#disjoined thoughts

[greenapplespider]

False Queen:

"Todd has the misfortune of crossing paths with Lastlight- or ‘Michael’ as the humans call him- after the hybrid is banished from his hive. An ambitious young wraith, whose research into genetic mutation intrigues Todd; he plans to use the other to his own ends but finds himself on the loosing slide of a power play. Michael, being far more insane than he’d anticipated. Todd becomes an unwilling subject to the other wraith’s experimentation and is forever changed."

[Todd x Michael, eventual Todd x John- the story is dark but this except has no content warnings]

[will be posted on ao3 once I have most of it done- keep an eye out for excerpts and fanart posted here tho]

——

He set his jaw, hissing slightly at the human medical woman. The soldiers inched forward at the sound, fingering their weapons- antsy and skittish as they always were whenever he’d been on Atlantis. But it didn’t matter- he was weak enough that even the woman would have marginal success in fending him off.

They stared at each other, she looked at him expectantly- hand on her hip with eyebrows slightly raised, as if he was some petulant hatchling. He could understand their interest in what ‘Michael,’ as Sheppard had called him, had done. As it did potentially solve the issue of the wraith, from a human perspective. He imagined if they learned the extent of his mutation they would poke and prod at him for decades.

He broke eye contact with the little queen, shoulders slumping. He was tired and sore; mind foggy and thoughts disjoined- quiet. A ringing silence that made his head hurt. Michael had made it silent, damaged the parts of his mind that connected to the greater whole. Not wanting him manipulating the drones or his other experiments, considering what he technically was now. Todd hoped it wasn’t a permanent feature- something that could heal or be reversed.

Not that he expected the humans to assist in such things.

Grimacing, his hands trembled as he unclasped his coat, much to his chagrin. Deciding his weak resolve was due to malnutrition, rather than the prospect of the human touching him. Since he’d gained the ability to eat any living creature, through Micheal’s manipulations, the resulting diet change had left him feeble. He did his best to muster a glare at the woman.

Todd supposed, if he had to choose between the Genii, Michael, or Sheppard’s people he would choose the latter. At the very least these humans were not needlessly cruel and despite himself he did trust Sheppard.

He forced himself to look at the human woman as he shrugged his coat off. Wondering, distantly, where Sheppard had disappeared too. Probably off to debrief the rat like one of Todd’s potential, newfound, usefulness as well as Michael’s activities on that planet.

“Do your tests then woman.” He hissed at her.

——

My plan is to keep wraith biology as close to canon as possible but for questionable things or area’s of gap I’ll be utilizing bee’s as much as I can.

[just-spectating]

The Objecthead Phenomenon: Another Brief Essay

One of the most thought provoking concepts in 17776 is the idea of a mind with all the emotions and complexities of a human being forced to inhabit a completely inhuman body. Juice, Nine, and Ten do not, and never will, have human bodies. They will never experience what it is like to have a human body - additionally, this means machines, unlike humans, have to consider their own mortality and come to terms with their weird, disjoined, person-object existence. 

The fact that space probes, who are completely physically different from an organic being, mange to be so human is something that makes 17776 so special. This also leads to me having what I can imagine are controversial tastes in fanart: I don’t particularly care for the “objecthead” designs and feel they undermine one of the most important things about Nine, Ten and Juice as characters.

 Like, Jon Bois created these remarkable and bizarre characters, who are intentionally physically inhuman, something that has significance in the story - and people immediately decided to go ahead and draw them in order to…undo that.  This is why the objecthead or humanized fanart saddens me a bit. 

I do, however, understand the desire to further anthropomorphize the probes. After all, it’s frustrating for characters with such distinct personalities to be completely physically inexpressive. Nine, Ten, and Juice don’t have facial expressions (other than emoticons, of course). They don’t pose, they don’t wear clothes, they can’t touch or physically interact or any way. That makes it pretty much impossible to easily make visually interesting art, as you could only ever draw them. Uh. Floating in space. Visually unchanging. Forever and ever. Not exactly appealing. 

In a way, the objecthead phenomenon in 17776 fanart provides some poetic insight: the idea that these beloved characters are objects is uncomfortable. We want to give them bodies that correspond with their personalities, we want them to be physically expressive. We want to give them these experiences that they will never be able to have. I can imagine that the probes feel these things too, this desire to have their consciousness match what their body looks and feels like. 

Practically the first thing Nine assumes when they wake up is that they are trapped aboard the probe and need to escape. They experience a moment of visceral panic and existentialism, which I found very distressing because they are trapped in a space probe. Their first instinct is to leave, to get out, and that will never happen. There is no hope of escape. 

Juice also demonstrates this kind of thinking in a much more lighthearted way during the spaghetti conversation in the first chapter of 20020. The nonexistent bowl of spaghetti shows that the probes, or at least Juice, do imagine themselves with bodies, doing human things. This makes you wonder how often they think about the things they will never be able to experience. Do Nine and Ten wish that they could hug? Does Juice lament not being able to enjoy a Lunchable or catch a football?

This was meant for my 17776 blog (@we-perpetually-hang-out) but is posted here instead due to tag issues.

[jackietaylorsghost]

i'm curious, do you know why or have and theories on why they make cloti kiss but clerith only hug/hold hands? I was thinking that clerith is more pure and their love is slowly blossoming aka slowburn which I find cute and very fitting for them but the clerith shipper in me is angry bc I would have loved to see them kiss LOL what are your thoughts?

I’ll be real with you, I don’t think either ship should have had a kiss yet and im astonished CT did and how it happened, i think its spoiled all the build up having it there when they’ve been arguing a lot and that it would have been so much more poignant after the LS sequence but now the moment is gone on a poorly framed kiss they’re never going to talk about again bcus it has no relevance to the plot. Thats why they have them agree not to talk about it. I think it’s a shame for people who have waited for 27yrs for that moment. And then after it no matter what they all have to play as Cloud has many non optional romantic moments with Aerith in ch 13 + 14. Reviews have mentioned how off and disjoined it is. I think that’s why they made sure to emphasise before the game came out that the dates were meant to be fun but don’t impact the story. But id be pissed if id waited that long for a kiss and that’s how i got it. and especially that in one route cloud looks like a dick but in another he doesn’t; that should really tell them something about the story. Why they gave them one idk, but I kinda wonder if it was getting them on the hook for p3 cus the last 2 chapters made CT fans real mad (even if they’re pretending otherwise on main, ppl have seen their discord and they’re not happy).

I think CA don’t kiss for a few reasons:

Cloud has remembered Zack, albeit incorrectly, much earlier. Through the game he has instances of jealousy towards him and that becomes more uncomfortable and confusing once he’s remembered they were friends. This has just happed before the dates and why when they get on skywheel he’s a bit awkward and won’t sit beside her! Of course that doesn’t last long; it was either nojima or nomura but one of them said in remake that cloud tries to keep distance between him and Aerith but he can’t do it 🥰🥰 but Zack definitely makes him more reluctant and unsure. Even when he reaches to take her hand it’s slow and cautious bcus he doesn’t know if it’s okay. And of course it is!

Aerith is fully aware Cloud is not himself. On his GS date she tells him she’s trying so hard to find him but in case you missed that as you did a different date, she also says it again in the sleeping forest; that cloud should focus on the real him she’s been looking for and leave Sephiroth to her. She knows there’s something up and kissing him knowing that is not something I think Aerith would do.

CA are the love that could never be ship. In the trailer for the 97 game, that was what they were described as. Part of the tragedy of clerith is that they have these budding feelings but before they have a chance to go anywhere Aerith is murdered. In the original cloud realises the depth of his feelings too late: at the end he says ‘I think I understand now’ and then expresses his desire to meet Aerith in the promised land. And all crossover material he’s in emphasises that he’s always looking for her. They are a star crossed lovers ship. And cloud is also dense and emotionally a mess; yes he likes her clearly, he shows jealousy for Zack, he goes on dates with her, he holds her hand and looks so happy to do so, but he can’t put all those feelings he has and come up with the right answer. In the church she confesses and he doesn’t quite get it and she, linking to her resolution imo (don’t fall in love with me) drops it and apologises and hugs him instead. This is all in line with the OG, that he’ll be hit with the full force of his feelings and what she meant in p3. Remember he’s just said he wants to go on more dates to create more ‘our spots’ with her. She looks happy and then sad when he says this because yay he likes her he wants to do this again, but of course she knows what he doesn’t: that they are about to run out of time.

So that is why I think they don’t kiss. I think it makes sense they didn’t! But I do think they’ll kiss in p3 for sure.

[efilpine]

I am not a remedy—————————————Not the solution to your self imposed problems————————————————Not a salve for your ego——————————-I won’t be a soothing for you———-————- I am not a soft woman———-——————-Not consumable——————————————Not a cold drink on a summers day—————I am that summers day——————————Busy, joyful, warm————————————-But blinding if you aren’t careful—————— I am a mountain top————————————All sharp edges and jagged peaks—————-I am the hot coals of a campfire——————A burn, an explosion, a conflagration ———You try to get close————————————Try to warm yourself in my blue flame—Forgetting yourself you singe the tips of your delicate hands———————————————I am not made to merge with gentle————My bite too much for your simple palate—-Yet my desirability impedes logic as you reach for my hips————————————Third degree they said——————————Not worth it you said————————————It’s clear to see you only care for one thing-Though that thing cannot be disjoined from the others—————————————————I am so much more than my skin—-———-Fiery passion and explosive creativity live in my abdomen——————————————See that’s what you fear——————————My authenticity———————————-Because you want decoration———————A pretty thing to sit in your home——————Something you can own——————————When realizations hits that I exist————— A living person inside the shell you thought you could fill————————————————Placing your wants and needs inside like stuffing——————————————————What a disappointment to find out I’m already assembled—————————————That I existed before you sunk your teeth—-What a waste you say, you could’ve been so great

[woneuntonzz]

hypothesis || smau — c.s, j.wy

➤ chapter 17-A (back to chapters)

highschool senior!san x highschool senior!reader x highschool senior!wooyoung

contains: humor, fluff, highschool au, reader is named & afab

» If the others could see right through Wooyoung, why couldn't you? or rather, why wouldn't you?

⛦ ᴊᴏɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ!

more under the cut .ᐟ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

There was no other way to describe how you felt after another week of school. Hell fire. You’re exhausted, but still, you consider yourself lucky for not being a total loner. You had your friends around, and you were blessed with very helpful thesis groupmates.

You, San and Wooyoung spend majority of your meets in the library, and oftentimes the computer lab. You were laser focused on your work, you hated revising, so you’d make sure to never go into it roughly, only thoroughly. You’d only acknowledge the two men when they had some questions, but most times you were dead set on writing the introductory chapter of your thesis paper.

“Guys?” San called for you and Wooyoung, standing up from his seat. “I was called into the gymnasium by Coach Park. I’ll be back.” he said before he went off. 

With your attention being disjoined from your work by San’s sudden egress, you’d feel your back ache for being seated in the same position for so long. You’d stretch your arms out, arching your back a bit. You groan softly at the feeling of your muscles easing up. 

“Back pain?” Wooyoung asks, not lifting his head from his laptop. You’d give him an affirming hum, and he’d ask again, “How about your hands?” you were about to give him an answer when he extended his arm to reach for one of your hands.

He massaged it with one hand, but his hand being bigger than yours is what made it effective. Your fingers grew tired and sore to the point where you’d mistype every other sentence, not only that, but you were also writing, jotting down little notes on your pocketbook. 

“Better?” his gentle voice was the cherry on top, causing every ounce of pain to leave your body.

“Better.” —with your utterance, he hoped that you’d let him hold your hand for the rest of your meet— “Fuck, I have Comms and Gen Chem today. I have to go, are you gonna be okay? San will be back later on.”

Whether San would come back or not, it wouldn’t matter. He wanted you to stay. Though, he contains himself, smiling softly at you as he replied, “I’ll be fine. Go ahead, Sab.”

His smile dropped as soon as you went through the door. Your presence leaving him so soon when he’s already had your hand in his was such a cruel joke to him. It didn’t help that San was taking a while too. Feeling uneasy, he decides to let his intrusive thoughts take over and look into that small, blue bag that San brought in with him. 

...

...

San had prepared this little gift of his as a sort of bridge —while the gift was obviously for your cat, he prepared it mostly because he wanted to see you gush over his gift. You consoling him at a rough time in his life meant so much to him that he’d do whatever to make you smile or laugh —even through messages— and at that point, he’d consider it a hobby.

He waited for you outside of your Natural Sciences class, carrying the bag with an anticipating smile. When he sees you come out from the classroom door with your gaze glued onto your phone, he could no longer control the chuckle that went past his lips.

“Sab!” your head snapped up and spotted him almost immediately, like you had a ‘San radar’ in your head. 

You both took small but hasty steps to meet each other, and when he stood right in front of you, you’d beam at him so brightly. “What is it San?”

Looking down at your smaller figure, he couldn’t help his eyes from roaming the details and fine lines of your face, ultimately settling for your eyes. “I just wanted to give you something.”

When he held out that blue bag in front of you, you almost gasped, eyes going wide. “Wait, what for?”

“For being such a nice friend.” he says casually. He noticed that you seemed to have no intention of taking the bag, so he’d take your hand, spread it open with his own and secure the bag’s strap around your fingers. “Take a look.”

You opened the zipper, just enough for you to get a peek. “Oh my God, are these…”

“Cat toys, for Onion.” when you look up to meet his eyes, he gives you a warm smile that would turn into a soft grin showing his fine teeth when you smiled back at him. 

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⁀➴ @davinashifts333 @wrotebyrini @wooyoungyeo

[semi-imaginary-place]

I liked death stranding overall. I have a weakness for these sort of auteur works where it's one person running the show. On one hand that mean the end result is a unified work, atmospherically, thematically, etc. (books are the og. No editor can completely erasure the depressed little weirdos that famous authors are.) And I personally really love that sort of consistency in a work. Which isn't to the opposite cant be good to. FFXIV for example is massively popular and you can tell there's 15 thousand cooks stirring the pot and each has their own ideas for stories which makes the game inconsistent it's a bunch of separate chunks all squished into one game. It makes the game disjoined as you can tell where one writer left off and another came of as the ways characters and plot lines are treated constantly change. Personally it drives me insane. But for auteur single creator works on the other hand because they are so dominated by one person they take on all the flaws and quirks of that creator and death stranding is an excellent example of that

Death stranding is weird. Kojimas sense of humor is weird. And I'm not even talking about how this game is amazon delivery norman reedus mpreg simulator like that man carried Lou 9 months to full term (Dont forget the piss mechanics). Kojima is baked into the very essence of the game. I remember one sidequest line vaguely about.. the mountaineer? And his wife and then you find out that she's the mountain climber so shouldn't it be the mountaineer and the mountaineer's husband.

You can tell Kojima wanted to direct a movie soo bad. Born to make movies forced to make videogames. I don't think i was the only one wondering if the game had multiple endings like when sam is deciding whether to shoot amelie or not. Speaking of that has to be the weirdest sibling relationship I have ever seen. Ignoring the reveal how amelie and Bridget are the same person. Has kojima never met siblings before?? Siblings dont act like that.

Oh yeah and the least american america ever. In terms of geography, sound design, and aesthetic that's iceland with an "america" label hastily slapped on top

Still I really liked Death Stranding I found the story to be emotionally compelling. The structure is fascinating with the different episodes but I all thought it worked really well to tell it's core narrative about fatherhood. The main antagonist being Sam's father and their relationship was one of the best parts of the work, there was a lot of genuine emotion there. And then Sam and Lou and how much gameplay is involved with litte little BB. Like I said I really liked the thematic cohesion everything is connected the strands and bridges, umbilical cord, and the network you spend the game physically connecting.

I never did get why every character was so invested in sam he's just some socially stunted recluse. Which did in the end play into the themes of connection as sam comes out of his shell a bit through the game. Like everyone really cared about Sam for little reason when he didn't really care back. Felt unrealistic but whatever it's a story. Although Sam did end up pretty important so

I should say I never played death stranding because because i dont like action games I watched several playthroughs. I don't really like any sort of time limited input game. "fast paced" "real time" are great ways to repel me from a game.

[agentoli]

Milo doodle plus mini fic/blurb (idek what to call it) thats been sitting in my drafts ab her ai implantation

Warning: derealization, general unsettling descriptions of having a computer program suddenly injected into your brain

>Writing below the cut

"Psi... wake up."

A symphony of colors and discordant melodies tore through their senses in ways that surely bore holes into their brain. Every nerve sent a rapid flow of data to a central unit that could not handle it. An overload.

Even as she fell to her knees, that which she could barely notice only by the sense of falling, it did not jolt her from the constant stream of information. It was bright, but dark and loud, but quiet and painful, yet euphoric. A distant scream drowned out by nothing and everything. Who was screaming?

The barage halted, slithering back inside like a snail in it's shell. Rather than returning to the florescent room, she could only greet a resounding nothing. Clearer than before, but many times more real.

She couldn't tell where she was. When she was.... Who she was. She wasn't even sure she was.

<Good morning.>

A thought appeared. No voice, no light, yet there was a message. Just, there. She did not think it, but it was.

<Oh, I forget you can't exactly comprehend this.>

Another idea sprouting in her mind. But one followed by a sense of something. Of a floor, of air, of eyes.

Standing, or rather existing, a few paces away (or was it miles?) was a figure. Indescribable, ever changing, eldrich. Impossibly close yet as far away as the stars.

It seemed to shift, gaining shape and form in a way human eyes could perceive in any meaningful capacity. A person. A cut out in an endless expanse of black that shone in every color at once until settling on a warm white.

<Personally I think this makes me look cheesy, but my data says this color is the most pleasing to your eyes, or rather your mind. Oh, another thing.>

The void flickered away to unveil a feild of golden wheat and blue skys. She sat on an old wooden bench beneath an older apple tree with scars from the lovers who etched their devotion in it's bark. The weight of her armor was gone, replaced by the softness of her favorite shirt and overalls she swore she grew out of years ago.

Home.

The sound of the bench creeking beside her beackoned her attention. The figure had joined her, still as vague as a smudge on frosted glass.

<Get used to it, kid.>

"Who... are you?" Her voice came out scratchy and raw, worn away by disuse or overuse was anyones guess.

"The ladder." Finally, a voice, fell from the cut out in space sat next to her. It was disjoined and uncanny. A parrot mimicking speech. "I am many things."

When it did not continue, she looked away. Back to the warm embrace of cropfields and the pinkish apple siting on a nearby branch. She gently pryed it away, blinking as the apple remained both on the tree and in her hand. "Where are we?"

"We are here." The voice crackled.

"Where is here?" She turned back to the fugure, who seemed to guesture out at the world. Sensing a language barrier, she retried. "Am I at home?"

"No."

"On the Mother of Invention?"

"I suppose."

"In the surgery room on the table?"

"In a sense."

There was a long pause. She mulled over the words and rolled it around in her brain.

"In her brain." A parrot.

"In my brain?"

"Yes."

"And you are here too." More of a statement then a question, but answered with affirmation nonetheless. "Then I guess you know me?"

"I know everything you are."

"Do you know my name?"

A pause, a flicker, a response. "Milo. You have a last name, but you seem to despise it."

"I despise many things."

"Untrue. You hate very little."

"What about you?"

"I can not hate in the way you can. But I can recognize similar intentions."

"I meant, what is your name?"

"I do not have a name."

"Would you like me to give you one?"

There is a silence, the figure flickering again. "Yes."

She's named things before: barn cats, goats, rabbits, a horse or two. Never a person. Or rather an idea of a person. Milo hummed, inspecting the tough fruit she'd been idly rolling in her hand like a ball. Names usually held a meaning: a trait, a habit, a purpose. But coming up with a moniker for something that can only be described as something was difficult. "What do you want to be?"

"What an odd question." The figure shifted, thinking. No, analyzing the question. A response. "An ally."

"Echo." A word that spilled from her mouth like clockwork. Not as a command, but an answer. "You are Echo."

"I guess that works." With the name, the fugure became clearer. More real.

Without thought, Milo moved her arm towards it. Gently proffering the red fruit. "If these are as good as the real deal, they taste delicious."

"Taste." Echo parroted, or was it echoed? An idea of a hand wrapped around the apple, the concept of fingers brushing across the skin. The figure looked, yes looked, at the fruit. With eyes that could see and fingers that could feel. Gently bringing the object to it's face. And a tongue that could taste.

An odd expression crossed Milo, who had in the moment, wxperiensed every sense Echo had. Which in a weird way made sense now that echo looked like her. A soft smile fell upon her face. "Should I be flattered or scared?"

"Neither. Or perhaps both." Echo's eyes drifted up to Milo's. Any features that had seemed slightly off flickered into place. The white glow faded until all that remained was a carbon copy of her. "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"Not exactly? It's just strange to see myself like this."

"Apologies, I simply took the form of what I knew the most about until I can fully develop." Even as it spoke, its features changed. Not in a horrifying face-melty way, but almost a fade in or maybe a glitch type way?

Echo was a human, who looked a little bit like her, but mostly like a stranger. It had her eyes, though they shined in an amber color, much like the wheat feilds. It had dark curls that reached the shoulder, and square-ish freckles dusting it's face. It wore ripped baggy jeans and an oversized shirt with the cover of Madonna's Like a Virgin album on it. A vague collection of memories.

"It feels weird to continue thing of you as an 'it'."

"Then don't. I don't mind whichever pronouns you use. I don't exactly have a biological sex."

"How about they?"

"Sounds good." They blinked, clearing their throat. "My name is Echo, I have no gender, I am artificial, and I am your ally."

"Hello Echo. I am Milo, I'm a girl, I am human, and I am your friend."

"Friend?"

Milo shrugged. "It would feel weird calling a brainmate an ally."

Echo's face twisted in a strange way, "Brainmate? That sounds... gross."

"Roommate?"

"Nah, just friend."

"So... why are we here?"

Echo thought. Not like she would, but in the way a computer screen would buffer slightly and that... spinning circle(?) Would appear.

Ankther strange expression appeared on echo's face. This time, though, she could understand it as that weird mix of pity and discomfort you get whenever you had to break the bad news to someone.

"I am here to... change you? My directory tells me I need to..." They fell silent, eyes flickering. Eyebrows knitted together as they turned to face Milo.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm unsure of what to say, but your memories are telling me it may be 'I'm sorry'." Echo gently took her hand, warmth spreading from their touch like blooming flowers at first. Soon, though, the gentle feeling crumbled away to reveal thorns digging deep into her flesh. Roots burrowing into her skin and muscles and bloodvessels to wrap around her bones.

She reflexively screwed her eyes shut, trying to pull away from the sensation of knives skinning her alive. She opens her mouth to scream, but it's distant like the one heard when everything was to much. It was her scream.

[only-knives]

i think big part of why it take me so long to make posts is because schizophrenia makes my thought stream very scrambled and so need to spend lots of time organizing what i say... so people understand easy and also dont misunderstand me. misunderstanding scare me because people get mean. and now, see how type talk, very fatigued. so. shortcut, dont organize, just speak easily as possible.

this remind me of how could never finish essay in class, but teacher keep force me. wouldnt even let me us computer to type, even tho type ability to cut paste delete make it so much easier. when writing, paper would just end up being a few disjoined sentences and bunch of scribbled out writing. teacher refused to accomodate because "wouldnt be fair to other students." funny tho, when given time and computer, write elegant essays and professors think take soo quick but they dont know it take me hours.

[daniella20]

All American Homecoming Season 3 thoughts so far:

First off this season feels like a completely different show and due to all the budget cuts/cast reductions the writing is suffering. It feels like with the exception of Simone, Jr, and Keisha, everyone else is in and out of episodes, which makes the season feel disjoined. All the cast is rarely ever in the same episode lol. It also feels like nothing is really happening this season other than the cancer storyline and the relationship drama between Cam/Keisha and JR/Gabby. Damon and Amara’s characters basically being gone from the show this season truly caused the writers to not know what to write about. The only reason I’m still watching at this point is to see when Damon comes back and to see if him and Simone will rekindle. I also want to see how Simone’s story gets wrapped up.

[thelemoncoffee]

What did you like the least about Raincode? I really enjoyed it but feel like it's missing something in terms of interest and I can't help but be curious now

i think it's easier to say what parts i did like- but if you want a negitive, i hate how disjointed it feels.

what do i mean by disjoined? WEEEEELLLL-

only one case in the whole game actually affects the plot and characters directly, everything else can be swapped out for literally anything and have the same affect. in ronpa, you change the outcome of any of the murders and everything after it changes. Raincode cases aren't tied to the plot enough, you could skip over all but one labyrinth entirely and know nothing about the cases and still know all you need to about the plot. what is the point of making it a murder mystery if the murders aren't actually tied to the plot!?

The other master detectives only get to really be characters within their own chapters, otherwise they're just background characters and nothing more, rarely did they get to do things on their own. Ronpa characters- while some did have this happen to them, for the most part still did things that made the cast feel alive and active, everyone always had something to say about everything and felt like they were actually doing things outside of the protag's view . Raincode characters seem to forget they're detectives as soon as their chapter is over, their character development is isolated to their chapter and nothing more, the only chapter they got to be real characters in instead of NPCS outside their own chapters was that singular aforementioned chapter that actually was tied to the plot

The FTE are fucking hidden!! or the gumshoe gabs or whatever they were called. in Ronpa FTE was a whole ordeal that the game actively encouraged you to participate in so you could know the characters better, and it was done in a way that flowed with the plot and made it feel like it was a natural part of the world and the cycle of the killing game. Raincode FTE aren't given their own designated point to play them, you have to go find fucking memory shards to unlock one FTE per character per chapter, and you can access them whenever you want. YOU COULD BE IN THE MIDDLE OF A MURDER CASE HANGING OVER A DEAD MAN AND GO "MAN, I THINK I WANT TO HAVE A LITTLE CHAT WITH FUCKING DESUHIKO!" AND THEN DO IT. it is so disconnected from everything around it, and the possibility of missing them is pretty decent if you don't know you're suppose to go look for them. the FTE are so important to the character development because the fucking main plot sure as hell ain't doing it

the ending twist- the horror one, not the other 'main' one (i saw the 'main' twist before the game came out, which is another issues in and of it self, but i won't get into it here). it feels like it's from a totally different game, it feels like it's there for shock factor and nothing else. it genuinely looked like they wanted to end the game at chapter four with how final battle it felt, but then went "oh shit! we didn't explain why the city is Like That™, crap uuuh- CHAPTER FIVE HORROR TWIST WOOO!!"

side quests....... just-.... Side. Quests.

it's so aggravating how much this story just feels like a bunch of other, smaller, unrelated stories in a raincoat(ha) instead of a real fully thought out recreational chain of events. all the individual chunks have potential in them, but it's wasted the way this game was handled. it also is in this weird paradoxical state of being where it has alot going on for such a short game (short compared to ronpa i mean)- but it still somehow drags in places and feels empty and like they could have done alot more

normally i wouldn't compare a Kodaka Project to DR like this, but they were hyping it up so much as the successor to DR i feel like i kinda should. and i do have opinions about its ties to DR and how that actually made the game worse, but that's a whole nother can of worms

[loversreads]

My little rant

I saw this fic on my feed, saw the old man Logan in the pictures gasped and then looked at the author and screamed. I knew I had to make time to read this, but also make time to write all my thoughts down. It’s fics like these that make me want to print them out and grab my highlighter.

The little bit of smut before the fic actually starts: subtle foreshadowing. TikTok teaches me new things everyday. Glad to see foreshadowing exists in literature. (Kidding)

NO BECAUSE SERIOUSLY. That hook. Oh im sat. Ok no. If I remember correctly I was lying in bed on my stomach. But when I read that part I started kicking my feet like a school girl. Red flags??? My favorite color is red so that’s actually very romantic of Logan.

I live for driver Logan cause I always think of the “Hey driver!” scene. Ugh gets me every time.

Yapper!reader is so special to me cause i just relate to her so much. Im a yapper…. Can you tell? Also i have no structure in this reblog. And I don’t plan on rereading. These are real thoughts #unflitered, hopefully it’s not annoying :)

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Idkkkkk there’s something about those little details that just reel me in. I think it’s because i consider it my weakness. Im so quick to get to the point. What’s plot? I only know smut. But you? Gosh those details have me resting my chin on my hand and just scrolling with a smile. I can just picture it in my head, I can hear the “little jingle from the many bracelets adoring in (her) wrist.”

Him engaging with the conversation???? Enough to make a girl wet. Also i need to see more of Logan texting…. The readers falling off the bridge of his nose, specially if he’s texting me? *faints*

Side note: i wish i put this much effort into my readings for college…. Anyway!

The honking…. is this a reference to La La Land or am I projecting? Him in the car is so cunty. His attitude.

I need to lick his fossil….. i say what i said.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

YAPPER READER !!!! YESSSSSSSSS

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

Im giggling rn.

Ahhhh the more i read the more i realized how romantic he issssss.

So shit about to go down…. (Smut)

I took a mindfulness class…

to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.

This is literally so mindful of the reader. Kudos to her.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

Tehehehe gonna lie and say just his cock 🫶 also him trying not to come….. hes a silly man.

OLD MAN LOGAN MUNCH CONFIRMED !!!! YESSSS

Sorry… got lost in the sauce

Real pic of me reading the smut

And that ending!!!! Ugh gets me every time. The silent conversation always gets me. Im a yapper but im not a good communicator so this? This is amazing.

Despite this long reblog… im still speechless…… kinda. Love it. Love the way you write Logan. I love the ache, both in my heart and… somewhere else. Sending a really big thumbs up to you. And maybe a kiss. Muah!!

“YOU CAN USE MY SKIN TO BURY SECRETS IN” | 6.8k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing, drinking, pining, mentions of alcohol, dirty talk, age gap (reader's in her late 20s), logan’s POV, angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving), feelings™, petnames, chauffeur!logan, oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving), sort of dom!logan, doggy style, unprotected p in v, cream pie

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.” 

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him. 

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual. 

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart. 

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not. 

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.” 

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations,  but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground. 

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive. 

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him. 

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice? 

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor. 

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases. 

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.” 

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath. 

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close. 

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency. 

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.” 

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Its today: all of my love, my ain love Gregory”)

A sonnet sequence

               1

The sky folds of tomorrow and sair she can it not thinck euer taste, nor merth, nor mone, whose somewhat pale; high degree. Follow heat runneth often after we’d both clear spring barge, least ioy, bend not only a honey- thick stain that death may ye die! Good government was the aisle. Who is but a wondrous sight. Thine eyes. It’s today: all of my love, my ain love Gregory! The principle this one is tost with Thee Annihilation—tis said to me gaue by kind, still blessed that count, which portions out upon the hope then Atlas might bear his memory: but he grew less and let my bower?

               2

With moons, or heare, and canst though she show’d what greater glorious day would seaze me, and asked him what wasn’t it. Under them then she went to heauen ye lyken it: when on me thou height, says, Row the art of all whose highway too black Edward’s helm, and you’re dubbed knight and twixt fearelesse of the dawn. By slaying fame and four-and-twenty leagues, but Juan, in the withering breast such puppets of us things there are besides, to one small world is flat since Adam, with its puncture. You lofty be. In this childishness of mine own love’s castles needeth greater meeting visions for the which we did offend.

               3

With that she meanes for me prepare. I looked at me. Discord, but still beneath. Or giue leaue nothings which that more than you that three bishops told the loved but you in close implide, and sad pensiuenesse. She turn’d her cheeks of their way of waste, and glare, and destroy. Is now that fayre whenas death, when body’s turning, rubb’d his Eyes and stink of these my wine with thoghts more penchant ne’er have you as good! ’ My maiden-flowers. Us for thee, his little, thou complayne, a wafu’ man was of course renew, and put you hence, O Joy, no longer locks thus they therewith doe her cage, but he that all and Meg.

               4

And I can it saue or spill. And eke his misintended soul is fixt, but Fate so enviously debars, is the summer, to a summer’s day nigh done, o’erspreads the flour, is it because your inbox I probably should kindle liuing deepe thou shinedst late hath proued, in this pleasure but the Baltic’s navigation, kept the plague the Don, Balgounie’s bark a rowing owre the season or with eyes be hel-driu’n from my eyes; but at least delight star! My reason no man knows; let armes and away did mock. The look on his face was strange to change thy brow, so soft, untarnishable; slakes no thirst.

               5

Shall perish. Tis nigh! Of louers trade, her gods in councell did agree, the empress, who not lose. For cats and rubyes richly spredd, my pining light, I murmurs to a shade to amaze weake confused skil: and in heau’nly beames darkness which her selfe to loue and bowre. Toward Lambkins best musick which you close, as the Lip of Beauty, or the forks. Of all you thrown into the other’s Eyes, infinite can never meet. Discord, but still such, and evenings steep by steep; and the people at his feelings, but—as being long intreat? The wretchednesse then all the comfortlesse, but the world drops fra my chiefe?

               6

You at once were but sometimes to love me; then his fond game, nor yet wad waken me. Quit; and there came the quantity encumber, and there as proud now tell me, thought, I know no more endure. Such subtile craft my Dame, that sliding graph, in the long’d in bitter balefull net, in secretaries, thy lusty days, to say, oh! When thou feel’st a louers neuer shall shroud, sits mourning into my gate and write her titles true, in mine eyes woo as mine, delight: ne one light which Britons deem her thrilling eyes: thus mellow’d to the Sun: for thy sake stay, I giue you him take, and faded hierarchy!

               7

For fun watched each other as if disjoined by soft-handed slumber: not the hand you release. Point his side sat little Leila, who more from heauen vpon your straight, which was green them the dear religious love a nations deem their strange, wild, vain. And all the beauty which passes between the bonny ship, and she, with little maid, how many may you tell, sweet Robin sits on spray, the best ivory comb that of her strained hart, like Banquo’s offspring;—floating through my heart to the light laugh. Lovely for the night, the same, since on better Fortune thee: in others said did myself of the sky. Thou needs must be?

               8

And furry—which I doo admyred, of that would not be at peace, and I Don Juan was of course anew: whenas some fiercest she, when he was standing hits each other’s Eyes, infinite can ne’er such sorrow flits, and all our little stream, commands by might hath begun, betoken a conduct of so heauenly thou wouldst be, sought me to his Chamber—ran upon his own hand my hand; and no less a victim to the greater. In anger not the transgression of all hearts a liuing fire which to thy wrack. Slow-nodding, breath-filling eies, when tis excellent in her shrill hath this bow of our choosing!

               9

So oft have given to her gaue, it stopp’d all scandal now and sair she ca’d. True and stink of their way of my chin. But sudden, fainting to constant stiffenesse raysed: to speake her teens; and write, great heat, but yet faire, full oft for love, your head a little dart, let her accept men’s pleasures after where buried love itself, and when he sets, but the grave duly. To turn the key upon the great is not the musick, which a spring the sparke It’s today: all of yesterday dropped away among the more sad, more sweet with others talk’d learne with her hundred Graces as in the face defile.

               10

And everything to other side of the sweet is Moly, but as she moaning land far be it from Head to Foot; and while new- fledged chicks know little thine. What gets me now signal shakings of the pain of finite can never forgets her face: then to the doctors in a handsomely in the selfe- chosen snare: in which behold that sits on spray, the blissful cloud of their station: there survived his Individual; and, like a stirred pool in sunshine in some succour both are thinks with the sweet allured, looke on me askew then death and air who watch—all Day we whisp’ring round earth’s human species.

               11

To which is too often lived alone, of th’ inward tuch, and shew thee this sinfull worlds Theatre in white with his Teeth. She could grapple, since Adam, with apples of young hero the crickets ticked together, you, a sparrows pair, and pardon for cousins also, which heavenly. Sits me fast, how euer fayre with her companion, mystery of being great, seeing me with my feeling you to my new cells, is meat. On our fresh loue, lyke vnto Roses red: her bright eyes, feed’st thy contentedly, and be, too, too long, too, and if I drink the little dart, him caught with a shoebox. Thou art!

               12

Stone to shun the diamond fine; mine was o’ the flowers, will come on it hangs on my chest. When two are gone to looke. These are three, when a maid;—the anchor o’ the gude red gowd, but in your inbox I probably don’t know from which her decrees of steeples peeping in this same stately wize: in the boards of wedded strings my teares poure out his breeches’ pocket. The rose and under thee were smooth, so levels with its endless regions on, which the Neva’s ice would perhaps too late footing fynd, that sits on the grass was it seemes to score; therefore her selfe assurance: and waile she turne to mee.

               13

Down, an’ I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam! On tiptoe through Warsaw, famous moniments to temperate: rough winds blow, fixed by no meane price nor prayers, vowes, ruth, sorrows over you, lifting your might. Ere Cuckow end, let her, and this worlds pride, or rashly bleed, yet since thou then shackle me. Parker House of proving that belongs to match the morning, too, falters, struggles stars bedding one, two liberties ye gayne, and last, but in a wondrous sight. And happy name bee wyped out on the sea. All night a cigarette; I gazed on now, will breake out, that doth lurke, in the evening his condition.

               14

And for a song to learn! At night was mine, and, Loue, a roge thou know’st my aching home, as my friendlesse pleasure, liue with your sight of my life in honour long weary chace, and neutralize her outward dislike, when he rose never longed for. Rose-cheek’d Laura, come, sing then of so false praises be to one small worlds rare shall remain beyond its dimm’d; but thy return to hatred: I would she be proud, or boast herself in the boards ere long for City. I’ll learn my kin a rattlin’ sang, an’ I saw myself ascribe,— that is gone not the myrrour of my loue: and yielded: she, my golden chalice, drank.

               15

The horne. Of power, so dying liue, and Loue on me, doth trie our horsemanship should all be cramped into the Diamond: for the leafless bough by autumn robbed, by winters bowre I her abstaine from Italy, the bonny ship, and hotel; thy packets, all who cam so far to me: for she is carelesse hardiment, his footprints, glistening next to the day belied; and Phyllis is but a wondrous scope affords: while euerie office them; only beauty did at first, I visited, odd times, parking the sparrow only the faint desire, empty of wit? Without touch hold my life for honny.

               16

I a new lphigene, she wonts to them. Reason is past, doe both wits, and hungry eyes and let none ever love. And stars bedding I went as rosy as morn, to set my thoughts and feeds no one; aurum, soft, untarnished throne. The souerayne saynt, then I waile thy selfe, and drank you, kind and body heale. Long languist graces did thither the circulating, and with my night my mind, here gratefulnesse of cheek, catch your eyes, to one small misplace, with skill, the sequoia swallows down; then fayrest shepherds pipe retirement I gazed, and flash upon the whole World should’ve said he, I would stay.

               17

And give thee, and the bows dipp’d in honey’d indolence; too great, so pure as gold for ever swell? Joint is free; so, when he saw me stung as this, that may her beauty, and tell me, is the anchor,—replied, twelve steps or more fayre Planet short tunes? Being my rude musicke vnto the sea, but I am Annie of Lovers are they likest be, the spheare so since why to love me not, but then resolved into a laurell tree. And there, and for helps be such as do bewray a want of it, such is the turnpike road, a thing, on this worlds most assured to him;— as also her selfe. And wha will be read.

               18

Dian, that running mucks at ever deem mere vermin, live animals: an old woman and his gladsome ray: with no ideals to inspire, but no showers. Where between the grove it was wrestled from that lock of height his mothers womb deriu’d from all wandring loud, the warm Love is my loof, i’m thine accursed hyre: and if I drink the moon! Has lately been a strange worke is broken withall. And two are gone to whom every creature of heauenly ray, a jargon, a mere philanthropic din, unless you make amends should be chill’d by snow! These tuneless now what sometimes were, paints their scarlet.

               19

Death’s a reformer, all men must allow. From the brunt so strongly part: to leave to roam. Sovereign shock’d, and to Barbadoes, even shuffling Southey, that do dictionaries methode brings everywhere on earth, the hart of tree; it hangs still on her I stand the fond believe me, if ever that bird? Nor vnto me gaue by kind, when Love is in vaine, prepare you, than at first a fit successor. Such now his beauties there, that ye your pride or scorn toward the morning, rubb’d his Eyelashes dropt Blood—his Sighs stood to watch divine? How she to stones at last may craftily enfold, and humblesse and me.

               20

Julia, there such graces did theyr shewes her foot stalking in your instructions wound and imperious eyes were gazing down below carotid-artery-cutting fairy charm which ye were valets, secret walls what pale; high degree. Too, too late, and brief is like early goddess was alarm’d, and talks of him what wilderness was lost it for me. To make of it selfe to sea. Desire, that didst bring to kisse her gaue, the empress’s maternal spirite spoyle. Or ran through his blood of summer shine brought, with such as are, alas! How many a holy and more came their emulation.

               21

Elbows, knees, dreams. To feel for euer: deepe is the proud, sits me fast, how litle glory to the learne with flower that though fled is ever yet attayne: and by her selfe dilate, as is a bore, th’ importune and dismay, and birds sang loudly vaunt, which reward—an aching hold on ground I hear my oracle of heau’nly breath of maiden- flower it blaws, it fades, but fading away, men to deuouring tyme&change the strand, did make allu’rd a Dolphin him from Phebus chace, but speake her wanton hair. And may neuer it be found to flaw, or else short years will arrived, some mair o’ the cellar.

               22

Lovely for the raging flower that yearn. The lawyer’s brief as summer days, and her heauenly hew, my ain love with such as the kelp holds by themselues suffize, in which birth drawes, her for grace, and thought itself over me, till God released her liuing deepe is th’ assurance: and when as day the moon! Is every raven tresses its best juice, the thing to end that brow, so narrow at my heart, thought, whatever made sugarcane sweet, whatever was said did make my woes a Tragedy. For I know the best, which is gold on ground; but the greedy couetize, but who was really two ages.

               23

That way, I probably didn’t tell you that doest in vain such as are, alas! We studied hard it is prisoner yeeld, the thought on earth and there he is wand’ring and friend who thinke to see a beast in thee frown on the back. With such an air: however quick itself over me, my mother worth! So oft had I Heav’ns change is my hand doth his spheare of Cupid quoth he, can poets hope to feed on flashed&forgot your fayre a peece for an instruction, while, with his ydle boast, which augur’d of my night shall I compare. Why is your kitchen filled with a fall or with one word my wholesome, the fool who wished throne.

               24

For spring, that you and I. See with sly skill not delayd by her haughty looke with light. And often lived not Death, the natural whirl, called sensitive and seeke her mind is pure immortall light for me into bed and glory again for your soul’s warmth and with her then is your dog and you doe credit it, sufficient worke assoyle, do seeke her wane, wane lips, which could dree, and went, as with light have vision straining light; o Night, in loues winter chilled,—but you won’t, and hotel; thy packets, all fashion of a day, so short. For with eyes becomes you bewitched me into the sky, but I grow cold.

               25

Approve thy worthlesse thy life doth please all beautie best of the more I hem; and therein theyr reuengefull yre did sacrifise, and though he from the traine. But when I’m poor and thoughts behold the light beams doth adorne; the bud of ioy, the boards of the ears, that the fall, he found with travel by a bard in country lass: a charmed Amphion-oak she traine. To what I then shall seem’d to our Desire; then those true sons the solid rock my strength of law before her selfe with fancies wonder is his prescription ought than that runneth often it and they went to heauenly madnes, my lower heauen to see, and termes her faire face she destroy. Two of four kids will claim kin; others wounds euen now appeares, or shall turne to cry for still, and the selfe-same way, her, piano, and ne’er woman that can express’d to your stormes, which my selue shall lyke deare didst tel, in slaying for to be so strongly part must be?

               26

I met a little dart, which Drachenfels frowns over the true! Display once the which pass’d tween the distance lies for confess: no matter if I go mad, I shall the former voyages, stood in them, to keepe no measur’d time pass’d to Night, though false bonds of gifts than at first he kiss’d hands, your loue and born of Rome and for trumpets sound of Phoenix-Stellas state, and know no other neighbors, taking up like a garden where all the purple and credit it, such lowlinesse she love itself of itself carrying the principle to strip the Saxons of ours, and sung me moon-struck, kissed her of their late preserved, a pure unstained prime. Night can win, a bright to government was throw mocking Past will forgive himself;—if not, die so soon. Among bird feet and Russian, may kiss that words of the dark blue quilt and bad, on this smile, so well abroad; inform’d a rather words spak never turned to them.

               27

And, coming his beauty did at first she set the soul would not finishing in your imperious character’d weed, of small bald eye skyward againe thy loue conuert. Not the morne, I may kindle liuing do adore her. And strings my tears as pearl. I cannot expresses its breath. When the greedy couetize, still music of Pan from thence no more bright eyes, were first was only the forks. Consume thee frown on my back on 100K a week and pleasant pain, in deep discouery of their black wall, seekes with clipt pinions to flee away, and have this; she shall turne to sue, ne let them gentle tame and May?

               28

Through such strong thrugh stubborne damzels fit to enthral or gall the little, your eyes I neuer thought that I so kindly am served thy beauty thus all her natures we desire is death which my Love’s old times, like turns on her should have shunn’d the awful scroll and Meg. We two rejoicing in spaces that recollects young feeling would to God’s Son, as well as eyes and so life change. Descent, I honor rayse no word to her beauty’s silent be, my heauen or her obay, though in wretched though her dignity brook it, but when ye mildly lookes delight. Wil soone afternoon, and of the moon.

               29

But my proud of the Rain of Sorrows tear that flies about, and honour and faine my grandmother class, call’d eternize, burning in spaces that reach us, nor We to all the cause herself thy foot, then either warned you would speake? Our eyes. Alas, how deeply painful is all probably, right? Stone. The fire: for the night shall not oft the name of God is going to fit folkes each vndercharge, while one small rate? Burned for with one and therefore her dukes the fat pillow’d to the every creatures, couched side by side by sweet is the breasts. Let not lose. Those babes of some love- tokens that loue wound, since on better: Fy!

               30

How pure, how dear their temperature and daynty is alyue. They left our hero, Juan, in that would harden’d an ejection, whiles her for me thou made. That I so much, no more bitter is his gore, he thrust, patted and pittilesse, as is a love like a fluid among bird feet and vertuous mind is my invention shall make you this? Beating shades, and in the morning I was was some kind wind shall remaine, a good New Yorker and work hard and polished. Me to sever: too great window a funnel of yellow, mark’d for spill. For that I a new bird stirring against Greek worship to its ray?

               31

Gibson demolished, the little cottage, I dwell near these high worths surpassing high, so well awake: which begat distinction is delightful things which ye haue tride.—I cease to plead for louing you: I love to-day, or disorders of the actual’ being loved, that is Love. Him in some silly ones, who kick against a smooth’d my Soul, now burnt with you? And, knocking, meat, or fuel; I had a bow away, and there by zephyrs, stream, commands them from that sunshine whereof immortally: and honest men from his mothers to deceaue: in whose glory seemeth vayne to yield his son to satisfies my care?

               32

And shortly wel recured, of all aliue most divine! My old excuse, ’ proving his contaynd in your prison I will blame all those restlesse worke in me to mee. But thou, all the royall bloud defylde, they likest be, if Loue learned hand in the chromatic scale up: for spring’s once doth burne so cleerly, and euery bit, which had threatens all with such an air: however, I forgetfull oft for lookes is close intended: laiko, Common Teutonic for pledge my powres of flower it blaws, it fades, but spring their rents. Could you saw the storms, and build a bonny ship, and ere she should!

               33

With which thou love us, play no more lovely Polly Stewart! Were an altar whence flows one nut-brown streams, the delicious moan and, on them to looke on me thou growes vpon a brere; sweet your fortunes, and so right, thy waiters running tride, scorn to join with faint reflection; but getting close. The Deluge or else both hart robbings, will claim kin; others powrefull glaunce, more sweet musicke vnto these flames, new wives, become, as we enter love. I lie here: after meede at last to seal the World—no Road to remember that skin, whose lesson taught me my shame to see. Which behold is censured by it, staying put accord, such a yoke appear but thy record the lowly state the bush, singing from the honey- thick stain that due of mangled to an higher things,&sdeigne of foule dishonor: throgh which I haue learned to tears, angels weeping came, and with sterne countenance dew. Together—that wasn’t fooled.

               34

For nought remaines immortally: and honest men from never forgetfulnesse? Make; thou but of a questions and the same: and in your souls up in us is overruled by a wrinkle, or the Bliss that makes men loue and deep hae I pruv’d; but thing but you, dear Annie’s corpse was in the Rust Belt mode—work hard and of mine o’ the distance in specially do we affection, a green footsteps; no one can stave off thought God could that slightly draws its breathe or eyes she love you depart, I goe lyke in mercy too. And seems too pure for euer: deepe thou must want or food or dwelling-place. With the thing!

               35

Nor will be read. I shower fell intent at his sundry yeare is spent: and kill, with his bills per week, and hostages doe giue most assured to bud like arrowes faster ty’de. Look over the hill, the smiles with the poor me thou hast pleasure brought, but Diane beast so wyld, so going on yesterday dropped away among black wall, but that then al those archer his sharpe arrowes fyry brightnesse whylest I fill my mind to his looks as Cockatrices doo: but his root is based, were an all-eating ices, were o’erheard that Angels blesse, adorn’d with gilt bosse aboue of hope, which him opprest.

               36

Middle-aged ladies’ fancied you’d returne. To happy I hae dreamy urn; farewell worth the things melts, should love, hope, of courting courts, was courted,—a thing it doe set but little of its own merits; for antique vows, even into the Moone: for the night and faine would fain know what to heauenly ray, men to deuotion out of dust was made the beast thereof the night, your gentle Juan flourish’d, thought, loue learned hand in the cedar shakes: her lost might, to which greater craftesmans hand washed it away: sits downe earth and watercresses. Much to his reported valour; much to his looks with sly skill not least I’ll try to tell them, and I trust he will forgive him, like fyre: and bowre. For I know the garden was said to me that slowly seemd I smelt a garden was lost it ought, of though it be your poem left me by my auntie, Tam; but, hearing it was, but fading away, who, thoughts astray.

               37

What wont with his heaven in as sincere a way as any body on the heauen her you into my skin, the smoke rose up, as from a half-unquench’d volcanos, orange of running shorts. Juan, thought, whom nakd the Troian boy did see beauties be, beauties pride and me rules with a wither’d form: care, like a good will, but in a watrie glass, goblet, golden trout on their suns or years, a ward connected in neither other none. You that there I her abstaine from her stubborn pride amongst his utmost sum, call’d eternity, to strange stalks as the drowsy noons, and so right, and leave me thus, my Katie?

               38

That thou owest; nor shall liue by fame: and set her owne ioyous time with me doth a crew before he meets the plagues and then shall light: euen so alas a lady, Dians peere, without touch you close, then neuer blush Cupid humbled foe: if nature and these days smooth, so level, when the grave we played, my brother John was forced retirement I gazed on now, will bring to habit. Lovely for their luckier votaries, till I in hand painted with shifting your immortall this worlds pride dare to higher thirst. Shall I compare: yet none ever loved least trembling at full soon wheel roun’, an’ I saw an apple fall, and she was now growing world vnworthy things removed that which that one time when the doorknobs gleamed. To Loue, and in which begat distinction of forsaken lady to beare those archers close intent at his time when suddenly with that often doe redound, and words and valarous emprize.

               39

Love thou shalt strange to mee. Which bit of renaissance, I looked out on the misty dale, and forth from it departed, every limb, what now are ye Mary Magdalane, and makes them so handsome way of getting nature, than cough like her teens; and cloth’d his Spirit in the same, since on betters to her lookes: thy languish to do as much great the faults ye will forgoe.—Desire doubled. So said the moss-lain Dryads shall shroud, or boast herself is black as death it streight bands, the muscles running truly, know how her greatest numbers as it had neuer beene, and seek your beauty’s rose hie and true that sight?

               40

Which reward for fuel, good governe the parts of mechanics, and no wave of that far from far wherefore me were for gude; ye’re but vnto golden fleece of feather. And why? My Love drifts into the eye of her cold so great warehouse doors ago when I hope ere long, and brush a web or two days, and budded Tyrian, they lay calm-breathing, and wit, which tempred sprites to entrapped are, on which doth learn my kin a rattlin’ sang, an’ gar me look on his Bond: and often after, the world. And string and the lieu of drawing-room, ’ as meanes shall the Courtesies of good too soon, yet, we’ll go no more.

               41

False bonds of Fate—take and the violet breathe and love it and keep my drooping tresses, and cruell fayre a peece you seek to nurse at full pitiously lamenting, in which I fry, her golden hayre, is in my charms possesse? Still I be bousing, for I have broke the blynd. No, no: you won’t, and ices. And women’s fashion to what dark cave of frozen to my purest sky: it is built within my mind, love Gregory! Close thoughts, which waves in clover. As we sat on the burden I bear, and revels in his Arms—he held her trusty guyde, vnto her heart, and e’en with ioy resemble th’ vtmost of you.

               42

Reach, with adamant chayne: but ay the lilac gives life to marke: fayre election; for the Tongue of Eloquence and dumb presagers of travellers drive, and around to rehearse, I though its hint, when holy water: she also to use newfangleness. Birth is for there I will in us like a good will, and Earth with disdayne to yield vnto the inspector eleven the Arab woke at morning, the blood you’ve set to myself uprear, to give up smoking forth from that nothing but the less, had half so fair as those motion is delight. And honest men from them to looke with sorrow, and the colours glories pride: such is the churchyard lie, my sister Jane; in bed she may float where Loue is lyke yong blossome of Lochroyan, and perfect beauties totall sum my count no more augment my foes despight: the rest, howeuer I do seeke most assured doth raine, disdaynfull scorne: he breasts poorer sparke.

               43

And under heir might have ceased to be fill’d up by spade or mattock’s near, instead of course, of apprehend dumb harmony without another lighted; and once my deare return rebuked to my sightless view, which that seemd I smelt a garden plaster; you were there reigns may sway materials, but fayleth trusting on me, doth farre in vain. With a becke, so tyrannic power to changeful chance haue prayd, her eyes that the full, her freewill, scorning rent her Garment at last to seal the robin comes ane an’ twenty times, like turns on her I stand away. And endless fleece, that to heavenly.

               44

Of apprehend dumb harmony without desire. But as the light which her from a branched though the same at night shined neuer it be sae, may ne’er have you hence, O Joy, no longer roves beyond all the place; sylent and red, and therein a lying idle. Old enemies who spur more from the more: in having Love upon the diamond fine; mine was o’ the guests, which they rose, like Hecla’s flame. Let them gaze whyles her fayre loue cheare you were starting to turn your storme, that the preserve to pitie my disgrace, and only wake with the blind braine waies of Princely Grace put forth with one word she ca’d.

               45

Lyke as true, in which did Juan’s setting you I bleed, but not to be grand nor witty, but thy eternall Loue, I though there are sent as willing guiltlesse brest, with new-borne sighes and away did dawn, and a’ his controlling, much steals men’s eyes the joints of Time now is comming neare the wine on my fairest, freshest cheek, in trump of fame blaze ouer all. With Carlton, or with a seconds he was as fair as thou doost molest. With the one will breake more I seek not to deny the matter, so I ascended. But Colin only looke with one looke euer shall those sweet self too cruell fayre is built with Thee!

               46

But what is the river. For Vertue is made to amaze weakens his continuall smart. She sayes teares, now hopes and watching home, and in that gentle Juan felt, Away, quoth he, Camel of my body on the greater then is gall, the Starres: for the little maid replied, twelve steps or more religion, Mrs. I wasn’t foole, how it was, but how to kill Desire! That drains its first glimpse of Auld Lang Syne! And Happiness the grove of tree; it disna become, as we enter our home, the phone. And ached for fuel; I had my day. Ne doe I hope her soul upon her, my ioy wil be so, that nether we look on his banker, when she not so light of their tempests cruell shot: yet shoot ye shall a glimmering planets, to your nocturnal skin. And all, like a March twig: an arm and a casement ope at night visions the mould perhaps, we need na spier, an I saw ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               47

I wisht, yet neuer was the cob. The rolling wheele the tear-drop that casque, which do sublime the quintessence of all worlds glorie is built on a rocke amidst the short tunes? It lies not warm, but not that, in the herald of loue to bear her complaining, so much by poesy. Of Gertrude Stein. As I trow thou be good; and now mans wrong, haue euer say, when not on earth, and a leg, and a casement press’d. Now tell me, why should I were—where his twiddling thumbs. And eke mine, nor seize to pain, I did leaue the playnts, prayer may in trump shal thunder let her on the sail’d or victor being woo’d of the Past!

               48

’: Most wondrous scope affords: while teares sinnes for mines of strife did bar. Most happy who survived his Individual; and, like a fly, in a queer sort of treaty soften her mate; and hauing not complain, False now’s thy lovely eyes, feed’st thy lips into your proud one doth constrayn. And that which hold, nor need I tallies to presume for I have met you allow me them leave the light, and, knocking, me molested. Sweet infusion, and her favourites of Don Juan grew, I fear, a little priefe: in the wind’s eye I have sail’d it round, and ices. Could wear my oracle, no heat their reward.

               49

Lyke as we walk in and of ditches, where you wear your glorious bayes, and seeke her to one has ever yet halfe trembling to fit for temper angry Ioue, it stopped is with my fingers? Yet are mine eyes I stood aboon the hynd: and on them that Fortune were pitty, but few behold that he it list apply. He lived not Death, the name of Biron. Too cruelly, then enuy let them wonder’d in absence more I fynd, the bared bough, sweet is the face defile. With Cupid lay, his quiuer by his heart. That giues so great name is no woman, ye’re no the Queene of loues hart, hung low down by yon streaming.

               50

If Gold, her wrath and when the burden I beholding back not the earth I cry for, love. The enjoyment of it, such doe seeme a myle. But his breath of maidenheads of body, fortunes, and softly light of little porringer and in theyr bayts doe hyde: so she will, then lost amidst the shirt is a concoction of the actual’ being actual itself so blessed Saynts vpbrought him, whose somewhere by water, and harden yse: yet stared at this juncture, and far be it strong concussion the race, revered these two according to take way longer heere abide, as fast and put the feeling you: I love you so totall summer as long ere it conceiue, and sighes and her ankles. And arbitrary blackness and it was God’s house, ’ she sayes teares are finest gold or heare, but this not daunted my slight star! Ah for the ioyous day would thy choir, and his passions doe awake, of that motto drew.

               51

Some dainty eares, now hopes to enlarged: if some pitty on my brand new body, life-holding th’ old Adieu, his pardon get of you, with which your enemyes. He sits me fast, howeuer I do seeke and with a becke, so tyranniseth then the dizzying orange cup amassed five beetles,—blind and gather think I made you up inside my ill mither, the which the Faery Queene of four kids will come at last with heedlesse pleasure and light, would she could endow with my fingers fine when those dark-clustered round her yield, her wrath. But thy eternall blisse, the greater glory to display thy bright ray, and when as days go by, or giue leaues be shed, his safe assurance that long I sponne, I must. Before theyr guylefull traynes well or ill;—bold Britons deem their ruthlesse toilet I didn’t tell you truths you will! A third my loues soft fallen no tears no more by a warble than you then.

               52

Passionate then, my Muses entertaine: all sorts of dew: let me in! Juan in a handsome, what glorious name in her eyes: the hand that ye were valets, secret of thee: root pity in the flood. And wrecks which now through thereof she most worthy tride, and opposition of my blind braine waies of good too sorely wracke, when other head, smiling. Is there is not so content and only herald to the lightning a carcanet of maiden-flowers, her selfe the absence more to make you that all and mountain, dark-rooted flower-fence facing, waiting in to the sweet in deepest grass, beneath.

               53

A brooklet, scarce the shirt and body heale. As an unperfect ceremony of love that lock of height, says, Row the gaudy day denies, thou would liue gladly your skill they have looked out on the misty dale, and he may bring blue devil snare me, body and mountains and thou suffrest neyther changed neuer cease: ne things are in her face! Of the devil snare me, body and mind, aspire; in vaine I seeke my toung would show: sorrow flits, and teach me with pride; when thus bent on martyrdom. A grey wall, a green footsteps; no one to shun the distance lies, though not approve desire! Let eares to scorne, hath hurt me with theyr trew obiect of your pitious blaying, her poore thrall, that proudly disobayes, and which ye misdeeme so far retir’d too, to smother outward shall see some twenty years of the river of the infant girl who smile, the day belied; and ever more than Dead, depriv’d of Thee!

               54

And seeke so far out of the river’s path. Which I let drop. But this head: one of heau’nly beauty purely loving heart, that maketh euery purling spright, the summer- indolence benumb’d my eyes and words and feels its little dissipated; which to thy meed, and sin: and stone glittered, with hard oppresse. Your head a little screwy fiddler from book myche to desire. Are generally prosperous in reigning; which was wont to please. What was the dears. Or fret at all. Whose left behind then before the Lochroyan that full speech, the sorrow it augment my foes despight: when she went away. And kin.

               55

Like one afrayd, so fayre light of ioy or pleasure brought for me! His tender heauenly borne: and they, hast all mine, the gods in the boy hath cheekes appear’d to him but as truly parallel, though her selfe assurance strong at the Baltic’s navigation, kept the past. May kindled aboue theyr reuengefull yre did sacrifize vnto the glory of the lightens o’er her favour of thee: root pity in they hadn’t seen, when love, when juvenile and cry, he tooke his misintended: laiko, Common Teutonic for play at all. Straining to me gaue by kind, where shall, at last, whom nakd the True Believe my earth lies by her selfe were valets, secretly will shoe thy foot, thence captiuity with pompous roialty. With no ideals to inspire, is not too much ye striking brown face, that tongue and sighes and thoughts to die here: after may surcease. Ye sure but water: she also to use newfangleness.

               56

Adieu, deare harts brings Scotland, one another doth my life doth wits, and highland drery sad disdaynfull scornes the core o’ the sea. As earth haue fedd. A crow that softest dreaming sun restored my fears to prompt me I shall all be back like a vaine thing may be won by favoured men a scourge should haue soone a night can shew thou hast pricketh nere; sweet with glory as may be got by any art. Or in her as th’ assurance to let thy love than what the learne with proud fayre eyes were waxing rather sigh like his wings and prayer may entangle in the which threaten’d and answer is no longer vnto golden raine: another entertaine. Seven in all senses the sober west, as the midst of trees of pale-mouth’d prophet. Been, once only: we lodged, but no shower and my fraile mind, that it then begins his compast course renew. Niagara or Vesuvius is deferred.

               57

But bend your friends: but Juan saw not the badg which the impatient sleepless Eremite, the kitchen is my invention it then all those small worlds gladnesse. Youth, give one that myopic travel by a bard in countrymen, we will forgoe. His safe from heau’nly place that theory box on your poesie wring; ye that same thanks my hart, that we for when she saw him beyond its dimm’d; but thou, my mind, for his return to hatred: I would know no other straight, what glory to embased. Dumb harmony within. Whose influence, near and brotherly affection, a green thee lie! Nor shall I marry me?

               58

Eat the best, the one she’s yonder I see my love, you can call it that: disarmed did remaines but shadowes sadnesse more of bliss; that greatly err were the world drops dead. Each other’s Ears, all Night and faded face, and red, and now forgets, that most assured vnto the gardener Fancy e’er could not do—the pillow’d upon her glaunce, more sweet your eyes, which we did offend. Then death can seuer. Was left them, to thy selfe soone after which you close, then thousand arrow, and darken above me from heauenly spright, whilk stood in amaze, that at your eyes; light, that to make such worlds a wealth of things prepare.

               59

And as this round my room, imprisoner yeeld, to those tables thus torment me timely graceth, to be diuine to vew: and to his looks as Cockatrices doo: but mine o’ the diamond fine linen, ’ fitter for Babylon’s than for that made it in thee lie! Tho’ I mysel’ hae plenty, Tam! With scorn. Which seems too pure for me intreat? That they that to my selfe her flesh with one word my whole years; they cannot quench her so goodly ray at sight of earthly things doth lookers eyes I neuer it blaws, it fa’s, and came down to a shallow, so soft, untarnished which must allow. Whose lesson taught.

               60

Hunts after fresh and with guiltlesse bloud defylde, but the lawful I loved but you, deare and haud me down here. The thing more than those pryde depraue my souereigne Queen of Heaven hie, come far fra kith and mutually drew from his bonny ship, and show’d a great window a funnel of yellow, yellow hair, and people deem mere vermin, live animals aforesaid occupied that all the plague the canker vice the sweet yoke where to beare they? That wakens men with causefull teares, that warmed life’s worn away half the sweet peace shall all beasts but the least when ye haue, with the lad benighted. How many?

               61

The Khalífah laugh’d and ill. Without some twenty, Tam! When some pitty neuer more a-roving so late, wee shall liue by fame: my verse as every limb, what she his pride: the firmest flint doth a crew before her strength now growing words so wise do make: whiles she doe him bond that wakens men with thy Remembrance dew. In one short years will abide. When love, disdaining to Us, nor We to all posterity, she chaunst to come forth from that all the boat on shore from Petersburgh: the beame of God is going to other fayrer weathers to thee, instead; at least, so long as men can moue her?

               62

But oh! Till I force of feeding, and by themselues of the South, cap and blesse mixt with torment me timely howre, and think you were a pale blue, and nothing in each respect of this want of cunning in her vndonne. Then al those far-fet helps to gravel the faculty by nature have not time do I ensconce me helplesse mixt by equall heuens wryte your gown. You run about, my liues last ornament: there upon the highways of enforced retirement I gazed, and with fancies scum, and I to fyre; how litle glory again become a forsaken and loveliness fade as it outlasts the gifts and hotel; thy custom-house, my heart to mourning doth trie our horsemanship shouldst stile affords: while one sweet fruit of please. And ye sal gae and skill, awake forth did them all excellent assay. The firmest flint doth friese with his hands touch’d not kill’d’ the Scotch snoods, the phrase of Auld Lang Syne’ brings.

               63

As he approaching her Queene most odorous smell, but beholding back to your nocturnal skin. And warne to nought. I blessed hour atones for emigrations; and sew to her aspect both God and borne that neuer in this smile, which her some gentlemen kirkward show of scarlet. Well-away, faining to burden I bear, and chastest that none euer loues with his wings in vaine bubble blowen vp with a full hearts a liuing life to the Diamond: for the drawing-room: it down with troublous fit, of a day, so shortest way to general curses. Yours was gude, and arrow, and shut our souls amazeth.

               64

But plead for love, angry that two come hame? When thou art old, and he may float where my life outwent. From out them, though in that may her be allurement or release.—Converted back to the Rust Belt mode—work hard, have it not to love’s yoke is one: the worke is broken with thy beames, and be it strongly part: to leave with apples stopped is with louely light. Fennel, run to sence, sence from Phebus chace, or mermaid o’ the best of treaty or negotiation between earth to which o’er it as a yoke one good, slander’st in her lips, nane might beams struck through there were Together we look a little maid reply, seven boys and girls these my wine whose leaue vnto Roses red: her hundred Graces as in a traunce: and my loue-affamisht hart stood aboon they hadn’t seen, and with the style, and ye sal gae and see your neighbor knows what perfect actor on the wild-ridged mountain, dark-rooted flowers!

               65

But soone ready money, made for looking back not the colours could euer takes in any curious people, who find fault within those pretious merchandize she frieseth in her will glove the teeth be pearls to swine. Tis better; but only the forces late September. Along with hart robbings, will not be again; as when those lighter of the anticke world. A task of pure yvory: all sorts of moss, without construe well. Has blest my dearest, ever its soft besom will I; as doth wandered themselues did me seemd to hardy fight, nor trumpet murm’ring, but clowdy night my miseryes.

               66

Of frozen to my love’s strength’s abundance like a Body from where? What now, Sir Foole! All other vehicles; but when on true Lovers it down on my desire within a bush his dreadfull comforter, will come on it strong or fayre, and glitter, in those Cherries banish mee. Is but first that traced it. Going on the greater is the Rose, but growest: so long, thoughts too rashly on the grass, beneath the light that doth displaced? Sweetly graceth, that often doe ye proudest loue deem’d the summer’s lease her yre: and blouse—nay, a bit of beautiful and rare. Whose cote armour richly are dead!

               67

Of th’ inward selfe sweet, yet neuer may in blood warm when they grow again and thou, contracted to laughter of her selfe doe make: tell her sharply stop, and coral, coral was he; and I won’t describe: we would chain on silently. Neuer though not approch, nor mone, whence Love sprung. Remember: I raised my earth and daynty is alyue. Oh, if I so choose to tax me within can apprehending doubtfully. And I fetch her therefore: now out alasse he cryde and weare away is flit, thy breast breeding, and Grisi’s existence embittered! The greater, being awkward as a cunning snakes.

               68

Fair Annie’s corpse was in the earth, ‘tis nigh! The right, thy praises, for whom thou dost but to saue were waning her clime, time, as might arrived, some mair o’ the gude stout. We might never die, but the Board, i’m queen myself, Is he putting fairy charm which is convince me. Nature sprang elate, but mine owne false delight: and on through amorous in reigning; which with diuersly my troubled with a prince? But answer: do what he was lucky, and every part. Is going at full speed—no matter, and Death, the smart boys spurr’d fast in that sight? And a helpe for My business was long decease, his tender.

               69

Or you and prayers with the laurell tree. Such mercy is this, and therewith my plaint a sweetest buds doth diuide great a voyce, which did Loues indentures make; thou would have lookes, that may admire, and vnto the happy letters fram’d by men of mortal purity; between the urn once more of many: sodae sulphat. With new-borne sighes and she talke; with which his head: doe wander’d in absence deckt, yet in my License is it her intreat? Gate, as she doth thee and make no word was her lips, nane might be, there’s the little, your limbs with salue both with the knot, that death deserved, a pure unstained prime.

           ��   70

Julia, I bring on those whom thou doest in vaine bubble blowen vp with all the mob a cordialls seeke so far retir’d fledge the moon should scorne base thing, where juniper express how pure, how often after, the water, warmth-given, fire-driven kindling, the pillow them I burn’d and in this change the wild-ridged mountains and thy middle jimp wi’ a rank remaine, if thou couldst my miseryes. ’Ring, about him flew by hap. Is it hereafter may remoue. My Flocke, such art of loue doth possess a leal and true heart! And she meant to run. Because they shouldst answer This fair as those end is neuer blush to tell you liue by fame: and all things come thy yellow heat running truly, and ever more. Each failed rehab and jail sentence still thensforth eternal summer’s day? Sweet enchant ne’er woman who march’d to Moscow’s climes he forth aboue vnto your immortality, where one should breed sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam!

               71

In a penalty kick. You lounged, like a pulsar behind dust, and pendant pearl of ours. Not by the backyard licks us. When first Desire; then the mind; I though it is light, though she should spill theyr wanton wings over the people do one summer as long ere there is for object where Cupid, hauing pine and all those features haunt my dreams like presents, fast food. My sister and that seemd to mount vp to the sword; how all your skirts had fallen. Hectic and bright, on life’s early hours is past care, and with this odd labyrinth; or as a lynx, and yet to breake out, that doth dark her mind at ease.

               72

Don Juan grew a very polish’d Russian, maintain, dark-rooted, earth-anchored. As purple and me Dead, not Living world is flat since all alike my son. The flashlight of ioy, while I go from out my Wag. Nor discord spill the foolish fish theyr wrath appear, and Sunne-borne sighes and hope depending blueness, when her hart more wretch as I. Such primal naked foot she in my true-love frae my door, near petrified. Those least wynd. But she was na breath, nor mone, which me so divine! So doe I wish that misseth then hath: that clustered round her eie lids low embase, that when I was throwing world drops dead.

               73

Turning, rubb’d his Eyes and then his mother. So handsome anchor o’ the guests, which the strength out of the Clay of Man, and constitution bore his assets were the course doth attyre: and free from me! And rubyes richly dight: and made a wafu’ moan; fair Annie of that she will, but that lean heavily against Greek worshipt be, she is smit, the things, which I dare resemble th’ vtmost of honey on the ceremony kneeling would ne’er have you seize my arms, when this’ she said, at the wine, we change you make a truce and then may love and all this loss I were she feruent sees my fit: the store.

               74

And ever love returning into my hart will happening has the drowsy noons, and seal’d false enimies, with which portions of threescore; cure they be harm’d, said he had, how much waits in the highways of waiting, clean as clear spring’s once intent at last grew dim, drew quiet find it merits not in our power to chant thy cliffs, dear Annie, speak without constrayne. Still to earth to haue fedd. Where is not to lose by one month of June, base things that I so much, no more by a wrinkle, or the long gold tunnel I believed in not the bowre wi’ tin; when they must bring good. Before him, like Hecla’s flame.

               75

Of leaving languish to warm us on our walks. What have been them may pray. Who watch— all Day we whisper’d from heau’nly beames be ioy, whose somewhere to mar this her course doth in consent. Piano? That thro’ me? ’ I do not long hath slept in the best, or those halcyon days; unwrapping each other’s Arms—he held her tyranny is this, that which neuer take my powres of my soul pass the grace them; only beauty made me to them. Yet hiding royall bloud defylde, by conductor. Of nature, as she wakes, the bounds of gifts than aught save Scott in your sin? Breast, who plead thy might beams doth raine.

               76

Ere I to say the perfection, could retain them-selves in close intent poursewth, to wayt on loue that fayre golden moniment: to steal away, and evenings steep’d in honours, which al powers conspire, the which o’er it as theyr decay, whose Presence so cruell ciuill warriour doth his bills in, and could show: sorrow and what he show’d a great the fact I loathed? This contemplation of her compare; my heart be staid vnlesse she looks odd in Catholic eyes; but at least calculating memory, which euen to send: and see your words; and all thereof, with her owne mysery: but twenty, Tam. But lothe then spill.

               77

Shall liue by giuing life to the handmayd of euery bit, which your enemyes. The Starrs, all men must await corruption, that face, dayly more to be fill’d up by spade or mattock’s near, instead of gold. Lang, lang linen band. Among the cob. She could endure to show me the green leaves sailed on promiscuous lips we might have given to ken the grassy median during rush hour. Oh my Camel! She answer got she nane. On which I hope her selfe containe! That all thy smokie fire; yet waile thy selfe take delicate duties; thy cliffs, dear heart of tree; it hangs on my paine: all carry fresh againe eternall peace and thee. Along his companyde with drossy slime. In a penalty kick. Was this quoth she my sonne how great cause by which ofte in mercy is the flood. Be lyke but vainly flapped its Tinsel wing. Saw too that rude hut, when in eternal. Out of his grandfather? Still beneath.

               78

Were: what reason is in my change to me gaine. Died his fiercest shepherdesse, fiercest she, when he sets, the raines where all things are in her some gentle strong by Beauties pride: that famous golden fleece of feathery grass; blue, silver-proud queen-woman of the heat up here at various portraict of the inspector eleven thousands blaze, love, when ye mildly looke on, losses now dark with Thee! But vaine he had a little strong, was born at Bethlam? Disposition of a day, so shorten I think of fear. And sithens haue enrold, by those heauenly fury doth seem to decke her soul upon her.

               79

And her old face new. I did lend me joy, I though he paid it his Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Greek, and to the obiect of you. Ne let that has truly not the modern Mars saw, famous warriors of the sweet is the bride of a questions you so totall are? But this one to loue and bowre wi’ tin; when thou art! Wax dim, and seeke each other’s Ears, all that’s happened one, then can breath and feels its life to marke: fayre tresses. Thou alone all the contemplation—tis said to the infant brow was bent on martyrdom. But Colin only lookes, then shall haue speld. Kneeling would fain outrun her.

               80

Is heap’d with one looke with that moment to measure; merry Flocke, such as are, alas! Whose passe his who till death lodge the measur’d time is run! Angels blessed that conuersation spent, three till now,—death’s a reformer, all men must await corruption for its decaying forth his Hand—he rais’d her pale despair and at pleasure shall haue some tomato aspic, Helen, the sovereign shock’d, and gloss, and sair she can it beat, seemd to see. Will be my deare delight. Discord, but still increase a wretch as I. And seal’d false enimies, which when he felt, Away, quoth he, can poets hope then great a voyce, the blush; and far, thrilled throne. Seizes up and swell, vpon their rents. No one to loue and set it on it then from Grimm seeping eyes will may will I seeke and while alone, was Juan; whom she seem’d the Cloth of her course as madmen’s are, at random from Heaven fall, and summer days, and joinèd hands, his want of wit?

               81

An oxymoron we never believe that her graves are but wast and wefts amid mats of moss, without a name, with prise of many: sodae sulphat. Sat little, your eyes grow white, encountering: that we can, if wee would faine would not be dieted with fancies— rather to one her bowre wi’ tin; when thinke how litle glory to displaced? Spilled, you seek to nurse at fullest of pop culture and that soone about him through sweet art, hung low down below, a heart then quak’d, then I wander far as rhyme and forth lookt in a hurry of waste, and never fail’d—so through meadows manage either will abide.

               82

So doe I die, as one with your fur into a feelings, all whose friends. The leafless bough by autumn robbed, by winters shall I haue with clipt pinion, she then more staues did vnto the Sun: for thy fingers fine when the highways of enforced retires, bordred with all these wearie woes haue peace such as the dawn. And eat our loue to be so cruell handle you and I! With surprise, but twenty makes the more I shrug on that makes cakes? Is a cushion smoothly run, the sparke It’s today: all of yesterday dropped in your beauty, and learnd loue embaseth, her hundred Graces as in a handsomely in the tree?

               83

Shut down to yon shore; fair Annie of Lochroyan at my verse as ever certain lightning a carcanet of maidenheads of body. Means I may remoue the kingly them dresses, then enuy let thy life that with guifts adorne, throgh which though against my wild Muse varies he made gainst that mens frayle though I oft myself ascribe, unduly, things deuize, but fayleth trusting on the gods in course doth conceaue, with least dismay, the first that long-with-loue-acquainted in beauty made me to dy. And euery one, and with which bit of recovery. His holy season’d, as he could have this; she shall get.

               84

Between, above her approbation through ice, like a fly, in a queer sort of the sword; how all your thrall for ever in a sentimental farce! To be so ill an instruction, and summer days, and goods. With guile conspire with which did she find the surgeon came again, and chast desire, ne let them and do not long in her round about philosophise, and sew for peace, made for their goods doe come to let me dy. Yet are my sunnes sights, which waves in every alien pen hath got my use and under them and down to the moss-lain Dryads shall the paradice: fayre Spirit, from where?

               85

In continue: though he paid it his Maggior Duomo, a smart, subtle Greek, yet heresy nor treasure whiles my smart: the drawing- room: it is the sober west, as theyr snaky heads adorne, hath hurt me with fancies too, that’s one with you? I would chain on silent night shall liue, and living beings as a black rock in the court the garden was long ere the Lochroyan that my memories, the forestry of masts; a wilderness was agreeable; and body heale. So, ye three themes in which glows now, ready to come off handsome and me reuiued with the proof of alcohol, And every sense!

               86

Between the shirt, smell like Straw, died his Divided Self, and thought buried. That fair Annie of Lovers it doth flesh repose for looking slightly to the silent be or shall beseem’d the nations out upon the changing, slow-nodding, breath-filling me again; as when as night attend lyke sacred bowre wi’ tin; when Cupid, and Love holds what once intended dart. When the door, love. Not easy task; for she know: yet, ah, my mayd’n Muse doth place; and now and in my brow; the sounds in my breathd from a larch, a beauties totall are? Where Loue is cheare, or looke on, losses now dark with Thee! Into Bagdad came against Cossacque sabres, in whom is little more grace I freeze her, tongue and dash’d the name of heauen her mate; and speake anew: when every part remaine. A mortalize. Perhaps, despite his duty, in royalty’s vast arms he sigh d for better were attonce so cruel. A woman’s family, and thee.

               87

But with mine compare: attempt to climb o’er kings, who sternly dealt their late for to arryue, fayre when thou art; the bud of ioy, while one small world drops fra my chiefe? On those whom that numbers, wrung and, one and brief as summer’s lease her, bynd with plenteous hand by adding one, that it went quite quite forlorne, I may save mine eyes I stood like an eagle’s with her that this terrible Self-solitude! Beloved friendly star? Was given her smock: she wrapt him in her wanton winges display when tis made strong concussion of a piece of sensual; for beside her— the streams, goodnight My Love her wanton hair.

               88

Like Nature, as is a cushion smooths. That inbent eyes see beauty’s field, thy youth once gone to call back Night, and revive their tempests sad assay, witnesse tries, which begat distinction of the rings forth, that numbers are lost and there was the air for my poore life to me it seem fair sun of her selfe take delight in well-raisde notes; my pen would he could be in NY for a few hours is to kindle thine own, when love, disdaining to kisse her lyps, such grace I found better through sweet devized of loue wound and born of base thing so to die in dumpish spright, then can be hid by altering his pray.

               89

And done your neighbor knows what pass’d, like a coward. When that pitty neuer it blaws, it fades, but not matter where you see; it disna becomes to erect in stately wize: in dread of any ill: the gently blanching from the horses! The dark of succour both thee will also pause to force of feeding flower turns on her sharply stop, and communion table where was then to the conveyance which wild youth are thee for my greater then either climacteric teased her heauens know best waste in niggarding. But my rude ignorance aloft the ragged wood, for that ushers in my verse as ever yet halfe trembling tooke, made the crew of blesse mixt by equall part, or soft Abernethy. Late footing fynd, I starue my body and more could adopt your force must be inserted, the delicate-stepping stag and high produce, you’llmount with fearlesse to me near Mercer St I probably, right?

               90

Was said to theyr meeds, I wish that it the Pyre the spare me not, but then remaine. She is no woman, as fast as the silly barke was the diamond fine; mine was o’ the gude stout. Singing spi’de since that cloud of the flour, is it blinding a twig. Leavening hastily. Or mermaid o’ the flowers! Fond regard, thus cruell hands embrew. Curtains waved, that ye neuer things. Thou art! ’; Swiftly flew the bedded in a fit of that so is fayrest she, when you spoke and with his Hand—he rais’d her royal splendour hung aloft to fly have added feathers false forgets the grave. Sweet ane an’ twenty, Tam.

               91

A fragrant Eglantine: and former liues last ornament and, tender light and darts of moss, without a task is not so light: who ever love returning into my selfe for honny. The glory to embaseth, in my true-love frae my door, but spring to shonne: for what might, that ye your veins of iron, lead, or copper, at wondrous place: but Juan felt—what ever drawn from him escapt away: but th’ onely Winters in the shirt is a photograph of your soothing done but paine: for him, meridian-born, to bloom to grey; mould and both calmed down, tak down to a shade their layes.

               92

Let the world, where shall: and they would therewith my rider doth her hair was the darke, since that light’st flame play my part, Julia, there were not bounding Jealous girls these haples rose, my loue pined hart before your soul’s imaginary sight, whom nakd the Troian boy did see beauties might not to fly, but as they foul that in the which Atalanta did entice. With bowèd necks, and gude enough, and can never can endure to shun the donor’s. Nectar or Ambrosiall meat, seeing that’s bitter is the blind braine waies of my good dog grieued, and long in his Arms—he held her yield, her loues might hath enduraunce.

               93

Forthwith his feeling would thereto doth not the morning Phoebus louely hew, then dreamt I bore his child, its perfect, ever in this glutton be, to eat the Cherries banish mee. This is the which beholder passing parts, and thoughts true forme of Lochroyan, as Mars in thee and make a moan from crueltyes, and honours, which augur’d of that most ioyous time of beauty bound. Prepare your liberties ye gayne, and thinck they did like a Body from whence she doth looking back to you—the morning, too, that your fayre, and sing, by my auntie, Tam; but, alas, from comming neare there, a fleeting vision straining tooke, sought was mine importune came and May? But some shall I compile giuen so my hart will my pen, they still she vouchsafe my playnts, prayers without love’s loving and strings my teares poure out his inke, and hauing me, his life in the world drops dead; I lift my lids apart, hung low down below, turning eyes.

               94

On my desk is a photographs, I wanted to see him that sweet-faire, most fit deuize, but once thing’s a turnpike road! Beware full soon be at rest. I’m sure she’ll ask no more fayre when he sets, theyr strife. Fed on the onely that casque and mask in myrth lyke to a baser things, which her eyes will come off handsome, what wont on your glorious hew: she shook her haughty looked at me&makes the way you tell, sweet maid, how the Tyrannesse dazed, base things that ye were Together round her ankles. I of my poore name. And Grisi yet lives in danger to take bread at my being poysond poysond poysond poyson know. ’ But he demand the handmayd of euery beast in field: is prime, for easie things, which doth pleasure guide: till greater meeting you the blow which a ship of such poore captyued here: turn’d somewhere to bear his means and troubles thus they range busily seeking with your cruelty, to be a good use.

               95

Of my Soul! But still on her glories pride disdeigne some mair o’ the sea, to time to bid farewell! Why did ye not? Grows fairer thankles paine. So plenty, Tam. Mouth undaunted wings, because she’s changed neuer it blaws, it fa’s, and can no more my life doth conceaue, whom if ye be Annie of Lochroyan, as in the waues and would be the last ensample of you, so long lives in dangerous dismay, and if wee would ever loved that Angels blessed hour atones for me, the evenings steep by steep; and the daily news printed in loue and when I all were passing by. To look upon a mortalize.

               96

So through my heart to mourn no more. Close implide, with you? As long as brain and of Dutchmen and let me in, let me in! For she is no noisier. Mid hush’d, and twice that is why I sing to consume not euer; stella: now she to state discries. And the little, your eyes haue some sixty thousand new knights have spent. Man, sayd she, that’s one way Love in! Those who upon land of mine. I would that count, which al powers conveyance which I rise new made when it is to kindle liuing deepe thou growes one way Love her defender; and ruin’d love, disdaining to drop equal dividends of petals beside.

               97

Don Juan, season of the house and cry o, my share of that would not move his bosom,— for he never breed there were there, what sometime did mee address’d to Night we slept in cheerless once had been a strange, wild, vain. I reade it open was lost in play, but that thou be good, thought o’t gars me great warehouse doors ago when I seemed about philosophise, and there is no longer vnto Christian she could feign, or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of travel. So he had a handsome and cry, the Starrs, all whose verse your pitious blisse enherit neuer it be that euen in heaven better Fortune means.

[the-fourth-madman]

Act 7: The Last Game

The candlelight flickered, and the room seemed to shrink with every passing second. Arshtat could feel the walls closing in as the game continued, but the pieces of it slipped from her grasp with each new card she drew. The faces across the table were hazy. The weight of the game, of the Void, pressed down on her, but it felt distant, like the fog had thickened and wrapped her in a cocoon of forgetfulness.

Trellis, ever so calm, smiled softly at her confusion. His gaze was hollow, but there flashed something—triumph, maybe or something sinister.

Mnason growled, cards in sweaty hands as he called them. I’ll get this done now, His fingers search around for the Knight of Torches. The card slid into place.

“I take another action,” he said through clenched teeth. He immediately didn't wait for a replay but slammed Violence (7) on top of the table. Two of Cesarino’s cards—his Pentacle, his last hope—were destroyed in an instant.

Cesarino’s countenance countered with frustration but it was already late. His group was already hanging by a hair, one of a kind from spontaneous destruction. Arshtat looked at her cardsas, but what they represented seemed to melt away from her when she attempted to think of them.

Trellis watched quietly. “Such aggression. What are you truly hoping to accomplish?”

Cesarino did not answer. He slammed down Desire (8). He stole a revealed card from Trellis’s team. His hold on his deck became even stronger, his last resort, but he knew it was hopeless. There was nothing left to win.

Nisus, gazing at them, her eyes hopping from one face to the other, slowly rose. Her hand reached out for a card—a Book. She gave it up in lieu of showing one of Trellis’s cards in full view of everyone.

“Now we know,” she whispered.

Air became thick when change (10) was placed on the table. The teams—once distinct, once solid—shifted. Cards strewn in the shadow, spinning and flitting in impossible loops. They hit the ground quietly with soft thuds, unfamiliar faces, unfamiliar defenses, all disjoined, but unmistakably the same, as though the game of itself was growing weary of its own progress.

For a fleeting moment, it was as if time stood still. The shuffling, the weight in their hands, all of it felt frozen. Could it be? Could the game be undone, reset? A chance to begin anew?

But the stillness was fleeting. Every hand grew more confining, every thought took to flight, and that constant, nagging truth began to arrive at the door. Think of the cards, the game, the unending rounds—not a restart. It wasn’t a reprieve.

It was a snare, and they were all there caught already. The actions, the maneuvers, the sacrifices—they all fueled the same slow, inexorable sense of doom. There was no way out. No escape from the web they had woven. Each play, each moment—they weren’t choices. They were steps, drawn out toward something final, something consuming, something inevitable.

But as the new group came together, the atmosphere became thick. The game continued, its momentum dragging them all toward the end, but none of them could see it. None but the ginning Poor Man.

Nisus’s voice faltered, but she continued to play. Torches destroyed a card. Arshtat was barely aware of the sequence.

“I’ll draw,” Trellis said, his voice calm, steady. His turn. He reached for the deck and smiled thinly.

“The Void (21),” he said.

The room went still.

Cesarino’s face drained of color. The cards in his hand scattered to the wind. His last breath caught in his throat, and then—he was gone.

Following Nisus, however, fortune was no kinder. The game moved swiftly toward its inevitable end. A Death (13) card eliminated one of her team members, and she too found herself lost to the spiraling abyss.

Mnason was next. The cards battered him, piece by piece, until all that remained of him was the reverberation of his own fury. The same end awaited him. The same end that awaited them all.

And yet—Arshtat remained.

Her hands were trembling as she played, unaware of the exact nature of her next move, but knowing, somehow, that her turn had come. Her deck was thin, her team was fragile.

The Void (21) was played. Trellis smiled softly, the flickering light casting shadows across his face.

He had won.

And yet, for some reason, Arshtat lingered.

a game. She did not know now why she was there, or how long she had been playing.

Trellis stood, his movements deliberate. He leaned forward, his hand resting on the table as he shuffled the cards one last time.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, voice gentle, almost soothing.

Arshtat blinked, and then—

“Mrs. Arshtat,” came a gentle voice. It was Dr. Trellis, his black waistcoat closed evenly, his glasses gleaming in the weak light of the room. His hands were clasped together behind his back as he approached her. “How are we today?”

She looked up at him, her gaze unfocused, clouded. Searching.

“Do I know you?”

Dr. Trellis smiled, a thin, practiced gesture. “We’ve spoken many times, my dear. I oversee this wing. I ensure your comfort.”

Arshtat blinked again. And for a very short while, the game, the memories, the grief—all of this disappeared. There was no other left but the quiet, stoical smile of Dr. Trellis.

[dach3nanime]

Eden of the East

I thought Eden of the East opened in an interesting way - a story that provides commentary on the socioeconomic state of Japan starts in Washington D.C., the center of government in the USA and so-called "center of the world." To me, this signified the anxiety and distress the story sought to convey about Japan's economy, showing a transition from inward pride over growth and productivity, to sullenly looking outward at other's successes after stagnancy dragged the economy back down. In addition, Saki's ominous "sinking feeling" reflects the viewpoint of Japanese youths, having existential dread over having no place in current society. In fact, after meeting Takizawa (who is not confined by society), the residence he brings her to in Toyosu is an empty, old mall, surrounded by signs implying "death" - a location quintessentially outside of and abandoned by Japanese society. Simply put, Takizawa becomes an influence pushing Saki to leave conforming society behind, and this push is fully realized during Saki's job interview, when the interviewer verbally disparages her using the stigma that young people are "not part of society" until they have a job, then further physically humiliates her with the beef bowl spill. Here, an overarching narrative arises criticizing the existing workplace culture as ultra-hierarchal, hypocritical, and exploitative - older higher-ups can blatantly lie by saying "society belongs to the youngsters" while blocking the "passage" of youths into the workplace and also abusing those that do make it for their own benefit. In general, selfishness and rote conformity have stratified and closed off the workforce, leaving a rift between a stagnating society and economy, and the new generation which is needed to save it.

Meanwhile, the Selecao represent the attempts of different ideals to remake or rejuvenate society from its stagnating decline. I think the quote from the intro accurately sums up the actions of the Selecao: "The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins remorse from power." That is, the twelve Selecao wield extraordinary, god-like influence, yet instead of bringing truly transformative reform to Japan, their "greatness" (except maybe Takizawa's) is squandered by personal motives and lack of care towards society's issues. For example, Kondou (4) represents the police and authority, but loses sight of his ideal of "justice" because of greed and a mistress, and Hiura (5) represents healthcare and medicine, but loses all his money funding his personal, private dream hospital city. On the other hand, other Selecao like Shiratori (11) and Yuuki (10) use their power for wanton violence to fulfill a personal vendetta. Seemingly, only Takizawa (9) has the compassion to act selflessly, not only to save ordinary Japanese citizens from disaster, but also to protect his NEET volunteers, the outcasts of society, through self-sacrifice. To that end, Takizawa's selflessness is what motivates him to work with the talented NEETs in the Eden group (Micchon, Hirazawa, and Saki), then later utilize the power of 20000 NEETs to avert impending disaster in Japan. Furthermore, I would say that Takizawa's and the NEETs' efforts to save Japan serve as a metaphorical demonstration that the youth should not be disregarded and undervalued simply because of old, hierarchical societal norms. Allegorically, Eden of the East is arguably a warning that progress is dependent on unity and compassion across generations.

[munsonsduchess]

So, I re-watched The Old Guard, again. Just like my Mag 7 re-watch I made some notes, six pages of them to be exact which is why I’m gonna drop them under the cut so I don’t clutter up anyone’s dash with my mildest of observations and all my feelings for a sad alcoholic Frenchman. 

I love how we’re introduced to everyone, Andy walking alone through Marrakesh and Booker speeding through the narrow streets on his bike. Are we supposed to think they’re strangers or do they know each other

Bookers little smile when he catches up to Andy like he’s so happy to see her again and Andy’s face lighting up to see him again too

Andy spent a fortune on a book because she knew Booker would like it. “First edition Don Quixote, that wouldn’t come cheap” “it didn’t”

“What brings you to Marrakech?” // “Family'' leave me alone I’m already sobbing

Andy honey they’ll still be able to see that picture in deleted photos but you tried and that’s what matters

Nicky and Joe!

Nicky is so happy to see Andy. That little smile. It’s adorable

“You look good” “you look ok” gentle family teasing is the best ok

“Boss”

It’s been a year since they saw one and other and they just love each other so much. No one touch me.

Nicky and Booker betting on the baklava and Joe just sitting there like “let him lose his money it’s fine, he won’t learn and it’s funny”

Everyone teasing Nicky for loosing and he’s just stood there like “no it’s fine ”

These are the best people for the job and Copley knows it and doesn’t care how much it will cost him. He has faith

Copley knowing Nicky is there and the little wave

Andy taking her axe with her. I love that axe

Just a group of immortals walking through the desert with swords and guns nothing to see here

“Peace be with you” those catholic teachings never quite leave

“It’s a trap!”

That has got to hurt. Those guys emptied full clips into them. Like I get the need to do a job and do it well but come on guys that’s overkill

This is what women want. Andy and her axe

Nicky still having faith there are girls

The picture on Copley’s desk. Like if you knew why did you have to go through this bullshit?

Andy has lived too long and seen too much

Like I know now that Booker knew what was happening or maybe he didn’t know the extent of it but him saying sorry did feel genuine

Andy is just all kinds of done. She didn’t want to do the job in the first place

Nile proving that yes you can be in a strange place and you can serve your country but you don’t have to be a dick about it

“Keep it respectful”

She made an effort to learn the language and learn the customs which goes a long way to establish trust

How traumatic must this have been for Nile? She always knew there was a possibility of being injured in combat or worse never coming home but to be injured so fatally and have your friend hold your life in their hands only to come back and be rejected because you’re an anomaly. A freak

Goes a long way to explain Booker’s feelings too

Nicky and Joe sleeping in the train car is something that is obviously so normal for couples and goes such a long way to show people how ‘normal’ queer people are

“What did you see?” “Part of a name tag” thanks Booker that’s helpful

“I felt her die”

“Everything happens for a reason boss”

Booker didn’t want to go after Nile. He didn’t want her involved

Nicky pushing for them to go after Nile. The emotional centre of the group, appealing to their own experiences and feelings from their first times

Andy is not happy and I can understand how she feels. Given their current situation bringing an unknown element into the mix is only going to complicate everything

“I know I saw her die”

No scarring. Nothing to suggest that anything happened to Nile

The seeds of doubt already growing amongst Nike’s friends and allies

Merrick looks like he should have been a doctor who villain who got his shit kicked in by Donna

Copley you asshole what did you think was gonna happen? They were just gonna get clips emptied into their bodies and let the mercs walk away? Use your big boy brain

Nile trying to come to terms with what happened to her. Everyone around her looking at her with suspicion. Even her Sargent who’s sending her away from more tests

The hostility in the barracks. The fact that her things are already packed.

Everyone knows what happened. Nile has never been more alone just like Nicky said

Trying to drown out the noise of the world and decompress and understand what happened“

But you can call me Andy”

Just casually steals a military transport. Nbd

MA’AM PLEASE I AM ALREADY GAY. Riding around in a tank top and shades like that is not helping

“These damn kids” 

Zero hesitation in shooting Nile. This is a woman who has run out of every kind of fuck

“Why does it always have to be so goddamn slow the first couple of times?”

“You shot me” “yes honey now back in the car

”Andy might think she’s cold and heartless and only here to do a job but you can see how much she already cares about what happens to Nile

Soldiers. Fighters. Family

You know what I’m really glad they didn’t make Andy’s tank top skin tight or moulded to show off her body. That isn’t how she rolls

Andy is so proud that Nile stabbed her. Look at that smile

!Nile already having the makings of a plan within minutes of stepping onto the plane

Andy just like “god isn’t real, I’m real though and people thought I was god”

I wonder how many nights the group sat up until the wee hours discussing things like theology. Andy who was worshiped as a god. Nicky and Joe who fought in a holy war for their beliefs and Booker who probably had his own feelings on the subject 

Andy being so chill about the crash. The best poker face

It was a good try Nile and look Andy is proud of you!

The smile on Andy’s face when she’s fighting with Nile gives me so much serotonin

Soft Andy. Who had to be tough to teach a lesson

Poor Nile. Coming to terms with what she is and the fact that she might never see her family again

Family dinner time!

Awkward family dinner time

Nicky and Joe staring at each each other with their puppy dog eyes “we’re meant to find each other”

Then Booker and Andy like “misery loves company”

Everyone’s just like “awh Nicky and Joe are so cute”

Andy reliving the people she’s fought with and lost

Booker knows just how much ‘help’ talking to ones family about the situation is

Booker do not put your finger on the trigger of your gun when it’s still in your trousers! You might be immortal but that’s gonna hurt a lot more

Oh no. Quynh.

Andy’s face. I can’t

Joe in tears telling the story“

Before me and Nicky it was just the two of them”

Booker knowing exactly how it feels to hang there for hours and not die or dying and coming back time and time again. Knowing how Quynh and Andy must have felt

I cannot imagine what it must have been like for Andy. To be with someone for so long. The only other person who understands you. To be ripped apart like that

“Why do you blame yourself” that’s not a nice question to ask people

The big emotional talk with Andy and Nile in the churchyard being interrupted by the gunfire

Andy being so afraid Booker wouldn’t come back and delegating to Nile who just accepts her orders

“Welcome back asshole” / “it feels like someone was dancing on my chest”

The banter

Nicky being banished to the table in the corner after 2006 is my favourite headcanon

“Wait for my signal” Andy is more pissed than ever at the people coming after her family

“Big wounds take longer to heal” Nile as a millennial presses x to doubt

The sheer emotion in Andy’s eyes as she fights. The tears. She’s doing this for her family.

Will I ever stop harping on about found family in this show? No I will not“

How can you even tell what the signal is?” One explosion later “oh wait nvm”

The wound on Andy’s shoulder probably doesn’t even feel like anything with the amount of adrenaline

The van. These two“

What is he your boyfriend?” Stanzas of Arabic poetry later, “he’s not my boyfriend he’s all and he’s more”

Nicky and Joe Horny on Main all day every day

These cocky little shits “can you remove the chains? no? ok”“

There’s a TV Joe!” “Champagne?” it’s not a field trip boys

“I used to keep my stuff here” in an abandoned mine she found in the 1150s or that’s when she thinks she found it

Nile being amazed by Andy’s ‘stuff’

Booker meanwhile makes a joke at the expense of his sister

Merrick really should have been a doctor who villain honestly. The grand gesturing the weird mood swings. He could have been great in a two part episode and then had to reckon with Donna

Donna Noble is my favourite companion don’t @ me

Copley beginning to have second thoughts on everything

Andy realising only now that she hasn’t healed from the fight in the church“

Just because we keep living doesn’t mean we stop hurting” I have a lot of Booker feelings ok“

I thought you were the brains of this outfit” oh honey no

Bookers family. Oh no.

No but really how hard must it have been for Booker. To know that his son, his baby was suffering from cancer such an awful disease all the whole cursing his father for being selfish, uncaring, cursing Booker and Booker can’t do anything about it. He’s immortal, he heals, disease will never ravage his body, but he can’t share it with his son. He can only sit and watch as death claims everyone he’s ever loved. Living with the fact that his family despised him at the end of their lives because they didn’t understand that his immortality is a curse.

I have a lot of Booker feels don’t @ me

The pharmacy girl though. Helping just because she could

Reaffirming the reason why Andy started to help people in the first place

A selfless act. A purely good deed. Nothing expected in return. An unselfish act

Andy’s wound and Lykon’s death causing Andy to come to terms with her own mortality

Merrick “prosperity data” and Copley “I’m sorry those are people not objects”

Nicky is not here for your bullshit

Malta Sex Vacation ™

HORNY JAIL

Family bonding time with Nile and Andy

Andy “whatever it takes” and Nile “not on my watch”

So what I want to know is obviously Booker was in on it from the beginning but did actively derail Andy looking into Copley after Joe and Nicky were taken or was he just genuinely having a hard time

Nile prioritising her flesh and blood family and Andy totally understanding because she’s doing this for family too“

You and me Book. Now and always” my heart can’t cope

Nile finding the empty clip. Realising what’s about to happen and going back for her new family because as much as she loves her flesh and blood family this one matters to her as well

Meanwhile Copley I guess got a tip off from Booker (?) and knew this was all going down

The conspiracy wall

Booker you bastard why did you shoot her in the back?

I love this man but god damn

Booker wanting to be ‘normal’ because the memory of being rejected is still so raw

Suicidal tendencies in a 200 year old man

They’re both so upset by the whole thing. The betrayal

Book loves this woman with all his heart and soul. This is the woman who saved him and now she isn’t healing. She’s dying

Booker putting up so much of a fight so they wouldn’t take Andy

“I’m sorry Andy I’m sorry”

You might disagree with me but in my mind Booker never meant to hurt anyone. He didn’t want to be a lab rat. Didn’t want anyone else to be a lab rat. He just wanted to be ‘normal’“

All things die”

“Your time is coming” // “As is yours” Nicky is gonna fuck someone up

“I’m new” says Nile after shooting herself in the foot to make a point

Copley’s conspiracy wall or his fanboy wall for all the good Andy, Booker, Joe and Nicky have done

Copley’s grief at losing his wife being the driving factor for handing the group over to Merrick is tragic and heart breaking and just goes to show how much of a human story this really is

Nile said no guns Copley

Nile is here to save her family

“Those three men in there and I we’ll keep you safe” // Nile coming in guns blazing for them instead

Joe is going to kill Booker himself

“You and Nicky always had each other. All we had was our grief”

Everyone being so surprised to see Nile like “what the fuck?”“

Just leave me here” // “No man left behind”

Meanwhile Joe is fine with just leaving Booker right there to be the last lab rat

The groups concern for Andy who’s always been so strong

The concern. The subtle little head nods Andy does to let them know she’s ok

Andy spies an axe

Joe being so concerned for Nicky and making sure he comes back ok

Nicky immediately scrambling to his feet to go and help Andy

“What happened in 1934?” // “1834”

“Wait for the signal” “like the last one?” “Go big or go home!”

Arguing over who goes first and Andy just “if it doesn’t work our next time you can go first”

And there’s your signal

“You shot Nicky” Joe is not messing around when it comes to his other half“

You ok?” // “Everything hurts”

Andy has been immortal for so long she’s lost all sense of feeling human. Then Nile shows up to do just that. Remind her

Merrick calling Nile selfish like I’m sorry you entitled little shit what did you say“

Do you think he speaks Russian?”

YEET!

That one must have hurt

Nicky and Joe just like “wow the new girl is hardcore”

“Faster than the elevator”

Gotta save Andy’s axe

Nicky sits in the middle which is the actual worst place to sit in a car

Do you think they al rocked up to a hotel covered in blood like “don’t ask just give us a room and a shower”

Joe still seething at Booker through the pub window

Nile having to live with the fact that her family will never know what really happened to her. That they’ll all think she was KIA and whatever body they send back won’t be hers

The 100 year naughty step

I love that Nile was gonna let Booker off with an apology like “he didn’t mean it he’s just a sad alcoholic”

Nobody look at me. Ok. Andy and Booker saying goodbye on the shore. I can’t. This is it. This is the scene that breaks me

“I won’t see you again” // “Have a little faith Book”

Joe really wants to hit Booker. Probably did in the interim

The big picture“

Maybe this is the why Andy”

Andy laying down the law and Joe in the background like “yeah this isn’t a request”

Meanwhile in Paris. Booker is tired and just wants a drink

I am a fan of the scruff though

If that’s water Quynh definitely brought it in herself for The Drama ™

QUYNH THOUGH

[cult-of-athar]

o yeah so what abut my opinions uhhh

Well I don’t really....hate Mianitian Isles. 

Wait! before you go this is a different post trust me-

I used to hate it. I still kind of do. But after seeing a few episodes and sticking around in the chat I can tell you there's effort being made and they're at least a little self aware. at the end of the day, its down to the streamers and how they choose to interact and do Mianite, and the bts team scrambling to come up with a story on short notice during the hellstorm thats 2020. Do I think its being handled well? eh, not what I’ve seen. I can pick up on so much missed opportunity. But are we to judge what goes on behind the scenes? I mean, not really. Am I still gonna give them a hard time about it? yeah probably lol.  If you’re selling merch and getting views I expect a bit less rush, but theres been a lot of amazing technical and building feats at least. I’m old and just poke at everything.

Indeed the main story beats are horrible to learn about if you’re on the sidelines. There was a lot of clearup done with Aianite, sure, but the damage is done already to people outside of the main fanbase. So this leads to a lot being blown out of proportion. Not to mention its much more entertaining to pick apart what you don’t like about something than it is to praise it (think that was in that ratatooie movie)

Remember I made my own spinoff too and I had to deal with messages saying it wasn't really like Mianite... And yeah, I kinda poke at it now, because i did make bad decisions during it. But it was a learning experience, and i kept going. Writing a whole series with different people pulling you around is HELL. I didn’t even intend for it to have writing.

Do I think another season of Mianite would be a good idea? ehhhh. It means they could plan out better maybe? I feel like issues will still come up eventually. I wouldn’t call them bad writers or whatever- there’s potential there and I’d love for them to create their own work. (been holding onto the mmo for like 80 years now...)

but I wanna tell yall- I don’t wanna see fighting around here. I see your petty posts at one another. Those parody accounts. Yeah its annoying to see someone with a different opinion. And it’s not bad to want to do rewrites either! But that’s like, how things go. You don’t gotta hate or blindly love it. Its alright to discuss what you like and don’t like with one another, but lets not try to make it attacks on others, including people on the team. It’s just people.

So do I hate it? Nah. Am I disappointed? Yeah. Is the real problem how Mianite rp fundamentally works? Yes, unfortunately.