#solemnity of all saints

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The Solemnity of All Saints is celebrated on the first of November.

It was instituted to honour all of the saints, both known and unknown, and, according to Pope Urban IV, to supply any deficiencies in the faithful's celebration of saints' feasts during the year.

In the early days of the Church, the Christians were accustomed to solemnize the anniversary of a martyr's death for Christ at the place of martyrdom.

In the fourth century, neighbouring dioceses began to interchange feasts, to transfer relics, to divide them, and to join in a common feast; as is shown by the invitation of Saint Basil of Caesarea (397) to the bishops of the province of Pontus.

Frequently, groups of martyrs suffered on the same day, which naturally led to a joint commemoration.

In the persecution of Diocletian, the number of martyrs became so great that a separate day could not be assigned to each, but the Church, feeling that every martyr should be venerated, appointed a common day for all.

The first trace of this we find is in Antioch on the Sunday after Pentecost.

We also find mention of a common day in a sermon of Saint Ephrem the Syrian (373) and in the 74th homily of Saint John Chrysostom (407).

At first, only martyrs and Saint John the Baptist were honoured by a special day in the Liturgical Calendar.

Other saints were added gradually and increased in number when a regular process of canonization was established.

Still, as early as 411, there is in the Chaldean Calendar a "Commemoratio Confessorum" for the Friday after Easter.

In the west, Pope Boniface IV, on 13 May 609 or 610, consecrated the Pantheon in Rome to the Blessed Virgin and all the martyrs, ordering an anniversary.

Gregory III (731-741) consecrated a chapel in the Basilica of Saint Peter to all the saints and fixed the anniversary for November 1.

A basilica of the Apostles already existed in Rome. Its dedication was annually remembered on May 1.

Gregory IV (827-844) extended the celebration on November 1 to the entire Church.

The vigil seems to have been held as early as the feast itself. The octave was added by Sixtus IV (1471-84).

Francis Merseman (Catholic Encyclopedia), copyright 1907.

[livehorses]

List of movie classics that can’t never be missed in the familiar cinema club for All Saints Day:

It's all about Biographic movies of Saints lives that we watch in a huge marathon! 😃

Mother Teresa, In The Name Of God's Poor (1997) with Geraldine Chaplin

Father Pio with Sergio Castelito (yes, yes, King Miraz for some...)

Karol, The Man Who Became Pope and its sequel Karol, The Pope, The Man

Chiara e Francesco

Sant' Antonio di Padova

Fray escoba (Fray Broom, inspired on Saint Martin of Porres' life)

Preferisco Il Paradiso

Thérese

Faustina, Apostle of Divine Mercy

Charbel

Blessed Duns Scoto

A Man For All Seasons

And many others!

[livehorsesartpage]

Made with pencil colors at November 1st of 2022

[portraitsofsaints]

All Saints Day Feast day: November 1

A solemn holy day of the Catholic Church. While many saints have a specific feast day on which we celebrate their lives and work, the vast majority of the saints of Heaven do not. All Holy Saints in Heaven, pray for us!  Blessed are those who wash their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb (Revelation 7:14 {website}

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

after last night’s festivities i woke up this morning and visited the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. cleaned their headstones, left them some offerings (flowers, a handful of coins, lit a candle, and found a crow’s feather there that i placed between their graves), said some prayers, and just sorta hung out in the peace and quiet, doing some contemplation.

[eloves-writes]

How do you feel about Virgin!Reader x Coryo where reader wheres a purity ring and Coryo thinks it is adorable and one day she just hands it to him on a chain and he immediately gets the hint and is like “Are you sure?!?!”

anon i read this before i left for college this morning and have genuinely been kicking my feet and giggling ALL DAY.

mdni, 18+ content under the cut

you had worn your purity ring since the day you turned thirteen, vowing to stay pure until the ring was replaced by a wedding band. it had been easy throughout your teen years to maintain these vows, as none of the capitol boys were particularly alluring to you at all- until your first day at the university, when coriolanus snow arrived back from his peace-keeping summer in the districts. his hair had been buzzed and grown back out, his blond curls starting to return but he wasn’t the same man who mentored the songbird girl in the hunger games. he was dripping with ambition and a thirst for power, and it was attractive in a way that almost scared you. somehow, you had lucked out and gotten his attention, and by graduation your lives had intertwined in every way except one.

coriolanus didn’t mind waiting for you, because he knew that it would be worth it to be the only person who would ever touch you. sure, it was difficult at times when all he wanted to do was rip your clothes from your body and fuck you sensless, but he could wait. he was a patient man.

but you couldn’t wait any longer. your own fingers, though they felt sufficiently sinful, could only do so much. the thought of coriolanus between your thighs was not enough; you needed him to finally touch you. make you his. mark you in a way that couldn’t be covered and wear your purity ring around his neck as a trophy.

you mindlessly played with the gold chain between your fingers as you stood outside coriolanus’ study, drawing up the confidence to knock. it wasn’t that you were scared; just nervously excited in a way that was new to you.

“come in,” corio’s voice spoke from inside.

you opened the door tentatively, a subconscious smile on your face when you saw the man sat at his desk working away. “how did you know i was there?”

corio continued to write as he replied. “i could just sense your presence, my love.”

after a moment of silence, he put down his pen and looked up at you. “to what do i owe the pleasure darling?”

“i have a gift for you,” you responded, trying to sound normal as if you weren’t about to give yourself up to the man.

coriolanus narrowed his eyes at you in friendly suspicion. “you’re giving me a gift? how the tables turn.”

it was true that he liked to shower you with gifts, from bouquets of roses to dresses to intricately expensive jewellery.

you playfully rolled your eyes, walking over to his desk and placing the chain in his outstretched hand. he took a moment to inspect the necklace, delicately fingering the pendant.

he knew what it was in seconds. he had spent many hours over the last few years staring at your hands, this simple gold ring sitting pretty on your dainty fingers. and you were gifting it to him. which meant it was no longer on your dainty fingers, which could only mean one thing.

corio placed it on his desk and stood in front of you, a solemn expression on his face. “are you sure?”

it wasn’t how you had expected him to react. “yes, corio. i’m sure.”

he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gazing into your eyes with equal love and lust.

“thank god.”

suddenly, his mouth was on yours, and though you had kissed him many times before, there was a profound urgency now that ignited something deep inside of you, hotter and more fervid than you’d ever felt alone in your bed at night.

you were on your back on corio’s silk sheets, pleasure coarsing through your vains as he drove himself into your tight pussy. his pace was reserved as he tried not to overwhelm you, but you felt so fucking good that he thought himself a saint for not snapping his hips as fast and hard as he possibly could. the feeling of snow on top of you, your bare bodies pressed together as if you would die should you not be touching every inch of one another, his cock filling you and hitting your g spot with every thrust. your warm virgin cunt squeezing him tightly as if you were trying to hold him there forever. it was well worth the wait, losing yourself completely in his filthy, beautiful words. drunk with pleasure and corio and love and his mouth on your neck and his cum spilling inside of you.

[givemearmstopraywith]

i dont think i can be a catholic at least not at this part of my life (simone weil moment) but every year when i see / think abt people confirmed at easter vigil my entire body is wrecked with fomo and longing. is this god calling me to the church or what.

i have the exact same issue! i had a long talk with my mum about it on holy saturday- we watched the vatican solemn mass and saw eight adult catechists be baptized, and i did read to her something simone weil wrote that i return to often:

I owe you the truth, at the risk of shocking you, and it gives me the greatest pain to shock you. I love God, Christ, and the Catholic faith as much as it is possible for so miserably inadequate a creature to love them. I love the saints through their writings and what is told of their lives-apart from some whom it is impossible for me to love fully or to consider as saints. I love the six or seven Catholics of genuine spirituality whom chance has led me to meet in the course of my life. I love the Catholic liturgy, hymns, architecture, rites, and ceremonies. But I have not the slightest love for the Church in the strict sense of the word, apart from its relation to all these things that I do love. I am capable of sympathizing with those who have this love, but I do not feel it. I am well aware that all the saints felt it. But then they were nearly all born and brought up in the Church. Anyhow, one cannot make oneself love. All that I can say is that if such a love constitutes a condition of spiritual progress, which I am unaware of, or if it is part of my vocation, I desire that it may one day be granted to me.

it may be that you and i suffer from the same peculiarity, a love of God and not necessarily of the church. the church is a community of people who love God: you can love God without a church, and that does not invalidate your personal relationship with him at all, many people do benefit from a sense of fellowship and community. what do you find yourself yearning for when you see baptism and confirmation? for God, or for God in others? for God, or for the community of believers?

[3rdeyeblaque]

On January 7th, we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint, Auntie Zora Neale Hurston on her 133rd birthday (updated 2024). 🎉

Novelist, Anthropologist, Folklorist, Scholar, Vodou initiate & Historian, Zora Neale Hurston's legacy is forever cemented in Hoodoo Culture (and beyond) as the masterful wordsmith who cast a shining light on black excellence in all everyday forms/spaces, our ATR roots, & the preservation of Black Voices during the prime of the Harlem Renaissance.

Auntie Zora was born in Notasulga, AL and raised on 5 acres of land in Eatonville, FL by her preacher-father and free-spirited mother ; in what would be the first all-Black township in the country. After the shattering loss of her mother, Zora turned up in Baltimore, MD where she presented herself as a 16 year old (10 years her junior) in order to access free public school education resources; thereby finishing school. From then on, Zora lived her life presenting herself as 10 years younger than she actually was. She'd go on to graduate from Barnard College in 1928. 

She published several novellas & articles, including "Mules & Men"; a collection of Hoodoo Folklore. She entered the zenith of her career in the late 30s/40s after publishing her masterworks: "Their Eyes Were Watching God", "Tell My Horse", "Moses, Man of the Mountain", & an anthropological study on Hatian Vodou .After publishing her autobiography, "Dust Tracks on a Road, "Auntie Zora finally received the public recognition & literary respect that was long overdue. Despite her successes, and unprecedented contributions in classic literature & anthropology, Zora never received the financial contributions that her work so deserved. 

Zora Neale Hurston passed away; penniless, alone, & drifting into obscurity. Friends and supporters from near and far raised $600 for her funeral service and burial. She was buried in an unmarked grave, in a segregated section, at the Garden Of Heavenly Peace Cemetery in Fort Pierce, FL. Over a decade later, in 1973 the Great Alice Walker found the unmarked grave and ordered a headstone to be placed on it; engraved with, "Genius Of The South" in Zora's honor. It remains in place today.  “Let no Negro celebrity, no matter what financial condition they might be in at death, lie in inconspicuous forgetfulness. We must assume the responsibility of their graves being known and honored.” - Zora Neale Hurston to W.E.B. Dubois Auntie Zora wanted to be remembered & demanded that the same honor and respect be given unto her peers & others. Never forget the infectious voice that defined & defied, inspired & struck fear in many hearts of her time & after. We pour libations & give 💐 today as we celebrate Auntie Zora for her enigmatic spirit, ancestral wisdom, labor of love for Hoodoo Folklore, & for the seeing the beauty in the dark, sometimes solemn, corners in Black Culture. Let her studies continue to inform our own. Let her spark a fire in us to reconnect to our roots & grow within our lineages.

Offering suggestions: money, music, read/share her work, libations of water, & flowers.

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

[thepastisalreadywritten]

The Solemnity of All Saints is celebrated on the first of November.

It was instituted to honour all the saints, both known and unknown, and, according to Pope Urban IV, to supply any deficiencies in the faithful's celebration of saints' feasts during the year.

In the early days of the Church, Christians were accustomed to solemnize the anniversary of a martyr's death for Christ at the place of martyrdom.

In the fourth century, neighbouring dioceses began to interchange feasts, to transfer relics, to divide them, and to join in a common feast; as is shown by the invitation of Saint Basil of Caesarea (397) to the bishops of the province of Pontus.

Frequently, groups of martyrs suffered on the same day, which naturally led to a joint commemoration.

In the persecution of Diocletian, the number of martyrs became so great that a separate day could not be assigned to each, but the Church, feeling that every martyr should be venerated, appointed a common day for all.

The first trace of this we find is in Antioch on the Sunday after Pentecost. We also find mention of a common day in a sermon of Saint Ephrem the Syrian (373) and in the 74th homily of Saint John Chrysostom (407).

At first, only martyrs and Saint John the Baptist were honoured by a special day in the Liturgical Calendar. Other saints were added gradually. They were increased in number when a regular process of canonization was established.

Still, as early as 411, there is in the Chaldean Calendar a "Commemoratio Confessorum" for the Friday after Easter.

In the west, Pope Boniface IV, on 13 May 609 or 610, consecrated the Pantheon in Rome to the Blessed Virgin and all the martyrs, ordering an anniversary.

Gregory III (731-741) consecrated a chapel in the Basilica of Saint Peter to all the saints and fixed the anniversary for November 1.

A basilica of the Apostles already existed in Rome, and its dedication was annually remembered on May 1.

Gregory IV (827-844) extended the celebration on November 1 to the entire Church. The vigil seems to have been held as early as the feast itself. The octave was added by Sixtus IV (1471-84).

Francis Merseman (Catholic Encyclopedia, copyright 1907)

[lizthewriter]

as the banks begin to break / sirius black

PAIRING  adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader

SUMMARY  you run the blood analysis for another mystery body - perfectly healthy, no suggestion of how the person died. it was frustrating going back to your boss with nothing. another mystery. and then, you're much too fed up with the feds taking away your stiffs. you take it upon yourself to investigate the mystery of this body further.

"magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

TAGS  adult!sirius black x forensic analyst!reader, mystery fic???, (3) question marks, idk i thought the concept for this was cool and wrote it because why not, intrigue, reader obviously DOES NOT believe in magic, harry potter and the deathly hallows

QUOTE  "too tempting not to touch, / but even though it shocked you, / something's electric in your blood," - various storms and saints by florence + the machine

WORD COUNT 3.6K

WRITTEN  1.6.2024

you -

hey, boss wants you to run blood analysis on this john doe we got earlier today. ran his fingerprints through the system, but we came up with nothing. he doesn't expect for you to get a hit, but he wants you to try anyways. i faxed you the preliminary report. send boss your results asap. see you tommorow!

you listened back to the message on your machine before getting to analyzing the blood sample left on your desk. your dear friend and the medical examiner on your team, james, had examined another one of those odd stiffs this morning. dead, but for some reason, no one could figure out how. there had been dozens, if not more than a hundred, in the past two years like this one. more on record in the last century, but the precinct hasn't seen numbers like these since world war two.

this paticular victim was different than the others, however. all other bodies had been identifiable - meaning the police was able to figure out who had died and notify next of kin. this one wasn't - no form of i.d, no money (other than some odd gold and silver coins, most likely worthless), no fingerprints in their databases. you probably wouldn't get a hit on the dna, but you could try.

there was another reason this john doe was fascinating. despite the fact that it seemed like he fell off a building, the preliminary report showed that he recieved the injury post-mortem. james' examination of the body concluded that he must have fallen more than forty stories, but the buildings nearby were less than five stories.

dead bodies don't just fall out of the sky.

you ran the dna profile you had through the national dna database - and surprisingly, you had a pop-up on your screen.

paternal match - scott constance moody

"born august 17, 1912, relations, history, blah blah blah, arrested for public drunkness and indecency on multiple occasions . . . last known address."

the door to your lab slammed open - in anticipation, you immediately closed the file and turned off your computer.

"have any evidence for us this time?" at this point it had become routine. thompson from "mi5" would whisk away the bodies, claiming something ridiculous like "drug deal gone wrong" or "national security risk," looking and acting very much like someone working for a secret government agency trying to hush-hush a deeper plot afoot.

"nope," you responded with an attempt at a solemn expression. "unfortunately, the blood analysis was a dead end. he's just some guy, i suppose."

"we appreciate your discretion," he responded, shaking your hand firmly. you mean you appreciate me not complaining to the other guys at the precinct. certainly is suspicious that an odd-looking fed comes taking dead bodies as much as he does. even if you were to raise suspicions, who would believe you? you were a female nerd practically living in a back closet while the big, strong men handled the real world. he left with nothing else to say.

you turned your computer back on and opened the file again. you scribbled down the address and just as you were about to leave, you looked back down at the dna profile for doe and found something g peculiar. an odd gene marker you had only ever seen a few times before - including your own blood. you drew the profile closer to you, staring down at it. you had never been able to figure out what it was. six years of higher education had taught you nothing and the fancy, hot-shot professors you had take a look couldn't even understand what they were looking at.

what is up with this guy?

-

you knocked on the front door to an old house, out in the country. pastures of green painted in the skyline, cows and barns littering the landscape beyond it. beautiful, quiet, humble. a very fitting place for an eighty-four year old man.

you saw someone glance through curtains in a window. they disappeared soon after and didn't answer the door. you knocked again and pulled out your police badge. "scott moody? london police, i need to speak with you." you hoped your tone seemed formidable enough. you weren't a cop, you were a forensic scientist, but you needed to speak with him. you needed to understand these dead bodies and the only way to do that was to investigate this moody guy.

finally, the door swung open, and a rather gruff and grumpy man answered. "will you stop that racket? what the hell do you want, girlie?"

you drew in a breath. what should you tell him? you didn't want to lie - that felt cruel. but at the same time, you could suddenly understand why your colleagues seemed so drained after sharing the terrible news to family members. the pressure weighing your stomach was sickening.

"i'd like to ask you some questions about your son, mr. moody. do you mind if i come in?"

"yes, i very much do mind! what's someone like youse interest in my alastor?"

"alastor . . . sir, i'm very sorry to tell you this, but . . . well -"

"out with it, girl!"

"your son died. approximately at twelve forty-five last night. the circumstances of his death are rather . . . under investigation. i just need to gather more information, to find out who killed him."

the man looked genuinely concerned (which suprised you slightly, considering how rude he was) and took a shocked step back. he glanced back inside his own house and then at you. "there's nothing you can do," he said weakly, then shutting the door in your face. you shouted for the man, pounding on his door, but got no response. in a huff, you stormed back to your car and slumped in the driver's seat. you ran a hand down your face - how could you ever think that you could be an investigator? you? you laughed at yourself - so full of yourself, you were neck deep in your own shit. never were you to pull a stunt like this again, not if you wanted to get fired.

as you started the car and swung your gaze around to back out of the driveway, you caught the man sitting out the side window, tying a note to a - was that an owl?

perhaps he was sending a message to someone - through an owl, like a homing pigeon. you had only one instinct.

follow the owl.

-

driving through the chaos known as the london streets while chasing a bird was a nightmare, but somehow you managed. here you stood, looking out upon a charming old row of houses. the bird had flew to one in the middle, the exterior bricks blackened compared to the crisp pastel orange of the other houses. someone opened the window, letting the owl in, and then closed the window.

you decided to sit there and wait. wait and wait and wait. for what, you didn't know. for the owl to come back out? for you to build up the guts to knock on the front door with very many questions? no, that was a bad idea. who knows who is in that house, what they're doing. so you waited for someone to come out and luckily, they did. a man with long, black hair strutted elegantly down the steps to the front door and down the road. you got out of your car and decided to follow him.

you don't know what had gotten into you recently. the million questions swirling through your head had apparently begged enough to be answered that you just had to oblige, no matter the consequences. the man was dressed rather odd, you noticed. a grape-colored velvet suit with tailcoats, a mustache like your grandfather had worn. he dressed like a man out of time.

when he stopped walking, you stopped. when he started again, you were right on his ass (well, feet away, but still). he took a laise through a farmer's market, glancing around himself a few times before leaving without buying a single thing. he walked down the road and turned into an alleyway. naive as you were, you followed him and found the alleyway empty. only trash littered the ground.

stepping forward, you peeked behind dumpsters and other barriers of the sort. deciding that he must have disappeared somehow, you turned around with a sigh . . . only to be shoved up against the wall by the very man you had been following.

you had two first impressions of the man. the first was that, now that you could observe him up close, you noticed that he was devilishly handsome. the second was that he had a stick pointed at your throat and seemed rather impressed with himself for it.

"you have about ten seconds to explain why you're following me, hm?" his hands were gripped around the fabric of your collar shirt, bunching up the neatly ironed cotton. so much for looking polished. "who are you? fudge's minon? death eater?"

"i'm a member of the police - if you'd only give me a moment to show you my badge -"

"not a chance," he responded, pressing the stixk further into your neck. really, is that supposed to intimidate me? you thought in annoyance. "who are you really?"

"i'm telling the truth."

"how did you find me?"

"i followed you from that house on grimmauld place."

"how do you know about that?"

"following the homing pigeon - well, owl - that scott moody sent."

not only did he seem cautious, but nervous now. "did dumbledore send you?" he asked dubiously.

"i honestly have no idea who that is." memorable name like that, you'd definitely remember him. no, he seemed to be quite odd to you.

"why were you following me?"

you sighed. "i'm invesitgating the death of alastor moody."

although a sadness washed over the man's face, there was something behind his expression that said he already knew. he placed the stick back into the inner pocket of his coat. "you said you were police?" you nodded.

"so you're a muggle," he mumbled. was muggle some new slang term for cop? you didn't know and even more, you didn't care. then, a realization spread over his face.

sirius -

it shouldn't be possible - if you were a muggle, how could you see grimmauld place? because of the many peotective enchantments and ancient runes safeguarding the black house, only those who were wizards should be able to see it. yet, you had watched him walk right out the front door.

"you - you're looking into moody death?" he asked. he supposed it made sense. no one knew during the battle where they fighting high in the air - it was the heat of the moment after all. it only makes sense that muggle police got to his body first. still, he couldn't understand how you could have seen the house of black.

"his case is part of an ungoing investigation into the dozens of deaths of citizens across greater britain in the past two years." ah. so the muggles were catching on to voldemort's dirty work.

"let me guess. they were all perfectly healthy, showed no signs of deah whatsoever?" he asked. of course the muggles were going insane about it. people dying left and right without them even knowing what, or who, was causing it.

"yes, how did you -"

"just a hunch," he shrugged in response to your shocked expression.

"if you know something, you must tell me," you said rather firmly, though it seemed you were under the delusion that you had any sort of authority over him. your tone was not as strong as you may have liked.

"i'm afraid i cannot -"

"cannot what?" you barked back - now that had some bite. his interest was peaked now - what had your wand in a knot? "there are people dying. these dead bodies keep showing up with no sign as to how they died. moody aparently just fell from the sky! dead bodies don't just fall from the sky," you told him with an incredulous laugh. "now you are going to tell me everything you know about these bodies, or i swear on the bloody royal throne itself that i'll - i'll - get it out of you!"

you -

"you cannot just bring some muggle girl - if she really is a muggle - into our headquarters! are you barking mad? and don't you dare make another one of your mutt jokes or on merlin's grave i will -"

"that's quite enough, andromeda," responded a rather polite and calming male voice. there was a murmur and the same man let out a sigh. "at least let the man speak first."

"fine!"

"she saw grimmauld place, she knows about moody! she didn't bloody well seem like one of voldemort's spies, she didn't even know what 'death eater' meant. besides, what was i supposed to do? let her go blabbering to other muggles about this?"

"you could obliviate her."

"i would, if i had ever learned how. besides, it's not ethical, taking away someone's memories like that."

"this is war, black - desperate times call for desperate measures."

"now why don't you get back to shoving your greasy nose down some potions notes, snivellus, and let us grown-ups -"

"you arrogant -"

there was a sudden clammer of noise, the sound of several falling to the ground and pots and pans banging all over the place. a loud thwip! and sudden silence. "stop it! the both of you! has anyone actually bothered to question her?"

there was another round of silence before the door in front of you creaked open. the man who had pinned you up in the alley, black he had been called, looked rather dismal as he invited you into the room.

after your little speech, he requested you joined him in his house. well, you were not expecting the dustiest, blackest house you had ever seen. the entry hall was so thin, you could practically feel the walls caressing your arms. you waited in the entrance hall, outside the door to the kitchen, while he talked with his . . . friends? their conversation was all very confusing, talks of war and the like. were they also part of some secret agency? you weren't sure so you remained cautious.

"hello," you said to all those in the room, your voice trembling nervously. there were six others littered across the room. a rather dreadful looking man in the corner, with a hooked nose. he looked at you with distaste. black stood at the end of the table, his palms planted onto the table. another woman with hair almost as black as the walls, who sighed at your entrance. another man, scars barraging his face, with rather kind eyes. a man with umber skin, dressed in deep blue robes decorated with silver. and finally, a redhaired woman with a rag thrown over her shoulder, a knife in hand as she stood near a cutting board.

"hello," said the scarred-man, a warm smile making your shoulders sag a bit in . . . relief? comfort? "do you mind introducing yourself?"

you revealed your badge to all and recitind your name. "i'm a forensic analyst for the london police," you recited for the third time that day. "earlier this morning, the body of alastor moody was discovered. aside from the head injury he sustained from - well, we're not exactly sure - he seemed perfectly healthy. our medical examiner has concluded that he sustained the injury after his death. as of this morning, his body was taken by an operative of a secret government agency. there have been dozens of other bodies like this over the past couple of years. i've taken it upon myself to investigate this . . . occurence. this morning i tracked down moody's father, who sent a courier - owl - here."

"and is that everything?" black asked with an arched brow, as though he thought you were hiding something. which, ot be fair, you kind of were, but it was a small, unimportant detail and rather ridiculous really. just an irrational price of science that most likely had no relevance to the murders or perhaps a suggestion towards a broken coder in your lab - "well is it?"

you hesitated to answer but felt rather intimidated by the people surrounding you. perhaps sharing everything would be ideal, even if they thought you were barking mad. "well, erm - there's this one thing. do you know what dna is, mr. black?"

black shook his head and the others looked rather confused.

"i do," the scarred man spoke. "remus. a pleasure."

you gave him a polite nod in response. "a blood sample is taken from every body that goes through the police, and we run it through our systems and upload it to a database. moody had a gene marker in his dna - an odd one. one that shouldn't be there."

remus tilted his head, indulging you. "i've had old professors look at his results, even after I reran them. they thought something was wrong with the data. that i should run it again. but i know it wasn't wrong . . . i have the same gene marker in my dna. i'm not mad. it means something. even if others can't see it."

remus looked puzzled for a moment, but as a hazy look crossed his eyes, you could see his demeanor change rather swiftly. he straightened up, and glanced towards sirius with his mouth agape.

"what is it remus?" sirius asked with concern.

"i think that she's found a muggle's way . . . to prove the existence of magic."

sirius -

no. it couldn't be possible. it simply wasn't. if remus was right, if what he said was true, not only did this mean there were rather heinous repercussions for the wozarding world, but . . . you would be in danger.

suddenly, snape stood up from his chair rather suddenly, his eyes latched onto you. his hands still wrapped around the arms of the chairs, gripping them so tightly his knuckles were white. "everyone except sirius and the girl . . . out. now!"

the others were reluctant to leave the room, but they all filed out eventually. dumbledore trusted snape, even ordered snape to kill him, so they all would have to trust snape . . . even if sirius didn't want to.

snale turned his poisonous gaze on you. "sit down."

you followed his instructions, though cautiously, and took the closest seat next to sirius. sirius hoped that implied there was some level of trust between you two, seeing as you'll need it since he couldn't let you leave grimmauld place. "while it seems you haven't been filled in, i find that i cano that rather quickly for you. magic is real and a select number of individuals can possess it - you must be among those people, seeing as only those who are magical can see this house. there has been a wizarding war for over the past three decades, lead by a man named voldemort. the goal of him and his death eaters are to kill or otherwise enslave all those who are non-magical, also known as muggles. do you understand?"

you seemed to be flabbergasted by the assault of information and it's implications, and though you were slow to believe, you simply nodded your head. sirius placed his hand on the back of your chair, protectively, almost territorially.

"snape -"

"do shut your mouth black," snape spat. "a seer, or a prophet as muggles might know them, made a prophecy not long ago. the chosen one becomes the chosen two when eighth month approaches. for someone undesireable as any, she will be hunted down like the dog. she has discovered something no muggle should know. the power to vanquish the dark lord rests in the hand of fate - and should that hand choose to vanquish her, all hope of defeating the dark lord is lost."

"snape, what in the devil's name -"

"do not interrupt me, you -"

"no!" sirius exclaimed, slamming the goblet he was holding down on the table. wine spilled out from the cup, dripping down the rusted golden edge. "that is quite enough. i'm sure our guest has gone through enough the past day. she is famished and tired. let her rest and perhaps then we can discuss whatever nonsense you're blabbering on about."

sirius turned towards you with a softer expression and gestured for you to follow him out. you glanced back at snape, he noticed, if just for a moment. but soon enough, the two of you were in the foyer sitting across from each other.

your head was buried between the palms of your hand - it was obvious that you were distressed. "are you all right?" sirius asked softly.

"all right?" you asked, glancing up at him, your tone incredulous. "all right? no, no, i am just fine. you know, I just found out magic is real and there's some wizard war going on that no one knows about. yeah, this isn't news to me at all! you know, i get to work flying around on my little witch broom like everyone else! no i'm not all right!"

"we actually do use brooms as a model of transportation, that's not a myth," sirius told you, rather factually. you didn't seem very amused by his short educational bit. "look, i know this is overwhelming -"

"why should I even believe you?" you asked, tone rising in volume, though more out of worry than anger. "i mean something inexplicable could explain moody's death, but magic? magic can't be real, it's just not physically possible! there are rules and -"

sirius stared up at you from the ground. you stared down at him. though, instead of a human standing there, it was a dog.

"what the fuck."

[llondonfog]

For a painful soulamte au, what if the Dawn Knight was Lilias soulmate? And to make it more painful what if Dawn knew that Lilia was his soulmate somehow and still went to war with the fae because he couldn't stand to go against the family who raised him

Not a soul knew, except for Leia.

Leia knew because she knew everything about him— the leash of loyalty around his neck, the weight of despair upon his shoulders, the mark of his soulmate tattooed like a harbinger on the inside of his wrist.

Leia knew, and loved him for it all the same.

You are a knight, she would remind him on those moonless nights, delicate features as solemn as a saint as she laid her hands against the haunted hollows of his face, as merciful and sweet as her namesake. You are the only one out of them all who has the right to call himself so. What greater sacrifice have you given to my father, to our family, than the cost of love?

He loved her, too.

Her effortless charm and wit were always happy to fill his awkward and stoic silences, and she never shamed him for his reserved nature. She was a princess, born and raised to be a queen, and it sat right inside his heart that she should realize such a vision. Her kindness to their people, her kindness to her traitor of a knight— too kind, to allow him even into her arms and bed when his nerves fail him and the shadows creep in.

It's what he feels, when he places his hand on the swell of her gown, the gentle life growing inside of her: their child, steeped in kindness.

A tragic beginning that can only lead to a tragic end.

Leia is the only kindness that he's ever known, and the irony is not lost on him that she is not his soulmate, nor is he her own. She does not speak of the mark blurred and faded on her skin, and she does not press him for explanation when he disrobes for her and only her, and the bat in flight unfurls its wings upon his wrist.

She does not need to, for they both know whose standard he bears, whose symbol lays a claim that would spell betrayal and doom for his fate.

He lies there within the shelter of her embrace, her slim fingers weaving through his golden hair, and he wonders what manner of mark lies on the fae general's wrist. He wonders if it is of a gleaming sword raised to strike, or a loathsome owl, talons curled, both prepared to rid the fae of his heart and gift it to the enemy's feet. It must not be obvious, because the fae has never reacted to his presence beyond the expected vitriol to their immoral crusade. And each time that they meet, the gratitude of a coward lances through his veins for the sake of the helmet obscuring his expression— it is your eyes that give you away, Leia had murmured to him, her own dark and forgiving as they glitter in the candlelight. Your truest emotions lie within them, crystal clear and as unclouded as the brightest dawn.

He does not deserve her unshakeable belief, for he feels like the muddiest of waters, choked with debris and tainted by waste.

He does not deserve her, and as he clutches at his wrist in the night, nails all but digging into the taut flesh as if to pull the bat from his skin—

He knows that he does not deserve the general either.

[lunavenefica]

⛤SAMHAIN: History and Meaning⛤

Samhain is the holiest and most important Sabbat of the whole wheel of the year; it combines a number of elements: the agricultural crop, the wild crop, the transition of the autumn season into a winter temperature and the commemoration of the day of the dead. 

It is the time to remember our ancestors and our loved ones who greeted us, and as a solemn time it should tend towards contemplation of the mystery of life and death as taught by the ancients. 

Samhain is a time for introspection, to empty the false of our mind, heart and soul. It is time to heal the source of our deepest wounds and those we have inflicted on others, before time overtakes us. It is the time when we can learn to see clearly. 

The true victory of self is in the cauldron. Now we need to look at the nature of our motives and the outcome of our actions. 

Samhain is the time to communicate and listen to others, a time of death, of the thought of the ancestors and what we are thanks to them.

The leaves are falling, the apples are ripe, and the ice is on the ground. 

There is the scent of Autumn, an indescribable smell of October - pumpkins, apples, cinnamon, dry leaves and beer. 

Samhain approaches and the veil between the worlds gets thinner every night. 

You can feel it in the air that the Otherworld is approaching and the sunlight turns into sunset light. Our ancestors are celebrated in Samhain, it is the time of the dead and the dying. 

The spirits of the departed are closest to our hearts, at this time when even the earth is dying.

A melancholy and introspective mood descends upon us in this dark time of ends and completions; and therefore possible rebirths. 

In the growing shadows, darkness and fog prevail while the trees give off their colorful leaves, taking the appearance of skeletons.

This was also the time when cattle were killed for meat to be consumed in the winter months (the symbolic death of the wheat God). 

All the cereals still in the fields after Samhain were considered taboo, no one could collect them and became an offering for the spirits of nature.

⛤Samhain is the best known of all Wicca Wheel of the Year celebrations. And there is a reason for all of this. Obviously, first of all it is a festive Sabbat

and above all it is the only Sabbat that people recognize as a pagan festival  and they love to celebrate it anyway. 

In years past, the Christian Church decided, according to the tradition of the time, that people could hold this festival that they were so attached to, but that it needed a new name. He also decided that instead of being a feast to celebrate all the dead, it was to be transformed into a celebration of the dead saints. 

So the party turned into the best known Halloween.

⛤Our ancestors used to protect themselves this night, cutting out faces in vegetables and placing them near the windows. 

This gave birth to the so-called Jack o 'Lantern pumpkin. 

These carved pumpkin faces were placed next to the windows to keep the spirits of this night away. 

Being the veil of the subtle worlds, it was not only the ancestors who returned to earth, but all the people of the Underworld.

⛤Samhain is obviously the end of the "summer" mid-year(The Celts divided the year into two parts, summer and winter). 

It is also the last harvest before the snow. 

It is the opposite black of Beltane, announces the role of the Dark and celebrates the Crone. It is also considered the first of the witchcraft year. 

Since the Celts considered time to be circular rather than linear, the night is both the end and the beginning of the year. 

For this reason, Samhain is a feast of divination and a time for the dead. 

A night of contradiction where life and death, opposite but parts of the same cycle, were celebrated together.

⛤Sometimes most people think that this holiday is to venerate an evil god by the name of Samhain, but this deity does not exist in any Celtic or European pantheon. 

It is a literary creation of the twentieth century, without a foundation of reality. 

Fables of Druids who left pumpkins at the doors of families who had provided sacrifices for Samhain (Satan). 

This is not TRUE! Samhain today is famous as Halloween, and obviously still has much of the old Celtic tradition, despite the church's attempts to turn it into a day of prayer for the pantheon of saints.

⛤The best known aspect of Samhain is the Festival of the Dead. It is a night to honor ancestors, to celebrate their lives and to respect their memories. It is a time when families get together and listen to stories about the life of their great grandparents and legends about kings and their knights. It was believed that on this night, the dead could return to earth to find the living. It was common practice to prepare the table even for those who have recently died and to leave food for their wandering souls. Lights should have been placed on windows and along streets to guide the spirits of the night.

Witchfully Yours,

⛤Isidora⛤

[swampbrick]

Y’all have waited so patiently for me to get my shit together and format this post, and for that, I thank y’all endlessly (for not calling me out on my avoidant personality and procrastination xoxo)

Without further ado, I give you…

Swamp’s GhostSoap Recs

PART TWO

(electric boogaloo)

My qualifications to make this post are that I’m neurodivergent and have read over half the damn archive at this point.

If you see your fic featured here and don't want it included in a rec post, just shoot me a dm! Will remove any from the list without question or complaint at the author's request.

Notes: I tried to sort some of them out into some broader categories for easier perusal, however, some fics might touch more than one of these topics. I went with whichever category was the MOST relevant in regard to the fic's content. Fics in italics are under 10K words. Stuff involving religious guilt and heavy religious undertones are marked in orange. Some fics are privated by the author- in that case the link might not work for you if you’re on mobile, so just look it up by author and title once you’re logged into your AO3 account. Happy reading!

Random Fics I Enjoyed and Can't Sort Into Broad Categories

The Wedding Lt. by SomnolentPavana

Like Watching Paint Dry by Grangers_apprentice

Mission Briefs by BleedingTypewriter

Don't be Scared by the Starting Gun by Suliana

Afraid (of Changing) by EmpressCirque

HALO by Cryypticchaotic

Tough Love by The_neurodivergent_nerd

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven

Poison Apple by surveycorpsjean

Punch Drunk by Drolly

Tesco's Finest by Vanemis

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle

Assorted AUs

like the dust (that hides the glow) by ArcadeGhostAdventurer [soulmates]

In My Time of Need by WhisperedWords12 [omegaverse]

lotus flower by exavibus [tattoo artist x florist]

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane [lawyer x prostitute]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane [president's son x secret service]

On Leave

No Reqiuem by ice_hot_13

set your teeth against my throat (give me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes) by aetherealmoss

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns (THE SHEERP FARMING FIC SOBBING CRYING)

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch

A Scottish Bastard's Smile by SnarlingGherkin

The Fairtytale of Manchester by MildLimerence

Injury and/or Discharge

all that's said in the low light by headlocket (my favorite fic of all time actually if you haven't seen my 9000 other posts saying so)

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane

Clue by Wispscribbles

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles

Vicissitude by crows_and_curses

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany

To Drive a Man to Madness by Crypticchaotic

This Is (Mostly) P0rn

After Dark by Sylencia (THE BDSM CLUB FIC WOOF WOOF)

If I ever saw you try to be a saint (I'd be appalled) by Xalethar

Chicago Whiskey by Serpentwyne

Make Me Bad by Serpentwyne

gimme just a little bit (more) by applepieces [09!ghostsoap]

Promise Ring by LXVERSOFFENSE

Want It All by TuxedoHummingbird

A Fool's Gambit by MildLimerence

tame me by MikaelLo

the human condition by bilbhoebangins

All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit by mothbeast

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence

Hotline by MildLimerence

Bonus Fic!

Here's a Gaz Centric, Poly141 fic that has ghostsoap in it but does not focus on it heavily enough to go in one of the other categories. This is Kyle's time to shine.

Hand Around My Heart by Grangers_apprentice

[allaboutjoseph]

Plenary Indulgence Conditions Nov 1-8

A Guide to Plenary Indulgences for the All Souls' "Octave", November 1-8 Visiting a Cemetery: An indulgence, applicable only to the Souls in Purgatory, is granted to the faithful, who devoutly visit a cemetery and pray, even if only mentally, for the departed. The indulgence is plenary each day from November 1-8; on other days of the year it is a partial indulgence.

Visiting a Church on November 2: A plenary indulgence, applicable only to the souls in purgatory, is granted to the faithful who, on All Souls' Day (or, according to the judgment of the ordinary, on the Sunday preceding or following it, or on the solemnity of All Saints), devoutly visit a church or an oratory and recite an Our Father and the Creed.

Praying for the Faithful Departed: A partial indulgence, applicable only to the souls in purgatory, is granted to the faithful who,

devoutly visit a cemetery and at least mentally pray for the dead;

devoutly recite lauds or vespers from the Office of the Dead or the prayer Eternal rest. (Manual of Indulgences, fourth edition, 1999)

Indulgence Requirements:

To gain a plenary indulgence, in addition to excluding all attachment to sin, even venial sin, it is necessary to perform the indulgent work and fulfill the following three conditions: sacramental Confession, Eucharistic Communion, and prayer for the intention of the Sovereign Pontiff.

A single sacramental confession suffices for gaining several plenary indulgences, but Holy Communion must be received and prayer for the intention of the Holy Father must be recited for the gaining of each plenary indulgence.

The three conditions may be fulfilled several days before or after the performance of the prescribed work; it is, however, fitting that Communion be received and the prayer for the intention of the Holy Father be said on the same day the work is performed.

The condition of praying for the intention of the Holy Father is fully satisfied by reciting one Our Father and one Hail Mary. A plenary indulgence can be acquired only once in the course of the day, a partial indulgence can be acquired multiple times.

If a visit to a Church or an oratory is required to obtain an indulgence attached to a particular day, this may be accomplished from noon of the preceding day until midnight of the particular day.

Manual of Indulgences, fourth edition, 1999 (Enchridion Indulgentarium)

Solemnity of All Saints - November 01, 2023 - Liturgical Calendar | Catholic Culture

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

[portraitsofsaints]

All Saints Day

A solemn holy day of the Catholic Church. While many saints have a specific feast day on which we celebrate their lives and work, the vast majority of the saints of Heaven do not. All Holy Saints in Heaven, pray for us! 

 Blessed are those who wash their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb (Revelation 7:14) 

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