Just wanted to submit one of my favorite photos of my mom since she’s turning 61 today! Her name is Manuelita, and all I wish for her is to not be so affected by white washed media and realize her true worth in this world. 💚
Today’s theme is Fifth year. In the Harry Potter universe, fifth year is Order of the Phoenix year. One of my favourite parts of that book was the Thestral scene, so I’ve written a snowbaz fic adding threstrals into the Carry On universe. Hope you enjoy!! @carryon-countdown
When Snow’s finally asleep, I head out towards the Wavering Wood.
I’m not hunting tonight, but a recent discovery has enticed me to visit the woods most nights now.
I’ve never normally been keen on any mythical creatures; they’re normally deadly, disturbing, or fucking merwolves. However, Thestrals are really magical. When you’re with them, you feel like they’re yours; like you’re the only one who knows about them. It’s lonely, but in a reassuring way. Like the loneliness you feel after a long day surrounded by others, or the loneliness after a death; the kind of loneliness you need.
Whenever I went looking for the Thestrals, it didn’t take long to locate them. As if they were letting me find them. They know I need them.
Tonight is the same. I find a little group of them in the first small clearing I come across. They know me now so I approach without hesitation, pulling out an apple and holding it out to a tiny one that must be a child, approaching me with curiosity.
I hear Snow bumbling through the trees at least 5 minutes before he arrives. It’s as if he isn’t even trying to be stealthy when he’s stalking me.
I sense him failing to hide behind a tree, and decide I’m not going to pretend he’s not there, like I normally do.
“Just can’t get enough of me in the day, hey Snow?”
A pause, then,
“H-how did you see me?”
His mouth is wide open, as always. Mouth breather. I just want to walk over and close it. And then open it again. With my mouth.
I shake the thoughts from my head and continue,
“I heard you.” I sneer.
“Oh. Sorry.” Though then he looks annoyed with himself, probably wondering why he apologised.
“What are you doing here Baz? With those…horses. Things.”
I stop. My whole mind stops and I just stand there for a while, processing this.
How can he see them? Can he actually see them, or is there something else around?
The thing about Thestrals is that they’re extremely rare. It took me months of research to find any written work about them, but once I did I’ve been studying them whenever I could. Turns out, not everyone can see them. In a book I found at home called “Mysteries of the Magical Animal Kingdom”, I read that
“One can only observe the Thestral if one has witnessed a death also. The Thestrals reveal themselves only to those who have felt a grieving pain through fault of loss, and are particularly drawn to those having trouble letting go or forgetting.”
It explained a lot for me; I had seen my mother die when I was a child, and definitely had trouble letting go, however, it didn’t explain Snow.
What death had he ever seen? He’d killed plenty of monsters and beasts, but I’m certain he isn’t grieving over them.
I know he’s an orphan. How exactly did that happen I wonder?
I decide not to tell him about the Thestrals. He might not know the reason why he can see them, and I don’t want to make him aware of any subconscious grief he may have. Must have. I don’t want to confuse him.
“May I?” He asks, making to approach the flock.
I nod silently. They have that affect, if you can see them. You get this desire to touch them, be near them.
And they’re so friendly, so docile, it’s hard to not fall in love with the species.
Snow hesitantly approaches. He seems to have lost all interest in me, forgetting why he came here, too in awe of the animals.
I watch him reach out and stroke one with caution, and it doesn’t run or shy away. It accepts him without hesitation.
It’s a beautiful thing to watch.
I watch his hands gingerly caress the forehead, watch the smile tug at the corners of his mouth, and then the tears slip down his cheeks, highlighted in the moonlight.
“Snow,” I start.
“What? I-oh. I didn’t even realise,” he wipes away the tears with his sleeve. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
He goes to turn away, but I take his hand, impulsively, then immediately let go again.
“I’m. Sorry. I don’t-” I run my hand through my hair and look away.
Snow’s looking up at me with his huge, glistening eyes, his hand still held out from where I grabbed it.
His hands were still warm, even though it’s freezing in the wood.
I take a step back just as Snow takes one forward, then he tackles me with a hug.
I stiffen up while Simon cries into my jumper, his arms around my waist and face buried in my chest.
Breathe. Calm down. It’s just a hug. Loosening up, I place my hands gingerly on his shoulder blades, just as cautiously as him with the Thestrals. I let out a cold breath, creating a puff of steam, and rest my head in his curls.
“It’s alright. It’s the Thestrals. It’s fine. You’re fine. I’m here.” I carry on whispering calming words until I run out of generic condolences and opt for silence.
I’m unaware of how long we’ve been standing here, Snow attached to me with silent tears rolling down his face. But I treasure every moment, every breathe I feel of Snow’s against me, every slight twitch of his hand against my back.
He doesn’t know, but this moment, for me, is therapeutic and amazing. I take in the smell of his hair, the feel of his body pressed against mine.
I only wish it meant the same to him.
Snow looks fucking mortified at breakfast. He’s so adamantly not looking at me that it’s hard for me to look away.
He thinks I’m going to tell everyone, about how he cried. I bet he imagines I’ll make his life hell because of what happened in the woods, but I wouldn’t dare tell a soul.
That moment, that precious memory, is mine. I get to keep it and look back at it and know that it was real. That, just for a moment, there was no petty feud between Simon and I.
Just him holding me and me holding him.
And it was perfect.
Today’s text is a Babylonian marriage contract from 556 BCE, regarding a young woman named Immertu. Her name means “ewe,” just like the biblical Rachel, and she seems to have had similar good luck in finding a husband.
“Egalitarian” is, I admit, both anachronistic and inaccurate, but the contract has a number of unusual features. First, the bride’s mother was a woman of independent wealth who could afford a substantial fine if she cancelled the marriage. (The fact that the bride’s father is never mentioned may indicate that Ms. Qudashu was an unmarried woman, such as a priestess, who adopted Immertu — a not uncommon arrangement.) Second, the contract establishes equal penalties if the marriage is cancelled, whether on the groom’s side or the bride’s side; this parity was quite rare, especially considering the bride’s small dowry and her possible past (see below). Finally, the groom was head of his own household, even though his father was still alive (he was first on the list of witnesses); he negotiated his own marriage contract and possessed his own independent wealth, separate from his upcoming inheritance.
One may speculate about why Mr. N., a man of independent wealth, agreed to such a generous contract. Perhaps the marriage brought him social status that money alone could not, or perhaps his personal feelings for Ms. Immertu were strong enough to motivate him to provide legal protections that many ancient women did not receive.
Angus Young, small keeper of my heart and best guitarist of all time, is 61 years old today! AC/DC means a lot to me and wouldn’t exist if it wasn’t for this man and his brother, Malcolm. Wishing them all the best! 💕👹🎸