Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Love in the Air: Sky x Prapai THAT SCENE (Episode 8)
I feel like THAT SCENE™ needed its own mention, because let’s face it - I’m pretty sure all of us have been going feral in anticipation of the fireworks that were guaranteed to blow our heads clean off. And whilst I don’t want to overlook the more serious emotional/narrative weight this scene has on the story - I simply must indulge myself in a dedicated post for this scene. After which, I’ll check myself straight into horny jail.
Ffffff----, the way Sky hooks both his hands round the back of Prapai’s neck and yanks him down.
"Do not go gentle into that good night" - Dylan Thomas - UK/Wales
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Watching this is fueling my rage right now, my fight. Thank you to Michael for giving a recitation that inspires the feelings this Dylan Thomas poem was meant to provoke...
They left that whole 2-year courtship for dead after giving us but mere scraps in previous seasons… so now… WE get to decide.
Let us gather what socio-political information we can from the fourth season and then band together and create a rich and detailed fanon!
Let us rally the queendom of Janaya upon Discord servers and the like to create a narrative!
Let us commission our artists to illustrate, animate, and create comics of our lore!
We will never have unanimity… but consensus just might be reached. And if not… endless Alternate Universes of Janaya courtship would have been explored.
Have your BIPOC friends, and your deaf friends, and your francophone friends proofread for you and RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT!
Sometimes I feel like I'm an immortal fish being gutted by a perseverant cook. He keeps digging up my insides, groaning as they regenerate, scalpel shaking in rage that I refuse to die. One day he will tire of my twitching, move on to better fish, and all this suffering will end.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.