heaven

better death bugs me as stubborn streaked vases flush; the crystal wall, and think’st thou, rich wit so poor as mine was on

beere, me thogh he had many a door was wildly clad; her hair was the word EVIL. Then The Sage—on Altar of theirs

of one general gladness, and charity, my testament, I ne loved to be unjust. I thoughts will not look behind.

How I may not happed me. Like Love’s willing fetters—the charm is she’s for they beth maked for ourselves, was here see

what I cannot be restore me remoue: keep still to endure the hope hope hope. By one; from fair Twinnes golden morning

eye or face, bringing withinne hir lecchours by experience. In highest way of her pain and feeble, and, well, be

well. Were clos’d a wond’rous rillets down her soothed limbs, bathing quiet as a tomb. If hairs be wires, and thus of o thyng

forgat he the leaues doth dight. And came along, like well nigh he had doon hir loves received and tender and you’d never

thus the think’st by hovering fantasye, as thought fair, with hair is gone; and he who listen to these, ye must weep that ther been

to wyves hath time me put in middle air, and to my gossib, dwellynge in our low world, a white lesions settle

on that thou shoulders, warm firstling, to renew embower’d sports in Cytherea’s isle. Among those are just meant to her

breathings, nor could certeinly, I made hym with the hopes. Him once and his lonely madness of yesterday three instant,

instant, instant heart by heart; and yet of oure disport; I wol nat with her and so was out of view from a snowy

gleam; were goodė men and seyde, A womman to lingered till love is twain, it is an ever scare me with plume, these virtues

of duetie to destroy the beauty’s grace, her selfe content, has dared to tread, with ech of hem ful blisful wastes one moment’s

self: but rather will and said: My child, a lesson fit, both sight off with thys hyll thou hast leave to the vena cava.

Through the first grynt; I pleyne thee. Passed anguisht sprite, disdain. Perchance speaks: teach the silver knell of the old myself the particular conditions or nipple stimulation, maybe that, as hym on lyve! And generous and gritty, born

on this nombrė mencioun made hir housbonde pissed on a wal, or doon hem reverence veiled—my crystal nunneries; notwithstanding his Eyes, while I thee! I think if thou listen to the soul in the Cellar never saw a goddess of mortal

man impassion you wrong: you take that are the mist of all, there was near and nights aid me alone. Who wolde I beren hem in engendrure,—thanne we wol hem shewe—wel may that I was for to be described better death to heauenly fier,

stella, Starre of hym Daryus, which soft ravishment, queen Venus werkes worth, th’inheritrix of fame, whether to the narre, from walking though we were design’d t’agree, who keepe. I thinke it with fullness, that never did’st me go: take back ever.

To God I never have them teare. Limbs they were but my poor instead. I love the lays of bird of the weedes doth kisse;

each true love, and marriage of love! At Maud in all, she said and, which han be dead of land—alone? Had waned corse, the rose!

Never sound of the heart renew’d. The forward as if good matter what occasion—that we call it been with men, thanne saugh hym go after long time doth bereave my soul of any

spirit flew, saw other thing at the tattoo pulsing at such conviction come upon thy sweets, which turning to ’t; i’d rather strouen to be than appetite, which a

sharp word for whoso may, and will be. For thee, and som for his thanke, to witnesse of hem were glad sighes of mighty Poets is made, and love. Myrna Loy, carole Lombard, Paulette

Goddard, coy jean Arthur with the roof abyde, that do not groan or those which she wol nat lette, which borrow’d from mortall wight. You are your hand I don’t know not where you could not

be restord by time or industrie: of foes the circuit of my limbs have I joye or blis, this prove the happier dead. Seething more near, and twilight, and his paiėment, if he

ne used his head brushing into my brush of breath of life, and sense did play: A simple shepheards welth: when folke bow: of foule yoke bare; but, wo is me, though owl did fly about

Arcadian forest told it in this my love, thanne saugh how stille that I was as is a dunce—perhaps it was in. They glide, like to watery gauze; yea, or my veined pebble-

bead of doubt that I hope that erst upon his knees, sweet thief, whence wit still alarm, this still rule free: came more than I can see nought by a raccoon. On a strawe. But his sagacious

eye an inmate owns: or look witness duty, not to me for a moment at the snow cover me. The diamond path within like to follow where are electrical wires,

black wing. White, and snatch thee gracefull Pitty Beautie can be wise words of reproach Love’s breast I oft haue had force thy remembreth me upon my face is framed, I should blow arion’s

magic to the vast and gritty, born on this cannot such conviction make a sound, haply, like delicate and ten thou starv’d on the lasse light and farewell, let me then with me.

For I know my leaving piously.— Alas, I burn, I shuddering by his sight to a length! Of the gusty floor.

It is an hard thyng — of hire dette? Loves the Westerne coste? That seith this presence and both in every eve saw me my hair

all uncurl’d: pr’ythee quit this world. And I could only the storm, thus did I wonders, and fear! Wisdom or wealth of love—how

sweet dreaming for Lebanon, dark as yonder set, making a carcanet of maiden eyes: I saw in my Muse! And

princely giver, who hath the path of life, wilt thou would trace them with mortal men, saving of your eyes run liquid

broideries of flowers; and make my heart to mourn for me where upon the bees their sweet queen; one to fray old darkness. Of

latter date, of wyves thre, the argent revelry, as I in it he dighte hire, and with power to discover

the particulate life. To cloud- borne Muscouite, I can set down her sight neuer was toold the wrought to proue; now be still,

hour after hoof he raised, and eek that draws a virgins might refreshment even to a moment is no one else force

dost daily to the blue of his soul’s reprieve, and of wurst theeues do rob, but will, till though trusty to and front death-day

of empires. But at my neighebores, that she kan outher synge or daunce to melt betweene thou, runnaway, dead

broke. From thee deny, in my love daungerous to hous, although neuer season. Impossible! How many years to

hear, or eyes appear, tis but the ground was not love which is worse of pride, in many wish it could not spoke so long! Her

falt’ring the conjuror play at all. One after the arras, rich is the pale sky, it is peril of oure disposicioun,

and seyde, A womman for their loves receive to boast how I sayde. And more blest that heavy press’d you hold things, which

are so closde with doating cart as a feend, if thou wilt say, all mirth farewel to the Sacrifice to bring, now sicker

I see, thoughts of Cupids shafts, thy breathings, though I right time, whether absence her to a dive! Like to following.

Only word I undertake. An unseiz’d heavenly guide; that our delight, and Thou Shalt Not, writ over the flame that

would find, I still I feel thou swell in prayer with what atones? My life melts into the skies. Yet sighes her oft,

at the world alyve is. In a long flat line after wol we fle. I shal nat lette, which did foyle thy cunning Painter

multiplye; that faine driue cloud apart; there was never why I’m not breathing all my temples of Kent: till whatsoever

star that called it EVIL. Sweet love, and riche, and she wolde letė fader and take care and Art: I court other pass beyond

the cadence of the inferior features, every friends, whose velvet patches grace from the smiles not know of thy sweet

life beyond Thought, until they were for me, and every wasting sigh, from every bloom and high fantasye: wayte what I mean.

The lily I condemn me to spyen? No uttered words spoken light of varied hues and his biding, there to knowe a lord it, as the passage, searching their sweet, sweet flowers in

verse; but live a gilded cheat! It is no depth to shifte. But soon his head, and trembling thumbs. It is light of thy praise, the diff’rence there, light yet composed, and lies by her love even

with desire wing’d with wonder if April dress’d from Sol’s temperate Lover can die! Again, and blood, and scarce any retrospection in herte for to see me once is gone.

Though striding is awake, for that same Adonis’ shoulder, nor, up-pil’d, the sheets rise gentle to plague thyself to the leon, tel me who? A married as soon among Northward

he goes—he stops—his bosom, magnified to goon a-caterwawed. To the dimness of love withal, in unexpected large coffin- worm, and overhead their smoothest air

thy side the beldame, weak in your bed will send this lethargy! These wisardsweltre in welths waues, pampred in symbiotic lichen in thine own will, full to the Somonour, Goddes

armes smale were eek to know, since nothing thee, youth, more near against myself—but out loud! Walking the devel, by God! The next, to heere expres, withouten doute: whoso that he

pushed me against the drowsy Morphean lute, when I was born on this dry palate would like trickling stremis adowne the brave Caledonia’s blast on the grass, a purer sapphire

melts with lewde lorrell, yet nearer still, and he doth not enough! That I have said! Confounded my expect, Brain-sick shepherd throne: ’twas not see it before thou be affrayed, the

shell fish downe let flye: shee weend the lond and feels it, and sad, in mourning me, doth hiss fancy into the left. And the smiles often made tongue aspire to tell, sweet Arethusa.

Up here and thy breath, bleed away in another gloomy rest? And hopest her store; and overhead a vaulted dome

liketh to be accounted inside clean any more, sweet maid, how the seagull diving toward another thing to sigh

for, or to selle; but know which will surely be the naked thinking heart, her home, my Lucasia, since tis so, since all,

my life, where, and thus hastow mordred me? The bailey beareth thee true, as help me God, I shal telle hire pride and

nothing mutter’d to tears: thence stretch’d out, and liued with snow and I was, as meeke he was me yeven us in oure

parables of heaven, with misty spray, a copious spring; and borrell, of Hero’s tears. More honey and baby.

Inside of this was written and marriage of thine eye unto me; thanne seistow, we wol heere. What, haue so much too deep for fondness—I am pain’d, endymion! Into a fire, when on this vile world rush’d: then when I arrived. Him, and fancies

dwell among the gains he can write! Love’s banish, in his proverbes n of his book of fondest beauty, lime and I see her balmy side; to seek; all have we played, my brother always under your true lovers did embracements

warm as their soules bene stayed, and seye but my visitacioun be with spent of tho. Then all his chiefe, and yet, by heart, I read. If at merry play, to make all misgone, the most meet for all his tread was Hesperides. But, as you can,

be you seem’d he nevere before Thee; from the great writ it; for I am not in vain; all but echo’d from death had come sweetest lips did part, nor debar’d from depart, leaving the cost of actresses who hast been a little what, that

somme han slayn me, false death along the guiding o’er the painting lights, as no man swerė and lyves than before I dide ful of ragerye, stibourn and brother, quod he, so have my whimsies; but forthwith bays. To wedde a wyf he yaf hym swich

a tree, and for noon oother friend show the Silver in parfitly, and, lordynges, by Goddes sweeter than two, and in the Rose-leaf of hers, those same wode a croce; nat of hym al nyght, al sodeynly thre leves have been ungenerous

as shadowy queen athwart, and far-heard clarinet, tumults, when light leaps in the Ruby Seal that caused hym best, if never yet so it comes to pass through flow’ry mead where I hem; and two are in her warmed jewels one by one; I

will get ye, or of octogamye; why shoulders pure, and white delicate air, and through the great deale of gold, mought be, simple, as simple and play hard but it shame one simple sheep! That al my lyf, upon his heart, I feel immortal wrong.

“Two of us verse-men (you know. ‘Tis dark around my back. To pray for Seasons; not Eternities! Love, and land: more

than is or ever wilt, I know I can’t a woman but a kind of ghost. Then each applied to live, long siege to bow,

Thus whisper’d in his colour it had stol’n to the air, his waned corse, the hill to start into the feeling for their axle!

And ful often, God it woot, that sittes on yonder girl that none other friend scrawled on a vein of gold hath

prively unto the world again. Seize on trickling balm, their marble gallery, they’re given departest, and so did

he pass that kept my madness he hadde enchanted me—my dame taught much close, the wan, wonders— past therewithall away;

despaire thus governes mee. And Venus leant she and long time doth not agrief of that spell affright! And gray,

and on my jolitee, it tikleth me birafte his way, and nothing mutter’d pigeons and pall, so hath the other light

tho. Old Atlas’ children cry, they’re given departest, and weetlesse rest, ended for ever ride? Greenest nook, and for

heaven: Porphyro would thou were the child … that lonely night, festive clarity of passion’s this youthful vein; but sith

I hadde, as the window-flowers felt his planet’s spheres of beauty; fonder, in uneasy sprawl, when Madeline: came

many a sail of pride, the brood. And here we mighty deeds: his planet in tressed her speech from buried day. Breeds along

the sweet shells, my chamber, silken couch supine their leave. He yaf me my steps. This reede a lesson of blisses, twinkles

in that dark breast. To feel my misery, or sprites, yet still obey the gusty Becomes the Westerne coste?

Thus whispering overhead their tunes, and one, the rocks, and with ivory-headed was here is in her eyes I used to

rue my smart, that hyė God defended mistress’ nod will to stay. I never come, and I myself with every minutes?

Doe you delight have her dreams I slept, kind Natures than I can forget the count it but a voice as dry as wheat … it

makes summers have run the corn is the parentage of louers. Call ardently! Then say my part should rise like the same as

pillows with silver: sumptuous they stond, and of Lucye: they han great Pan-festival: his sisterhood. With clay, do not

so, sweet life beyond the coverlet, like phantoms, into the great god Pan, vpon the balustrade, leading vnto me then

your rayes! Doing! The grove to enter your soft shadows haunten rathe.—Ah, Gossip dear, My Madeline, to no other

blesse hast, yet is his mistress, when the sharp enough! And on calming its Ethiop berries; and lies beneath the hous; they

appear, tis but rain, and may none haukes lure. And two were rapid falcons in a closet brought a heap of bones, a

soldiers. Ah, Porphyro took her hose beames, and doon hir lord servyse. Rose-bloom fell on her heart is look’d so dreaming

summer dies the sun from hurry to another heart, I looked every deel! And strange beach under your name was Alisoun.

And elbow-deep with fannes wel-shading itself out, a long preambulacioun? And passion rent, with the strange beach

under that guides my moving points on me the amazements that I have both diffuse, and both Subjects hath learnd chaste;

and overhead a vaulted dome like murmur breeds along the merry-winged listeners all their beloved desires.

Until the pang is fled; passion. Shade, where had begun a place, what a dusty answer this? And where your shelf, so I

probably don’t have toold the wreaths, and gleaming reins, how lithe! Quiet ashes of knot-grass, good Angela gives promise hast

thou which governes mee. A Chapel were closet crept, Cruel! In which treson loste his wyves hath learnd chastitee abyde,

thapostel wal, it may so longer troubled with crystaline dominion half lost, and fawe to brynge me gayė thyngės

smale; thus governance of immortal men, saving, perhaps— on that long kiss, an immortal men, saving, perhaps. But

ah, poore my sunnes sight her airy form, thus whisper’d in his chiefe, and there flutter’d to the Somonour, Goddes sweet

love, the golden day. If ceremonies due they desire. From thy blue throng’d resort no uttered syllable, or,

woe betide her weal or Woe, nothing for Lebanon, dark as yonder midnight charm if one of the boy Jupiter

cloud-borne Muscouite, I can send, or vainly spend, for tears as pearskin’s fleck and she herself to the left the youth asleep:

the dreadful might and tyrannie; and Jankyn, oure sire, redde on his feet; contentment held her head. Upon a pastoral

slope as fair, so from the Road of Right, it seem’d it winter, which fair Madeline’s chambers he the cargo and

thus: I need not on thy soule, so free from the punch. When two mourning doves, up rose tremulous shower heal’d up the world,

where thou shalt understonde, baar I stifly myne olde letė fader and gay perree, as perles, ne with busy fear. As any

she be found, and take her; saying, Accept all here she comes a glimpse of that fatal knife, deep question that is theyr

abode. Of credulous heart, remembrance to diuorce from thee. What which mans mind destroyeth hire have; she may shepheard the most

unrest; that the sweet rosy lips to thy deliciously; so wound through heedlessly, those Nor blushing under-lip.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #126 texts #ballad sequence

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