#now with big feelings about liturgy

[oldshrewsburyian]

@butaneandthebeast​ replied to this post:

i know nothing about anglican marriage services and any elaboration on your part esp. re: anne and freddie would be much, *much* appreciated <3

@crabapple10​, adding incentive:

Yes, please elaborate on the implications of the Anglican marriage service!

Mine hour is come. A prolegomenon on the Book of Common Prayer: as a single text, it probably has the most decisive influence on the Anglophone literary imagination from the 16th century onward. Through the time of Austen’s writing, it’s part of most people’s daily lives (more than the King James Bible or Shakespeare, for instance.) I could digress on the theological and social debates that underlie its formation and revision, because I find them fascinating, but I will spare you. Point is: it’s influential, and it continues in use for centuries before substantial revision, so the language and some of the ideas would have been archaic by Jane Austen’s day, but... this is still the Marriage Service. The edition that would have been used for the Wentworths is that of 1662.

If you’ve seen the 1995 Pride and Prejudice -- a safe bet, probably? -- you’ve heard the opening of this liturgy, and I think its use is possibly the smartest choice of that very smart adaptation, simultaneously highlighting and undercutting the meaning of the text in a way that I hope Austen would have approved, showing the messy ways in which humans live our lives... and how we still aspire to human love that mirrors the divine, that makes us both better and happier.

Anyway! Despite the fact that the BCP contains Forms of Prayer to be Used at Sea, I rather think that Anne has a more easy familiarity with the liturgies of the church than her husband; that she is readier to view this as a homely as well as a solemn thing. But Frederick Wentworth is going to vow to love, comfort, honor, and keep this woman, in sickness and in health, keeping only unto her, and I think he’s going to do such a good job. He will vow to cherish her until parted from her by death. And the final vow of their joint sequence, before the priestly prayer confirming them as man and wife, is: “with this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.” I don’t know whether he would still be pale and grave, at this point, or just impossibly fond and pleased, but that... that is a vow. Made not only in the sight of God but also, I suspect, of the Harvilles holding hands, Sophy Croft borrowing her husband’s handkerchief, and Lady Russell looking fixedly at a stained glass window.

Anne, meanwhile, will be given from the hand of a man who has no affection for her into the hands of a man who adores her. And I think that quiet Anne Elliot makes her vows unhesitating. She will have this man and hold him, plighting her troth thereunto. “Neither time, nor health, nor life, to be called your own,” exclaims Anne, in conversation with Harville about the lot of naval men. She is acutely, painfully aware of this. But even if Frederick cannot call these things his own, she can, once they are married, call them hers. These things are owed to her, vowed to her, placed into her keeping after God’s. And if her Frederick were in serious danger, frankly, I think Anne would be prepared to argue the order of precedence with the Almighty.

#persuasion reread #now with big feelings about liturgy #anne elliot #frederick 'unconsciously nay unintentionally constant' wentworth everyone #one of my semi-clichéd identities: #queer anglo-catholic church lady #i ALSO have a lot of feelings about the fact that the minister would probably read the passage #about the man loving/cherishing his wife as himself #we know that #frederick wentworth #holds his life lightly and holds anne's comfort supremely dear #listen to the preacher fred

[keshetchai]

Greetings Friend,

I hope you can help me

How did you go about learning Hebrew? As in what resources, classes, books etc. did you use to get a handle on the language?

I really struggle with languages, so I was hoping you had some advice or tips.

As a bit of background, I am currently a conversion student, going on almost 2.5 years now. I have long since completed the formal learning requirement with my synagogue (conservative) and according to my rabbis, I am free to attend the Beit Din and Mikvah whenever I so choose.

I know my neshama is Jewish, I know this is who I am/supposed to be. I know because of some unusual childhood experiences, and then when I started converting most aspects of the learning and practices came so naturally (granted nowhere near an orthodox level of observance, which isn’t necessarily the goal at this time, but certainly not something I am opposed to perusing) except for the languages.

As previously stated my rabbis say it is okay but something is holding me back from taking that final plunge (lol), and I believe it’s the language.

I still bench in English, and find it really stressful to attend services because I can barely muddle my way around the liturgy, or songs during a Shabbat dinner.

Of course this is just a personal hang up, and absolutely no criticism or shame on anyone else who converted without knowing/knowing very little of the language. Just, for some reason it just doesn’t feel right. I cannot bring myself to say I am actually a member of this wonderful, beautiful tribe before I have overcome this hurdle.

So… any advice?

A few answers for you, the first is most important:

Very Early On in my studying, one of the two rabbis at my synagogue wasn't leading and so she sat in the back, and I decided to sit next to her because i was still finding my footing in the basic service.

And at one point, it may have been for mi hamocha, the cantor starts with a NEW tune I don't know, and I'm still relying on the transliteration entirely and was still trying to memorize the FIRST tune.

And my rabbi leans over and whispers to me: "I have never heard this tune before in my life either."

And the anxiety broke, then. I didn't know this version for the song already and I was lost. But the rabbi sitting next to me also didn't know this tune.

Being Jewish is about always learning something new, even if you are encountering the same thing you've seen or done before dozens or hundreds of times. THAT is being Jewish. Rereading the same book every year and the same passages over and over, but still being a little lost or even finding something you never knew before?

That is being a Jew.

Jews may open a siddur and know what they'll find there, but we do not open it and expect to know everything about how that material is used or applied. And we don't feel a guarantee that life will not teach us something new today, or that someone's minhag won't be totally different from ours. Jews may know the Torah, they may even choose to memorize the mitzvot by heart, but we don't expect this memorization will ensure we never have a halakhic question in life!

So you see, the big scary fact is this: you might become a fluent reader of prayer book Hebrew, you might someday daven entirely in Hebrew, or even graduate rabbinical school, but still sometimes be thrown into being a stranger to something, even something you thought you knew.

But when you identify this and then embrace it, it becomes less scary and part of your Jewish identity. Being perfectly settled, fixed in your knowledge or your thinking or your skills — it honestly doesn't feel terribly Jewish to me.

And for many people born as Jews this can manifest as a type of reflexive embarrassment or self-consciousness for failing at jewishness somehow or having less knowledge for one reason or another. It can make folks defensive or ashamed or feel frustrated for the disconnect. I'm here to tell you that as converts we get the chance to illustrate joyfully that no Jew knows everything Jewish, and that is the experience of being Jewish. The biggest thing holding any of us back from learning the things we don't know is

a) being afraid to seem not Jewish enough or

b) being afraid to not know something

I have excellent news for your (and my) anxiety:

A) almost all Jews worry about how Jewish they seem in some fashion or another so that's normal and,

B) since only hashem knows everything, our job is to not know everything, but to be willing to learn anything. Also we're better in numbers! Two heads are better than one and a minyan is better than that! Everyone doesn't know something, but none of us are alone as Jews. Which is why we become Jewish in community, and not alone. Because someone else might know what we don't!

Get it?

Step #1: you have to jump feet first into not already knowing something perfectly and start knowing less but learning more.

If you are reading the English words and English translations to daven, this means you need to stop. This was your training wheel. And you are not finding your own balance relying on it.

If your siddur has transliterations of the hebrew, bring a little index card next time and cover up the English as you daven for a start. I familiarized myself with the Hebrew because I was saying everything in Hebrew out loud every single time. Once you know the shema by heart more or less (for example), all you have to do is learn the alphabet to prompt your memory to progress further in your Hebrew learning.

That's how kids learn any language. We speak before reading as children. So speak and chant and sing in Hebrew. Whisper the Hebrew. As you get more comfortable, learning to read Hebrew will be an exercise you can even do during the middle of shabbat.

Because you know what the prayer says, and you just need to match the words you see to the sounds you know.

Step #2: know the aleph bet before you attempt reading comprehension of all words.

Things that I used to learn the aleph bet:

Hebrew scripts (the app by drops)

Write it! Hebrew app

Victoria Hanna's The Aleph Bet Song (Hosha'na) because uh she sings the aleph bet and pronounces it

Behrman House Books: Hineni: prayerbook Hebrew for adults; aleph isn't tough! For adults. The kids stuff is good too, I'm not ashamed to say I own "time to read Hebrew!" 1&2

(The Hebrew by inbal on Amazon looks new but good possibly?)

If you want a siddur set up specifically to practice matching transliteration and Hebrew aleph bet, I recommend Chayim Alevsky's My Siddur (choose the minhag variant you use! I bought the Sephardic/Israeli as I don't use ashkie pronunciations.

There will be slight differences of you're used to liberal inclusion of say, the matriarchs, but in general this is a solid practice book for anyone. Transliteration is given word by word, with full word blocks reading in the same direction as Hebrew. At the bottom of the page certain (possibly newer to the learner) words will be defined.

It also now has an app which looks like this:

So you see this is pairing the reading direction of Hebrew words with the sounds spelled out in English to strengthen your Hebrew. If you try to read the transliteration in the English direction word by word, you'll be reading it backwards and starting with v'kayahm, instead of "modeh" (or "modah" feminine). Further even if you're starting correctly with modeh, the English word is still left to right over the Hebrew right to left. so this forces you to be attentive to the Hebrew itself and slow down word by word!

The layout in the print versions means you can cover up the transliteration to test your learning of certain words, and only check if you forget.

I still am not perfect at everything and I truthfully attentively practice Chinese far more than Hebrew reading, but this is what helped me.

Good luck!

[fantasy-mixtapes]

Kristen Applebees Season 1 Character Playlist BREAKDOWN

OKAY, SO this one is gonna be an ordeal.

I set a 6-song limit for every other playlist I made, but this is the playlist that started it all. So, I didn't have a limit. So it's 12 songs long.

Which is honestly like a normal playlist length BUT it's gonna be a long breakdown which I will lovingly do because I LOVE Kristen with my whole heart. Either way, this is deffos gonna be a long post so read if you want (i would very much appreciate it obvi but I get this is pushing it).

Genres Included: Folk, Singer-songwriter, Alternative, 80's

1. Save the People, The Mountain Goats

When wilt thou save the people? Oh, God of mercy, when? Not kings and lords, but nations Not thrones and crowns, but men God save the people For thine they are Thy children as thy angels fair Save the people from despair

Starting off strong with my main man John Darnielle. John, as prolific as he might be, did not write this song it is originally from the musical Godspell by Steven Schwartz. I was raised as a theater kid and I remember one summer my mom took out our cable and the only things we could watch on the tv were dvds and vhs tapes of musicals, and the 1973 Godspell movie was definitely one of my favorites. Its like "what if Jesus was around in the 70s and was a hippie clown and also was crucified on a chain-linked fence and beaten by cops" ...ah, good times.

ANYWAYS, I don't feel like I need to get into why this is a perfect Kristen song - I feel like it really gets to the divide between the way that Christianity is taught to kids vs the way it is enacted by the adults that do the teaching.

2. Father Texas, Birdtalker

Father Texas on his toes Tells me where and when to go He's a savior, liturgy man He's a stickler and a soap monger Shove it down your throat Holy answer man He says obey and I'll love ya Now I'm doing just to prove And I'm walking out of fear But the devils done

Ok so I was raised Catholic, which I feel like is a whole different flavor of religious trauma compared to Evangelical or Baptist vibes - which I feel like the Helioic religion gives. Either way, this song slaps and really gets to that Evangelical vibe.

3. Big Houses, Squalloscope

I build bridges with these arms I will not build a fortress In the circle around the kitchen table I say my "amen" because I feel blessed Secretly hoping, while joining hands, that you can't feel my trembling fingertips

Here's young Kristen Applebees - Chosen One of Helio- who just wanted to help people. She meets her first non-religious friends, plans to convert and save them, and then straight up dies on the first day of school. She comes face to face with her literal god, is disappointed and grossed out by him, and then is magically (and violently) revived.

Can you imagine her returning home, trying to answer her parent's questions about the first day, making it through dinner, crawling into bed, and just lying there? AHHHHHHHHHHH

4. Under The Table, Fiona Apple

I'd like to buy you a pair of pillow-soled hiking boots To help you with your climb Or rather, to help the bodies that you step over along your route So they won't hurt like mine Kick me under the table all you want I won't shut up, I won't shut up Kick me under the table all you want I won't shut up, I won't shut up

Speaking of those family dinners, as the days go by and Kristen gets closer to her party, how do you think she's gonna react to whatever comments her parents make about them hmmmmmm? The result of coming out of your social shell and realizing how bad the people around you really are.

5. Cleric Girl, Sisyfuss

I need my cleric girl tonight So she can bless me in this plight Dress me in crucifixes so they die on sight I need my cleric girl tonight

This is just a fun song I see as Kristen finds her groove within the party, kinda around the DJ brains fight. Also it makes me think of the prayer chain thing that she had the whole party on at some point.

6. Cornflake Girl, Tori Amos

She knows what's going on Seems we got a cheaper feel now All the sweeteaze are gone Gone to the other side With my encyclopedia They musta paid her a nice price She's putting on her string bean love This is not really, this, this This is not really happening

There's something about a Tori Amos song that never fucking misses. This song, for me, kinda gets at the part of growing up when you really start to uncover the truth of things for yourself, instead of listening to the things you were always told. Kristen buys the book of world religions and reads about the atrocities people did in her god's name. She is also told that the "cool camps" she was going to were run by an actual fanatical cult. Yikes.

7. Eldest Daughter, Isabel Pless

Bring me your battered, your bruised, and your scarred Florence Nightingale, to your broken hearts Bring me your bleeding I'll stitch it up with a bow Tugging at the sword in the stone The dormant hero in me is yet to be known Dying to prove myself again, but I don't know how Wanna lay my weapons down Lay my weapons down Want everyone to adore me even though People's emotions are out of my control Smothering fires Letting flames claim my hands I would do anything to be needed Over and over again.

Okay, the thing about this song is that we get the root of it here in season one, and it shows up really lightly, but God almighty, do we get one hell of a payoff in the next two seasons. Damn. The first time I listened to this song I cried. It's on several of my dnd character playlists - because, for some reason, I can't stop making dnd characters with self-saccrificing tendencies. HM! I WONDER WHY?

But anyways, yeah... something something, Christian households raising their eldest daughters to be surrogate mothers and laborers, something something Kristen is a cleric while her brothers are paladins, something something Women being healers

8. Angel Eyes and Basketball, Foot Ox

There are flowers growing all around A massive animal inside of me And it's so ugly, and I'm so broken And I'm so ugly, and it's so broken I am calling all of my friends To pull me out of this hole But they're so caught up in their own shit And I'm so caught up in my own shit

Ok, this is full Christian guilt. I also really like the way this song is one of those upbeat but devastating ones because it makes me think about her inspiring speeches to her party members just being her ranting about how horrible everything is, and then they get +1 to attacks and extra hitpoints. Living La Vida Loca.

9. We Fell in Love in October, girl in red

Smoking cigarettes on the roof You look so pretty, and I love this view Don't bother looking down, we're not going that way At least I know I am here to stay We fell in love in October That's why I love fall Looking at the stars Admiring from afar

Ok, I know this is cheesy. BUT TO MY CREDIT: both the song and the season came out in 2018. Also, you know Kristen would stream the fuck out of this song.

10. Running Up That Hill ( A Deal With God), Kate Bush

And if I only could, I'd make a deal with God And I'd get him to swap our places I'd be running up that road, be running up that hill With no problems

AGAIN TO MY CREDIT: I made this playlist in 2020 - two years before Stranger Things brought the song back to the general psyche. No shade, of course, to the stranger things; it's a perfect song to choose, and the scene effectively made me cry.

But anyway its here because at her bones, Kristen would die for her friends and has and will (unfortunately) continue to. Speaking of

11. Arms Tonite, Mother Mother

I cry in the afterlife I cry hard because I have died And you're alive I try to escape afterlife I try hard to get back inside Your arms alive

Kristen's dying count is more than double most of her friends at this point - and golly gee just wait till season 2!

Can I roll a nat 20 and then be alive?

12. Glory (Bunker Sessions), Bastille

And all their words for glory Well, they always sounded empty When we're looking up for heaven Looking up for heaven Way down here upon the ground When we're lying in the dirt There's no looking up for heaven Looking up for heaven

I really love this bunker session version of this song; the strings and the piano just give it a lovely honesty. Gorgeous song. Perfect way to end this season

#dimension 20 #fantasy high #d20 #spotify #fantasy mixtapes #kristen applebees #d20 kristen applebees #ally beardsley #Spotify

[thefreakandthehair]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

tagged by @steddieas-shegoes like, forever ago and I keep forgetting.

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 42! most are steddie with some criminal minds fics from over ten years ago buried deep.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 252,271

3. What fandoms do you write for? right now, just stranger things! I've been toying around with writing destiel again but if I did, it'd be anonymous. (after my entire portfolio was wiped from livejournal, I'm still in pain about it.)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1. and if I get burned, at least we were electrified.  2. i made this mess with love.  3. what you feel is what you are (and what you are is beautiful)  4. the answers are all inside of this.  5. Livin' On A Prayer 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? yes! eventually! sometimes, it'll take me awhile because I just get backed up but I read them and smile and kick my feet, and even though it takes me a bit to reply, those comments are what keep me writing. <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? happy endings are guaranteed in this house, always. I'll never write an angsty ending-- canon hurts me enough. the most bittersweet ending though would have to be scar-crossed lovers. 

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? oooo, that's tough because they're all happy endings! but I think over the hills and far away because, by virtue of it being a long fic, the happy ending feels deserved. those two went through it to get to that ending which made it so satisfying to write!

8. Do you get hate on fics? I haven't, no, and I'm very grateful for that. but I'm also like, super liberal with the block function. we cultivate our spaces here, friends!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I do, but only in the context of like, what else is happening in the fic. I just can't write pwp lmao, major kudos to everyone else who does it so well! I'm in awe of your talent perpetually.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I wrote a supernatural/charmed crossover au many, many years ago. but recently? kicks cracky supernatural/stranger things crossover au scrivener wip under the couch. nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not in this fandom!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? not that I know of, but that'd be super cool.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? not yet... but I have some plans. keep an eye out next year. 👀

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? steddie broke something in my brain, but destiel laid the path for it be broken to start with.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? liturgies & devotionals, unfortunately. or at least in its current existence in scrivener? it's a big undertaking but if I can make it less complicated, maybe it stands a chance.

16. What are your writing strengths? not once have I been able to answer this and feel comfortable with it, but I do really enjoy the omniscent third person point of view and have gotten compliments on it. and narrative writing, I like setting the scene and developing introspection.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? there are several but god, fucking dialogue! it's my kryptonite. that, and actually ending a story. context disease is so real.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? the only other language I've ever used is a snippet of Klingon, but I'd also feel comfortable using bits of French because I know a good bit of French. anything else would just feel super inauthentic because idk what the fuck I'm saying.

19. First fandom you wrote for? uh, it was around 2001 and it was for a fandom that I no longer associate with.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? to the surprise of no one: over the hills and far away <333 so much of me is in that fic and it was hugely healing.

no pressure tags: @withacapitalp @stevethehairington @steves-strapcollection @henderdads @patchworkgargoyle @inairbinad @steddieasitgoes @starrystevie @judasofsuburbia @fragilecapric0rnn @kkpwnall @fastcardotmp3 @penny00dreadful @cranberrymoons @catknives @hbyrde36 @cuoredimuschio @wormdebut @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @t-boyeddie @scarcrossdlvrs + anyone else who hasn't been tagged and wants to participate!

#tag game #myfic #this sat in my drafts forever i am so sorry holy shit

[redahlia-writes]

funeral liturgy. | matt murdock

Abstract:  “You’re standing right in front of me,” she pushed one hand forward - no matter the resistance he put up, she laid her palm on his chest. She could feel his heart, too. Almost even. “You are Matthew Michael Murdock. Your father was Jack Murdock. You’re a lawyer, graduated from Columbia University. You live in a penthouse apartment that gets too much light because of a neon billboard across the street - you put up light blocking curtains for me when I moved in.”

Words: 4.7K

Content: f!reader, she/her pronouns used; angst, grief, mention of death (a lot), s3 matt comes as a warning in and of itself, religious guilt, religious symbolism, imagery from greek mythology (theseus and ariadne), a smidge of hurt/comfort, slight canon divergence towards the end, another matt fic inspired by fleabag. who’s surprised? not me, UNEDITED

also on AO3 - masterlist

feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

“The funeral liturgy says life is changed, not ended - isn’t that right, Father?”

Father Lantom looked at the woman slouched on her seat, the big coat engulfing her, eyes puffy and reddened, lips chapped. She looked like the ghost of a woman - like what remained behind when the spirit left the body.

“Indeed for your faithful Lord, life is changed, not ended,” she recited, trembling hands reaching up to wipe her cheeks, though the tears were only dwelling at the corner of her eyes. “Isn’t that right?”

She’d been coming for days, weeks - timorous at first, seeking comfort in that space that reminded her of him, and then in the same man he’d confined in over time. Father Lantom sat with her, held her hands as she prayed, soothed her with empty words of reassurance - he knew who she was, repented each night for the secrets he kept from her.

It was never enough - when she walked out of the church (her heart still heavy, her pain still sharp), Sister Maggie would be standing there with her arms crossed, waiting, a disapproving look in her eye as the priest made his way back inside. She was the image of Judgment itself staring him down.

“You gotta pick the lesser evil sometimes, Sister,” he knew it was wrong, but pushed forward. “There is no evil here, just a stubborn man and a scared woman,” she retorted, her voice loud enough it echoed through the aisle and all the adjacent rooms. “One would think that’s an easy choice, Father.”

But it wasn’t. How could it be? The broken man, the broken Devil sleeping in their basement was as stubborn as he was sullen and angry - angry with himself, with God, the line that separated the two blurred in his mind.

So he wore his anger like a cross and insisted Matthew Murdock was dead, and that was what was best for everyone - the woman who mourned him with God’s name hanging from her lips included. 

“She came back today,” it was a dance they’d learned in the time spent together - Maggie announcing her coming, a sharp reminder in her voice of the days Matt had spent in a delirious state in which he called for her, begged for her to forgive him. 

“I don’t care,” the lie had started falling easily from his tongue now that he did not have to deal with the surprise. But Maggie knew her son - he was just like his father.

“She asked about the funeral liturgy,” she went on, unconcerned with his pretending. “Perhaps she’s thinking about organizing my funeral,” he deflected with bitter humor, his back turned on her.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, watching him carefully - his shoulders shifting, muscles taut, head bowed as if in repentance. “She asked whether life truly is changed, rather than ended. What would you say?” a humorless scoff left him. “Is your life changed or ended, Matthew?”

“Ended,” his voice was firm, unrelenting, leaving no room for argument (or trying to). “Matt Murdock is dead,” the mantra he’s been repeating for days now, “she’ll get over it.”

“Isn’t it tiring, lying to yourself all the time?” it wasn’t the first time she’d asked him that - he never replied. “We should’ve just brought her to you when she first came. It would’ve saved us all the hassle.”

“But you didn’t - you’re just as guilty as I am,” the woman scoffed, loudly - so loud it hurt his ears.

“What do you know about guilt, Matt?”

Maggie started to believe that the weight of all their sins would make the church crumble around them. The lies, the deceiving, the endorsing of Matt’s self-destructive nature. She convinced herself that one more wouldn’t hurt - perhaps it would fix things. At the very least, it would give them all less to think about.

“You’ve been coming here often,” her first thought was how frail she looked up close, watching her jolt in her seat. “Father Lantom isn’t here today, may I?” she gestured towards the empty spot at her side.

“Oh, sure,” the church was the only place she allowed herself to cry - in there, she could be vulnerable. In there, she could crumble, picking up the pieces of herself when she stepped out the wooden door. “I’m afraid I haven’t always been this devout. Or maybe it’s just -” it lingered in the air with uncertainty.

“Something you’d like to talk about?” an offering - an opening. “It’s not only priests that are good listeners, you know?” a smile, albeit small, flashed across the woman’s face as she nodded.

Her head was bowed, back hunched forward, hands clasped together - from afar, she was the perfect picture of the pious woman, waiting on a miracle. Up close, she just looked grief-stricken. 

“My - my partner disappeared, a few weeks ago,” as she spoke, her thumb pressed into the ring on her finger - an engagement ring, Maggie knew. The symbol of a broken promise. “He was involved in an accident and no one can find him, or his -” the pain cut through her words sharply, taking her breath away for a few instants as her eyes fluttered shut. His body, she meant to say. “Matty came here a lot - he grew up at Saint Agnes, and he was certainly more devout than me - for some reason I thought that by coming here I could find something of him.”

“Matty,” Maggie tasted the name in her mouth - she’d called him that when he was young, and so had Jack. It was achingly familiar, intimate, and it fell from the woman’s lips like a prayer, sweet as honey.

“Matt - Matthew, Murdock,” she shook her head, eyes screwed shut as she inhaled deeply. “Yes, I know him,” Maggie nodded, and at her side she straightened a little. “Stubborn boy - I imagine he’s grown to be much worse.”

If Matt was listening, which Maggie doubted, he’d be scoffing and grumbling at her.

But the woman chuckled, a wet laughter as she reached to wipe her eyes. She then glanced down at the ring on her hand, a delicate thing that captured the candlelights, a fond expression twisting her features. There was a slight tremor in her hands.

“He is stubborn, and yet -” she paused again, clasping her hands together to stop their shaking. “My mother used to say you like because, and you love despite - he’s stubborn and takes too many risks, he’s convinced he doesn’t deserve good things and he can be a real ass about it sometimes,” Maggie snorted, and for a moment the woman paused, realization she’d just cussed inside a church dawning on her.

“It’s alright - I’ve said worse,” she reassured with a cospiratory grin as she relaxed back against the bench. “And yet?”

“And yet I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she looked up then, towards the altar, the stained window, an image of the future vanishing like a mirage. “Because no one has ever loved me the way he does. Because he’s smart, and kind, and just - and I’m still talking about him as if he’s just waiting for me at home,” with a gasp, she let her eyes flutter shut just as tears started dwelling at the corners again.

“Sweet child,” Maggie hummed, soothingly - she reached for her, her hand on her shoulder, and the woman all but deflated towards her touch, a broken sob escaping her as she leaned into Maggie.

“I agreed to a church wedding just for Matt’s sake - I know what it means to him, what this place means to him and I just -” she hid her face behind her hands, now trembling more than before, and Maggie scooted closer when she bent over, closing onto herself. “I’m starting to feel like I should give up,” a terrified whisper muffled by her hands and cries. “That I should just accept he won’t come back - let this be his place of rest.”

Maggie remembered what it felt like to be broken. To look at her own future and see nothing but all-encompassing darkness. She knew the feeling all too well, and knew that little by little this woman - this wonderful, kind, soft woman - would let it get her. She would succumb to it, let her life be overturned by that sense of despair that clung to her bones and heart.

“No,” she said, harsher than she meant as she got up. The woman hiccuped a breath as she looked up at her, eyes swollen and perplexed.

“What?” her voice had fallen, hoarse and fearful. “No,” Maggie repeated, and offered her her hand. “Come with me.”

He remembered the first time he’d met her.

Foggy had begged him to be his plus one to the wedding of a cousin or an aunt, claiming he couldn’t possibly bear it on his own, and that if Matt was present some of the attention would be directed at him, at the very least. It took him three days of convincing, promising paid dinners and an unlimited amount of favors.

It was her perfume that got to him first - a sweet, almost overpowering scent of flowers he let him lure across the room, away from Foggy and an overbearing aunt that was chatting away, an excuse me his last words before he got up, cane in hand.

“Do you need any help?” his friend pleaded, but Matt was too distracted already, his mind conjuring up a picture of her to accompany the steady heartbeat he would learn to recognise across the city or right next to him in the middle of the night. “I’ll be alright,” he reassured, half-way gone already, much to Foggy’s dismay.

He would hold it against him for the years to come, saying how if it hadn’t been for him they’d never have met - if it hadn’t been for his sacrifice, he would’ve probably been stuck on a blind date (no pun intended) with one of his cousins rather than his flower girl.

He did the whole scene for her: accidentally bumping into her, listening as her heart picked up and she turned around, careful not to spill her drink on any of them, lips parting to speak and -

“You must be Matt,” she said, to his surprise. Later on in their relationship he would tell her how perplexed that single moment left him, once she’d learned about his heightened senses and he’d confessed he had been seeking her out through the room. “Sorry, did I get any on you?”

“No, no, my fault - you’re fine,” he managed after his initial stupor subsided. “I’m sorry - how do you know my name?”

“Wedding favors,” a matter-of-fact reply that left him even more confused and enthralled - he thought, even if he never met you again, those moments were worth it. It had been a while since someone had caught him off guard like that. It was nice. “They wanted flowers for the guests and asked if I had any for a blind person which -” she waved her hand dismissively, bracelets chiming with the movement. “I made you my guinea pig for a project instead.”

The smile in her words had made him laugh so hard he knew people had turned their heads and didn’t care, especially when her own smile widened furthermore.

“There are flowers for blind people?” he questioned, gaining a snort from the flower woman. “Something like that,” she mused, and he heard her bracelets chiming again, hand being lifted towards him. “I can show you, if you want - my hand’s in front of you.”

“Is this an excuse to get away from the crowd?” he chuckled, letting his palm fall into her hand gently - hers were the hands of someone who worked with them every day, slightly calloused and dry, with a lingering smell of hand cream. She tucked his arm under hers and guided him across the room once more - still trapped in conversation with his aunt, Foggy followed them with his eyes and muttered an unbelievable under his breath.

“Oh, absolutely,” she admitted, nodding eagerly. “I love weddings, don’t get me wrong - I just like the quiet more.”

He couldn’t agree with her more.

Up close, beyond the flowers, he could smell the soil and grass on her, taste it on the tip of his tongue, could imagine her kneeling in the middle of a garden, elbows deep into a work she so clearly enjoyed - it brought a grin to his lips.

“Here,” she announced, the weight of her arm leaving his as she stepped away and bumped into a table - the room was empty save for them, and the music echoed in the distance. “Give me your hand,” she instructed, turning to him, and he obliged right away.

Her own closed over his knuckles, fingers aligning with his to guide his touch towards the object resting in her other hand - he traced small seams across soft fabric, the bump of a skeleton that drew the tridimensional picture of a flower. It sang under his touch, a gentle rustle that had his head turn lightly until it reached the middle of the object - where the stamen would be. 

“You made a flower?” she chuckled again, her body shifting with her dismissive shrug as she guided his hand towards a second woven cluster of petals, placed in a different shape than the previous one. “Is this silk?”

“I thought it was the closest texture to the real ones,” she’d lowered her voice now that there was no noise up close, and her head was bent slightly in his direction, allowing him to catch another whiff of her perfume. “And I liked the way the light plays over it. It’s still rough work - but, unlike the others, it’ll last forever.”

Slowly, he guided her hand holding it up towards his face, nose wrinkling slightly as he sniffed it as if a real flower - surprisingly enough, he caught the shadow of her perfume clinging to it, too.

“Smells just like you,” a whispered confession that had blood rush to her cheeks and a bashful smile form on her lips he'd get to know so well.

It would be the only thing he could smell in his apartment during the month it took him to ask her out - and then, it would merge with her again as she took up more and more space in his place, his life, the house reshaping itself around her presence, his existence shifting to accommodate and welcome her.

The church smelled, among other things, of roses - offerings, people carrying their mourning, the pearls of rosaries nuns and guests had with them. Always roses. Only roses.

Whenever she came by, he could tell - the place filled with that haunting scent that reminded him of home and hurt his heart. Even worse, he could taste her tears with it, a concoction of sadness and grief that flooded his senses.

She was there, he knew, and he didn’t listen - he never did. He should’ve listened.

By the time the scent became overpowering, it was too late, and their steps echoed down the crypt. He was trapped, heart leaping in his chest and guilt clawing at his insides, scrambling here and there in an attempt to find shelter, to hide away, to remain dead.

Her breath caught, and Matt knew it was over - he froze on the spot with his head bowed while holding his own breath, bracing himself for what came next. The heartbeat he’d learned to listen for quickened, a trembling in her hands as she grabbed Maggie’s shoulder to balance herself, blinking and blinking and blinking as if to clear away a mirage.

For a moment, she thought she was gonna be sick. All those empty days she’d tried to fill with hoping and prayers; the weeks spent crying in his bed, their bed, begging for his safety, pleading he would come home; all her anger and desperation and desire had led to that moment - Matt, standing perfectly still, face turned away from her, and her body crumbling underneath the weight of relief and confusion.

“Matty?” she’d started to believe in so much during his absence - yet she found it so incredibly hard to believe her own eyes. “Matthew, please -”

Please. A word repeated over and over to a God she could not see, offering her heart on a platter so that he could come back to her - and now she was uttering it again, directly to the object of her desires, of her prayers.

Please, be real. Please, exist. Please, tell me I’m not dreaming.

And just like every other supplication, it went unanswered.

“I don’t understand,” a step forward with a heavy heart - maybe she was dreaming. He wasn’t there. It was all in her mind.

He took a step back. A simple motion that made the whole world stop - it was real, and suddenly it hurt just as much as the idea of having lost him. Rejection.

“Matthew,” Maggie called, and his head snapped in her direction, anger flashing across his face - it made the woman hold her breath again, gripping the nun’s arm as worry coursed through her, bitter on the tip of Matt’s tongue.

“No,” he bit out, and she tipped her chin up - pride. Stubbornness. Cut from the same cloth. “This is your fault. It shouldn’t have been like this.”

“You’re right, it’s my fault,” she rested her hand on the woman’s - a gentle touch, such a contrast with the irritation in her words. “But at least I’m owning my mistakes - are you going to do the same?”

She went away quietly - a reassuring squeeze of the woman’s wrist, a gentle look - and left the couple alone in the eerie quiet of the crypt. Her heart beat rapidly, eyes running up and down his frozen frame, lingering on his face half shrouded by the darkness.

“Matty?” another shy attempt, the tip of her shoe dragging across the floor as she moved in his direction. “What happened? Are you hurt?” a second step, longer, heavier. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Even in her fear she was so sweet to him - always had been. Always cared for him. In return, he’d lied to her, worried her, asked her to stay, betrayed her. He should’ve stayed dead.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Her confusion only grew, and now she stood in front of him - her scent was intoxicating, making his eyes fall shut as the taste of home engulfed him. His heart, treacherous, vile, betrayed him. It told him he was safe, it told him it was alright - but how could it be, when he was bound to break her?

“Matt,” she’d known his name before meeting him and she always said it like she’d treasured it. Like a precious thing she’d later tucked in the safe of her heart. “Sweetheart, what happened?”

“You can’t be here. You shouldn’t be here,” he repeated, and flinched when her hand reached for him - the tip of calloused fingers brushing his cheek, warm and familiar as her palm cupped his jaw. A single, small, cold spot kissed his skin, the promise he’d failed to keep - his ring.

Why had he thought it could work, anyway? He wasn’t made for that - he wasn’t made to love, especially not a precious thing such as herself. The Devil in him wouldn’t allow it.

“Tell me what happened,” she repeated, firm, her eyes never leaving him. “I thought I’d lost you, Matty. I thought you were gone,” he could feel his hands shaking, his wicked heart beating a little louder for her to hear. “Were you here this whole time?”

“Yes,” a hiccup at his confession, her fingers curling over his jaw. “Just go home. It’s over.” “What are you talking about?” an incredulous scoff left her, hand weakening against his cheek. “Matt -”

“You can’t keep waiting on a dead man,” he protested, voice hardened as her heart quickened - too much, all at once. He was bound to break her.

“You’re not dead,” fierce, she grabbed his face - her fingers so used to handle delicate things digging into his bruised flesh. “You are not dead, Matthew. You’re here. You’re okay.”

“Stop,” he pulled away harshly, forcing himself to touch her just to pry her hands from him. His palms burned wrapped around her wrists. “I’m here,” she said instead, pliant under his touch. If he squeezed any harder, he’d leave bruises on her skin, blood already flowing to the surface with a dull noise that pushed itself under his skin. “Talk to me. I’m here.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he sounded like a broken record - he had to repeat himself, or else he would crumble, succumb to her and give himself up just to feel her arms around him and sleep again after the months gone by.

“You wanted us to believe you were gone?” he heard in her whisper as the realization settled in - and there it was, the first crack of her heart, an erratic beat that echoed in his head. “Why?”

“It was better this way. It still is,” while he spoke, she was shaking her head - tears had welled up at the corners of her eyes again, and as he listened to her heart breaking, he felt his own start to shatter. “I’m not who you think I am. The man you knew - he is gone. I left him behind.”

He was still holding her, that weak part of him hanging onto the thread she’d given him, a thread that would bring him home, should he follow it. Theseus too had abandoned Ariadne. In the end, she’d been so much better without him - made into a constellation, made into a goddess.

“You’re standing right in front of me,” she pushed one hand forward - no matter the resistance he put up, she laid her palm on his chest. She could feel his heart, too. Almost even. “You are Matthew Michael Murdock. Your father was Jack Murdock. You’re a lawyer, graduated from Columbia University. You live in a penthouse apartment that gets too much light because of a neon billboard across the street - you put up light blocking curtains for me when I moved in.”

His expression hardened - the fight suddenly wasn’t against her anymore. It was an internal battle, a turmoil that grew with each of her words. When he stepped back, she followed him, a dance with music only he could hear.

“You’re the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen,” she continued when he didn’t reply. “You told me six months after we started dating, right after saving my life - you called me sweetheart with the mask still on, and then told me I could walk away if that’s what I wanted, and you’d understand.”

“Stop,” his resolve began to fade away, hard edges being smoothed down.

“I didn’t go then, and I won’t now,” there was a finality in her tone - a stubbornness she rarely displayed, but Matt knew was impossible to fight. “No matter what you tell me.”

“I was with Elektra,” if he was bound to hurt her, he thought, let it at least be worth it. “I went because of Elektra. I stayed in that building knowing what was going to happen next for her. I left you because of her.”

“Don’t lie to me,” she suddenly sounded so exhausted, the tears falling out of sheer tiredness. “I heard you and Foggy. I heard you telling me you’d be back.”

“Well, I didn’t, did I?” he pried himself away, shaking his head as the buzzing in his ears started becoming unsustainable - the lights, her breathing, her tears, her heart, her heart, her heart. “I left. I was selfish in asking you to stay with me, and then I left.”

“Do you really think asking me to marry you was an act of selfishness? Matthew -” “Putting you at risk is,” he snapped - she inhaled sharply at his words, but otherwise didn’t bat an eye. “I can’t have you around, knowing you’re at risk of getting hurt because of me. And why aren’t you mad? I left.”

“Stop saying that,” her own voice rose, and so did the thrumming around Matt’s head. “Believe me, I’m livid. You disappeared for months, made us all believe you were dead, when all along you were down here. That’s what I’m mad about,” another dance - her step forward, his step back, his hands coming up to his temples. “Caring about Elektra doesn’t make you selfish, it doesn’t mean you betrayed my trust. It doesn’t mean you betrayed me. Asking me to marry you doesn’t make you selfish.”

“You can’t -” “You don’t get to decide for me, Matthew!” one step forward, one tentative step back, a thrumming hitting the back of his head, echoing in his ears with her voice. “You don’t make that decision for me. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“It’s not the same,” he breathed out, and when she stepped forward he didn’t move - her perfume soothed him, the sudden override of his other senses making his skin crawl. “It’s all different. I’m not the same. I’m not him.”

“You’re Matt - my Matt, my love,” her voice lowered as he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. She was right in front of him, and the noises did not stop as she reached for his wrists. “You drive me insane, and you’ve always taken risks and apologized for it, even though you were going to do it again. You’re a terrible cook and you take up too much space on the bed.”

“I can’t risk you,” he felt like the broken one - his voice cracked as she pulled his hands away from his face, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I know,” a whisper, standing toe-to-toe. “You told me already. Because you love me completely, and I love you the same - and that’s how I know you’re still you. And I’m furious, Matt, because you didn’t come to me.”

“Whatever it is I’ve become, you don’t deserve it,” it quietened slowly - his heartbeat, her heartbeat, as she brought his hands towards her. “Let me decide that, will you?” her lips brushed his left palm, a tender touch that melted his muscles, lured her close. “I’m a big girl, I can handle myself. And I love you.”

“Sweetheart -” he breathed out as she kissed his wrist, then guided his hand to her tear-stained cheek. “I love you,” she repeated, repeating the motion on the other side. A kiss to his palm, a kiss to his wrist. “I’ll keep saying it until you get it into that thick skull of yours - I love you.”

He held her face in his hands and exhaled. He was not worthy. He was not worth it.

“I love you,” again, and again, peppering kisses wherever she could reach - his covered shoulders, his chin, the corner of his mouth, her hands covering his still on her face, her heartbeat steadying him.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled it when her lips ghosted his, not fully committing to a kiss, but telling him she was there. She was there. “I’m sorry.” “I love you,” she retorted, words kissing his skin, dropping her hands from his. He did not step away, kept listening to her, kept listening to that slowing sound. “I forgive you.”

The thread snapped, Theseus was lost - in his place, Matt collapsed against her, their foreheads touching, her scent rooting him, bringing him back.

“Thought you said you were angry with me.” “I am,” she nodded, nuding the tip of his nose with hers. “Doesn’t mean I can’t forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve you,” a fearful confession as her hands came to rest against the back of his head, locking him close.

“Too bad,” the ring on her finger brushing his neck sent a shiver down his spine. “You’re stuck with me,” a long inhale as she moved to kiss his cheek, slowly, slowly dragging her mouth until she could whisper in his ear. “No matter what you think or tell yourself, Matty, you deserve the good, too.”

The guilt would come back, the desire to run away and hide too, the need to atone for his sins away from those nice things life had to offer him, and he’d feel himself drift away - when it came to that, just like in that moment, he’d let his head fall into the crook of her neck, let her scent be the only thing his senses could perceive, place his heart in her hands knowing it would be safe. The question would always be the same.

“Can you take me home?”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fic #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil imagine #daredevil fanfic #daredevil x reader #redahlia

[gayleviticus]

dont know how to really put this into words and its not a very Easter-y post per se but something ive been thinking abt, and especially since Good Friday, is almost... how slender yet hugely significant a thread the passion of Jesus is in the Christian Bible?

my NRSV is 1102 pages (897 without deuterocanon). the Gospels take up 89 of those pages. 8-10% of the Christian Bible is about the life of Jesus (although ofc the rest of the NT is about unpacking what that means). and then the passion itself is an even smaller slice.

i often pray the catholic liturgy of the hours, which is at its core a bunch of psalms and then some other miscellaneous stuff depending on the time of day, and something i oddly appreciate abt it is all this time spent with OT Psalms makes explicitly Christian stuff like the Trinity or Jesus more exciting when it pops up, because you feel their absence a bit?

Christianity is very Jesus-drenched, and obviously that's because he's literally the core and namesake of the religion. but i sorta feel like sometimes it can be too much. Jesus overload. the significance of what it means for God to become human flesh and suffer and die as the culmination of this whole century-long epic of redemption fades a little. we don't always appreciate Jesus as the climax to the story because we start with him as the beginning.

sometimes i go thru phases where I spend most of my Bible reading time in the Old Testament, and for various reasons - it's got a different feel and scope, it speaks to different things (more of an emphasis on societal social justice), it's more dramatic in certain ways, it has nice poetry, it has a very rich tradition of people getting angry with God and pouring out their souls in suffering.

but i think deliberately spending this time away from the NT makes me appreciate what a big deal the Incarnation is - and i feel a bit in awe of the way that all the threads in this massive story of God's work culminate in the life of just one guy and his humiliating, brutal, embarrassing murder. A story that's weaved its way through global floods and plagues and revolution and kingdoms and wars and exile finds its thesis statement in One Man standing before Pilate, beaten by soldiers, dragging his cross through the streets, nailed to a tree.

it's a bizarre kind of narrative understatement. the Bible rejects the temptation of many a long-running franchise to go bigger and bigger, to keep on raising the stakes, and instead sits you down with the most humiliating, degrading, hopeless moment in Jesus' life and says: this is the face of God. This is what God looks like. The Lord is not to be found in whirlwinds nor earthquakes nor fire but in the face of the oppressed, the falsely accused, the suffering.

of course, there's a cosmic dimension to it as well. in a sense as it simultaneously lowers the physical stakes to one man, one soul, the Passion is also raising the cosmic stakes tremendously. 'now is the judgment of the world, now is the ruler of this world cast out - and i, when i am lifted up, will draw all people to myself.'

but on the face of it, the idea that it should be this Holy Week that's the crux of the story - not the great flood, not the destruction of Jerusalem, not the apocalyptic terrors of Revelation - is a bit odd, and for that endless fascinating to me.

#christianity #religion #holy week #christian

[ghouletteanon]

Bread Baking

@pyrefection wanted to hear more about domestic ghoul life. So here's 800+ words about Aurora and Phantom baking the sacramental bread for mass for the first time.

This is inspired by "bread liturgy", which involves readings and prayers as well as singing psalms, hymns and antiphons while baking the bread.

Enjoy!

Aurora glares at Mountain, opening her eyes to see the earth ghoul looking way too cheery at half past two in the morning.

Phantom stirs where he is curled up next to her. It's been two weeks since their summoning and they are just as inseparable as when they dragged themselves out of the pits of hell together.

Phantom doesn't speak, but Aurora knows she is voicing both of their thoughts when she groans loudly and stretches, asking "Already?"

"Get dressed and ready to go. I'm coming back in 10 minutes. You'll get tea when we get there."

Aurora feels like her brain is still catching up as she goes through the motions of getting herself presentable. There will be siblings present, and she doesn't want Papa to be disappointed in her.

They're almost out of their allotted time, Phantom helping her pin her hair down beneath a scarf the way he wears one as well when Mountain comes back. He's wearing a loose linen shirt and pants, and unusual for him, close-toed shoes instead of sandals or just bare feet. His long hair is kept off his face in braids. "Perfect. Show me your claws?"

They both pass Mountain's inspection and head off to the massive kitchens. The Abbey corridors are completely empty. Everyone still in their rooms and sleeping before the great celebratory mass that's going to be held later in the morning.

Aurora feels Phantom's tail reaching out to her and she loops them. They're both nervous and still a little bit tired, but Mountain seems completely unbothered by the early hour.

Aurora knows they are getting close to the kitchen when she starts hearing singing. She can't make out the words, they're in Latin, but she does hear a few familiar voices.

Phantom quickly picks up the repetitive melody and starts humming along the melody.

Cirrus welcomes the newcomers and takes over from Mountain. She sits them down on kitchen stools and hands them each a small booklet, already covered in flour, as well as mugs of tea. "Cumulus and Mountain will lead the singing for the first few hours so they'll be busy, so I'll help you two. Cumulus sings the high melodies, Mountain leads the low and you can choose whichever you feel like joining. Or just hum along to both."

The big clock strikes three and Mountain and Cumulus step forward, taking their places at the big baking table. Everyone else stands to the side, silent as Cumulus begins the chanting and calls upon their Unholy Creator to be present. A "Nema" echoes through the group, made up of a few Siblings of Sin and ghouls Aurora has not yet met.

Aurora can't look away from Cumulus. She has seen her perform before, and Aurora knows she can command a stage but seeing her lead a group in a ritual so effortlessly and never stumbling on the complicated blend of Latin and Swedish is something out of this world. Her hair is like a halo, escaping from the braid that goes around her head like a crown. There's something royal to her that is only now evident to Aurora.

Then, Mountain starts singing a solo part, and the same magic spreads over him. He never takes center stage when performing, but now he is singing with his eyes closed, palms open and calling upon the powers of below in a deep, rich baritone that could make an angel fall.

There's some sort of unholy divinity over both her and Mountain as they begin the work of baking the bread for Mass.

Cirrus shows Aurora and Phantom where the chants start in the booklet and helps them settle in. The melodies are simple and repetitive, and Aurora quickly falls into a meditative state as she follows along the words on the page. She loves singing, and singing together with others fills her with joy and belonging. This is not about her and performing for others, this is about everyone in the room working together and serving the whole congregation.

Phantom doesn't sing the words, just hums the melody and moves his lips in a silent nema whenever appropriate.

Then it's just waiting. Singing and waiting for when Cumulus and Mountain step aside for the next pair of siblings to take over making the dough for the bread.

Cumulus and Mountain still lead the singing, from the sides now.

Aurora closes her eyes and leans against the wall. The sounds of voices bounce off the walls, making her feel like she is being embraced from all sides.

Sometime in the early morning hours it's Aurora and Phantom's turn to bake. Neither of them are used to baking, and they forget to sing while they concentrate on forming the dough into round loaves but once their turn is over and they return to their stools Aurora is smiling brightly and proud of the little misshapen loaf that's resting on the table next to the others. Her expression is mirrored in Phantom's, whose smile is all sharp teeth.

#the band ghost fanfiction #aurora ghoulette #phantom ghoul #mountain ghoul #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus ghoulette #ga writes #unbeta'd

[extollingtheeveryday]

Cheshvan

by Rabbi Rachel Barenblat (The Velveteen Rabbi)

Cheshvan is an empty month. A blank slate. An open expanse. It is the only month which contains no Jewish holidays (aside from Shabbat) and no special mitzvot. Some people have the custom of calling this month Mar-Cheshvan, "Bitter Cheshvan," because after so many weeks of feeling ourselves to be in God's presence, we enter into a whole month with no festival opportunities to feel that closeness.

Some rabbis (me included) joke that Mar-Cheshvan is short for "Marvelous Cheshvan," and that Cheshvan is our favorite month precisely because there is nothing in it. After the hard work and the emotional-spiritual rollercoaster of the Days of Awe and Sukkot, a month containing nothing but weekdays and Shabbat feels like a gift. A time to embrace emptiness and quiet. Thank God for Cheshvan; I can't keep up this work-pace anymore!

But I think there's a deeper truth hidden in the "I ♥ Cheshvan" jokes. Our festival cycle has a rhythm, a natural ebb and flow. Times of extroversion and times of introversion; times of intense spiritual work and times of quiet when the aftereffects of that work can reverberate in our hearts and souls. After the spring journey of Pesach and the Omer, we get a quiet period before the summer's fasts and Tisha b'Av and the ramp-up to the Days of Awe. After the fall journey of the Days of Awe and Sukkot, we get a quiet period before the small holidays which stud the wintertime lead us toward spring and Pesach.

(These are northern-hemisphere interpretations; if you live in the global South, the seasonal rhythm is inverted, but the holidays still lead one to the next, and the spiritually-fallow periods are still built-in.)

The quiet time matters too. It's like the silence after the chant, writ large. When a long-anticipated event is over, there can be a let-down. All that time preparing and getting excited, and now it's over; now what? But Cheshvan offers the opportunity to experience the quiet time after the feasts and festivals as a necessary part of the rhythm.

Reb Zalman (may his memory be a blessing) used to speak about the importance of "domesticating" the peak experience -- taking the spiritual highs we can experience on retreat, and using their energy to fuel spiritual practice when we're home again. Coming down from the big fall holiday season is a little bit like coming home from a retreat. We return our focus to all the details of ordinary life. But that doesn't mean that we're no longer in the radiant Presence. We just have to remember how to access that Presence through ordinary living. Avodah b'gashmiut, in Hasidic parlance.

We couldn't live at the intense pace of the Days of Awe and Sukkot all the time. From the practical work of preparing services and sermons and setting up chairs and building sukkahs, to the intellectual work of studying the holidays' texts and liturgies and themes, to the emotional work of noticing what arises in us during the holiday season, to the spiritual work of teshuvah and inner transformation -- there's no way to sustain that level of activity and experience all the time. And that's okay.

The downtime helps us integrate the experience we've just had. Try this metaphor on: the quiet month which comes after all of the festivals is like the morning after a grand and elaborate wedding. The planning and preparation all culminated in a beautiful ceremony and a fabulous party -- and now it's the next day; the first day of the rest of the couple's life; time to integrate the memories and carry them into whatever comes next. Tishri was the wedding. Now it's the morning-after.

The party is finally over. The last guests have gone home. Awaken to your quiet house, a sweet sunrise, coffee filling the room with fragrance. Cup your hands around your mug and look around you. Something new is beginning, right here in this quiet place. Welcome to Cheshvan.

(source)

#cheshvan #autumn #october #judaism #jumblr #the velveteen rabbi #rachel barenblat

[themildestofwriters]

I have nearly, oh so nearly finished the first part of the first book of my The Sith, Zero rebuild, which goes under the dubious title of "The Saga of Zero: Fall Into Darkness."

Not sure "Fall Into Darkness," works as a subtitle, but I wanted something that references the fact that this is a book about someone being pulled into a place of, well... darkness. Louise quite literally lands herself in slavery, and it is not a happy book.

Regardless, first part is mostly done. It's like... mostly drafted, and the most I need to do is write the religious hymns, prayers, liturgy, and blessings for the religious service proceeding the Summoning ritual. Then, I gotta rewrite the prologue (probably), which'll now start following Omiras (or whatever I name him) as he receives the alert about the anomalous event, rather than starting from the perspective of the anomalous event. I feel it'll give me a good way of getting his character properly established. It'll be easier to set up the slavery angle, too, rather than just dropping that fact in at the end, while also giving me the option to do some exposition about how slavery works in the Empire (among other stuff, especially the core changes I'm making to the Star Wars universe). Then it's just a massive editing spree over the entire document to get everything up to snuff.

Part two is trickier, because I've got half of it done, it's just that I am struggling big time for the full reveal about the slave element. Louise hasn't got any idea what's going on because of the language barrier. Outside of that, she has a week to learn the language before she gets put to work, and the chapter where she gets put to work is the moment she realises what's going on. The problem is that I don't know how to write that, and it's just a pain, lol. But once I get through that, it should be relatively smooth sailing from there, through the chapter or two compilation of important moments of Louise's time as a slave, ranging from her interpersonal relationships with the other slaves, her rebellious streak, and the punishments she receives for these rebellions. Part two then ends with the arrival of the Sith, Louise's supernatural acquisition of language, and a dinner where she *finally* gets the full picture of what's going on.

I haven't written much for part three, but I do have a very good idea of how things go. It starts with a New Year's chapter where she and the other slaves get to have some time off and celebrate together, before getting right into things next chapter. Pirates come for Louise, people die, the Force Awakens, and Louise is set to start training at the Sith Academy. Final chapter, like the prologue, will be from someone else's perspective, Kirche, a classmate (and bully) watching her perform the Summoning ritual, watching how it goes wrong, and watching vanish, the chapter ending with the after Summoning dinner, a rendition of House of the Rising Sun in Old French, and some introspection.

Doable, but difficult. Writing religious liturgy is hard, especially for a Norse Pagan inspired religion influenced by Catholicism. The transition in part two, when she learns that she's a slave, is just difficult. I'm not sure if she should figure it out herself, of if it's believable that she'd refuse to acknowledge the possibility. She is just fourteen and from a privileged background, after all. As someone who writes linearly, I can't write much else until I finish that part.

Once the book is done... book two is going to be interesting. First off is the question of how, exactly, I'm supposed to write three years in one book, and I'm just not sure how I'm supposed to write this in a way that isn't just a massive mess.

Three years, six trials, two trials per year, plus the Imperial holidays, festivals, national events, national news, as well as Academy training, events, and student-run parties. Oh, and Louise's own religious practices. Somehow I've got to fit all that in, on top of interpersonal interactions, in a single book.

Of course, I could split it. Two books. Three books. I even have a good climax for the first part (her third or fourth trial) which takes her to the Tomb of Ludo Kressh, where things take a turn for the psychological horror. The issue is, I'm not sure how I'd wind up balancing things. A lot of things Louise would wind up doing would happen in her first year, so part one would be bloated with all these events, and part two would be left floundering with little except training, trials, and a party. It is doable, though. If I just balance things right, it could work.

Maybe Louise enters a sort of depression state in part one once she realises the reality of being a slave-caste acolyte? She doesn't engage with the wider Imperial culture, because she doesn't have the energy, because she is angry and resentful toward the Empire, because too much time is spent training and catching up. Maybe she even lapses in her religious practices. Then, after her time in Kressh's tomb, part two starts, and she comes out more willing to engage with the Empire and rekindle her religious practices. She attends events, goes to parties, tries to live in spite of the world around her. Hmm... whatever the case, I'll be a lot more loosey-goosey with the OG's plot structure.

If I do end up splitting it in two, I'll need to figure out epilogues and prologues for both. The first prologue would be Kory, an acolyte in her coterie. Basically builds up her as a character, the perspective of an Imperial-born slave, while also giving the reader a perspective on Louise from the beginning of her training as a Sith. All prologues are just my way of giving the reader a look at Louise from an outside perspective, while also expanding upon a character and the world in a way that couldn't be explored in any other way. Omiras's slave operation, Kory's life as a slave, details Louise would miss.

Epilogues on the other hand, are looks into the world Louise was taken from and deal with the aftermath of her vanishing. First epilogue is an outsiders perspective on Louise's summoning, her vanishing, and the immediate aftermath. Second epilogue would be another character, unrelated to (but also related to) Louise, and looking at the world from another perspective, looking at the aftermath of Louise's summoning from a distance, and delving into a sort of meta plot that's developing back home. This'll follow Tiffania, a jacked not-Scotswoman living in the wild forests of flying not-Britain running an orphanage with her famed theif of a sister, except it turns out Tiffania is actually the long lost half-elven niece of the not-UK Royal Family during actually-Cromwell's anti-monarchist reign, and also she's one fourth a messiah.

Second prologue (for part two) would probably be... Quorian Dorjis, who is a Jedi imprisoned on Korriban, who Louise befriends. I'll have to move his quest line up to book two (somehow), but it'd be a really interesting perspective to look at, being able to see how a Jedi (drugged as he may be) looking at Louise. It'll also be a great way of introducing the Jedi perspective, which I've made wholly foreign to how I present the Sith perspective. They're not mirrors of each other, but alien in how they view the Force.

Second epilogue... I think it'd have to be Louise's mum arriving on a manticore to throttle the Headmaster for losing her daughter. Or I might make it the first epilogue of part one of book two. Either or, Louise's mum's perspective is a must have because not only does Louise have a complicated relationship with her parents, but her mum is a complicated woman, too. It'll definitely be the hardest of the alt. POVs.

Book three (of four, if I split the second book) will be the shortest, and also introduce the idea of doing much of the following books as shorter works that are done in five to ten or so chapters, rather than the fifteen to twenty of the previous ones. It's a simple thing, adapting one of the Flashpoints from SWTOR, the Black Talon. It'll open with Khem Val's perspective as a POV, and end with... hmm... I'm not sure. It's far enough away that it won't matter if I don't figure it out, but it is still important *to* figure out. I could either look back at a previous POV, but I also feel it's too soon to do so.

As it stands, new characters I could look at are... Tabitha, a classmate of Louise who Louise had a crush on, but is also a black ops agent working for a foreign kingdom (which is ruled by her evil uncle); Henrietta, Princess of Louise's home nation and Louise's first and oldest friend; Pope McDongcopter (fandom nickname), who is the Pope and also a dick (and also one fourth a messiah) who plans on invading actual modern day Earth with muskets and magic; Louise's sisters, who are Louise's sisters, one who acts like a bitch to hide the fact that she cares deeply, another who is just... you know, terminally ill; King Joseph, who is Tabitha's uncle, evil, and also one fourth a messiah, and is the power behind actual-Cromwell on not-Britain; and... yeah. That's about it so far. Those are the important players on Louise's homeworld.

Regardless of who caps it off, I think book three (four) is where I start posting the fic online. Weekly or bi-weekly, with a week break between books. It's not the last book, but it is where I'll probably be like "Okay, I have enough content to justify finally publishing this reboot!"

Book four is going to be the Dromund Kaas plot from SWTOR, but with heavy focus on Louise finally being able to just live life as a proper civilian in the Empire. I want to just explore Imperial life, and how it works, and Louise'll be a great method to do so. I mean, sure, Sith politics remains a pressing issue, but I feel like it's the first time she can just *breath*.

Prologue is probably Darth Skotia or Zyira (Louise's room-mate from the Academy). Both have great perspectives to look into, though only one is plot relevant. Epilogue... refer to previous epilogue discussion (i.e. I don't fucking know).

Then, after that, it'll pretty much be an episodic series of books. I mean, that's the general plot structure of SWTOR, each planet having its own plot, so why not make each planet its own book? Short five to ten chapters worth. Can't be bothered mentioning who is prologue and epilogue, but yeah. That's basically the plan for the Saga of Zero.

[abetteranglican]

the nature of trauma is that you get stuck in a time, a place

time doesn't flow on like it did before, or maybe I've only just noticed it. this year and the last are one in the same, or perhaps my life in a book, the pages pressed so close, into one another, perhaps the paper is transparent so you cant read a page on its own, you read the next and you stay on the last. the present isn't objective and you can never quite be sure. the subconscious is timeless, and I take it with me whenever I go, what happened to be before is still happening, then and now, in reality and memory.

I would begin my book this September, and narrate from there the events of this year still to come, through the lease and memory of what happened 12 months ago. Parallels between the then and now, her the girl and now me. Parallels in the way she inflicted the same abuse she had suffered onto me, her mum had only once admitted she was abusive, crying and drunk. she only admitted it to me once too, in my bed, after she made me kiss her, she was drunk too, and then she cried. The way my mum never got over how I am, the fact Im still seeing her new books accumulate around the house. the way my radical change made her radically change, even though im much calmer now, she still lives in a reality where im not. the unreality of me being dangerous, the way she would drunkenly throw phones and insults at me, and tell me I had traumatised her, me cowering on the bed trying to sleep. the unreality of the lies, and the pantomime, and the fact that she and her mum and all this simply won't go away no matter how much I run. im still there, and so are they, all of us.

I think I finally understood something about communion in this way, how hearing the rector say the words of the liturgy felt like remembering the future. how its still happening, eternal, an event so unanswerably big that the ink of the sentence, and the blood, and the water and hurt bleed across the pages of time into our lives by definition of us being 'in time'.

perhaps trauma feels like I am not in time, being carried, but time is in me and all of it is happening in my head at once and thats why I cant just run into the next hour, or month, or year.

at the end of the book I would be ending year 12, and starting it again, a circle you cant get out of.

#raggedy post #blurting out thoughts and ideas

[southwarkcofe]

That has been my story in Southwark; it has been transformational for me and, truly, I have encountered the Living God in this Diocese

The Very Revd Andrew Nunn reflects on his life and journey as Dean of Southwark as he says goodbye...

When I was a little boy, I loved hearing stories about London. The Nunn side of the family had only moved to Leicester because both where they lived in Romford and where my grandfather’s business was on the Strand were so heavily bombed they felt they had to leave. But Nanny and my aunties would tell me about ‘going up west’, walking in St James’ Park and seeing Buckingham Palace. To a child it sounded magical. For one Christmas present I was given a big book on London, lots of reading and sepia pictures – Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square, the Bank of England. But I’m not sure it mentioned Southwark and certainly none of the family stories featured ‘South of the River’.

That’s not quite true. There were in our family photo album, pictures of my mum and dad at the Festival of Britain. Mum is stood there with Skylon behind her and the Dome of Discovery and of course the Festival Hall. So, they had been to the South Bank to catch a glimpse of what the future might hold, a brave and confident future, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of the war, in London, south of the Thames.

Being invited to come to the Diocese, to be Chaplain to the Diocesan Bishop, Bishop Roy Williamson, was a real thrill. I packed up everything from the vicarage I was in in Leeds and headed down the M1 to begin a new type of ministry for me, in a very different place. I had heard and read about the Diocese of Southwark, of course.  It always seemed to be the place from where the awkward questions were being asked, where radical and experimental things were being done. On arriving I wasn’t disappointed.

I love the scene in the film version of the ‘Wizard of Oz’, when Dorothy, played by Judy Garland, steps from her house which had just landed in Oz.  She leaves a black and white world for one that is in dazzling technicolour.  Those early audiences must have gasped in amazement as they saw the yellow brick road, the multi-coloured horses and the munchkins in rainbow hues. For me, entering Southwark was that kind of experience. It felt like a different world and a different church.

Twenty-eight years later and having done a number of different things, it still feels like that. Ok, so some of the things that were at top of the ‘Southwark Agenda’ in the past are now part of mainstream life in much, though not all of the church.  Women are there in all three orders of ordained ministry.  Racial justice is not just being talked about but being lived and we have a Charter to keep us on the right path.  LLF will deliver justice for LGBTQI+ people, eventually, and until it does Southwark will remain a safe pace for people like me.  But, and this is really important, in the Diocese of Southwark theology is still being done, liturgy is still valued and our churches continue to grow.

People keep asking me two questions – ‘What won’t you mind leaving behind? ‘What are you going to miss?’ The first is easy, the relentless emails and that ultimate feeling of responsibility that a Dean has to carry. The buck stops with you, and that does take its toll. Bye bye.

But what will I miss?  Everything, everything about Southwark, all that continues to make it so special, all that sets my heart on fire.

Bishop Christopher used as inspiration for so much that sets the overall agenda and strategy in the Diocese, the story of the road to Emmaus that Luke has in his Gospel.  (Luke 24.13-35) When the two friends look back, reflect on the experience that they have just had they say to one another

‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?’

It was the encounter with the living God, with the Risen Jesus, and not least the encounter with him in the scriptures and in the broken bread at the table, that made their hearts burn with the flames of passion, the flames of the Sprit, the fire of love.  They were transformed by being with Jesus.

That has been my story in Southwark; it has been transformational for me and, truly, I have encountered the Living God in this Diocese in a way that I simply hadn’t before. It has been life changing and faith enhancing and all the churches and all the people as much as the wonderful Cathedral have had a part to play in that.

What am I most proud of?  Simply that we understand what inclusion truly means.  Sometimes it feels easier to exclude than include, but we have never gone down that path but instead opened our arms, our doors, our hearts to those who don’t always find a  welcome in church.  It may be challenging to be inclusive, but we have never shied away from it. Perhaps you are reading this because you have been included, I am writing it because I have been.  Thank you.

God of boundless generosity and ever open arms, thank you for including us in your inclusive embrace, and bless this Diocese of Southwark, where hearts burn with the fire of your love. Amen.

[titleleaf]

dear Scents Wizard. i was literally lying in bed dozing off and then suddenly the need to hear the answer to this question for Reasons hit me like a thunderbolt. what perfume would you assign to the characters of primal fear both ic/and like character perfumes line if they differ?

OKAY FIRST OF ALL i love you, i am giving you the finest salutations as I sit here awake

second of all: oooooh shit, okay yeah this is extremely fun but also a challenge for me because both Martin and Janet have a very specific style image to project -- I don't think I'm going to hit that mark without taking a deep-ass dive into contemporary receptions of these perfumes but I wish I knew if the creative team on the film had anything in mind since everything else about how the characters present themselves is so immaculate.

(brief content warning for canon-typical discussion of sexual assault/abuse)

Dior Dune or Guerlain Samsara for Janet, maybe? (Am I associating her with warm, powdery, amber-y 90s scents because she's a chic mean blonde... maybe.) I think she'd enjoy wearing something that gestures at a unisex seriousness but I also think she's somebody who changes up her signature scent every few years or so in line with whatever the current cultural vibe is. Beefy sillage and lots of longevity. She definitely associates that with both femininity and power but in ten years she'll be like "how did I walk into a courtroom like that".

Imaginary indie perfume oil option: black tea, sandalwood, labdanum, vanilla, peony

On the flipside, nothing that Martin Vail wears is subtle either. Chanel Égoïste -- I know this man smells good but I also know he does not smell discreetly. He doesn't seem as likely to really go through signature scents so I kind of want to put him in Chanel Antaeus too, I regret I went through a big 80s men's fragrance scent explosion phase and I can feel myself on the verge of going back to it right now. I have a real hateboner for Chanel on so many levels but ughhhhh Antaeus good.

Imaginary indie perfume option: would get kicked out of the indie perfume oil conclave just for suggesting one tbh

I regret that Aaron's whole sweet-choirboy-from-the-holler vibe (which in some ways is genuine and in some ways is obviously fake as hell, like the best fake identities) probably excludes him from designer fragrance but I think he's got the opposite sillage experience -- you don't smell anything until you're really in close quarters with him and then how nice he smells gets really unsettling because it might just be the smell of his skin. (Clean-sweaty, fresh, aquatic, laundered. Also not less scary when he's cussing you out and knocking your head against the wall.) I 100% headcanon this guy as having a couple strong sensory triggers related to abuse (and definitely related to personal proximity -- absolutely nothing about Rushman's bathroom or bedroom suggest a dude living a life of poverty and humility, let alone chastity) but I can also picture him co-opting the olfactory richness of Catholic liturgy (and regular old wealth) for the same reason he takes Rushman's ring with him -- as an assertion of power and dominance.

On his own, I think he would kill it in like, CK One.

Imaginary indie perfume option: salty musk, lemon, Atlas cedar, liturgical incense, gasoline.

If I were going to assign Aaron a modern perfume, I think it would be funny to put him in Jo Malone. (I wear Jo Malone Lupin & Patchouli and I love it a lot but he might be a Salty Amber/Wood Sage & Sea Salt kind of boy.) If I were going to put Martin and Janet in something modern... I know in my heart they are both the kind of person I hate the most in the world, people with enough money to just buy full-size Tom Ford fragrances willy-nilly and not eke out a thimble sized sample over a decade. They both discovered when they were sleeping together that they wore the same Tom Ford fragrance and after they broke up they were playing exes chicken to see who would give it up and throw the towel in and find a new one.

Tommy wears Acqua Di Gio maybe, and idk what the hot organized crime dude wears but I know he smells good. I know it in my heart.

#ska watches a thing #primal fear 1996 #what's the olfactory equivalent of shoulder pads bc i cannot get enough of it

[orarenelcenaculo]

EVANGELIO DE HOY Jueves 16 de Febrero de 2023 EN EL CENACULO | www.youtu... TODAY'S GOSPEL in the CENACLE.

TODAY'S GOSPEL Thursday February 16, 2023 IN THE CENACLE.

Commentary of all the readings and gospel separately and in common by the different branches of the order of Preachers, Dominicans.

Learn Spanish with the Word of God (for Spanish learners) or understand the Word of God in Spanish.

Friends, Today, in the gospel Jesus asks: Who do you say that I am?

Listening to this gospel we might ask ourselves if this question is not also a provocation for us.

For Peter the answer seemed easy, but he was reproached by Jesus, his affirmation of being the Messiah was an intellectual answer, but not a vital one.

Won't the same happen to us? When we are asked about Jesus, we easily respond with big and eloquent titles and words, but afterwards those affirmations have no repercussions in our lives. For us, for me too, it is not something intellectual, but vital. We know that in the end, and now, non-believers will not ask us if we know a lot or a little about Jesus, but if he has had an impact on our lives or not. Our answer will be whether or not he is giving meaning to our lives. Whether or not he is having an impact on our daily performance. If he makes us happier and if we feel more liberated from the situations we go through and that they want to tell us something.

In the CHANNEL https://www.youtube.com/@orarenelcenaculo at the end of each Video the links of the previous videos are offered in order of publication or the most viewed (TOP) of:

TOP The Five Minutes of the Holy Spirit in the Cenacle. https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs-qc19Q2rjeCU4BQwppa0y7

TOP Chaplet of Mercy in the Cenacle. https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs8X0GJLflxQ74q1Cjyf3LK3

TOP Prayer to the Holy Spirit every day in the Cenacle. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs_SvY5fXXnfTh68lp5GAOKp

TOP Saints of Today's Liturgy in the Cenacle. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs9BbHLtMT0mHYJk03k4oLL-

On the CHANNEL https://www.youtube.com/@orarenelcenaculo there is the possibility of requesting a playlist titled:

The "RANDOM GOSPEL" that the Holy Spirit suggests to me now, to guide that problem that worries me, and that can guide me to act in the discernment of approaching it. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs9YKhj_eAq6oyRaearAulEN

What PRAYERS does the HOLY SPIRIT blow me today for my daily situation? https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs_zJJAtu1ibUGRVHOG9ENeY

What is the HOLY SPIRIT SAYING TO ME NOW in this situation and at this moment? https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs_fN6l_CMPMFoaOfSDelKbG

Today's Gospel in the Cenacle. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs9vYVFf0Q22SwZw1ZbSWYIV

Prayer to the Holy Spirit every day in the Cenacle. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs-IOQNAMto_nIif4g6DeClf

Saints of the Liturgy of the day in the Cenacle. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLPkNVhYwczs9I5FYVifdf7wj_i9I7mGZw

The Peace of the Lord.

© for text and images

#readingsoftheday #gospeloftoday #gospeloftheday #readingsofthemass #christians #catholic #religion #learnspanishwithJesus #understandthewordofgod

#lecturasdeldía #evangeliodehoy #evangeliodeldía #evangelioenelcenaculo #evangeliodehoycenaculo #lecturasdelamisa #cristianos #católico #religión #entenderlapalabradedios #aprenderespañolconJesus

#youtube

[dolls-and-cats]

September 1964

Alabama, near Tuskegee

No grandchild of Big Momma was a stranger to the front of the room. Vonnie had never had the aptitude for singing that would have led to solo work like Melody and Dwayne, but she'd offered Bible and liturgy readings in church since she could read.

She had been nervous when she first started teaching "Freedom School" classes a few months ago. But now that the Mississippi Summer Project was complete and she was talking about it to a white women's group, led by the aunt of one of her co-volunteers, Vonnie realized she didn't feel nervous at all.

She talked about the Freedom Summer volunteers who had been murdered on the group's first day in Mississippi and of the courage it took for teenagers and young adults to stay the course and complete the work. She talked about being injured* by police and of coming back to the work herself, of seeing the worry in her parents' faces. She talked about assaults and fire bombings that had happened after the college students left, to punish black Mississippians who had helped the project.**

Although the Civil Rights Act of 1964 was a step in the right direction for racial equality, Vonnie talked about the barriers to black people voting she had witnessed in Mississippi and the need for a federal law to remove those barriers.

As Vonnie finished her speech, applause filled the room. Vonnie thought about the late night she'd have getting back to her dorm room after the meeting and the homework she had left to do. She hoped that hearing her story had been effective and that she'd won some of the listeners over to support SNCC's work.

notes:

I sewed Vonnie's dress and Charlotte's shirt and crocheted Vonnie's flower and Charlotte's shrug.

*I'm making up this story about a presentation based on Vonnie's canonical work during Freedom Summer and the fact that I wanted to make her storyline and Charlotte's story intersect. The three volunteers (Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman) being murdered is real history. One of the books I read, Risking Everything (ed. Edmunds) shows a photocopy of Goodman's application to work in the project and it struck me how young and vulnerable the Summer Project volunteers were. Goodman's application looks like any teenager's application to do a volunteer gig.

**The information about black Mississippians being assaulted after the group of college kids left is also from Risking Everything.

#american girl dolls #dollblr #yvonne ellison

[dustedmagazine]

Half-handed Cloud — Flutterama! (Asthmatic Kitty)

For a couple decades, John Ringhofer has done a very strange thing with his Half-handed Cloud project. He's made spastic, fractured pop music that feels too pretty for its noise even while getting too messy to be called “pretty.” That would be only partway strange if he didn't couple it with his explicitly Christian meditations. Ringhofer's writing doesn't fit into any traditional Christian categories. It's not worshipful, it doesn't slot into liturgy, it doesn't make mainstream playlists. The indie kids that might go for the tunes don't overlap much with Christian music fans on a Venn diagram. Cut that back to include only those who want obscure or complicated theological reflections and that dot gets tiny. Put it all together, and it makes sense that Asthmatic Kitty remains Half-handed Cloud's ideal label. That much comes clear, but understanding Ringhofer's art doesn't become any simpler.

New album Flutterama!, his first regular album since 2014 continues the tradition. Ringhofer continues his short bursts of songs, with these tracks straining to reach two minutes (or considerably shorter than the length of time you'd repeat a typical worship chorus). Now he adds tape manipulation and deterioration to his arsenal. He's still more Daniel Smith than William Basinski, but Ringhofer recorded much of this music on a worn tape machine, working with various analog effects. The process may have required a certain precision and nuance, but Ringhofer sounds no more hinged musically than he ever has. The liner notes credit him with 25 or 30 “instruments,” ranging from wood blocks to balloons to electric guitar to omnichord. While Ringhofer carefully arranges his songs, it feels as if any of these instruments can burst through at any given time.

His mind ranges lyrically just as far and as quickly. Single “Handles” uses the story of John the Baptist and the death of Jesus to spin a joke on “love that handles” and “love handles.” As the song progresses, it becomes clear that Ringhofer isn't being flippant. Instead, he uses the track to raise questions about the strength of faith in light of the shocking oddity of the gospel story. “How did our faith in you become so flabby?” he asks, indicting himself in the process. Similarly he questions his own ability to follow his religious tradition in “I'm the Weakest Link,” as he acknowledges Christians' resistance to feeding the hungry and clothing the naked. 

Ringhofer cites Bible verses for each track, but he takes these ideas to unlikely places. He provides hymns and prayers and imagist poetry. He works through theology and doubt and faith (the three go together). Each song raises some big ideas, delivers its blow in a hurry, and disappears. Half-handed Cloud provides an antithesis to the contemplative tradition, although its music draws from deep thoughtfulness. As with a handful of like-minded artists, Ringhofer continues to go into strange territory for a likely narrow audience, but it enables him to get out a wealth of musical and spiritual ideas in a striking manner. It's a forward-looking approach that stems from a long tradition, one that stays fresh in its unlimited energy. 

Justin Cober-Lake

#half-handed cloud #flutterama! #asthmatic kitty #justin cober-lake #albumreview #dusted magazine #john ringhofer #pop #christian music

[viksalos]

hi Sarah! would you like to tag 5 songs that you listen to ? :)

hi clo! :D like ANY songs? ok uhhhh i'm gonna try to pick some new stuff i've been listening to instead of stuff I've already posted about a bunch lol. also as usual i got carried away talking about music so i wrote a little about what i like about each song, but for tl;dr purposes i'll tag my 10 people up front: @axiolotl @avoidingdestiny @stoneboss @everoutoftouch @lilybee @famishedst @sealab420 @iloveyoutoodeath @mousey-toy @saisons-en-enfer (<-people i remember interacting with posts about music recently but if anybody else sees this feel free!)

People Are Good // Depeche Mode off their new album Memento Mori. when I went out for goth night last weekend we got there pretty early and they played this while there was nobody out on the dance floor and we were just playing pool, but the DJ apparently heard me go like "ayyy depeche mode!" cus he played it again for us when more people showed up so we could dance to it. it was nice lol

Eat an Eraser // Princess Goes to the Butterfly Museum kinda catchy synth rock? like reminds me of synthpop-era Ulver almost? like i said in that photoset i reblogged earlier today, found this on my discover playlist and apparently it's fronted by Michael C. Hall of Dexter fame which is so fucking funny to me. i fell off of Dexter after season 3 and had no idea what the dude was up to til now lmao

More // Low this one's been on intermittent repeat since the vocalist Mimi Parker passed away of cancer last year. i had an aunt who was kinda like a second mother to me, was about her age, and passed away of cancer, so i feel for everyone who loved Low, and this song kinda reminds me of her. i also consider this album to be noise (among other genres) and while i love harsh noise i also think this song shows off the breadth of the genre--here the distortion is used to carry a lovely wistful melody

Things That Scare Me // Neko Case another one from my discover playlist. i thiiiink the lyrics are about how conservative values in America lead to gun violence? but as usual i'm enamored with the guitar and banjo picking--i may or may not be on the verge of a big neko case phase we'll see. i feel like i'm gonna take up some kind of music-making hobby after i graduate and knowing me it's either gonna be a noise project or the banjo. duality of woman or whatever

93696 // Liturgy off their latest album of the same name. it's a 15 minute avant-garde black metal epic--this was Liturgy's closer when they played my city in December and it was insane to hear live

honorable mention: The New York Trader // Lankum only an honorable mention cus you already picked the other lead single off this album lol, but i'm so glad we agree it's a banger!! the last ~3 minutes of this song in particular are nuts. bought a ticket to see them in September even though it's 4 hours' drive away but whatever it was 20 bucks 👍

#tag game #lmk if the tag game stuff is annoying lol. and feel free to not do it obvs!