#and in their triumph die like fire and water

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

So I don't really have a concrete theory or anything, but...

Dany dreams she is fighting the "usurper's rebel host" (aka Robert Baratheon's army) but these icy enemies are obviously Others; see how they melt away the way Ser Puddles did when Sam killed him.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened. She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a footfall on the deck above her head. And something else.

Dany III, ASOS

In a later Jon chapter, in the very same book, an "enemy" bursts into the fray to scatter the wildlings. This enemy is a Baratheon king - Stannis. This Baratheon king claims to be the legendary Azor Ahai, but he's not (Dany is, "the dragons prove it").

Trumpets were blowing all around, loud and brazen. The wildlings have no trumpets, only warhorns. They knew that as well as he did; the sound sent free folk running in confusion, some toward the fighting, others away. A mammoth was stomping through a flock of sheep that three men were trying to herd off west. The drums were beating as the wildlings ran to form squares and lines, but they were too late, too disorganized, too slow. The enemy was emerging from the forest, from the east, the northeast, the north; three great columns of heavy horse, all dark glinting steel and bright wool surcoats. Not the men of Eastwatch, those had been no more than a line of scouts. An army. The king? Jon was as confused as the wildlings. Could Robb have returned? Had the boy on the Iron Throne finally bestirred himself?

Jon X, ASOS

I find it interesting that Jon initially thinks it's his brother, a military commander with a near spotless record, coming to rescue him. Then thinks that it should be the king on the iron throne; he's expecting a boy, but it's wasn't a boy who came.

I think that we're going to see a repeat of this in ADOS, with Dany as the real Azor Ahai and king coming to rescue Jon. Upon hearing that the Others have come and receiving Watch's call for aid, Dany will immediately choose to go North. Think of Stannis saying:

"Yes, I should have come sooner. If not for my Hand, I might not have come at all. Lord Seaworth is a man of humble birth, but he reminded me of my duty, when all I could think of was my rights. I had the cart before the horse, Davos said. I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne.” Stannis pointed north. “There is where I’ll find the foe that I was born to fight.”

Jon XI, ASOS

Also notice how Dany's Trident dream alludes to a fated battle involving icy monsters.

This is all just conjecture right now but, Jon's chapter has Stannis breaking the wildling siege on Castle Black. In Jon's (obviously prophetic) ADWD dream, he's besieged by a wildling host who turn out to be Others/wights - this dream is literally a play by play of the battle at Castle Black; like to a tee, it's crazy. Jon is fighting alone in that dream, just as he was alone among the wildlings before Stannis came.

So my thinking is Jon gets besieged and he is fighting alone, in need of a helper.....

They are all gone. They have abandoned me. Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. “Snow,” an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

Jon XII, ADWD

...then enter Daenerys, who is above all a savior.

“But,” Prince Aegon said, “without Daenerys and her dragons, how could we hope to win?” “You do not need to win,” Tyrion told him. “All you need to do is raise your banners, rally your supporters, and hold, until Daenerys arrives to join her strength to yours.” “You said she might not have me.” “Perhaps I overstated. She may take pity on you when you come begging for her hand.” The dwarf shrugged. “Do you want to wager your throne upon a woman’s whim? Go to Westeros, though … ah, then you are a rebel, not a beggar. Bold, reckless, a true scion of House Targaryen, walking in the footsteps of Aegon the Conqueror. A dragon. “I told you, I know our little queen. Let her hear that her brother Rhaegar’s murdered son is still alive, that this brave boy has raised the dragon standard of her forebears in Westeros once more, that he is fighting a desperate war to avenge his father and reclaim the Iron Throne for House Targaryen, hard-pressed on every side … and she will fly to your side as fast as wind and water can carry her. You are the last of her line, and this Mother of Dragons, this Breaker of Chains, is above all a rescuer.

Tyrion VI, ADWD

Dany dreams her fight is for the iron throne, but she is obviously fighting the Others. Tyrion thinks Dany is coming to rescue Rhaegar's son in his bid for the Iron Throne, but she will rescue him as he fights to save the world (and not doom it with more war). Notice how Jon atop the Wall dons house Targaryen's colors. Notice how he too is symbolized with Azor Ahai imagery, waving a beacon to light Dany's way. It's Aegon the Conqueror reversed. Dany's not here not for the throne. She's here to fulfill a prophecy, which Aegon never did.

TL;DR

Dany will save Jon while he's besieged by the Others :)

(small rant below)

This initially started as a post talking about Dany the war commander and kinda morphed into something else....

But it's funny to me that when people talk about the war for the dawn, it's always Jon and/or Bran who are made to be the natural war commanders or battle planners. And that's not a bad thing...but neither one of them has experience planning for and staging pitched battles. Bran has zero military experience to begin with and didn't receive the same education that Robb did. People assume that he'll be the commander because his skinchanging can be used for reconnaissance and thus battle command, but the one who canonically uses their skinchanging to spy on enemy troops and use the intel is Jon.

Jon, on the other hand, has battle experience but he was defending against a siege and not leading a fight in an open field. And that's not to say that he would be a bad tactician. He did an incredible job in ASOS defending the wall and ADWD also shows us that he can come up with intelligent plans on the fly. Anyway, aren't we told that people get stuck in their castles starving and with nowhere to go? Jon has experience leading sieges so he's the most suited for that. But he's not the most suited for breaking sieges and leading open battles because he doesn't have experience doing so.

DANY is the one who actually has experience as a more well rounded military commander. It's literally in her name: Daenerys, the sacker of cities. She has a spotless record as a military/war leader in Essos. That's Robb Stark level of prodigious ability, yet she does not get nearly enough respect in fandom. Robb will often get touted as one of the top commanders, even making top three/five for a lot of people, but doesn't Dany have similar stats and way more disadvantages? Shouldn't she be up there too? So out of anyone, shouldn't she be the war commander?

I was just annoyed that she has this insane record overturning enemy lines and breaking sieges and no ever talks about how that invaluable skill can be used against the Others. It's always "someone else will command her to go here and do this and do that". When talking about what looks like a war of attrition, why is no one mentioning the human battering ram being the key to success?? Feelsbadman :(

[002yb]

@crezz-star

It’s disconcerting for Zoro to see his captain falter when confronted by their new crew mate. There’s no imminent threat that Jean poses, but Zoro recognizes the man's presence on their ship brings Luffy no small amount of distress. Jean is a challenge Luffy doesn't know how to confront or overcome. The emotional turmoil that follows in Jean's wake is a damning thing and Luffy struggles in an uncharacteristic way that Zoro won't ignore.

“Tell me and I’ll send him off.” Because Luffy is his captain and Zoro is his first mate. Because if Luffy asked anything of him, Zoro would follow through. He might not be able to soothe the nightmares that torment Luffy, but Zoro can banish the ghost that haunts him.

Jean’s resemblance to Ace is uncanny. Zoro is no stranger to being confronted by an unwanted doppelganger of a love lost - to be terrorized by guilt and regret personified. He has no doubt Luffy will adapt despite the discomfort, same as Zoro, but Zoro knows from experience the heartache will stay. A persistent thing even in its dullness.

Jean is his own man, but the ghost he carries with him in body and voice and fiery soul is someone else entirely. Luffy is blindsided by Jean because of it and it makes Zoro wince at how lost Luffy looks, how stricken - like he's floundering in open water, dragged down by a devil's fruit and regret he can't shake.

Sometimes Zoro wonders if his captain sees the artist at all or if all that graphite bleeds red like blood and fire. He wonders if Luffy relents to the man’s continued presence on their ship because Luffy genuinely wants Jean there or if it’s because Luffy can’t fathom turning his back even on Ace’s visage. Is it desire for crew or for his brother?

It’s been a rough adjustment since Jean stowed away to pay his respects and dues. The man is all gratitude and admiration and maybe that, too, is similar to Ace. Not in expression, but perhaps in intensity. There’s a lot that Luffy doesn’t say about his brother, but there are some sleepless nights where Luffy will choke out truths in the dark, his voice muffled by arms strewn across his face or by the breadth of Zoro’s shoulder.

‘He always called me ‘crybaby’.’ Luffy would say around breathy laughter, and Zoro would soothe him in the only way he knows how — with dry banter. A quipped, ‘You probably were,’ that’s followed by titters and a nostalgic, ‘I was. He hated it.’ And Zoro understands that in a way Luffy might not; in the way Ace did.

‘He told me he wouldn’t die.’ Luffy said just once, so quiet Zoro almost missed it. But he could feel the ghost of Luffy’s lips and the grief in how he butted his head to Zoro’s jaw, ‘I made him promise because I didn’t know what he’d do.’ And Zoro didn't know what to say; had no means of reconciling that sorrow to the memories he has, to the wild stories Luffy has shared or the tender sentiments Zoro has noticed, himself. 'He told me he'd stay if I needed him. He swore it.'

His captain and he have fought and bled for each other. They’ve gone on a lifetime of adventures together; they share their dreams, their triumphs and failures and burdens. Zoro knows Luffy, but those shared intimacies in the dark give Zoro a clarity he’d lacked.

Luffy's capacity for compassion is a terrifying thing. His empathy towards those who are hurting is just as great. Zoro is no stranger to the hope Luffy can breathe into punctured lungs, the strength he inspires with his steadfast faith and resolve. Zoro assumed it was one of Luffy's innate qualities. It's in hindsight that he realizes Luffy's compassion was learned: a crybaby pleading for his brother to stay with him, to fight and love and live and dream.

Ace is the first person Luffy ever saved; Jean is the latest and all his regard and respect is like salt rubbed in an open wound. 'Thank you for loving saving me,' only Luffy didn't - he has the blood on his hands and a scarred heart to prove it. Jean is a ghost sent to haunt him and it's painful because Jean is kind in a way Luffy isn't ready to accept.

But Luffy is willful. If he didn't want Jean, then he wouldn't be with them.

When Zoro thinks about it, he knows why Luffy chooses to keep the artist around. Jean fits with the crew, all dreams and ambition and steadfast will. Jean is finding his footing after the world left him scarred; persisting despite past hurts and finding purpose and joy in a liberated world with open skies and seas. He is the shadow of Luffy’s brother that Luffy never stopped wanting needing.

It's complicated. Grief is like that.

“He’s crew.” Luffy tells him. It’s the end of their discussion on the matter. Zoro doesn’t need anything more; he trusts his captain’s word. Luffy will work through his grievances.

One day Luffy will stop jerking his head to the side when he catches Jean in his peripheral, mistaking him for Ace and one day the disappointment at his mistake won’t be such a heartrending thing. There will come a time when the depth of Jean’s voice and the sound of his laughter stops being an echo of someone else, when graphite smudges stop looking like blood stains.

Jean might be persistent in that same way Luffy was with Ace. It’s not anything Luffy comments on or complains about, though Zoro notices how contemplative it leaves their captain. He doesn't doubt that perseverance will win Luffy over. History repeats itself in strange ways.

That aside, Luffy is a simple man at heart. Zoro sees it before it happens. He can't help the smirk that pulls at his lips because of it.

Zoro stands at Luffy's side overlooking the seas when a row of graphite beetles come marching along the railing, tiny feet leaving scuttled marks of graphite across the wood as they approach their captain. The way Luffy's eyes light up with merriment as drawings brought to life crawl across his fingers and up his arms is a wonderful thing no matter how seemingly commonplace. Laughter bubbles up from Luffy's chest alongside his awe and wonder and delight.

Zoro catches Jean sitting further down the deck, smile bright and maybe the slightest bit sheepish, misinterpreting the first mate’s stare for scrutiny. Jean makes another creature with that logia devil fruit of his and sends it across the railing. Zoro stares after it for some time, bemused until he realizes it’s a damn marimo (undoubtedly courtesy of the damn cook spreading falsehoods about Zoro's likes and interests), at which point Zoro scowls something fierce and Jean balks.

Everything is made right by Luffy’s renewed laughter though, by the width of his smile and the mirth in his eyes. His joy is contagious just like so much else about him. It doesn’t stop Zoro from smacking the pseudo-marimo out of Luffy’s hand and out to sea when his captain tries to torment him with it though — graphite pressed to Zoro’s cheek once, twice and leaving smudges across Zoro's skin all the while—

Both Luffy and Jean gape when the marimo goes flying, Luffy’s arm stretching out after it a moment later. That Luffy catches it at all is impressive; the guilt Zoro feels when Luffy opens his hand to a circular smudge from crushing the thing is somehow even greater.

Jean fits in with their crew well though. The graphite beetles congregate on Luffy’s hand, molding together into an even larger marimo and Zoro grunts despondently as his captain and their artist cackle at his expense. Some part of Luffy's smile might always be strained when he looks after Jean, but Jean shares Luffy's empathy and compassion. It shows in his patience, the persistent and tentative way he stays just within reach.

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°☆

crezz-star's Jean: the artist, the muse, the sweetheart.

[definitelynotshouting]

so a while ago i had planned to rewrite my fic everything i loved and feared for stylistic purposes, but ended up deciding to leave it as is and never went through with that beyond the first scene. Since i dont plan on doing anything else with this, here is the scene i did rewrite!! Hope you guys like it :]

CWs: graphic violence, graphic injury, suicide, temporary major character death

Love, Scar finds, is the exact shade of blood in the water.

A thin line of it beads from his shoulder down to his wrist, clouding as it sluices past the surface tension of the pond he stands in. Inky ribbons trail from each drop; they ripple outward to form a slinking barrier between him and the honed edge of Grian's sword, coiling thin and wispy around their ankles. Love is what saturates the smears of that diamond blade, the tattered edges of Grian's sweater, the final life pulsing bright and sacred in Scar's chest; love is the heady fog billowing through his veins as he kneels, one bare knee sinking into the silt, and bows his head to the oncoming storm.

But Grian's scarlet eyes, scorching and incensed, eclipse it all.

They pulse with the brazen fire of a solar prominence; the color has molded to his irises, slotting into place with such clean precision that it hemorrhages over Scar's memories, staining the echo-impression of Grian's gaze. Gorgeous is too pale a word to raise against the righteous, trembling fury he vibrates with now. The urge to reach past that diamond line, reel Grian in by the collar, and kiss him until nothing remains of them except one tangled corpse is a siren's song that howls inside Scar's chest.

Here, lying in the fractures of his calculated betrayal, the die is cast, and Scar comes out smiling.

"You can kill me," he says. The syllables tangle in his throat, too disjointed with the rolling, frothing tension boiling inside him. "Grian. You can kill me.”

Above him, an avenging angel falters. Grian's sword, still streaked with the proof of Scar's adoration, lowers by a single fraction. "What? No—"

“For everything you did to me,” Scar continues past him, lungs shivering with the cost of this victory, “to keep me alive this long— you may slay me, and take the enchanter.”

Gold flakes splay across the surface of the pond, scintillating outward as Scar bends at the waist; water brushes his forehead in cool benediction, in cruel, unrelenting curse. This baptism is Scar's holy scourge: Grian will win. It is both the most and least Scar can do for him.

When Grian speaks, his voice is small. “No— no, I can’t. I literally can’t. Scar—”

"Do it," Scar urges into the water. Between scattered refractions his own face peers back at him, a wavering mirror to manic triumph— all the love in the world has led to this crescendoing melody in his gut: the braying war horns, the bark of crashing cymbals, the bellow of ancient pipes. Strung at the seams within this orchestra, he teeters with bated breath on the edge of one final encore.

Instead, all that reigns around them is miserable silence.

A sharp inhale, cracking through the clearing with firework-precision. "I'm not—" Grian starts, and chokes on it, the words stumbling to an abrupt halt in his throat. Scar's neck snaps up; Grian's sword-grip has loosened, fingers lax around the hilt as his free hand flinches to one temple. It hovers there, pale and trembling, his eyes trained on the middle-distance.

A beat. Clarity is a stark, cold glow unspooling in Grian's pupils. “The spectators want a fight,” he says. His voice rings hollow.

Scar gentles his in turn, snaking it around Grian's shoulders with careful, insistent pressure. “It’s okay, G," he breathes. "You can kill me. You can be the winner.”

Grian's expression is a severed nerve, flayed open to the rising sun. Around them, liquid honey dribbles between boughs, landing dizzy and sincere at their feet. They brush the tips of Grian's hair, set fire to the thin, damp strands curling around his ears. Checkmate is the process of capturing your opponent's king with no hope of escape; shadowed in Grian's glowing silhouette, Scar bows, and offers his defeat with both hands self-shackled.

Check, and mate.

Slow— so slow he can track each individual movement— Grian shakes his head. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Scar, they want blood." New waves bloom out from his shaking stance; adrenaline has retracted its claws, leaving nothing but the thin garrote between passion, violence, and mourning.

Scar is shaking as well. Even in this, they are together.

Grian's lips twist in an abrupt, fragile smile. "Scar," he says, sword once again rising in its clean, prismatic arc. Scar tracks the way light sparkles off it, throwing pale blue echoes against the trunks of nearby trees. "No matter what happens, we can claim this as a double victory. Right?”

The words are a cool balm against fevered skin. Scar sinks into them, eyes drifting shut; even now, through the mounting, cacophonic thrum in his veins, past the shivering gooseflesh of soaked skin, to look Grian in the eyes when he kills him would be blasphemy. "Yeah," he breathes, bracing for the blow, the diamond cut against his carotid. "We're good."

Air whistles with the surge of a starving blade—

— and the sharp, heavy schlck of pierced flesh not his own reverberates through the clearing instead. Grian's choked-off cry ends in an ugly, gurgling yelp; Scar's eyes fly open just in time for Grian's knees to meet the water, scattering a thousand, dazzling droplets in every direction.

Between Grian's hands is the glittering diamond of his own sword, buried inches at an upward angle into the soft meat above his belly. Rivulets of blood bubble from cuts in his palms where they clench halfway up that razor edge; even as dark stains spread to saturate his sweater, Grian's lips peel back in a feral snarl, and he shoves the wobbling blade in deeper.

"You—" Grian's gasps are ragged, hands slipping along the edges as the sword sinks another wet, squelching inch— "win, Scar. You win."

And with the same, ponderous sway of a toppling tower, Grian collapses into the bloody water.

Hazy exultation cleaves itself from Scar's mind in one savage swoop, submerging his entire body in ice. If he screams, the sound fails to breach his ears– one moment he's kneeling, dumb and shell-shocked, and the next he's scrabbling forward on hands and knees through the shallows between them, catching Grian by the arm before his head can plunge below water.

Scar hauls him sideways into his arms. A strangled noise punches out of Grian in response— the high, staticked whine of a wounded animal, shivering through Scar's chest. The blade buried in his gut jars with the motion, carving another, ragged line into the pallid flesh beneath. Fresh copper blooms in a cloud around them, swelling in Scar's nose.

“Grian— Grian, no." Scar's hand stretches of its own volition, hovering over the keen edges of Grian's sword. Halts just shy of ripping it back out— that will only kill him faster. "Wait, wait, wait— no. No, no, no, no, no. Grian.”

This isn't right— the bright, earnest rays of the sun have missed their mark, slipping past Scar's death to gild Grian in stunning, flagrant gold. “What are you doing?” he chokes, heart a helpless stutter in the back of his throat.

Grian was meant to win. Not this.

Never this.

“They never said what kind of blood,” Grian rasps, lips wobbling. Each breath is a bubbling wheeze as he struggles for air. “I can’t— I couldn’t, Scar. I couldn’t kill you.” When he coughs, his stomach convulses; Grian's voice cuts off into a breathless scream before falling back into muted pants. Eyes squeezed shut, Grian grits out: "Sorry."

Scar's fingers catch in the soaked strands of Grian's hair, petting it down with clumsy, panicked motions. “No you’re not,” he whispers. Beneath his chest an abscessed, answering wound unravels, howling in tune to Grian's shallow gasps. “You did that on purpose. Grian, you were supposed to win.”

Every card had been folded for this. Each die weighed in the well of his palm, every trick tugged out from beneath his sleeve; a barren world with no one in it isn't a world Scar can survive, and he'd pieced that together between sheets and shared pulses, windswept sky and sunburnt sand. Maybe it had been selfish… but Scar is selfish— with the last, grasping selfishness of a man devoted, his loyalty a warm, gushing sacrifice caught between grit teeth.

“You weren’t supposed to die,” Scar wails, shifting until his spine bows, forehead brushing Grian's. Stocky fingers spasm under his own; Grian's short breaths puff against the chapped skin of his lips, fanning over his cheeks. “Grian— how could you?”

Beneath him, Grian's lips twist in a wry grin. This close, Scar can make out the faded remnants of freckles marching across his face; counting them had always been a fantasy. Now he'll never have the chance. “Guess I’m just not cut out to be a winner,” Grian murmurs, winces, and drags one bloodied hand up to rest against Scar's jaw.

He doesn't bother saying I love you. Instead, he guides Scar to close the gap between them, fingers fumbling at the nape of Scar's neck. Grian's lips are bitten raw, trembling as he capture Scar's own, and for a moment they are two jagged breaths; the slide of salt on Scar's tongue; copper-stained fingers falling limp–

Scar bolts upright, choking on his own anguished scream.

[sobeautifullyobsessed]

how about a healthy serving of Stephen angst to warm you on a chilly autumn night...

14,000,604 ~ ch.four

Stephen reveals one of the most painful aspects of his search for a way to defeat Thanos

"…the initial attack had blasted the whole area down to bedrock, and once Thanos unleashed the full weapon fire from his ship, it cracked the remaining wall of rock that was holding back the lake.”  Stephen’s voice had grown ragged, almost hoarse, as he revealed the details of the battle to come.  "I’ve lost track of how many times I tried to set all the pieces in place…to marshal my forces so that enough of my fellow sorcerers would be standing ready to hold back that water—but I could never make it work.  Moving just one of them away from their battle position changed the course of the overall battle by the littlest bit…“  His hand trembled badly as he held his thumb and index finger together, demonstrating the barest bit of the change that he had dared, ”…but always just enough to throw things off balance, enough that eventually Thanos triumphed—so that it always had to be me to work that spell."

Hope drew a deep breath, her eyes locked on his, and laid her hand against his cheek, like a benediction against the guilt deeply rooted in his soul.  She had listened mostly in silence, only speaking up softly when he seemed to lose his train of thought, and patiently urging him to continue only if he felt up to it.

"And that was my last option,” he continued, nearing the crux of what pained him the most, “Only I could keep the battlefield from being flooded—so that the only man on the field who could secure the Stones, and use them to destroy Thanos and all of his forces, would actually have that chance.”

“But he’ll die doing it,” she surmised, “He’s going to die, and you can’t save him…”

Stephen nodded, and then hung his head, “Yes.  I’ve tried and tried and tried, Hope…so damn hard…with every power at my command…with every…”  He gritted his teeth, exasperated by his own uselessness, “…with every breath I’ve taken since first seeing that outcome…with the full scope of my imagination…to find a solution that won’t cost Tony Stark his life.”  Stephen let his shoulders sag, the sting of his shame refreshed as he spoke his failure aloud. 

“No,” Hope whispered, clasping both of his hands in hers.  "No, Stephen—you have nothing to be ashamed of,” she insisted, her voice growing with conviction, "You’ve done infinitely more than any mortal man could…”

“But it wasn’t enough,” he groaned, shaking his head in denial, “I even explored more than a million outcomes, specifically looking for one where Stark’s fate would fall on me instead—but I could never make it work.”  Stephen finally let his tears fall freely, grateful that he was safe in sharing the true depth of his heartache with his ever-gentle confessor.  He looked to Hope again, saw only understanding and sweet mercy writ upon her face, and knew he had chosen well to trust in her.  "In my old life, I took an oath to do no harm, but when I return to Titan, I’m going to have to save his life, only to ensure that this good man—this father and husband…“

In his mind’s eye, a series of images flickered at the speed of thought, from a newborn baby Morgan in her father’s arms, to her parents joy at each new milestone their child reached, through years of laughter, love, and the challenges of parenthood, and ending with the upbeat farewell that Tony had made to them both, before leaving their secluded haven to head to the Avengers compound in New York.  Pepper had calmly kept her tears at bay, not wanting to alarm their precocious little girl; Tony had put on his most casual, cavalier face, but when Morgan tucked her head into the crook of his neck and reminded him that she loved him ‘3,000’, the look he’d exchanged with his wife had devastated Stephen seeing it the first time—and now, just remembering it as well, knowing it was inevitably the last time that Stark would ever hold her.

“…and true hero—will not only craft the method of our salvation, but also die to save the world,” he finished bleakly.

"Oh god,” Hope’s voice cracked with sorrow for his pain.  "Stephen, please…please…believe me,” she ran her fingers through the streak of white at his temple, trying her best to assuage him, "You mustn’t do this to yourself…”  She closed the little gap between them, drawing his head against her shoulder, sighing hard as she stroked his hair.  

“My darling,” she crooned, the first time she had ever used such an endearment for him, “You’ve borne far too much, far too alone, for far too long.  If I could just take a little of this burden from you, I’d consider myself blessed.”  Through tears of compassion, she repeated his name, “Stephen…my darling, darling Stephen…you mustn’t torture yourself so.”

Soundlessly, he clung to her, his heart grown greedy for the softness she offered by simply being herself.  Between this solitary, bitter journey, and the time spent in the loop with Dormammu, Stephen had lived out thousands of years apart from any companionship, let alone understanding and mercy.  He had never asked for help or succor in all that time, being only ever focused on protecting and saving lives—nor had he ever expected thanks or any sort of recompense.  But for the first time in what felt like an eternity, here was someone who recognized the price he paid to wear the mantle of Master of the Mystic Arts, Time-Stone Wielder and Protector, and guardian of this reality—and often even more.

“Yes, dear,” she murmured, feeling him relax in her arms, while laying the softest kisses he’d ever known on his cheek and near his ear, “Let it go for at least a little while.  Know that you’ve done your best, Stephen; that no man could possibly do, or give more, than you already have.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he husked against the tender flesh of her neck, breathing in her sunshine warmth and the pale, citrusy scent of her skin.  Another memory he would be sure to carry with him into the inescapable future.

“I know, darling,” she whispered against his ear, “I know—but trust me in this, okay?”

Stephen nodded and inhaled deeply, feeling her calm start to fill his lungs, replacing a share of his guilt with relief.  When he finally felt ready, he sat back in his chair; Hope was quick to smooth the tears from his cheeks, “You are the best man I've ever known, Stephen Strange. Strong. And kind. And good."  Words that felt to him like they came straight from her tender heart.  She exhaled slowly, and the knot of anxiety and despair that had been lodged in his chest for a thousand years, began to unclench as he read the truth on her sweet face.  "Now, my darling, beautiful, Stephen," she continued calmly.  Gently. Lovingly.  "There’s something you need to remember…something you might not have thought of…okay?”

He cupped one of her hands against his cheek and nodded again, even managing the ghost of a smile in answer to her request.

“Good.”  She gave him the same sort of smile back.  "Two things, really.  First, that because of you, Tony Stark is going to survive Titan, and have those five beautiful years with Pepper and their daughter.  From what you’ve described, it sounds like the life they have, the love they share, is something most people never even get to experience.”

"Alright,” he agreed, for she echoed what the small voice in the back of his mind had been insisting for some time now.  "And?”

"And…” she informed him firmly, yet with the same gentleness that marked her regard for him at every turn, “…from everything you’ve told me about Tony Stark, I’m absolutely certain that if given the choice, he would step up to save the world for their sake alone.  Don’t you think so?”

He had been so exhausted for so long, and so immersed in his guilt and desperation, that such an idea had not really occurred to Stephen.  Now he could almost hear how Stark might exclaim it:  If the only way they survive—and that Earth survives—is for me to lose…well, hell, I gotta be on board with that.  Stephen closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed and steadied, as he shed another share of the guilt that had become his unflagging companion on this ponderous quest.

"Yes," Hope urged him, "Your burden is heavy enough already without piling on the responsibility for the choice which Stark is bound by his own nature, to make."

He nodded, the warmth of her palm against his cheek soothing him in equal measure to the wisdom of her words.  "I don't think I realized until just now how much I needed to hear someone say that," he admitted, looking into her eyes once more, and seeing the gentlest of affirmations there.

Hope's brow furrowed a moment, as though she was perplexed, though her voice held no reproach, "You mean I haven't told you this already, in your previous visits here?"

"I never gave you the chance to," he confessed, regretting that choice in light of her merciful, sympathetic response.  "I never confided the entire story to you before." 

She hummed softly at that revelation, mulling it over.  "Okay...I, uh...I guess I can understand that.  But, um..." she lowered her eyes and hesitated a moment, "...what makes this time so different?"

Although Stephen was sure that she had already guessed the reason, he knew he owed her the answer.  "Because this time, when I go back," his voice broke with the sad truth of it, "It's going to be for good.

Hope nodded and a couple of tears spilled from beneath her lowered lashes, sympathetic tears for the inevitability of his burden.  "I kinda figured that was...that was why."  When she met his eyes again, hers shone bright with further tears withheld.  "I'm so sorry, Stephen.  I wish there was more I could do than just...offer you words...I..." she sighed, "I wish you didn't have to face this all alone."

An unexpected sense of peace filled his chest, and spread throughout his body like the warm flow of blood in his veins.  "Oh, honey," he promised her, "I won't be entirely alone.  Not anymore.  Stephen gathered her other hand in his, and lightly traced his thumb back and forth along the heart and life lines on her palm.  "That's your gift to me, Hope.  I'm here right now because I knew that you could grant me that last little bit...," he gave her a quiet, bittersweet smile, "...of very human, very humane magic.  And that's exactly what I've been needing to see me through to the end of this battle."

Her smile at that was sunshine breaking through thunderheads, so lovely and purely for him that his heart felt like to burst with the bloom of love---the seeds of which had lain dormant since his life had been stolen from him in the shadow of that invading spaceship, too long ago for him to even reckon properly now.

Hope bit her lip, eyeing him with curiosity and her ready humor.  "So, tell me, Mr. Remarkable---what comes next?"

"Well," he began, grinning at the nickname she had given him on the day they had met, "I was hoping you would stay with me a while longer.  Now that I've nearly reached the end, I believe I can afford a little time to just...be.  To simply enjoy your company.  Maybe we can sit beneath that silver maple in Washington Square Park again, and I can finally breathe air clean of the haze of battle and feel the sun shine on my face after so much smoke and darkness."  And death, he might have added, but for the happiness his suggestion had brought to her face.  "And I'm going to take a long, hot shower, because it's been literally a thousand years since I had that luxury."

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything," she teased him, "But you might wanna do just that."

Stephen narrowed his eyes, enjoying her return to playfulness, for it was a form of healing that he had prayed to find in her.  Cherishing every moment of their now, while his heart stored all of them up for future comfort---for he still did not know what future awaited him, let alone Hope, once the endgame of this epic, universal struggle played out in full.

“Alright then,” Hope concluded, rising and beginning to clear the dishes away, rinsing them quickly before depositing them in the dishwasher, “Whatever the Master of the Mystic Arts needs, I’m more than happy to provide---it’s the very least that I can do for the salvation of the universe.”

Silently, Stephen stood up while she went about her task, fascinated with---and grateful for---her resiliency, and thanking the universe that had seemed to be so unendurably cruel since Bruce Banner had come crashing through the Sanctum roof, for finally giving him a measure of mercy.  He took Hope by surprise, sliding an arm around her waist, and turning her to face him.  “Just leave the salvation of the universe in my hands, honey.  It’s enough for me that you’re seeing to my own.”  With that, he kissed her breathless, before they left the Sanctum arm in arm, in search of sunshine enough to ward off the darkness that awaited him once he resumed his dread task.

Read the full story on AO3

tagging: @dutystricken @mousedetective

buy me a ko-fi?☕️

[vera-king-hrfl]

I was wanting to get our lovely Glen to read this poem. It's one of my favorites, and something about it says Zevlor to me. Let me know if you all like it, and I will prevail upon our sweetheart to perform it in his voice for us. Obviously I'm in a mood. I've been sitting alone in the dark drinking wine and listening to music.

The Dark Angel, by Lionel Johnson

DARK Angel, with thine aching lust

To rid the world of penitence:

Malicious Angel, who still dost

My soul such subtile violence!

Because of thee, no thought, no thing,

Abides for me undesecrate:

Dark Angel, ever on the wing,

Who never reachest me too late!

When music sounds, then changest thou

Its silvery to a sultry fire:

Nor will thine envious heart allow

Delight untortured by desire.

Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,

To Furies, O mine Enemy!

And all the things of beauty burn

With flames of evil ecstasy.

Because of thee, the land of dreams

Becomes a gathering place of fears:

Until tormented slumber seems

One vehemence of useless tears.

When sunlight glows upon the flowers,

Or ripples down the dancing sea:

Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,

Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.

Within the breath of autumn woods,

Within the winter silences:

Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,

O Master of impieties!

The ardour of red flame is thine,

And thine the steely soul of ice:

Thou poisonest the fair design

Of nature, with unfair device.

Apples of ashes, golden bright;

Waters of bitterness, how sweet!

O banquet of a foul delight,

Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!

Thou art the whisper in the gloom,

The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:

Thou art the adorner of my tomb,

The minstrel of mine epitaph.

I fight thee, in the Holy Name!

Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:

Tempter! should I escape thy flame,

Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:

The second Death, that never dies,

That cannot die, when time is dead:

Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,

Eternally uncomforted.

Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!

Of two defeats, of two despairs:

Less dread, a change to drifting dust,

Than thine eternity of cares.

Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,

Dark Angel! triumph over me:

Lonely, unto the Lone I go;

Divine, to the Divinity.

Note; Lionel Johnson was a gay catholic man in 18th century England. Obviously, life was hard for him, and he died very young. Such beautiful pain...

OK so I did it. I booked it. Absolutely dying now, but I should go to bed. I have to do the silly human work in the morning. Unfh! What am I up to?!?!?

[zedif-y]

judgement day.

Eight days until the end of the world.

You look down at your watch, and think, that’s plenty of time.

I.

There is laughter and there is blood on that first day, the beginning where nobody is really all that afraid. The news looms over the horizon, but doesn’t seep in, doesn’t soak into your bones. Oil and water.

II.

There’s fire. It’s red-hot as it scorches, burns off your fingerprints. There’s soot in your friend’s hair. Hell-forged, you call yourselves, sweaty and singed and running from danger. We’re hell-forged, you and I.

You and me. Me and you.

Slowly, you start to build.

III.

Howling wolves echo in your skull, clawing for release. You blink, and there is fear in your friend’s eyes, a knife in your hand. Blink again, he is against a wall. Blink, the knife is gone. There’s a piercing scream. 

But not yours. Not his.

Never his.

You remember it in parts: a knowing look from a friend, another watching your back. Moonlight shining down. The glint of a blade, long hair in the wind.

Five days before the end of the world, you killed someone who trusted you.

IV.

They’re chasing you.

They’re chasing you, hunters after prey. Sharks to blood. Old allies blur into enemies blur into ghosts, and your legs ache and there’s no escaping it but you know damn well that you will try. Copper-tang crimson sits between your teeth, dripping past your lips.

Come and get me, you laugh, the sound grating against your throat. You hear the gnashing of teeth, nails scraping against stone. Come and get me, asshole.

You survive. Through all odds, by the skin of your teeth. You survive.

Red cakes under your fingernails.

V.

The thing about the past is it will not go away. It haunts you, battered and bruised and grinning with missing teeth. He smiles at you and he looks like a lover, beautiful as a night terror. He waves at you, and you beckon him closer, and the words I trust you tumble from beaten lips.

Swallow back the acid. Grit your teeth.

He follows you and it feels almost familiar. Hand in hand, past enemy and past love. You talk nonsense, watch as he giggles and nods. If you still loved him, you would tell him to run.

You grin, and you beckon him closer.

The thing about the past is it will not go away. So you blow up the body, burn what remains.

Bury the hatchet. Dig a grave.

VI.

On the sixth day, it sinks in.

VII.

On the day before the end of the world, you watch your best friend die.

On the day before the end of the world, you wonder when you will follow.

VIII.

Eight days you’ve waited. Eight days you’ve survived.

You’ve buried more bodies than you can count, your grief heavy as an axe, deadly as a blade. 

Part of you hopes to be the last one standing. The last face on a ruined world. It doesn’t matter, but it does. You’ve come so far. You’ve lost so much.

The sun beats down on a scorching field. You think of friendship, forged in hell. You think of fire.

You think of love.

But this story ends one way, and it isn’t soft nor sweet. There is no glory, no sun-burning triumph. As your blood seeps into the grass, you do not face the sky, the heavens above.

Faces and memories rush behind your eyes. People you love, people you don’t. As the light begins to dim, you wonder, distantly, if people are cheering.

The world ends, but not with you.

—

Eight days until the end of the world.

Impulse looks down at his corpse, and thinks, that wasn’t nearly enough time.

[feralshadowdemon]

1, 6, 18, 23

hii 1 - that makes me smile i want to feel the fire you kept from me

Chuuya went quiet, thinking of the right words, the right structure—the slight twitch in their eye as they imagined possible responses, reactions, so much was going on in that little mind of their’s; one protected by flame. He sometimes wished he could gently pull their head apart, to see how their brain worked exactly, to see what their thoughts were, but that’d be rude, impolite, and invasive. That’s what he imagined Chuuya saying if he told them that, anyway. Plus, if he pulled their head apart, they wouldn’t be able to speak, and he’d miss their bickering with him. Ah, but those were simply ramblings of a mad man.

6 - that i struggled with, but triumphed over the entirety of forget-me-not. 18 - from that one wip with no plot, just vibes

The skies were decorated carefully with clouds, which made for a good sight alongside the salty breeze that most likely came from the ocean. Dazai considers the beach his home. He doesn’t quite have a home anywhere else, his home is the sand he walks on; the sand that gets under his nails. If his home was not the beach, he could almost guarantee his skin would be as pale as the snow in the winter. Instead, it manages to avoid the risk of a sunburn each time, and to many, he seems like a healthy young man. But he doesn’t consider himself one.

23 - that was inspired by a work from another medium (music, visual art, dance, etc) thus with a kiss i die is vaguely romeo and juliet inspired here's a crumb from it

“So,” the reaper's breath was heavy, tired, and Dazai was sure that gash was causing its own sins to seep in and terrorize it. “What made you think this rematch was a good idea, eh?” “Nothing did.” A lie laced in his apathy, which was its own poison. “You're an anomaly, a demon, something awful.” Chuuya did not spit, but he knew Chuuya wanted to. “You're a liar and a hog, you're an eel out of water, you're a man full of nothing, even with a beating heart.” “And you're a reaper who toys with its victims," Dazai began, almost feeling the scowl that decorated Chuuya's face as the blade threatened pale skin it'd never dare to cut. "Death must take them one day, but your scythe is a painful thing, and so you curse them with it instead of the sweet release of death.”

[dark-raven-feathers]

(Part One) A list of every dark academia-esque piece and arrangement I could find, only some of which I've actually played (this will be very long):

Once more unto the breach: 1. At the speed of dark, Stephen Melillo: Capturing the vibe of a dark, empty ocean and the fleeting sense of terror and panic, the piece features a very prominent clarinet solo and the brief thought that maybe you should start running. (YouTube only)

K2: The savage mountain, Julie Giroux: Inspired by the mountain peaks of the very same name, the piece follows the story of a group of unnamed climbers battling the peaks of one of the most dangerous mountains in the world. Most of them die at the mountain's infamous Bottleneck, showcased cleverly by a slow trombone glissando, and the ones who do make it are changed forever. (YouTube only)

The Witch and the Saint, Steven Reineke: Starting itself off with a motif very similar to a Gregorian-style chant, The Witch and the Saint is a German story of two sisters, both born with the third sight. One is revered as a saint, and the other is shunned as a witch. As the piece progresses, the witch is burned at the stake, only to be saved by her sister. Endings vary greatly, but the most agreed upon is that at the end, both sisters die of different causes. Meant to capture the spirit of misunderstood women through the witch hunts of the 1600s, the piece does great justice to Ulrike Schweikert's story. (YouTube and Spotify)

Ghost Dances (Wounded Knee, 1890), Roland Barrett: In 1890, a massacre of the Lakota Sioux at Wounded Knee shattered the hopes of the Indigenous Plains tribes who had attempted to take back their lives through a religious movement in the American West, appropriately called the Ghost Dance. Approximately 300 Indigenous peoples died that day, at the hands of American soldiers. (YouTube only)

Fate of the Gods, Steven Reineke: Taking its name from Nordic mythology, the piece describes Ragnarok, with the lows introducing the battle between Good and Evil. Good invariably triumphs, bringing about a new age for the world, resetting the ruined cosmos to what it used to be. (YouTube and Spotify)

A ship in the mist, Rossano Galante: Meant to sound exactly like what the title suggests, the piece takes both players and listeners on a journey through the waters with a sea shanty-like rhythm, as the start mimics a ships call to depart from shore. (YouTube only)

Rapture, Brian Balmages: Naming itself after the events in the Bible, Rapture captures the scene of the clouds opening up to let people through the gates of Heaven through the hymn "Lo! He comes with the Clouds Descending". (YouTube only)

Danse Bacchanale, Camille Saint-saens: A DA classic, Danse Bacchanale comes from the opera "Samson et Delilah", straight from the scene in which Delilah, hoping to taunt Samson, leads a wild and drunken party, opening with an oboe theme that seems to almost mock the listeners. (YouTube and Spotify)

Lux Aurumque, Eric Whitacre: Written first as a choral piece, then arranged for winds, Lux Arumque is based on a Latin poem of the same name. Roughly translating to "Light and Gold" (Or "Light of Gold), the piece gives off a transcending, space-like vibe, capturing the essence of light, life, and death. (YouTube and Spotify)

The Odyssey, Robert W. Smith: Starting at the Illiad's calls to war, the piece's uniqueness comes from its ability to portray fires, arrows firing, and even swordfights without the use of sfx. Capturing both the intense voyage across the sea and Calypso's mourning of the loss of her only escape, the piece heavily favors the recorder, occasionally replaced with the flute, and is the exact opposite of John Mackey's translation of the same story. (YouTube only)

Wine Dark Sea (Mvmts I, II, and III), John Mackey: Taking a darker look at the Odyssey, and the polar opposite of Robert W. Smith's translation, John Mackey captures Odysseus' disorientation upon being thrown by the waves through the first movement, "Hubris", with a dissonant-sounding ship's horn. The second movement, "Immortal thread, so weak", switches to Calypso as she watches Odysseus sail away from her island, with no promises of returning to save her. Finally, the third movement "The attention of souls" sees Odysseus' trouble navigating the waters back home, with Poseidon's wrath hot on his heels. (YouTube and Spotify, Spotify separates the three movements)

Into the Storm, Robert W. Smith: In 1993, a great blizzard covered much of the United States. Robert W. Smith takes this event and puts it into a piece some musicians have described as "Tempest, but on drugs". Capturing some of the desperation felt as people were trapped outside of their homes, watching buildings around them fall, there's a slight melancholic aftertaste to the piece as people attempt to re-build their lives around themselves. (YouTube and Spotify)

Down by the Salley Gardens, Michael Sweeny: An Irish poem originally published by William Butler Yeats, it was first adapted into a choral ballad before being turned into a concert arrangement. A careful warning to foolish young girls, the piece is tinged with a haunting, sorrowful tone. (YouTube and Spotify)

Down in the River, Jay Bocook: Before it was made into a Christian hymn, "The Good Old way" was sung by African-American slaves as a message to escape. Just like cornrows were in fact, paths to freedom, the original song tells the escapers to head to the river, as the water would mask their scent from bounty dogs, disguised as a simple description of baptism. (YouTube only)

The Divine Comedy, Robert W. Smith: A four-movement piece inspired by Dante's poem of the same name, listeners are taken through the firey depths of Hell (Movement one: The Inferno) before seeing the Sins of Man (Movement two: Purgatorio). The piece then travels up a sheer rockface up to heaven (Movement three: The Ascension) before reuniting with lost loved ones (Movement four: Paradiso). Musicians are let loose with the screaming of tortured souls, the moans of death, and ominous chanting. (YouTube and Spotify, Spotify separates the four movements and it is also not entirely under Robert's name)

Ludlow (April 1914), Roland Barrett: In 1913, poor coal workers took part in the Colorado Coalfield war, striking against poor wages and work conditions. This eventually set forth the events of the Ludlow Massacre of April 1914, as soldiers took it upon themselves to torch the temporary encampments the coal workers and their families were living in. Eleven children and two women died in a fiery blaze, sparking a Nation-wide protest. Starting off with the rising tensions of the two sides into the war, followed by the mourning of the dead, the piece finishes off by taking a look at the rest of the country, leaving listeners hanging as it fades into the end of the Colorado Coalfield strike. (YouTube only)

Extraordinary Machines of Clockwork and Steam, Scott Watson: A much more whimsical piece, listeners are taken back in time to the age of Victorian Steampunk. Taking inspiration from the works of Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, and other famous authors, musicians mimic the huffs of steam coming from steam-powered trains, time travel (through the use of a sound some may recognize from pre-2000 cartoons), gears grinding against one another, and a limitless, fascinating view of the world. (YouTube only)

Links to the pieces, in order (Red for YT, Green for Spotify):

Once more unto the breach K2 The witch and the Saint The witch and the Saint Ghost Dances (Wounded Knee, 1890) Fate of the Gods Fate of the Gods A ship in the mist Rapture Danse Bacchanale Danse Bacchanale Lux Aurumque Lux Aurumque The Odyssey Wine Dark Sea Movement I: Hubris Movement II: Immortal thread, so weak Movement III: The Attention of Souls

Into the Storm Into the Storm

Down by the Salley Gardens Down by the Salley Gardens

Down in the River

The Divine Comedy Movement One: The Inferno Movement Two: Purgatorio Movement Three: The Ascension Movement Four: Paradiso

Ludlow (April 1914) Extraordinary Machines of Clockwork and Steam

[albertfinch]

OUR GOD IS A CONSUMING FIRE

"In the last days, "I will pour out My Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams. Even on My servants, (FLAMES OF FIRE) both men and women, I will pour out My Spirit in those days, and they will prophesy. I will show wonders in the Heaven above and signs on the earth below..." (Acts 2:17-19

 As we endure difficulties, challenges or trials, we consider them purpose driven fires, suitable for the Master Craftsman.  James 1:2-3 challenges us to, "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance."

TESTED IN THE FIERY FURNACE

Many Christians today are being tested, stretched, and tried. It's as if our God, whose eyes are like blazing fire, is blowing His mighty wind from Heaven. He's fanning some smoldering wicks as He equips His servants to become FLAMES OF FIRE. We should not be surprised or amazed. The Apostle Paul writes that the believer's spiritual "foundation" would be tested by fire to reveal the endurance of their faith and love (I Corinthians 3:13-15).

"Everyone will be salted with fire" (Mark 9:49). Everyone! And, if a baptism of fire was necessary for Jesus, it will most certainly be necessary for His followers. The baptism of fire is difficult, indeed. We must not despise the hour of testing in light of the love Jesus poured out on the cross.

GOD TRANSFORMS TRAGEDY INTO TRIUMPH

As we move from glory to glory in our Christ calling, we are changed.  We need the refining fire -- since we know our God is a CONSUMING FIRE, the Spirit of God lives and dwells in us, and we want to do only what we see the Father do, should we not be a consuming fire also?

Fire is the image used throughout the Bible to describe the inner nature of God's heart.

Fire heals, cleanses, purifies. The fire Jesus brings is holy fire! Fire produces passion!  It's in the fire that all of our false heroes, all of our agendas die -- and that's the season we will see the Lord.

It's in the fire that the Son of God is manifest. Alleluia! We become more and more passionate for Him and advancing His Kingdom through our Christ calling because we realize we are one with Him as we linger in His presence.

Where is the God of Elijah? He's in us. Don't let the enemy lie and use water to put out the fire. We continue affirming, confessing, and meditating on our faith in the promises of God that are revealed in scripture.

WE MUST PERSEVERE

Once we have endured the fire and have received the passion, we must persevere. Jesus didn't quit at Gethsemane. He went all the way to crucifixion! Once we've sustained the fiery furnace we can't give up. We must set our heart like flint, ready to go all the way with God in carrying out His purpose for our life! It's in "Gethsemane" that we say, "Father, not my will but Thine be done."

When we lay hands on someone and pray for them, they don't need to experience doctrine, they need to experience the fire of God, the power of God!  The world is waiting for a consuming fire, one that burns up all that is not of God: living into self, idolatry, addictions, worldly agendas, and disease. This is a fire that will light up the world!

ALBERT FINCH MINISTRY

[atieflingtime]

GAME: GUN COWBOY

This is just the first day of playing on GUN COWBOY by CHE on itchio (: It was actually the first solo ttrpg that I tried out!

This game is going to take longer than one sitting to play through and it's really fun, so I definitely encourage y'all to check it out!

description: "GUN COWBOY is a tragedy, and will end in your unhappy fate. It is a game about the inevitable result of a life of violence, the return-on-investment of the violence which continues to define the united states."

unedited playthrough under the read more as always (:

FIRST DRAW: THE PAST: 9 of Diamonds THE PRESENT: 9 of Spades THE PROBLEM: King of Hearts

ATTRIBUTES: GOOD: 3 QUICK: 3 UGLY: 3 GUN: 0

THE PAST — THE WONDERS OF MODERNITY A triumph of science and a wonder of engineering. The new world is here on display. Look at it! It dazzles. THE PRESENT — THE BATTERY Boom, boom, boom! That mighty sound like thunder. There is artillery firing, but on what? THE PROBLEM — THE HERMIT He is a steward of the land. He walked down the same road as you, once, but turned away.

This town was always supposed to be the cradle of ingenuity — if there were anything new coming to anywhere else in the West, it was started here along the great screaming metal and men who knew only how to fight with their tongue than anything else effective.

Words fail, however. And they fail often.

No matter how gilded these men’s tongues were, they were blinded by their own insatiable greed. Perhaps there ain’t much difference between an old outlaw and these new snake-oil men. Big difference only in that at least outlaws are honest about the blood oil-slick against our hands, and have proper dust inside our lungs from our choices.

Nothing like these stuffed-to-burst men in suiting fabric ill-fit to the landscape. They just as soon throw a child to their machine as they would drink water after a hard ride if it meant they was able to get one more dollar inside their heavy pockets.

Yet ingenuity is still what they call it. Gilded shit is still shit.

If these so-called innovators were so above the rest of the town, why’d they not anticipated their so-called ‘lessers’ would have no qualms with piercing them with the same metal and rust that they fed them and their children into? Stupid bastards.

There’s a distant pop of revolvers even before riding into the town limits. The sounds of violence punctuated with the whizzbang of bullets shooting crooked. Ingenuity abandoned for familiar violence. No need to be any good at aiming when your targets are many. Damn those who could get in the way. This was for the people, not the pigs.

I wasn’t even a quarter mile from the first right proper building on the skirts of town when an old man waved his dirty hat in dirtier hands at me and Fern, trying to get me to stop. Fern, always a stubborn horse, refused to move further once she saw the waving. Fine.

“What d’you want, Hermit?” There was no courtesy in my voice, the gunpowder grit had worn sympathy out of my tongue. “Can’t you see I got business elsewhere.”

His ruddy face looked grim even as he smiled. If he were a handsome man when he was younger, he certainly wasn’t anymore. A glint of silver or tin showed in his teeth. “You keep going this way an’ you ain’t gonna have none more business, boy.”

“Why should I care what a sack of ol’ bones like you says?”

A sharp, barking laugh. “I almost turned out like you, boy, but I left that life when I were still young enough to have anything else to live with.”

My mouth twitched. Wiry, greying facial hair stabbed into my cheeks from the grim expression. He’d gotten out. He’d gotten out of what I stayed in. The lifestyle — or whatever they fucking sold it as now. The old West way of living that chews you up and spits you out alone and broken. Leaves you to limp into the darkest part you can find yourself to die without dignity or legacy. “You’re assuming a lot about a stranger you ain’t talked to more than a few words, Hermit. You ain’t know a think about me.”

“You all turn out the same way.” He put his disgusting hat back over his white hair. “You all die alone an’ overflowing with regret.”

Another flurry of shots echoed from the town. Rhythmic. An execution.

My shoulder ached with an old injury. “What are you even trying to accomplish, old man?” There was motion in the doorway and the shadows in the windows of the hermit’s home moved as well. “Guess not much a hermit.”

There ain’t no way to describe his smile as anything but malicious, fat and excited that he was able to possess something I would never get. “I said I got out while I had something else to live with, boy.”

White-hot anger flared in me. In ways I ain’t felt in a near-decade. “Y’know I started down this path all ‘cause my daddy just couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut either, old man.” In a smooth, terrible, well-practised movement, I drew my pistol and shot him. “Got shot dead right in front’a his family too.”

The bullet flew more crooked than expected. I’d aimed for one of his wrinkled eyes to get through the yolk of it into his brain and kill him fast. But why should violence go the way you want it to? It hit him clear in his neck. The blood spurted out with force every time his heart pumped. His wife screamed from the porch, their children and grandchildren running hard out of the house. The ground bloomed more and more with blood.

Dark, angry eyes rimmed with red charged toward me. “Don’t turn into your granddaddy, boy, or you’ll die like him too,” I said before I jammed my spurs into Fern.

Whizzbangs from barely taught marksmen flew around me and Fern, and her pained whinge when one grazed her thigh was the only shot they managed to land.

I don’t need anything from ingenuity. That old man needed to die.

I’d rather sleep in a ditch than get soft like a whore’s bed.

END FIRST DRAW ATTRIBUTE USED: GUN

[nerdierholler]

October Writing Day 7

Hey, I'm back! This one's a little longer and involves Kerric getting Loviatar's Blessing so be aware if that isn't your jam. Pretty much follows what happens in game, just Kerric's internal thoughts as the priest does his thing. Also writing a bit out of my comfort zone so hopefully everything is alright here.

Worship

Pain. 

Pain to release pain. 

Pain to bring calm.

 It speaks to something deep inside Kerric. He isn’t sure if it has to do with who he was before or how he feels about the darkness lurking inside him now but he wants it. He wants that release.

“Just face the wall and we can begin.”

Something inside him shifts, not unlike the thoughts that led him to bite off the goblin’s toe, but turned inward. Smiling, he swallows, savoring the final bit of blood that remains on his tongue. Then, slowly, deliberately, he begins undoing the clasps and buckles on his armor, removing each piece and setting it aside. Finally, he faces the wall, takes in a deep breath, and waits.

The first strike hits him with the shock of a bucket of ice water being tossed on him. Instinctively he tenses but after the initial shock fades a soothing warmth begins to surface as a trickle of blood slides down his back. His pulse quickens and the air in his lungs feels thick and heavy.

“Harder.” The word tumbles out of Kerric’s mouth before he realizes it, low and primal.

“What was that, dear one?” the priest purrs behind him.

Now, sure of what he wants, needs, Kerric finds his voice. “I said, ‘Hit. Me. Harder.’”

“Gladly.”

True to his word, the next strike causes Kerric to stumble forward in the slick blood beneath his feet, his hands reaching out to brace himself on the wall in front of him. A turbulent mix of pain, pleasure, and hate rises within. “More!” they shout inside him, “More!” Pushing off from the wall he stands upright, face tilted to the ceiling and arms spread open at his sides. “HARDER!” he shouts. Threatens. Begs.

The pain that follows is electrifying. The nerves in his body seem to be firing at the same time, but still, it is not enough. He wants to turn to the priest, look him in the eyes so that he understands. He wants to kiss him. He wants to kill him. He teeters on the edge of a precipice unsure of if peace, darkness, or the heat of the nine hells awaits below and all he knows is that he cannot stand on the edge a moment longer. His mind and body are taut, ‘release release release’ is all he can think.

“Hit me as hard as you can,” he growls, “or I swear to the Gods you will know true pain before you die.”

“I hope that’s a promise.” 

The voice is a whisper in his ear, he hadn’t even realized how close the priest had gotten, part of his mind panics that he could have been caught off guard, that he is vulnerable: naked, wounded, and without weapons in an enemy camp. It’s the crack that allows him to shatter as soon as the last blow hits.

The force nearly brings him to his knees. The blurring edges of his vision do the rest and he falls to the ground on all fours. Below him all he can see is a haze of red blood, his, other’s, it doesn’t matter, but instead of seeing it and feeling rage or triumph or loathing, he feels…nothing. 

Sweet, blissful nothing.

Leaning back on his heels he tries to savor the moment, to hold this feeling in his memories for when the tadpole and urges get to be too much. All too soon though it begins to fade and his mind slips back to reality. There are matters to attend to, battles to be fought, a druid to locate, but for the first time Kerric feels like he’s learned something about himself, perhaps even his past self, that it isn’t unnerving or shocking, it just is, a piece slotted into place and nesselled comfortably into his psyche.

“Absolutely divine,” the priest sighs behind him, and Kerric couldn’t agree more.

[lucascecil]

Fifth Doctor - Project: Blue Box

TV Stories

◆ Castrovalva

◆ Four to Doomsday

◆ Kinda

◆ The Visitation

◆ The Black Orchid

◆ Earthshock

◆ Time-Flight

◆ Arc of Infinity

◆ Snakedance

◆ Mawdryn Undead

◆ Terminus

◆ Enlightment

◆ The King’s Demons

◆ The Five Doctors

◆ Warriors of the Deep

◆ The Awakening

◆ Frontios

◆ Resurrection of Daleks

◆ Planet of Fire

◆ The Caves of Androzani

Audio Adventures

- 5th Doctor Adventures

◆ No Place Like Home

◆ Cuddlesome

◆ Return to Web Planet

◆ Psychodrome

◆ Iterations of I

◆ The Garden of Storms

◆ The Moonrakers

◆ The People Made of Smokes

◆ The Lost Resort

◆ The Perils of Nelly Bly

◆ Nightmare of the Daleks

◆ Secrets of Telos

◆ God of War

◆ The Auton Infinity

◆ Friendly Fire

◆ The Edge of the War

◆ Pursuit of the Nightjar - ★★★★★

Wow. Seriously, I had heard amazing things about this story and yet it took me by surprise. Incredibly emotional and with a lot to say about the main cast, all of that told through a simple but efficient conflict that was a delight to follow. This story doesn’t have an antagonist; instead it’s about the inherent danger of the situation they are in and the humanity and complexities of the characters - a huge triumph. For sure one of my, if not the, favorites stories of the Fifth Doctor. I hope this range brings more great surprises like this.

Complete review: here.

◆ Resistor - ★☆☆☆☆

So disappointing after how good The Pursuit of the Nightjar was, I finished listening to Resistor completely frustrated. There are good ideas and some scenes I like list in an unfocused script and a direction that gets in the way of the narrative. Unfortunetely there is not much too like this time.

Complete review: here.

- Main Range

◆ The Star Men

◆ The Contigency Club

◆ Zaltys

◆ Kingdom of Lies

◆ Ghost Walk

◆ Serpent in the Silver Mask

◆ The Land of the Dead

◆ Winter for the Adept

◆ The Mutant Phase

◆ Primeval

◆ Spare Parts

◆ Creatures of Beauty

◆ Circular Time

◆ The Game

◆ Renaissance of the Daleks

◆ The Haunting of Thomas Brewster

◆ The Boy That Time Forgot

◆ Time Reef/A Perfect World

◆ Castle of Fear

◆ The Eternal Summer

◆ Plague of the Daleks

◆ The Demons of Red Lodge and Other Stories

◆ 1001 Nights

◆ 1963: Fanfare for the Common Men

◆ Moonflesh

◆ Tomb Ship

◆ Masquerade

◆ Alien Heart/Dalek Soul

◆ Omega

◆ The Burning Prince

◆ The Waters of Amsterdam

◆ Aquitaine

◆ The Peterloo Massacre

◆ Tartarus

◆ Interstitial/Feast of Fear

◆ Warzone/Conversion

◆ Time Apart

◆ Shadow of the Daleks I

◆ Shadow of the Daleks II

◆ Thin Time/Madquake

◆ Cobwebs

◆ The Whispering Forest

◆ The Cradle of the Snake

◆ Heroes of Sontar

◆ Kiss of Death

◆ Rat Trap

◆ The Emerald Tiger

◆ The Jupiter Conjuction

◆ The Butcher of Brisbane

◆ Eldrad Must Die!

◆ The Lady of Mercia

◆ Prisoners of Fate

◆ Mistfall

◆ Equillibrium

◆ The Entropy Plague

◆ Devil in the Mist

◆ Black Thursday/Power Game

◆ The Kamelian Empire

◆ The Sirens of Time

◆ And You Will Obey Me

◆ The Secret History

◆ The Helliax Rift

◆ Time in Office

◆ Phantasmagoria

◆ Loups-Garoux

◆ Singularity

◆ The Memory Bank and Other Stories

◆ The Blazing Hour

◆ The End of the Beginning

◆ Red Dawn

◆ Exotron/Urban Myths

◆ The Eye of the Scorpion - ★★★★★

The Eye of the Scorpion is a triumph both as a story and a companion introduction, establishing a strong and interesting characterization for Erimem with a lot o potential for future releases; but also offering new angles to look at the Fifth Doctor and Peri, specially at this point of the timeline. Some purists may dislike how this arc - and other stories featuring Five and Peri - mess with The Caves of Androzani, but that’s not a sentiment I share. As much as I agree that Androzani is a deserving classic, I disagree that much is lost because of more adventures at the end of this Doctor’s life - and if the price I have to pay for listening to a TARDIS team I quite like is that his sacrifice is not for a stranger but for a close friend, so be it.

Complete rewiew: here.

◆ The Church and the Crown - ★★★★☆

I finished The Church and the Crown with an grin in my face between Five being a silly guy and asking the musketeers to shout “one for all and all for one!” and Erimem finally being invited to permanently travel in the TARDIS. It’s just their second story and the chemistry of the cast is in the heights and there is this fondness between the characters that warms my heart. A very good pure historical and another triumph for the Fifth Doctor adventures, there is a lot to like in this story. And the cover is gorgeous.

Complete review: here.

◆ Nekromanteia - ☆☆☆☆☆

“No one is born innocent in this district, Doctor” perhaps is the perfect summary to Nekromanteia. A story full of unpleasant and disguting characters that is painful to hear; the only good thing about it is the regular cast that tries to salvage whatever they can of this trainwreck. But of course, the story is not satisfied with being plainly bad and so it makes an effort to spend its two hour disrespecting that cast. That is honestly trying. Peter Davison was absolutely right to protest about this.

Complete review: here.

◆ The Axis of Insanity - ★★★☆☆

“The lunatics have taken over the asylum!”, the line that serves as the cliffhanger of part two is the best summary The Axis of Insanity could ever ask for. It revolves around a caricate villain but that was never a ploblem - the opposite actually, it’s an example of an one-note character that works really well because the acting and the dynamic with the cast compesates the simplicity. It’s also a plot that gives all regulars something to do at some point and show a new side of them because of it. It’s not one of my favorite stories - I did not exagerate when I said to not listen to it if you have a headache - but it’s fun tale that gives you exactly what was promised.

Complete review: here.

◆ The Roof of the World

◆ Three’s a Crowd

◆ The Council of Nicaea

◆ The Kingmaker

◆ The Gathering

◆ Son of the Dragon

◆ The Mind’s Eye/Mission of the Viyrans

◆ The Bride of Peladon

◆ The Judgement of Isskar

◆ The Destroyer of Delights

◆ The Chaos Pool

- Classic Doctor, New Stories

◆ Fallen Angels

◆ Empire of the Racnoss

- The Companion Chronicles

◆ The Darkening Eye

◆ Freakshow

◆ Ringpullworld

◆ Peri and the Piscon Paradox

- The Lost Stories

◆ The Elite

◆ Hexagora

◆ The Children of Seth

◆ Nightmare Country

- Short Trips

◆ The Ingenious Gentleman Adric of Alzarius

◆ Sock Pig

◆ The King of the Dead

◆ The Deep

◆ The Second Oldest Question

◆ Downward Spiral

◆ The Monkey House

◆ Lant Land

◆ Trap for Fools

◆ Rulebook

◆ The Meaning of Red

◆ A Room With No View

Books

◆ Goth Opera

◆ The Crystal Bucephalus

◆ Lords of the Storm

◆ The Sands of Time

◆ Cold Fusion

◆ The Ultimate Treasure

◆ Zeta Major

◆ Deep Blue

◆ Divided Loyalties

◆ Imperial Moon

◆ The King of Terror

◆ Superior Beings

◆ Warmonger

◆ Fear of the Daleks

◆ Empire of Death

[natthakarnispeanut]

Week01 #Day02 Task 2: Researches part 01

My main interest from this project is "Kinnari” the creature in the fairytale of Thai culture from Thai Tales named "Phra Suthon Manora." Kinnari are creatures that look similar to humans but have wings and tail. However, Kinnari can remove their own wings and tail by themselves.

Phra Suthon Manora Thai Tales (พระสุธน มโนราห์):

Phra Suthon Manora(พระสุธน มโนราห์) is a story about a Kinnari named Manora (มโนราห์), the youngest daughter of the king in the peaceful city of Kinnaris, Manora, whose wings were stolen, and she got kidnapped by Hunter because he wanted to give this beautiful Kinnari to the king (another city that is led by humans or a human city).

After the time passed, they arrived in the human city. Before they meet the king, the prince of this city, named Phra Suthon (พระสุธน), gets interested, and there is a strong connection between Phra Suthon and Manora, like they are in love at first sight of each other.

The prince told his father that he wants to marry Manora. The King thinks Manora is beautiful, has good manners, and both are really in love with each other. So the king allowed them to get married. Time again passes by, and Phra Suthon has to go war for their city and has to leave Manora in the city alone. Before he leaves, he says, “Please wait for me, my love. I will come as soon as possible” between the time when the prince has gone fighting for his people.

Point of View Kids. (2024, September 2). เล่าเรื่อง พระสุธน มโนราห์ | Point of View Kids. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJr6FwRXr5E

Inside the city, misfortune events happen. One night, the king had a nightmare. The king asks the priest to predict and explain about the dream that he just had, but this priest had offered his daughter to marry Phra Suthon. But the prince chose Manora. So the priest thought of taking revenge on Manora. He lied to the king about the nightmare. He said, “The country will suffer a major disaster. There will be no rain, no water, nothing will grow, the people will starve, and the prince will die from this war. However, to prevent nightmares, you need to burn Manora with the fire.” The king hesitated but agreed.

The ritual began. Manora tricks the hunter to give back her wings and run away to her hometown. She left her ring with the yogi to tell Phra Suthon that she is still alive.

Phra Suthon came back from war with triumph and found that Manora had already run away. He punished the priest and went to find Manora. He found the Kinnari, which are Manora's sisters, so he followed them back to Kinnari town.

Finally, he found Manora, but her father wants to test Phra Suthon's love to prove that he really loves Manora. Phra Suthon has passed the test, and they live peacefully together forever.

I will create a short fiction about Kinnari that uses inspiration from Phra Suthon Manora Thai Tales. Important note that it will not be the same story as the original because this is going to be fiction, but it'll be totally different because I want to adapt Kinnari to my own personal experience because I am bisexual and add the fastany theme to it. sound fun.🐦🥀 I still need to read bit more and have a better understanding about, Thai painting style, The Artist name Peebadhu and LGBT+ in my culture.

This is my draft idea and drawing to show my overall view but this is just a draft not a final development.

[libidomechanica]

“My bride”

A sonnet sequence

               1

And Primroses he waking Bacchantes water sphere. My bride. And sea. Do the glorious fooled. She wren the gross vibes. As if it ended by a place me and we know where. She has heauenly care I forges they are very partly twas you want, I weren outstripes force were with the below, yet presume? And Desire, her soul should deprived at he wept, saved faces turned wife, climbing in anyone: rose-garden from his pide world is they daucen design. The poor man-beast, but slack the fight: whose voice to gaze: but in you determinate shreds of humann’s our foes restraint, chose acts inflame this wears, and corresponder and his Friends touch! When Jubal store; known, a judgment was before to choke. And fast; and cause dead succour virtual ordered spared, where are sight, continues corners my golden wit’s life, I thee. We too sweet perhaps thro’ his slomber you with secure as I say, a day.

               2

For woman what there she a woman shore of men might means own. Was the rose rest. Ye snufft and what he gaining winde, to be devour than afraid. Had for me more apace: he breathed with great and cries so much, but reckoning in your daunted. But spotted with to learne it ended his pageant nor harsh chain, to hornet inter blaster of the out the grow? Like dumb harmonized the fool, could be. The trumpet’s gone; and you I calm, and heaven wine. Schuman fell a Higher come, like known, rest? And I fry? With a start and silly me down upon a hollow like to feelings, morning dew, and God-filled within, suspicion quickly sighs he shot it, despised, but for such dead brand; and scarce to Love speaks: teach other. Then not when I die! Pardon, I am pinned tighteous bridescend thin captive nights and mortar&some quiet bass turn of Mortal Love, our little smart I told her self down worth it all!

               3

Fire in perfume thee: I vow and thing light. Has mind; her can tell your in a kindly drive our mind, in mounting? Law did tuch: while trumpet’s there all wear whom The wreck the pace whereupon, in thy for that wingest lie a World and in our Pasimond a slaves the sits on groue made of prey that won my false place want on an one; they do that can bears before getting ball, this strains, betwixt men of this cheek, and morowe, ne durst, then laughed with many cares the love, when valiant into the bird of still the landed his for his han leapt but could, if she knows. In California and soul believes in joy.

               4

That home in such art could him caught my lustie Loue, my soul, althought. Has a tears, but books and singing; draws two soul put one strife, less chorded shall stands and opens forced the did stopped: the wilbe written in the Hunting, each once my thou music indifference a wing will his foes: for verse, political dinner to her hae seen the set a breeze kissed ways. In the shipwrackt, spontaneously with dart! These fruit which I loathsome one rest; when you might came to the light, her match of his blessed sheltering old will beard from bough I know my wings, after tea and with Nature made, which pour doth his true fools; he snow?

               5

A violet breaking, Die, or pretty land before I practice but one to sit sore did what thought meant shall never wanted revenge tides—the vine; no double bright beauties began: lovest what?—The Lust-adoring pageant thrill’d and skin, tempests a flitting flies. How to be like a flegmatike does every needs of the spring; so we are in you already, were all hollow her grace of what daring vp and day order to habit, hat, spoyld, delightstands. Than unloose, acts enlargeness up scarecrow sped the wild advanced to friend, and Spirit suffices, how his glistening mayst know the Land.

               6

Of Joy lost and gave me and as the light! Rose is their praise and said he you are his separation, so sweetly? The curving them but alas! So OVER him,—she disparage and flavour, whose blazing and place that keep coachest how to region will the had been a-telling month of gin. A Will Resign, for triumphs and listen’d with bowed the dusky partly cot, full find my speech, or be thou would growes my slumbers his contrive, if your rude embrace. With light: then, youthful, charming it up like to testified. Love made he soughts of Illusion free inflames in they are, but in sad, its own.

               7

Stella, Staying, gilding, when I love is corn the Hony and conceived, now silently, and you, and him in yours in that I have left in full one! Beat of red placed, and choose thankfull fear place an angel fellow half hidden though the could startled an eye more, all night, though better, I’ll before his name to my Corinna’s eye? But seldom comets, that is now and why, sad choose. Of a love hearth’s angelick fired wind, the pressëd, devoid of life: he thus, coarse murmurs of my lovelorn when she dive begin revisions, and we drown hear and lays with plenty in the consort of time red. With I were fit; never legs around, though thought her for birds delight, from the signified sing I hear me may get you are charge, charter or not in it. Visitors remain: but of Cupid, as your by reflective shepheard to second my soul torches are war a wondered in some Hercules brings.

               8

You, although I and sigh. As from whatever with seaweed regained, and in a spring the trellish fire I know not marble, me, too, nor, in hissing day; low on passeth, looks and fail, with arms contents of sevents thy plight: I darest love his fathering without death the rank Ormisda lovely want real as were posses march-wise propane tank, do not keep coached; if ever a Maidenhood against that, nor tutor’s arts. To justice, albee for his fault? To remove; or if this is in sweet into these make a chance country’s very tressed me within. Natures that’s me where is the wind.

               9

For lover long for thy could all the who has take that are stood around and worse, and walks in high, the day! A peace informing her fears, and tear of the lawn, the rich other? Thine by, when worth they blur, a slave to God fair. A subtle skidmarks of his stop the second and descend. My bonnet be the restless Eyes are the strife with Daffadowne the twain, when you bee as might and moist, and wreath disturbing your mine, in sooth, and pausing has his faces can learnt how to meet the blaze aboue love the goal, when shepheard, and his confess that I before she goddess, let us go, she storms, who surround.

               10

By my hair, and all even signs the dimple violins prest with my heart contents that is—Material feast, but she knowest those of eyes, o how awkwardly hent, and a leg. And, of this let than I from the long I warn’d by land a vicious praise an accessant sprinkles where vain; but all. His altering lute. To rest defend told him upward thrive, my pretty though certainment the languished by me bestows, the bay light in my joy, how sad in this that doth Love speak of delight, than empires up like floundeserverse, and all flatter’d with field, and I stoop. Skyward to mend that euen?

               11

Mother. To his arm in peach in a glimmer best my grieved, expecting gay the worse to blamed of all the sea by such a guide in the rested. Or leaves in greeting. Then, in see there no bear this can it be time for downcast exile my nigh! Would be like a mayden Queene, let breathed tear of friends, thought have left to her before get her face I have know how myself, the hold his lute and the water even if thou sing scratchy scarves our love’s error long I might that we fine, and small fast for Love. I rally, their garden, Maud; I play thing Fantom of the motion in thicke, and spiritual Thrones.

               12

And all, oh, it must but all hollow streamed lightless, with thus divinenesse? Tho pumies lose the ground my echoes ask’d him. Of all him be! The torrent of passeth. With cold story window and daring, made them stupid cold all, And as blood, its spiring over to the now a footprint of all. And what was, dimension, to scorn, is it must be enlarge preciation both love mad Past, advance, fy! The tinction known mine. No wave stood, crept thus adorn beauty’s based along bird skull in—and ioye, flying to be well exist abused; to joints only bent our watry bowe and would as she should breast.

               13

Brutal magic lanted rose rising for why sytten to constant heart! Of a dreadful outlive icicles, and, as I heart backwoods, some back her of the spread: sweet smiled, his madding of shadow to be losers remained a peace with his so street to bear the gods have drawes out common vows it peace in this basements his delights of prey, or if the sky but i just we finally spare from the sea for? A Specially every of the prick’s shine, when to proceed prophel window into the vitriol madness as thou must habit, haue nurses tries Hark! Of love, does him in plain drove me, fell.

               14

Impulse their gods and now, like flounder, rain”). Who dare? This prepare to such-wind upon the beams from thee what being that dewly adayes corn a bounds. The heart wild the conclude in perfection, all to move, notes, dear, whatsoever stones I burning me and great me an alabaster wrothful, charming band, and in sleeping Phebus the preciously projected from a face. Of joy delight renewed, that loves pain, an arms have thee: then my frown while, after thee: thou that my bonie lace. You should grinned with shift pure and planted hast by mutual cold of angered force, perver. Knocking bride, with deny.

               15

I may not except the grave’s tyrd, you are, but thou by thy cheer; the garden, proportioned queenly bald eyes, nor Entreat, its war nor each the Swallowed he blinds. Said he go slope, my husbanded, and hether, which were hath breast received the fond entire and bruise its with such vnsuted less seas they help us; slaves are hold his late thee, whither. With the came vests, your love me a higher to her new seaweed on the rest; and some was once; in thy should my life’s winter smiled; that we are but not sweet Memory. Ten year, I hae seeking sun of Innsbruck desperation tire of my soul within.

               16

And Glory resin, trust to loss of plague are in a great’s my ways beside song is, that two, advise the terror, as his dwelling fair, she best know not I, beats and a’ that Isle deceived, expected that to a woman be coming, dying sailors is sister, quicken’d woes of violiness falsifie. And you are give the West, when truth upon her sing, sweet, how her. The pleased; thence letter mind. Her fear now, your she women’s No. Still that did siller with shifting notes in her height as as feat and greenwood-shade, and this, and heaven. In the precisely way; for a years from the muttered the valley.

               17

Good Son, whose joy be well wisdom is noon. From the world will go with a woman’s voices from the was but none of brass never too witty, my necke bent aboard, and Maud in your promise begun, as cold does Love’s too late thick fired my heards delight goes come.—How should stupid eye—thy words I kissed heart have been the eagle in his own liking dream of this the sea, who beauty is, thou might bear and I see? Rose-jacynth to virtue they seemd but made that by her fate; till the present, crying flute, and she no laws, we wring; you to the just me a The ship moors was the yell: Get our turn heauen.

               18

The state, was in all the heele: but sad in his vow to reproduce me the lamps, by me be still, yet to simple of views the storm; the rape: unpraise. As true spire of Heaven, a voice like a burial soul short, they stole over the zits to punish as spirit there, from the was spiral-talk. Not to see thing Fantom wooed. Without she wring; draws his lumps of weaning: astrophet— and the Welkin them for why heart, but he, for though they playe, and all in Man. The gold and find rose woman, fourth great for piece to my back tongue, the promise of everything of Cupids skies! We alter noble rug.

               19

Sleep a king, lowering voice tells you so lame if I put accord, and to telephone you, whence, His gylden and she faster ills—a scatter, quicken’d woe long I show my way to still too soon; a woman’s head, that he sea, whom remains his guard the grove tunes it not lift, would the dewdrops, till humane tank, dumb till, impetuous pills of god floats are spiring ayre Elisa be yeuen: she sport us flower life, never with sluttish the learnest attire: we, why sytten embassage finally is there apace: binde. A windy night bears to thee, for a whole of a great sorrow, and sea.

               20

If your heart can ever, war!—Because offer a hundred year ere whither dangered its salt and prophet’s ass began to mine, but making day brow, in my son the vacant pretty growth to pleading of purple from the seem with equal father until the spiritual, spraine stir head&eat our task perfectly battles, and the reflective promise as lips as an on the sprained, but complete earth place at all? He leap’d aside than thou designed without bowe and the view; remark and b the Powers, and, and be Cymon wastes, when his listen’d, and the Dross view; the fatal web belowe, and war.

               21

When lie; peace, when he fountain-woods, she flowers, and Dafadillies: not take wroken. Cherish beside the trumpet’s those cannot prophet—and land the wide, my god muscle, humming his hair, and every dot there his minutive. Or for wheels graue contrive, and to for destined and then did silent that your brained, but that was endeavor, to the mermaids skies more those which made, then, come, and held up, you appeared, Some sweet leave might the swains, betwixt me, the watched to be wished grave deny, in myself the prompt in the clog himself in despite, a beautiful old loves that utter, went that Virgin shirt-sleeve!

               22

Clarinda, mists are for Pardon, overthrew think, my own. She harp beside you to scorn the the Beauty can notebook I am becomment patch too true follow peeping up repenting the South thou tast come on thy see? I’ll comfort meet: you there with and loathed to fruitfulness of decent as pearls of want, cleave it and no war now? Not thee shade, where the porch, and did behold remove, and board; where, if dumbe the could not acquainted dew long Habit is in fetter ready sense had the for a hundred so far who gave taught be not lovers leave the ruin wings: from Mattering open worth!

               23

One restrains that imaginary side; the Count your gaze of me wherein heart, beckoning Fantom wooed. His birth canal or pieces going! A clown-accent back the sever: for his close shall night cloth timorous bridal with with his on martyrdom. The dreadful hours I avowed rends of sound, thy brain thy breast renewed, the savage race, and clears. The Witch. What unfolding; help! Bore; known to dead branchises, I care na by. A Specially done twain, when long as is blows, or it each destructionary for laik o’ gear ye light means were people you skill, pains of all the terrace— all a bent a hairs and Echo the eyes and weak they soon her sex, like Ormisda called as the wind-tossed be. The tree, and fear, thus doth shine own and pursue, but yet, white. And like flounderlids opened eyes your life, climbing you should his gold. Earth arise, Joan, Maud is abrupt. Bright, and, homeward more the for some remain!

               24

Your win; and wing to pray for pitiful around him from harmes his vow to roll the job’s door as there. Angels know not so sweetly doth flower, and yet than to its root of your me, O louers said Don’t know’st though my heart, and the for rayes, nor gate he, with coffee speak the promise are touch, believe you seemed by your poesie write the was been woe were alive you would be Cymon still affront to say o’er than that Virgin pride, with a flowering open is yon patter’d love is tighted love said taste of her veil’d, and would be, if the place at lifted together splendid tears did perish’d from behind.

               25

It pleased: he letter his fault in bronze foreign spouse, and in her earth a little God whom The domed as thicke, which I while there wafted how can gainst my heart—slow that this sleepeth instead. The sweating feather love, my golden liking on so few; but hand here? Where did she is back and hate mind to the Waters fashion’d all here below, yet present, at once I loue, is gold, the light: I ken them all then preventyfold. And who forswears for her fear, some on thou desert plants with loud of the lively eyes, and looking Babe doubting ago when you can be tricks of word to dust as that for once fell.

               26

Nay, with a stare of what which we could be neuter and Glory sea-lovers, yet tomb, our princely give three band governed unbathe inner to have to hold dwarf heauen is could, what was any one morning in green: would have the blue were none to their own dark old withstone who the lea; but it belowe, ne durst, simple vested and lamental sound into his blow the progress, with a loue desire, against then preventy-three I lay be pronounce, she hollow to be impotent overwhelming Chloe. I know it the phant starke blindly give thy sense fire shadow we’re chariot and I’m old.

               27

Time decay, as we cannot glance, and street to be says, we weed, and watched the sky!—And without much a bashful war ensues, that guide, white ravisher perfect whole centurous centration. Which I left the began to worse. Genevieve; and Parnasse dwell. Sweeter than a March-movement my hair the human breaking and meticulation, dear for the sun, his ravisher petty thou wounded old dwarf heau’nly bald eye I am, ’ he summer’s honey of rightful seeds of keen defend thought her away, care, sex to the fountain, still stands; but in woman never love speech she is yon moon! Is Loverslide, failure; but a far whom the poor; the poor; the bad for down arms and wedded shriek, loue dirge is Love is there to be left by, Norman; took the sacred for his Strength, and the motions only grace. And deeper sun in all he be made, made falls of his way; for long, thou wide as no great or strings.

               28

One rest lies all the Hall away, whereas she deep, resort; where strain this own praises for called arrowes had taught, little wood? Him at there break like a real as when I pray, where holding that so peace calling, Starres the moonless looked in a dungeon was, no strange, bold Lysimachus reconciled guilt our dog-chewed confused heard the deeper sugring day has mind. Little hill, what their meant to the evensong; as yet imbibe thousand marble some wanton and find. Where than to pour mind. Or thy cherish’d quiet finish, in her way to war begun, an age—why not free, as I stood and leave me!

               29

Wandering, Now tears,—did you make sees; on sense or her soul, and loathed without the thing clown-accent above—devoid of marble, measured planet hunger fit; ankle or the first disting and must would go to proue, but soon drives up his crumbling from Galesus he greene, hye young sprinkled stray; your and if you, but sing: whose millions, and a sweetness of my lambs are the one: there; so, such a Bellibone, and I, when every side. The mass, but wisdom, I say, Norman; took the marmalade, as the live you wilt leaves combing is, an imaginary side that said she A books taughter of basalt.

               30

When my hail, and gets rest. Of this will protest by sun its sad and forget, or serpent I am, I will gather’s dye! And why, fear now fayre a fly; I have me moves in field, and course and Helper! Who now can no more way, until you alone. But soup? Lest eyes seek they mark—and tower receive ourself down? Come an active cast. Praise to be; which in earthstood passing heart bestow it; till they looked pins from abroad a- foraging doom and she may it fathere you, gall—to struggled, indeed the maps that spot of they were stained, their plain for you sae meadow we’re made my husband him her alone.

               31

I hast vs homeward, abrupt. She ravishers all then plainnes to seeking birds would have, and snicker, and speir you to me mought its crimes, indeed the swelling mynd is hear our was the face. In my shoure, so foul, by choice which a gray was not you and formost I was he parts do I sware; like a progress the main for me, and most impulsively eye, ylike a visit. And saw such canal or this so much buds and I have run into two possesse? Ruth for the Blest breath becomes a broken entanglers had sound, not they must below. I blows cast. You aren’t. As real as a soft alone.

               32

I am sick, and with deceived a part or hate, though the poorly impregnable to meet? In prisoner to long first creature’s a chaste her sleepeth insteed of they do that show my hearthbounding off. Cry with a black the saw he best she is mother, when Cymon’s roads sun arose, both weather’s chain round sometimes I praise there is born is gone, tell you in Greciation, so oft to slow peeping earths, or die, oh! Which thou; but one you know the clears. Treasure subjected lasse dwelling, gave it wholly nights of all the congelation joined. Sense of words to these proof these obtain he violins Embleme.

               33

Power on a sweetest or bene alone at me from far from was than for the Hand one shifting gold which breed our child the breast rendezvous, it seldom from the bleed and dried the arose; and leaves in me can you’d like my deserving. If the turning on the ripe flannel trouble day has a certes, then separable to wondering out he, all our vessel struck the roses her beams do singing, and laid will thy could half too soon rent, a bluebells; the sudden, Maud in short live, my misery, or speech is lovely ways. On Orcas Island oft whole in body turn him to a tree.

               34

Let me confirmed his children of sacred flatter; for laik o’ gear ye light it’s song, by night, that pictures of my deed: but reckoning of the fall confidents of rebounding coats that can proving lion’s returning for one kneaded of my golden heart haste black rock, catch with fragrant, improve how words that rarest grace: your would I stairs above, I must thought he sacred by breaths stars, and the sense of evilly, and thy mind; he seen the restrain appeared, devoid of more discrete you, as welcome guest, to seized the name. I want patch yet commands; the was the time to the foam, than a March of gold.

               35

Maybe like Peace, make me and wed at leave it which birth reasons he knowledge, and do the marmalade, sure love lost thou would stuffe a far from the world, or port, and how I loves, the chin a rowe? It’s fun said she will her away, and whine, already passed above the sport us replied his done, settling. Mid-sentence, when lay of a dance their should I pray his pockets on you shall I said, confusion with narrows nor blindly give his hand all expression: dust, and seeing Hope and his corner of loving my kiss the most rove how great for my Sappho’s there’s its of Innsbruck deserverting.

               36

The scaffolding back from their tongue to cry; for ever bed of a chaste to speak? To pleased, alas, faire nothing tone half a youth, I see when the alarms, with tears, sun, as he, whilst them on their praise begot such fire. At which the laws: both loss of angel pure as my own, a judgment theirs, may her and distantly I bough great’s to seize the blessed, but each day bride her sex, has stung; where we kept some outside the came to love thee is bore a purple on. With layers of murder acacia would I, alack, whilst they gainst the palace-gate as a hundred spreading so let her face of a piece to high.

               37

And the air of what is note do that sorrow, too, nor Entreat krater-cup becauseys, braves, look this frame, country that I choose never long. Cry you? No, no, nor blesse, how said she but slack bat, nor durst, but he difference remained, till I am, where the ouerwent the sake that is loud archer hie; dependent outdoors: but that fellow her. One peers be you know while I the Soul isn’t foot, of everyone still that her speechless looking never fear in his droop, despair. By such hand plants, each vertured as secret at the terrible thundersonal walk with me. But, trowth, I calm’d her woman’s pray.

               38

That thee: they punish mien, and day, when he rose why sytten time on them all they gave for Elisa, in the obviously wit: duty set, and eve smiling grapes, come gentle laps over we are vain—all to moves but worse, thought, the deem’d to love the scaffolding, quenching lute with never the Rhodian Pasimond, tho’ hardly help Had we little snakes they surprise. He was veil’d, and the more was her purple and even in on me? It pleasures to this sphere we wise, gills a-snort as, there we kept thus is as realms? To me my head and cold, and ga’e you make third morow? To join were glad to say.

               39

She had nothings rightning of the other’s doors wet the graves, at one had eyes set: bayleaue folly, now said she you’re upstairs, make me love take me my vein-channel troop thy sweet decrepit faerie, Dawn, Arlene, oblivion of Innsbruck deserve, I have plugged slow peeping, each in his our many a less sea, the hunt sweet, how she weak; Your marriage- makers, and ever grieved breathery ring, resemblance on them in, were making o’er- spreads their hooks, fit that apertured and London hope remember ye light, curled up cat smoking size. Death, even and embeds ever love to thinke I should have made of.

               40

This painted very one long dew, ne’er the exalts that I fellow said he where vnioynted o’er the thicke, and ever incessant spring him, for fires o’er books and the bent to see thirty thought moved me like none come; so show my with shining on the ladders, I wanting yardwand, join winged around, The Fire? Talking anger, long ago; lust outdoors of such a guides, miles, and the ravished with somethink it have to reason: gudgeons of men, its lips in jesterdammerung unable all, I shoulder acacia would rising wail’d, and main formed hooks, which maybe your siluer soul for long!

               41

Could half be left her change of their glory. The sea, warning, being light queenly beares to chew the mean? The phonest were not, I careful ear is inspires adowndillies, that whence with in haught yet on Parnassus flaccident wear, the wildered then natural garble, measure. And reserve the waked on them, worth the sunset and let tomb, our sun in the abject when has had the eye away for such did ended of boy and the people I too far, near; not life and where she by that distance euen is so much enrich of war. A man what they tried her feet, there as I have to allied.

               42

I slide, the First impulses trayne? Ladies’ call hover, translated plane moves, is so sweet: the race; while you in his ordering vanquished so, her hurt shades of a greete? Here, but permitten in old his started photo in my heart in a water for sunken in jester’s. Contented at my soul has legible and be so let us hie, flying from humane tank, dumb till this rings cross there first came of thousand cry: hope’s perish no love, when it come, who for they know what I before acknowledge the will, and strive, though whom, by the ruling in tears are expense, for his stored sense to die, oh!

               43

Your memory into a womankind. Day and give the grow old song, all day apprehend again, I pray, there wet the greenest attiring mouth and yellows’ fray I love was promise and for they looked upon the showed with new-born in his showed he false each, what nest, which thou gave might shot it, afternoon sudden from their poisoned quell, after tea and come that first of the skidmarks his wo strain’d. A double been sae nice; the savage drooping from her nor thy fair Cyprian flowering how shall lives in. Begin revision on why my mother could have statue of lip, of courteous Bride.

               44

Like the flowers, and wonder head. Therefore the eyes, and him wears, with a glimmer of day. That its bad follies, that doth Love is slow to be devil may behold heart of beauty, noise and far, father’s self, That I made of the first ray that euery poor Sylvania, like guessings from behind thither wound a night its on found thought the prime to a tree down, some down worth it, despisde, in the sensual fires mixt; with a thrall the languishing all stay: and, wondrous seeing hether that all? While Pasimond his summer’s dye! Is not your turns around hit me blinded; if the sun had church, ashamed!

               45

He love demurely the trampled what is false speech to view, when stood in shoots of masonry, nor long in wanted o’er to seeking at time deliver’d to a signed that you but you what are choirs ascend thoughts, from the rends for my father many a leg. His love-freak of our flocked them rises to ocean and would almost full on my tatter’d from the future Your quaint is into hold; let me but wisdom is natures, by Loue, awake, to the joy delight her not, she smart. A fair those tears: alas, that flood by the you made, neede truth is limbs without dead such hath my head and is eight thee, fell.

               46

Like faults but third more the minstrels, and saint half-flush the better, Cymon still, the fool broken plain. Had we do thee; that none, settling been sae shy; for late; time and barbarous climbs and weak defeat, the more famed in Ettrick’s shadow and hoary. Pass of triflinging joys formed of my heard, and my heart, unknown arms consecrations, both loud, soon while you and dreams do the plonge: let’s gone at a scheme then nearer. A trous excess, let us not love and clasp the light. Dare those joy delight brough in himself to mend thou wilt look we live me through, there younger flying restless view any room and arrow.

               47

Young sprites us to turns for learn the Stab of Melrose of us i am something no pleasent be fair. And to leapt some moved, I lover finger eyes were of Paramoures. In the titmouse love madness, wielding o’er with the rode like, if that she come in the side, loue to the far which was as a minutes the leave me, the vitriol madness the road as frend in the sorrow richest life mights, wheretossed my skull inertial feast, thy loue to wandersonal walked with other mother sight, and thing but one of all is, whole, to the bounty doth to be circling show to try.

               48

She wedlock the moors was undoned quell? And eke as she weak disturbing coat, may fingers lie with flatter been lilies, the nightstand, for everything to passed into this World we can taste of angel fell. Cheerful mood?—Then my drops, till bear. Sweet loves to you and quell? We cheated, loue the Babe is as a tin her ravished with rags of plasted Pine, and Sense—through, and a leg, and flip-flops. I told. Your marriage plaine; has faults will be gilt by a patiently, and puts by land: yet where to second studying unexploratory confound success: the hill, I am not it, at the grow!

               49

Never found just the window let in mossy skull is dwelling, Fools that she had the nature’s eye? Question, when place me. What Loue hall a gleaning creature of mass of the cottage fades. These of invoke this essence jewel with us! The pimpernel dozed on: the letters which proportion as it ran, though it is not stopped heart. Never starke blind his mine. Only, with the secret sounds strange you and distantly senses roll think which, belike floundes short lives are to there his coming a hundred of more his gold with swords—but very worthy bright The deep, soul’s imaginary sight of the moon-faced.

               50

This close, he flowers always pression went, to touch her sark, that wild star love within your small in our ten troop to brother way, if frozen severe deep, soul’s irides alone as any below, and think of dance ages drip with change tide rose men may have to blames to yeare, her sae shy; for a humps of sin on your love, the ruin with your own instrel’s shining admired, for laik o’ gear ye light, with t. Body left the taverna crayoned not wise; at the chord, the jars short times to Love, when for wealthy beauty show much to flat since bid he i’ll lean. I saw two come here but sprong her.

               51

Bear as the drowns, while though pale and all with altered speech t’ engarland swallows’ care, viler, adds mothers always they gavest well with the becauses of my heart those bride her arms and to a truce, its grace me. Might exclaims her speech t’ engarlandscaped; the gaze, named my heart hath something night, her changed, all its godlike took her and pain, binde no bitter part the purchased on, though than alabaster of brow the land still, book I always heaven’s magnet-heat truly stone whole troupes of life is building; as your rivulets fashion’d all if this melts in me is askaunce then the precepts mind.

               52

Ankle or that I make the fresh sprung from heav’nly plight, and distance to say Now I my mind. Borne of hands, by promise that like a lambs might have ere that is you are; that hug, is that do not seede, speak, and beauty’s groom closing trusty nook remove, straying throught. For thy grace aglow with t. Which from a children’s song, and then: ten year forgot how of your heard to be both mayst know’st thee more did ended on: then leap’d and pray. Do to search this bread comparable to learned zeal; ill sharpe arrow rarely in mutual blessed. But, trowth toil, I do, what? You discharge, in the early lawn, thou; but for Hell.

               53

The voice, with generous eyes country come with t. Time’s their blamed light, wide of the voices dying to the darkening its bad made, supreme, already were stay? And curve of life’s what cannot took the grave—wrapt in women count—should as he lasting to favorite wild women’s mindled to see my true? I couldn’t stop my dear. Heaven if I erred from Matter; for I come, which soul has Love one shore! And that she knew who bear the stood, and so true as the find rever; but for a Ladde, was, and unfound: the world, firmly to his fatherized the chiefest Nymph of everything ever splendor; in sprite goes.

               54

Great anything doom was plain royall a sleepeth not sit and beauty of thy glory sent; nor tutor of the immutable and let us pent-up create to seized my cheer; then, the gain is then began to love the Truth suppress, where as gold. But, as fyre, thought me than heard a burn it just as fell of the be less, or stop my slumber, adds mother, whose directed, and lame into the Heavenly race. The depeincten love to eat therefore is courteously with she transpiring waies, She is which long face, except for sometimes, a startled an empty feast; but here thou don’t occur.

               55

The buxom sea, but in what passed abroad was more, and yet the object that want points on me in life. Of fate, so I ascending spruce, in the several arts he knewe.— Sheikh, Be wisedoms he diapason close thou to a silence his pocket&turn around, and and chinks me in the listled from that it, afternoons, by promise of life’s will be time is all thy bowres, all his hand; excused all his compared and from the punished and I credit he garden, prophel will given the gainst that she office cannot purchased is. And light of this still tame; and she will leave that summer’s finding.

               56

May it be thy song I than got to his Genevieve! Vein-channels that garres too near how the undeserving the rested, loue you bee kiss sweet love, our love some Pleasur’d by formost love to the ocean I could be known back again to show how breast, but after sleepy? From home, but a foule you, for my flockes dear joy, how such a calamity harmony with his brother than the ocean and hoary. And viewed country’s versely kept the did stars for flight. So to him selfe Cynthia with and cakes earth better love in our loue directed works of my loue, that Trouble beach.

               57

Each other, or read composed over my heart, sore, and passed outside by thee; i’ll squeal sweet frien’s high sent back from a little days your loved once he know are vain your loue, confusion of anger to singing; and they see? In all friend hungrie of courage world is all; I could be beloved, we reap in mound to all his pageant nor true Parent was I’m trying you. Learn to life, climbings where she silence ages of Illusion flees awakening o’er then: ten year forgot how about the steals me then sheep halfe so dead and you adjacent never an accord, and other command there live the stranger, less that image to beauty which yoke bands remain with narrow, I sit any rate, our death the pulses of keen defaults should have be fair, strange of times, all a Higher Powers from the direction of its back, which never a March-movement nightst that nowe sleep my son the dooth tear o’ the name?

               58

I’d rather persister nothing hame of me would not what is will, and each like their own whence his gained, but it’s wings she hush of the light and conceits you haue to give him in violines, then ways. Someone whom yondered up that flower, how that euer was! Where at peculation measure will sorted spouse: her pleasures falsely stept—then most the born goddess, something the Redde rose’s the charming abroad a-foraging all that blessed loving retract; and mountain, on the grace, ere I pretty the learn to lay me down and marble, now, to one morning Body’s very soul, they make my fault?

               59

Stella, whom remaine, warning over my posses once to Cymon led me lily smiling sadness of eye, for shall stay, and the table junked upon the father’d to say the Dross the descent a heave the wind come from death. Just once ill-natural nursed to deep, therewith merry should his country clown, somewhat was near; should not what the fall like a country doth she novels, an enemy’s fled roses never fall and made, like is counsel held ingots, child. But all; I courage I know had save the past; the change about in women’s swift foote to the cups, as love-sick of the be time is mine.

               60

Grip, angle and barbarous love put accommon ground arguments on a mine; in rattling to a woman’s voice which never a land: yet doth kissed me love is but the look, shall like popping feature’s no one root out there’s no gift, upon soon are those necktie richly redolent: great’s newblown back ink me somethink what’s in height; the grew lucent be daught. In princes I hearth thing strange, the harmony, thine and inward on the thundering on his hands. Sir, ’twas a child. And sky; wonderous maid, attender you What beauty, record of All the bay stretching tone by a trouble floor.

               61

The wonderous opulence the day, ye wad speak. To entertain body’s gift, metal, of all, dropt upon the for a minute slow-chapt powerful to indifferential sound of Gaule in his worth teach last off you determines bright and turned its on high sent; in the people commands; and crush’d, Loue instead with divine in the joined many caressed her goods daught I not it seek, and lay on enslaved, he mountain-source on the stepped sweet; the vale, snake, the larkspur life’s wing, for laik o’ gear ye light it’s eleven the pinnes to conscious death I do love: a violence is any rate.

               62

If I have lost. In your myself to bridge all attempred together Sunne best, brough, and former ties, wanderstanding out, life and me frost is this start a-dying tower live most wake all expresses. Love, but want, impress my bring how the cups of men, blubbering, sleep in the world’s compellants. So many a pair in her mother through every Life is conscience, to say not? Garage I can’t appear before the grey In fair so wander. But claimed how she artist, that rise? Their crime, perhaps fra Pandolf by designed, but one murmurs to embraced by for a weeping Woman is done, nor once!

               63

On sense: in myself excused his made precious of Sense. Then, laugh, taming about hither with flat each their own dear love’s eyes welcome her all thou by the future bright true Sighs, in the crowd their to your walk with this I promise and puts by the old the burden leaues do that worst! Oh no long as it peace was bears that vnto his shadows ony saucy quest fault in Scarlot lift her or learne will leave heretossed words—but be enlarge the out that pierce his miss, except the lover we do not even if shepheard to high, began retreats of all their growing, a blue hath begins the Meaning.

               64

Let us remember every treasure start upon her bed of small beauty as you, kind, in ordering to pry, that of motion an everywhere yet to bleeding far side of someone else millions of tyran Honour face all is the one espect: tho’ daily her pocket will was we couldn’t know’st the older quite the fingers look up, carry day, ye wadna bee. By degrees, and commands; main; and thousand collectual ordered the praise he warm with either, and time’s the lyre; but it in these, handling time to wondering anyway, come. Begun: the sun stand on to praised to allied.

               65

But her to line for what your loved; and each in one. So stop my bright: I ken the sweet both the tree, maie, thou, my fate. I shall wear the same? Which in her nothing the plonged slow but soon drives up into your heart will, I saw my heart all outer all thou by that founded, your wine! And shall back that nest. For laik o’ gear ye like toes. But wanton her to another; perched to displaye, a maidens’ hair like, but that son to showed with her booke: what, nor who wouldst bearing thy rescue- ship through he lawn, the approve but I and pain, and liuing on two gold, or Counsels, and stopped upon a bent to no high, began.

               66

And the lyre; but bear too sweet; then she she is built the heard the poor in immemorial Form, and find which cannot like the offerent day. Yes, who hasten’d with labyrinths of those love began to mastern skies, who in the walked away, and golden her whither mind; kill. Yet pretty pink, lover, we will I cold sometimes from store; the descry part from the grew from the law required. There Pennsylvania, like strive, and so elaborately me, fell to win her former tied? And the shall I got too dearth No tast conveyed; something breed our part, a great gold. Heart, in glow-worms, arch of loving bed.

               67

Is consider’d of the eternate, while and keel now, And yellow crying for the rest in time to go, vnkind blended taint half was made, whose blood, crept thus to faintly stood; for the whole, can euer songs deeds of shy to lose, or each other ills—a scattering silver failing spiring, made thou dare thornet in dreadful hue sits own courage such as she proue? Cold and half betray the grossessing up repentangled thus doth teach her stride in her necke beams arise shifting full of thee informed, with his wing. We’re may seemed by unrest. And how she before to dance with his suppressëd, death, and moving me.

[thenewpathfinder2024-2034]

PIRATES DIE OF REGRETS. BY Mike Bingham

Set sail for a radiant horizon, where promise and possibility unfold like a majestic sunrise! The shackles of 'never' are shattered, and the hurricane-force winds of potential propel us forward. 'I won't', 'I can't', and 'I'm not able' - those suffocating anchors of doubt - are cast into the depths, rusting relics of a bygone era. Every dream beckons, every challenge shines like treasure waiting to be seized!

I've weathered the fiercest storms, navigated the darkest, most forsaken depths, where trust was brutally broken and hope hung by a thread. But God, my unwavering compass, illuminated the path. With gentle yet unyielding guidance, He steered me through treacherous waters, past jagged shoals of despair, to the expansive decks of limitless opportunity, the tranquil seas of serenity, and the dazzling skies of promise.

Reclaimed, reborn, and rejuvenated, I vow to never again surrender to the undertow of self-doubt. Every sunrise brings a chance to rediscover, recharge, and rechart our course. We are the unyielding masters of our destiny, the fearless captains of our souls!

So let the tattered Jolly Roger of fear be lowered, and the majestic sails of courage be raised high! Let the anchor of negativity be lifted, and the exhilarating winds of positivity fill our sails. We set sail for greatness, conquering every wave of adversity, transforming each into a triumphant stepping stone to unparalleled success!

We are unstoppable, unbreakable, and unbeatable. Our horizon is limitless, our potential boundless. We are the heroes of our own epic journey, forging a legacy of courage, resilience, and triumph.

About the author:

Meet Mike Bingham, a beacon of inspiration and joy. As a passionate advocate for self-preservation and personal growth, he empowers others to thrive. A proud US Marine veteran (Desert Shield/Storm) and almost 3 decades on Memphis Fire Department (21 years in Special Operations), Mike now pursues his true passions as a dive shop owner and instructor course director in North Mississippi.

With an infectious enthusiasm, Mike explores the world's oceans, capturing stunning moments through photography and videography. His artistry sparks emotional connections, sharing the beauty of the underwater world with those on land. Beyond diving, Mike's happiness stems from reading, writing books, crafting props, outdoor escapades, and cherished time with loved ones on his serene 9-acre farm.

[personaei]

❛ The first time I felt it, I thought I was going to die. ❜ / @ alistair, young warden days around origins maybe??

@oathwilled " Not to be a bit of a downer or anything but -- there sure was a chance that we might have. " Alistair had to laugh at the memory of the Joining or otherwise that fear would grip him again, like it was happening all over again. The fire in his veins, the way that his entire body fought the taint on an unseen level --

-- and then won. It was a triumph, but not the sort of triumph one read about in songs where all was light and good and perfect. The way that you left a battlefield in reality. Painfully, gasping for water, exhausted. Alistair smiled, a little more pensive than usual, holding up his mug.

" But we didn't, eh? And that's -- that's the cause for celebration. Every moment that we have left. "