#or perhaps masters in theology and the arts

[thebirdandhersong]

not me looking at post undergrad education options at this time of night

[oedipusrexs]

samson o'connor , twenty five (paul mescal); codename oedipus. masters student receiving a dual degree in philosophy and theology.

intro and wanted connections below the cut! 

I tried condensing my bio and I'm incapable of shutting up !! so I'm just going to provide a hopefully short (?) tldr!! 

Full info, bio and my 5000 headcanons etc is here! There's nothing explicit but I've added some tws to his biography, so feel free to skip <3 hopefully I do it justice below in in quick form! also brief death mention tw

Samson's a twenty five year old graduate student, and has been at Daskalos for two years; he's double majoring in philosophy and theology. His fathers death at the hands of his mother changed him as a child -- he runs from his past, but the now unstabble present (in the future wake of Genie's disaperance) shakes him. He's thoughtful, morose or mysterious depending on who you ask; he will always say yes to a smoke or a drink, but is otherwise entirely burried in his books. Samson is dying for human connection and has reached a point, where he can no longer deny himself the pleasure of others company. 

very much!!! at a point in his life where something has to change -- and whether it be in positive or negative ways, samson seeks to enter the fray. 

----

Although it isn’t beautiful, the night; written as an example of a known associate, they’re someone that Samson is inexplicably drawn to. Like him, they stand apart from the others – Samson is so unlike himself in their interactions. He is sociable, and he wants to see them outside of their select meetings. He wishes to know them, wishes to understand them; the act of self-preservation through isolation feels less appealing with them. This can entirely be platonic or possibly romantic! 

Famous Last Words; friends are not uncommon for Samson, though connections seem to be rare. He is a loyal companion, and an annoyingly reasonable voice in all situations; he could be their friend when they want to go out and spend a night at a bar forgetting — a friend to share interests of art, books, music with. 

Your gaze is a bullet pinned to the chest; for his fellow members of the Dionysia, with whom Samson feels a great deal of kinship, and trepidation. As Genie’s disappearance unfolds, so will Samson’s trust in himself and others unravel; some people he will cling to, others entirely repel – and in his darkest moments, accuse in the back of his mind. 

By now; entirely the entire inverse of it isn’t beautiful, the night. Their personality offends Samson, though it is most likely envy, that this person lives wholly confident and apparently full of life. Samson isn’t one for direct confrontation, but holds tension and space for annoyance, in regards to them; could be mutual, could be entirely one sided. 

Met you in a past life: Samson has lived in either Ireland or France, but has taken plenty of trips with his mother – he could have met them abroad, or while they were visiting Paris. It could have been a short exchange, or a short lived connection; it haunts him now that they’re at the same school.

Etc: perhaps he was your characters TA (they’d love or hate him), party friends, fellow loners and smokers, fellow philosophy majors, I’m truly open to finding anything!! 

[lizhly-writes]

I wish you would write a fic where jmx meets yhs. I like yang haoshu.

man! what's the point of sending this ask anonymously! yang haoshu's never even made out of discord!

Ahem.

Right. So. "Yang Haoshu" is an alternate universe version of Chen Lihua, where she was the second-born child of the Yang family instead of Yang Haoran.

The way she meets Jiang Mingxi in this universe is virtually identical to how the original Yang Haoran meets Jiang Mingxi -- that is, as small children and almost immediately trying to beat the shit out of each other, because they're both very easily angered.

It's really not that different from 'canon', because truthfully, at that age, the original Yang Haoran and Yang Haoshu aren't that different. I could have written that out, swapped a few names, and then I would have a scene I could actually use in the not-cnovel as a pseudo flashback, or something.

Instead of doing that, though, I wrote an entirely self-indulgent and significantly easier to write weird crossover snippet that I can't use anywhere else but this ask.

Under the cut!

...

Yang Haoshu was a world-class champion at making Jiang Mingxi angry.  This was a skill she had mastered at a young age, when she had realized that fighting Jiang Mingxi – punching, kicking, clawing, biting – just didn’t work.  

Jiang Mingxi was bigger, stronger, faster, and she devoured the martial arts education their parents gave them with an enthusiasm that Yang Haoshu couldn’t come close to matching.  There was no way around it; in a fair fight, Yang Haoshu would always lose.

Still, there were other ways of fighting.  As the saying goes, “sticks and stones may hurt my bones, but words–” 

Words had never hurt Yang Haoshu.  

Oh, she got angry, sure, but hurt?  Not at all.  And as she got older, the anger had mellowed out into irritation into annoyance into, perhaps, mild amusement. For all of the things Jiang Mingxi was good at, she could not rival Yang Haoshu in this.  This was ultimately the key difference between them: Yang Haoshu could keep her temper.  Jiang Mingxi could not.

And thus, when it came to words, Yang Haoshu always won.

Naturally, Yang Haoshu endeavored to win as much as possible.  And she did!  It was probably a little mean of her, but at this point, she was very good at it – even the right sort of smile was enough to send Jiang Mingxi into a barely restrained rage.

…This one, though.

“Hmm,” Yang Haoshu said, tilting her head at the Jiang Mingxi in front of her.  “You’re more level-headed than mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” said Jiang Mingxi.  The words were right, but Yang Haoshu’s Jiang Mingxi would have been grinding them out, nails digging into her palms and drawing blood.  This one, though, only narrowed her eyes.  No sign of any real anger in her at all.

How interesting.  

Yang Haoshu smiled brilliantly.  “Ah, I don’t mean anything bad!  I suppose I’m projecting some expectations on you.  You look so much like someone I know from home, after all.  A childhood friend of mine!  I always called her Ming-jie –”

“Don’t call me that,” Jiang Mingxi said immediately.

Well, Ming-jie always did hate it.

“Are we not close enough for that kind of thing?” Yang Haoshu said.  “I must look very familiar to you, too.  Does she not call you that?”

“It doesn’t matter if she does or if it doesn’t,” Jiang Mingxi said.  “It doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“It could be argued it does, at least a little. After all–”

They were the same person.  This Jiang Mingxi’s Yang Haoshu – more than family, more than genetics, more than what science could ever hope to achieve, they were really, truly, the same person.  

“Doesn’t matter,” Jiang Mingxi said shortly.

“Is that all you have to say?”

Jiang Mingxi was like this at home, too.  Fiction, fantasies, philosophy, theology – none of them, no matter how well written, well-made, ever caught her attention more than sheer brute force and violence.

“None of this interests you at all, huh?” Yang Haoshu said.

How boring.

“Did I say that?” Jiang Mingxi said irritably.  “You sound just like – no.”

Yang Haoshu perked up.  “I sound like…?”

Jiang Mingxi exhaled, hand going up to her temples.  “It doesn’t matter.  Nothing about you, and your counterpart here – that relationship isn’t there.”

“...Pardon?”

“It’s experiences who make people what they are,” Jiang Mingxi said, turning abruptly.  “It’s those memories that shape a person’s drive, goals, personality.  If those memories aren’t there anymore, you can’t say that they’re the same person.”

Yang Haoshu blinked.  

“I,” Jiang Mingxi enunciated slowly, “am not the person you know.  You aren’t anyone I know, either.”

In truth, this was the conclusion Yang Haoshu had been contemplating, despite the shit she was trying to feed this Jiang Mingxi.  But –

“You have actual, articulated thoughts about this?” she said, delighted.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

“You’ve thought about this concept enough to immediately cleanly say this sort of thing?  You, of all people?”

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

[true--north]

Hi ❄️✨

Could you write a drabble about Iduna and Agnarr using the titanic scene where Jack draws Rose?

You know, Agnarr is drawing something and Iduna asks him to draw her wearing only the scarf. Please 🥺🩷

To be a prince meant to master all the seven liberal arts perfectly. To be able to play the piano or the violin, to know philosophy and theology, to be able to draw a statue or the ruins of a castle — all this Agnarr had to learn from childhood, whether he wanted to or not. And he was a diligent pupil.

But when a traveling painting exhibition from the Frankreich arrived in Arendelle, it was Iduna who was so excited to see the paintings. She persuaded Regent Peterssen to allow her and Agnarr to visit the exhibition, although the elderly lord was not a fan of modern art.

"Agnarr, look at how beautiful it is!" She was delighted and admired with ecstasy the forest landscapes and floral still lifes of bright colours.

"Yeah, very beautiful." Agnarr answered, smiling not at the paintings but at her as she grabbed him by is hand and dragged him to the next canvas.

"Can you draw that?" she showed him a picture of a ship in a stormy sea.

"Perhaps," Agnarr shrugged.

"And this? I know you're good at drawing!" Iduna asked enthusiastically about the painting depicting a majestic cathedral.

"Architecture? Yes, of course." Smirked Agnarr, shrugging again. He began to like this game.

"Oh... Can you do something like that?" Fascinated, Iduna stopped in front of a Greek-style drawing. A girl dressed only in a transparent drapery of red cloth was lying in a forest clearing, and a young man in a white tunic was bending over her for a kiss, in his hands a white lily.

Agnarr cleared his throat. "Ah, classic... Yes, I was taught that." He suddenly felt hot and stuffy.

Iduna was holding his hand, she was standing very close to him and looking at him with the same look as the girl in the picture. "Come on, Iduna, there are a lot of other paintings here." He hastily took her aside.

"Agnarr, I want to have a drawing from you as a keepsake. Promise me you'll draw something for me! I think I'm in love with art." She smiled sweetly. Agnarr could not refuse her.

That evening he remembered her request again.

Taking off his jacket and rolling up his shirt sleeves, he settled down on an armchair with an album and a sanguine in his hands. "What would I draw for Iduna?" the prince thought, "Iduna..." He thought about her so often, Iduna was the closest person to him. And so the idea came very easily: he decided to draw a forest landscape for her. For some reason, Iduna was associated with the forest, autumn leaves, cool wind. Agnarr imagined the most enchanted and dreamy of the woods he could imagine and began putting the first touches on the paper.

Carried away, he did not immediately hear a quiet knock on the door. It was repeated.

"You may come in, the door is open." he replied, without taking his eyes off the drawing where the outlines of birches and flowers have already begun to appear.

He suspected that it could be servants or Peterssen. But it was Iduna.

"Agnarr, do you remember that you promised to give me a drawing?" She asked, sneaking in to his living room.

"Of course, but—" Agnarr was a little upset that Iduna might notice his gift before it was finished. He raised his head to look at her, and lost the ability to speak.

Iduna stood naked in front of him, covered only with a soft burgundy cloth; her long, lush chestnut curls scattered over her shoulders, an excited expression on her face.

"I—Iduna?" he asked softly, astonished.

"You seem to be blushing terribly, Your Royal Highness." Iduna giggled and lay down on the sofa in front of him, allowing the fabric to gently emphasize her curves. "I want you to draw me as the girl in that painting."

"Iduna, I can't..." he lowered his eyes with an effort despite all the blast of attraction that he has felt at the sight of her. But as a gentleman, he should give her the opportunity to change her mind and never remember about this situation again.

"You can't? But Agnarr, you said yourself that you can easily draw classics?" Iduna reproduced the romantic pose of the heroine, wishing with secret fear that he would not kick her out and reject her.

"Well, technically I can..."

"So what's the matter?" she smiled innocently.

"Nothing." he managed to say and turned the page of the album.

"Be professional, be not a fool in love who saw the woman he loves for the first time....in some damned shawl and nothing else?" ordered Agnarr to himself. "Professionalism, and nothing more."

Casting a quick glance at Iduna, he sketched the outline of her figure, but in order for it to become like a real academic drawing, he will have to really look at her. It was a torture. Her stockingless leg hung over the edge of the sofa, her white skin glowed in the pearly light of a white summer night when the sun does not set in the west but stays on the horizon like a glowing red ball.

"Move your hand a little to the left," Agnarr asked in a low voice, and Iduna obeyed him. "And...it is necessary to raise your chin a little." She did as he said, her eyes half-closed, lips smiling at him.

Agnarr wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers and applied a few strokes, hatching the shadows in the drawing. It was becoming really beautiful. Agnarr tried as best he could, adding details and highlights; although seeing and depicting how the tips of her soft hair touched the hemispheres of her breasts barely covered with patterned fabric....Being an artist was definitely harder than being a prince, and that was news for Agnarr.

"By the way, what is this? Some kind of a scarf or...?" he asked her to distract himself from her shoulders and neck.

"Yes, it's a shawl left over from my family," Iduna replied quietly.

"It's very beautiful."

"It's magical."

Agnarr laughed softly.

Finally, after a quarter of a very long and heated hour, the drawing was ready. Agnarr was proud of it, it seems he really managed to capture all the charm of Iduna in this etude. He turned the album to her and Iduna beamed when she saw his work.

"Oh, Agnarr, it's so gorgeous!" She smittenly looked at his concentrated flushed face, at his fingers smeared with brown dust from the sanguina chalks. "But something is missing. In the picture, the girl was not alone, her beloved was with her and wanted to kiss her..."

Agnarr, irresistibly drawn to her, left the album on the chair and stood knelt in front of her; put his hand on her waist and bent over Iduna's lips.

[householdbelfast]

An Absent Presence

by Kevin Burns

Alison Watt’s quadriptych (work in four parts) hangs in the Memorial Chapel of Old St. Paul’s, Edinburgh, Scotland, fully inhabiting the space with its four, six-foot square panels. It immediately draws your attention and, whether or not you are aware of its title, fosters quiet, creating a space for its viewer to ‘be still and know.’

Watt’s depiction of white pleated fabric, however, is not rendered stagnantly, bereft of any sign of life. Similar to her series Shift where fabrics suggest a recently present human body, here too we get a sense of movement. The cloth hangs perhaps on the verge of revealing something behind it. Watt says of her fabric paintings, ‘Although the body is not explicitly represented, it’s still echoed in the landscape of the cloth. The paintings are about an absent presence.’ Still gives us an intimation of something or someone beyond what our eyes behold.

On the wall adjacent to Watt’s painting are affixed the words from the poem ‘For the Fallen’ by Laurence Binyon: ‘They shall grow not old as we that are left grow old’ along with John 15:13: ‘Greater love hath no man than this that a man lay down his life for his friends.’ Still is a remembrance of loss, honoring soldiers killed in war. Yet it does not fail to convey hope. With the cross naturally formed by its four panels, the painting evokes the ultimate sacrifice of Christ. The cloth itself recalls Christ’s burial shroud gloriously draped over many crosses in this Easter season. In viewing Still, we think on the sacrifice of soldiers and the final sacrifice of Christ. And we yearn for the day when he will pull away the cloths of death and we will all be changed ‘in the twinkling of an eye.’

*******

Alison Watt: Still, 2004, 365 x 365 cm, oil on canvas. Memorial Chapel of Old St. Paul’s, Edinburgh, Scotland.

Alison Watt OBE (b. 1965) is a Scottish painter best known for her depictions of drapery. She is the youngest artist to have had a solo exhibition at the Scottish National Gallery of Modern Art (2000) and to serve as an Associate Artist at the National Gallery, London (2006-8). For Still, Watt won the ACE (Art and Christianity Enquiry) award for a Commissioned Artwork in Ecclesiastical Space in 2005.

Kevin Burns is currently studying for his Masters in the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts at the University of St. Andrews in St. Andrews, Scotland.

ArtWay Visual Meditation April 12, 2015

https://www.artway.eu/content.php?id=1876&lang=en&action=show

[duggardata]

Anna and Mary Maxwell Might Be Attending [Bible] College.  (Wow!)

Recently, an eagle–eyed Anon spotted the 2 Youngest Maxwell Girls, Anna (28) and Mary (25), in the absolute last place you'd ever expect—a college campus.  It's all on Facebook... Anna and Mary appear in a photo posted by Appalachian Bible College to its official Facebook Page, along with caption: "The first day of classes. That's something to smile about!"  (Permalink.)

Why Are We So Surprised By This?

Ordinarily, two young women attending college wouldn't be at all shocking, but the Maxwells are not ordinary.  Anna and Mary's Parents, Steve + Teri Maxwell, are openly anti–college.  Steve thinks that state–run education, including higher education, is "a godless, promiscuity–promoting, humanistic environment," and that it traps young people in debt.  He is wary even of Christian colleges, since he believes they cause children to rebel.  He’s proud of his sons' lack of higher education, and praised them for "avoid[ing] the influence and cost of college." Teri is, sadly, just as opposed to college—especially for women.  Back in 1999, she wrote an article speculating that college may undermine a woman's ability to be a good and godly wife.  Her article laments—

"As far as our daughters go, I wonder how many of us developed independent spirits during our college or working days. Has this made it more difficult for us to submit to our husbands in the meek and quiet way we would like?"

Finally...  Anna and Mary's views on this topic seemed to be aligned with their parents, until now. According to Steve + Teri, all of the Maxwell Daughters had planned to be Stay–at–Home–Daughters until marriage.  (See Also.)  (And all 3 Daughters seemed to be doing so, since none had moved out.)  What is more, in 2010, Anna described college as "silly," and said that she thought attending would expose her to unsavory influences, and possibly hold her back from her ultimate goal of "be[ing] a stay–at–home wife and mother."

So, yeah...  This is quite a surprise!  And, while neither Steve + Teri, nor Anna or Mary, has actually confirmed that they’re enrolled at Appalachian Bible College, their appearance on the Facebook Page is definitely suspicious!

Tell Me About Appalachian Bible College.

TL;DR   If you just want to know how conservative and restrictive Appalachian Bible College is, skip down to “Student Life.”

Appalachian Bible College (ABC) is a tiny (~250 Students), insular bible college, located on 150 Acres in rural Mount Hope, West Virginia.  (The Maxwell Family hails from Leavenworth, Kansas, which >800 Miles Away.)  It self–describes as a “non–denominational and fundamental” institution, primarily associated with “Baptist and Bible churches.”  Unlike many so–called “bible colleges,” ABC is nationally and regionally accredited.  (Hurray!)

A lot, lot more information...  After the jump.

Admissions—

ABC requires prospective students to submit an application; transcripts from high school or home school; ACT, SAT, or CLT test scores; and two reference letters, one from a pastor and one from another mentor, e.g., teacher or youth group leader.  A high school diploma or GED is required, unless the student is homeschooled.  In that case, a detailed homeschool transcript is needed, and standardized test scores are “especially important.”

As part of the application, prospective students must attest that they agree w/ the college’s Doctrinal Statement.

Academics—

ABC offers four degree programs—Bible Certificate (1 Year), Associate of Arts (A.A.) (2 Years), Bachelor of Arts (B.A.) (4 Years), and Master of Arts (M.A.).  In addition, it runs an online program for degree–seeking or non–degree seeking students.  (But, Anna and Mary were spotted on–campus, so they don’t seem to be in the online program!)  Anna and Mary haven’t gone to college, so they almost certainly aren’t in the Master’s program.  Let’s just look at the rest...

(Sidenote—Before we go on, just want to point out...  All ABC graduates must, in addition to completing academic requirements, show that they are members of a church and that they possess good Christian character.  If they don’t, they won’t give their diploma!) 

Bible Certificate—ABC describes the one–year program as an “opportunit[y] for you to dig into Scripture and build your life on its unchanging truths.”  The program has two tracks—Bible + General Education and Bible + Ministry.  As the names suggest, both tracks’ core curriculum is the Bible and Bible study.  Both also require three courses in ministry—Foundations of Ministry, Biblical Theology of Missions, and Personal Evangelism & Discipleship.  Where they differ is is what else they require...

For the Bible + General Education Certificate, students must also take four ‘core’ classes—English Composition, Speech, Physical Education, Music, and “Success Seminar”—plus, an elective of their choice.  (This curriculum also mirrors the first–year curriculum of ABC’s A.A. and B.A. Degree Programs, so students can easily continue their studies, should they decide to do so.)

For Bible + Ministry, ‘core’ classes are waived in favor of extra theology.  Students take Principles of Biblical Interpretation, along with classes on Systematic Theology (2 Classes), the New Testament (Survey Class + 2 Classes), and the Old Testament (Survey Class + 2 Classes).

Associate’s Degree (A.A.)—ABC also offers a 2–Year A.A. Degree in Bible + Theology.  (That’s the only major offered.)  For this degree, the curriculum is a 50/50 split between General Education and Bible + Theology courses, plus a few ministry classes and electives.  All students take the following courses—

General Education   English Composition (2 Classes), Speech, Physical Education, Music, Biblical Worldview, and Ethical Issues in Ministry

Bible + Theology   Principles of Biblical Interpretation, Survey of the Old Testament, Survey of the New Testament, Matthew to Acts, Genesis to Deuteronomy, Paul’s Letters (2 Classes), and Doctrine (2 Classes)

Ministry   Theology of Missions, Foundations of Ministry, Evangelism & Discipleship, and Homiletics I (Males) / Bible Teaching (Females)  

Additionally, students must take a history class, a science or sociology class, and an elective.

Bachelor’s Degree (B.A.)—Finally, ABC offers a 4–Year B.A. Dual Degree in Bible + Theology and in Ministry.  Each student completes General Education classes.  Beyond that, each student is also a “double major.”  Everyone’s first major is Bible + Theology and everyone’s second major is ministry–focused—but, not everyone has the exact same Ministry Major.  (More on that in a bit...)  As far as curriculum, students must complete the General Education, Bible + Theology, and Ministry courses required for the Associate’s Degree, plus the following additional core classes—

General Education   Health, Psychology, Sociology, Finance, 2 History Classes (History of Western Civilization and American Church History), and 1 Science Class (Earth Science or Biology)

Bible + Theology   Joshua to Esther, Hebrews to Revelation, Isaiah to Malachi, Job to Song of Soloman, Doctrine (2 Additional Classes), and Bible Capstone 

Ministry   World Religion and Cults, and Homiletics II (Men) / Women’s Ministry (Women)

Finally, students must also pick a Ministry Major and complete its mandatory coursework.  At ABC, there are seven ministry majors to pick from—some of which have concentrations.  Here’s the list of Ministry Majors, with additional concentrations or sub–specialties listed in parentheses—

Biblical Counseling  (Youth & Family or Women’s Ministries)

Camping Ministry 

Elementary Education

Missions  (Biblical Languages, Foreign Language / Spanish, International Studies, Nursing, or Teaching English)

Music  (Pedagogy, Performance, or Worship)

Pastoral Ministry  (Biblical Languages or Youth & Family Pastoring)

Interdisciplinary

The Pastor Ministry Major seems to be limited to male students.

Click the links to check out the coursework each Ministry Major requires.

Student Life—

So, yeah...  ABC is not a progressive place.  At all.  They’re upfront about it, though, which is nice.  Their Student Handbook is online, available for all to read.  Here are some highlights...  (All italics are mine, not in original.)

Discipline / Consequences—Students who break the rules face discipline in the form of “a verbal or written Carefrontation, a fine, a work assignment, a temporary room or dorm confinement, a social [or] ... campus restriction,” or “some other determination.”  Egregious offenses may result in the student being “suspended ... , asked to withdraw from the college, or dismissed.”

Dress Code—There’s a detailed Dress Code, with different different activities requiring different standards of dress.  Perhaps surprisingly, pants are allowed for female students for all but the fanciest standard of dress.  (For that, they’ll have to wear skirts or dresses.)  Here are a few of the rules...

“Earrings may be worn by females only,” and “all other body piercing is prohibited.”

ABC students are prohibited from getting new tattoos.  If a student has an old tattoo, they may be required to cover it at all times if the Dean of Students deems it “offensive.” 

Prohibited Activities—ABC says that, “in order to remain above reproach,” students are prohibited from the following “questionable activities”...

Consuming “alcohol as a beverage,” tobacco in any form (including e–cigarettes), or drugs for non–medicinal purposes.  (Penalty for violating this rule is dismissal.)

Serving alcohol to others, even if done in the course of a student’s off–campus employment.

Gossiping, or engaging in “other forms of impure speech.”

Listening to, viewing, or reading “unwholesome” media or literature, or accessing websites “that do not promote godliness.”  (See Prohibited Media and Prohibited Music.)

Attending “commercial movie theaters.”

Gambling.

Dancing.

Prohibited Media—Per the ABC Student Handbook, ABC students shall not consume “any media (including social media) that features vulgar or obscene language, sexual innuendo, nudity, immodest clothing, or ... a blatantly non–Christian message.”  Additionally, students may not—  

Watch movies rated PG–13, R, X, or NC–17, or shows rated TV–MA.

Play video games or use apps rated A, M, or RP.

... and, they’re strongly cautioned to avoid media that promotes “unbiblical definitions of love”; endorses “witchcraft or the occult”; mocks “law or law enforcement”; denigrates “marriage and the traditional family”; or contains “excessive violence.”  Students are urged not to consume media made by people—e.g., actors, producers, directors—“known for their stand against Christian values.”

Prohibited Music—Students are banned from listening to music “that includes God–dishonoring language, anti–biblical messages ... , a prominent resurfacing beat, pulsating and driving or dance rhythms, or sensual overtones in the music itself or in the performance.”  They’re specifically cautioned to avoid...

Rock—Because the “lyrics may be unacceptable” and “[t]he beat of the music may become the most prominent element.”

Country—Because the “lyrics may be unacceptable” and the underlying “music may be connected to a heavy rock beat.”

Folk—As “[e]xistentialism, humanism, or hedonism may be propagated through the lyrics.”

Jazz—Since syncopation may be “extensive[ly] use[d],” and “a sensual performance style may be employed.”

Contemporary Christian—Since “a sensual performance style may be employed,” “a beat may be overly prominent,” and the “lyrics may be theologically incorrect or existential in their emphasis.”

Relationships—

“The Bible restricts sexual activity to marriage between a man and a woman.  Thus, fornication, adultery, incest, sexual abuse of a minor, homosexuality, indecent exposure, sexual harassment, and other such activities are forbidden.” 

“[N]o display of affection through physical contact (including holding hands) on the part of non–married couples, on or off campus.”

Dating students are forbidden from sitting together in class or chapel.

No male–female pair, dating or not, may be alone together in anyone’s home or residence, on– or off–campus.

No male–female pair, dating or not, may socialize off–campus without a chaperone, unless they’ve been at ABC for at least 4 Semesters.

Divorced students “shall not be permitted to date other ... students.”

According to ABC’s Student Handbook, all these rules apply to all students, at all times, on– or off–campus.

All in all, it’s great if Anna and Mary are attending college, even if it’s a super–duper conservative one, like ABC clearly is.  The fact that they’ve possibly left home and are out there, living on their own...  Crazy to even think about, given Steve’s apparent iron grip on his household.  It can only be good from them to venture out on their own, even if it’s just to a slightly less stifling place.

[val-aquenta]

Late again! I’m sorry about that, but here it is. Jedi June for the prompt: There is no death, there is the Force

Here on ao3

Luke has spent years travelling across the galaxy chasing after the hints of Jedi that remained. He had not understood the extent that the Empire had gone to destroy every single piece of evidence for the existence of the Jedi. The average citizen of the Empire, now called the Republic and benign re-organised under Leia’s watchful eyes, did not even know what a Jedi was. Often the only ones who remembered were those directly related to people from the Clone Wars. Still, Luke had expected… something at the very least. Some books about them, or written by them, saved somewhere. Perhaps, if he was lucky, survivors. It seems, however, that was not the case. 

The first thing he’d gone to was the various Temples scattered around the place. Most of them had already been crumbling before the empire had risen, and therefore there was little there. He’d been told by an old twi’lek lady that Jedi of all ages would come there to study archaeology and theology of other sects of the Jedi here, however that had stopped during the war, the Republic calling them back to fight on the front lines instead of pursuing their interests here. “A Jedi left me these when she went to fight.” The twi’lek had opened a somewhat ornate box of Mirialan style, he believed and revealed books and old clothes. “She never returned to pick them up.” Sadness then shone in the twi’leks eyes, a loneliness and loss that spoke of a love lost to the cruelty of death. The twi’lek had let him take photos of a lot of it, keeping some parts of the personal journal private, and had sent him on his way with a blessing. 

Eventually, as the Imperial threat disappeared and fled to the outer rim, Luke made his way to the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, expecting some kind of remnant of the Jedi. Here, at least, people knew of them, but they seemed to dislike them very much. The Temple was still there, but it had been cruelly turned into the Imperial palace for Palpatine to languish in. He watched, anger twisting his gut, as they burned down the Imperial banners decorating the outside walls. Leia had gone with him as they entered the ruined building. It would have been a beautiful place if the death of children could not be felt through the walls. Darkness seemed to coat the surface of the Temple like oil on water, but he felt some semblance of hope as less touched places rejoiced at the feeling of a Jedi for the first time in many years. The archives which might have been beautiful only held the broken empty datacubes and vandalised art. The corridors Luke walked might have been a wonderful experience had the Empire not covered the cream walls with black paint and the blue carpet with red. Luke had left the artificial planet, now forever tainted by darkness, to establish his Jedi Order elsewhere, still on the lookout for the remnants of the Jedi. 

A few years later an anonymous tip had sent him to some coordinates where a planet, icy and cold, hung. A massive trench bisected the planet, held together by some kind of metal machinations. There was a heavy loss hanging in the air when he stepped off and, once he delved into the planet, he realised that crystals had once been plentiful here. Indeed, almost hidden if not for the Force’s insistent pushing, a small cavern with Jedi carvings and crystals as well as a wall of ice hung. Obi-Wan had made himself known here, blue colour blending into the light colour of the ice. “What was this place?” He asked curiously, touching the head of a fallen statue softly. Obi-Wan, he knew, could not make himself appear often, so whenever they met he tried to make the most of it. Here though, strangely enough, he looked fainter than usual, as though he was weaker. 

Ben’s face was filled with soft grief and loss. “This is Ilum. It was where the Gathering happened. Where younglings collected their crystals and faced their fears.” He looked around with sorrow. “I only wish that you could experience the same.”

Luke took in the fractured light here, broken by the loss of so much Kyber, “So do I.” Obi-Wan had opened the ice with the middle crystal, carefully manoeuvring it until it struck the ice. It had revealed the empty coves, only a few littered crystals remaining, some crushed under the boots of those who had mined here. Ben had dissipated soon after, not before regaling Luke with stories of the gathering which Luke had recorded carefully, trying not to be too bitter. Luke had left, disappointed and even more disillusioned. He just wanted something that remained for him to understand and experience. 

Hurt by the fractured nature of the legacy of the Jedi, he had gone back to the Temple and fallen into a fit of sadness, trying to spend more time with the new Jedi, but every time he hit a curve and he did not know what to teach and how to answer a question, the mood would return. Even here in his home, he felt, unmoored, disconnected from what he did. 

It was a day after one such event where Luke sat, meditating by a creek when he felt the telltale fluttery presence of a ghost. He slowly drew himself out of the meditation and peered over to blink in surprise. He’d never met this person before, and he was rather curious. The man, tall and imposing, cut a stern figure despite being a wispy blue. The man took a seat in front of him, on a rock lit by the sun. Strangely enough, the sun seemed to pass through him, and very little shadow outlined the ground. 

“Luke Skywalker, am I right?” His robes were plain, not adorned as he had seen in a grainy image of a togruta he’d managed to recover.

“Yes… and you are?” His hands rested against his lap. Luke peered closely at the robes, attempting to memorise this set of robes to perhaps recreate it.

“Master Mace Windu.” The man bowed in greeting with that.

Luke gasped, “The Master Windu? From Ryloth?” This man was a hero. Legends still popped up, inspired by his feats of strength in Ryloth amongst the twi’lek. “You’re a legend…”

Mace chuckled a bit, “Am I?” He took a moment to compose himself, sitting down across from Luke. His face slowly set back into its serious contemplative state, resting a hand against his chin. “You are… interesting, and very kind. Attempting to piece together what the Empire destroyed.”

Luke grew cold. The failure to piece the Jedi back together stung. “Failing.”

“Not by your hand, though.” Mace was stern but still kind. He tilted his head, observing Luke thoughtfully. “You have done the best you could make no mistake, but there is very little left of us.” Luke felt a warmth being included with mace and the other Jedi. “Your perseverance to do so is commendable, but you must know when to stop, and when to focus on the Jedi under your care. They depend on you more than you realise.”

“But they ask questions, Master Windu, questions that I have no answers for.” Luke thought back to the day when a young Padawan had asked about the nature of relationships in relation to the Jedi way. “They killed our culture, and I can’t revive it.”

“Perhaps, but you can create it. You are a Jedi Luke, a Jedi capable of many great things.” A sadness seemed to envelop the man. “I wish that you might have lived in the Temple, but it has passed." The man seemed to be looking through him, as though he saw something beyond just his flesh and bone. Luminous beings indeed, Luke thought "Just because there is no Council, or the structure we once had is gone, does not mean you are a lesser Jedi than any of us.”

Luke looked away, “I don’t think I’m capable of doing that. What if I get something wrong.”

“Then you do.” The man brushed invisible dust from his robes and stood up a telltale sign that he was going to fade away. “This is the New Jedi Order, things are bound to change and be different. You can’t expect to salvage a whole culture from the scattered ashes of an old one. The change is already here, now you must only embrace it.” Mace flickered ominously. “Ah, farewell Luke. May the Force be with you.”

Luke stood, “May the Force be with you.” The man smiled softly and slowly dissipated leaving nothing behind as he did so, Luke watching him fade away until there was nothing.

[beneaththetangles]

Reader’s Corner: Carole & Tuesday, Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol, and The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya

Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol (Rascal, Vol. 4)

My most consistent complaint about the Rascal series, which I otherwise find charming, is that the stories are too full of contrivances. with plots points and character actions often making little sense. Though these developments are often small, such as an explanation that the sisters at the center of this volume aren’t apologizing to each other after a fight because neither would accept such apologies, when that hardly seems true, the way they impact character development and the plot by changing both for the sake of reaching certain resolutions and mile markers in the text, rather than letting the characters and their situations play out naturally, is frequent and significant. The same issue continues, though thankfully at a lesser extent, with Siscon, the fourth volume of the Rascal series, which introduces Mai’s half-sister, Nodoka, an idol in her own right but one far less famous than her actress sister. Both are impacted by Adolescent Syndrome in this volume, switching bodies and being forced to act as one another in different realms and levels of show business. The dialogue between Sakuta and Nadoka is almost as delightful as between him and Mai, and features frequently throughout the text in this fun and warm read which continues the series’ delightful balance between playful adolescence and development of authentic relationships between characters, in whom I’m now fully invested. ~ Twwk

Rascal Does Not Dream of Siscon Idol is published by Yen Press.*

Yokohama Station SF

Not every robot overlord is like Skynet, intent on killing all humanity, with android enforcers that are nigh impossible to kill. Sometimes, the enforcers are turnstiles that not only keep the ticketless out of the station but eject rules violaters to unoccupied spaces to meet their deaths by starvation, and sometimes the master computer is just railroad infrastructure consuming the entire island of Honshu via slow, automated urban renewal. This unique and immensely absorbing post-apocalyptic novel begins long after the “Winter War” devastated Earth, and Yokohama Station, a concrete and metal structure growing seemingly without end, has covered almost all of Honshu and threatens the neighboring islands. Hiroto, lives on a sliver of land just outside the behemoth structure on a tiny beach community until an “Insider,” ejected from within the station, gives him a chance to explore the vast unit for five days, also charging him with finding a resistance leader, while he brings in a personal quest of his own. From the description, you may sense both Terminator and Ready Player One vibes, though its more similar in tone and eventually story to the latter, though cutting out that work’s affection for nerd culture and replacing it with efficient writing. Yokohama Station SF features a clever and well-crafted but familiar world, interesting artificial intelligence units—always a plus for me—and believable science fiction, having been written by an actual scientist, Yuba Isukari. Yokohama Station SF is his first novel, and as a compelling piece of sci-fi with anime sensibilities, it is a significant achievement. Paraphrasing another overlord of a sci-fi franchise, I shall be watching Mr. Isukari’s career with great interest. ~ Twwk

Yokohama Station SF is published by Yen Press.*

Love of Kill, Vol. 1

The quiet, beautiful Chateau Dankworth is a bounty hunter, working for an organization that contracts with mafia families to eliminate targets. Ryan-Ha Song is also an assassin, but an especially notorious one, skilled and feared for his prowess. When these two become entangled, it’s not in a deathmatch—it’s because the enigmatic Song wants to date Chateau! Volume one of Love of Kill features plenty of action and establishes the deadly world in which the protagonists work, but otherwise gives very little information about the two. Structurally and thematically, the opening volume is engaging, functioning through leaps back and forth in time and filled with grisly episodes of violence. It’s quite jarring, most particularly when the volume mixes in a romantic interlude between the leads that feels as awkward to readers as it does to Chateau, and for the same reason: Song appears to be entirely psychotic. That also makes it hard to root for the killer, while younger assassin displays so little personality that she’s also difficult to care for. With such coldness, it’s hard to imagine why this manga, which in its initial version was published through the Japanese art site, Pixiv, necessitated a fuller release. Perhaps future volumes will reveal that answer, but for now, the tale of Pixiv to published is the most engaging part of this manga. ~ Twwk

Love of Kill is published by Yen Press.*

Eniale & Dewiela, Vol. 2

This second volume of this very silly series continues within the same framework of gags from volume one. In one story, Eniale causes havoc to the world by using supernatural noises to create sonar in an attempt to find Dewiela’s earring, which she’s lost. This humorous storyline and other chapters also provide a view into the interesting cosmos of this version of the world. While Eniale and Dewiela represent the Lord and Satan, respectively, from a Christian framework, this world setting has other deities and belief structures both existing and being true concurrently. Eniale and Dewiela are trying to reap souls for their respective afterlife locales, while local deities they encounter are pushing back, saying that the local souls belong to them. The duo face especially harsh pusbback by local deities when they enter Japan. The most interesting story comes from the tale of a Catholic priest who, according to Heaven, may become an angel one day to battle during Armageddon. However, something changed in his life and Eniale is sent to investigate. This bittersweet tale ends, as usual, on a gag, reflecting how fun this series is overall, even if it’s theology is just wildly inconsistent. ~ MDMRN

Eniale & Dewiela Vol. 2 is published by Yen Press.*

Carole & Tuesday Vol. 2

Volume two of Carole & Tuesday has the titular girls experiencing new challenges on their way to recognition and success in the music business, but it opens with a focus on a third girl. Angela, a child prodigy famous for modeling, wants to try something different and to become a singer. The manga shares some of her backstory and how she teams up with Tao, a man of mystery who creates popular songs using A.I. He riles up Angela throughout the manga, pushing her (rudely) to try harder. Meanwhile, Carole and Tuesday are try to get DJ Ertegun to listen to their song, which he refuses. Later, they struggle to find harmony on a new song, and take a little break outside on their own, considering their journey up to that point. When they return to their apartment, their slovenly manager, Gus, convinces them to enter the Mars Brightest competition. It’s like American Idol, but on Mars! Angela also enters in the test that will show how skilled these three girls really are as singers. I’ve seen the anime so I knew what to expect, but the manga still entertained me, particularly with its fantastic artwork. The panels pop out and feature intricate detail, connecting more with the characters through the facial expressions, dialogue, and the challenges they face. ~ Samuru

Carole & Tuesday Vol. 2 is published by Yen Press.

The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya (Haruhi Suzumiya, Vol. 5)

Having watched the episodes, but never having read the novel from which they were adapted, I expected the “Endless Eight” story to be much like the anime version: repetitive, dull, and overly long. It is in fact none of these things, taking up just 1/4 of The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya, the fifth light novel in the Haruhi Suzumiya series. While I still admire KyoAni’s decision to spend eight episodes on almost identical material to reflect the time loop aspect of the story (this despite the disastrous reaction it received), the much shorter chapter in Rampage doesn’t need the repetition to convey the peril and anxiety of the situation. It’s an excellent story, joining the funnier material in “The Day of Sagittarius” and “Snowy Mountain Syndrome,” the longest story in the series so far, which initially feels like material already covered but in a winter setting, though it later reveals itself to be a story that not only reminds us of how Nagaru Tanigawa excels as a science fiction writer, introducing further elements of the genre into his work, but also one that conveys serious heart. The last story provides another one of Haruhi’s sincere explanations of her behavior to Kyon and heavily features character development of Nagato, as subtle as it is, which is equal parts uplifting and mysterious. ~ Twwk

The Rampage of Haruhi Suzumiya is published by Yen Press.*

Maison Ikkoku Collector’s Edition, Vol. 3

Some forty years after it was first published, these chapters from volume three of Maison Ikkokku Collector’s Edition show precisely why this romantic comedy is so beloved, displaying the full retinue of humor and charm that are pervasive throughout the series. This volume continues to demonstrate Rumiko Takahashi’s talent at using misunderstandings to develop strong comedic content, which then gives way to reveal her character’s personalities and hearts. With Godai now knowing Kyoko quite well, but still miserably immature in his outlook on romance, he struggles to “make the leap” into a relationship with her, but each chapter shows that despite the obstacles that get in their way—some significant and others more figmental—the two are more and more making connections between their hearts. And as laugh out loud funny as many of the panels are, it’s these moments of caring, which increasingly find their way into the lives of Godai, Kyoko, and the rest of the Maison Ikkoku residents, that make the series memorable, driving it closer and closer toward fulfillment while keeping us just far enough away to crank the angst up to 11.  ~ Twwk

Maison Ikkoku Collector’s Edition is published by Viz.*

The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat, Vol. 1

The world’s best assassin has run out of time—or has he? On the verge of retirement, he is tricked and killed during his last mission. But upon his death, the assassin appears before a goddess (what a surprise!) who needs him to do her a favor: Kill the hero of the world she’s in charge of before the hero causes trouble in the future for her and the world he is in. She chose the assassin because of his skill and allows him to be reborn whilst choosing his own skills. Much like Rudeus in Mushoku Tensei, this protagonist is reborn literally, as a baby, but retains his previous memories. As he grows up among a wealthy family of assassins in a world of magic and knights, he trains to become better and to prepare to face the hero. Along the way, he meets a girl named Dai who becomes his magic teacher and Tarte, whom he rescues from poverty (she eventually becomes his assistant/servant of sorts). Although it’s rather rushed and features fanservice moments I felt were unnecessary, I enjoyed volume one. It’s a good selection for fans of isekai, though not without some flaws. ~ Samuru

The World’s Finest Assassin Gets Reincarnated in Another World as an Aristocrat Vol 1. is published by Yen Press.

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Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.

*Thank you to Yen Press and Viz Media for providing review copies.

[maximumphilosopheranchor]

The Education of Philip II of Spain

“Zúñiga remained less enthusiastic about the prince’s studies. In June 1541 he noted that ‘for the past two months, I have been more optimistic than I used to be that he will like Latin, which pleases me very much because I believe being a good Latinist is an important part of being a good ruler, for knowing how to govern oneself and others’, - but that precise modifier ‘two months’ was not accidental. At Zúñiga’s suggestion, earlier that year Charles removed Silíceo as his son’s tutor and appointed the Aragonese humanist Juan Cristóbal Calvete de Estrella, ‘a very learned man’ who was ‘of pure blood’ (that is, without any Jewish or Moorish ancestors), ‘as master of grammar to teach all the present and future pages of the prince’. The new instructor immediately exposed his young charges to the best scholarship available.

Although Silíceo despised humanism, he had not entirely shielded Philip from its influence. For example in January 1540, during a visit to Alcalá de Henares to Hunt, Cardinal Tavera decreed that the prince should visit the Complutense University and for three hours Philip toured the classrooms, listening to lecturers in Latin, and sitting in the audience while a bachelor of theology graduated. But full exposure to the new learning began only when Calvete took over, soon assisted by three other instructors: Honorato Juan to teach him mathematics and architecture; Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda to teach him history and geography; and Francisco de Vargas Mexía to teach him theology. All four preceptors had travelled extensively outside Spain and boasted a cosmopolitan outlook that would broaden the prince’s horizons.

From the first, Calvete implemented a clear pedagogical vision. In 1541, he purchased 140 books, and had them specially bound for the prince, more than doubling the size of his library. Almost all these works were written in Latin, either by classical authors (such as Caesar, Cicero, Plautus, Seneca, Terence, Vergil) or by modern humanists including Erasmus (Adages and Enchiridion), Juan Luis Vives (Of the soul and life) and – surprisingly – Philip Melanchthon, Luther’s principal lieutenant (On the art of speaking). Moreover, although works in Latin predominated, Philip became the first Spanish monarch to read Greek (he could eventually manage works by Homer in the original) and he also learned some Hebrew and Aramaic so that he could study the Bible in its original languages. He acquired an Arabic grammar and ‘a book about the Qu’ran His Highness ordered to be bought’. Philip acquired the last item during a visit to Valencia in 1542, perhaps because Honorato Juan (a Valencian) thought it might help his pupil to understand his future Morisco subjects. The visit formed a part of a Grand Tour during which the emperor took his heir to Navarre, Aragon and Catalonia as well as Valencia, to be recognized as ‘heir apparent’ , and en route Calvete, Juan and Sepúlveda – all of whom accompanied Philip – seized every opportunity to provide instruction about the different languages, cultures and histories of his new vassals. Finally, when news arrived that the French had laid siege to Perpignan, the second city of Catalonia, Sepúlveda led a debate among courtiers on the best way to save it – Philip’s first exposure to military strategy.

When the court returned to Castile, Calvete purchased more books in Latin to support his ambitious pedagogic strategy. Works of history – written by classical and medieval authors as well as modern humanists – constituted the largest single category (25 per cent of all books purchased between 1535 and 1545), closely followed by theology (15 per cent of the total), but most disciplines were represented. As he and his pupil finished each volume, Calvete seems to have added a ‘hashtag’ (#) before moving on, and by the time his formal education ceased in 1545, Philip had studied several hundred books on a wide variety of topics. Calvete also exposed the prince to learning in other ways. Fray Bartolomé de Las Casas, who had lived in America for decades, presented him with a dedicated manuscript copy of his Very brief account of the destruction of America; and during a visit to Salamanca in 1543, aged sixteen, he spent his first afternoon ‘inspecting the classrooms and hearing some lectures’ by a university professor. The following day ‘His Highness listened to all the other professors and attended an oral examination in Law… He left very late.” (..)

... Philip’s broad and deep exposure to humanist learning explains not only his facility with Latin but also his forceful style when writing Spanish, as well as his self-confidence (not to say arrogance) when discussing almost every aspect of intellectual endeavour: architecture with architects, geography and history with ministers and academics, and even theology with popes.”

Geoffrey Parker, Imprudent King: A New Life of Philip II 

[ucflibrary]

November in the United States is Native American Heritage Month, also referred to as American Indian and Alaska Native Heritage Month. It celebrates the rich history and diversity of America’s native peoples and educates the public about historical and current challenges they face. Native American Heritage Month was first declared by presidential proclamation in 1990 which urged the United States to learn more about their first nations.

 Join the UCF Libraries as we celebrate diverse voices and subjects with these suggestions. Click on the Keep Reading link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links for the featured Native American Heritage titles suggested by UCF Library employees. These 16 books plus many more are also on display on the 2nd (main) floor of the John C. Hitt Library next to the bank of two elevators.

An American Sunrise by Joy Harjo In the early 1800s, the Mvskoke people were forcibly removed from their original lands east of the Mississippi to Indian Territory, which is now part of Oklahoma. Two hundred years later, Joy Harjo returns to her family’s lands and opens a dialogue with history. In An American Sunrise, Harjo finds blessings in the abundance of her homeland and confronts the site where her people, and other indigenous families, essentially disappeared. From her memory of her mother’s death, to her beginnings in the native rights movement, to the fresh road with her beloved, Harjo’s personal life intertwines with tribal histories to create a space for renewed beginnings. Her poems sing of beauty and survival, illuminating a spirituality that connects her to her ancestors and thrums with the quiet anger of living in the ruins of injustice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

 Bird Songs Don't Lie: writings from the rez by Gordon Lee Johnson In this deeply moving collection of short stories and essays, Gordon Lee Johnson (Cupeño/Cahuilla) cements his voice not only as a wry commentator on American Indian reservation life but also as a master of fiction writing. In Johnson's stories, all of which are set on the fictional San Ignacio reservation in Southern California, we meet unforgettable characters like Plato Pena, the Stanford-bound geek who reads Kahlil Gibran during intertribal softball games; hardboiled investigator Roddy Foo; and Etta, whose motto is “early to bed, early to rise, work like hell, and advertise,” as they face down circumstances by turns ordinary and devastating. From the noir-tinged mystery of “Unholy Wine” to the gripping intensity of “Tukwut,” Johnson effortlessly switches genre, perspective, and tense, vividly evoking people and places that are fictional but profoundly true to life. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

 Coming Down from Above: prophecy, resistance, and renewal in Native American religions by Lee Irwin An introduction to an important strand within the rich tapestry of Native religions, this shows the remarkable responsiveness of those beliefs to historical events. It is an unprecedented, encyclopedic sourcebook for anyone interested in the roots of Native theology. From the highly assimilated ideas of the Puget Sound Shakers to such resistance movements as that of the Shawnee Prophet, Irwin tells how the integration of non-Native beliefs with prophetic teachings gave rise to diverse ethnotheologies with unique features. He surveys the beliefs and practices of the nation to which each prophet belonged, then describes his or her life and teachings, the codification of those teachings, and the impact they had on both the community and the history of Native religions. Key hard-to-find primary texts are included in an appendix. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 Fools Crow by Thomas E. Mails; assisted by Dallas Chief Eagle Set in Montana shortly after the Civil War, this novel tells of White Man's Dog (later known as Fools Crow so called after he killed the chief of the Crows during a raid), a young Blackfeet Indian on the verge of manhood, and his band, known as the Lone Eaters. The invasion of white society threatens to change their traditional way of life, and they must choose to fight or assimilate. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

 Four Souls: a novel by Louise Erdrich After taking her mother’s name, Four Souls, for strength, the strange and compelling Fleur Pillager walks from her Ojibwe reservation to the cities of Minneapolis and Saint Paul. She is seeking restitution from and revenge on the lumber baron who has stripped her tribe’s land. But revenge is never simple, and her intentions are complicated by her dangerous compassion for the man who wronged her. Suggested by Jada Reyes, UCF Libraries Student Ambassador

 House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday He was a young American Indian named Abel, and he lived in two worlds. One was that of his father, wedding him to the rhythm of the seasons, the harsh beauty of the land, the ecstasy of the drug called peyote. The other was the world of the twentieth century, goading him into a compulsive cycle of sexual exploits, dissipation, and disgust. Home from a foreign war, he was a man being torn apart, a man descending into hell. Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

 Keepers of the Morning Star: an anthology of native women's theater edited by Jaye T. Darby and Stephanie Fitzgerald This is the first major anthology of Native women's contemporary theater bringing together works from established and new playwrights. This collection, representing a rich diversity of Native communities, showcases the exciting range of Native women's theater today from the dynamic fusion of storytelling, ceremony, music and dance to the bold experimentation of poetic stream of consciousness and Native agitprop. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

 Native Southerners: indigenous history from origins to removal by Gregory D. Smithers Long before the indigenous people of southeastern North America first encountered Europeans and Africans, they established communities with clear social and political hierarchies and rich cultural traditions. Award-winning historian Gregory D. Smithers brings this world to life in Native Southerners, a sweeping narrative of American Indian history in the Southeast from the time before European colonialism to the Trail of Tears and beyond. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

 Nature Poem by Tommy Pico This work follows Teebs―a young, queer, American Indian (or NDN) poet―who can’t bring himself to write a nature poem. For the reservation-born, urban-dwelling hipster, the exercise feels stereotypical, reductive, and boring. He hates nature. He prefers city lights to the night sky. He’d slap a tree across the face. He’d rather write a mountain of hashtag punchlines about death and give head in a pizza-parlor bathroom; he’d rather write odes to Aretha Franklin and Hole. While he’s adamant―bratty, even―about his distaste for the word “natural,” over the course of the book we see him confronting the assimilationist, historical, colonial-white ideas that collude NDN people with nature. The closer his people were identified with the “natural world,” he figures, the easier it was to mow them down like the underbrush. But Teebs gradually learns how to interpret constellations through his own lens, along with human nature, sexuality, language, music, and Twitter. Even while he reckons with manifest destiny and genocide and centuries of disenfranchisement, he learns how to have faith in his own voice. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

 On the Rez by Ian Frazier This is a sharp, unflinching account of the modern-day American Indian experience, especially that of the Oglala Sioux, who now live on the Pine Ridge Indian Reservation in the plains and badlands of the American West. Crazy Horse, perhaps the greatest Indian war leader of the 1800s, and Black Elk, the holy man whose teachings achieved worldwide renown, were Oglala; in these typically perceptive pages, Frazier seeks out their descendants on Pine Ridge―a/k/a "the rez"―which is one of the poorest places in America today. Suggested by Larry Cooperman, Research & Information Services

 Shapes of Native Nonfiction by Elissa Washuta Just as a basket's purpose determines its materials, weave, and shape, so too is the purpose of the essay related to its material, weave, and shape. Editors Elissa Washuta and Theresa Warburton ground this anthology of essays by Native writers in the formal art of basket weaving. Using weaving techniques such as coiling and plaiting as organizing themes, the editors have curated an exciting collection of imaginative, world-making lyric essays by twenty-seven contemporary Native writers from tribal nations across Turtle Island into a well-crafted basket. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

 Surviving Genocide: native nations and the United States from the American Revolution to bleeding Kansas by Jeffrey Ostler An authoritative contribution to the history of the United States’ violent path toward building a continental empire, this ambitious and well-researched book deepens our understanding of the seizure of Indigenous lands, including the use of treaties to create the appearance of Native consent to dispossession. Ostler also documents the resilience of Native people, showing how they survived genocide by creating alliances, defending their towns, and rebuilding their communities. Suggested by Megan Haught, Research & Information Services/Teaching & Engagement

 The Man to Send Rain Clouds: contemporary stories by American Indians edited by Kenneth Rosen Over a two-year period, Kenneth Rosen traveled from town to town, pueblo to pueblo, to uncover the stories contained in this volume. All reveal the preoccupations of contemporary American Indians. Not surprisingly, many of the stories are infused with the bitterness of a people and a culture long repressed. Several deal with violence and the effort to escape from the pervasive, and so often destructive, white influence and system. In most, the enduring strength of the Indian past is very much in evidence, evoked as a kind of counterpoint to the repression and aimlessness that have marked, and still mark today, the lives of so many American Indians. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

 The Marrow Thieves by Cherie Dimaline

Humanity has nearly destroyed its world through global warming, but now an even greater evil lurks. The indigenous people of North America are being hunted and harvested for their bone marrow, which carries the key to recovering something the rest of the population has lost: the ability to dream. In this dark world, Frenchie and his companions struggle to survive as they make their way up north to the old lands. For now, survival means staying hidden … but what they don’t know is that one of them holds the secret to defeating the marrow thieves.

Suggested by Mary Lee Gladding, Circulation

 Thunder in the Mountains: Chief Joseph, Oliver Otis Howard, and the Nez Perce War by Daniel J. Sharfstein Recreating the Nez Perce War through the voices of its survivors, Daniel J. Sharfstein’s visionary history of the West casts Howard’s turn away from civil rights alongside the nation’s rejection of racial equality and embrace of empire. The conflict becomes a pivotal struggle over who gets to claim the American dream: a battle of ideas about the meaning of freedom and equality, the mechanics of American power, and the limits of what the government can and should do for its people. The war that Howard and Joseph fought is one that Americans continue to fight today. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 Where the Dead Sit Talking by Brandon Hobson With his single mother in jail, Sequoyah, a fifteen-year-old Cherokee boy, is placed in foster care with the Troutt family. Literally and figuratively scarred by his mother’s years of substance abuse, Sequoyah keeps mostly to himself, living with his emotions pressed deep below the surface. At least until he meets seventeen-year-old Rosemary, a troubled artist who also lives with the family. Sequoyah and Rosemary bond over their shared Native American background and tumultuous paths through the foster care system, but as Sequoyah’s feelings toward Rosemary deepen, the precariousness of their lives and the scars of their pasts threaten to undo them both. Suggested by Rich Gause, Research & Information Services

[minnesotadruids]

What are the basic values of a druid? Trying to understand what exactly druidry is.

Druidry has no universally defined set of values, which makes it tricky to pin down. In terms of basic values, I can start with what druids might have in common.

Reverence for Nature: I find it hard to believe that there could ever be a druid who does not have some degree of appreciation for the natural world. This could range from a deep respect to all-out worship, depending on the individual. Many druids seek to establish a connection with the Earth and with Nature. We’re not here to conquer it, but to acknowledge that we are part of it. The Earth is a deity that we can prove exists.

Subcategory - Trees: I often meet up with people who have an interest in druidry around the Minneapolis area, and one thing that almost all of us mention is a love of trees that (at least in part) drew us in. After all, even the ancient Romans observed that the druids had something to do with trees and were the knowers of the oak.

Subcategory - Environmentalism: Stewardship, using our natural resources wisely, seeking balance, and taking care of our only home planet are important to modern druids. The Industrial Revolution in part led to the increase in popularity of the Druidry Revival Movement. Many druids promoted getting back to nature in a world where mills, factories, and machines began to dominate the landscape and take its toll. With deforestation, mining, and waste, we also have a concern for the animals that we should be sharing the world with.

Peace: According to Roman historian Strabo in his writing Geographica, the ancient druids “…prevented armies from engaging when drawn up in battle array against each other.” In the Druidry Revival Movement, many members were liberal Christians and Unitarians. The English Civil War and the Jacobite Rebellions, carrying overtones of religious superiority (Protestant vs Catholic) were ongoing or still fresh in the memory of the people. Many of these Revival Druids wanted a more peaceful existence and spirituality. Naturally, they liked the notion that the ancient druids had the power to halt warfare. Pacifism stuck around as a popular druid value in just about every modern druid order.

Balance: Many druids strive to practice mindfulness and moderation, while understanding that nature is about giving and taking. Even as there is day, so must there be night. There are many druids who embrace the dark and the light equally, while other druids see that the world is already saturated in darkness and try to balance that out, and that takes its toll on us. That brings us to the importance of self care. When we have too much of one thing that wears away at the heart, we need to give some balance to our own lives on a personal level.

Creativity: Many druids have some form of creative expression. The bardic arts aren’t limited to just poetry and song. We are also artisans, hobbyists, and craftspeople. We create sacred artwork, ritual tools, jewelry, supplies, and more. We may be in varying states of skill, but hey, everyone starts somewhere.

This is where I go out on a limb (oh the pun!) and cover additional values that I would hope most (if not all) druids have.

If there’s any single modern druidic writing that encompasses values, it’s the Druid’s Prayer, originally written by the bard Iolo Morganwg and has since been adapted into numerous versions. OBOD has an excellent page on the Druid’s Prayer [here] with their choice of verse. The next eight values below are right out of the prayer.

Protection: Okay, so who doesn’t want to be safe? Protection is universally important, particularly for people with fringe beliefs and practices. This is not limited to only physical protection; it can certainly also mean magical and spiritual protection as well.

Strength: I’m willing to bet this is primarily in the sense of nonphysical strength. This can mean emotional strength, courage, integrity, dedication, perseverance, and more. And yes, there are probably some body-builder druids who mean strength literally.

Knowledge: The ancient druids would take up to 19 years (vaguely like achieving a Master’s Degree today) to commit everything to memory. That included history, lore, law, medicine, astronomy/astrology, magic, theology, philosophy, logic, sacred geometry, and others. Of course with modern literacy, we can learn things much faster with the written word. That doesn’t mean we’re committing it all to memory, but we have the added ability to conduct research in the modern era and access knowledge almost instantaneously. We have a thirst for learning, which fosters a path to Awareness. Many of us are also on a quest for truth and discerning correct knowledge from the incorrect. There is a lot of misleading information out there and we feel it is important to get it right.

Understanding: I personally interpret this as wisdom. Wisdom is applied knowledge, which first requires us to understand what we know on a deeper level. Wisdom is often achieved through experiences. For many, druidry is an experiential lifestyle, not just merely a nature-based spirituality.

Justice: The ancient druids served many purposes, and some were looked up to as judges and interpreters of the law. Unfortunately we can’t all be judges, but perhaps not all ancient druids were judges anyway. Through logic and reason we can think and act justly. Living beings are deserving of fairness and a balance of equality.

Love: Concern and compassion for our fellow beings comes to us through the most powerful emotion. Sure, Nature can be cold and emotionless, yet druids still feel a driving force to gaze out at her beauty in love, wonder, and awe. (Regarding wonder and awe for Earth, see also [this video] on the Overview Effect.) For many, love is just part of the deal.

Divinity: Not all druids believe in a higher power, but many do. Some druids are hard polytheists, believing in many deities. Some druids are soft polytheists, believing that the gods are aspects of one divine source. Some druids are pantheists, believing that everything is divine, and deity is everything. Some druids are panentheists, believing everything is divine, yet deity is also a separate being. Some druids are monotheists and liberal Christians. Some druids are spiritual but not religious. Many druids, in addition to some of the above categories, are animists, believing that everything has its own spirit, even rocks and plants. Because of the flexibility in this category, it really doesn’t make a difference how you perceive divinity to be a druid. Write that down.

Goodness: Above I mentioned balance. To avoid contradictions, I should mention that balance is good in most situations. We certainly don’t need Evil to balance out Good. We don’t want half the world population to be racists, for example… zero racists is a good balance. Humility is also important. Druidry is not about egoism, nor power struggles, nor conceitedness. 

Community: The ancient druids were the spiritual leaders of their communities. Strabo mentions in Geographica  that the Gaulish Celts “…would not sacrifice without the presence of the Druids.” (Side note: most modern druid orders condemn animal or human sacrifice, but I digress.) We advance faster when we work together, such as in study groups, organizing events, or completing projects.

Leadership: Whether we are leaders of our communities, of our Groves, or how we lead our lives by example, leadership is important. There are many solo druids out there, and that’s perfectly fine. Solo druids are their own clergy, and leaders of their own spirit. Many solo druids feel they can get more accomplished if they follow their own guidance at their own pace.

There are certainly many more values that druids have that might not be listed here, but this is a good start. I am grateful with special thanks to my friends in Northern Roots Grove & Druid Order of North America (DONA) who helped ensure that I have a well-rounded list.

[k-chapman]

Chapter 5 - The Harvest

I watch heat overcome our “guest” and my master, I watch his sweet peaceful sleep, the sleep only possible in clarity, in sacrifice, in melting but becoming one. From the fluid flood and the dissolved alliance. [1] Happy are the melted bodies. [2] It is in this fluid element that the universal exchange of qualities could take place. [3]

Moreover, in this rest—rest being the most perfect condition —the worlds body will be incomparably beautiful. [4]

I hear the shifting and expansion of my master. Now my work begins.

First, I bring our guest, deep in slumber to the pedestal, the house tolerating his weight for now distracted by ecstasy. I lay him next to the pit, the raging inferno. As opposites, heat and cold struggle perpetually for the sole possession of matter; each is equipped for this contest with a sense of self-preservation describable mechanically as an intrinsic impulse for existence and expansion (pleasure) and against contraction and annihilation (pain). [5]

For long, sore sick of a fever, he lay senseless in a death sweat; and his recovery being despaired of, he was baptised, unknowing; myself meanwhile little regarding, and presuming that his soul would retain rather what it had received of me, not what was wrought on his unconscious body. [6]

Salt sweat oozed over its body. [7] Dripping and pearling onto surfaces around him. Collecting in pools on his body, running into channels of the altar and dripping, running into the vase I’ve placed below the altar. The fluid form of wealth and its petrification, the elixir of life and the stone of wisdom madly haunt each other in alchemic fashion. [8]

Passion’s blind fire feeds on the harvest. [9]

Leaving our guest to melt in the sweaty fever of sweet release, I turn my attention, while lighting a cigarette, to the meat. They, indeed, suffered because of their innocence, but I suffer because of my sins. [10] I find a beast, grazing, and lead it to a creaking expanding metal chamber away from the flames and the dissolving ring.

My hidden blade is drawn. Be learned, lest the hypocrites bring the wrath of God upon your heads and compel you to shed innocent blood; as they have compelled your predecessors to slay the prophets, to kill Christ and his apostles, and all the righteous that since were slain. [11] I have known the blade, the blossom and the fruit; and I now know their withering. [12]

I insert the blade calmly into the head of the beast on the altar, explaining as I go: “Don’t ask me why; and even if you do, I can’t disclose God’s secret thoughts to you. [13] Whence dying is nothing but becoming freed of the being before; birth the defining of another being, form, aspect indeed. [14] But can I, absent from my prince's sight, take gifts in secret, that must shun the light? [15]”

The blood glinting in the moonlight runs thick and quick through the groves in the warm altar towards the floor. It runs like oil in the metal tiled floor, along the thin crevices between the metallic plates as they wriggle and shift. Overtime they have become uneven, the iron of the blood pooling and solidifying. I hear the gurgling and hissing as the house sucks down the ruby liquor, only adding further flavour to its pleasure.

Staining as the blood goes, the stench of the unwashed room filling my head. I feel cool stench be sucked through the room and hallways towards the flames. The cold will come for the corpse soon. I work fast to dismantle, the blade running against bone, revealing what I always knew to be there, the white of the bone and the white of the fat within. The effects of this masterful art, which are considerably more generous than the spareness of its prescriptions would lead one to imagine, are said to transfigure the one fortunate enough to receive its privileges: an absolute mastery of the body, a singular bliss, obliviousness to time and limits, the elixir of life, the exile of death and its threats. [16]

I find my prize inside, the fat surrounding the liver and kidneys. Pure, meaty, the grass converted into fat, the tallow of the beast. I make sure to puncture the stomach of the beast to release the gases within. A treat shall we say for my master.

My prize safely wrapped in the hide of the cow; The rest of the corpse I kick into a larger rift opened by the expansion of the house in heat. The corpse will be crushed and consumed in the cold and contraction phase soon enough.

I begin bringing my components together. I return to the blaze and find the bucket of salty sweat by the flames, half full. The stock, the broth of man, my guest breathing heavy.

Surely [in] a voice which, amid all the tumult of self-seeking, shall whisper wholesome words into the deafened ear, saying: [17]

“Flames, fire, oven: no matter how far our travels take us, we must return home to the hearth, where the banquet is prepared. [18]

I have seen thinkers, unbelievers, philosophers, exceedingly brave by daylight, tremble like [cowards] at the rustling of a leaf in the dark. [19]”

Now the last ingredient. I descend to the tomb like cold of the chamber below the flames. The still hanging air supports the ashes as they lightly descend to their place of rest on the floor. The eye, as well as the ear was vexed, for a blinding snow was falling, its dazzling whiteness heightened by contrast with the dark waves into which it fell. [20] The calmness of this chamber always overcomes me. Perhaps it is its proximity to the chaotic flames above. A column of light in the centre with a dusting, snowing of particles, moving in and out of the light. The slowness, how deliberately they hang, how weighty the time is they take. They come and they go, and they trot, and they dance: and never a word about death. [21] In the dance there is one, esteemed beyond the others, who represents the givers of benefits. [22] Now, if every particle of the [embers] be brought as near as possible to the centre of it, the form it assumes is the circle. [23]

With a long instrument I collect a cup of ash, dipping the container fully into the softness. I dare not disturb the purity further and retrieve want I seek.

Love is a chimera, the leftovers of the split-up parts. [24]

 [1] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge

[2] Serres, The Five Senses

[3] Foucault, History of Madness

[4] Ficino, Platonic Theology Volume 6 Books XVII XVIII

[5] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy

[6] Augustine, The Confessions

[7] Virgil, Aeneid

[8] Marx, Collected Works

[9] Virgil, Aeneid

[10] Luther, Works of Martin Luther Vol 1

[11] Tyndale, Doctrinal Treatises

[12] de Montaigne, The Complete Essays

[13] Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

[14] Williams, Daniele Barbaros Vitruvius of 1567

[15] Homer, Iliad

[16] Foucault, The History of Sexuality Volume 1

[17] Seneca, Complete Works

[18] Serres, The Five Senses

[19] Rousseau, Collected Works of Jean-Jacques Rousseau

[20] Michelet, The Sea

[21] de Montaigne, The Complete Essays

[22] Seneca, Complete Works

[23] Ruskin, The Stones of Venice

[24] Serres, The Parasite

[sepulcrorum]

JUDE LAW, FIFTY, ARCHBISHOP DE MEDICI. ❝ ⤚⟶ EUROPE, 1458. thanks is given by the DUCHY OF FLORENCE, ARCHBISHOP GIANCARLO DI GIAN GASTONE DE’ MEDICI, from FLORENCE. they are at best CHARMING, and at their worst IMPIOUS. whilst abroad, their ambition is to REAP EVER MORE GREATER LUXURIES FOR HIMSELF. HE seems to remind everyone of JUDE LAW & DESIRES BOTH HERETICAL AND UNHOLY : THE SONG OF SOLOMON SPILLING FORTH FROM ONE’S LIPS WHILST IN THE THROES OF PASSION ; INTELLECTUALISM SOUGHT FOR HEDONISM’S SAKE : ANTIQUATED TEXTS SMUGGLED FROM THE CRUMBLING REMNANTS OF ANCIENT ROMAN VILLAS AND DISPLAYED TO EXPECTED LOOKS OF AWE ; & HOLINESS FOUND, HOLINESS LOST, HOLINESS REVERED : A CERTAIN SLANT OF LIGHT SHINING THROUGH HIGH-VAULTED ARCHES. ❞

introduction

Provide a blurb introducing your character generally. This should include an overview of strengths, weaknesses, aspirations, and set backs.

It has been once said by the Lord: be ye like children, for ye to enter the Kingdom of God. Capricious, selfish, absorbed only by thoughts of himself, petty, and whimsical, the Archbishop de’ Medici does not assume the dignity of his station as a member of the Church but he does assume all the qualities of a child in him, and that makes him saved by default.

His theology is quaint, bordering on unorthodox, and it’s almost tempting to call him out for heresies but he knows too much about Scripture and can run circles around any fellow servant of Christ, much more the ordinary layman. He’s either mystical or absolutely canonical: at a certain point in theology, everything becomes one and the same. Give him time, and he can justify anything—the cruellest of acts as well as the most compassionate acts of goodwill and charity—with verses pulled from the Holy Book and the most seraphic smile on his face, almost as if his lips are intoning a blessing. He’s a Devil’s advocate in perhaps more ways than one, the destruction of Rome entire as one itinerant preacher once called him, and yet he luxuriates on wealth on top of the social pyramid, secure in his position and backed by the splendorous wealth made available by his family’s support.

Yet despite all this, despite possessing all the qualities of a man who could be—intelligent, charming, sociable, and ambitious—Giancarlo ended up being the man who isn’t, by some strange (perhaps cruel) twist of fate. With his dubious origins erasing any hope for a cardinalate, much less a chance for the Throne of St. Peter, he languishes in his role as a mere archbishop. As the years pass, he has turned bitter, cruel, recalcitrant—for what does a child do when they are given what they want?

They throw a tantrum.

What are some potential plotlines you are interested in pursuing?

I’ve inserted the little nuggets of the plotlines I plan to pursue on the blurb but to expand on it:

First is I am definitely very interested in making him a Cardinal and that is very much a thing he also wants for himself, even as much as he denies it and says he never wanted it anyway. It’s a way for him to rationalise the fact that, strictly speaking, his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to go, and so he subsists on the lie that his life (as it is right now) was what he always wanted—but ultimately, I do think that he’s still on the lookout for any opportunity to finally have the red robes of a cardinal.

Second is the state of Florence and of Italy as a whole. The blemish of the riots on the Florentines’ reputation is something that must be rectified—not even because someone died (after all, very many people die everyday) but because it sends the message that they are unable to control their own people. The Church as an institution that does much works of charity can be used to pacify the rebellious masses and perhaps turn them into the better angels that they haven’t been before. Meanwhile, Italy as a whole concerns him because they are still, ultimately, disparate nation-states with differing goals and ambitions. In a world filled with empires and hegemons, Giancarlo realises that the Italian peoples must unite—far better that it be headed, of course, by the Church or by Florence, but unity itself is non-negotiable. If the Italians do not want to be swallowed up by their neighbours, they must pool together their resources and make a stand for their existence.

Thirdly is the option of interfaith dialogue. Giancarlo is by no means perfect, but I do imagine he’s a touch more tolerant than most holy men are. He’s less a crusader and more of a diplomat, far too disillusioned to really believe in any cause of holy war. Entrenched in cynicism—usually a character flaw—he’s cognisant enough of the fact that humans are going to be shitty one way or another, and religion has almost no bearing on whether one is a good person or not. As such, I do think he has a lot of plotting potential for those characters following a different faith, and it’s fun to see how that might all play out.

three bullet-points.

Giancarlo di Gian Gastone de’ Medici is born a stain of shame. Birthed by a servant-girl and the man from whom his name marks out as his progenitor, he is kept by his father as a spare heir—only to be tossed away when a legitimate one finally comes. In this act, his father has taught him the harsh realities of life: one minute, you can have everything in front of you; the next, it all comes crashing down with nothing to show for it. He is left with no security save that which his father carved out for him: mastery of an abbey at twelve years of age and, from there, the religious life. There was nothing else for him. There is nothing else to him.

Giancarlo takes to the intellectual and monastic life quite quickly. His learning under humanist tutors in the household of his father has enabled him to take quickly to reading dense texts that speak of grand contexts. It helps that he is good with languages, and that he is friendly to everyone he meets. How bright his career would be, some would say, before adding: if only he wasn’t illegitimate. And so that stain of shame that adorned the Medici family history now mars his own future: he was always going to be a mistake, and the world will never let him forget it.

He is, by all accounts, a very disenchanted man who works himself through a façade of mustered charm gathered from who-knows-where with his mind an utter repository of Scripture and theological concepts. He can quote from Papal Bulls enacted centuries ago as easily as if they had been dictated to him just that moment; yet he always says it so drily that you’d think he’s mocking the words he’s citing. He’s in the habit of mentioning what kind of sins one is doing but always concludes it with a small note of how God is a forgiving God. He delights in the company of the wicked and the infamous; truly good people disgust him. He thinks God is present more in ugliness than any kind of beauty exemplified in art and song, and that He is dirt-covered, bloody and bruised, made with mulch and rot and diseased flesh. His God is filthy; it is only natural. We all fashion God into the form that would accept us the most.

character sheet.

FULL NAME :  giancarlo di gian gastone de’ medici TITLES :  

commander of badia fiorentina ( from 1420 - 1428 )

commander and rector of badia fiorentina ( from 1428 onwards )

metropolitan archbishop of florence ( from 1446 onwards  )

master of the sacred apostolic palace ( from 1450 onwards )

BIRTHPLACE :  florence, italian peninsula

AGE : fifty, b. 10 november 1407

LANGUAGES : fluent — italian ( tuscan ), french, ancient greek, latin, arabic, spanish, german, bavarian ; conversational — english, portuguese ; learning — ottoman turkish, farsi / persian

DYNASTY / HOUSE: house de’ medici

MOTHER & FATHER : unnamed servant girl & gian gastone de’ medici

SPOUSE : none

ISSUE : none

SIBLINGS : giovanni, lucrezia, and girolamo ( half-siblings )

OTHER : lorenzo de’ medici ( tbd )

ZODIAC : scorpio sun / sagittarius moon / scorpio rising

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION : roman catholicism

ORIENTATION : bisexual biromantic ( with a medium to high preference for his own gender )

PERSONALITY TYPE : estj-a / choleric-sanguine / enneagram tbd / slytherin

VICES : everything

VIRTUES : knowledge can be and is a virtue but not with giancarlo, babyyyyy

FACECLAIM : jude law

HEIGHT : 6′1″ or 1.85m

RECOGNISABLE FEATURES : kindly-seeming blue eyes that speaks to unfathomable depths — look too closely, and you just might find yourself falling in them; an ever-present smile that can turn earnest or mocking depending on the conversation; a smug demeanour that you can’t help but feel that he thinks he knows better than you

REPUTATION IN PORTUGAL :  a famed master theologian but also a widely known libertine, giancarlo both attracts and repulses the whole of christendom with his easy smiles, his kindly-looking blue eyes, and the power of the storied lineage that has produced him. for all those who’ve had the chance to coalesce in rome—or perhaps even the italian peninsula—his name will revoke memories of scandalised whispers erupting from people huddled in corners as soon as they see him make entry into a room. portugal as of yet is a new frontier, not for reasons of lack of opportunity but due to lack of interest. after all, why stray from that eternal city whose glory is sung in ancient ballads and whose place in the world is the envy of millions? now that he is here, however, he is more than eager to make his mark.

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

i sought whom my soul loves — were giancarlo any other man, they could have been together, a couple enjoined in the warm embrace of love and unity; yet, alas, the Church has bound giancarlo to herself, and he is a weak and foolish man who cannot find himself able to stand up to anybody. ever since then, their meetings have been few and far between—but no less precious to giancarlo, no less treasured, no less sought for.  :::  (  open to anyone, preferably female but any gender can technically work !  )

a young deer on the mountains of Bether — arcadian idyll had been the theme of their shared years, wild and wandering, when responsibility had been a far off concept that seemed as foreign as greying hair and the yoke of adulthood. they frolicked in sun-kissed green-topped hills and ran as carefree as the wind. now they are old, both with their respective offices, and there is nothing else to them save nostalgia over lost innocence—if they had innocence at all.  :::  ( open to anyone of the same age range as giancarlo !  )

beautiful as the moon, clear as the sun —  a look at them and they’re like fourteen again, dumbstruck and awed, ashamed of his own lowly station and the stain of his origins—yet now they are old, and they have significantly more resources available to them now than they had before. giancarlo has always loved what he has thought is lacking within himself; he has always sought the true, the good, and the beautiful. he deludes himself into thinking he’s found it in god, but he is about to discover he’s wrong.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )  

with my royal people’s chariots — people have the propensity to think that giancarlo’s last name and relative wealth and status makes him the gatekeeper to the pope’s favour. he does not think himself as holding the keys to anything, but he lets other people do—mainly because it affords him the simulation of power the likes of which he only imagined as a child. of course, there is no real backing to the promises he says he’ll fulfil for them, but it is a merry show nonetheless and a piece of theatre that giancarlo’s keen to continue in lisboa.  :::  ( open to anyone who’s looking to curry favour with the pope !  )  

you who dwell in the gardens — there are many blooms in the garden of God’s creation and it is not a stretch to say giancarlo is absolutely besotted with the idea of experiencing all of them. this meet in lisbon might prove to be a more fortuitous moot than the one in florence, and he is always keen to start dialogue with any and all those who would like to exchange knowledge for knowledge’s sake, even those that the rest of christendom would not welcome.  :::  ( open to non-christian characters !  )  

the shadows flee away — giancarlo isn’t known for moderation and temperance; he has always been one driven to excess, and he has never toned down his appetites for the sake of any cause or person. he is a flit of a thing, a butterfly eager to sap the nectar out of any willing flower before moving to the next, willing to spill honey-laced words out of cherubic lips if that is what it took to mark one as his next conquest. in this, he has doubtless transgressed against many, and there are some whose memories run long and whose desire for correction would cover even those who are consecrated to God.  :::  ( open to anyone !  )   

[masterstoolsrp]

SITE PREVIEW: SITE PLOTS

We are proud to present the three site plots we will be opening with tonight!

WHO KILLED MARGARET BLOOM?

On the morning of 1 June 2020 at approximately 3.12am, a group of students returning from the annual June Dip happened on the remains of a popular student on campus, Margaret Bloom.

The scene is this—ritualistic.

And it leaves the question no one has wanted to ask, just what is going at St. Sy’s?

How many people have disappeared over the years, a sigh they must be lost in the lochs, hypnotised by the moon to follow into the darkness. Some, those who believe in folklore, swear it is the kelpies and that up here, in the highlands, things are just a bit different. Others say it’s the oppressive loneliness, that you can only be cut off so long from the world before it eats your heart from the inside.

The difference is this time there is a body and there’s no dismissal this was an accident or a choice made. No, this was a murder.

But for a ritual, for something made to look like a scene from a movie, it’s just a little too… perfect. It’s all a bit too odd; odd enough for a film, just right for how Hollywood tells you a cult should look.

The question really shouldn’t be who killed Margaret, but why did they kill Margaret?

THE SKY AS IT BREAKS

Storms are not uncommon in the Highlands. This is a place wreathed in mist and crowned by clouds; ancestral home to empty glens ruled by red deer and high peaks watching solitary above the showers and sun.

See—Scotland is a stunning place, but the Highlands?—Well, they are sublime.

Perhaps, though, what makes this lonely area of coast and mountain so magnificent is the terror you can find in only the truly beautiful. The Highlands have been ruled, but never conquered, and so it remains—a place of wilderness where wildness can be found.

Is it the landscape that informs the history, or do the ghosts here write the tumult of the weather? Cold, windy and rain-swept, homes burn fires deep into summer, and this June has been no different. The rains began on 1 June in the early morning, as dawn struggled to break through the cover of clouds. The sky wept, though, maybe for Margaret, maybe just to rain, and it hasn’t stopped—a week on and it continues.

Roads aren’t safe, they’ve said, especially not the little one of slippery stones that eventually meets the way to Inverness. Sure, you could try, but how would that look with the body of a dead girl everyone knew and no suspects except—

Everyone.

Especially you, trying to leave.

Might as well stay.

See the storm through.

Light a fire, it gets cold at night.

THE REVELATIONS OF THE TEN HEAVENLY SPHERES

There are those who believe history is not a collection of paradigms shifting forward and backwards to create our present, but rather a series of events, not all linked, stitched together with a common thread. This common thread?

God, or something like Him.

In service of Him, the world has sought to create the profound. We have filled our lives with the colour art brings, be it the heavenly chorus of hymns or master strokes of paint. It is through our pursuit of God, or something like Him, we have learned to create.

Even the Greeks thought so, ascribing human development to the divine gifts bestowed by those who watched above. We discovered fire not through chance, but the divine intercession of benevolent Prometheus; and through the flame, we made brick and from the brick came churches, and out churches came words.

(Did you know the Slavic languages were written in order to print bibles?)

Whether you believe in God, or anything like Him, the belief thereof is a stitch in humanity; one manifesting not in one interpretation, but in many. He is not only heavenly father, but Yahweh, but Allah, but the name of all the pantheons still worshipped and some now long forgotten.

The idea of Prisca Theologia is this—a single, true theology exists, which threads through all religions, coined by Marsilio Ficino, an Italian scholar and Catholic priest who through his Florentine Academy influenced the direction of the Italian Renaissance.

Ficino is best known for his treatise on the immortality of the soul, the Theologica Platonica de immortalitate animae, published in 1474 and for his translation of Plato’s complete extant works into Latin. He is also less known for his incomplete translation of Apocalypsis de decem orbes, or the Revelation of the ten spheres. The book itself, likely written by Hermes Trismegistus, was lost and forgotten; left as it was to gather dust not only in memory, but in a library.

A library on St. Sy’s.

A library in which it has just been found.

The introduction has been translated into Latin, but the rest of the book is incomplete and not in any known language. It could be argued it is a code, as it appears to be ancient Greek, but then, it looks Egyptian, too and—is that Aramaic? Intriguing enough in its own mystery, the introduction leaves more questions. The translation, you see, is incorrect. It isn’t spheres, but rather rites. This is a book of ten heavenly rites, of which the divine, the cosmos, the mind, nature, alchemy and astrology all interweave.

And most interestingly, the last line in the introduction is this:

"This is the prisca theologia."

And it’s signed with a rose cross.

[curlsncynefin]

closed starter for ➤  @thornstocutyouwith. plot ➤ Kalyan and Stella are reincarnated after The War, that mere mortals didn’t even have a clue about. Inspired by this.

Soft, brown eyes observed the exhibit with fascination. The miniatures, representing one of the greatest visualizations of Old Testament events ever made, always drew her attention, as if calling to her. There was perhaps some unknown connection between the brunette and theology, that inspired her to pay regular visit to the Museums' theological sections.

It was usual for the artist to hang out at such places. Wearing flowy dresses with boots, a sketch pad clutched between long fingers, and a few pencils stuck in the messy bun her waist-length hair were pulled up in. What else could be expected of an art student, pursuing her masters?

Lost in thought, she had just shifted when she bumped into someone. "Oh, I'm so sorr--" The sight she met with had the woman at a loss for words.

[lepeintre-louis-david]

He opens his atelier to students- His marriage- Salon of 1783

David's talent engaged some young artists to ask him for advice. Thus was founded this famous atelier where students came to study what France and Europe counted as distinguished in the arts. His first student was Germain Drouais, whose father and grandfather were esteemed as portrait painters. He had been placed by his father in the atelier of Brenet, but he left him, attracted by David’s renown. Wicar, Fabre, and Girodet also enjoyed the first of his lessons.

As agréé, David was entitled to a dwelling in the Louvre. To discuss the appropriation of this new residence he was addressed to the contractor of the King's Buildings: that is, to M. Pécoul, the father of the friend David had left behind in Rome. On receiving him (note: at his house), M. Pécoul reminded David of the message he had been entrusted with. The artist apologised for his forgetfulness, and having explained the object of his visit, he begged Monsieur Pécoul to come and have lunch with him at the Louvre and there to examine the changes to be made in his apartment. Having accepted, this excellent man found the cover put on the canvas of Funeirailles de Patrocle. He first scolded the artist for his carelessness with his works; then, while questioning David as to his future intentions with regard to deciding the layout of his interior, M. Pécoul made known to him the desire of his son to see that David should marry one of his sisters. A desire, he confessed, that he shared completely on his own side. He ended (their meeting) with an invitation to visit his family, in order to meet with the eldest of his daughters, whom he intended for him.

David asked for time to reflect, and going to Sedaine's, he told him the facts and begged him to give his opinion. The latter, putting aside any personal ambition- because he had treasured for his daughter the idea of a marriage with his young friend- strongly approved of this alliance. He brought out all of its advantages and insisted on the justly deserved esteem that David’s future father-in-law enjoyed among members of the Acadamie d'Architecture.

M.  Pécoul was indeed in a good situation of fortune, and the proposition he had just made to a man still only rich in glory and esteem showed to what high sentiments his heart was inclined. He also loved the arts, and, seeking for the society of the artists he had, to get closer to it, leased the empty rooms of his dwelling in the rue du Coq to Ducret, architect, and to Moreau, designer.

David, following Sedaine’s advice, answered the invitation he had received, and thus made acquaintance with Mademoiselle Charlotte Pécoul. This girl was endowed with the most gracious gifts of nature; without having perfectly regular features, the radiance of her complexion and her eyes lent to her countenance a charming animation, perfectly in keeping with the vivacity of her mind. On entering this family, David found in his brother-in-law a friend who had bound himself to him by the conformity of their tastes; finally, the fortune of his wife, in assuring him independence, enabled him to follow in the arts the road that he had traced for himself.

The marriage, soon decided, was celebrated on May 16, 1782, as the following act states:

Thursday, 16 of May 1782. M. Jacques-Louis David, painter to the King and his Académie, aged thirty-three and a half years, son of Louis-Maurice David (deceased), a former merchant, and Mme Marie-Geneviève Buron, quai de la Mégisserie, on the one hand; and Mlle Marguerite-Charlotte Pécoul, aged seventeen years, daughter of M. Charles Pierre Pécoul, contractor of the King's Buildings, and lady Marie-Louise Lallouette (deceased), de jure and de facto, rue du Coq, on the other; both of this parish, were affianced and married of their mutual consent and with the permission of the curé, myself undersigned, priest, bachelor in theology, practioner and master of ceremonies in this church, following the publication of a ban made in this parish without opposition, and by the exemption of the two others granted by Monseigneur the Archibishop of Paris, allowing permission to betroth and marry the same day. Signed: d'Argent, Vicar-General; date insinuated and checked on the tenth of this month and year.

The witnesses for David were: Francis Desmaisons, architect to the King, and François Buron, landscaper, his uncles; those of Miss Pécoul, Nicolas Ducret, architect to the King, and Joesph Lalouette, lawyer in the Parlement (of Paris) and King’s Council, her cousins.

The bride's beautiful mother-in-law, her brother and two siblings signed the act of marriage along with the other parents and witnesses.

This change in position did not slow David's eagerness for work.

He finished his painting, Andromaque, for the Salon (note: of 1783) a piece that the Academy had designated for his reception, and which they approved the sketch of in their session of March 29, 1783.

He brought to this work the same search for an antique character. He showed an accurate and learned design in Hector's head and feet, and he utilised the props from his documents sketched in Italy, borrowing more from the Romans than from the Greeks. As to the color, by exaggerating the dark tonality suitable to a scene of this kind, he fell into the defects of his preceding paintings.

At the same time, he was working on a painting completely outside of his aspirations: for David’s studies, which had all been pagan, in no way prepared him for religious painting, and his Saint-Roch, where the interest is chiefly called to human suffering, belonged, rather, to history. But here one could not escape the difficulty, for the Marshal de Noailles had asked him for a Christ on the cross. He painted this figure by perhaps too rigorously copying his model, taken from amongst the marshal's soldiers. Once placed in the Capucine church, this painting attracted such curiosity that this inconvenient crowd was, we believe, the real reason that the donor decided to remove it from the public eye.

These two canvases, along with two portraits and a drawing, formed David’s contribution to the Salon of 1783.

The works are designated in the catalogue:

By M. David, Agréé

No. 162: The pain and regrets of Andromache on the body of Hector, her husband,  8.7 x 6.4 pieds

No. 163: Two portraits of the same number

No. 164: Drawing of a frieze in the antique genre

No. 165: Other paintings of the same number

The Andromaque obtained honourable success: (though) it was regretted that the colour too dark. Critics also sought to find within it a memory of the Testament of Eudamidas by Poussin; they joked about the importance of the helmet posed at the foot of the bed; but in general, Andromache’s expression and the qualities of the drawing that offered the body of Hector were appreciated.

The Christ who, without being designated on the catalog, must be understood as included in number 165, was found to be too violet in tone too violet; as we learn from the ‘Salon at the auction’.

Of the two portraits, that of his uncle Desmaisons was severely judged: one did not recognize the brush of the painter of Belisaire in it. As for the second, some biographers instead designated it as that of David’s doctor, Albert Leroy. The portrait of the latter, which now adorns the  musée de Montpellier, offers, in our opinion, details which would certainly have given it the attention of the critics, so let us believe that his portrait was present at this exhibition.

The drawing of a frieze in the antique genre, representing a warrior triumphing over his enemy before Minerva, Hercules and the Fates, had been executed in Rome in 1780.

On the 23rd of August, before the opening of the Salon, Vien had presented the Andromaque to the Académie, who, on the basis of this piece of painting, had conferred upon David the title of academician.