#a weeping mary side photo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

howicked · 10 months

Text

bbc ghosts but they’re all Creatures™ from Philippine mythology

*the english translation of the filipino terms are boldly formatted

**i’m not an expert on this area, i just loosely describe and relate the characters based on what i know

**blood, guts, gore, and horror in general ahead, the illustrations are also not mine

• Kitty - diwata or boringkantada or a duwende

can’t decide which works best for kitty: a filipino nymph, a beautiful supernatural woman or a playful hobgoblin.

diwata is umbrella term for beautiful goddesses, and the most popular ones are dayang makiling, mariang sinukuan, and maria cacao. i think kitty would be mariang sinukuan— a kind and generous goddess who stopped bringing fruits and harvests to humans when they became unsatisfied and greedy.

a boringkantada is definitely not boring: it possesses beauty both physically and in its voice. when someone is lured by its singing, it instinctively assumes the person is about to rob the treasures it guards and viscously attacks them.

the hobgoblin that loves to play, a duwende has the tendency to be extremely jealous and may either shower gifts to the ones they like and play tricks on the ones they don’t.

*i also see pat as a duwende, and i’ll elaborate that on the next parts.

• Fanny - white lady or a dalikamata

i mean, she’s already a grey lady so this one’s not far-fetched. basically, a white lady is a ghost dressed in a white dress, particularly an urban legend that resides in a Balete tree in Quezon City, Manila. it is also known as the Weeping Woman or the Wronged Woman in other beliefs.

alternatively, i also think she would be a dalikamata— a Visayan goddess with many eyes that can see the past, present and the future. i relate the all-seeing, all-knowing attribute to fanny’s nosy attitude.

• Mary - albularyo

derived from the spanish term herbolario, these folk or witch doctors are either believed to have supernatural abilities to cure illness better than modern medicine or hated for being a pseudoscience and/or a witch. screams mary to me. She knows every herb and ointment, can track the roots of what caused the sickness, but also has the capability to harm those who wronged her. ultimately, she does her best to help others.

• Annie - mangkukulam

rip annie you would’ve loved putting curses on men. she would’ve been a powerful witch. there are many other terms for filipino witches according to respective regions, but we call them mangkukulam in our area. plus, these witches believe that their spells do not work on the innocent, their targets often being thieves and colonizers.

side note: i actually have this oc from a story i once tried to write wherein the albularyo and mangkukulam are girlfriends because of the contradicting capabilities, and the idiots themselves told me mary and annie were gay.

• Pat - nuno sa punso or a duwende

a nuno sa punso is a dwarf goblin that will harm you if you anger it by kicking its house (an anthill) and/or pissing on it. if modern medicine cannot cure you in any way and you have disrespected him, you may need to ask for his forgiveness or seek help from the albularyo. “tabi-tabi po” or “excuse me please” is a phrase you say to show respect to beings like this.

my first reason for nuno!pat was because of his height. but it is also depicted as a tiny, angry grandpa and a protector of the earth— which reminds me of pat.

on the other hand, the duwende is a hobgoblin that likes playing with children because of its natural playful attitude. this one’s not that easily angered unlike the nuno sa punso, but can still hurt those it doesn’t like.

• Captain - kapre

the way i giggled when i thought of cap being a CAPre. kapre cap,,, i feel like the funniest person alive. the photo makes it funnier— just some local kapre with glasses with a tree behind it

a kapre is a cigar-smoking, tree-dweller. traditionally, it presents itself as a hairy, muscular, and tall guardian/protector of the land that can also shapeshift into a beautiful man to invite people to follow them (especially in the woods). hence, it can make you run around in circles as you forget memories of your life.

side note: thomas can also be a kapre because if a kapre likes you, it will follow and protect you from your enemies for life. a former filipino president (emilio aguinaldo) is believed to have outlived his enemies because he had a kapre amulet.

• Humphrey - manananggal or pugot

a manananggal is a self-segmenting vampire. its upper torso has wings that help it fly and hunt humans (particularly pregnant women and their babies), while its lower torso stays behind. there is a belief that you can actually kill it by finding its lower torso and putting salt or crushed garlic in it in order to prevent it from uniting with its upper torso. i’m thinking about this image of humphrey’s head having wings attached behind him, and his tudor outfit already spells out vampire to me.

or if we’re gonna be canon compliant, humphrey is already a version of a pugot— a headless creature from the ifugao. but i’m putting this on a maybe part because there are many versions of the pugot: some believe it is a version of the kapre, some believe it is a shapeshifting ghoul.

• Robin - aswang or sigbin or bungisngis

aswang is a broad, umbrella term for all cannibal shapeshifters. they appear as normal humans by day, and various human-animal hybrids by night.

i also see robin as a sigbin. both are seen as dog-like creatures that eat fresh, bloody, and raw meat. some believe that you can keep a sigbin as a pet that will protect you and even let you hop in on its back— but once you let it starve, it will always be a creature of the night that can eat you and your entire family.

robin would also make a good bungisngis because it is a cannibal one-eyed cyclops. its name directly translates to “one who giggles a lot”, which is why it is known for laughing and playing tricks. ironically, it is dumb enough to be tricked.

• Julian - bakunawa or engkanto

the bakunawa is a dragon serpent notably known for allegedly eating the earth’s seven moons. i’d like to think of that as a parallel to a politician like julian being enamored by the shiny power and wealth.

and because of julian’s charms, he would also be an engkanto— environmental spirits that presents to be good-looking and formerly known as a protector of the people but may also tend to be deceiving (much like of a politician).

• Thomas - tikbalang

this one’s peer-reviewed by a friend so i’m more than confident about thomas being a tikbalang. it appears to be a half-human half-horse creature known to lead travelers astray as they live in the mountains. it is known to be mischievous when it play tricks on humans (a tribute i might also relate to julian or robin), so make sure to wear your shirt inside out or stay quiet while in the woods to not disturb it.

unrelated but fun fact: if it’s raining, we have this belief that a tikbalang is getting married. (this phrase is potentially from the spanish when they believed that a witch is getting married when there’s rain on a sunny day)

#bbc ghosts #button house #six idiots #them there #tw blood #tw body gore #dakotasvibe #userligaya #alison obviously has a third eye #and mike would be the type to be very superstitious #he’d have salt and garlic ready #as you can probably tell #i’m very Normal about this #i’m very tempted to make this a gifset

17 notes · View notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 10 months

Text

TODAY’S FROZEN MOMENT -

60th Anniversary - June 28th, 1963 - This was the cover of LIFE Magazine, and was arguably their most powerful cover ever. Here was a gut-wrenching photo of Myrlie Evers, the widow of slain civill rights leader Medgar Evers, comforting their weeping son Darrell at the funeral. This photo and its being placed on the cover of the nation’s then-most prominent media location - the cover of LIFE, added power to the growing outrage which was growing throughout the nation. Evers' martyrdom, and this image sitting on coffee tables all over America, helped compel Congress to move on a comprehensive civil rights bill. The bill, pushed in this moment by President Kennedy, would be signed into law the following year, by President Johnson - Kennedy not living to see that moment. Though Evers’ murderer, Byron De La Beckwith, was twice tried, he was acquitted with hung juries. Myrlie Evers fought endlessly to keep her husband’s murder case active, writing a book that opened with the line: Somewhere in Mississippi lives the man who murdered my husband.”

Three decades alter, her persistence paid off when the case got reopened and Beckwith was found guilty of first-degree murder. Medgar Evers’ legacy is about the right to vote, and the push to register voters, the constant push to keep the right to vote protected, and to not let the progress made slip away. As far as America has progressed, there are still forces that see the stoking of, and pandering to, the worst side of some Americans, makes for moneymaking ratings on rightwing media networks, and for votes for Republicans. This is sadly a constant struggle that has to be, also constantly, waged. Hopefully, there is a sense of that Myrlie Evers persistence where this fight is concerned.

The photographer who took this shot was John Loengard

[h/t Mary Elaine LeBey]

#Life Magazine #history #racism #Mary Elaine LeBey #Myrlie Evers #Medgar Evers #civil rights #voting rights #the 1960s

13 notes · View notes

natromanxoff · 2 years

Text

Daily Mirror - November 26, 1991

Credits to Louise Belle and Queencuttings.com

FREDDIE

THE LAST MOMENTS

By pop legend at his bedside

By Geoff SUTTON

WEEPING 60s pop star Dave Clark told last night how he watched alone as AIDS-stricken Queen singer Freddie Mercury "just went to sleep."

Millionaire Clark, 49, called Freddie a "special friend" as he described the tragic rock idol's final moments.

He said: "It was very peaceful. He just went to sleep and passed on. He didn't say anything — he simply went. It was completely unexpected. I was with him alone."

Drummer Dave, whose band The Dave Clark Five topped the charts with Glad All Over and Bits and Pleces, added: "Freddie's doctor had left five minutes before [Turn to Page 2]

[Photo caption: WEEPING: Dave Clark]

[Photo caption: THE GREAT SHOWMAN: Tragic Freddie Mercury at his peak]

MY PAL FREDDIE

[From Page One] because we thought he would be all right. I cried, but the full tragedy didn’t hit me until later.

“Death always comes as a shock.

“Now I feel numb. Freddie was like a rare painting — a complete one-off.”

Gay Freddie, 45, died on Sunday after a long and painful battle against AIDS.

Dave, now a top showbiz impresario, was among the close friends who gathered at the brave star's bedside.

He said: "I have known him since the 70s. We had a very special relationship. He was a mate and the finest of friends."

Dave, who has a penthouse in London's Mayfair, added: "To be with him when he died was so special."

Freddie refused to go into hospital to fight his illness. Instead he turned his Kensington mansion into a private clinic.

Round-the-clock nurses were hired and his bedroom, which is full of priceless art objects, was fitted with an oxygen tent to help ease his AIDS-induced pneumonia.

A friend said he wanted to stay at home so he could enjoy his beautiful garden.

The friend added: "It is hardly in keeping with his image but Freddie loved going out in the garden and just smelling and looking at the flowers.

Fighter

"Of course some days he would cry about the fact he was going to die but he would always bounce back. He was a great fighter."

Freddie's last hours were soothed as he lay on his kingsize bed beneath a satin Japanese bedspread, wearing a Harrods towelling gown.

[Photo caption: SORROW: Dave Clark gathers flowers left outside Freddie’s mansion yesterday]

MIRROR COMMENT

FREDDIE Mercury joins John Lennon and Elvis Presley in the elite ranks of the giants of pop who will be mourned by millions not for a day, or a week, but for decades.

His public performances were an innovative delight. His brilliant voice, his strutting peacock showmanship and his originality gave rock a new dimension.

Bohemian Rhapsody pushed pop farther than it had been before. He broke fresh grounds, too, as the originator of the pop video.

Yes, he WAS a champion.

HOW FANS CAN SAY FAREWELL

FLOWERS for Freddie’s funeral should be sent to Queen’s fan club, 46 Pembridge Road, London, W11.

A spokesman for the band said that cash donations would help AIDS victims, through the Terrence Higgins Trust.

I kissed him on the cheek, held his hand, and said ‘I love you very much’

By FRANK GILBRIDE

THE only woman to share Freddie Mercury's life told yesterday how she said her last farewell with a tender kiss as the rock star lay close to death.

Mary Austin, 38, sobbed: "I kissed him on the cheek, held his hand and told him I loved him very much and how brave I thought he had been."

The AIDS-stricken singer — pencil-thin, virtually blind and unable to speak — could not respond. And Mary, who for 21 years regarded herself as Freddie's "wife" despite his string of gay lovers, was so upset that she had to leave his £4 million mansion in Kensington, West London.

Moments later, friends told her Freddie had gone. And she rushed back to be once more at his side.

Clutching her three-year-old son Richard — Freddie's godchild — she said: "It was so sad. The suffering I witnessed from Freddie is something I never want to see again. It was awful.

"He had terrible suffering, mental and emotional as well as physical.

"In the last couple of days he couldn't even speak and his sight faded fast in his last few hours. He was very, very thin and couldn't eat much."

Mary, who lives in a flat bought for her by Freddie near the mansion, said the star was heavily sedated when he died.

But she added: "The end came so suddenly. It was not expected on Sunday.

"Even when we knew this was going to come it was still very much a shock.

"But I will remember Freddie with a lot of love and respect. He was brave right up until the very end.

"He was not bitter. He told me he would not have done anything any differently.

"He had no regrets but obviously the fact he had AIDS hurt him deeply."

Weep

Mary said it was she who broke the news of Freddie's death to his parents, devoutly-religious Bomi and Jer Bulsara, who moved to England from their Zanzibar homeland.

They rushed to the mansion from their terraced house in Feltham, Middlesex, to weep with Mary and Freddie's other closest friends.

Mary said the parents were "totally devastated".

And she insisted the star was "very close" to them, despite their strict religious belief that homosexuality was "unclean".

She added that Queen drummer Roger Taylor managed to spend some time with the singer just before he died.

Mary met Freddie when she was working in the trendy Biba fashion store in Kensington and he was helping to run a clothes stall at the nearby market.

They lived together for six years in what Mary called an "affair".

It broke up when Freddie admitted he was gay.

Mary said she was “devastated”. But the couple stayed the closest of friends.

Mary said: "I never stopped loving him and I don't think he stopped loving me either.

Pregnant

Mary, who is pregnant and lives with an interior designer, revealed that Freddie was told he had AIDS months ago.

She said: "He realised the end was coming and he faced it with incredible bravery.

"He still tried to carry on working despite knowing the end was near. He was very creative and positive.

"Even though he was in a great deal of pain he managed to record Queen's last album.

"He carried on working because that's what he enjoyed. He lived from day to day and working helped him have the courage to face his illness.

"I've been seeing him every day recently and we talked about the usual things.

"He enjoyed people and he was a good gossip. Despite everything he kept a sense of humour.

Mary, who stands to inherit much of the star's £25 million fortune, said she thought it would be difficult for her to cope with his sickness.

But she added: "When you really love somebody you can be strong.

"And I was strong for him and with him. My strength came from knowing him.

"Now, I'm suffering a great sense of loss.

"And I feel for the fans who will miss him and are going through their own grief — and the people who have lost loved ones through this disease."

[Photo caption: A STARK look of stunned disbelief was frozen on the face of Mary Austin, above, just hours after Freddie's death.]

[Photo caption: Gone was the laughter which lit up her eyes in the 21 fun-filled years they spent as devoted friends, left.]

QUEEN SET TO SPLIT

They can’t replace him

QUEEN are set to split up following Freddie's death. But first they are promising a huge party to celebrate his life.

The band, together 20 years, will not seek a new leader. A close source said: "There's no way they could replace a unique vocalist like Freddie."

Queen — who have sold 100 million discs and are now favourites for a Christmas No 1, whatever single they release — have not toured for five years.

Roger Taylor, Brian May and John Deacon are expected to concentrate on solo projects. The band said last night: “We have lost the greatest and most beloved member of our family. We feel overwhelming grief that he has gone.”

They said they shared “great pride in the courageous way that he lived and died. It has been a privilege for us to have shared such magical times.”

They added: “As soon as we are able, we would like to celebrate his life in the style to which he was accustomed.”

Freddie had to keep resting while making his last video — I’m Going Slightly Mad.

But a crew member said: “He soldiered on and gave the filming his everything. He was a born trouper.”

[Photo caption: GOING SOLO: Brian May]

His cash for AIDS

FREDDIE earmarked a large chunk of his £25 million fortune for AIDS research.

The star told executors of his will to make sure the money goes to specialist charities.

The rest of his cash is believed to be set aside for long-time friend Mary Austin.

He bought ten homes as gifts for friends earlier this year.

Weeping fans say farewell to the king of Queen

He WAS the champion!

[Photo caption: DESOLATE: A fan’s face of anguish yesterday]

By GEOFF SUTTON

AT first light yesterday, the fans began to arrive. With tears and flowers, the devoted followers of Freddie Mercury emerged from the gloom to pay tribute.

As radio stations played We Are The Champions and Bohemian Rhapsody in the dead Queen star's honour, the people who idolised him made their way to his London home.

They just felt they had to be there.

Among them was tiny, sobbing Sachiko Sato, who flew halfway around the world from Tokyo and walked the streets of Kensington to find his house.

Sachiko, 30, had left her husband at home to try to see her hero.

She said: "I'll be sad forever now Freddie has gone. Nothing matters anymore. I wanted to be with him for his final hours, but it is enough just to be here."

THERE, too, was 75-year-old Glenys Mayo, who recalled a Queen concert as an "unforgettable religious experience".

A 21-year-old shop assistant risked the sack by reporting sick and travelling from Bushey, Herts, with her mother and a bunch of carnations.

"I needed to say thank you for the music," she said simply.

Hospital porter Chris Girling, 23, from Southall, Middlesex, showed off the Mercury and Queen tattoos on his legs and arms and said: "I had nowhere else to go to show how I feel.

"Freddie was sheer brilliance, there will be no other band to beat Queen. I am here to pay my last respects."

Housewife Janet Findlay, 46, who appeared in Freddie's spectacular Barcelona video, said tearfully: "I hope people remember him for the pleasure he gave and not the darker side of his life."

The flamboyant singer's body had been quietly taken away during the night and there was silence behind the 12-ft walls in Logan Place.

A FLORIST'S delivery of red roses was answered by a burly minder who gently picked up the floral tributes.

Bouquets of flowers — including red roses, white carnations, and yellow freesias — were laid at the front door.

One message read: "To Freddie, We'll never forget you, Your Fans."

Others said: "Rest in Peace, your memory will live forever," and "To the Great Performer, the world will be a sadder place without you.”

The Queen fan club office was besieged with calls.

Secretary Jackie Gunn said: "The fans have just been so shocked. They all feel they've lost a very good friend.”

Freddie's celebrity friends joined in with heartfelt tributes to the great pop showman.

Genesis drummer PHIL COLLINS said: "This is a tragedy. I admired Freddie as a performer and for his honesty in admitting he had AIDS. It is all so Bad."

FRANCIS ROSSI, of Status Quo, said: "Freddie was one of the elite few who could really set a stadium alight.

"Along with millions of fans throughout the world I will miss his exceptional performance and brilliant voice."

DAVID Bowie, who shared the 1980s hit single Under Pressure with Freddie, said: "We will all miss him a lot.

"Together with his band he made a great contribution to popular music.”

Spanish soprano MONTSERRAT CABALLE, who duetted with Freddie on Barcelona, yesterday dedicated to him a song on her new album.

The song, Phantom Of The Opera, contains the line: “I hope you are here in someway another time.”

Montserrat said: “This song at this moment has taken on a very special meaning.”

American superstar DIANA ROSS, top of the […] at the Royal Variety performance, praised Freddie last night for admitting he had AIDS.

She said: “There is […] a stigma attached to the disease and it was wonderful for him to have done that.

“I have lost a lot of showbiz friends to the disease. I only wish there was a cure.”

[Photo caption: TOGETHER IN GRIEF: Two sobbing friends embrace each other]

[Photo caption: PAYING TRIBUTE: Fans, and flowers, outisde the house.]

[Photo caption: IDOLISED: Freddie the flamboyant Queen pop singer at his peak]

"FREDDIE'S FEARS ABOUT HUGE HIT'

EXCLUSIVE By ALEC LOM

FREDDIE Mercury was a genius plagued by doubts, his pal Kenny Everett said yesterday.

The DJ said Freddie was even unsure about releasing Bohemian Rhapsody, which became Queen's greatest hit.

Kenny, 46, recalled the singer phoning him soon after completing the song in 1975.

"He said, 'Ken, I don't know what I've done.

"I've finished off this new single and it's about eight minutes long.

"I don't know whether it's going to be a hit'."

Kenny invited the star to bring the recording to his home.

He went on: "Freddie plonked it on my tape machine and, of course, this glorious operatic […]

[Photo caption: WONDER: Kenny]

[…] wonder came out. I remember him being so unsure about this piece of genius.

"When you look back, it was silly really.

"It was so great, it's like Mozart saying, 'I don't know whether my clarinet concerto is going to take off.’ I mean, Bohemian Rhapsody had Number One written all over it."

The song went on to top the charts for nine weeks.

Kenny added: "God gave Freddie gigantic talent and he made full use of it.

"He was never out of the studio and was always playing piano and composing.

“He really did God proud."

Kenny revealed he would not be going to Freddie's funeral.

"They will probably turn it into a party and play lots of his hits," he said.

"But I hate funerals. Why should I go?

"After all, Freddie won't be there.”

18 notes · View notes

nataliesnews · 2 years

Text

Banksy’s hotel 7.5.2022

As I wrote……I always accept Karin’s offer to go somewhere and on Saturday we went to a church which is on the one side of the wall and freedom on the other. It is in Bethlehem and as we drove in, Waze said, “You are going into a dangerous area for Israelis”. Neither of us were bothered. We have both often been Bethlehem as have many other Israelis. We got to the church too late to hear the lecture on the icons. Very frustrating. The turning to the church is just before the checkpoint ,which we did not realise, and so were stuck in the line for 40 minutes. We got in at the end of the lecture where the artist was showing how, in Russia, the icons are desecrated by having Putin and other leaders painted into them. And this is a famous icon painted on the wall of the checkpoint. The sad face of the Virgin Mary made me think of Rachel sitting by the wayside and weeping

Anyhow, feeling very frustrated, and thirsty we decided to do and have a drink somewhere and Karin suggested the hotel. You really must read the icon. It is fascinating. I had often heard about it and wanted to see it but never got there. They have a museum which tells the story of the occupation. We laughed because as we drove up, Karin said to me, “Ask the man if they are open” and I said “But Karin that is a monkey, not a man” and then a man came out who had been standing where only she could see him.

Opposite the hotel is the wall with graffiti some of which really pierces your heart. And we had ourselves taken with this graffiti which we saw many people doing after us

https://inspiringcity.com/2019/01/10/banksys-walled-off-hotel-in-bethlehem/

The museum is very well done. No ranting and raving. As far as I was concerned very factual. In the opening to the rooms sits Balfour

This was a mural on the wall….very graphic….a child trying to dig through the wall.

And another

But then two things happened which really made the day for us

The one room represented all the human rights movements and I suddenly saw two photos of people whom I know very well. We had been asked not to photograph inside so I went and asked at the desk if I could do so , explaining why. The woman came in with us and was fascinated by the story we told of the following..

Hanna Barag

Arik Ascherman

But that was not the end of the story.

As we were leaving we got into conversation with the people at the desk. This man asked Karin whom I was as he thought he might know me.

Karin said I was from Machsomwatch and Balfour and it turned out that years ago he had had a problem as he wanted to go overseas and could not get to the embassy for an appointment. He was told to contact Sylvia Fiterman and, as she could not help him, she referred him to Hanna Barag and he got his appointment and went overseas. He says they will not remember him but he remembers them.

He also asked me to give him the tag I have of Machsom as they would like to have it for the museum.

We spoke to the young woman you see in the photo . By the way we were talking to the young woman whom you see in the photo at the desk about Rachel’s tomb and saying how revolting they had made the touching little monument and she said well she would not know. As a Christian she is not allowed to go in. So next time you speak of how the Palestinians would not allow Jews to go into the Cave of the Patriarchs just remember that we are no better. We told her she was not missing anything. I have been there twice, once to see and once for Machsom and I will never go there again. It is a fortress

Quite a day which started with frustration and ended with a very good feeling.

Natanya

Natanya Natalie Ginsburg

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Kiryat Hayovel

Jerusalem 9650230

Israel

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

Cellphone preferable

#Baksy’s hotel 7.5.2022nn #Banksy's hotel 7.5.2022

0 notes

soldier-poet-king · 4 years

Text

Via Angorosa

I come into the chapel. The pavement is worn smooth by the cares of years, Smooth and sad and kindly underfoot. Quiet, I walk from pew to pew, Searching for a lonely place to kneel. The altar is alight with flowers: Sphered amaranth, mallow, and asphodel, Bellflower, willow’s branch, and eglantine, Rue, morning glory, and blue columbine. Stone, white, angelic faces guard the gates As the priest extends his arms, facing away from me.

The epistle side is full of people Praying pointedly beneath pointed windows, Chaplets flashing like so many pearl necklaces With crosses hanging lightly at the ends, Their hands washed clean in holy water I ask, “Is this seat taken?” and the mass of them Turn terrible faces toward me, shouting “HUSH.”

The gospel side is full of people Chatting with each other, in tee-shirts and tube-tops And tan lines where their habits used to be, That have been stripped from them By self-absolving, magisterial hands. I ask “Is this seat taken?” and the mass of them Turn hungrily and seize me, screaming “ALL ARE WELCOME.”

I stumble, and fall in the nave, Abrading my knees on stone; The bruises bloom like purple irises. Rise and walk.

Another pew, another, another. Here I see one I know, and stop there, crying, “Simon! May I sit here?” The family man looks up from his Hours, With edifying illustrations on the sins of the flesh. He lisps, “I’d rather not; my children are here with me- You understand. Please don’t make noise. Everyone else is being quiet; Mass is about to start.” He thrusts me firmly forward So that I slip again upon the pavement, Shocking my knees and the heel of my hand.

Another pew, another, another. And there, a purple-cardiganed, grey matron. “Veronica, May I sit here?” She looks up from her demagogic missal And flexes scarlet nails with gold rings. “You sit right here; we’ll fix you up,” Takes a fistful of condoms from her purse And proffers them, each stamped with Mary’s face, Her skull split in a leer of boundless love. My back aches with the weight of walking And the sweat comes on my fave like blood. Further forward.

“Our Lady of Law, pray of us!” shouts one. “Saint Matthew Shepard, pray for us!” screams another. “Our Lady of Normalcy, pray for us!” “Saint Mary Daly, pray for us!” “Our Lady of Anathema, pray for us!” the versicle. “Holy Zeitgeist, have mercy upon us!” the responsory. Their loves rub my ears raw; Divine things are always veiled in mystery.

Every seat is full. I am standing at the rail, between the transepts, under a void. My brow burns, My chest hurts, My feet and hands are stinging. The windows loom above me, out of reach.

I strike my breast and make my invocation: “I am sorry if I offend you all, because I dread The pain of heaven and the loss of hell, Although you are all good, washed white, And I am bloody, bold, irresolute. Weep not for me, daughters of Jerusalem, weep not for me; Weep for your pious children who process behind me! Our fathers’ hearts are turned from us, provoking us to wrath, And we, God’s bastard children; our inheritance Rejection letters from a host of houses, An empty cradle where a clan dead-ends, A white rose withered and a ring of fool’s gold, And this chapel where we Christians love one another.” I seize my scapular, rip off the cross, And cast it from me; Why should I bear it? A third time I fall, striking knees hands chin face upon the floor At a crack in the stone And blood seeps from my head. I lie before the rail and wait to die.

Step, step step. The chancel gate is opened; The priest in a pillar of incense stoops down to life me up And bears me into the sanctuary, Cradling me at his breast. He rests me on the cold altar stone. I have seen his face before: Lean, simple, worn by the dry eastern sun, So full of laughter that the altar feels soft. I understand nothing. A darkness descends upon my eyes, And as I fade into the unknown cloud, It comes to me: There is no place that I would rather die.

I hear his voice, faint and far above. “I break you as bread, I crush you as the grape, And I shall make of you a mystery That your darkness may illuminate your father’s wandering sons...” And then I hear no more.

- Gabriel Blanchard

#long post #poetry #anyway poetry by queer christians is superior to any other form of art i would die for this #there is something horrible and unique about the experience no matter what side of the debate each of us ends up #and that horrible wrenching experience is perhaps where our unity is found #gabriel blanchard #anyway this poem is from christ's body christ's wounds about church abuse #but i loved it so much i ordered his poetry volume wells of sorrow #it's my next poetry read and im very excited if this is anything to go by #he also annotates his poems #which is so gratifying #i knew matthew shepard of course #but not mary daly #and there were a few references i missed #if anyone is interested i'll post photos of the annotations since i cant find them anywhere online #i weep and i weep and i weep #this is just #he gets it #he really fuckin gets it #there have been a few entries in this anthology that have so deeply resonated with me #and this is the final and most powerful of them

27 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Miss you and your marvelous writing!!!! Just a prompt if you’re up to it 😊 exes wolfstar staying friends but sirius gets into a new relationship and he brings his new boo to somewhere he took remus and remus gets sad 😭 but they get back together eventually

Notes: OMFG BABEY! this is so SO beyond precious of you! i adore you to bits! thank you for the sweetness and for this scrumptious angst🥺🥺 i really hope you like it😭😘😘💜

SEND ME A PROMPT | A Reblog means SO SO much! I ADORE YOU💜💜

“He can just be so… So” James pauses right then, takes off his cap with the hand that’s still clutching his baseball bat, and ruffles his hair with the other.

“Un-opinionated,” Remus offers half heartedly as they turn the block to the small coffee shop nearest school, both of them freshly showered after the required morning workouts for Tuesday and Thursdays. It’s the first semester in which Remus has actually joined in on the seven minute track, considering the fact that even despite their crazy contradictory schedules with all the sports and extra curriculars they each had, Sirius always made it a point to buy their ice coffees and drop it off to Remus, sometimes leaving them a quarter of an hour late for first period, or as just a quick drop and dash if one of them had an exam.

It was sweet, considerate. It was Sirius showing how much he cared because he’s never been one for words, even if he would frequently print off the little texts Remus would send him about how Sirius made him feel, and hang it up on the wall besides his bed, along with photos of them and Remus by himself and a few of their other friends too.

But yeah… None of that is really a thing anymore, not the coffees or the texts or the promises of being one another’s always. Not after calling it quits in early January because they knew by August they’d be working with thousands of miles between them and a three hour difference on top of that. It just wouldn’t have been feasible in the long run, and sure— Remus was the one to broach the topic and he knows that Sirius was hesitant about the logical side of it, but sometimes Remus wishes Sirius had fought harder, had argued louder, had wanted Remus more. But that’s a ridiculous expectation, and he had only admitted as much to Lily. And at the end of the day, it was the right choice, because it’s only early May now, and Remus can’t imagine how sick he’ll feel once catching his flight to Berkeley, and they’re steadfastly back in the best friends category of things. He can’t fathom how it would’ve been if they spent all these months and the ones after being together in all those intimate ways, knowing that they’ll be so far apart soon enough.

It was the right decision for the both of them and their friendship.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that,” James says, bringing Remus out of his gloomy contemplations while opening the glass door to Three Broomsticks, sporting a thin smile that he always has on when he’s trying to be kind even when he’s irritated as all get out.

Remus snorts at him, elbow checking his side as he walks past. “Well he’s sharing that dorm with you and Sirius in New Haven, so I guess you’ve got that to look forwards to.”

James’s face pulls into a grimace and their typical barista nods their way, already receiving their orders through the app and sparing them having to wait in the queue. “Maybe Pete’ll grow his own personality in university, yeah?”

“Sure Prongsie,” Remus says, noncommittal as he checks his phone and lies against the windowpane, already exhausted by the morning. “And if he doesn’t, I’m sure Sirius is about to blow his lid any day now.”

“It’s going to be funny as fuck, and you won’t even be there to see the debris,” James counters, sounding pleasant enough even though Remus knows that he’s nearly as pissed off as Sirius is about the decision for him to go back to his home state for undergrad.

“You’ll send pictures though.”

“Of course Moony my old friend,” James jokes, tossing him a wink as they straighten once spotting their coffees being rung up. But as Remus takes a step forwards, he notices that a familiarly tan pair of hands are reaching for them, and when Remus looks up he feels like an idiot for not noticing him sooner. Because there Sirius is, dashing as ever in their school’s maroon blazer and tan pants, and his hair is windblown and shining as it falls midway of the nape of his neck. But Remus doesn’t really have the chance to appreciate just how damn good looking his ex-boyfriend is, rather, he’s more distracted by how Sirius doesn’t even notice him or James as he pivots around and hands over the second cup to a beaming Gideon Prewett. Their heads incline while they exchange a few words that are absolutely impossible to pick up in the crowded cafe before they bump their shoulders together and walk out the opposite door.

And it feels like nothing else watching that exchange— like their was a hammer and pick chipping away at his stupid, weeping heart.

“I think they’re just doing a project together,” James says lowly in Remus’s ear, clapping him on the back in reassurance, and Remus loves him, but he’s not in the mood for false platitudes, feels like there is a ugly, burning fire festering deep in his stomach and making Remus want to hurl all over the wooden floors.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies instead, mild as he discretely picks up his phone again and opens up to the last conversation he had this morning.

R: need intel

L: Say more sexy things to me, lover

R: sirius and Gideon

R: what’s going on there

L: I’ll take a look, dw

Buoyed by Lily’s scary levels of detective skills, Remus returns his phone to his satchel and signals James to follow him to pick up their actual drinks. “C’mon, Flitwick hates it when we’re late.”

“Do you want the good news first, or the bad.” Lily asks Remus later that morning during their shared free period, dropping her bag on the tabletop that they typically commandeer towards the back of Hogwarts’s library, nearest the windows and tucked away by the shelves.

“Is there actually any good news? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better.” Remus asks, single brow cocked as he shuts his history book and tosses it to the side.

“Well your hair looks especially nice today,” she offers with a small smile, sitting besides him and ruffling his curls.

“Thanks, I suppose. But I’d rather just get to it. And don’t sigh at me like that! All long suffering and all.”

Rolling her eyes, Lily gathers her hair into a high pony before turning to Remus fully. “You’re my best friend, I love you more than just about anyone. You know that, right?” Lily asks him, stiff stance relaxing when he nods in turn. “Then understand that I’m saying this from a place of love, but you don’t get to be mad at him, okay. You’re the one who called it off Re, you’re the one who wanted you guys to go back to being friends to avoid that messiness in August. And you know I respect the decision, but also it wasn’t the only one to be had. I mean look at James and I—“

“You’re going to Columbia Lils,” Remus bristles, hates how defensive he’s getting all of a sudden. “That train ride is like two hours and some change at the very most. It’s not the same.”

“You guys could’ve made it work,” she insists, green eyes blazing in the dim light. “He’s crazy about you, and you’re in love with him— Like ass backwards in love. You can’t just cut that off like it’s nothing, damn it, Remus.”

He can feel his own ears reddening and Remus hates it, hates how today had started off so innocuous and now it’s an absolute shit show. Remus hates that Lily is always correct about everything, and hates how Sirius probably is regretting telling Remus he still fully intends to ask him out to prom, and hates how much he loves him— how whenever he looks at Sirius it’s just a deluge of wanting and adoring and regretting and needing to feel his lips against Sirius’s own again like a drug, how he’ll never forget how he tasted like coffee beans and cigarette smoke and the strawberries he ate every morning besides his breakfast. Remus hates it all and he can’t figure out how not to feel like suddenly everything is slipping out of his hands like sand drifting through his fingers.

“He’s probably not that crazy over me anymore considering he’s getting Gideon Prewett coffees now, so maybe it’s the right decision after all.” Is what Remus decides to tell Lily instead of that whirlwind of clashing feelings.

“Oh Christ,” Lily huffs, dropping her head back like she’s asking for strength from the heavens above. “Look, Dorcas tells me that they’ve only been out twice. And Marlene says that it’s nothing intense. Just a movie and then he went to go watch his nephew’s little league game.”

“Oh,” Remus intones, because, no. No he will not start crying like this is some fucking Nicholas Sparks novel, and he’s the wayward lead making all the worst decisions. He’s not going to cry damn it!

He is not a bird, and this is suppose to be happening, and none of this has any real consequence at the end of the day. He and Sirius broke up, and Sirius can go out with whoever he pleases— even if it’s good looking, ginger athletes.

Remus is fine.

“Remus,” Lily gently consoles, lacing her fingers into his own that’s resting on his lap, and squeezing for good measure. “Benjy told Mary, who told me during Calc that Gideon doesn’t expect anything. Sirius told him he’s not looking for anything long term.”

“That’s dumb,” Remus retorts, trying to hold everything in so that Lily doesn’t give him that concerned, doe eyed face of hers, like when he’s spent a week living off of protein bars and double shot espressos preparing for finals. “Gideon’s great, and there on the soccer team together, they would be perfect.”

“Remus, stop.”

“And he’s going to Dartmouth, so he’ll be super close for like weekend excursions and all of that.”

“Remus!”

“The more I think about it, Lils, the more it makes sense. They just fit.”

“Sure, those are all nice attributes,” Lily says, peering up at him disappointedly. “But he’s not you.”

Like a legion of angels singing in the distance, the bell begins to shrill for next period and Remus is spared from giving that statement any mind.

He spends the rest of the week acting as if he hadn’t even seen Sirius that morning whenever around him, and internally analyzing each and every exchange between them, and comparing to them to when he sees Sirius chatting with Gideon. And it’s not fun to say the least. It’s like a flashback to when he was trying to hide his crush on Sirius back in Freshman and most of sophomore year, but somehow worse. It’s worse because Remus had him, had Sirius in all the ways someone could ever want an other. He had Sirius’s languid morning kisses, and Sirius’s bark like laughter. Remus had Sirius being nervous the first time Lyall came for his typical Christmas visit, and Sirius had to try and impress him along with Remus’s mom as more than just the friend he hung around with at school. Remus had Sirius’s gruff voice when they were in bed and getting tangled into one another, and Sirius’s dopey looks in the middle of class when he’d be gazing over at Remus instead of the board. And if Remus is being honest, he knows he still has all those things, but it’s suddenly and searingly clear that some time— sooner rather than later— they’ll all leave, abruptly disappearing and shattering Remus’s world in their wake. Because eventually all of those different facets of Sirius’s won’t be Remus’s anymore— they’ll be Gideon’s or some other boy he meets in New Haven. And Remus can’t even be upset at it, he doesn’t have a claim to any of Sirius anymore, doesn’t get to call any part of him his.

And it’s probably the worst Remus has felt since that first night after their break up, because he’s eating every moment he has with Sirius like he’s famished and Sirius is the last meal he’ll ever know. He wants to memorize every part of him before he can’t have any of it. He wants to unravel every layer of Sirius, and kiss it for the final time, and it’s like saying goodbye a thousand times over, strangling his heart and splintering something desperate deep inside of him.

Like now.

It’s edging on midnight, and they drove up to the lake front near their suburb, with Sirius lying with his head on Remus’s lap and his long, muscled body lying against the tattered blanket beneath them. And his eyes are fluttered shut while the speaker they brought croons out the indie playlist they like most from Spotify.

And Remus can’t help but feel like this is one of their last nights like this, alone and quiet and together without any other specter of some other partner. So he watches him, watches the moonlight pacing over his nose and the high bones of his cheeks and across Sirius’s eyelids too. Remus watches his ink like lashes kissing his skin, and wants to touch the divot of his cupids bow like so many times before while his other hand cards through Sirius’s hair.

And Remus lets himself want Sirius and wonders if he’ll ever stop wanting, craving, loving him.

“I can hear you thinking Moons,” Sirius says, fluttering his eyes open and crunching up before Remus can even respond. “What’s going on?”

“Huh? What do you mean? I’m fine.” Remus all but sputters, folding his knees against his chest and wrapping his arms around them, feeling somehow vulnerable in blistering ways. “Nothing is going on.”

“Pff,” Sirius gives him a pointed look, settles down so that they’re side by side and tries to get Remus to look at him head on. “You’ve been strange all week, Moony.”

“That’s not—“

“And then tonight, you didn’t even tease your ma when she was telling us about that patient who puked all over her shoes.”

“Just tired is all.”

“But had enough energy to smoke half the joint I brought.” Sirius says with a snort, looking frustrated again when Remus didn’t even flinch a smile at the counter. “Remus, talk to me.”

“It’s fine Sirius,” Remus sighs, suddenly remembers how exhausting all their arguments were in the past. How Sirius tries getting him to speak everything in his mind, as if Remus could even put them into words.

“Okay, then tell me why you rejected my offer to go to that Frank Ocean concert. You’re obsessed with him.”

“’S in July,” Remus reminds him lightly, focusses on the way they can see the North star glimmering against the horizon instead.

“And, so?” Sirius asks, sounding more than a bit scathing. “You’re not leaving for another month after that, you trying to cut me off completely by the summer or something?”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t be condescending.”

“Sirius, just leave well enough alone. Holy shit.”

“I can leave it alone if you can actually tell me what the fuck is going on with you,” Sirius snaps, standing up now, probably because he always likes using his height advantage on most people whenever he gets all pissy.

“You can be such a prick sometimes, you know that?” Remus snarls at him, following suit and dipping his head back just slightly so that they’re eye to eye. “Not everything is on your schedule, you know that.”

“My schedule!” Sirius’s brows jump to his hairline, and he breaks into that manic laughter that springs up only when he’s so angry he can’t put his thoughts together. “I’m trying to do as much shit with you as possible before you leave, because for some stupid fucking reason I’m going to miss you when your across the fucking country! But yeah, whatever. If you’re actually just sick of me and my presence or what the fuck else, you can just—“

“I would’ve assumed you wanted to go with Gideon,” Remus blurts out, simply unable to hold it back any more, unable to pretend like he’s not suffering a thousand fresh paper cuts every time he even glances Sirius’s way these days. He can’t do this, can’t pretend to just be friends when they were— when they are— so much more than that. “To the concert I mean. I just assumed—“

“No,” Sirius says, seething as he storms up to Remus— close enough that the tips of their noses brush up against each other.

“No? Excuse me?”

“No Remus you don’t get to do this!” Sirius repeats, voice going frayed at the edges as their glances level. “You don’t get to pretend as if I want anyone more than I want— than I’ve always wanted you. And you don’t get to float around for the rest of your life pretending as if this’ll ever change for me. As if you can’t hit me up in fifteen years when I’m married with kids, and ask to get back together, and think that I wouldn’t drop it all for you.”

Remus’s heart begins to thud, loud and painful against his ribcage, and his lungs feel like they might collapse the instant Remus let’s the tears swimming in his eyes sprinkle out. “Sirius, I ca—“

“I’ve been in love with you since before we were suppose to mean what that meant, damn it, Remus! And you’re the one who called it off!”

“It was the right decision.” Remus croaks out, plunging his hands into his hoodie’s pockets, doesn’t want Sirius to see the way they’re shaking.

“”For you. The right decision for you.” Sirius presses, his gray eyes dark underneath the stars. “And you know I’d do anything you wanted of me, but you don’t get to be mad at the ways I cope. And you sure as fuck don’t get to be jealous of fucking Gideon Prewett, as if he can hold a match to you.”

“Oh.” Is all Remus can gather to say, peering back down at his shoes and pressing together his lips, feels the most lost he ever has while around Sirius. “I love you too, you know that. You know I love you so much that it hurts sometimes— That was never the problem.”

Sirius makes a strangled sound deep in his throat, and the next second, Remus can’t feel the warmth of his body besides him because Sirius is darting over to the cusp of the lake and kicking at a rock. “Fuck, Remus. You can’t just say that, all right! You can’t because none of this is fair, or okay. And I fucking hate it and I hate this and—“

“Maybe we can try,” Remus says, quiet but unshaken. And he watches as Sirius slowly turns back around, face scrunched up in utter confusion, but eyes glittering with something like hope. “I love you Sirius, and you love me. And Lily’s right, fucking hell she’s so right. I can’t just turn it off, okay. I’ve tried and I’ve tried, but I can’t. I can’t be around you and not want every part of you. But I also can’t let myself stay away from you. So let’s try, and it’s probably a stupid difficult decision, and we’re going to be frustrated and we’re going to miss one another but I know there’s going to be no one I want more and I think you migh— Oof.”

Remus can’t continue rattling off any of the reasons why they should get back together, because Sirius is somehow magically popping up in front of him— his large hands cupping against Remus’s jawline and his thin lips crashing against him, and Remus can only wrap his arms around Sirius’s torso and give him back all he’s pushing forwards.

And it might’ve been a minute or an hour that past, but Sirius is pulling back with a face that looks lighter in ways Remus hasn’t seen on him since the breakup all those months ago. “I’d literally agree to anything if it means we can stay together, Moony. Absolutely anything.”

Remus feels the strain against the apples of his cheeks as he beams at him at the sound of the oath. “Yeah, me too Padfoot. Always and forever, it’s you.”

My Other Wolfstar FIC💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR ANGST #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #SPILT INK #I AM A MESS #I HATE ME LMFAO

182 notes · View notes

embrassemoi · 3 years

Text

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 21

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader CW: Language, unbeta'd, filler Songs: T.Rex - Get It On and ABBA - I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do, I Do

Important question, are you guys team Remus or Sirius so far?

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 21: I Do

━━━━━━━━━༻☽༺━━━━━━━━━

March 10th, 1976

‘So let’s dance,

Take a chance,

Understand me,

You’re dirty, sweet and you’re my girl,

Get it on, bang a gong, get it on…’

The Marauders were a talented group, nobody could deny that. They all had their own strengths: Remus was incredibly smart and bloody talented at every class he was in. Peter was beyond amazing at baking and making people feel seen — wanted. James’ Quidditch skills could land him a position on an actual team and he was someone you could always rely on. Sirius — she had to admit — was brilliant at caring for magical creatures and quick as a whip. But together, they knew how to throw a good party.

Remus’ birthday was split into two different parties. The first party was the Marauders embarrassing him in the common room; gathering students from all different houses and making them sing happy birthday loudly. The Marauders led the song but puberty had been hitting James hard as his voice cracked, going half an octave higher which caused Remus to weep. At one point, they managed to get ahold of fireworks and set it off by accident, which Lily then deduced points from. A large cake was produced, courtesy of Peter, before they hauled him up in their dorm for the second party — one for close friends. She, along with the rest of the girls was invited, all bearing gifts.

Lily wore a deep purple crochet dress, as striking as ever. Mary’s curly hair haloed around her face, charming her eyelashes to make them long and fluffy, giving her a doll-like appearance. Marlene dressed casually, ditched her braids and Dorcas wore bright red overalls.

Because Oats was still too young, both she and Sirius decided that tonight, Oats was to stay in Y/N’s room. Everyone had been joking about them being divorced parents fighting over custody, but it really felt like it. Sirius was so attached and now offered — no — was incredibly persistent to keep it full-time until the assignment was over;

“Please, PLEASE let me have 'em.”

“You dolt. You said you didn’t want Oats in the first place!”

“I’m a changed man, I swear.” “No —”

He clapped his hands together, pleading with his best puppy dog eyes, he begged. “Pleaseee!”

“Sirius! Pipe down! We’re in the library!”

“Not until you say yes, dipshit! I’m a father! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE —”

They were getting odd stares and Y/N waved her hands to get him to calm down but it didn’t work. “For fuck sake! Sure! Stop bothering me!”

She shook her head, ridding the memory.

“Happy birthday,” Y/N mused, dropping down to sit with Remus on his bed. They watched as everyone in the room danced. Once, she recalled the Purebloods, specifically Sirius and James, had to take dance lessons when they were younger for balls and galas. Sirius mentioned he knew multiple types of dances but mostly ballroom. That was a blatant lie because the way his body swayed to the music as he danced with Mary — that definitely wasn’t ballroom. Too many thoughts piled into her head that she wouldn’t dare say out loud and ignored the feeling of her heart leaping. “Brough a gift.”

“You didn’t need to,” Remus took the bag but then quickly added, “But I really appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

“Stop being modest — just open it.”

He opened the bag, pulling out the sweater as a huge smile, big and bright filled his face. “No way! You knitted me a jumper?!”

“I learned from the best.”

For the past two days, Y/N became increasingly frustrated and eventually succumbed to magic to help make the sweater look like an actual sweater. The holes and spots that were too large or small became the same size and whole.

Remus gaped and he hurriedly pulled it over his head, covering his long-sleeve shirt. The sweater was loose in certain areas, like the arms, but either than that, fit perfectly. She visibly relaxed, pleased her hard work had paid off.

“Wow — it’s grand! Thank you.” Remus really did look dashing, the colour suiting the undertones of his skin nicely.

“You’re more than welcome.” She went to rest her head on his shoulder, comforted by how warm Remus’ body temperature ran.

They chatted quietly for some time, letting Remus geek out over a new book. A few times, he’d stop, becoming a bit shy but Y/N encouraged him to keep going.

Once the T.Rex song blared its final bars in the background, someone spun on another record.

‘Love me or leave me, make your choice but believe me,

I love you

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do’

“Who the fuck put ABBA on?!” Remus moaned.

“C’mon, love,” Lily went up to him, a teasing tone to her voice. She hauled him to his feet, “Care for a dance?”

‘Oh, no hard feelings between you and me,

If we can’t make it, but just wait and see’

Glee shot around the room as Remus was unsteady on his feet but managed to clumsy twirl Lily. She snorted, swinging him around. Everyone watched Remus cling onto her for dear life to not have Lily flying to the other side of the room. Once Y/N’s fit died down, the first person that she looked to subconsciously was Sirius who looked back. All she wanted to do was inch closer, and the idea made her feel both excited and appalled.

They averted their gazes a little too quickly to be considered normal once they snapped out of their daze.

‘I can't conceal it, don't you see, can't you feel it?

Don't you too?

I do, I do, I do, I do, I do’

“Accio camera!” Marlene shouted, grabbing Y/N’s Polaroid that she brought, forcing everyone to take a photo.

They all huddled up around the bed but Remus protested about how he wasn’t photogenic but everyone shushed him, unable to further object. Y/N got to her feet, about to position herself to take the photo before they shouted at her.

“If I’m taking a photo,” Remus cuts in, “Then you are too.”

Mary flickered her wand and the camera flew from her grasp as it floated above, ready to take the shot. Y/N ran up to the group, besides Sirius but they had to press together so they’d all fit in the frame.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got enough good looks to share between the both of us,” Sirius whispered.

“Asshole.”

“Okay! In three… two… one…!

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY REMUS!” “— MOONY!”

When they snapped the photo, they duplicated it — one for each person. Y/N didn’t bother to look at it until she got back to her dorm that night, tired and groggy.

Mary’s arm was sung around both Marlene and Dorcas, James and Peter were poking Remus’ cheek — Remus’ smile was dazzling, blushing madly. Lily threw up peace signs, getting her to hold one up but Sirius — Sirius was caught watching Y/N — so tenderly that she was sure she was envisioning it — but then he quickly looked up to the camera, wearing a smirk.

‘I do, I do, I do, I do, I do’

96 notes · View notes

sunnysviolin · 3 years

Note

currently having so many thoughts about aubrey getting sick of her moms mess one day and packing her bunny into her carrier and just leaving... she drifts about friends houses for a while before basil braves up to ask if she's okay :(( she's all out of energy + too stubborn to go home so she doesn't bother arguing and lets him take her to see polly (sorry me again with aubrey ramblings pls tell me to shush if you dont vibe w it)

Wow....I love this so much so I’m gonna combine it with that ask I got the other day and noodle on this a bit. Hope you don’t mind me taking your idea and running nonnie!!!

This got really long and kind of intense, so I’m putting it under a Read More. There’s also gonna be way more ahead!! This AU has caught me. But y’all Serious warning for emotional child abuse and neglect. Aubrey’s mother is decidedly not a good person, and their relationship is very damaged. Read only if you know you mentally can handle it, and no shame in skipping this. This part of it is heavy. TW: Child abuse and neglect. TW: Alcoholism TW: Running Away TW: Homelessness

In the end it’s the rain that does it. The rain, the drafts in their weary old house, and the bucket that sits in the corner of her room next to her half broken laundry basket

On the last night Aubrey spends in her mother’s house the rain is coming down in freezing icy sheets. It’s bitterly cold, and she is weary.

The summer of her 16th year has come and gone, and they are firm into the grip of September. It was a summer that had changed everything in her life. A summer where she found her way back to her chosen family, while becoming more isolated than ever from her real family. She had spent almost every hour out of the house- riding scooters with her gang, reconnecting with Basil, finding her way back into Kel’s loyal heart, letting her walls down around Hero, even discovering a hidden strength within her to forgive Sunny.

It was the best summer of her life, even beating out the perfect summers spent in her childhood with Mari. In those days Aubrey had been naive. She didn’t know what she had, she just assumed she would always have it. This summer she had seen every experience for what it was- a gift.

Fall coming had been difficult. Really almost nothing had changed, except it had.

Hero had gone back to college, promising to visit at every chance he could. Aubrey had pushed down the spike of jaded denial that had risen up inside her at his words, and put her arm around Kel who was misty eyed saying goodbye to his brother.

Sunny had spent most days in Faraway at either Kel or Basil’s house over the summer, but now he only came on weekends. He had started school again, a new school where no one knew his name or his face. He didn’t say much about it, but he hadn’t stopped going yet, so Aubrey considered it progress.

Kel and Basil had stuck close to her, and she was thankful for it. Aubrey knew now that nothing would ever separate the five of them again, but there was still the irrational fear inside of her that they would all leave her sooner or later. Her gang must’ve seen something too, because they had been awkwardly affectionate in a way that both irritated and comforted her.

But her mother....

Her mother had changed too.

By sixteen Aubrey knew her mothers rhythms like the back of her hand. She knew the cycles that played out. Her mother would circle through various moods- cleaning, ignoring, depressing, drinking, regretting, promising, and then cleaning again.

The regularity of it all had numbed her to the terrible conditions of her childhood home, and Aubrey spent most of her time out of the house anyway. (She had never been so grateful for nine hours at school, four hours after school goofing off in a big group, and the usual invitation to dinner with Polly or Kel’s mother. Aubrey usually only went home to sleep these days)

But her mother had added and taken away from her cycle. There was a new cycle now, and it was impossible to deal with.

Ignoring, Depressing, Drinking, Angry, Regretting. Rinse and Repeat.

Angry was new. Angry was (terrifying)....Angry was new.

Aubrey had never tried to disrupt her mother’s cycle before, but Angry was enough to get her to try. She would clean the house top to bottom, putting in an effort she had never put in before to make things nice. She had thrown away bottles, cleaned dishes, cooked food, on and on all in an effort to change what she knew was coming. It still came. Her mother still wailed like a banshee, shrieking and hollering loud enough neighbors had called.

The calls were the worst part. The low humiliation that sat in her stomach as she assured these people who didn’t really care that everything was fine, all while her mother continued to scream in the background.

With Angry, Regretting was also different too. Aubrey, never one to take things lying down, screamed back until angry tears burst from her eyes. She would break down and sob in front of her mother, her walls finally ripped apart brick by brick by the woman who was supposed to love her most.

Then her mom would hold her tight and promise things would be different. Regretting had mixed with Promising, and as much as Aubrey wanted to shove away the confusing affection, she couldn’t bring herself to.

Screaming at each other was the only time that Aubrey’s mother looked at her. Curled in her mother’s arms weeping was the only time that her mother had a kind word. Aubrey couldn’t resist what she always craved, and some sick twisted part of her even longed for the point where her mother would snap and start yelling, just because she knew the release of emotions was soon to follow.

That last night in her house was one of those nights. Her mother was yelling, too incoherent for Aubrey to even make out the words, but the tone said everything. Her mother had lost it over the dishes in the sink piling up. Aubrey had done them this morning, yet somehow she came home to a sink full of chipped dirty dishes. Those dishes felt like an ironic symbol of her life. No matter how many times she wiped it away. The dishes would be dirty the second she turned around.

Aubrey was already in tears, her fists bunched at her sides and her teeth grinding down against each other. Soon enough it would be time for her to start yelling back, and the cycle would go on and on and on. The dishes would never be clean.

Aubrey didn’t want it to go on. Not even her mother holding her was worth how torn apart her heart was becoming. She fled upstairs, slamming the door to attic and locking it tight. It didn’t matter anyway. By this point of drinking, her mother could barely stand, let alone climb a ladder.

The rain was slamming against her windows, a steady drip already starting in the bucket in her room. It was freezing cold, and goosebumps rose on her bare arms. Maribelle was sitting in her pen, her nose twitching as she watched her Aubrey. Aubrey brushed at her damp cheeks and picked her bunny up, snuggling the tiny white creature close to her chest.

Maribelle was too cold. Her mother hadn’t paid the heating bill again. The rain was too loud, and the wind sneaking in wrapped Aubrey in a tight grip. Aubrey sat on the edge of the bed and rocked her bun, trying in vain to warm them both up. A single thought ran through her head over and over

This wasn’t worth it. This wasn’t worth the love she craved from a woman who couldn’t give it. This wasn’t worth her pride at keeping things together. This wasn’t worth trying to fix over and over with no results.

The rain began to slow to a quieter drizzle. Her mother was silent below. In the cold wet of her tiny attic room, Aubrey decided.

No. This really just...wasn’t worth it.

Aubrey slipped onto her knees, keeping Maribelle close as she pulled her backpack towards her and began to empty it out. She kept only her English textbook and her history notes. Everything else she could get a spare of. in her bag went two spare shirts and one pair of jeans. She packed in underwear and socks into the smaller front pouch. Aubrey stood and pulled the false bottom out of her desk drawer, taking the cash and the pack of cigarettes she had pinched off her mom and throwing them in as well.

Finally there were the pictures. The frame of her photo of her and Kim had to be abandoned, but the actual picture was placed carefully inside her backpack. She had never been more happy to have her tiny carrier for Maribelle. The bunny happily hopped inside and burrowed deep in the soft downy blanket Aubrey put inside for her.

It was depressingly easy to pack up her important things. Shockingly simple to write a note to her mother (I’m leaving. I’m not coming back. Two short sentences and that was it) It hadn’t even been hard to sneak out. After the hour or so it took to gather the rest of her necessities from the house and steal whatever money was in her mother’s purse, said woman had passed out on the couch in an alcoholic haze.

Aubrey locked the door and stared at the silver key gleaming in her palm. She had only her backpack, a messenger bag, and her tiny bunny carrier. Her whole life fit into two bags. Aubrey left her key on the doorstep.

She wouldn’t need it anymore.

The rain had let up, but a harsh breeze whipped around her as she walked, pushing Aubrey to move faster. She took the sidewalks she had taken since she was little, letting her feet move as her mind went blank. Before she knew it she was standing on another street, one more familiar to her than her own.

Aubrey spared a long look at Kel’s hosue. The lights were on inside, bathing their front yard in a warm golden glow. She stared at it for a moment, considering, and then the chill became too great.

Aubrey bypassed Kel’s house and quietly snuck into the backyard of Sunny’s old home. The elderly couple that owned the house now was sure to be asleep. Kel said that they were quiet and almost never noticed anything going on. Perfect.

Aubrey knew exactly where she was going. It was still standing. Faded and beaten down, probably rickety too, but it would be safe for her and her Belle.

Besides only four other people even knew this treehouse existed. No one would ever find her here.

101 notes · View notes

shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

1x18: Something Wicked

Then:

After this they toss the ball around like old times

Now:

Fitchburg, WI

When I first started watching this show, I found great delight in all the locations the Winchesters visited that I recognized. I also laughed at how much these locations didn’t look a thing like the real place.

We begin this episode with a little girl saying her prayers. Her dad tucks her in, and she asks about her mom. She’ll be staying the night at the hospital with the little girl’s sister.

Later that night, the little girl sits up listening to the wind beat tree branches against her window. One of the branches turns into a hand that opens her window. A shadowy figure creeps across the room ---and a Deatheater scares the girl into a comatose state.

Sam and Dean are on the hunt since John is TOO LAME AND PETTY AND MEAN to go himself. Sam swears there’s nothing on their radar, but Dean insists they check it out.

(This episode gets pretty dark when it comes to John and Dean so we’ll try to add lots of pretty pictures to help with the pain.)

For Side Profile Science:

The boys pull into the nice rural town of Fitchberg Fitchburg, WI, not the more urban suburb of the state’s capital.

They ask around about anything weird in town ---just the freemasons being sneaky again. (Flashes of Hot Fuzz). Sam then notices that there are no kids at the school playground at 4 in the afternoon.

Dean heads over to talk to Hannah a mother who tells him about kids falling sick in town, and parents getting anxious over it.

Dean and Bikini Inspector/CDC doctor Sam head to the hospital.

For Bikini Inspector Science:

They head to the pediatric ward. Dean notices an old woman who decorates her room with an upside down cross (way to play with our ingrained bias of ageism and sexism show!)

Dr. Hydeker explains that 6 children are sick with pneumonia so far, and their bodies are just shutting down. They won’t respond to antibiotics or anything.

This disease works its way through families, one child after another. None of the children are conscious. They interview the father of Mary and Bethany. He mentions that they think they caught this from an open window.

Sam and Dean wonder what opened the window and go to the house to check it out. Initially, they find nothing, but then Sam notices one WACKY handprint. “What the hell leaves a handprint like that?” Sam wonders.

*RAGE Flashback Alert*

John’s heading out on a hunt and he’s giving young Dean instructions. Then he scolds his 9 year old son to pay attention.

Dean recites John’s fatherly advice: “Shoot first, ask questions later.” before John takes off. I love how he bullies Dean into being an adult here, and doesn’t even acknowledge Sam at all when he leaves.

Present day, Dean tells Sam that he knows why they’re in Fitchburg. John’s faced this monster in the past, and he wants them to finish it.

When they pull into their motel for the night, Sam asks what a shtriga is. Dean thinks it’s a witch of some sort. John faced one over 15 years ago in Wisconsin, and now it appears to be back.

Dean heads inside to get a room for them. He’s greeted with a surly 10 year old hotel proprietor. Well, the son of the real hotel manager. Dean can’t decide to be upset with the kid questioning his sexuality or soft for the kid who clearly has a great responsibility taking care of his younger brother. The mom helps Dean get a room.

While Dean gets checked in, he has another flashback.

*Scabetti-os Flashback Alert*

Dean’s feeding Sam his dinner. Sam’s sick of the same old food. He wants Lucky Charms, but there’s only one bowl left, and Dean needs to eat too. Sam throws on his baby-puppy dog look and Dean throws away the spaghetti-os and let’s Sam eat the cereal. It BREAKS me that this child has to think rationally and maturely to feed his younger brother, but he’s JUST A KID so he throws the pasta away in anger instead of eating it himself.

For One Day Sam Won’t Touch Sugar Cereal Science:

Sam does his research and discovers more about shtriga. They feed off of spiritus vitae --or breath of life. Sam says they prefer children and they’re invulnerable to everything. Dean corrects him and says that they’re vulnerable when they feed.

Sam continues that this monster takes the form of a human when it’s not feeding --generally an old woman. Dean remembers the woman from the hospital.

They head to the hospital, ready to do their worst to the old lady.

A nice jump scare that gets me every time reveals that she’s just an old woman. She demands they fix the crucifix that fell on her wall --so it wasn’t supposed to be upside down. WINCHESTER BAD.

At the motel, Michael and his little brother sleep peacefully. A shadowy hand creeps across the window and opens it.

The next morning the Winchesters return to the motel. Dean notices Michael moping outside the office. It turns out that Asher is very sick and just got shipped to the hospital. The window was unlatched, and Michael blames himself for not protecting his younger brother. Dean “Guilt Spiral” Winchester tries to help him avoid lifelong trauma by telling him that it isn’t his fault. Excuse me while I WEEP A SINGLE TEAR!

Dean gives the mom a lift to the hospital while Michael stays behind. Sam heads to the library, where I am forced ONCE AGAIN to include a picture of a Winchester rocking a microfiche machine.

For (This Joke Will Never Die) Library Science:

Sam fills Dean in on a string of child deaths tied to a mysterious pneumonia-like illness. The Fitchburg body count is just getting started. Sam finds a newspaper photo from the 1890’s featuring the very same doctor who is caring for the pediatric patients today. Dean, still at the hospital, puts on his murder face. Doctor Hydecker is IN THAT VERY ROOM looking over Asher. He asks Dean what the CDC has uncovered so far. Um. Nothing? Except a big ol’ liar and murderer.

Back at the motel, Dean fills Sam in on the hospital encounter with Hydecker. He didn’t attack the doctor at the hospital because a shtriga is only vulnerable when feeding. Also - more importantly - he didn’t have his guns on him. Dean plans to catch the shtriga in action that very night...when it returns to feed on Michael.

Sam’s horrified by this plan, but Dean insists that the end justifies the means. After all, their dad sent Dean to Fitchburg to clean up the hunt he botched...WHEN HE WAS JUST A KID.

Dean explains: years ago John Winchester left Sam and Dean alone in a motel room in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. A few nights into John’s absence, Dean leaves the room (with Sam asleep) so he can play arcade games at a local tavern. When he returns, there’s a terrifying spectre hovering over Sam.

Dean calmly picks up the shotgun(!!!) his father left him, only for John to shout Dean out of the way. John blasts the heck out of the shtriga and then moves to cradle Sam (who is fine, don’t worry bbys).

Dean explains that he just left for a little bit! (A few hours and not, like, THREE DAYS, AMIRITE?) John’s pissed at Dean for failing to parent Sam properly. After the failed attack, John dropped Sam and Dean off at Pastor Jim’s. “Dad never spoke about it again. I didn’t ask. But he, uh… He looked at me different. You know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn’t listen.”

Sam tries to convince Dean that he was just a kid and not responsible, but Dean “Guilt is Ninety Percent of My Personality” Winchester refuses to listen. John sent them this hunt as a personal message to DEAN. (Pardon me while I step outside and kick the shit out of John Winchester.) ANYWHO, Dean’s going to kill the shtriga any way he can...so young Michael gets to be bait. They head over to talk to Michael.

Dean and Sam try to convince Michael to let them watch over him while he sleeps????? Lordy lord lord. Dean tries to convince Michael that monsters are real. Only, Michael doesn’t need much convincing. He saw the monster when it attacked his brother. (Side note: I give the person filming Jensen in this episode a Major Award.)

Michael decides to sign on for the hunt on the chance that it might save Asher. Big brother club FTW! The Winchesters set up a nanny cam, instruct Michael to hide under the bed when they burst into the room, and get ready for the shtriga’s arrival. Dean tells Michael that he doesn’t have to be bait and he “won’t be mad” if he wants out after all. (I stroke Dean’s cheek and whisper, “Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester.”) But Michael’s all in if it means helping his brother.

The shtriga arrives for its murder appointment and the window slides open. The shtriga leans down in classic dementor mode to feed on a completely wide awake Michael, when the Winchesters burst in and start firing. The shtriga goes down like a trick target at a carnival, but it isn’t dead yet! (Only mostly dead.) It attacks Dean and then, symbolically, attacks Sam. While it begins to feed on Sam, Dean fires off one perfect shot into the shtriga’s forehead, killing it. “You okay, little brother?” Dean asks, also SYMBOLICALLY.

Tiny, life-force soul bits float out of the dying shtriga’s mouth, on their way to reinhabit all the sick children in town.

The next day, the Winchesters prepare to leave town. All the kids are on the road to recovery, and Michael gets ready to head off to visit his brother. (YAY!)

Sam takes a turn for the morose and mourns the fact that Michael knows monsters are real now. Dean “I’m Your Parent” Winchester tells Sam that he wishes he could have ensured that innocence for Sam as well. They drive off in a swirling cloud of Winchester angst.

Live, from Fitchquote, Wisconsin:

I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right

I was sleeping with my peepers open

You were just a kid

Sometimes nightmares are real

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 1x18 #something wicked #supernatural season 1

48 notes · View notes

dianasson · 4 years

Text

Á Ógánaigh an Chúil Chraobhaigh

With Halloween, or Oíche Shamhna, fast approaching I wanted to share an old lament with you all. This song, Á Ógánaigh an Chúil Chraobhaigh, is in Gaeilge but likely comes from an English ballad.

🕯

I've not been able to find the recording I first got this air from, though it is very similar to Eilís Ní Shúilleabháin. I've pasted an English translation of the lyrics below, from SongsInIrish.com. I hope this (very sad) song will help everyone remember where Halloween comes from, and maybe inspire you to light a candle or set a warm fire and food out for your ancestors that night.

Thank you infinitely, Jedd Greenhalgh, for recording and editing this for me!!!

And shout out to my ancestor Tunis for consenting to this photo op!

"Oh young man of the flowing hair, on which side are you?

Are you without a companion, and are you lying alone?’

‘Oh, I am without a companion and I am lying alone,

Who is that girl who’s asking, is it anyone alive from the country?’

‘It seems you do not recognize myself, the dearest of your heart?

While I am your quite flowing girl, who used to be by your side during the night.’

‘I do not recognize you while there is no piece of your beauty left,

That’s how the clay spoiled me, ray of sunlight and of wind.’

When my people suppose I am on my bed,

On your tomb I am from evening till morning,

Imagining I am down there with you and eternally weeping, my sorrow,

After my quite prudent girl who used to pledge herself to me as a child.

My family has been dealing with me, brothers and priests,

About me being in love with you, Mary, now when you are dead,

You were a shadow from the bad weather and a shelter from rain,

My sun of the winter day, and now you are down below the ground."

[Video description: slightly shaky video, black and white old photograph of a man with a beard in an old naval uniform, in a wooden frame, resting on a white wooden mantle with autumn leaves on it. There's a small white candle burning in front of the photo and various vases and dried flowers around.]

#Irish folklore #Irish folk music #sean nós #sean nós singing #lament #ancestors #ancestor worship #Oíche Shamhna #Halloween #the dead #ritual #folk music #folk song

65 notes · View notes

alpaca-writes · 3 years

Text

Mystics, Chapter 25

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-24 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: Crying baby and darkness, drug mention and grief. That is all.

It’s Labyrinth time! We catch up with Charlotte and Arthur as they make a very startling and disturbing revelation.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: POOR THING

“I wandered for… Oh… I don’t even know how long. Wishing I could be home again- feeling so guilty for how I treated Arch… Thinking about you as well- I mean, I forgot you, Arty! How does a sister forget her little brother overnight- and for months!?”

“It’s not your fault, really.” Arthur said, “besides, with the way we left things, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting me gone.”

There was an island countertop dividing them that Charlotte stared up at him from. An amount of betrayal crossed her browbone.

“How could you think that? I still care about you. I always have! But what I did, I did for Arch. It wasn’t safe for them to be around you when…”

“When I was high? Or when I was dealing?” Arthur finished, admittedly. “Well, I guess that’s one gift that came from this terrifying place. There’s no coke in hell. It forced me to get clean and gave me a clear head… I suppose I should have thanked Lyrem before…”

He sighed, “not that it matters much now.”

There was a bout of silence.

“There’s a baby here,” he continued, shooting his sister a look to indicate that she ought to elaborate for him.

“Yes. Rosanna, I think is her name. At some point during my aimless wandering, I came upon the house, and the light, and… her.” She pointed her eyes to the ceiling. “She was all alone, and crying. Poor thing. I have no idea how long she’s been here.”

“You have everything you need,” Arthur commented, sitting up from the stool and winced as his leg still ached. “There is nothing else in the labyrinth- I was lucky to come across a door to Hades and Persephone. That was the only reason I was able to get out and back to Earth.”

“I’m sorry, who?”

“You heard me right the first time,” Arthur spoke directly. He fiddled with the pictures sitting upon baby grand piano. The images were blurry, like vague reconstructions of photographs without any identifiable subjects… except one. He picked up the photo in its faux oak frame and furrowed his brows.

“I’ve seen her before.”

Charlotte followed him to the parlour, noting the photo in his hand.

“It’s the only clear one in this place. It’s… like I’ve been stuck in a dollhouse. Everything is fake, or a simple vague memory of what this place once was. I don’t understand it. I wish I did.”

Arthur’s head spun with theories. The pink elephant onesie, the blue starred baby blanket, the soother he found at the bottom of the bins…

“This could be her house… I saw a photo- not this one, but a photo with the same woman, standing over a birthday cake in the back room of Mystics. She was about the same age, I think.”

“In Mystics?” her mind burned with the sudden reminder of the grotesque shop owner and hissed. “Arch told me about Lyrem… How he used to have a wife that worked with him. That’s why they were hired. She was gone. I wonder if she’s here somewhere, lost or… dead?”

“Did Lyrem ever mention having children?” Arthur asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “I’ve only spoken to him a couple of times, but he never talked about family.”

Arthur looked to the phone hanging off the kitchen wall with the long beige winding cord attached to it. The appliances weren’t new by any means and the style of the house, with its hardwood, and updated linoleum areas caused his mind to stir.

“Mom’s house,” he said. “In Knoxville… It was brand new when she moved in. Do you remember the year?”

“’85, I think,” she confirmed. “Why?”

“She had the same stereo system, brand new too,” he mentioned, pointing off to the opposite wall where the unit sat beneath a Panasonic television set.

“You’re right, she did, didn’t she?” Charlotte agreed, “I’ve already tried to play it- it only repeats A Spoonful of Sugar from Mary Poppins… Hold on…

Let’s say the earliest Rosanna could have been born was 1985, that means”-

“Well, it’s more than reasonable to assume that”-

Rosanna started crying over their heads. Both Charlotte and Arthur were thinking the same thing. Lyrem had thrown his own daughter into the Labyrinth as a baby, and never once thought of her again.

Charlotte broke herself off from the chilling realization and pulled a bottle of milk from the island counter that wasn’t there before. Arthur stared at her oddly.

“It just keeps refilling,” she explained, shaking it up in her hands. “It’s like everything just resets once she wakes up… And she never stops crying.”

Arthur followed his sister back up the stairs again. This time, to investigate the rooms. The nursery was quaint and painted in a calming lilac. A sunflower was painted on the ceiling around the light fixture. The small inconsistencies in the shape of the petals caused Arthur to assume it was done without a stencil. Probably by someone who was very excited to welcome their child into the world. A slim acoustic guitar sat in the corner, and a small wicker chair right next to it.

He wrinkled his nose as he moved around the room. The scent of a baby’s bottom made him gag. Charlotte didn’t seem to care.

“Lightweight,” she taunted after him.

Arthur proceeded to the master bedroom across the hall. It was stark. Everything was placed in an orderly fashion throughout which was not a cohesive pattern for the rest of the house. The sheets were perfectly tucked, the pillows, untouched and undented. To the left side, there was a set of glasses and a yellow book. There was a scribble on the front of it, as though it was meant to be English, but it wasn’t convincing to a literate person.

A lamp on either side of their bed, a window, off to the right that overlooked the front yard and a trembling aspen whose branches swayed in the breeze also gave the impression that this was a house that only belonged in someone’s dream. It was perfect.

He opened the dresser drawers only to find nothing inside. He found the closet door next, that was set into the wall. There were shirts, all the same color of cream button ups with flared collars, and a few dark pants hung neatly beside them. This had to be Lyrem’s. But where were his wife’s things? Where were his photos?

Why did Rosanna only remember bits and pieces of the house? And more than that, how the hell did she create all of this? She was only a baby. She couldn’t have been more than a year old.

These were questions that needed answering one day. But for now, Arthur had to remember that he was still in the middle of his task. He needed to bring Charlotte back to Earth and he needed to find Arch.

He glanced to the empty doorway. Charlotte was humming a song from their childhood. A sweet and mournful tune as she fed them from the bottle in the room over, he could hear her whisper the melody’s words-

“Goodnight, goodnight sweet child,

Why don't you dream with the angels,

To forget for awhile.

To forget of the life,

That's been handed to you

Where everything's real,

Yet nothing is true”-

Arthur wondered how easily Rosanna would be able to travel. He didn’t have much experience with young children, but he knew that even in the best circumstances they could be a challenge to bring along anywhere- especially if one wanted to remain quiet.

He turned his back on them, and raised his hand. Hades had given him the Abysmal Flame to help him kill Lyrem, and it had come in handy when faced with Paimon.

Maybe it would help them find a way out of here.

Thinking back to that moment- where that power rushed through his head and into his hands and lit up his bowie knife with blue flames- he could feel it again.

“Come on,” Arthur started. Encouraging himself to feel the same rage, to feel the same force as before that had lit Paimon up blue. He almost had it… In front of him, in the closet, a pool of darkness formed. He watched it closely become larger and larger until it was about the size of a basketball.

“Come on, come on, come on…”

“Arthur?”

His concentration broke, and he turned, the void closed instantly. Charlotte’s face was red with panic, sheer terror, but not about him or what he had done.

Rosanna was gone. The baby blanket laid in Charlotte’s elbows with nothing else inside. Though, now, Arthur could see the faint yellow embroidery of her name on the outside edge.

“W-what happened to her?” Charlotte shook.

Arthur put himself in front of her, and looked around, like he expected to find Rosanna simply lying on the ground or hiding beside a banister.

“I- I don’t know. Has she ever vanished before?”

Charlotte shook her head tearfully and shook out the blanket. Maybe she’d just hiding in one of the wrinkles. Charlotte placed a hand over her mouth and cried out. Her back fell into the door jam as she crouched into a ball on the floor.

“No. No! I-I can’t do it again! I can’t lose my baby again!”

Seeing her this way was crushing. He bent down, and placed an arm around her shoulders.

“You haven’t lost your baby…” he spoke calmly. “Arch is still out there and they are waiting for you. They’re waiting for us to find them… For now, we need to keep it together, for their sake. We need to bring them home- together.”

Charlotte continued to weep. The thought of facing more heartbreak was unbearable, but Arthur was right. She needed to find her child. Her real child. While she took her time recovering, Arthur removed himself from her side. He was able to create an opening. Leading to where, he didn’t know, but it worked, and to him that was a success.

The room darkened, like a rain cloud passed in front of the sun. The tweeting birds fell silent. He looked outside, only to find the darkness of the labyrinth closing in on them very quickly. Without Rosanna here, there was nothing left to be remembered.

“Char! Grab hold of me!” He rushed to her side. “The Labyrinth is erasing the house. Hold onto me and don’t let go!”

Charlotte did as he said and soon enough, they were both consumed by the deep and dreadful darkness.

A blue flame, small but visible, sat in the center of Arthur’s palm. Charlotte clinged to his other arm as he concentrated. He could feel his created void grow larger and larger around them until he saw a very familiar and spritely looking face staring down at them from above and nothing else.

“Persephone,” Arthur greeted her with a relieved and exasperated smile. “Long time, no see.”

5 notes · View notes

yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

Text

“WE’RE SIX!!!”

Aragon beamed as yet another show came to an end. She waved to the roaring crowd, swiping up a phone to take a photo with before carefully traversing the confetti-strewn stage to exit into the wings.

But then a voice called out.

“WAIT!!”

Bessie was skittering from her spot on the risers, slipping in some confetti and nearly busting her jaw on the floor. She hurried up to the front of the stage, squinting through the light, and grabbed a mic from Kitty.

“Uhh--” She winced at some feedback from the microphone. “Hi! Sorry, hang on a moment, folks! I have something to say!” She cleared her throat. “As you all know, it’s Mother’s Day today! And we have some amazing mothers here with us, both in the crowd and on the stage. And I just wanted to do something for one of them because she’s been nothing but amazing to me. She’s a;ways there for me when I need her, which is basically always because my mental state is literally on thin ice.” She laughed. “She reminds me to take my pills, she tells me to eat and drink water, she doesn’t even care about the things I did. She just...loves me. So this is for you, Catalina.”

Aragon was frozen, eyes wide as a soft, gentle tune began to play from the speakers. Bessie was really going all out; she even made her own mix and music for this.

“Do you believe in happy endings?

Or the mendings of human hearts?

Oh, I believe in both, I’m certain

Because these curtains

Are state of the art”

For a moment, Aragon couldn’t breathe. Bessie’s voice was like molten honey, sliding slickly from her lips. It had been centuries since she’s heard the beautiful singing, and that alone was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Her Elizabeth trusted her enough to sing to her.

“If you’d occasionally happen to spy on me

You’d think I’m having one sided conversations

But I heard her talking back

You’d think I may even lack some sanity

But maybe I can’t let go”

The burning sensation in Aragon’s eyes grew, bubbling up like stinging lava, but she was determined to hold herself together for as long as possible. She need to keep everyone thinking that she was impenetrable and strong, unaffected by anything.

But then Bessie turned to her, looked her in the eyes, smiled, and sang the most touching, tear-jerking lyrics she had ever heard.

“So I'll say

I finally wrote your song at last

Sorry that this one came out so sad

Every tear I had

Was shed for the queen that gave me a better sense

Of life and meaning to motivate

There's no shortcuts to success

I'll wait for her guiding hands

My guardian angel until the very end”

Tears burst from Aragon’s eyes and she began to cry. She couldn’t help it; the emotions were building up inside of her like a volcano about to erupt and she was unable to hold them back.

In front of her, Bessie sparkled like a star, the spotlights setting off the rhinestones on her costume in just the right way to make her look radiant. She giggled softly when she saw that Aragon was crying, then continued on with the song, which tugged mercilessly at Aragon’s heart strings.

“I see a cold seat on the couch

Where I remember that just four years ago around December

You sat me down

And held me next to you so close

How I long for things to be restored

To back when times weren't quite this hard

And record that song you sang to me

Never rang so loud before

Oh, what'd I'd give for just another hug from you

You may be gone, but love will never die”

Suddenly, Aragon’s knees buckled beneath her and she collapsed to the floor, sobbing into her hands. She didn’t even care how shocking this probably was, she was much to overwhelmed by the pure joy going through her.

There was a small gasp, and she looked up to see Bessie looking at her, eyes wide, worry on her face. Aragon laughed softly, choking on her own sobs.

“Happy tears, Elizabeth, happy tears,” Aragon said, her voice hoarse and tight from emotion. “Keep going, baby.”

Bessie nodded and continued singing, shouting out the chorus in the most gorgeous way that made Aragon feel like she was floating in a wonderland.

“So I'll say

I finally wrote your song at last

Sorry that this one came out so sad

Every tear I had

Was shed for the queen that gave me a better sense

Of life and meaning to motivate

There's no shortcuts to success

I'll wait for her guiding hands

My guardian angel until the very end”

Aragon sniffled and looked up at the girl, wondering how she was blessed with such a wonderful daughter. Bessie was everything she ever wanted and more. Mary could never fill the spot in her heart that Bessie had created; the bassist was her entire world, now. Her pride and joy. Her blessing.

“Tears can't run dry when I start to cry

When I hear people speak of how

You'd be so proud of me

And how I hope this song will reach your ears

About some of my darkest fears

I once was blind, but now it's clear

Wherever I go, I know that you'll be near”

Bessie took a shaky breath before she continued, and Aragon noticed that she was crying, too. it wasn’t as bad as herself, at least. She was sure her mascara was running all over her face, turning her cheeks a dark, watery black.

“I finally wrote your song at last

Sorry that this one came out so sad

Any tear I had

Was shed for the queen that gave me a better sense

Of life and meaning to motivate

There's no shortcuts to success

I'll wait for her guiding hands

My guardian angel until the very end

Until the very end

My guardian angel until the very end”

As the song concluded, Aragon launched herself up on weak legs and embraced Bessie, spinning her around before they both fell, tangled in each other’s arms. Bessie curled against her chest, weeping in joy, while Aragon held her tightly, pressing several kisses to her head.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” Aragon sniffled. “Oh, my precious little Elizabeth. Thank you. Thank you so much. I loved it. I love you so much, baby girl.”

#hehe i hope you CRIED #the song bessie sang was dad's song by set it off but with some altered lyrics so fit aragon and bessie #six the musical #six concept #bessie on the bass #catherine of aragon #katherine howard #anne boleyn #jane seymour #catherine parr #anna of cleves #mini fic

32 notes · View notes

the-cryptid-documents · 3 years

Photo

These have more information, all though I’m not sure if that's a good thing. Ignorance is bliss right? No, that’s a stupid phrase. There is never too much information.

The full moon for the Climbing Tree #633-01 was on September 2nd.

And also, I switched up the labels for The Climbing Tree and The Bag Lady. The Bag Lady is #633-02 and the Tree is #633-01. I would, usually, berate myself for messing up the numbers again... but I really cant. September wasn't really a good time for me.

CC:

The Weeping Man #623-00

UNKNOWN

Original documentation (RN: PHOTO!) by OneEyedBunny

(RN: Once again, no information. Nothing except a poorly lit photo. This one does look more creapy creepy than the last.

I need to sleep. I've been hunting for more information for days. It's starting to affect my classes. )

The Bag Lady #633-01

-Race of immortal woman that very in all ages, races and seem to have nothing in common

-except the fact that they carry around a nice looking bag that happens to have everything they would ever need in it (RN: Mary Poppins?)

-Their face will never show in photos or memory's you will either forget what they look like or something in the photo will obscure their face

-You normally find them walking around the neighborhood, or in this case, the campus

Original documentation by Acrid Lumberjack

(RN: Seems pretty calm, but with something that strong that it can alter your memories, its best to play on the safe side. I'm not going to try to take a photo of something that cant be remembered. I’m not that stupid. I learned my lesson from The Butterfly)

Eyeball #623-01

- 9”2

-Seen lurking around the DUE tunnels

-most students think the DUE are making it up, but they swear it exists

(AN: I would say its friendly because of its interactions with students, but given that those students were in DUE I will keep it in unknown.)

Puff #643-01

- 2”0

-Laughs menacingly

-Lives in the forest

-Moves by squat-jumping

(AN: The DUE have the most information on cryptids. I'll have to get in touch with them to find out more. The only question is how.)

Originally documented by Aoife

The Falling Tree/ The Climbing Tree #633-02

-appears in the week before every full moon (RN: I should be able to see it soon) and leaves the dawn after it, but it feels like its always been there.

-Taller than it should be

-no one has climbed to the top, no matter how long they spend climbing

Original documentation by Dee @dee-averno-ans

(RN: I'm going to see this tree for myself. Maybe I could use a drone instead of climbing?)

(RN: The tree just, fit. It was really always meant to be there. The drone didn't work, of course. It just kept flying higher and higher but never made it to the top. What's up there that the tree doesn't want us to see?)

Researchers Note: I really wish I put these in chronological order, it would make them so much easer to organize but nooo I just had to make a weird organization system that doesn't even make sense

#averno #averno ans #avernotown #cryptids #TheCampusCryptidDocuments

3 notes · View notes

scoopsgf · 4 years

Note

i know i already screamed at you in the comments, but i need to yell some more. when ross called peter dangerous i kinda weeped a little cause his character development in the bfs verse is so!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! revolutionary!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! and gah it hurts that he changed so much but it's still peter like i can still recognize him and I'm holding onto that god my poor baby

(2/8) and goddamit i didn't realize that clint was dead?? until i saw the others guys saying "aw no clint beedee why"??? and now that it's not 1am i can process it properly. and, beedee what the stale ham wrinkly jam freshly baked fuck. like?? the part where he just appeared and kicked ass embarked me upon a journey of Emotions. and you just, killed him. i get it, it adds plot points, drama, trauma and even More to talk about. but im hurt please bring him back.

(3/8) cooper. cooper is the name of one of clint's kids, no? i actually really liked him, and that part where peter talked about paying off blackmail and stuff. i know he's just a filler character but dam does he intrigue me

(4/8) “they hardly talked for one (1) chapter and i say TOO LONG" felt that. peter and nat's dynamic is one of my favorite things ever. and that part where peter shoots and nat ducks???? AHHHHHHH!!! god they couldn't brainwash nat (did i read that right...or....?) and they almost got peter and these babies were being tortured for 4 months and now they're going to meet pepper and the serum is still going bad, no? and yelena is there and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(5/8) ALSO HOLY SHIT DON'T THINK WE FORGOT THAT MARY TRAINED WANDA THAT'S GONNA COME UP SOON RIIIII

(6/8) "We have some questions for king tchalla" me too bitch

(7/8) also also don't apologize that you took 3 weeks!!!! all good things take time!!!! i know you know this but we all need reminders sometimes oh god im going to re-read it again and bump my visitation number to 300 times because i need to get my emotions in order holy shit

(8/8) i desperately need ned and peter reunion with delmar sandwiches and hugs and peter being incredulous and fond when he sees the stupid images of him ned put on the photo. also it's been hours and im still so shook over twr?? should i re-read the bfs verse again? hm yeah I'll reread it again. this series will do down as one of my favorite pieces of classic literature, i say as an avid reader of fics and original works wkjsjd

ok first of all: I LOVE YOU??? I LOVE YOU!! second: oh my god yeah, I know. like finding a balance between peter having an emotional, vulnerable side but also being a hardcore badass was so. fucking. difficult. and it took so long to develop him that way realistically!! and i just LOVE HIM i love him djdjdjd my goblin baby boy

the clint outrage is so funny to me because like, im sad too?? and yet I always go around joking about how “it should have been clint”. it just felt so WRONG to do him dirty like that, but at the same time i really like the way he went out, y’know? like it just felt so noble and selfless (albeit stupid).

also yeah, they didn’t get to nat. I literally can’t wait to like, just tie up all these ends next chapter and address all this trauma and shit oh my god!!! what the hell!!

LITERALLY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I MIGHT CRY LIKE U R ALWAYS SO SWEET I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAY DKDJDJFJ

#asks #brittanyisart #bfs #twr #twr spoilies #i MELT when u say absolutely anything at all

4 notes · View notes

lawrenceop · 4 years

Text

Holy Land Retrospective - Day 7

Reminder: clicking on the link for each photo (links are all in red text) will take you to the Flickr page where you can see the photo in larger sizes.

Start with DAY 1, or flip through DAY 2, DAY 3, DAY 4, DAY 5, or DAY 6. Or just read on!

THE LORD’S DAY IN JERUSALEM

“Now after the sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the sepulchre.” – Mt 28:1

This was my first Sunday in the Holy City of Jerusalem, and it was the Third Sunday of Easter. So, on this day, after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, I went with a very few other pilgrims, to go and see the Holy Sepulchre.

We were told it opens at 5 a.m. so we left the hotel at 4:30 a.m., and we walked the short distance to the church of the Holy Sepulchre, pausing three times as we went. At each pause, I read one of the Gospel accounts of the first Easter morning, from one of the Synoptic Gospels.

“And very early on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. And they were saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?"” – Mk 16:2-3

As we walked in silence, I observed the light in the sky, and felt the coolness of the morning air, trying to imagine what those women saw as they went to the tomb with such devotion, with spices to anoint the body of Jesus, hence the question about how they would gain access to the tomb.

“And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body.” – Luke 24:2-3

The forecourt of the church was silent, all was still, and there were only one or two monks around. Inside, the doors of the Holy Sepulchre were closed as the round of Divine Liturgies were already taking place inside. In fact, the vigils and prayers and liturgies from the various Christian groups do not stop inside this church even when the doors are locked.

PHOTO 31: Pausing for a quick prayer outside the Holy Sepulchre, we continued to this hidden chapel just a stone’s throw from the Empty Tomb of Christ. Standing in this place, I read from the Easter account from the Fourth Gospel:

“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. So she ran, and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." Peter then came out with the other disciple, and they went toward the tomb. They both ran, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first; and stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb; he saw the linen cloths lying, and the napkin, which had been on his head, not lying with the linen cloths but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not know the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples went back to their homes.” – John 20:1-10

Why had we come here? The photo above shows you what we saw. What is it? This is the entrance to a tomb, from the time of Jesus; a 1st-century Jewish grave cut into the rock. Jesus was buried in a tomb like this, and the Empty Tomb itself, now surrounded by the Aedicule, and covered in marble and silver and silk would once have looked very much like this. Indeed, some say that this is the tomb that Joseph of Arimathea made for himself after he had given away his tomb to Jesus. And the stone that would have covered the opening and sealed it is not here; rolled away.

So, on an Easter morning, I had wanted to trace the footsteps of the holy women, of St Mary Magdalene, and to stand and pray in front of an empty tomb that looked much like what the disciples would have found that first Easter morning.

“And looking up, they saw that the stone was rolled back; -- it was very large. And entering the tomb, they saw a young man sitting on the right side, dressed in a white robe; and they were amazed. And he said to them, "Do not be amazed; you seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen, he is not here; see the place where they laid him.” – Mk 16:4-6

Some of us went into this tomb, others went away in silence to pray by the Holy Sepulchre itself, and I went to the Catholic chapel of St Mary Magdalene, to that area where it is believed that the Risen Lord met Mary:

“But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "Because they have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." Saying this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary." She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabboni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brethren and say to them, I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God." Mary Magdalene went and said to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.” – Jn 20:11-18

Then, like the first disciples, having visited the Empty Tomb early that Third Easter Sunday morning in 2019, we went back to our hotel rooms.

PHOTO 32: As we were about to leave the Holy Sepulchre, just by the door leading out to the courtyard, I noticed this. Typically, these stairs are crowded with people making their way up to Calvary, to the site of the Crucifixion. But at this time, early in the morning, it was possible to see these beautiful stones, ancient and worn by countless pilgrims’ feet; elegantly curved and bathed in golden light.

Seen in the light of Easter, the Cross becomes a sign of hope; a promise of life after death; a doorway in our ascent as pilgrims to eternal life in heaven.

“We preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.” – 1 Cor 1:23-25

PHOTO 33: For the rest of the group, after our early rise on Saturday for the Stations of the Cross, this Sunday was to be a more relaxed day. After a leisurely breakfast, we walked along the outside of the walls of Jerusalem to the Lions Gate which opens onto the Muslim Quarter, and leads to the Via Dolorosa. The minaret of the Al-Aqsa mosque, the most important Muslim holy site in Jerusalem, which was built on the Temple Mount, is visible in the background of this photo.

The focus of this shot, however, are these deep red poppies. One of the things I did not expect in the Holy Land is the variety and colour and size of the flowers growing throughout the land. These wild poppies grew among the graves that surround the external walls of the city; many pious souls of all three religions want to be buried facing Jerusalem.

In Britain, red poppies like these are always displayed in November, the month of remembrance, and they are a reminder of our soldiers fallen in battle because they grew in abundance in the fields of Flanders where countless soldiers had died in the First World War. Seeing them growing among the graves around Jerusalem reiterated the point, that these flowers are a summons to remember the dead, and the blood that was shed in war. However, the beauty and vibrance of these blood red poppies are also, it seems to me, a sign of the Resurrection, a promise of life after death through the blood of Jesus Christ which he shed for our salvation.

“But you have come to Mount Sion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the first-born who are enrolled in heaven, and to a judge who is God of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks more graciously than the blood of Abel.” – Heb 12:22-24

PHOTO 34: Going through the Lions Gate, it was a short walk to the church of Saint Anne which, rather unusually, sits on grounds which belongs to the Republic of France. Within these grounds are the substantial ruins of a Byzantine church that stood over some pools of water fed by springs. This is the Pool of Bethesda where, as told in John 5:1-13, Jesus healed a paralytic: “Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, in Hebrew called Bethesda, which has five porticoes.” (Jn 5:1)

At the time of Christ, the Gate nearby wasn’t called Lions Gate but the Sheep Gate since the sheep from the fields outside the city were driven into the city through this gate, and they were led into this area where there was a cattle market next to the pool where the cattle would have drunk. Here, the cattle would be sold for the Temple sacrifices; the Temple Mount is nearby. However, this place of the healing miracle wasn’t our main destination, for right next to this archaeological site was a large 12th-century church.

For the father of Our Lady, St Joachim, was one of these cattle owners, and his home was next to the cattle market by the pool of Bethesda. So, from the earliest days, a Marian church was built over the site of the cave shown in this photo for this is where St Joachim and St Anne had their home. This is the birthplace of Mary! Hence the Gate nearby has another name in Arabic, the Bab Sitti Maryam, ‘Lady Mary’s Gate’.

The church that stands on this site is the one that survives from the time of the Crusaders who built it in the early Gothic style, and it is renowned for its acoustics. In fact I found it to be not particularly remarkable, not significantly different from the fine acoustics of any stone medieval church since these buildings were made for sung Masses and the sung Divine Office. However, I couldn’t resist joining the choirs singing in this sacred space so I sang the Dominican ‘Regina Caeli’ which one of our pilgrims recorded.

Regina caeli, laetare, alleluia, Quia quem meruisti portare, alleluia, Resurrexit sicut dixit, alleluia, Ora pro nobis Deum, alleluia. O Queen of heaven, be joyful, alleluia, For He whom you have humbly borne for us, alleluia, Has arisen, as He promised, alleluia, Offer now our prayer to God, alleluia.

PHOTO 35: From St Anne’s church, it was a short walk, maybe fifteen minutes, to the Temple Mount, or at least to the site of the Wailing Wall. As it was a Sunday, it wasn’t as busy as it might have been, but there were many families present and celebrating the bar mitzvah of their sons; teenage boys nervously (and even in tears) chanting from the Torah for the first time as their proud parents looked on encouragingly. Jewish cantors led processions to the Western Wall, singing and banging drums, and playing instruments while a canopy was held over the boy at the centre of all this attention as he had reached the age of moral maturity. There’s a video somewhere of my group getting caught up in one such procession, and an enthusiastic cantor grabbed me by the hand and led us in a dance on the street!

I was very moved by these sights and sounds and by these celebrations, and moved to be at the foot of the Temple Mount, at this ancient place of prayer. In the photo above, we see a man in prayer with phylacteries (or tefillin) wrapped around his arms and on his head.

Jesus and his family and his disciples knew this place well; it was the focus of their prayer and worship, as it still is for so many Jews. I imagined Jesus, as a boy around the age of these boys, coming to Jerusalem with his family for festal celebrations. I thought of him, aged 12, found here at the Temple, teaching his elders from the Torah. And I recalled that as an adult he was frequently in the Temple, observing the people, teaching them, and engaged in debate with others. He was “at home” here, for this was his Father’s house.

“After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions; and all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. And when they saw him they were astonished; and his mother said to him, "Son, why have you treated us so? Behold, your father and I have been looking for you anxiously." And he said to them, "How is it that you sought me? Did you not know that I must be in my Father's house?"And they did not understand the saying which he spoke to them.” – Lk 2:46-50

PHOTO 36: From these ancient places of worship, we went for Sunday Mass in a place of significance for Catholics but which is relatively recent. Built in 1869, and beautifully renovated in 1985, we celebrated the Third Sunday of Easter in the Franciscan church of the Holy Saviour (San Salvatore), which is the parish church for Latin rite Catholics in Jerusalem.

On that Sunday, we heard this reading proclaiming Jesus as our holy Saviour:

“Peter and the apostles answered, "We must obey God rather than men. The God of our fathers raised Jesus whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Saviour, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins. And we are witnesses to these things, and so is the Holy Spirit whom God has given to those who obey him."” – Acts 5:29-32

Indeed, standing here in the Holy Land on this Third Easter Sunday, we are witnesses to these things!

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

This afternoon, the group was taken to lunch by the Dead Sea, and we spent the rest of the afternoon there relaxing in the water, or by a watering hole, baking in the mud, or riding a camel!

Tomorrow: Carmel and Cana.

#Holy Land #pilgrimage #retrospective #reflections #Easter #holy sepulchre #resurrection #Jesus Christ #206 Tours

6 notes · View notes