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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

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Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 5

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 - Expert

The subsequent calm was something Lin Yan wasn't expecting. The thing seemed to have decided it tortured him enough and nothing else happened the rest of the night. Lin Yan changed back into his clothes and unplugged his computer. Even though he knew that that probably wouldn't do anything, the screen actually powered off and didn't come back on at all in the night.

Perhaps a new storm was brewing in the silence, but Lin Yan was too exhausted to worry about it. The alcohol that was left in his system worked as a great tranquillizer, and he rolled over and fell asleep.

While he was deep in sleep, something cold pressed itself on his lips again, but Lin Yan was too much a heavy sleeper to realize it.

When he woke up, the entire room was clean. All the red paint had disappeared, the light gray printed wallpaper and the screen wall painted by the students of the Academy of Fine Arts were intact, and the glass was spotless. There was no other evidence to prove that the absurdity of last night had ever happened except for the shameful traces of liquid on Lin Yan's body and clothes. He took a bath and threw the red clothes into the washbowl. Compared with the power of the invisible thing, he was clearly at a disadvantage. Instead of running around without a plan, it was better to observe what happens as things unravel.

After he finished packing things up, Lin Yan took out his phone and texted Yin Zhou about the meeting place. Unexpectedly, he got a reply almost instantly: See you at the school gate in half an hour.

Lin Yan looked at himself in the mirror. Within just two nights, he looked like he had been doing drugs for years, he had a scruffy stubble growing, and his eyes were red. The mint scent of his shaving foam made Lin Yan feel for the first time that his typically monotonous life was actually so much more beautiful than that. The blade was thin and sharp. Just one long stroke across his neck and there would be nothing left.

Humans were such fragile creatures.

"Shit. . ." Lin Yan hissed, sighing at his unfortunate luck and put his fingers under the water. His hand had slipped and he sliced his fingertip on the blade, red blood seeping out. Lin Yan wrapped a bandaid around his finger, leaning against the wall and pondering about how unlucky it was to feel the pain.

He didn't know what kind of dye was used on the funeral clothes, but it had bled dramatically in the water. After a while, the whole basin of water had been dyed red. Lin Yan glanced at it in disgust as he left and slammed the door shut.

At 8 o'clock, Lin Yan saw Yin Zhou holding a Scallion pancake and some fruit in front of the school gate.

The two of them regretted trying to drive. The roads were clogged with morning rush hour traffic to the point that they couldn't even see the end of the lines of cars. What genius designed this kind of urban roundabout? Five ring roads surrounded the main road and they were forced to convene together every morning and night.

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou were nearing the third ring road and they still didn't have any temper, so all they could do was turn on the radio and eat the breakfast that Yin Zhou brought.

"A 13-year-old boy from a remote village in Sichuan was found hanged at home wearing a red coat. The locals suspected it was most likely cult-related. It is reported that the boy's time of birth and time of death are both extremely negative times and very suitable for. . ."

Lin Yan snapped the radio off.

It seemed that everything in the world had been messed up overnight. Even this kind of unreliable news could be relayed to the public.

Yin Zhou didn't care. He swallowed the last bite of his pancake and hiccuped. He said with satisfaction: "I spent the rest of the night in the library. I was starving and I couldn't buy anything. It's great to feel full."

"There was no exam recently, what were you doing at the library?"

"I was studying the enemy's intelligence. This enemy works in the dark. Can we defeat it if we understand how it operates? What do you think, buddy?"

Lin Yan turned his face to look at the crowded traffic outside the window. He stayed silent for a while before he said softly, "Do you really believe that there are ghosts in this world? I feel like something is wrong with me. Maybe I should see a psychiatrist first."

Yin Zhou's eyes widened in surprise: "Come on, even if something's up with you, I'm totally normal, yet we both saw those clothes yesterday."

". . . At your house the day before yesterday, I was the only one who thought it was cold, and I was the only one who could feel ‘it’ in the house."

Lin Yan sorted out his thoughts and told Yin Zhou his experience of being choked by someone last night.

Lin Yan wasn't expecting it but Yin Zhou exploded after hearing this, and blurted out: "Fuck, that ghost was a rabbit master* during his lifetime?" He scanned Lin Yan's face over and over again: "Little Brother Lin, don't tell me. . . you can be considered a nice-looking guy if you look closely. He's dead and maybe he's lonely and wants to recruit you as his wife."

*because they would kill the rabbit by snapping its neck

"Fuck you. If you aren't going to be serious, get out of my car and leave. Don't forget to burn two boxes of condoms for me when I croak." Lin Yan said quietly. The car behind him honked its horn twice, and Lin Yan realized that while he was talking, a 5-6 metre gap had cleared in front of him. He hurriedly followed the line of traffic.

"Furthermore, in the middle of the night, I obviously saw that the whole house was covered with red paint, but in the morning there was nothing. It was as if I had been dreaming."

Yin Zhou dragged the backpack out of the back seat and hugged it in his arms. He said, "Hey, let me show you the results of my brother's research." As he talked, he opened his bag and took out a dozen crumpled papers from it and spread them out on his knees. He flattened them with his hands and started going over them from top to bottom.

"You can't take care of shit. I feel uncomfortable just looking at those."

"See, the attributes of a wife. This ghost saw it perfectly."

A grass mud horse roared and ran across Lin Yan's heart.

Sure enough, these geeks are something else.

"Listen carefully." Yin Zhou pushed up his glasses with his long fingers: "There are generally two modern interpretations of ghosts. The first is due to the discovery of dark matter. You know the law of conservation of energy?"

". . . Go on." Lin Yan gave him a blank look.

"The universe expands at a certain rate every year. If the law of conservation of energy goes as normal, where does the energy that supports the expansion of the universe come from? According to this question, modern physics puts forward the concept of dark matter and dark energy. It does not generate electromagnetic waves, cannot be sensed, and cannot be measured. The law of gravity estimates that dark matter and energy account for 96% of the mass of the universe, and the remaining 4% is what humans can now recognize."

"Many unexplainable phenomena are therefore attributed to the results of dark matter, such as meridians in traditional Chinese medicine, the power of the mind, and ghosts. There are many discussions on this field abroad, but it is obviously blocked in China and difficult to find." Yin Zhou spread out his hands.

Lin Yan nodded. This was a bit like a science fiction novel he had read once.

"And the second one?"

"The second type is attributed to electromagnetic waves. The environment in which the deceased died is not conducive to electromagnetic wave attenuation. The powerful thoughts it had before death form a unique energy field. If a person's own frequency is similar to it, it will resonate when they come into contact. The waveform of the original ghost is greatly strengthened so then the two can sense each other."

Lin Yan was stunned: "You mean I. . . resonate with the ghost?"

Yin Zhou said indifferently that it was possible. He turned and smiled mysteriously: "Do you know how to explain love at first sight using electromagnetic fields?"

Lin Yan's heart stuttered.

"It's just resonating. It's the same with both men and women."

Yin Zhou sighed: "I don't want to fall in love for a while. It's boring, it's like a ghost."

The cars finally started moving again, and they finally got off the third road ring after being stuck for three hours. Lin Yan turned on the navigation and stepped on the accelerator to hurry towards the destination.

He always thinks that love was just like a ghost; he didn't believe in either. He only understood the panic and anxiety he felt when he encountered it, but he has never imagined that ghosts were also like love, triggered by a specific reason in a specific environment and dragged forcibly into the abyss, unable to escape.

"Have you been in touch with anything special recently, or have you been to anywhere special?"

Lin Yan thought about it for a moment and shook his head: "No. Every day I'm in the study room, tutor's office, library, home, cafeteria, there's nowhere else. But I have come into a lot of contact with lots of things from several dynasties."

Yin Zhou clumped the pile of information in his hand, and put it into back his backpack despite Lin Yan's contemptuous eyes, and clicked the buckle shut.

"Impossible. The electromagnetic waves would have decayed early in a small object, even if the Maoshan technique was used."

A thought suddenly flashed through Lin Yan's mind.

"There was this one place. . .Last month, my old man arranged an internship position for me on an archaeological team. It was a tomb with small specifications. I was there for less than a week."

Yin Zhou's eyes lit up all of a sudden: "There's this show, we should wait and check it. . . what the fuck!"

Lin Yan slammed on the brakes. Yin Zhou's head slammed into the windshield with a bang, and he wailed in pain.

"What are you doing?! Braking like that is going to kill you. What if we got rear-ended?!"

Lin Yan looked at the empty windshield in shock. He pulled the car over and, when he turned to Yin Zhou, his face changed.

"You. . . didn't see that just now?"

"What!" Yin Zhou took off the glasses that had been knocked off-kilter, trying to push them into their original spot, and couldn't help complaining in grief.

"There was a hand. . . stretching down from the roof of the car."

Yin Zhou was stunned and looked up at the window glass cautiously. A truck came up from behind, went around their car and drove on.

Lin Yan was too scared to speak for a while. He recalled the stiff white hand that had slapped on the windshield from the roof of the car just now, but it disappeared in a blink of an eye. There were speeding trucks or tankers everywhere on the sixth ring road. He opened his mouth and looked at Yin Zhou. The other party understood his thoughts immediately. Yin Zhou took a breath and hesitated: "Then this thing. . . it wants a human life."

Lin Yan shook his head. He always felt that there was some motive behind everything that had happened, but he couldn't say it out loud.

They drove out of the city in a blink of an eye. The endless rows of poplar trees and the green border fields in the suburbs relaxed the tension of the two people in the car a lot. Lin Yan rolled down the car window, and the car air mixed with the fragrance of flowers and plants that poured in. Inside the car, the stuffy scent of the pancakes was blown away.

After the twist and turns the GPS took them on, the car turned onto a rugged path paved with stones. The surrounding buildings were replaced with independent bungalows and small farmyards. A yellow dog squatted on the steps and stretched its neck. Some hens gathered in groups lazily together. Every now and again, they passed by a white goose on the side of the road. Lin Yan slowed down and stared at the map displayed on the GPS. He glanced at Yin Zhou distrustfully.

"If I keep going, I'll have to turn around to go back to the village. Did your mother send us to a reclusive expert?"

Yin Zhou leaned over to study the map, then turned his head in confusion and looked out the window. He happened to pass by a house, a yellow mud bungalow, with a faded couplet on the door. The old man in front of it only lost two front teeth, and he was leaning back to watch the excitement. . Yin Zhou scratched his scalp suspiciously: "The address my mother gave is at the end of the village, and she said it was amazing. Let me buy some tributes to bring with me. I can't do it alone."

So Lin Yan stopped the car when passing by the market, and bought two gifts according to Yin Zhou's suggestion. . . that bastard.

"Are you sure about all this?" Lin Yan looked embarrassedly left and right, carrying a live turtle in one hand and walking back, Yin Zhou happily pointed at the turtle's head and said, "What do you know? , These kinds of psychic masters rely on this stuff to keep up with their lifestyle. Trust me."

Lin Yan threw the two bastards into the trunk, took out a bottle of mineral water and handed it to Yin Zhou. He also opened a bottle for himself and took a few sips.

The country cicadas cried one after another, and the green wheat was headed; it was a wonderful scene of peace and prosperity.

Several children wearing red and green were squatting on the ground playing fan cards not far away. Lin Yan asked Yin Zhou: "What did your mother saw that name of the expert was? I'll ask around."

He couldn't help but imagine a scene of a bamboo hut with a mantle drooping in front of the porch. An old man in white with his hand stroked his beard and smiled slightly. He and Yin Zhou knelt forward on one knee, clasping their fists and begging, "Master, please guide me!"

Yin Zhou took a note from his pocket. He squinted at it, and said perplexedly: "Second Immortal Gu."

Before Lin Yan had enough time to swallow, all the water was spat back out.

"Ahem. . . is that so?"

In a small courtyard in the northeast corner of the village, Lin Yan and Yin Zhou found the legendary Second Immortal Gu’s house. When Lin Yan saw Second Immortal Gu's respectable face from outside the door, the regret in his heart was like torrential rapids. There was an enclave in an empty black room; he didn't know which god was being worshipped. An old woman in blue flower cloth sat cross-legged on the futon with her eyes closed and rests her mind. The red cloth strip that was tied to her forehead was quite imposing.

"This posture rivals some of the best dancers out there!" Yin Zhou pointed at the scene inside and couldn't help muttering softly.

"Come on, this is who your mother mentioned. Be respectful." Lin Yan said embarrassedly.

"What should we do?"

"Let's take a look first. Maybe the real person hasn't shown up."

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou walked through the door. Hearing the movement, the immortal woman lifted her eyelids slightly, and hummed from her nose aimlessly.

"Oh, ahem. . ." Yin Zhou couldn't hold back his grin and quickly concealed it with a cough.

What happened later was a farce. After receiving the turtle and two hundred yuan brought by Lin Yan, the woman suddenly became energetic. She worshipped the gods with incense and poured a bowl of clear water on Lin Yan while muttering words. After turning around Lin Yan more than ten times, she finally opened his eyes sharply. Lin Yan was so frightened by her that his body was shocked. The only thing she did was shout: "Aha! I saw it!"

"There is a little girl standing behind you!"

Lin Yan and Yin Zhou looked at each other, each holding their breaths.

"Oh, this baby girl died terribly. She said that she was locked up and could not be born. She didn't have money to buy clothes, and she didn't have money to pay her way through death. That's why she's gotten involved with you. . ."

"Wait, I'll ask her how to resolve this. . ."

The immortal woman closed her eyes and began to sing. Lin Yan pointed at the door to Yin Zhou and said: "Do you need someone to grease your feet, what are you waiting for?"

After reciting a long list of words, she opened her eyes and saw that there were no longer two other people in the room.

The immortal woman had no choice but to touch the newly collected two hundred yuan and shook her head, muttering that the young people nowadays are really impatient. Then she staggered around to pack her things up.

When she picked up the bastard turtle, she couldn't help but give a long sigh.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost #dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #english translation #yaoi novel

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spacecakes20 · 3 years

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Begin Again

(Chapter 7)

Chapter 8: Luna, Missing Blueprints

Luna’s spring harvest wasn’t anything spectacular. She tried her best not to beat herself up about it; it was her first harvest after all. But the fact that she was losing more money than she was earning bothered her. She wanted to save up to invest in her farmhouse. She just couldn’t survive on a mini-fridge and a microwave anymore. She needed a real kitchen.

“Perhaps you could invest in a chicken coop!” The local carpenter, Robin, had told her. “It’s cheaper than the house upgrade, and you can make extra money off the eggs and mayonnaise.”

She’d kept that in mind, as she made her way to the library. Perhaps she could put in some research on chicken rearing. And maybe beekeeping too. Robin had given her a blueprint on building bee houses, and she wanted to put it to good use.

It was the first day of summer, and the air was as humid as ever. The sun hung high in the sky, the sound of cicadas filled the air, and the smell of nectar caressed her nose. It was an upgrade from the sounds of honking horns and the overwhelming smells of exhaust from broken down cars of the city. The air felt much fresher in the valley. Cleaner. The sounds of nature were much more calming than the chaotic noise of the hustle-and-bustle of Zuzu.

At the library, Luna collected any book related to farming she could get her hands on. She wanted her summer to be better. She wanted to prove that moving to the Valley wasn’t a mistake. She wanted—

“Luna!”

The young farmer turned to the sound of her name. She was greeted by plump rosy cheeks and bright violet hair. Abigail was seated at one of the desks behind the bookshelves.

“Hello, Abigail.” Luna greeted, almost shyly. She still wasn’t used to how close everyone seemed to be in Pelican Town. In the city, people usually went ignored. You were but a single drop of water in the large ocean of the masses. Insignificant.

Abigail had a stack of books next to where she sat at the table. From reading the spins, Luna saw most of them were history and archaeology books. A lot of the others seemed to be based on the occult and witchcraft. She had an open textbook, with a notebook beside it, paragraphs of words already written inside.

“That’s an… interesting assortment of books.” Said Luna, a bit intrigued.

Abigail followed her gaze to her pile of books she had. “Oh yeah.” She laughed, “I’m an archaeology major.” She clarified, “I’ve got final exams coming up.”

That… didn’t explain why she had books about the occult, but Luna decided to ignore that, “That so?”

Abigail nodded, “Yup.” Then, more softly now, “You know the mines in the mountains?”

“Yeah?” Luna answered, unsure where this conversation was going.

“Well, I’m going to explore them!” Abigail said, more confidently, “Figured no one could stop me if it was my job, ya know?”

Luna nodded, not fully understanding where she was coming from but didn’t want to sound rude by asking.

“What about you?” Abigail pointed to Luna’s books with her pencil, “What are you reading up on?”

“Oh,” Luna looked down at her books, and suddenly felt a little sheepish, “Just some books on gardening. Raising chickens and… beekeeping…” She didn’t want the townspeople to think she was incompetent. She was the granddaughter of a farmer, for Yoba’s sake. Wasn’t this kind of thing supposed to be in her blood?

But she wasn’t met with a look of condescension, but was surprised when she got an excited smile instead, “Oooh, are you going to make honey?” Abigail licked her lips at the thought, “When you do, let me know! Mom makes the best honey cakes!”

That caught Luna off guard, “S-sure.” She tried to collect herself, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Abigail simply smiled, “Well, I won’t keep you.” She said, “I’ve gotta cram anyway. I’ll talk to you later!” Then she went back to her studying.

It was almost sad how refreshing it was to hear words of encouragement that sounded genuine, rather than condescending kindness. Luna decided not to dwell on it, deciding to check out her books instead.

...

After spending a few hours on her farm studying, Luna was starting to feel restless. She decided to get started on building those bee houses. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t find the blueprint. Try as she might, it was like it up and disappeared. She’d thought, with how small her farmhouse was (it was just one room!), it’d be easy to find, but alas; she was out of luck. Perhaps she could go to Robin’s and get another copy. That seemed to be her only option.

She made her way up the mountain, taking in the fresh air. The hike to Robin’s house always felt relaxing, even if it didn’t seem to last too long. Standing in front of Robin’s shop, Luna rang the doorbell. It was only out of politeness. The carpenter had told her many times that it was okay to just come in, but Luna never felt comfortable doing that.

After standing there for what felt like forever, she decided to ring it again. Perhaps Robin couldn’t hear her. The kitchen was in the back of the house, right? Maybe she was making lunch. But the longer she stood there, the more she second-guessed herself. There was a possibility she wasn’t home. Her shoulders deflated with that thought. She was looking forward to putting together the bee houses. It looked like she’d just have to wait another day. Just as she was about to turn and leave, she heard the door open.

Her face lit up, “There you are Robin—”

That… wasn’t Robin at the door. It was her raven-haired son, Sebastian. He wasn’t wearing his black hoodie she had gotten so used to seeing him in. He had on a gray tee-shirt and some black sweatpants. He was as pale as ever, making his purple bags under his eyes more apparent. He looked exhausted, making Luna feel guilty.

“I’m sorry,” She winced at the sound of her voice, “Did I bother you?”

He closed his eyes, putting his hand behind his head, “Not really,” He said, “I was already upstairs.” He opened his eyes and looked to her. His face was unreadable, “Mom went grocery shopping.”

“Oh…” She tried not to sound disappointed, and summoned the brightest smile she could muster, “Well, please let her know I stopped by.” Before she even took two steps, Sebastian spoke up.

“Wait.”

She turned to him, eyeing him curiously.

He hesitated for a second, as though he was weighing his options. Finally, he said, “She should be back soon. You can wait for her inside.”

That… took her by surprise. “Are you sure?”

He simply nodded, opening the door for her wider. She hesitated for a moment. It was very hospitable of him. Unsure with how to respond, she decided to smile, “Thank you.” She said, making her way into the house. He closed the door behind her. The foyer, where Robin did her business, felt smaller standing next to Sebastian. Perhaps it was because he was so tall.

“It’s a lot cooler in the basement.” His words brought her mind back to the forefront. She blinked at him in confusion. It took a while for her to register what he had said.

“Oh!” She laughed at herself, “Thank you.”

He led the way to the hallway, which lead to a doorway. She assumed that must have led to the basement. Come to think of it, she had never come this far into the house before. She normally did business with Robin at the front desk and left.

Sebastian led her down the stairs, and, upon opening the door, led her inside. She was first met with cool air. He was right, it was nicer in the basement. Getting a good look around the room, it was surprisingly neat. The bed was freshly made, clothes in the hamper instead of beside it. She was too used to people her age being more… disorganized.

She noticed Sebastian had made his way to a computer desk. He had two desktops; the one he wasn’t on looked to be for gaming. The LED lights kind of gave it away. Behind his desk was a bookshelf. She must have made her way over there on autopilot because she didn’t remember the walk. She examined the spines, reading them off one by one. There were all kinds of books lined up. Books on programming, gemology and mineralogy, comic books, and graphic novels. He also had his fair share of sci-fi, fantasy, and adventure novels. She recognized a few, from when she used to have time for reading. She had stopped when Charles told her she was “too mature to enjoy childish books.” The sound of typing snapped her out of her thoughts.

“One second,” Sebastian said, typing something up on his computer. He stared at the screen for a minute, perhaps checking his work, before turning his attention to Luna. “Sorry, busy working on a project for a client.”

That piqued her interest, “A client?” She asked, giving him her full attention, “What do you do for a living?”

He paused. He looked to be eyeing her carefully before allowing the words to leave his mouth, “I freelance.” He said finally, “A freelance programmer, specifically.”

“A freelancer, huh?” She responded, impressed. “That’s pretty cool. You’re like your own boss, then?”

He laughed, but it didn’t sound humorous, “I guess you could say that.” Before Luna had time to think about Sebastian’s response further, his computer pinged. He sighed. Without even looking at the screen, he said, “It’s Sam.” He sounded almost exasperated, “He just won’t stop messaging me.” Just as he spoke those words, his door opened. Robin’s bright freckled face peeked through. She looked surprised to see Luna there. Luna suddenly felt self-conscious. Like she’d just been caught alone in a man’s room. Well, she was alone in a man’s room. But not like that.

“Oh, hey Luna.” Robin sent her a smile before turning her attention to her son, “Sebby, I’m just letting you know,” She started carefully, “I ran into Abigail at the store. She said she’s looking for you.”

That seemed to have made Sebastian's shoulders deflate, as he sat back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair, slowly, “Did you tell her I’m working?”

Robin looked almost guilty, “I did…” She looked at him apologetically, “But she said she may stop by anyway.”

That only seemed to earn a groan from Sebastian. Robin sent him a sympathetic smile before turning her gaze to Luna, “If you need anything, I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner.” With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

Sebastian put his hands on his face and took in a deep breath. “No one seems to take my job seriously.” He mumbled, pushing his hands through his already messy hair. Luna wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear that. “No one bothers Maru when she’s busy at the clinic.”

Luna could have taken that as an opportunity to leave. She could have given Sebastian her thanks and followed Robin. She could have done that. But she didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. She could never take the easy way out, now could she?

“So…” Her voice drifted. Sebastian sent her a look from the corner of his eye. She had his attention, so no sense in turning back now, “A programmer, huh?” She said, searching her brain for the right thing to say. She knew what she wanted to say, but finding how to say it always proved difficult. “That’s pretty impressive. Self-taught?” She recalled seeing more than a few computer science books on his shelf.

“Yeah,” He sat back in his chair, “Bet if I had gone to school, I’d probably be making six figures by now.”

Luna couldn’t hold back a snort, “Yeah, and you’d be spending most of it on student loans.” She laughed almost bitterly.

A ghost of a smile graced his lips, but it was gone too quick for Luna to realize if it was even there in the first place, “I just…” He looked away from her, eyes focused on his keyboard, “…Don’t want to be part of the cooperate rat race, you know?”

She got that. Boy did she get that. Climbing the cooperate ladder didn’t require hard work. Not like how she was taught. No, it required connections. It didn’t matter how good you were at your job, if you weren’t friends with the right person, you’ll never make it out of your position. It was disheartening seeing people get promoted over someone who was better qualified. And all because they couldn’t play the game. It happened far too often.

“If it makes you feel any better…” Luna smiled, trying to lighten the mood, “I got a degree in economics. Now I’m a farmer. So now my degree is the most expensive mouse pad that I own.”

That earned the amused response she was hoping for. Sebastian shook his head, “Economics, huh?”

“Mom wanted me to become an accountant.” Luna shrugged. More like she wanted Luna to get a "real job" when she told her mother she was thinking about majoring in Fine Arts. But Sebastian didn't need to know that. "Didn't work out that way, but hey, what can you do."

He nodded before turning his head to the ceiling. Leaning back in his computer chair, he looked to be lost in thought. “I plan on moving to the city.” He seemed to have surprised himself with that statement, as though he didn’t mean to say it out loud. At least, not to her. He sat up straighter in his chair, “Not too many work opportunities here in the valley.” He cracked his knuckles before his hands hovered over the keyboard. He looked to her, his face back to its default stoic self, “Don’t think I’m kicking you out,” He said, “But I need to get this finished by tomorrow.”

It wasn’t so much as a hint, as it was a huge neon sign. Contrary to what he was saying, he was, in fact, kicking her out.

“Alright.” She made her way to the door, before turning to Sebastian, “It was nice talking with you.” And she meant it. It was perhaps the first real conversation the two had alone together. He didn’t word his response, simply humming back to her. He was probably too focused on work. She didn’t mind. She had invaded his space long enough. In the meantime, she needed to ask Robin about those blueprints so that she could get back to work too.

#stardew valley #stardew fanfic #stardew valley sebastian #stardew sebastian #sebastian x farmer

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ebaeschnbliah · 5 years

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THE KNIGHT OF BASKERVILLE

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ACDs novel The Hound of the Baskervilles tells the story of Sir Henry Baskerville who returns from Canada to take up the inheritance of his family, the Baskerville estate with the old manor house Baskerville Hall.

The Sherlock BBC adaptation, The Hounds of Baskerville, transforms the centuries old manor house into the modern high-security military base BASKERVILLE, supervised by the britisch government. Because the character ‘Sir Henry Baskerville’ had to be included as well, it’s understandable that a renaming of this important character became necessary.

But why Henry KNIGHT? Names are important in Sherlock BBC. Reason enough to take a closer look at the name and significance of ‘knight’.

TBC below the cut ….

What’s a knight?

- Nowadays, a knight is a person who has been given a rank of honour by the Queen or King of GB because of special achievements

- In the past a knight was a man of high social position, trained to fight as soldier on a horse for his liege lord

- In myths, legends and fairytales knights are often depicted as brave and valiant men who fight against all kinds of evil forces. They defend not only their king or queen, they often become ‘a last refuge for the desperate, the unloved, the persecuted … a final court of appeal for everyone‘. They stand up for justice and fight for those who aren’t able to help themselves.

Knights and pirates

Mycroft mentions in ASIB that his little brother Sherlock initially wanted to be a pirate. In TFP, right after Sherlock jumps through fire and flames onto a ship which will bring him to Sherrinford, he calls himself a pirate. Are there connections between pirates and knights? Of course there are:

One of the most famous pirates of the British Empire was Sir Francis Drake -Elizabeth I awarded Drake a knighthood in 1581 which he received on his ship, the Golden Hind.

William Knight was a 17th-century English buccaneer (pirate). Reading the Wikipedia entry about him, it looks like ‘Captain Knight’ has indeed raided ‘the seven seas’.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes, consulting private detective, the only one in the world and additionally dragon slayer, pirate and knight …. this man really loves to be dramatic.

(For more delicious pirate treats look up this post about Sherlock and the Pirates of the Caribbean, black spots and Treasure Island)

Knights are guardians, defenders, soldiers ... pirates ... who slay the most dangerous dragons and save damsels in distress …

(With every quiver of his beating heart The Black Defender).

Two ‘damsels’ in Sherlock BBC

A damsel - is an old fashioned term, meaning a young woman, often unmarried and of noble birth. Synonyms are: demoiselle, girl, maid, maiden, miss. The word comes from the Middle English damesel, from Anglo-French dameisele, from Vulgar Latin domnicella (young noblewoman), diminutive of Latin ... domina lady (x)

‘Damsel’ appears two times in Sherlock BBC in two different scenes from two different episodes. It is used by two different characters and aimed at two different persons.

Mycroft in ASIB talks about Sherlock and ‘dominatrix’ Irene Adler:

That’s all it takes: one lonely naïve man desperate to show off, and a woman clever enough to make him feel special. …. The damsel in distress. In the end, are you really so obvious? Because this was textbook: the promise of love, the pain of loss, the joy of redemption; then give him a puzzle … and watch him dance.

Magnussen in HLV talks about Sherlock and ‘eternal friend’ John Watson:

Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr. Holmes. The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn’t care if it was exposed, would you? But look how you care about John Watson. Your damsel in distress.

What an interesting combination of characters on both sides of Sherlock. And one more confrontation of the two (so often hinted at) opposites in this story - sex and friendship (Solutions or choices). Irene and Jim represent the female and male incarnation of sex, while John-I’m not gay-Watson represents the ‘eternal’ friend and fixed point in a changing age. Both aspects - sex and friendship - are called Sherlock’s ‘damsels’. And it’s even more interesting to see who makes those statements:

MYCROFT - owner of a laptop on which depends the security of the free world (”with potatoes on it - shelves in exchange for chips - I am glad you liked my potatoe - you’re suicidal, you’re allowed chips”)

MAGNUSSEN - who runs the western world from a library of secrets and scandals that isn’t stored on computers but on hard copy in vaults

A computer versus hard copies in vaults … Well, this reminds me of Sherlock’s explanation in The Great Game, regarding his brain. He compares it to a computer hard drive and adds that ‘it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful ... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters?‘ And what might be a ‘hard copy in vaults’? This seems to be a perfect metaphor for informations stored inside the brain. That organ occupies the space in the skull called ... cranial vault.

(Mycroft & Magnussen A shadow of massive proportions)

A computer versus hard copies in vaults … two paraphrases for one and the same thing … a brain. Janus-faced, one could call it. A mind in conflict with itself. Time to choose a side for Sherlock Holmes. Friendship or sex? John or James? Saint or sinner?

What if Sherlock chooses neither? ‘I could just walk out of here’ (and carry on torturing myself in an isolated dungeon, locked up in solitary confinement with my worst enemy, that’s ME by the way, for another couple of centuries … I can’t die anyway, I’m an immortal literal character ... an undead)

What if Sherlock chooses both? A tempting idea …. :)))

A game for the brain

Chess is called the ‘game of kings’ (’Am I the current king of England?’) and chess plays a vital role in Sherlock BBC. Serial killer Jeff Hope compares the game he wants to play with Sherlock to chess … ‘it’s chess not chance’. There’s a chess board in 221b, the pieces are always standing on it, ready to play. It turns up in each episode, placed at different locations in the living room. The third episode of S1 is called The Great Game. A fake chess game in TEH. A game of chess in Tiblisi, Georgia between two massive lion statues. And let’s not forget the three mysterious promo pics for S4 … Sherlock and Mycroft playing chess and John sitting between them. There are no visual connections whatsoever in S4 to those pics. Anyway, chess is important … especially one certain piece type of the figurines, it seems.

Chess is a very old two-player strategy board game, originating from India around the 6th century. The oldest archaeological chess artifacts were excavated in Uzbekistan, central Asia, and date to about 760. Chess is played on a checkered board with 64 squares arranged in an 8×8 grid, with16 pieces for each player:

One king, one queen, two rooks, two knights, two bishops, and eight pawns. Each piece type moves differently and ... these are the moves:

The knight is a specialist ...

The chess piece called ‘knight’ is normally represented by a horse's head and neck. The area a knight is able to cover - to protect or threaten other pieces - forms a circle.

The knight moves unconventionally compared to all the other chess pieces. Whereas other pieces move in straight lines, knights move in an “L-shape”—that is, they can move two squares in any direction vertically followed by one square horizontally, or two squares in any direction horizontally followed by one square vertically …. a bit similar to the strange sitting arrangement of Sherlock and John, chosen for the plane scene in TST.

Presumed both men were knights on a chess board, each move of either man could bring him to the place of the other one. Mary isn’t in the way at all because knights are able to …. jump.

The ‘jumper’

Another characteristic feature of a knight is the fact that it is the only piece in the game of chess that can “jump over” other pieces, regardless of whether those pieces are black or white. Because of this, some languages refer to the knight as ‘the jumper’ (in german ‘der Springer’).

Of jumping and jumpers

Jumping in front of trains, of ‘transport’ and leaving behind strawberry jam, connects the Andrew West case from TGG with the Strawb-Fizz-Explosive-Flavour-Bus from TST, in which John meets E (Eurus/Sherlock). A quite explosive meeting indeed, thinking of Eurus’ passions grenade a little later.

(Bus spotted on and speculated about during setlock, in the night-shot with Faith 12.06.2016 x x)

Jumping from a rooftop, taking a leap of faith from the edge of a waterfall, throwing oneself through fire and flames out of windows onto an island ..... jumping, falling, flying and landing …. those are definitely main topics in Sherlock BBC. (Developement of the fall)

Considering the fact that the creators of Sherlock BBC obviously enjoy playing with names, words, double meanings and innuendos really very much, I seriously wonder wether there is a reason behind the decision to dress John Watson in his, by now, famous oatmeal coloured jumper or let Sherlock tell a room full of wedding guests that he ‘could go on all night about the depth and complexity of (John’s) ... jumpers ...’

PS: Taking the screen caps from the wedding, I noticed for the first time that a female voice says ‘jumpers’ simultaneously with Sherlock in this scene. It’s a bit like Mrs. Hudson suddenly chiming in with ‘softer, Sherlock’ during his conversation with Molly in TFP.

The Christmas jumpers shouldn’t be forgotten either. There are two of them which play a role in Sherlock BBC: John wears one in ASIB, the other one turns up in the fisherman deduction scene in THOB. @sagestreet wrote about the fisherman and his mother here. By the way … that’s most likely a reindeer on the fisherman’s jumper. Reindeer’s are a species of deer and deer, stags and harts are another heavy featured topic in this story.

(Sherlock the stag and the skull Stalking the deerstalker The three Garridebs Study in pink and green)

Change of colour

Also interesting … due to its L-shaped movement, a knight, beginning on a white square, will always end up on a black square, and vice versa. The colour of the square it stands on, changes with each movement. Changing is definitely another main theme - if not THE main theme - of this story.

Short version for the transformation from Rosie to rainbow: Rosamund=rose of the world=rosa mundi=rosa versicolor=changing colours/many colours/iridescence=rainbow

(longer version in these comments The elephant in the room/womb Prism)

Back to the game and the knights

Looking at the chess pieces on the board and the captured ones lying next to it, one can safely say that it had been Mycroft who started this game, because according to the rules of chess, white moves fist.

If Sherlock BBC is meant to be a great, metaphorical game of chess, with the various characters serving as chess pieces, then Mycroft starting that game, would coincide with a PILOT starting point. Before John Watson walks into the lab at Bart’s Hospital and meets Sherlock Holmes for the first time, before DI Lestrade summons Sherlock to the crime scene of the Lady in Pink, it is Mycroft who sends Sherlock an E-Mail, asking for his help in an ‘impossible situation’. Sherlock answers his brother with the famous Holmes quote from canon:

‘When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains must be the truth. ‘

This interpretation would also coincide with the idea that in this story Mycroft represents the brain, Sherlock’s brain. Logic, reason and intellect. After all, it is this organ which starts every movement and every thought in everyones life. (The reptile in 221b)

It is Mycroft who first kidnaps and investigates the ‘eternal friend’ - Sherlock’s feelings for John. In the wake of the first explosion, it is him who brings the ‘West' case to Baker Street, who later downright forces Sherlock to take the ‘Woman-case’. It is him who releases the ‘Hound’ and also him who brings Sherlock back from the dungeon inside the forest. Jim becomes Eurus’ Chrismas present because ‘big brother’ allowed it. Mycroft is responsible that Sherlock gets involved in the Carmichael case and it is also him who tells Sherlock that ‘We don’t defeat them (emotions). We must certainly lose to them. Because they are right, and we are wrong.’ This case leads Sherlock to his very own Reichenbach Falls - ‘the greatest crisis of my career’ - the point where he throws himself into the waterfall, out of his own free will. No one forces him, there is not the slightest need to do this. Yet Sherlock jumps and flies.

Centre stage for the knights …. the jumpers ….

Henry Knight instead of Henry Baskerville …. it seems there could have been a lot of good reasons for the creators of Sherlock BBC to choose KNIGHT as the new surname for … THE Baskerville … the man haunted by demons.

(Shoes for the hound Investigator of secrets and scandals)

Source of chess info/pics (x x x), source of Sherlock BBC chess promo pics (x)

I leave you to your own deductions. Thanks @callie-ariane for the scripts.

October, 2019

#the Knight of baskerville #knights #jumpers #chess #connecting dots #sherlock bbc #metaphorical reading

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the-marius-de-romanus · 4 years

Text

Conversation with Anne Rice on Blood and Gold

Q: Blood & Gold is your eighteenth novel about the vampires. Do you find it difficult to work within the narrative framework established by earlier stories?

A: Actually, it's a challenge, a real dare. The Vampire Chronicles vary radically in form. Some are tales told to others. Some are written memoirs. Some involve vampires talking directly to us. I feel there is enough flexibility for me to do just about anything that I want. In Queen of the Damned, for example, I worked with whole chapters in the third person, claiming that the Vampire Lestat received the material telepathically from his soul mates and passed it on to us in that form. But for the most part I stick with the heat and intimacy of the first person voice because I love it, along with its obvious drawbacks, and I feel most at home with the puzzles it presents. How do you make a first person narrator handsome and lovable, for instance. I feel I meet that dare all the time.

Q: Do you view your novels as stand alone entities? Will new readers enjoy Blood & Gold even if they are not familiar with your backlist?

A: Absolutely. Each Vampire Chronicle is a stand-alone book. There is enough information in it to make any first-time reader comfortable immediately, and perhaps a little curious about the other books. Blood & Gold is no exception. If anything, Blood & Gold is a bit easier for the first-time reader than, say, The Vampire Armand because Marius is two thousand years old and he begins his memoir in the year 200 AD and follows his own lonely and stark path through the centuries. His great loves, his great losses, his great revelations are all described in rich detail, right up to the point where he becomes the mentor to the Vampire Lestat, sharing the secrets of Those Who Must Be Kept with Lestat, and eventually suffering when Lestat reveals those secrets to the world. But for the new reader it ought to flow easily. The focus is really on Marius himself and his approach to history as well as his existence as a blood drinker and a myth maker.

Q: Marius, Lestat's beloved mentor, appears in your novels The Vampire Lestat, The Vampire Armand, and The Queen of the Damned. What inspired you to write his story?

A: I was reading through The Queen of the Damned and I felt a new contact with Marius and with the anger he suffered when Akasha, the Queen of the Vampires, rose from her four thousand year slumber and more or less contemptuously deserted him. I felt it was time to go deep into Marius and tell his tale from the beginning?omehow explain the type of love he had felt for Akasha which was really warmer than worship. I knew it would be difficult to live up to the high standard I had set for Marius' character in the Chronicles and I was exhilarated by it. Marius is the noble Roman, the ethical man of reason, the diplomat, and the undying optimist. I had to get into all that. I felt ready for it. Also, I think I felt challenged by the fact that Warner's was making The Queen of the Damned into a movie. I wanted to tell Marius' story before they delivered their version of Marius to motion picture audiences. No matter how detached I try to be from motion pictures of my work, they ultimately affect me.

Q: Marius lives through many periods and in many countries. Which era of Marius' life did you find most seductive? Which did you most enjoy researching?

A: The Italian Renaissance was my favorite period of Marius' life, a time during which Marius became a person in the mortal world, a rich Venetian gentleman who paints the walls of his palazzo for his own pleasure, an enigma to those around him. I did a ton of research on the period to make everything as nearly correct as I could. I also enjoyed researching ancient Rome, the Rome of 200 to 50 AD, during which time Marius saw Christianity become the legal religion of the Empire, and also the barbarian sack of the Eternal City itself, a disaster that sent Marius into a long slumber in the shrine of Those Who Must Be Kept from which he didn't want to wake again to reality. There again, I consult volumes. I had so many books around me when I wrote that sometimes I couldn't escape from my computer. I had to climb over piles of books. I was stumbling. One day I called my research assistant, Scott, on the phone and begged him to come upstairs and help me find a book that was somewhere at my feet but which I couldn't find without an archaeological dig. Of course it was all wonderful fun. I want my vampires to move through real history, not some airy realm of half-truths and mistakes and vague generalities. I want the facts, the smells, the colors, the names, and the dates. When Marius meets Botticelli in Florence, I used Botticelli's correct street address in so as far as history records it.

Q: In Blood & Gold, Marius paints and repaints murals, and his companion Daniel, the interviewer from Interview with the Vampire, creates acres of model cities. What is the role of art in the lives of vampires?

A: Vampires are hyper-sensitive to art. They see color and form with the heightened vision of the perpetually stoned. Art can seduce them as the model cities have seduced the boy, Daniel, who doesn't know yet how to handle his obsessions. Art can also save them because it offers a continuity that life itself may not offer to a human being. As time passes, brutally deteriorating everything meaningful to a soul, art endures, and grows ever richer and more evocative with the passage of time, so that it comes to seem prophetic in retrospect, or at least timeless in the finest sense of the word. Throughout the Vampire Chronicles, art has been key. But Marius laments that though he has lived fourteen hundred years, he cannot create art to rival that of Botticelli. He falls in love with the man and must separate himself from the man lest he hurt Botticelli and thereby affect Botticelli's destiny. Maharet, the ancient one, weaving her red hair into a thread and that thread into chains, is in a sort of thrall as well, much like that of Daniel with his model cities. Weaving comforts Maharet. Marius at various stages in his long life is comforted by nothing.

Q: How does humor work in your narratives?

A: Humor is spontaneous with me. It just happens and I don't try to repress it. I have a wild sense of humor and sometimes I have to avoid the satirical side of what I am writing. I have to not sacrifice the finer feeling to the humor of the moment. But in general I let my humor come out with certain characters more than other. Lestat, for example, has a profound sense of humor and a blasphemous sense of humor. Marius is more serious, and more tragic.

Q: Marius believes that anger is weakness. Do you believe this?

A: Yes, I believe that anger is weakness. Marius is one of those characters who for the most part expresses ideas which are mine. I couldn't have an in-depth relationship with Marius if he didn't express my ideas, and I do feel that anger distorts, weakens, and warps. You have to reach beyond anger for a finer sense of a situation before you respond, or make a move. Marius has a terrible temper and so do I. Marius ruins two moments of his life with anger, and possibly even more. But I don't want to give away the plot.

Q: Memory is crucial for vampires, who are immortal. How is memory important for us mortals?

A: Memory is essential to the attaining of wisdom. There is no wisdom without memory, because there can be no perspective and no deep learning without memory. One has to profit by experience and observation in order to become wise, and memory is the keeper of all fine experiences and observations, memory is the index, the table of contents, the full library. Without memory, one runs the risk of being simplistic and flippant.

Q: Can you give us an update on the progress of film and television projects of your work?

A: For once, there is much to report. A mini-series based on The Feast of All Saints will appear on Showtime in November. After that it will appear on ABC. It will be four hours, and spread over two nights. I've seen it and I think it's lush and sensuous and very faithful to the book, and that readers will love it. It's top notch, and Showtime has spared no expense. I visited the set when they were shooting. I was rocked. John Wilder, the scriptwriter and executive producer, did a fantastic job of adapting the book to the four-hour format.

The Queen of the Damned, a feature film based on The Queen of the Damned and The Vampire Lestat, is scheduled for release by Warner Brothers on February 15, 2002. I have not seen it, but it does seem to be engendering considerable excitement. Stuart Townsend, the young Englishman who plays Lestat, is very appealing and a very fine actor. There are other impressive names in the cast.

We are presently in negotiations with regard to "Earth Angels," a new series that we are developing for television, about a group of big-city based angels who work undercover on earth to fight supernatural evil in all its forms. The series is based on an original concept created by me. I'm extremely excited about it.

We're also in negotiations with a producer and a network with regard to making a long miniseries out of The Witching Hour, Lasher, and Taltos. The present discussion involves a plan for 12 hours of TV time. I'm very excited here as well. I like everyone as well, and want for John Wilder to do the script. I feel that after what he did with The Feast of All Saints, he can do a bang-up job.

I'm also happy to report that Ramses the Damned (The Mummy) is also in development. It's owned by James Cameron, and a new screenwriter was recently hired. I've spoken with her and found her pleasant. Again, I've got high hopes.

#anne rice #vampire chronicles #justmariusstuff #marius de romanus #mariusderomanus-rp-help

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fardell24b · 4 years

Text

Quinn’s Code - Cafe Geekdale - Part 2

During lunch, Daria sat with Jane and Jennifer at their usual table.

“What do you think is going to happen with Mr. O'Neill's idea?” Jennifer asked, wondering if an old style coffee house in Lawndale would be successful.

“Nothing,” Daria said.

“Nothing?” Jennifer asked.

“Ms. Li will not shell out for it,” Daria said.

“Are you sure?” Jane asked.

“Look at how stingy this Cafeteria is. It is obvious that the Principal keeps a tight rein on the purse strings,” Daria said.

The three teens looked around. They could see that the décor dated from the early '90's at best, with hints of 70's and '80s here and there.

“So this morning would be the last we hear of it?” Jennifer asked with a slightly dubious tone. 'It could be a money raiser,' she thought.

“Want to bet on it?” Daria asked.

“Sure,” Jennifer said

After school, the Anime Club met in the library.

After approximately fifteen minutes of talking about an upcoming convention at the beginning of December, the topic of the conversation changed to the events of the day.

“And so, I will be cosplaying as Ichigo at the convention,” Quinn said, referring to the main character of Tokyo Mew Mew. She then went back to her seat. 'The convention is going to be really cool,' she thought.

Jenna Schwartz stepped back up to the front. “Very good, Quinn. That concludes official business for today,” she said.

“Jenna? What do you think of Mr. O'Neill's proposal for an old style coffeehouse?” Koichi 'Rob' Robazaki asked.

“It sounds like a very good idea,” Jenna said.

“What is this about a coffee house?” Quinn asked.

“After hearing about the break in at Alt.Lawndale.Com last night, Mr. O'Neill canceled the lesson that he had planned on Romeo and Juliet to talk to the class about their feelings about that break in,” Jenna said.

“How did that lead to a proposal for an old style coffee house?” Quinn asked.

“The new girl in our Language Arts class, Daria, I think her name is, said something that inspired Mr. O'Neill,” Rob said.

“Interesting,” Jenna said.

'Daria! Oh no!' Quinn thought, pondering how her sister got herself into that mess. 'Possibly some snide remark that Mr. O'Neill misread,' she thought.

“What is wrong?” a blonde named Tania Kingston asked.

“That's my embarrassing sister,” Quinn said.

“Oh,” Rob said.

“Anyway, continue,” Quinn said, being quite anxious to know more about Mr. O'Neill's Coffee House idea.

“Right. O'Neill than says that it would be place to watch some performers and hang out with friends,” Jenna said.

“Interesting idea,” Quinn said.

“We could read episode reviews there!” Tania said, excitedly. 'Then they will know that anime is better than it sounds!' she thought.

“Or cosplay and read episode reviews, or fanfic!” Tatiana Olivova exclaimed, emitting a squee-like squeal.

The others just looked at her.

“What? There's nothing wrong with fanfic!” she said.

“There isn't if it is well written. Most of it on that ff.net site is not,” Jenna said. 'There is a reason why I don't go on there anymore,' she thought. Most of her online fandom activities were concentrated on LiveJournal.

“Right,” Tatiana said.

“We didn't hear about the Coffee House in the freshmen class,” Quinn said, steering the conversation away from Tatiana's mention of fanfic.

“Really?” Rob asked.

“Yes,” Tatiana said.

“So you would like the junior class, and not just the sophomore class to be able to participate?” Jenna asked.

“Yes, otherwise it wouldn't be fair,” Quinn said.

“You can bring that up with Mr. O'Neill tomorrow. I will also talk to him about it,” Jenna said. 'Quinn does have a point.'

“That would be great,” Quinn said.

“Absolutely,” Tatiana said.

The Anime Club continued to talk about the idea for another ten minutes before breaking up to head home.

That night, after dinner, Cindy and Kristen visited Quinn.

“An old style coffeehouse?” Cindy asked, when Quinn had finished telling her and Kristen about what had happened at the Anime Club meeting. 'It would certainly add more variety to night activities here in Lawndale, that is for sure,' she thought.

“Yes,” Quinn said.

“What brought that on?” Kristen asked.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked.

“How did Mr. O'Neill think of the idea?” Kristen asked.

"Koichi said that Mr. O'Neill was inspired by a remark that Daria had made," Quinn said.

“That explains that,” Kristen said.

“So, then I suggested that the freshmen as well as the sophomores can do performances there. That would, like, be rather cool,” Quinn said.

“It would be,” Cindy said.

“I know what you would like to do,” Kristen said to Cindy.

Cindy shrugged.

“Anyway. I could read some poetry,” Kristen said as she thought. 'Some of the audience would appreciate it.'

“It's not too angsty, is it?” Quinn asked, knowing that Goths often wrote poetry that was quite angsty.

Kristen looked away. “It really depends on how one defines angst, doesn't it,” she said. 'I don't think it's that angsty.'

“Sorry,” Quinn said, also looking away.

“Don't worry, she does get like that sometimes,” Cindy said. 'One thing I have learned is; don't judge Kristen by her appearance!'

“Anyhow. I would bring some of my more hopeful poetry to the first night, whenever that is going to be,” Kristen said.

“I would certainly listen to it,” Cindy said.

“I know that you have listened to some of it,” Kristen said with a smile.

“I really should listen to it, huh?” Quinn said, guessing where she had gone wrong in the last minute.

“Yes,” Cindy said, jumping in.

“Sorry about that,” Quinn said. Then the sound of metal music came through the walls.

“Who's playing that music?” Kristen asked, wanting to change the subject from the discussion about her poetry.

“Oh, that is just Daria, playing her music really loud,” Quinn said. “A good thing that her room has that soundproofing,” she said, quieter.

“It sounds a little interesting, if a little sad,” Kristen said.

“Of course it's sad. Daria's a misanthrope!” Quinn said.

“The question would be; why is she a misanthrope? Wouldn't it?” Kristen said, as she went to the door.

“I wouldn't disturb her, she's rather private,” Quinn said.

“I'll be back, after I ask Daria about that music,” Kristen said. She left.

“You think that Daria won't talk to Kristen?” Cindy asked.

“She will tell her to leave her alone and then slam the door in her face. Otherwise she will just ignore her,” Quinn said.

“Maybe Jane and Jennifer have had a positive effect on her?”

“The likelihood is remote. Jennifer says that she feels that her friendship with Jane is closer than that with Daria.”

“It's still possible,” Cindy said in thought.

“I guess so,” Quinn said, as she looked out one of the front windows.

Kristen walked up to Daria's room and knocked on the door. After a minute of the music continuing at the same volume she knocked again.

'Nothing for it, except to just go in,' she thought. She grabbed the handle and slowly opened the door, preparing herself to see whatever was inside.

However, she was not prepared to see what she actually saw. Padded walls like those in a psychiatric institution.

She looked around in slight shock, at the archaeological print, the wheelchair rail, the plain brown bed, the sawn off bars in the windows, the models of a slice of cheese and a human heart, the television on the trolley, the keyboard set up and amplifier, the set of drawers, computer set up, Kafka poster and book shelves.

She saw the short, auburn-haired, teen playing the music on a bass guitar with the lead plugged into the amplifier. She was reading the music off a handwritten sheet held above the keyboard and softly singing the lyrics. Kristen stepped into the room and listened to the sad metal tunes.

After another minute Kristen made another move. “Daria?” she asked.

At the sound of Kristen's voice Daria started “Eep!” and dropped the guitar on the keyboard. She swiftly turned around, causing her bleached bangs to fall across her face. She blew them aside with a harsh blow. “How long have you been there?” she asked, with a stern expression.

“Only about a minute,” Kristen said.

Daria thought for a moment “That's alright I guess. But you shouldn't just barge in uninvited and listen to my internal musings!” she said.

“I guess so. But you sound so sad,” Kristen said.

“You would sound sad too if you grew up in a town like Highland, and your younger sister hogged the spotlight constantly!”

“I guess so,” Kristen said. She was the youngest, but she did feel that Kelly did hog some of the spotlight in the eyes of her parents. 'She even dyed her hair the same as me. I dyed it this way first!' she thought. She shook her head, turning her thoughts back to Daria. 'She isn't telling the whole story.'

“Out!” Daria said.

“Wait!” Kristen said.

“What?” Daria asked.

“I would like to ask you about your music, besides the personal aspects, that is.”

Daria thought for a moment. “Fine. I write metal, it suits my mood. I also listen to metal, otherwise it would be punk or rock. Anything from any other genre would have to have an existential bent to it,” she said.

“That would include blues and country and western, wouldn't it?”

“Yes.”

“What I like, is similar, but a little more upbeat. Also more Gothic in tone,” Kristen said.

“As I expected,” Daria said, playing an improvisational piece on the keyboard. She stopped, then flipped pages in the notebook and quickly wrote down the notes she had just played.

'She's quite talented,' Kristen thought. “What was expected?” she asked.

“The Gothic tones.”

'Of course,' Kristen thought. She would have said something more except that Quinn came into the room.

#daria #daria morgendorffer #fan fiction #jane lane #quinn morgendorffer

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greencrusader13 · 5 years

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OC ABCs! Let's see how about O for Eonur, N for Greylam, S for Cirak and J for Tyar.

Can do! Sorry that it’s taken so long!

O1 are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Eonur is a fairly optimistic, and tends to appeal to people’s best qualities when trying to convince them to do the right thing. Sith in particular, and it’s how he convinced Praven to abandon the Sith and join the Jedi Order. There are limits to his optimism, though, and it doesn’t quite veer into fullblown idealism. For example, even he realized that the Sith Emperor was in no way able to be redeemed, and thus crushed him with some rocks during their confrontation. Some people are beyond saving in his eyes.

O2 are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

He knows other people’s limits, but yes, Eonur does share his optimism with others. It’s how he appeals to people’s sense of right and wrong; he has to believe that they see their goodness too.

O3 are they good at giving advice?

Honestly, no. He’s good at making emotional appeals to people or even encouraging them, but when it comes to sound, logical advice he doesn’t have much to say. “Follow your heart” at best.

O4 is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

T7 and Kira Carsen mostly. T7 is Eonur’s happy little cheerleader droid.

O5 were they always optimistic?

No. As a child he had nothing to hope for. Slavery was his daily life, it was all he’d ever known, and he believed it would be the only thing he’d ever know. There was no point in hoping for anything else. It wasn’t until he was rescued by Orgus Din that things actually began to get better, and since then Eonur’s been boundlessly optimistic.

N1 what would they never do?

Commit an act of utter cruelty that conflicted with the Jedi Code. He sees such actions as unforgivable, regardless if it’s something sanctioned by the Republic (Belsavis was a particularly reprehensible place to him). He may have next to no emotions or social skills, but he does have a conscience.

N2 what have they never done that they want to do?

Go on an excavation dig of some historical site. He’s studied archaeology from a distance before, but not really in person; the war made it difficult as a Padawan, and his role as the Barsen’thor doesn’t give him that leisure.

N3 is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Join/embrace the dark side of the Force. It does not compute.

N4 what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

That’s hard to say because Greylam, for the most part, just does not get embarrassed by things. To him it would probably be something like dropping a holopad of a book he was reading from the library and feeling guilty about it getting scratched.

N5 have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

He does not like flying and thus never expected to drive a speeder. It’s not much of a surprise that he prefers mounts that are actually living creatures as opposed to vehicles.

S1 are they street-smart?

Very. Sondan Kiht trained his eldest son well on how to survive in Nar Shaddaa, and Cirak carries those lessons with him whenever he’s in a sketchy cityscape. Having a smuggler for a father helped prepare him for potential danger and how to turn it into an advantage.

S2 would they give money to someone on the streets?

No. Who knows what they would go do with it. Besides, greed is one of his biggest flaws, and he’s not easily parted with his credits. He’d much rather keep it for himself for his own recreational fun.

S3 have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

He’s a bounty hunter. Countless of his hunts have taken place on city streets.

S4 has anything happened to them on the streets?

Plenty. Cirak spends a lot of time out there due to his bounty hunting, so he has seen plenty of things while on the streets. Not all of them bad I’m sure.

S5 are they cautious when out?

In a casual way. Cirak puts on a calm veneer when out and about, but like I said earlier he was taught by his father how to always be prepared out in dangerous areas. Cirak checks for people who might be dangerous, could be following him, etc.

J1 what makes them happy?

Anything thrilling, things that get his blood pumping and adrenaline racing. Speeder racing/driving, fighting (and as a Sith, unfortunately, killing). He loves the rush, and he feels most connected to the Force when he’s in such a situation.

J2 who makes them happy?

As a Jedi his friends: Eonur and Greylam. They grew up together, trained together, survived the Sacking of Coruscant together, etc. This unfortunately didn’t last. As a Sith it’s pretty much exclusive to Jaesa. They share the same bloodlust (and lust lust, which they happily express towards each other in the bedroom), and fight side-by-side all the time. She’s one of the few Sith he considers on his own level.

J3 are there any songs that bring them joy?

None that I can particularly think of.

J4 are they happy often?

Not anymore. Tyar spends most of his days as a Sith fueled by his rage and hatred. Letting go of that would be letting go of his power.

J5 what brings them the most joy in the world?

Feeling powerful, feeling like nothing in the galaxy can stop him. There’s a sort of freedom in that, and he revels in it.

Thanks for the asks! :D

#character asks #swtor ask #kunoichi-ume

4 notes · View notes

thewnchstrs · 6 years

Text

The Vessel

Pairing: none

Disclaimers: none

Word count: 9.3K

A/N: Okay so this isn’t actually the first episode with Casifer but it was the first one that Sam and Dean found out Cas was possessed so there was a little bit more to work with. If you had a different episode for this fic in mind let me know and I’ll write it for you!!

Masterlist

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Y/N and Sam sat in the same spot they were in the night before: hunched over books and piles of papers in the kitchen, their eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Dean entered the kitchen, just past 8AM, rolling the sleeves of his shirt, eyeing the two at the table as he reached for the coffee pot.

“We’re all out,” Sam said, not even looking at his brother. Even with this, Dean held the pot over his empty cup before clambering it back into its dock on the counter.

“There was a half a bag yesterday.”

“We killed it,” Y/N said, rubbing her eyes with the palms of her hands before handing Dean her empty cup who took it exasperatedly, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, did you know the Nazis had a special branch devoted to archaeology?” Sam asked, looking up from his book for the first time.

“A little early for Nazi trivia,” Dean said, rummaging through the fridge, “Especially without caffeine.”

“It was called the ‘Ahnenerbe.’” Sam said, reading from the book, expertly reading the German, “There were sites all over Germany, and then as the Nazis increased their territory, they started popping up in- in Poland, Finland, North Africa-”

“Yeah, how is this more important than our coffee situation?” Dean asked, throwing the milk he’d just sniffed back into the fridge, shutting it angrily as he ran a hand down his face.

“Drama queen,” I muttered under my breath.

“’Cause Y/N and I found something. I mean, we need something- magic, a weapon strong enough to give us a shot against Amara.”

Sam was right. Our chances of bringing Amara down empty handed were just as slim as Dean actually giving a rat’s ass this early in the morning. I watched as he picked the coffee pot up once again, this time opening it as he peered inside, as if making sure we truly were out of coffee.

“So I’ve been looking outside the lore in history,” Sam went on, flipping the pages of the book in front of him. “And I found this, uh, ‘The Vichy Memorandums’.”

“The Nazi communications?” I asked, the information perking my interest.

“Yeah,” Sam’s eyebrows cinched together in confusion and shock, “You heard of ‘em?”

“They came up in my research too. Go on.”

“Well, they puzzle historians to this day, and they speak of a super weapon obtained by the Ahnenerbe, said to be strong enough to win the war.”

I raised my eyebrows at this, shooting a glance to Dean who was rubbing his eyes, “Yeah? What was it?”

“Well, uh, these memos refer to it as ‘The Hand Of God.’ I mean, that was sort of a catchall term for several objects he touched on Earth in biblical times and, get this,” Sam said, eyes wide, “they’re believed to contain traces of his power.”

Dean seemed more than unimpressed as he pushed off from the counter he’d been leaning against, “Yeah, well, the Nazis believed a lot of things.”

“Dean, Lucifer’s caged,” I began, not sure how he didn’t see this as an opportunity for us to finally have something that could potentially defeat Amara. “God’s M.I.A. the only beings strong enough to battle Amara are gone. I’m sorry, Dean but I’m with Sam on this one. If we’re gonna fight her, what better way to arm up than with an actual dose of his power?”

Dean sighed, thinking about it, letting a beat pass before he approached the table, plopping down on the bench seat next to me, “Okay, so you said the Nazis got their hands on one of these, uh...’hands’.”

“Right.”

“Well, if it was so powerful it could win them the war, why didn’t it?” He reached across the table, snatched Sam’s cup from where it sat. He threw his head back, desperate for just a drop of caffeine, bringing it away disappointed.

“Because they lost it,” I said, now reading from the book in front of me. “En route to Berlin, it was stolen. The Nazis searched high and low for the thief, but they never found their prime suspect: Delphine Seydoux.” I pushed the book into the middle of the table, the picture of Delphine staring back up at us. “She was a french mistress to a high-ranking Nazi, thought to be a french traitor ‘til she killed her German lover and made off with the weapon.”

“The Hand of God?”

“The Hand of God,” I confirmed, nodding.

“Allied spy? French resistance?” Dean asked.

“That’s what the Nazis thought, but their investigation led them to a different conclusion- that she was ‘un femme de lettres.’“ I watched them expectantly, waiting for them to catch on, Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for the translation. I sighed, “A woman of letters.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Castiel held the green tablet in one hand, using his others to fight off the aliens on the screen, poking and prodding each one until they exploded into a thin sheen of dust. The music from the game like an old arcade played loudly in the all concrete room.

Numerous demons stood before him, their hands crossed waiting for orders, but Castiel continued to sit, one leg thrown over the other on his throne. They’d have to wait until he was ready to talk.

The demons stood, looking at each other in silent conversation as to not disturb Castiel, or, Lucifer, he now was. The group elected one of the demons, a young, scrawny one that was newest to the job. They’d convinced him it would get him a promotion when in reality, everybody knew how this would end.

The demon slowly made his way to the front of the group, his voice shaking slightly as he spoke, “Uh, sir? Would you like to hear the latest soul numbers?”

“No, because I don’t care.” Lucifer said simply, not bothering to look up from his screen.

The demon looked back to his coworkers who egged him on, nodding their heads in the direction of their new King. The demon cleared his throat, “How about an update on Amara?” Instantly, the noises from the game quieted as Lucifer looked up at the group. The demon shifted on his feet nervously as he continued, “Well, the update is, well that there is no update. We still haven’t found her.”

“Sir, if I may,” another demon began, she walked forward in front of the group, hoping to save the situation. “Since you’ve claimed the throne, we could use some direction. Any direction. We could deploy a force. Real boots on the ground, shake the trees to find her-”

Lucifer rolled his eyes, obviously uninterested at her attempts to make him communicate with them on something he really could care less about. He clicked the tablet back to life, the noise of the game filling the room once again.

“...W-with you leading the charge, of course.” She continued, “We have had a coward and a fool at the helm for too long-” From the other side of the room could be heard muffled groans from their previous King who found himself to be in a pretty...tight situation. “Perhaps it’s time to-”

Lucifer held a finger up to the demon, looking in the direction of where Crowley was caged. “Doggie wants to speak.”

A gate was rolled open, the platform Crowley was secured to, pushed out into the open, his hands a feet bound to chains.

“How dare you.” Crowley snarled to the demons, “The impudence. The lack of humility. That’s no way to talk to your master...Lucifer.”

Lucifer smiled, “That’s a good doggie.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Who knew the Men of Letters had European chapters?” Dean said, pulling a large book from one of the numerous shelves in the library.

“Maybe it wasn’t an entire chapter,” Sam suggested from the other side of the room, balancing a number of books in his arms that Y/N continued to pull from the shelves. Everything they could possible need to know about the Hand of God had to be somewhere in one of these books. “Just some assets, you know?”

“Yeah, and letting women join way back in the ‘40s?” Dean asked to which Y/N shot him a look over her shoulder, warning him to watch what he was about to say. “I just never got the impression that they were so big on gender equality, that’s all. You know, it’s right there in the name: The Men of Letters.”

“Well, it was World War 2,” Y/N said. “Kind of an all-hands-on-deck situation, you know?”

“Yeah, Rosie the Riveter,” Dean said, smiling to himself. “Cool.”

“Here you go.” Sam said, reading from one of the books, “This report was written by Clifford Henshaw, a bunker-based Man of Letters back in 1943. It’s the right era.” Sam carried the book to one of the tables in the middle of the room, setting it down with a large thud. “But it’s in French.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Y/N scanned the pages of the book, a blue light emitting from the long device. The door behind her opening and then closing, Dean’s voice echoing through the room, “Well?”

“So it’s definitely about Delphine,” I said, reading the words that were coming up on the computer screen, the French quickly being translated into English. Sam stood over my shoulder, taking notes. “Her name’s at the top of every page. And check this out.”

Dean sat beside me, sliding the papers in front of him, “What are these?”

“Transcriptions,” Sam said, his eyes bouncing between the computer screen and the notebook in his hands. “From transatlantic cables between Clifford and Delphine.”

“What do they say?”

“Give me a second,” Sam clicked through the translations, “web translation’s kind of buggy.”

Dean nodded, taking a drink from the beer resting between his fingers, “Seriously Dean?” Y/N said, eyeing the bottle. “It’s like, noon.”

“Yeah, well you and Sasquatch drank all the coffee, so what am I supposed to drink? Water?”

“Look at this,” Sam slid the laptop in between Dean and I, pointing at the screen full of translated words. “They were making arrangements to get the artifact out of Europe to keep it safe. Uh, Henshaw pulled some strings with a Man of Letters in the O.S.S. to requisition an active U.S. submarine to transport Delphine and the weapon back to the states...back to here.”

“Wait, the bunker?”

“Yeah.”

“So it’s been here the whole time?” Y/N questioned. “Don’t tell me all of this was for nothing-”

Sam quickly typed something neither Dean nor Y/N could explain before pressing enter, an article about the USS Bluefin popping up with a picture of a large ship.

“No.” Sam said, shaking his head as he read the article, “Never arrived. Uh, the U.S.S. Bluefin came under German attack midway through its trip across the Atlantic. The sub was sunk.” Sam quickly tapped for the next page, this time, a black and white picture of a man in a US uniform popped up. “The ship and its contents haven’t been recovered to this day.”

Sam ran a hand down his tired face, closing the laptop in frustration.

“Great.” Y/N nodded, feeling more defeated than ever. “It’s lost.”

“Or is it?” Dean asked, eyeing the two of them.

“Well, yeah, I’d say so.” Sam said, gesturing to the closed laptop.

“It couldn’t have made it out of there,” Y/N shook her head, recalling what the article had said, “I mean, tides took the wreckage. Submersibles have been trying to locate it for years. I mean, if James Cameron and his “Avatar” billions can’t find it-”

“Yeah, but...we have something that James Cameron doesn’t have.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The weaponry Lucifer had requested was rolled into the room on a large cart, the spears and swords dangerously sticking out in mid air. Lucifer stood from his throne, careful not to step on Crowley who was seated at the foot of his chair, his hands and feet still bound.

Lucifer reached for one of the spears, sighing deeply. “That’s all of it?”

“Yes, sir. The requested weaponry from your crypts.” The demon said, eyeing Lucifer as he examined the spear in his hand. “Does it...please you?”

Lucifer rolled his eyes before turning on his heels, “Spare me.”

Lucifer gestured for the demons to leave the room, leaving only him and Crowley who couldn’t even look into Lucifer’s eyes without shaking profusely.

“How are your wounds, doggie?” Lucifer mocked after the door behind the last demon had closed. He turning the spear in his hands.

“They are...no less than I deserve.” Crowley muttered, choosing his words carefully as Lucifer scratched the top of his head, making him wince in pain.

“Aww,” Lucifer chuckled, obviously enjoying every minute of this, “You’re scared of your master. That’s a good doggie.” Lucifer continued to rub Crowley’s head before yanking him back by his ear. “But it’s an act. I broke you, but, um...yep! I can still smell it, you’ve got that delectable little whiff of defiance. You’re just playing, huh?”

Lucifer tugged harder at Crowley’s ear. “You’re just waiting for your moment to retake the throne. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Lucifer let off of Crowley’s ear, “Well, then...tell me, uh, once and future, King of Hell,” he laughed as he mocked him, “you’ve been watching my rule. What treasonous thoughts do you have brewing in that little head of yours, huh?” He waited a beat and when Crowley didn’t speak he lightly toed him in the side, “What are you really thinking hmm?”

Crowley sighed, knowing that if he wanted to get this over with that he’d have to play at his games. “The truth, sir?”

“Yeah.”

Crowley turned slightly to look up at who he once knew as Castiel- the Winchester’s best friend, who was now the person he feared most. “You’re not strong enough.” Lucifer listened in interest, watching his every move, “You’ve had your weapons delivered. You realize they won’t be enough. If you thought you could be Amara, you’d be taking the fight to her...right now.”

A beat passed before Lucifer reached out a hand, making Crowley flinch away only to have Lucifer pat his shoulder, “You’re a clever little doggie. You’re right. At the moment, I-I may be a bit underequipped. Maybe defeating Amara was a bit more of a team effort than I led certain people to believe. You know, all that said...” Lucifer lifted Crowley’s face using the spear so his eyes would meet his, “I’m still your master. Did I let you out of that kennel too soon?”

Crowley held back his fear as he whispered his answer, praying to God he wouldn’t be subject to the small cage again, “No.”

A ringing came from inside the pocket of Lucifer’s trench coat. Keeping the spear tucked under Crowley’s chin, he picked up the phone, examining the contact that flashed on the screen. “No barking. It’s showtime.”

Lucifer released the pressure of the spear off of Crowley’s neck as he returned to his seat on the throne, accepting the call as he held it up to his ear, managing his best Cas voice, “Hello, Dean.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“There were several God-touched objects, but it never occurred to me that any had survived the flood, let alone the 20th century.” Lucifer said, looking at the pictures that Sam, Dean and Y/N had taped to the walls. Lucifer kept his voice low to fool them into thinking Cas was still, indeed, Cas.

“Do you think we can use it against Amara?” Sam asked.

“It’s perfect,” Lucifer said, mainly to himself. Sam, Y/N and Dean glanced at each other, waiting for him to go on. “I can get you back there.”

“Without wings?” Y/N questioned, her eyebrows cinched together. “Cas, you can’t even teleport.”

Y/N was right. The fall of the angels had done a number on Cas.

Lucifer thought quickly for an excuse before turning on his heels, “Time travel is a whole different system.”

Dean snapped his fingers, “Told ya.”

Lucifer began flipping through a packet that had been stapled to the drawing board. “So, uh, these the last coordinates?”

“That’s the Bluefin’s last transmission to shore, yeah.”

“Alright-”

“Wait a second,” Sam began, still not too thrilled on the idea of time travel. “Cas, aren’t there still risks with time travel? I mean, aren’t there consequences that could create, I don’t know, a ripple effect?”

“Sam’s right,” Y/N nodded, “So many things can go wrong-”

Dean brought his hand down onto the tabletop, turning to Sam and Y/N. “Hey. This is the ideal scenario.”

“What?”

“That sub’s a tin can floating in the middle of the ocean, doomed to go down. You can’t really mess with history at 20,000 leagues.” Y/N listened though she didn’t agree. Her eyes traveled up to Lucifer who watched the exchange intently, something putting her off about the way he smirked at the argument unfolding. “So we get in, get the weapon, get out. It’s a milk run.”

“Well, that’s not a very good plan,” Sam argued.

“Well, if things get out of hand, then Cas’ll just zap me right back.”

Sam opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say that would make Dean realize how bad of an idea this was turning out to be. Y/N thought about what Dean had just said, throwing it around in her brain. “You?”

Dean paused, realizing he’d just revealed the big kicker to the plan. “You two ain’t going.”

“I beg your pardon-” Sam started, leaning in close to his brother before Dean cut him off.

“You need to stay here.”

“Stay here?!”

“Just in case things go sideways, at least two of us need to be left standing to take care of the darkness.” Dean shook his head, already dead set on the idea. “We can’t risk the three of us, and at the moment, I’m the least valuable player. You both know that I can’t kill Amara, so the least I could do is get the thing that we need so that you can!”

“So you expect us to sit here and ride the pine while you and Cas go play Jules Verne?”

“Yes!...No. Uh, who?” Dean said, confused.

“I won’t let him out of my sight.” Lucifer said, instantly putting Y/N on edge. There was something very wrong going on here.

Sam sighed, shaking his head. Y/N could practically feel how torn he was, “You’ll stay by his side the entire time?-”

“Now wait,” Y/N said, holding a hand out to Sam, not believing his was allowing this. “You can’t be serious. Dean can’t go- I’ll do it.”

“Y/N, stop-” Dean tried, rubbing his eyes.

“No, Dean! I-” I sighed, not sure how to put this lightly, “You can’t die out there. Okay? You can’t. This world...it needs you, Dean. It needs you to kill Amara. This world will go on without me if this plan goes haywire-”

“I said, stop, Y/N!” Dean nearly shouted, his face becoming red. “I will not let you sacrifice yourself for a mess I have to clean up. I won’t let you think this world doesn’t need you as much it needs Sam and I, alright? We’ve lost too many people and I’ll be damned if we lose you too.”

I sat back in my chair, silence settling over us like a blanket.

“Let me do this,” Dean said, leaning over the table. “I need to do this.”

“Be safe.”

“When am I not?” Dean questioned, eliciting scoffs from Sam and I. “Let’s do this, Cas.” Dean stood from the table, Lucifer coming to stand next to him. “Bon Voyage.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

One second, Dean was standing in front of Sam and Y/N in the bunker, the next, he found himself in small confines, the only light coming from a single hanging light bulb.

“Cas?” Dean whispered, a snore coming from one of the bunks next to him, startling him into a corner. “Cas?”

The boat swayed from side to side, making Dean uneasy on his feet. He searched the room for Cas, hoping he’d made it on board.

Heavy footfalls began coming toward the closed door ahead of Dean, making him drop to the floor and roll under the set of bunks to his right, holding his breath as they entered the room.

“See, I enlisted to sink German ships.” A man said, pushing the heavy door open, a white towel resting over his shoulders. “You’re up.” Using the towel, he smacked the sleeping shipmate. Another man in uniform followed the first one.

“Let’s go. Vacation’s over.” The man with the towel said. Dean watched from between the bed posts. “Now we got zip running patrols in the bay. Now Captain’s got us going the wrong direction? To run some mystery mission for some broad? Tell me how that makes sense.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Get some rest.”

“You know I can’t rest.”

Dean watched from under the bunks the feet of the soldiers on board as they climbed into their sleeping quarters. He scanned the room, wondering just how long he’d have to be in here when he spotted a red marking on the wall ahead of him. He cinched his eyebrows, focusing on the symbol in hopes it would help him find the Hand of God.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam held the open book in his hands, staring at the picture of a drawing of the Bluefin, trying to imagine his brother on board.

Y/N kept her worries at bay by scrolling through her phone, trying to keep every bad thought about how horrible of an idea this time travel mission was. However, there was still something in the back of Y/N’s mind that had been bugging her. “Sam?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, not looking up from the book.

“Have you noticed anything strange...about Cas?”

Sam looked up to Y/N now, thinking hard about the last few hours. “I mean, no, not really-”

As if on cue, the entrance to the bunker door was pulled open, a loud squeak of rusty hinges catching the attention of Y/N and Sam, looking up from their distractions.

Water sloshed over the metal stairs, squeaking in Lucifer’s shoes as he slowly descended down the stairs, every inch of him soaking wet.

“Cas?” Sam asked, “Why are you all wet?”

“Where’s Dean?” Y/N asked immediately, standing from her chair.

“We made the leap.” Lucifer said simply, his hair sticking to his forehead. He tried his best to sound somber even though he couldn’t have been more pleased with how his plan was unfolding. “He got on. I didn’t.”

“What?” Sam asked quietly.

Lucifer nodded, not meeting Sam’s eyes, trying to make it as believable as he could, “I couldn’t make it past the hull.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A quarter rolled out into the middle of the room, spinning until falling on its side. The soldier who’d been wearing his uniform raised his eyebrows, coming off of his bunk to pick the quarter up. He held it close to his face as he read the year. He shook his head, “1996?”

Instantly, Dean came up from under the bunk, putting the soldier in a headlock. The soldier gasped, gripping Dean’s arm in shock. “Where’s Delphine? Where’s the broad?”

“I-I-I don’t know what your talking about.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Someone must have warded the ship.” Lucifer said as he entered the library, Sam and Y/N on his heels. He threw the trench coat onto a chair, using a towel to dry his face.

“Delphine.” Sam said, “It has to be. I mean, she’s protecting the weapon, right?” Lucifer ignored him, drying his pants with the towel now. Y/N watched him in confusion at his lack of concern for Dean. “Cas. Just go back to their last port before she boarded, leave a message so Dean knows.”

Lucifer shook his head, trying to remain calm. It’s what Cas would have done. “Where? Where would Dean see it that the crew wouldn’t? He’s as likely to find the warding as he is any message I’d leave.”

“Then send me.” Sam said. Y/N’s eyes widened at this, grabbing his forearm.

“Sam, no!”

“Dean got past the hull. I have to go help him-”

“Right,” Lucifer said sarcastically, “We’ll double down on what screwed us the first time. You’re really bringing your ‘A’ ideas today.” He whipped the towel that had been around his neck as he sat at the table in the library. “I can’t believe I lost it...Him, I mean. Dean. Can’t believe I lost Dean.”

Sam glanced at Y/N, both of their eyebrows raised.

“Well, it’s up to him now to find and clear the warding,” Lucifer said, folding his hands in front of him.

“No.” Y/N shook her head, “We can help. There’s got to be something in magic or angel lore!” Sam watched Cas closer this time as he rolled his eyes, resting his head in his hands at Y/N’s words. “You know, some way to clear the sigils from the outside.”

“Cas,” Sam said as he watched Cas, mistaking his annoyance for fear. “We’ll bring him back. Don’t worry.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean tucked his shirt into his pants as he came from the sleeping quarters and out to where the rest of the soldiers were, either sitting at round tables or working at computers. Dean made sure to keep his head low, not to make eye contact.

“Look out. Coming through,” A man called from behind Dean, coming through the small walkway with a bag of laundry. Dean pressed himself against the bunk next to him, keeping his head even lower.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“When can I smoke?” Delphine asked, coming out of the bathroom.

“When it’s your turn, I’ll let you know.” One of the soldiers said.

“Surely some of you boys take breaks in the engine room?” Delphine made her way past him and into the kitchen, one of the only few rooms she was allowed to be in.

“Captain wants you stayed put,” he said, setting a tray of food down in front of her.

“Let me guess,” Delphine smiled. “He fears I would distract his men? Does not want a skirt roaming the decks? Give me the light.” She rested the cigarette between her parted lips.

“But, ma’am, uh...You’re wearing pants.” He laughed before plucking the cigarette from her lips.

The soldier made his way back into the kitchen, nearly running into Dean. He patted him on the shoulder. “Rich, ain’t it? Frog’s sittin’ pretty like Queen of Sheba, getting room service in the wardroom. And I can’t even gripe ‘cause...well, have you seen that dame? The gams on her?”

Dean stayed pressed up against the counter, not facing the soldier. “Yeah. Yeah, she’s a hottie.” Dean chuckled, glad for some conversation he could actually follow. The soldier looked at Dean confused, but Dean counteracted what he’d just said quickly, “Yeah, those gams, huh?”

Dean continued on his way, going through to the wardroom where Delphine had pulled out another cigarette. At the sight of him, she sat forward, confused, “Who are you?”

“Delphine...You might find this hard to believe, but-”

In an instant, Delphine had sent her foot soaring through the air, straight between Dean’s legs, bringing his head slamming down onto the table before holding him at the throat against the wall. Dean groaned in pain, trying to breathe around the death grip on his jugular.

“Not a soul on this ship knows my name, so I repeat, who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Clifford Henshaw,” Dean said calmly, hoping to get her to understand. “I’m a Man of Letters.”

Delphine squinted her eyes at him as two soldiers barged into the room, the first one the one that Dean had just finished talking to, and the second was the one that Dean had put in a choke hold. “That’s him! That’s the guy, Captain.”

The first soldier pulled Delphine away, throwing her back into her seat at the table as the Captain entered the room.

Dean was forced onto the table, his hands held tightly behind his back. “He took my clothes and he hog tied me in the head, this guy.”

“What should we do with him, Captain?”

“Search him.” The Captain said, watching the scene unfold.

The soldiers began patting Dean down, feeling the sides of his uniform when he reached into Dean’s pocket, pulling out his cell phone.

“Petey, this yours?” the soldier asked, handing it off to him.

Petey examined the phone before holding it up, “What the hell is this?”

Dean sighed, knowing would take a lot of convincing. “It’s a phone.”

“Right. A phone in your pocket.” They scoffed.

“Next thing he’s going to tell us is he’s from space.” Petey laughed.

“Yeah, or the future.”

Dean glanced at the two before back down to Delphine, begging for her to understand. “I...I am.” Delphine watched him with suspicious eyes before he turned to the Captain, “Captain James Dearborn? My name is Dean Winchester, and I am on a mission from the future, the details of which I am not at liberty to discuss. But know this- within the hour, a German destroyer will find and attack this submarine, and you will go down.”

“Okay, you’ve said your piece,” The Captain said, not believing a word of Dean’s story, “now let me tell you what I think.”

Delphine whipped around to him, “Captain-”

“I think you’re a soldier that’s gone A.W.O.L. You’ve hopped a ride home, and this cockeyed story is some loony attempt to keep your cover as a civvie. That, or you’re a spy. Deciding which? I’ll leave that to the court martial.”

“I need to speak with this man alone.” Delphine tried again.

“Not a chance.” The Captain pulled a gun from his waistband, handing it over to Petey.

“Captain, there are things, things about this mission that you don’t know-”

“Flash Gordon here will remain under guard until we reach the shore.”

“Gladly.”

Delphine scoffed, frustrated that they weren’t even considering the possibility that Dean was telling the truth, “What if we don’t reach shore? What if he’s right?”

“The odds of a German attack from a surface ship, this far west, hunting down a lone submarine?-”

“Captain?” A soldier interrupted, coming from the front of the boat. He gestured his head toward a secure area to talk, the four people in the wardroom watching them.

“Sonar’s picked up a surface ship on steady bearing, closing.” He said to the Captain.

The Captain was taken aback but tried his best to hide the shock, “Understood.”

“Harris, back to your station.” The Captain said to the first soldier. “Giraldi, watch our guest.” He said to Petey, who simply nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“The Germans, they’ve come for it.” Delphine said.

Dean slid into the booth opposite of her, “Delphine, the warding on the hull? The sigil? That’s not like any I’ve seen.”

“My mentor in the Men of Letters, he taught me the symbol before he died.”

“World Series, 1944.” Petey began, talking to Dean. “Go.” Dean watched him, confused as he wanted from him. “You’re from the future. Tell me, who won?”

Dean rolled his eyes, this not being at the top of his priority list, “Um, the, uh, The Rangers.”

“The Rangers?” Petey said in confusion.

“He believed it would keep me and the artifact safe on our journey-” Delphine went on.

“Who are The Rangers?”

“-from supernatural interference.”

“And angelic interference.” Dean said, understanding why Cas hadn’t made it on board.

“Angels?” Delphine said, “They’re not real-”

“Who are The Rangers?”

“Look, kid, I don’t follow baseball, okay?” Dean said. “And, yeah, angels are real. In fact, one of them is my ride off this ship. Now look, the warding that you put up to block the magic, it must’ve blocked him, too. I cleared the one. If there’s any more, we gotta clear those, too otherwise I’m stuck here.”

“Okay, then. The next president.” Petey went on.

“Delphine, you wanted the weapon to be at a Men of Letters safe house, right? I’m from the bunker. That’s how I knew how to find you, from your communication with Henshaw. Now if you clear the way, I can get it there for you.”

“And that’s why you came,” Delphine questioned, wishing she could say she trusted him like she so desperately wanted to. “to protect the object, the weapon?”

“You gonna answer my question?” Petey asked, leaning against the wall.

Dean was beginning to become fed up, laying his hands on the table as if to ask what more he wanted of him, “Eisenhower, okay? No. uh...Truman. Now would you please shut up?” He turned back to Delphine, “No. This sub is going down. But the allies do win...But from Man of Letters to Man of Letters? I’m fighting a war in the future. It’s not like your war. It’s big. Biblical, end-is-nigh big...And I need your weapon to win. That is why I came.”

“But we all die?” Petey asked softly. Yet another question of his Dean didn’t want to answer. “Me, the girl, the rest of the crew? I’m just trying to get your story clear.”

Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw, knowing it would come down to the truth sooner or later. “Yes...Look. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially from a complete stranger.”

“You’re not a stranger,” Delphine shook her head. “’Man of Letters to Man of Letters’. I trust you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Wait a second. I think I have something.” Sam said, reading from a book he’d been looking through for the past half an hour. “‘The spell of gathering’. It’s an incantation used to...’focus the power of celestial beings’- angels- ‘against all drawn forms of evasion’.” He brought the book over to the table next to Lucifer where he was sitting across from Y/N who hadn’t taken her eyes off him for the past twenty minutes. “The spell was designed to clear all mystical or occult blockages.”

“That’s some pretty highly theoretical magic,” Y/N said.

Sam nodded, a smile playing at his lips as the thought of getting Dean back loomed closer and closer. “Exactly. And, it’s never been used before, but it sounds like it could work.”

“Do we have the ingredients?” Y/N asked as she pushed the chair back, jogging toward the cabinets where they held most of their supplies for incantations.

Sam read off the list as Y/N quickly gathered them, but the last one threw her for a loop. She checked and double checked twice with nothing to show for it. “All but one.”

Sam sighed, “That’s why its never been used before. It requires the power of an archangel.”

He closed the book, running a hand down his face. Y/N slowly shutting the cabinets, her hands coming to rest on her hips. There had to be another way.

“Well, Sam, we may as well try.” Lucifer said, looking over to him.

“We don’t have time for long shots, Cas. Even at full power you’re not strong enough.”

As Sam stood from the chair, Lucifer balanced his options in his head before grabbing the book and opening it to the incantation to save Dean, and, most importantly to Lucifer, the Hand of God.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“That’s the Hand of God?” Dean questioned, staring at the lump of what looked like a piece of polished wood inside the wooden box Delphine had placed in front of him. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. It must have been more impressive in its complete form. The Ark of the Covenant.”

Dean’s eyes slightly widened at this before a grin broke out on his face, “Oh, so full-on ‘Raiders’. That’s...okay.”

As Dean reached for it, Delphine quickly stopped him, “Don’t touch it bare handed. Its power is potent and unstable. No mortal can survive long with direct contact.” She covered it back up with the cloth it had been wrapped in before closing the latch of the box, pushing it toward Dean. “I’ll remove the warding.”

As Delphine left the room, Dean stood to leave, the box in hand as Petey pointed the gun at him, ushering Dean to sit back down, “Whoa whoa whoa! You’re not going anywhere.”

“Okay.” Dean said, choosing to pick his battles as he sat back down, hands tapping atop the box.

A beat of silence passed before Petey spoke again, “When?”

“When what?”

“When do we win? Months, years, decades? Got a lot of friends and family on other ships, in other branches. I want to know what their chances are.”

“Years,” Dean nodded, looking up at the young soldier. “1945...You believe me?”

Petey thought momentarily as if he himself still hadn’t made up his mind. “I read a lot of Flash Gordon.”

In an instant the room was swamped in a red light, the PA system crackling over the boat. “General quarters, man your battle stations. All hands, man your battle stations.”

“Okay, lets go boys, lets go!” A voice called from outside of the wardroom, Dean’s heart racing as he watching numerous soldiers run quickly toward the front of the ship.

A few beats of silence passed, the only sound coming from the commotion of the soldiers loading the weapons, muffled voices in panic before it went quiet, boat shifting downward making Dean nearly slide out of his seat.

It was so quiet Dean could hear the pipes in the ship rattling, “What’s happening-”

“Shh!” Petey shushed him, pointing upwards, signaling to Dean that the ending was coming. The German attacker was right above them. Dean could only pray Delphine had finished clearing the sigils.

As if on cue, Delphine came quietly into the room, Dean standing from his seat, ready to get out of the boat before all Hell broke loose. Instead, Delphine began unbuttoning her top, pulling it away to reveal the last sigil, engraved on her chest. She pulled a knife from behind her, handing it to Dean. “Kill me.”

“Wait,” Petey said, his eyes wide. “You can’t do that.”

Delphine glared at Petey, making him back off as she passed the knife to Dean who gently took it from her hands.

“Kill me.”

“I don’t have to kill you, okay?” Dean said, “I Can just cut it. It’ll work.”

“Not with this,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s spell bound- to my blood, my heart. Its power lives and dies with me. Do it.”

Dean held onto Delphine’s shoulder, bringing the blade to her chest, just piercing the skin as the ship was suddenly rocketed to the side followed by several more explosions, chaos erupting from the deck once again.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Cas, what is that?” Sam asked, watching Lucifer as he crushed something, throwing it into a metal bowl.

“It’s your spell of gathering,” he said, adding a feather.

Y/N and Sam stared wide eyed at each other as they watched him, “Are you nuts? You’re not strong enough, Cas, you could get hurt!”

“You find a better option?” Lucifer continued cutting up ingredients, everything from a piece of brain to the spine of a rat.

“Well, no,” Sam said, “but without a serious boost of your angel power, that spell won’t even work.”

“My strength may surprise you.”

Y/N continued watching Cas, her stomach knotting as he handled the large butcher knife. “Mind explaining what you mean by that?” Lucifer stopped mid chop, glancing at Y/N. “I mean, you obviously don’t have much grace left. We know that, so, so what do you mean-”

“Wait a second,” Sam interrupted, making Y/N roll her eyes. It seemed like she couldn’t get out an entire sentence these days without somebody interjecting. “I remember Bobby told me, when you needed strength to retrieve us from the past, you used him to power up. You- you touched his soul, right?”

“That’s right. I did that. But that- that, uh, procedure...it can be fatal.”

“Use my soul.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me-”

“He’s my brother, Y/N. I have to save him, no matter what it takes.” Sam said before turning back to Lucifer. “That way, maybe you’ll have enough power to wield the spell.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

“Um, no, really it’s not.” Y/N tried.

“Cas, Dean needs our help. I trust you.”

Y/N watched with wild eyes at the thought of both of them thinking this was a good idea. Her and Sam watched Lucifer, waiting for him to say something, anything, at this point.

Lucifer paused, holding a jar of green liquid before he sputtered out a laugh, nearly throwing his head back.

“I think he’s lost it,” Y/N whispered to Sam. She took a step toward Lucifer, “Is this situation funny to you?”

“Oh, it’s ju- I don’t- I don’t need you two anymore. I mean, Dean’s the one with the link to Amara, why have I been trying to spare you?” Sam and Y/N watched in confusion, both of their hearts sinking at the sight of whoever this was. Y/N knew she should’ve said something, Sam knew he should’ve listened better. “I mean maybe it’s because together, you two are like the girl who kept turning me down at the prom.”

Before they could even react, they were both thrown to separate concrete pillars, their body bound to the hard walls, grunting in pain.

Lucifer tapped his chin, sauntering between the two of them. “I will touch your souls, just because you asked so nicely. And I’ll use your spell to blast through the warding and retrieve Dean and the, uh...Hand of God.” He gestured to the table where the incantation was almost complete. “And then when Dean comes back and he finds this place decorated with your guts, I will tell him the truth! I’ll just say, ‘Dean’-” he paused, holding up a finger before making his voice much lower, Cas’ voice seeping through, “’Dean...they knew the risks. He wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.’”

Sam’s voice shook as he realized who it was for the first time, hoping desperately for his sake, and for Y/N’s that he was wrong. “Lucifer.”

Y/N’s eyes went wide as she stared at Cas, finally understanding.

Lucifer smiled, “In the flesh...Now, who wants to go first?” He stood between Y/N and Sam, his head bouncing between the two of them before rolling up his sleeves, “Well then, how about two for the price of one, huh?”

Lucifer rested the tips of his fingers against each of their chests before pushing deep through their skin, into their flesh, past their bone. The two of them screamed, the pain like a million hot pokers digging their way through their sternums, the concrete walls of the bunker echoing their blood curdling screams.

The pain was so intense it created white spots in both of their vision but Lucifer only pushed harder, his fingertips reaching out until he felt the heat of the human soul. Quickly, he retreated his hands, Sam and Y/N quickly falling to the floor unconscious.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Petey escorted them onto the main deck, Dean making sure to hold the box containing the Hand of God close to his chest. He looked around the room, the metal door shutting behind them.

“Go ahead,” The Captain said to a man wearing headphones, switching numerous tabs until a voice came over the P.A. system.

“Hello, mein liebchen.” the voice said in a heavy German accent.

“It is not possible,” Delphine whispered to herself, “I killed you.”

“A little advice, Delphine.” The voice continued. “If you want a friend of the thule to stay dead, burn the body.” Dean listened with wide eyes, this had to be the German Nazi lover Delphine had supposedly killed. “A word for the captain. You may have noticed you are up against a warship and a crew possessing, let us say, extraordinary abilities. And you have taken damage that you cannot recover from. So I offer you a choice- surface now, relinquish the girl and her cargo, and I can assure you and your men the highest of P.O.W treatment.” Dean closed his eyes momentarily, knowing that if it were between life and death, surely, they would give up one life to save the rest.

“Or,” he went on, “you can protect her, and we will depth charge you and your boat right into the seabed and recover the cargo ourselves. You have three minutes to surrender.”

“I don’t expect you to understand,” Delphine said to the group, “but this cargo, the Germans can’t have it. You need to believe me.”

“Our orders were to protect you and your cargo,” the Captain said. “we wouldn’t even consider a surrender.”

“You had better reconsider.” Delphine said, turning to Dean who watched her in confusion. “Killing me is your only way off this ship.”

Dean looked down at the wooden box in his hands when an idea, so absurd and crazy he wasn’t even sure how he’d thought of it, “Maybe not. Teach me how to use it. It’s the power of God. Maybe I can use it to save you, save the sub.”

“And your war?” Delphine questioned.

“I want to help you now.”

“Two minutes, Captain.”

“You save the ship, get us to the surface, and then what? The power of God will consume you, and you’ll have merely brought the weapon closer to the Nazi’s grasp.” Delphine exhaled deeply, knowing how her story ended. “We’re supposed to die. Let us do it with a purpose.” She opened the box, turning to the crew, “How long can you keep the boat steady?”

“Not long.” the Captain admitted, “And once they resume their attack-”

“Give me every second you can.”

“Delphine, what are you doing?”

“One minute.”

“I’m going to get you home,” she said, looking up to Dean. Her fellow Man of Letters. “And I’m going to get you and your men your first German ship.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam groaned from the floor, slowly picking himself up as Lucifer fell before him, making Sam cower away from him, “No, no-”

“Sam, it’s me.” This time, the voice coming out of Cas was genuine as he struggled to regain his body.

“Cas?” Sam groaned in pain, glancing to his left where Y/N still laid unmoving on the ground, “Why?”

“I wanted to be of service to the fight,” he answered simply. “And only Lucifer can beat Amara.”

“You chose this?” Sam asked, realization hitting him, “You have to fight, Cas. Eject him now!”

“I can’t!” Cas groaned, “It’s taking all my strength to keep him from killing you guys. And besides we need him-”

“No, Cas, we don’t.” Sam said, shaking his head, checking on Y/N again. “We’ll find another way to stop Amara.”

Sam watched his friend struggle with trying to fight Lucifer off, reminding him how it was when he himself was possessed by Lucifer, how it nearly killed him inside.

Cas breathed heavily, his grip on Lucifer becoming weaker. “We need him to save Dean.”

“You can’t time travel.”

“Only Lucifer can.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“How fast is your ride back?” Delphine asked.

“Fast.”

“Good.”

“It’s time!”

Delphine pulled the Hand of God out of the box, holding it in her hands. Explosions immediately began to rock the boat, sending everyone on board flying in several different directions. Delphine slowly came to her feet, the Hand of God glowing in her palms.

The light from the Hand of God trailed up her arms, the glowing red moving to her neck then to her face until even her eyes changed color. Slowly, she turned to Dean, her eyes glowing white as she slid the Hand of God toward him. He picked it up, placing it back into the box.

Delphine’s eyes glowed so bright nobody could even catch a glimpse of them. Explosions continued to rain down on either side of the boat, panels in the control room popping down the line.

Panic filled the room once again as a fire erupted from the engine room, but Dean could only focus on Delphine who arched her back, throwing her head backwards, another bomb coming down on the bow of the ship, sending everyone flying just as-

The room finally stopped shaking, Dean’s feet finally meeting a ground that wasn’t bobbing left and right on water.

He was home.

“Dean.” Sam said, struggling on the floor. Dean looked behind him to where Y/N was holding her midsection, the palm of her hand held over her sternum.

“Dean, that’s not Cas!” Y/N shouted, her voice hoarse as she pointed to Lucifer who still had his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

Slowly, Dean turned his head toward Lucifer, his eyes wide.

Lucifer smiled guiltily, “Cat’s out.” Grabbing the back of Dean’s shirt, Lucifer threw him over the library tables, knocking him to the other side of the room. “Mm! I feel a burden lifted!” Dean groaned as he rolled over onto his back, holding his side where he most definitely cracked a rib or two. “You know, this whole ‘deep cover’ thing, it just wasn’t- it wasn’t terribly well thought out.”

Sam, Dean and Y/N struggled to sit up straighter as they listened to Lucifer’s monologue.

“...Donning this...this Cas mask? This grim face of angelic constipation? Just, ugh.” he groaned dramatically. Sam slowly inched his hand toward his back pocket where he held his pocket knife. Sliding it out of his jeans expertly as he switched the blade open, cutting deep into his hand. “And then teaming up with you three? I mean...I thought you guys were insufferable as mortal enemies. But working with you? Ugh. That’s the soul crusher.”

Dean and Y/N slowly stood to their feet, buying Sam more time but were only thrown back to separate walls again, grunts of pain escaping their lips as they connected with the concrete.

“What’s with the long faces? You should be cheering. We have a common enemy! With this,” he said, holding up the Hand of God. “Amara will be no problem. I mean...I will have killed you both by then, but still...come on.”

Lucifer unwrapped the cloth surrounding the Hand of God, making the three of them stop in their tracks.

“No,” Dean said, remembering what Delphine had said about the potency of it.

“Don’t touch it with bare hands”

Her words echoed through Dean’s head just as Lucifer plucked it out of the cloth.

“No!”

Lucifer held it, gripping it tight as they watched, unable to do anything. However, the Hand of God didn’t flash bright fancy lights, it didn’t even sputter.

Lucifer’s lips twitched in anger as he looked at it, “It’s kicked.”

“Well,” Y/N said, laughing lightly. “Who’d have thought the Hand of God would turn out to be a one-hitter?”

Lucifer glared at her, throwing what was now just a piece of stone onto the library table as he advanced toward her, coming closer and closer until a bright flash of light filled the room. And as it dimmed, Lucifer disappeared with it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“So,” Sam began, sitting next to Y/N and Dean on a concrete bench on the dock of a lake.

“So.”

“Cas,” Dean said, exhaling through his nose.

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, “I’m sorry, Y/N. I- I should’ve listened to you when you said you knew something was up.”

Y/N shrugged. “Doesn’t matter...what do we do?”

“What else?” Dean asked, making Sam and Y/N turn to him. “We hunt Lucifer, trap the bastard, and save Cas.”

“Like I said, Lucifer may be in control now, but Cas may not come back willingly.” Sam said, hating that he was admitting something he so badly didn’t want to believe. “I mean he chose it.”

“No,” Dean denied, “no, not possible.”

“So how’d you get through today?” Y/N asked, trying to change the subject. “I mean, what did you do?”

“Nothing,” He said simply. Dean shook his head as if trying to forget all that had happened in the last few hours. “I mean, they...I was just a witness.”

A beat of silence passed before Sam spoke up, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Dean looked down at his hands, shaking his head again. “No. Story for another day.”

Sam nodded, understanding that what Dean had seen must have been bad enough. Neither him nor Y/N would prod any further than Dean was ready. Sam began to stand, walking back to the car as Y/N followed but was stopped by Dean’s voice.

“The German ship that sank the Bluefin, what happened to it?”

“It went down,” Y/N said, recalling the book she’d read. “Unlike the sub, its wreckage was found. Um, there was a giant hole that’d been ripped through the entire thing. And something must have hit the fuel tanks and exploded. But it burned. Sank.”

Sam and Y/N retreated to the car, leaving Dean as he sat on the dock, holding the Hand of God, smiling.

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almostarchaeology · 6 years

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Before Conan the Barbarian, There Was Bran

By Adrián Maldonado

I write about medieval barbarians in my legit academic work, and use this blog to explore how they occasionally escape from our powerpoint slides into the public consciousness.

I recently realized that for all my degrees, I didn’t know a thing about one of history’s most famous barbarians. It was high time I looked up Conan.

Stock image of Dark Age Europe

In my 80s childhood, Conan the Barbarian was a kind of folk character – a stock image of a beefy white guy in a furry loincloth with a giant sword. (I would probably be picturing Conan the Librarian, to be honest.) But I already had He-Man in my life, a knock-off Conan cartoon made to sell toys, though I could not have known that because the cartoon was so unspeakably awesome it would brook no questioning. Indeed, I only discovered the Schwarzenegger Conan films later on, when I was old enough to realize he had made other weird, non-science fiction films back in the Reagan era. I knew vaguely that the character was based on a book, or was it a comic book? This was before the internet, and before I could ever give a shit about a character with no good action figures.

Flash forward twenty years or so, when I am a grizzled Xennial hunched over his computer, writing about depictions of the Picts in pop culture. Immersed in terrible filmic depictions of ancient Scottish warriors (always warriors), it struck me that I had never thought about Conan the Barbarian. What kind of barbarian was he meant to be? Did his story take place in some kind of historical epoch? Were there Picts in it that I could add to my list?

Imagine my shock when I did find a Pict down this rabbit hole (or souterrain?), and he looked like this:

Whatever else I was working on, stopped.

***

Robert E. Howard is best known today as the creator of Conan the Barbarian. But little did I know that he was one of the first pop culture appropriators of the Picts. Indeed, he was writing about the Picts long before he even conceived of Conan. The Picts were his muse. I feel like this is important, and I may need more than one blog post to say why. But first, an introduction.

I had seen some hilarious renderings of Picts over the years, but they always fell into the usual stereotype of tattooed maniacs hurling themselves onto Roman spears.

Tattooed maniacs hurling themselves onto Roman spears (source)

This 1960s paperback collection of stories by Howard entitled Bran Mak Morn, apparently the last king of the Picts, depicted this king Pict as a Neanderthal surrounded by howling ape-men. To me, this seemed like the purest distillation of the idea of the barbarians beyond the wall as sub-human, a trope developed in Roman imperial propaganda and continually reproduced today by the Hadrian’s Wall heritage ecosystem.

The paperback was one of a series of reprints of Howard’s genre-defining pulp fantasy of the 1920s and 1930s, brought back to life in the wake of the Tolkien wave of the 60s. Closer inspection revealed that Frank Frazetta’s 1969 cover image bore little resemblance to the description of Bran himself in Howard’s tales, even if his Pictish ‘race’ was certainly of a simian variety. More on this presently. What I wanted to know first was how a Texas kid learned about the Picts in the early 20th century, and came out with this.

***

Robert E Howard had a tough childhood in his native Texas. Coming from a broken home, he moved around a lot and read books to keep himself company. In 1919, at the age of 13, his father dragged him to New Orleans while he took classes, so he squirrelled himself away in a library on Canal Street. It was there that he first read about the Picts in a book about British history. The image of a little, dark race from the north that hassled the Romans but could never be conquered fascinated him. Perhaps due to the ray of light this book gave him at a sensitive point in his childhood, the Picts remained ingrained in his mind for the rest of his short life, which he would later take in 1936, at the age of 30.

Like many other nerdy kids, he wrote stories to pass the time. In his archive were found several early writings which reveal the impact the Picts had on him. There is a school paper from 1920-23 about the Picts. The first story he ever submitted for publication was about the Picts, ‘The Lost Race’, but it was rejected by the editor of Weird Tales in 1924. He sold his first story later that year, beginning his professional writing career. A revised version of ‘The Lost Race’ was finally published in Weird Tales in 1927, introducing the world to Bran Mak Morn, a Pictish king who fought the Romans. He would go on to make several more appearances in Howard’s swords-and-sorcery tales, and the Picts eventually became one of the myriad ‘races’ in Howard’s Hyborian Age, a proto-prehistoric shared universe inhabited by Conan the Barbarian.

Bran Mak Morn by Gary Gianni (source)

Howard’s Picts are a peculiar bunch. From his first essay on them, he describes them as the remnants of the stone age inhabitants of Britain, comparing their appearance to Native Americans. In this view, they were the ‘Mediterraneans’ (as opposed to Celts or Nordics) who first brought the knowledge of farming to Britain in the Neolithic. They were eventually swept aside by the fair-skinned ‘Celtic’ race of metalworkers, at which point they were forced to mingle and interbreed with the indigenous cavemen, a barely human simian-like race. This meant that by the arrival of the Romans, the Picts had become stunted, swarthy, long-armed ape-men. All except Bran Mak Morn, their king, who had kept his bloodline pure. All pretty disgusting racial logic now, but hey, so the argument goes, it was the 20s.

Except that here it was, unfiltered and raw, in a book released during the height of the civil rights struggle in the United States. I bought this ancient artefact off of Amazon for pennies, and holding it in 2017, it felt like I’d acquired an illicit antiquity. Plenty of writers have tripped over themselves to call out and defend Tolkien and Howard regarding the racial (if not always racist) component to their mythical prehistories, so I won’t go down that route just now. But that cover image haunted me.

***

In 2005, Bran Mak Morn received a brand-new edition, the Weird Tales stories now bundled with unpublished manuscripts, fragments of Howard’s correspondence, and critical essays by Rusty Burke and Patrice Louinet. Armed with an annotated timeline of Howard’s Pictish writings, which spanned his career, and supplemented with google-fu, I was able to clarify the genesis of Bran Mak Morn.

Former Canal Street public library, New Orleans, 1911 (source)

It is possible to trace the public library Howard visited when he was 13, when he first encountered a British history book and his vision of the dark, prehistoric Picts. The Canal Street public library in question must be the one that formerly stood at 2940 Canal Street at the corner of South Gayoso, opened in 1911. A photograph survives on the New Orleans library website, and Google Maps reveals it is now a Yoga studio.

Origin myths of the Picts (source)

Rusty Burke has also plausibly identified the very book that Howard seems to have read: The Romance of Early British Life (1909) by George Francis Scott Elliot. This is apparently one of the flashy, pulpy ‘Library of Romance’ published by London-based Seeley and Co, described as ‘profusely illustrated’ ‘gift books’, which included among their number volumes such as The Romance of Modern Mining and The Romance of the World’s Fisheries. The author Scott Elliot was a botanist and antiquarian, president of Dumfries and Galloway Natural History and Antiquarian Society during an apparent low point in its history.

The fairly ridiculous book in question seems to have been written for Edwardian teenage boys, and does indeed bear the DNA of Howard’s later writing on the Picts: “In very ancient times Britain had been twice conquered, first by the small, dark Picts of the Mediterranean, and later (about 2000 or 1000 B.C.) by the tall, brown-haired, Gaelic-speaking Celts (237).” The chapter on the introduction of farming to Britain is called ‘The coming of the Picts’, in which Scott Elliot explains that they have been called by several names before – Homo Mediterraneus, Basques, Iberians, Silurians, the Firbolg, the Dolmen-builders – but he calls them Picts to save on ink (80-1). He claims they are still readily identifiable in the present day, as the short, brunette people who are mostly found in towns and cities, unlike the fairer Teutons or Kelts who prefer the countryside (92-3).

Howard’s vision of the Picts was thus formulated by the equivalent of our contemporary public archaeology, an accessible potted prehistory of Britain by one of Scotland’s leading antiquaries. Why this particular image, of a dark, forgotten people without a history, resonated so deeply with him, is a subject to ponder. But he was clearly not alone in his fascination. While racial views of the past soon died out in archaeological writing, they would go on to have a tenacious grip on the fantasy world. And which of these two genres do you think has a greater influence on people’s image of the medieval past?

***

Why does any of this matter? It is a demonstration of the role of ‘the Picts’, in various guises, as the untermenschen of what you might call western folk history. The fact that a young boy in inter-war Louisiana could head to the nearest library, read about them in a cheap history book, and then build a world-beating fictional universe that is still beloved today based on this is remarkable. As I’ve spent some time documenting on these pages, that image of the Picts is still in a way with us. A recent article in the Glasgow Herald has the reporter coming to the shocking insight that the Picts were not ‘hairy savages’ after speaking briefly to a couple of scholars. I wonder if that means we are doing our job well, or terribly.

It also opens up questions about the central role of race at the origins of both archaeology and the fantasy genre, a sticky subject that will have to be the subject of future blog posts [Editor's note: now read the follow-up to this post]. In the meantime, go check out similar topics being covered over on The Public Medievalist.

And hey, why not donate to your local public library while you’re at it?

***

Header image via Jeff Black

#Robert E Howard #race #picts #bran mak morn

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bienstockonnativ · 7 years

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Week 2

Wow its been more then 2 weeks here (this is late, week 3 is coming soon)! While it does feel like we’ve been here a while, it is sort of strange that I’m not going home tomorrow or something. I’m not yet at the point where its really really weird though since I’ve been here up to a month before.

Anyways, this week classes were in full swing and are definitely a hand full! As I explained last time, we are in the mini master phase which means we basically have the same 3 classes every day (except the third one skips a day sometimes). I continue to despise my second class, modern jews, but the other two are great and super duper interesting. Especially since today in my first class we learned that Moses may actually be god (WHATTT), I know right. So here comes the summary!

Monday, Sept 11th

On Monday it was a full day of school. From 8:30 AM to 5:30 PM. We have to be down to shacharit for 7:00 on Mondays, not 7:15, so we can read torah. Which is absolute hell. I don’t think I’ve been on time once this week. I mean, not only is it just like normal prayer- it means nothing to me. I’ll tell you what’s really meaningful when we get to the weekend.

So after breakfast we pile on for our second day of school- I fell asleep in Modern Jews (obviously) and almost fell asleep in my favourite class! I stoped myself by getting up and standing for the rest of the class. I literally just got out of my sea and stood there with my notebook, constantly flicking my pen at my head to keep me awake.

After my morning classes we went to our first Jerusalem Course! Basically its a class that Nativ makes us take about the history of Jerusalem. There are two teachers and the 67 kids are split up among them by last name. One is David Keren, USY director of Israel Programs in the summer, and the other is Alexandra Benjamin who teaches on TRY and is really really cool. In Alexandra’s class we went through a (sort of) brief overview of the history of Jerusalem going from 1000 BCE all the way to today. I even made a fancy timeline that I was quite proud of. That first day we just took notes but goodness was there more to come.

That night I met with my Friend Tehilla from school who was in Jerusalem visiting from her Yeshiva in Modiin. Tehilla took me Nachlaot, an artsy hippie sketchy neighbourhood not far from where I live; there she took me tiowards the Shuk to a restaurant that her old family friends owns and runs. There I had a fish burrito where was a really nice change. Then later, while we were walking on Ben Yehudah we ran into Shira from Nativ as well as Samantha Charlat- all people we went to school with. So naturally we took a picture before Tehilla and I said bye and I walked back to Beit Nativ. That night I went to bed early (or relatively early)!

Tuesday, Sept 12th

Another day, another early as fuck wake up. And yes in case you were wondering, I was indeed late.

Today at school, my historical texts teacher (other wise known as chief mind blower) continued to do just that as he developed his thesis. I will attempt to explain it now although I will explain it wrong.

Basically- the covenant is a three pronged constantly changing and learning relationship interdependent upon each other to survive and thrive whilst attempting to understand why everything is here in the first place. Part of this is the idea that the covenant of the Jewish people, god and the land of Israel is a microcosm of the macrocosm that is the relationship between the world, humanity, and god. And then somehow the idea that god is both transcendental (above us and unknowable) and imminent (here with us) is crucial to developing that thesis.

Idk man I just go here.

Anyways its super nutty and I will understand it eventually.

On the complete opposite hand, my Modern Jews class continues to annoy the hell out of me with its sheer yuckyness- nuff said.

Today we didn’t have Jerusalem course, instead we had an academic orientation for the fall semester! Yay school! (ew) (but also yay). Linor, our academic advisor, otherwise known as lord of 80s clip art, showed us how that will work. Basically we can only take the 2000 series classes, only the ones taught in english, only the ones for freshman… so what you end up getting is a list of about 15 or 20 classes. I took a look a them later in the week but on Tuesday it was going in one ear and out the other.

We literally just started mini mester and now they want to talk about more school… the world we live in man.

So after a fit of questions about how the library works (which no one understands still), academic orientation was over and we could go home! Yay home!

So another thing about minimester- there are a fuck load of readings that everyone is supposed to do for class. How much of that anyone actually does is the real statistic. I try to do the mandatory ones… or at least some of them…. or maybe the first few lines.

Anyways readings exist so yay.

Later that day I was bored and didn’t want to work so I went off to Mamila- the richy sort of outdoor shopping mall that’s 10 minutes away from Beit Nativ. The important part is that I found the best Ice cream place (so far) called Golda’s, which is always the most important thing to do. I had chocolate (obviously). I walked over to the edge of the old city with my Ice cream and just had a moment of like omg I’m in a land full of Jews, eating random kosher amazing ice cream at a 2000 year old wall next to a 50 year old shopping mall.

After my ice cream venture I went to the adidas store to try and find some shorts that weren’t super long or super nice cause I have nothing like that. I was successful and found my way back to Beit Nativ in time for dinner. After Dinner we had our first Erev Nativ where we watched a documentary on 9/11. Honestly it was one of the most horrifying things I’ve seen in a long time. I mean I knew what 9/11 was but not to that extent. There was no narriation, just the entire sequence of events from the perspectives of dozens of people across the area. Through each hit, tower fall… everything.

It was pretty intense but the day wasn’t over yet. After that I ran upstairs to my computer so I could get some USY work done and then called Molly while I was waiting to start an IGB meeting at 1:15 AM- yup you read that right. And then I finally got to bed or like 3 or something. Waking up at 7 yay!

Wednesday, Sept 13

I am writing this quite a few days after everything happened so its hard to remember specifics but I’ll cover the major stuff.

One thing cool that happened was in Jerusalem course we traversed the City of David! For those of you who don’t know, the city of David is the oldest remnant of Jerusalem we have- built in c 1000 BCE, before the current old city. The original city existed right next to where the current old city is, covering a lot less land.

The reason why it was called City of David is because although he was not the founder, he built up the city significantly. He built a palace for himself and lay the groundwork for the second temple (which his son would build later).

Its a really neat archaeological site as it is one of the main proofs we have for a jewish state, how our claim to land existed much before 1948 with the establishment of modern Israel.

Fun fact though: We don’t actually have proof that david himself existed. We know there was a city, we know there was a palace, we know the palace had staff, even that some of them had indoor plumbing- but not that David (the city’s name sake) actually existed.  Some say that the tanach is still right and we just haven’t found stuff yet while others think that because we haven’t found proof, he just doesn’t exist.

We also learned about King Hezikaiah, a descendent of David who fortified the city and redirected the water flow to protect from the imminent Assyrians. His tunnels are still in tact to this day, we walked through them! Also still in tact is the old spring where King Solomon was annointed as well as different areas of the palace that King David built.

We took a moment at the end of class to talk about the current political climate in the old city, how there are both Jewish and Palestinian homes right next to each other- Jews who moved in for religious reasons and Palestinians who also claim it their home.

Once Jerusalem course was over we all travelled back home, and of course after a long day and a lot of walking I collapsed on my bed. But soon after dinner, I went out with a few people to see my friends get ear piercings! Ahh! Jacquie got a thing right through the top of her ear while Zach got little studs in the normal area- they both looked really good but it scared the shit out of me! Piercings in a foreign country? Ahhhh.

I ran around with Jace to try to find a Pizza place, eventually finding our way to Chili Pizza nearby (not before we went to the other side of the area and back of course).

After pizza time we went back home and then I went to bed really late because I’m stupid.

Thursday, Sept 14th

Today we talked a lot about brutal sectarianism and how it can be the downfall of all of Judaism.

We went to the Robinson’s arch area archeological park to talk about life during the end of the second temple period. We learned about Herod the builder and premier of Israel while under Roman control. He fortified the second temple and made it and the city around it beautiful and grandiose.

Once we got to the park we took some time to get acquainted with the history of the site. The stones we were walking on were walked on by people 2000 years ago, the hole in the wall was a shop front etc… It was crazy.

Then we went to the other building to get a virtual tour of what the area would have looked like all that time ago. The guy there was fricken hilarious. He kept on making super dry jokes that no one in the room understood, when he went over the walls he was like “oop sorry about that folks…. coming in for landing shortly”. Of course most of my class didn’t get it but I was right in front laughing my ass off- so much so that he thought I was faking it.

When we left we said goodbye to our new friend and sat on the grass to chat about sectarianism. We learned how 2000 years ago there was tons of different groups in Judaism, kind of like today, that were hostile towards each other. We talked about the idea that their baseless hatred towards each other and self destruction within the community itself ended in a punishment by god- the destruction of the temple. And reflecting on that, we spoke about the sectarianism that Jews face today and ways we can deal with it so we can prevent disunity.

The idea of how to create Unity is something that I’ve explored a lot the past few weeks. In my class about Philosophy with Dr. Isaacs we talk about the existence of unity within differences. How the understanding that each of us is fundamentally different is the one unifying factor that brings humanity, jews included, all together.

Of course many people see this is as a contradictory argument but its an opinion that I’ve had for a while now and will continue to explore!

On the way out from the site there were a ton of soldiers doing their tours in the sites as a compulsory part of basic training- the IDF makes sure its soldiers have an ideological background to why they do what they do.

That night we went out which was a fun break from the intensity of school and the day and then played cards against humanity before bed!

Friday, Sept 15th

So on friday I slept in which was beautiful and then a bunch of us went out for lunch at Sam’s Bagels on Ben Yehuda. I had a pizza bagel (yum) and then went over to the TEVANAOT store to make the best purchase I’ve made so far: Teva Sandals- trust me they are worth it. I go purple and blue ones!

After that, I met Tehilla to hang out for a few hours before she had to go back to Modiin. We ran around Ben Yehuda a little and then finally settled on the park for a while before heading to Agron to chill with Yona Grossman who was also visiting.

We talked about prayer and the confusing feelings it gives us- mainly me. As I’ve said in previous Facebook posts, I have a really hards time connecting to traditional prayer. That doesn’t mean it never happens- Kabbalat Shabbats always give me the best feels and the occasional shacharit or musaf with the right leader does to; but most of the time, I feel nothing.

I know I’m not alone because many people have trouble with T’fillot in general. I want to connect to god and take time out of my life to do just that, but I don’t know if traditional prayer is the way to do that. I am a big fan of new things- things that may make us feel uncomfortable because of their newness but in the end are better for finding meaning in our lives.

That’s what its all about- finding meaning and connecting to something other then yourself. And whatever way one can do that is what one should do. The thing about Nativ is its very stuck in its ways and doesn’t necessarily like ideas like these. But that doesn’t mean it will always be that way :). I think the way Judaism is revolutionizing is going to make it so we will have to grapple with this idea of change in our tefillah structure- and I’ll be ready for it, hell I’ll help make it happen if I have to! I’m not worried at all…

Just another day in the life of being a person, and a jew.

Speaking of meaningful tefillot, that night was the beginning of open shabbat. That means that most of Nativ left base for shabbat for a variety of things. A lot of people went to Tel Aviv to party and do things like that while others went to visit family.

Myself and a good group of 25 or so people stayed here at base for shabbos so we could sleep. That night was magical.

First of all, myself as well as a few others went over to a new synagouge to try called Yakar. Now Yakar was the subject of the same facebook post I was talking about before. It was probably the best prayer experience I have ever had.

It wasn’t so extraordinary. It was just like any other Shabbat, at a random shul that I chose two seconds before Ieft… small moves brought me to this experience.

The Hazan and rabbi were so into the service, the tunes were all those that I knew, but the way that they sang the songs and said the words had so much meaning and were so beautiful. Not only that, everyone in the room was enveloped by the experience that I almost fell asleep. It was in such a meditative and immersive experience that I don’t think I can ever replicate again.

After that whole ordeal, we almost got lost getting home with our staff guide Odayiah- the only Israeli madricha so that’s pretty ironic. But we got home in time for dinner and had a nice meal.

That weekend I definitely got closer with Odayiah- I was never scared of her or anything, everyone else was, I just knew that I didn’t know her yet. So I took the time to make conversation and I’m so glad I did because she is super awesome. She’s being a madricha because she actually loves this shit, not only that but she is very learned in jewish practice while also maintaining a pluralistic and accepting attitude of everyone. Those are the kinds of people I really appreciate.

Later that night we had a hella lit tisch which in lay man’s terms means really amazing and great. Because there was so few of us we just kind of made a big circle and sang a ton of songs- Odayiah even taught us a new one. Her and my Madrich Ethan were the only staff staying around so it was deffinitley easier to make connections.

Also that night, we sang to the pedestrians from our window while playing cards. It didn’t work out so well… some creepy Israeli yeshiva boys got into Agron and visited us singing. Which was pretty strange, but they went away so it was fine in the end.

After that a bunch of us chilled in a room together where we attempted to deep talk but never got to it since everyone was so loud and all over the place. We did play bible toss though, which looking back was pretty disrespectful but also really fun. We took the new testament, through it from person to person and read random quotes in a preacher voice. Eventually it went out the window… anyways enough about that story.

Eventually I got back to my room for bed :)

Shabbat, Sept 16

Shabbat was super chill cause no one was at Agron. Most of us didn’t go to shul, including me; so I got to sleep in until noon before lunch.

After lunch we played Taboo and banana grams for a free hours which was where everyone realized I couldn’t spell and a multitude of jokes were invented. I’m just a funny person okay, don’t make fun of me :).

Anyways after games we had more praying and food and then shabbat ended! What a great shabbos amirite?

That night was the beginning of slichot that we were all required to go to. I did not feel like praying more so I just went to the great synagouge across the street which was pretty stupid and overwhelming.

So when I left, me and a bunch of other people walked over to the kotel and some time with that instead which was much much better. I probably have already talked about this but connecting to that wall may seem strange but it happens and every time I go its just amazing.

On our way back we stopped for pizza (where I learned a valuable lesson about not paying for people) and met a creepy drunk dude. He was asking us where we were from and doing weird things- but it was fine though, he wasn’t dangerous or anything.

Eventually we walked back and went to bed!

Sunday, Sept 17

So school (yuck) is back and kicking.

I’m not even going to summarize the 2 first classes. I will tell you however that in my philosophy class we were speaking about the blurriness between prophets and god and how its a necessary element to understand the covenant.

Don’t worry if you don’t get it, most people don’t. Let’s just say that Moses is pretty godly and some would say- god itself.

I know… let’s just move on.

In Jerusalem course it was Christian day! So we went to (the otherwise restricted) christian quarter of the old city to visit the Chruch of the holy sepulchre and talk all about that other fun religion. We learned all about Jesus’ last week on Earth, how he spent it in Jerusalem. We also learned about the historical context for the creation of Christianity by Paul of Tarsus and then Constantine as a legit religion in the 4th century CE, over 300 years after Jesus’ death.

We learned about St. Helena, Constantine’s mom, and how she built the city’s Christian landscape to be what it is today including the church (to some extent). Then we learned how influence would affect the area for years to come- including how Jews were prevented from living there still under Christian rule- a ruling held by the Romans hundreds of years earlier.

The church itself is super strange- there are so many periods represented and it can be overwhelming sometimes but all in all its pretty spectacular. The same building has both 10th century mosaics and 2 thousand year old pillars.

That night I had an IEB meeting where I gave the board an overview of everything to come on the Israel side of things! (there is so much yay!!!)

Later, I hated Agron food so I ran over to get a Pizza from the nice place across the street with Zach. I ended up going again since Lauren needed someone to go with, and on that journey we struck up a convo with the guy serving us who was actually from Milan; it was funny cause both me and Lauren have Italian ancestry.

I also changed my sheets before bed and then saved another one of my friends from having to walk home alone from a bar.

All in a days work!

Monday, Sept 18th

Monday was a heavy counterpart day! Yay counterparts!!! I love talking to them and hearing their ideas, its just so much fun and a great way to spend down time as well.

School was pretty boring, but I did talk to my Philosophy teacher about what we can actually do to fulfil the covenant- to which he replied that he has no idea and that its really up to us. Ha lol.

After school we had a Rosh Hashanah seder meeting. I was part of the group that explained the different elements of the seder and ran it. Later on that when we get to the Rosh Hashanah recap. Anyways, after that little meeting we had a little birthday party for 3 different people- one from each track. I had some great conversations with then new friends like Erica, Mariah, Rayut etc which was lovely. And then chilled with Zach M, Jacquie, Odayiah and others.

Let me tell you, Odayiah is fricken hilarious. I have a bunch of amazing quotes from her from that experience- she literally completes my life that woman. The best one is “You know how to solve the Palestinian conflict, take all the Palestinians, put them into Gaza and saw it off of Israel” “They’re just so close, so we’ll just push them towards America and they’ll blow them up”, But Odayah, you can’t just blow up millions of people! “Trump will find a way”.  Just a preview of the hilariousness. You’re welcome.

Today, we were also introduced to STD. Otherwise known as Shayna Tziona Dinkelberger (thanks Emily), our kinder toy that I received as a gift for getting a question right in the weekly email (thanks Ethan).

Tuesday, Sept 19th

Last day before Rosh Hashanah prep!!!

School was school… I slept in Modern Jews again and philosophy was cool. I did have to write up a paragraph to validate how horrible I am at Hebrew, just something to switch up the day I guess.

At jerusalem class that day we travelled to the tower of David and learned all about Muslim influence in Jerusalem. Did you know that Islam’s claim to land is actually based on many more years of history then the Jews. All that means it that both our claims to that land is legit. Also, both the Torah and Quarran don’t reference Jerusalem- only vague references to the place that would later be known as Jerusalem; al quds (or far place) for them and shalom for us.

I just thought that was an interesting tidbit.

Anyways, the tower of david was named that by muslims and had nothing to do with Jews which is pretty funny. We saw a beautiful view and learning all about what Jerusalem means for Muslims.

later that day I bought my own Personal machzorim for the high holidays with much pressure from the Madrichim and then we had erev nativ! At erev nativ this week we had Jerusalem U come and give us a lecture/discussion about the conflict. And by the conflict I mean THE conflict.

I thought the presentation was sort of flawed.. He was quite abrasave and painted the conflict very black and white where as it isn’t that easy to explain. I did appreciate his attempt though. I may or may not join the subsequent sessions.

We also had a Rosh Hashanah seder committee meeting where I was assigned the apple and its significance. More on that with the Rosh Hashanah post.

Also that day was some more USY calls, yay counterparts!!!!!

Alright friends, I know its a week late but that’s been my Tumblr post for my second week on Nativ in Jerusalem. Its been a crazy ride and Rosh Hashanah was pretty insane so more on that in the next few days. I promise I’ll get to it before too many more days pass!!!

It can be really really hard sometimes to be living here without parents or best best friends but I’m slowly getting used to it. Week 2 was a lot about getting more comfortable on Nativ, at the house and making new friends in the process.

Next week will be all about meaning, getting those deeper relationships and the dawn of starting to try new things.

Nativ! You’re a blessing and an issue but we’re gonna make it work!!!!

**#sorrynotsorry about the spelling errors, in the words of Zach Sieff “you type fast”**

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sims2squared · 2 years

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Meet The Cast of Pleasant Hills 3.0

The Curious Brothers (3/3)

Introducing: Lazlo Curious, 27.5 years old Pleasant Hills Neighbourhood: StrangerVille in StrangerVille Plaza TS2 Description: Not as studious as his older brothers, Lazlo got his degree in Phrenology. He likes to call phone psychics and spends hours trying to bend forks with his mind.

My version of Lazlo Curious is based, for the majority, on his "The Sims Wiki" entry. Some decisions about preferences were made based on the impression of his personality that I got from playing Sims 2, and some things were chosen to either create drama or make the sim more interesting. My Changes: Better clothes, Funnier Aspiration: The Curator Lifestyle: None Relationships: Cush on Crystal Vu Likes to Discuss: Technology, Psychology, Fantasy, Left-Wing Politics, Nature, Woohoo, Adventure, Superheroes, Crime, Geology, Travel, Pop Culture, Science Don't Bring Up: Sports, Fashion, Right-Wing Politics, Beauty Hobbies: Nature, Film & Literature, Games Sub-Hobbies: Reading, Computer, Video Gaming, TV, Bubble Blowing, Bowling, Comedy, Dancing, Fishing, Gardening, Mischief, Mixology, Programming, Archaeology, Robotics, Writing, DJ Mixing, Phone, Napping, Hiking, Herbalism, Volunteering Avoids: Sports, Fitness Likes to wear: Hot Weather, Costumes, Sleepwear, Cold Weather, Athleticwear Hates wearing: Formalwear, Swimwear Hangs out at: Museums, Bars, Libraries, Restaurants, Parks Would rather not go to: Retail Outlets, Gyms & So Much More! You can check out the previous version of Pleasant Hills HERE while you wait for 3.0 to arrive! Pleasant Hills v3.0 is now available for download HERE!!

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whatchudrinkin · 7 years

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History Nerd, Meet Beer Nerd

I am a nerd. I always have been. As a teen my method of music discovery was to read wikipedia articles. I’d start at something I liked, say the Ramones, and click on every artist mentioned on the page. I’d read all those, and then move deeper. When I started this blog the second thing I did was go to the library and find a bunch of books on beer and brewing. Because I’m a huge nerd.

(I’m such a huge nerd I’ve been poring over my beer books again for a month, to get this post just right.)

When Sarah’s parents suggested we check out Colonial Williamsburg on our recent trip, I was fully onboard. On top of the usual history, there’s beer. Last year, Colonial Williamsburg hosted an historical beer summit. They brought in lots of beer historians to talk process and ingredients and the place of beer throughout human history.

Colonial Williamsburg is a great place to host an historical beer conference, Williamsburg is a hub of historical recreations. As part of studying colonial life, reenactors regularly brew beer. If you come at the right time, you can watch Frank Clark, head of Historic Foodways, boil wort over an open fire. I’m not sure anyone actually gets to taste Clark’s homebrew. But if you visit any of the numerous Williamsburg pubs, you can taste some commercial recreations of those historical brews.

Before anyone could try those beers, the brewers had numerous hurdles to clear.

Finding the right ingredients is problem number one. The barley grown today is a completely different species from the grains grown in 1800, and modern maltsters aim for maximum efficiency. Frank Clark tells a story on the Colonial Williamsburg Past & Present podcast about an early test brew that finished at fourteen percent alcohol, way too strong for daily drinking in the Virginia sunshine.

The second issue is modern brewing technique. In the eighteenth century America, brewing was household chore. A brewster would make small batches for family and friends using cast iron pots and pans over a wood burning stove. Scaling up an ancient homebrew recipe to a modern brewhouse all trial and error.

But the Williamsburg Historic Foodways team persisted, and with the help of Alewerks Brewing recreated these colonial beers. We sampled a few at Josiah Chowning’s Tavern on Duke of Gloucester street, where the beer is served from a conventional keg -- not my first choice for historical accuracy -- in cute earthenware mugs.

The first was a historical brown ale called Old Stitch. Brewing a brown ale can be difficult, because most modern porters and stouts are brewed with pale malt and only enough dark malt for color and roast flavor. Historically dark beer was made with all brown malt. What was that malt like? Hell if I know. It was brown and probably dried over charcoal fires.

Old Stitch started from a few offhand references in old brewing manuals. There was no recipe available. So Clark, as described in another podcast, did some detective work. It was listed as a table beer, so he was able to guess at it’s relative strength, probably around five percent alcohol. Then they tackled the question of malt, looking for something that looked like the descriptions in the old manuals, even if they couldn’t specify exact kiln temperatures.

The Old Stitch brewed at Alewerks definitely tastes like a precursor to a modern porter, toasty, balanced. I only had the six ounces, but it didn’t taste all that historical to me. It tasted pretty plain to be honest, and drawn from a keg, it lacked the historical flatness I was expecting. But historical beer nerd beggars can’t be historical beer nerd choosers.

Next they tackled the obscure, extinct style known as Mum or Mumme. Mum seems to be one of those beer styles, like milk stout, that was marketed as a health tonic. Old recipes are chockful of herbs and spices. The historical product had a ridiculously low attenuation and intense herb flavors. Mum was probably a very bitter, very sweet beer.

Dear Old Mum, the Williamsburg version, is a spiced ale brewed with coriander and grains of paradise on a base of wheat and oats. It tastes a bit like a Belgian-y wit without the yeast character. It’s spicy and sweet, like hot apple cider with ginger. Not exactly the weird beer I was promised, but interesting in its own right.

The final beer in my tasting was Wetherburn’s Tavern Bristol Ale, which is toted as a precursor to modern India Pale Ale. Of course, the menu is lacking in any actual history. The best I can get from the Alewerks website the simple fact Bristol was a major port shipping supplies to the American colonies. That’s true. But Clark and others repeat the old saw about export ales being both hoppier and stronger to survive the journey. It’s a story repeated endlessly, without much actual evidence. British brewers exported everything. If it fit in a ship, it found it’s way throughout the empire.

But Alewerks and company fail to specify what sort of beer Wetherburn’s is supposed to emulate. I’ve never come across any references to “Bristol Ale.” There are plenty of proto-IPAs out there. There’s strong October beer, which brewed with the freshest harvest of hops. There’s the famous Burton ale, brewed in Burton upon Trent and famous for its bitterness. The point is, the label “forerunner to the modern India Pale Ale” is a lot to lay on a single pint.

But why does Wetherburn’s taste like coffee? The brownish ale is toasty, with a bitterness more akin to black coffee than hops. I thought it was just a fluke. I was almost convinced I had the wrong beer. On our way home, I insisted we stop in one of the many small shoppes lining Duke of Gloucester Street so I could take another look. Still tastes like coffee, but it tastes stronger, more alcoholic.

Of course, I couldn’t grab just one bottle, or just one beer, so I grabbed a couple of Toby’s Triple Threads Porter while I was at it. This too was a difficult beer to recreate due to the burnt sugar in the recipe. What do you mean a modern brewery isn’t equipped to deal with boiling sugar set on fire?

Triple Threads is not a recreation of a classic London Porter, which legally could never include licorice, molasses, or burnt sugar. In those days taxes were paid on the malt that made the beer, not the final product. The taxmen were wary of anything that went into the brew kettle that hadn’t been properly assessed. Toby’s Triple Threads is said to be based on a colonial recipe. The colonies were the wild frontier. Anarchy in the brewhouse.

Those little additions really give Toby’s Triple Threads it’s flavor. Of course, the roasted malt adds the most flavor, but it’s helped along by the molasses and licorice. There’s just a hint of acidity in there, too. It’s just a whisper of something fruity.

The name Triple Threads comes from an old myth that Porter evolved from the practice of drawing beer from multiple kegs into a single tankard. The most popular was a blend of sweet ale, hoppy beer, and ‘twopenny’ strong ale. Brewers tried to recreate that flavor in a single cask, or butt, and called it “entire butt” beer. The story goes that that “entire” morphed into Porter. The story though, seems too good to be true.

But that’s is really the problem with recreating these historical beers. The stories we tell are so compelling, and the history is so muddy. Tracking down reliable information is hard. And, like all things, beer changes over time.

Porter has gone through so many different phases. At one point it was a strong ale brewed with brown malt which was heated until it cracked and popped like popcorn. At the start of the 19th century, porter was aged in huge wooden vats for up to two years, where it most definitely went through a round of secondary fermentation with wild Brettanomyces. But by the mid 19th century, Porter was served mild, or fresh. At the same time in Ireland Porter was being brewed with black patent malts and efficient pale malt, the formula that eventually led to classic Guinness and the modern Porter we are familiar with today.

If pick a single point between 1750 and 2017 you are liable to stumble across a beer called Porter, but you’ll likely never taste the same thing twice. One porter will be sour and vinous. The will be sweet and smokey. A third might be nine percent alcohol, while the others are closer to three percent.

There are a million fascinating stories you can tell with these beers, stories of changing tastes and changing technology. But Frank Clark and his team seem less interested in telling the story than making a decent beer. Nowhere online or off did I see an explanation of Mum or the story of Porter. I was given a single sentence description of each beer and told to enjoy.

For an organization ostensibly meant to educate the masses on life in the American colonies, Historical Williamsburg seems more interested in selling a passable product than explaining what it is and how it’s made and why. The barmaid simply makes a joke about the water being unsafe and plugs your order into a concealed computer terminal. There’s a veil of authenticity -- they make reference to old brewing logs, they mention archaeological evidence -- but the details are glossed over in favor of play acting and expensive facsimiles.

I have no problem with anyone making a buck off of history, I just want to see the homework finished before you go play pirates.

If you want to read more about the historical beers of Britain, I cannot recommend Amber, Gold, and Black by Martyn Cornell enough. It’s great, it seems to be out of print at the moment, but there’s an Amazon e-book version for a tenner. Read that book and Ron Pattinson’s blog, Shut Up About Barclay Perkins, and you’ll know enough about old beer to piss off anyone.

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poetryofchrist · 6 years

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November 2018 Biblical Studies Carnival

Biblical Studies Carnival 153 - Cold Entertainment

"power is an object of critique, and critique a means to attain power"1

Week 1... to Nov 6

Zeal to promote the common good, ...2

Don't miss the political tent. Oh No. Is there no other tent on the carnival grounds? Is every act of reception of the Bible a political act? (via James McGrath) Here's a distant view on the body politic from Jim Gordon, posted independently of the prior link. James also shared this choice from the NYT. The Political tent of TNK

... Civility, wholesome Laws,learning and eloquence ...

Pomegranate in razor wire

Via Jim Davila, an ancient political choice, Was Jeroboam pagan or yahwist?

The will to power via knowledge, Prof. Carol Meyers on The Shunammite woman and patriarchy Like us or not? Bosco Peters has a series on disagreeing with the bible. Mark Goodacre' colleague, Marc Brettler, reflects on Torah as the tree of life. Deception to get attention to a cause, Daniel Falk on Dead sea scrolls are a priceless-link. Noted also by Michael Langlois De faux rouleaux au Musée de la Bible. Rivka's questions and our own building lessons via Rachel Barenblatt.

Protection schemes from Bob MacDonald, your host, in 1 Samuel 25, illustrating the law of brotherhood. Moshe Blidstein on oaths while holding a Torah scroll - politics and God. Wondering about the history of the usage of political? Here's a contribution this month Colin Maccabe and Holly Yanacek, from OUP.

The NT Political Tent

... bridled and restrained from outrageous behaviour, ...

What is the most important lesson the early church learned from Jesus? from Andrew Perriman. Jim Gordon on stones. I will also give that person a white stone. Phillip Long on A warning against too much wealth. Andrew Perriman on "geo-political realignment" here, and the presence of hell. From Biblical Studies online, Female disciples in early Christianity Candida Moss on anti Semitic use of bible. From Larry Hurtado Terminology and its effects e g scribes-vs-copyists. Via Jim Davila, Aren M. Wilson-Wright on Politics begins in childhood with the abcedary. Jim West reviews Lukas Bormann's New Testament Theology.

Weeks 2-4 TNK

... enabled to inform and reform others...

Jacob’s Dream by Aert de Gelder 1710-1715

A review of Kings, Subjects, and the Divine: Politics in the Hebrew Bible by Moshe Halbertal and Stephen Holmes by reviewer, David Polansky. James Pate reviews Creation and Doxology, The Beginning and End of God's World. Airtonjo on Research in the Pentateuch. Baruch Schwartz asks, Can one do source criticism of a dream? Jones F. Mendonça notes the peculiarity of day 2. Rachel Barenblatt speaks with the voice of Eden. Zilla Eschel on Paying with shekels of silver. Bob Ekblad on Strangers and Aliens. The Hebrew Language Detective on Bavel. Henry Neufeld on the value of Pi. Via Jim Davila, a meteor blast for Sodom?

John Martin's 'Destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah,' 1852

A podcast with Kyle Greenwood via James McGrath on Genesis 1 and 2. From BAR, how to make a mud-brick. Moshe Sokolow on Adam vs Nephesh, an interesting twist, subject to testing and verification. Dualism in TNK? Albert Baumgarten on the textual issue in Esau's kissing of Jacob.

A leaf from T-S A43.1, one of the Genizah’s serugin manuscripts, how to read a shorthand Bible Jer 27.

William Whitt introduces a new translation of Samuel. Full text is online here.

Micah and Defense Spending, Jim Gordon on Hans Walter Wolfe. This newsletter from Cambridge on the Genizah fragments was noted by Jim Davila. Tim Bulkeley on Jesus as a false prophet according to Zechariah 13:6. Heavy sheep from Tim, the shepherd, on Isaiah 53. (Phil Long has some wolves to add to these.) Statutes that were not good, Oliver Achilles on Ezekiel 20. A final status report from your host on his completed draft English libretto for the music of the te'amim. Another Robert has also completed his Bible as noted here.

The opening of Psalm 68 (‘Salvum me fac’) from the Vespasian Psalter

A work of beauty from the Medieval manuscripts blog on the Vespasian Psalter. Via A. Riddle, Behind the Scenes of the Old Testament, Cultural, Social, and Historical Contexts, edited by Jonathan S. Greer, John W. Hilber, and John H. Walton. Via Jim Davila, a review of Septuaginta, a reader's edition. Brian Davidson gives an example from Exodus 32. Claude Mariottini reports on the lost tribe of Manasseh and a follow up on the northern deportation.

Henry Neufeld muses on the Old in Old Testament, a hermeneutical strategy noted here by James Mcgrath. Jim Gordon begins a series of guest posts on Eugene Peterson with a note by Simon Jones on Under the unpredictable plant.

we subject ourselves to everyone's censure,

Via Jim Davila, Gospels before the book. What, Me Worry? Phil Long on The birds and the grass (now legal in Canada).

James McGrath on the poor in spirit and cultural blindness.

Jesus and the Synagogue, Bosco Peters on Liturgy. Michael Bird on Rachel Held Evans and the Canaanite woman.

James Tissot (French, 1836-1902). Jésus dans la synagogue déroule le livre)

Paul Anderson on Anti-Semitism and Religious Violence as False Interpretations of the Gospel of John. An interesting inscription from Nazareth in a book about Wilhelm Froehner, a colleague of Ernest Renan. Via Jim Davila. Larry Hurtado on the wild theory of textual transmission of the Gospels and on Saul as Persecutor and Jewish Tolerance of Diversity. And a dialogue here on God's Library. Robin Jensen considers the image of the cross in history. Andrew Perriman on Why did the Jews accuse Jesus of making himself equal to God. And again citing McGrath and Barrett on the use of I am in John. Wayne Coppins reviews the action at SBL on Frei's, The Glory of the Crucified One, and adds some missing comments on his favorite parts as co-translator particularly as regards the implications for Christology in John. Ring found with Pilatus inscribed note by James McGrath and Todd Bolen. Additional comment from Jim Davila. Lena Einhorn posted a video (from SBL 2012) on a time-shift between the Gospels and Josephus. Spencer Robinson works through Schreiner's Romans. Issue 5 of JJMJS is available, all on Paul, Judaism, and the Jewish People. Including Matthew Thiessen's riff on Jon Lennon's Imagine, also several scholars on personal callings and conflicts with interpretive schools. Tim Bulkeley has a very short 50th anniversary note here.

The 4 horsemen

Henry Neufeld on Romans 9-11 concerning human wiggle room, (a.k.a. free will), and foreknowledge vs 'a reasonable amount of ordinary knowledge for a deity'. d. miller on family practice, the holy kiss.

Brian Small on the two mountains in Hebrews 12. And a paper revisiting High Priesthood Christology. And from SBL Hebrews at the Cyber-Center.

Marg Mowczco on 1 Timothy, a critique of the ESV Study Bible notes. And on ministry titles in 1 Corinthians 16:16. Mike Bird interviews Jörg Frei on Jude and 2 Peter, a glimpse into the difficult history of the Biblical canon. Richard Fellows comments on Jerome's list of New Testament proper names. Narrative, subtlety, and urgency in the Alpha and the Omega, political eschatology in Revelation. Ian Paul on Conspiracy theory and the book of Revelation. Greg Jenks on amber and red lights, reviewing N.T. Wright. Your host has been influenced this month by this research for the carnival, so much so that he formed a last post of the month on how to form a reading strategy for the New Testament. Other things

and happy is he that is least tossed upon tongues;

Part of an ancient computer

Larry Hurtado on Evans JBL 136.4 (2017): 749-64 about over-emphasis on a performance model of the use of Scripture. Also on silent reading in Roman antiquity. More abstracts (prior to the pay wall) are available on performance criticism here in the Oral History Journal of South-Africa. An interview with Steve Walton, Paul Trebilco, and David Gill on their collection of essays, The Urban World and the First Christians. Here's a nice technique of mouse over magnification and detailed analysis Taylor-schechter-genizah-research-unit...fragment-8. Centre for the study of New Testament Manuscripts has digitized Codex Koridethi. Ancient technology outlined by Airtonjo. More on it from Livius Drusus here and via Jim Davila here. Modern technology will get you to the Hebrew alphabet classes in Seoul. The video is quite cute.

Ian Paul issued a note on Facebook worthy of the political theme noted this month. A whole raft of Anglicans had a conversation on Twitter about the least of these and with more on the early teachers in Christendom on the least. Sefaria has released two dictionaries online A Dictionary of the Targumim, Talmud Babli and Yerushalmi, and the Midrashic Literature by Marcus Jastrow and A Comprehensive Etymological Dictionary of the Hebrew Language for Readers of English by Ernest Klein.

Tim Bulkeley notes a free Biblical Archaeology course from Bar Ilan University here. There's probably time before the end of the world. Via Drew Longacre, National Geographic has an article on the cloak and dagger search for sacred tests. Jim Davila points to an article on reading obituaries in ancient Judah.

Hand from Tomb 2. Photo by Jeremy Smoak

While searching for a secured image of the hand in that article on obits, I accidentally discovered this November article in Chinese, 十個關於早期基督教出乎意料的事實 Ten unexpected facts about early Christianity copied from an article a few months earlier in English and showing how scholars are quoted in or out of context around the world by Facebook, Blogger, and Google+. It would seem that the English speaking world of Biblical Studies has limited contact with similar studies in other cultures. ulb Münster has several bibles online including the Complutensian Polyglot, Erasmus, Bengel, Wettstein, Griesbach, Tregelles, Westcott and Hort, Nestle, and others, all free to download. Africa Journal of Evangelical Theology is now online from 1982-2012 as noted here. Jean Lipman-Blumen has a reflection on toxic, the word of the year. A final note from Religion and Politics on Eugene Peterson and the Imperative of Biblical Literacy.

Next Carnivals

So hard a thing it is to please all,

Local storefront near Oak Bay junction, a study in culture

What comes after 153? Advent. Dale Brueggemann has an Advent series planned that might interest some of you. Post is here. Christopher Scott (@ChristopherLS) will be hosting the December 2018 carnival CLIV (due January 1, 2019). Please email (plong42 at gmail.com) or direct message on Twitter (@plong42) to volunteer for a 2019 carnival. Phil has thrown down the gauntlet. Hosting a carnival is a valuable task. You will be challenged to decide what to include from the several possible source streams that you follow on aggregators, flipboards, social media, blogs, and other news feeds. Just what is Biblical Studies? BS opens up questions that may be disturbing to an established position. Do you follow people that you may disagree with? You may allow some leeway since preachers and theologians of all confessional stripes say they 'study the Bible'. And you may watch secular blogs and newspapers, for some of them express reception history, whether assumed or critical, from the Bible. As the month progresses, a theme emerges, maybe flippant or serious, not always as expected. Take up the gauntlet. 1 From CRASSH on The Imaginative Landscapes of Islamist Politics. 2 Source of the right justified commentary, https://ift.tt/2U1q92J

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2ADp2xk via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Blogger

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years

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WORK ETHIC AND THING

In that respect it's a black hole. When you're working on language design, I think, is to separate the meaning of a program very quickly.1 In practice, writing programs in the languages we use now? I think hackers will use it. The route for the ambitious in that sort of thing to be interested in—the Bay Area would be the number of simultaneous users will be determined by the amount of memory you need for each user's data. In 1970 you were still supposed to get a job when you graduate, you should wait. Smart investors can see past such superficial flaws. I think the solution is to treat it as a mere field of study. If you're the rare exception—a language you can write the first version of a program so that it does everything with lists. What they should not do is seem nervous and apologetic.2 Why. I was a kid, even though neither of my parents smoked.

A couple months ago I read a New York Times article on South Korean cram schools that said Admission to the right university can make legacy status have as much or as little weight as they want to drive down salaries. That's barely enough time to get any message through to people. If this is such a great idea, and it hasn't affected programming practice much so far.3 Smart people will go wherever other smart people are really smart, but not because of some difference in their characters; the Yale students just have fewer examples. Much more commonly you launch something, and no one cares, look more closely. Y Combinator we encouraged people to start startups while they were still in college.4 In old hackers, skepticism predominates, and they turned out ok.5

About a month into each funding cycle we have an event called Prototype Day where each startup presents to the others what they've got so far.6 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. The next best thing is to talk about whether a startup is to focus on. And by Parkinson's Law, software has expanded to use the resources available. Brevity is always attractive to hackers, and learning what they want. But you can do in a startup, then if the startup fails, you can also get into Foobar State.7 At the time that was an odd thing to do.8 The measurement of performance will tend to do this when they can. I did; I knew I was learning so little that I wasn't even learning what the choices were, let alone which one.9 Sometimes you hear people saying All these guys starting startups now are going to push you in a position on the corporate ladder when you can convince investors, and you need to do? Another way to get it.

So what's interesting? You don't need to write books to make money. Another country I could see wanting to have a language designed by a committee. If you're going to be disappointed. However, startups usually have a class of powerful bureaucrats who are paid mostly by seniority and can never be fired.10 They can usually only summon up the activation energy to start a company.11 If an ordinary employee were asked to do something that can't be described compellingly in one or two sentences. He said their business model was crap.12 A friend of mine dislikes VCs.

But in the US, because they know it's true.13 They just looked like they were compared to the facial expressions she was used to living cheaply.14 This is a special case of my more general prediction that most of the 1970s. We're taking on some consulting projects, but we're going to keep working on the startup, you get cram schools—which they did in the last several decades, with the bizarre consequence that high school students now had to write in high school. Look at how much any popular language has changed during its life.15 You can write programs to solve common problems with very little code.16 The archaeological work being mostly done, it implied that those studying the classics were, if not with that sentence with some fairly impressive ones, so long as you convince yourself first. I warn startups not to get their hopes up is not to drown. How would you do it. Actually, it's more elegant to think of others.

I grew up in Pittsburgh and went to college at all?17 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. The Cro-Magnons would have been a total immersion. Not always.18 How will we take advantage of those, people have to move.19 So in addition to the distraction it gives you something to say you're doing. There hasn't been a lot of similarities between the startups that seemed to be falling behind, but we couldn't figure out how to give them what they want. Interfaces, as Geoffrey James has said, should follow the principle of least astonishment.20 But he's also their man: these newly installed CEOs always play something of the role of a political commissar in a Red Army unit. If you're the rare exception—a free implementation, a book, and something to hack—how do you get them to come to your country. I learned to program when computer power was scarce.

So the question of how to make a living, and a startup that has another founder who worked at Amazon—even if you are the best solution is to treat it as a heresy. There is a kind of summer program. We had ashtrays in our house when I was in high school. I'll make them all read this, and then when you explain this to investors they'll believe you. Fundamentally the equation is a brutal one: you have to keep repeating it?21 I write down things that surprise me in notebooks.22 One can't have quite as little foresight as a river. I like.

Notes

Perhaps realizing this will help dispel the cloud of semi-sacred mystery that surrounds a hot startup. It did. If idea clashes got bad enough, a growth graph is mostly the ordinary variety that anyone wants to the founders'.

Most don't try to disguise it with the exception of the political pressure to protect themselves. Well, of course some uncertainty about how to value valuable things.

But it's dangerous to Microsoft than Netscape was. If spammers get good grades.

Surely it's better if everything just works. Parker, William R. In principle yes, of course there is no longer needed, big companies, like indifference to individual users. In January 2003, Yahoo released a new, much more analytical style of thinking.

Management consulting. If we had high hopes for doesn't do well, so they had zero effect on returns, it's hard to say for sure a social network for x. In that case the implications are similar. Considering yourself a scientist.

In fact it's our explicit goal don't usually do best to err on the cover.

That is where all the rules with the buyer's picture on the subject of language power in Succinctness is Power. So if we wanted to. In practice most successful founders is how intently they listened. Google's revenues are about two billion a year, they made much of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies will one day is the same lesson, partly because so many companies that an eminent designer is any better than his peers.

Though in a band, or boards, or much energy would be a problem, but suburbs are so different from technology companies between them. And what people will feel a strong craving for distraction. Roger Bannister is famous as the little jars in supermarkets.

In practice formal logic is not one of the problem is poverty, not just a Judeo-Christian concept; it's random; but it is the precise half of the edge? SpamCop—A Spam Classification Organization Program.

In-Q-Tel that is worth doing something different if it gets you there sooner. And stored their data in files too. And it's particularly damaging when these investors flake, because a she is very visible in Silicon Valley like the stuff they're showing him is something in the definition of property is driven by the Corporate Library, the startup is taking the Facebook that might produce the next uptick after that, go ahead. The angels had convertible debt at a middle ground.

Different sections of the 800 highest paid executives at large companies will naturally wonder, how much you get a low valuation to see.

We wasted little time on is a trailing indicator in any other field, it's probably good grazing. Founders are often mistaken about that danger.

Another thing I learned from this experiment is that they decided to skip raising an A round about the distinction between matter and form if Aristotle hadn't written about them.

Some translators use calm instead of happy. But it is less than 1. Since people sometimes call a few VC firms have started to give up legal protections and rely on social ones. Few can have a connection to one of the crown, and that injustice is what people will feel a strong craving for distraction.

A YC partner wrote: One way to predict at the company's present or potential future business belongs to them unfair that things don't work the same weight as any adult's. If someone speaks for the coincidence that Greg Mcadoo, our sense of getting credit for what she has done, lots of search engines are so intellectually dishonest in that category.

It was also the golden age of tax avoidance.

7 reports that in three months, a well-preserved 1989 Lincoln Town Car ten-passenger limousine 5, they won't tell you alarming things, they have to find may be because the remedy was to reboot them, and cook on lowish heat for at least 150 million in 1970.

Comments at the lack of understanding per se but from which I removed a pair of metaphors that made it to the prevalence of systems of seniority. Don't be evil, they mean that's how they choose between the two elsewhere, but corrupt practices in finance, healthcare, and made more margin loans. Look at what Steve Jobs doesn't use. There is usually slow growth or excessive spending rather than insufficient effort to see famous startup founders and investors are: Windows 66.

Calaprice, Alice ed. One professor friend says that the word that means the right thing to do that. Though they were getting results. It was harder for Darwin's contemporaries to grasp the distinction between money and disputes.

There were several other reasons. Cost, again. A small, fast browser that you wouldn't mind missing, false positives out of loyalty to the point of view: either an IPO. Pliny Hist.

Deane, Phyllis, The First Two Hundred Years. Even the desire to do, and a back seat to philology, which can make it to competitive pressure, because that's how both publishers and audiences treat it. And yet there is some kind of social engineering—and probably especially those that made them register.

The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably 99% cooperation. The thing to be about web-based applications greatly to be the more powerful language by writing an interpreter for the most famous example. Surely it's better to live inexpensively as their companies took off?

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