#st augustine high school

[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.

[dilutedh2so4]

Omg it’s St Augustine day

[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.

[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

[spine-buster]

So High School ft. Adam Cole | Chapter 3

Because he sat on the outside seat, Austin was always delegated to the right earphone, and because she sat on the window seat, Violet was always delegated to the left earphone.  It became a habit for her to just hand him an earphone the moment he sat beside her on the bus.  Likewise, it became a habit for him to begin asking more about her, or her day, or what sorts of things she was studying at St. Anne’s that were different than what he was studying at Lancaster West.  They’d talk about their other interests – hers: student council, the author Zadie Smith, Seventeen magazine, and the TV show The O.C; his: the Lancaster West wrestling team, hanging out with his friends, Rolling Stone magazine, and the TV show One Tree Hill.  Violet promised to start watching One Tree Hill, and Austin The O.C.

Austin was excited to learn new things about Violet.  He noticed himself looking forward to getting on the bus now and spending that time with her in the mornings and afternoons.  He began to notice just how confident her voice and demeanour was.  He noticed the freckles that dotted her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.  He began to stop and look back at her before entering the front doors or Lancaster West High.

Violet was excited to learn new things about Austin.  She noticed herself looking forward to seeing him get on the bus and spending time with him in the mornings and afternoons.  She began to notice just how articulate and dynamic he was.  She noticed the crinkle of his eyes whenever he’d smile or laugh at something she said.  She began to wave to him slightly when he stopped and looked back at her before entering the front doors of Lancaster West High. 

Despite how much they were opening up to one another, Violet always felt Austin was holding something back.

***

Violet was giddy as she walked with her girlfriends towards Julia Steinbreaker’s house for her birthday.  She told her parents her birthday party would be on the main floor while her parents were up in their bedroom, but Mr. and Mrs. Steinbreaker’s parents were really in Florida for the weekend.  She had a curfew of midnight.  Julia’s brother was a senior at St. Augustine College and some of his friends would be there, too.  It was going to be the best.

When she and her friends walked in the house, they were greeted with loud music and a bunch of their friends and acquaintances.  Word must have gotten around – that, or Julia’s brother told a lot more of his friends than Violet though, and those friends told their friends.  Some other girls from St. Anne’s were there, and there were others she knew attended Lancaster West and other public schools in the city.  She and her friends walked into the kitchen, already eyeing some of the boys.  She grabbed a Diet Coke and cracked it open.  Her friend Beth grabbed her hand and led her through the house to the family room where she spotted Julia’s older brother hanging out with his lacrosse team buddies.

And then she saw Austin.

Violet stopped dead in her tracks when she did.  Beth almost dragged her but stopped when she noticed her staring at someone.  “Austin?”

He didn’t see her at first.  But when he did, his face was just as shocked as hers.  “Violet?”

“Hey!” she exclaimed, letting go of Beth’s hand to approach him and hug him.  Well, this was new.  This was the first time they had acknowledged each other outside of the bus.  They couldn’t even do this in a grocery store with their mothers present just a few weeks ago.  Austin hugged her back, trying not to smile too much and lose his cool.  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“My buddy Travis is friends with Julia’s brother from their soccer team or something, so a couple of my buddies and I came,” he explained.  “Julia – St. Anne’s, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Violet nodded her head, trying not to feel too overwhelmed.  He existed outside of the bus.  He was real.  “What a small world, eh?”

“That’s the Toronto poking through, isn’t it?” he quipped.

“Who’s this?”

Austin and Violet whipped their heads towards Beth, who was looking between them with raised eyebrows.  “Beth, this is my friend Austin,” Violet said.  She couldn’t believe she’d just said those words out loud to another person.  My friend Austin.  “He goes to Lancaster West.  We take the bus into the city together.”

“Hello, Austin who goes to Lancaster West,” Beth smiled wryly.  She looked back at Violet.  “You didn’t tell me you had friends at Lancaster West.”

Violet watched as Austin’s smile dropped a little at the way she said Lancaster West.  Like the school was riffraff.  Like it was beneath them to have friends there when it most certainly wasn’t.  “Well I do,” she said.  “We’ve been taking the bus together for forever.”

Beth’s eyebrows rose.  Before she could respond, a boy yelled her name and presented himself in front of them, to which Beth jumped into him excitedly to hug him.  Violet and Austin gave each other a quick glance.  Beth soon focused her attention back on Violet.  “Violet, this is Carson, the guy I was telling you about.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Just a Diet Coke.”

“You’ll definitely want some rum with that,” he smiled.  “Are you a Malibu or Morgan girl?”

“No no, no rum for me,” she shook her head.  She’d had alcohol before, but in the presence of her parents.  They’d ship her off to a convent if she got home and they smelled rum on her breath, especially considering she had lied to them to come to the party in the first place.

“Oh come on, I know you St. Anne’s girls love to party,” he pushed.  “Nobody’s gonna tell Jesus, I swear.”

“I’m alright with my Diet Coke, really.”

“Think of it as unholy water.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“I could even pour it right into your mouth—”

“—She said no,” Austin piped up.  Everybody involved in the interaction looked at him.  “Just leave it.”

“Whatever,” Carson rolled his eyes, putting his arm around Beth’s shoulders.  “You want some vodka?”

“Yes please.”

Beth left with Carson, leaving Violet and Austin alone with one another.  She bit her bottom lip before meeting his eyes.  “Thanks Austin.”

“No problem,” he said.  “I hope you came with other friends besides her.”

Thankfully, she did, and before long she was able to introduce Harper and Abigail to Austin, who were much more friendly than Beth had been.  Austin even introduced them all to the friends he came with, and soon they were all talking and having fun together.  Austin went to the kitchen to get Violet another Diet Coke, and when he came back, she saw he hadn’t opened it.  She smiled to herself.

The house got more crowded – people from Lancaster West, who Austin said hi and spoke to, and some more girls from St. Anne’s.  There was a boy from St. Augustine College’s student council that Violet knew and had a crush on, so tried flirting with him to no avail.  Harper and Abigail paired off with some boys they met.  Some rowdy boys started a drinking game, which encouraged so many others to be obnoxious.  Soon enough, with Harper and Abigail paired off, Violet found herself alone, so she went back into the kitchen to get another Diet Coke.  There, some boys in Lancaster West soccer t-shirts began talking to her.  She was polite and engaged in the conversation, but she really wanted to find Harper or Abigail.

“How about I get you something to mix with that Coke,” the taller one said, grabbing the mickey of vodka he’d brought to the party from the pocket in his jeans.

“Oh no, that’s okay.  I’m not drinking.”

The guy chuckled, glancing at his friend.  “Of course not.  Come on girl, you need to loosen up.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thanks.”

“You know, you’d be hotter if you weren’t so stuck up.”

Violet immediately went red.  “What?”

“You St. Anne’s girls are all the same.  Stuck up daddy’s little rich girls.  Maybe if you took off your fucking chastity belt you’d be better.”

Violet was speechless, her jaw gaping open from not knowing what to say.  With her cheeks already red and her eyes already watering at just how rude the boys were being, she tried to think of something, but couldn’t.  Her emotions were getting the best of her.  Her embarrassment was getting the best of her. 

“Quit being such fucking assholes and leave her alone,” she suddenly heard Austin’s voice from behind her.  She couldn’t even spin around to look him in the face, instead waiting until he appeared at her side.

The boys suddenly seemed more nervous than before.  “Au—Austin—”

“Fuck off,” he warned, scaring them enough that they left the kitchen.  He looked her in the eye, noticing the redness in her cheeks.  “Are you okay?”

Violet felt so embarrassed.  She gripped on to her Diet Coke before backing up to lean against the counter, averting Austin’s eyes.  “I’m fine,” she told him unconvincingly.  “I—I lost all my friends.  They’re all off drinking or with boys.”

Austin saw her body language, saw how defeated she looked, and most of all, how she looked like she was on the verge of tears.  “Hey, this party kinda blows anyway,” he said, getting slightly closer to her.  Want to go somewhere else?”

She finally looked up to meet his eyes.  She’d never been more grateful than in that moment.  “Yes please.”

He nodded once.  “Meet me at the door.  I’ll grab your jacket.”

Violet did as she was told, going to put on her shoes.  Austin appeared with her jean jacket and they left the house inconspicuously.  It was already dark out, but not late – she still had at least two hours to go until curfew.  Austin watched Violet carefully, making sure she was okay, and that she wouldn’t burst into tears at any given moment.  Clearly those guys had struck a nerve.  Once they walked down the driveway and to the sidewalk, he noticed that a few tears had escaped, the wiping of her nose a tell-tale sign, too.  He hated seeing her so emotional about stupid comments some stupid boys made.  “You want to go to Francesco’s?” he asked suddenly, before his mind even realized what he was doing.

“You…you mean the pizza place?”

He nodded.  “There’s no reason those assholes should ruin your night,” he offered.

She nodded shyly, and they began walking down the sidewalk side by side.  After only a few strides, though, she stopped dead in her tracks.  He looked back at her to see what was wrong.  “You don’t think I’m stuck up, do you?” she asked.

“No, I don’t,” Austin’s voice was gentle.  There was a moment of silence where they just stared into each other’s eyes.  Austin hoped she believed him, because he really meant it.  “I think you’re the furthest thing from stuck up.”

Violet nodded, resolved, and began walking again along with him.  They were quiet as they made their way towards Francesco’s, and it was Austin who took the reins once they walked in anyway.  He walked them over to a booth where they sat opposite each other and ordered them both a slice of pizza and a root beer float.  Violet noticed some of the other patrons in the restaurant – a few older couples, probably out on date nights; a big group of high school seniors who were lively but not loud or causing a scene; other local kids in and around their age minding their own business.  She wondered what she looked like to them.

“Can I say something?” Austin asked suddenly.  She didn’t see it because she was people watching and in her own head, but he had been staring at Violet the entire time.  She nodded.  “I think you’re way too smart and way too cool to let what those guys said make you feel this way.”

She cracked a smile for the first time in what felt like a while.  “Thanks Austin.”

“And no offence,” he continued, “Harper and Abigail seem fine, but that Beth girl is a piece of work.”

“Yeah.  I know.  You don’t know the half of it,” she said.  “We became friends in our freshman year because we were in the same math class, but we’ve been growing apart, especially this year,” Violet explained.  “She’s just been…changing.  I mean we both have.  But we’re going in the opposite direction, and I don’t know how far we can stretch before it snaps, you know?”

“It doesn’t seem like you’re anything like each other.  I try to give everybody a chance, but the second she opened her mouth I didn’t get a good vibe from her.”

Violet was silent.  She knew exactly what he was referencing – the Lancaster West comment.  “I know, I know.  I didn’t—I didn’t like that comment she made.  I thought it was really awful of her to say it the way she did.”

“If anybody should be called stuck up, it’s her.”

Violet smiled again.  Their waitress brought them their pizza and root beer floats and Austin automatically took a sip out of his.  They spoke about their friends and other people at the party, giving each other notes.  Who to avoid.  Who was alright.  Everybody knew the teenage years were a minefield for social interaction, so it was nice to get advice from someone else.  The taste of the pizza perked up Violet, and soon she and Austin were laughing together again.  Conversations about friends turned into conversations about school and teachers, and conversations about school and teachers turned into conversations about parents.

“Are your parents already talking about university like my parents are?” Violet asked.

Austin shrugged.  “We’ve talked about it, but they’re not pushing it down my throat or anything just yet.  Are yours?”

Violet nodded her head.  “When your dad’s a university professor it’s kind of inevitable.  I mean, when both your parents are as educated as my parents are, it’s kind of inevitable,” she said.

“Do they want you to go to UPenn?”

“It’s the easiest because we would get discounted tuition.  But my top choices are UPenn, Georgetown, and Boston University, though I’m probably gonna apply to so many more,” she explained.  “They have the best programs for what I want to study.”

“Which is?”

“I want to go into speech language therapy like my mom,” she said, which made Austin smile.  “What about you?  Have you thought about universities or what you want to study?”

Austin stayed silent for a bit.  “I uh—well, I kind of like history, so I was thinking of that, but I don’t—I don’t know if I like it enough to want to pursue it so seriously, you know?”

He was nervous.  What was he nervous about?  This was a normal conversation between two normal teenagers – surely it wasn’t making him so nervous he couldn’t form a coherent sentence?  She tried to ignore it.  “What about universities?”

“Well, places like what you said are kind of, like, unattainable for me.  Marks wise but also money-wise.  I mean, anywhere I end up going, I’ll, uh, have to take out student loans.  Not looking forward to those.”

It was so clear to her now.  She didn’t want to pry, but they were friends now, and she wanted to get to the bottom of it.  She didn’t want Austin to lie to her.  “What aren’t you telling me?” she asked.

Austin looked her in the eye before taking a deep breath.  He needed to get it out of the way now, before their friendship went any further.  It wasn’t exactly an out for her, but she needed to know because it was what motivated him – everything he did was to reach this goal.  He’d rather the judgement come now.  “I want to get into pro wrestling,” he said finally, letting the words linger.

Violet was unsure what he meant at first.  “You mean, like, the Olympic wrestling team?” she asked, knowing he was on the amateur wrestling team at Lancaster West.

“No,” he shook his head.  “Pro wrestling—like WWE.  Wrestling on TV.  It’s—it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do since I was nine years old.”

Austin watched Violet’s face carefully.  He watched and waited for confusion, or a brow furrow, or a scowl at the idea of becoming a pro-wrestler instead of going to university.  It wasn’t exactly a normal career choice, and it definitely wasn’t one a high achiever such as Violet or a parent would approve of – his own mother didn’t.  But instead of confusion or a scowl, he watched as Violet’s face came to a realization with a twinkle in her eye.  A giant smile overtook her face.  “Austin…” she began, almost speechless.  “That is so cool.”

It was now him who was confused with a brow furrow.  “Really?”

“Are you kidding?  Of course,” she assured him.  “All everybody else around me can talk about is AP grades and SAT scores for their programs.  That is so different than what everybody around me wants to do, and it’s so cool that you’re so passionate about something that’s so unique that you want to pursue it like you do,” she said, and she meant it whole-heatedly.  She hadn’t quite met anybody like Austin before, and she was so glad he helped her on the bus that day.

“You think so?” Austin asked.

She nodded enthusiastically.  “I think you’d be really good at it.  You’re a very articulate speaker.  I don’t know much about wrestling but I think that’s part of it.  What’s your plan to do it?”

She listened intently as Austin spoke enthusiastically about what he had to do to achieve his dream.  He had very clearly researched every minute detail beforehand and knew the steps to get there.  The wrestling foundation, which is why he joined the wrestling team; the training at a school in a city near them like Philadelphia or Pittsburgh or even Washington D.C.; making a name for himself on what he called “the indies” before a big company like WWE signed him.  His explanation was detailed and meticulous.  The more he told her, the more she envisioned it for him, the more she wanted it for him, too. 

Austin spoke so much and for so long, long after their pizza slices and root beer floats were finished, long after most of the other patrons left Francesco’s and it was just them in their own little world.  They paid and left, and it was only then, walking out into the briskness of the night that Austin realized how late it was.  He looked at his watch and it read 11:40.  His curfew was midnight.  Neither of them wanted to leave.

“I’ll walk you home,” Austin offered without having to be asked.  There was no way he was going to let her walk home alone at this hour of the night anyway.

“Aren’t you—isn’t your curfew midnight, too?”

“I—yeah—but it’s okay—”

“—Hold on,” she said, reaching into her Coach wristlet.  She pulled out her cell phone.  He had completely forgotten she had one of those Blackberry Pearl cell phones.  Just like her iPod, he was shocked to see it.  There was such a different between them.  “What’s your home phone number?”

He told her, and she dialled it.  He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t know why.  His gut trusted her already.  “Hi, Mrs. Jenkins?  My name is Violet Schwarzkopf, I’m one of Austin’s friends,” she began to say in a very, very polite voice.  “Um, my friends all ditched me at the party and Austin offered to walk me home, but I live on Mulberry Street and I know he has a curfew and—and—I was just hoping he won’t get in trouble for being home a bit late.  I don’t want to walk home alone this late at night.”

Austin almost laughed, but settled on a shit-eating grin.  He didn’t want his mom hearing him laughing and getting any ideas.  “Thank you so much Mrs. Jenkins.  I promise this won’t happen again for Austin.  I’m sorry for calling so late.  Goodnight.”

Austin continued smiling at her and she put her phone back in her wristlet.  “You’re like the mom whisperer.  I need you to talk to her all the time.”

Violet chuckled.  “Let’s go.  My parents aren’t as nice.”

They reached her house on Mulberry Street in just about fifteen minutes, with a comfortable five minutes to spare.  Austin knew he shouldn’t have been shocked at the size or the grandeur of it, but he still was.  As one of Manheim’s few historic streets, almost all of the houses were like this.  But Violet’s was even more so, and the front garden was meticulously maintained, too.  Standing on her front porch, they looked at each other.  “Thank you for making this night so much better than it started,” she said.

“You’re welcome.”

She moved to stick her key in the door, and was about to walk in, but hesitated before turning back to face him.  “I meant what I said at Francesco’s.  I think you’d be amazing at pro-wrestling.  I wasn’t just saying that.  Everything you told me just sounds so cool and I’m, like, rooting for you, you know?  Especially if that’s your dream.”

He smiled, practically blushing.  “Thanks, Vi.”

She then did something that he wasn’t expecting: she reached in and hugged him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders tightly.  He hugged her back before she pulled away.  “Goodnight Austin.”

“G’night, Vi.  I’ll see you on Monday.”

She opened the door and he got a quick, dimly lit glance at the interior of her house – its hardwood floors and big front mirror and fancy lamp that was lit on a fancy entryway console.  So different to his grandma’s house, which didn’t exactly have any fancy lamps or entryway consoles.  He turned away once he heard the door lock, walking down the driveway before looking up at the house one last time before deciding to run home.

He could use the cardio.

[theespadas]

2000, United Nation of Calla

Royal Family Celebrates Crown Prince Augustin's Birthday at Family Retreat

The Royal Family had a private celebration at their vacation home in honor of HRH Crown Prince Augustin's 17th birthday. In attendance were: HM King Immanuel, HM Queen Consort Alexandra, and TRH Princesses Camellia and Virginia, along with other family members and friends.

The event took place during the final days of the Crown Prince's holiday, as he gets ready to start his last year of high school at St. Albans Academy, located in the neighboring country of Rezende, before attending the Royal University of Verbena.

[february2024choiceschallenge]

Masterlist 1: B - M Blades of Light & Shadows - Murder at Homecoming Blades of Light and Shadow

Aerin Valleros x m!human!mc - ART - @lilyoffandoms for @aria-ashryver Eros/Philia

All The Kisses - ART - Mal Volari x F!MC - @cammarada C: @storyofmychoices Eros

Crossroads - FIC - Aerin Valleros, NB!elf!MC - @storyofmychoices Philia

Daenarya x Miele Fanart - F!MC x MC - ART - @lilyoffandoms for @storyofmychoices Philia/Ludus

Imtura tal Kaelen x f!orc!mc Fanart - ART - @lilyoffandoms for @trappedinfanfiction Eros

A Whitetower Festival of Friendship and Love - FIC - Mal Volari x F!MC - @dutifullynuttywitch Eros/Pragma

Woven Threads & Winding Roads - FIC - @aria-ashryver for @thosehallowedhalls Eros/Philia/Pragma

Woven Threads & Winding Roads Parts 3 & 4 - FIC - Tyril Starfury x f!human!mc - @aria-ashryver for @thosehallowedhalls Eros/Philia/Pragma

Bloodbound

Hide Me In Thy Wounds - FIC - Gaius Augustine x F!MC - @gaiuskamilah Agape

Crimes of Passion

The 2AM Christmas Tree Farm - ART - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @lilyoffandoms for @thosehallowedhalls Eros/Philia

A Bronx Valentine - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @jerzwriter Eros/Philia

Of Cloudless Climes and Stary Skies: Chapter 3 - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

Home Without Part 2 - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls Eros/Philia

An Interlude of Grief - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls

Love is Dead (Or Is It?) - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x F!MC - @thosehallowedhalls Eros

Moments of Truth - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x M!MC @thosehallowedhalls Philia

Second Chances - FIC - m!Trystan Thorne x M!MC - @thosehallowedhalls Philia/Ludus/Pragma

Tabloids, or a story in 5 headlines - FIC - Trystan Thorne x F!MC - FIC - @thosehallowedhalls Philia/Ludus/Eros/Pragma

High School Story

Aiden Zhou x MC Fanart - ART - @lilyoffandoms for @cadybear420 Eros/Philia/Pragma

Evie and Aiden Prom Photos - EDITS - @cadybear420 Eros/Philia/Pragma

Rolling on Forward - FIC - @cadybear420 Storge/Philia/Eros/Pragma

Holywood U

Cafe Whispers & Scone Kisses - FIC - Addison Sinclair x F!MC - @storyofmychoices Ludus

Immortal Desires

Immortal Desires Edits - EDITS - Cas/Cassie Harlow x Gabe/Gabriela Adalhard - @aria-ashryver

Répondez, S'il Vous Plaît ! 3 - ART - ID OCs - @lilyoffandoms for @aallotarenunelma Eros/Philia/Ludus

With Love From the O'Rinn Family - EDITS - Cas Harlow x Gabe Adalhard x M!MC - @aria-ashryver Philia/Storge

Laws of Attraction

Date Night - FIC - Gabe Ricci x M!MC - @choicesmc Eros

Multiple Stories

Immortal Desires, It Lives in the Woods, It Lives Beneath, It Lives Within, Murder at Homecoming

EROS: Passion in Other Ways - TRR/RCD OCs- ART - @mariemarieohcontrary Passion/Philia

Pairing Inspired Playlist - PLAYLIST - Multiple Pairings - @aallotarenunelma Eros/Philia/Storge/Pragma

Murder at Homecoming

Let Me Be Your Valentine, St. Valentine - FIC - Donovan Navarro x NB!MC - @aallotarenunelma Eros/Philia/Ludus/Pragma

Masterlist - Part 2

[clonerightsagenda]

In honor of my nth W359 relisten, here is the breakdown of how I accidentally independently headcanoned most of the characters as Catholic:

Eiffel: He was born in Boston, where Catholics are the largest religious population. I've been told the Lord's Prayer he mumbles is the Protestant version, but that prayer is used a lot in Alcoholics Anonymous, which is probably where he's remembering it from. Perhaps his issues with authority stem in part from having to go to Catholic school.

Minkowski: Her father's surname is Jewish, while her mother is French, where the dominant religion is Catholicism. I envision her as growing up in a mixed household (which I believe is also the case for her VA) but she leans harder into celebrating Christian holidays on the station as part of her attempt to assimilate into white bread apple pie Americanism. After the events of the show I like to think she reconnects more with her Jewish heritage, especially as she could relate to the theme of so many holidays being 'they tried to kill us, they failed, let's eat'.

Hera: Hera quotes St. Augustine, quotes the Bible to Maxwell in Memoria, and says "amen" during the funeral despite never being exposed to religious services. Conclusion? She had Catholicism installed in her to nerf her. Why? Because Pryce is also Catholic. More on that later.

Lovelace: I hc Lovelace as having a Puerto Rican mom. Puerto Rico is heavily Catholic. (Her dad is probably Protestant, but when it came to parents from different denominations choosing which to raise their kid(s) in, my mom won for us, so I shall assume her mom won as well. It's possible she also went to a private Catholic school. She may not have considered herself very religious at the start of her mission, but I think about her leaning on hopes of an afterlife when her crewmates start dying as a scrap of comfort.... only to be forced to contemplate the state of her soul later.

Cutter: It was at this point that I realized I was hcing a whole bunch of the characters as Catholic and decided to lean into it. Luckily for me, he's from Carmel-by-the-sea, which is in fact fairly Catholic due to the presence of a historic Catholic mission. (Did I know this because of a probably Buffy-inspired YA paranormal series I read in high school? Maybe.)

Pryce: Again, was leaning into it at this point, but also it makes sense. She was raised in an orphanage, and a lot of those institutions were run by religious organizations. How many of her problems can be traced back to being raised by nuns. She quotes the Bible to position herself as divine. Why Catholicism specifically? The cannibalism. It's all coming together.

Non-Catholics (Hilbert + the Midwestern Corporate Hit Squad):

Hilbert: Grew up in the USSR. Likely not religious.

Maxwell: Her father was a pastor in Montana, where the biggest Christian denomination is Evangelical. Likely ex-Evangelical. Sorry that happened to you Alana.

Jacobi: His name is Jewish, which is supported by his disdain for office holiday parties and ordering Chinese food on Christmas. Catholics are the dominant religious group in Milwaukee though so he gets to the station and goes ah not this shit again.

Kepler: I do not care about him and thus have not spent much time thinking about him, but probably not religious. When he is trying to turn everyone against Lovelace, he doesn't appeal to religious language while dehumanizing her. There are quite a lot of Catholics in Chicago though so he is also used to them.

What's funny about this is I'm not even Catholic. I did not start out doing this on purpose. Somehow Wolf 359 is a more Catholic podcast than Greater Boston, set in Boston, where the character who talks about religion the most is a Protestant.

[daddydindjarin]

The Long and Winding Road Part II: Mississippi

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no physical description of the Reader given) 

Rating: 18+ Mature 

Wordcount: 2875 

Summary: You hit your must see spots in Mississippi, and you fight back every bit of attraction to this broad stranger that you can. It’s a losing battle. 

A/N: What can I say, this is wholly self indulgent. And un-beta’d. Lemme know if you see any glaring errors!  Dividers by @firefly-graphics! Thank you especially to the discord besties and @the-ginger-hedge-witch​ for listening to my panic over actually writing something more than a one-shot, and for all the great tips. Especially the road trip ideas. 

←Previous | Masterlist | Next→

Frankie couldn’t figure her out.

He had spent years in the military, interacting with people from all walks of life. From the rich kids following in their parent’s footsteps, to fresh faced kids straight from high school looking for a naïve hope at an opportunity to build a better future than the past they had, most people were the same. They were greedy, self-serving, and usually just bastards with a hidden agenda. He counted himself among them, from the jobs he took for money, to nights spent high on cocaine and the touch of someone who he could pretend he loved for a few hours.

But this woman…

He glanced over at her from the driver’s seat, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly as the first thing he saw were her feet propped up on the dashboard, the long line of her bare legs tucked up to rest her journal on her knees. Her hair was pulled back away from her face so the wind didn’t blow it all over the place, and she was humming along to Stevie Nicks’ dulcet tones crooning from the radio.

They had been traveling for two days, stopping at every whim she had. An afternoon was spent in St. Augustine and Ponte Vedra, touring the light house, and walking the beach. The morning saw them in Savannah, Georgia, eating breakfast along the marshes. True to her word, he paid for nothing, even with a neat $15,000 burning a hole in his pocket. She purchased every meal, snacks, drinks, and even offered to buy souvenirs for Gabriela. The first night, she offered to sleep in the Jeep instead of the popup rooftop tent on the Jeep’s roof, which he turned down almost immediately. They had argued back and forth, with her stubbornly reminding him that he was the one driving, and needed a good night’s sleep, so they finally came to an agreement just to share the small space.

“We’re both adults,” she had said, rifling through the small suitcase in the backseat. “We can share a bed.”

“Yeah,” he agreed finally, realizing her stubbornness would win out in the end, “that’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places.”

She laughed, starting the climb up to the tent, “Careful what you speak into the universe. Maybe I snore, and you’re in for a rough night.”

Frankie barked out a laugh, “I doubt it’ll be worse than some of the guys I’ve bunked down with.”

It was worse.

She didn’t snore, although she did talk in her sleep, trying to have a conversation with no one for the better part of the night. But even that was nothing compared to the way he woke up with her wrapped around him like a lifeline, her face buried in his chest. They had started off back to back, pushed as far to the edges of the pallet as they could get, and sometime between drifting off while talking about their favorite songs, and the sun rising, they had wound up in the center of the tent, his arms wrapped around her, and her leg thrown over his. She had managed to push her covers off of her, but then sought the warmth that Frankie gave off in her sleep.

Frankie had quickly and quietly extracted himself from her hold before scrambling down the ladder, the brisk autumn air doing nothing to calm his heart or other parts of his anatomy that was all too aware that a gorgeous woman was feet away, and had been in close proximity. The shame burned at the back of his neck, but he found himself wanting to return to the tent, and curl back up to sleep in her arms.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her since then, even as they were well on their way into Alabama. He chalked it up to proximity and loneliness, only having his hand for company the last few months as he stayed clean, determined to do right by his kid, even if that meant suffering through the withdrawals and the craving to lose himself and his memories in a drug that offered nothing but forgetting and despair at the end of the high.

She, on the other hand, didn’t seem to know about their nighttime encounter. She was happily watching the trees as they drove and would occasionally look down to her journal to scribble something down, a sentence here, a doodle there. He had seen her press a wild flower into the pages in Talladega  National Forest, and use it as a coaster for tea in Tuscaloosa. She carried it with her everywhere, fishing it out of her bag for reasons unknown to him, sometimes to scrawl a reminder, and other times spending a few moments writing before smiling up at him, telling him she was ready to move on.

She was an enigma to him, altruistic and kind to everyone they ran into. She really did spend most of her time looking at the things she was interested in, not concerned with taking photos of the view, even as she offered to take his photo for him, which he usually declined, except on the rare occasion he found a chance to send a photo of himself with a giant swordfish in Savannah to Pope, captioned, “finally found the fish you said you had on the line when you pulled that boot.”

He received a middle finger emoji as a response.

He had expected a lot of chatter as they drove, one of the reasons he had tallied in the “con” section of why he should take this job. It ranked fairly low on the list however, and the payload far outweighed any reason he could give to skip out on the opportunity. He was surprised though, when the first six hours had passed only interrupted by her humming, and the occasional request to stop somewhere. It wasn’t as if it was an awkward silence that you can chalk up to being in a confined space with a literal stranger, but instead a comfortable atmosphere where no words were really needed. He didn’t want to think about the fact that this was the most peaceful he had felt in a while, and instead turned the volume up on the radio, tapping his fingers along to Como La Flor.

You had three missed texts from Alyssa, checking in to make sure that Benny’s pilot friend hadn’t actually killed you on day one of the road trip, and you made a mental note to text her back at the next stop. You knew if you tried to read too much while in the car, you’d be hit with a migraine, and you didn’t feel like having Frankie pull over just so you could get sick this early into the trip.

Speaking of Frankie…

You peeked over at him, watching his head bop along to the music, and you could feel the smile straining against your lips as you whipped your head back around to watching the passing trees. It was crazy how attracted to him you were. From his long eyelashes framing those deep puppy dog eyes, to his plump lips that you had to force yourself not to watch as he spoke, you knew that you were quickly developing a crush on him. Which was normal you reminded yourself for the umpteenth time. It was normal to be attracted to someone. It didn’t mean you had to act on it. And there wasn’t a chance of anything happening really. The trip was only three months long, and then you’d be leaving, so it was pointless to even think about romance.

This wasn’t a 90s rom com. This was the trip of a lifetime, and you were going to enjoy the time you had left on it, not spend it worrying about Francisco Morales and his dumb cowlick that he thought was well hidden under that Standard Oil baseball cap.

Passing under the exit sign for Columbus, Alabama, you checked your map again, looking for anything that caught your eyes. “Oh!” you exclaimed, tapping the map. “You should take this exit!”

Frankie imperceptibly turned his head to look at where you were pointing on the map, an eyebrow raised. “Tupelo?”

“Yeah! Have you ever been?”

“Probably passed through there once or twice, but I don’t think we ever stopped,” he replied, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved in the last few days, you had noticed, and you wondered what the short whiskers would feel like under your fingers. “Why d’you want to stop there?”

You really didn’t have reason, other than, “I hear they have good honey. And wasn’t Elvis born there?”

Frankie chuckled, but dutifully took the exit onto I-45. “Well, let’s go get you some of that honey, but if you’re wanting to see the king, we need to head to Memphis.”

You made a note on the map, studying it for a moment longer. “I do want to see Memphis, but I think it would be smart, and probably more efficient to hit the south, and then kind of zig zag before heading north?” Your fingers danced in the air, mimicking the zigzag pattern to make your point.

He nodded. “That makes sense. Is there anything on that “must list” of yours for the south that we need to make sure we do?”

He remembered. You beamed at his words, almost laughing that such a small thing could make you so happy. “There are a few, actually.” Tucking loose piece of hair behind your ear, you pulled out your journal, flipping through the pages. “Since we’re heading into Mississippi, I want to check out Rowan Oak. Tishomingo State Park would be nice to visit too. Dunn’s Falls is on the list, but I feel like we might be going around our ass to scratch our elbow with that one.”

Frankie shrugged, glancing over at you. “A little extra mileage never hurt anybody. Besides,” he continued, “if it’s on your “must list,” we must go see it.”

His sincerity was palpable, and you wanted to cry. The one thing you had been dreading with finding a glorified chauffer was that they would talk you out of some of the things you wanted to do because it would be such a long and winding route to see everything on your list. Well, that and possibly being killed before your time, but mostly complaining. Frankie never once complained, following your every whim with good humor. He didn’t ask many questions after your first meeting, which you appreciated more than you could say. Like you said, the whys weren’t important now. It was just the doing that mattered.

“Thank you,” you finally said, looking back out the window so he wouldn’t see if any stray tears made their way down your cheeks.

You didn’t see his answer nod, or the way the tips of his ears turned pink as you headed toward Tupelo.  

Tupelo had seen them to honey and biscuits, as well as a stop at the birthplace of Elvis. You had convinced Frankie to take a picture touching the statue’s hand like a crying teenage girl, which he did with a roll of his eyes, but you know he sent the picture to someone in his phone named “Pope.”

You wound your way across the state to Rowan Oak, your heart fluttering at the smell of Cedar in the air as you and Frankie walked along the grounds. You got lost in the concentric garden, finding the large magnolia in the center an hour later, taking a break under the sprawling branches for a few moments.

“How old do you think this tree is?” you asked, your eyes closed as you leaned against the tree, the bark digging into your back, and the sound of birds nesting in the trees lulling you into a calmness.

“Dunno,” Frankie said from his spot beside you, shoulders touching just enough that you could feel the burn of him. “Doubt they’d let us cut it down to count the rings.”

You snorted. “No, I don’t think they would. William Faulkner would roll over in his grave if they did.” The silence stretched comfortably between you, and you closed your eyes again, the humid air making you sleepy. You may have drifted off under that old tree, because when you blinked your eyes open, Frankie was standing to the side of the trail, and there was a fresh Magnolia bloom in your lap. You smiled softly, taking a petal and pressing it into your journal before joining him, letting him lead the way out of the maze.

You headed back towards Tupelo that night, stopping just outside the city to bunk down, before driving the few hours to Tishomingo. He groaned good naturedly as you pulled on your hiking boots, and followed you onto the trail, but the beauty of the landscape stopped even his joking about the early morning dew. You found ruins and old bridges leading to long abandoned cabins, and Frankie told you of a time he spent overseas in a similar looking abandoned house with his team, and how Benny and Will went through a wall play fighting each other. Your peals of laughter probably scared the local wildlife away, but you didn’t mind, happy to just be privy to stories from Frankie’s past.

You ate lunch beside a waterfall, drinking your tea cold for a lack of hot water. You didn’t mind, to tell the truth, but the face Frankie made assured you he wouldn’t be partaking. He had been eyeing the water for a while now, sweat beading on your foreheads. You stood, slipping your boots and socks off, and he looked up at you, an eyebrow raised. “Whatcha doin?”

Grinning, you took off at a run for the edge pool of water, leaping into it. A shout of alarm went up behind you, drowned out by the rush of water going over your head. You could still hear the roar of the waterfall dumping into the basin above you, and when you popped out of the water taking a gulp of air, Frankie stood on the shore, hands on his hips staring down at you.

“What are you doing?”

You laughed kicking your feet out under you. “Living!” You swam in a circle, sighing at the cool water. “Come in!”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so, Chiflada!”

You pouted, “Oh, come on, Francisco! The water feels great!” You pushed your arm forward, splashing him with water, and he yelped, jumping back. “Don’t be such a chicken!”

Frankie laughed, wrenching his shirt over his head, “Oh, you asked for it!” He lunged into the water and you reeled back, screaming in delight as his long arms reached for you. You danced out of his reach, splashing him with water as you went. Frankie roared at you, pushing forward in the water to wrap his arms around you. You pushed at his chest, squealing, and laughing as his fingers danced along your ribs. His laughter rumbled through his chest and rippled across your skin, lighting up his face.

“I give, I give!” you laughed, spluttered around the hair in your face. “You’re King of the Water!”

“Damn right,” he replied, grinning at you, and you suddenly realized how close the two of you were, chest to chest, only your clothes between you. You were acutely aware of the cold water pebbling your nipples against his chest, and you felt your face heating up from the proximity of this broad man. He was looking at you, his eyes soft, and you could feel yourself internally panicking.

He could sense your trepidation, and slowly released you, his kind eyes catching yours as you backed away from him, breathing hard. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied, “I’m fine. Just out of breath.” The lie came easily enough, and you hid behind and easy grin. “Told you the water felt nice though.”

Groaning, he leaned back slightly, looking up at the waterfall, “Yeah, but now we have to hike back to the Jeep in wet clothes. And it’s still hot.”

“Come on, Fly Boy, where’s your sense of adventure?” You questioned him, thanking everything that your racing heart was starting to come under control.

“Trust me, Chiflada, I’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime.”

You mulled over his words, pulling yourself out of the water and then offering him your hand. “Well, that may be true, but you’ve never had one with someone like me.”

He took your hand, squeezing it gently as he pulled himself up next to you, close enough again for you to see the freckles across his strong nose. “No,” he agreed, speaking softly. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone like you.”

You blushed, turning away quickly to gather your things, your heart rate picking up again. You’d think about this more later, when the night was still, and the clothes you were wearing were hung on a line to dry in the hot Mississippi night air. When you’d be able to feel him at your back, and for the first time regret the short time you had left.

←Previous  Next→

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

Ok. .bc it came up recently in an ask of mine. Is there a Klaine/Jane Eyre crossover fic anywhere?

If not, could you recommend your favorite historical AU fics? Now I'm in a mood to read some!☺️

Hello! I've done searched for Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte and even Mr Rochester with Klaine, but nothing is coming up at all for those! Maybe you need to write it?! ~Jen

The historical trope is a big favorite of mine. There's quite a few in 1960's-1980's

Can’t take my eyes off you by @gleekto

1969 Klaine AU.

Blaine is a gay. He’s known for years and he’s not ashamed. He just wants to be sensible about it as it carries a lot of risks. So he chooses to study Arts at one of the best colleges in the country - Columbia - that makes his parents happy. And it also happens to have the first college sanctioned gay group in the country - the Student Homophile League - for people like him. And that makes him happy. He hopes. He just has to muster up the courage to actually go to one of the League meetings. Instead he wastes his time staring at that icy hippie in his music history class who doesn’t know he exists. He needs to stop pretending people are gay in his head and actually meet some real homosexuals.

Blaine coming of age in 1969. Hippie!Kurt. Elliott and Sebastian as Blaine’s mentor-friends. Unironic use of ‘groovy’. Coming out and fitting in and falling in love.

~~~~~

Come Alive by delires

Newly-wed junior advertising exec Blaine Anderson finds a missing piece to his puzzle in the back room of a Manhattan bar. Mad Men era AU.

~~~~~

To Be Myself by @wowbright

What if Kurt had been born 25 years earlier? A story about Gen X Kurt Hummel learning about love and, most importantly, learning to be himself, 1976-1985.

~~~~~

Indiscretions by shandyall

As childhood best friends in the 40’s and secret high school sweethearts in the 50’s, Kurt and Blaine never would have guessed they’d both end up married to women in the 60’s. But even when the world they live in keeps them from walking hand in hand, there’s nothing they can’t face side by side.

~~~~~

Gimme Shelter by Kurtswish

On a joyride out with friends, Blaine stumbles upon a man that would change his life forever. It is a time when changes are coming swiftly with Civil Rights laws and Vietnam on the forefront of everyone’s minds. Finding each other and romance should have been the hard part, but what will two young men endure in the time of free love and war. Story is complete.

And also, before those eras, two highly recommended by fandom:

Westerville Abbey by @hkvoyage

Blaine is the second son of the earl of Westerville, and is considered the spare heir. After his 18th birthday, he attends the London Season to fulfill his duty of finding a wife. He soon realizes he is more attracted to the new footman. Kurt, who has just arrived at Westerville Abbey to work alongside his father, becomes equally as smitten with the earl’s youngest son. Will Blaine and Kurt be able to overcome their class differences in 1910s England? Will their forbidden love survive WW1? A Downton Abbey inspired historical Klaine AU.

and also part 2 Life in the Big Apple

~~~~~

Gilded Cage by canarian

In the winter of 1895, Blaine Anderson, the son of a wealthy doctor, and Kurt Hummel, the son of a middle class mechanic, cross paths at a luxury hotel in the quiet seaside town of St. Augustine, Florida. With everyone and everything working to keep them apart, can they find a way to be together?

and of course, this one:

Known as Cavemen klaine by IconicAnon

Kurt and Blaine are cavemen discovering buttsex for the first time

Enjoy!!!

[goodpix2021]

Bands, The Best Thing

Drum major on the scene. You know my love for the St. Augustine’s Marching 100. I don’t think I could have much clearer in yesterday’s post. They aren’t the only band. There are other high schools who field great bands. They can, and often do, out play the Marching 100. While the bands are warming up they often face other and try to defeat them. It gets intense, with guys like the one in the…

[alanflowerspersonalblog]

[ 2015 St. Augustine, Fl ]

[petervintonjr]

"A nation's greatness is not dependent upon the things it makes and uses. Things without thoughts are mere vulgarities. America can boast her expanse of territory, her gilded domes, her paving stones of silver dollars; but the question of deepest moment in this nation today is its span of the circle of brotherhood, the moral stature of its men and its women, the elevation at which it receives its vision into the firmament of eternal truth."

Born enslaved in 1858 North Carolina to an enslaved mother and her owner, Anna Julia (neé Haywood) Cooper found herself in a post-emancipation world at the age of nine and enrolled St. Augustine's Normal School and Collegiate Institute in Raleigh; originally a teaching school for newly liberated Black citizens. Anna showed an uncanny aptitude for academics, earning money as a tutor and determinedly pursuing subjects normally regarded as off-limits to women.

In 1877 Anna married theology teacher George A.G. Cooper, but sadly the marriage only lasted a few short years --George died in 1879. In 1881 she enrolled at Oberlin College, where she attained her B.A. in mathematics, and eventually her M.A. in education. Afterwards in 1887 she moved to Washington, D.C. and further pursued education, moving in the same orbits as Mary Church Terrell (Lesson #29) and Nannie Helen Burroughs (Lesson #138). In 1892 she was one of the co-founders of the the Colored Women's League of Washington. She eventually became principal of the Washington Colored High School (later the M Street High School, and eventually Dunbar High School), but not without controversy --her unapologetic approach to college preparation was met with disagreement by the all-white Washington, D.C. school board, and she was ultimately forced to resign in 1906. (Boy, it sure is good to know that sort of thing doesn't ever happen anymore...)

She had been pursuing a graduate study at Columbia in 1911, but stepped away from this goal to raise her late brother's five grandchildren. In 1925, at the age of 66, Anna earned her Ph.D in history from the Université de Paris (Sorbonne); the fourth Black woman in the U.S. to receive a doctoral degree. She was also a member of the influential Black women's sorority, Alpha Kappa Alpha. Among her many publications was 1892's A Voice from the South, an early examination on the crucial intersectionality of race and gender, that also called for equal education for women. Anna also founded the the first YWCA chapter for Black women.

Retiring from teaching in 1930, Anna continued to publish and advocate for Black civil rights causes. She ultimately lived to the amazing age of 105, passing away in 1964.

[cozyaliensuperstar7]

Weathers was born January 14, 1948, in New Orleans, Louisiana. His father was a day laborer. As an eighth-grade student, he earned an athletic scholarship to St. Augustine High School, a private school. He was an all-around athlete, involved in boxing, football, gymnastics, judo, soccer, and wrestling. He played football and graduated from Long Beach Poly High School in 1966.

Weathers played football as a defensive end in college. He started his college career in 1966 at Long Beach City College, where he did not play in 1966 due to an ankle injury suffered when he tripped over a curb surrounding the running track while warming up for practice with another linebacker. He then transferred and played for San Diego State University, becoming a letterman for the San Diego State Aztecs in 1968 and 1969, helping the Aztecs win the 1969 Pasadena Bowl, finishing with an 11–0 record, and a No. 18 ranking in the Final UPI Poll, playing for head coach Don Coryell. At San Diego State, Weathers received a master in theatre arts.

Weathers signed with the Oakland Raiders of the National Football League (NFL) as an undrafted free agent in 1970. Now playing as a linebacker, Weathers played in seven games for the Raiders in 1970, helping them win the AFC West Division title, on their way to the first-ever AFC Championship Game. Before the 1971 season, Weathers converted into a strong safety. He only played in one game in 1971, before the Raiders released him in September 1971.

Later that month, Weathers signed with the BC Lions of the Canadian Football League. He played for the Lions until 1973, playing 13 games in total. During the off-seasons, Weathers attended San Francisco State University and earned a bachelor's degree in drama in 1974.

Weathers began working as an extra while still playing football. He had his first significant roles in two blaxploitation films directed by his longtime friend Arthur Marks: Bucktown (1975) and Friday Foster (1975). Weathers also appeared in an early 1975 episode of the sitcom Good Times titled "The Nude", portraying an angry husband who suspected his wife of cheating on him with J.J. He also guest-starred in a 1975 episode of Kung Fu titled "The Brothers Caine", and in an episode of Cannon titled "The Hero". In 1976, he appeared as a loan shark in an episode of the crime-drama Starsky & Hutch, and in the Barnaby Jones episode "The Bounty Hunter" as escaped convict Jack Hopper.

Weathers retired from football in 1974, and began pursuing an acting career. In his NFL career he appeared in 8 games in two seasons, but did not record any stats. The only stat he recorded in his CFL career was a single fumble recovery. In later years, Weathers narrated NFL Films' season recap of the 1999, 2000 and 2001 seasons.During the 2017 NFL Draft, he appeared on NFL Network's pre-draft coverage.

Weathers briefly appears as an Army MP in one of the three released versions of Close Encounters of the Third Kind (originally released in 1977). In 1978, Weathers portrayed Vince Sullivan in a TV movie, Not This Time. In the late 1970s and 1980s, Weathers starred in a number of action films for the small and big screen, including Force 10 from Navarone (1978), Predator (1987), Action Jackson (1988), and Hurricane Smith (1992). As a member of the cast of Predator, Weathers worked with future California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger and future Minnesota governor Jesse Ventura. Many years later he appeared in a spoof segment on Saturday Night Live, announcing that he was running for political office and urging viewers to vote for him on the basis that "he was the black guy in Predator".

He also appeared in Michael Jackson's "Liberian Girl" music video and co-starred in the 1996 Adam Sandler comedy Happy Gilmore, as Chubbs, a golf legend teaching Happy how to play golf. He reprised the role nearly four years later in the Sandler comedy Little Nicky. Filming a fall stunt in Happy Gilmore, Weathers fractured two vertebrae and his osteophytes grew out and connected and self-fused badly. He says he was in excruciating pain for three to four years.

Another notable television role was Sgt. Adam Beaudreaux on the cop show Street Justice. Afterwards, during the final two seasons of In the Heat of the Night (1992–1994), his character, Hampton Forbes, replaced Bill Gillespie as the chief of police. He also played MACV-SOG Colonel Brewster in the CBS series Tour of Duty.

In 2004, Weathers received a career revival as a comedic actor beginning with appearances in three episodes of the comedy series Arrested Development as a cheapskate caricature of himself, who serves as Tobias Fünke's acting coach. He was then cast in the comedies The Sasquatch Gang and The Comebacks. Weathers had a guest role in two episodes of The Shield as the former training officer of main character Vic Mackey.

Weathers provided the voice for Colonel Samuel Garrett in the Pandemic Studios video game Mercenaries: Playground of Destruction. In 2005, he was a narrator on Conquest! The Price of Victory — Witness the Journey of the Trojans!, an 18-part television show about USC athletics. Weathers is a principal of Red Tight Media, a film and video production company that specializes in tactical training films made for the United States armed forces. He also appeared in one episode of ER as the father of an injured boxer during their 2008 finale season.

For the sixth film in the Rocky series, Rocky Balboa (2006), Stallone asked Weathers, Mr. T, and Dolph Lundgren for permission to use footage from their appearances in the earlier Rocky films. Mr. T and Lundgren agreed, but Weathers wanted an actual part in the movie, even though his character had died in Rocky IV. Stallone refused, and Weathers decided not to allow Stallone to use his image for flashbacks from the previous films. They instead used footage of a fighter who looks similar to Weathers. Weathers and Stallone patched up their differences and Weathers agreed to allow footage of him from previous films to be used throughout Creed (2015).

Weathers portrayed the father of Michael Strahan and Daryl "Chill" Mitchell's characters on the short-lived 2009 Fox sitcom Brothers. Weathers acted as Brian "Gebo" Fitzgerald in advertising for Old Spice's sponsorship of NASCAR driver Tony Stewart. He also appeared in an ongoing series of web-only advertisements for Credit Union of Washington, dispensing flowers and the advice that "change is beautiful" to puzzled-looking bystanders. He also starred in a series of commercials for Bud Light, in which he introduced plays from the "Bud Light Playbook." At the conclusion of each commercial, Weathers could be seen bursting through the Bud Light Playbook and shouting "Here we go!"

In 2019, Weathers appeared as Greef Karga in several episodes of the first season of the Star Wars series, The Mandalorian. He returned for the second season and also directed the episode "Chapter 12: The Siege". He returned for season 3 and directed the episode "Chapter 20: The Foundling". His performance earned him an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Guest Actor.

Weathers died at his home in Los Angeles on February 1, 2024, at the age of 76. His family issued a statement saying he died "peacefully in his sleep.

[direwombat]

For the AU asks, how about a role reversal AU for Jacob and Syb? One where Syb is the herald and Jacob is the deputy?

[SEND ME A PAIRNG + AN AU SETTING]

ahhhhh thank you kate!!!! fdsa;lf ok so. this got long, but considering anything under 5k is a "short" fic for me, it's fine. also writing evil syb is a lot of fun, so i just let it flow.

for context: in the role reversal au, i imagine that daddy la roux played a more significant role in syb and augustine's upbringing and as a result, syb ends up going to prison instead of going into the army. so when she becomes a herald (nicknamed the Warden) of augustine's cult, she takes over the Henbane with her base of operations being the Hope County Jail (which she calls "the kennels") where she trains loyal and obedient "dogs" to defend the cult.

word count: ~1.5k warnings: imprisonment and brief torture using an electric collar

Jacob was aware of the so-called Warden of the Henbane. 

He’d read her file front-to-back until he had it memorized when Whitehorse made the call to bring in Burke to arrest her brother. Born in New Orleans and raised in a dysfunctional home with an alcoholic father and sick mother, “troubled” is perhaps the kindest word to describe her childhood and adolescence. Her rap sheet was already a mile long by the time she dropped out of high school at age sixteen — after her mother died — and no one was surprised when she started busting kneecaps professionally. 

They were even less surprised when she killed her Daddy. If anything, those who knew her were more amazed that she hadn’t unloaded the entire clip into his torso. Just a single bullet, straight through the brain. His execution might have been merciful had she not shoved the barrel into his mouth first, breaking his teeth before pulling the trigger. “Daddy taught me there’s only one way to take care of a bad dog,” she’d stated on the record. “So, I put’im down.”

She hadn’t fought her case. Pled guilty, spent the next fifteen years at the Louisiana Correctional Institute for Women in St. Gabriel, and was eventually released on good behavior. By all accounts, she was a model inmate and repaid her debt to society. 

Or, at least she had, until she broke parole and fled to Montana with her cult leader brother. 

Everyone who’s come into contact with her makes her out to be some sort of monster. A boogeyman with sharp teeth and soulless eyes, stalking around on long, spindly legs with a cattle prod hanging off her belt. Unlike the other cult Heralds, people rarely speak of her outside of hushed whispers, as if fearful she may overhear. “She turns men into animals,” they say. “And then she trains them up like dogs.”

But Jacob assumes that, like most authoritarians, she’s less impressive in person. 

Every bone and muscle in his body aches as he slowly comes to consciousness. The attempt to arrest her brother had gone poorly, to say the least. Joseph would probably consider him surviving the impact of the helicopter crash a miracle. Jacob isn’t so sure he’d agree.

Even behind closed eyelids, the soft blanket of darkness gives way to blinding white light, and he lets out a low groan. The high pitched buzz of fluorescent lights sound overhead and he curls in on himself, instinctively protecting the soft, vulnerable flesh of his abdomen. His breath comes out rough and ragged. The taste of copper rests heavy on the back of his tongue. 

Back in Iraq, Miller had told him about how he’d spent three months as a POW before being rescued. The worst part wasn’t the torture, Miller had said. It was the isolation. With no way to measure time passing, all he had to hold on to the fraying threads of his sanity was focusing on his own breathing. “If I could breathe, then I was still alive. And if I was still alive, then I could hold on a little bit longer.”

So, Jacob takes a breath. 

And then he takes another. 

And another and another and another, focusing on the air — cold, dry, stagnant — filling his lungs until the pain melts away and the panicked thumping of his heart slows to match the steady rhythm of inhales and exhales. 

In, two, three, four — the soft clicks of a lighter’s flint struggling to spark sounds over the buzzing lights. 

Out, two, three, four — and the smell of cigarette smoke burns at his nose. 

Jacob stirs, cracking his eyes open and wincing at the bright white light bouncing off gray concrete walls. He blearily searches for the source of the smoke, his vision still soft and fuzzy. A figure, tall and thin, stands on the other side of his cell, and as the world slowly comes into focus, he’s met with a face he’d only ever seen in a mugshot. 

Sybille La Roux — The Warden herself — leans casually against the bars with a cigarette held loosely between two fingers. 

She’s older than she appears in her photo, and significantly more covered in ink. Various tattoos crawl up the pale skin of her toned arms and shoulders, and one of a fraying noose circles her neck, serving as a grim memento mori. Long gone is the mullet she once had — her dark hair cropped short instead, but the look in her eyes remains just as cold and remorseless. 

It’s a look he’s familiar with. One he’s seen in his fellow soldiers and one he sees every time he looks in the mirror. Like him, this woman is a killer, and she has no reservations about killing again. 

“Rise ‘n shine, princess,” she drawls. Tendrils of smoke coil out of her mouth, demon-like, as she speaks. Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Sleep well?”

Jacob shifts, pushing himself up into a seated position. A chain jangles behind him as he moves, but he pays it no mind, sliding backwards until his back is pressed against the wall. He levels her with a stone-faced glare, jaw clenching, and even as the seconds drag on, he doesn’t dare break eye contact. 

Here, under her scrutinizing gaze, weakness is the one thing he can’t afford. 

She tuts with a click of her tongue and bends down to squat in front of the bars. “Aw, c’mon now, ain’t no need to be like that,” she says, taking another puff of her cigarette. When she exhales, she blows the smoke through the bars, into his cell. That taunting grin of hers never leaves, and she crooks the two fingers holding her cigarette beckoningly. “Here, boy.”

But Jacob makes no move to obey. He remains where he sits and narrows his eyes. 

She sighs, shoulders heaving in an exaggerated display of disappointment, as if she were a child upset that her favorite animal at the zoo wasn’t being interesting enough. Lifting the cigarette to her lips, she lets it dangle there for a moment while she shifts her weight to pull something from her pockets. Whatever it is, it’s small enough to fit in her palm without Jacob seeing it. 

And then pain — sharp, jolting, and electric — shoots through his veins. 

His jaw locks in place and he grinds his teeth together so hard he tastes blood. The skin around his neck burns. His muscles spasm, and he falls over onto the ground. His heart races, thumping against his ribcage with enough force that he thinks it might actually explode in his chest. A clipped scream slips out between his teeth and he writhes on the ground, limbs twitching in agony.

And just as suddenly as it started, it stops. 

He’s left panting on the ground, red-faced and drooling. Thick strings of spittle dampen his beard, dripping onto the floor below. Yet, despite the trembling of his limbs subsiding as the current leaves his body, the tightness in his chest remains. It isn’t until he can’t take it anymore that a hoarse, rasping cough forces its way from him, leaving him dry-heaving where he lay. His sweaty temple is pressed against the cool concrete, and slowly, his heartbeat slows and he regains his breath. 

When he opens his eyes with another groan, he finds La Roux regarding him dispassionately. “I said: c’mere,” she repeats, and this time, her tone leaves no room for disobedience. 

Jacob grunts when he lifts himself onto trembling hands and knees. Reluctantly, he obeys, crawling towards her on aching knees until the chain behind him pulls taught and the electric collar she’d just used to shock him digs into his windpipe. He stops just short of the bars, unable to reach through and grab her.

Her lips curl into a cruel smile. “Good boy,” she says and takes another drag. “S’pose I don’t gotta explain the humor of your situation, do I, Deputy Seed?” she asks, reaching through the bars so she can tap the ashes of her cigarette onto the ground in front of him.

The irony of an officer of the law being unlawfully held in his own jail by a convicted felon isn’t lost on him, but once again, he doesn’t answer.

Unconcerned by his refusal to respond, La Roux keeps talking. “Tell me — you ever think about what happens to the people you lock up?” She cocks her head menacingly to the side and her voice lowers. “Do y’know what happens when a person spends too long inside a cage?” 

“Why do I get the feeling you’ll show me,” he grits through clenched teeth.

He nearly flinches when she throws her head back to bark a laugh. When her gaze returns to him, her eyes are glimmering with malice. “You gonna give me reason to?” she asks. Once again, Jacob remains quiet, and she takes the moment to let her eyes rake over his body, sending a shiver crawling down his spine. She locks onto his old army dog tags, which dangle freely from his neck. Her smile widens. “Nah, y’already half broken in, ain’t’cha?” 

She rises to stand and looks down at him groveling before her like a dog. Taking a final drag, she lets the butt of her cigarette slip from her fingers and fall to the ground. Her heavy boot comes down and she grinds its glowing ember out with her heel. “Don’t worry. We’ll get’cha the rest of the way there. I’ll train ya up real good.”

[momentsbeforemass]

What motivates you?

(by request, my homily from Sunday)

I’d like to talk with you today about what motivates you.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus warns His followers not to be terrified, to not live in fear. Why?

In Jesus’ time, Roman-occupied Judea was a bomb. Waiting to explode.

The Jewish people were looking for the next King David, the next Judah the Maccabee to lead a rebellion against Rome. All they needed was someone to rally them and the revolution would be on.

Jesus knows what’s coming their way. So does everyone else. It’s that obvious. And they have a lot of reasons to live in fear.

Because it’s going to get worse. A lot worse. They will get their rebellion against Rome. And it will end horribly – one hundred thousand people will die and the Temple itself will be destroyed – when Rome has finally had enough.

In the face of that, Jesus doesn’t tell them to stockpile weapons or pack a bug out bag. He doesn’t tell them to get a second passport. Instead, Jesus tells them – not to live in fear.

And you’re thinking, “Wasn’t the Temple was destroyed in 70 AD? The last time I checked, we were a few years past that. Thanks for the history lesson. But this doesn’t really apply to me.”

Actually, the Church Fathers like to point out that what Jesus is telling people to not be terrified by – is pretty normal stuff.

Jesus’ list of “wars, insurrections, earthquakes, famine, plagues?” As St. Augustine puts it, this is the “common condition of nations.”

And he’s right. Look at the news. There’s a war in Ukraine. There are insurrections in Hong Kong and Iran. In the last few weeks we’ve had major earthquakes in Indonesia, the Philippines, Mexico, Guatemala, and elsewhere.

Closer to home, the drought that’s drying up the Mississippi is already driving up food prices and will get even worse if we don’t have a really wet winter. And for plagues? We all know the answer to that one.

Which means that Jesus’ warning doesn’t have an expiration date. So what exactly is Jesus trying to tell us?

Jesus is trying to tell us to be careful about what we focus on, about what we let in. Because if we focus on the things that terrify us, if we let in things that fill us with fear, that’s what will motivate us. And we will be deceived.

As you know, there are people who are happy to deceive us. There are multi-billion-dollar businesses built on deceiving us. If you and I live in fear? We will be easy to deceive.

With so many people in the business of selling fear – and anger, which is just a secondary emotion that grows out of fear. With so many people mindlessly repeating that stuff on social media, it’s hard for us not to be afraid.

Is there anything you and I can do? How do we respond?

We respond by choosing what we let in. By being intentional about what gets into us – to motivate us.

And it starts by choosing to let in the simple, basic baptismal call of every Christian. To reflect the love of Christ poured out for us. The love that our hearts are filled with. The love that keeps our hearts beating.

To let that love motivate us, in everything that we do.

What does that even mean? It means to be intentional about what you let in. To recognize that what you let into you - will become what motivates you. And to choose only those things that will motivate you to be who God made you to be.

Starting with the love of Christ. And coming back to the love of Christ. Over and over. Day by day. Hour by hour.

Judging everything else you let in by the love of Christ, and your high calling to reflect the love of Christ. And intentionally rejecting anything that does not reflect the Love that made you.

What does that look like in practice?

One of the people it looks like is St. Frances Xavier Cabrini. Mother Cabrini.

And you’re thinking, “That’s an impossible standard. She founded the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart. She started 67 different institutions – schools, hospitals, orphanages – only the great saints do stuff like that.”

Before she was a saint. Before she ever founded anything. Before she was Mother Cabrini. Before she was a nun.

She was Maria Francesca Cabrini. The youngest of 13 children on a small farm in northern Italy.

She was inspired by the sisters who taught her at the little school in her village. So she studied to become a grade school teacher and got her teaching certificate.

But she didn’t start out with the grand and the glorious. Actually, she didn’t even get to start out teaching third graders full-time.

She had to balance her career with her parents’ failing health. So she worked part-time as a substitute teacher, while she took care of her mom and dad.

The key to it all – and why Maria became who she became – is how she did it.

She didn’t do it resentfully, begrudging her parents for holding back, from keeping her from being a teacher. She didn’t do it in fear, wondering what would happen to her after her parents died.

She let herself be motivated by the love of Christ poured out for her, the same love that’s poured out for you and for me.

She let herself be motivated by the love that her heart was filled with, the same love that your heart and my heart is filled with.

What separates Maria from the rest of us, why she eventually became Saint Frances Xavier Cabrini, is that she worked to keep her focus on the love of Christ.

This wasn’t a one and done for her. She kept coming back to the love of Christ in prayer. Over and over. Day by day. Hour by hour.

Hers was not a breakthrough followed by perfection but a lifetime of dogged persistence. Coming back to God again and again. Because of that, God moved in her and through her to do all of the things that we think of, when we think of her as a saint.

What separates Maria from the rest of us, is that she judged everything else that she let in by the love of Christ, and by her high calling to reflect the love of Christ. She intentionally rejected anything that did not reflect the Love that made her.

We see it in one of the prayers that she composed for herself, rejecting by name the things in her that did not reflect that Love. It goes like this:

Fortify me with the grace of Your Holy Spirit and give Your peace to my soul that I may be free from all needless anxiety, solicitude and worry. Help me to desire always that which is pleasing and acceptable to You so that Your will may be my will. Amen.

That is how you and I do it.

Take this prayer of Mother Cabrini. Go to the first sentence of her prayer, to the underlined words. Those are the things that Mother Cabrini saw in herself that did not reflect the love of Christ.

Replace hers with yours. Instead of anxiety and worry, maybe yours are anger or fear, maybe doubt or loneliness, maybe envy or pride.

You don’t have to tell anyone, this is between you and God. But do it.

Whatever they are, name the things in you that do not reflect the love of Christ. Name the things in you that do not reflect your high calling to reflect the love of Christ.

Then pray this prayer, your version of her prayer. Over and over. Day by day. Hour by hour.

And watch as God moves in you and through you in ways you would never imagine.

Sunday’s Readings