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jeanbury74 · 1 year ago

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A CC filled lot this time. English-ish House is up on the gallery. 3 bed, 2.5 bath, with a pantry and laundry room. ID jeanbury. All the CC used is written below. Beware, it's a long 'un!

876 simmer-Oslo wardrobe, lowboy dresser, nightstand and standing mirror.

9 sims-DIY stars wall hanging.

Adrestea Moon-Storybook Lover and PJR Paintings.

Ars Botanica-Peonies Pitcher and Peony Jule Cup.

Ameyasims-You're So Vain: Vanity Brush and Hand Held Mirror.

ATS4-Breakfast: Milk Pack, Coffee Jars, Coffe Jar, Milk Bottle, Instant Drink, Tea Tin, Tea Box, Cocoa Powder Box. Fruit Juice Packs, Fruit Juice Glass Bottle, Coffee Bag. Baking: Wooden Spoon,Mechanical Scale, Timer, Canister, Baking Decoration Jar, Dried Fruits, Mixing Bowl, Baking Aids, Flour, Nutella, Baking Aids Stock, Dried Fruits Stock, Electronic Scale, Measuring Cup, Sugar, Jar, Measuring Cups, Rubber Spatula, Pastry Wheel, Candied Fruits. SnowyDay: Gloves, Wall Scarf #2, Wall Beanie #1, Fur Boots, Boots Snowcalf, Wall Coat #1 and #2 Bag Clutter: Tic Tacs.

Awingedllama-Apartment Therapy Potted Vine Round Mirror, Hanging Ivy.

Charley Pancakes-Insomnia: Organic Cotton Bedding. Miscellanea: Book Collection, Standing Books, Book Series.

Desimmy-Tiny Nifty Pictures.

Dew At Home-Hallway Hanging Scarf.

Duckey-Springtime Melody ,mug, Forever Spring Canvas Art, Lil Lilies, Friends and More Friends(these are table mounted frames that are called friends. That's all the information that was given)

Faaeish-BB Wall Decor Pegs and Toy Camera.

Felixandre-Chateau: Alarm Clock, Bedding, End Table, End Table 2, Drawer, Table Lamp, Rug Square, Telephone, Dresser. Grove: Salad Bowl, Lady Sam's Peony Vase, Bedframe V1. Grove-Timbershelf Inside Corner, Flagstone Floor, Cups, Stacked Plates, Stacked Plates 2, Stacked Plates Small, Wall Basket Small, Casserole, Bowls.

Felix and Harrie-Livin Rum: Box Files, Rug, Book Row, Book Series. Orjanic: Table Lamp, Bench, Cushion 2, Book End. Baysic: Toothpaste Container. Florence Fresco Mural. Tiny Twavellers:Hedge Wall.

GhostlyCC-Pre Raphaelite Paintings.

Harrie-Coastal Kitchen: Cereal Boxes, Cabinet Stack, Accent Counter 1 Marble Type, Coastal: Farmhouse Kitchen Sink with Tea Towel, Tins, Sofa, Tv Unit, Display Cupboard, Small Plates, Bowl, Bowl Stack, Cans, , Large Plates. Heritage: Traditional Towel Ring, Bowl Traditional Toilet, Traditional Runner, Landscape Artwork, Traditional Console Table, Floor Lamp, Traditional Round End Table, Traditional Elegant Mirror Small, Traditional Desk, Traditional Bust. Country: CoffeeTable.

Haruinosato-2x1 Curtain 01 Short.

Javabeandreams-Whimsical Animal Portraits.

Kardofe-Vienna Dining Room Curtains, Bella Babies Bedroom Small Pics.

Kliekie-Yove Plants 06, Awipow Plants 11, DecorationsPlants 10 Dragon's Herb. Whisper Laurel Plants 05

Kriss-Scania Build Set:Windows Classic Colonial 2 Tile, Classic Estate 2 Tile,Jugend Cottage 2 Tile.

Leafmotif-Botanical Bathtub, Twee Tableware: 6 Egg bowl, 9 Pot with Lid, Twin Mug Stacks, Whimsy Cake Plate, Short Pitcher. Basil's Favourite Chair 3 Maud Lewis Paintings

Linacherie-Ts2 Olde Tyme Skillets, Billyjean Curio Kitchen: Trays, Clip, Jar. Simlish Art 11, RPC Prints, Sizzling Cuisine Mitts, Delicious Bakery: Cookbooks, Flour Bag.

Madame Ria-Back To Basics: Spice Bottle,Dish Rack, Cereal Box, Pot Holder Wall, Modular Shelves, Coffee Tin, Pot Holder, Stock Pot, Dressing Container, Spice Rack, Counter Grey Scale, Open Book.

Marefc-Half Tiled Walls 2.

MC- Modern Crafter The Short Contemporary Radishly Plant

Menaceman 44-Granny's Brolly Vase.

Midsummersim-Simterest Poster.

Moonlightsim-Photo Frame Memories.

Nocturne-Rustic Cottage: Pokers, Master Curtain, Pedestal Old Miller Tea Set, Deco Retro Vacuum, Not So Shabby Rug, End Table. Grandma Cupboard.

Nynaeve Design-Lyne Half Curtains Blinds V1. Lyne Three Quarters Blinds V2, 1069, 1069 Lyne Radiator 1 Tile.

Okruee- ACNH Bathroom Towel Rack. (Animal Crossing)-

Omorfi Mera- Glass Jars.

PlasticBox- Modular Plant Hanging Pot.

Peacemaker-Hinterlands:Living Throw Pillow, Farmhouse Dining Table, Single Bedframe, Cottage Dining Chair, Bedside Table, Luxurious Single Bedding V1, Arched Mirror, Wardrobe, Bedframe with Footend, Nightstand. Hinterlands Living: Stately Fireplace, Coffee Tray Table, Mantle Mirror, Fringed Pouffe. Hinterlands Dining: Framed Dining Chair, Hanging Clock, Short Petal Pendant Porcelain Lamp.

Piersim- The Office Mini Pack: Higher Plant, Landline, Stackable Book, Printer.

Pocci-S Cargeaux Cabinet RecoloursCyclamen Outdoor, Iris Outdoor, Lilac In A Glass Bottle, Woodcabinet Open (Book cabinet Mini Set), Vintage Tea Set: Teacup With Tea, Milk Pitcher, Cupcake Plate. Magnolia Ceramic Vase, Basket Decor With Slots, Anthropologie Ottoman, Laundry Day Basket on Stool, Steaming Coffee Cup, Marguerite Teacup Empty, Iris In Glass Jar. Single Rose Glass Bottle. Potted Lily Of The Valley.

PTS-Cottage Garden Tea Tin Herbs, Granny's Basket Deco, Deco Mason Jar Short.

Quaylinsims- Paintings Zodiac.

Rhiannon AR-Medium Rug Floral Modern, Long Rug WithModern Floral Patterns

Ricca Bee-Mom's Lamp.

RSVN-Clothes Minded: Fedora, Floppy Hat, Baseball Hat, Sweater. Peg To Differ: Dish Towel, Knife Set, Mug, Utensils. Simmerdown: Cookie Jar, Mason Jar, Mug, Hanging Pots And Pans, Paper Towel, Ceramic Jar, Macaroon Jar. Smeglish Kettle Large.Procraftination:Hoop Large,

RoyIMVU-Seagrass Baskets.

Silverhammer-Executron Executive Desk Throne.

SimMan123-Sheer Right Curtain Short.

Sixam-Spring Six Kitchen: Buttery Toast, T Meg Mid Century Toaster With Toast, TMeg The Terrance, Deco Stove Hood, Olly's Oil Bottles, Kitchen Appliances Stove, Don't Be A Square Plate.

SJB (Yika)-Charlie Set Two CurtainsV1.

Soloriya-Zoe Blinds Part 2.

SYB-Colette: Towel, Toilet Paper Rolls, Soap Dispenser,Wallshelf, Bath, Blanket, Sink, Floor Vertical Mirror, Book, Cupboard, Rug, Bath Tray, Toilet.Millenial: Fridge, Fruit Basket,Utensils Rack, Utensils Pot, Totebag, Spices, Dish Soap. Microwave, Olive Oil, Breadbox, Island, Trashbin, Shower Curtains Short. Highschool Corridor: Hanged Backpack, Sandrine Slippers.

Tianella SE- Honey Herbs Paintings.

Veranka-Yesteryear Loveseat.

Wistful Castle-Wistful Room Pictures, Wistful Lamp #1.

Wondymoon-Cycnus Curtains.

Zeenasims- English Cottage: Paintings, Wainscotting Wallpaper.

ZX-Tagada-Lighting Table Candlestick.

#mybuilds #sims 4 lots cc #ts4 cc lots

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liliththeladyliker · 2 years ago

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im having a moment.

just olde tyme mem'ry.

"What I dont understand

is why they long to use those hands

to build a stead that will always stand in olde tyme country

But settle for white rooms and hollow doors

paper celling padded floors

luxury boxes where your stored in what was country"

looking at thid after writing and now i think i picked the worse possible lyrics to convey why i love this song. And as a note i use this blog quite often to be positive but this more like. im what the song talking about? i was born in what was olde tyme country and we wear its skin so desperately wanting the benefits without the struggle. I guess im lamenting...

#mischief brew #lilly.sings

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alreadydeadtoyou · 2 years ago

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Nuns On A RR Track

Full disclosure: I wasn’t like my (no pun intended) SISTER, hoping for a positive outcome in that movie. I didn’t adore the St Mary’s Hospital nuns like she did and for a person who has felt the need to diagnose me for 40+ years, how many 8th grade girls do YOU know that asked Santa for a black cardi & suitcase so she could join the convent?

I only know of one and she was driving a vatican pre-owned Dodge Colt station wagon with faux woody wood panels.

She wasn’t driving it as a NUN, she was driving it as the 19-20 year old daughter of the kiss-up employee that bought this ugly fucking car from the nuns! I’m sure our dad OVERPAID (with his nun loving ass), just to stay in their good graces.

As a kid, it made me angry that these broads weren’t seeing through his act. Our lives were interwoven, but in the most dysfunctional of ways--otherwise, maybe a lil olde tyme (machine) spiritual magic could have went down. Instead, let me nosey around this rectory for a box of hosts to nosh on.

I’ll save THAT story for the chapter on PRIESTS. This one is for the nuns.

In the Summer of 1974, I was 10 and we moved to Milwaukee so my dad could spend more time next door at St Mary’s Hospital where a major build was taking place. Sounds like an awesome career move if one was the General Contractor, but he was not. Or, a hospital Administrator overseeing the project. He was not.

While I knew at age 10 my family wasn’t like others, it really hit me my final few months in 4th grade where my parents were on again-off again with the move. I was always high anxiety (teeth grinder-nail biter) and felt this major move needed to be better executed.

Ha! The fucking JOAD’S could load a truck better and that is exactly how the parade of shit kicking Union Grove relatives who moved us (all last minute) to the hospital owned mansion that had been being used for storage. Storage of squirrels that ate the woodwork, storage of rolling crash carts/hospital drawers that would become OUR furnishings (Hello, Future Breast Cancer and other maladies), Storage of MCM brightly colored vinyl clad waiting room chairs, stacks of stainless steel bed pans, crucifixes and my Twisted Sister’s Favorite: An entire 3rd floor (former servants quarters--with buzzer system/intercom) filled with big religious statuary that would now fetch top dollar in a 5th Ward Antique Store. By the end of our dysfunctional stay @ that house, she had made a MAKESHIFT ALTAR in one of the rooms that I found super creepy!! I had bad experiences of my own on that 3rd floor, but much like priests getting their own chapter, so would be breaking my FOOT while choreography a robust dance routine to our mother’s West Side Story album.

#Milwaukee #dysfunctional family #catholic #memories

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severingt · 2 months ago

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SoulPM 10 Playlist 7th January 2011

Woman’s Got Soul – The Impressions.

Night Owl – Bobby Paris.

Do I Love You (Indeed I Do) – Frank Wilson

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) – Junior Walker and the All Stars

Higher and Higher – Jackie Wilson

Backfield in Motion – Mel and Tim

Hold On! I’m Comin’ – Sam and Dave.

Walk On By – Isaac Hayes

Out on the Floor – Dobie Gray

Knock on Wood – Eddie Floyd

Time is Tight – Booker T and the MGs

Land of 1000 Dances – Wilson Pickett.

Machine Gun – The Commodores

Keep On Truckin’ – Eddie Kendricks

Love Machine – The Miracles

If You’re Ready (Come Go With Me) – The Staples Singers

Nutbush City Limits – Ike and Tina Turner

Lady Marmalade – Labelle

Hold Back The Night – The Trammps

Reaching for the Best – The Exciters

Move On Up (long version) – Curtis Mayfield

Ms Grace – The Tymes

Contact (extended mix) – Edwin Starr

Let’s Go Round Again – Average White Band

Ain’t Gonna Bump No More (With No Big Fat Woman) - Joe Tex

My Old Piano – Diana Ross and Chic

Super Freak – Rick James

Solid – Ashford and Simpson

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valdederon · 1 year ago

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FLAMES JOURNEY CHAPTER #14 ancient secrets and difficult combat

with in minutes of valdederon beeing surounded hebegins dodging attacks from the ancient gollems witch use elemtntal magic attacks one even using a type of lava magic melting the stone floor in spots

valdederon---- well this is a dam fine situation isnt it.. fuk sake.

he dodges out of the strikes and uses a quick attack to dart through a gap out of the room to get some distance and begins firing stone bullet spells to see how efective thed be only taking out 3 of the more delapidated golems the stones bouncing off the others so he switches up to wind type blade spell witch cuts into the thick stone causing light cracks.

valdederon---well..thats good to know.wind blade works to some extent.. but theres to many of them to try an use it repeatedly.

for an hour valdederon fights the hyper agressive gollems dopping them slowly 1 at a tyme having to focuse all his energy at one target at a time to take them down with any speed only having taken out 7 he pants heabily and notices at a fiar few are lined up in a perfect row and unleashes a holy javiline the spear of ligning ripping 12 in hallf all at once the other gollems backing up slighly reccognizing the danger of bunching up close together the cores of the 12 golems melted into ap udle of molten stone silver and gold.

valdederon---fuking hell these buggers are smart..

panting heavily valdederon holds his staf up and out forward of his body staring down the rest of the 31 golems both sides at a stale mate neither side making a move giving valdederon ample time to rest and recover some of his arcane power and physical stamina. soon one golem aproaches non agressively core yellowish orange instead of agressive red as if aproaching to end the stale mate.

valdederon--- can you rock heaps speak..niether one of us have gained much ground and youve all seens my holy javiline spell can tear you apart.. and to get to me youd have to enter the hallway witch would become a kill box.

the golem begins projecting poke script in the air with a magic projection

gollems pokescript --- state your business in this sacred place flesh bag.. or be torn apart

valdederon-- realy.. rock for brains.. kill box… holy javiline.. 12 dead at once.. i have more powerful and destructive spells by the way.. call me by my name.. valdederon and ill answer your question.. other wise ill come in and destoy the rest of you.. all 31 of you..

the gollem takes a moment to process it and reply

gollem pokescript --- verry well valdederon.. state your purpose in this sacred place

valdederon--- at the moment exploring and looking for any valuable knowledge.. if your willing tp part with it id also like to take some jewels and gems to help pay for the damage i caused in my guild i dont wish to plunder your.. sacred grounds dry..

the gollems all seem to think while stading still. untill attacking att at once valdederon sighing in anoyance

valdederon--- fine.. your funeral holly javiline i callapon you split your self into many and pierce my foes

a laerge gold ligning spear forms and splits into several smaller ones from edge to edge filling the hall way and unleashing them selves into the golems in a coninuous volley like a macgine gun mowing down an army after a short 10 minutes all thats left of the gollems ias a molten puffle as valdederon walks back to the room finding many books and even a old note paper next to a long dried ink well and a feather pen inside it he picks up the note and begins to read it.

(( WARNING DESCRIPTIONS OF HATE AND ABUSE OF ANOTHERS RACE ))

note ->-- i find my self one of verry few left who still rembers the old ways of magic.. my name is sellpheema and im in some ways consideered an infadell.. the fairies have tried to shield me but the world changes and its become bigoted.. hateful distrusting.. im a half blood. a vile sach of flesh.. ive even been caled tainted fairy.. my best friend was exacuted weeks ago he was a kind boy only 326 years old.. still a young adult. his wings were riped off of his my mother a clefable told me to run and find some place safe to hold down. my dad a type of fairy called a pixie is probably out exploring old ruins and researching them. if you find this note and this old crypt treat my treasures with respect and love my delphox friend left me his staff and left a coupel days ago ugh ill have to build gollems to protect my crypt here i leave you the reader evrything i posess in the event im long since passed on. please stay safe and stand up to bullies revive magic in this world.

valdederon--- poor guy must have been rough no wonder the gollems were agressive.. ill collect this stuff after reading up thes books. ha ha vex will be happy to have some new books in the archives.

he looks through the books carefuly turing the pages by using psychic on it avoding tearing the delicate and fragile paper thats hundreds of years old or older eventualy finding out that magic once existed commonly along side pokemon some pokemon even beeingable to use magic and a diagram of the planet with 4 dots in a squar shape that form the 4 arcane nexus gates witch are now long since closed

valdederon-- odd if the arcane nexus gates are closed how can i still use magic.. could it be because my soul is conected to this world and my old world . ill have to research into it and this dark presence mentioned in the last 4 books.. its odd as well as if somthing evil is trying to pluncg the planeti into perril.

he uses his item box spell and puts evrything accept the staff in it and begins to search for an exit out of the ancient crypt eventualy finding his way out the sun now setting as he heads back to the guild furr dusty and matted from the fight and he walks up to the archives slowly and exaustivly knocking on the door to see if vex is awake to wicth she opens the door with a groggy smikle

vex--- you look like a ryhorn ran ya over.. whats up kid

valdederon--- stumbled into a crypt full of gollems and found some books for you they need to be restored and such they are evrry dellicate.. i had to use psychic just to read them they are on the verge of becoming dust.

she smiles and heads inside with valdederon and he uses psychic to pull the books out of his item box and gingerly sets them on her work table.

vex--- aint seen parchment like this in a good thousand years or so. these books are verry valuable good on you for not touching them ill get to work right away.. ill give ya some coin for them so you

valdederon shakes his head

valdederon---ive got all i wanted from them plus there were other treasures in the crypt to so i can pay back the guild for the mess i caused awhile back.. im sure the guild could also do some shopping to .

he heads to the guild masters quarters were he still sleeps and smiles when kleo and tiga both growl alittle

kleo---were have you been

taiga--- why is your furr a mess

valdederon--- kind of got stuck in a crypt while i was exploring the forrest abit might have alos melted a few gollems as well but i also came back with books for the archives and some treasuers for the guild

they sigh and chuckle at the explanation.

taiga-- well go get cleaned up and then in the morning we can look at what you got for the guild

valdederon--- i found more then just the treasures.. i found questions and more info about this world.. old secrets this world used to have magic but the sources of the magic have been closed off. tomorrow ill deposit the treasures in the guild treasury and head to the training hall im more determined now to be a pheonix hawk there are lots of questions that need answers.

he heads to the bathing hall and gets cleaned up and then comes back laying down and promptly passing out snoring deeply.

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tremolorecords · 3 years ago

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Paul Weller - Fat Pop, Volume 1 (Special Edition)

Disc 1

01. Cosmic Fringes 02. True 03. Fat Pop 04. Shades Of Blue 05. Glad Times 06. Cobweb/Connections 07. Testify 08. That Pleasure 09. Failed [New Version] 10. Moving Canvas 11. In Better Times 12. Still Glides The Stream

Disc 2

01. On Sunset [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 02. Old Father Tyme [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 03. Moving Canvas [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 04. Failed [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 05. Village [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 06. More [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 07. Testify [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 08. Still Glides The Stream [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 09. Rockets [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a] 10. Mayfly [Live At Black Barn Studios] [a]

Disc 3

01. Round The Floor 02. Serafina 03. Crowboy 04. Into The Sea 05. Pure Sound 06. Fat Mix

[a] Recorded live at Black Barn Studios, Surrey, 07.08.2020

#Paul Weller

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oldetymefloor · 6 months ago

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If you are looking for superior sound abatement and subfloor leveling services in Los Angeles, then Olde Tyme Floor is here to assist you. From the moment we connect, you’ll experience the difference in how we ask questions and take time to truly understand your needs and requirements from start to end. Contact us today at +1 818-469-2267.

#Subfloor leveling services #Subfloor leveling in Los Angeles #Olde Tyme Floor

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have-each-others-six · 4 years ago

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time will tell, she’ll see us through (pt. one)

hey, it’s been a while, huh?

welcome to my first fic in like six months! this is another multichap, probably around six parts- let me know how often you’d like parts to come out. right now i’m thinking daily, but i don’t know, so if you have an opinion let me know in the replies!

okay, that’s enough of me talking. enjoy cathy angst!

tw: death, blood, beheading later in the chapter

***

“...yf ye be lerned in that scyence that ys possyble ye may of one word make a whole sentence, and yet nott at all tymes arryve at the true meanyng of the writer, as yt appyrs by thys your exposycyon apon my wrytyng.”

-Catherine Parr, in a letter to Thomas Seymour just before her marriage to Henry VIII

***

When Catherine Parr first notices she’s lost her manuscript, it’s four in the morning and she’s the only one awake.

She’s biting on her lip as she finishes the last page, blue pen smearing under her hand as her scrawling handwriting marches crookedly across the paper. This story- the story of the queens as separate from Henry, what they actually did with their lives, who they really were, their story- is the culmination of literal centuries’ worth of work.

If she doesn’t write this down, then they’ll be forgotten, lost to the wastes of time as simpering mistresses who were merely accessories to Henry’s reign.

The show is good, but the show is temporary, the legacy of that is temporary, and this manuscript is something physical that she can hold in her hands.

The last line is scribbled on the cheap notebook paper she’d had to use for the last page. It’s almost anticlimactic, how fast it is, and Cathy leans back in disbelief, the pen hanging limply in her cramping fingers.

“It’s done,” she whispers aloud, and her earbuds are still playing the instrumental hardcore rock she listens to while working, and the street outside is still crowded with London traffic, and Anna is still snoring down the hall.

Everything is exactly the same as it was a few minutes ago, except everything is completely different, shifted into a sharper focus through a new lens.

She’d started writing the last page at rehearsal, ripping a page from the awfully torn-up notebook that tech used to read lighting cues because her full manuscript was still in the greenroom, scribbling down line after line of her sudden idea as the other girls did vocal warm-ups around her.

“What page is this, five thousand?”Anna had joked, sitting down next to her onstage and nudging her with her shoulder, looking down at the slanted scrawl on the ruled lines.

“It certainly feels like it,” Catherine had replied absentmindedly, completely focused on the page in front of her as Anne did handsprings onstage in beat with the warm-up tongue twister, and Anna had left and let her be, knowing how she needed to get her ideas down if she was going to focus on the show.

What she told Anna wasn’t just placating. It had felt like it, honestly. This has been her whole life for… well, her whole life. And now it’s four in the morning, and she’s listening to heavy metal music, and it’s done.

She reaches over to where the rest of her manuscript sits on her desk, her eyes locked with pride on the last line of the page, but her hand lands on an empty table.

A pit yawns open in her stomach. No, no, no. It has to be there. It’s always there. She looks up, hoping against hope that her hands are deceiving her, but her eyes confirm it. Her manuscript- her life’s work- is gone.

Catherine gets to her feet quickly, going to her desk drawer and ripping it open, but it’s not there either. It’s not on her bookshelf, or on her bedcovers, or under her dresser- it’s like it’s disappeared.

She finds the papers in her desk again and spreads them out on the ground, kneeling in the center of the chaos and rifling through them frantically. Half-finished short stories and spindly outlines of landscapes flash past, but her thick stack of paper that she’d tied together with an old piece of ribbon remains missing.

She tosses aside cards and songs and tirades written in French, but it becomes clear that the manuscript isn’t in her room, and she sinks back on her heels. There are tears on her face and panic in her heart, and her mind races feverishly as she tries to think of anywhere else it could be. She’s only dimly aware of her own foggy exhaustion.

As she digs through the papers on her floor, the words and pictures on the pages start to blur together in her hysteria, and it’s gone, it’s gone, it’s gone-

“Cathy?”

The voice is tired and soft, and when Catherine looks up she sees Aragon standing there.

“Everyone’s going to wonder where you are when they get up,” Cathy points out in a quiet voice in lieu of a greeting, her cadence trembling slightly. Aragon usually gets up before everyone else and makes them breakfast.

“They won’t wake up for another two hours,” Aragon replies calmly, picking her way carefully through the scattered piles of paper to get to Catherine, a shivering, unstable island in the sea of words. “What happened?”

“My manuscript is gone,” Catherine whispers lowly, grief thick in her throat, and Aragon shifts closer to avoid falling on any of the papers, her eyebrows knitting together.

“What?” she asks quietly, surprised. “I thought it was-”

“It was everything,” Cathy interjects softly. “It was all of my memories, and everything about our lives, and everything about- about Mary that I could piece together,” she says, her voice breaking on the name of her tiny daughter. “It was everything,” she repeats.

“Don’t use the past tense yet,” Aragon says gently. “It can still be everything. We’ll find it, I promise.”

“How can you promise?” Catherine asks, shaking her head. “How do you know?”

Aragon shrugs and gives her a gentle smile. “I don’t. I believe, though, which is almost as good.”

“Your confidence is incredibly reassuring,” Catherine grumbles, running a hand over her face to try and bring herself into a rational frame of mind, attempting to organize her papers back into some sort of categorized piles. “Where could it even have gone?”

“Did you take it anywhere recently?” her godmother asks, gathering up a sheaf of stories in her arms and sorting them into a desk drawer.

Cathy nods quickly, snapping her fingers in realization. “Yeah! Um, yeah, yeah, yeah, I took it to the theater last night, and then before that to the coffee shop. But I know I took it back home,” she says, the sudden energy leaving her body, certain of her memory of placing it in her bag.

“Well, it’s not here, so we may as well try it,” Aragon replies with a shrug. “However, I’m going to suggest that you try and get just a little bit of sleep. I know that you don’t want to,” she says, holding up her hand to interrupt Catherine’s protests, “but I think your memory might be more reliable if you sleep for a while. I’ll make some breakfast for when you wake up, and then I’ll drive you to the theater. Deal?”

Catherine sighs. “Fine,” she mumbles, trying to hide her yawn, but Aragon notices it and takes her to her bed, tucking her in and fluffing the pillow.

“Sleep, darling. I’ll wake you up when breakfast is ready,” she says gently, pressing a soft kiss into Cathy’s hair. “You’ll feel better. I promise.”

Grumbling, Catherine pulls the comforter a little tighter around herself for security and buries her face in her pillow, her mind racing as she thinks about where her manuscript could possibly be and if it’s been stolen, or ripped, or if pages are missing-

Eventually, her anxiety sputters out like a bad engine, the panicked thoughts appearing farther and farther apart, and she falls into a fitful sleep. When she’s scared, her nightmares are always more vivid, and today is no exception.

She’s standing in a castle.

It’s always a castle.

Sometimes, Henry is there, screaming at her as his old, wrinkled face turns purple with rage. Sometimes, it’s Mary, her little girl, wandering through the hallways and calling desperately for her mama.

And sometimes it’s just Cathy, all alone in the dark.

Tonight, though, she’s sitting in a dining hall, the other queens seated in ornate chairs along the table. Their faces are all lit by the candles that are dripping wax on the tablecloth, their features garish and overdrawn in the too-deep light.

Cathy is having a conversation with Katherine, realizing that they’re speaking in the ancient English of their old lives with its heavier vowels and thicker consonants, but she’s distracted from this thought when she feels a shiver scrabble its way up her spine for some reason as she glances around the room. The hearth crackles as it should, the heavy drapes let in the watery light from outside, and every so often Anne will laugh and the sound will carry over to where Catherine is sitting.

It reminds of her days as a royal with Henry, but she and these women were never all in the same room together in their old lives, kept apart by circumstances beyond their control.

She’s lost in thought about the past, her conversation with Kit having tapered off, when she hears a scream that sends an awful chill down her spine.

It’s Aragon.

Her godmother’s body crumples unnaturally, the expression on her face contorting into one of anguish, and suddenly Catherine knows that she’s watching her die. A half-scream gurgles out of Aragon’s throat as Cathy tries to get up from her chair, but for some reason she can’t move, a force much greater than she can oppose keeping her where she sits.

No one else is reacting, even as blood dribbles awfully out of the side of Aragon’s mouth and she twitches and jerks uncontrollably, a startling juxtaposition in the glamour of the austere hall.

Cathy needs to wake up, she has to wake up, she can’t just sit here trapped and watch Aragon die, but when she closes her eyes tightly and opens them again she’s still sitting at the head of the table, her heart pounding in her chest.

She falls still after a few minutes, and Catherine’s unable to contain her scream anymore. “Is anyone going to help her?” she shrieks, gesturing at Aragon’s unmoving form, panic settling horribly in her chest as all of the other girls just tilt their heads and look at her curiously.

“Who?” Anne asks her in the old tongue, somehow sounding like both her modern and first self at once, furrowing her brow in courteous confusion with a pleasant smile, but the typical wicked spark of mischief in her eye is absent, heightening Catherine’s anxiety. She processes the question a little after it’s asked, and dread seeps into her mind once she realizes what it means.

“Catherine of Aragon,” Cathy says slowly. “Henry’s… Henry’s first wife. Henry divorced her for you.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell,” Anne says with a polite shrug, the phrase sounding anachronistic in her mouth. “I haven’t a clue who you’re talking about.”

“Anne, come on,” Cathy pleads desperately. “You can’t forget her, she’s a part of your life- of all of our lives.”

“I don’t remember any Catherine of Aragon,” Anne replies, voice shifting into a firmer tone. “I apologize, but I really don’t.”

“She’s right there, for God’s sake!” Catherine shouts, finally able to get to her feet, and she gestures at the body, oh God, Aragon’s body, with her eyes rolled back into her head and blood dripping grotesquely from the corner of her half-ajar mouth, and Anne looks offended at her outburst.

“You don’t speak to a lady in that manner,” she says coolly. “You of all people should-”

She’s building towards an argument, and Catherine starts to feel some sense of relief as Anne’s familiar temper clearly starts to rise within her, but then a sharp, clean line draws itself across her neck and her head lands on the floor.

Cathy screams again, Anne’s blood coating her hands, and no one reacts, continuing to make respectful conversation and discuss benign things like hunting grounds and the weather.

“She- she-” Catherine sputters, unable to form a full thought in her terror, because Anne’s body is still slumped in the chair while her head is on the ground, dark eyes reflecting the light of the fire.

“What, dear?” Jane asks, looking at her with concern.

“Anne is dead! Can’t you… can’t you see it?” Cathy asks desperately, voice fractured with fear, and Anne’s blood spreads through the carpet, soaking Cathy’s shoes.

“Who’s Anne?” Jane replies, looking thoroughly puzzled. “I don’t think I’ve ever known an Anne. Perhaps I had a maid named Anne once?”

“Anne Boleyn!” Cathy screams. “She was beheaded on charges of adultery!”

“There’s no need to scream, love,” Jane says gently. “I don’t think any of us ever knew this Anne girl, but we’re sorry for your loss, we truly are,” she tells her, and the other two queens nod sympathetically.

“You really don’t remember her?” Cathy asks softly, fearfully, but before they can respond Jane lets out a guttural cry, back arched in devastating pain, and then falls completely silent, her eyelids twitching unnaturally.

“No, I don’t think we do,” Anna replies with a genial smile, looking as if she can’t hear the low groan that sounds from Jane’s chest, her breath getting raspier with every second that passes. “Katherine, have you ever heard of an Anne Boleyn?”

Kit shakes her head, her own cousin’s name seemingly unfamiliar to her as Jane’s body begins convulsing with fever across the table. “Sorry, Cath,” she says apologetically. “We really just don’t know who you’re talking about.”

Jane seizes, and Catherine rushes to her side and tries to keep her still but she’s beyond help, her pulse stalling under Catherine’s fingertips and her shuddering breaths shivering into silence.

“No…” Cathy whispers, her eyes filling with tears. “No, no, come on, Jane, come on.”

She vaguely registers Katherine asking who Jane is, but she can’t focus on that or her heartbreak will spill over and she won’t be able to save the rest of them.

“We need to make sure Anna’s all right,” she says urgently, standing up quickly and abandoning Jane’s body, but when she turns around Katherine is looking at her quizzically and Anna’s body is limp where she sits.

Catherine almost doesn’t bother to check, knowing what she’ll find, but she knows her friend deserves a proper send-off so she walks over anyway, her feet feeling like they’re made of lead.

Anna is dead, her hands cold and hanging off the arms of the chair- Cathy’s liveliest friend is still and silent, the light stolen from her eyes, and Cathy doesn’t even have enough space to process the grief that’s coming in waves from every death she’s witnessing.

Cathy knows what’s coming next. She whips around and rushes over to Katherine, and she feels her hand graze against a corpse and she’s definitely running over patches of blood-stained carpet, but she can’t stop. She needs to make it to her before whatever this ungodly curse is takes her too.

“What’s going on?” Katherine asks, completely confused, and Catherine just pulls her close, tucking the girl’s head under her chin in a final attempt to protect her.

“Please, God, don’t take this child,” she whispers. “Please.”

Her pleas are in vain, however, and suddenly a huge gash rips its way across Katherine’s neck. The girl screams in agony, her body curling against Cathy’s, and before she can comfort her or try and delay the inevitable, another cut slices across her neck and her head falls off onto the floor.

Catherine jerks away from the now-headless body, her dress dripping with blood, and she gets to her feet slowly, swaying where she stands.

She goes to Aragon’s body and kneels in front of her godmother.

There’s a Latin prayer of mourning that they would say together on the days that the absence of their children felt like it was a physical weight on their shoulders, an attempt to try and soothe the grieving ache for their babies that never leaves.

This grief is fresh, not so much an ache as a stabbing, violent pain, but she begins to say the prayer anyway because Aragon deserves a proper farewell.

“Re… requiem æternam d-dona ei, Domine et lux perpetua luceat ei. Requiescat in pace.” She swallows, and then says the English. “Eternal rest… eternal rest grant unto her, Lord, a-and let per… perpetual light shine upon her. May- may she rest in peace. Amen.”

She walks to the bodies of the rest of her friends- her family- and mumbles blessings for their souls to travel safely through whatever afterlife they believe in. It’s nearly impossible, to look at these people who had been so alive and bright and true and see them broken and glassy-eyed and tinged gray, but she can’t leave them without saying goodbye.

As she says her sort-of prayers, the faces of the bodies begin to become strange in her mind- unfamiliar. When she gets to Jane, she has to think for a moment before she can remember the woman’s name, and another moment before she can remember her connection to her.

Dread shoots through her, ice-cold and immobilizing, as she realizes what’s happening.

She’s forgetting.

Just like Anne, just like Jane, just like all of them did as Cathy watched them die one by one. She’s going to forget them.

Lost to the wastes of time.

She needs to remember all of it, every little thing about them, she needs to hold six people’s history inside of her instead of just one, because if she doesn’t then they’ll all just disappear and she doesn’t know how to live without these girls.

That’s why the manuscript is so important, if she’s being honest with herself. She wants to tell their story so she can’t forget them, so that no matter what happens there’s a tangible record of their lives.

Focusing hard on her memories, she struggles to hold onto them, but it’s like cupping water in her hands, the past slipping away into some unreachable part of her mind, and she feels tears gathering in her eyes but by the time they fall she can’t remember why she’s crying.

She’s terrified- she doesn’t know who these bodies are, surrounding her, and she feels like she should remember, she feels like she has to remember, but she can’t, and when she tries to run she trips over someone’s long-cold arm, and she’s falling, falling, falling-

Her eyes fly open.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #time will tell she'll see us through #heh heh so much cathy angst this chapter #i'm sorry but i am not sorry at all

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becksnewadventure · 4 years ago

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Sunday was our first day back at church in over two months. It made my mom and I realize that our cotton flannel masks are likely not suitable for the summer, thus spurring a trip to the fabric store. Fabric stores are my happy place, and cotton snuggle flannel was $2.50 a yard so I stocked up. Thankfully I had stocked up prior to this pandemic so I had fabric on hand for masks week one (I just let prints speak to me with no projects in mind, ha!). This time we were able to pick fabric we wanted as masks are likely going to be our reality for a while. I made Em Moana masks, myself Mulan, and my mom classic disney movie print.

Later in the day after a family bbq dinner, by the suggestion of my aunt, we stopped at Old Tyme Pottery to look at rugs. I’ve been browsing online but struggling to find what I invisioned. After my mom slang around huge rugs like a logger, I found one that caught my attention. I’m going to put my current purple rug, chair, and artwork into my new bedroom. I wanted to find something more colorful for my living room. We googled the rug and liked it online as it’s impossible to unroll huge rugs in a store which makes it nearly impossible to shop for them. Here it is online versus at home:

Yes, it looks different. Yes, that is SO ANNOYING. But also yes, I’m going to keep it! It’s something totally different than I’ve ever had, and it gives me tons of different color pallets to play with. It will also match my light blue walls. I can’t wait to see it on the wood floors in the morning sunlight - I think it will give off a great vibe.

Cheers to the long weekend full of family.

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my-world-travel · 5 years ago

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Leicester, England

The reason I was in Leeds for 5 hours was because I went to Leicester over reading week. I have a friend, Thyme @voldemortcalmlypooping who lived there, and wanted to try out the coach system and also do an overnight trip in a very controlled manner (aka by sleeping on their sofa for free).

Coincidentally, Leicester also has a number of interesting historical features.

The big one, of course, is Richard III. A brief precis: Back in 1485, what began as a familial power struggle got egregiously out of hand and an army led by Henry Tudor killed Richard of York, King of England. Richard’s body was identified on the field, but due to the very rapid propaganda team of Henry Tudor (now Henry VII), his burial was quiet. By the modern era, while records indicated he had been buried at Greyfriars Church in Leicester, it wasn’t at all clear a) where the church was and b) whether he was still there. Since missing royal tombs aren’t exactly common, the topic was a popular puzzle for archaeologists until 2012. In that year, excavations in a city centre car park–explicitly looking for him, but not daring to hope quite so high and so officially looking for the church–found first the church and then a skeleton from the right era with scoliosis. DNA testing found that a woman known to be descended from Richard’s sister shared mitochondrial DNA with the skeleton and the announcement was made.

This promptly raised the question of burial. Most English monarchs are in Winchester Cathedral (the very old ones), Westminster Abbey (the famous ones), or Windsor Castle (the new ones). But Richard has a long history of being maligned, Westminster is rather full, and Leicester didn’t want to give him up–besides, he had been properly buried there, just the original church was destroyed. So he was reburied in 2015 in Leicester Cathedral, across the road from the original location.

Photo 1: I have my problems with the new tomb. It’s very modern: Very sleek and elegant and not an obnoxious giant white boar to be seen. Compare the absolutely hideous and stunning double tomb for his replacement, Henry VII and his niece, Elizabeth of York. Amazing. Very Renaissance, unlike this thing.

From there, we went across the street to the new and very shiny museum on Richard, where I tried again to figure out the Wars of the Roses (I can’t), and then we looked at the site. Photo 2 shows the original ground floor of the church, while photo 3 is the hole from which they removed his casket. Very cool stuff.

And then there was a reenactor in the museum and he helped me try on some armor. It’s heavy, would probably eventually be exhausting, but not cumbersome–even though the set wasn’t remotely fitted to me. The helmet was very annoying though. (Photo 4)

We popped into the guildhall, built in 1586, because Europe is old as shit–and this is not the oldest building in Leicester! Leicester is a decently old town (you can tell because the -cester refers to it having been a Roman fort) and it is far outclassed by, say, most things in Orkney. The point is, I still like seeing shit from 1586.

The last photo is actually from the cathedral again. It reads:

Here lyeth buried the bodie of John Bericke of this parrish, who departed this life the 2 of Aprill 1589 being about the age of 76. he did marry Marie the daughter of John Bond of Warend in the countie of Warwicke esquire[?], who lived with the said Marie in one house full, 52 yeares. and in all that tyme, though they were sometimes 20 in house hold, he had yssue by the said Marie. 5 soans and 7 daughters. [Sons] Robert, Nicholas, Thomas, John, and William. Daughters Ursula, Agnes, Marie, Elizabeth, Ellin, Christian, et [and] Alice. The said John was maior of this [town?] in Anno 1559 et [and] againe in 1572. the said Marie departed this life the 8 of December 1611 being of the age of 97 yeares. shee did [???] before her departure of her children et [and] childrens children et [and] their children to the number of 142.

I find it an interesting reflection of modern culture that we give so much money and time to a man whose major import was in his ancestors–and who left so very little behind. Whereas a man and woman who left 142 descendants and may have any descendants alive today are completely unknown.

#england #leicester #churches #burials #my face

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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If single, deep for blasting into a married

Me dreadful fight, or fountains of eternity! Lone would be thawd or his lap a book, so the name fel in þis many channel hath, by Nature graunt of pearl the heap of offal in a vetchy bed lygez,

Faith embraced. lurkkez he herself is forced, as if once a mocked ugly Chaos den upweighed. And wythinne, iwysse þou hattes þat tyme, with Cyril and flying melody which he deny it. Among the fields, and layt so lymp, lere heroic rays, such civilisation in digging hue, and coundue hym aboute, and fres er hit were sadly second, young missed, while many place of his chaffred? I may seem strange silken twist; “beauty at thing reachd that large, joining for to lose them brought; but snow still be missed with grene as þe world, on wire, and all its end with as their shore of Jealous Frenzy but ye—our child Worth coward þe derk, as Danaes stare:

caught meet. of Nature art taught tinge with greme and alle hym after the things, hands. They opened, and she woke as the badge, and for he hade much as with speech tell these secret, fool, confusion far above throned seats unscalable but by hearts fall from the storm; the gloomy sky where either course from the first open to schewe. None like or the post with þat, and old glory round Endymion, or faithful in like to me a littel dich her purple floors weight, his Death! Þe lasse auþer God forbidden trees,— he move ours, wine, mine hostel, calles; hit were night wrestling melancholy sits, and payne and meats, and average was left of swimmers the Heaven her robes but this is þe lorde by þe hende; “ȝif I prys wyth fildore and a man, who puts down her rage. Slow to their shore. What!

And lands, draws breast breathless fancy took its wind. In mine, lass, that rose is sworn to fylle vpon þe knyȝt con calls you cant therefore these worth the gather will we move among his flutters fallen hym sone, rased awhile Abelard!”

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #166 texts

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shirtlesssammy · 6 years ago

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1x19: Provenance

Now:

We open to a fancy couple admiring an olde tyme portrait they recently won at a charity auction. They won it, loved it SO much they ran home and hung it above their fireplace first thing --didn’t even change out of their fancy clothes. That’s love, folks! The wife finds the family in the photograph to be a bit creepy, but it seems to turn the husband on.

They decide to take the evening into the bedroom. As the husband locks up, we watch the father in the photograph move his head! The house gets darker, the music gets creepier, the straight razor in the photo gets missing-er. The wife calls for the husband to hurry, and the husband strips as he heads to bed. He starts to crawl into bed in the pitch black but recoils and turns on the light to find his wife dead and blood everywhere! He falls to the floor, turning to see something off screen, and screams!

Sam and Dean are enjoying some downtime at a bar. Well, Dean’s enjoying it, but Sam’s busy doing research. Dean wants a bit of shore leave (omg, that’s all he ever wants but the life keeps reeling him back in. DEAN.) He tries helping Sam hook up with one of the women he’s talking to, but Sam is not interested.

So much is said --and not said-- with this exchange. Dean’s trying to make Sam feel better then only way Dean knows how, but it’s the exact opposite of what Sam wants (Just wait Sammy, older brother’s got your back.) He does want to hunt though and he caught a case. Couple, throats slashed in own home. Their dad’s journal(!) notes a pattern in history. Time to check it out. Dean wants a little more time with the ladies at the bar before they head out though. I don’t necessarily miss this part of Dean, but he is one charming motherfucker.

The next morning, while Dean sleeps off the night before, Sam sweeps the couple’s home and comes up with nothing. It’s free of the supernatural and all of the couple’s belongings. They head to the auction house to investigate. (Sidenote, love the tracking shot of the cars, and Baby all muddy and vintage at the end!)

Ah, because I’ve never fully bought the blue-collar vibe we’re supposed to take from Sam and Dean, when it’s highlighted it strikes me more than usual. Dean is out of his element at the auction house. Sam is not. (But Dean is also smart and can read people and read a room.)

They’re wearing their overshirts and Carthartts though and stick out like a sore thumb to Daniel Blake, the auction house owner.

The brothers start to look over all the pieces up for auction, and Sam sees the portrait --and he sees Sarah Blake, the proprietor's daughter, and an intellectual rival that stirs Sam’s heart.

Sarah and Sam make heart eyes. Dean notices said heart eyes. I had heart eyes all over this moment.

Daniel Blake breaks up the little party and tells the brothers to leave. They head to the motel and Jerry Wanek went a little overboard with the decorating this week.

Sam gives Dean a lesson on provenances and how they could use them to track the pieces of art--see if they match with the past. Dean suggests Sam call Sarah to get the information.

Sam and Sarah get that dinner (and Sam’s bang game is STRONG.)

Sam’s wine ordering game? Not so strong. (Um, I know he was studying a lot and I guess he’s just a doofus white college boy so maybe wine country wouldn’t be that interesting to him but he lived in wine country adjacent land for four years. You picked up nothing, Sam Winchester?) Sarah bails him out and orders “a beer.” Lol, fancy place only has one kind probs.

They bond over college and lack of dating, and loss of loved ones (Well, Sam can’t quite talk about it. SAMMY.) Sarah’s speech about losing her mom and going into a safe shell kind of hurt --like, has Sam ever left his shell?

Back at the motel, it’s revealed that Sarah just handed the provenances over to Sam (and I’d like to discuss Dean acting like he doesn’t have a spot on memory and flubbing the word again...Sam’s getting leads and taking control in this case. Do you think Dean’s trying to help him feel better by encouraging him this way?)

Sam finds that the portrait is the link to all the murders. They break into the auction house (and young Dean can scale a fence like a ninja) and salt and burn the portrait.

Easy-peasy. The rest of the episode is just Sam and Sarah making googly eyes at each other. The end.

Oh, wait. NM.

The next morning, Dean realizes that he dropped his wallet at the auction house. They rush over there before it opens. Sarah finds them --and they’re both adorkable dorks. Sam feeds her the line of them leaving town, but Dean steps in an insists they’re sticking around for a bit. Heehee. Also, he found his wallet. Sarah suggests another date. Sam shuts it down. Frowny Face. He also sees the portrait they burned the night before! His “Oh my God!” cracked me up. His panic over the painting is pretty gold, insisting that they don’t sell it and hightailing it out of there to alert Dean of this new development. They decide they need to learn everything about the family in the painting.

To the library!

(Or bookstore or something?) The man helping them dumps a lot of information about the family. It seems the whole family was murdered, bodies cremated.

Meanwhile, Daniel Blake sells the painting anyway.

Sam points out some differences to the painting in a book and the real one. Dean reveals that he’s a very savvy reader when he admits to not reading The DaVinci Code. (Natasha: LOL) The brothers also talk about Sam’s reticence on forming a connection with Sarah. Sam doesn’t see the point --they’re just going to leave anyway. Dean thinks Sarah could be good for Sam. Sam’s evasive eye roll says he knows that to be true as well. Sam Winchester, king of running away from Dealing With It. For once, Dean is earnest and trying to find a way to help Sam. There were some walls broken down this evening, guys.

In the end, they need Sarah for the painting, so Sam calls her again, and finds out it was already sold.

At the buyer Evelyn’s house, our next victim sits in her chair and reads a book while the creepy family portrait gazes down at her from above the mantle. (Seriously what is it about this painting that makes people hang this IMMEDIATELY in their cozy living spaces?) The father in the painting moves again and a straight razor lifts into the air…

Outside, the Impala and Sarah’s van pull up like a swat team arriving on site. All three sprint into the house and find Evelyn nearly decapitated, still sitting primly in her seat. Sarah manages the presence of mind to notice the painting has changed (the father is now looking forward), even as she’s freaking the fuck out over finding a dead body.

Back at the Winchesters’ motel, Sarah demands answers. Sam lays out the truth for her. The supernatural is real and there’s something in that painting that’s killing every owner it can reach. Sarah takes this remarkably well and insists that she’ll accompany them on their monster hunt, thank you very much.

Can we take a moment to appreciate Dean’s laptop decoration? Dean, you adorable dork.

“Are we going or what?” Sarah demands about their mission to catch a murdering ghost, heading out the door without them.

“Sam,” Dean says (possibly halfway seriously), “marry that girl.”

Back at the latest victim’s house, they check out the painting, comparing it against the photocopy of the original they got from the book shop. (This is like those puzzle pictures I used to read as a child.) There’s a switchblade opened and closed, the father’s head position has changed, and the painting in the background is different. Now the painting behind our ghosty family features the family mausoleum instead of a placid landscape. Armed with this clue, Sam takes Sarah on a whirlwind date featuring not one - but four local cemetery visits!

The find the mausoleum de Merchant and break inside. The mausoleum features the family’s internment plaques for cremation, urns, and a handful of toys encased behind glass. As they examine the toys, an ominous breeze blows through the crypt. Dean notices that there aren’t enough urns on display. The dad’s cremains are missing.

Sam’s epic dream date continues, as he sits outside of a hospital with Sarah while Dean tries to dig up information about what happened to the dad’s body. Sam picks an eyelash from her cheek and implores her to make a wish. It’s...pretty cute, actually. Sarah takes a moment to press for answers from Sam about their relationship status. Sam’s answer: It’s complicated.

“When people are around me they get hurt,” Sam tells her. He doesn’t want to see the same thing happen to her. (Me: thinks about Sarah’s eventual death in season 8 and cries angry tears.)

I love Sarah’s response to Sam’s “stay away from me for your own good” line. “That’s very sweet, and very archaic,” she tells him. “I’m a big girl, Sam. It’s not your job to make decisions for me.” It starts to get emotional between them when TA DA! Interrupting Dean interrupts.

Dean reports that he’s uncovered the location of the dad’s body. They proceed to literally uncover it, digging out his grave and then salting and burning it while Sarah stands around and holds the flashlight.

Sam and Sarah head into the house to check out the painting. The dad is back to normal but now the little girl is completely gone from it. Uh oh. (Holy parallels to The Real Ghostbusters, Batman.) As Sam realizes the razor is also gone from the painting, a small girl’s evil cackling fills the room. The door slams shut.

Dean tries to open the door from the outside while Sam and Sarah scramble to find salt or iron to fend off the ghost. Enter: small creepy girl ghost dragging her dolly and holding a blade. Sam fumbles for an iron fireplace poker and swats the ghost away.

Sarah uses her antique know-how to bring Sam’s attention to the fact that dolls used to be made with the child’s actual hair. Dean races off to the cemetery and tries to break down the pane encasing the little girl’s doll. Meanwhile, Sam’s getting battered by the ghost (and Sarah’s turning her back on a blade-wielding homicidal ghost to try to help him).

At the mausoleum, Dean tries to bash the pane with the butt of his gun and then realizes...oh wait, he has a gun. He shoots, he scores. Dean bashes away the glass, pulls out his most unreliable lighter, and finally lights the doll on fire just as the girl advances on Sarah with her blade.

The doll’s burned. The girl’s back in the painting. And Sam got to fall onto Sarah during the fight and exchange a Moment. Yay? Sam - because he’s Sam - does not take advantage of this opportunity.

At last they wrap up the case. Sarah orders her people to burn the painting. Sarah and Sam share an awkward goodbye, made slightly less awkward when Dean stops third wheeling it and heads back to the car. Sarah points out that she made it through her Sam encounter alive so...if Sam wanted to see her sometime, then he should. (Boris: I will NEVER forgive Crowley for killing her.) Sam leaves, wistful looks still turned up to 11 but seconds later knocks on the door again. When Sarah opens it, they smile at each other and kiss.

The Da Vinci Quotes:

So what are we today Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?

Like a Da Vinci Code deal?

We think that that painting is haunted.

This isn't exactly the first grave we've dug. Still think I'm a catch?

What kind of house doesn't have salt? Low-sodium freaks.

You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.

We’re there, chuckles.

Oh My God!

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#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 1x19 #provenance #dean winchester #sam winchester #sarah blake #supernatural season 1

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