#mother mother (Cecile)

[theimperialcourt]

Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother with Prince Charles and Princess Anne by Cecil Beaton, Coronation Day, 1953

#QUEEN ELIZABETH #THE QUEEN MOTHER #PRINCE CHARLES #PRINCE OF WALES #PRINCESS ANNE #BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY #BRF #CORONATIONS #TIARA #CECIL BEATON #KING CHARLES III #PRINCESS ROYAL #1953

[mediumgayitalian]

“You ready, Lou?”

“Duh.”

“Cecil? You’ve got full faith in your cabin?”

“Yep.”

“What about you, Will? Were your threats successful?”

“My bribes went wonderfully, thank you.”

“Then I think we’re a go.”

“Gods, this is going to be great.”

———

Knockknockknock.

Nico locks in on his game. He is so, so close to finally making it through this stupid quest, he can feel it, and if he doesn’t beat The Imprisoned before Percy he’s going to set the camp on fire.

Knockknockknock.

“Just — hold on a second!” He spams B, cursing loudly to himself, ignoring the twinge in his lower back from holding this position for so long. “Fuck, fuck, come on.” He clenches his teeth, knuckles white against the Wii remote, until finally — the boss falls. He cheers.

Fuck yes. Take that, Percy.

Tossing the remote on his bed, he jogs over to the door, sliding open the three bolts and unlocking the chains. On his porch is a blur of movement, hair frizzy and pulled-on, shirt rumbled.

“Oh, hey, Annabeth.”

She barely acknowledges him, focusing intently on pacing back and forth on the stone porch at the speed of light. He settles against the door frame, stretching out his spine, watching her mutter to herself.

“Chiron is leaving,” she says.

Nico raises an amused eyebrow. “I am aware.”

“With Mr. D. To some conference.”

“I heard.”

“He’s gone until early tomorrow evening.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He left me in charge.”

“Probably wise.”

“I need an allegiance, Nico.”

“Slow down and tell me what you mean, first.”

She sighs, coming to a stop in front of him. Her fingers still drum across her biceps, and her eyes dart around, evaluating. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip.

“Camp’s a lot of work,” she says finally. “I’ve never been in charge of so many people at once before, and like hell am I gonna let Chiron think I can’t handle it. I have a Plan, and you’re a part of it.”

Nico resists the urge to groan. Chiron leaving is supposed to mean he gets the next day or so off — no classes, no socializing, nothing. Just him in his cabin and the genuinely disgusting amount of junk food he has amassed.

(…And Will. Maybe.)

“It’s nothing crazy,” she promises. “I just need you to lurk.”

“…Lurk?”

“Yeah, you know. Chill in the shadows and scare people into complacency. You don’t even need to do much, just that thing where you stare at people like you know the exact day they’re going to die.”

“I do love lurking,” Nico admits. And to basically have a free pass to scare the shit out of whoever he wants… “I’ll do it.”

She smiles brightly. “Thanks, Nico! I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet up with you right after Chiron heads out, okay? To give you a list of people to keep your eye on.”

“Sure. Bye, Annabeth.”

“See ya!”

He closes the door and pads back to his setup, shaking the remote to get it going again. He can’t quite shake the smirk off his face.

The next twenty four hours are going to rock.

———

“Swiper No Swiping, initiate phase one.”

“Roger that, Sunny Dick.”

“…I’m revoking your code name priveledges.”

“No no no, I’m sorry, I’ll change it.”

———

Before Chiron leaves, he gathers them all in the amphitheatre.

“Children,” he calls, adjusting the bow slung across his back. “I am leaving now for my conference. I will be back before the sun sets tomorrow.” He gestures towards Annabeth, standing stiffly beside him. “Annabeth is in charge. Consider all my authority transferred to her before I return, am I understood?”

“Yes, Chiron,” courses the camp, some with significantly more attitude than others. Across the gathered crowd, Will catches his eye and winks. (Well, tries to. He has yet to catch on to the fact that he cannot, actually, wink, and instead just blinks really intentionally. Kayla and Austin have sworn him to secrecy.) Nico rolls his eyes, ears burning, and looks away.

“Good. Regular rules; no maiming, killing, or injuries above level seven. Any arson will result in a revoking of dessert privileges. Yes, Julia, even if you help in putting out the arson. It is the fire that is the issue, you understand. Excellent.” He claps his hands together. “I am looking forward to one day of peace. Try to avoid ruining it for me too quickly. Goodbye, children.”

With a wave and a fond squeeze of Annabeth’s shoulder, he trots over to Half-Blood Hill, ignoring Mr. D’s loud complaining about how long he took. With a snap of Mr. D’s fingers, they disappear. For a brief, uncanny moment, everything is still.

“Alright,” Annabeth shouts, clapping her hands together. Nico jumps. “Dinner is in an hour. Whoever is the first to fuck something up will be doing dishes. I will be watching. Dismissed.”

Wading through the swathes of ambling teenagers, she walks by where Nico is leaning against a pillar, half-hidden in the shadows.

“Lurk,” she orders, passing him.

Nico shoots her a mocking salute, fading into the shadow behind him. He barely catches her grin before he dissolves into the darkness.

———

“Phase two in effect. Ready to go, Sabrina Spellman?”

“Prepped to go, Teletubbies Sun Baby.”

“I hate both of you.”

———

“Halt!”

Across the common, three suspicious figures freeze, glance behind them, and then resume walking as casually as they can.

“I said halt! Do not move! Cease all function!”

Milling nervously towards each other, Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest pause, shifting the three massive cardboard boxes they hold each.

“Hi, Annabeth,” Will says, smiling innocently. Cecil and Lou Ellen match him, eyes wide, expressions angelic.

Annabeth stomps over to them, fists clenched at her sides, entirely unmoved by the cherubic display in front of her. Nico stays right where he is, hidden by the shade of Cabin Eight.

“Explain yourselves,” Annabeth orders.

The three stooges exchange a look.

“Whatever do you mean,” Lou Ellen asks, shifting the boxes to free up her hand only to place it delicately over her chest. “Why, we are only helping our dear friend William —”

“Our dear, dear friend,” Cecil adds.

“— carry these many boxes of medical supplies, so as to lower his great burden —”

“Massive burden,” Will says sagely.

“— and free up his evening in order for him to spend his limited time with us, his most cherished friends.”

“Especially cherished,” Will and Cecil chorus together.

Unable to bite back a smile, Nico rolls his eyes so hard his skull hurts. They’re not even trying to not get caught, at this point. Idiots.

Clearly agreeing, Annabeth scoffs. “Yeah, right. Boxes down, all three of you. You’re being detained for suspected illicit substances.”

“Annabeth!” Will cries, hand to his chest, “after all I do for this camp, you would accuse me of being — illicit?! Me?! The outrage! The insult! The impugn, the —”

“Can it, Solace. Open the boxes.”

Huffing in perfect unison, the three of them carefully lower their boxes to the ground.

“Tape off.”

Intentionally slowly, they run a nail along the edge of the packing tape.

“Flaps open, guys, c’mon.”

With flourish, the trio fling open the thin cardboard panels. Inside each box is rows of bandages, packaged syringes, sterile bands, tongue compresses, and more that Nico can’t name. Annabeth glares at the boxes with perhaps more disdain than the situation calls for.

Then again.

It is camp.

“See?” says Cecil, gesturing grandly. “The shipment just came in from my dad.”

Like a hound dog locking in on a bleeding squirrel, Annabeth’s eyes narrow. Her lips spread into wide, frankly maniacal smirk.

“Your dad is in a conference with the rest of the Olympians right now, Markowitz.”

Caught.

“Well,” Cecil says, and then nothing else.

“He meant it in the royal sense,” Lou Ellen pipes up in his silence. Cecil nods frantically. “You know, ‘just’ as in, like, recently, as in this morning —”

“Do you three think I’m stupid.”

“It’s just medical supplies! You can look through them if you want —”

Even if they weren’t acting like criminals, Nico knows his friends. He knows his boyfriend, especially, and recognises that damn look on his face. He can also physically see Annabeth’s stress ulcer coming back.

Closing his eyes, Nico fades into Cabin Six’s shadow. It’s a quick jump, so the stretch is easy, and the darkness bows easily to his hold. He reappears silently behind the group, taking advantage of the setting sun, and darts out to grip Lou Ellen’s arm.

“Boo,” he whispers.

She shrieks at the top of her lungs, jumping three clean feet in the air. Coincidently, the boxes of medical supplies flicker, turning into a truly baffling amount of instant mashed potato boxes.

“I knew it!” Annabeth shouts.

On cue, all three doofuses turn to Nico, jeering and complaining about ‘ruining the fun’. Nico’s glare is ineffective on Doofus #1, but the other two can be cowed. He focuses on channelling the flames of hell to reflect in his eyes like his father showed him until they look away, muttering at the ground.

“We still don’t have any illicit substances,” Will insists, glaring right back. Nico sticks out his tongue. He crosses his eyes like a four year old. How immature, honestly. “So we’re just gonna take our stuff and —”

“Absolutely not, Golden Boy. Put that hand away.”

Wisely, Will draws slowly back from the boxes, tucking his hands in his pocket.

Annabeth stares, hard, at the three of them, flicking her dark eyes from the potatoes and back. The tips of her worn-out converse tap slowly on the packed grass, tip-tap-tip-tap, as they all squirm.

Understanding dawns on her quickly.

“It’s supposed to rain tomorrow, for the strawberry plants.”

They squirm harder.

“Oh, you godsdamn bitches.”

“It would’ve been really funny,” Cecil mumbles, staring at the ground. “Rain making the ground turn into a sea of mashed potatoes. Like Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs.”

“The only meatballs around here are the ones clogging up your skull!” Annabeth shouts, which doesn’t quite make sense but sounds clever coming from her anyway. “Who was gonna clean that up, huh? Magic?”

“I mean, probably,” Lou Ellen says, promptly shutting up at Annabeth’s glare.

“And you, Will! I cannot believe! Where is that responsibility you’re known for, huh?”

Will pouts. “I can be responsible and do fun things.”

“Fun, he says. I’m going to fucking kill you, how’s that for fun. The one day I’m left in charge, I cannot believe —”

“If it helps, it’s less about you and more about April Fools being tomorrow,” Cecil interjects tentatively. “Like, we were going to do this whether or not Chiron left.”

Annabeth glares darkly. “Of fucking course you were. It’s always you three, I swear to the gods. I should have known.”

“It’s honestly kind of embarrassing for you guys,” Nico adds. He smiles smugly at them, relishing in their rolled eyes and mocking hands. “Like, everyone expected this. You did this to yourselves, honestly.”

“Boo, you jag,” Lou Ellen protests. The other two knuckleheads joint in the booing, Will taking it an extra stop forward and blowing a raspberry, both thumbs pointing down. Nico responds with a wide grin and two middle fingers.

“Enough,” Annabeth says, rubbing her temples. “Extra chores, all three of you. Go help the cleaning harpies until sundown. And not another peep of complaint or I’ll have you on chores tomorrow, too.”

Without another glance at them, she turns around and walks away, muttering at least you caught it early at least you caught it early at least you caught it early over and over to herself.

“Pretty sure you guys have physical labour to do,” Nico says brightly when she disappears into the Big House. “I’d get started on that, if I were you.”

“Butthead,” Cecil mutters.

“Kiss-ass,” Lou Ellen agrees, making a face.

“Traitor,” Will whispers, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he walks past.

Nico watches them go, standing guard over the boxes in case they try to come back for them.

He can’t help but think that they all look a little too jovial for having their plans ruined before they even started.

———

“Is he still looking?”

“No.”

“Okay, Phase Three, let’s go let’s go let’s go —”

———

Every time Nico wakes with the sun, he sets aside twenty minutes of his morning routine to curse Apollo, his father, Apollo again, Phanes, and Prometheus. In that order.

He does like the bonus of getting breakfast. Usually he sleeps through it and has to hope Will saved him coffee cake, which he does, every time, because he wants to bribe his way into Nico’s affections. But there is something to be said about camp coffee cake when it is still warm, crumbly on the top and soft on the inside. It is a rare and occasionally worth-it treat, and on his bleary walk to the dining pavilion, Nico tries to keep this in the forefront of his mind. Fresh coffee cake. Fresh coffee. Fresh fruit. And Will, probably, not that seeing him is worth getting up early or anything. (So what that he gets all excited and energetic when he sees Nico up in the morning. If anything it’s embarrassing for him.)

For once, he’s actually early enough that there are very few people already at breakfast. He sees most of the Athena kids, still half-asleep over their mugs, and pretty much every camper under the age of eleven. A few head counsellors, too, watching out for the little ones or catching up on a rare moment of quiet. Nico makes a beeline for the breakfast spread, cutting a slice of coffee cake to leave on the platter and putting the rest of it on his plate. He puts a single strawberry in the middle of it so no one can accuse him of being unhealthy, then ambles over to the Apollo table.

“Neeks? Where’re you going?”

Nico pauses. He shifts his plate to one hand, rubbing at his bleary eyes. He looks at the Apollo table. He counts one, two, three heads — Kayla, Austin, and…Cecil?

“Nico? You good, babes?”

He turns, slowly, to face the voice. Picking at a plate full of pineapple, next to Reika Onason, Lou Ellen's sister, is Will.

“I know mornings are hard for you, but you’re meant to eat at your table,” he teases. “Come sit, doofus. Unless you’re taking advantage of Chiron’s absence to make friends elsewhere, I guess, but it seems unlike you.”

“You’re — what’re you — what?“ Nico says dumbly, struggling to reconcile the imagine in front of him.

For some reason, Will is eating his breakfast at the Hecate table.

And that is not all.

For some reason, his camp shirt does not say head medic. For some reason, he is wearing black jeans. For some reason, dozens of Celestial bronze rings adorn his fingers, carved with sigils. For some reason, his hair is clipped back, and there is black eyeliner around his bright blue eyes, and his nails are painted darker than Nico’s, and he is sitting at the Hecate table.

“What are you doing?”

“Having…breakfast,” Will says slowly. His lips turn down in concern. “Nico, are you okay?”

“I’m fine! It’s — you’re the one acting weird!”

Will and Reika exchange a look.

“Maybe you should go see Cecil,” Will suggests carefully. “Did you sleep okay last night? Maybe you hit your head —”

Nico looks desperately back at the Apollo table. They watch him strangely now, too, and after a second Cecil gets up from his — Will’s — seat, and walks over.

“Everything okay?” he asks, impish expression almost serious. “You look pale, Nico.”

“I’m worried,” Will says. “He’s acting — confused, Cece, maybe there’s a —”

“I’m not confused,” Nico scowls. “You two are — doing something.” He gestures vaguely between them. “As revenge for yesterday.”

Will snorts. “What, the potatoes? Don’t let Lou hear you discredit her like that. If you think she’d plan some revenge prank on you this early, you don’t know her at all.”

Nico’s head starts to hurt. He sets down his plate, rubbing his temples. Why would Lou Ellen be so bothered by that? Why isn’t she here, with her sister? What the hell is going on?

“Both of you — cut it out. Whatever dumbass prank you’re pulling is just stupid.”

“Did I hear something about a prank?” Bounding over from the camp store, arms laden with contraband junk food, is Lou Ellen, smiling brightly. “Whatever it is, I want in!”

“Oh, thank the gods, you’re back.” Will makes grabby hands at the pile. She tosses him a pack of twizzlers off the top, rolling her eyes as he tears into like he didn’t just polish off two and a half entire pineapples and three bowls of oatmeal. “I was going through withdrawal.”

“I’m not helping you when your stomach cramps up,” Cecil promises, snorting. His eyes follow the candy ropes in their harried journey towards Will's gaping maw. “You can sit in your misery.”

“Bleh bleh bleh.”

Nico narrows his eyes at them. Clearly, they’re all in on this — bit, or whatever it is. It’s a little too coordinated to be a quickly-planned revenge prank. They must have had a backup to the potatoes, although a pretty weak one. Unless they somehow managed to bribe the entire camp into agreeing to act along with their dumbassery, and Nico knows none of them can come even close to affording that, then all it takes is one person on Nico’s side before their little ruse is broken.

“It’s too early for this,” Nico says, interrupting their bickering. He picks up his breakfast and trudges off to his actual table, ignoring Will’s pouting. He has to brush the dust off the bench, but it’s worth it to avoid whatever headache the three of them will inevitably give him.

Coffee cake, save him.

———

“It’s not looking good, Katara —”

“I actually like that one.”

“— he’s totally onto us.”

“Just stick to the plan. Power onto Phase Four.”

———

To Nico's great satisfaction, many other people do double takes as they walk into breakfast.

As the Athena table, minus Annabeth, who is likely putting out a literal or metaphorical fire somewhere, wakes up, they start to notice the strange seating situation. It starts with Malcolm, who stares at Cecil in a lab coat with the same expression Nico has seen him wear when attempting to solve the Hodge conjecture. He leans over to murmur something in his brother’s ear, and then all seven of them are looking between the Hecate, Apollo, and mostly-empty Hermes tables with suspicious frowns and furrowed brows.

Nico catches Will’s eye, smirking.

Game’s up, he mouths. Will only shrugs innocently at him.

It’s Annabeth who finally puts a stop to the nonsense, striding in at the tail end of the rest of the slowly-waking crowd. She has grass in her hair and murder in her eyes.

Excellent.

“I swear to the gods, I just dealt with you three,” she snaps, raising her voice so they all can hear her. Coincidentally, it attracts the attention of every other nosy person at camp, which is everybody. “Just ‘cause Chiron’s not here doesn’t mean the rules go out the window. Back to your tables, let’s move.”

“We’re at our tables,” Cecil protests. “Why do people keep saying that?”

Annabeth takes a very deep, very long breath. She has a whole day of this, too. How unfortunate for her.

“Maybe because you are full of shit, Markowitz. Go sit with the rest of you troublemakers.”

Kayla clears her throat. “Annabeth, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Her thin eyebrows are drawn tightly together, lips turned down into a frown. “Cecil is exactly where he’s supposed to be.”

That gives her pause.

That gives a lot of people pause. Nico sets down his coffee cake.

“Cecil’s at the Apollo table,” Annabeth says slowly.

Kayla meets her gaze, face creased in concern. “...Yeah, I know.”

“Cecil is a Hermes kid, Kayla.”

She snorts. “Yeah, sometimes I think so, too. But as much as I would absolutely love to trade my brother —”

“Hey!”

“He’s a healer, Annabeth. He got claimed and everything.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Annabeth says, dragging her hand down her face. “Kayla, I don’t know what they paid you —”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” With a clatter of plates, Will clambers on the table, clapping his hands. “Your attention please, everyone!”

Without so much as a pause, Will claps his hands together. Immediately, a ball of green light expands from them, flashing almost too bright to look at. Nico watches, slack jawed, as he tosses it into the air, making it explode into a thousand little sparkles, descending gently over everyone’s heads. The little kids laugh in delight, reaching for them like they’re bubbles.

“Does that settle things?” he demands.

Silence rings for one, two, three seconds.

The camp erupts.

Dozens of voices overlap, all shouting over each other at once. Hands gesture wildly at Will, at Cecil, at Lou — trying to piece things together. Will is their head medic — isn’t he? Then why is Cecil wearing scrubs? And why is Lou chilling at the Hermes’ table, chatting with Julia over a bowl of cereal? Something isn’t right.

“Just — everybody quiet!”

It takes a minute, but everyone settles down, sitting back in their seats and fidgeting, looking around with half-confused, half-amused smiles. Like they’re laughing at a joke they’re half convinced is real.

“Who thinks this —” Annabeth makes some vaguely indicative movement at Will, Lou, and Cecil — “is weird? Raise your hand.”

Almost all hands go up. Only a handful stay down — Will, Lou Ellen, and Cecil, of course, but the entirety of the Hermes cabin stays oddly silent, as do Kayla, Austin, Reika, and, shockingly, Clovis.

“Stoll,” Nico demands before Annabeth gets the chance, “you’re buying this?”

“Buying what?” Connor says after a moment. He shrugs, eyes twinkling in amusement. “I’m just chillin’ with my sister, Nico. Cecil is great, but he hasn’t been in our cabin since he got claimed.”

The rest of the Hermes kids nod in agreement. Whispers filter through the tables — first Kayla, now all the Hermes kids?

“If I may,” interjects Clovis, yawning. “There’s an…energy, around.”

“Gods, yeah, I was feeling it too,” Will agrees frantically. “Almost a…blanket, of some kind. Something heavy and stifling.”

Malcolm looks over with interest. “You think we got cursed, or something? The whole camp?”

Will shrugs. “Maybe? Can’t think of any other reason you guys are remembering things weird.”

“It could be a god’s interference,” Nyssa suggests, raising her voice to be heard from the Hephaestus table. “I mean, that’s what happened to Jason and Leo and Piper, right? Their memories got fudged.”

“Yeah, but camp-wide…”

“Could still be possible.”

“There’s no way! They’re fucking with us, come on —”

It doesn’t take long for the arguing to start up again. This time, though, more people looked spooked — more people look to the dumbass trio themselves, eyes wide like they’re looking at ghosts.

Like they’re believing this shit.

Nico scowls, shoving away from his table and stomping over to his boyfriend.

“You are so full of shit I can smell you from across the room,” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He wiggles his fingers in Nico’s direction. They spark with the same green light. “Want me to switch your eyes and ears again?”

That sounds horrifying. “Try it and die.”

“Alright, grouchy.” He holds his hands up, stepping back from Nico’s glare. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Alarm bells go off in Nico’s head. This is more than just strange, it’s wrong. And not just ‘cause he looks different — so what if he looks different. Will could shave his head bald and tattoo himself purple, Nico wouldn’t care.

But his aura.

The essence of Will, that Nico has grown so used to be stopped noticing. The quiet, warmth strength, the feeling of a soft breeze in the summer, of walking past a window in the late afternoon, of smokey August campfires and scratchy guitar, is gone. Is different, rather; almost blocked. It feels like a cloud blowing over the sun, making everything warped and off and shadowy.

Something is afoot. Something is wrong, and not just some vague, made-up spell like the Trickster Trio would have the camp believe. Something like smoke and mirrors, something shadier.

He watches Will fall into step next to Cecil, ducking away from his ruffling hand. He frowns.

If there’s one thing Nico can do, it’s wade through the shadows.

———

next

#can anyone guess what these dumb ass mother fuckers did. #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #solangelo #established solangelo #will solace & cecil markowitz & lou ellen blackstone #annabeth chase #nico di angelo & annabeth chase #my writing #fic #longpost

[fiendishartist2]

this morning we found a boy. we asked the boy his name and he didn’t know, but he also didn’t care. identity was not of interest to him, since he was so busy being every possible thing except himself

#someone talk to me about the new wtnv episodes before i fucking explode. who is this boy and why doesnt he remember anything #and the fact that he doesnt like to talk about his mother?? he remembers being in a dark warm place????? #wtnv looooves to not give us cecil info but this new arc is giving me so much hope lol i want this boy to turn out to be young cecil #my art #digital art #artists on tumblr #welcome to night vale #wtnv #cecil palmer #wtnv 234 #wtnv spoilers #i dont love this one 100% but theres nothing else i can really do to it

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

Cecil’s mother didn’t feed him. 

When Esteban asked for a snack Cecil gave him three options and filled his favorite bowl for him in a gentle voice. 

Being the parent that breaks the cycle... yeah I’m not gonna cry you are.

#cecil's mother #cecil palmer #esteban palmer #wtnv spoilers

[kemetic-dreams]

A manbo (also written as mambo) is a priestess (as opposed to a oungan, a male priest) in the Haitian Vodou religion. Haitian Vodou's conceptions of priesthood stem from the religious traditions of enslaved people from Dahomey, in what is today Benin. For instance, the term manbo derives from the Fon word nanbo ("mother of magic"). Like their West African counterparts, Haitian manbos are female leaders in Vodou temples who perform healing work and guide others during complex rituals.

This form of female leadership is prevalent in urban centers such as Port-au-Prince (the capital of Haiti). Typically, there is no hierarchy among manbos and oungans. These priestesses and priests serve as the heads of autonomous religious groups and exert their authority over the devotees or spiritual servants in their hounfo (temples).

Manbos and oungans are called into power via spirit possession or the revelations in a dream. They become qualified after completing several initiation rituals and technical training exercises where they learn the Vodou spirits by their names, attributes, and symbols. 

The first step in initiation is lave tèt (head washing), which is aimed at the spirits housed in an individual's head. The second step is known as kouche (to lie down), which is when the initiate enters a period of seclusion. Typically, the final step is the possession of the ason (sacred rattle), which enables the manbos or oungans to begin their work. One of the main goals of Vodou initiation ceremonies is to strengthen the manbo's konesans (knowledge), which determines priestly power.

The specific skills and knowledge gained by manbos enable them to mediate between the physical and spiritual realms. They use this information to call upon the spirits through song, dance, prayer, offerings, and/or the drawing of vèvès (spiritual symbols). During these rituals, manbos may either be possessed by a loa (also spelled lwa, Vodou spirits) themselves, or may oversee the possession of other devotees. Spirit possession plays an important role in Vodou because it establishes a connection between human beings and the Vodou deities or spirits. Although loas can "mount" whomever they choose, those outside the Vodou priesthood do not have the skills to communicate directly with the spirits or gods. This is because the human body is merely flesh, which the spirits can borrow to reveal themselves via possession. manbos, however, can speak to and hear from the Vodou spirits. As a result, they can interpret the advice or warnings sent by a spirit to specific individuals or communities.

Cécile Fatiman is a Haitian manbo famously known for sacrificing a black pig in the August 1791 Vodou ceremony at Bois Caïman—an act that is said to have ignited the Haitian Revolution. There are also notable manbos within the United States. Marie Laveau (1801-1888), for example, gained fame in New Orleans, Louisiana, for her personal charm and Louisiana Voodoo practices.

Renowned as Louisiana's "voodoo queen", Laveau's legacy is kept alive in American popular culture (e.g., the television series America Horror Story: Coven).ne Mama Lola is another prominent manbo and Vodou spiritual leader in the United States. She rose to fame after the publication of Karen McCarthy Brown's ethnographic account Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn. Mama Lola's success provided her with a platform to challenge Western misconceptions of Haitian Vodou and make television appearances

#kemetic dreams #vodun #cecile fatiman #manbo #bois caiman #manbos #haitian #marie laveau #new orleans #new orleans voodoo #mama lola #vodou #lwa #oungan #nando #fan #west african #west african vodun #mother of magic #joey bada$$ #brooklyn

[voidvale]

*bawling, absolutely blubbering*

CECIL DRINKS AND ABBY SMOKES

#their mother did both #thats why im wailing.. #i was watching a video where someone was talkimg about kids picking up habits their parents had because learned behavior #wtnv #abby palmer #cecil palmer #welcome to night vale

[cecilsrandomeverything]

Soren Baltimore thing:

You won’t get the time from a dead white rabbit

Trapped in a prison of rotting boards

To turn back time on an undead rabbit

Bow to our old Mother of Stones

#camp here and there #soren baltimore #soren chnt #the mother of stones #> hey Cecil says a thing! <

[agnes-come-back-challenge]

i have loose thoughts i wanna relay about the faceless old woman's behavior back when she and hiram were trying to kill dana

in the voicemail she leaves cecil in ep 65, she says something along the lines of "say hi to carlos, i always liked him" and then, despite the fact that she's been actively threatening cecil, she says she wants him to get the dog park bc she wants him to be happy. now, i know that's probably meant to be interpreted as a lie (to disguise the fact that she wants him to get to the dog park so she can finally kill dana), but stick with me because it fits my concept so im using it as evidence anyways

both those statements are stereotypically maternal. passing judgement, positive or negative, on your kid's partners. telling them you just want what's best for them because you want them to be happy. et cetera. now add to this the fact that cecil's mother was a neglectful and threatening figure, and that the faceless old woman's words have been accompanied by trying to inspire fear (albeit a more direct kind than cecil's mother inspired). now add to that again the fact that the faceless old woman and cecil both explicitly live outside of time.

im not saying I think the faceless old woman is cecil's mother (although I think that would make for an interesting situation), but i do think she probably fills a similar role in his life as his mother did

#i was listening to night vale at work again lol #this is one of the mental literary analysises i did #wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecil palmer #cecil gershwin palmer #cecil's mother #the faceless old woman #the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home #io does literary analysis

[marcmorrigan]

artfight revenge on @waterloggedsoliloquy!!!

#artfight #art fight #team werewolf #my art #anthea patel #babys first attack!!! im baby #i had SOOO much fun with this this is so like return to my roots baby marccore art #the flower skirt. the ballet pose. the colorful pointe shoes. literally SO 100% smthng i wouldve drawn as a kid/tween #inspired by 'the red shoes' by hands christian anderson and 'mother' by tori amos which is required listening for this one tbh #her skirt is an orange lily if youre into flower meanings and such >:o)c #if u arent familiar w cecils work i CANNOT recommend it enough. their comics are WILDLY good. huge inspiration 2 me as an artist & author!! #basic color

[maxgicalgirl]

It was not a good idea to listen to today’s wtnv on my commute to work because as soon as Abby Fucking Palmer’s voice came out of my car radio I about choked and died. Which is NOT a good reaction when you are operating a vehicle.

#wtnv 246 #wtnv spoilers #Abby Palmer #I’m shocked they gave us the story so soon #but there are so many tidbits I adore about this episode #Abby and her ghost motifs #confirmation of her role in Cecil’s life and feelings about it #ceec and Abby have matching upturned noses and dimples #the possible redemption of their mother #Abby’s speech about humanity needing to check in on each other….. #like……wahhh it’s so good #Abby Palmer-Carlsberg the woman that you are……. #I was enraptured the whole ride to work it’s a good thing I can drive this route via muscle memory

[thepastisalreadywritten]

In London during the late spring of 1953, preparations for Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation were reaching their denouement.

Couturier Norman Hartnell was completing a dress to outshine any other.

Tucked away at the back of Hartnell’s lavish Mayfair townhouse, a team of embroiderers were finishing stitching a floral garland on the ivory silk bodice and crinoline.

Pastel thread, jewels, sequins, beads and 10,000 seed pearls were sewn as Commonwealth emblems and British flora around an English Tudor rose scattered with diamond dewdrops.

Six young, aristocratic maids of honour, including 19-year-old Lady Anne Coke – best-selling author Anne Glenconner – were being drilled like guardsmen by The Duke of Norfolk, responsible for organising the coronation, as they rehearsed the walk to the Abbey altar, with his wife, the Duchess, standing in for The Queen.

“If the Bishops don’t learn to walk in step,” he remonstrated, “we’ll be here all night.”

The photographer Cecil Beaton, well-versed in photographing crowned heads and aristocrats in the Vogue studios, was prepping a vantage point in Westminster Abbey, high up by the organ pipes, as the best location from which to capture the ceremony.

It would be a long day; he’d fill his top hat with sandwiches to sustain him.

Nearby, at Garrard, the Crown Jeweller and his team of master craftsmen were hunched over workbenches altering the Imperial State Crown to fit the young Queen’s head.

Garrard had made the Crown in 1937 for King George VI – a replica of the crown designed and crafted for Queen Victoria, which contained virtually all the same stones symbolic of centuries of Royal history, fitted around a purple velvet cap and ermine band.

Clusters of diamond-set crosses and fleurs-de-lis linked by swags of diamonds, supported by sapphires, emeralds and pearls in the form of oak leaves and acorns, dazzled around the massive 317.40 carat Cullinan II diamond, the Second Star of Africa, cut from the largest diamond ever discovered.

Above it sat the Black Prince’s Ruby – in fact, a spinel, worn by Henry V at Agincourt – while the 104 carat oval Stuart sapphire gleamed at the rear of the band, with the cross atop the orb set with the sapphire from Edward the Confessor’s ring.

King George VI requested Garrard create an inner “hammock” style fitting, like a guard’s officer’s bearskin, to distribute the nearly three pounds of weight evenly on his head.

Reshaping the circlet for Queen Elizabeth II involved remounting the stones and motifs of which it is composed, as well as repositioning and lowering the arches, all of which required craftsmanship of the highest skill. 

The aim was to improve the strength of the crown with lightness of weight, which isn’t easy with large stones, and those which were cut nearly 300 years ago.

They were working against the clock. The new Queen required time before the ceremony to become accustomed to the crown’s feel and weight.

“There are some disadvantages to crowns, but otherwise they are very important things,” said Her Majesty, recalling its heaviness on the 65th anniversary of the coronation.

“Fortunately, my father and I have roughly the same shaped head, so once you put it on, it stays.”

The media demanded constant updates on Garrard’s work, with the coronation making broadcasting history as the first service to be televised, adding to the sense of pressure.

In addition, two gold Armill bracelets of sincerity and wisdom, symbolic of the monarch’s bond with the people needed to be finished, which were replacing the 17th-century enamel bracelets dating from the coronation of King Charles II.

In previous ceremonies, the Armills had been carried, but these were made for the Queen to wear, decorated with two rows of engraving and Tudor rose clasps with red velvet linings.

Garrard was also inundated with cleaning requests.

“No one had worn their jewellery or tiaras during the war,” explains Lady Anne.

“People were queuing to have their tiaras, which were like great fenders of diamonds, stomachers and necklaces cleaned.”

On the day, 2 June 1953, it poured with rain.

Lady Anne remembers arriving at the Abbey:

“It was pretty dark and cold. Our dresses weren’t lined, there were clothing coupons after the war you see.

A tiny thread of blue cotton had been placed on the floor in the Abbey, so the Queen knew where to stand.

When the procession began, we walked past row upon row of tiaras, as well as people in their National dress.

The Queen walked a bit faster than the Duchess had in rehearsals, so we had to adjust our steps.”

The ceremony ended at 2 o’clock in the afternoon.

Hartnell left after watching his historic dress sweep down the aisle followed by the procession of royal pages, maids of honour, peers and peeresses sparkling with diamonds, looking, he remarked:

“Like a lovely hunk of fruitcake, the damson jam of velvet bordered with clotted cream of ermine and sprinkled with the sugar of diamonds.”

Beaton rushed to Buckingham Palace to photograph the Queen theatrically against a painted backdrop, holding the orb and sceptre and wearing the Imperial State Crown.

The Crown Jeweller Garrard remained until The Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh had taken lunch in the Abbey annex, in case any last-minute adjustments to the diamond-encrusted Crown were needed.

“Cecil was waiting when we all returned from the Abbey,” Lady Anne continues.

“He had everything set up for the photographs, and that’s when I really noticed the Crown and jewels glittering under the bright lights and took note of it all.

The Queen looked so young, beautiful and vulnerable, so the contrast of seeing her crowned with all the regalia was extraordinary.

She was weighted down a bit, but I remember thinking it was terribly poignant.”

A tense moment followed.

“The Duke of Edinburgh was fussing around, and Cecil got irritated, put his camera down and said, ‘Oh Sir, would you prefer to take the photographs?’” Lady Anne laughs.

“The Queen looked a bit horrified, and The Duke wandered off. You see, The Duke would have liked the photographer Baron, but it was The Queen Mother who adored Cecil.”

Later, it was still rainy and dark outside.

When the gleaming, crowned figure of The Queen appeared on the Buckingham Palace balcony, she shone with a sense of tradition and permanence.

With the Imperial State Crown, she wore the Coronation necklace and earrings, made in 1858 by Garrard and worn by Queen Alexandra and Queen Mary, including 25 brilliants suspending the Lahore diamond drop.

Time will tell if the Armills will return to being carried at the Coronation of HRH The Prince of Wales, and if he has inherited the Windsor head shape, but should substantial adjustments be required, the crown will appear once more unchanged.

The historical continuity of the regalia, and the fact the crown is still in constant use, makes these jewels created in the Garrard workshop the most potent in the world.

#Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II’s Coronation #Coronation 1953 #Queen Elizabeth II #Norman Hartnell #Duke of Norfolk #Cecil Beaton #Westminster Abbey #Garrard #King George VI #Queen Victoria #Cullinan II #Black Prince’s Ruby #Henry V #King Charles II #Prince Philip #Queen Elizabeth The Queen Mother #Buckingham Palace #British Royal Family #St Edward's Crown #Imperial State Crown #Jewel House #Tower of London

[kindcolors]

Will never not be emotional over the women in Cecil’s life that raised him to a degree. Josie and Abby my beloveds

#rambles #Cecil loved josie like a mother.. #wtnv

[gerrysherry]

Are you Jewish, and if so, do you feel like the movie Tangled is anti-Semitic?

I am indeed Jewish (patrilineal and reform but Jewish) but I am terrible with 'this is antisemitism in media' as opposed to 'this is antisemitism in real life'. My thoughts on media anti-semitism are complicated.

I actually enjoy characters that are antisemitic* caricatures if they're charismatic enough. I actually like Shylock and Svengali** because damn they really manipulate people and get what they want. I also will analyze that Shakespeare and Du Mariner were appealing to antisemitic tropes of their times and that those characters are now archetypes wielded against us. People are accused of being a "Svengali" or a "Shylock".

Tangled doesn't have that kind of reach so it's not as worrisome to me but it's disturbing to see tropes from the Middle Ages and the 19th and 20th century surfacing in the 21st.

Mother Gothel also has an appeal to her that will likely make her a nostalgic Disney villian to Gen Z and younger millennial. Those who are gentiles and don't catch the coding. I didn't as a teen until it was pointed out to me.

Mother Gothel has both a hooked nose and the bouncy black ringlets typical of young Jewish women. She steals a blond-haired child to live forever and while she doesn't steal Rapunzel's blood or life force she's clearly using a very typical white gentile child in order to live forever so it's still blood libel just watered down (pun intended).

Also this is a film that associates broken and hooked noses with villians and (reformed) thugs, while our two leads are traditinally attractive. This is of course classic Disney but here it just so telling.

The fairy tale story of Rapunzel itself positions a witch stealing a child from a good christian couple but it was the movie that made her look as Ashkenazi as possible.

It's antisemitic as the early harry Potter books are antisemitic**. Accidentally tapping in to old fantasy narratives that are very bigoted and not updating the bigotry.

Did I answer your question?

footnotes:

*apparently it's better to not hypenate 'antisemitism' to distance from the roots of the it's coiner who was a racist antisemitic eugenicist who wanted something more pseudo-academic sounding than 'Judenhass' - 'Jew-hatred'. I write it as one word but I don't see how one is better than the other.

** The antagonist of Du Mariner's book 'Trilby' who hypnotises people to his bidding so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty. He is explicitly an ashkenazi Jew who is so many antisemitic stereotypes that a 'Svengali' is now a derogatory term for a manipulative person especially a one who is Jewish.

***as opposed to Hogwarts Legacy which was written by an alt-right crank and is deliberately antisemitic. But what appealed to him was Rowling's already antisemitic portrayals of the Goblins

#asks #answering asks #antisemitism #coding #antisemitic coding #tangled #mother gothel #tw harry potter #tw hogwarts legacy #my essays #literary analysis #literary analysis with cecil

[this-is-a-podcast-fanblog]

There's something so gut wrenching about the fact that Abby has a daughter and Cecil has a son.

#abby cant reach her mother #cecil cant remember his father #abby is now the mother to a daughter #and cecil is the father to a son #they both became what they didnt have #wtnv spoilers #wtnv

[just-an-enby-lemon]

"Hi, mom, it's been a long time.

At least if you're actually even here, I mean ghosts are real and I heard enought stories about the Big Game that I'm fairly sure you should be abble to listen but you never were the most present person, were you? Sorry, this was rude.

Bet you're wondering what I'm doing here outside some specific remembrance date well big news I'm getting married. I would ask you to not tell Gersh yet but you never really told him anything did you? Besides ominious prophesies and the ocasional emotional abuse I suppose. Wich leads nicelly to why I'm here.

No, it's not the marriage, I did want to tell you that but it was not the real reason. The marriage was more of the lichpin. I'm already a mother and now I found the love of my life and I'm actually happy, really happy, not just less tired or somewhat happy or content but happy. So I guessed it was time for closure.

At first I thought closure was forgiviness, I always found a little embarassing that Cecil was able to be the bigger person with you and I didn't. Losing a game of being petty with the "Garry Marlowe stoled a toy from me when we were five so now everytime I let any personal iten in his reach I will look at him pointedly and say 'hope no one here steals my thing'" guy is insane, right? Did you know he puts random raisin cookies with the chocolate ones and refuses to tell me wich are wich because I once tricked him into a bad cookie trade when he was eleven? So yeah. At the time I though, "well Abby you've moved on and she was your mother for god's sake so if Gersh can forgive her it's time for you to just woman up and do it as well."

But you know what, the reason I'm losing here is because it's not a petty situation is it? You didn't trick me into trading a chocolate cookie for a raisins one. You really really hurted us. And than you left. And worse you came back acting like a good mother and expected us to pretend nothing changed and than you died before I could even start to process all the mess you caused. You are the reason I can't talk about emotions, you are the reason Gersh is just soo fucked up and you are the reason why it was soo hard for me to be happy that I almost runned away when I noticed I was. This isn't petty and maybe Gersh is just a better person, a better son or maybe he is just afraid of the truth, I don't know. But I'm finally happy and I'm still so afraid of it.

I was talking to Steve yesterday and I asked how can he treat everybody so well, be so nice, when almost everyone openly dislikes or at least bellitles him and he told me that he just loved people and cared. So I asked how could he have forgiven them and he said he didn't. He told me: "Abby, my sweet scone, sometimes people hurt you but you understand why and they stop or they also care and you have a bond but that doesn't mean forgiviness, that doesn't mean you don't still aknowledge that they hurt you and let this impact how you feel for them. You can love people and still never forgive them. Is okay." Then he saw I was crying and was really sweet about it. He is just really sweet.

So yeah, I still love you, I probably always will, and I miss the short periods of time where things were actually okay. And I don't forgive you, you didn't even said you were sorry and I hope it was because you knew you had no right but maybe denial is just a familly curse or something. I don't forgive you, I don't think I ever will and I don't intend to come back. This things can coexist, can both be true.

Don't worry about the lack of flowers, I know you always hated messy abandoned graves, Cecil will probably just bring more in my absense. I have no idea how you were able to make him feel like he was the bad son, a shitty brother? Maybe. But honestly, mom... I just hope you will at least aknowledge the flowers as real ones and I do promisse that I will pay someone to deliver more when he finally stops coming. "

#not sure what this is #cecil palmer #abby palmer #cecil's mother #palmer familly dinamics #mommy issues #wtnv #welcome to nightvale #wtnv fanfic #sort off #angst #abby deserves to not forgive her mom #you can love people and not forgive them #also yeah I'm implying that future steve loves Cecil like a brother but also never forgave him #steve carlsberg #writing this was cathartic af #fic #welcome to night vale

[filmnoirsbian]

If you spend your time harassing the friends and families (or even strangers) of a dead person due to the wildly inappropriate and baseless assumption that you might be able to solve their murder (if they even were murdered) well then I simply think you are going to hell.

#that journalist who called elizabeth short's mother? hell. those youtube true crime junkies that harassed the Mexican musician #into attempting suicide just for being at the cecil hotel a year before elisa lam? hell. #tcp