Differences
This shows you the differences between two versions of the page.
| Both sides previous revision Previous revision Next revision | Previous revision | ||
| playground:playground [2025/06/11 23:27] – [This Definitely Actually Happened] herla | playground:playground [2025/06/17 13:13] (current) – benedikta_von_kernholz | ||
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| Line 68: | Line 68: | ||
| * Fated Playerbase x The Act Of Making Fancasts = A Most Welcome Addiction | * Fated Playerbase x The Act Of Making Fancasts = A Most Welcome Addiction | ||
| * Georg x Mrs Dijkstra = Not Plot Relevant | * Georg x Mrs Dijkstra = Not Plot Relevant | ||
| + | * Dórian x Agnes = Also Not Plot Relevant | ||
| + | |||
| + | * Glória x Magnus = Mourning Glory | ||
| ===== Help I Have Gone Delirious ===== | ===== Help I Have Gone Delirious ===== | ||
| Amogsu\\ | Amogsu\\ | ||
| Line 152: | Line 155: | ||
| Oh and then you get to go free, because the brambles got bored and went home. | Oh and then you get to go free, because the brambles got bored and went home. | ||
| + | |||
| + | =====Citrus Boy===== | ||
| + | |||
| + | **Somewhere** | ||
| + | |||
| + | > What does it mean to end? | ||
| + | > Who are we, when it’s all over? | ||
| + | > And what comes after the close? | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > I lie in my bed | ||
| + | > And I try to think | ||
| + | > And in the meantime | ||
| + | > The city moves in sync. | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > Somewhere — | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > //A cocoon awaits// | ||
| + | > //Blinds shutter open// | ||
| + | > //Hands grace a shoulder// | ||
| + | > //And trees reach for sky// | ||
| + | > //Frost bites// | ||
| + | > //Birds fly// | ||
| + | > //Glass shines// | ||
| + | > //Lights die// | ||
| + | > //Wind on a clifftop// | ||
| + | > //A life to define// | ||
| + | > //Paint trickles down// | ||
| + | > //Tide starts to churn// | ||
| + | > //A cat curls up to sleep// | ||
| + | > //And the fire inside burns// — | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > I think that the world we know always turns. | ||
| + | > For even when the curtain falls | ||
| + | > The actors still get one last encore. | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > I think that the tale we write always returns. | ||
| + | > For even when the poem stops | ||
| + | > Our eyes still get to read it once more. | ||
| + | > | ||
| + | > For even when | ||
| + | > We put down our pen | ||
| + | > Somewhere — | ||
| + | > I think our story | ||
| + | > still breathes. | ||
| + | |||
| + | — //Oscar Lee Murcott, 18// | ||
| + | |||
| + | |||