#St. Augustine’s School

[ionlycareabouthhn]

Enjoying the weirdness of The Oldest School House and hanging with some monsters at the wax museum. I'd say we had a pretty successful day in St. Augustine

[dilutedh2so4]

Omg it’s St Augustine day

[spoonsbutbetter]

as someone who grew up in an Augustinian church and grew up studying Latin, translating Confessiones and de civitate Dei as a 12-14 year old was CRAZY

[alanflowerspersonalblog]

Once again it's an honor to be apart of Flickr Weekly Snapshot. Just to have a picture I've taken 11 years get some notice today means everything.

[readyforevolution]

In January, 1969, the Free Breakfast for School Children Program was initiated at St. Augustine's Church in Oakland by the Black Panther Party. The Panthers would cook and serve food to the poor inner city youth of the area. Initially run out of a St. Augustine's (Episcopal) Church in Oakland, the Program became so popular that by the end of the year, the Panthers set up kitchens in cities across the nation, feeding over 10,000 children every day before they went to school

Photo: Nancy Thompson ,Black Panthers' Free Breakfast for Children' program (Oakland, 1971)

[justkissmewip]

Just Kiss Me (WIP)

DEMO - FORUM PAGE

Hello everyone! After recommendation from some people on the forum, I have finally gotten around to making a Tumblr page for my WIP, Just Kiss Me. I'm Lucky42, or Lucky, and appreciate you taking the time to read about my WIP.

*Scroll down to bottom for current updates*

Synopsis:

Your senior year kicks off with your family moving from Sacramento, California to Sherfield, a small town in sleepy South Carolina. You are able to get a scholarship to St. Augustine, an elite private school for the wealthy locals. You feel like a fish out of water compared to your coddled peers, but it's only one year, so it can't be that bad. That is, until you accidentally share a smooch with the richest kid in school, which somehow lands you on a supernatural investigation team dedicated to solving the mysteries of St. Augustine. Well, senior year is supposed to be the best one yet, right?

Features:

A choice system that focuses on developing the protagonist's personality

The ability to romance your peers in three ways: Denial, Flirty, or Shy

Three potential scholarship choices (academics, art, sports) all with their own exclusive scenes and characters

The ability to swap bodies with a literal heathen

Morality choices that flesh out how your character sees the world

The ability to influence your peers by leveraging your strongest traits

A banging cafeteria

Characters:

Alistair/Audrey Sawyer (RO):

Who: the rich, preppy kid you have the misfortune of accidentally smooching. This one mistake leaves the two of you intertwined, for better or for worse. And it’s looking like for worse.

Character post: Alistair/Audrey Sawyer

Klaus/Kristina Berg (RO):

Who: a friendly, cheerful student who is eager to please others and is always willing to lend a helping hand. He/she can often be found reading a nauseatingly cheesy romance book.

Character post: Klaus/Kristina Berg

Evan/Ebony Jefferson (RO):

Who: the insanely attractive student council president who has a reputation of being a bit of a heart-breaker. Prides his/herself on knowing every student who walks through the school’s doors. He/she seems to have taken an interest in you.

Character post: Evan/Ebony Jefferson

Darcy:

Who: a whimsical girl with a keen interest in the supernatural and a killer part-time job. Her “research” is the reason you’re a part of this mess. Thus, she’s the de facto leader of your group.

Year: Senior

Appearance: short and slim with brown hair and brown eyes. Speaks with a Southern drawl, thick compared to the rest of your classmates.

Reba: she’s crazy. But you’ll figure that out soon enough.

Progress:

09/26/2024 - 200,000 words (excluding command lines)

Prologue - Finished

Chapter 1 - Finished

Chapter 2 - In Progress

Demo word count: 103K

Let me know all of your thoughts and opinions, and thanks a bunch for your time!

[wolfythewitch]

WOLFY U GOTTA GET INTO THE SAINTS. ST IGNATIUS GOT HIS LEG BLOWN OFF BY A CANNONBALL THEN GOT SO BORED HE TURNED CATHOLIC. ST BERNADETTE HAD VISIONS THAT TOLD HER TO EAT DIRT AND DIG A HOLE IN THE GROUND AND SHE CREATED A SPRING IN LOURDES THAT ACTUALLY WORKED SEVENTY FUCKING TIMES. ST OLGA OF KIEV'S HUSBAND DIED AND INSTEAD OF LETTING HER LAND BE TAKEN OVER THROUGH MARRIAGE SHE BURNED AND BURIED EMENY MESSENGERS ALIVE. JOAN OF ARC. JUST JOAN OF ARC. ST AUGUSTINE WAS JUST A SHITTY EMO KID AND HIS MOM ST MONICA WAS SOSO TIRED OF HIM. ST BENEDICT'S SISTER ST SCHOLASTICA WILLED IT TO RAIN SO HE WOULD BE FORCED TO SPEND THE LAST FEW DAYS OF HER LIFE WITH HER AND NOW IT RAINS ON HER FEAST DAY EVERY YEAR. THE SAINTS ARE SOOO FUCKING COOL U WOULD EAT THIS SHIT UP

Oh haha I know the first one! They taught us about him at school

[sunlightmurdock]

Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

masterlist | next chapter

You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

[kaijuno]

In January, 1969, the Free Breakfast for School Children Program was initiated at St. Augustine's Church in Oakland by the Black Panther Party. The Panthers would cook and serve food to the poor inner city youth of the area. Initially run out of a St. Augustine's Church in Oakland, the Program became so popular that by the end of the year, the Panthers set up kitchens in cities across the nation, feeding over 10,000 children every day before they went to school

Photo: Nancy Thompson ,Black Panthers' Free Breakfast for Children' program (Oakland, 1971)

[great-and-small]

Hey, I'm about 40 mins west of St. Augustine... is the Alligator Farm worth seeing with my young adult kids? Thanks for any input you have:)

Absolutely huge yes! The Alligator farm is legitimately one of my favorite places to visit and I think anyone could enjoy a day there. It’s a little unique as a zoo because there is much more focus on reptiles and birds than on mammals (though they have mammals too!). If your kids have even a whisper of interest in crocodilians and birds they will be in total heaven. The AF rookery is probably the best place in Florida to see nesting spoonbills so a visit during the spring and early summer is a must if you have any bird enthusiasts in the mix.

I can also personally attest to the high quality of care provided to animals at this facility. I did some field work there in vet school and was constantly blown away by the individualized care for even their tiniest of critters. The Alligator Farm was also the first zoo in the United States to get a perfect score from the AZA- which is an amazing accomplishment! You can be confident that the animals you’re visiting are in really great hands, which means a lot.

If you get a chance to go I’d recommend catching one of the feedings with their saltie Maximo, he’s an amazing animal.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

CONTENT WARNING: This story contains graphic details about residential “schools” that many will find distressing or triggering. Please look after your spirit and read with care.

The unmarked and shallow graves of 40 children have been identified near the former St. Augustine’s residential “school,” according to the shíshálh Nation which announced the findings today.

Part of an ongoing archeology project with the University of Saskatchewan, researchers launched a formal investigation of the institution early last year — an effort which has included scanning with ground-penetrating radar.

Chief yalxwemult’ Lenora Joe said that the GPR has sadly revealed what appear to be “shallow graves, only large enough for the young bodies to lay in a fetal position.” 

The findings were made on or near the grounds of the “school” after survivors told researchers where to look, according to the team, and there are still more areas to be scanned. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[direwombat]

another wip wednesday another dollar. tagged by the beloved @socially-awkward-skeleton

got a couple things cookin' on the stove, so to start, here's a bit towards the end of katc ch 7 wherein shaw is helping syb escape st francis after her emergency appendectomy. still very rough/unedited (as evident by an instance of brackets) and subject to change but here's something

“Because I made a mistake and now I’m trying to fix it.” He grips her by the shoulders and squeezes them tight. Firmly, he says, “Listen to me: Augustine is alive. You need to find him.”  

In a flash, she grabs him by the collar and drags him towards her. “Where is he?” she snarls -- teeth bared, eyes narrow. She shakes him for good measure. “Where the fuck is he?” 

He lifts his hands in a placating gesture. “I don’t know,” he says. “Most likely somewhere in the Valley or Henbane.” 

“So help me, if you lyin’…” She has no idea how she's going to finish that threat -- just that it involves excessive and horrific violence.  

“I’m not! I’m just --” he cuts himself off at the sounds of low chatter and approaching footsteps. “Someone’s coming. Get on the truck. You need to hide. Now!” 

With a harsh shove, her back falls onto the bed of the truck, and her legs are quickly swept into the air as the man lifts the tailgate. She rolls onto her belly and crawls between white boxes bearing the symbol of Eden’s Gate. The motions press and pull at the tender skin of her abdomen, held together by a series of sutures. She bites her tongue to prevent herself from hissing through her teeth. Once she’s nestled herself between two that have been securely strapped down, her rescuer throws a tarp over cargo, further obscuring her from view. 

As he finishes securing the covering, the approaching footsteps come to a halt near the truck. “Brother Shaw,” drawls a feminine voice. The name tickles her brain with a sense of familiarity, but she brushes it aside. She’s had so many fleeting interactions with people in her time as a deputy sheriff. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility this Shaw was one of them. 

“We missed you at the service this evening,” the woman continues. “Is everything alright?” Her light and airy tone is belied by a cruel sneer; spoken like a high school hall monitor with an inflated sense of authority. The unspoken observation and threat are plain as day: You weren’t where you were supposed to be. Do I need to tell the higher ups about this?

“Sister,” Shaw greets curtly. “I may not have been at the chapel, but I had my radio tuned to the same frequency as everyone else. Someone had to make sure the trucks were loaded with supplies to aid in the siege against the sinners held up at the jail.” 

“And was this a direct order from the Herald?” 

“The Deputy butchered my whole squad tonight, Emily,” Shaw says tersely. “Forgive me if I wasn’t in the mood to sing and rejoice in preemptively celebrating the Project's victory.” Sybille’s eyes go wide. Could it be? The same man who’s helped drag her to freedom is the same one who found her at the ranger’s station and brought her here in the first place? “Unless Brother Jacob specifically asked after my absence, then I have nothing more to discuss with you.”

“And if he did?” The woman’s voice pitches higher; her arrogant posturing rapidly crumbles at the slightest challenge.

“Then I will explain myself to him.” 

[A beat]

“You should’ve died with your squad,” Emily sneers. “Only a weakling and a coward would abandon their brothers in arms like that. I don’t even know why the Herald keeps you around. You should have been culled with the rest of ‘em.” 

bonus snippet 1: from a scene that possessed me the other day wherein jacob and syb are stuck in a bunker and they're talking about their daddy issues (and what they want to leave behind/how they want to be remembered). which is to say. this is the closest to therapy they'll ever get <3

"Told myself I'd never end up like my old man. Sooner put a bullet in my head than wind up old and miserable like he was. But shit happens and then suddenly…" [Jacob] trails off, his thumb idly playing with the tab.

"Suddenly you seein' 'im every time you look in the mirror," Sybille supplies. She proceeds to down the rest of her beer. She crushes the can under her palm and lets out a loud belch.

"Yeah," Jacob says lamely, and he does the exact same thing.

She reaches back into the 24-pack of lukewarm bunker beer. "Wanna'nother one?"

"Please."

bonus snippet 2: from the jakesyb bliss-induced-sex fic :)c

“What the fuck is this?”

“Oh! I’m so glad you asked!” [Faith] grins. “I’m doing some…hm, what’s the term for it? R&D?”

“R&D?” Jacob parrots. 

“Yup!” She lifts the leash and waves it in her hand, the motion making the tags on Sybille’s collar jingle. “Doing some testing on a new strain of Bliss. One to store for when we emerge in New Eden. That'll…” she bites her lip, contemplating her words, “...help us repopulate.” 

He comes to an abrupt halt, just out of reach. Faith’s words knock the bluster from him. “What?” 

“I don’t know how to put it more simply, Jacob. It’s a strain of Bliss meant to help encourage procreation.” 

“You’re making an aphrodisiac?” he states dumbly. 

She clicks her tongue and scoffs. “A vulgar way to put it, but yes.”

“And you’ve used the Deputy as a guinea pig.”

“Mm-hm,” she nods, “as one, yes.” 

“And this is a gift to me, how?” 

Faith cocks her head to the side. “Do you not like it?” She frowns. “I dressed her up all nice for you and everything.” 

taglist (opt in/opt out)

@buggknife, @cloudofbutterflies92, @josephseedismyfather, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarishikages,

@florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl,

@ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,

@trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies,

@josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @voidika,

@strangefable and anyone else who wants to share a wip today <3

[alanflowerspersonalblog]

[ 2015 St. Augustine, Fl ]

[portraitsofsaints]

St. Anselm of Canterbury 

Doctor of the Church

1033-1109

Feast day: April 21

Saint Anselm is a Doctor of the church and called the “Father of Scholasticism”. His writings are comparable to St. Augustine’s. He became a monk at the Abbey of Bec and with patience, gentleness and superb teaching skills, he became prior in 1063. The Abbey became an influential monastic school of philosophy and theology. In 1093, he became the Archbishop of Canterbury where he struggled with Kings Rufus and Henry I over ecclesiastical rights and independence of the church. St. Anselm had many crosses to bear throughout his life, especially in the political realm. Though gentle and mild he wouldn’t back down when principles of faith were at stake.

Prints, plaques & holy cards available for purchase here: (website)

[justkissmewip]

Character Post: Ebony/Evan Jefferson

"If you aren't perfect, you are imperfect. And if you are imperfect, you are not good enough. Does that spell it out for you?"

If there is one name that everybody in the school knows, it's Ebony/Evan Jefferson. Cool, charming, and oh-so attractive, E has pretty much the entire student body wrapped around their finger. Despite the amount of power they possess, E has genuinely good intentions and wants everyone at St. Augustine to have the best school experience possible. They strive to know every student who wanders the halls. As the student council president, they do what they can to make St. Augustine a home for all.

However, E's strong inclination towards perfection alienates them from the rest of the student body. Few can relate to their seemingly relentless drive. Furthermore, E has a reputation of being a heartbreaker, dumping anyone who gets to close to them. E is friendly and kind, but every interaction with them feels somewhat surface level. What the student council president could be hiding is unknown, but getting close enough to E to find out is pretty much an impossible task.

E can be a good friend and excellent resource for the PC. However, you may not want to be too forthcoming or elusive with details on your supernatural investigation. E is the president after all. There's not much going on between these walls that they do not know.

Year: Senior

Appearance: Rich dark skin and deep brown eyes. Bright complexion without a single blemish. Muscular and toned. Is shorter than A and K. If female, wears her hair in long, dark braids. If male, has short, finely shaved hair. They have a slight drawl, but it's not as heavy as Darcy's.

Height: if male: 5'10; if female: 5'4

Likes: order, following the rules, getting A's, working out, helping others, attention, grandma's sweet potato pie

Dislikes: being called short, rule breakers, lazy people, being out of the loop, really greasy food,

Character Song: Kuchizuke Diamond - Weaver

This post is subject to change.

[plague-of-insomnia]

Expansion In Black Butler, Public School Arc Anime: Stained Glass

One of the things that absolutely delights me with the new anime is how they’ve used expansion to bring the world to life. I hope to do more posts on this when I am able to get better screenshots, so for now please accept these poor quality ones I took with my phone.

What is “expansion” in this sense?

Essentially, when you adapt something for the screen, you often have to add stuff to fill space, both in the physical sense of what’s on the screen, but also in terms of time. A scene might work fine on one manga page, but if you kept the view fixed like that for an entire scene in an anime or live action, the audience would quickly lose interest.

The anime has done a good job of expanding to fill these spaces in a way that can be charming and clever.

~#~

Something I noticed while rewatching the episode for the twenty millionth time, I realized that the stained glass window that is featured so prominently in the opening scene has been expanded into something with far more symbolism than the original manga page:

The basic design of the room and window is retained, but far more detail has been added, including the fact that the window has two halves, each with a person depicted on them, and they frame Ciel on both sides.

He’s quite literally trapped in shadow between two people, and to me, this is representative of how he is caught between Sebastian and Undertaker/His twin. (Or perhaps one is meant to be RC and one UT, with Seb the shadow in between.)

But there’s more. The top window has a flower motif, but the central flower looks a lot like a star, or perhaps a lily if it were spread out flat?? Additionally, the four flowers of the Weston houses appear in each corner.

Additionally, the window has distinctive doves above and below the saints. While ofc that is a common animal in Christian iconography, the fact that the reapers use pigeons (doves) to communicate, and the fact that UT is a former reaper, could mean this was a very deliberate choice. Perhaps representing how reapers communicate to their superiors (there are images of a man and woman at the top I assume is meant to represent Jesus and Mary)?

The images of the saints feel very familiar to me, but I’m such a lapsed Catholic that I’ve been struggling to identify them.

I thought perhaps that the one on the left could be Frances of Assisi. He’s the patron saint of animals, and is often associated with birds.

The other, I am really unsure about. I thought about things like St. Paul or Augustine, but those don’t fit.

Perhaps St Lazarus? For those of you unfamiliar with Christian mythos, Lazarus died and came back to life, so he’s associated with resurrection. That would certainly fit kuro and Undertaker, wouldn’t it?

A few depictions of stained glass windows featuring St Frances and St Lazarus: