#weird massachusetts

[whitepolaris]

Granny Squannit

In Cummaquid, in a cave among the dunes on Great Neck near the entrance to Barnstable Harbor, lived a powerful witch named Too-quah-mis-quan-nit, or Granny Squannit. Old Granny was short, stout, and kept to herself. In the forest, each year she would plant seeds that grew into small bushes. When the shrubs were mature, Granny Squannit would gather their pods for her magic.

Though Granny Squannit was reclusive and didn't respect any of the tribal chiefs or elders, she served in a rather helpful role to Wampanoag Indian families. When Wampanoag children misbehaved, Granny Squannit would come to scare the little brats back into line.

There was one child, however, who required special attention because the devil was in him. Wampanoag legends tells of a particularly bad boy who couldn't be cursed by punishment or any medicine from the chiefs or shaman, so Granny Squannit abducted the boy and brough him to her cave. There she gave the boy a potion to make him sleep for several days. When he eventually awoke, Granny told him to play in the sunshine while she napped. Her only orders were to not touch the hair on his head under any circumstances.

That was all this bad boy needed to hear. He crept up on the sleeping Granny Squannit, pushed her hair back from her forehead, and discovered a single green eye staring back at him. The sight scared the devil out of the boy, and he never made trouble agian.

[fandomsandfeminism]

Yall wanna hear a kinda funny, kinda sad story about my grandmother and hetero-normativity?

Ok, so... when my grandmother was in her 50s (I was an infant), she met a woman at the Unitarian Church. And, as can happen when you meet your soul mate, this event made it impossible for her to deny parts of herself that she had fiercely hidden her whole life.

All the drama- their affair being found out, the divorce with my grandfather, the court battle over who got the house, happened while I was a baby. Even in my earliest memories, it's just Mama Jo and Oma, and my grandfather lived elsewhere (first his own apartment, then a nursing home, then with us.)

But here's the thing- no one ever explained any of this to me. No one ever sat down and was like "hey, Rosie, so do you know what a lesbian is?" It was the 90s. It was Texas. I think my mom was still kinda processing all this, and just assumed that like... I was gonna figure it out. Don't mention it, let it just be normal. Like I think my mom thought that if she explained the situation, she would be making it weird? I dunno.

But like. In the 90s, in all the movies I had seen and books I had read, do you know how many same sex couples I had seen? Like. 0. Do you know how many "platonic best friend/roommates" I had seen? A lot. I had no context, is what I'm saying.

I literally thought this was a Golden Girls, roommates, besties situation until I was like...I dunno, 11? 12?

It was actually their parrot, an African Grey named Spike, imitating my grandmothers voice saying "Johanna, honey, it's getting late", that triggered the MIND BLOWN moment as I realized that *there's only one master bedroom and it only has 1 waterbed* when all the pieces finally clicked.

Anyway. I think it's a real important thing for kids to know queer people exist, for a lot of reasons, but also because kids can be clueless and it's embarrassing to have your grandmother be outted by a parrot because everyone just thought you'd figure it out on your own.

Anyway, here is my grandma and her wife, my Oma, after they moved to Albuquerque to be artsy gay cowboys and live their best life. They helped run a "Lesbian Dude Ranch" out there (basically just with funding and financial support. As Oma has explained "traditionally, most lesbians don't have a lot of money" so they wrote the checks and let the younger ladies actually run the ranch.)

[wxnderingluna]

miku from the berkshires, massachusetts! she's waiting for her ride back from the mall target

[humanoidhistory]

Head-measuring device at the U.S. Army Natick Soldier Systems Center, Massachusetts, ca. 1951-1984.

[weirdestbooks]

hmmmmm i know you said you'd give me your soul, but that seems intense.

can i requesttt Mass n Gin bonding? you know they're my favorites hehe. idc what time period or stuff like that, you can interpret this how you'd like.

its okay if not ofc!! no pressure

An Older Sister (Wattpad | Ao3)

Virginia hadn’t expected the new colony. 

She had been playing with her toy cat, the one that Uncle James had made for her, when the colony appeared, stumbling out of the woods, looking confused. Virginia had stood up to get her uncle when the new colony spotted her, eyes lighting up as he ran over.

“Hi!” he chirped, voice bright and cheerful, “I’m Plymouth!”

Plymouth looked weird. Instead of being dressed like the small, probably six-year-old child that he was, he instead looked more like a small man in his attire, wearing clothes that were just the littlest bit too big for him.

It was adorable.

“Hi,” Virginia said, hugging her plush tighter, unsure of what she could say, “I’m Virginia.”

Plymouth smiled, revealing that he was missing one of his front teeth, cheeks stretching to reveal dimples as his green eyes lit up in excitement. 

He reminded Virginia of Poppy. The comparison made her chest hurt.

But unlike Poppy, Plymouth didn’t try to pull her into a hug. Instead, he seemed to temper his excitement, trying to create a facade of being more mature than he was.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Plymouth said. It was so adorable to see him trying to act like an adult, all professional and mature. Virginia wanted to pick him up and pull him into a hug, but she knew most people didn’t like to be touched without warning, so she resisted the urge, offering Plymouth her hand instead.

“Father can’t talk to you,” Virginia began, “But I can take you to meet Uncle James if you would like.”

Plymouth nodded and easily took her hand, his tiny one fitting perfectly in her own. Still clutching her plush close to her chest with her free hand, Virginia began walking to her house, where she knew her uncle had to be unless he was busy helping Father.

Unfortunately, it seemed the latter was true, and Uncle James was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” Plymouth asked. Virginia sighed.

“Uncle James…he likes to protect people. Sometimes…sometimes Father gets himself into trouble, so Uncle James helps him. He’ll be back soon, and I’m sure he’ll be happy to meet you,” Virginia said. Plymouth nodded before looking around the house nervously, as if he was unsure of his place there, unsure of what he should do.

“I am sorry for my intru—” Plymouth began before Virginia cut off her newest little brother with a smile.

“That’s alright,” she said, “You’re family. It’s never an intrusion. We…we don’t have a bed for you, though. The last colony hat was here…she…she’s gone now, and since we were both little, we shared a bed.”

“That’s okay. I can…I can sleep on the floor until I…I fit it,” Plymouth said. Virginia shook her head.

“No little brother of mine is sleeping on the floor. You can sleep with me or your uncle, okay?” Virginia said. Plymouth nodded, looking sheepish. 

“You don’t have too—”

“I want to,” Virginia said before setting her plush on the chair that Uncle James had so lovingly crafted for them, letting Virginia and Popham sloppily carve their names into it.

Plymouth would have to, too. Family tradition.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m good at this,” Plymouth said. Virginia gave her brother a gentle smile, holding out her arms for a hug.

“You don’t have to be. We’re all learning. Now, may I have a hug from my new brother?” she asked. Plymouth quickly pulled her into a hug, melting into her body, invisible stress dropping from his shoulders. 

“You’re warm,” he muttered from where his face was buried in Virginia’s shoulder. Virginia laughed.

“Thank you,” she said before pulling away some, noticing how Plymouth’s clothes had shifted to ones that were more appropriate for a child his age. Plymouth looked as if he didn’t want to leave her grip, staying pressed against her side; just as the door to their house opened, Uncle James walked in with worry lines clear on his face.

“Uncle James!” Virginia called, catching her uncle’s attention and watching his eyes widen as he spotted Plymouth, “I have a brother!”

“Well, look at that. Does this brother have a name?” Uncle James asked. Plymouth, suddenly looking nervous, pressed close against Virginia’s side, burying his face in her skirts.

“He’s tall,” Plymouth whispered. Virginia knelt down to look her brother in the eyes, smiling reassuringly.

“He won’t hurt you,” Virginia said. “I promise.”

Plymouth nodded, slowly turning to face Uncle James.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Plymouth finally said. The grin that split Uncle James’ face was infectious.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

Plymouth, deciding he had enough of socializing, then turned back to Virginia, burying his face into her side, crawling into her lap from where he had been sitting on the ground.

Virginia held Plymouth close to her. The small, newborn colony yawned before snuggling tighter into Virginia’s grip. Virginia rubbed a gentle thumb across his cheek as he was slowly lulled to sleep by her breathing.

Her little brother was the most adorable thing Virginia had ever seen. He was so small, and a part of her soul thrummed with the urge to protect him, to keep him safe from anything that might want to harm him.

“Do you think he’ll live long?” Uncle James asked, sitting down beside Virginia, staring at the small colony. Virginia pulled him closer, pressing her head to Plymouth’s

“I hope so,” she said.

Virginia was tired of losing people she came to love.

[flowery-laser-blasts]

I was today years old that I found out that if Duff Killigan were real, he'd officially be banned from Massachusettes. Because apparently it's illegal to use and produce exploding golfballs.

[suburbdecay]

pass at your own risk

[srldesigns6277]

Happy/Not So Happy 105th Anniversary of the Great Molasses Flood in Boston, Massachusetts.

On this day, in 1919, a tank holding 8,700 cubic meters of molasses ruptured in the Noth End of Boston, leading to molasses rushing through the streets.

[forever-a-lake-effect-kid]

hiiii wttt fandom. you'll never guess what period of history i've been hyperfixating on lately ^-^

ids copied out under cut!

A page of doodles of personifications of the New England colonies in the 1600s. There are colored full body drawings of them in the center-- Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, and Maine, from left to right. They are all wearing typical outfits of the time with different colored vests, and Massachusetts is wearing one of those hats Puritans wore. They are all glaring at each other and thinking "god this place is a freakshow. i don't respect literally any of you people," except for Maine, who is squatting on the ground and poking at something happily, with a thought bubble that just contains a photorealistic image of a pinecone. A doodle in the upper left corner shows Britain (off-screen) gesturing to Maine and saying "Massachusetts, my…most…resolute colony. I recently won this territory from France, and am entrusting their care and…civilization to you." Mass stares at Maine blankly and then says "…wait did you say FRANCE?" with an expression of distress. Other drawings around the edge include Connecticut pointing at Maine and saying "how is it even POSSIBLE for one child to accumulate this many sticks in their hair?", Massachusetts carrying Maine under one arm with an exhausted/annoyed expression, and Maryland and Maine holding up a crab and a lobster respectively and saying "clab :D" and "lobber :D" to each other. Also an attempt at a drawing of a potato with an arrow pointing to it saying "this space is too empty. The humble potato".

Close up pictures include:

Close ups of small portraits of the faces of various colonies. They are all light-skinned and labeled with their names. Massachusetts has short dark brown hair, dark green eyes, and a determined expression. Connecticut has short, lighter brown hair, dark green eyes, and glasses. Rhode Island has short reddish hair, light green eyes, and a mischievous expression. Vermont has longer, light brown hair and light green eyes. New Hampshire has dark green eyes and short brown hair. Acadia, who is the only one drawn in profile, has greenish-blue eyes and dark brown hair mostly covered by a hood. She looks concerned. New Brunswick has dark brown hair and dark blue-green eyes. Nova Scotia has dark brown, wavy hair in a ponytail and greenish-blue eyes. Maine has longer, messy brown hair and dark blue-green eyes.

Close-up of a small comic. Connecticut is reaching to peer over a fence or wall and saying "psst. acadia. i know we're technically 'at' 'war' presently, but, well," Acadia, on the other side of the fence/wall, says "you still wish to trade?" Connecticut says "…yes". Acadia says "good. us too." Connecticut, in smaller text, says "oh thank heaven".

Comic. Parentheses at the top say "(modern day)". Maine, looking at their phone, says "hey mass remember how you used to think i was a demon lmao". Mass, carrying a cup, says with a concerned expression "what??? no????" He continues "i mean, maybe i said some things like that at SOME point… but i really don't remember… i mean, i doubt i MEANT it… maybe you're exaggerating…" Maine, with a expression of deep frustration, remembers old-timey Massachusetts angrily saying "sometimes i am not sure if you are a DEMON sent from hell to TORMENT me or merely meant as a TEST of my PATIENCE from GOD!"

Comic. In the background, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, and New Hampshire (and Maine, holding on to Massachusetts's cloak) are gesturing at each other with sound effect of "bickering, arguing, etc." as a nonspecific figure in the foreground says "ugh… new englanders are such a belligerent sort of people, don't you think? also wow those accents are…something". The New Englanders in question all whirl to face the figure with expressions of rage (and delight, for Maine and Rhode Island), and yell in unison "What did you say?!" Some of them add "hellfire and damnation" and "we'll KILL you". The person in the foreground looks afraid.

[itslenagain]

I took a trip with @ladyloveandjustice up to my home state and I just wanted to gush about her for a minute

I'm so happy that I'm lucky enough to be able to watch rockhopper penguin drama (I still want to believe in the yaoi penguins. And Piplup!) with such an incredible human. Like. How did I get to have such a cool girlfriend. I could watch penguins with you all day. Thank you for letting me ramble about my weird childhood & show you all the places I grew up in.

Here's some more cool pics from the New England Aquarium!

It was nice to go back to visit some of my favorite places & be weird & sentimental

[virtualburying]

courtyard at my school that is apparently very hard to get into

[whitepolaris]

The Ecstatic Spirits of Harvard's Holy Hill

To understand of the Holy Hill of Zion in Harvard, look to the road that leads there. The trailhead is on South Shaker Road. Most people know of the Shakers only by their furniture; what's not so well known is that they also invented modern spiritualism. Their ecstatic meetings on Harvard's Holy Hill were attended by upwards of 40,000 spirits at a whack, including the Angel of Victory; Noah, and the Virgin Mary.

The United Society of Believers in Christ's Second Appearing, as Shakers called themselves, first came to Harvard in 1781; there they established a creative and egalitarian society under the direction of their leader, Mother Ann Lee. Although the spirit world was an integral part of Mother Anne Lee's teachings, the story of spiritualism on Holy Hill begins after her death. Five decades after she died, in 1784, her remains were moved to a Shaker-owned cemetery in Watervliet, New York, and the reinterment seems to have aroused the Shakers to a new spiritual life. The following decade was known as Mother Ann's Second Appearing, or simply the New Era. At the site of her new resting place, several teenage girls simultaneously began to shake and tremble with extraordinary intensity. They whirled around until they fainted to the floor in a deep trance, and woke up with tales of encounters in the spirit land. This phenomenon soon spread to other Shakers and became codified part of their practice in 1838.

In Harvard, they listened to "testimony from Spirits brought forward through a mortal instrument," typically a young woman between the ages of thirteen and twenty-five. One of the chosen instruments was moved to select a high point of land as a feast ground and picked what is now Holy Hill. Over the source of two years, the Shakers Brethen transformed a spot at the top of the hill into a half-acre-square plateau and enclosed a space about eleven feet long and five feet wide with a fence. This was known as the Foutain, an area of energetically upwelling spiritual blessings. At the northern end of the Fountain Stone, God Stone, or Lord's Gone. It was engraved with this message:

For the healing of nations, who shall here seek my favor. And I will pronounce all people who shall come to this fountain, not to step within this enclosure, nor place their hands upon this stone while they are polluted with sin. I am God the Almighty in whose hands are judgement and mercy. And I will cause my judgement to fall upon the willful violator of my commands in my own time according to wisdom and truth, whether in this world, or eternity. For I have created all souls, and unto me they are accountable. Fear ye the Lord.

On meeting occasions, the Holy Hill was approached in processions along an avenue of maple trees and up the north end of the hill in two columns, one of Brothers and one of Sisters. An eyewitness account form nearby Shirley Shaker Village relates that during the procession they "threw love" to each other by throwing both hands forward, and the recipient drawing the hands back to the heart. In their day-long (and occasionally night-long) meetings, the eighty to ninety Harvard Shakers would dance round and round the Fountain, spinning and whirling rhythmically. They would march and sing for hours, swaying in unison.

Whirling like a top, a "chosen instrument" would fall to the ground, then arise speaking un unknown tongues. Before long, the entire meeting would be in violent ecstatic, where they believed that spirits thronged among them. Recorded here in Holy Hill were the spirits of Christ, the Virgin Mary, Noah, Abraham, Jeremiah, Isaiah, Mother Ann, the two angles that drove Lot out of Sodom, and the Angels of Truth, Repentance, Peace, Prophecy, and Victory.

The New Era ended around 1844 almost as abruptly as it began. The practical Shakers realized that they could not abandoned their farms for day-long revelries, and although Shaker headquarters in New Lebanon never issued a decree, the communities made a unilateral decision to end the Holy Hill experiment and return to the land. The last mention in Shaker diaries of meetings there is the semiannual feast on May 6, 1844, only six months after its completion. Elder Myrick, who had lettered the Fountain Stone, quietly removed the slab one day and buried it somewhere on Harvard Shaker lands. After that there is silence. It has not been seen since, and he left no record of its final resting place.

Today the dancing ground on the Holy Hill is covered in trees, with a new white fence erected around it. Only the slotted footing stone of the Fountain Stone remains. A palpable spiritual power seems to linger, however. I know of people who have whirled the night away here, as the young Sisters did one hundred and fifty years ago. Others come to meditate. Some have attempted recordings of the so-called spirit voice phenomena at the site of the Foutain Stone, but with what results I do not know.

One thing is certain: This is holy ground of an uncommon and ecstatic type; tread here at your peril lest ye also dance. -Denial V. Boudillion

[bunnylovesgod]

rabbit in a cemetery- Salem, MA

[jinx-aesthel]

Omg you got me a valentine?! And it’s an invitation to the House of Horrors Valentine's Day Massacre Market Omg!!!I can’t wait to see you all there! This is sure to be a jam packed night of some of the coolest weird art that New England has to offer! Come see our vendors, musicians, burlesque & drag show, fashion show, DJs and SO much more!! February 8th!! 🔪🫀

[just-a-queer-fanboy]

Is there free shipping or no

[weirdestbooks]

The Ghosts That Haunt You (Wattpad | Ao3)

Inspired by this lovely bit of art by @collar-cat. They also made a banger animatic for this oneshot!!

And @lost-islands just made this wonderful animatic for it so please go check it out!

TW for suicidal thoughts.

Plymouth’s new identity had been haunting him for years. Even now, as the sixth state to join his father’s country, the name of his dead brother haunted him.

Massachusetts, they called him, the politicians whose hands he shook as they offered to buy him a drink and invited him to their homes, their faces alight with joy at the “birth” of their state.

It made Plymouth feel sick. His throat seized up, and he did his best to smile and nod as he choked back tears.

I’m not Massachusetts! He wanted to scream. Stop saying I’m him! 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t, not without making people think his father was mad, that he was mad.

So he bit back sobs and ignored the tears that crept into his vision as the politicians of Massachusetts Bay celebrated the existence of his murderer.

He was grateful when the day ended, when he could excuse himself from the celebration of his body.

Of the life he stole from Massachusetts Bay.

“I need to get home,” he had said. “My father wants to do something with the whole family.”

It wasn’t a lie. It still felt like one.

So now here Plymouth was, curled up on the sofa and wishing so desperately that Virginia was here, that she had ratified the Consitution before him, so he didn’t have to face this without her.

She had been there since his birth. Plymouth wished she could be with him now.

He felt empty. Even though he had a body now, a chance to live life as himself, he felt as if he had been drained of all life and all will to live. In Father’s head, he could at least pretend that Plymouth was still real, that Massachusetts Bay wasn’t—wasn’t dead, but just somewhere else.

There was no pretending here. There was no Plymouth here—only the life of his dead brother he was expected to take.

Plymouth wished he was dead.

Although…he did have a body of his own now. Would it be better if he just took care of things now so…so Massachusetts Bay’s people would have a better personification, a personification that wasn’t a murderer? Maybe if he were lucky, it would be Massachusetts Bay’s replacement.

Maybe he was standing in the way of things.

Plymouth walked into the kitchen, not feeling in control of his body. The only person in there was Connecticut, sitting on the table. The state grinned, mouth curling into a familiar smile.

“Hello, Massy,” he said. Plymouth couldn’t stop himself from flinching at the nickname. Connecticut frowned. “Sorry, Plym. I guess this day would be rough on you.”

Plymouth didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure if he could without sobbing.

“Are you okay? I know the bodies can be overwhelming,” Connecticut said. Plymouth couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to faint. Everything was too much.

His hands were shaking.

He needed Virginia. He needed his mother, the only person who would understand. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

“LITTLE BROTHER!” 

Plymouth gasped, black spots at the end of his vision as Connecticut’s voice snapped him out of whatever fit he had fallen into.

Dimly, he realized he had fallen to the floor.

“Little…little brother?” Plymouth asked, confused. He was sixteen years older than Connecticut. What was he talking about? The confusion eased the pressure on his chest, eased the weight that was crushing his mind.

Connecticut smiled, worry in his eyes.

“Well, since we’re supposedly as old as our statehood dates now, that makes me older than you in the eyes of our people,” he argued. Plymouth scoffed.

“It’s not even thirty days!” He protested, clinging desperately to the topic, eager to get his mind off of his crimes, his sins, the blood that he drowned in daily.

“Still enough to make me older,” Connecticut sing-songed. “Want to get Father?”

“He’ll say I’m older,” Plymouth said, hoping he could distract Connecticut and keep the conversation about fit to a minimum so he could forget how much his family cared for a murderer. It would make it easier for Plymouth to do what needed to be done.

“Plym…” Connecticut chided, the concern not leaving his eyes.

“I’m fine!” he snapped.

“Is this about Mass—”

“So what if it is!” Plymouth snapped, cutting off Connecticut before he could finish, rising to his feet. He couldn’t stand to hear his name anymore because it hurt, because it sank into his soul and ripped it apart, and it hurt, it hurt so badly because no one wanted to use that name to refer to its rightful owner.

“If it helps, I know how you fe—”

“How can you? How can you possibly know how I feel? I murdered our brother and sister and then took our brother’s place, and now I’m being celebrated for it! How the fuck could you know how that feels?” Plymouth snapped, tone venomous.

“You aren’t the only one whose land is made up of the dead. Rhode is lucky. Newport, Warwick, and Portsmouth are still alive. But…Saybrook, New Haven, they’re gone. Because of me. I never took anyone’s place like you did, Plymouth, but don’t you fucking dare say I don’t know what it’s like,” Connecticut snapped, tone equally venomous, before it faded into something sadder.

In an instant, all of his anger faded from his body, and Plymouth sank back to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The urge to get it all over with grew stronger. He couldn’t stay here anymore, ruining things for everyone else.

“I know you are. I know it hurts,” Connecticut said, sounding like he was holding back tears. “And I can’t imagine how you feel, knowing that everyone thinks you are the one and only personification of Massachusetts Bay.”

“I don’t…I can’t be the state that they want me to be, Connecticut,” Plymouth whispered as his younger brother pulled him into a hug. “I can’t.”

“Be the state that you want to be, then,” Connecticut whispered. Plymouth just clung to his brother, not answering.

He wasn’t sure what else he could say.

“New Jersey and I have been planning something,” Connecticut then said, pulling away from the hug, keeping one hand on Plymouth’s shoulder. Plymouth swallowed down his tears. 

“What?” Plymouth asked. He meant to be politer, to say more, but the words failed him. Connecticut didn’t seem to mind.

“We were planning on making a mausoleum in the Land In-Between, wherever Father builds his new home. For New Haven, Saybrook, West Jersey…and for Maine and Massachusetts Bay, if you would like to join us? We still need to wait for Virginia so she can memorialize the ones she got to know, but…do you want to help us?”

“Yes,” Plymouth whispered, desperate. He would stay until the mausoleum was complete to ensure that Maine and Massachusetts Bay were memorialized properly so he would have a place to beg for atonement for his sins before he finished things.

It wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

But Plymouth had been living in Hell on Earth since they passed. He was prepared to be sent to actual Hell.

He would be better off there anyway.