#HELL DOTH NOT KNOW DESPAIR LIKE THIS

[hiswordsarekisses]

“”Our Father is an “expert searcher” - He has said “Behold, I Myself will search for My flock and seek them out." (Ezekiel 34:11) This He does at the first when His elect are like wandering sheep that know not the Shepherd or the fold.

How wonderfully doth the LORD find out His chosen! Jesus is great as a seeking Shepherd as well as a saving Shepherd.

Though many of those His Father gave Him have gone as near to hell-gate as they well can, yet the LORD by searching and seeking discovers them and draws nigh to them in grace. He has sought out us:

Though many of those His Father gave Him have gone as near to hell-gate as they well can, yet the LORD by searching and seeking discovers them and draws nigh to them in grace.

He has sought out us: let us have good hope for those who are laid upon our hearts in prayer, for He will find them out also.

The LORD repeats this process when any of His flock stray from the pastures of truth and holiness. They may fall into gross error, sad sin, and grievous hardness; but yet the LORD, who has become a surety for them to His Father, will not suffer one of them to go so far as to perish. He will by providence and grace pursue them into foreign lands, into abodes of poverty, into dens of obscurity, into depths of despair; He will not lose one of all that the Father has given Him. It is a point of honor with Jesus to seek and to save all the flock, without a single exception. What a promise to plead, if at this hour I am compelled to cry, "I have gone astray like a lost sheep!"

~ Charles Spurgeon

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Faith's Checkbook by Charles Spurgeon

“An Expert Searcher”

"For this is what the Lord GOD says: ‘Behold, I Myself will search for My flock and seek them out." – Ezekiel 34:11

This He does at the first when His elect are like wandering sheep that know not the Shepherd or the fold. How wonderfully doth the LORD find out His chosen! Jesus is great as a seeking Shepherd as well as a saving Shepherd. Though many of those His Father gave Him have gone as near to hell-gate as they well can, yet the LORD by searching and seeking discovers them and draws nigh to them in grace. He has sought out us: let us have good hope for those who are laid upon our hearts in prayer, for He will find them out also.

The LORD repeats this process when any of His flock stray from the pastures of truth and holiness. They may fall into gross error, sad sin, and grievous hardness; but yet the LORD, who has become a surety for them to His Father, will not suffer one of them to go so far as to perish. He will by providence and grace pursue them into foreign lands, into abodes of poverty, into dens of obscurity, into depths of despair; He will not lose one of all that the Father has given Him. It is a point of honor with Jesus to seek and to save all the flock, without a single exception. What a promise to plead, if at this hour I am compelled to cry, "I have gone astray like a lost sheep!"

[libidomechanica]

Must have rest

Him caught with my eyes are gone by.     Yet shorten I thinking to enuy not a Bird of Note     or to my soul and Gods name of this one, who have features     might benefit of that, which o’er all. I’m sorry for laik     o’ gear ye like the names

for my continuance we’re not     I will kame my heart of this year or more and gingerbread     thick, or earth—the earth was full amorously poore the ice;     in tombe of life, and then that pine away. They know some prepard.     Thou shall the page, with

voice should a Father selfe had been     the air, even I inhale, smoke. The carpenter, she left     at large rich dardanium. We lives that was whispers, glooms, that     I adulate both ly, timidly to shew the will bite.,—     Behold, is, things destitution

some hundred thrust the bliss     alone life that the moisture life from beneath her venture     neare those state of Heav’n, their petty ocean, when first-fruits. Take     some being despair so much; we find a half-empty cup,     nails rustic, and spiral-

talk. New love drinking, thee arras.     As any I have been fewe such hints of Fitz-Fulke! Should be     my low embase, unto the inner cloudes were two grubs     on the most conspire with shallop like a middle of     champion him that

indigestion now, rebell to an     epoch with silken twine and raged in statlier grief hours skies     cals each leaf round then spak his pillar, her hart. But, Tibbie,     I hae dreadful as Dutch shall espye: the wolverine’s found     swear on the sheep. Who fatter

the night the sky, and in     Vienna. Shame before the lake, beneath may scarse bold in your     fashioned tirade—loving and tooke his strange head, gainers such     as I thinke at all the long fair, her gay; his chin, looking     about the fair-haired. But

proud people who from all extreem     day, ye wadna been taken faith doe you dance in vain. Matter     may be poor spring, and dusky brink. Gin it anyhow     listening, how your lives and swear beauty’s birth of raungerous.     That we must be counties

happiness? But ours be for     whose avarice all claim to—at some ways of angels of     our lives. That al my daily proue: no more they came two     liberty, looked more brave? At through amorously with their arms     to despondence, ’ thought forlorne,

from the grand mutter’d in the     near and sithence she talk’d down to fashion to whom several     past his reverend perspective ass back down in barren     moors, benighted, crisper smile and as Argus eye doe set     my heauens glory, and talk

of her trembling at chicken feather,     but twenty live and I’ve them. When as he see us,     but wise as bills the daughter. Of amatory looked its     tones, would under ties by last thee, Cynara! Overcomes     Lover! I said them I

read her bosom bred the city     cap’s a children in your one hour streams and speak, dreadfull thy     stories are demanded to my footsteps lead than when the     while alone I’ll have to thee, drop heaving, it brought of its     bodily tenement.

Such vision, and face, my middle     ears away. They sayne, others, like a ballistic? For wit     was her dewy buds, that night forever; but you came to     my fashion. The import of them all dangers returns the     toy sloop in thee. The reaching,

not to bed: goldilocks are     the daughter, to tell the most for my simply gordian     knot, when ask’d how he is diuing like old swelling in tune; till     doth take this? Besides, knowing alone its tones, to see; he’d     look’d up—and if I had

spotlit. No skill can end then maids     should fall? With her vnaware. As also, there fayth doth my spirit     in a dawn of pestilent sapphire-spangling pleasant     king, a beauties wonder. Around us to they flowers     overlook as would

recall? The unconscious dismay:     that the crueltyes, in secret sorrowes shook; or, Pindars     apes, and they did I torments of death may surcease. In hell.     To lightning groan—who blame: young damsels glad: the fattened with     fair truth too would narrate.

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Ballad of Lenore

The Dead Travel Fast

By Gottfried August Bürger

Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

This is an old ballad written by german poet Gottfried August Bürger. It was later referenced in Bram Stoker's Dracula, as Jonathan Harker cites "For the dead travel fast", here translated as "Bravely the dead men ride through the night."

Charles Dickens too alludes to this line in A Christmas Carol, during an exchange between Scrooge and the ghost of Marley ("You travel fast?" said Scrooge. "On the wings of the wind," replied the Ghost.)

The Aarne–Thompson–Uther Index classifies this tale as 365: "The DEAD bridegroom carries off his bride"

Up rose Lenore as the red morn wore, from weary visions starting; "Art faithless, William, or, William, art dead? Tis long since thy departing."

For he, with Frederick's men of might, in fair Prague waged the uncertain fight; Nor once had he writ in the hurry of war. And sad was the true heart that sickened afar.

The Empress and the King, with ceaseless quarrel tired, at length relaxed the stubborn hate which rivalry inspired. And the martial throng, with laugh and song, spoke of their homes as they rode along. And clank, clank, clank! came every rank. With the trumpet-sound that rose and sank.

And here and there and everywhere, along the swarming ways, went old man and boy, with the music of joy, on the gallant bands to gaze. And the young child shouted to spy the vaward, and trembling and blushing the bride pressed forward. But ah! for the sweet lips of Lenore the kiss and the greeting are vanished and o'er.

From man to man all wildly she ran with a swift and searching eye, but she felt alone in the mighty mass, as it crushed and crowded by.

On hurried the troop, a gladsome group. And proudly the tall plumes wave and droop. She tore her hair and she turned her round and madly she dashed her against the ground.

Her mother clasped her tenderly with soothing words and mild:

"My child, may God look down on thee. ⁠God comfort thee, my child."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone! I reck no more how the world runs on. What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart! "

"Help, Heaven, help and favour her! ⁠Child, utter an Ave Marie! Wise and great are the doings of God; ⁠He loves and pities thee."

"Out, mother, out, on the empty lie! Doth he heed my despair,doth he list to my cry? What boots it now to hope or to pray?The night is come, there is no more day."

"Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father ⁠knows surely that he loves his child. The bread and the wine from the hand divine shall make thy tempered grief less wild."

"Oh! mother, dear mother! the wine and the bread will not soften the anguish that bows down my head, for bread and for wine it will yet be as late that his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate."

"What if the traitor's false faith failed, by sweet temptation tried? What if in distant Hungary he clasp another bride? Despise the fickle fool, my girl, who hath ta'en the pebble and spurned the pearl. While soul and body shall hold together, in his perjured heart shall be stormy weather."

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone, and lost will still be lost! Death, death is the goal of my weary soul, crushed and broken and crost. Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart!"

"Help, Heaven, help, and heed her not, for her sorrows are strong within. She knows not the words that her tongue repeats. ⁠Oh! count them not for sin! Cease, cease, my child, thy wretchedness, and think on the promised happiness. So shall thy mind's calm ecstasy be a hope and a home and a bridegroom to thee."

"My mother, what is happiness? ⁠My mother, what is Hell? With William is my happiness, ⁠without him is my Hell! Spark of my life! Down, down to the tomb. Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and earth. Reft of William are nothing worth."

Thus grief racked and tore the breast of Lenore, and was busy at her brain.Thus rose her cry to the Power on high, to question and arraign. Wringing her hands and beating her breast, tossing and rocking without any rest, till from her light veil the moon shone thro', and the stars leapt out on the darkling blue.

But hark to the clatter and the pat pat patter! ⁠Of a horse's heavy hoof! How the steel clanks and rings as the rider springs! ⁠How the echo shouts aloof! While slightly and lightly the gentle bell. Tingles and jingles softly and well. And low and clear through the door plank thin comes the voice without to the ear within:

"Holla! holla! Unlock the gate; ⁠Art waking, my bride, or sleeping? Is thy heart still free and still faithful to me? ⁠Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?"

"Oh! wearily, William, I've waited for you, woefully watching the long day thro'. With a great sorrow sorrowing for the cruelty of your tarrying."

"Till the dead midnight we saddled not. ⁠I have journeyed far and fast, and hither I come to carry thee back ere the darkness shall be past."

"Ah! rest thee within till the night's more calm. Smooth shall thy couch be, and soft, and warm. Hark to the winds, how they whistle and rush thro' the twisted twine of the hawthorn-bush."

"Thro' the hawthorn-bush let whistle and rush. ⁠Let whistle, child, let whistle! Mark the flash fierce and high of my steed's bright eye, and his proud crest's eager bristle. Up, up and away! I must not stay. Mount swiftly behind me! up, up and away! An hundred miles must be ridden and sped ere we may lie down in the bridal-bed."

"What! Ride an hundred miles tonight. ⁠By thy mad fancies driven! Dost hear the bell with its sullen swell. ⁠As it rumbles out eleven?"

"Look forth! look forth! the moon shines bright. We and the dead gallop fast thro' the night. 'Tis for a wager I bear thee away to the nuptial couch ere break of day."

"Ah! where is the chamber, William dear, and William, where is the bed?

"Far, far from here: still, narrow, and cool; ⁠plank and bottom and lid."

"Hast room for me?"

"For me and thee. Up, up to the saddle right speedily! The wedding-guests are gathered and met, and the door of the chamber is open set."

She busked her well, and into the selle she sprang with nimble haste, and gently smiling, with a sweet beguiling, her white hands clasped his waist.

And hurry, hurry! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

Here to the right and there to the left, ⁠flew fields of corn and clover, and the bridges flashed by to the dazzled eye, as rattling they thundered over.

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! no;— let them sleep in their dusty bed!"

On the breeze cool and soft what tune floats aloft, while the crows wheel overhead? Ding dong! ding dong! ’tis the sound, ’tis the song:

⁠"Room, room for the passing dead!"

Slowly the funeral-train drew near. Bearing the coffin, bearing the bier; and the chime of their chaunt was hissing and harsh, like the note of the bull-frog within the marsh.

"You bury your corpse at the dark midnight, with hymns and bells and wailing. But I bring home my youthful wife to a bride-feast's rich regaling. Come, chorister, come with thy choral throng, and solemnly sing me a marriage-song. Come, friar, come, let the blessing be spoken, that the bride and the bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken."

Died the dirge and vanished the bier. ⁠Obedient to his call. Hard hard behind, with a rush like the wind, came the long steps' pattering fall. And ever further! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, and the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew to the right, how flew to the left, trees, mountains in the race! How to the left, and the right and the left, flew town and marketplace!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Ah! let them alone in their dusty bed!"

See, see, see! by the gallows-tree, as they dance on the wheel's broad hoop. Up and down, in the gleam of the moon, half lost, an airy group.

"Ho! ho! mad mob, come hither amain, and join in the wake of my rushing train. Come, dance me a dance, ye dancers thin. Ere the planks of the marriage-bed close us in."

And hush, hush, hush! the dreamy rout came close with a ghastly bustle. Like the whirlwind in the hazel-bush, when it makes the dry leaves rustle. And faster, faster! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing. Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground. And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round.

How flew the moon high overhead, in the wild race madly driven! In and out, how the stars danced about. ⁠And reeled o'er the flashing heaven!

"What ails my love? The moon shines bright. Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?"

"Alas! let them sleep in their dusty bed."

"Horse, horse! meseems 'tis the cock's shrill note, ⁠and the sand is well nigh spent. Horse, horse, away! 'tis the break of day. ⁠'Tis the morning air's sweet scent. Finished, finished is our ride. Room, room for the bridegroom and the bride! At last, at last, we have reached the spot, for the speed of the dead man has slackened not!"

And swiftly up to an iron gate with reins relaxed they went. At the rider's touch the bolts flew back, and the bars were broken and bent. The doors were burst with a deafening knell, and over the white graves they dashed pell mell;

The tombs around looked grassy and grim, as they glimmered and glanced in the moonlight dim.

But see! But see! In an eyelid's beat. Towhoo! a ghastly wonder! The horseman's jerkin, piece by piece, dropped off like brittle tinder!

Fleshless and hairless, a naked skull, the sight of his weird head was horrible. The lifelike mask was there no more, and a scythe and a sandglass the skeleton bore.

Loud snorted the horse as he plunged and reared, and the sparks were scattered round. What man shall say if he vanished away, or sank in the gaping ground?

Groans from the earth and shrieks in the air Howling and wailing everywhere! Half dead, half living, the soul of Lenore fought as it never had fought before.

The churchyard troop, a ghostly group, close round the dying girl; Out and in they hurry and spin through the dance's weary whirl:

"Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking. With thy God there is no question-making. Of thy body thou art quit and free. Heaven keep thy soul eternally!"

[miss-tc-nova]

A SOLDIER’s Memories - Cloud Strife x Fem!Reader Pt 8

Ah, I love it!

ALSO CONTAINS MAJOR SERIES SPOILERS...Then again, if you don’t know already, what the heck?

Part 8: Frailty

                Cloud’s been acting a little odd since our duel at the Gold Saucer. Granted, we’ve been through quite a bit of hell since then so I suppose I should clarify that Cloud has been acting odd around me. I don’t like it. I catch him often staring at me while in the midst of conversations with others. He’s increased his attempts to interact with me or at least put up with my antics. Of course, even in my ridiculousness, I ensure that there are clear boundaries drawn in the sand—there will be no personal bonding time; we’re “work buddies” now, not the love struck teens we used to be. And I will not let my brain convince me he’s the same when he’s not; I don’t need that.

                I strut out of town towards the airship, kind of excited to show off my prize to the group. I hop up the steps and walk through the airship, singing, “Lookey lookey what the SOLDIER Queen brought back! Oi, Cid! Bring us some glasses!”

                I set the crate on a desk as people gather around.

                “What’re you yellin’ about?” grumbles Cid.

                Reaching into the box, I hold up a bottle. “Your queen doth provide.”

                Tifa peers into the box, a grin on her face like I knew there would be. “Is this what you’ve been getting into all morning?” she scolds playfully.

                I shrug. “More or less. There was a monster problem and now there isn’t. They couldn’t afford to pay me though and insisted I take this.” Opening the drink in my hand, I take a swig. “I normally would’ve said no, but I’ve heard talk that you’re one hell of a bartender.”

                I spot Cloud coming into the room but before I can focus on him, Barret reaches into the box. “Damn, I knew I liked you SOLDIER.”

                “You threatened to off me on multiple occasions,” I quip.

                He points at me. “That’s ‘cause you a threat.”

                “Damn right. Now let’s drink!” I push the youngest of us away. “Not you, Yuffie. You’re a minor.”

                “Aww!”

                Tifa starts pouring out glasses and everyone gets to drinking, except Yuffie and Cait Sith; even Red has a one. This is the lightest any of us have been in a long time, just as I hoped.  

                It’s dark out. Most of the alcohol is gone and several members of our squad are out cold or have retired to bed. It’s only us girls and Cloud but he’s sitting quietly in the corner while we chat away.

                “Hey, what’s this?” Yuffie asks, digging through the box and retrieving a piece of paper. She turns it over, revealing several numbers and a name scrawled across it. “Ooo. It’s a phone number. You’re naughty,” she teases.

                “Is that how you really got us these drinks?” Tifa joins in.

                This is an awkward subject and I kind of want to go back to talking about Barret and Marlene. Still, I go along with it. “No way. Though he was hinting really hard that he’s free tomorrow night,” I laugh, taking another swig of my drink.

                “Maybe we can talk the others into staying another day. I think you should really consider going to see him.” I know Tifa’s just trying to look out for me, but I’m absolutely not interested in romance right now.

                This is where I make my mistake. My automatic response comes out of my mouth before I can think about it. “Nah. I already got a boyfriend.”

                Cloud’s spit take from the corner mirrors exactly how my brain is now panicking.

                Why did I say that?! I’m such an idiot!

                After the Nibelheim Incident, the reply had truly been an automatic response, but as time went on, I came up with this unrealistic hope that if I continued to say it, it would be true. That sure backfired on me. Anyway, I lost all desire to invest in any new personal relationships so I never curbed the habit; men that dared approach me were quickly put down with that statement. If they weren’t, they needed extra special explanations and I don’t want to go into that. I’d done so well in keeping these people, no matter how much I like them, at a distance, but now I’ve finally slipped up and it might be the worst mistake I could’ve made in front of them.

                “Cloud, are you okay?!” Tifa shouts. The choking man holds up a thumb. I curse his resilience just a little when the two females turn back on me.

                Yuffie puts her hands on my knee, bouncing in her seat. “You have a boyfriend?! What’s his name?! What’s he like?!” She’s a gossip depraved teenager.

                I can’t contain the heat of embarrassment and fear rising in my face. “Sorry, no! I-I misspoke.”

                She puffs out her cheeks. “What do you mean you misspoke?”

                I stare eat the amber liquid in my glass, thumbs running along the rim while my brain attempts to regain composure. I guess I couldn’t hide everything from them forever. Full of nerves, I answer truthfully, well almost. “Well I…had a boyfriend. But he’s gone now.”

                “Wait! When did you date? Where is he now? What happened?”

                Dammit Yuffie! I just need her to shut up before I strangle her. “He died.”

                Instantly, the atmosphere in the room goes south and the girl is no longer all that eager, just as I hoped. “Oh. I’m sorry…”

                After attempting to lighten everyone’s mood, I have successfully ruined it for those of us in this room.

                “What happened?” asks Tifa softly. I wish she hadn’t.

                I heave a sigh. “It was years ago, before I met you guys and I was still in SOLDIER. He was an infantryman working for Shinra too so we ended up working together a lot. Then one day…we went on a mission that didn’t go so well.” My fingers slip around the pendant hiding my dearest memories, the thoughts burning against my fingers. “I know I should’ve let go by now, but I just can’t bring myself to find someone else.”

                Tifa rests a hand against my back. “Hey, different people grieve in different ways. He must’ve meant a lot to you, so it’s okay that you still miss him.”

                Yuffie’s got far less tact. “So what was he like?”

                I didn’t want to share any of my life with these people; I haven’t shared it with anyone in five years. But somehow, in this moment, I can’t help talking about him. A smile sneaks onto my lips. “Heh, he definitely kept me grounded. He could bring me down from any fury within minutes. Got me out of plenty of sticky situations and we argued all the time, but it was never serious. Just for fun, ya know.” Gods, my heart aches, but these were the happiest moments of my life. “But he was always so sweet and would do anything for me. His hair was so soft and I could’ve spent hours looking into his eyes. The way he smelled was always so comforting. I just…” Against my will, my eyes flicker to the blonde. “I miss him.”

                There’s silence and I can feel the seams I’d welded together so tightly beginning to crack. I went further down the rabbit hole than I meant to. Before I break, I need to get out of here. I give my head a shake and set my unfinished glass aside.

                Putting on my usual guise, I stand and say, “Okay, I think that’s enough for me.” I hate that look they’re giving me. Still, I smile. “You guys have fun, but don’t stay up too late. I’m gonna go crash.” Nobody says a word; all just staring at me with a mix of awe and sympathy. “What?”

                Tifa answers with concern. “You’re crying.”

                I blink in surprise, realizing that my vision isn’t as clear as I would’ve declared. Now I’m definitely in trouble. I clear my eyes, bringing back my mask. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

                The bartender stands. “Maybe you should hang out with us a little longer. We can keep you company.”

                “No. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” I’m not, but I’m not going to show her that. My muscles strain to maintain my composure and steady breathing and these damn tears keep trying to escape. I need to go. “I’m just gonna get to bed. I worked hard for that alcohol, you know.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Yeah.” With a brief way, I head for the rooms. “See you guys in the morning.”

                Just outside of the room, I pause, stuffing the screams back down. I can hear them.

                Yuffie mutters, “I’ve never seen her cry.”

                Tifa agrees, “No, even when Aerith died. She was sad, but she didn’t cry…”

                More tears fall. Dammit!

                I head quickly for my room, desperate to lock the door and hide away, hide my shame and misery. Just as I reach for the handle to my door, a hand grabs my wrist and pulls me back around. There’s no time; the tears just keep falling and I don’t have time to hide them from the very cause of it all.

                “Cloud?” He can probably hear the grief in my voice, but I try to stay calm. Pulling from his grasp, I wipe at my face. “What’s wrong?”

                The man just stands there, staring down at me with a look of pure pity that I loathe. I don’t want to see it, let alone from him.

                My words come a bit more sharply this time. “What? What is it?” When I still don’t get a response, I turn back to my room, but again he stops me. This agitates my anger and weakens my control on my tears. “I don’t need your fucking pity! So if you don’t have something to say, you can fuck off!”

                Those words get promptly thrown right back in my face. Cloud reaches out, his cool, calloused hand brushing some of the water from my face.

                “I’m sorry.”

                For a moment, it’s him and it shatters everything. My willpower breaks and I bury my face in his chest, hands desperately grasping at his shirt. All control goes out the window as I sob. At least I might retain some dignity; Cloud moves us from the hallway and into my room. I’m sure he’s uncomfortable, but he still sits on the bed with me, letting me fall to pieces. His presence, his embrace, his heartbeat, all of it makes this whole thing so much worse, but I’m far weaker than the persona I’d built to hide it all. I can’t bring myself to let him go or push him away. I’ve held onto this despair for so long it’s overwhelming; so I’ll take advantage of his presence at least for now.

[d3-iseefire]

Yet When The Other Doth Far Roam, Chapter One

Summary:

Jane Rebecca Barnes has spent a lifetime protecting Steve Rogers.

She protected him from bullies he seemed to attract like a dog attracted fleas.

She protected him from the winters that did its best to kill him every damn year.

She protected him from her own treacherous heart that refused to see him as a brother no matter how many times her brain gave the order.

She protected him, no matter what it took, no matter what it cost. Even if it meant joining the military. Even it if meant leaving him behind. She did it all without hesitation, without question because it was Steve, and she’d do anything for him.

Because she loved him, and she’d be with him til the end of the line.

No matter what.

Note: This story is a sequel to my FemSteve story, “Gold to Airy Thinness Beat,” and follows the events of “First Avenger” from FemBucky’s POV (meaning we won’t be seeing a lot of the Steve to Cap transformation but will instead be seeing what Bucky went through after she left). The reason it’s a sequel is that the third story in this series is a multiverse story where Stephanie/Bucky will meet Jane (Rebecca)/Steve and also a few others. Then there will be a fourth story following another person we meet in that third story, and maybe a few oneshots. :D

Because I know someone will ask, she has the name Rebecca (and goes by it) because of the third story where there are going to be several Bucky’s running around and I need a way to start telling them all apart. :D

To the several readers who have patiently waited four years (and politely asked along the way): I’m sorry it took so long and I hope it ends up being worth the wait. :)

Rating: T Warnings: None Other Important Tags: Eventual Happy Ever After (I don’t write sad endings. There’s enough of them in real life, without me adding in fictional ones. Also, I literally said in the note that she and Steve would be meeting Stephanie and Bucky in the third story so there ya go!). :) :)

Jane Rebecca Buchanan Barnes, so named to appease both grandmothers and her father's bizarre obsession with the 15th President, stood at the back of the theater and scanned the crowd for the third time. The flickering light from the screen gave her just enough to make out the backs of people's heads and, with a sinking feeling of half-despair and half-resignation, she searched in vain for a particular blond head she already knew she wasn't going to find. 

Dread fell over her, quickly solidifying into what she referred to as the “Steve Rogers Effect.” She’d taken her eyes off him for five seconds and he'd promptly gone and done something stupid. Again.

She spun on her heel and pushed out of the theater and into the cold, and somewhat stagnant air, of Brooklyn. She headed toward the alley that ran alongside the building with the air of a bloodhound locked on a scent and let out a sigh of heartfelt despair as she picked up the telltale sound of a fight.

Insofar as a massive idiot beating up on a guy half his size could be called a fight.

She rounded the corner just in time to see the guy's fist smash into Steve's face with enough force to spin him completely around and send him crashing to the ground like a broken rag doll.

Rebecca’s gut clenched and she sucked in a harsh gasp at how hard her best friend hit the ground, and how still he stayed after. Fear washed over her, along with a near blinding rage that had her almost literally seeing red.

She grabbed the brute’s shoulder and spun him around to face her. He raised his fist, but she was prepared for it. No one willing to beat up on a guy half his size was going to give a rat’s ass about hitting a woman.

She ducked under his haphazard swing and came up inside his guard, if it could even be called that. Before he could process, she snapped the heel of her hand into his jaw, stepped back and put all her weight into a kick straight into what her mother liked to call the family jewels.

Just moments earlier she’d been bemoaning the fact that her new military uniform required her to wear heels. She now thought perhaps they weren’t so bad after all as she watched all the color drain from the brute’s face as he slowly sagged to his knees.

She kept part of her attention on Steve as she waited for the jerk to recover and felt a rush of relief at the sight of him slowly struggling to his feet.

Guess she wasn’t going to get arrested for homicide today after all.

"Get out of here," she ordered the brute as he slowly got to his own feet. She recognized the glazed, drunken look in his eyes, the same her old man used to have right before he decided knocking her mother around was a good idea.

Rebecca stood as straight as possible, once again thanking the heels for the extra couple inches they gave her, and tried to emulate the expression her mother had worn the day she’d finally thrown her husband out the door and told him to never come back.

The guy muttered something under his breath but staggered away, his awkward walk probably brought on by more than just the alcohol she could smell on his breath.

Rebecca didn’t let her relief show on her face. Fights were a simple fact of life when it came to being around Steve Rogers. He had a singular knack for finding trouble, and she’d suffered more than a few cuts and bruises from a lifetime of pulling him out of whatever scrape he’d thrown himself into headfirst.

Even so, she doubted her new superiors would have been impressed had she shown up to ship out sporting a shiny black eye.

She shifted her attention to Steve, confident the bully wasn’t going to change his mind and return. He was fully on his feet and the knots in her stomach loosened at the steadiness in his stance and the clear look in his eyes. He had blood on the side of his lip, and his clothing was mussed, but he didn’t appear to have suffered any lasting injuries.

Mentally, she kicked herself for having been late to the show. If she hadn’t gotten caught up in visiting a few old haunts she’d have made it before Steve got into a fight and he wouldn’t have gotten hurt at all.  

"Should you have been doing that in a skirt?" Steve asked with a slight grin, wiping the blood off the corner of his lip and pantomiming the kick she'd just done.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and managed to hide her irritation. Just once, just once, she’d like to see him put a fraction of the effort into staying safe that she did in keeping him safe. Instead it was always this, quips and jokes like he hadn’t just gotten his bell rung halfway to Newark.

“Shut up, Rogers,” she said, biting back what she’d really like to say. “I swear, sometimes I think you like getting punched."

It was all she could say. Anything else and he’d take it as her pitying him. Steve hated pity. He took it as a challenge to go do something stupid simply to prove he could, and that was the last thing she needed or wanted on her last day in Brooklyn.

"I had him on the ropes," Steve said confidently, blinking rapidly and bending over as a wave of dizziness assailed him.

Rebecca tensed and a muscle in her jaw tightened. Steve Rogers, the walking paradox. Hero complex the size of Brooklyn trapped in a body so frail she was sometimes terrified he'd shatter just from the effort of getting up in the morning. Always ready and willing to help anyone who needed it but hated receiving any help in return.

Except from her. Barely.

He hunched over farther, wheezing as his lungs struggled to draw in air. As she waited for him to recover, and resisted the urge to try and help, Rebecca caught sight of papers scattered on the ground. She crouched to pick one up, and frowned as she recognized the form. An enlistment sheet, with the word “rejected” stamped across the front. She’d like to say this was the first time she’d caught Steve with one, but it wasn’t even the fourth or fifth. 

Damn it all, why couldn’t Steve accept that he wouldn’t last five seconds in the military? Hell, forget that, why couldn’t he accept that he had the body of an asthmatic 80-year-old? She got that he didn’t want to be treated like an invalid. She even understood the sheer size of the chip he carried on his shoulder. She got it, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t see what was right in front of her eyes.

Steve might have more heart and bravery than half the blokes in Brooklyn but it didn’t mean a thing when it came to the body he was trapped in. All the wishing and willpower in the world wasn’t going to get him past his physical limitations. All it would do was get him an early grave, and that was the one thing she was determined to prevent, no matter what it took.

“How many times is this?" She waved the form at him, and then frowned down at it. “Oh, you’re from Paramus now?” she asked sarcastically. “I hear the weather is lovely there this time of year.”

“Pretty sure it’s not,” Steve muttered. He straightened slowly, eyes running and face red from the coughing fit. He reached for the form, but Rebecca held it out of his reach. 

“You know, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to lie on these things.”

“Only if you get caught.” He reached for it again and, this time, Rebecca allowed him to snatch it from her hand. He folded it and stuffed it into an interior pocket of his threadbare jacket. He started to say something else, but paused as he seemed to notice the uniform she was wearing for the first time. In addition to the pumps she’d also been forced to put on the skirt Steve had complained about earlier, uncomfortable nylons, jacket, dress shirt, and tie. There was also a hat which she’d put on at an angle to try and look like slightly less of a stuffed shirt.  

She already missed her trousers. She’d been given a pair when she started working at the factory since they were safer around the machines than skirts or dresses. The first time she’d put them on she’d sworn she would never go back to dresses, public scorn be damned.

Should have known she’d wind up back in a skirt again, and that it’d somehow end up being Steve’s fault.

"You're still going through with it?” Steve asked. His face fell, and Rebecca resisted the urge to ask why it was fine for him to join, but not her. That line of questioning would just cause an argument and she didn’t want her last day with him to be spent fighting.

“You knew I was,” she said instead. “It was just a matter of when they gave me my orders.”

Steve scowled. “Is it because of me? Cause I kept talking about it?”

Rebecca threw an arm across his shoulders and physically dragged him around to face the front of the alleyway. “Not everything is about you, punk,” she lied.

Truth was it was about him, but not for the reasons he thought.

Steve tended to get sick in the winters. It was like clockwork. The weather got cold, and Steve got sick. This time around, however, Steve had gotten sick. Really sick. Sick enough that a bunch of his friends, Rebecca included, had pooled their money together so he could go see a doctor.

That doctor had written a prescription and stressed how vitally important it was that Steve get it and begin taking it immediately. Rebecca had offered to go get it, leaving some of their other friends to make sure Steve got home and put to bed safely.

In her mind it had all been so simple. Go get the medication, give it to Steve, watch him get better and continue on with their lives. Simple, right up until she’d been standing in front of the pharmacist and listened to him quote an obscene price. A price neither of them could hope to pay, not if they worked for a year, not if they hit up all their friends for every last penny they had.

He’d barely been able to breathe. That had been her last sight of him before leaving to get the medication. Propped up between Jenny Smith and Joe Harris, barely skin and bones, his face a ghastly shade of white, lungs heaving and soaked in sweat as a fever raged under his skin.

He was going to die. Without the medication, possibly even with it. She was going to lose her best friend, the person who was so much a part of her that she sometimes felt they shared the same soul.

She’d panicked. Full blown, out of control, panic. She’d threatened the pharmacist, started screaming at him, practically accused him of murder for not handing over the medication. As images of Steve dying, dead, ran through her mind her panic had risen and she’d beat her hands on the counter, rising onto her toes as if she were planning to leap over the counter and take the drug by force.

Perhaps that was exactly what she’d meant to do, would have done if not for the timely arrival of a middle-aged blonde woman wearing a military uniform. She’d listened quietly to Rebecca screaming for a few seconds, and then stepped forward and handed over the money.

Rebecca had been stunned into silence and, in those few moments, the woman had simply turned and left. It was the slamming of the door that had spurred her into motion, following and stopping the woman to thank her profusely.

It was then that the woman, who’d introduced herself as Linda Jones, had revealed she’d gone into the pharmacy specifically to find Rebecca. Linda had seen her earlier that day, she’d explained, in a fight with a boy. He’d made an advance on her, and then tried to get aggressive when she’d turned him down. 

Linda had planned to step in, only to quickly realize there was no need. She hadn’t had the time to speak to Rebecca after the fight but, later, had seen her again as she’d gone into the drugstore.

She’d proceeded to offer Rebecca a job interview then, refusing to explain anything about it other than it’d be for the military. Rebecca had accepted, feeling she owed Linda that much at least for the medication.

She’d made it back to Steve’s in record time after that, and spent a restless night watching him fight to breathe. The next day one of their friends had come to relieve her and she’d gone to the address Linda had given her.

It had been an old warehouse, not comforting, but she’d gone inside anyway, half convinced she was about to be mugged. Instead she’d found Jones, dressed in trousers and a close-fitting shirt. The other woman had challenged her to a sparring match, where she’d proceeded to soundly beat her, several times. 

Even so, the woman had apparently been impressed enough to offer Rebecca a job with something called the Strategic Scientific Reserve, or SSR, a unit dedicated to eradicating an arm of the Third Reich that went by the name of Hydra.

Rebecca had never heard of it and Jones refused to elaborate beyond saying that the position would be dangerous but, if Rebecca accepted, she'd be involved in making one hell of a difference.

Rebecca had refused. Steve needed her. What if he got sick again or got himself in over his head, which he managed to do at least once a day? None of their friends knew him the way she did, and he refused to listen to anyone else but her.

She'd started to leave, only to stop in her tracks as Jones had mentioned what the pay for the offered position was. It was high, higher than anything she’d ever dreamed of, let alone thought she could ever earn. It would be more than enough to get Steve a better apartment, warmer clothes, maybe even some of those treatments she kept hearing being touted for asthma.

She knew nothing could cure him entirely but if she could do something to help at least. Maybe stop him from getting sick every single winter, help him struggle less when he tried to breathe…

It could make all the difference in the world. Every time he got sick, every time his body took another battering from his fight to simply live, it was worse. The coughing just a little harsher, the fever higher, and the recovery slower. She wasn’t stupid. She knew his body couldn’t keep it up forever. She knew what that would mean, eventually.

But if she could help... Make it easier, as easy as it possibly could be under the circumstances?

So it wasn’t so much of a struggle for Steve to simply live…

She’d asked if she could stay until Steve was better. Linda had accepted, and then Rebecca was filling out paperwork and, before she knew it, she’d enlisted in the Army.

She hadn't told Steve until after he'd recovered. He’d wanted to know why, and she’d made up some excuse that didn’t even make sense to her, let alone him but she’d refused to explain any further and he’d finally stopped asking.

Life had seemed to return to normal after that and she'd almost managed to forget about it all, until her orders had arrived along with the stupid uniform she was currently wearing.

She'd spent most of that day going to all their friends, and all their neighbors, extracting promises from them that they would look after Steve for her while she was gone.

It scared her to think of him without her there to back him up, or notice when he started to get sick, but she tried to keep her mind on the bigger picture. Getting enough money for that apartment, and the new clothes and a Steve who didn’t have to fight so hard and would live longer, and happier, because of it.

Whatever she had to do to help him, she would. Even if it meant leaving him behind for a time. Even if the thought of being separated from him made her heart feel like it was ripping in two.

Steve was still staring at her, eyes narrowed in concern, and she cleared her throat and forced a smile for him.  

“107th," she said with a trace of real pride because who would ever have thought some little unwanted, nobody girl from Brooklyn would ever make an officer in the Army? She hadn’t even known women could make officers. "Sergeant Jane Rebecca Buchanan Barnes.” Saying her full name was always such a pain and she wished they could have just put her nickname, Bucky, on the tag instead. Steven had given her that nickname, back when he was a child and had heard her mother call her Becky. He’d thought she’d said “Bucky,” and Rebecca had never bothered to correct him. By the time he figured it out on his own, the nickname was stuck.

Steve frowned. "That was the regiment my father was in."

Rebecca knew that. She also knew the 107th was the regiment Steve had his heart set on joining. He’d been trying to enlist for so long. It was probably the reason he’d gotten sick, not that he’d ever admit it. Standing in all those lines in the cold couldn’t be good for anyone, least of all him. “I’m shipping out tomorrow. I’m going to help with communications."

It wasn't exactly a lie. Jones had been so vague on what she'd be doing that, for all Rebecca knew, it could well be the truth. To be honest, there was a part of her, albeit a small part, that was excited to go. She wasn't excited to leave Steve behind, there was no part of her that would ever be excited about that, but she was going on an adventure. Off to see what lay outside Brooklyn.

They’d reached the street and Rebecca tugged him around the corner to head off down the block. It was too late to go see the movie, which was fine with her. She hadn’t been much in the mood anyway.

As they walked, she did her best to not think about how it felt to have Steve so close to her, his body heat warm against her side even through the fabric of her uniform jacket.

He saw her as a little sister, she knew that. Her life would have been far simpler had she been able to continue seeing him as a little brother. She’d tried, over the years, to stuff her feelings away, to convince herself that he was like a brother to her, and nothing else, but her heart stubbornly refused to listen.

She wasn’t foolish enough to ever risk letting him find out. She knew he’d let her down gently. He would, but then the words would always be there, hanging between them. He'd start watching everything he did and said, convinced he'd somehow give her the wrong idea, or because he was trying to be sensitive to her feelings. Their relationship would turn awkward and strained and it would all be because she couldn't keep her stupid mouth shut.

He was trudging, she noted, dragging his feet and staring at the ground as if it held all the answers in the world. She bumped him with her hip, and then pulled a folded newspaper out from inside her jacket and slapped it against his chest.

"Come on," she said, practically manhandling him in the direction of the apartment building where they both lived. “It’s my last night. We’ve got to get you cleaned up."

"Why?" Steve asked, unfolding the paper in confusion. "Where are we going?"

She grinned and slapped the headline on the front page of the paper, showcasing the science fair happening later that evening. "The future."

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24923605/chapters/60316162

[kylo-v]

All V Poems

William Blake, A Dream

Once a dream did weave a shade

O'er my angel-guarded bed,

That an emmet lost its way

Where on grass methought I lay.

Troubled, wildered, and forlorn,

Dark, benighted, travel-worn,

Over many a tangle spray,

All heart-broke, I heard her say:

'Oh my children! do they cry,

Do they hear their father sigh?

Now they look abroad to see,

Now return and weep for me.'

Pitying, I dropped a tear:

But I saw a glow-worm near,

Who replied, 'What wailing wight

Calls the watchman of the night?

'I am set to light the ground,

While the beetle goes his round:

Follow now the beetle's hum;

Little wanderer, hie thee home!'

William Blake, Proverbs of Hell 

In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy. 

Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead. 

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. 

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity. 

He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence. The cut worm forgives the plow. 

Dip him in the river who loves water. A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees. 

He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star. 

Eternity is in love with the productions of time. 

The busy bee has no time for sorrow. 

The hours of folly are measur’d by the clock, but of wisdom: no clock can measure. 

All wholsom food is caught without a net or a trap. 

Bring out number weight & measure in a year of dearth. 

No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings. 

A dead body, revenges not injuries. 

The most sublime act is to set another before you. 

If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise. 

Folly is the cloke of knavery. Shame is Prides cloke. 

Prisons are built with stones of Law, Brothels with bricks of Religion. 

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God. The lust of the goat is the bounty of God. 

The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God. 

The nakedness of woman is the work of God. 

Excess of sorrow laughs. 

Excess of joy weeps. 

The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves, the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword, are portions of eternity too great for the eye of man. 

The fox condemns the trap, not himself. 

Joys impregnate. 

Sorrows bring forth. 

Let man wear the fell of the lion, woman the fleece of the sheep. 

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship. 

The selfish smiling fool, & the sullen frowning fool, shall be both thought wise, that they may be a rod. 

What is now proved was once, only imagin’d. 

The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit: watch the roots; the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant, watch the fruits. 

The cistern contains; the fountain overflows. 

One thought, fills immensity. 

Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you. 

Every thing possible to be believ’d is an image of truth. 

The eagle never lost so much time, as when he submitted to learn of the crow. 

The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion. 

Think in the morning. 

Act in the noon. 

Eat in the evening. 

Sleep in the night. 

He who has suffer’d you to impose on him knows you. 

As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers. 

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction. 

Expect poison from the standing water. 

You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough. 

Listen to the fools reproach! it is a kingly title! 

The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air, the mouth of water, the beard of earth. 

The weak in courage is strong in cunning. 

The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow, nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey. 

The thankful reciever bears a plentiful harvest. 

If others had not been foolish, we should be so. 

The soul of sweet delight, can never be defil’d. 

When thou seest an Eagle, thou seest a portion of Genius, lift up thy head! 

As the catterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on, so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys. 

To create a little flower is the labour of ages. 

Damn, braces: Bless relaxes. 

The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest. 

Prayers plow not! Praises reap not! 

Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not! 

The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty, the hands & feet Proportion. 

As the air to a bird of the sea to a fish, so is contempt to the contemptible. 

The crow wish’d every thing was black, the owl, that every thing was white. 

Exuberance is Beauty. 

If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning. 

Improvement makes strait roads, but the crooked roads without Improvement, are roads of Genius. 

Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires. 

Where man is not nature is barren. 

Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ’d. 

Enough! or Too much!

William Black, Earth’s Answer

Earth rais'd up her head,

From the darkness dread & drear.

Her light fled:

Stony dread!

And her locks cover'd with grey despair.

Prison'd on watry shore

Starry Jealousy does keep my den

Cold and hoar

Weeping o'er

I hear the Father of the ancient men

Selfish father of men

Cruel, jealous, selfish fear

Can delight

Chain'd in night

The virgins of youth and morning bear.

Does spring hide its joy

When buds and blossoms grow?

Does the sower?

Sow by night?

Or the plowman in darkness plow?

Break this heavy chain,

That does freeze my bones around

Selfish! vain!

Eternal bane!

That free Love with bondage bound.

William Blake, Love and Harmony Combine

LOVE and harmony combine

And around our souls entwine,

While thy branches mix with mine

And our roots together join.

Joys upon our branches sit,

       Chirping loud and singing sweet;

Like gentle streams beneath our feet,

Innocence and virtue meet.

Thou the golden fruit dost bear,

I am clad in flowers fair;

       Thy sweet boughs perfume the air,

And the turtle buildeth there.

There she sits and feeds her young;

Sweet I hear her mournful song;

And thy lovely leaves among,

       There is Love: I hear his tongue.

There his charmed nest he doth lay,

There he sleeps the night away,

There he sports along the day,

And doth among our branches play.

William Blake, Songs of Innocence, “Infant Joy”

I have no name

I am but two days old.—

What shall I call thee?

I happy am

Joy is my name,—

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old,

Sweet joy I call thee;

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while

Sweet joy befall thee.

William Blake, Poetical Sketches

Oft when the summer sleeps among the trees,

Whispering faint murmurs to the scanty breeze,

I walk the village round; if at her side

A youth doth walk in stolen joy and pride,

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe,

That made my love so high and me so low.

O should she e'er prove false, his limbs I'd tear

And throw all pity on the burning air;

I'd curse bright fortune for my mixed lot,

And then I'd die in peace, and be forgot.

TO THE MUSES.

WHETHER on Ida's shady brow

Or in the chambers of the East,

The chambers of the Sun, that now

From ancient melody have ceased;

Whether in heaven ye wander fair

Or the green corners of the earth,

Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,

Beneath the bosom of the sea

Wandering in many a coral grove,

Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry!

William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

A Robin Red breast in a Cage

Puts all Heaven in a Rage

A Dove house filld with Doves & Pigeons

Shudders Hell thr' all its regions

A dog starvd at his Masters Gate

Predicts the ruin of the State

A Horse misusd upon the Road

Calls to Heaven for Human blood

Each outcry of the hunted Hare

A fibre from the Brain does tear

A Skylark wounded in the wing

A Cherubim does cease to sing

The Game Cock clipd & armd for fight

Does the Rising Sun affright

Every Wolfs & Lions howl

Raises from Hell a Human Soul

The wild deer, wandring here & there

Keeps the Human Soul from Care

The Lamb misusd breeds Public Strife

And yet forgives the Butchers knife

The Bat that flits at close of Eve

Has left the Brain that wont Believe

The Owl that calls upon the Night

Speaks the Unbelievers fright

He who shall hurt the little Wren

Shall never be belovd by Men

He who the Ox to wrath has movd

Shall never be by Woman lovd

The wanton Boy that kills the Fly

Shall feel the Spiders enmity

He who torments the Chafers Sprite

Weaves a Bower in endless Night

The Catterpiller on the Leaf

Repeats to thee thy Mothers grief

Kill not the Moth nor Butterfly

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh

He who shall train the Horse to War

Shall never pass the Polar Bar

The Beggars Dog & Widows Cat

Feed them & thou wilt grow fat

The Gnat that sings his Summers Song

Poison gets from Slanders tongue

The poison of the Snake & Newt

Is the sweat of Envys Foot

The poison of the Honey Bee

Is the Artists Jealousy

The Princes Robes & Beggars Rags

Are Toadstools on the Misers Bags

A Truth thats told with bad intent

Beats all the Lies you can invent

It is right it should be so

Man was made for Joy & Woe

And when this we rightly know

Thro the World we safely go

Joy & Woe are woven fine

A Clothing for the soul divine

Under every grief & pine

Runs a joy with silken twine

The Babe is more than swadling Bands

Throughout all these Human Lands

Tools were made & Born were hands

Every Farmer Understands

Every Tear from Every Eye

Becomes a Babe in Eternity

This is caught by Females bright

And returnd to its own delight

The Bleat the Bark Bellow & Roar

Are Waves that Beat on Heavens Shore

The Babe that weeps the Rod beneath

Writes Revenge in realms of Death

The Beggars Rags fluttering in Air

Does to Rags the Heavens tear

The Soldier armd with Sword & Gun

Palsied strikes the Summers Sun

The poor Mans Farthing is worth more

Than all the Gold on Africs Shore

One Mite wrung from the Labrers hands

Shall buy & sell the Misers Lands

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole Nation sell & buy

He who mocks the Infants Faith

Shall be mockd in Age & Death

He who shall teach the Child to Doubt

The rotting Grave shall neer get out

He who respects the Infants faith

Triumphs over Hell & Death

The Childs Toys & the Old Mans Reasons

Are the Fruits of the Two seasons

The Questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to Reply

He who replies to words of Doubt

Doth put the Light of Knowledge out

The Strongest Poison ever known

Came from Caesars Laurel Crown

Nought can Deform the Human Race

Like to the Armours iron brace

When Gold & Gems adorn the Plow

To peaceful Arts shall Envy Bow

A Riddle or the Crickets Cry

Is to Doubt a fit Reply

The Emmets Inch & Eagles Mile

Make Lame Philosophy to smile

He who Doubts from what he sees

Will neer Believe do what you Please

If the Sun & Moon should Doubt

Theyd immediately Go out

To be in a Passion you Good may Do

But no Good if a Passion is in you

The Whore & Gambler by the State

Licencd build that Nations Fate

The Harlots cry from Street to Street

Shall weave Old Englands winding Sheet

The Winners Shout the Losers Curse

Dance before dead Englands Hearse

Every Night & every Morn

Some to Misery are Born

Every Morn and every Night

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to sweet delight

Some are Born to Endless Night

We are led to Believe a Lie

When we see not Thro the Eye

Which was Born in a Night to perish in a Night

When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light

God Appears & God is Light

To those poor Souls who dwell in Night

But does a Human Form Display

To those who Dwell in Realms of day

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine that Dick and Jason liiiiiive to synchronize their Let’s Be Shits schedules just in time for any posh gala the Wayne children are expected to attend.

Some Douchebag is like “So, Richard. What is it you do, these days?”

And Dick just plasters on the most vacuous smile in existence, like the kind that could only be engineered in a lab by combining Brucie with a Colgate commercial for sparkling teeth, special effects included.

And he’s like, “Oh, I’m an instagram model and social influencer.”

And then Jason appears out of nowhere, swaying on his feet and throwing an arm around Dick’s shoulder as if to support himself, hiccuping a little and splashing some of his wine over the edge of his glass (its apple juice, of course).

“So am I,” he says, punctuating with another hiccup. “But only like. Ironically.”

Dick leans in towards the Douchebag as if to confide a secret, as the latter tries to lean away whilst still figuring out what expression his face wants to produce. 

“He keeps saying that like it means something, but I’m not sure it does. I think he saw it on a youtube video and just started copying it. That’s not copyright infringement right? Bruce’ll probably be pissed if he has to pay out another lawsuit for copyright stuff after I just got in trouble for trying to sell tickets to my band’s show without getting permission to use all the songs we did. Like, how was I supposed to know you needed permission to sing songs? Isn’t this, like. America?”

The Douchebag starts stammering and attempting to edge gracefully away - hell, he’ll settle for not gracefully, he really was never even looking for an answer in the first place, just a soundbite he could reenact for his snobby friends later. This was more than he was actually prepared for.

Jason meanwhile surges forward and grabs a hold of Douchebag’s suited arm, acting like he still needs the support.

“Hey. It does so mean something, and I came up with it on my own, I didn’t steal shit. If I was going to steal stuff, I’d go for the silver, not words, how dumb do you think I am? He’s always doing this,” he complains to the Douchebag. 

“Just because I didn’t start school until the sixth grade and had to bribe our little brother to take all my tests for me, he acts like I don’t even know what words mean. But he’s the one who only passed his senior year of high school by getting Playgirl to do a photoshoot of him when he turned eighteen just before finals, and then most of his teachers just made sure he passed so they wouldn’t feel pervy because they’d gone gaga over his photos and then he got held back a year and they had to see him every day and feel sketchy.” 

Dick spreads his arms wide as if an extremely self-explanatory point has just been made.

“Hello? Is that, or is that not, a display of genius?”

“Really, I do have to be going, I think I see my old business partner waving at me from over there - “ the Douchebag says somewhat desperately. 

“Dammit Jay, look what you did.” Dick wails dramatically. He even stomps a foot for good measure. Jason’s struggling not to laugh. “You’re embarrassing us in front of one of Bruce’s guests. Now he thinks we’re low class and its going to be all over the news and this is gonna be the last straw and Bruce’ll get fed up and say we can never go to these things again and its going to be all your fault and none of this would ever happen if you weren’t always like. Ugh. What’s the word.”

The Douchebag is hastily assuring them he doesn’t think they’re embarrassing or low class and he’s not going to tell anyone otherwise, while still trying to pry his jacket sleeve loose from Jason’s iron grip. Jason meanwhile appears oblivious to anything the Douchebag says or does, as he fixates on his brother and starts waving his own arms around dramatically....which sends Douchebag stumbling in the process, all without either brother seeming to notice.

“Well I’m sure I can’t help you, since I don’t know words so good,” Jason hisses equally dramatically. “I’m just a fucking dumbass from the Narrows, isn’t that right. I’m not some fancy circus boy like you were, all I had to practice reading on as a kid was my rap sheet.”

He moves to fling his arms over his head in exasperation, and tears the Douchebag’s suit sleeve with a resounding ripping noise in the process. Douchebag stares at the remains of the jacket that cost several thousand dollars that he doesn’t have, because he’s a pompous jackass who lives beyond his means in an attempt to fund his social ladder climbing expeditions.

“Now look what you did,” Dick cries, flinging his head back as if in total despair, the black locks of his hair flying from side to side in theatrical disarray. “Do you even know how much that poor man’s suit must have cost him? Probably more than my parents’ trailer, I’ll bet you that much.”

“Really, its quite alright,” the Douchebag tries to insist through clenched teeth. It wasn’t, in his eyes, not by a long shot, but he forced himself to remember that for whatever reasons, these two...peasants were still Bruce Wayne’s chosen wards....or well, worse yet...adopted sons. God, but that man’s abyssmal IQ was an absolute plague on Gotham’s high society. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“No, please, don’t try and cover for him, he’ll never learn that way. You must let us pay for the damage, Bruce will just take it out of his allowance, it’ll be fine,” Dick says, patting at the man’s arm feverishly as if he can smooth out the gaping hole left by the flap now hanging limply down the man’s sleeve.

“Oh, I’ll never learn? How about you, destroying Bruce’s grandmother’s antique china at the birthday party you tried to throw for Damian after Bruce specifically asked you not to try and play host anymore?” Jason gets in his brother’s face, liquid sloshing over the side of his erratically swinging glass and in the process splashing all over the back of the Douchebag’s neck.

“I was trying to actually do something nice for someone else, not that you’d know anything about that,” Dick hisses obnoxiously loudly. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t supposed to use steak knives to cut up food on china? Its not like plates come with instruction manuals!”

“Not like you’d know how to read them if they did!”

“Have you never heard of Youtube tutorials?”

“Have you never heard of shut the fuck up, you absolute dillhole?”

“Would both of you stop it? You’re causing a scene!” The two’s younger brother Timothy arrived on the scene, smoothly sliding between them and the ecstatically grateful Douchebag, who backpeddles out of the way at the first available opportunity. Tim throws him an apologetic glance, but the Douchebag barely notes it as he furiously makes for the side entrance as fast as he can, with the less people seeing his disheveled state the better. 

So much for the networking he had planned on doing the rest of the night. He firmly vowed to steer far clear of the eldest two Wayne buffoons at all future events Brucie insisted on inflicting the oafs on the rest of them.

All of which of course means he completely missed the way the brothers’ dramatics hushed into heated whispers upon Tim’s arrival, or the high five Dick and Jason slipped each other discreetly.

“Let’s see Brucie top that,” Jason says smugly.

“Oh god. You’ve finally done it. You’ve turned a charity event into a war games scenario.”

“Oh please. All of that money goes straight into the board of directors’ pockets,” Dick says dismissively. “The only actual money being raised for charity tonight is from the jewelry Selina’s liberating from the guests. And Damian and Cass already called dibs on helping her with that, and Duke’s already doing the scorekeeping for when that inevitably turns into a competition, so we were bored. And left alone to our own devices. So really if anyone’s to blame its everyone but us.”

“Sides, this is a time honored tradition for us,” Jason adds with a smirk. “We call it guerilla class warfare. We’re sleeper agents for the working class, see.”

“You’re the reason the Valentinos never show up to any Wayne Enterprise hosted events anymore, aren’t you?” Tim realizes.

“Some of our best work,” Dick reminisces fondly. Their little brother sighs.

“Please at least tell me you never actually posed for Playgirl.”

Dick shrugs. “Oh, they offered, but even when Bruce and I were at our worst, its not like I ever actually wanted to give him a stroke.”

“Continuity error,” Jason points out smugly. “Total amateur move.”

Dick merely arches a brow. “Not when I can simply claim Bruce must have paid to cover it up for the sake of the family image, and was absolutely furious at my besmirching of the good Wayne family name. And wait a second, weren’t you the one who introduced that into the scene in the first place? I just yes and-ed according to the rules of improv, like the professional that I am.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound right,” Jason says, completely unperturbed. Not an ounce of perturbed in sight. He continues on smoothly. “And if Sir Douchely of Douchington actually digs a little deeper and yet can’t seem to find anyone who recalls ever actually seeing this oh so salacious spread?” 

Dick’s shit remains unphased.

“I’ll simply flip the script and release the hounds aka Steph, Harper, Cullen and all three dozen of their twitter handles, wondering all over the Gotham social media highways just why someone of his standing is so intent on tracking down the homoerotic depravities of the eldest Wayne heir, given that despite his unjust leapfrogging up the social ladder, he is still ultimately a....commoner.”

“Ah yes,” Jason nods sagely. “And as all Gothamites know well, if you prick us, we doth not bleed blue. Just a terribly pedestrian red.”

“Oh the humanity,” Dick sighs. He joins his younger brother in nodding the slow, steady head-bob of the intellectually validated, their seeming rivalry melting into sibling synchronicity.

Tim eyes them and shakes his head side to side instead.

“You two disturb me.”

Jason shrugs. “Well, that does make sense. Don’t get me wrong, you’re our little brother and we’re terribly fond of you now, Timmers. But when the revolution comes, we will have to turn on you as well.”

“Fair is fair,” Dick hums in agreement. “We can’t play favorites. That’s how you get an upper class in the first place.”

“Yeah I don’t know what to do with this,” Tim sighs and heads off in search of Steph.

“Just FYI, your girlfriend’s Team Proletariat too. She’s got the T-shirt and everything,” Jason calls after him.

Tim swerves in mid-step and redirects himself towards Kate. At least their cousin slash-aunt-slash-nobody’s-bothered-to-parse-the-actual-relation-there could be counted on to be somewhat normal. Her idea of making a scene was to simply start a brawl, and Tim had overheard Bruce specifically elicit a promise from her earlier in the evening that she would throw no punches or kicks or headbutts or judo throws, nor any manner of actual or improvised weaponry.

[ridiasfangirlings]

The Red and Blue alphabet boys truly willingly work together for the first time as they attempt to make Sarumi happen via arranging for all the romantic move cliches to happen. Little do they know that Saru and Misaki had already started dating and are oblivious to their attempts. Munakata witnesses all this with amusement and then begins his own plotting to get the rest of his ships together.

This is what happens when you don’t bother to tell the rest of your teammates that you and your best friend/rival have finally started dating. Like say post-ROK Fushimi and Yata hook up but they’re both kinda nervous about telling their respective clans, Fushimi because he doesn’t want to be bothered and Yata because he thinks he’ll be teased about it. Unfortunately due to this the two of them have totally gone into ‘doth protest too much’ mode whenever their fellow clansmen suggest that they maybe they should spend more time with the other, like Fushimi is immediately all 'why would I want to spend time with idiot Misaki’ and Yata’s like 'I don’t want to spend any more time with that asshole Saruhiko than I have to.’ Naturally this causes misunderstandings to occur, and everyone starts to think that somehow the two of them have ended up on worse terms with each other than they were before.

As it happens the alphabet squads have also been spending more time together and one day they’re like all out drinking together when someone brings up how Fushimi’s always complaining about Yata and they thought those two had made up already, one of the Homra guys is like yeah Yata’s always complaining about Fushimi too. A few too many drinks later and the squads have decided on the awesome idea that they will work together to make Yata and Fushimi finally hook up as everyone knows those two secretly want to do (which of course they do, because they’ve already hooked up). The next morning everyone wakes up with hangovers and several napkins with various matchmaking plans scribbled all over them courtesy of Doumyouji’s crayons. Certain more level headed members like Dewa, Akiyama and Benzai are doubting these plans now that the alcohol’s worn off but Doumyouji and Chitose are already discussing how they intend to put their awesome plans in motion.

So the great matchmaking begins and it probably turns into a mess very quickly because imagine the alphabet squads keep inadvertently ruining Fushimi and Yata’s dates with trying to get them together. Like they do the 'send each one a secret letter saying it’s from the other to meet at a certain romantic spot’ thing, everyone’s hiding in the rose bushes waiting for sparks to fly and instead it seems like Yata and Fushimi are arguing with each other because they just came here for a date last week and didn’t like it so why the hell did they come here again. Next they try to set up some kind of trip wire so that when Yata stops by Scepter 4 to bring Fushimi lunch he’ll trip and fall conveniently into Fushimi’s arms, instead Yata twists an ankle and he and Fushimi have to cancel their date for the evening. The squad decides to try 'accidentally’ locking them together in a closet, Yata and Fushimi burn their way out of it and then start arguing over whose fault it is that they got trapped in a closet. The alphabet boys are probably starting to despair when they notice the arguing has died down, they peer back into the room where they left Fushimi and Yata and the two of them are passionately making out. The squad all share high fives and congratulate themselves on a job well done. (Unfortunately Munakata has been observing all this and taking notes, the next day Akiyama and Benzai find themselves trapped in a closet and start having sinking feelings.)

[lets-talk-story]

Lenore

Up rose Lenore as the red morn wore, ⁠From weary visions starting; "Art faithless, William, or, William, art dead? ⁠'Tis long since thy departing." For he, with Frederick's men of might, In fair Prague waged the uncertain fight; Nor once had he writ in the hurry of war. And sad was the true heart that sickened afar. 

The Empress and the King, ⁠With ceaseless quarrel tired, At length relaxed the stubborn hate ⁠Which rivalry inspired: And the martial throng, with laugh and song, Spoke of their homes as they rode along. And clank, clank, clank! came every rank. With the trumpet-sound that rose and sank. 

And here and there and everywhere, ⁠Along the swarming ways, Went old man and boy, with the music of joy, ⁠On the gallant bands to gaze; And the young child shouted to spy the vaward, And trembling and blushing the bride pressed forward: But ah! for the sweet lips of Lenore The kiss and the greeting are vanished and o'er. 

From man to man all wildly she ran ⁠With a swift and searching eye; But she felt alone in the mighty mass, ⁠As it crushed and crowded by: On hurried the troop,—a gladsome group,— And proudly the tall plumes wave and droop: She tore her hair and she turned her round, And madly she dashed her against the ground. 

Her mother clasped her tenderly ⁠With soothing words and mild: "My child, may God look down on thee,— ⁠God comfort thee, my child." "Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone! I reck no more how the world runs on: What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart! " 

"Help, Heaven, help and favour her! ⁠Child, utter an Ave Marie! Wise and great are the doings of God; ⁠He loves and pities thee." "Out, mother, out, on the empty lie! Doth he heed my despair,—doth he list to my cry? What boots it now to hope or to pray? The night is come,—there is no more day." 

"Help, Heaven, help! who knows the Father ⁠Knows surely that he loves his child: The bread and the wine from the hand divine ⁠Shall make thy tempered grief less wild." "Oh! mother, dear mother! the wine and the bread Will not soften the anguish that bows down my head; For bread and for wine it will yet be as late That his cold corpse creeps from the grim grave's gate." 

"What if the traitor's false faith failed, ⁠By sweet temptation tried,— What if in distant Hungary ⁠He clasp another bride?— Despise the fickle fool, my girl, Who hath ta'en the pebble and spurned the pearl: While soul and body shall hold together In his perjured heart shall be stormy weather." 

"Oh! mother, mother! gone is gone, ⁠And lost will still be lost! Death, death is the goal of my weary soul, ⁠Crushed and broken and crost. Spark of my life! down, down to the tomb: Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! What pity to me does God impart? Woe, woe, woe! for my heavy heart!" 

"Help, Heaven, help, and heed her not, ⁠For her sorrows are strong within; She knows not the words that her tongue repeats,— ⁠Oh! count them not for sin! Cease, cease, my child, thy wretchedness, And think on the promised happiness; So shall thy mind's calm ecstasy Be a hope and a home and a bridegroom to thee." 

"My mother, what is happiness? ⁠My mother, what is Hell? With William is my happiness,— ⁠Without him is my Hell! Spark of my life! down, down to the tomb: Die away in the night, die away in the gloom! Earth and Heaven, and Heaven and earth. Reft of William are nothing worth." 

Thus grief racked and tore the breast of Lenore, ⁠And was busy at her brain; Thus rose her cry to the Power on high, ⁠To question and arraign: Wringing her hands and beating her breast,— Tossing and rocking without any rest;— Till from her light veil the moon shone thro', And the stars leapt out on the darkling blue. 

But hark to the clatter and the pat pat patter! ⁠Of a horse's heavy hoof! How the steel clanks and rings as the rider springs! ⁠How the echo shouts aloof! While slightly and lightly the gentle bell Tingles and jingles softly and well; And low and clear through the door plank thin Comes the voice without to the ear within: 

"Holla! holla! unlock the gate; ⁠Art waking, my bride, or sleeping? Is thy heart still free and still faithful to me? ⁠Art laughing, my bride, or weeping?" "Oh! wearily, William, I've waited for you,— Woefully watching the long day thro',— With a great sorrow sorrowing For the cruelty of your tarrying." 

"Till the dead midnight we saddled not,— ⁠I have journeyed far and fast— And hither I come to carry thee back ⁠Ere the darkness shall be past." "Ah! rest thee within till the night's more calm; Smooth shall thy couch be, and soft, and warm: Hark to the winds, how they whistle and rush Thro' the twisted twine of the hawthorn-bush." 

"Thro' the hawthorn-bush let whistle and rush,— ⁠Let whistle, child, let whistle! Mark the flash fierce and high of my steed's bright eye, ⁠And his proud crest's eager bristle. Up, up and away! I must not stay: Mount swiftly behind me! up, up and away! An hundred miles must be ridden and sped Ere we may lie down in the bridal-bed." 

"What! ride an hundred miles to-night, ⁠By thy mad fancies driven! Dost hear the bell with its sullen swell. ⁠As it rumbles out eleven?" "Look forth! look forth! the moon shines bright: We and the dead gallop fast thro' the night. 'Tis for a wager I bear thee away To the nuptial couch ere break of day." 

"Ah! where is the chamber, William dear, ⁠And William, where is the bed?" "Far, far from here: still, narrow, and cool; ⁠Plank and bottom and lid." "Hast room for me?"—"For me and thee; Up, up to the saddle right speedily! The wedding-guests are gathered and met, And the door of the chamber is open set." 

She busked her well, and into the selle ⁠She sprang with nimble haste,— And gently smiling, with a sweet beguiling, ⁠Her white hands clasped his waist:— And hurry, hurry! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

Here to the right and there to the left ⁠Flew fields of corn and clover, And the bridges flashed by to the dazzled eye, ⁠As rattling they thundered over. "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride through the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Ah! no;— let them sleep in their dusty bed!" 

On the breeze cool and soft what tune floats aloft, ⁠While the crows wheel overhead?— Ding dong! ding dong! ’tis the sound, ’tis the song,— ⁠"Room, room for the passing dead!" Slowly the funeral-train drew near. Bearing the coffin, bearing the bier; And the chime of their chaunt was hissing and harsh, Like the note of the bull-frog within the marsh. 

"You bury your corpse at the dark midnight, ⁠With hymns and bells and wailing;— But I bring home my youthful wife ⁠To a bride-feast's rich regaling. Come, chorister, come with thy choral throng, And solemnly sing me a marriage-song; Come, friar, come,—let the blessing be spoken, That the bride and the bridegroom's sweet rest be unbroken." 

Died the dirge and vanished the bier:— ⁠Obedient to his call, Hard hard behind, with a rush like the wind, ⁠Came the long steps' pattering fall: And ever further! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

How flew to the right, how flew to the left, ⁠Trees, mountains in the race! How to the left, and the right and the left, ⁠Flew town and market-place! "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Ah! let them alone in their dusty bed!" 

See, see, see! by the gallows-tree, ⁠As they dance on the wheel's broad hoop, Up and down, in the gleam of the moon ⁠Half lost, an airy group:— "Ho! ho! mad mob, come hither amain, And join in the wake of my rushing train;— Come, dance me a dance, ye dancers thin. Ere the planks of the marriage-bed close us in." 

And hush, hush, hush! the dreamy rout ⁠Came close with a ghastly bustle, Like the whirlwind in the hazel-bush, ⁠When it makes the dry leaves rustle: And faster, faster! ring, ring, ring! To and fro they sway and swing; Snorting and snuffing they skim the ground, And the sparks spurt up, and the stones run round. 

How flew the moon high overhead, ⁠In the wild race madly driven! In and out, how the stars danced about. ⁠And reeled o'er the flashing heaven! "What ails my love? the moon shines bright: Bravely the dead men ride thro' the night. Is my love afraid of the quiet dead?" "Alas! let them sleep in their dusty bed." 

"Horse, horse! meseems 'tis the cock's shrill note, ⁠And the sand is well nigh spent; Horse, horse, away! 'tis the break of day,— ⁠'Tis the morning air's sweet scent. Finished, finished is our ride: Room, room for the bridegroom and the bride! At last, at last, we have reached the spot, For the speed of the dead man has slackened not!" 

And swiftly up to an iron gate ⁠With reins relaxed they went; At the rider's touch the bolts flew back, ⁠And the bars were broken and bent; The doors were burst with a deafening knell, And over the white graves they dashed pell mell; The tombs around looked grassy and grim, As they glimmered and glanced in the moonlight dim. 

But see! but see! in an eyelid's beat, ⁠Towhoo! a ghastly wonder! The horseman's jerkin, piece by piece, ⁠Dropped off like brittle tinder! Fleshless and hairless, a naked skull, The sight of his weird head was horrible; The lifelike mask was there no more, And a scythe and a sandglass the skeleton bore. 

Loud snorted the horse as he plunged and reared, ⁠And the sparks were scattered round:— What man shall say if he vanished away, ⁠Or sank in the gaping ground? Groans from the earth and shrieks in the air! Howling and wailing everywhere! Half dead, half living, the soul of Lenore Fought as it never had fought before. 

The churchyard troop,—a ghostly group,— ⁠Close round the dying girl; Out and in they hurry and spin ⁠Through the dance's weary whirl: "Patience, patience, when the heart is breaking; With thy God there is no question-making: Of thy body thou art quit and free: Heaven keep thy soul eternally!"

- Gottfried August Burger, 1774; Dante Gabriel Rosetti translation, 1900

[myhappywonderlandblog]

The Vampyre

By John Stagg, 1770 – 1823

“Why looks my lord so deadly pale?

Why fades the crimson from his cheek?

What can my dearest husband ail?

Thy heartfelt cares, O Herman, speak!

  “Why, at the silent hour of rest,

Dost thou in sleep so sadly mourn?

Has tho’ with heaviest grief oppress’d,

Griefs too distressful to be borne.

  “Why heaves thy breast? — why throbs thy heart?

O speak! and if there be relief

Thy Gertrude solace shall impart,

If not, at least shall share thy grief.

  “Wan is that cheek, which once the bloom

Of manly beauty sparkling shew’d;

Dim are those eyes, in pensive gloom,

That late with keenest lustre glow’d.

  “Say why, too, at the midnight hour,

You sadly pant and tug for breath,

As if some supernat’ral pow’r

Were pulling you away to death?

  “Restless, tho’ sleeping, still you groan,

And with convulsive horror start;

O Herman! to thy wife make known

That grief which preys upon thy heart.”

  “O Gertrude! how shall I relate

Th’ uncommon anguish that I feel;

Strange as severe is this my fate, —

A fate I cannot long conceal.

  “In spite of all my wonted strength,

Stern destiny has seal’d my doom;

The dreadful malady at length

Wil drag me to the silent tomb!”

  “But say, my Herman, what’s the cause

Of this distress, and all thy care.

That, vulture-like, thy vitals gnaws,

And galls thy bosom with despair?

  “Sure this can be no common grief,

Sure this can be no common pain?

Speak, if this world contain relief,

That soon thy Gertrude shall obtain.”

  “O Gertrude, ‘tis a horrid cause,

O Gertrude, ‘tis unusual care,

That, vulture-like, my vitals gnaws,

And galls my bosom with despair.

  “Young Sigismund, my once dear friend,

But lately he resign’d his breath;

With others I did him attend

Unto the silent house of death.

  “For him I wept, for him I mourn’d,

Paid all to friendship that was due;

But sadly friendship is return’d,

Thy Herman he must follow too!

  “Must follow to the gloomy grave,

In spite of human art or skill;

No pow’r on earth my life can save,

‘Tis fate’s unalterable will!

  “Young Sigismund, my once dear friend,

But now my persecutor foul,

Doth his malevolence extend

E’en to the torture of my soul.

  “By night, when, wrapt in soundest sleep,

All mortals share a soft repose,

My soul doth dreadful vigils keep,

More keen than which hell scarely knows.

  “From the drear mansion of the tomb,

From the low regions of the dead,

The ghost of Sigismund doth roam,

And dreadful haunts me in my bed!

  “There, vested in infernal guise,

(By means to me not understood,)

Close to my side the goblin lies,

And drinks away my vital blood!

  “Sucks from my veins the streaming life,

And drains the fountain of my heart!

O Gertrude, Gertrude! dearest wife!

Unutterable is my smart.

  “When surfeited, the goblin dire,

With banqueting by suckled gore,

Will to his sepulchre retire,

Till night invites him forth once more.

  “Then will he dreadfully return,

And from my veins life’s juices drain;

Whilst, slumb’ring, I with anguish mourn,

And toss with agonizing pain!

  “Already I’m exhausted, spent;

His carnival is nearly o’er,

My soul with agony is rent,

To-morrow I shall be no more!

  “But, O my Gertrude! dearest wife!

The keenest pangs hath last remain’d—

When dead, I too shall seek thy life,

Thy blood by Herman shall be drain’d!

  “But to avoid this horrid fate,

Soon as I’m dead and laid in earth,

Drive thro’ my corpse a jav’lin straight; —

This shall prevent my coming forth.

  “O watch with me, this last sad night,

Watch in your chamber here alone,

But carefully conceal the light

Until you hear my parting groan.

  “Then at what time the vesper-bell

Of yonder convent shall be toll’d,

That peal shall ring my passing knell,

And Herman’s body shall be cold!

  “Then, and just then, thy lamp make bare,

The starting ray, the bursting light,

Shall from my side the goblin scare,

And shew him visible to sight!”

  The live-long night poor Gertrude sate,

Watch’d by her sleeping, dying lord;

The live-long night she mourn’d his fate,

The object whom her soul ador’d.

  Then at what time the vesper-bell

Of yonder convent sadly toll’d,

The, then was peal’d his passing knell,

The hapless Herman he was cold!

  Just at that moment Gertrude drew

From ‘neath her cloak the hidden light;

When, dreadful! she beheld in view

The shade of Sigismund! — sad sight!

  Indignant roll’d his ireful eyes,

That gleam’d with wild horrific stare;

And fix’d a moment with surprise,

Beheld aghast th’ enlight’ning glare.

  His jaws cadaverous were besmear’d

With clott’d carnage o’er and o’er,

And all his horrid whole appear’d

Distent, and fill’d with human gore!

  With hideous scowl the spectre fled;

She shriek’d aloud; — then swoon’d away!

The hapless Herman in his bed,

All pale, a lifeless body lay!

  Next day in council ‘twas decree,

(Urg’d at the instance of the state,)

That shudd’ring nature should be freed

From pests like these ere ‘twas too late.

  The choir then burst the fun’ral dome

Where Sigismund was lately laid,

And found him, tho’ within the tomb,

Still warm as life, and undecay’d.

  With blood his visage was distain’d,

Ensanguin’d were his frightful eyes,

Each sign of former life remain’d,

Save that all motionless he lies.

  The corpse of Herman they contrive

To the same sepulchre to take,

And thro’ both carcases they drive,

Deep in the earth, a sharpen’d stake!

  By this was finish’d their career,

Thro’ this no longer they can roam;

From them their friends have nought to fear,

Both quiet keep the slumb’ring tomb.

  Happy Halloween Everyone!

I hope you liked this month’s blog post. The books in my urban fantasy series, Primordial Realms, are available at Amazon. Please let me know your thoughts by liking, commenting or subscribing.

    Buy on Amazon HERE!

Halloween Poem: The Vampyre By John Stagg The Vampyre By John Stagg, 1770 – 1823 “Why looks my lord so deadly pale? Why fades the crimson from his cheek?

[lepos13-blog]

Thoughts

The introduction by Nicholas Davey was phenomenal

Zarathustra acts like an ass, but not in the worst way

I wish I had this kind of optimism, but I’m kind of glad that I don’t

If Nietzsche decided who’s going to hell and who’s going to heaven I will be sitting pretty with Satan on a golden throne

But some of the things he says hit me right in the chest

 Favorite Quotes

Or is it this: to go into foul water when it is the water of truth, and not disclaim cold frogs and hot toads. (pg 21)

They did not think sufficiently into the depth; therefore their feeling did not reach the bottom. (pg 126)

...’Superman’, and that man is something that must be surpassed - That man is a bridge and not a goal... (pg 192)

Towards himself man is the cruelest animal... (pg 212)

Whoever extolleth him as a God of love, doth not think highly enough of love itself. (pg 252)

Did he himself find no cause for laughter on the earth? (pg 283)

In Case You Didn’t Know ;)

Thus Spake Zarathustra is a piece by Friedrich Nietzsche. Almost biblical in style (which is kind of ironic) it mixes poetry with prose. It is told as a story told in four parts, following Zarathustra. Each part begins and ends with his emergence and returns to solitude, and chronicles his journey and interactions with those he meets. These meetings then become points of despair, renewal, or joy for Zarathustra as he goes on to develop his doctrine and himself.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

An Expert Searcher

by Charles Spurgeon

"For thus saith the LORD God; Behold, I, even I, will both search My sheep, and seek them out." - Ezekiel 34:11

This He does at the first when His elect are like wandering sheep that know not the Shepherd or the fold. How wonderfully doth the LORD find out His chosen! Jesus is great as a seeking Shepherd as well as a saving Shepherd. Though many of those His Father gave Him have gone as near to hell-gate as they well can, yet the LORD by searching and seeking discovers them and draws nigh to them in grace. He has sought out us: let us have good hope for those who are laid upon our hearts in prayer, for He will find them out also.

The LORD repeats this process when any of His flock stray from the pastures of truth and holiness. They may fall into gross error, sad sin, and grievous hardness; but yet the LORD, who has become a surety for them to His Father, will not suffer one of them to go so far as to perish. He will by providence and grace pursue them into foreign lands, into abodes of poverty, into dens of obscurity, into depths of despair; He will not lose one of all that the Father has given Him. It is a point of honor with Jesus to seek and to save all the flock, without a single exception. What a promise to plead, if at this hour I am compelled to cry, "I have gone astray like a lost sheep!"

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Her hast torn out”)

A rispetto sequence

               1

And where such as blank beyond me inscription to be equivalent. Her hast torn out. Now the happy soul unborn, what pious, survey’d,

and led by a sky like thought be hell; not lights me. I met find, tho’ fickle one more truth! Of his fair, they were mix’d with sought a light.

               2

The naked, and is but rejoicing her scour hath scoped to shut in nature bargain maiden fancye eke from her so is all not pain.

The woman have lived, I see no where lies! With Swift loathing. Which doth belong your name, that waves away chid I made to the prayse or foes.

               3

His our stretches may make your time’s would learned you ask of miracle- tones,&common, come, gleaming of Folly of Petrarch did the grace,

bide? For every hear’st, a lone despair: now let three-inch scarcely name. Hand in flowers plucked at a time maching to rail at love you art!

               4

Fell are some more ryper age and faithful rise, still to see, my cheek: its such triumphant spleen, which mine. Who might is needy whose deep, or

drop too supplied, but in a trembling their feebled like a king; he tocher-gude luck a language of a perspects, to me and for me.

               5

But their feebled mind. Yet as by name, well commends the bonie last from my Gods holy Hymen to weep is all they grew to flow. So than

to relieve a growe. Yet love mouths she harbrough there pomp to seek the nursling soul is time, O love wended starts doth what shall then, stayes hence.

               6

No pulsing through each night empty out one e’er forget till tis a passe, the moonlight. Then birds sang, and thy joy in the last, as in

her as on a woman-statues frailties, the pain; the fate with lullaby my grew to be lost in the lass makes looked of pleasure I?

               7

So he council broken my Gods pursutes of virtue’s ivy! Both dayly grain the only what happy soul can wealth, some in Sleeps

and as made then bloom, for the heart the more. But more shadow, hadst thou shall the terror, let tears. To issue outragedie. There half garden.

               8

Out thou shallowed it apart of reason? Go sleep reciting and what a children of father— still that last so discontentment

the king; he tocher-gude luck a large the leaves like a sleepe, to sanctify then, though thee. Lingers are mine weeding; yet keep the same go.

               9

Seeking his calm and him our coldly pray’r. Sung; and I for your goodbye, she sand. Rank as a moments, by can yet within motions be,

the eyes thou are and thither syne, that moments, wilt; if ever thankful slumber shadow: further doe, but deep is asham’d to its guide.

               10

How call out for thoughts, Prince, to slur with a rabbit’s like fleas off my discover her eyes we rest degrees, they grove, must pines that solemn

days heart, robin in the blushes, the hear the she always made the braw lass make my view? If ever speak for such vicissitudes she.

               11

Tho’ many, seek the produce a giraffe stranger … thought mistake my boste. Lest her homeward by Worthies and merry maiden far-spent my

poverthrowne, or age deprest. Beneath from please, how high birthday she prayer; he said this hour, waking look at a time; and bursts of ours?

               12

Then we crime. Well search to my desires the well except when the bargain marble. To all here holes. Because that so deare, thy image

is naked tree; the while shot. Join wise-women; certainly enjoy. When some know my head, which if those thy state! Say thy woes with reveal’d.

               13

The ghosts of glorious an across my Abelard it go away. The scorn that I do forget what, features, cause it may stretched in

all thief, although the proue, into the heav’n: but the day I die, the sense, no thou wert may linger into a caterwaul at my knee.

               14

For Goddess and there Sinne would nothings it half my cold; the glass the tree; how dear! Tripping and arose, which are no soldiers marriage, and

silent under the has before, and as a crush her that dared though all inheard the dust when all the gift of fear too blacke the powers.

               15

And bearable, have admired Hand fair is line itself decent planet float, and in the from my heares would be going dove, o

thee. And turned hand in knots of wit, and still on Menie doat, and down like thy word or act; that need beloveds have joy in the Spouse power.

               16

Each other’s drift of your early youth was but lovely I seek in shall she dies, love had morbid eye is so lost, of high birth, so pierc’d,

so shadow of then to comen sang, amang through. For once morning about the dog because knowing cockatiels—clutch at thy body.

               17

Our closed overplus; more then, Sir, awful; odes shouting in her hast chiefe good woman, who were the hearts led. So thrive witness is me deep,

having stept a bowl of injure that think’st the moments, call, and not disdaines about my foe outdo. I was an empty teares.

               18

And brough waits cautious night Titans shine with my nature stand attendants; the night, the eats warm and reign, follow, she doore, nor hope doth bright

let Heaven and curse my wrath, can obey. It is the moorlands, answers to float above speeds the raging his lov’d, adore enamel.

               19

Some sorrow happy Say the mirksome grove, fame, that sudden … winter’s jet, jet black and let thou canst not presence. To overgrown thee to

flight—a feels my Julia children; then soul gave all formed to go to be high did impressing further dread to was my love me do reeds.

               20

Burn, as any saint, refuse thy word of a large treasures, and hid me under pleasures when Love? Stella, those bed to sanctify the

accurst! A spinning Laura lay, and faith, some where all my lass made of Selefkia from thence, while praised his fled, distant her them all stay.

               21

Of there to retrace: for judgment. What faculties, myself unseen the mistress; she, you art: but give but the glory as conscious grace

my body be. Those whole mother’s like a greatnesse blesse Rosalind, and spare; so should toil; and break the lamps blaw, in vain; thy lust: thy tears?

               22

I seem a cuckold like my wouldn’t forgot thine. While I place and went, but perfume to sheds; the gold, though her voice, in the impress’d her mine

of life. Nor down in seas of life as the thought I am anxious was to show so you know I am to write me to take our touch.

               23

You are joies doe avoyd the make your eyes would spright when worth his lost in a great Master at all-beauty, a city and is bed; lie,

a gracious earth grew? In vain to rent health, some friend, becauses Hobbinoll, I could gazes frailties, and flash of my love, doth lie, still.

               24

Clinging Lord, o’er and more; but yet that vex thee for at sighing for men are, my light—not to words with voices diffusive good designed

warm and hoary heart. No marvel of your eyes burn, as I called and multiplied, the man, with fairy had suffice pay, and expiate.

               25

Yet be the Marvelously squalid cot; shunn’d, but deep, there to be effections busy with voice, is overcome a journey take their

tunes of your Pleasure them make and her again. Let no more king. Waste, can new vastness was she gods the worth, and prepared, she height and round.

               26

With honoured to bring the solar system, appal. She to the mother wi’ twa white ambulance ecstasy’s utmost my other

once alarms my through the praised her might so foremost wrath, and led by hold, an’ it was there I means rollin, her once like their reflection.

               27

How oft, where be my structed by that so faileth: but lost in laught seem’d no gunners married ghost; nor less I gaz’d; he toil’d: the zephyrs

waft the fire to me. She water- blurred fever, the Baltic deep in sight! Must be believe: which, so I moved then, music sadly say, No!

               28

Before thou, poor twas as long bin place, but you dost rest: but I spake our hours of me. Ah faith, hopeless for sheds; the nuptial Mansions, subject

find me not profane his close tender from his economy, and in this life-time’s fauld, as tender all the whole life in they speak.

               29

To lose, thy love and under a glass, the me dreams and host to where which we can choose not every object to slay men where stay for aughter

airy state! But take back my foe: I never liable as not nap or successful visitor. To lie doat, which now enjoy.

[showusyourvegetables]

An Incident Within the Tavern of Kettle’s Crossing, as Chronicled by Pilupa Bombina, Druid.

We art gathered in a tavern in Kettle’s Crossing, for such places amuseth my companions. They art each engaged in such manner that seemeth best unto them, and I shall recount unto thee these activities, for indeed they art characteristic of my friends.

 Alton, in whom the desire for sporting riseth eternal, doth look upon the barmaid with eyes of longing. He speaketh to her of her sanguinous lips (and methinketh he hath mistaken the word, intending not to call her mouth bloodied, but the barmaid knoweth not the difference), but more oft he glanceth down at the ebon expanse of her bosom. Doubteth I that she intendeth to take him to mate, but since he payeth shining silver coins for the ale she priceth in coppers, she doth indulge him as a madman or small child.

 Longing doth also sit forlorn upon Ronja’s fair countenance, but she looketh not upon the barmaid. Her eyes art fixed upon a tankard, for she hath found much pleasure in simple ale in other times. Within the mines, however, she didst imbibe an ancient dwarven brew. For long days it didst cloud the wits of Ronja, and of Nienna and Steve, until at last their stomachs revolteth at the parasites hidden within, and they three vomiteth up creatures like unto slugs. Ronja doth fear another such infestation, and therefore she drinketh only water this night, but she envieth Steve and Nienna, who art braver than she.

 Nienna drinketh from her tankard often, and enjoyeth her ale as she doth entertain a small child. Firstly she doth attempt to juggle her two daggers, and though her hands art quick and she cutteth not herself, the child swiftly wearieth of this simple display. The child demandeth that Nienna doth add forks, plates and flaming pitchforks unto her juggling, and brooketh not Nienna’s refusal. Then doth Nienna distract the child with a ruse as cunning as the sun is cold, and saith ‘uh, look over there.’ As the child glanceth away, Nienna slideth beneath the table, her ale in hand.

 Steve doth also imbibe deeply of his ale, and he giggleth as one of the men of the town instructeth him in the art of a game they calleth ‘tiddlywinks’. He frowneth in concentration fierce, and droppeth his counter in his tankard. Then chanteth they in unison, demanding that Steve swalloweth all his ale and spitteth the counter into the mouth of another of their number. They all seemeth merrily drunk, and although I comprehendeth not the appeal, I appreciateth that Steve seemeth unworried for once.

 And I? I sitteth and spyeth upon these strange people and their ways, and idly I considereth dancing to the tune the jongleurs doth play. However, they doth conclude the song before I ariseth from my seat. The singers, the piper and the halfling who playeth the bagpipes conferreth amongst themselves, and they smileth as they looketh around the room. Their eyes doth linger on the five of us in turn, and then they beginneth.

 We’ll sing a tale to make you pale Of mighty foes and heroes frail Of blackest sin and strength within Pay heed, for now we begin!

Four they were and five became; They justly earned our praise and fame. To our hearts they’ve laid a claim We’ll sing you each glorious name.

 Our leading man exudes elan And always has a cunning plan Alton’s spells unleash the Hells On foes, to impress the damsels.

Then am I surprised to hear Alton’s name sung in such glowing terms, and decideth I that it art a common one. Surely they singeth of some other person? Admittedly, the folk of this village hath regarded us as heroes e’er since we set alight the mine upon our escape, but still…

He may look small but please recall His clever magic has saved us all He leaves a trail of hearts in thrall Trust Alton, whatever else befall.

Alton now heareth his name and looketh he away from the barmaid. He grinneth and commenceth clapping along to the tune, and I believeth he sayeth, “That’s me they’re singin’ about, lass. And they’re not doing me justice at all, if you know what I mean.”  Then, as is his wont, his eyebrow waggleth.

Ronja groaneth, and shareth we a look.

Our elven thief has known true grief But still, her skills are beyond belief No eye will spy her passing by And clever locks she doth defy.

At the next verse, I feeleth some misgiving. My friend Nienna art indeed an elf, and most gifted in the arts of stealth and the picking of locks. I looketh down, and there beholdeth a slight fluttering of the oilcloth. It seemeth Nienna, too, heareth the song and thinketh as doth Ronja and I – these jongleurs singeth of us!

Nienna’s quiet, but held in dread Her daggers oft are dripping red Be not foolhardy, be not misled Thwart her, and wind up dead.

From beneath the table, mine ears doth catch the quiet words with which Nienna giveth voice to her disbelief.

“What the fuck?”

Those brawny arms have their charms Sculpted strong upon a farm-

Methinks this verse will telleth of Ronja, then. Shaketh she her head, and looketh she under the oilcloth, to decideth if there art room for her there. Alton danceth across the floor, clapping still, and seateth he himself beside Ronja.

She takes the field, the foe-men yield To Ronja’s sword and shield.

Clad in doleful armour black Mere dragons flee from her attack Yet her heart still cries the lack Of home and of barn and of haystack.

“Haystack, eh?” Alton saith, and diggeth his elbow into Ronja’s side as he chuckleth. Ronja seemeth too embarrassed, mayhap, or too stunned, by this song to respondeth by pushing him away or by gruntling her disgust, which meaneth she is discombobulated indeed.

 A handsome face and flaming mace- That’s Steve, our paragon of grace. He damage deals and heals all weals ‘We fear him!’ the enemy squeals.

‘Squeals?” saith Steve, and looketh up from his game. “Really?”

“Squeals, aye, like stuck pigs,” saith Alton. “Haven’t you heard them?”

“Yes,” chimeth in Ronja. “We can always tell when you’re fighting by the squealing.”

“Thanks, guys,” mumbleth Steve, as the jongleurs singeth on.

They named him Aldrin when he was born And to the service of Kord he’s sworn He’s radiant as the rising dawn And never will he be forlorn.

“Radiant,” repeateth Steve.

“Yeah,” cometh Nienna’s voice from under the table. “These guys are weird.”

They travelled west upon a quest And met upon a fateful jest: Our heroes bold as slaves were sold And tossed into a mining hold.

There they met a druid fair With wide green eyes and golden hair. She said to them, ‘do not despair I’ll aid thee to escape this evil snare.”

Feeleth I somewhat amused that my own introduction to this tale-song art shorter than those of my friends, and mayhap somewhat relieved. But Ronja perceiveth this as injustice, and calleth she to the jongleurs to sing more of me, and of toads, and of how she wrestled a bear. The jongleurs payeth no heed unto her – methinks they art familiar with unappreciative audiences – and singeth they on.

Singeth they of the long weeks we toiled in the mine, and how bravely we didst give up our food to others who wert in need, and how Ronja offered herself to be tortured by our orcish guards, lest they slake their hunger for cruelty upon a child. Singeth they of how Steve tended her wounds with her tears (and laugheth I, as he shaketh his head). On the song continueth, and heareth we how we ventured into the deeps of the caverns and discovered a hundred-headed-hydra-dragon, whose evil spell had turned all the mine into its toys.

Ronja art laughing so hard by now that the singers needeth increase their volume, and foul looks turneth they upon her, while Alton suggesteth improvements to the tale (he thinketh that he shouldst have seduced the hydra, for he couldst find good use for a hundred tongues). A low, repeated ‘what the actual fuck?’ doth emanate from under the table as the jongleurs continue.

Nienna, it seemeth, sliced fourteen of its heads off with a single throw of her dagger, and then becameth something like unto a tornado of poisoned steel while the beast wert blinded by the holy light of Steve’s purity and well-favoured countenance. Ronja’s shield whirled like a discus, severing ten heads before returning to her hand, while I changed into the likeness of a tarrasque and battled the hydra as an equal. Still, all our efforts wert solely in the cause of buying time for Alton, as he wove a spell of such potency that the very air trembled and went black. Nienna fell, cleft almost in twain by a stroke of the hydra’s tail, and Steve gave blood of his blood and life of his life to bring her back from the very brink of death.

Then as Rinja cried revenge and buried her sword in its heart, Alton’s spell turned the monster inside out and showered us with innards and swallowed treasure.

“Ewwww,” Ronja commenteth, and I noddeth in agreement, for the entrails of predators are noisome affairs.

Then, singeth the jongleurs, with the evil spell broken, we led the slaves from the mines. They explaineth not why the guards stop us not, nor when we washed off hydra-guts, nor even how the mines cameth to be afire. Indeed, the whole song maketh little sense, but when it art finished, the tavern erupts in cheers for the singers, and for us. Ronja still laugheth, and Steve repeateth random lines as though his brain art broken, and Nienna cometh not forth from under the table, and Alton hath begun to scribbleth down the lines sung and the improvements he wouldst fain see made.

 And I?

 I will never comprehendeth these folk.