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pheita · 2 years

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Through his Eyes

Everyone's favorite cinnamon roll couple is back. @stormbrightwriter @kainablue @catharticallysarcastic @bloodlessheirbyjacques @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables @abalonetea @writingamongther0ses @contes-de-rheio

I am too lazy to link the previous parts. Just follow the flowers of fire tag

Have fun girls, the one who gets what is going on gets to decide whose POV the next part will be.

The hint of a smile was on Constantine's face as he looked over the edge of the book and saw Tali whirling around the office. It was clear that she felt unobserved and thought he was completely absorbed in reading, as carefree as she acted. It was at moments like this that he caught a glimpse of the Tali hiding behind the shy young woman, hiding from the world. He made the note before forgetting his thought and put the book away. The few seconds had been enough for Tali to disappear from the front area of the office into the kitchenette behind him and now unexpectedly stand beside him with a freshly brewed cup of tea. Astonished, he looked up. "Thank you, Tali. How did you know?" "It's almost eleven o'clock. You usually finish your cup of tea by then and brew the second one."

Even though she stopped looking at the ground, Tali still couldn't manage to control her embarrassment at such moments and looked past him. "That's very thoughtful of you to notice." "You're a creature of habit," she chuckled softly. Just as quietly, she disappeared to get her tea, only to join him. Curious, she looked at the cover. "What are you reading?" "One of the first essays on the inheritance of abilities. Some theories from then have since been disproved, but others still stand." With a quarter turn, Constantine turned to here. Tali's gaze hung thoughtfully on the book. "What has been refuted?" "That abilities only appear within the direct family line. At least, since we know of half-elementals with dragon bending abilities, it should be self-explanatory to everyone that direct inheritance doesn't make sense." She laughed into her cup before taking a sip. "It really doesn't make any. If it worked that way, how are you going to explain the unique abilities that keep popping up?" "That's exactly my point," Constantine beamed, "All these centuries people have been trying to sort it too tightly, even though it's much more chaotic." "But the principles of heredity have not been known for that long, after all." There was that profound look from Tali again, accompanied by the tip of her tongue peeking out slightly, while her eyes betrayed how her thoughts went back and forth. "Humans have known the principles of heredity for not quite two hundred years, it's true. However, in fact, four hundred years before that, some mystical beings were already thinking about it." For background, Constantine tapped the book. "And this is that book." Curious, she looked there. "This is this book. Even though it's a pain to read. People thought little of scholarly works back then, and everyone who had anything to say about it wrote their own essay on it, which unfortunately means that the book here is just one of many scattered around the world. At least this is in a language I know."

The agonized sigh was hard to suppress. Tali put a hand on his arm encouragingly and smiled at him. "You still have time to learn the language for the rest, don't you?" "Your optimism is what I want." "You can have it translated, of course." "Please don't." Something about his reaction amused her, but Constantine couldn't tell what. Even after three months, Tali was still a mystery to him, where she was apparently already beginning to decipher him. She stood up briskly, taking her cup with her. For a moment, he was tempted to stop her, but didn't because he didn't know why he wanted to do it. He picked up the book again and half saw that Tali was standing in the middle of the room with the cup in her hand and seemed to be thinking. The following time, he immersed himself again in his reading and tried to suppress the urge to find out if the authors of that time were still alive and to have a few words with them about the subject of experimental design and scientific work, especially since even then some basics about these things existed that were clearly ignored here.

The sound of something heavy being moved brought Constantine out of his disgruntled thoughts and found Tali clearing a section of the long wall. "What are you doing?" "I thought it might be helpful to put the main points of your research on the wall as a thinking aid." "You mean a mind map?" "Exactly." She beamed at him briefly that he understood what she was getting at before eyeing the dresser. Amused, he set the book aside again and stepped next to Tali. "You've already carved out a space for it." She nodded gravely. "Draw it for me in the air." Briefly, Tali looked at him as if doubting his sanity, but then stood in front of the wall and walked the area she had chosen. Constantine quickly realized that in addition to the dresser, the heavy wing cabinet would also be in the way. "I think it's time we gave your skills a little workout." "What do you want that to look like?" She looked up at him.

"We're on the first floor. There's only dirt under the wooden floor." Satisfied, he watched Tali realize what he was getting at. "Small earthquakes?" "That's too much to handle. I think if you let the earth roll a little, I can use my wind to help the furniture slide to one side without either of us dislocating a vertebra or breaking anything." Soft giggles reached his ear before Tali concentrated. Nothing happened for long seconds, then the dresser creaked dangerously and jerked a little. Constantine reached under the dresser with his wind and lifted it a little to make it slide more easily. It would have been easy for him to move both pieces of furniture and make the space, but then Tali wouldn't have been able to practice her skills and would be deprived of a possible sense of accomplishment. If there was one thing he had quickly noticed, it was the point that she needed every little sense of accomplishment she could get. Slowly, with each new wave Tali sent through the floor, the dresser shifted further to the side. "That's enough," Constantine halted the process, "Now the closet." She snorted through it and shook her shoulders. "All right." "Try to relax. I just want you to concentrate, not hold the tension in your body." "I'm trying." With few steps he stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed them down. "I know it's hard. We are automatically tempted to go with the movement with our bodies, it's an instinct. You have to let it become an instinct not to do it when you use your abilities." She looked up over her shoulders at him, eyebrows drawn together in a question. "I see so many who still move their hands when they use their abilities." "It's helpful with some types when you want to determine direction. Fire clan and water clan in particular have a tendency to do that, as their abilities are often manipulating something that is already in flux. Earth is stagnant." Again, the tip of her tongue slipped out a little as Tali's eyes looked past him in search of an answer to what only she knew the question to be. Her warmth slowly enveloped him.

Then suddenly there was that playful spark in her eyes, and she abruptly turned back to the wall. A moment later Constantine felt minimal vibrations emanating from her location. He almost laughed out loud. The air told him how the vibrations intensified and became waves that slowly carried the winged cabinet to its new location as if on a gentle wave, all without his help. "I did it!" Tali turned and jumped into his arms that he could only grab her to keep her from hurting herself. She looked at him with big bright eyes and wide smile, her hands on his chest. "Oh, sorry." "You have nothing to apologize for." The beam disappeared, giving way to the familiar uncertainty. Tali stepped away from him, nervously pushing her hair behind her ear. "I'll go get materials." Like the wind, she was through the door, so Constantine could only watch her disappear. He took a deep breath. His head dropped to the back of his neck and for a couple breaths he looked at the wood paneled ceiling. A few moments later, he stretched again and went back to the desk, back to his research, hoping it would make him forget how nice Tali felt in his arms.

#writblr #writing #flowers of fire #tali and constantine

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lasclkingdom · 2 years

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Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition

Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition for free#

Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition full version#

Keyed to Strong's Exhaustive Concordance this one-volume Interlinear Bible offers pastors, ministers, students and laypeople a tool for researching the subtle nuances and layers of meaning within the original biblical languages.įeaturing the complete Hebrew and Greek texts of the Old and New Testaments in their original language order, with a direct English rendering below each word, it also it also includes The Literal Translation of the Bible in the outside column. Sauces, Curries, Pastes, Relishes & Pickles.There are no current plans for a print version, but this possibility will be revisited at a later date. The initial release will be in digital format.

Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition full version#

The full version of the Berean Interlinear Bible is under construction, to include both the New and Old Testaments. Stephanus Novum Testamentum Graece, Robertus Stephanus, 1550. Tischendorf’s 8th edition Greek New Testament, Constantin von Tischendorf, 1869-1872 The New Testament as is taught by the Greek Fathers, Greek Orthodox Church, 1904 Scrivener, The New Testament in the Original Greek according to the Text followed in the Authorised Version (Cambridge: University Press, 1894). Pierpont, The New Testament in the Original Greek: Byzantine Textform, 2005. 2: Introduction Appendix (Cambridge: Macmillan, 1881). (British and Foreign Bible Society, 1904).īrooke Foss Westcott and Fenton John Anthony Hort, The New Testament in the Original Greek, vol. Holmes, Greek New Testament: SBL Edition. Novum Testamentum Graece, 28th revised edition, Edited by Barbara Aland and others, © 2012 Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft, Stuttgart. The following are the major texts included for consideration and documented or footnoted in the Berean Bible: Significant variants between modern critical texts have been documented and taken into consideration for translation, along with additional manuscript evidence. Paragraph and poetry formatting for the Greek Text has been adapted from Westcott and Hort, 1881. The Nestle 1904 was chosen, as we believe it is the most accurate critical text currently in the public domain.

Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition for free#

In choosing a base text for the Berean Greek Bible, it was important to start with a source that we can share and make available for free digital use. Significant variants are documented and footnoted. In producing the translation, weight was given to the more reliable / earlier manuscripts and more recent critical texts. The Greek source is documented for all renderings, with the following major sources being considered: Nestle, SBL, and Nestle Aland 28th Edition, Textus Receptus, Byzantine, Greek Orthodox, Tischendorf, Westcott and Hort, as well as a variety of manuscripts on which these critical texts are based. Punctuation: Both the Greek text source and, separately, the English gloss are punctuated to assist in reading and understanding. Morphology: Part of Speech – Person, Tense, Mood, Voice – Case, Number, Gender, Comparisonħ. The following are elements for each word of the interlinear:ģ. The basis for the interlinear text is the Biblos Interlinear, developed over several years and now refined by the translation committee. This text also contains complete parsing tags, as well as Strong’s numbers to for easy reference to Greek lexicons. The interlinear gloss is a word for word, Greek / Hebrew word order rendering based on the most reliable sources.

#Hebrew greek interlinear bible niv edition

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zaffrenotes · 3 years

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[TRR: WD106] Avoiding A Blunder

Summary: Prince Liam has to fill in for Crown Prince Leo, and Murphy’s Law is put into motion at the end of his trip. Chaos ensues, condensed Wacky Drabble style. Fic Rating/Warning: M; alcohol consumption, minor health/medical emergency, anxiety/angst Author’s Note: All main characters belong to Pixelberry/The Royal Romance, I’m just borrowing them * Fictional versions of IRL individuals are included with affection; any other characters mentioned in this piece are my creation * This is my submission for @wackydrabbles Prompt 106: You’re gonna get us busted! * You have @the-soot-sprite and @ao719 to thank for this ridiculousness, lol - Soot reblogged a photo, Betsy sent me this request

and...this is what my brain came up with (PS - thank you both for the movie discussion) * For the purposes of this story, Triydalia is a fictional country that shares a border with Thailand * Word Count: 1999 😅 (7 minutes reading time)

Taglist (if your name is crossed out, I'll tag you in the comments): @/ao719 @burnsoslow @gkittylove99 @neotericthemis @ofpixelsandscribbles @rainbowsinthestorm @superharriet @/the-soot-sprite @choiceskatie @jaqren @aestheticartsx @bbrandy2002 @dcbbw @gnatbrain @jared2612 @kingliam2019 @ladyangel70 @lovingchoices14 @nestledonthaveone @princessleac1 @queenjilian @sfb123 @texaskitten30 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @yourmajesty09

Liam was used to filling in for Leo at a moment’s notice; participating in conference calls with ambassadors for early morning updates when Leo overslept, and attending meetings with ministers when Leo went AWOL. He’d grown accustomed to his brother’s antics, but he wondered how Bastien managed to keep his position, when he’d lost track of Leo’s whereabouts countless times.

While Leo spent more time avoiding his duties as Crown Prince of Cordonia, Liam dutifully took on the extra responsibilities in stride. It often meant partitioning his already packed schedule to sit in on vital cabinet meetings or dining with visiting dignitaries, but sometimes Leo’s vanishing acts gave Liam the opportunity to travel.

Though their ambassadors handled the majority of day-to-day relations with other countries for trade, Constantine preferred to meet face-to-face when he could. One such time, a lingering cough turned to walking pneumonia, restricting Constantine to as much bed rest as possible. It also meant sending Leo to Japan for a meeting with the Prime Minister in his stead.

It would have been fine, if Leo hadn’t pulled another one of his disappearing acts.

A week later, Liam was seated on the royal jet on his way back from Tokyo, navy attache with espresso brown leather trim in the chair next to him. Across from him, Maxwell chatted with Anya over various Thai dishes. On the other side of the plane, Drake was in a heated discussion with leggy blonde Anitah while the ladies’ petite friend Donna observed in silence, fighting back a grin. “You’re an imbecile if that’s your opinion,” Anitah declared, raising her hands up in the air. “Are you sure that’s the hill you wanna die on?”

Drake smugly sipped from the crystal tumbler in his hand. “I’m right and you know it.”

“What are you two talking about?” Liam asked, relieved to think about anything other than what was in the bag and why it was so important he hand deliver it to his father.

“Fight Club being a better cinematic masterpiece than The Princess Bride,” Drake replied. “You guys agree, right? If you could only watch one movie for the rest of your life, you’d want to watch Tyler Durden fight the system instead of some…” he paused to sneer at Anitah, who crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue at him, “...story about a swashbuckler rescuing a princess? She’s not even a real princess!”

“Fight Club is such a guy movie though,” Anya argued, turning in her seat to face Drake. “Princess Bride appeals to men and women, with a much larger audience.”

“Okay, that’s two for Buttercup,” Drake sighed. “Maxwell? Li?” He looked at his friends expectantly.

“Fight Club, definitely,” Maxwell said, nodding his head. He’d spent the better part of the trip doing everything to get into Drake’s good graces after the octopus incident on the first night in Tokyo.

Before Liam could respond, a commotion from the front of the plane made everyone’s heads turn, where a pair of Kings Guards and two flight attendants were seated near the galley. One of the guards slipped into the cockpit, rushing out a moment later in Liam’s direction, as the jet slowly tilted to the right. “Apologies, Your Highness. Do you or any of your guests happen to speak Triydalian?”

Anya slowly raised her hand. “I knew a bit when I was a kid, but I haven’t used it in years.”

The guard motioned for her to join him. “Please come with us, miss. The pilots need a translator.”

“Is everything alright, Remy?” Liam peered past the guard, eyes widening at the sight of the other guard and one attendant hovering in front of the other attendant in a chair.

“We need to land the plane, Sir,” Remy answered, ushering Anya up from her seat. “Ramona passed out. She’s breathing but unresponsive.”

Twenty minutes later and after a jarring landing, they’d arrived at a small airport in the Republic of Triydalia, at the edge of one of the country’s many jungle forests. Calling it an airport was generous - it was more of a cleared dirt path in the middle of the jungle with a shack for an airport tower, and a man that looked like more of a hunter than an air traffic controller. After a choppy conversation that required pantomiming and hand signals, Anya left with Remy and the man from the tower to fetch a tribal doctor, while Anitah and Donna assisted the other member of the cabin crew to look after Ramona. They were warned to remain as quiet as possible and to stay inside the jet.

Minutes passed by in tense observation; Anitah and Drake continued their debate in low whispers, growing louder as they defended their choices. Liam could see the pilots discussing something pointedly as they checked readings on the instrument panel and worked on calculations. One of them stepped out, claiming that he needed to stretch his legs, and walked cautiously down the runway. When he returned, the other pilot joined him outside, despite the original warning to stay inside. Liam peered out the windows and checked his watch, worrying about Anya and Remy, along with his father’s instructions to avoid delaying their return.

While the remaining guard headed towards the back of the plane to pace back and forth for the eighth time, Liam took it upon himself to speak with the pilots. The air was thick and stifling the moment he stepped outside. Around them, there was nothing but green, green, and more green from the wilderness that surrounded them, abuzz with tropical birds and insects. At his side he carried the blue attache, remembering the promise to his father that the bag wouldn’t leave his sight. He spoke in a hushed tone when he approached the pilots. “You’re doing more than just stretching your legs, aren’t you, Captain?”

Both men grimaced slightly. “Yes, Your Highness. Even if we pulled back to one end of the runway, we’re still at least five hundred feet short of clearing takeoff.”

“What if we worked to try and clear the brush on either end?” Liam offered, looking off into the distance.

“There’s no way to clear out the trees, even the young ones,” the co-captain answered. “We might be able to take off if we could drop some weight, but the larger concern is the longer we wait, we increase the risk of encountering someone who doesn’t want us here.”

Liam nodded gravely; months of civil unrest in Triydalia meant rebel groups assembled faster than the government could contain them. There was no guarantee of anyone’s safety, stranded on a remote runway. There was no telling what was wrong with Ramona while she was unconscious, and therefore no way to treat her without the aid of a doctor. Ensuring the safety of the crew and his friends could have been avoided altogether if Leo didn’t constantly opt out of handling the duties of his station. In that moment, Liam abhorred the never-ending list of responsibilities thrust at him as a result of having to pick up the slack for his brother, knowing if their roles were reversed, Leo would manage to find a way to leave Liam to solve problems on his own.

“Could you excuse me for a moment?”

He’d barely finished asking the question before walking into the tall grass by the edge of the runway. Ignoring the pilots’ calls to return, Liam sprinted into the dense greenery, dodging between vines and scanning the ground for tripwires until he could no longer see the plane over his shoulder. When he finally stopped running, he bent over, hands on his knees as he gulped in air. Liam looked down at the blue bag in his hand, wondering what on earth was so precious to reduce him to a courier.

Shaking the bag did nothing; it felt practically empty, though he could tell something was inside. He couldn’t open the bag to check, since Prime Minister Abe and his father were the only ones with keys, and PM Abe handed him the sealed bag when they parted ways. Liam wanted to throw the infernal “murse” the ladies had good-naturedly teased him for into the bushes. Perspiration dotted his hairline, and he let out a primal scream, before taking slow, deep breaths to quiet the worrisome thoughts racing in his head and bring his heartbeat down to normal.

Cursed courier bag in his right hand, Liam braced his arm against his torso, pinning it in place with his elbow when he bent his other arm up towards his face. Curling his fingers into a relaxed fist, he pressed his lips against his thumb, thick brows furrowing in thought. All around him, wild birds called to one another amidst the chittering clamor of insects hidden in the foliage. He was so busy running through scenarios in his head that he didn’t hear the quiet click of a camera, turning to look up only when he heard a branch snap in the distance.

“Watch it! You’re gonna get us busted!” Donna hissed to Drake. She pocketed her phone, elbowing Drake in the ribs as they crouched behind large leaves. She ticked her head in Liam’s direction. “Go get your boy, none of us are safe out here.”

After some coaxing, Liam headed back to the plane with Donna and Drake, walking briskly through the jungle, eyes trained to look for anything out of the ordinary. Liam was alarmed when he heard and then saw the engines running, until Drake explained the pilots were burning off fuel to lighten the plane. They’d begun to walk up the steps, when Maxwell popped out above them. “Whoo!” Maxwell exclaimed, digging for another snack from the container he cradled in his arm. “Feels like a sauna out here!”

“Lower your voice, Maxwell! Please!” Liam seethed. His features pinched together in disbelief. “Are you...eating? Now?”

“You know I stress snack,” Maxwell replied, shrugging his shoulders. He shoved another cookie into his mouth.

Liam’s eyes lit up and he took the stairs two by two, knocking on the cockpit door before swinging it open. “What if we unloaded whatever’s not bolted down? The decor, dinnerware, the food and drink?”

“That...would certainly help,” the captain replied, looking back over his shoulder. He turned to his co-pilot. “It could be enough to get in the air after burning off the excess fuel.”

“You heard the man, Maxwell,” Liam said, offering his friend a nervous grin. “Get Drake to help you start unloading the plane. Has Ramona’s status changed?”

“Donna found the first aid kit just before she took off with Drake to go after you. Anitah found some smelling salts that gave her a rude wakeup call. Turns out her insulin pump shorted and she just needed some juice.”

Several more minutes passed as the group removed whatever they could from the plane, leaving piles of cookware, food, throw pillows, and even seat cushions to lighten the load. Drake whined when they gathered up the liquor, but he stuffed a bottle of whiskey in a cabinet by his seat. They’d nearly finished when Anya and Remy returned, running on foot. “That thing better be ready to take off!” Anya hollered, motioning for everyone to board. “Rebels on our tail! Time to go!”

Everyone scrambled back onto the plane; Liam relayed the urgency to depart to the pilots, who rapidly went through their flight checklist. Remy pulled Anya up onto the steps and they all clamored to buckle into their seats, the sound of gunfire in the air as the jet rolled forward and lurched up into the air, barely clearing the canopy.

Adrenaline pumping and breaths shallow, Liam looked around at his friends and the crew, thankful they were safely in the air again.

Liam thought he was having a stroke at twenty-four when he saw the contents of the bag. Constantine smiled with glee at the small gold cat, one paw raised.

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addictedtoeddie · 4 years

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The full Esquire Spain interview translated from Spanish:

Eddie Redmayne trial: guilty of being the most talented (and stylish) actor of his generation

The Oscar winner talks about what it means to premiere a film with Aaron Sorkin (The Chicago 7th Trial on Netflix) and filming the new part of the most famous saga of all time under the watchful eye of its author, J.K. Rowling.

By Alba Díaz (text) / JUANKR (photos and video) / Álvaro de Juan (styling) 10/23/2020

At the Kettle’s Yard Gallery in Cambridge, stands alone and leaning on a piano Prometheus, a marble head made by Constantin Brâncusi, and the only piece of art that Eddie Redmayne (London, 1982) would save from possible massive destruction. He tells me about it as he leaves the filming set of the third installment of Fantastic Beasts in the early days of an autumn that, we suspect, we will never forget. It begins to get dark as the actor nods seriously: "I promise to do my best in this interview."

Eddie Redmayne made himself in the theater despite some voices warning him that he could not survive in it. "Many people were in charge to tell me that it would never work, that only extraordinary cases make it and that I would not be able to live from this professionally." Even his father came home one day with a list of statistics on unemployed young actors. Redmayne, who is extremely modest, polite and funny, adds: “But I enjoyed theater so much that I got to the point of thinking that if I could only do one play a year for the rest of my life… I would do it. And that would fill me completely.

Spoiler: since then until today he has participated in many more. He set his first foot in the industry when he debuted at the Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and won over critics and audiences. He then landed his first major role in My Week with Marilyn opposite Michelle Williams. And then came one of the roles of his life, the character he wanted to become an actor for, Marius. With him he sang, led a revolution and broke Cosette's heart in Les Miserables. “I found out about the Les Misérables auditions when I was shooting a movie in Illinois. Dressed like a cowboy. I picked up the iPhone and videotaped myself singing the Marius song. I always wanted to be him ”.

Now Redmayne is an Oscar winner - thanks to his portrayal of Stephen Hawking in The Theory of Everything - and the protagonist of one of the most important sagas in history, Fantastic Beasts. He plays the magizoologist Newt Scamander in it. When I ask him what it means to him to be the protagonist of a magical world that is so important to millions of people, Eddie sighs and takes a few seconds to answer. “I have always loved the Harry Potter universe. Some people like The Lord of the Rings or Star Wars ... But, for me, the idea that there is a magical world that happens right in front of you, that happens without going any further on the streets of London, that. .. That exploded my imagination in another way.

During the quarantine, J. K. Rowling, who has been in charge of the script of the film, sparked a controversy through a series of tweets about transgender women. Redmayne assures that he does not agree with these statements but that it does not approve of the attacks of some people through social networks. The actor was one of the first to position himself against Rowling alongside Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and other protagonists of her films. "Trans women are women, trans men are men, and non-binary identities are valid."

After having spent a while talking, Redmayne confesses to me that he has never been a big dreamer not to maintain certain aspirations that ended up disappointing him. So he has always kept a handful of dreams to himself. One of them was fulfilled just a few weeks ago with the premiere of The Trial of the Chicago 7, a film written and directed by Aaron Sorkin that can already be seen on Netflix and in some - few - cinemas. “I was on vacation with my wife in Morocco and the script arrived. I think I called my agent before I even read it and said yes, I would. She probably thought the obvious, that I'm stupid. After that, of course I read the script, which is about a specific moment in history that I knew very little about. I found it exciting and a very relevant drama in today's times. "

And it is that having a script by Aaron Sorkin in your hands is no small thing. Eddie Redmayne has been a fan of his work ever since he saw The West Wing of the White House. “His scripts have delicious language and dialogue. As an actor, it's fun to play characters that are much smarter than you are in real life. That virtuosity is hard to come by. I really hope that audiences enjoy this movie and feel that there is always hope. " He remembers that since he released The Theory of Everything he has recorded, to a large extent, English period dramas, “and although the new Aaron Sorkin is not strictly contemporary,” says Redmayne, “to be able to wear jeans and shirts and sweaters instead of so much tweed is great ”.

Besides acting, art was the only thing the actor was interested in, so he ended up studying Art History at Cambridge University. “My parents are quite traditional and when I told them I wanted to act they gave me free rein but on the condition that I study a career. And I'm very grateful for that because ... Look, beyond that, when I play a real character I usually go to the National Portrait Gallery in London quite often. There I lock myself up. Now, for Sorkin's film, I went through a lot of photographs and videotapes. Art helps me to be more creative, to get into paper ”. If he were not an actor, he would be, he says decidedly, a historian or perhaps a curator. "Although I think he would be a very bad art curator."

Against all logic, Eddie Redmayne is color blind. But there is a color that you can distinguish anywhere and on any surface: klein blue. He wrote his thesis on the French artist Yves Klein and the only shade of blue he used in his works. He wrote up to 30,000 words talking about that color with which he became obsessed. “It is surprising that a color can be so emotional. One can only hope to achieve that intensity in acting. "

Like his taste for art, which encompasses the refined and compact, Redmayne seems to be in the same balance when it comes to the roles he chooses. When I ask him what aspects a character he wants to play should have, he takes a few seconds again before answering: “I wish I had a more ingenious answer but I will tell you that I know when my belly hurts. It's that feeling that I trust. In my mind I transport him to imagine myself playing that character. When I read a script I have to really enjoy it. You never fully regret those instincts. It's like when you connect with something emotionally. "

So we come to the conclusion that all his characters have some traits in common. "You know what? I never look back, and this is something personal, but I do believe that there is a parallel between Marius in Les Misérables trying to be a revolutionary, someone who is quite prone to being distracted by love but at the same time is willing to die for his cause, and Tom Hayden from The Chicago Trial of the 7 who was a man who had integrity and was passionate and fought for the things he believed in. So I suppose there may also be similarities between a young Stephen Hawking and Newt Scamander. There are traits in common in all of them that I don't really know where they come from ”.

When we talk about the year we are living in, in which it is increasingly difficult to find hope, we both let out a nervous laugh. "There must be," Redmayne says. “There is something very nice that Tom Hayden, the character I play in Sorkin's film, said to his former wife, actress Jane Fonda, just the day before she passed away. He told her that watching people die for their beliefs changed his life forever. In that sense, I also think about what Kennedy Jr. wrote about how democracy is messy, tough and never easy ... As is believing in something to fight for. I look at history and how they were willing to live their lives with that integrity to change the world and I realize that somehow that spirit still remains with us. " We fell silent thinking about it. "There must be hope."

I tell him about my love for Nick Cave's blog, The Red Hand, and one of the posts that I have liked the most in recent weeks. In it, the singer affirms that his response to a crisis has always been to create, an impulse that has saved him many times. For Redmayne there are two activities that can silence noise: drawing and playing the piano. “When you play the piano your concentration is so consumed by trying to hit that note that you can't think of anything else. Similarly, when you draw something, the focus is between the paper and what you are trying to recreate ... There I try to calm my mind.

Before saying goodbye, I drop a question that I thought I knew the answer to, but failed. What work of art would you save from mass destruction? "How difficult! I could name my favorite artists but still couldn't choose a work. Only one piece? Let me think. I am very obsessed with Yves Klein, but I would stick with a work by Brancusi. There is a sculpture of him, a small head called Prometheus, in Cambridge's Kettle’s Yard, on a dark mahogany piano. The truth is that I find it very ... beautiful ”.

Before leaving, he confesses to me - with a childish and slow voice - that he would like to direct something one day. We said goodbye, saying that we will talk about his next project. Next, the first thing I do is open the Google search engine. "P-r-o-m-e-t-h-e-u-s". Although Eddie Redmayne has trouble distinguishing violet from blue, he doesn't have them when choosing a good piece. He's right, that work deserves to be saved.

* This article appears in the November 2020 issue of Esquire magazine

Source: esquire.com/es/actualidad/cine/a34434114/eddie-redmayne-juicio-7-chicago-netflix-entrevista/

#eddie redmayne #esquire2020 #esquirespain2020nov #esquire spain #chicago7promo #chicago7interview #interview2020 #photoshoot2020 #juankr #my translation

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orthodoxydaily · 3 years

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Saints&Reading: Mon., May, 17, 2021

May4/May17

The Holy Virgin Pelagia (287)

The Holy Virgin Pelagia lived during the III Century in the city of Tarsis in the Cilician district of Asia Minor. She was the daughter of illustrious pagans and when she heard preaching from her Christian acquaintances about Jesus Christ the Son of God, she believed in Him and desired to preserve her chastity, dedicating her whole life to the Lord. The heir of emperor Diocletian (a youth adopted by him), having seen the maiden Pelagia, was captivated by her beauty and wanted to take her to be his wife. But the holy virgin told the youth, that she was betrothed to the Immortal Bridegroom, – the Son of God, and therefore she had renounced earthly marriage. This answer of Pelagia caused great anger in the imperial youth, but he decided to leave her in peace for awhile, hoping, that she would change her frame of mind. This same while Pelagia convinced her mother to send her off to her nurse who had raised her in childhood – secretly hoping to locate the bishop of Tarsis Klinon, who had fled to a mountain during a time of persecution against Christians, and to accept Holy Baptism from him. In a dream vision there appeared the form of the bishop – Klinon, profoundly impressing itself upon her memory. Saint Pelagia set off to her nurse in a chariot, in rich clothes and accompanied by a whole retinue of servants, as her mother had desired her to. Along the way Saint Pelagia, through some particular ordering of events by God, met bishop Klinon. Pelagia immediately recognised the bishop, whose image had appeared to her in the dream. She fell at his feet, requesting baptism. At the prayer of the bishop there flowed from the ground a spring of water. Bishop Klinon made the sign of the cross over Saint Pelagia, and during the time of the mystery (sacrament) Angels appeared and covered the chosen one of God with a bright mantle. Having communed the pious virgin with the Holy Mysteries, bishop Klinon raised himself up in prayer of thanksgiving to the Lord together with her, and then sent her off to continue her journey. Having returned to the servants awaiting her, Saint Pelagia preached to them about Christ, and many of them were converted and believed. She tried to convert her own mother to faith in Christ, but the obdurate woman sent a message to the imperial youth, – that Pelagia was a Christian and did not wish to be his spouse. The youth comprehended that Pelagia was lost for him, and not wishing to give her over to torture, he fell upon his sword. Pelagia's mother thereupon became fearful of the wrath of the emperor, tied her daughter and led her to the court of Diocletian as being a Christian and also the probable cause of the death of the heir to the throne. The emperor was captivated by the unusual beauty of the maiden and tried to sway her from her faith in Christ, promising her every earthly blessing and to make her his own wife. But the holy maiden refused the offer of the emperor with contempt and said: "Thou art insane, emperor, telling me such a speech. Know, that I wilt not do thine bidding, and I loathe thy vile marriage, since I have a Bridegroom – Christ, the King of Heaven. I desire not thy imperial, worldly, short-durationed crowns, since my Lord in the Heavenly Kingdom has prepared for me three imperishable crowns. The first for faith – since I have believed with all my heart in the True God; the second for purity – because I have entrusted to Him my virginity; the third for martyrdom – since I want to accept for Him every suffering and to offer up my soul because of my love for Him". Diocletian thereupon sentenced Pelagia to be burnt in a glowing red-hot copper oven. Not permitting the executioners to touch her body, the holy martyress herself – signing herself with the sign of the cross, went with a prayer into the red-hot oven – in which her flesh melted like myrh, filling all the city with fragrance; the bones of Saint Pelagia remained unharmed and were removed by the pagans to outside the city. Four lions then came from out of the wilderness and sat around the bones – letting get at them neither bird nor wild beast. The lions protected the remains of the saint until such time as bishop Klinon came to that place. He gathered them up and buried them with honour. During the reign of emperor Constantine (306-337), when the persecutions against Christians had stopped, there was built a church at the place of burial of Saint Pelagia.

The Monk Nicephoros (1340)

The Monk Nicephoros was the teacher of Saint Gregory Palamas (Comm. 14 November). Saint Nicephoros pursued asceticism on Athos in the XIV Century and left after him the profound spiritual work "The Wise Method of the Jesus Prayer".

John 4:46-54

46 So Jesus came again to Cana of Galilee where He had made the water wine. And there was a certain nobleman whose son was sick at Capernaum. 47 When he heard that Jesus had come out of Judea into Galilee, he went to Him and implored Him to come down and heal his son, for he was at the point of death. 48 Then Jesus said to him, "Unless you people see signs and wonders, you will by no means believe." 49 The nobleman said to Him, "Sir, come down before my child dies!" 50 Jesus said to him, "Go your way; your son lives." So the man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him, and he went his way. 51 And as he was now going down, his servants met him and told him, saying, "Your son lives!" 52 Then he inquired of them the hour when he got better. And they said to him, "Yesterday at the seventh hour the fever left him." 53 So the father knew that it was at the same hour in which Jesus said to him, "Your son lives." And he himself believed, and his whole household. 54 This again is the second sign Jesus did

Acts 6:8-7:5, 47-60

8 And Stephen, full of faith and power, did great wonders and signs among the people. 9 Then there arose some from what is called the Synagogue of the Freedmen (Cyrenians, Alexandrians, and those from Cilicia and Asia), disputing with Stephen. 10 And they were not able to resist the wisdom and the Spirit by which he spoke. 11 Then they secretly induced men to say, "We have heard him speak blasphemous words against Moses and God." 12 And they stirred up the people, the elders, and the scribes; and they came upon him, seized him, and brought him to the council. 13 They also set up false witnesses who said, "This man does not cease to speak blasphemous words against this holy place and the law; 14 for we have heard him say that this Jesus of Nazareth will destroy this place and change the customs which Moses delivered to us.15 And all who sat in the council, looking steadfastly at him, saw his face as the face of an angel.

1 Then the high priest said, "Are these things so?" 2 And he said, "Brethren and fathers, listen: The God of glory appeared to our father Abraham when he was in Mesopotamia, before he dwelt in Haran, 3 and said to him, 'Get out of your country and from your relatives, and come to a land that I will show you.' 4 Then he came out of the land of the Chaldeans and dwelt in Haran. And from there, when his father was dead, He moved him to this land in which you now dwell. 5 And God gave him no inheritance in it, not even enough to set his foot on. But even when Abraham had no child, He promised to give it to him for a possession, and to his descendants after him. 47 But Solomon built Him a house. 48 However, the Most High does not dwell in temples made with hands, as the prophet says: 49 Heaven is My throne, And earth is My footstool. What house will you build for Me? says the LORD, Or what is the place of My rest? 50 Has My hand not made all these things?' 51 You stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears! You always resist the Holy Spirit; as your fathers did, so do you. 52 Which of the prophets did your fathers not persecute? And they killed those who foretold the coming of the Just One, of whom you now have become the betrayers and murderers, 53 who have received the law by the direction of angels and have not kept it. 54 When they heard these things they were cut to the heart, and they gnashed at him with their teeth. 55 But he, being full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God, 56 and said, "Look! I see the heavens opened and the Son of Man standing at the right hand of God!" 57 Then they cried out with a loud voice, stopped their ears, and ran at him with one accord; 58 and they cast him out of the city and stoned him. And the witnesses laid down their clothes at the feet of a young man named Saul. 59 And they stoned Stephen as he was calling on God and saying, "Lord Jesus, receive my spirit." 60 Then he knelt down and cried out with a loud voice, "Lord, do not charge them with this sin." And when he had said this, he fell asleep.

#orthodoxy #orthodoxchristianity #originofchristianity #spirituality #holyscriptures #gospel #wisdom

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alecmagnuslwb · 4 years

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Bunnies

Writer’s Month Day Ten

Read on AO3

Zatanna steps through a portal directly into the kitchen. She’s starving after a night of Justice League meetings that she frankly had nothing to do with. Just because she’s a member doesn’t mean she cares if Booster Gold is misusing tech, it’s not like she’s the one paying for it.

Her top hat sits on the counter where she left it, a few of the bunnies that call the pocket dimension inside home leaping out upon her arrival. Two white rabbits settle on a book sitting on the counter that Zatanna assumes John must have left out, a little golden-brown rabbit she doesn’t remember seeing before sits beside them scratching at the pages.

Zatanna sighs shooing the rabbits off the book and closing it to prevent them from eating a vital page or accidentally enacting a curse. She pushes the book off to the side scratching each rabbit on the head fondly. Destructive little bastards they may be from time to time, but she loves the fluffy little guys.

She walks over to the fridge the golden-brown bunny who must be new hopping along beside her as far as it can go without slipping off the counter.

She leans in looking at her fairly scarce fridge, reminding herself to tell John that cigarettes and whiskey don’t qualify as groceries. She sighs grabbing the container of leftover Thai takeout from the bottom shelf and settling on it for her dinner. She sits it on the counter turning to grab a fork, because she’s too tired for chopsticks right now, when the golden-brown bunny knocks it over with his nose.

She turns and frowns at the precious Thai food spilling all over the counter each piece of rice getting tangled up in bunny hair.

“No, don’t do that,” she whines picking the container up and pointing the fork at the bunny. There’s very little left to salvage and definitely not enough to constitute a meal.

“Nealc siht pu,” she says waving her hand at the mess, sadly watching her food disappear.

The bunny just wiggles its nose at her hopping over to the plant sitting on the edge of the counter pushing at it. Zatanna sighs abandoning her quest for food in favor of stopping this destructive bunny and putting it back in the hat where it belongs before it wrecks her kitchen.

She walks over to it about to pick it up as it turns, about to nibble at her vase of lavender and lilac when she spots the pack of cigarettes lying beside it. She watches for a moment as the bunny pushes the vase away just a little and starts nibbling at the pack, not the plant as expected.

That’s when she realizes the unrecognizable bunny actually seems so familiar, from its behavior to its sandy color. It isn’t trying to eat her plants it’s trying to open John’s pack of cigarettes. Her eyes fall to the book she moved earlier the title in Latin she translates quickly. Transfiguration and the art of familiars.

Oh, shit.

She gets closer to the bunny that has now successfully pulled a cigarette from the pack, looking it in the eyes.

“John?” she whispers and the bunny perks up its head wiggling its nose in her direction. Zatanna goes wide eyed picking the bunny up and holding eye contact with it, John’s blue eyes staring right back at her. She can’t believe her boyfriend turned himself into a fucking bunny.

She’d love to know the why here, but seeing as his only forms of communication are currently wiggling his nose and trying to smoke she doesn’t suspect she’ll be getting any answers from bunny Constantine.

She looks at her fridge longingly before tucking John the bunny under her arm. She picks up the other lingering bunnies and places them back in her hat, for a second she considers dropping John in there as well if for no other reason to teach him some kind of lesson for as long as it takes her to scrounge up some sort of dinner.

Ultimately though she decides it’s best to turn him back as quickly as possible, even though it would be fun to drop him in a pocket dimension for a while.

“I can’t believe you turned yourself into a rabbit and you still want to smoke,” she says sitting him back down on the counter far from the pack of smokes. She pulls the book back over sitting heavily into the stool nearest to her and begins flipping through the pages searching to find the page it’d been left open on assuming that’s the culprit responsible for this situation.

Bunny John just wiggles his nose poking her in the hand with the cigarette still clenched between his teeth.

“I’m not lighting that for you,” she scowls as she flips through the book scanning every page. “Who knows what one cigarette could do to a rabbit’s body.”

He looks so extremely put upon, a look that on a bunny looks absolutely adorable and hilarious. Zatanna can’t help but giggle at him as he drops the cigarette from his mouth. She’s certain if he could cross his arms in frustration right now he would.

“Yeah, well you’re not the only one frustrated at the moment,” she says poking him in the side.

Eventually John hops over putting his two tiny paws, that now that she’s paying closer attention she sees are painted black just like his nails would be, on a page stopping her flipping.

She scans the page reading the details of what exactly John did that lead to this.

“So you really thought this was a good idea, all over some poker game, huh?” she says after reading the page. He’s been obsessing over another magic user who has a familiar that happens to be a rabbit. According to John the man owes him 50 quid from a poker game eight years ago and because he can’t just let it go he’d joked about turning into his familiar and sneaking in to get the money himself. John has lost and won back the entire House of Mystery in a poker game and let it go, but this he chooses to fixate on. “Practicing for later, but forgot you had to turn back somehow still?”

John wiggles his nose. She takes it as a yes. Why she had to fall for someone so smart, yet so pettily dumb she has no idea.

Zatanna rolls her eyes running her finger along the page to figure out what she needs to do to turn him back into a person. Off to the side in print so small she almost needs a magnifying glass to read it a list of ingredients for a potion to reverse the effects is listed.

Potion making isn’t her preferred form of magic, why bother when she has so much access and power at her fingertips, but she trudges from the kitchen to the room her father kept for the occasional potion work with John and the book cradled in her arms.

It takes almost two hours to make, John hopping all over the place while she works. She really wishes he’d thought of this and done it before embarking on an at home by himself practice run. She once again considers banishing him into her hat simply for a little peace and quiet. Hell, she might do that to human John once she gets him back.

Finally stirred and the proper color Zatanna pours a vials worth of the potion into a bowl and sits it in front of bunny John.

“Drink up dumbass,” she says pushing the bowl directly under his nose.

John dips his head down slurping up the liquid as quickly as a bunny can. Once it’s gone she watches him expectantly a ring of glowing green circles around him his bunny form slowly but surely being replaced with his human form.

Between one blink and the next a golden-brown rabbit no longer sits in front of her instead it’s John immediately slipping off the edge of the table he’d been resting on and landing on the floor.

“Ouch,” he says as he lands. He reaches into his pocket pulling out a cigarette and lighting it for himself now that he once again has opposable thumbs. “Thanks for that luv.”

Zatanna scoffs shutting the potion book in front of her and banishing the remaining mixture into tiny bottles just in case he tries this again.

“I think if I tweak it a bit I can make myself look exactly like that little black and white bloody familiar of his,” he says as he lifts himself up from the ground. Zatanna rolls her eyes so hard she’s certain they’re about to fall out of her head.

“Nope, I don’t want to hear it, I will not take part in your petty vendetta over a poker game. You turn yourself into a bunny again there’s plenty of potion to fix yourself next time,” she says gesturing to the line of bottles now on a shelf that’s just high enough he’ll have to work for them if he’s a bunny. She storms out of the room yelling her next words as she goes. “You’ll be needing that 50 quid soon enough because that’s how much I’m about to steal from your wallet so I can order dinner which I was deprived of thanks to you.”

“Oh come on Zee, it’s a matter of principle,” he shouts after her. “He’s trying to pull a fast one on me, conning me out of what’s mine.”

“Ha! Says the conman,” she shouts back.

She waves a hand as she enters the kitchen a quick incantation shutting the door and sealing it before John can follow her in as she contemplates just how she might go about shoving him in her hat for a while.

#my fic #writersmonth2020 #johnzee #john constantine #zatanna zatara

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thenightling · 5 years

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The original House of Mystery (for Sandman fans)

What is the House of Mystery? Or A History of The House of Mystery!

Everything you need to know lies below...

The original House of Mystery comic books were a horror anthology series published by DC. Cain The Caretaker didn’t make his first appearance until issue 175 for the issue “The Gift of Doom.” (Sounds like an Invader Zim episode title, doesn’t it?)

Cain was the caretaker for a strange and spooky old house, VERY similar to the one you see in the opening credits of Tales from the Crypt TV series from 1989.

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Notice how Morpheus describes The House of Mystery when he wakes up there in issue 2 of Sandman, after fainting at Cain and Abel’s feet upon his return from seventy-two-years captivity.

Each issue of the original House of Mystery comics contained one to three short (one-shot) scary stories told to us by the ghoulish and pun-loving narrator, Cain. Since the stories were usually stand-alone stories that means you could read them in any order. So if you want to skip straight to issue 175 to meet Cain, you won’t be lost if you choose to that.

The House of Mystery began as a supernatural horror anthology but that temporarily changed in the 1950s into the early to mid-60s.

During the comic book persecution and censorship era of the 1950s (which killed EC comics) DC tried to make House of Mystery more a crime drama comic or science fiction short stories and avoided the supernatural. But the arrival of Cain in issue 175 signaled the end of all that tiptoeing around the comics code. Cain brought the spooky, supernatural horror with him, back from the proverbial grave.

This is why it’s important The House of Mystery’s roots should not be forgotten. Cain’s very existence was an “F--- You” from editor, Joe Orlando, and directed toward the ham-handed censorship and prohibition against supernatural horror (That the general public somehow seemed to think was the cause of all their ills). For modern writers and game developers to downplay the supernatural horror attached to The House of Mystery and to diminish it in New 52 and in DC Universe online MMORPG is a sin against comic book history.

For a while in the 1960s into the early 80s The House of Mystery was DC’s answer to EC’s Tales from the Crypt. While EC had The Crypt Keeper, Vault Keeper, and Old Witch, DC had it’s knock offs own versions in Cain, Abel, and Mordred AKA The Crone from The Witching Hour (or sometimes Eve).

Nope! No similarities here!

Note: I don’t care if they’re a rip-off. I love them both.

Despite serving the same purpose as The Crypt Keeper, Cain was physically modeled after Len Wein. Both Cain and Abel were physically modeled after real DC writers. But their purposes were strikingly similar to the EC characters.

Len Wein even posed as Cain for a DC staff Halloween party.

Where Vault Keeper got his own spin-off with Vault of Horror, Abel got his own spin-off from The House of Mystery with The House of Secrets.

Cain was so much like The Crypt Keeper that both would say similar phrases such as “Pleasant Screams!” or “Pleasant Nightmares!” and “Greetings, Boils and Ghouls!” They both loved their horror related puns.

EC’s characters of the Crypt Keeper, Vault Keeper, and Old Witch only appeared together in media outside of the comics for the entire second season of the animated Tales from the Crypt Keeper horror anthology cartoon series that ran from 1993 until 1999.

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EC comics fell victim to the mid-50s comic book witch hunts where comic books were blamed for all things from juvenile delinquency to mental illness and violent street crime. EC collapsed but its legacy would live on. Tales from the Crypt would get movies and a popular HBO TV series in the late 1980s, followed by a three season animated series that would run until 1999.

The House of Mystery comics spawned their own legacy. DC attempted several other horror anthology spin-offs including The Witching Hour and Tales of Ghost Castle. The Witching Hour was hosted by three witches who represented the traditional Mother, Maidan, and Crone trinity. Sandman fans will recognize them as the Hecatae. Tales of Ghost Castle was hosted by a certain Lucien, The Librarian.

Lucien’s come such a long way from his humble roots that you might not recognize him now in his current form.

A more dapper suit of clothes and better hairline.

In the early eighties it seemed like the horror anthology comics were a dying genre but Alan Moore kept Cain and Abel in use for Swamp Thing. Swamp Thing began as a story told in Abel’s House of Secrets after all. (issue 92).

The House of Mystery is where many DC properties can find their roots. The House of Secrets was a spin-off of The House of Mystery. Swamp Thing was a spin-off of The House of Secrets. I, Vampire (the stories of Andrew Bennett) came from The House of Mystery. Constantine, by extension, began as a Swamp Thing character. This is also true of Matthew The Raven who began as the human Matthew Cable in Swamp Thing.

For a few years in the early 80s Elvira: Mistress of The Dark took over hosting The House of Mystery and took many jabs at poor Cain.

And ultimately all these horror hosts from The House of Mystery and the other DC anthologies found their way to... Sandman.

The House of Mystery gained editor Karen Berger at issue 292 in 1981. She would more or less single-handedly run DC’s horror line into the 1980s. Karen Berger was the editor for Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman and later founder of the Vertigo imprint.

She also once bribed Cain with cookies!

(Fourth wall? What fourth wall?)

In issue 2 of Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman we get “Imperfect Hosts.”

The title is a pun on the fact that not only was Morpheus a guest convalescing in the House of Mystery with Cain and Abel doting upon him but virtually every character in the issue (other than The Sandman, Morpheus AKA Dream of The Endless, himself,) were former horror host characters. Let’s count them.

Cain = House of Mystery Cain’s Gargoyle, Gregory = House of Mystery Abel = House of Secrets Eve (AKA The Raven Woman) = Secrets of Sinister House. (Note: Eve can change her form at will to look like a Maiden, Mother, or Crone. Lucien The Librarian = Tales of Ghost Castle (Turns out that was Morpheus’ castle all along! Don’t you just love retroactive continuity?) Note: Lucien had a love of werewolves and a pet werewolf named Rover.

This is paid homage to in the werewolf issue of Sandman, issue 38.)

The Mad Mod Witch (AKA The Fashion Thing) = The Unexpected

Destiny = (Neil Gaiman added the “of The Endless” and gave him a family) = Weird Mystery Tales

The Three Witches (AKA The Hecatae / The Fates / The Kindly Ones - The Furies) = The Witching Hour

Bonus mention: Judge Gallows = The Unexpected. Neil Gaiman never used Judge Gallows but both versions of The Dreaming spin-off have a version of Judge Gallows. (I am NOT a fan of Judge Gallows.)

Thanks to Sandman, Cain and Abel (as well as many of the other horror hosts) were now established as being loyal subjects of the Dream Lord, Morpheus, and their houses (which could appear anywhere in the world) had their roots in the realm of dreams (known as The Dreaming.)

Cain’s own existence in The Dreaming (Realm of Dreams) could be taken as a pun since the Judeo-Christian Cain was supposed to have been banished (or wandered) to The Land of Nod. In children's’ literature The Land of Nod is an old term for “The land of Dreams”.

Whether Cain is the literal Judeo-Christian Cain, or just a dream-entity created from the collective unconscious idea of who Cain should be, is left ambiguous even though Lucifer, in Sandman, respects Cain’s mark as if it definitely is the real mark of Cain. It could even signify the importance of symbolism and belief that it would be respected even if he was just the collective idea of Cain.

Lucifer is also, apparently, one of the only things that can frighten Cain.

In Judeo-Christian lore Cain and Abel were the sons of Adam and Eve. Abel made an offering to God of a slaughtered lamb. God was pleased. Cain made an offering of fruits and vegetables he had grown. God showed no interest. In jealousy Cain murdered his brother by bashing his head with a rock. A version of this tale is told in Sandman issue 40, The Parliament of Rooks.

When God asked Cain where his brother was he replied “Am I my brother’s keeper?” Though a more accurate translation of the scene had God ask where the sheep keeper was and Cain replied with something like “Do I look like a brother keeper?” Cain was banished for his crime and given a mark that was to serve as protection that others were not allowed to do him harm lest they be punished sevenfold.

In modern lore this has been used to indicate he was also cursed with immortality. A nod to this comes up in Sandman issue 67 during Sandman: The Kindly Ones.

The TV show Lucifer followed an overly simplified version of this lore borrowed from the show Supernatural and its version of Cain the mark just meant he was immortal and served no other purpose. The version of Cain in the Lucifer TV series was very, very different from the version who hosted The House of Mystery and would regularly appear in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

In Sandman Cain does have a compulsion to habitually kill his brother fairly regularly. Since they are both immortal beings Abel usually recovers.

The Aunts in Netflix’s version of The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina are modeled after Cain and Abel as they were depicted in Neil Gaiman’s Sandman.

The use of Cain, Abel, and Eve in Sandman could also be seen as a nod to George McDonald’s novel, LIlith, which also entailed a mysterious and ghostly “librarian” known as Mr. Raven and a surreal fantasy world. It’s been told that Lucien was Morpheus’ first raven. And some believe he may be Adam the way Mr. Raven was Adam in Lilith.

Not only did Neil Gaiman salvage nearly all of the old horror hosts who were falling into obscurity after Crisis of Infinite Earths (DC’s first major reboot) but he made these old horror hosts important characters within Sandman lore as either being servants of or (in the case of Destiny) relations of the main protagonist.

Neil Gaiman, in a way, saved their lives in preserving them as fixtures of DC canon in a now beloved “ever-green” story that is Sandman.

The Sandman issue Imperfect Hosts (which can be found in the graphic novel The Sandman: Preludes and Nocturnes) is a treasure trove issue for lovers of old school horror comics. There are even subtle nods to the artwork of the late Bernie Wrightson (A favorite of mine).

Imperfect Hosts also gave us Abel’s adorable baby gargoyle, Goldie.

Goldie was named after Abel’s “imaginary friend” that Abel and sometimes Cain would tell stories to. She was very likely not imaginary at all but real and a ghost who was haunting The House of Secrets.

It is said this cover is depicting the original Goldie.

In the original House of Mystery comics Cain would sometimes torment his brother. It wasn’t quite as brutal as it got in Sandman. And Cain had a soft spot for children, reveling in stories where those who mistreat children get their comeuppance. (Side note: I wonder what became of Cain’s pet cat, Oskar / Oscar. Cain still has his gargoyle but not his black cat.)

Thanks to a repeated running gag that was featured in (and outside of) Sandman,, which carried over into the 2008 House of Mystery volume 2, we can safely assume Cain’s voice is a great deal LOT like Vincent Price.

Cain and Abel appeared in some of the Sandman spin-off comics of the late 90s and early 2000s but those have since been de-canonized (no longer acknowledged as having happened).

During New 52, DC higher ups decided that they loved the concept of The House of Mystery. This was during a spike in Doctor Who’s popularity in the US. They saw The House of Mystery as a mysterious old house that is apparently bigger on the inside and can appear virtually anywhere and latched on to this TARDIS-esque aspect of it (as that is the nature of The Doctor’s ship, The TARDIS, in Doctor Who). But they seemed to have no love for Cain the caretaker or The House of Mystery’s spooky ambiance... The House of Mystery became the base of operation for Justice League Dark, and home of Constantine and Zatanna.

Cain the Caretaker was nowhere to be found but a new Cain, the supposed “real” Cain and “Sire of all vampires” became the main antagonist of the 2012 reboot attempt at I, Vampire... (it only ran for twelve issues and if not for DC Universe Online MMORPG name dropping him, that vampire version would probably mercifully be forgotten by now.) I usually like vampires in fiction but I hated this.

At one point those who were unhappy with the New 52 changes to The House of Mystery were told “Oh, this is a different House of Mystery from the one in The Dreaming. There are multiple Houses of Mystery.” but readers were, needless to say, skeptical, especially considering Cain’s pet gargoyle, Gregory, was IN the House of Mystery that was being used for Justice League: Dark in New 52! Did Gregory just randomly wander into the wrong House of Mystery?! No! Because we were told he “came with the house.” That means it IS Cain’s House of Mystery. Nice try to save your asses there, DC.

DC, through their Vertigo imprint, tried to placate fans of the original Cain and Abel and House of Mystery by having Cain and Abel appear briefly in the 2016 Lucifer comics (Now no longer canon) with their own House of Mystery and House of Secrets in the realm of The Dreaming but this only served to confuse readers further...

Especially since, at the time, Hellblazer was referencing a very different Lucifer (New 52-ified and based on the old and generic idea of The Devil) and a very different Cain.

Finally Scott Snyder decided to fix things. Scott Snyder discretely brought Cain and Abel with The House of Secrets and House of Mystery (as well as all of Sandman lore) back to mainstream DC continuity during the event known as Dark Nights: Metal.

That’s Cain in the bottom left. And that’s Abel in the upper right. Separated so Cain cannot commit casual and compulsive fratricide (Abel always recovers) during the meeting of the immortals.

In late 2016 Cain The Caretaker made his very first appearance in television animation. He appeared in the show Justice League: Action for the episode Trick or Threat. The episode merged the classic Cain’s House of Mystery with the continuity of Constantine owning the House from New 52 by having Cain giving Constantine a key to The House of Mystery by the end of the episode. Letting Cain essentially be Constantine’s roommate / landlord, It was a fair compromise of merging the lore. And it was done expertly by the great Paul Dini, with love and respect for both The House of Mystery and Sandman.

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In February of 2017 The House of Mystery would also appear in the direct-to-video animated movie Justice League: Dark. Though a decent animated feature, unfortunately this was the version from New 52 so no sign of Cain and the house was a little less... spooky.

The downplaying of the Gothic ambiance of The House of Mystery is a crime against the history of this comic and what it stood for in the 60s when it was used an act of spooky rebellion against the comics code and irrational persecution and censorship. It was an act of defiance that should be allowed to stand.

Abel’s House of Secrets made a brief appearance in an episode of Young Justice as a magick shoppe. It was likely the last thing a little girl ghost saw before she died as her spirit seemed only able to utter the word “Secret.” (Secret is a heavily modified ghostly character from DC comics.)

In 2019 the Justice League: Dark event was added to DC Universe online MMORPG. And though the game has Dark Nights: Metal content the game is more heavily based on DC’s New 52 so the House of Mystery in The Justice League: Dark raids does not have Cain The Caretaker and it looks more like the Plaza Hotel in Home Alone 2 rather than anything truly gothic or spooky...

It was very disappointing to me.

In 2018 Cain, Abel, and The House of Mystery and House of Secrets yet again became regular entities in DC comics with the Sandman Universe comics. The House of Mystery is back to being a creepy old haunted house with a small graveyard separating it from it’s companion, The House of Secrets. Both are still kept by Cain and Abel respectively within the realm of The Dreaming.

May The House of Mystery always revert to the spooky old house where Cain will tell spooky stories to frighten his guests!

#Neil Gaiman #Karen Berger #The House of Mystery #DC Comics #Vertigo Comics #Cain The Caretaker #The Sandman #Neil Gaiman's The Sandman #Horror Comics

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

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Video Game Review: GreedFall (Spiders, 2018)

Genres: action RPG, fantasy

Premise: Players assume the role of De Sardet, a human noble who arrives on the recently-discovered island of Teer Fradee. Able to ally with either the natives who inhabit the land and/or any of the foreign nations competing to colonize it, De Sardet seeks out a cure for the mysterious illness that plagues their family, while also battling monsters and magic.

Platform Played On: PC (Windows)

Rating: 3/5 stars

Disclaimer: My rating is in response to multiple aspects of the game, not just its politics. If I were evaluating solely on politics and gave the developers the benefit of the doubt that they were trying to make something with a good message, my rating would be around the 1 to 2-star range, depending on player choices.

***Full review under the cut.***

I am evaluating this game based on four key aspects: story, characters, gameplay, and visuals.

Story: I’m immediately wary of any pop culture item that tries to tell a story about colonialism and Indigeneity because it usually ends up indulging in colonialist fantasies rather than critiquing them. Complex, morally-grey stories are great and all, but when it comes to tales about colonialism, “both sides” narratives tend to look a little insensitive. So, I can’t tell you why I decided to play GreedFall, other than I heard that it filled the Dragon Age-sized hole in people’s hearts. Since I’d rather use my own judgment than read video game reviews, I bought this game on sale and gave it a go. If nothing else, I told myself, I could use my history and literary analysis chops to say something intelligent about it.

In terms of politics, I don’t think GreedFall was as terrible as games where the goal in itself is colonization, but I also don’t think it achieved a narrative that was critical enough of colonization. De Sardet’s primary goal is to achieve balance between all the nations (which I’m calling factions because they’re mostly that). While I can admire that GreedFall really pushed for peaceful relationships, as well as pushed back against abuse and racism, I ultimately thought the developers didn’t consider how the struggle for balance actually facilitates colonialism. This game presents colonialism a diplomatic issue, so as a result, Teer Fradee is kind of a fantasy where colonists can settle on native land while maintaining friendly relationships with Indigenous peoples (at least, if you play it that way - at worst, you can seize absolute power). The experience was similar to the one I had playing BioShock Infinite, whose politics involve a “both sides” argument - the difference is that BioShock Infinite made explicitly clear by the end of the game that Booker was the true villain. With de Sardet, it’s a bit more ambiguous, depending on how you play, but I do think the game pushes you to be diplomatic rather than power-hungry. As a whole, it brings up the very valid question of whether or not colonialism should be in media period, or if there’s some value to be derived from consuming problematic media that tries to do good and talking about it.

Still, I have to give credit where credit is due. GreedFall had the guts to actually try to tackle little-discussed themes in this game, such as forced conversion, abuse within the sciences, and institutionalized bullying. While the missions associated with these big themes were accomplished with varying degrees of success, many of them added emotional depth to the game. Companions would have emotional reactions to these quests that tugged at my heartstrings, and there were never any shots of graphic violence or mutilated bodies, so it didn’t feel like I was playing the game for an edgy thrill. All of the side quests had a lot of bearing on the main plot and the worldbuilding - I don’t think I encountered any “fetch quests,” so most of the things I was doing actually related to enhancing my understanding of the world and its social dynamics.

The game also did a good job of presenting players with factions that were constantly in conflict with one another, lending an added layer of complexity to all the political aspects of the plot. Character’s personal quests were also very well done and had emotional depth. Vasco’s arc about learning about his true family was a nice exploration of birth family vs found family (he’s a sailor whose birth family gave him to the naval faction, the Nauts). Kurt’s quest was also a good one about the bonds between military recruits and really showed his commitment to people over institutions (he’s de Sardet’s commander at arms). Siora’s quests were more about staying true to her culture (she’s a native and daughter of one of a now-deceased tribe leader), while Aphra’s were about learning to be open minded when learning about a different culture (she’s a scientist interested in plants). Petrus’ were a mix of taking down the head of his Church and helping your character find their roots (he’s something of a pastor who also wields magic to fight). You can tell that the developers were inspired by Bioware games in that you can cultivate reputations with your companions and eventually romance them. Many of these romances are available to both male and female PCs, so there’s potential for a queer ship.

I will say that by the end of game, I was emotionally wrecked, despite all the political problems. So, I do think the developers of this game have a good sense of storytelling - I just wish they had done better politically.

Characters: Similar to Mass Effect or Dragon Age, GreedFall gives players a player-controlled character (PC) and a host of companions to take on an adventuring party. De Sardet, the PC, doesn’t have much personality when they’re being diplomatic, but I did enjoy the moments when they were confronted with information that impacted them emotionally. I played a female de Sardet, and the voice actress did a good job of balancing emotion with the facade that’s required of a diplomat. Constantin, de Sardet’s cousin and governor of New Serene (one of a few colonial settlements on Teer Fradee), is also carefully written as a charismatic, sympathetic nobleman’s son who wants to prove his worth. He and de Sardet share a close bond, which made moral decisions a bit more personal and emotionally difficult. I do think he became a scapegoat for all the evils of colonization, though, and I wish more was done with him to implicate every colonizer on the island. The companions are likewise very likable and fairly unique. Each of them had personal quests and stories that were compelling and sympathetic. I do wish there had been more opportunities to chat with them, or that they talked to each other during exploration (like Bioware companions do). I also appreciated that the Teer Fradee natives weren’t one, homogeneous group. I think too often we see pop culture try to write Indigenous peoples as having the same culture and goals, but with this game, there was some variety regarding what the best course of action would be against an invading force. I’m sure, however, that the depiction of the natives overall was problematic, but I’m not well-versed enough in native representation in pop culture to articulate the issues. While they weren’t portrayed as primitive or child-like (at least, I didn’t think so), I don’t doubt that there were tropes in there that I just couldn’t recognize (for example, Siora maybe a Chief’s Daughter/Indian Princess trope - it’s complicated). I suggest finding and reading an Indigenous critique of the game. (There’s also this one, which is valid, and I do think the game’s efforts and failures are worth talking about.)

Gameplay: This RPG mainly relies on balancing skills, talents, and attributes. Skills define what weapons you can use and how (one-handed blades, two-handed blades, firearms, magic, etc). Talents are things like charisma, science, or lockpicking - stuff which will affect the way you interact with the world. Attributes are mental and physical abilities like strength or willpower which affect how you wield weapons. Overall, the process of leveling up and gaining points to spend in these areas was pretty straight-forward, and I enjoyed the mental challenge of building a character that fit my play style.

Combat was a little clunky; basic attacks ran just fine for me, but there wasn’t much grace in the way characters dodged or rolled. I also kept getting thrown off by the fact that you can’t press space to jump! But in all, it wasn’t the worst experience. Enemies had helpful health bars, and I enjoyed the combination of a pistol and a rapier to finish off my foes. The diplomatic elements were by far the best part of gameplay for me. If players assign their skill points well, de Sardet can use a number of different tactics and choose from multiple dialogue options, from intimidation to taking advantage of intuition to laying on the charisma. It was fun to figure out which tactic would work on which characters, and how my skill sets translated into consequences for my decisions. I do think, however, that more options could have been presented to players in terms of dialogue choices and role-playing elements. While players make important choices regarding how to handle any given situation, there was little opportunity to purely role play. More opportunities to influence the direction or tone of the dialogue in non-crucial situations, I think, would have helped and made my De Sardet feel more unique.

Visuals: Aesthetically, I very much appreciated that we were given a fantasy game that wasn’t set in the faux Middle Ages. I loved the 18th century vibe to all the clothing and town layouts, and each of the maps were distinct and fully-realized, from the urban settings to the natural ones. There was a bit of repetition in the urban layouts; the palaces, for example, were the same, and some houses were recycled, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Dragon Age II. I also appreciated that there were people of various races and genders in all positions and all social circles. There were women in the guard, women working on ships, and so on, without any hint that it was unusual. There was also a fairly wide variety of skin tones, with people of color being included in higher social classes and not relegated to lowly servant roles. There are some problems in that “diversity washing” detracts from the racial conflicts that were very present in the 18th century. I don’t think the developers thought through the implications of putting POC in positions of power where they could commit violent colonial acts against the natives. The creatures on the island were interesting to look at. Their designs frequently combined natural imagery (such as vines and wood) with horror to create foes with an eldritch, elemental vibe. The same creepiness was reflected in the fictional disease that afflicts the colonists; the afflicted had black, vine-like tendrils running through the skin, and there was an impending sense of dread whenever I looked at someone who was infected. Despite all the things I liked, GreedFall’s biggest problem is its animation. For a game that was made in 2019, facial expressions and combat are quite clunky, to the point where the characters felt robotic. I understand that not every video game needs to have top-tier level animation, but playing GreedFall was similar to my experiences playing the first Witcher game or the first Mass Effect or Dragon Age: Origins games. Still technically playable, but it feels very outdated.

In-Game Triggers: violence (especially racial violence), colonialism, racism, religious zealotry, torture,

I feel the need to point out that while I don’t think this game is gory or explicit in any way (PG-13 would be my rating), there are some scenes that people may find triggering. There’s also one where a Native is killed by a religious zealot, and I found it extremely upsetting (it happens when you first enter San Matheus, if you need a heads up). Other than that, you never actually see characters torture native peoples, but you do hear about it later.

Recommendations: I would recommend this game if you’re interested in the 18th century, the age of imperialism, role-playing games, and fantasy. You might also like this game if you’re a fan of Bioware RPGs.

#video game review

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howwelldoyouknowyourmoon · 4 years

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Christian Groups That Resist Public-Health Guidelines Are Forgetting a Key Part of the Religion’s History

TIME

https://time.com/5824128/early-christian-caritas-coronavirus/

BY MATTHEW GABRIELE

APRIL 20, 2020

Because of its long history, Christianity has a tendency to produce contradicting reactions to any number of situations—and the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic is no exception. On one hand, some religious leaders have shown that they believe a Christian response to the global emergency involves steps such as making allowances for their congregants to practice their faith with socially distant private worship or drive-through confession; in March, Pope Francis hailed “the creativity of priests” in responding to this crisis. Meanwhile, others have made it clear that they see their Christian faith as a reason not to follow public-health guidelines.

Lawsuits across the country filed by Christian churches seek exemptions from state-level stay-at-home orders, and some churches simply said they wouldn’t obey those orders and would hold services anyway this Easter, leading in some cases to arrests. One Virginia evangelical pastor who preached in March that he would continue to hold services in a crowded church died on April 11 due to the coronavirus. In perhaps the most notable example, Liberty University made headlines as one of the few U.S. colleges that welcomed students back to campus after their Spring Break. Though the school later reversed course and went entirely to online instruction, university president Jerry Falwell, Jr., has downplayed the threat of the virus to young people, echoing earlier statements he’d made about the virus being a conspiracy to hurt President Trump. Now, as COVID-19 deaths in the area near the school grow, the school faces a class-action lawsuit initiated by a student.

The reasons behind these acts of defiance are, of course, varied. Some said that social distancing violates the Constitution, while others claimed their religion gave them immunity from virus, while still others acknowledged the threat but said that the gatherings were essential because “true” Christians welcomed death. Some of these ideas might suggest a link between these acts of defiance and the early Church, and certainly we can see similar themes — a sense of persecution by the state, spiritual protection against the evils of the world for the select few, welcoming (what they perceive as) potential martyrdom. In fact, the perception of such a link has been demonstrated over the past decade or so by scholars such as Elizabeth Castelli and Candida Moss, among others, and the defenses mustered by churches now support that linkage; for example, one Louisiana church that defied gathering-size limits relies on a theology that specifically touts its connection to the early church.

But there seems to be something missing from how Christian groups defying public-health guidelines are thinking about the ancient past. In fact, scholars of ancient Christianity might point out that the religion’s origins offer a very different lesson—one that would be useful for the world to remember at this moment of crisis.

The growth of the earliest local cult practices among the first followers of Jesus into a pan-Mediterranean religion is a development that has interested scholars for generations. Indeed, that rise and spread was by no means linear. It moved in fits and starts, with Jesus followers (people we today think of as “Christians”) at first clustering in and around urban centers across the Roman world, remaining a very small percentage of the overall population. The real explosion only came after the Emperor Constantine’s conversion in 312 CE and his Edict of Milan the following year, allowing the formal practice of Christianity across the empire.

But though the Emperor played a large role in that story, scholars have found another consistent element that, both before and after Constantine’s conversion, made the religion grow. This element was embodied by the Latin word caritas. In English, we often translate that word as “charity” but it also, and perhaps more meaningfully, meant “love.” The term is found throughout the Christian Bible, perhaps most famously in 1 Corinthians 13, that staple of so many wedding readings today (“Love is patient, love is kind,” etc.), in which every instance we translate as “love” is actually caritas in Latin. This love, this charity, in the ancient and early medieval world, was about care for others.

This mattered because the ancient Mediterranean world was a world of disease. For example, the Antonine Plague (perhaps smallpox) ravaged populations from the Tigris to the Rhine during the late second century CE, while the Plague of Cyprian (measles?) killed thousands in those same regions towards the end of the third century CE. Generally, polytheistic philanthropy was focused on endowments and monuments, with little care for suffering bodies. Christianity offered something different with caritas. Scholars have shown that a large part of Christianity’s attraction in the Roman world was that it cared for the welfare of the people who were suffering.

Although initially a closed community, wary of contemporary social antagonism and the threat of imperial violence, these early Christians offered people a sense of equality and a social network that would “love” them with donations of food or money, that would often take them in if they were ill. It’s striking how much time in early hagiographies (lives of the saints) was spent on healing miracles. These in part are literary convention, emulations of these same miracles in the Gospels, but they also reflect the very real concerns of contemporaries. The Life of Martin of Tours, written in the fourth century CE, says at one point that “the gift of accomplishing cures was so largely possessed by Martin, that scarcely any sick person came to him for assistance without being at once restored to health.” In a world where affliction was everywhere, where the pandemic was always, a response of caritas was revolutionary.

The line between then and now is never direct. There is no “rainbow connection” that we can use to move between epochs, skipping over the historical change that’s occurred across the last 1,700 years. But history echoes. In the later Middle Ages, in stone on cathedrals across Europe, virtues and vices were paired. Charity was depicted as the antidote to avarice. Caritas was portrayed as a woman giving what she had to help someone in need. Avarice was shown as hoarding, being concerned only for yourself and not for the public good.

The early hagiographies, the images etched into those cathedrals, still hold lessons for us today. The Christian groups in 2020 that are resisting stay-at-home orders are actually far divorced from the historical models they might seek to emulate. Actions that put others at risk are actions that create rather than ameliorate future suffering. They’re far removed from the early Christian ideal of caritas—an ideal that should hold just as much power today as it did all those centuries ago.

___________________________________

Historians’ perspectives on how the past informs the present

Matthew Gabriele is a professor of medieval studies and chair of the Department of Religion & Culture at Virginia Tech

___________________________________

The Psychological Needs That QAnon Feeds – Joe Pierre M.D.

The thin line between conspiracy theories and cult worship is dissolving DEREK BERES 18 May, 2020 bigthink.com

___________________________________

CNN: Born on the dark fringes of the internet, QAnon is now infiltrating mainstream American life and politics

By Paul P. Murphy, CNN

There’s no evidence that any of what QAnon claims is factual.

FULL STORY:

https://www.cnn.com/2020/07/03/us/what-is-qanon-trnd/index.html

#TIME

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stillthewordgirl · 5 years

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LOT/CaptainCanaryBlazer fic: I Say It’s Up to Fate

After the events in "(I Don't Believe in) Destiny," Constantine is back and moping. Sara and Leonard decide to do something about that.

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This is a sequel to "(I Don't Believe in) Destiny," taking place about a week after the end events of that story. However, I believe it stands alone if you don't want to read that. (Or just want to read this first.)

My heart belongs to CaptainCanary, but after a certain exchange in IDBID, a number of people challenged me to write a Sara/Leonard/Constantine story (which I'm dubbing CaptainCanaryBlazer for lack of a better term). This is that story. (I might write a more explicit version at some point. But I hope you enjoy this for now!)

Many thanks to Pir8grl. Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

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The ship is quiet.

Sara lets out a long, satisfied breath, slumping back into the captain’s chair. As much as she loves her team, her crew, it does sometimes get…rather busy, here, so often.

But. Nate and Ray and Nora are all still back at the Vanishing Point at the moment. Zari and Charlie have headed out into the city, and Sara’s sure enough that it’s effectively their first date, something that makes her smile. And Gideon had decided she wanted to see Central City herself, to try out her human guise, but when Sara had proved reluctant to let her go on her own, Mick had grunted, cast a glance at Sara (and Len, leaning against the wall nearby) and offered to go with her.

She owes him something for that, she decides, getting up and stretching. What she and Leonard have may not be Mick’s sort of relationship, but he’s doing his best with it, and she’s doing her own best to get what Mick and Len have, and it works.

And now, for the first time since the whole Oculus drama, she’d rather like to get laid without having to worry about someone rapping on the door and yelling for the captain.

As if he’s been summoned by the thought, Leonard appears in the doorway to the bridge. He pauses as he sees Sara there, then smirks, strolling toward her, clearly with the same thing in mind she has. Sara smirks back, running her fingers down the arm of the chair, then stands, taking a step toward him.

“Alone at last.” Her crook lifts an eyebrow at her. “All the children are out to play until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do with our time?”

Sara takes another step. “Oh,” she purrs. “I think we’ll think of somethi…”

Which—of course—is when a bellow echoes through the Waverider’s corridors, drawing both their attention.

Sara lets out a hefty sigh right as John Constantine strolls on to the bridge, a bottle swinging from his hand, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“And I am back,” the warlock announces with a flourish, saluting them both with the bottle, in which an amber liquid sloshes. “Miss me?”

The booze, Sara thinks, isn’t the only thing getting a bit sloshed. “John,” she acknowledges with another sigh, giving Len a look and turning toward the other man. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.” He winks at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Leonard snorts. Sara sighs. Again. “Well, I don’t know?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. “But you’ve been gone a week, and you seem to be three sheets to the wind, and…where’s Gary?”

“No worries. He’s back with his own ilk, at the bureau. Had him drop me off here.” John perches on the edge of a jumpseat and smirks at her. He turns his attention, such as it is, to Leonard. “Ah, handsome. You’ll be pleased to know that your little—time adventure—didn’t do any harm to things. The…” He takes a slug directly from the bottle. “…walls ‘tween here and there—whatever here and there may be—are still intact. Huzzah.”

Leonard retorts, amusement in his voice, but Sara’s chasing down something else. “You just…ran off on him again? John, you know that man’s kind of besotted with you, right?”

John takes another healthy swig from the bottle. “Oh, darlin’, y’know I’m a love-em-leave-em kinda bloke.” A shadow crosses his face, and he takes another drink. “It’s better that way.”

Oh. They’re going there again, huh? Sara fixes him with a glare. “John. What happened?”

“Nothing, love.” Another drink. “Nothing. Kinda the point, ain’t it?”

Then he blinks, looking up and back and forth between Sara and Leonard. “Ah. Interrupted something, did I? I can…” He gets to his feet, weaves a little. “Leave. Far be it from me to stay in the way of people who…might actually be…making something work…”

It’s the brittle kind of self-deprecating that Sara knows well…and that actually worries her when it comes to John, who’s seen far too many people come and go—many permanently, many violently—in his life. But before she can even glance at Leonard, the crook speaks up, tone pointed.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says sharply, folding his arms and staring at Constantine. “But if we’re gonna drink, it’s gotta be something better than that crap. I have standards.” He glances at Sara. “There’s a few bottles left of Rip’s old stash, right?”

There are, and he knows it, because Sara has shown him. She’s been saving it for a rainy day, or some sort of occasion, but…

Oh, this will do.

“Yep,” she confirms, giving Leonard another significant glance. “Come help me carry it.”

John subsides back into his seat with a grumble as Sara turns for the door, Len following her, but at least he doesn’t seem inclined to go anywhere.

She waits until they’re out of earshot and even then, lowers her voice to speak to him.

“Thank you. If we told him to leave right now,” Sara says in a low voice, “I think he might do something really stupid. Even for John.” She glances at Leonard. “He…gets like this sometimes.”

Her lover nods. “Self-destructive,” he says quietly as they reach the captain’s quarters. “I get it.” A pause. “You take care of your crew.”

“Yeah.” She retrieves the scotch from its hidey hole, handing him two bottles, then sighs, studying him.

“I love you,” she murmurs, still pleased with her ability to say it, and how true it is.

Leonard smirks at her. “I know.”

Sara still halfway expects John to have vanished again by the time they return to the bridge, but the warlock is still there, staying morosely at nothing, bottle swinging from his fingertips. He brightens when he sees their burden, pouts when Sara won’t simply give him a bottle, shrugs philosophically when Leonard takes the rotgut he’d been drinking and drops it fastidiously in a waste bin, and happily accepts a glass of the scotch, taking a long drink and leaning backward.

“Ah. Now that’s the stuff,” he says with a sigh, waving the glass at Leonard. “You’ve got good taste indeed, handsome.”

“Yes,” Sara tells him drily, taking a seat herself, glass in hand. “He does.” She watches as Leonard drops into a nearby seat, hooking one foot over his opposite knee and slouching in that attractively boneless way he has, then looks back at John.

“Now,” she says, taking a drink herself, and staring him down, “what’s got you in this state?” She points at him. “And don’t go all mysterious and broody again. You know I don’t fall for that crap.”

John’s quiet another moment, but then that same self-deprecating smirk touches his mouth again, and he shrugs.

“Oh, you know,” he says, a lightness in his tone that Sara knows isn’t really lightness at all. “Sometimes you look back through…things…and you don’t care for what you see.” He drains half his glass in one go. “Regrets. Stupid mistakes. Big stupid mistakes, the kind that get people dead or worse.” He finishes the rest of the glass abruptly. “Lost loves. Y’know.”

Ah. “You were skipping around through time, checking things out via Gary’s time courier, and you couldn’t resist a little self-flagellation,” Sara translates. She’s suddenly tempted to drain her glass too but resists. “Desmond?”

“Among others.”

His voice is very low. Sara looks at Leonard, who’s frowning at John, but not in a way that suggests he’s annoyed. She knows Mick had filled him in on the goings-on over the last few years, but how much detail, she’s not sure. She herself has told him more about John, to some extent, but she’s not sure exactly what he’s thinking.

“You saved him,” she says, getting up and moving over to refill John’s glass for him. “You did that.”

He toasts her again, mockingly—although the mockery is certainly directed at himself. “In a way. And the reward?”

“He’s not in Hell. He’s alive.”

“And married now.” He smirks as Sara blinks at the word. “To a blond bloke, looks a lot like me actually. They’re newlyweds. Quite sweet.” He throws back a good deal of the scotch again and coughs. “Guess he moved on all right.”

Sara takes another drink. “Well, that sucks,” is all she can think of to say.

There’s silence a long moment.

“So…what?” Leonard breaks in then, the slight harshness in his voice making Sara wonder idly if he wants to play this good cop/bad cop. “You don’t want him to be happy ‘cause it’s not with you?” He gets up and refills his glass, too. “Doesn’t sound like love to me.”

John scowls at the crook, while Sara darts a warning glance at him. “Not so much that, handsome, as that it’s hardly the first time,” he says. “Reminders that other people get what you’ll never dare have.” He looks at Sara. “We’ve talked about this.”

It’s her turn to frown. “John…”

“Oh, I know, I know.” He waves his (empty again) glass in the air. “ ‘Love makes us stronger,’ and all that jazz. An’ maybe it’s even true.” Then, yes, he goes there. “You’ve been luckier than most, though, Sara, no mistake.” He glances at Leonard. “Because here you are.”

It’s true, and yet…Sara sucks in a breath, trying to hold her temper, thinking of all those she’s lost, and not just romantically.

“You do recall,” her crook drawls, however, cutting in, “that we’ve both died.” He glances at Sara. “More or less. And Sara, more than once.”

“And yet you’re here now.”

Is there a good way to respond to that? There’s probably not a good way to respond to that.

Leonard gets them all another refill and it’s silent again for a bit. At one point, Leonard takes off his black jacket and slings it over a chair, an action that gets a wolf whistle from John, which he ignores. The warlock follows suit, though, removing his battered trench coat and shoving up the sleeves of his shirt restlessly before subsiding back down into the jumpseat.

That reveals something Sara already knows about, although she sees Leonard’s eyes sharpen as he studies the other man. They’ve all had a good bit of scotch by now, but he’s no less observant than usual.

And John, for all he’d gotten a head start, notices Leonard’s regard too.

“Noticing my war wounds, mate?” he says mock-casually, lifting an arm and regarding the small, round scars there with a critical eye. “I made a good ashtray as a kid. Certainly, my father thought so.” He considers his arms, expression analytical. “No pity, please. Long time ago.”

Leonard snorts. Then, a little to Sara’s surprise, he shoves up his own sleeves, first one and then the other, exposing very similar scars and other, larger marks.

Sara, watching and drinking, notices John’s eyes widen just a fraction before he conceals the reaction with a gulp of scotch.

“Your ol’ man?” he asks quietly.

“Yep” is the drawled response. Leonard tilts his left forearm up to inspect the longer, twisted mark there, thick with scar tissue. “So was this. Broken beer bottle.”

John makes a thoughtful noise. He undoes another button of his shirt and yanks the collar to the side, exposing a scar with the puckered look of a long-healed but very deep wound. “Same here.”

Leonard looks like he’s considering upping the ante, but he polishes off his drink first. To Sara’s continued surprise and amusement, his fingers twitch toward the hem of his sweater, though he stops them.

“If you two are going to do the whole stripping-down-and-comparing-scars thing,” she says before she can think better of it, “at least let me lower the lights, put on some music and get more scotch.”

Two sets of eyes, blue and brown, flick her way, and Leonard’s lips twitch, while John laughs out loud. He winks at Leonard, swirling the scotch around in his glass.

“It’s not fair, though,” he says in a commiserating tone. “She’s already seen the both of us bare. She knows where all the scars are.”

Sara coughs, although Leonard merely lifts an eyebrow in her general direction. There’s nothing jealous in the look—he’s not that type—but there is curiosity.

“Yes, we’ve slept together…” she tells him with a sigh.

“Sleeping had nothin’ to do with it, love.”

“It was a while back,” Sara continues, ignoring John. “Even before Ava…long before you returned.” She gets herself a little more scotch. “It was a…friends-with-benefits thing. Once. It’s not that kind of relationship.”

“Sara, you break my heart,” John announces grandiosely, the sheer drama in his tone showing that she’s doing nothing of the sort. He looks through his lashes at her and waves a hand at Leonard. “I don’t think it’s fair that you have the advantage of both of us, though.”

Sara eyes him. “Pardon?”

“You’ve gotten to kiss both of us.” John beams at her, then shrugs. “Well, more than that. But definitely that.”

Sara’s eyes dart sideways to Leonard, reading how he’s reacting to John’s teasing. To her relief, her lover looks amused and relaxed, none of the telltale tension in him that she knows would mean he’s uncomfortable with this line of discussion. And maybe because of that, she says something else.

“Well, I won’t stand in your way. If you want to even things up,” she says, motioning with her glass. “But you’ve got to talk to Len about that.”

John blinks at her. Then he glances at Leonard, who lifts an eyebrow.

“A kiss, huh?” the crook drawls, sitting his glass down and eyeing John in return. “I could handle that.”

“Oh, yeah, you could handle this, handsome,” John retorts, seeming somewhat dazed despite the flippant words. He glances at Sara as Leonard rises easily to his feet, then clears his throat and stands as well, though looking distinctively disbelieving in a rather un-John-like fashion.

Leonard, once committed anyway, has no such qualms. Sara watches as he saunters over to the other man, grabs that red tie, flicks the quickest glance and smile her way, and then hauls John’s mouth to his.

Damn. Sara downs her scotch, unexpected desire stirring, feeling like a voyeur—but not in a bad way.

Leonard doesn’t rush the kiss, and when he finally lets John go and steps back, the blond man staggers a little, staring at him open-mouthed. Leonard, who’s looking a little ruffled himself, winks at Sara, but while he does take a few more steps back, he doesn’t sit down again.

John takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “You,” he tells Sara somewhat huskily, “are a lucky, lucky woman.”

Sara clears her throat. “I am,” she acknowledges, watching Leonard, a smile hovering on her lips, wondering if the look he’s giving her means what she thinks it means. She trusts him, and she trusts what they have, and…

Exactly as she’d somewhat expected, John’s expression darkens as he looks back and forth between them then—more of that self-deprecating brittleness, the bleak loneliness that he keeps behind his façade of dissolute good humor.

“Outside looking in, again,” he says in a low tone. “Ah, well. I’m glad for you, love.” He picks up one of the bottles—one that’s still mostly full—and salutes them. “I’m off. Hate being a third whe…”

“Oh, bloody hell,” Sara says suddenly, fervently, getting to her feet and stalking toward him.

She grabs John’s tie with one hand and grabs the front of Leonard’s sweater with the other, going up on her toes, pulling first the former man toward her and kissing him hard. She hears a noise of surprise, tastes scotch and cinnamon and the faintest hint of mint, then pulls away (still holding his tie) and turns toward Leonard, yanking him toward her and kissing him too. The mint on his breath, familiar and reassuring, is mingled with the faint spice of cinnamon, and something about tasting the other in each man’s kiss is one of the sexiest things Sara’s ever encountered in her life.

When she relaxes her grip on Leonard, breaking the kiss, she meets his eyes, a question in her own. She’s answered by understanding and amusement and desire together. He inclines his head, gaze never leaving hers, and Sara smirks, tightening her grip on each of them as she and Leonard both look at John, who’s still looking rather stunned.

Then she starts towing them both down the corridor toward the captain’s quarters, and then in, closing the door firmly behind them.

At some point during the night, John disentangles himself, gets up quietly and leaves. Sara, waking just enough to be aware of it, wonders groggily if she should check on him, but the low chuckle and the gentle kiss he presses to her forehead before departing lead her to decide that he’ll be all right. She drifts back to sleep, listening to Leonard’s steady breathing still beside her.

It’s sometime in the very early morning that Sara wakes again, this time with a faint stirring of worry. She doesn’t regret what they’d done, the three of them, but with a faint scotch haze hanging over her, she does hope she’d read Leonard right. What they have is still a little new, and if she’d misinterpreted…

And, honestly, she’s always rather thought that Leonard tends toward guys the same way she tends toward girls. She’s confident in their relationship, really she is, but John is charming, and handsome, and great in bed, and…

She rolls toward Leonard, noticing with a little surprise that he’s awake and watching her. She hadn’t heard the change in his breathing, for once.

“Hey,” he says quietly, eyes on her, one hand reaching out to push a strand of hair out of her face.

“Hey.” Sara bites her lip, watching him, then decides not to torture herself any longer. “We OK?”

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. Then, to Sara’s great relief, he smiles.

“You think I’m going to fall for Trouble-with-a-capital-T there because of one admittedly enjoyable night?” he asks, amusement in his tone. “No. One, it’d be a little too much like…” He pauses. “Well. Let’s just say I think we’re a bit too much alike.”

“In some ways,” Sara acknowledges, wrapping her fingers around his. “Not others.”

“Hmmm. For another…” Those blue eyes, once so icy, now so warm, are focused on hers. “Sara. I was four years adrift in the timestream. The Time Force, to protect my mind, gave me dreams to keep me going. And most of them were of you.” He pauses. “That, last night? That was fun. I like him—and we both know I don’t like many people. Wouldn’t mind a repeat, if circumstances were right.”

His eyes darken, and he moves toward her, just a little, as she moves toward him. “This is something else.”

And he kisses her, and Sara reaches for him again, and they’re OK.

They’re better than OK.

Later, they find John sitting in the galley, staring down into a mug of black coffee like it holds all the mysteries of the universe. His trench coat is still missing, and he’s back in shirtsleeves, though looking rumpled as always.

He glances up at Sara and Len as they enter, a rather tentative expression on his face. Sara knows a moment of concern that she’s gone and led her friend into falling for her love—and damn, did she really have to make life more complicated in that particular way? But what’d happened, had happened, and it was done with. She doesn’t regret it.

When he’s close enough, Leonard holds out a hand and lets John’s red silk tie slither from his fingers, allowing it to fall to the table, giving the other man a smirk when he blinks.

“You’re lucky I didn’t decide to keep it,” he drawls, taking a seat and the cup of coffee Sara slides over to him. “As a souvenir.”

Sara can’t resist. “I was going to make him wear it this morning,” she says, sitting down and sipping her own coffee. “And nothing else.”

Leonard laughs. John blinks again then chuckles quietly. He takes a drink, then pauses, and Sara waits, watching him.

“Y’know, this probably ain’t gonna be a regular thing,” the warlock says finally, waggling a hand in the air as if to indicate the three of them. He pauses. “Or rather, a frequent thing.”

Sara blinks at the words—actually fighting off a bit of unexpected disappointment--but John keeps going, the ghost of an odd, vulnerable sincerity in his expression, something she’s very rarely seen.

“But I’ve gotta say…thanks for letting me in on it,” he says quietly, looking back and forth between them. “Into what you have. What you’ve found. You give this ol’ cynic hope.”

Then he holds his mug up, familiar smirk appearing once again. “And if you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it with alacrity. And many lovely, lascivious details.”

Sara laughs, holding her mug up too. “I think we can agree to keep this between us,” she says, glancing at Leonard, who looks back at her, a gleam in his eye. “A nice memory. A possibility. A pact between…friends.”

The three of them clink their mugs together in agreement.

#captaincanaryblazer #Sara Lance #leonard snart #john constantine #Legends of Tomorrow

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troybeecham · 4 years

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Today the Church remembers St. Anthony the Great, Abbot and hermit.

Ora pro nobis.

Saint Anthony (January 12, 251 – January 17, 356), was a Christian monk from Egypt, revered since his death as a saint. He is distinguished from other saints named Anthony such as Anthony of Padua, by various epithets of his own: Anthony the Great, Anthony of Egypt, Antony the Abbot, Anthony of the Desert, Anthony the Anchorite, and Anthony of Thebes. For his importance among the Desert Fathers and to all later Christian monasticism, he is also known as the Father of All Monks.

The biography of Anthony's life by Athanasius of Alexandria helped to spread the concept of Christian monasticism, particularly in Western Europe via its Latin translations. He is often erroneously considered the first Christian monk, but as his biography and other sources make clear, there were many ascetics before him. Anthony was, however, the first to go into the wilderness (about 270 AD), which seems to have contributed to his renown. Accounts of Anthony enduring supernatural temptation during his sojourn in the Eastern Desert of Egypt inspired the often-repeated subject of the temptation of St. Anthony in Western art and literature.

Anthony was born in Coma in Lower Egypt in AD 251 to wealthy landowner parents. When he was about 18 years old, his parents died and left him with the care of his unmarried sister. Shortly thereafter, he decided to follow the Evangelical counsel of Jesus which reads, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven."[Mt 19:21] Anthony gave away some of his family's lands to his neighbors, sold the remaining property, and donated the funds thus raised to the poor. He then left to live an ascetic life, placing his sister with a group of Christian virgins, a sort of proto-convent.

For the next fifteen years, Anthony remained in the area, spending the first years as the disciple of another local hermit. There are various legends associating Anthony with pigs: one is that he worked as a swineherd during this period.

Anthony is sometimes considered the first monk, and the first to initiate solitary desertification, but there were others before him. There were already ascetic pagan hermits (the Therapeutae), and loosely organized cenobitic communities were described by the Hellenized Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria in the 1st century AD as long established in the harsh environment of Lake Mareotis and in other less accessible regions. Philo opined that "this class of persons may be met with in many places, for both Greece and barbarian countries want to enjoy whatever is perfectly good."

Christian ascetics such as Thecla had likewise retreated to isolated locations at the outskirts of cities. Anthony is notable for having decided to surpass this tradition and headed out into the desert proper. He left for the alkaline Nitrian Desert (later the location of the noted monasteries of Nitria, Kellia, and Scetis) on the edge of the Western Desert about 95 km (59 mi) west of Alexandria. He remained there for 13 years.

According to Athanasius, the devil fought Anthony by afflicting him with boredom, laziness, and the phantoms of women, which he overcame by the power of prayer, providing a theme for Christian art. After that, he moved to a tomb, where he resided and closed the door on himself, depending on some local villagers who brought him food. When the devil perceived his ascetic life and his intense worship, he was envious and beat him mercilessly, leaving him unconscious. When his friends from the local village came to visit him and found him in this condition, they carried him to a church.

After he recovered, he made a second effort and went back into the desert to a father mountain by the Nile called Pispir (now Der-el-Memun), opposite Arsinoe. There he lived strictly enclosed in an old abandoned Roman fort for some 20 years.

According to Athanasius, the devil again resumed his war against Anthony, only this time the phantoms were in the form of wild beasts, wolves, lions, snakes, and scorpions. They appeared as if they were about to attack him or cut him into pieces. But the saint would laugh at them scornfully and say, "If any of you have any authority over me, only one would have been sufficient to fight me." At his saying this, they disappeared as though in smoke. While in the fort he only communicated with the outside world by a crevice through which food would be passed and he would say a few words. Anthony would prepare a quantity of bread that would sustain him for six months. He did not allow anyone to enter his cell; whoever came to him stood outside and listened to his advice.

Then one day he emerged from the fort with the help of villagers, who broke down the door. By this time most had expected him to have wasted away or to have gone insane in his solitary confinement. Instead, he emerged healthy, serene, and enlightened. Everyone was amazed that he had been through these trials and emerged spiritually rejuvenated. He was hailed as a hero and from this time forth the legend of Anthony began to spread and grow.

Anthony went to Fayyum and confirmed the brethren there in the Christian faith before returning to his fort. Amid the Diocletian Persecutions, Anthony wished to become a martyr and in AD 311 went to Alexandria. He visited those who were imprisoned for the sake of Christ and comforted them. When the Governor saw that he was confessing his Christianity publicly, not caring what might happen to him, he ordered him not to show up in the city. However, the Saint did not heed his threats. He faced him and argued with him in order that he might arouse his anger so that he might be tortured and martyred, but it did not happen.

At the end of the persecutions, Anthony returned to his old Roman fort. By this time, many more had heard of his sanctity and he had many more visitors than before. He saw these visits as interfering with his worship and went further into the Eastern Desert. He traveled for three days before reaching a small oasis with a spring and some palm trees and chose to settle there. Disciples soon found him out and his number of visitors again continued to grow.

Anthony had not been the first ascetic or hermit, but he may properly be called the "Father of Monasticism" in Christianity, as he organized his disciples into a worshipping community and inspired similar withdrawn communities throughout Egypt and, following the spread of Athanasius's hagiography, the Greek and Roman world. His follower Macarius the Great was particularly active in continuing his legacy.

Anthony anticipated the rule of Benedict by about 200 years, engaging himself and his disciples in manual labor. Anthony himself cultivated a garden and wove rush mats. He and his disciples were regularly sought for words of enlightenment. These statements were later collected into the book of Sayings of the Desert Fathers. Anthony himself is said to have spoken to those of a spiritual disposition personally, leaving the task of addressing the more worldly visitors to Macarius. On occasions, he would go to the monastery on the outskirts of the desert by the Nile to visit the brethren, then return to his inner monastery.

A background story of one of the surviving epistles, directed to Constantine I, recounts how the fame of Saint Anthony spread abroad and reached Emperor Constantine. The Emperor wrote to him offering praise and requesting prayers. The brethren were pleased with the Emperor's letter, but Anthony did not pay any attention to it, and he said to them, "The books of God, the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords, commands us every day, but we do not heed what they tell us, and we turn our backs on them." Under the persistence of the brethren who told him "Emperor Constantine loves the church", he accepted to write him a letter blessing him, and praying for the peace and safety of the empire and the church.

According to Athanasius, Saint Anthony heard a voice telling him "Go out and see." He went out and saw an angel who wore a girdle with a cross, one resembling the holy Eskiem (Tonsure or Schema), and on his head was a head cover (Kolansowa). He was sitting while braiding palm leaves, then he stood up to pray, and again he sat to weave. A voice came to him saying, "Anthony, do this and you will rest." Henceforth, he started to wear this tunic that he saw, and began to weave palm leaves, and never was bored again.

Saint Anthony prophesied about the persecution that was about to happen to the church and the control of the heretics over it, the church victory and its return to its former glory, and the end of the age. When Saint Macarius visited Anthony, Anthony clothed him with the monk's garb and foretold him what would happen to him. When the day drew near for the departure of Saint Paul the First Hermit in the desert, Saint Anthony went to him and buried him, after clothing him in a tunic which was a present from St Athanasius the Apostolic, the 20th Patriarch of Alexandria.

In AD 338, he left the desert temporarily to visit Alexandria to help refute the teachings of Arius. Although not particularly learned, Anthony was able to confound the Arians.

Final days

When Saint Anthony felt that the day of his departure had approached, he commanded his disciples to give his staff to Saint Macarius, and to give one sheepskin cloak to Saint Athanasius and the other sheepskin cloak to Saint Serapion, his disciple. He further instructed his disciples to bury his body in an unmarked, secret grave.

He probably spoke only his native language, Coptic, but his sayings were spread in a Greek translation. He himself wrote letters in Coptic, seven of which are extant. His biography was written by Saint Athanasius and titled Life of Saint Anthony the Great. Many stories are also told about him in various collections of sayings of the Desert Fathers.

Though Anthony himself did not organize or create a monastery, a community grew around him based on his example of living an ascetic and isolated life. Athanasius' biography helped propagate Anthony's ideals. Athanasius writes, "For monks, the life of Anthony is a sufficient example of asceticism." Asceticism is a lifestyle characterized by abstinence from worldly pleasures, often for the purpose of pursuing spiritual goals.

Anthony was secretly buried on the mountain-top where he had chosen to live. His remains were reportedly discovered in AD 361, and transferred to Alexandria. Some time later, they were taken from Alexandria to Constantinople, so that they might escape the destruction being perpetrated by invading Saracens. In the eleventh century, the Byzantine emperor gave them to the French Count Jocelin. Jocelin had them transferred to La-Motte-Saint-Didier, which was then renamed Saint-Antoine-en-Dauphiné.

Abba Anthony famously said, “A time is coming when men will go mad, and when the see someone who is not mad, they will attack him saying, ‘You are mad! You are not like us!’”

O God, by your Holy Spirit you enabled your servant Antony to withstand the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil: Give us grace, with pure hearts and minds, to follow you, the only God; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Amen.

#saints #christianity #jesus #God

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morethanonepage · 6 years

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thoughts on Keanu Reeves Constantine?

y’know this is an interesting question bc i actually have a lot of….if not affection for the movie, at least respect for some of the adaptation choices made. Like the most common line in re: film!Constantine is that it’s a good movie but it’s not a good Hellblazer movie and in a sense that’s right, it’s not – but it’s interesting. A noble failure, definitely.

What I think it hinges on is that it’s an American setting so they went full blown American with it – which is a mistake in my mind bc the point of Hellblazer is that it’s a quintessentially English story, and that’s why every run with an American writer in the comics is meh for me – but in the sense of “American AU Constantine” I think there were some really interesting/clever choices made.

Like starting with their John – Keanu is all wrong for original brand Constantine. His John is broody, he’s brunet, he’s Good At Magic. And comics!John is the opposite of all those things. And while comics!John can be broody, the important thing is the comics themselves tend to undercut that – there’s a lot of kind of snarky takes about John being in a sulk for whatever reason, some of it even from John himself. You get very little of that in the movie, and the movie itself is very TAKE THIS MAN’S PAIN SERIOUSLY about it, so. BUT in a sense that loner self flagellating thing is an American Male Archetype the way comic John has a very English & self deprecating sense of humor, so: ok, I can kinda see it, more as a translation (to American audiences) than an adaptation.

[READ MORE BC OMG WHY DID I CARE SO MUCH???]

They make John Catholic in the movie, which is another kind of interesting choice – in the comics he’s not anything specifically though I would imagine he would’ve been raised Church of England as likely as anything else. But they kind of commit to John’s Catholicism in the movie, most likely because it has more ~mysticism~ (and the association with exorcism in general) behind it. But it also kind of sets John up as An Other, because it’s the religion of a lot of the second class immigrants (like, the Irish initially, then Latinx Americans, etc). White Catholics have a bit of a different rep, but given that the film is set in LA in the late 20th century, for me it set up more of those associations than anything else. It’s also so much more about the SUFFERING and the MARTYRDOM and the REDEMPTION NARRATIVE, which is not so much a thing in the comics (where John often does/tries to do good things but usually NOT for the explicit purpose of ~cleansing his soul~, so it’s kind of notable/interesting that both American-based adaptations [TV and Movie] focus on that a lot more. It’s may also make more sense as an arc for the medium but y’know) but IS notably a big thing in the movie.

And the thing about John, even in the comics, is that he’s an Other but Normal Passing – with comics he presents in a very Proper English Man (which is why it’s SO IMPORTANT for me that he starts off on his adventures with his shirt properly done up and his tie right, and then as the day/his bullshit unfurls he gets sloppier) way, he’s white, he’s blond, he’s handsome etc, but he’s also a bisexual mess/working class disaster mage with a progressive bent, and in the movie he’s kind of a traditional American anti hero but also has his own stuff going on. It’s not as well executed as it could be – there’s not a lot of subversion in the film version, which is kind of the point of John – but at least you get hints of his potential sexuality and they go into his mental health issues (suicide attempt, etc) and his smoking, etc.

So John is an interesting translation – not perfect, but interesting. I would even argue that he’s the weakest point in the movie as a translation-not-adaptation (tho lol baby bear Chas Kramer is up there), bc he’s very basic supernatural protagonist with no flourish. Which is not the case for the rest of the film, which COMMITS to the genre it is and does it honestly very well.

For instance I love their conception of Ravenscar, the mental hospital John has A Bad History with – in the comics it’s got an old, spooky, mad house aesthetic from the 19th century, which fits the comics and John’s history and vibe really well. The movie version goes what I feel is a very modern American direction with it: one of the 20th century industrial monsters, a huge grey building, with the fear of mental health coming from that very specific post-war fear of anything ABNORMAL (including sexuality but y’know).

The setting of LA is great – a couple of (American) comic writers have given John’s arcs there, probably for the irony of CITY OF ANGELS etc, but I think it’s a really interesting choice/contrast to everything London (where John’s mostly based in comics, tho he does sometimes roam the countryside fucking things up) represents: superficial, modern, bright days, beauty, opulence vs the grey gritty grunginess of John’s London life, etc. So for that to be movie!John’s homebase is kinda neat, frankly, esp because of the cases John gets to work on there. The set design is also great – very colorful, very willing to pull in the florescent glare of a modern city, with the Latinx Catholic touches on the streets (look the votive candles and shrines are SUCH an easy go to for ~creepy urban flavor~ and it’s probably at least a little problematic for this film featuring some other really questionable racial choices I will get to later, but) in general it LOOKS great. Their conception of hell is also fascinating and very well executed imo.

I also think there’s ONE (1) thing I think the movie does better than the tv show: the setting is WAY more dug into the working class/legit poverty of LA behind the shiny surface Hollywood stuff. The show really only hit that point in the New Orleans ep and even then….didn’t fully commit to it, but it’s SUCH a key part of the comic universe. Like Chas himself (in the show) is pitch perfect but in the ep about his family they’re LIVING IN A BROOKLYN BROWNSTONE which, real talk, is worth millions of dollars. Literally millions. On a cab driver’s salary???? Ridic. Still mad about it w/e w/e. Baby Bear Chas Kramer with his shitty cab and probably shitty apartment, following John around like a stunned duckling, is way more comics canon accurate, probably.

Rachel Weiz’s character has a lot of potential – they make her Catholic too, to have some sort of connection with John, which is eh, and they also make her a twin, whose sister kills herself at Ravenscar. Given how much John’s early backstory issue are focused around HIM being a twin (whose birth killed both his mother and his (theoretically stronger) brother) that could’ve been a cool thing to allude to, but they don’t touch on it. And Angela (ANOTHER ANGEL THING) is p cool as a character – she’s unconvinced about the ~spooky shit~ stuff until she sees evidence of it, and then believes it, as a normal average human likely would. She’s brave, she asks questions, etc. She’s not just Love Interest tho there’s a bit of that. And anyway I love Rachel Weiz generally, she’s great, could’ve had more to do though.

Tilda Swinton shows up a lot in the gifs and it was a cool choice to cast her as Gabriel – they play up the androgyny and make her less obvious of a dick than comics Gabriel is (though she ends up being…probably more of one, or at least more effective). I think their Lucifer is good too – oily and weird and creepily gentle at times. He also doesn’t get a lot to do, but he doesn’t need to – he doesn’t in the comics, usually, either.

BUT the racial stuff – the supernatural macguffin that’s supposed to bring about the end of the world is found IN A MEXICAN DESERT and then SMUGGLED OVER THE BORDER to LA to bring about the end of the world, like, who wrote this, Donald J. Trump?? – is generally #bad. But this is something it shares with the show (GOD THOSE MEXICO EPS, I LEGIT ALMOST QUIT THE SHOW BC OF IT), tho at least they had an actual Mexican actress to temper that nonsense. NO SUCH LUCK from the movie – just lots of creepy zombish brown people trying to bring around an apocalypse, super cool.

And not only is meh as a metaphor, to impute such a conservative metaphor into a the Hellblazer Verse, with its infamous/classic DEMON YUPPIES FROM HELL and in general tips toward the progressive/pro immigrant ethos, is BAFFLING to me. I mean maybe more in tune with American sentiments about everything, which I have argued above is an interesting choice, but still, boooo.

Also the fact that John quits smoking at the end of the movie is such Hollywood garbage it almost outweighs the positives. I mostly imagine he and Angela date for like a month, he’s such a bitch when going through withdrawal that she dumps his ass, and then he goes back to smoking/sulking around LA doing bad exorcisms. That’s the real John Constantine, babey!!!

#oh god i scrolled up and saw much i wrote this is nonsense #more than you or anyone else should ever know about my feelings about constantine (2005)#constantine #hellblazer #waverly-earp

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templarhalo · 5 years

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The Master of Mankind’s Return Chapter 5 ( In the Grim darkness of the far future, there is only disappointment and hope)

Only three chapters left until this fanfic is officially complete Thank you again for everyone who’s read it. I plan to have this chapter and the previous ones posted on Archive of our Own this week.

Vldor was falling. He was tumbling into an an abyss, his limbs flailing, his mouth trying to scream, but producing no sound.

He slammed into the floor of a the Imperial Palace Valdor groaned and pulled himself to his feet. Then he looked around and almost screamed.

The palace was unrecognizable. Gold was slathered over the walls,. Statues that had once been painted were dull and lifeless, The magnificent tapestries and friezes that had been removed in the process of fortifying the palace had not been restored to their rightful place.

Thick layers of dust and soot had settled over everything. Valdor had to refrain from screaming again when released the soot was actually cremated human remains

Than he realized something.

The palace was silent. Something it never should have been. The palace had always been filled with the giggles of Ligo scampering through the halls, the clack-clack of Malcador’s Staff, The chortle his Custodes made as the exchanged jokes with Sisters of Silence in thought-mark as they went about their duties. The ka-boom! of one his King’s experiments going awry.

But there was no sound, not even the background of the hustle and bustle of Terra was heard.

Valdor started running in the direction of the Sanctum Imperialis. He had landed near the Tower of Hegemon. In about 15 minutes at his maximum speed he would reach the Eternity Gate

When he reached Eternity Gate, he couldn't hold back his scream back anymore.

An army of the dead stood between him and Eternity Gate. There were Astartes and Custodes in blackened armor, wreathed in fire, with no visible, flesh except for bones.

There were mortal soldiers, too. Voidsmen of the defunct Solar Auxilia, warrior maidens in a pattern of power armor he did did not recognize , Lucifer Blacks and the gung-ho Catachans. Valdor saw flame-wreathed soldiers in gas masks and trenchcoats clutching Lucius Pattern Lasguns and shotguns. He saw soldiers in green and olive fatigues led by a skeleton clutching a banner that had the name Cadia inscribed on it's tattered form.

There were Thunder Warriors too. The glorious, honored dead of the Terran Unification Wars stood alongside those who had been betrayed at Isstvan III and V and who died at the Siege of Terra and the decades after

Valdor felt a chill deep in his bones. There had to be at least 300,000 Space Marines alone standing before him, not to mention the Custodes and Thunder Warriors and the host of mortal soldiers.

For a second Valdor stood before an army of Martyrs.

Then they saluted, and parted before him

Valdor hesitated, then he gritted his teeth and took a step forward

Eternity Gate opened with a deep rumble.

Valdor was greeted by a withered figure sitting in a cell. It took Valdor a moment to recognize him as His King

The Emperor rose from the floor. Valdor could see His ribs through the chiton He wore. His hair was white and greasy, dark circles were under his eyes. His hands were gnarled arthritic things. No aura of raw power cloaked him, this was His King as he truly looked, the strain keeping his body and mind intact after the wounds Horus dealt and the agony of his confinement to Golden Throne plain to see .

The Emperor wiped blood from his nose, than he spat black bile and coughed up phlegm, His body made the rattle of death, for it was little more than a corpse, its only purpose to contain His essence and provide a form for His subjects and the woman he loved more than life itself to see.

“The wheels of fate are spinning old friend, I have done all I can to stack the deck in your favor.”

The Emperor reached through the bars and lay a spasm wracked hand on Stan's chestplate.

“I look forward to seeing you with my own eyes old friend.”

Constantin awoke with a gasp. He was not expecting to be able to actually see with his physical eyes. Isha must have healed him while he’d experienced this…. Experience. Valdor would not call it a dream. Dreams hurt and left a dry, bitter taste on one’s mouth, like a mix of taking a bolter round to the chest and trying to keep down bitter dregs of a poor vintage of wine.

“Your mind is loud for a mon-keigh.” Isha said.

“Really?” Valdor asked. The goddess nodded. “You have my thanks for healing me. Are we close to finding an exit to realspace?” The custodes asked. He rose with more effort than he’d care to admit. His wounds had been healed, but his strength was flagging. He wanted nothing more than to rest, but duty forced him to remain standing and press onwards.

“There is a webway portal ahead Twenty five of what you call miles ahead.” Isha answered.

The Aeldari goddess smelled of pine and roses, freshly baked bread and fertile soil. The goddess presence, coupled with the whispers of the imperfection of the daemons and those he slew with the Apollonian Spear hammered at him.

He looked at Aella for a second.

“You look like shit Captain-General.” The young custodes said with a grin.

Leman let out a bark of laughter.

“I feel like shit.” Valdor said.

“So Lord Commander Guilliman has petitioned for the aid of the knights of Sigismund?” High Marshal Helbrecht asked.

“My Primarch... has requested that the Black Templars muster as many warriors as you can spare to aid him for his crusade. He would be honored if the Eternal Crusader could take part.” Lieutenant Chiron Patroclus of the Ultramarines 10th Company replied.

Sitting in a throne of hand carved marble mined from a quarry on holy Terra during that heady period between the end of the Terran Unification Wars and the first true battles of the Great Crusade Helbrecht was every inch a Black Templar.

His Power Armor was a mix of Mark III and IV plate painted in a dull bronze that did little to hide the scars and dents it had accumulated during its service not just to Helbrecht but to those who had worn it before him. A line of knights had worn this suit, a line stretching back all the way to the Templar Brethren of the First Company of the original Imperial Fists Legion. The suit had bore the scars of the battle fought at Beta-Gamon and the Siege of Terra itself.

Over this power armor was a black tabard and cloak lined in arterial scarlet. Further adorning the armor were oaths of moment, purity seals, crusader tokens and scrolls detailing Helbrecht's glorious deeds.

In the Master of the Black Templar’s hands was the Sword of the High Marshal’s. Even sheathed and deactivated the Power Sword radiated an aura of majesty, for the blade had been forged using fragments of Rogal Dorn's own Chainsword Storm's Teeth. The holy sword had been quenched in traitor and xenos blood in the hands of the founder and First High Marshal of the Black Templar and the First Emperor’s Champion, Sigismund

In contrast, Lieutenant Chiron wore Mark X Power Armor, which bore few battle scars. Helbrecht saw no battle honors on his armor aside from the Vigilus Campaign.

Not only does the Primarch send a lackey, he doesn't even send me one who's at least earned to right to march onto the field of battle in holy Terminator Armor. Helbrecht thought.

Helbrecht’s pride was not stung, but the High Marshal was by the necessity of his sacred office and duties a political thinker.

Why had Lord Commander Gulliman sent a Lieutenant with barely two centuries of battle experience? If the matter was so damn important why not order the High Marshal with his divine and political authority or petition him in person? Why not send Marneus Calgar or Reclusiarch Cassius? Or a member of his Victrix Guard or a Company Captain? Or was this crusade so important that this young officer was all the thirteenth son of the God Emperor could spare in his preparations?

At least he has not sent one of his Librarians. Helbrecht thought.

“Tell me Lieutenant, given the importance of this endeavor why had Lord Commander Gulliman not come in person? I mean no offense but why send a young brother such as yourself? “

“No one else could be spared my Lord. My Primarch is personally overseeing the gathering of forces for his new crusade. Lord Calgar has been recalled from Vigilus to resume his role as Lord Defender of Macragge. Reclusiarch Cassius fights along the 3rd Company and half the 6th against the Tyranids of Hive Fleet Kronos. The remainder of the chapter save for 25 veterans of the first and half of my own company, muster at Calth.

Translation :Guilliman was micromanaging again, but wanted his officers close, and anyone else that could have been sent was unavailable due to other duties.

“What are Gulliman’s goals for this new crusade of his?” Helbrecht asked.

“Further securing the borders between the western and eastern half of the Imperium as well as the destruction of key traitor assets including the Despoiler himself. My lord. Many chapters, including your primogenitors and the Iron Hands have contributed their entire strength to this endeavor.”

Helbrecht took a second to reply.

“I will confer with my knights, tell your primarch I can guarantee at least two hundred warriors for his crusade. I cannot promise that the Eternal Crusader herself will join for I have received petitions from other commanders.”

The Lieutenant nodded and than left the hall.

“My liege, you should send only a handful of knights, there are other war zones, we would be more suited to.” Marshal Brienne of the Tarth Crusade said.

“I concur, High Marshal, the filthy Tyranids and Tau have been ravaging the southern half of the Imperium, send enough brothers and sisters to satisfy the Lord Commander and be done with it. He did not even petition you in person.” Marshal Tormund, a Primaris Marine clad in battered Gravis Armor said gruffly

“We have received reports of Huron Blackheart conducting raids in the galactic West. We should muster as many warriors and ships as we can. Surely she would be put to better use ending the Tyrant of Badab. while Lord Commander Guilliman has his own Gloriana.” Marshal Michel spoke.

Helbrecht suppressed a sigh. The Black Templars had been bloodied this past century. Many of their Chapter Keeps had been destroyed. Many brothers and sisters had given their lives for the God-Emperor. With the Imperium split in half that meant a great many Knights were missing, presumed fallen. Helbrecht doubted there were a little less than two thousand Black Templars still crusading, and with every petition for aid and every campaign that dragged on longer than projected spread them thinner and sapped their strength. The crusade to protect key Shrine worlds had been a costly campaign, even with the new Primaris Marines to bolster their ranks. The Indomitus Crusade had whittled them down even more. Aiding Lord Commissar Yarrick in slaying Ghazkull Urk Thraka had left more than a thousand of them dead While the chapter had continued the Eternal Crusade far below Codex Approved levels, and when tthe chapter had been at the brink of extinction, something had to give. The Black Templars could not be everywhere at once.

“This is a perfect opportunity to avenge Marshal Almarich and the honored fallen who died fighting the Despoiler!” Venerable Tankred boomed. The Dreadnought was one of 14 ancients and the sole Mark V lingering in the corner of Sigismund’s Hall. The others were mix of Contemptor, Mark IV and Leviathan patterns; all of them more than five thousand years old or more.

Helbrecht listened to the arguing of his Marshals and Castellans

“Enough! Tonight, I will pray to the primarch and the God Emperor for guidance before the bones of the first High Marshal! Tomorrow I will decide if I will take the Eternal Crusader to join Lord Guilliman.”

That night Helbrecht knelt before the amber encased bones of the first Black Templar and prayed for guidance.

He shut his eyes, for a second he was kneeling, the next he on the bridge of the Eternal Crusader, the Vengeful Spirit filling up the viewports. He saw the Phalanx beside the Vengeful Spirit. Her guns trained on the traitor flagship

“Fire now High Marshal!” A voice ordered over the vox.

Helbrecht opened his eyes, his chapped lips uttering a gasp. He was back in the Tomb of Sigismund.

When he returned to his quarters he voxed Reclusiarch Grimaldus that he had made his decision. The Eternal Crusader would go to Gulliman’s crusade. The only question now would be which Marshals would accompany him and which ones would not.

“Finally an exit back into real space.” Leman said. “Do we know where it leads?” Rogal asked Isha inspected the portal.

“ It leads to a planet called Drecksloch.” Isha said She pointed to the inscription and smiled, as if she knew a joke that others would not get.

The portal opened with a deep bass rumble

The five of them entered the shimmering portal, Constantin a sense of vertigo for a a few minutes no more than three by his estimate. Than he emerged in the middle of a fucking war zone. In the distance he could make out Imperial Fists and Space Wolves engaging warriors of the Black Legion.

The sky was filled with smoke and dueling aircraft.

“Brother? Is that you?” a familiar, if somewhat unliked voice said.

Standing before them, clad in deep blue and gold Power Armor, a Laurel wreath on his head and The Emperor of Mankind’s sword in his hand was Roboute Guilliman.

#the master of mankind's return #warhammer 40k #templarhalo's fanfiction #Constantin Valdor

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