#The Pilgrim's Progress Part II

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Awesome God New Life Ministries-The Pilgrim's Progress Part II-The Inter...

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If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter 34: Pilgrim Journey, Part II Next Chapter: Thirty-Five Summary: The journey of the pilgrims continues. What is left of the wreckage, and can Eliza and Arthur salvage what's left of their journey to a new home? Where will they end up? Warnings: Mature themes, language, little bit of spice Word Count: ~7,900

“I think that should do it,” Dr. Craig exhales as he ties the other end of the splint, completing the treatment of your broken arm. “Wherever you’re going, you’ll need to see a doctor every week until it heals, to make sure it sets properly. You’ll also have to be careful not to use it for anything, as not to risk breaking it again."

As he secures the splint, you try to distract yourself from the pain by looking around, haphazardly listening to his instructions. You expected that the journey wouldn’t be easy, but you didn’t think it would turn out like this: stuck in the middle of the high desert, with a broken-down stagecoach and a broken arm. 

You feel useless. 

“Mrs. Morgan?” 

You turn your head to meet the doctor again. “I’m sorry, what?”

You must still be in shock. Dr. Craig gently shakes his head. “Never mind, it’s alright. You just rest now.” He goes to rise to his feet. “I need to check on my wife again.”

Mrs. Craig is in more of a state than you are, though she made it out of this ordeal unscathed. You can only imagine how worse it would be if she had been the one injured instead of you. Would she have jumped? Or would she have stayed in the coach, letting her life come to an untimely end?

The guard lays on the ground next to you, a makeshift bandage around his head, covering his left eye, and a splint on his leg. You overheard the doctor say that it might need to be amputated, and you hope you and the children are not around to see it. The guard hasn’t said a word, keeping any vocalization to grunts and groans. You don’t know it, but it is for shame. He blames himself for this ordeal, encouraging the driver, his journeying companion for these last five years, to keep going despite his concerns about the coach. 

You figure to let him have his peace; after all, you don’t know him that well, and some things are better left alone. 

The morphine that Dr. Craig gave you is finally settling in. You feel light and heavy all at once, nearly dizzying.

It’s almost…pleasant.

You let yourself fall back against the tree behind you, and your breathing slows. You try to fight it, to stay awake, but the exhaustion and pain coalesce into a compelling lull that pulls your eyelids down. Your thoughts drift to the chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves, a drowsy symphony that lulls you further into sleep.

As you slip into the edges of consciousness, Arthur's face comes into view, his expression fading in and out of clarity.

“How y— doin’?” you can make out him saying.

You gather that he’s asking you a question and you feel yourself smile. “Mmfffeeeel pretty gooood…” you sigh, and the weightlessness progresses.

Arthur felt uneasy when Dr. Craig offered to give you morphine. Even though he made an attempt to reassure the worried husband that it would only be a small dose, and he’d keep a close eye on you, Arthur’s seen enough of what it can do not to trust it. The reverend was in its clutches up until recently, and usually, one drug leads to another.

Arthur studies your weakening form, his heart softening, his heart aching. He loves you too much to see you in pain, and his protectiveness is at its full capacity after what just happened. It isn’t right that this should happen, just when things were going so well.

“I’mmma gonna lay…” you begin to say, but you don’t even manage to finish your sentence before letting your body carefully go to the ground, falling on your good side. Wordlessly, Arthur removes his jacket, balling it up just so and tucking it under your broken arm to support it as you sleep. 

Arthur takes a seat right next to you, close to your head. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead—a gesture of worry and exhaustion that you’d recognize all too well. The sun is setting now, casting long shadows that dance mockingly on the craggy landscape. With every passing minute, the temperature drops, and darkness will soon follow.

He knows you all won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. Not if he just sits here.

He could take Boadicea, ride out to the nearest town, however far that is. He’s been in this land before, though years ago, it was. He could get his bearings, figure out where you all are, and get help. Maybe even a small wagon to transport everyone and what he and Isaac found from the wreckage.

He lets out a puff of air, the sound nearly harmonizing with your soft breaths as you begin to dream. Of what, Arthur doesn’t know, but at least you aren’t in any pain, he can be thankful for that.

The doctor and his wife were heading somewhere, maybe that can give him an idea. The guard is incapacitated and not up for conversation, so there isn’t anyone else to ask. 

But he will give himself a minute more. Just a moment by your side. Watching you peacefully sleep gives him some reassurance, letting the relief continue to fill his chest. As carefully as he can, he lifts his hand and combs through your hair, your plait now frazzled and undone.

“She gonna be okay, Daddy?”

Arthur lifts his head to see Alice standing there, brow pinched and lips pursed, mirroring her mother’s worried expressions so well. She’s clutching a small fox doll, one that you had sewn together for her many moons ago, the fabric now faded but still much loved.

Arthur manages a smile for his daughter, his voice tender as he responds. “Yes, little lady, she’s just restin’ now. You were a big help gettin’ that stuff for the doctor.”

Alice nods her head, her ocean eyes twinkling with a subdued interest. “I kinda looked in his doctor bag. There was all sorts of stuff in there.”

Arthur lets a smirk pass across his lips. “You didn’t take anythin’, did you?”

Alice inhales sharply, hugging her fox doll defensively. “No…!” she hisses, and after a pause, her shoulders relaxed. “I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

Arthur chuckles. “Thank you for bein’ honest, at least.” Not wanting to carry on talking while you’re sleeping, even though you’re drugged, he motions to rise to his feet. “The doc with his wife still?”

Alice nods. “Uh-huh. You wanna talk to ‘em?”

Arthur brushes off his dust-covered pants. “Yeah. Got some questions.” And he begins to walk further into the trees, past the wrecked carriage. 

“I’ll come with you,” says Alice as she follows close behind. “Mama is sleepin’ anyway. Wanted to show her I found Fatima.”

“Fatima?” Arthur asks with a raised brow. 

“My fox. She was in the stagecoach.”

Arthur nods, understanding now. “I’m glad you found’er, then.”

“Isaac calls her Fatty, but look at ‘er…!” Alice waits till Arthur looks down at her before holding up her doll higher, one of its button eyes missing. “She ain’t fat! She’s skin and bones!” She brings her close to her chest, like she’s holding a newborn babe. “I need to feed her. Some acorns oughta do it.”

Arthur finds her imagination endearing; it’s a sign of a healthy mind. For a child to feel safe enough to create and imagine shows she’s not so caught up in the harsh reality. The stagecoach speeding down the hill seems not to affect her as terribly as he had thought, much to his relief. 

Arthur and Alice reach the doctor and his wife as they have a conversation amongst themselves. Isaac isn’t around, it appears, and Rooster is gone. Arthur knows Isaac wouldn’t be so careless as to take off, but an innocent ride around the shady spot of trees is a reasonable thing to do. Isaac is becoming more like his father, taking time to himself when tension is high.

Arthur pats his daughter gently, slipping past her as he approaches the young couple.

“How’re we going to get there now? We couldn’t possibly walk there…” Mrs. Craig finishes, holding herself tighter as the anxiety of her questions sinks in.

But Dr. Craig is quick to try to comfort his wife, reaching to take her by the arms. “Don’t worry, dearest. We will get there. And they will be happier to see us, then.”

“Where was you headed?”

They both turn quickly to see Arthur standing there, not even noticing he was patiently waiting. “Oh…!” Mrs. Craig gasps softly. “Mr. Morgan! How is your wife?”

Arthur appreciates her concern, but he came over here for another reason. “She’s fine, thank you. Was hearin’ what you were sayin’ about goin’ somewhere. Where was you headed?”

Dr. Craig lowers his hands, clearing his throat. “We was—ahem—were headed to Hawk Mountain. It is the town that we were moving to. The previous doctor there retired, and I was to take his place.” He pauses a moment. “Well, we still aim to get there. But of course, we can only take one day at a time.”

Hawk Mountain. Arthur isn’t familiar with that place. He knows of another place with a similar name, but that was years ago. “It on a map?”

Dr. Craig thinks it over for a minute. “There was a map stored in the stagecoach. The driver showed it to me on one of our stops.” Taking a step away from his wife, he motions for Arthur to follow. “Maybe it’s still there.”

Arthur follows Dr. Craig toward the jumble of splintered wood and torn canvas that used to be the stagecoach. As soon as they reach it, each step crunches underfoot, stirring up dust and memories of the chaotic descent. As they approach the wreckage, Arthur casts a wary eye over the shattered remains, noting how fortuitous their escape had been.

He and Isaac had made some work making piles of the wreckage, but they couldn’t devote the rest of the day to tidy up destroyed splinters and pieces. There remains only a shell of what the stagecoach once was, and Dr. Craig heads for the back of the wagon, toward the storage box.

Arthur furrows his brow. “My son already checked there. We took what weren’t damaged.”

“Humor me,” Dr. Craig replies plainly. “I’m sure in the great scheme of things, a map didn’t seem all that important compared to my medicine bag and any valuables you might have stored back here.”

Dr. Craig begins to lift the lid of the box, the structure of it on its last leg, the boards look as though they might fall apart. But, after a few tense minutes of searching, his hand pauses, hovering over a slightly torn but intact piece of folded paper tucked into an overlooked corner of the box. "Ah, here it is," he says, a tone of relief present in his exhale. 

He takes a step back, allowing Arthur to come around, and he opens the map.

The map shows the western part of the United States, beginning with Deseret, where the journey started. His finger hovers over the map until he stops right on a spot in the lower central part of the state of Utah. “Here. It is south of the large salt lake. I’d say we are just east of there, as we just passed through the canyon.”

Arthur nods his head as he eyes the location on the map. Something seems familiar about it, spot between other towns he’s been through. Jardin City is northeast of that spot, and he had been there before with you years ago. But he doesn’t remember a Hawk Mountain. Regardless, he now has a better idea of where they are, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to find Hawk Mountain. “Okay, then.” He points to the map. “Mind if I take this with me?”

Dr. Craig looks at him inquisitively but offers him the map. “You plan to venture out? Alone?”

Taking the map and tucking it into his satchel, Arthur nods again. “You’re needed here. Can’t send out anyone else. Isaac and Alice are big enough to help you with what you need.”

“What shall I tell your wife when she wakes?”

“Tell her I’m gonna get a wagon, or somethin’ to bring you all back. You’ll be settlin’ there anyway, and we can hole up there ‘til we figure out what we’re doin’. We ain’t stayin’ here any longer than we have to.” Arthur's resolve hardens as he adjusts the satchel over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the map inside—a weight that carries more than just paper, but the hope and safety of his family and newfound companions. He takes one last look at you across the way, sleeping under the tree, then turns to Alice. "Look after your mama while I’m gone, you hear?”

Alice nods, her expression serious and older than her years. She hugs her fox doll close, then looks up at Arthur with determined eyes. "I will, Daddy. I'll be good."

Arthur crouches down to her level, his hand gently ruffling her hair. "I know you will, little lady. You just do what the doctor says, and I’ll be back before you know it.” After getting a soft smile from her, he rises to his feet and makes his way to the trees where the stagecoach horses are tied. Loosening one of the ropes, he leads a stallion behind him, making his way to Boadicea.

Cinching the saddle, packing up some of the gathered provisions in the saddle bag, he mounts his mare and secures the stallion’s lead to the saddle horn.

And with that, he gallops off.

***

Despite the speed in which he rode, reaching Hawk Mountain took two days. Two days away from his family. His wife. Left alone to fend for themselves, and it eats at him. He knows he needed to make this journey, as it is the closest town, and he needs to find a way to bring you all to civilization.

He never thought that he would have such a plan. The irony of it all.

But that is not the most bizarre thing of all.

As soon as he connected to the main road leading into Hawk Mountain, he knew exactly where he was.

But it couldn’t be.

It can’t be.

It is supposed to be Dwyer Ridge, not Hawk Mountain. So what happened?

He keeps asking himself this as he rides down the town’s main street, passing by the large bank he once hoped to rob, the building now since finished, and other buildings that weren’t here before. It makes sense, having been years since he had set foot in this town, but it has expanded to a thriving city. 

Arthur slows Boadicea to a trot, the stallion trailing obediently behind her. His eyes scan the unfamiliar yet familiar streets, memories flooding back with each landmark he passes. Somewhere beneath the new coat of paint and bustling commerce, the skeleton of Dwyer Ridge lingers, haunting him with echoes of that rainy night he killed the son of the founding fathers.

Will anyone recognize him?

Maybe it is best not to linger and find out. Maybe once he gets you and everyone here, you can get more provisions and get back on the road again. 

He needs to find a livery stable, or some place where he can rent a wagon. No sense in buying one just yet, not until he knows where you all will be going. At least he has Boadicea and the stallion to pull a rental wagon, which should be enough to get them safely back to where you and the others remain waiting. With a clear goal in mind, Arthur spurs his horses gently, guiding them through the town toward the nearest livery.

The streets are more crowded than he'd ever seen them before, filled with the clatter of carriage wheels and the steady hum of town conversations and advertising. The streets, one muddy and full of tracks from wagon wheels, are now cobbled and laced with wooden boardwalks and street corners marked with street signs. How could it be big enough to have street signs? It isn’t big like Moreno, or even Jardin City, but somehow, it has managed to grow into something resembling a bustling hub of activity. Arthur navigates Boadicea and the stallion through the throngs, his mind still reeling from the transformation, the life teeming around him starkly contrasting with the quiet wilderness he left behind.

He reaches the livery stable, a well-kept establishment with fresh paint and new shingles on the roof. The sign swings gently in the breeze, the words "Hawk Mountain Livery & Boarding" freshly stenciled.

Arthur ties Boadicea and the stallion to a post outside and steps into the cool shadow of the stable. Inside, the smell of hay and manure is confirmation enough that he’s found the right place. 

A farrier, donning thick leather chaps, is knee deep in his work, putting on a shoe on one of the many horses stabled here. Straddling the horse’s right hind leg, he situates the shoe before hammering a nail into the hoof, securing the shoe with expertise. 

Arthur hates to interrupt, but time is of the essence. 

“Ahem, ‘scuse me,” he begins, only waiting long enough for the farrier to lift his head. “You got any wagons for rent? Need one urgently.”

The farrier is almost taken by surprise. The gentle, low voice of this stranger hardly matches his intimidating posture. He looks like he’s been through it, whatever it was, and he’s never seen him before. “We got wagons,” he replies candidly. “How big is you wantin’?”

“Got a few passengers. And a few items. Just for a couple days, long enough to bring ‘em back here.”

The farrier studies Arthur carefully. While it is common for strangers to pass through here, none quite stand out to him much. The gun belt on the stranger’s hip, the worn boots, the scratches on his forearms, he looks like the wilderness made into man. 

“As long as you can pay,” the farrier tests. 

“How much you askin’?”

The farrier lifts his chin, lowering the horse’s hind leg before stepping out of her way. “Five dollars a day, pay extra if I have to repair the wagon.”

Arthur isn’t sure on what the going rate is for a wagon rental, but he’ll agree to any price as long as it gets him back to his family. “It’s a deal.”

Nodding, the farrier motions for Arthur to follow as he walks toward the back of the stables. “We got ‘em back here.” 

Arthur had not realized how big this building is until they reach the end of it. There is a set of double doors, which the farrier opens widely, revealing three parked wagons, each of a different size and style.

“You said you got passengers?”

Arthur nods, eyeing each wagon. “Yeah. Wife and kids, doc and his wife, and an injured feller.”

The farrier turns to look at Arthur, brow raised. “Oh?”

Maybe he shouldn’t’ve said anything. There’s something about the idea of starting over, honest, that seems to take over his decision-making, once being reserved and aloof, about revealing too much to strangers. But here, standing in this reborn town, Arthur finds himself unwilling to revert to old habits of secrecy and shadows.

“Yeah,” Arthur reaffirms with a nod, his gaze not waning. “Need somethin’ sturdy. Can handle a bit of rough terrain without complainin'. Doc says he’s comin’ to live here. You got a doc that’s retired?”

The farrier’s eyes brighten as he begins to nod. “You came with Doctor Craig?”

“Just passin’ through. But thought I’d help the doc after helpin’ out the injured folk.” His thoughts go to you and your broken arm. He then begins to realize that you might not be in the position to travel until you’ve healed. “We’ll see what happens.”

“What happened? Bandits?”

Arthur nearly cringes at the thought. To be on the other side of that feels odd. Though he knows how that would have ended, thieves know other thieves’ tricks. “No. Coach came apart. Only the driver died, but would rather there be none dead.”

The farrier nods his head solemnly. “And you got wife and kids…” He then shakes his head. “Bad business.”

Arthur watches the farrier's expressions closely, searching for a sign of judgment or suspicion, but finds none. Instead, there's a glint of respect in the man's eyes, an unspoken acknowledgment of the hardships Arthur has faced. "Yeah, it was rough. But we're survivin'.” He then clears his throat, gesturing to the second-largest wagon. “So, about that wagon…?”

The farrier, noticing Arthur's choice, nods and walks over to the selected wagon. "This one'll do you fine. She’s sturdy and has been through the rough before. Ain’t no gold chariot, but she’ll carry what you need.”

Arthur lets his hand rest on the wooden side of the wagon, feeling the coarse texture beneath his palm. It has a few scratches and scuffs that usually accompany wear and tear, but definitely not at risk of coming apart in the middle of the journey.

It’ll do.

Without saying a word, Arthur reaches into his satchel and pulls out fifteen dollars. “Here, this should be enough ‘til I get back.”

The farrier counts the money, not due to distrust but out of habit, and after a moment, his face falls. “You know, since you’ve been travelin’ with the doctor…” He offers the money back. “Consider the wagon my welcome to Hawk Moun'n. A town that’s about to get its new doctor here safe and sound should be a cause for celebration. Pay it forward, huh?”

Arthur nods, touched by the farrier’s generosity. “Thank you,” he says, the weight of his journey easing slightly. “But it ain’t nothin’. Anybody woulda done it.”

The farrier shrugs, a smile tugging at his rugged features. "Maybe so, but I get the feelin’ you ain’t just a nobody.” He gestures to the wagon. “Let me get one of my boys to help you hitch the wagon." Then he turns to leave. “Safe travels."

After getting the wagon out and hitching the stallion and Boadicea, Arthur is now ready to make the trip back home. Once everything and everyone is loaded, he’ll hitch the stagecoach horses to the wagon; that’s what they’re trained to do, anyway. 

Because of the length of the wagon, he needs to go back through the town, instead of exiting through the narrow road past the Livery. He flicks the reins gently, and the stallion and Boadicea walk on calmly, working together as though they’ve been doing this for years. 

Citizens watch Arthur go on by, either out of curiosity or for the simple fact of movement going past them. Arthur remains composed, minding his own business. 

And if he hadn’t been here before, he wouldn’t pay it any mind, but even with the new paint and newly-made signs, he can’t help but recognize it. 

Joe’s. The very same restaurant where he met you. Where he met you in the evenings nearly every day and escorted you back to the hotel. Even that building still remains, albeit with a new name, but the trellis and shutters are unmistakable. 

He smiles at the thought. He wonders if he could still climb up to the second floor.

He continues on his way. He’ll have to set aside his curiosity for now. 

Seeing the general store, he decides to pull off to the side. Getting some provisions and tonics might not be a bad idea, considering the wounded and the time it will take to travel back here. 

“Won’t be long,” he grunts as he leaps out of the wagon, patting the stallion as he passes by. Walking up the steps of the general store, he opens the door for a pair of women who also want to enter. 

“Thank you,” one of them says, cheeks burning red. 

He tips his hat to her politely. “Shoah, ain’t nothin’.”

Once they’re inside, he follows behind, closing the door behind him. His eyes adjust to the light in the room, more subdued compared to the brightness outside. 

A man at the counter, who looks on in years, notices Arthur coming in. Now, Mr. Watson has run this general store for nearly fifteen years, so he knows everyone that lives around here. And the usual passersby are dressed to the nines, or are bright-eyed and eager for a future.

But the stranger who just walked into his store is none of those things. And even so, there’s something about him that he recognizes. Something he can’t put his finger on. 

“Howdy!” he greets with a smile. “Welcome to Gamble’s General Store.” The stranger approaches the counter. “How can I be of service?”

“You Mr. Gamble?” Arthur’s ventures. 

Mr. Watson chuckles, shaking his head. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But no, I bought the place from another fella. He lowered the price, on the condition I keep the name. But his name wasn’t Gamble, either…!”

Arthur chortles at this and leans slightly into the counter. “Was hopin’ to buy a few things before I head out.”

Mr. Watson nods. “Figured you were just passin’ through.”

“Well, I plan to be comin’ back. Just need a few things for the road.”

Mr. Watson nods again. “Well, let’s see if we have what you need.” He crouches down behind the counter and brings up a large crate, setting it on the counter. “What do you need to start with?”

Arthur looks at the shelves behind the store owner, spotting a row of tonics. He points to them. “A couple of them Miracle Tonics.”

“Not that it is any of my business, but you plannin’ to buy some land around here?”

It isn’t his business, but Arthur knows it is merely out of curiosity, not to dig information out of him for bad intentions. He shrugs. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

Mr. Watson raises an eyebrow and nods, reaching for the tonics. "Well, we have plenty of land that's lookin' for owners. There’s a fine piece of land a few miles outside of town. An old cherry tree farm, but nobody seems interested.”

Cherry tree farm? It couldn’t be…

“Why not?” Arthur asks.

The store owner shrugs. “Few reasons. It has been sitting there for years. Untouched. Trees dead or overgrown, hardly producing fruit. The house itself has damage from a few hailstorms we’ve had. Plus, folks have been told not to buy it.” His eyes soften, and he avoids Arthur’s gaze, as an image of a nineteen-year-old girl with chestnut hair appears in his mind. “For some reason.” After a moment, he clears his throat. “Need anything else?”

Arthur's mind keeps asking questions, confused at the near providence of these past few days’ events. He remembers the things you shared with him, dreams and hopes. He could make it happen. He could make it all come true.

"A few cans of beans, some jerky, cheese, and those tonics for now," Arthur replies, trying to keep his composure. He pays for the goods, nodding politely as he collects the items.

Stepping back outside, Arthur is struck by a pang of nostalgia mixed with a sense of urgency. He knows he needs to return to you and the others quickly, bring you and the doctor back here.

And once the dust settles, he can work on rebuilding your lives from the ground up.

***

“Dinner will be done soon…!” you call out to your children as you stand in the doorway. Don’t wander too far!”

Isaac and Alice turn back to look at you, eyes bright and all smiles. They’re barefoot and running, but you don’t care. You’re just glad that they’re happy and carefree, two things only recently afforded them. 

“We won’t!” Isaac calls back and, taking his sister by the hand, they run towards the trees, where a tree house waits for them. 

You turn back into the house and make your way to the kitchen. You are familiar with this home. It is yours. You know where everything is and find a large copper pot so quickly, it is as though you grew up in this house. 

Maybe you did. It’s a meld of all the homes you’ve lived in. Bits and pieces of what you liked about each of them. Wood and glass. Shining, wooden countertops. Real lace curtains. A china cabinet in the corner with real porcelain. 

Such frivolous things, but things you never got to have until now. 

You begin to stir the stew that now cooks in the copper pot, the steam hitting your face as you look into it. 

Just then, you hear heavy footfalls behind you. You smile expectantly, knowing exactly who it is.

Large hands slide over your waist, and you feel a firm body press against your back. You feel jittery inside, and it won’t be long before you turn into mush. 

“Smells good, darlin’,” your husband hums into your ear. “I’m starvin’.”

You lean back into him, letting your head fall back to meet his eyes. “You better be careful what you say to me,” you say, your hand reaching up to caress his cheek, belying your warning. “I’m in a very pleasant mood.”

A warm chuckle settles in Arthur’s throat, and you feel the vibration radiating through your body. Removing his right hand from your waist, he takes your wrist as you hold onto the wooden spoon and guides it away from the pot. You set it down on the counter, easily following his promptings as he guides you to back away from the stove. 

“Don’t want you gettin’ burned…” he whispers in your ear. 

Your skin begins to prickle, especially around your neck, just as he places a tender kiss beneath your earlobe. But you still have a sense of awareness, though it has begun to grow dim. “The children could walk in,” you say, but the end of your sentence falls into a soft gasp as he nibbles at your ear.

“They won’t…” he answers. “They’re busy playin’ outside.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a ripple of shivers down your spine. “Trust me.”

You know you should pull away, insist that dinner needs tending, but the depth of his voice and the gentle yet commanding way he holds you stills any protest. Instead, you lean back into him, tilting your neck to expose more skin and give him better access. His lips move down your neck, slow and deliberate, lighting fires along your skin.

“You seem to have forgotten who your children are…” you sigh, as his right palm grazes your breast just enough to make you inhale through your teeth.

He chuckles again and lets his hand glide over your body before stepping away from you. “Fine. Wait here.”

You hear his footfalls as he walks away from you and makes his way to the door. And just as you hear a soft click, you turn around and watch him leave the now locked door and go to the curtains, pulling them closed, casting the kitchen into a dim glow of the late afternoon sun. He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you can't help but smile at his playfulness.

You meet him halfway, at the kitchen table, and he takes you by the waist once more, pushing you gently against the edge of the table.

“Been thinkin’ of somethin’…” he growls, his hands roaming your body.

“What, the risk of getting caught?” You manage a chuckle, trying not to get distracted by his wandering hands. “That isn’t new.”

He shakes his head, and you spot his dilated pupils and mischievous grin. “Naw, that ain’t it.” And then, without having the chance to react, he lifts you and puts you on the table. “It’s about time we replaced this table...”

You furrow your brow, trying to ignore the way his hand travels down your thigh, pushing your skirts up. “What are you talking about? It isn’t broken.”

His hand finds its way past your drawers, to the soft, sweet warmth between your legs, his fingers brushing lightly. "It is gonna be." Then he applies just the right amount of pleasurable pressure, making you tremble, and your head instinctively falls back. “When I’m done wit’chu.”

And somehow, you don’t doubt it.

***

You stand in the middle of a field. Your legs being tickled by the tall grasses around you. The air smells sweet. Light. Floral. A smell you recognize, but something too far gone into your memory.

The buck lifts his head from grazing and meets your eyes. He sees the curiosity in the deep browns and sparkle of your pooling eyes, and his ears twitch to hear the breeze.

Your fawn dances around your legs. Your two eldest young eating the grass around you, not noticing a thing.

The buck turns, using his nose to point westward, toward the source of the strange but familiar scent.

He wants you to follow.

He hasn’t led you astray before. Always leading you to clover, spring shoots, streams of water.

You suppose that, wherever this new place is, this source is something you’ll find you and your family can rely on.

You take a tentative step forward, the soft earth beneath your hooves providing a gentle reassurance. Another step, and another, until you're moving with a purpose, your fawn prancing excitedly beside you.

And just then, in the breeze, fall small, pink petals, rain.

You lift your head to follow their descent, letting the warm light sweep over you.

And somehow, you see where this is going.

***

You’ve been asleep for days. Either you’re more of a lightweight than you thought or your body has just been that tired. Dr. Craig has been easing you off the morphine slowly, but you’ve been confined to a bed. You only know this when you wake, but it isn’t long before your eyelids feel heavy and you drift back to sleep.

The dreams have been wonderful. So wonderful that you wake up forgetting that your arm is broken. 

You once had an imagination, back when your youth wasn’t so ravaged by realities and death of loved ones. That’s why you’ve always enjoyed reading books. The days when you’d run into the general store, eager to see if Mr. Watson had a new book for you to “borrow” and then return once you finished reading it. It was the perfect setup, since having a library wasn’t a possibility.

As you come out of yet another dream, light from a window gathers your attention, and a figure stands in front of it.

The broad shoulders and back, along with the fawn colored hair, tell you enough before your vision focuses.

“Arthur…” you sigh softly, and you watch as he slowly turns. As your eyes adjust, you see a small smile appear on his face, and he makes his way over to you. You can’t help but feel butterflies, the emotions from your dreams still simmering in your brain. 

“How’re you doin’, darlin’?” He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand to find your knee and palm it softly.

You yawn, stretching a little. “Good. I’m sleeping less and less.”

He nods his head. “Yeah. Doc said that would happen.”

“We still in that hotel?”

He nods again. “Yeah. The kids are hangin’ out with Doc and his wife. Seems Alice has taken an interest in bein’ a little nurse.”

You lift your brow. “Oh? He isn’t letting her see all those things, is he?”

Arthur chuckles, patting your thigh from atop the covers. “No. She helps with the desk part of it, but I know that ain’t what interests her. Since helpin’ the doc take care of you, I think that sparked somethin’ in her.” Arthur smiles, his eyes lighting up at the thought of Alice finding a passion so young. "I reckon she might just be as tough as her mama," he says with a hint of pride.

You manage a smile, warmed by the idea of your daughter walking a path of healing rather than hardship. "Might be she’s just like her father. Stubborn,” you tease, and as you ease yourself into a sitting position, Arthur hurries to help you, carefully working around your arm as it remains in a sling.

He seems to ignore your comment, solely focusing on taking care of you. His movements are gentle, his hands firm yet tender as he adjusts the pillows to support your back. Once you're settled, he sits back on the edge of the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. "How's the arm feelin’?"

You flex your fingers slightly, testing the limits of movement within the confines of the sling. It’s been healing faster than you had thought, knowing that breaks take weeks to heal. Maybe it is just the morphine, or all the rest you’ve been getting, but you aren’t about to complain. “Good.” You lift your eyes and see the gentleness in his eyes, and feel warmth flood your body. You love this man. So much. He’s been slaving away, taking care of you, having to postpone your journey by staying here, wherever this is.

Exactly. Where are you? You haven’t had the chance to ask, since you have been near comatose for the past few days.

“Arthur,” you start, swallowing to help your dry throat. “Where is this?”

Arthur needs to remain casual. The thought of surprising you with a revelation has been tempting, but he knows the directness you often appreciate. So, he will give you enough to sate your curiosity, but keep the full surprise until later. "We're in Hawk Mountain now, Eliza."

"Hawk Mountain?" Your voice lilts, your brow pinched. “I don’t remember ever knowing a town called Hawk Mountain.”

“It’s becomin’ a decent city,” he says casually, motioning to rise from the bed. “They got a library, a courthouse, and a nice bank.” He goes back to the window and takes a look outside. He wonders if you’ll recognize the room, but you still haven’t said anything. “Plenty of patients for Dr. Craig. Lots of things to do.” He looks back at you over his shoulder. “Even got a nice school.”

You study him for a moment. Something is off. Suspicious. What is he on about?

“You thinking about living here? You hate cities.”

But Arthur doesn’t answer; instead, he turns to face you again. “Will you go for a ride with me?”

You sit in the bed, sling around your shoulder, and just stare at him. “What?”

He smiles. “C’mon, whaddya say?”

You haven’t been out of this room for days. Hell, you haven’t even had a few minutes alone with Arthur since you’ve begun this journey, what with Dr. Craig checking in on you and your children remaining by your side. While you could think of a couple of other things to do now that you are afforded the time alone, a ride in the fresh air with your beloved doesn’t sound like such a bad idea.

Besides, if Dr. Craig even caught whiff that you were being excessive, regardless of the activity, you’d be getting an earful.

You sigh, letting a soft smile play on your lips.

“Okay. But you help me get dressed.”

And his grin broadens. “Yes, ma’am.”

***

You’ve missed the sun. But being in and out of sleep for days and never leaving the hotel room has left you blinded and dizzy. When you stepped out into the air, Arthur had to guide you to the wagon as your eyes took forever to adjust. You couldn’t get a good look at the city you’ve been occupying, unfortunately, but after placing his hat on your head, you can finally see the view of trees and mountains in the distance as you sit beside him on the wagon. 

If you didn’t have a good memory, you wouldn’t be bothered, but there’s something about this road that feels familiar to you. The way the air feels. Smells. It’s a sweet smell, a fragrance that fills you with a merriment that you’ve only felt when you were a child.

You close your eyes and see the red glow beneath your eyelids. “I’m glad you’re driving slow,” you hum. “Everything has been moving so fast lately.”

Arthur can’t help but chuckle at that. To him, it feels the exact opposite. From living as an outlaw for twenty years, to getting engaged, then married within a day, to the freak accident with the stagecoach, to ending up in your hometown, it all feels like a tornado in the middle of the day. “I’m drivin’ slow for the sake of your arm,” he excuses, hoping to avoid any hint of his upcoming surprise. “Can’t have you get worse under my watch.”

You turn to look at him and lean into his side, linking your good arm around his. “You’re so good to me.”

Arthur plants a kiss on your temple gently, a silent acknowledgment of your words. The wagon rumbles on, the calm trot of the horses pulling you forward through the landscape that seems to bloom with the early afternoon sun.

And then that feeling in your mind prickles again. That familiarity. What is it? Where is it coming from?

“Arthur…?” you begin to say, your mind calling out the turn just before Arthur takes it.

“Hmmm?”

“Would it be weird to say that it feels like I’ve been here before?”

You don’t see the smile on Arthur’s face, but you feel his arm tighten around you in a comforting squeeze. "Have you, darlin’?," he asks cryptically, his voice low and thoughtful.

As the wagon rolls steadily along the path, Arthur gently reins in the horses, slowing their pace to a leisurely trot. Ahead, you catch tantalizing glimpses of a picturesque avenue lined with cherry trees, their slender branches arching gracefully over the road. Each limb is adorned with a profusion of vibrant pink blossoms, creating a vivid tapestry of color that dances in the soft breeze. The delicate petals flutter down like confetti, carpeting the path with a pastel hue, while the air is filled with the sweet, heady fragrance of spring.

You sit up straight, clutching Arthur’s arm, as the visions of your childhood play out before you like a moving picture. Only, it is real. Right here, right now.

“Somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to share wit’chu, now that you’re awake…” Arthur begins, the smile in his voice evident as you scan the overgrown acres and old fence line. “Turns out this town—I mean—city was once called Dwyer Ridge.” He pauses, turning to look at your bright, doe-like eyes as they become glossy. “Ever heard of it?”

You know he teases. He couldn’t be seriously honest that he wouldn’t know the connection. The shared memory of your time spent in this area together.

But how did he come to find the cherry farm? You never showed it to him.

You see the lack of attention to the trees, the lack of care. You hate to know, but you have to ask.

“Who lives here now?” you inquire with a trembling lip.

Arthur guides the wagon onto the property, passing through the open gate beneath the sturdy wooden arch that frames the entrance. The air is tense with anticipation, and you silently urge him to speak his mind, hoping for an answer, yet he remains silent, taking his time as he slowly drives up the winding path toward the house.

The wheels crunch over the gravel, and the gentle sway of the wagon adds to the suspense. Once Arthur brings the wagon to a complete stop and sets the brake with a firm motion, you turn to him, your heart pounding with expectation. You gently squeeze his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through his shirt. "Arthur…” you implore, your voice filled with urgency.

He lets the reins slip from his fingers, allowing them to rest against the footboard. After another moment of anguishing silence, his eyes finally meet yours, and he gives a slight nod. “You do.”

***

This has been one of the busiest afternoons in a long while. It makes sense, now that warmer weather is finally here, and folks who live farther out of town are venturing out to do business and resupply after the long winter. Such is the life of living in the west.

So, whenever Bethy needs a little reprieve, she checks the stock in the small stockroom, counting the number of cans of beans and jars of fruits.

“One day I’ll retire,” she groans. “If I can just get Joe to do it with me, that stubborn fool.”

These past eight years married to Joe have been good ones. Of course, they will never be like the years shared with her first husband, but Joe is a good man. He may have that rough exterior and have that gosh-awful habit of smoking Cuban cigars, but he’s as loving and as loyal as they come. She never thought she could love again, but here she is.

And for owning half of the restaurant, that isn’t a bad outcome.

Amidst the unusually hectic day, a persistent tightness gripped her heart, casting a shadow over her every thought. The unsettling news from Mr. Watson had only added to her unease: someone had purchased the old Bloom Cherry Farm. The mere idea of newcomers unsettled her, and learning it was an unfamiliar name– Morgan –in these parts only deepened her discomfort. To her, it was Eliza’s home, a place steeped in cherished memories. No one has lived there since before Eliza's departure, and she had secretly hoped it would remain untouched, a silent tribute to the past. Though years had passed, she still feels the pang of Eliza’s absence and often finds herself wondering where life had taken that spirited girl she once knew.

Just as she gets to the bags of cornmeal, she hears the doorknob turn, and she feels the tightness in her chest grow worse.

“Bethy…?” It’s Francine, their youngest waitress, come to pester her again. “We’ve got a large family, just come in.”

Bethy looks at the young girl over her shoulder. Francine is a sweet girl, has the perfect personality for the job, but falls apart at the slightest hint of stress. “Give her time,” Joe says. “She’ll come around.”

So much for being the tough guy.

Sighing, Bethy wipes her hands on her apron, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Eliza and the sold cherry farm. "Alright, I'm coming," she calls back, a hint of resignation in her voice as she steps out from the stockroom.

The main dining area is bustling, much more than usual for this time of day. Bethy immediately looks past the already seated patrons, towards the door where the newest customers had walked through.

The light behind them makes their bodies silhouettes, until they step away from the door and further into the restaurant. As she regards them, something in her stomach twists, a feeling of familiarity tugging at the edge of her consciousness. The family moves closer, and as they come into clearer view, Bethy's breath catches in her throat.

The man, with his dark leather hat and blue eyes, is unmistakable, even with years gone by. But it is the woman standing next to him, with chestnut hair and brown, doe-like eyes.

And a young boy beside her, who should be about the age in years that have gone by since she has last seen her.

It can't be—but it is.

It's Eliza.

And she’s come home. 

Thank you for reading! What did you think? :)

Tag Requests: @photo1030, @eternalsams

[allegorypaintings]

Mercy's Dream

Artist: Daniel Huntington (American, 1816-1906)

Date: 1841

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Philadelphia, PA, United States

Description

"Mercy's Dream" was the first great success of Daniel Huntington's career. In its large scale, the painting utilized the vocabulary of the old masters that Huntington had seen while studying in Europe. The sweetness of the figure of Mercy is reminiscent of a Raphael Madonna, while the elegant curve of the angel's body and upraised hand recall the 'figura serpentinata' of Michelangelo. The subject matter, however, was one that held strong appeal for an American audience: John Bunyan's "The Pilgrim's Progress," the epic religious allegory of the seventeenth century that was the best-selling book in the United States in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, after the Bible. In Part II, the character of Mercy experiences a dream that inspires her fellow pilgrims to continue their quest. Alone and downcast, Mercy is comforted by an angel, who blesses her, adorns her in jewelry, and transports her to a golden gateway, where she is brought into the presence of God. Huntington's composition closely follows the narrative, from Mercy's sumptuous clothes to the crown the angel bestows upon her. This vision of salvation struck a chord with the public, appearing as a popular print. Huntington made three other versions of the subject.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Image from page 24 of "Art magic; or, Mundane, sub-mundane and super-mundane spiritism. A treatise in three parts and twenty-three sections: descriptive of art magic, spiritism, the different orders of spirits in the universe known to be related to, or in by Internet Archive Book Images Via Flickr: Identifier: artmagicormundan00brit Title: Art magic; or, Mundane, sub-mundane and super-mundane spiritism. A treatise in three parts and twenty-three sections: descriptive of art magic, spiritism, the different orders of spirits in the universe known to be related to, or in communication with man; together with directions for invoking, controlling, and discharging spirits, and the uses and abuses, dangers and possibilities of magical art Year: 1876 (1870s) Authors: Britten, William, fl. 1876 Britten, Emma Hardinge, d. 1899, ed Subjects: Spiritualism Magic Publisher: New York, The author Contributing Library: The Library of Congress Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress View Book Page: Book Viewer About This Book: Catalog Entry View All Images: All Images From Book Click here to view book online to see this illustration in context in a browseable online version of this book. Text Appearing Before Image: s work also, I could have wished to effect changes, but thepressure on my own professional duties leaving me but little time forhterary occupation, and the haste enjoined upon me by the author,who desired to complete the work with as little delay as possible,induced me to trust that the sublimity of the sentiments, the grandeurof intention, and the high-toned philosophy which pervades this noblework, will make ample amends for errors in orthography, or foreignmodes of expression. Trusting, also, that the warmly cherished friends who have sogenerously and confidingly stood by me during the preparation ofthis work will derive as much pleasure from its perusal as the self-appointed critics, who have never read it, seem to have derived fromattacking its unknown contents and well-known editor, I close bycommending it heartily to that brave five hundred who dare advancewithout fear or favor to the investigation of Art Magic. EMMA HAEDINGE BRITTEN, Nev) York. AET MAGIC PART I. II^TEODUOTORY, Text Appearing After Image: Standing as we do upon the sublime heights to whichthe progress of ages has elevated us, we are enabled to lookback upon the footprints left by the ascending feet of thosewho have preceded us, and take account of every obstaclethey have surmounted, every impulse that has swayed themto the right or the left, and almost hear the pulse-beats ofthe pilgrim hearts that have throbbed in response to the eter-nal cry of Lifes Marshals, Onward and Upward ! Thepiercing and analytical eye of science can investigate thesefootprints, and determine almost with mathematical pre-cision the physical characteristics of the beings who havemade them. The species or class to which the toiler be-^,longed, becomes a letter in that alphabet, whereby science 14 as clearly unravels the unwritten past, as the scale of a fish,or the fossiliferous imprint of a vanished organism can in-terpret the species and class to which the relic belonged;l)ut the far more penetrating gaze of the soul looking intothe metaphysi Note About Images Please note that these images are extracted from scanned page images that may have been digitally enhanced for readability - coloration and appearance of these illustrations may not perfectly resemble the original work.

[cruger2984]

THE DESCRIPTION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY, THE MOTHER OF THE CHURCH Feast Day: Monday after Pentecost

Pictured here is the mosaic of Mater Ecclesiae at St. John Paul II Seminary in northeast Washington D.C.

After fifty days of joyous celebration, the Easter Season solemnly closes each year with the great feast of Pentecost Sunday. This has been traditionally called the 'birthday' of the Church, that day when 'all were filled with the Holy Spirit.'

Pentecost occurs ten days after the Ascension of Our Lord Jesus Christ and the Acts of the Apostles tells us that during this time the 'apostles were constantly at prayer together, and with them a group of women, including Mary, the mother of Jesus.'

The Church has traditionally portrayed the Blessed Virgin Mary together with the apostles and disciples who were gathered at that first Pentecost. She is the model of persevering prayer joined in oneness of mind and heart with the first members of the Church.

Mary had been present at the very beginnings of the Church. She was there at the Annunciation when her humble consent in purity of heart allowed the Son of God to take flesh in her virginal womb.

She was also present standing at the foot of the cross as her Son and our Savior redeemed the world as part of God's plan. There she was appointed to be mother of all those who were brought to life through the death of her only Son.

Now, at Pentecost, when the apostolic mission of the Church begins, Mary is present as well. She is the perfect pattern of the church at prayer. 'She is invoked as Mother of the Church and the teacher and Queen of the Apostles' wrote Pope Leo XIII in his September 1895 encyclical, Helper of the People (Adjutricem Populi). Pope John XXIII in an allocution in the Basilica of St. Mary Major on December 6, 1960 spoke of Mary as 'Mother of the Church and our most loving Mother.'

The title, Mother of the Church was first used by Berengaud, bishop of Treves in his writings. Later authors such as St. Antoninus, Archbishop of Florence and St. Lawrence Justiniani also invited the church to venerate Mary as her Mother.

On November 21, 1964, during the celebration of Mass at the conclusion of the third session of the Second Vatican Council, Pope Paul VI stated, 'For the glory of the Blessed Virgin and our own consolation, we proclaim the Most Blessed Virgin Mary Mother of the Church, of the whole people of God, faithful and pastors, and we call her most loving Mother.'

The Holy Father expressed the hope that this title of Mary, Mother of the church would 'lead Christians to honor Mary even more and to call upon her with still greater confidence.'

He decreed that 'from now onward the whole Christian people should give even greater honor to the Mother of God under this most loving title.'

Pope St. John Paul II has frequently used this title from the beginning of his pontificate in 1978 looking toward Mary in the Upper Room praying with the Apostles at Pentecost.

'In the birth of the Church, the one to whom we owe the birth of Christ participates in a particular way.'

Jesus has given us Mary as our mother. She is the mother of Jesus, Who is the head of the Mystical body. We, the members of His Body, look to the Blessed Virgin Mary who cares for the pilgrim church with a mother's love and follows its progress homeward to the eternal splendor of heaven.

Source: University of Dayton

[awesomegodnewlifeministries]

The Pilgrim's Progress Part II-Christiana's Journey-The Eighth Stage

[jordanianroyals]

29 February 2024: King Abdullah II said Maan is a gateway of goodwill and the launching point of the Jordanian state’s establishment.

Speaking at a meeting with local community leaders and figures in Maan held at the Founding King’s Residence and attended by Crown Prince Hussein, His Majesty praised the authentic values embodied by the people of Maan in welcoming pilgrims on the Hajj route, and their keenness to help everyone in need.

The King recalled his visit to Maan 25 years ago, saying residents’ first request was building a university in the governorate. 

Today, Al Hussein bin Talal University has ushered in Maan’s development, His Majesty added.

The King said Maan is home to the largest solar energy projects in Jordan, as well as other projects, noting that the ambition for this governorate is to attract more investments, expand development, and capitalise on tourism potential in Petra.

His Majesty also spoke about the dangerous situation in Gaza, stressing that Jordan is exerting its utmost efforts to stop the war on the Strip.

The Kingdom will continue to provide support and humanitarian aid by land and air, with priority given to the north of Gaza, the King continued, stressing that Jordan will not pay attention to the sceptics.

Commenting on the airdrops that Jordan has carried out, His Majesty said Jordan has encouraged Arab and friendly countries to take part in these operations, to support Gazans and alleviate their suffering.

The King thanked Gazans who expressed appreciation for Jordan, although the aid delivered so far is limited due to the current situation in the Strip.

The most important thing in these efforts is for Gazans to feel that Jordan is with them and will spare no effort to help, His Majesty reaffirmed.

For his part, Maan Governor Faisal Masaeed said His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee is a continuation of the Hashemite journey of progress and development for Jordan.

The governor said Maan witnessed over the past 25 years several Royal initiatives and achievements in vital sectors, including health, education, agriculture, tourism, social care, and income-generating projects, as well as the enhancement of the role of women and youth, and empowering civil society organisations.

Upon arrival at the Founding King’s Residence prior to the meeting, the King was welcomed by the Maan Folklore Band.

His Majesty toured the Founding King’s Residence and was briefed on the project to restore it as a museum and a building of great historical value related to the establishment of the Jordanian state.

The building was originally a station on the Hijaz Railway, built in 1904, and became the residence of King Abdullah I (Prince Abdullah then) when he came to the city on 21 November 1920, and the building was called “the National Defence Headquarters”.

During the meeting with Maan figures, the King bestowed the Silver Jubilee Medal on individuals and institutions in Maan, in recognition of their contributions to serving Jordan, especially the local community in the governorate.

[jessyka-fitness]

The Holy War (Part II) | John Bunyan | Christian Audiobook

~ Audiobook Description ~ What if you were able to see your life from a spiritual perspective and see the actual reality of the verse above? How does our enemy, Diabolus, plan and carry out his attacks? How do his demons help, and what are their objectives? Why and how must we petition Emmanuel to get His attention and help in this great, holy war? Written four years after The Pilgrim’s Progress,…

[hawthorn-crow]

Thanks for the tag @lightineventide and @a-funeral-pyre, and again sorry I'm so late!

No tags but anyone should feel free to join in if they want!

Music Shuffle Tag

I was tagged by @valyrra, thank you sweetie! 😘

Rules: Put your music library on shuffle, then list the first five songs that come up in a poll to let people vote for which one they like the most.

Tagging @masenkoha @metal-mouse @makebelieveee @a-smol-homo @jessiesjaded @tessa1972 @lanabenikosdoormat @kojottek @degenerate-otaku @volumniafox @heyitszev @zuendwinkel and anyone else who sees this and wants to join! I want to tag all of you, TBH! ❤️

[community-mission]

Awesome God New Life Ministries--The Pilgrim’s Progress Part II--Christiana’s Journey

https://youtu.be/C_axRTyA9hY

[emperorclaudiusofficial]

because I have nothing better to do with my time (besides, you know, law school final exams, three part-time jobs, cleaning my kitchen, etc) I am attempting to compile a list of all the books, poems, plays, ballads, etc, mentioned or quoted or referenced by everyone’s favourite obnoxious aristocrat Lord Peter Wimsey. Are you reading or rereading some Dorothy L. Sayers? Would you like to aid me in this pointless noble endeavour? Please help expand this list! 

(books quoted in chapter headings count; books referenced in short stories count; anything by Jill Patton Walsh does not count)

so far I have:

Whose Body? 

The Divine Comedy - Dante Alighieri

The Golden Legend - Jacobus de Varagine

Bleak House - Charles Dickens 

The Ingoldsby Legends - Richard Barham

The Gondoliers - W. S. Gilbert 

“A Child’s Hymn of Praise” - Jane Taylor 

Pilgrim’s Progress 

Book of Nonsense - Edward Lear 

Uncle Remus - Joel Chander Harris (:/) 

“The Sign of Four” - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Just So Stories - Rudyard Kipling (:/ again)

Dombey and Son - Charles Dickens 

The Decameron - Boccaccio 

“Kubla Khan” - Samuel Taylor Coleridge 

The Adventures of Sexton Blake - Harry Blyth 

Meno - Plato 

Raffles: The Amateur Cracksman - E. W. Hornung

Clouds of Witnesses 

Othello - William Shakespeare

“Lucy Gray” - William Wordsworth

David Copperfield - Charles Dickens 

The Merchant of Venice - William Shakespeare

The Lay of the Last Minstrel - Sir Walter Scott 

Northanger Abbey - Jane Austen 

Hamlet - William Shakespeare

Atalanta in Calydon - Charles Swinburne

HMS Pinafore - W. S. Gilbert 

My Two Countries - Lady Astor 

Alice’s Adventures - Wonderland by Lewis Carroll 

The Wallet of Kai-Lung - Ernest Bramah 

“A Lecture Upon the Shadow” - John Donne 

Biography for Beginners - E. C. Bentley 

The Wonderful and Surprising History of Jack the Giant-Killer - Anonymous

Richard II - William Shakespeare

Child Ballad 65, “Lady Maisry,” - Anonymous

Manon Lescaut - Antoine François Prévost 

[crunkmouse]

My 2022 movies list, movies seen for the first time that year. I kinda had two themes going now.

1. Pilgrim's Progress (1978)

2. Christiana (1979)

3. The Serpent's Kiss (1997)

4. Blade (1998)

5. Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

6. Putting Pants on Philip (1927)

7. Braveheart (1995)

8. Highlander (1986)

9. Flesh+Blood (1985)

10. Highlander II: The Quickening (1991)

11. What We Did on Our Holiday (2014)

12. Centurion (2010)

13. The Vikings (1958)

14. King Arthur (2004)

15. The Artist (I) (2011)

16. Breakfast on Pluto (2005)

17. The King's Man (2021)

18. Angels & Demons (2009)

19. Inferno (I) (2016)

20. In the Name Of (2013)

21. The Da Vinci Code (2006)

22. Encanto (2021)

23. Nightmare Alley (2021)

24. Amadeus (1984)

25. Last Days in the Desert (2015)

26. Cutter's Way (1981)

27. Midnight Mass (2021) 7.7

28. The Rite (2011)

29. Lamb (1985)

30. The Mission (1986)

31. The Lego Movie 2: The Second Part (2019)

32. The Evil Clergyman (2012 Video) 6.5

33. Suspect (1987)

34. Obi-Wan Kenobi (2022)

35. Evangelion: 1.0 You Are (Not) Alone (2007)

36. Evangelion: 2.0 You Can (Not) Advance (2009)

37. Evangelion: 3.0+1.01 Thrice Upon a Time (2021)

38. Evangelion: 3.0 You Can (Not) Redo (2012)

39. After.Life (2009)

40. I Love You Phillip Morris (2009)

41. True Confessions (1981)

42. Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny (2006)

43. A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

44. Incantation (2022)

45. The Omen (1976)

46. Willard (1971)

47. The Conjuring 2 (2016)

48. Saint Maud (2019)

49. The Prophecy (1995)

50. Candyman (2021)

51. Memory (2022)

[pamphletstoinspire]

Our Lady of Fatima and the Miracle of the Doves - Feast Day - 5/13/2021

First Miracle of the Doves

1946 was the year of Portugal’s third centennial of national consecration to the Immaculate Conception and it was the first centennial of an identical national consecration in the United States. Just one hundred years before...in 1846...the bishops of America in a conclave in Baltimore dedicated our nation to Mary Immaculate.

On that very day...the first centennial of America’s dedication to the Immaculate Conception...the day on which we had no fitting celebration of our Marian heritage in this nation discovered by a ship which bore her name and solemnly dedicated to her by the first Episcopal conclave...something else was happening in another part of the world.

It was the Miracle of the Doves.

Father Oliveira wrote: "The coming of the statue of Our Lady of Fatima from the Cova da Iria (where Our Lady appeared in 1917) to Lisbon, for the celebration of the third centenary of the consecration of Portugal to the Immaculate Conception, was too extraordinary to be adequately described.

"The statue was carried to Lisbon and back to Fatima on men’s shoulders, the entire way, and in each village or town where it was kept during the night, great crowds spent the entire night in adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, culminating in early Mass and general Holy Communion.

"Before I narrate the story of the doves in detail, I would like to describe the general events that centered around the statue upon its arrival in our capital city, Lisbon.

"It is to be remembered that not many years ago the Catholic Church in Portugal was persecuted. That is why this centenary...this commemoration of the third time that Portugal celebrates a hundred year mark in her state of national consecration to Mary Immaculate... was to be so important. During this past century, not only had Our Lady saved Portugal...but it was in Portugal that She made Her predictions of World War II with Her ultimate promise of World Peace!

"After its long journey (which for the people along the way seemed too short) the statue arrived in Lisbon on the evening of December fifth. Straightway it was carried to the beautiful new Church of Our Lady of Fatima of Lisbon, where it was kept until the vigil of December eighth. Crowds filled the beautiful church to the doors, constantly, day and night. All night long, adoration of the Blessed Sacrament was conducted by several priests. Celebration of Masses began at midnight and in the morning there was High Mass and general Holy Communion. On December 7th, at 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon, thousands of children were consecrated to Our Lady by Cardinal Cerejeira, Primate of Portugal. Finally, at 9:30 in the evening, in a brilliant candlelight procession consisting solely of men that reached almost from one end of central Lisbon to the other, the statue was carried to the cathedral. The passage took three and a half hours, so vast were the crowds.

"After the Te Deum, all the bishops with their mitres and crosiers, regular and secular clergy and great crowds of many thousands of persons, conducted the statue processionally to the square, Terreiro do Paco, where the flag of Blessed Nuno Alvarez Pereiral is annually saluted; there it was placed on a beautifully decorated frigate waiting at anchor in the River Tagus. Atop the main mast on the frigate flamed an illuminated cross, visible for miles.

"On the opposite shore, another crowd was waiting. Soon the statue was again being carried processionally, on men’s shoulders, back to Fatima.

"The scene of the departure from Lisbon was touching. I am sorry that I cannot adequately describe it. The great square, which is capable of holding many thousands of people, was actually illuminated by the number of candles. But in addition, flaming rockets constantly broke overhead and great searchlights wove back and forth across the sky. The crowd, many with tears in their eyes, waved their handkerchiefs and sang the adieu hymn which pilgrims always sing when leaving Fatima. Deep, throaty roars and whistle blasts from hundreds of boats echoed their cries.

"Truly the reception of the statue in the city, and all the ceremonies held in honor of the Lady, Queen-Mother, which the statue represents, are beyond description.

"Now, into this background of the greatness of the occasion, let me tell the incident of the doves, about which the newspapers here in Portugal have spoken so much and which is on the lips of every person in the nation.

"It began in a town called Bombazral, a short time after the statue had left Fatima.

"As part of the ceremony in that particular town, with the streets filled, people were singing hymns to Our Lady and pressing to be near the statue, someone freed four white doves. The greater part of the crowd hardly noticed it.

"After flying off into the air, three of the doves...instead of flying from the great crowd to some roof-top...made several evolutions over the statue and then suddenly, to the amazement of all who saw them, plummeted downwards, and alighted at Our Lady’s feet!

"This was the beginning.

"During the days that followed, midst ever-changing crowds, moving from one town to another night and day for almost two whole weeks, the doves did not leave the statue. They remained there at the very base of the statue, as though vying one with the other actually to stand on Our Lady’s feet. Yet bands played, people shouted, the bier on which the statue was mounted moved and swayed, rockets exploded at night and cascaded fire, while giant searchlights burned at them. They were constantly buffeted by flowers tossed to the statue from the surging crowds.

"But they did not fly. They blinked, shook off flowers that hit them, occasionally stretched their wings to keep balance. But they remained there at her feet during the entire two-week journey. They refused food or drink.

"When the statue was carried into Lisbon, I had the honor of walking at its side as Carmelite Tertiaries bore it triumphantly into the city. I was so close to it, and to the doves, that I could reach out and touch either. Cordons of militia and police were holding back the crowds of many thousands of people who had gone far out of the city to meet this most famous representation of the Virgin, coming for their greatest Marian centennial.

"All during the night of December 5th, in the Church of Our Lady of Fatima of Lisbon, the doves remained standing at the feet of the statue. By now they were more the object of comment than the beautiful statue or the glory in which it was enthroned. The newspapers had been filled with the story of their perseverance, their utter fearlessness, the strangeness of their position. Many must have wondered what would happen...now that they had actually accompanied the statue into the church that had been prepared for its reception, refusing to be brushed off or frightened away.

"The next morning, at Mass, they had their answer.

"The next morning, the doves flew.

"From midnight, Masses were constantly recited at the altar near the statue. As I mentioned in the beginning, the church was crowded to the doors with Lisbonites keeping vigil.

"In the morning, after the many Masses of the night, came the solemn High Mass, which was to be followed by a general Communion.

"During the Solemn Mass, most of the people in the great undoubtedly stopped watching the doves, to which they were not accustomed, to concentrate on the Mass. This was especially true in the solemn moment when the bell sounded, and a great hush fell over the crowd just before the elevation.

"In that moment of hush, there was a sudden fluttering of wings.

"To the utter amazement of all, two of the doves suddenly flew...after two weeks of refusing food or drink and of remaining at the feet of the statue...one sped straight to the gospel side of the altar, and the other to the epistle side! There, as the bishop straightened to raise the Consecrated Host, they alighted and folded their wings...one on each side...as though in adoration!

"As the Mass progressed, the two doves remained there to the bewilderment of the celebrants and servers and the stupefied congregation.

"But this was still not the climax.

"The third dove had not left the statue.

"Suddenly, at the moment of communion, the third dove flew up and perched on top of the statue’s golden crown...placed there by the cardinal Legate who personally represented the Holy Father the previous May 13 at Fatima...and as the celebrant turned and held up Our Lord, saying "Ecce Agnus Dei" ("Behold the Lamb of God") it spread its white wings and held them open!

"By the time this letter reaches America, the statue of Our Lady...which I saw leave Lisbon with genuine sorrow, because all of us here felt almost that it was Our Lady Herself who had visited us rather than just a poor image of Her...will be back in the Chapel of the Apparitions in Fatima."

"On arriving in Fatima, first it will have been carried directly into the great Basilica (which, I am told, is much grander than the people of America generally know) and there the Office of the Nativity will be sung by the seminarians of the Diocese of Leiria (in which Fatima is located), and their bishop...Don Jose Alves Correia da Silva, who last August 13th greatly honored Americans by having them kneel beside him during the official pilgrimage of the Leiria diocese...and who will close these centennial celebrations of Portugal by giving the Papal Benediction to a crowd which probably will number at least half a million.

"Here in Portugal, where we have witnessed this extraordinary event and where we have so come to appreciate the blessings of peace which we attribute solely to our newly awakened national devotion to Mary, this miracle of the doves has not only strengthened our confidence, but has renewed our purpose.

"I hope that it may strengthen the confidence of the people of America, to whom so much of battered Europe now looks for leadership, and renew the desire and purpose of all American Catholics to strive for the world-wide fulfillment of Our Lady of Fatima’s simple conditions of peace.

"May these doves, which have flown in Lisbon, fly into American hearts, and from there be sent forth as carriers to bear the peace message of Our Lady of Fatima to the world under the protection of the American Eagle."

[endlessdoom]

DBP19: A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol

25 Maps by the Doomer Boards Community

2019

https://www.doomworld.com/idgames/themes/xmas/dbp19xmas2

MAP01: Christmas Eve Part I by Big Ol' Billy

The first teaser to this new adventure is a small hub that shows us a cozy house that follows a simple Christmas narrative to set the mood. 4/5

MAP02: Hornaments by Big Ol' Billy

The first actual map with combat, and it is quickly let go. A circular arena with a considerable amount of enemies surrounding us. The dark design and simplistic architecture give it a rather ominous feel. We will also quickly discover one of the new hidden mechanics: shooting the bells. 3/5

MAP03: Christmas Eve Part II by Big Ol' Billy

All maps will have an intermission that leads to the main hub, which also acts as a progress and rest center for reading Christmas letters. A fantastic idea that generates a unique identity. 4/5

MAP04: Festive Neighbours by Phobus

Following the tradition of MAP02 but this time in a frame. Enemies are far away and in ambush positions, waiting for the perfect moment to attack. With a claustrophobic design and a bit lost at times (the bells are well hidden) is a map that takes relatively a little more than it should. 3/5

MAP05: Christmas Eve Part III by Big Ol' Billy

Next intermission, this time we realize that our lovely home is starting to be invaded by bad guys. Oh, Sa(n)tan will be mad. 3/5

MAP06: The Pilgrim and the Hermit by Gaspe

A large map with a rather intricate and claustrophobic design that leads to a variety of paths with various small puzzles and bloody combat. The cold is felt in the hooves. 4/5

MAP07: Christmas Eve Part IV by Big Ol' Billy

Haha. Good times. 3/5

MAP08: Surprise! by glenzinho

A medium-sized Doom-city style map with a surprising design, a multitude of secrets, a small ''bell hunt'' and a progressive combat that changes and varies constantly. Fun and full of Christmas spirit. And demonic spirit too. 4/5

MAP09: Christmas Eve Part V by Big Ol' Billy

An intermission with a... surprise... ending. 3/5

MAP10: Winter Wonderland by Phobus

A surprising wonder, dark, cold and with a unique touch that delivers a variety of visual designs on a large map with fun gameplay that flows seamlessly. 4/5

MAP11: Christmas Eve Part VI by Big Ol' Billy

A hot little adventure. 3/5

MAP12: The Nut After November by SuperCupcakeTactics and glenzinho

That name is unique. For that alone it deserves an extra point. Anyway, this is a medium-large map with a multitude of interconnected roads and tight combat. Fun and with a good Christmas charisma. Hope you aren’t afraid of spiders. 4/5

MAP13: Christmas Eve Part VII by Big Ol' Billy

Ah yes, hello. 3/5

MAP14: Two Sizes Too Small by Doom_RO

A huge adventure that involves hunting different bells and quite aggressive combats through a detailed map with a pleasant and well designed design. Unfortunately, the bell hunting can be a bit irritating due to the simple nature of switch-hunting in its primordial state, but it's still a great map. 4/5

MAP15: Christmas Eve Part VIII by Big Ol' Billy

Did you know that Xmas in Romania is beautiful? 3/5

MAP16: Christmas Tree Mountain by Scrangus McBrickdad/Jaxxoon R and glenzinho

A large map with a relatively small population for its size. With an intricate design and variety of scenarios, it has a fun formula but its layout is somewhat slippery and the progression is somewhat affected. 3/5

MAP17: Christmas Eve Part IX by Big Ol' Billy

Now we explore more and more of the city in these short intermissions. 3/5

MAP18: Xmasphobia by Thundercunt

A claustrophobic and cramped map with a labyrinthine design vaguely reminiscent of Tricks 'N' Traps meets Fear of Plutonia. Interesting premise with great design. 4/5

MAP19: Christmas Eve Part X by Big Ol' Billy

Probably the hottest intermission, to the point that it could be considered a tiny map. 3/5

MAP20: Krampus Anomaly by dmdr

An excellent map with a great flow and exquisite combat, varied and with constant dynamics between the player and the fun, coupled with a good design and understandable layout. 4/5

MAP21: Christmas Eve Part XI by Big Ol' Billy

An intermission that reveals us beyond the labyrinth. Optional but rewarding exploration. 3/5

MAP22: Where Cybneezer Hid Christmas by joe-ilya

A small adventure through a kind of infnerla mansion. Secret paths and dense combat make this map a fun mission. 3/5

MAP23: Christmas Eve Part XII by Big Ol' Billy

The last intermission makes us take a walk through the wintry and dark city to get ready for the last adventure... or maybe not. 3/5

MAP24: Realm of Christmas Time by Big Ol' Billy

The "fine" map, in quotes, is a great entertaining arena with a kind of dynamic IoS that makes us face a huge variety of enemies in a small circular arena. Fun and frenetic in an expansive Christmas violence. 4/5

MAP25: Christmas Morning by Big Ol' Billy

The so famous city of the intermissions is finally given its own use in a magnificent slaughter map that will stop us in our tracks. Enormous, large and with an incredible challenge for all players. The ultimate Christmas present goes out with a boom. You're not supposed to win it (it's technically impossible) but it's a fun and crazy way to end this wad. 4/5

Overall:

» DBP19: A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol (2019) By the Doomer Boards Community

We all want to get into the enchanting spirit of the sweet Christmas season as December approaches. Nothing like celebrating the times of peace, love and understanding among all beings as by doing it in the most holy and fantastic way possible: Killing demons. Those infernal sinners are not going to clean themselves and we are here to do it. Thanks to the fantastic criminal minds of the members of the Doomer Boards Community, we have been given a fantastic Christmas installment that has all the necessary requirements to recreate a good Christmas spirit; blood, violence, guns and many, many demons. Ready to celebrate Christmas? Hit it.

A Doomer Boards Christmas Carol is a project created by the famous krew that this time is launched towards the winter celebrations of Christmas, creating a theme focused entirely on the Christmas touch of the game and redesigning textures and skins for almost the entire project, perfectly invoking that Christmas spirit that few can achieve with a game that was practically identified as a form of 3D Satanism (although it was not exactly released at Christmas, it is a Christmas game in my heart) that would launch to the market a re-copied and unique style. That of being gory and disturbing. Well, let's take the core of Doom and now give it a new twist, one that has lots of snow, cookies, warm milk, presents, red socks and some coal for the bad kids. The result? A grandiose 25-map project (half of them small intermissions) that perfectly re-invents the celebratory style into a Christmas mood that successfully recreates the game on, you guessed it, Christmas. Or something like that.

DBP19 is a fascinating project like no other that really manages to reach those standards and deliver white maps full of passion, identity and a lot of fun. Thanks to the new use of textures and the hilarious re-skins, we now have a new paint scheme for the entire game that takes us out of the hellish air and into a cooler and, uh, wholesome kind of hell.

Starting with MAP01 by @Big Ol Billy, the first map actually works as a kind of intermission/hub-styled map that makes us progress the game accompanied by a small Christmas narrative where the different members of the team give us little stories and messages about what awaits us or the story. A little touch that gives it a nice charisma. @Big Ol Billy does practically all the intermissions, as well as a few other independent maps. MAP02 continues the adventure and this time throws us directly into a combat arena that presents us with two important aspects: 1) the visual style and 2) the new mechanic of hunting ''bells'', something like switch-hunting but more simplified. MAP03 is one more intermission made by the same author, and from now on all the maps with odd number are intermissions. MAP04 by @Phobus is a re-interpretation of the first map but with a more painting style and less mercy. Gaspe comes into action with his MAP06 which gives us a great rock fortress in a world of ice full of action and beautiful visuals. MAP08 by @Glenzinho is, as the title says, a violent surprise that shows an excellent Doom-City style. @Phobus returns with MAP10 in an intricate and tight map with dark corners and welcoming demons. MAP12 by @SuperCupcakeTactics and @glenzinho wins the award for most innovative and fun title I've read all year, luckily not all is title but also essence as this is a fascinating map that combines the two styles of mappers under a perfect synergy of emotion and visual sweetness. MAP14 by @Doom_RO is a huge odyssey that makes us look for different bells while we go through different scenarios making our way through rivers of demons, all in an exciting Christmas adventure. Oh yeah. MAP16 by @Scrangus McBrickdad/Jaxxoon R and @glenzinho pits us against a huge map with amazing visuals but a somewhat confusing layout that compensates with a nice touch of detail and variety of scenarios. Thundercunt (hehe) delivers a labyrinthine and different adventure that contains as many goodies as the demons in MAP18. MAP20 by @dmdr is a fascinating ice adventure that takes us on a journey with good flow, fun combat and excellent presentation. @joe-ilya delivers a mysterious and cold mansion in MAP22, full of demons, Masterminds and a few surprises in the basement. Finally, MAP24: Realm of Christmas Time by Big Ol' Billy is an excellent final scene as we face off in a small arena-style map against a variety of enemies and a sort of modified IoS that delivers thrills and excitement. Like the good little kids, we've been. Of course, the final intermission in MAP25 is what we call a total beast that actually works like a credits map but with a twist.

Wow that was a lot of maps! Probably among the biggest (or actually biggest) DBP, quite the gift!

This winter adventure deliberates with solid greece a delivery of 25 maps full of charisma, fun, gifts and everything we need to feel comfortable and accompanied on a lonely Christmas night while the snow crashes against our windows. Not that I can relate to that because where I live it doesn't snow, but at least with this project I have managed to relate the sweet effect of nostalgia with the innocence of yesteryear where we simply wanted to enjoy Doom in its purest form. Well, this is the purest way to enjoy it at Christmas! Or practically any month, after all I'm playing this in the middle of summer. Hehe. Anyway, want some cookies? Come and get them.

[awesomegodnewlifeministries]

The Pilgrim's Progress Part II-Christiana's Journey Interpreter-Flowers, Harvest and Robin from Awesome God New Life Ministries on Vimeo.

[sincerelyrachelr]

Get to Know Me Tag

Thank you for tagging me @writerjuliannaf

MUSIC

Favorite genre(s)?

Movie soundtracks, classical, acoustic/folk, hymns, some 60s.

Favorite song(s)?

For the Beauty of the Earth, Photograph and A Little More by Cody Fry, South by Sleeping at Last, Look At the World by John Rutter, the Overture to the Sound of Music, Winter from the Four Seasons by Vivaldi, anything by Chopin, currently Ballade No. 1.

Most listened song recently?

'Non So Piu' from the Marriage of Figaro, sung by Cecilia Bartoli - but that's for studying! Other than that, Sunflower by Glen Cambell.

Song currently stuck in your head?

Handel's Water Music, Suite No. 2 in D Major, II. Alla Hornpipe. Because I'm currently listening to it and studying it.

5 favorite lyrics?

"Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness I am with Thee." Harriet Beecher Stowe - Still, Still With Thee

"If I could see through anger, would I discover people that are broken, or hurting? Oh, I think that that would change my whole view, and probably change yours too." Cody Fry - A Little More

"Some truths, over time, can learn to play nice Some truths are sharper than knives Some truths we only see in the corners of our eyes Some truths we wish we could hide Some truths can save us, some take our lives Some truths are fire and some truths are ice." Sleeping At Last - South

"Think of the spring, Think of the warmth of summer Bringing the harvest before the winters cold Everything grows, everything has a season Til' it is gathered to the Father's fold" John Rutter - Look at the World

"If i had my way time would just stand still wait for me until I find some magic film to take a photograph and live inside" Cody Fry - Photograph

Pick!

radio or your own playlist | solo artists or bands | pop or indie | loud or silent volume (quiet) I slow or fast songs | music video or lyrics video | speakers or headset | riding a bus in silence or while listening to music | driving in silence or with music playing

BOOKS

Favorite book series?

'Hands of Time' by Ashley Nikole.

Comfort book(s)?

'The Princess Bride' by William Goldman and anything by James Herriot. 'The Little Women Letters' by Gabrielle Donnelly is one that is highly underrated and I want someone to discuss it with!

Favorite book(s)?

'The Pilgrim's Progress', 'Little Women', 'The Princess Bride', 'The Little Women Letters' by Gabrielle Donnelly.

Perfect book(s) to read on a rainy day?

'The Enchanted April' by Elizabeth von Arnim seems like a good choice, especially for a rainy April day. Or, 'To Live & To Breathe' by Katelyn Buxton.

Favorite character(s)?

Ellie Daniels & Tom Holt from the 'Hands of Time' series, Jo March, Marmee, Professor Bhaer, Westley, Fezzik, Buttercup, James Herriot, Christian, Christiana and Mercy.

5 favorite quotes from your favorite books?

“History is alive. Who are those of the future to say the past is silent? Let history speak for itself, and may those who have ears, listen. For many hear, but few listen. Even fewer still are those who understand.” Ashley Nikole - Present History

“I am your Prince and you will marry me," Humperdinck said. Buttercup whispered, "I am your servant and I refuse." "I am you Prince and you cannot refuse." "I am your loyal servant and I just did." "Refusal means death." "Kill me then.” William Goldman - The Princess Bride

^ There are so many good ones, but this one highlights Buttercup's actually having a backbone. ^

"A man there was, though some did count him mad, the more he cast away the more he had." - John Bunyan - Pilgrim's Progress

"the wilderness of books, in which she could wander, where she liked, made the library a region of bliss to her.” Louisa May Alcott - Little Women

“I think most places can be interesting to live in if you find a way to make them so.” Gabrielle Donnelly - The Little Women Letters

Pick!

hardcover or paperback | buy or rent | standalone novels or book series | ebook or physical copy | reading at night or during the day | reading at home or in nature | listening to music while reading or reading in silence | reading in order or reading the ending first | reliable or unreliable narrator | realism or fantasy | one or multiple POVS | judging by the covers or by the summary | rereading or reading just once

TV AND MOVIES

Favorite tv/movie genre(s)?

Historical Drama, Drama, and also offbeat clean comedies.

Comfort movie(s)?

'Cold Comfort Farm' 1995, 'The Princess Bride', 'Harvey' 1950, 'The Grand Seduction'.

Movie you watch every year?

'The Princess Bride'

Favorite movie?

'Little Women' 1995, 'The Sound of Music', 'The Princess Bride', 'Amazing Grace' 2006,

Favorite tv show(s)?

'All Creatures Great & Small' 1978-, 'Get Smart' 1965-

Comfort tv show?

Definitely 'All Creatures Great & Small'.

Most rewatched tv show?

Probably 'Little House on the Prairie.'

5 Favorite tv/movie characters?

Jo March, Caroline Ingalls, Helen Herriot, Westley, and then I'm going offbeat to say Siegfried from Get Smart - because he makes me laugh. There are so many more!

Pick!

tv shows or movie | short seasons (8-13 episodes) or full seasons (22 episodes or more) | one episode a week or binging | one season or multiple seasons | one part or saga | half hour or one hour long episodes | subtitles on or off | rewatching or watching just once | downloads or watches online.

I tag: @lettersfromavonlea @lauricia and anyone else who wants to join in on the fun