#magdalen bells

[werewolf-transgenderism]

do we see the vision

#wip #pentiment #magdalene druckeryn #we’re going belle heures st catherine baby!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Kim Novak (Vertigo, Bell, Book, and Candle)— She fought as much as she could to be able to preserve her own identity within the crushing hollywood system. She refused to change her czech last name and fought for a higher salary once she discovered her male counterparts were getting payed significantly more, which was an incredibly risky thing to do. She went through so much hollywood bs like she was forced to drop her affair with Sammy Davis jr. She played her iconic role in Vertigo thinking about her own oppressive and significant changes she had to undergo in order to fit in the tight hollywood mold which i think is partly why the movie is so beautiful and timeless. She is a gorgeous soul and a great artist.

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Kim Novak:

Marlene Dietrich:

ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face

its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies…. most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you.

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"would you not let her walk on you?"

#marlene dietrich #kim novak #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4 #Youtube

[jesawyer]

I recently finished Pentiment and enjoyed it tremendously, thank you for making it!

Act 3 spoilers below

Why was Magdalene chosen to be the player character in act 3? Obviously the mural is hers but was there ever an alternate vision for act 3 with someone else? I'm asking because the choice surprised and delighted me when I got to it, the printer's daughter felt right at the later stages of the game but I didn't see it coming

Thank you! Pentiment Act 3 spoilers below:

Andreas struggles to understand events that have happened outside of his perception and I wanted to contrast that by showing how someone else struggled to understand what happened outside of their perception but within what the player directly observed. The player knows what they witnessed in Act I and II, but Magdalene does not and has to filter everything through the memories of other people and surviving records.

I also wanted to contrast the experiences of Andreas as a man who was both set up for success and allowed to "fail" (dropping out of university) with Magdalene as a woman whom the council hovers over despite having done nothing to provoke doubt. Professional female artists existed in central and northern Europe in the 16th century but their paths into the trade were often not the same as their male counterparts.

The entire idea was inspired by the film Andrei Rublev, in which the focus of the last part, The Bell, shifts to the young son of a dead bellmaker, Boriska, who takes on the responsibility of casting a massive bronze bell for the grand duke. The title character watches Boriska from a distance throughout the act until it reaches its climax. It's one of the most moving sequences I've seen in a film and I highly recommend it for those with patience for slow pacing.

#pentiment #game design #andrei rublev

[lavendeerlesbian]

Thank you Allison Bailey, Maya Forstater, Kiera Bell. Thank you JK Rowling, Magdalen Berns, Andrea Dworkin. Thank you Chimamanda Ngozi Adichi, Laetitia Ky, Caroline Criado-Perez. Thank you for standing up for women, for articulating our oppression in ways that brings awareness to as many women as possible, for continuing to fight for us despite being threatened with rape, death and doxxing. I appreciate everything that women have done to advocate for other women.

#not nearly enough names on here #I need to finish Invisible Women #I also haven't finished watching Magdalen's videos but I will be very sad when I do #radical feminism

[dangermousie]

To me, this sequence is the crux of why Xie Wei is the endgame for JXN in terms of suitability - in terms of someone who allows her to be most at peace with herself and live happily. It's not just because with ZZ, she will always strive for an ideal and hide the "uglier" parts of herself. It's because as others pointed out - she needs to learn to love herself and she is mired in guilt around him - but also, XW doesn't just see her the way she is and loves that, he is also someone who is determined, obsessed even, with looking forward not back.

In some ways, he's the most driven by the past out of all the characters (he wants justice/vengeance for what happened during the siege, this is his cause) but that's the thing - his attitude is "this horrific thing has happened, it cannot be changed, now we will figure out how to deal with this and address it" (which in his case is a lot of murder :P) is something JXN needs - she's been trying to change the past emotionally, as well as physically and I think she needs to accept that she is irretrievably changed, you can't unring the bell, you can't make her pure naive girl who (in her belief system) is worthy of ZZ (btw any relationship where you constantly work to be worthy of the other person is unhealthy at best and doomed at worst), you can just move forward, in whatever way possible.

In a way, what he says here is quite straightforward and in keeping with his "moving forward" attitude - if you can't let go, don't. Her guilt won't allow her to hear that.

Lady, he talks a good talk but he's already 85% to losing control over you.

And that is when all red flags that did not manifest before, manifested, in terms of that relationship. ZZ is a good man, probably the best of the characters. But any relationship where you are doing Jesus and Mary Magdalene imitation, viewing someone as literally flawless, as someone who shouldn't be touched by anything even if you tear out your heart, because you are so unworthy is not a romantic relationship, that's a medieval nun's attitude to her God. No go in real life. It wouldn't work and if somehow it did, would never make her truly happy. JXN should be in a relationship not even of mutual pedestals but being seen and seeing the other person as messy flawed being but still worthy of love.

I laughed. I adore XW but what he knows about people's hearts in terms of romance is equivalent to a turnip.

Time-out for haaaaaaands!

And despite my snark, it's not a turnip of an answer at all, it's perfect (I think he's terrible at telling his own heart but not others.) That is what she needs to hear - as I mentioned - not ignoring what's in the past but moving on.

I love it so much!!! And I love that he's genuinely heartbroken for her pain and just wants to fix it - there is none of that "my chance is here" attitude.

It's an angsty moment but I giggled because I remembered wailing after my first high school boyfriend dumped me "I am never going to love anyone like this! I could never find someone like this!" Spoiler - I was wrong :P (And probably wouldn't be able to pick the guy out of a line-up now.)

But, more importantly, I was screaming into my hands, when he said "find someone more suitable." Not just because this is XW in a nutshell - he accepts the situation as it is, no arguing with the premise and offers a different solution (nobody is better? OK, accepted, then how do we deal in this situation) but because this is the crux of the OTP. What JXN (and every other person looking for a partner) needs in this world is not the person who is the smartest or saintliest or w/e, they need the most suitable person for them, whoever that is, to be happy. Objectively saintly ZZ is not particularly suitable for her; goodness is not happiness, not always, and she needs to accept that and fully accept herself.

Yes, there will be!

#cdrama #story of kunning palace #zhang ling he #bai lu

[apple-salad]

Petticoats for Farutetto JSK

AKA an attempt at putting the butt in Farutetto..if I can say that?

Note: I will be referring to Farutetto as Faltetto in this post as MM has previously translated the dress name as such.

I'm honestly not really sure why I wrote this post, and I'm regretting it a little having finished writing it because the topic seems pointless, but if you like maximum poof, then maybe this niche blog topic is for you.

Related posts about farutetto/faltetto dress: Unboxing (2023 mist and navy), Mary Magdalene faltetto history (long), 1st coordinate post

Mary Magdalene's stock photos for Faltetto picture it bustled with a highly raised back, but they really left it as an exercise for the reader when it comes to achieving this effect ourselves.

Bustle-able skirts are common enough in classic lolita, but we don't have a lot of lolita petticoat options that provide a historical-style rump. Not to mention that the bustle effect going on above is quite extreme.

Some petticoats that I can think of that have increased back volume are Sheglit's Victorian pannier, and some of Victorian Maiden's old petticoats.

left: VM Hip Up Middle Tulle Pannier, right: VM Hip Up Pannier

The VM petticoats appear to be designed to be used with their bustle skirts, with a few extra tiers of hard tulle to help provide a slight volume to the outer skirt.

Sheglit Long Bustle Pannier

Sheglit's is similar, with a large amount of tulle gathered near the hips for an Edwardian silhouette. I don't own this petticoat, but it might work with faltetto if the petticoat is wide enough to stuff more volume underneath.

For me, I think these types of petticoats weren't quite going to cut it... I needed huge back poof. Or at least needed to try...

Here is faltetto without any petticoats. The dress itself has no additional volume built in, so it's pretty flat. The lining is as densely (or nearly) gathered as the outer chiffon, so you could argue it is giving a tiny bit of volume. But still, quite flat.

I have collected too many petticoats over the years and own about a million at this point, so note that the petticoats I am layering here are only a guide and should be achievable if you own 2 or 3 relatively poofy petticoats of your own.

I use a couple not very poofy petticoats as a base layer to help hold up the larger upper petticoat layers.

Layer 1 is a Malco Modes 580 ("Zooey"), which is a light-poof petti.

Layer 2: Just a deflated Mary Magdalene Pannier-skirt for a tiny bit more volume

You could probably use one decently poofy A-line or 1 quite poofy, slightly longer bell petti instead.

I layer a short bell shaped petticoat on top of these to give more volume to the upper portion of the skirt. A-line pettis tend to be quite bottom heavy and I think the delicate chiffon fabric of faltetto needs consistent support along its silhouette, or else it looks weird.

Layer 3 is AP's "short organdy pannier"

These are the base layers. Next I add a back cushion to help hold up all the layers that will follow. It helps a lot in creating a "shelf" effect at the back.

The cushion itself is made from kona cotton (scraps can also be used) with a pattern that I freehanded off of examples of edwardian back pads online. I don't think the exact shape matters that much--you could probably tie a literal tiny cushion to your hips. But the dimensions of this one are approximately this if you want to try it yourself:

You can round off the sides into a kind of 3-oval shape, or cut out a smooth semicircle, I don't think it will make much of a difference for this purpose.

After trying this setup with the upper layers added and finding the bustle effect not jutting out enough, I decided to add an extra volume layer just to the back. I don't have anything purpose-made right now, so I made do with a deflated bell shaped petticoat folded in half (and folded again slightly around the edges to keep the total pinned width about 3/4 of the waist) and pinned to the cushion.

The result so far is weird, but maybe it works...

The last actual petticoat layer is Angelic Pretty's "Long Organdy Pannier". I don't think AP makes these anymore, but they are a approx. 50cm long, gently bell-shaped petticoat designed for the longer dresses AP was releasing around 2016~2020. I find the longer length quite good for sweet-classic when the skirt of a JSK or OP is a little longer, or achieving a little more poof around the upper part of the skirt with certain longer classic pieces. It's not extremely poofy on its own, but I personally enjoy using it for various poof purposes.

Layer 6 or so (?) (AP Long Organdy Pannier)

This final petticoat layer also helps smooth out the bustle silhouette, from the front to the raised back.

Finally, on top of all that a tiered underskirt is layered on top. Faltetto doesn't have any built in underskirt (just a lining, which is expected to be bustled up with the main fabric), so it's more attractive to add some ruffles to the back that are visible when the skirt is lifted. Unfortunately, at this point the petticoats are so wide that I don't seem to have any underskirt wide enough for the entire circumference of the poof.

This is the result, but I actually wouldn't recommend positioning an underskirt like the above because the length of the underskirt didn't end up matching the length of the skirt, being quite a bit too short instead (and not really in a nice bustled looking way, in my opinion). In my initial worn photos, I instead fold the underskirt in half and pin it to the waistband of my petticoat (and then pin the underskirt up a little bit since doing this made it a bit too long), which kind of worked but also wasn't really a great solution. I might need to make my own super wide underskirt, or something...thoughts for another time.

Lastly, the dress can be added over top everything! And don't forget to bustle the dress. It's not an entirely intuitive process for first-timers, but there are loops on the back of the dress that you thread the bustle ties through and further tie into a knot. I might try to post a reel of this process eventually (and will update later if I do), but here are some pictures which muddily attempt to express how the bustle is tied:

It was about at this point that I realized that this JSK had a minor factory defect, but thankfully it was easily and very quickly fixed.

And so, here is how the dress looks with all those layers underneath from different angles!

From the front, it looks pretty much like a normal petticoat is being worn with it. I hope this is enough back poof, but what do you think...?

And here are some extra photos of this coordinate to show the set up worn. I can tell that this arrangement might not be very sustainable for a full day, so I will probably be tweaking the petticoat arrangement further in the future.

Last note: As you might be able to tell, I don't own any hoop or wire petticoats, so I can't really give good advice or opinions on where they would fit in here. A hoop skirt that has a rump in its silhouette would be historically on point and probably work quite well, but you would likely have to make a custom one with shorter length. I really don't know enough about mid 19th century fashion to comment on this either, though. But maybe I might attempt it some day!

#lolita fashion #mary magdalene #mary magdalene jp #faltetto jsk #farutetto jsk #lolita petticoats #farutetto #classic lolita

[gatheringbones]

[“To be associated with prostitution signifies moral loss. In 1910, US district attorney Edwin Sim wrote that ‘the characteristic which distinguishes the white slave from immorality … is that the women who are victims of the traffic are forced unwillingly to live an immoral life’.This belief – that to be a sex worker is to live an ‘immoral life’ – has persisted. Mark Lagon, who led the US State Department’s anti-prostitution work during the George W. Bush era (and went on to run the biggest anti-trafficking organisation in the US), wrote in 2009 that women who sell sex lead ‘nasty, immoral lives’ for which they should only not be held ‘culpable’ because ‘they may not have a choice’.

In the 2000s, the blog Diary of a London Call Girl, written by escort and anonymous blogger ‘Belle de Jour’, was a smash hit, leading to books and a TV show. After its author was named in 2009 as the research scientist Brooke Magnanti, journalists, like Lombroso before them, attempted to read her supposed moral loss in her physical body: ‘I scrutinize [Magnanti’s] face without quite knowing what I’m looking for … dead eyes, maybe … or something a bit grim and hard around the mouth.’ Sex work, categorised as the wrong kind of sex, is seen as taking something from you – the life in your eyes. In her imagined loss, Magnanti is transformed in the journalist’s eyes into a threat, a hardened woman.

This supposed sexual excess, and the loss that accompanies it, delineates the prostitute as ‘other’. The ‘good’ woman, on the other hand, is defined by her whiteness, her class, and her ‘appropriate’ sexual modesty, whether maidenly or maternal. Campaigns for women’s suffrage in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries drew on the connection between women’s bodies and honour and the honour and body politic of the nation. These campaigns were intimately linked with efforts to tackle prostitution, with British suffragists engaging in anti-prostitution work ‘on behalf’ of women in colonised India to make the case that British women’s enfranchisement would ‘purify the imperial nation-state’.

This sense that people (particularly women) are changed and degraded through sex crops up in contemporary feminist thought about prostitution, too. Dominique Roe-Sepowitz, who runs a diversion programme for arrested sex workers in Arizona, claims that ‘once you’ve prostituted, you can never not have prostituted … having that many body parts in your body parts, having that many body fluids near you, and doing things that are freaky and weird really messes up your ideas of what a relationship looks like, and intimacy’. Sex workers who go through that programme have to abstain not only from selling sex but also from sex with a partner.

Even more punitive responses were common in the eighteenth, nineteenth, and even twentieth centuries. Orders of nuns across the world ran workhouses and laundries for ‘fallen women’ – prostitutes, unmarried mothers, and other women whose sexualities made their communities uneasy. Conditions in these ‘Magdalene laundries’ were primitive at best and often brutal; even in the twentieth century, women could be confined within them for their whole lives, imprisoned without trial for the ‘moral crime’ of sex outside of marriage. Many women and their children died through neglect or overwork and were buried in unmarked graves. In Tuam, Ireland, 796 dead children were secretly buried in a septic tank between 1925 and 1961. The last Magdalene laundry in Ireland closed only in 1996.

The Irish nuns who ran the Magdalene laundries did not disappear. Instead, they set up an anti-prostitution organisation, Ruhama, which has become a major force in campaigning to criminalise sex work in Ireland, and now couches its work in feminist language. The Good Shepherd Sisters and the Sisters of Our Lady of Charity continue to make money from the real estate where the Magdalene laundries stood, while largely stonewalling survivors’ efforts to document or account for the abuses that took place there – and refusing to contribute to the compensation scheme for survivors.”]

molly smith, juno mac, from revolting prostitutes: the fight for sex workers’ rights, 2018

#molly smith #juno mac #history stuff #currently reading

[thewales-family]

Special post ahead of Prince George of Wales's 10th birthday (1/4) : from 2013 to 2015.

•Prince George's first appearance on July 23rd 2013, after his birth at St Mary's Hospital on July 22nd 2013, in London.

•First official portrait with his parents The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge and their dog Lupo, on August 19th 2013, at Bucklebury Manor in Berkshire, England.

•Christening on October 23rd 2013, at St James's Palace in London.

•First Royal Tour to New Zealand and Australia in April 2014.

•First birthday on July 22nd 2014 at the Natural History Museum in London.

•First official portrait for Christmas, on December 13th 2014, at Kensington Palace in London.

•Meeting his little sister, on May 2nd 2015, Princess Charlotte, after her birth at St Mary's Hospital in London.

•First official portrait with his little sister Princess Charlotte, on June 6th 2015, at Amner Hall in Norfolk, England.

•Princess Charlotte's christening on July 5th 2015, at the Church of St Mary Magdalene on the Sandringham Estate, in King's Lynn, England.

•Prince George's first stamp on the occasion of Queen Elizabeth II's 90th birthday in 2016, at Windsor Castle in Windsor, England.

📷 (2, 3 ,5, 6 & 8) : Michael Middleton, Jason Bell, John Stillwell, Ed Lane Fox, The Duchess of Cambridge/Kensington Palace.

(10) : Ranald Mackechnie/The Royal Family & Royal Mail.

#prince george #british royal family #england #2023 #july 2023 #10th birthday #prince george's 10th birthday #birthday 2023 #2013 #2014 #2015 #official portraits #the wales #my edit

[sgiandubh]

Holy Monday - Dagger Man

Sidenote: it's horrendously late, in my own time zone and Holy Monday is gone for good. Hoping yesterday's wonderful SC news are enough for you to forgive me, I go ahead with my short personal notes on what is perhaps one of the most complicated stories of this week.

Enter Judas Iscariot, whose name is perhaps a local corruption of the Latin term for 'dagger man': sicarius.

Who is he? We are told he was one of The Twelve chosen ones, but our Bibles are, to say the least, not very talkative when it comes to this man. We do not know what his merits are and many risk a seriously tragical confusion with the other Judas, 'son of James'. Perhaps in the same way Mary of Bethany is still mistaken by many for Mary Magdalene herself.

Today's episode is a throwback: 'Then Jesus six days before the passover came to Bethany, where Lazarus was, which had been dead, whom he raised from the dead' (John, 12:1)'

We don't know very well where the following episode happens (in Lazarus' house? somewhere else?) and for the first two days of the Holy Week, the Evangelists' reports are either vague or even conflicting. A woman named Mary approaches. Clearly, more than a sympathizer, yet barely tolerated by what clearly is a gender segregated assembly, where women serve a dinner they never join in. Something still very much happening in the Mediterranean world, by the way:

'Then took Mary a pound of ointment of spikenard, very costly, and anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped his feet with her hair: and the house was filled with the odour of the ointment. (John, 12:3)'

Is she a prostitute? A rich patron? I have always thought, perhaps wrongly, there was something very erotic in that choreography, for hair is a very strong sexual symbol and even more so in the Ancient World (think Egyptian wigs and also, heh, Samson). Something that also reminded me of Salome's fateful dance of the seven veils.

Experts have calculated, for dry amusement probably, the cost of that 'ointment' in today's money, which is disingenuous, to say the least. Nevertheless, that's easily the price tag of a brand new Mercedes, with all the bells and whistles. Judas immediately puts things into context and speaks like a corporate CFO: 'Why was not this ointment sold for three hundred pence, and given to the poor?' (John, 12:5)

You think this is what a good manager would do, right? Well, think twice. John does not like Judas. At all. He immediately tells us who he thinks that strange man really is: 'Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, which should betray him' (John, 12:4). And, which is perhaps even worse, a corrupted treasurer of sorts: 'not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein' (John, 12:6).

Jesus' answer to this apparent practical dilemma is very clear: ' Let her alone (...), for the poor always ye have with you; but me ye have not always' (John, 12: 8-9). Judas' enormous mistake is to transform what obviously is a spiritual matter into a vulgar, political one. Throwing money into the mix, instrumentalizing it for what we would today call 'propaganda purposes' is at complete odds with His entire message.

But sometimes even the voice of Heaven has trouble making itself heard. This is why I have chosen for today a simple, short shofar sound, from Miklós Rózsa 's original soundtrack for Ben Hur:

#Holy Week #Easter 2024 #Youtube

[angeltreasure]

I need to tell a story, maybe it'll help people to understand how powerful the Hail Mary is: I had a few months ago a dream. Mary appeared in my room. She looked beautiful. But something felt off. Instead of peace I felt a dreading and scary presence. Something urged me to recite the Hail Mary. So I started and I kid you not, the "Mary" turned into an ugly demon. It tried to strangle me but I kept praying and then it couldn't touch me anymore and it started screaming and whining. It looked like it was trying to not hear what i say and like someone stomps on it. I woke up, but I strangly felt at peace. It was around that time, that I couldn't quite get how God uses Mary and that showed me. It didn't scare me. Please pray the Hail Mary, for everyone that is doubting. I'm urging. Thank you.

As I lay awake in the dark hours of the night after a Rosary, I am ready to tell you my thoughts on your dream. My favorite book of my favorite Saint, Padre Pio, reveals a cautionary tale of the spiritual battle….

-

“In the lives of the Saints we find similar occurrences to those experienced by Padre Pio, noticeably so in the life of Magdalen of the Cross, so let us take a few examples. She wrote, “My Archangel warned me to be on my guard whenever an Archangel appeared to me. I should observe closely whether there was a cross on his stole and if not, I must command him in the name of Jesus to say who he is. I shall remember this.”

Having received this advice, she certainly took it into account and later wrote: “I was bothered today quite a bit by a beautiful Angel who did not have a cross on his stole. He repeatedly told me that, since I was destined to be damned anyway, I should make my life as comfortable as possible and that he would help me. If I had no particular desire for earthly happiness, I should simply end my life because it was wholly worthless. This second temptation was so violent that I called my Archangel to help me and the fallen angel disappeared.”

The devil appeared to Padre Pio on many forms including that of his Guardian Angel but he always discovered the deception by pronouncing the words: “Long live Jesus!” and with that, the evil spirit disappeared.

At this point, I must mention a personal experience mine concerning Padre Pio and the evil interference. Although it does not directly concern Guardian Angels, I think it is very worthwhile relating as it shows just how much he was persecuted by the devil:

One night, during the time I was looking after him, I washed his face, combed his hair, undressed him and helped him get to bed. Having done this, and seeing that he was in need of nothing, I slipped away to my room. I had only reached it, when the bell, with which he used to summon me, rang. I rushed back to his cell, and when I approached him, he didn’t say a word; he simply smiled at me. Now, I’m always happy to receive a smile from our beloved Padre, but on this occasion I was feeling more tired than usual so, I’m ashamed to say, I was a little put out.

I went back to my room and the bell rang again. Once more, I went to see what was wrong, but he said nothing and just bestowed upon me another radiant smile. This happened at least ten times until eventually, I said: “Father, you call me here, but when I arrive, instead of telling me what you want, you just smile at me. If you don’t let me sleep, it will be you who will have to assist me tomorrow, and not me you!” I will never forget the manner in which he looked at me on that occasion. His eyes were filled with profound suffering as he said to me: “Please, my son, will you sleep on the chair here beside me, because the devils won’t leave me for one minute tonight.”

I understood immediately what he meant, so I settled myself on the arm-chair in his room and there I dozed. Now and then, I would look to see how he was, and I could distinctively hear him whispering the Hail Mary. He seemed no longer afraid, as perhaps my presence there prevented the devil from beating him and throwing him out of bed…”

- Send Me Your Guardian Angel by Fr. Alessio Parente O.F.M. CAP., pages 40-43

“From his youth, Padre Pio enjoyed heavenly visions, but also suffered from the attacks of the devil. Father Amorth said: “The devil appeared to him under many different forms: as a big black cat, wild and threatening, or as a repulsive animal, in the clear intention to frighten him; under the appearance of naked and provocative young girls who danced obscene dances, obviously to test the chastity of the young priest. However, the worst was when the Devil took on the appearance of his spiritual director, or posed as Jesus, the Virgin Mary or St. Francis.””

…..

So yes, asking the intercession of our Mother Mary is powerful. She really intercedes for us even though most people can’t see her outside of dreams. Thinking about that dream (as well as other experiences people have had like this either awake or sleep, we must remember that Satan was formally God’s most powerful and beautiful angel. He has the ability to shape shift and take on appearances of other angels, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and anyone else around. When we are in a state of mortal sin, Satan can certainly influence our nightmares. I would recommend going to confession if you haven’t been for a while, pray the Rosary, and keep a blessed Rosary under your pillow at night. Another powerful tip is to have your house blessed at least once a year and keep a bottle of holy water nearby your bedside. If that were really Mary in your dream, you would not feel that sense or dread.

The spiritual battle is real!

Hail Mary

Hail Mary,

Full of Grace,

The Lord is with thee.

Blessed art thou among women,

and blessed is the fruit

of thy womb, Jesus.

Holy Mary,

Mother of God,

pray for us sinners now,

and at the hour of our death.

Amen.

#prayer request #asks #while I was finally typing this I kept hearing noises #like someone trying to open the front door #but the Ring came shows no one is there

[werewolf-transgenderism]

FINALLY finished this little manuscript leaf of my beloved Magdalene Druckeryn [based on the tres belles heures] ❤️

#pentiment #pentiment fanart #my art #magdalene druckeryn #she is my favorite character in the entire game. i love her so much

[andsomemaniacgotridofthewheel]

Good Omens Theories

My Personal General Speculations:

There will be a second kiss between Aziraphale & Crowley, if only to make up for the violent nature of the first one.

Aziraphale & Crowley will absolutely NOT be having sex or be revealed to have had sex in the past, both neither implied nor explicitly. I mean have you ever listened to anything Neil Gaiman ever said about them. And also that's what fan-fiction is for.

There will be no apology dances that relate to the final fifteen. (Past ones like the one in 1941 are fair game, also present ones if they're about something else, like Crowley leaves the toilet seat up or Azirphale dents the Bentley.)

There will be a 1941 Flashback Part III (I mean something is clearly missing so far).

Crowley's angel name will only be revealed if it becomes plot relevant. (But if you tag speculation about it judgmentally with "deadname" I'm blocking you on sight.)

Season 3 will end in the garden of their South Downs cottage, possibly with a nightingale singing.

Theories I like/believe are closer than anyone elses:

The Magic Trick Theory*

-> Similar but with Time Loops

Crowley is up to something in 2x02

Crowley was Raphael** (see notes & entries under "Angel Names", I think Crowley was probably Kokabiel. Not sure if the latter is really going to be important, though.)

Aziraphale is Raphael** (see "Angel Names" section, entry "Israfil")

Theories I dislike and/or don't believe in:

The Coffee-Theory***

The Body Swap Theory****

Aziraphale was acting under duress and sending secret signals during the Final Fifteen***

Crowley was Raphael (see above)

Crowley was Lucifer (Thankgod Neil already pulled the plug on that one.)

Adam is Jesus (He is the literal ANTI-christ!)

Crowley was Mary Magdalene (I mean he surely tempted Jesus with more than just all the kingdoms of the world, if ya know what I mean, and I genuinely hope that will lead to interesting situations in season 3, but that doesn't automatically mean he was Mary Magdalene.)

Mine:

No, I am not letting this miracle / box thing go.

Important Clues / Props / Rules:

Crowley's changing sideburns (& more in-depth)

Crowley's changing sunglasses

Bookshop Clock Time Skips

Clocks and Time Discrepancies

Not discontinuity but continued elsewhere

Continued scene from S2E2 to S2E3

The Secret Timeline of Season 2

The Rules of the Twist

Chiastic Structure S1

Chiastic Structure S2

Blocking

Title Sequence Analysis

Aziraphale's Illustrated Bible

Aziraphale's Documents in the Box

Document on Aziraphale's Table

Musical clues (bells)

Miracle chimes comparison

The Tales of Hoffmann

Possibly Relevant Angel Names:

Israfil (sounds a bit like Aziraphale, angel blowing the trumpet to signal the end of the world & closest to God in Islam; the Christian equivalent would be Raphael, who apparently partly inspired Aziraphale's name.)

Kokabiel (Hebrew angel who fell, connected with stars and star making, most likely possibility for Starmaker!Crowley)

Baraquiel (mentioned in Hell's book of angels directly under Aziraphale, another possibility for Crowley's former angel identity)

Muriel becomes Abaddon (??? Apocryphal Texts, present at the Last Judgement and the Resurrection of Jesus)

Azrael (a. k. a. Death, as canon in book & show, listed here for exclusion reasons)

~asteriks under the cut~

*= While the theory's details hinge too much on its assumption (i. e. guess) on how the Book Of Life works, the idea that we will learn something in season 3 that completely reframes what we think we have seen in season 2 is almost a given. There will have been some sort of "magic trick".

**= Next to Gabriel & Michael, Raphael is the only other archangel we actually know by name. So that's a glaring omission from the show. And whether it turns out to be Crowley or not, I'm sure we will learn about Raphael and his conspicuous absence in season 3.

***= It takes agency away from Aziraphale, even though his actions are completely in line with his history and characterization so far, and nullifies all emotions experienced by the characters as well as the audience during the final scenes.

****= Both Neil Gaiman & John Finnemore are too good to pull the same trick twice. Yes, even if it's a variation. C'mon, give them some credit!

(I will edit this post when something changes or someone comes up with something new.)

#crowley was raphael #crowley was kokabiel #aziraphale is raphael #the magic trick theory #good omens meta #the coffee theory #body swap theory #crowley is raphael #the magic trick you didn't see #coffee theory #good omens 2 #good omens theory #good omens season 2 #good omens s2 #go2 #go s2 #good omens #neil gaiman #good omens theories #good omens speculation #neil don't look #not you ng #nikku.txt #nikku's posts

[lya-dustin]

So Osferth gets 7 estates in Sussex in Alfred’s will.

These are

Beckley: near the southern coast and Kent which was the center of Christianity in the UK

Rotherfield: east Sussex a royal hunting estaste owned by Alfred known for its oak forests and being the source of the river Rother

Ditchling: rumored to have been the first capital of the Saxon Kingdom. the Roman Greensand Road that connects to London passes by it, loacted in East Susesx. Also has Wings Palace, the saxon manor Anne of Cleves lived in after her divorce and was supposedly built by Alfred of Wessex

Sutton: i couldn't really find anything save that it is home to a very specific species of cricket

Lyminster: another royal hunting estaste of Alfred’s. Home to 11th century church, St. Mary of Magdalene known for its six bells(which their oldest pub is named after) and burial place to St. Cuthflaed of Lyminster(whom the saxon kings are related to) also has a knuckerhole where a knight slayed a water dragon and his tomb is a slab on the church called the Slayer's Slab. Near the coast as well

Angerming: has the remains of a roman villa and a bathhouse meaning it was occupied by a wealthy roman citizen. Also has all these ways its called: Angemeringatun, Angmerengatum, Angemaeringum, Angemeringe, Aingmarying, Angmarrying, Angemare and Ameringe. (This village has as many name variations as Osferth) near the coast as well

Felpham: by the coast in the same district as Angerming and except that it was partially given to Edward’s third wife, nothing else is there about it.

Edit 10/4/23: he was also given 100 pounds of silver, which made him perhaps the richest non royal ealdorman then.

#osferth the last kingdom #osferth x reader #osferth son of alfred #alfred of wessex #the last kingdom #ewan mitchell #ewanverse

[leviiackrman]

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, TRAGIC LOVE ARCHETYPES + PICREW;

I was tagged by @simonxriley to use this cute picrew for some anime kids, and was also tagged by Meg, @corvosattano @chuckhansen + @unholymilf to use these uquizes (WAYDH? + TLA) thank you sm beloveds! I was bored so I merged them all again haha🤍

Tagging: @risingsh0t @bbrocklesnar @queennymeria @roofgeese @florbelles @arklay @captmactavish @shellibisshe @nokstella @thedeadthree @jackiesarch @heroofpenamstan @dameayliins @carlosoliveiraa @fenharel @alexxmason @tekehu @malefiicarum @shadowglens @mrdekarios @faerune @perpetuagf + @garaviel

DROWNING (FOR THE SAKE OF IT);

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

03. CUPID'S BROTHER;

You have been love adjacent all your life. The faint spill of another story that softly grazed your shoulders when stood too close. Whether by design or not, you have yet to build a clear image of what love means to you. The interlocked weaving of a picture locket bound to strand of hair when hugged to tight, the sunpatch that meets your soles in glaring sun dried fields when running with a friend. You are not far from love, but moving between line of collision and avoidance at all times. A faint glimmer on sea lake surface of what could be. There is time to find what you want, find whether it's enough as is. Love is in you, breathing in another day. Continue as you are, realizing the love that is slowly blossoming in your life as it sharpens and clears in brushstrokes.

ATONING (FOR SOMEONE ELSE);

You are sweet, sweet sorrow. Parting ways at an intersection, an angel's footsteps walking side by side with your own, the shadows of the past looming, looming. You are apologetic-moon-light and loiter-at-the-back-of-the-classroom and stilted-silence and rich-with-life. You are stepping-on-eggshells your way through life, be less careful. Be less careful. You make mistakes, you made mistakes, and you will make mistakes, but imagine growing from them without the wish to go back. Stop restricting yourself. Take a breath of the clean air. Stop breathing in your own secondhand smoke.

01. MAUDLIN MAGDALENE;

An embrace with the shivering figure of a ghost. You cut your hair at 3 a.m. to change it all but it is no use. Love is a war to endure to you. You comfort and hold, kiss pressed to temple and cheek while feeling the numbness filling your nights to brim. What used to feel honorable has now become chore of breathing to sustain another. What else is love, but your disembodied lap to lay another's head into? Your fingers turn blue in the announcing dawn, the cold figure of what you used to know of yourself remains asleep next to them. Another version of you has crept out of your old body, has ripped and eaten itself out of a cast that was fused into the position of nurturing comfort. Remove yourself from your lovers before they become part of you, conjoined with your arms to anothers wailing head you have no life apart of maudlin magdalene. You have given endlessly, but this isn't all there is to you. Acknowledge the good that has been done and let yourself be free. You deserve to feel held as well, you are more than what you can give of yourself before breaking down.

SHINING (FOR THE WORLD);

You are sunshine. You are too bright for this world and you know too much for your experiences. You are not naive, but you are not a cynic. You are not an optimist, but you don't see the point in pessimism. You are bright bells of energy and great pealing laughter and coffee-shop-dates and meet-in-person-lunches and you draw people to you like a magnet with the way you shine. You are bright and drained, drained, drained. You are restless nights, heavy days, broken moons. You deserve a rest. You deserve to release. You cannot carry the weight of the world alone. Share the tasks, be the light, and create the connections.

04. SUB ROSA;

Love is a game of here and there to you. Whether catching glimpse of another's neckline or grazing a knuckle between knocking shoulders of passing by. You have learned to adore in secrecy, the rawness of an outright confession to be spoken a foreign terror. There is ease in pursuing the unavailable, to remain within the space of possibility and nestle the fuzzy words another could say to make or break your day. Instability spun itself into mysterium and while the certainty of love in aging isn't to be forced upon anyone, there is a miniscule part of you testing the limits of ambiguity. Hold down the feeling and settle in the leather seat of a car, kiss the corner of a mouth and say how you feel. Your affection in its vulnerability is to be seen, lift the veil and do not fret when an honest word turns into all you have secretly yearned for. You are meant to be noticed and openly loved.

DROWNING (FOR THE SAKE OF IT);

You are restless ambition and caffeinated nights. You are dancing-in-the-rain and record-player-breaking-down and god-I-knew-this-would-happen. The world made you the cynic and you cursed the world. You stomped in the mud and now you shout at the sky, but fear it not because you are so much stronger. You must persevere, and survive this night. The next and the next. By and by. You are so much stronger than you think you are. You have a purpose to find within yourself, and it doesn't come from the work you're doing now.

06. CANíBALES; DEVOURER;

Love's a knife to skin to you, a vein to woven muscle, blood puddle before you. You listened to all the promises of a stranger's relief and feel the drain of a shower head running it all down again. You committed another murder; kissed and bruised skin with a clench to a quivering wrist and went home in the defeaning quiet of a taxi. There's mold covered rage within you. If to take a heart home with you, you'd bite your way through muscle and ribcage first. Pleasure comes, but there will be no devouring past it. There is fear in settling down and being seen. There is a glass screen between these bodies and you. Relax your tight jaw and feel the real canine fear beneath that scabbed up cavity. The sacrifice of opening up is needed if to be loved as you deeply wish inside. Desire doesn't discriminate between hands or spoken word. Why should you?

#tagged* #misc: picrew #oc: margot durand #oc: chika hoki #oc: mineyo ginnivan #oc: rin kyutoku #simonxriley #chuckhansen #corvosattano #unholymilf

[enqmind]

I'm kinda losing steam, so have the first part of this. (Also, I've been working on this for over a month. I need some encouragement T-T)

The Once and Future Queen

Pre-Raphaelite!Konig/female model(?)!reader, 2.9k words

Warnings: (Likely) Historical innaccuracies, pretension, Dante Gabriel Rosetti slander (aka: accurately describing what he did), TF141 are here with bells on.

Reader notes: Light enough to be easily lifted by Soap, has a family, lives somewhere in England, working class, Victorian.

Part I: Walpurgia's Night

 König was not a poet.

 Neither in his native German, nor this bizarre tongue that felt like speaking three at once.

 He was a man of few words, it only made sense to him that those words be simple and straight to the point. This attitude only made his fellows in the Brotherhood look upon him with rather some disdain.

 With this he was fine, he wasn’t there to mince pretty words and use them to entice young women to fulfil his whims and stroke his ego.

 The whole concept of poetry was a rather strange one to him to begin with. It seemed too prone to misrepresentations to his mind.

 After all, one could not scream a painting of a lover’s embrace, or softly whisper a woodcut of a bloody battle. A bold statue of a conquering hero could not be turned dreadful by a tone of voice or a stuttering delivery.

 No matter how honest the poet, the reader could turn their words to lie in another voice. Be that spoken aloud or just within their own mind.

 It was a folly, he would say if asked. In a particularly thunderous mood he would claim it made men mad. Drove their confidence into levels that tipped straight over the precipice of insanity. That otherwise merely passionate men were made Narcissus with the products of their souls. Or worse, made monsters.

 He had stood there, at the side of a young, lost, woman’s grave. The earth there turned fresh despite her being buried there years ago.

 Simple folly then seemed like madness, and his work thus changed.

 The word of the Bard became ash in his mouth.

 Smitten Juliets, sweet Cordelias and even poor Ophelias losing their glitter and shine. Becoming naught but shadows flickering at the limbus of his sight.

 Never honest. Never real.

 Thusly, he became a Nazarene.

 Vicious Judiths, loyal Ruths and penitent Marys Magdalene became his bread and butter.

 Until he recalled that these too were written in verse, and so the word of the Lord became as cinders.

 An unguided man, he wandered this foreign land as lost and adrift as the island itself.

 Perhaps it was a misunderstanding that brought him to this festival, but he was loathe to confess that he had wished to become drunk upon this Ale as he considered matters French, Roman and British for his work.

 It was here he saw them, on the day of Pentecost that these English did call Whitsun.

 In this place to the North, far from capitals both ancient and modern.

 This dying breed, these men of Morris. Dancing with their bells and handkerchiefs and swords never meant for battle.

 It captivated König.

 Here was legend, myth and mimesis.

 Representation of ancient truths without the lies of verse, except only —perhaps— to gild the lily.

 He took his sketches of the five.

 The leader with his distinctive hat and fashionable beard.

 The man dressed in rich colours and shine, like a jewelled beetle.

 The one with the swarthy skin and bearing of a grand thespian.

 The fellow with the piercing eyes and head shaved like warriors from the far side of the ocean.

 The largest of them, covered in darkness with a skull blacked upon his face.

 The One Four One, the side was called.

 The crowd laughed and clapped and cheered along to each of the dances, enraptured by this tradition that was petering out to its end.

 How it was worth the scorn that König had heard his cosmopolitan brothers heap upon it, he did not know. To him, these men were like warriors without a battle to fight.

 König was a draughtsman and a painter, so he drew and he painted.

 Captured the likeness of these men and their dance. Portraits of them in their mismatched gear titled with their odd nicknames, no sillier than his own.

 It kept him busy, back in his studio engulfed in smog and soot. Now become home as well, for Morris men were far from fashionable amongst his former patrons.

 The Earth had nearly completed her circuit ‘round the blazing Sun when he received a letter from the man that the side called captain.

 They were planning to travel to a new village for the next Whitsun, and König was welcome to meet them there. Price would arrive first, then Soap and Ghost, and trailing along would be Gaz and Roach

 He was rather confused that the invitation requested he join them in late April, as Whitsun would not be for weeks to come.

 He said as much when he accepted their kind invitation, expressing that he would be honoured to join them.

 A simple note was the only response he received as he packed up his meagre home .

 ‘The crowning of the May Queen must be honoured.’

 Another of these strange island customs.

 He pictured an austere woman in the fullness of life, tall for her sex and as imposing as Demeter while she ruled the growing season.

 König sketched such things as he travelled by train and then coach and then buggy to a new village.

 Was this queen special? he wondered. The ur-queen of life and growth, perhaps. So important that the near last of the Morris must attend her coronation.

 He near vibrated with intrigue at the thought.

 Here would be true magic and mystery, unsullied by the madness of verse.

 Price met him at the village’s inn, on the day of his arrival, buying him a drink and then a plate of food after passing his gaze up and down the near starving artist.

 He muttered something under his breath about brotherhood, it dripped with such disdain that König did fear it might land in his ale.

 After, Price perked up.

 “You’ll enjoy this,” he promised.

 Any wondering König might have done about how they would fill the time until May Day was quashed by the villagers. After all, surely a large man like him was there to help.

 He had no heart to say no, and was press ganged into helping them.

 On the third day, his job was to help erect a pole festooned with ribbons.

 This was where Soap and Ghost found him. One large man became two, their third securing the pole so well that naught but the mightiest gale could bring it down.

 After each day of hard work the villagers fed and watered them well. Women presenting them with stews and puddings, men with bread and ale, the children with wild berries and juices.

 The three men of the side ate well, reminding König to as well when he became too absorbed in his sketching of the day’s events.

 On one occasion, Ghost and Price caught him by the arms, Soap taking his papers and charcoal, refusing to return them until he cleared his plate.

 He almost snarled, but the gnawing pain that had settled into his gut asserted itself and cut him off.

 Soap laughed and he and his comrades watched, quietly pleased as König ate.

 He was not a Morris man, but he felt like one in the waning days of the month. Working, feasting and resting together.

 He wondered if this would last, if he was merely an understudy for their absent members. Standing in their spot, keeping their mark ready until they could arrive.

 This uncertainty lasted until the twilight of Walpurgia’s night, the last sunset before the queen was crowned, when the quintuplet once again became whole.

 Pulled along like the sea, König followed the moon of the three to the place where buggies made their stop.

 He sat on the bench and kept watch for them as they passed the time with practice. It was difficult for him to maintain his vigil, fascinated by how they danced as though nothing were missing at all. The glint of their blades and shadows of Roach and Gaz danced as much as they did in the golden hour.

 Only the distant sound of horses kept him from putting the image to paper.

 Hoofbeats blended with the stomp of the rappers into one melodious tune.

 König watched as two figures leapt from the buggy, running at full pelt down the road. The sound of their steps and laughter joined the steady rhythm until they slipped into the dance, replacing shadows like they were always there.

 It was as the buggy drew to a halt that he realised that there was no absence for him to fill.

 A woman’s laugh rose from the buggy, drawing five wide smiles and a curious look.

 Gilded by the setting sun, she stood above them all —even Ghost and König — glorious like a queen.

 This must be her, the monarch of May. Surely she was who the One Four One came to honour, bringing with them a foreign pretence of a king to make record of the ceremony.

 She was not Demeter, far too soft and kind as Soap lifted her by the waist from the buggy, dancing them into a spin before setting her to the ground.

 Immediately she was surrounded and towered over, the side as her court and her court at her side.

 “And so the summer queen arrives,” Price greeted, laughter in his voice as he doffed his hat into a deep bow.

 It was a wry grin she shot back, curtseying low.

 “Of course Captain, this is not an occasion that one could afford to miss.”

 She turned her eyes to König, lit ablaze as the stars crept out to shine.

 “And who might this be?” she asked, looking him up and down as one might a castle.

 “A sixth for a five man band? Why, was including Ghost not challenge enough?”

 The man himself huffed.

 “Her majesty jests,” Soap declared with a conspiratorial grin. “T’was no issue with Ghost at all. Excepting, of course, his demeanour.”

 That earned the Scot a cuff around the head that hurt not at all, if his wide smile bore fair witness.

 Price beckoned König over.

 “To honour the occasion, we invited a titled man to oversee proceedings. A majesty in his own right.”

 A hand fell on his shoulder.

 “A delight, my queen, to present to you a king; König.”

 Those eyes flew wide, and pretty lips parted in a gasp, before she curtseyed low again..

 “Nothing but a pleasure, I’m sure,” she smiled, so beautiful that it made his hands twitch. “To meet you is like a gift from above.”

 She wore admiration on her face like another lady might wear powder and rouge.

 “You know my work,” he realised.

 “Yes. I had the pleasure of seeing it as I attended my lady during a trip to the city.”

 The smile she wore was enchanting, almost enough that he didn’t parse what she said. Almost.

 “Your lady?”

 “Away from here I’m a mere lady’s maid.”

 “A poet,” Gaz corrected, “one who pays for room and board by masquerading as a maid.”

 She gave him a look that seemed to sigh ‘not you too’.

 König’s heart fell to his feet.

 “Not much of one,” she murmured, looking up at him, embarrassed.

 “Tosh.”

 Ghost’s simple comment brought a smile back to the queen’s face. She tugged his shirt to draw him down for a kiss on the cheek.

 König watched them. He wondered how much of the platonic nature of her affection was pure falsehood. How deep could the lies of verse go?

 Price’s hand fell again onto his shoulder, the look in the man’s eyes somehow both concerned and warning in the same expression.

 “We’ll get your bags to your Mam’s and then circle back to the pub, hmm?” he said to her, hand tightening on the painter’s shoulder.

 König found himself almost frogmarched into helping as the others, including their queen, unloaded the buggy of bags and cases.

 “Later,” was the captain’s quiet warning.

 The Morris men and their queen conversed with bright smiles and open laughter.

 Even the taciturn spectre was light. He shared a story with the newcomers of how one girl (soft and kind with a sweet, dark, face) commandeered he and König to help her pick some upstart elderflowers. She’d sat on Ghost’s shoulders to reach blooms to pluck alongside König. A little princess who crowned them both in flowers and thanks.

 Gaz puffed up in pride when König called her a braves Mädchen.

 “Just wait until tomorrow. You’ll see her be really brave.”

 To a man, the One Four One nodded in agreement.

 “I just hope I can do her justice,” the queen sighed.

 Roach patted her on the back with a reassuring grin. The silent conversation between them enough to draw her shoulders back.

 “You’re right. Just… one more pass?”

 He laughed, it running through the group like a plague. Affecting even König through his veil of misery.

 He didn’t speak much, even as they made their efforts to include him in the conversation as though nothing were amiss. To them, he supposed, there was not.

 He was no fool. He was aware that to educated and uneducated men alike, his aversion to poetry was bizarre.

 The expression colouring Price’s countenance told him as much when the queen went into her family home to put away her bag and be smothered in love.

 König told him that he could not stand that which would disturb the grave of a young woman as she slept eternal.

 He had expected confusion, perhaps more scorn, but instead he was given sympathy.

 Soap put his hand on König’s arm.

 A frisson of disgust ran through the side.

 “We heard about that,” Price rumbled, “foul business.”

 “Were you friends?” A question asked by all, but spoken by Gaz.

 He threw his thoughts back to her gentle face and broken soul. They spoke as infrequently as they met. Even as she sat for him, but those silences were amicable. Amicable.

 “Ja.”

 Delusion as it may be, she and he were kindred spirits. This he knew in his heart.

 “I get how you feel,” Soap commiserated, “that guy’s a cunt.”

 It began slowly and then came out of his like a torrent. Chuckle into raucous laughter.

 How direct. How clear. How unpoetic.

 It was like a veil had been lifted.

 The defiler wasn’t a tortured poet, a grieving husband, Alighieri descending into hell.

 “He is a cunt,” König stated. “Ja. Only a cunt would do that.”

 The hand on his arm turned into an encouraging clap.

 “There you go. He’s a cunt. You gonna let a cunt like that ruin something for you?”

 That was wha he’d been allowing, wasn’t it?”

 “No. Not anymore.”

 “Good man.”

 They were swiftly joined by the queen and her family, familiar from about the village.

 The queen mother made shooing motions at them.

 “Get a shift on lads,. They won’t light the bonfire without the guest of honour!”

 The side gave their greetings and the group headed onward.

 The queen’s family was a curious bunch, asking questions about what everyone had been up to on their travels and an inordinate amount about König.

 “So… I hear you’re a painter,” her father had begun.

 “Ja. We’ve already had this conversation.”

 “... Right. I just didn’t know you were that painter…”

 The man awkwardly moved into interrogating Gaz with his wife.

 Odd fellow, but not unlikable.

 It was not an unpleasant walk, König found himself rather enjoying it. Somehow folded into another band without meaning to.

 He stole glances at the queen as they went, the dark shadow washed away. His heart was for from repaired, but now he no longer needed to second guess her quite so much.

 She fidgeted while he looked at her. Dutifully, he averted his gaze as he noticed each time.

 No wonder she was the guest of honour; even in dusty travelling clothes she was wonderful.

 He wondered if she would be willing to sit for him.

 Soon enough they reached the inn.

 The bonfire was small and rather hastily made. He didn’t doubt that they built much more impressive ones to burn traitors in effigy.

 Gaz and Roach were hurried off to place their bags in the side’s room as the innkeeper strode up to the party.

 “Ah, good. You’re here!”

 König could have sworn his heart stopped when the man put a hand on his back.

 “Light the bonfire so we can ward off the witches, then.”

 He looked at the innkeeper, nonplussed.

 The hand patted.

 “Happy wall purge is knack, König,” the man grinned up at him. He looked so proud.

 König nodded, a small smile playing on his own lips.

 “Frohe Walpurgisnacht.”

 He was handed a flaming torch and the gathered village folk cheered as the pile caught flame.

 “From now on, we’ll know our May Queens will be safe from witches!” the innkeeper called to further cheers.

 It was a strange feeling being the centre of attention like this, but it didn’t feel so unnatural as it should. Explaining the traditions of Walpurgisnacht to the queen and other curious souls wasn’t as harrowing as he’d have expected if told he’d be required to do so when he had arrived.

 He expressed as much to Price as the bonfire died down and the side bade the queen and her family good night.

 The captain shrugged and slapped him on the back.

 “Sleep, it’s a big day tomorrow.”

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #konig x reader #cod fic

[jesawyer]

Hello, I had a Pentiment question! The game has been turning in my brain since finishing it and this one question in particular has kinda stuck with me. Specifically when it comes to "Ein Traum", was the selection of adapting that poem in specific a choice done by the team, or was this something that came from Lingua Ignota? I think it's a beautiful song and works great in the game- but I am left wondering how that poem was selected and by who?

I selected the poem. Before Kristin was involved, I had thought of having someone adapt For Whom The Bell Tolls by Steve Baker & Carmen Daye, more popularly known as "the song that plays during the credits of Donnie Darko", which also adapts Heine's poem for its lyrics.

When Kristin's involvement became a possibility, we stopped talking about this specific song and more about the moods and ideas, pieces of inspiration. We both love 19th century German Romantic paintings, poetry, and music. Kristin created a playlist of inspirational music and we talked through each piece to narrow in on the right vibes.

Throughout this process, the poem was always the intended source of the lyrics because I think Heine's feelings of alienation and longing for home in a foreign land also fit both Andreas and Magdalene, who both wind up wandering far from home.

I thought it was important for this song to feel like a true epilogue to the rest of the music in the game. The music Kristin referenced, the instrumentation, the poem/lyrics are all much more contemporary than what Alkemie created and I feel like it does create *~ temporal distance ~*.

And of course I love how it turned out and working with Kristin was a real highlight of my career.