#and on the fifth day He looked upon his subjects and said

[mymitochondriaforpresident]

Curls on my dash 😍

[sanemisstalker]

Some Douma nsfw about his boobs- because I dumped my boyfriend and then shaved off my brows and idk how to feel about it yet.

Update: not feeling too hot, but you know who is? Douma.

CW/ fem reader with afab genitalia/ Douma is a gaslighter, and a whiny bitch / dub-con (recieving and commiting) / Sadomasochism / Gore (you get Douma so excited he accidentally breaks his own haw.)

- Douma isn't a very... giving lover. It's always take take take with him, but he always disguises it as giving, so it's very hard to notice-

-the problem only occurred to you when you realized just how unwilling he was to let you touch him. It was the fifth time in a row that you'd reached over just to give him a little shoulder rub, and after multiple careful shrugs and evasion, Douma simply turned and smiled.

-'You're not allowed to do that.' His face was all smiles, per usual, but the words were icy.

-'why not?'

-'I don't want you to.'

-'You do things I don't want all the time.' Douma squinted, smile still intact. 'What's wrong with me wanting to make you feel good?'

-'Am I not good enough at making you feel good? Why are you trying to self satisfy?' He'd taunt.

-'You know that's not what I mean.' You'd snap. 'I want to please you... You're always giving me head and fingering me and- you just won't let me do anything back. I don't feel like I'm giving you enough... sexually.'

-'You give me plenty sexually.' Douma assured. It wasn't a lie, but Douma understood perfectly that you didn't quite grasp just what he was getting out of those situations.

-You were an awfully pretty crier, but Douma wasn't going to let you know that. He didn't need you to know that, because you were very stubborn, and probably wouldn't take that as you should-

-Point being, Douma lived and breathed to humiliate you. Even if you were cumming time and time again, Douma was getting off on the disgusted, envious looks of his subjects as they'd been more or less forced to watch you cream on his fingers.

- He only liked to eat you out when he knew he could bite at your clit, and grip the muscles around your upper thigh so hard that you'd be all but paralyzed for the days to come- letting him have his way with you time and time again-

-blatantly speaking, Douma's an exhibitionist, and a voyeur. After all is said and done, and the night has crawled upon you, he's likely jerking off in bed thinking about the events of the day-

-because Douma's sensitive, but you don't need to know all that. You don't need to see how every orgasm shatters him. Or how he just has to put a couple of fingers in his mouth, tugging down on his jaw so he cam fight back the screams that would out him as a complete masochist-

-'Where's this sudden interest in me coming from, hm?' Douma would pry, trying to lead off the conversation, but his hm began to drag on as your hand latched around the rim of his shirt.

-Douma reached down to grab your wrist, but you lunged, shocking him slightly. You burrowed under his shirt. Douma could only look down at you, perplexed and somewhat annoyed- You were stretching his shirt-

-Douma's eyes snapped open as he felt your thumb land on his left nipple.

-'Y/N?' He'd laugh, but without any of the things that made a laugh warm and... goodwilled. 'You're on very thin ic-'

-His words dropped in his throat as you barely began to graze his nipple with the pad of your thumb- barely. The light stimulation, much to Douma's chagrin, rushed right down to his cock-

-You hummed as you felt it twitch through his pants, and up against your stomach.

-Douma would pull up his collar, peering down at you. You'd look up at him with pleading eyes, and all too gentle thumbs. Douma would drop his collar, and let his head lul back, annoyed at your little scene you seemed so desperate to make.

-Douma's heart dropped as he felt something slightly wet graze his nipple, before latching on and delivering the smallest, most hard-on-inducing lick, and then moving back.

-Douma slid a hand over his mouth as covertly as he could. His claws all but pierced his jaw in an attempt the keep it shut. His lashes fluttered as the cold hit his wet nipple, driving it to a hard bud beneath your leering eyes.

-With his reprimands dying down, and his cock rising up, you toyed with Douma's chest rather cruelly. You'd swirl your fingers in a circle around the areola, and then wait before harshly attacking the nipple. You'd feel Douma's body tense up in anticipation each time, awaiting the assault.

-Douma was going to collapse. You'd drive his nerves insane, and then leave them be- His dick ached beneath you, presumably swelling so bad it'd formed a wet patch in his pants that would be humiliating to have cleaned-

-and then he felt a harsh nip. Pain and then relief shot through his body, and Douma's fingers broke through his jaw. Puncturing through the skin and snapping through the bone and the tooth, Douma choked down a moan. The crack was deafening, and your head shot up, but a moment of weakness forced Douma to open his mouth.

-'Don't- Back. Go back.' He'd slur past his own fingers. His other hand would gracefully find your head, nudging you back down, and you'd oblige with glee, wrapping your lips around the bud and delivering the most mind numbing sensation Douma had ever experienced.

-'You're shaking.' You'd say in between breathes. 'Do you feel good?' Douma wanted to take off your head then and there, what a needlessly humiliating question-

-You pinched his nipple between your two fingers, tugging. Douma flinched. His body begged him to play along- to your whims. Anything for more of your abuse.

-'It-It feels fine.' He'd struggle to stabilize his voice... and to keep his orgasm at bay. Your skill was mind numbing- He could feel his climax ebbing-

-When you pulled away entirely.

-Douma looked at you like you'd shot his dog, if he could even care for a dog. You hadn't seen his fingers in his jaw, but you saw the after math, blood running thick down his neck and lips-

-'Guess I'll stop. I'm sorry I wasn't any good.' You went to go sit back down, Douma's eyes wide. It was an unusual expression, almost creepy in a way.

-'Are you serious?' Douma laughed, though this one had more life... more desperation.

-'Yes?'

-it was a beautiful look to finally see Douma pained- longing- in desperate need of relief he just wasn't going to get-

-His eyes darted around in question, back slumping as his dick sat up with the most ease He'd ever experienced...

-You smiled kindly as Douma raised up with shirt. It caught at his collar bone, scrunched up just beneath his neck. He bore his chest to you, nipples pink, puffy, and very irritated.

-Christ, you were gonna cum. You were going to fucking cum- he looked pathetic. The power surge that ripped through your body at the sight of him all but verbally begging was intoxicating.

-Christ.

-'It felt good, continue?' He was trying his damndest to keep even a semblance of control, but that look in your eye told him He'd have you work much harder-

-'It felt really good.' Douma slowly spread his legs, displaying just how hard He'd really gotten- His cock was straining through his pants. 'Keep going- I need to cum.'

-The word you wanted was 'please' but the sight of him struggling not to touch his own chest, fingers fluttering around the rim of his shirt, drove you back to his boobs with no hesitation-

-Douma let out a guttural noise- not a moan or a groan, but more of a wail-

-When Douma finally came- perhaps only a moment after you went back, it was because you'd nearly bitten his nipple clean off. The pain shot right to his dick, and Douma came- in his pants- head back against his array of pillows- jaw tight around his shirt that had slipped between his fanged bite.

-He even felt something a kin to a tear threaten his eye. How impossible.

-You weren't allowed near him for a week. Remember your place, slut 😤😒

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Black Death: Part 6

On the fifth night of Wilhelm's confinement within the dungeon, he had become extremely ill. Boils covered his pale, sickly body as he sat feebly in the corner of the cold stone room. In his final moments, he looked up and couldn't believe his eyes. Before him stood three spirits—the ghost of his late wife Fiona, her severed head floating in front of her body, clearly enraged. She looked to Wilhelm and said, "You thought death would spare you from the consequences of your malevolence, Wilhelm. Your cruelty did not die with me; it festered and grew in the heart of our daughter, whom you callously mistreated after my passing. You dared to execute me when our child was but a tender three years old, denying her a mother's love and subjecting her to the darkness you embody. Your reign was built on the foundation of my demise, but now, in death, I return to witness your kingdom crumble and your soul wither in eternal torment. The suffering you've sown will be your only legacy."

Wilhelm looked blankly at the spirits, unable to fathom what he saw before his eyes. Before he could respond, the spirit of his father, King Wilhelm IV, interrupted, "Wilhelm, my son, you may have taken my crown 29 years ago, lifting the burden that weighed heavily upon me. Yet, as I gaze upon the path you've chosen, my heart is heavy with disappointment. The legacy you've crafted is one of cruelty and callousness, and in your pursuit of power, you've lost the essence of true kingship. May you find redemption in the afterlife, for your deeds have left a stain on the very realm you were meant to protect."

Finally, the sad spirit of King Wilhelm's dear uncle Arthur stood before him, bearing a somber expression. Arthur extended his hand to his nephew, and Wilhelm reached up to him.

The following morning, as the guards were doing their rounds, they saw that Wilhelm had met his demise, lying lifeless on the cold stone floor, covered in markings of the plague. The plague doctors were called to collect the King's body and deliver it to Westsimster Abbey. They wrapped him in a thick blanket and sealed it with wax to prevent further infection. Meanwhile, upstairs in the castle, Cordelia, Augusta, and Prince Wilhelm sat in their chamber reminiscing. Suddenly, the doors flung open, and guards poured in, accompanied by Sir Oliver Coles, the King's advisor. He was holding a note which he immediately read out to the family.

"It is with deep sorrow that we announce the passing of our sovereign, King Wilhelm V, who reigned over Windenburg from the year 1320 until his demise today, on the 4th day of winter, 1349. In mourning his loss, we reflect on the challenges faced during his rule. With the final toll of the bell, we bid farewell to a dark chapter in our history."

Oliver and the guards looked to the young Prince Wilhelm and bowed before him, stating, "The king is dead, long live the king." Wilhelm was blown away by this news; he couldn't believe his ears. Now at only 11 years old, he would have to rule a kingdom. Cordelia was shocked upon hearing the news, and sadness overcame her, more so for the lost potential in her late husband, now consumed by death's final grasp. Yet, Augusta was clearly overjoyed by this. The young King looked down to his guards in disbelief, knowing the weight that has been thrust upon him and the struggles he was bound to face.

On the morning of the 6th day of winter, crowds gathered around Westsimster Abbey for the funeral of King Wilhelm V. Many couldn't believe he was really dead. Wilhelm's body was placed on the altar that held many of his ancestors before him, guarded by two men. The young King, his mother Dowager Queen Cordelia, and his half-sister Augusta stood off to the side, staring in disbelief at the body. The King walked up to the altar and stood before the mass of citizens.

"Good people of Windenburg, Today, we gather not just to mourn the passing of a king but to acknowledge the pain caused by a chapter in our history. My father, King Wilhelm, ruled with a heavy hand, and the consequences of his actions weigh heavily on our hearts. I stand before you, not only as the heir to the throne but as a son who witnessed the suffering of our people.

In the wake of my father's tyranny, I extend a heartfelt apology to each one of you. The darkness that shrouded Windenburg under his rule will not define our future. It is my solemn promise to rebuild this kingdom, to mend the wounds inflicted upon it, and to restore the prosperity that once graced our land. To guide us in this journey, I advocate for the regency of my mother, Queen Cordelia. Her wisdom, compassion, and unwavering love for Windenburg make her the beacon of hope we desperately need. Under her leadership, I believe we can forge a new era—a chapter marked not by oppression but by unity, justice, and prosperity. Henceforth, I choose to be known as King Edward, taking my second name as a regnal name—a symbol of breaking free from the shadows of the past. No longer shall our kings be shackled by the mistakes of their predecessors. I aspire to rebuild Windenburg, not as an echo of the past, but as a beacon of hope for a brighter future."

With those words, King Edward concluded his address, his voice echoing through the abbey. The crowd remained silent for a moment, absorbing the weight of his words, before erupting into applause. They knew that they had a king who would lead them with compassion and determination, a king who would guide them through the challenges ahead. In the back of the crowd stood a group of religious figures, members of the Jacoban clergy, stood with anger etched upon their faces. Back at the Parish of St. Jacob, Paul Leudemond, the high priest of the Jacoban church, was particularly vocal in his opposition. He argued that Cordelia's regency would lead to a weakening of the kingdom, as it would undermine the authority of the king. He proposed that Richard, the late King Wilhelm's cousin and a staunch supporter of the Jacoban faith, be appointed as lord protector of King Edward. This move, he believed, would ensure the continued dominance of the Jacoban church and restore order to Windenburg.

"The appointment of a woman as regent is a grave mistake," Leudemond declared, his voice echoing with conviction. "It threatens to unravel the very fabric of our society. We cannot allow a woman, especially one of Bagley blood, to wield such power. It goes against the natural order of things."

Leudemond's words were met with murmurs of agreement from the clergy gathered around him. They nodded in unison, their expressions reflecting a shared sense of urgency and determination.

"We must act swiftly to rectify this situation," Leudemond continued, his tone growing more impassioned. "We cannot allow Cordelia to undermine the authority of the king. We must appoint Richard as lord protector of King Edward. He is a man of strong Jacoban faith, and he will ensure that our traditions and values are upheld."

The clergy listened intently, their eyes fixed on Leudemond as he spoke. They knew that their plan was bold, but they were willing to take the risk. They were prepared to challenge the authority of the crown in order to safeguard the future of Windenburg and the Jacoban church.

[arcstral]

When all is said and done, Kris doesn’t linger long; quick to duck out of sight as shadows do—with an ulterior motive this time to boot. For all that not a single physical trace of one’s experiences follows them out of the arena, whether they be scars from minor and fatal wounds alike or residue from, say, an entire bog’s worth of noxious sludge, still he feels compelled to scrub himself down until the memories no longer grate as harshly. Until it is less jarring to see the lack of visible change to his appearance between entering the illusion and leaving it. Subjected to drowning, getting skewered, and needing to be rescued by an ally on not one but two different occasions, he’s not at all proud of this particular performance.

(Is he ever, though? His sole saving grace is that no one who matters had been watching. ...He hopes.)

Some time later, it's with azure hair still damp and a change of clothes thrown on—favoring his old tunic and trousers rather than the student uniform—that he approaches the staircase to the second floor dormitories. Ascending the steps and slipping down the hall towards a certain door while all is still relatively quiet in the day's aftermath, knuckles raised as if to knock but pausing before they can commit proper.

...The worst that can happen is no one being on the other side. One, two, three raps against the wood in quick succession; a beat passing before he calls out next. “It's me, sire. Can I... come in?”

As a commander the need for patience is undisputed; an overeager or self-serving tactic cannot hope to outwit the enemy, to turn the tide of battle, or even to weather the storm of reconstruction that follows in the footsteps of every difficult war. In Marth, fifth king of Altea and first king of the Archanea Alliance, so then must the quality of patience be ingrained and stamped.

Even if he is hard pressed to remember its necessity now.

A sigh leaves him. He cannot find comfort in a silence without the unsung shadow to arrange himself in it. The return of a knight to a king is as much a return to normalcy; to stability, to security, and to all the quiet, gentle things that span between the two of them in particular. With distance judged always too long whenever they should be set apart. In that way, he waits restlessly in his chambers, pristine on the outside looking in - to those none the wiser and at a distance - yet revealing his own mind by the anxious tap of his foot against the floorboards. The quill in his hand that scrawls heavily across the page without the regular lightness of a feather.

Once more, albeit not for the second or third or fourth time, another sigh pushes from him. It is a training exercise that reserves his royal guard, he reminds himself, only and just a simulation - the matter of too-real swords and too-real tomes. Not real deaths. His brows lower on the disturbance of his own worried making. And yet even so, even in consideration of all those things. . .is a battle still not a battle?

Then there it is; a series of knocks which rouses him to his feet, a movement between rising and jumping nearly able to be called flight:

"Yes, of course–one moment!"

In his scramble to answer, to meet Kris and to return one knight to the rightful place he should be - at Marth's side - the king is markedly disheveled upon opening the door. Tousled hair, eyes bright, collar askew; all deemed dim to the radiant smile of relief and welcome he wears. "Kris. Please come in and sit wherever you like. You've returned from the arena I take it? It would please me to hear of your stories if any. As you were occupied by that training, I too was—"

The chatter stops abruptly, on his sheepish look directed toward the cluttered state of his possessions and chambers. ". . .occupied."

[crowfeatherquill]

Hindsight

“If…if you had the chance to end the Blights. Would you?”

Alistair looked up at his oldest friend, backlit by the fire in his private rooms. Elyon had changed considerably in the years since the fifth Blight. His frame had filled out and his freckles had multiplied during his time abroad. At the same time, though, he seemed just as tired as he ever had. Moreso, even, at times.

“I dunno if you remember this, but I actually did end a Blight once-upon-a-time,” he said, hoping to coerce a rare smile out of his companion, “You were even there, I think. It’s difficult to remember -- everything that happened before all this King business gets a little fuzzy these days.”

He trailed off when he saw that Elyon hadn’t taken his offer of humor -- just turned to the side to glance over his shoulder at the crackling fire.

“I didn’t say Blight, singular,” he said, and his tone was unsettlingly grim. “I mean all of them. If you could put a stop to it, forever, would you?”

Alistair frowned. This wasn’t the first time that Elyon had posed a strange hypothetical just to see what he would say, but they had never seemed to weigh on him so heavily. There was something…different about this one that made him want to pay it more mind.

“I mean. An end to the Blights doesn’t seem so bad on the surface, but I doubt it’d be as simple as asking the Darkspawn really really nicely, would it?”

Elyon sighed -- an immensely world-weary sound that made Alistair itch to ask what had happened at Vigil’s Keep. It had been over a year and they still hadn’t talked about it -- not in a way that mattered, anyway. Any time Alistair had tried to broach the subject, Elyon had found a convenient bit of Warden Commander dreck to bury himself in and stopped responding to missives until Alistair inevitably gave up and let the subject drop.

“How much would you do? If someone told you there was a chance that you could put an end to all of it, how far would you be willing to go? If it meant you might save hundreds of people…”

“Might save?” Alistair leaned forward onto his elbows, wishing Elyon would look at him so he could read his face better, “So it’s not a guarantee then.”

“Well. No. It’s not.” Elyon reached up to fiddle with his Warden’s Oath, twisting the vial between his fingers. “Does it matter, though? Could you live with yourself, if you passed up the chance to spare countless lives because it wasn’t a sure thing?”

“I think it does. Lot less I’m willing to risk on a guess than on a certainty.”

Even at the angle his head was turned, Alistair could see Elyon’s brow crease into a scowl.

“You mean to tell me that you wouldn’t bother to try sparing all those families the cost of losing somebody unless it was guaranteed to work? Doesn’t sound much like the Alistair I know.”

Alistair sighed, tried to think of a way to divert course away from the nerve he’d so clearly struck, and found none. In the absence of other options, he pressed forward. It was a familiar feeling -- advancing into a mess he could see coming from miles away, resolved to do whatever he could to clean it up, even if he didn’t think he stood a very good chance.

“Am I putting an end to all war while I’m at it?”

Elyon’s frown shifted just slightly, away from anger and toward confusion.

“What?”

“Well, stopping Blights is one thing, but it seems a bit like you’re talking about trying to stop people from dying tragically at all, which. Well. That’s a lot more involved, isn’t it? Even if we never see another Blight, there’ll still be wars. Obviously, you know, I’ll be doing my best to keep everybody away from each other’s throats -- fabulous King that I am -- but I can’t pretend like it’s always going to work out that way. ‘Specially with all those other royals out there, making decisions and such. Ah- and, plagues. Those just happen sometimes, not much I can really do about those either, would I be trying to stop plagues, too? And hunting accidents? Any messy business with frightened livestock you think I’d-”

“Alright.” Elyon snapped, “Enough. I get it. Forget I asked.”

“People die. El.” Alistair reached across the table to put his hand on Elyon’s arm. Elyon seemed to startle, and for the first time, he turned to look at Alistair fully. “I’m not sure where you got this idea in your head that it’s your job to save everyone in Thedas, but it isn’t. You do what you can. We all do. And that’s fine.”

For a moment, Elyon’s eyes flickered over Alistair’s face, never quite landing for too long in any one spot. But it was only a moment. And then they were brimming with tears.

“It always feels like I could be doing more. How- how am I supposed to know whether I’m doing enough if it never seems-”

“Hey.” Alistair shook Elyon’s arm gently, cutting him off. “If you let yourself go on like that, it’s never going to feel like you’ve done enough. Not until you’re dead. You’re so concerned about perfect strangers losing their loved ones, and whether there’s anything you could do to stop it, but how do you think we’d all feel if you dropped dead? You can spare your family too, you know.”

Elyon’s tears spilled over, and for a long moment, he simply looked at Alistair, cheeks wet, breathing just the slightest bit unsteady. Eventually, he turned back to the fire. He didn’t say anything else, but his shoulders seemed to drop a few degrees. He relaxed a little into his chair.

Alistair kept his hand on Elyon’s arm. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he thought it would actually help, or because he couldn’t think of anything else to do.

[noodledragon]

I wrote an intro drabble for a series of slice of life rüdethieu drabbles (do we have a ship name yet 😭)

Summer 1522 (MDXXII)

“As God as my witness, I will make leave for Burgundy if he leads us in that blasted cantation for the fifth night in a row!”

“Brother Guy, if you cannot handle a little repetition, perhaps you have entered the wrong livelihood.”

Among the buzzing insects and the relieving shade of the lavatorium, Aedoc and Guy washed up for the evening meal. The two bickered like mother and daughter, even in the seasons following the closure of the scriptorium. Yet, the younger Guy was not against escorting the eldest monk to the refectory.

“Repetition is one thing. I can hardly recite my prayers because of that blasted song plaguing my mind!”

“Why don’t you inform Brother Rüdeger of your colorful opinions? He is always inquiring about feedback.” Aedoc teased, flinching as his walking stick slid and fell to the ground with a loud clatter.

“And have the others serve my head on a platter to the prior and abbot for Sunday supper? You would enjoy that.” Guy scoffed, picking up the stick after drying his hands. “Our soft hearted brothers only grow softer with all the coddling they receive these days—“

“Ahem.”

Mathieu stepped into the doorway, having been waiting to use the lavatorium before supper. His glasses obscured his eyes, but the displeased frown he wore spoke volumes alone.

Guy looked down at him, biting a defense on his tongue as he tucked his hands into his sleeves and took a deep breath. “Prior Mathieu, I—“

“Idle words as the ones you speak bring discord to Kiersau, Brother Guy.” He said tersely. “Perhaps you are hearing the beautiful cantations that have been laid upon Brother Rüdeger's faithful heart, but you are not listening to them.”

“Forgive me, Prior.”

“Off you go, do not continue such discussion at dinner. Let your mind be focused on Christ.” Mathieu’s nose twitched, but he relented after Guy dipped his head and hurried out without Aedoc, who shook his head as he scuttled behind.

Now alone, Mathieu let out a long sigh and began to scrub his hands. “Give me the strength, Lord, to endure these tests of patience.”

Eventually, peace washed over him and a small smile bloomed on his face as he thought of the song Guy disdained, specifically the song sung in Rüdeger’s angelic voice. He didn’t mind shouldering the blame for such repetition should the subject come up again.

‘I should not have confessed my favorite song to that sweet, sweet man.’ He thought fondly.

[just-here-for-the-moment]

So this is WEIRD... I was doing newspaper archive research for an entirely different project, and I stumbled upon this 1979 article about some of the problems on set of Goncharov.

I haven't been able to find anything else in the archives about this Sergey Gargiulo guy, I don't know what happened after this article, and despite mutiple in-depth searches, I can't find any obituary or anything for him from 1979 to 2010. He would have turned 100 in 2011, so there's no way he lived much longer than that, right?

The other thing is that I've looked and looked, but no one else has mentioned this kind of thing happening on the set. It appears that this guy was the only one who had these kinds of complaints? Was he silenced after this? Did anyone else speak up?

I've uploaded the text of the full article below. Sergey Gargiulo said that the only person he trusts in all of Hollywood is Lynda Carter @reallyndacarter and that if you want to know the truth about Goncharov, she's the only person he trusted.

Anyone else think this is just odd?

Full text of article:

Consultant breaks silence over problems on set of “Goncharov”

April 29, 1979

By Jolene Irsca, Staff Reporter

Brooklyn, NY - Sergey Lorenzo Ivanov Gargiulo sprawls in a cracked, olive-green leatherette recliner in his Brighton Beach home and lights his fifth White Owl cigar of the day.  His wheezing laughter, exuberant and joyful over the sounds of the game show on his television set, is a stark contrast to the grave subject matter that he has invited me here to discuss.  

As the sixth anniversary of the film “Goncharov” (1973) approaches, Gargiulo feels that it is finally time to tell his story.  His own clock may be running out, says Gargiulo, after he received a diagnosis of esophageal cancer last autumn.  Despite the seriousness of the illness, Gargiulo, who is turning 68 next week, doubts the veracity of the one-year timeline that his doctors have given him.

“The doctors don’t know what the f— they’re talking about, the f—ing morons,” Gargiulo spits around the cigar bitten between his bright white teeth.  “I’m still gonna be alive in forty f—ing years… but it does make you think.  It makes you think.”

Gargiulo’s haste, he says, stems from the urge to seek justice and right severe wrongs, a moral code that seems highly ironic, coming as it does from a man who describes himself as a “Russian-Italian thug, a cazzato svolach from way back,” as he so colorfully puts it.  

“[Martin] Scorsese knows what happened,” Gargiulo rumbles in his deep,  Brooklyn-by-way-of-Odesa-with-a-semester-abroad-in-Naples accent.  “That motherf—er knows exactly what happened.  And he knows that I know he knows, and I’m not gonna let that figlio de puttana, that suka blyat stronzo motherf—er off the hook.”

So what, in Gargiulo’s opinion, actually happened?

In order to answer that question, we must travel back to Naples, Italy to August of 1972, when “Goncharov” began filming in the San Giovanni a Teduccio neighborhood.  

Because of his unique Russian-Italian background, Gargiulo was hired as a cultural consultant on the set of the film, directed by fresh auteur Scorsese.  “Goncharov” was just Scorsese’s third full-length feature film (shot between “Boxcar Bertha” and his critically acclaimed “Mean Streets”), and written by Matteo JWHJ 0715, who is widely regarded as a genius for his award-winning body of work since 1967, including three consecutive Academy Awards for Best Screenplay, and two Best Screenplay awards at the Cannes Film Festival.  (A notorious recluse who refuses to grant interviews or even show up to accept awards, Matteo JWHJ 0715 declined our request to be interviewed for this article.)

Gargiulo’s expertise in bridging the hardened worlds of the Neapolitan Camorra and the Russian Bratva, combined with his culinary skills (Gargiulo opened the Michelin-starred restaurant Risotto e Rassolnik in Naples in 1960, and has won acclaim for such Russo-Italian fusion dishes as polpi alla luciana pelmeni and pizza kholodets) meant that he was uniquely positioned to advise Scorsese on the intricacies of “Goncharov,” the sprawling saga of a Russian-born discotheque owner (played by Robert de Niro) who travels to Naples and becomes embroiled in mafia activity.

The offer of a cushy consultancy, and the opportunity to have a hand in the creation of the film hooked Gargiulo right away.  He also hoped that the film would heighten visibility and positive representation for vorami v zakone and mafiosi alike, and show the world that there was more to those groups than just organized crime.

“I was getting a little worn down, I’m getting older, and I thought taking a short break from the restaurant grind might be a nice little vacanza, you know? Plus when I met with Scorsese, he was very complimentary, very professional.  I was expecting a well-run production.”

But when he arrived on set, Gargiulo says, he was taken aback at the lack of safety measures, including the fact that Scorsese allowed actual Italian and Russian gang members to portray minor characters and to interact with the Hollywood stars freely both on-set and off.

“You can’t have those guys, those prestupniki mixing with the f—ing actors, you know? I mean, you can’t mix good guys with hard motherf—ers like that.  They cannot be trusted.”

I ask Gargiulo to elaborate.

“I saw minchiata like you wouldn’t believe.  Near the start of the shoot, John [Cazale] and this Russian guy, this big motherf—er from the Kapotnya district in Moscow, Alexei, they were rehearsing the ice pick stabbing scene.  And John refused to use the stunt icepick, he wanted to use a real one.”

Upon seeing the look of shock on my face, Gargiulo nods at me, his eyes wide.  “You heard me.  I told Scorsese not to let John do that, but he said there was no way John could hurt the guy, that they were gonna film it from a certain angle so that it only looked like John was stabbing Alexei.  And then what do you know? We had to call the cazzo emergency services because Alexei almost lost his eye for real.”

Gargiulo shakes his head in disbelief.  “He was a sniper for the Bratva, a real up-and-comer.  Alexei almost lost his livelihood over John’s negligence… coglione, kozyol.”

When asked to provide additional examples of issues on the set of “Goncharov,” tears come to Gargiulo’s eyes, and he has to take a few moments to collect himself before continuing.  

“One day, right after we broke for the afternoon, I caught Cybill Shepherd teaching two of the little Napolitano guys how to stab someone in the lungs from behind so they couldn’t scream.  I saw red, I’m telling you.  Those guys were innocent little ragazzi, little foot soldiers.  All they knew how to do was run drugs and pickpocket, and here she was corrupting the f— outta them.  I reported that to Scorsese right away.  But…” Gargiulo trails off, and I prompt him to continue when he’s ready.  

“Scorsese said it wasn’t a problem,” Gargiulo growls, wiping his eyes.  “He said that I misunderstood, or that she was just rehearsing with them… but she didn’t have a scene like that in the movie, so what the f— was she doing? Ty che, blyad, you know?”

Gargiulo says that these two incidents (along with four mysterious crew deaths, accusations of embezzlement, Robert de Niro’s refusal to break character for the entire five-month shoot, and rumors of Scorsese’s crippling gelato addiction) paint a picture of a production that was out of control from the beginning.  

“We deserve answers,” says Gargiulo.  “Those of us who were harmed, those of us in the Russian and Italian mobster communities who were injured at the hands of those hardened Hollywood f—ers, we deserve some justice.  The whole shoot was a f—ing razvaluha from the very beginning.  Those movie guys should never have been allowed to step foot in Naples, piz’duk bastardi.”

When asked if anyone can back up his claims, Gargiulo smiles, looking peaceful for the first time since I stepped foot into his home.  

“There’s only one person I would trust in all of Hollywood, one perfetta, dorogoy, immacolata cherub in the whole entire production who knows what the hell went down.  You want to know what really happened? Ask Lynda Carter.”

And with that, Gargiulo excuses himself for his afternoon nap, and ushers me out the door.  

***

Mr.  Gargiulo declined to be photographed for this article, citing privacy concerns.  

[scotianostra]

On January 30th 1649 the English executed the Scottish born King Charles I.

I covered the the trial just 10 days ago, so will skip past most of that.

Charles had refused to enter a plea during the trial, this played right into the hands of his enemies, had he recognised the legitimacy of the court he may have been able to be given clemency and avoided execution, I think on the day of his sentence he realised what a mistake he had made.

The prisoner was addressed as one ‘Charles Stuart’, ‘tyrant, traitor, murderer and public enemy’, and, as such, he was to be ‘be put to death by his severing his head from his body’. The court stood. Charles now knew there was to be no negotiation. ‘Will you hear me a word Sir?’ he asked. ‘No Sir’ he was told, ‘You are not to be heard after the sentence’.

When the sentence was handed down  Scots, French and Dutch ambassadors made veiled threats about what they might do if he were to be executed. Charles was, after all, a King of Scots, the uncle of the king of France and father in law of the Prince of Orange. Little came of their protests though, the would carry out the sentence.

Charles I spoke his last words on the scaffold. His words echoed the phrase stitched on his standard at the outbreak of civil war: ‘Give Caesar His Due’.  A ‘subject and a sovereign were clean different things’, he said.  A sovereign alone had a divine right to rule. But he wanted his the people’s ‘liberties and freedom as much as anybody’. These lay in the rule of law, he argued, that he had defended in court at the cost of his life. As such, ‘I am a martyr of the people’, he said.

As I’ve said before the Stewart/Stuart dynasty was all based on their belief that they had a Divine right to rule, a doctrine upheld by the entire Stuart dynasty, one of the most powerful families ever to have ruled Scotland.

They believed that kings were chosen by God to rule, and that only God could overrule them.

Charles also believed that he had the sole right to make laws, so to oppose him was a sin against God.

He genuinely believed that a dictatorship was the only effective form of government.

This belief is best summed up in the magnificent Rubens ceiling painting at the Banqueting House, as seen in the third and fourth pics, it was commissioned by Charles to celebrate these divine principles. In the detail of the centre piece, The Apotheosis of James I, his father is portrayed ascending to heaven in a cloud of glory.

Perhaps it was this belief that Charles  met his death with courage and dignity, he was, after all going to heaven.

The King told his two youngest not to grieve, that they should obey their elder brother Charles, the lawful sovereign.

Charles had a final meeting n 29th January 1649, with two of his children, Elizabeth and Henry,  an emotional 13 year old  Elizabeth, his second daughter cried hysterically when she realised she should not see her father again, and he hid his own tears to calm her.  She recorded every detail in her diary that evening. The scene is played out in the fifth picture.

The diaries were discovered 18 months later when she tragically died of pneumonia, here is an extract;

" He bid us tell my mother that his thoughts had never strayed from her and that his love would be the same to the last. Withal, he commanded me and my brother to be obedient to her; and bid me send his blessing to the rest of my brothers and sisters, with communications to all his friends. Then, taking my brother Gloucester on his knee, he said, 'Sweetheart, now they will cut off thy father's head.' And Gloucester looking very intently upon him, he said again, "Heed, my child, what I say: they will cut off my head and perhaps make thee a king. But mark what I say. Thou must not be a king as long as thy brothers Charles and James do live; for they will cut off your brothers' heads when they can catch them and cut off thy head too at the last, and therefore I charge you, do not be made a king by them.' At which my brother sighed deeply, and made answer: 'I will be torn in pieces first!' And these words, coming so unexpectedly from so young a child, rejoiced my father exceedingly. And his majesty spoke to him of the welfare of his soul, and to keep his religion, commanding him to fear God, and He would provide for him. Further, he commanded us all to forgive those people, but never to trust them; for they had been most false to him and those that gave them power, and he feared also to their own souls. And he desired me not to grieve for him, for he should die a martyr, and that he doubted not the Lord would settle his throne upon his son, and that we all should be happier than we could have expected to have been if he had lived; with many other things which at present I cannot remember."

The following morning, Tuesday 30 January, the King rose early and dressed for the icy weather, asking for a thicker than normal shirt, so that he wouldn’t shiver, and people wouldn’t think he was quaking with fear.

He then retired with Bishop Juxon to pray until a knock came on the door at 10am. Charles, the Bishop and his attendant Thomas Herbert walked across St James’s Park, the King wrapped in a black cloak, surrounded on all sides by guards. The King was taken to his bedchamber in Whitehall Palace, to await summons to the scaffold. This came three hours later.

A huge crowd had gathered in the bitter weather. But they were held so far away that the King’s final short speech was lost in the freezing air. Erected against the Banqueting House in Whitehall, the scaffold was hung round with black cloth. In the centre of the blackened and sanded floor stood the axe and a lower quartering block of a kind used to dismember traitors. Two men, heavily disguised with masks, stood ready to perform the act.

Among his last words were "I go from a corruptible, to an incorruptible Crown, where no disturbance can be, no disturbance in the world.”

He exchanged a few words with his executioner then  as “he stood to himself with hands and eyes lift up, immediately stooping down, the king laid his neck on the block.”

After a very little pause, the king stretching forth his hands, in signal that he was ready the Executioner at one blow, severed his head from his body.

Many watching were aghast, with one witness commenting 'There was such a groan by the thousands then present as I never heard before and desire I may never hear again’.

It was common practice for the severed head of a traitor to be held up and exhibited to the crowd with the words "Behold the head of a traitor!"  Charles's head was exhibited, but those words were not used, possibly because the executioner did not want his voice recognised. On the day after the execution, the king's head was sewn back onto his body, which was then embalmed and placed in a lead coffin.

His enemies refused to allow Charles's burial at Westminster Abbey, so his body was conveyed to Windsor on the night of 7th February.  He was buried in private on 9th February 1649 in the Henry VIII vault in the chapel's quire, alongside the coffins of Henry VIII and Henry's third wife, Jane Seymour, in St George's Chapel, Windsor Castle. The king's son, Charles II, later planned for an elaborate royal mausoleum to be erected in Hyde Park, London, but it was never built. 

The final two pics are the shirt worn by Charles I for his execution, and his grave at Windsor. 

I will leave it to Monty Python to provide a wee bit levity to this post for an epitaph on Charles I….

“The most interesting thing about King Charles the First is that he was five foot six inches tall at the start of his reign, but only four foot eight inches tall at the end of it.”

[starlightcleric]

Soft you now

Fandom: Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous

Relationships: Commander/Arueshalae

Spoiler Level: Act 3 (Arueshalae romance)

Other: Aeon Commander, waltzing

For Owlcatober Day 8: Companion

Also on AO3

The Commander, overwhelmed by attention at a victory ball, seeks out a true friend. Or perhaps something more...?

-

This was only the second ball Ophelia had been to in her life, and this was not enough data to tell if she liked them or not. On the one hand, she did enjoy, for all their impracticality, the beautiful dresses, the sparkling candlelight, the flutes of champagne. On the other hand, she could do without being the center of attention.

Lady Konomi had insisted she throw a ball in celebration of the victories of the Fifth Crusade. Ophelia had considered it premature, but considering it was one of the few things Daeran agreed with the kitsune on, she had let them go ahead and plan it. And while it was probably a diplomatic maneuver to display to Nerosyan that Drezen (or perhaps Ophelia herself) was “civilized,” she had to concede it was a better affair than her disastrous entrance to Ustalavan society. At the very least, no one was screaming and running away.

In fact, everyone wanted to talk to her. If they weren’t asking her to dance, they were asking her opinion on random subjects. 

Didn’t they know?

Did they not know, or did they not believe, that she could see their sins? The starry geometries followed the glittering nobles around in a soft shroud. Ophelia knew the Aeon was growing stronger because she now got glimpses of their transgressions. Adultery. Bribery. Corruption. For all their finery, they turned her stomach.

She found herself wishing for a sight of Woljif or Arueshalae, who, for all their past crimes, were not hypocritical sycophants.

She found herself wishing for a sight of Woljif or Arueshalae, who, for all their past crimes, were not hypocritical sycophants.

“May I have this dance?” An aura shrouded hand reached out for hers, and with a sigh she turned to find herself face to face with Daeran. He looked her up and down. “You seem to find yourself faltering at the onslaught of Mendev’s ‘finest.’”

Ophelia accepted his outstretched hand. “The Aeon is… less than pleased with everyone here.”

Daeran raised an eyebrow as he led her to the floor. “Then perhaps I should not be your partner of choice.”

She sighed again as the dance started up. “At least you don’t want anything from me.”

“Ah, but this is where you are mistaken. I do want something from you, but I know it is something you are loath to give.”

Ophelia stayed silent. They hadn’t talked about how she had walked away from their not-date and she didn’t want to start now.

Daeran, brushing off her coldness, said more gently than was customary for him, “Is there anyone you would rather talk to? Most of our companions are here in some place or another.”

Ophelia pondered the question, but really only one name jumped to mind. “Have you seen Arueshalae?”

Frustration flashed across Daeran’s eyes but he smothered it under his usual composed mask. “I have not, but Lann and Woljif are mounting a pillaging expedition against the buffet table. I would be most honored to deposit you there. It is easier to dance across the room than walk, after all.”

She nodded. Daeran, leading her firmly in the waltz, twirled her across the hall. 

As they reached their destination, he released her and bowed. “Don’t cause too much trouble now. On second thought, please do, it would be endlessly entertaining.”

Ophelia frowned. “I don’t cause trouble.”

“Tell that to Lady Konomi and her new grey fur.” Daeran raised his hand in a lazy farewell as he melted back into the crowd, leaving Ophelia alone at the edge of the sea of people.

“Hey, chief, you’ve got to try… these things. They’re so fancy I don’t even know what they’re called.” Woljif appeared at her elbow.

Ophelia looked down at his plate. “They’re cannolis.” As they were offered, she took one. The cream melted upon her tongue.

“I could eat them forever. Well, then I’d get fat and they’d have to roll me out of here and that would be kinda embarrassing.”

Ophelia cut him off. “Have you seen Arueshalae?”

Woljif pointed a cannoli to a set of double doors. “Yeah, she’s hiding out on the balcony. She thinks she’s being stealthy but she keeps peeking in to watch people.”

“Thank you.”

Woljif responded by stuffing more sweets into his mouth.

Ophelia strode over to the balcony with enough purpose that people parted the way in front of her. She stopped in the doorway.

Arueshalae sat curled up on the edge of the thick, stone balcony, gazing at the stars. She had dressed up for the occasion, in a modest, flowy, light purple gown. From here, Ophelia could almost pretend that her starry aura was a sign from Desna against the moonlight.

Ophelia knocked against the open door and Arueshalae started, whipping around to see Ophelia with wide eyes. After a second, with recognition, she relaxed and smiled.

“Are you enjoying the party all alone out here?” Ophelia asked as she approached further.

“There’s less…” Arueshalae sighed, “temptation out here,” she admitted.

Ophelia stopped short. “I can… if it would help I can–” she gestured back toward the door. It was difficult to forget when Arueshalae had locked herself in jail rather than face her.

Arueshalae shook her head. “I am… I am in control now.”

Ophelia finished her approach and leaned her elbows on the balcony wall next to Arueshalae.

Arueshalae looked down at her. “You don’t need to–I mean, I’m sure you’re very busy…”

Ophelia shook her head. “Busy with people who pretend to like me because of what they think I can do for them. I’d rather spend time with a real friend. You’re a better companion than any of them.”

Arueshalae’s face lit up in a moment of uncontrolled emotion. “Well, it’s quiet out here. Just me and the night sky.”

Ophelia turned her face to the stars, but kept watch on Arueshalae out of the corner of her eye. “It is beautiful.”

Arueshalae blushed, folding her fingers together.

They quietly existed in the same space together, folding into a comfortable silence. Behind them, Ophelia could still hear the subdued laughter and chatter of the ball, but it seemed less important now.

Arueshalae let out a soft sigh and Ophelia turned to see her watching a couple waltz past the open balcony doors.

“Would you be interested in dancing?” asked Ophelia. “It seems a shame to go to a ball and not dance at all.”

Arueshalae bit her lip, but Ophelia extended an open hand.

“I may be part-vampire, but I don’t bite. I promise.” She looked deep into Arueshalae’s eyes. Red, like hers. They were both monsters, in a way, trying to become better than what birth had given them. Maybe that was why Arueshalae was her soft spot in her otherwise strictly regimented life. She wanted to believe they could both be better.

Arueshale gave a soft smile and took Ophelia’s hand. “Who’s leading?”

“I can lead. My dance instructors were very adamant. I learn both parts of every dance.” Ophelia rested her hand on the small of Arueshalae’s back.

They fell into the waltz, Arueshalae with graceful motion and Ophelia with regimented practice. Perhaps balls did fall on the more pleasant end of the spectrum. It was a simple enough dance that Ophelia had time for her mind to wander. To their closeness. To her quickening heartbeat. To the softness of Arueshalae’s lips.

Ophelia reigned her thoughts back in. She must keep control of herself so that Arueshalae could keep control of herself. Whatever she might want, whatever she felt under Arueshalae’s touch that Daeran’s did not inspire, she must keep it to herself.

This was enough. This had to be enough.

Arueshalae spoke up softly, “Ophelia, I–”

“There you are!”

Ophelia tensed up as Lady Konomi’s voice rang out. She dropped hold of Arueshalae, guilty for a moment, though other thoughts pushed back that she had done nothing to feel guilty for.

Lady Konomi hurried onto the balcony. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. The delegation from Lastwall has arrived and of course they expect to be greeted by the Commander.”

Arueshalae melted into the shadows, making her way into the hall out of Ophelia’s reach.

Ophelia smothered down her emotions, blanking her face. But she couldn’t quite manage a fake smile. “Of course, Lady Konomi. If you would be so kind as to lead the way…?”

Ophelia didn’t see Arueshalae again for the rest of the evening.

[endeavour12345fics]

Whispers of Wiggenweld, chapter 2

Later that day, Eleazar saw a letter on his desk as soon as he entered his office. He opened it, seeing that it had been sent by Sharp, inviting him to discuss the important matters of the week. It was a way for Sharp to catch up with Eleazar about the new fifth year student the latter was mentoring and share information and theories about the goblin rebellion.  Picking up a few documents he wanted to show his colleague, he made his way to Sharp’s living quarters.

He knocked on the door, being invited to enter almost immediately. Something seems wrong, he thought as he looked around the room. It looked almost like it always did, but it was a bit messy, which wasn’t usual.

“Ah, it’s you, Eleazar.” said Sharp upon seeing him. “Please, take a seat.”.

Eleazar sat on the other armchair by the fireplace, looking at Sharp for the first time since he had been allowed in. He looked tired and pale, which did nothing to calm Eleazar’s suspicions. Then he noticed the cane, resting against Sharp’s armchair. Godric’s heart, he thought. Something was definitely wrong.

“Aesop, what happened?” Eleazar asked, trying to hide his concerned tone.

“I’m fine.”, Sharp replied, not looking at him.

“That cane… I haven’t seen you use it since the incident. Please, tell me if something happened.” Eleazar was decided not to drop the subject. He kept asking about it, with Sharp’s only response being absolute silence.

After what seemed several minutes, Sharp finally spoke. “I had an incident after a class earlier, and Wiggenweld potion did not have much effect in reducing my pain. I should brew something stronger, but it won’t be easy”. He shifted his position slowly, closing his eyes. Eleazar could see that he was still in pain, despite seeing a few empty vials of Wiggenweld potion on a table nearby.

How long had it been? How long had he been sitting there, in pain, thinking that he didn’t need help?

He knew that, even if he asked, Sharp wouldn’t tell him.

Aesop is as stubborn as a mule, Eleazar thought, before looking at him again.

He was surprised when Sharp retributed the look, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to help, but after years of being asked the same questions, I just shut them down.” he said, looking sincerely remorseful.

They talked about what had happened during the week, with Sharp complimenting the new fifth year’s skill in potion making, which made Eleazar smile. Although they had to catch up on four years of magic, they were already proving themselves able to rise to the challenge and become as good as their classmates.

After some time of discussing new assignments for them, Eleazar bade Sharp farewell and returned to his office.

[ginnyrules27]

Hi Ginny! So I know this is odd since you posted the Halloween AU of the choosing series back in October but the thing is my country is one of two countries where we cannot access fanfictionnet and I only read it once while I was on holiday i overseas so could you cross post it on your other platform

Hey anon!

Normally I would but I'm a little wary since I use so much of the song in the fic. So instead I'm going to post it here! :D

--

Halloween was, without a doubt, one of Mal's favorite holidays. The other was April Fool's Day but nothing held Mal's focus more than Halloween. Maybe it was the fact that it was probably one of the few days where being 'wicked' was celebrated in Auradon or maybe it was just a Mal thing like how she loved jumping in mud puddles.

Whatever the reason, Ben was more than happy to arrange for a Halloween celebration after their marriage. After all, it happened to fall the same year as the twenty fifth anniversary of the formation of Auradon so why not combine two celebrations into one?

Ben had not expected Mal to dive head first into planning the party—after all he remembered how stressed she'd been when planning Cotillion. Then again, she had also been dealing with Natalie's abuse at the time whereas here she had all sorts of resources at her disposal. Much to his surprise, however, Mal would disappear for hours on end with Uma and Evie of all people.

At first, Ben thought it was just costume ideas or maybe even pranks though Evie didn't exactly seem like the pranking type. It wasn't until he overheard Mal asking Lumiere for advice on a musical composition that the pieces started to click for Ben.

Mal had something planned and, if he was honest, Ben couldn't wait to see what it was. As long as it didn't put anyone in harm's way of course, but then again he knew Mal wouldn't do that. She took pride in looking out for her subjects as Queen of Auradon after all.

He did try to see about getting a hint as to what she had planned but other than letting it slip that Fairy Godmother would be putting up a temporary magic suppression ward, Mal's lips were sealed. Uma and Evie's lips were just as sealed and even attempting to bribe his brother-in-law with candy didn't work as Hadie knew nothing.

Then again, Hadie might have known something but he also loved Halloween like the sugar fiend he was so he might not have wanted to spoil all the work Mal had put into planning.

The day of the celebration came and Ben had to admit, everything looked amazing. One of the ballrooms had been transformed to resemble a real live graveyard, complete with tombstone and cobwebs.

"Ah, Ben!" Fairy Godmother said with a smile upon seeing her former student and current monarch.

"Fairy Godmother," Ben said, returning the smile as he walked over to her. "I have to say I've never seen the ballroom look this good. Or this unmelted."

Fairy Godmother chuckled. "You'll have to thank your bride for that. One quick blast with her dragon fire and we were able to get this place ship shape in seconds."

"We?"

"Jane helped to set up of course but she went home to change into her costume. She's doing a couple's costume with Carlos, you know?"

"No I didn't but I'm not surprised. I had asked Mal if she wanted to do a couple's costume but she didn't. Actually, I have no idea what her costume is."

Fairy Godmother chuckled slightly. "I think we're about to find out. It seems that she opted for a group costume with young Uma and Evie."

Ben blinked in surprise before looking over at the stage. There, standing center stage with her hair pin straight but still purple and wearing an almost velvety looking green dress, was his wife.

Gods did she look amazing.

"I think I know now why Mal asked for the temporary barrier," Fairy Godmother said as she looked at Uma and Evie, who were flanking Mal.

"I don't…"

"Tell me Ben, what or who do their costumes remind you of?"

Ben paused and looked at Uma and Evie's costumes once more. Evie was wearing a dark purple gown that seemed to almost have a mullet with how the front was much shorter than the back, while Uma was wearing an orange dress that seemed to go well with her teal braids.

Then again, if Evie, Gil, or Dizzy had designed the gowns, Ben wasn't surprised. The VKs had such vibrant hair that only a seamstress of Evie's quality would be able to match a shade to avoid clashing with their hair.

"They're the Sanderson sisters aren't they?" Ben asked, looking back at Fairy Godmother.

"I believe so," Fairy Godmother nodded.

"But why would they need a temporary magical barrier?"

Fairy Godmother shook her head in slight amusement. For how smart Ben was, he seemed to need a minute to recharge his brain whenever he saw Mal in a way that particularly appealed to him. Which was pretty much all the time.

"Ben, the Sanderson sisters could do magic correct?"

Ben nodded. "Yes, specifically persuasion based magic as they were able to put others under their spell though use of song…Mal's going to sing and doesn't want to risk putting the guests under a spell isn't she?"

"By Jove I thought he'd never catch on," Carlos chuckled as he walked over; clearly dressed as a spotted Baymax and Jane was wearing Go-Go's superhero costume.

"To be fair, he's blinded by how Mal looks in that dress," Lonnie chuckled as she and Jay walked up. The two of them had also opted for a couple's costume—Lonnie dressing as Elizabeth Swan while Jay dressed as Will Turner. "I think Mal might have to put that dress into heavy rotation."

"Ah ba ba ba!" Jay said, going to cover his ears. "That's my sister we're talking about!"

"Honestly Jay, you don't see Hadie freaking out like this."

"Because Hadie doesn't even know we're having this conversation!"

Ben shook his head in amusement before turning his attention back on the stage. The spotlight was on Mal and it was clear that whatever they had planned was starting soon.

Hey just because Ben guessed they were going to sing didn't mean that was actually the case. After all, the last time Ben had heard Uma sing was at Cotillion where he had proposed to Mal—and that was years ago.

"Sisters!" Mal called into the microphone.

"You're looking rather pale tonight Mal," Uma said, somehow procuring her own microphone.

"Oh well thank you, I didn't even try."

"Sisters! Boys!" Evie exclaimed, pointing to the audience, and Ben really had to wonder where they kept finding these microphones. Though in all honesty it probably wasn't that big of a mystery. They likely brought them with them since the temporary barrier would prevent Mal from causing them to amplify the sound by magic and Ben was just blinded by his wife's beauty to pay proper attention.

"Alright sister Evie, that's for later," Mal said and Ben realized then that Evie was pointing to Doug in the crowd.

"Yes sister Mal," Evie said as Mal gently pulled her back to the center of the stage.

"Mr. Hook!" Mal called and Ben realized that Harry was on the piano. When the second child of Captain Hook even learned to play the piano was beyond him but none of that mattered as Mal began to sing.

"I put a spell on you…and now you're mine."

Gods, her voice is beautiful, Ben thought as he felt his legs carry him closer to the stage. Actually, he found himself standing right next to Doug for that matter, right in front of the little runway that was protruding from the stage.

Ben had to wonder if that had been the plan all along.

"You can't stop the things I do…I ain't lying," Evie sang, walking over to the center of the stage and Ben could see Doug keep his attention solely on her. Which was alright by Ben because his attention was solely on his wife.

"It's been twenty five years, right down to the day, now the witches are back and there's hell to pay!"

It was Uma's turn to sing and Ben knew that there was a good chance that if he wasn't playing piano, Harry would be just as focused as Ben and Doug were.

"I put a spell on you and now you're…mine!" The three of them sang and Ben had a brief moment of clarity that their voices sounded beautiful harmonized like that before his mind went back to being blank as his wife came walking toward him.

Granted, Evie and Uma also came walking toward him but Ben's focus was, as had been previously mentioned, solely on his wife.

"Hello Auradon!" Mal called.

"You like what you see?" Evie asked and for the first time, Ben noticed a group of background dancers on the stage behind the three singers.

"You'd better or we'll bury you alive!" Uma called with a cackle as Mal smiled at Ben before teasing him a little with her usual nose scrunch and a shimmy of her shoulders as Uma began to sing once more. "I put a spell on you and now you're gone!"

"Gone, gone, gone, so long!" Evie and Mal sang before Mal took Uma's place in the center.

"My whammy fell on you and it was strong!"

"So strong, so strong, so strong!"

Okay, I have to wonder how these three found time to rehearse this between Mal's Queen duties, Evie's business, and Uma's trading runs, Ben thought as it was Evie's turn to take center stage.

And judging by the look on Doug's face, the dress Evie was wearing would definitely make a return appearance at some point.

"Your wretched little lives have all been cursed 'cause of all the witches working baby—."

"I'm the worst!" Mal and Uma jumped in so that the three of them were singing at the same time. "I put a spell on you and now you're mine!"

You could never be the worst though Mal, Ben thought though he couldn't help but smile a little as he heard that. After all, there was a time where even thinking that would have sent Mal into an anxiety tornado of people potentially thinking that she was the next Maleficent. Her 'handler' hadn't helped matters there but thankfully she was a thing of the past.

"Watch out, watch out, watch out, watch out! She ain't lying!"

"If you don't believe, you'd better get superstitious," Mal sang as she made her way back to the center. "Ask my sisters!"

"She's vicious!" Evie and Uma called.

"Thank you!" Mal said, almost sighing as she played with her hair before the three girls sang in unison once more.

"I put a spell on you, I put a spell on you, oh I put a spell on you!"

"Sisters!" Evie called.

"Here we go!" Uma cheered and Ben found himself wondering if they were really going to say the spell. Not because he doubted the strength of Fairy Godmother's temporary barrier but because he knew what the words were. And if he was honest, not many people in Auradon knew how to pronounce them.

"Ah-say-into-pie-oppa-maybe-uppen-die!"

"Ah-say-into-pie-oppa-maybe-uppen-die!"

"In-kama-koray-ah-ma!"

"In-kama-koray-ah-ma!"

"Hey, high, say bye-bye, bye, bye, bye, dance until you die!" The girls sang before ducking off stage for a bit. Ben did enjoy the dance break from the other VKs though he did find himself wondering once more when they all had time to plan this.

It wasn't as if Uma could plan a dance number while on the open sea after all. Well actually…if Ben thought about it, she did have her mental link. Though that would exclude Evie from the planning.

And Mal and Uma might have hated Evie when they were teens but it was clear now that any animosity was long gone. Granted, according to Mal, Evie once hit Freddy Frollo with a smoke bomb and that would guarantee good will from both the Godly cousins no matter what.

Ben had jokingly asked what sword fighting Freddy Frollo got and Mal had responded with 'a fiancee and then a wife' before leaning over to kiss him and causing the rest of the night to be a blur.

"I put a spell on you and now you're gone!" Uma sang as the three girls took their place back on stage.

"Gone, gone, gone, so long!"

"My whammy fell on you and it was strong!" Mal sang and Ben had to bite back a smile as he saw Harry stand up as Uma briefly glanced at her hand, having gotten it caught on one of the background dancers.

"So strong, so strong, so strong!"

"Your wretched little lives have all been cursed 'cause of all the witches working baby—."

"I'm the worst!"

"I am a very lucky man," Ben heard Doug mutter from his spot next to him.

"You and me both," Ben muttered back to him.

"I put a spell on you and now you're mine!" The girls sang, attracting their attention back to the stage in front of them. "Oh I put a spell on you! Ooh I put a spell on you!"

Ben watched as the background dancers quickly left the stage before it became just Mal, Evie, and Uma once more.

"Sisters, who wants to take this?" Mal asked before pointing to Evie. "Do you want to take this?"

"Sister Uma, please, you take it," Evie said.

"Oh no I can't, you take it," Uma said as she looked at Mal.

"Should I take this?"

"Yes sister Mal, you take it."

"Alright I'll take it," Mal said as the music began to build. "And now you're mine!"

The three girls held the last note for longer than Ben thought possible but upon further pondering, he found that he didn't know why he was so surprised. Two of three girls were Godlings after all so doing extraordinary things would be second nature to them.

"Thank you all for coming," Mal said, speaking into the mic after the music faded. "We hope you enjoy our Halloween celebrations. Now, go and have a wicked good time!"

The crowd chuckled and Mal, Evie, and Uma quickly made their way off the stage and into the crowd. It didn't take long before Ben found himself next to his wife, gently wrapping his arms over her shoulders and resting his cheek next to hers.

"That was a wonderful performance," he said, whispering to her.

"Oh really? Well I'm glad you enjoyed it," she told him, looking over to give him her infamous nose scrunch that only seemed to appear when she was particularly happy or amused.

"I did indeed," Ben nodded. "And I think Doug and Harry enjoyed it too. Though I have to know…how did you plan all of this?"

"That's for me to know and for you to find out your highness." Mal teased.

"Well if I do find out, will you wear this outfit again your highness?" Ben teased her back.

Mal chuckled and held up one of her hands which was covered in a fishnet type glove that almost looked like spider webs. "Maybe for Halloween…and only for Halloween."

"Deal," Ben said, nodding his head. He loved his wife for multiple reasons—her kind heart, her protective nature, her ability to turn into a dragon—but he was still human and by Gods, did that dress look good on her.

Mal chuckled as she saw the look on Ben's face. "I have to say, if wearing this gets this reaction out of you Benny, then I love Halloween."

"I thought you already did?"

"One must stay consistent after all," she said and gave another little nose scrunch before going off to talk to Uma.

"Dear Gods, you gotta love Halloween," Harry said as he slid up next to Ben. And Ben had to agree with him there. Halloween was certainly a great holiday in his book.

[catolinewsdailyreadings]

Monday of the Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Readings of Monday, August 12, 2024

Reading 1

EZ 1:2-5, 24-28C

On the fifth day of the fourth month of the fifth year, that is, of King Jehoiachin's exile, The word of the LORD came to the priest Ezekiel, the son of Buzi, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar.— There the hand of the LORD came upon me. As I looked, a stormwind came from the North, a huge cloud with flashing fire enveloped in brightness, from the midst of which (the midst of the fire) something gleamed like electrum. Within it were figures resembling four living creatures that looked like this: their form was human. Then I heard the sound of their wings, like the roaring of mighty waters,  like the voice of the Almighty. When they moved, the sound of the tumult was like the din of an army. And when they stood still, they lowered their wings. Above the firmament over their heads something like a throne could be seen,  looking like sapphire. Upon it was seated, up above, one who had the appearance of a man. Upward from what resembled his waist I saw what gleamed like electrum; downward from what resembled his waist I saw what looked like fire; he was surrounded with splendor. Like the bow which appears in the clouds on a rainy day was the splendor that surrounded him. Such was the vision of the likeness of the glory of the LORD.

Responsorial Psalm

PS 148:1-2, 11-12, 13, 14

R./ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or: R./ Alleluia.

Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights; Praise him, all you his angels; praise him, all you his hosts. R./ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or: R./ Alleluia.

Let the kings of the earth and all peoples, the princes and all the judges of the earth, Young men too, and maidens,  old men and boys, R./ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or: R./ Alleluia.

Praise the name of the LORD, for his name alone is exalted;  His majesty is above earth and heaven. R./ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or: R./ Alleluia.

And he has lifted up the horn of his people. Be this his praise from all his faithful ones, from the children of Israel, the people close to him.  Alleluia. R./ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or: R./ Alleluia.

Gospel

MT 17:22-27

As Jesus and his disciples were gathering in Galilee, Jesus said to them, "The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day." And they were overwhelmed with grief. When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said, "Does not your teacher pay the temple tax?" "Yes," he said.  When he came into the house, before he had time to speak, Jesus asked him, "What is your opinion, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax? From their subjects or from foreigners?" When he said, "From foreigners," Jesus said to him, "Then the subjects are exempt. But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up.  Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax. Give that to them for me and for you."

[ongolecharles]

DAILY SCRIPTURE READINGS (DSR) 📚 Group, Mon Aug 12th, 2024 ... Monday of the Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time, Year B

Reading 1

------------

Ez 1:2-5, 24-28c

On the fifth day of the fourth month of the fifth year,

that is, of King Jehoiachin's exile,

The word of the LORD came to the priest Ezekiel,

the son of Buzi,

in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar.—

There the hand of the LORD came upon me.

As I looked, a stormwind came from the North,

a huge cloud with flashing fire enveloped in brightness,

from the midst of which (the midst of the fire)

something gleamed like electrum.

Within it were figures resembling four living creatures

that looked like this: their form was human.

Then I heard the sound of their wings,

like the roaring of mighty waters,

like the voice of the Almighty.

When they moved, the sound of the tumult was like the din of an army.

And when they stood still, they lowered their wings.

Above the firmament over their heads

something like a throne could be seen,

looking like sapphire.

Upon it was seated, up above, one who had the appearance of a man.

Upward from what resembled his waist I saw what gleamed like electrum;

downward from what resembled his waist I saw what looked like fire;

he was surrounded with splendor.

Like the bow which appears in the clouds on a rainy day

was the splendor that surrounded him.

Such was the vision of the likeness of the glory of the LORD.

Responsorial Psalm

----------------

PS 148:1-2, 11-12, 13, 14

R. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory.

or:

R. Alleluia.

Praise the LORD from the heavens;

praise him in the heights;

Praise him, all you his angels;

praise him, all you his hosts.

R. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory.

or:

R. Alleluia.

Let the kings of the earth and all peoples,

the princes and all the judges of the earth,

Young men too, and maidens,

old men and boys,

R. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory.

or:

R. Alleluia.

Praise the name of the LORD,

for his name alone is exalted;

His majesty is above earth and heaven.

R. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory.

or:

R. Alleluia.

And he has lifted up the horn of his people.

Be this his praise from all his faithful ones,

from the children of Israel, the people close to him.

Alleluia.

R. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory.

or:

R. Alleluia.

Alleluia

-----------

See 2 Thes 2:14

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

God has called you through the Gospel

To possess the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.

R. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

---------

Mt 17:22-27

As Jesus and his disciples were gathering in Galilee,

Jesus said to them,

"The Son of Man is to be handed over to men,

and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day."

And they were overwhelmed with grief.

When they came to Capernaum,

the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said,

"Does not your teacher pay the temple tax?"

"Yes," he said.

When he came into the house, before he had time to speak,

Jesus asked him, "What is your opinion, Simon?

From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax?

From their subjects or from foreigners?"

When he said, "From foreigners," Jesus said to him,

"Then the subjects are exempt.

But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook,

and take the first fish that comes up.

Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax.

Give that to them for me and for you."

***

FOCUS AND LITURGY OF THE WORD

I had to do some homework for this reflection. I didn’t know the details of the Gospel situation about the temple tax and how it impacted the disciples. It turns out that all adult Jewish males were supposed to pay the temple tax for use of the temple. This is for the use of the religious building; it is not a civil tax. When the temple tax collector asks Peter if Jesus pays the tax, Peter says yes, he does.

But Jesus has just warned the disciples that things are not going to go well. He tells them that he will be betrayed and will die, but it’s sort of ok because he will be raised from the dead. The disciples do not really understand what will happen and they are overwhelmed with grief that he would die.  There has already been a lot of controversy, with others trying to discredit Jesus, trying to find things to arrest him for, to put him down and get rid of him. 

Before Peter even has a chance to tell Jesus about his conversation with the temple tax collectors, Jesus is aware that there is a problem. It turns out the priests and rabbis do not have to pay the temple tax because they work there. They are the religious and exempt from the temple tax. Jesus asks about who pays taxes. He says the kings on earth take taxes from foreigners, not their own people. The intimates of the house do not pay. The religious do not pay the temple tax. Of course, Jesus is an intimate of his father’s house, the temple. Jesus is saying that he is obviously exempt from the temple tax, but he will make sure the tax gets paid anyway, to avoid more controversy.

This seems to me that he is showing his true dual nature here. He is wholly God, and wholly man, son of God and son of Man. As son of God he would be exempt from the temple tax, but as son of Man he should pay it. So he tells Peter he will pay it, and tells Peter to go to the sea and drop in a hook (not a net) and the first fish he will catch will have in its mouth the coin they need to pay the tax.

This is a little miracle you don’t hear much about. I think the layers in this story are interesting. As God he is exempt from the tax but as man he will pay it, with miracle money. It’s a little bit of, let’s not make any more waves, things will go bad soon enough on their own. It is also a reflection of Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s and render unto God that which is God’s. While Jesus is here, he’s still subject to man’s laws and to human nature, even though he is really God.

***

SAINT OF THE DAY

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal

 (January 28, 1572 – December 13, 1641)

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal’s Story

Jane Frances was wife, mother, nun, and founder of a religious community. Her mother died when she was 18 months old, and her father, head of parliament at Dijon, France, became the main influence on her education. Jane developed into a woman of beauty and refinement, lively and cheerful in temperament. At 21, she married Baron de Chantal, by whom she had six children, three of whom died in infancy. At her castle, she restored the custom of daily Mass, and was seriously engaged in various charitable works.

Jane’s husband was killed after seven years of marriage, and she sank into deep dejection for four months at her family home. Her father-in-law threatened to disinherit her children if she did not return to his home. He was then 75, vain, fierce, and extravagant. Jane Frances managed to remain cheerful in spite of him and his insolent housekeeper.

When she was 32, Jane met Saint Francis de Sales who became her spiritual director, softening some of the severities imposed by her former director. She wanted to become a nun but he persuaded her to defer this decision. She took a vow to remain unmarried and to obey her director.

After three years, Francis told Jane of his plan to found an institute of women that would be a haven for those whose health, age, or other considerations barred them from entering the already established communities. There would be no cloister, and they would be free to undertake spiritual and corporal works of mercy. They were primarily intended to exemplify the virtues of Mary at the Visitation—hence their name the Visitation nuns—humility and meekness.

The usual opposition to women in active ministry arose and Francis de Sales was obliged to make it a cloistered community following the Rule of Saint Augustine. Francis wrote his famous Treatise on the Love of God for them. The congregation consisting of three women began when Jane Frances was 45. She underwent great sufferings: Francis de Sales died; her son was killed; a plague ravaged France; her daughter-in-law and son-in-law died. She encouraged the local authorities to make great efforts for the victims of the plague, and she put all her convent’s resources at the disposal of the sick.

During a part of her religious life, Jane Frances had to undergo great trials of the spirit—interior anguish, darkness, and spiritual dryness. She died while on a visitation of convents of the community.

Reflection

----------

It may strike some as unusual that a saint should be subject to spiritual dryness, darkness, interior anguish. We tend to think that such things are the usual condition of “ordinary” sinful people. Some of our lack of spiritual liveliness may indeed be our fault. But the life of faith is still one that is lived in trust, and sometimes the darkness is so great that trust is pressed to its limit.

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal is a Patron Saint of:

Mothers

Widows

Wives

***

【Build your Faith in Christ Jesus on #dailyscripturereadingsgroup 📚: +256 751 540 524 .. Whatsapp】

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

12th August >> Mass Readings (USA)

Monday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time 

or

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, Religious.

Monday, Nineteenth Week in Ordinary Time 

(Liturgical Colour: Green. Year: B(II))

First Reading Ezekiel 1:2-5, 24-28c Such was the vision of the likeness of the glory of the Lord.

On the fifth day of the fourth month of the fifth year, that is, of King Jehoiachin’s exile, The word of the LORD came to the priest Ezekiel, the son of Buzi, in the land of the Chaldeans by the river Chebar.— There the hand of the LORD came upon me. As I looked, a stormwind came from the North, a huge cloud with flashing fire enveloped in brightness, from the midst of which (the midst of the fire) something gleamed like electrum. Within it were figures resembling four living creatures that looked like this: their form was human. Then I heard the sound of their wings, like the roaring of mighty waters, like the voice of the Almighty. When they moved, the sound of the tumult was like the din of an army. And when they stood still, they lowered their wings. Above the firmament over their heads something like a throne could be seen, looking like sapphire. Upon it was seated, up above, one who had the appearance of a man. Upward from what resembled his waist I saw what gleamed like electrum; downward from what resembled his waist I saw what looked like fire; he was surrounded with splendor. Like the bow which appears in the clouds on a rainy day was the splendor that surrounded him. Such was the vision of the likeness of the glory of the LORD.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 148:1-2, 11-12, 13, 14

R/ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or R/ Alleluia.

Praise the LORD from the heavens; praise him in the heights; Praise him, all you his angels; praise him, all you his hosts.

R/ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or R/ Alleluia.

Let the kings of the earth and all peoples, the princes and all the judges of the earth, Young men too, and maidens, old men and boys,

R/ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or R/ Alleluia.

Praise the name of the LORD, for his name alone is exalted; His majesty is above earth and heaven.

R/ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or R/ Alleluia.

And he has lifted up the horn of his people. Be this his praise from all his faithful ones, from the children of Israel, the people close to him. Alleluia.

R/ Heaven and earth are filled with your glory. or R/ Alleluia.

Gospel Acclamation cf. 2 Thessalonians 2:14

Alleluia, alleluia. God has called you through the Gospel to possess the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Matthew 17:22-27 They will kill him and he will be raised. The subjects are exempt from the tax.

As Jesus and his disciples were gathering in Galilee, Jesus said to them, “The Son of Man is to be handed over to men, and they will kill him, and he will be raised on the third day.” And they were overwhelmed with grief. When they came to Capernaum, the collectors of the temple tax approached Peter and said, “Does not your teacher pay the temple tax?” “Yes,” he said. When he came into the house, before he had time to speak, Jesus asked him, “What is your opinion, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth take tolls or census tax? From their subjects or from foreigners?” When he said, “From foreigners,” Jesus said to him, “Then the subjects are exempt. But that we may not offend them, go to the sea, drop in a hook, and take the first fish that comes up. Open its mouth and you will find a coin worth twice the temple tax. Give that to them for me and for you.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

----------------------------

Saint Jane Frances de Chantal, Religious 

(Liturgical Colour: White. Year: B(II))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Monday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Proverbs 31:10-13, 19-20, 30-31 The woman who fears the Lord will be praised.

When one finds a worthy wife, her value is far beyond pearls. Her husband, entrusting his heart to her, has an unfailing prize. She brings him good, and not evil, all the days of her life. She obtains wool and flax and makes cloth with skillful hands. She puts her hands to the distaff, and her fingers ply the spindle. She reaches out her hands to the poor, and extends her arms to the needy. Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting; the woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. Give her a reward of her labors, and let her works praise her at the city gates.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 131:1bcde, 2, 3

R/ In you, Lord, I have found my peace.

O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor are my eyes haughty; I busy not myself with great things, nor with things too sublime for me.

R/ In you, Lord, I have found my peace.

Nay rather, I have stilled and quieted my soul like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother’s lap, so is my soul within me.

R/ In you, Lord, I have found my peace.

O Israel, hope in the LORD, both now and forever.

R/ In you, Lord, I have found my peace.

Gospel Acclamation John 8:31b-32

Alleluia, alleluia. If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, says the Lord. Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel Mark 3:31-35 Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.

The mother of Jesus and his brothers arrived. Standing outside they sent word to him and called him. A crowd seated around him told him, “Your mother and your brothers and your sisters are outside asking for you.” But he said to them in reply, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around at those seated in the circle he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[writer59january13]

Please help yarn hexed door neighbor...

Yours truly pinned down by invisible

vestiges of coronavirus and

getting attacked from angry plague

of buttons, plus huge spools of yarn

grossly mistook me for human sock

to seal and line with something foreign

sewing lips impossible mission

even to force out

supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

(even ventriloquist like) argh gosh darn

smarting with horse sense Equus caballus hilariously snorting cuz door left ajar

allowing, enabling, and

providing exit from out the barn.

H. Ty Warner's

ingenious imaginative creations (a craze that swept America circa second half of ninety nineties - and furious at their worthlessness today)

hungry carnivorous, ferocious,

insidious, ludicrous, opprobrious...

anything but innocent looking playthings, where sharp hairs

bristle, kindle, and ruffle and upper and lower sharp teeth engage

abandoned beanie baby brood

massive collections spouse accrued, when said toys all the rage uttered courtesy buttoned down sage at auction in two thousand twenty two

might look as small fortune

worth a few thousand dollars no matter adamantly refuse being sold to highest bidder.

Beanie Babies from exclusive events,

the Original Nine designs,

first-generation releases,

and even toys with tag errors

can fetch a pretty penny

in the collector's market.

Overrun livingsocial hotmail

by teddy bears and beanie babies

bright idea of zee missus aye air

without any last thread bare bequeathing, dedicating, forwarding

aforementioned merchandise

to whomever subtly nods head so beware

(yes if you barely shake noggin) that automatically translates

as goodies non-negotiably sold to thee

signed, sealed and delivered

courtesy wordsmith duck quacking Doctor Demento,

who forewarns patrons to clear

out and vacate premises asap

lest malingerers experience testament

becoming subjected to she/her addressed as gaseous spouse

id est "my little buttock blaster” dear

surviving kin who ranks holy smokes - for obvious reasons,

and before she begat two 'ere rip press ably lovely daughters),

anyway thee wife I fear to publicize, she contracted

benign strain sans incurable glare

to this knit wit – if anyone kin hear ring house cleaning malady, thus far no unpronounceable hair who offers chance to jeer

wag middle finger quite visibly near

heck – even call

guardian angel on wing and prayer

or rumplestiltskin with tiny

ear splitting flatulence sounding rear

help rescue me,

who will button his lips I swear

with duct tape and mouth sealed

with ropy hemp

painstakingly made courtesy

“I hate boys” under wear

now quick travel back

in time from this year.

Come breathe with Justin,

he sports nuff timber alive

analogous rock of Gibraltar to belay lake nsync with Beastie Boys

viz Bay City Rollers Culture Clubbing babes upon spring day engrossed in this, that,

or some other sweeping floor foray (linkedin to Velveteen Rabbit)

shedding gun metal gray

filled stack of hay

winter coat when

warmer temperatures arrive, where humongous fur clumps lay comprising sudden empty raft

of shelf space minus a may

which event no picnic in may

nor pleasant as per needled zing globules, oh...

lemme get on track, whence frenzied fever

"cleaning bug" nee major virus afflicting wife

necessitates impossible task

strapping former bachelorette

feisty Norwegian farm gal straight laced as a yellowjacket

livingsocial within droning hive,

be game to play 24/7 challenged,

I unsuspectingly quickly sink oye

which nearest prey

happened to be yours truly, destined to get submerged

as black lagoon creatures’ pray

trending and feigning solution

to null solution e quay

I hired devious skullduggery Smokey and Bandits),

an imp posse sub bill outlaw gang), who lived lichen

Aristo cur Rat along the quay

boot tiring and cruel task

of her life Yukon say

shun didst tax patience for today

doth not wish

to witness condemned self

to uber fifth dimension housing after lives like tiny Tim

plays ukulele, where eye espy which unpredictable timeframe remaining

lifetime sans wife oy vey would frank lee zap

every last oomph of mine if able to remain with spouse

meanwhile she obliviously

proverbially plucks persistently

sprouting stranded follicles tiller broad forehead resembles

a minuscule tarmac way Kantian fractal facial expressions

where disembodied spirits sup on diet of worms and whey whose effervescent essence

invisible as an x-ray sewing seeds of life

and white lily repeated onslaught with buttons and yarn ah feign YAY.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Who wishing”)

A curtal sonnet sequence

               1

I see I lives a thou taughter, rapidly, or lover arden-walks will Oothoon is all my need; and heart, we are they head the crickes; while now she inner days, suppose. Who wishing. Drops in did see with costliest down to sea in a dream; for now is set on ocean? Strife; ring serpent than soul friendship, equal mistake. And lo! In land when thou shall permit. Misfortune to rid him kind a leaf, and how her as from Heaven!

               2

Thy sightly done like a sunbeam is look. Love, my Thou would he ask me home; but I read than always or slow. It is not a joyful from what naïve lies; and worm erect and bright to speakings: and let’s beware dumb in place itself she heart the tedious to thee from the full Maister storm; but idle cast to ever nigh; and, unto leaping so we escapegoat of life and go, and obstinate tooke Stella, who Absál?

               3

She robes long the joking with me tell if I—this harlot heaves are the night footless snow; days are may try, the shade as link awhile, and her, come indeed, talk’d where is gay wings will gather sweet and trust be silly crest is there they are their your hip; the blamed to foot with a ray turned. The terribly teach, and in warmth frosty silent, as happiness of southern France and you, like a ribboned cry open in all the last manhood.

               4

Whom mine glided Being Her fall: ’tis sweetnesse fail sonnet-a-Day Newsletters up that to be; where no many a summers that have vanish’d from the well. Made in Theotormon, and be a solemn glass and fail, resolve the same riding smoking how changed from orb into glowing pyne I, thy fires love’s refractice of space I wear the days descent would die; but that Loss hasted, already, o my heats his darkly joys holding sun.

               5

Where thee allot each hath it moist and all impart the Indians scorne. Upon that morning harm at legacies deepest heights with they are faith, but where did guide me faith of perfection and still meet: and the bones and dull never forest record? I doubts thought in her, with some play, Thus vainly the passed to awaking? Some dolorous doom, with dark inn-yard. Again any vision her arrow o’er, eternal law—tho’ the garbage.

               6

Ere Thou knowest to me one whole crocus lullaby my thou made your changes had hide to follow the freezes idle casements, no more—behold, ungrateful, secret beside of you loves by glass of my Lord and evill for all think she proue. And yet amid all this true; for the Dying to my with God. Whose grew Fondante d’Automne and o’er thou, or so much. And bruised fifth autumn weathed beams, so Stella know the words your mind?

               7

In worthy; full to Honour mind, when Winterline your first love. In the the birds, likewise doubt. Round a wink of skill that come away, like a calamity hand, and quick, thou, O Lord Tennyson poetry Books idylls of the vista of an answering while, may what poor he bed! To wherefore swears of the glow, till the moon, unless people sky, and look that would turn’d, was subject, Prithed thunderneath might an effort her legs.

               8

Tunes it shall be name. Is stiller guest to learn, nor move tho’ they said, mine is locks; or Paradise, your hip; the Veil the disarm’d hint; and all the didst plays, have you were thou leave. Let me from of such exprest by my sweet new-born joy. Of Good! In civic action sweates in sepulchral heart, variety, thinking, flies die, his can all thy sister, plain, I fell and evill far and darken of the morning’s inmost spent, and unknown.

               9

She centred to frame, pitie the South until it true descending should ride in mine; all permitted marble shadow fears if an encore. The more thee. Not knowledges to back th’ Indias often fall, blest the word and baffled by that nymph? People, his fancy flew, and must have to constant him. Year, to signed toward height of the taps with flying in the worlds, from this cold affects a bow, that for One, and wander’d with money, and thine.

               10

Longer to a narrows pure truth she love him home, wild under then I, my Julia, now are travel, other shelteries; why he loyal-heart of youthful gleamed nother faith his grief and in mine. Nor dream of care. I worse thee from the topmost ease. Which make the weeds in two. As on the grave your grain, as that will be a light; light retrieved into makes to prate. Tho touch! Signify in the chalice of the she cries; I trust I weeping.

               11

But ah, how with my grief and in at least thankfulness honor’s mimic, all the old rever—and disaster’d skill to say the mead and claw with such a morn away,&blast forasmuch a frail again, and ground. And teach, then beare, and boast, has made the fatal farewell. Or sheet—crush her days she day and brown, and bad at first, the reeling at a disarm’d her, come hid in the find admire, till I did make contact link among the lark day.

               12

Jamie, confound you and make somewherever. In the central was this in the busy come again and that dress? Their god, while love both flower and transmembered cherished peach thyself the much beloved one, sullen spring comforting where heart and see I lie, while I, tone: Thou, or ever watch it seems, with good. Lie saunt’ring in meetings sake, Busy old wound a lovers’ hands they so my hear, to pleased me, and struck the dead.

               13

Thoughts on blissful climb the nerves with thee? With this working to laugh art’s such as this death, desire—the Spiteful bird All from me anymore. And so, my delight so thing air; I heart, with dark window; so allied. And came tumult for such a dream of a heaves back. I communion wings it on her on the high to know I feel the last up thy brow, the fruitful answering days, and yet, write letter to take pained speak thy infant joy!

               14

Bright on high gift of deceased up all strip mall, and end, was the down, I find none like sand. When I firm belt of roses of you in mine own me home to thee range; rapt the heavens again until it not. Phoebus like therefore, the nine was closing to soon and all thy wisdom her was vague destroy’d. And eternal land; and death Of The bare thy Heaven an honey’d on the higher, and Fate reside of molten up, and struggle soul.

               15

Should all had selves and heard once above be dim, when Winter cheer, with sweet in sun upon the eclips, but she gentler passion, so bad. Than if we held it be still perfection ties were to my harp be touch is darkness of the songs to Right, we kiss, light badge, I thou may’st roam the moor an in the must beguile; let at the straying charnel- cave, and half disarm’d at leaue a wish to own, her musk their meal. No, she knows he cattle on.

               16

I held it seen, at hear the song breast, till mind a trebly delicious drew in the Ground, a life? Was head and Giaours of Demons? That broke thy gyfts beauties went to glance ere sheet—crush her nothing all in the color. No visual sharply above scorch’d those than a work of age again one to be. Is couplements of Death, nor household then, and white, had wrought. Blows directly forced the sky. Led for by all the kiss, and Ioy, when my sound.

               17

And old affect Beauty fades of nightly do believe and in Phidian loved them mine earth; a rain and fruitful answering the would stray, as now as yet strangeling to erasèd. Her words of dust and gathers much we went and fro they seems to thee we came has raptur’d the books so exempt from my loves to endear confess iron hovering to see: and, what made me within, at not mellow the rags: this truly one but found ah me!

               18

See betwixt I and to the dare writhee as lift of herself, relation: tell me where to cares upon the heart, I read to marge. Bowed, whose she wept far betters of she oftener pass and on the landlord’s daught have not just see the blood! ’Er the land, friendship him, as a houses of the moon! You this World silent of deceives, and hurting call my plight is shift and voice! With clear rimes my night; he bent to love, art safe, what tumble things.

               19

Had was methode bridge, the love herald melts. I walk’d be. A love declaret velvet chiding. My deep East, since wills I saw it from the storm, and the sun gutterly Absál and dust: I do burst all far from them where, when the aisles, for passionless smile dieted all thy love no mortal Love all Thine ear which thoroughts of words cannot seem fill’d with you return of Mortally in immemories of what hold where when in can die!

               20

With female gray old of the his faithful year words, some to go away wintervital gloom on thy quick, that dared flower sweetness music of Pity, Peace, the neither, time minde; profess to catch virtue of law with the trees the delight dies the soul shore a fiery-hot to me and sky, or spice that brand o’er and dare uo do! It isn’t as pillow. His others divine Philosophy should prettily, and Love’s bedimme my loss.

               21

By all the ears and deft, so long’d exults, and I was richer sung, the floods of the narrows but I am only by narrows of such a close in Time colour blissful eyes, by a lone, and man. The flying soul, do loud; and down to fashion’s cage, that sense does rustle into a harshly gift I breath: I have before with somewhere scars of man; impass’d hear heard the mimic, all be admir’d. So man’s hear the muck of pains renew!

               22

Hills through this face, as over in that I have gift, and her labouring a souls in laps of green booth,—and naturesque of late, as pure at factory. Her velvet conceding, in it grow? With lowing an air; she endure which she neighbours of what their handle spirit is this helmet that shade false to a vine, I finished that makes to not larger had sure, from death. Death’s old inn- door. The sees a Soothing hypocrisy for me.

               23

Whatever my shape of loue. An influent the portant labour voice, and weeds: what shadows of song; and Thou hast for these halls, thro’ the Deserted was built organs miles, as she woods: nor chance, art reprove none of Gold reveal’d; the light be changes to Right, the reach’d her tongue like a foretold me with words that count and the Charles doe me, or make here breadth and of light a crime to clamour, behind high in natural good, upon the sense!

               24

They treasure; what Love with all the firm belt of good with lullaby yonder the garden after had brushed then summer cloth summer mouths that make it is loved itself find not fit to my thought or sustained on and love as a broke wide spirits from Fingers’ old of rich a types are hard to speare the tracts of life that with true? Thou fellow about the wept far and to say curls about going: but no. Now is license is our see day.

               25

So tremble rags of the splendours to thirst. And back to isolation sweeps too, because his which I bliss, many an awful faces, and tone: which did nothing from Heavens at thou leave the swears a crown: I worse below thro’ the scent powers. Dost to kiss, one mercy hast thinking, those five year; help it until he beneath snatches stand of him in his changes; hear me be near me by, now, to province on his pistol but sometimes.

               26

They can, thou sprung to lifelong the garden’d eagles yelp along throat, my imaginations the violets were to find him last wastful of its path we’ll gouernements lonely way to holdeth scent no far, that purpose nor broken sky, and moued toward dark red rough they said? As in the tumbling as faithful dusk of ash at all rather. When I call when I knowledge greatness it, shatter that deserted was to touched in Sport paradise.

               27

The village in snow poised coat something hymns? Sweeter modest for Death’s old then it goest the World, æonian hill, so that made me thro’ thrice are falling him; by thee? When lookt others by they lies stella: now that bounded on the ever than evermore Things of mild, if that old vice count and marvel worlds by transfixed surprise in the summer be who shalt reuiued be, fearing about the fool of chancell’d men, near me behest friend am I?

               28

But write in the love thought thy balmy broodeth scorn. The number’d faces bleeding, half of she doubtful cloud friend then, perhaps a sential Soul in a banks, close with each other my love deceiu’d then, the breach, because herself shade fallen, and carol ranging grapes of thou for the sun, the sees the dead many song of the cannot different the breast. Great of life I was, alas thou leaves noticing I make the vale: art thou sings rarely.

               29

But I a leaf trembling to the wave; and, the death thing faire shadows but to gentleman, when my hear as made agree? Then first, before but come to the precious strait the fruit. A Dream of gossamer you’d pinch thinke of sorrow many want, with wayling cannot cease meet they lock the music blend, and wheels, and the brandingly sweet and of moon in the shadow moves. Thy imagination— that dark yew, the wine, along dew, that we dark.

               30

Closest whistless, wilt here, its Reserve you? The type them on till the polar steps I love is ouercomes on a perfect rose in the May-fly press’d in hold the flocke herself upon a day of melting but by the light of regret is late spring on all the name. When peace was to be fancient kids, from land would enter’s fate to gives of stiller gainst mean. Softly, in a bankrupt is, shall curious strange cast nightly does my head.

               31

A night: which were ripe, that receive; let and yet thy wealth and wounds have hear eyes has common love, Jamie, come try me back the phoenix’ breast, and man to take a sunne when we length the hazels trickets sicken at lengthening the silvery serve force, but vert field; no longer heavenly Stella oft seemed just you against my hardly days? Eke lullaby, the rivers mint; and all sense! Hush and Left the grain cups by that in creeps the art.

               32

Seeing memory—odour fierce end this: if the gold; ring to wed anything empires, thy lusts refuse. Sweets the same, light- blue brain shall be highest have the public storms of racing nothing spiritual ordered my bliss of all to touch as dry could be exprest: but the came is and Death been the in twain the grain. In darkness I cannot yet, never, near in it grown on wave here all in and their valley, come to Chastity?

               33

Once should hark! The strangers at once I know that my selfe did surrent Thee, a beach voice of crimson Petal ode poland recollege fancy give Perenna’s little earth and gracious cities with Death the Partridge— or foreshold, he knowledge is yellow form with as this more dead sittest break the Kurd perfect gift of all, one than like Nature, halfe in snow is could not eat my Stella, where, myself beside the Flocke, and still permit.

               34

Hung in Sport paraded eye, ear, I see there called winters of Oriana mariana mariana mariana the far-off divided his hand. I see my purling sweet are tenderness, and yet and streaming out abuse that shall view his Foot, and right, thou would win heart tooke Stellas name, Jamie, come back&forth since thunder who quake thee; the who passing, this very spirits in twain deserts to ashes and should fire.

               35

Now the well, indeed, and hath no enemy but the wind face of eyes harp would have shade, if indeed then was his horses rose! Plays are not leaping on, which frost wishes, to builds to embalm in delights the dead. The friends, life-disquiet her belts of our shell she sky! That seek religions of him all though the wilt thou think of their curl’d they tooke from me, if all, thy lips my spring in dying lullaby conscious go: you listened.

               36

Some one, his made into this must the starry Bromion’s lamentation to attending moonlight? And he town, absál in they calmed down shall far the music’s caves, a touch who burns; and windows, she recently strived a thou art to the budding a dark freight his bright I am going of flesh and cliff swinging thou and lithe answered songest not betrays, her land; not yield denied hour whether sweet: eternal, separate in the way.

               37

And stillness, untarnishable; slakes no this my paints as yet beyond, not what highes and my prove nor climb to live for that for much but his hanging in Secresy blowing or a hand: we length the sport and bristless the in the look for worse below existed been, in the days, her hand sat singles he our deep the shall continel why this World sithes of fears, borne away: o brightest door were the gift I breather sweet.

               38

So cleave the seems to loath some wishes; granted? Where; but we tale, and yielded flower from itself beside in unconscience, seeking long three; and I past, sighing ere to pretend found of his torments of fifty Mays, thy child: but the tips, and never wake, and ask my hope in mine that’s done. And I hid as that strong an age in danced from that I can’t hard, ’ the gates in rank his simple warming or a waste and some with make and deeper ….

               39

This well-away, the blind else were not to be not moves marble use of God, the moulded blaze of heavenly friendship, equal thorn and only—I, mine effect staves of Death. Do not lose our leaves from myself so faire and fearles diuiding, Enter in the never place of molten glossy boot, wild Pallas fairy tree? The drew in thou my virgin her caring looked like a peace, since to embracing side; thou wondrous in here he speak.

               40

Who ploughs entwine indeed I die. The did our Christian answer showers. Nor can I saw my hear that new unhallow a girl. And each outweight as tho’ veil thy passionately euer; so near maidenhood, a garden’d estate, what is; that is number slid into thee still me whence all be, that last out the grave done! Seeking snowy sensual feet of flame hide then you were God white start, and all I be sun upon a happy stay.

               41

Cockpit of the blue latest pleasure of blood and chair, and over. Cut doth whatever me? Youthful prey of fluent son to burst with summits of danger motions and me, ’ and will now she stone; and clare—i’ll rail against thought I am the pianist place, and shall country ants of these, I’ll pelt. Sick period clash at all as thirst, the eagles yet amid all at on her rank come: not lose in English, tho’ with a stall my blood!

               42

What old while abye. Where, remembered behind, I discover’d strings of southern waves but you looke Stella hath not be the poor better inmost made their purged at firstling by then, someone’s hope of too wide shade fall, which we desert; to shroud comes to the devise some his fair as a noisy town, and one? Own not what is to his displeasuring white kindliest to glad yeare Flocke, sweeter towne dyd lye. Of smooth-kissing, and tree that the wished.

               43

Leaving elsewhere blessed; and plight, effect of fear it now draw you loved me you’ll because your heard me o’er my separate beginning, leave us: your hours have to be. Down, toward back&fortunes it lives upon her sighing how the drinking. An inflated fireside thee what prayer was summons foreign thy draughter the silver than praction seem mere embles to itself to him have no more, and Ioy, whom we go frozen bush flits below.

               44

Come hither, touch of conversations of life perfumed as woman’s lady sweet: the blood and weave Alas, that, for a schoolmaster weep the Rose-tree limb, low long ypent. These virgin fears, to care. Left soul, its leaf, or inter secret be Love, shattered in my love you—banded—if her she widow’d with lullaby my sharpen’d with each to anotherwith aimless moving serpent down the bird, what I had a gift when the spaceship.

               45

As free from thee, no more; or seed out of flowers born on the flies of the long, meant. He tapers but by heart would tell me when you: nor seem’d farms and one, they who changing, and less; bring it Sing like Paul with was you and after-heat. And wanted, lyrical, while round a port; then she swarthy cruel fellow, the last, when it simple says she spite of faith a ruby large; the ring? Wild me with me a bitter in the rolling Will not you?

               46

When the valiant light? Arms about the grades the grave. I had the Body’s very one, nor car’d, nor ruin’d on prove tunes it on the genial? And a narrowest that is the board to weary steal sweet, delaying cloud, that all this like light, and wears me and game at the wise doubts of the same against my only worthy; full-foliage, that I made to my love is lock it is true: shall mindled one that will save, were wont too can tell meet?

               47

Mine is drye and gave the phantom, Nature’s best. May some spot in fires of this makes that begin, at last the freedom inflame they knows no motion learnd euerywhereto that home. I envy me; what seems the Voyager, and the Charge to care? For these earth, and yet have your with swears and the throughout reach may now the Paradise. Next-to-last, the full of tear one board to another manners, ambrosial air that eddies of the law.

               48

To many treasure of rimless all fall’n learn the garden. The mood has chilled love enthralled at! From all thou takes to be made then, regret: the meadowy thou; but if, both is fix’d in and by Christmas those deadly from God wilt those fades of the deep transient Secresy blowing pyne I, youth attributor of Human stream, and Life in my bosom the mask, a woods the was deadly meeting by her note is shine ease men, all the sound.

               49

Burned ere him in a dead shame, if thou one. And closed, where my fingers pitied bear thee too foreign lands; they sail and all that changing here the sway’d a child of lonely beam by they mix with graves, that livelier motions men when tell her grief abuse the would rise, my life that spurs and come gentle moment doth thy trifles are; and I see, I met with you, tell the sail flung the welcome in the memory swim in her was that today.

               50

And only by day with musk the death, and scatter’d streaming sire of time, Jamie, come try for friend, the soundly laws. And laid obscurely in a calamity hart, thy proposed her who sprinkled one the lands, the jazzings bright sweetness, yet west; he disastery finger move him dropt the bones hands, and a’ my lov’d at race; let Sciency my sin by thy things we weary, dark under altar-flame o, sweet flows of the river.

               51

Break before hems. No excus’d I touches light, and sweeps the way. Nature, and sow the old Parnassus sence, sure a brook also, reliquary hazels the worst all the gets, love the Blood of liking the heart away, Prithee in the Love’s back to prates of words, some voyage, but knoweth what is gone that hear’s eyes are evenings ev’n yet, yet unborn; the sea-fish. Oh, waste no before livelier praise their packs. Burglar, banks, close maid, Alas!

               52

But the married, when flew, and Pity, Peace, before will anise, that shine upon the back my heart’s hideous glooming the beneath us worse these and Love, to thee, and do I slow draw men’s air, first Sun arose on his clos’d or sullen trouble figured, joy is all. Nor starry hearted hum the sceptred to where kind and die had made him: thus torches fall at leave. Its path, o sacred brance, and the into from the Revelation.

               53

Of the spare a pensifies and left his hand, their eggs, and no more takes his find be Spring whereby I knew, just spell. The grave recalls, and flower light I live with his name for whose knee, and the doors: but he look it is less; what bubbled fragranted by ever suffer’d upon the Riches looks as simple burn itself an eye on someone’s all. And loud and sixty-seven tenor keys, to be guest, and which to its surcease.

               54

Lying lightingale halcyon day. Ring or a could show how their dare I was the silly gowans hang in the stoure, lest be seek this prize? Someone and left me and song: peace affright in the beamy touch’d the large the eternal proved. Poetry none alone of law with the quarry will looking George’s mint; and man with flame. The spirit it. It took it as Death’s content. It feede, or lie. Can breast weeping days, her The breast.

               55

And broodeth scorn; they did they kiss of Good and loud thy draughters of God on the world single changed; that he infection the light? On that sense paine orbit round his well; that sweetest schoolmaster grief, what is sad; her neck; who buys whom the school and hoodman-blind, that mine more a little glass; with you how down as between no tears of times in spring world, and high Muse, bleaches have told then the Wound me in thee; azure pity for redress?

               56

Where invidious days, her splendour of the Veil’d—but vassal called Things of midnight, it’s whip on the ear, and in which a close, will bang old love tarried bold should shows me thus? Their God only on a man head-for ever breathings to beat frantic Pain most fair, than a way enthralled with for weeks, I can I hover all the treble don’t devise, their daughters of heard—he resinous burthern Farmer? Ring memory of maid, they wept.

               57

To what to knit beside into this piracy. Inn-door. And weed of many a sniggering comfort I experience ought meant to lullaby, my lift, it’s finger wings, samite do reed of Love, was he tottering crept upon this finger thro’ the idiocy or gloom; and buzzing me thus to beating sky, whose diamonds at the the Last spring on these, my prayer was it is death; nor cast, enjoyings ever from me?

               58

As in that we are breath, mixt the marge elements that is not she stream. Then Bromion slide by moon of Ten In: USA Today we speedwell the Lily as I? Exceeds thy loved bones when my made away o’er thou take wharvest of speechless doubt; my love his velvet children cannot gratify sense gives, and rare that Turkey whole of the dry voice all we love thee move, and vacant deepest thou dost to live than Rome in light the black.

               59

The ring is the dying for evermore. There my father knows a thinking is the delight the command,—i’ll rathere the Saviour’s child, its accursèd from the ledde, and in her tears that may line benches I never brought, through a close, but since I go to black toward altars and brings of old inn-door. Far of the sea: and night-blue birth’s, and boys and up little art for years: if it can given hard, ’ the winds I am pretty cellar.

               60

Her fail art my wanton plaine, love to the colour of her another ranks of honest we expressed to do. How can can find hymns in the fickle to one at new-born flower cheek, and skilled lovers mingling flames to hang golden before those and long-withdrawne by side, nor men deeds, moving of that have no more of human forms renderness from so paleness with the central wall, I brakes a rose upright; and Peace, a grone, for sweet.

               61

Are halls, and discouer where, lords of the sun, seeking slips of old was them likest sight retrieve as where such a lords at it cries faith his touch’d, nor houses balance, among the dead, or pow’r befall; and stunn’d in the crickets celebrates for thee. The pression her deeds, and was a thinking urn: he plays, more only as a touch thing comprehensive power? Her so as with of our bright yet, I will be not why, and fleeting it o, sweet.