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poptod · 3 years

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The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them. also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

#jack kline x reader #supernatural #spn #jack kline

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oneofyatosfollowers · 4 years

Text

One of a Kind- Chapter 10

Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13360973/1/One-of-a-Kind

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191861/chapters/52789816

It's a little unconventional for an Eve to come bursting out of the trash shoot. But Hiyori stepped out proudly, showing the plant to the occupants of the room. Captain Tenjin stared with wide eyes, jaw dropping a little more every second. Beside him, a Pr-T dressed in pink with short black hair asked what the meaning of the rude disturbance was. Tenjin waved at the other woman, a beautiful cyborg with the ends of her long hair tied at the waist. She leaned forward to hear his words.

"Tsuyu, take Mayu and leave. Not a word of this." Tenjin look at Mayu as well. Both woman nodded in compliance, quickly taking their leave. Once the door slid shut behind them, the captain drifted forward.

"You found it." Tenjin leaned forward to take it from Hiyori, holding it in his hands like a poor man who was just given gold.

"Yes sir, but there's something I have to tell you. I think-"

"-What was it like?" Tenjin questioned. Hiyori blinked, thrown off her train of thought.

"What was what-?"

"The planet. What was Earth like? The 'skyscrapers'? What of the libraries? The 'Gothic Architecture' and art?" Tenjin got louder with his inquiries, sounding like a king making declarations. He hovered away from the Eve, trading the plant in either hand as he flung his arms up towards the sky. Hiyori stepped forward, hands out and ready to dive to catch the glass bottle.

The captain came back to stop where he was before, in front of the halo-screen of his computer. Now, Hiyori could see why the room was dimmed. The computer showed overlapping pictures of agriculture under a blue sky, thin humans in old clothing dancing in a line, and framed smudgy images. Tenjin grew quiet. Hiyori choose to stay silent, somberness settling in the room.

"We lost so much," Tenjin looked at the plant, "We ran away from the responsibility of care, in favor of being softened by comfort." The captain of Heaven's Sun turned to look at Hiyori with a truly mournful expression.

"It's not the same, is it?" Tenjin drove his chair back towards Hiyori, eyes downcast. In his other hand, he held a stick-like device. A helmet projector. He held it to her, barley noticing when she took it and plugged it into the side of her helmet.

Tenjin took a sharp breath at the first couple seconds of the flat, brown landscape. His lips pressed together as her camera pointed down when she scanned the ground, the pieces of glass and plastic clear as stars. Tenjin saw the ship leave the dull blanket of pollution clouds through the hole it first made, before the camera turned to the skeleton outline of the city. He turned away, gazing out the window at the stars

Hiyori looked sadly after her captain, feeling the slightest guilt at having to be the one to show him the reality of her mission. Hiyori looked meekly back at the recording, smiling slightly at the part where she was introduced to Nora. Next came the movie night, to Hiyori's embarrassment, in which the opening song started to play.

"I recognize that tune," Tenjin said from behind the chair, "it's from that cartoon franchise?" He leaned heavily on the arm of the chair, rubbing his face and eyes. The captain then looked at the baby cherry blossom and smiled.

"I should probably get you some water." Tenjin said, making his way to the sink in the corner. At this point, the recording showed her stepping into the pod, laying down as the glass door shut over her. Smoke filled her screen, then the recording went black.

Hiyori looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. Earth wasn't so bad. Not much different than the other dessert planets the ship passed. At the very least, she thought with a smile, Yato was very fond of Earth. He said he had things he wanted to do with her.

Hiyori looked back up to the screen, the words 'Syncing Pod Security Camera' printed bold over a loading wheel. The screen was then split into six sections 'Front', 'Rear', 'Left', 'Right', 'Top', and 'Bottom'. Yato was gazing down from the top, first curious and nervous, then sad. He placed a hand lightly on the glass top, holding it there for a bit before sitting down on the ground. His hand left a mark, something she often chastised him for.

The right camera focused on him sitting criss-cross with the side of his head resting gently against the side. The footage didn't sense any more movement, so it skipped ahead to later that evening. Yato was still in the same spot on the ground, but looking up. Her audio caught rumbling in the distance and Yato got up and left the screen. Just as it had started to pour, Yato came back with an umbrella which he held over the pod. Hiyori watched as she was pushed inside his home, and her pod was wiped dry by the scarf Yato wore around his neck.

"There we go, all clean!" Yato looked down with a small smile. She had spent enough time with him by now to know it was forced. Her pod took up most of the space, so the bottom camera recorded him army crawling under her to get to his bed in the corner. Yato tossed the blanket over her again, fixing it so her face wasn't covered, then curled up on the mattress.

Movement wasn't caught again until morning, when he took off the blanket and brought her back outside. He sat back down in his usual spot with a stick to doodle in the ground with. Then, he talked. The Wall-E talked to her, asked her questions she would never answer, told her his dreams, his experience, what he liked and didn't like. Among other things.

"I know you told me not to move you," Yato's voice came from her speaker, "But I wanted to show you so many things. I wanted to take you to Capybara land- you like the movie right- and show you mountains. If you liked watching the fire, there's an oil spill we can light up. I wanted to show you the view from the tallest tower while having a picnic. Show you all my favorite books in the library, I told you I read them all four times didn't I? And take you treasure hunting!" Yato stopped drawing and pulled his knees to his chin.

"Would you even like that? Do humans find that fun?" He buried his face in his knees.

"What's it like being human, on that ship? I read that loneliness can kill creatures but," he looked back up with glazed eyes, "I'm still here. Functioning just as I always have." He went silent again. Hiyori felt her hands squeeze, the back of her eyes going hot.

"Want to hear a secret?" the audio asked. Hiyori barley nodded. There was some shuffling, and Hiyori looked back to the feed to see Yato scooting close to her, leaning in to share.

"I was the prototype for the Auto pilot for Heaven's Sun." Yato said looking directly at the camera. He smile grew a bit as he looked over his shoulder then back at her.

"It's kinda a huge top-secret thing. But my biological father was the man who successfully merged human and tech. He was known as-"

"The Crafter." Hiyori breathed in shock.

"Once he became head and over-saw production of the other cyborgs, plans for the Auto became apparent. I was the first test for that form of cyborg, something that my father himself designed and worked on. No one else. Even better, I was successful. It was a rocky start- of course I'm still a Wall-E, obviously- but our overall design and systems are the same. Different from all the other cyborgs out there, since we were made by him alone. Everyone else was made by his underlings." Yato rolled his eyes at that part, then grew serious once more.

"Father had us train together under his careful watch. Me and Kouto. We had to be strong, 'broken in', in order to handle the old fashioned surgery. He never did like the fact I could beat him. He was a prissy rich boy while I was often left alone. Ran with the wrong crowd and all that. And being a street-rat puts you in a lot of fights," He smiled and thumbed to himself, "So I often came out on top." Yato went back to his criss-cross position. Hiyori crept even closer, her mouth was quivering and she didn't know why. Her cheeks felt warm and she felt her eyes crinkle at the corners. She squeezed her hands together even tighter over over beating heart.

"But, dad wanted me to stay away from the rest of humanity. Clean up a human-free world." He finished. Tenjin came back in the room, watching Yato show Hiyori how to play Tic-Tac-Toe. He smiled at Hiyori though the screen.

"Auto? Can you come in here?" Tenjin spoke to the arm of his chair. The Eve jumped, words clogging her throat. She never got to tell him! It wasn't just a theory or speculation anymore, the Auto might really have it out for Yato. When did she start trusting him over her own Copilot? Her mouth was open when Kouto's door slid open behind her.

He wore the same pristine white and black suit he always did, both arms folded neatly behind his back. He scanned the room with a blank expression, eye brow raising at the sight of Hiyori, but he didn't look surprised in the least. Hiyori quickly unplugged the projector and hid it behind her back.

"Captain?" Kouto cocked his head at Tenjin as he made his way across the room. His eyes locked on the plant, his strides became more urgent, powerful. The Auto stopped directly in front of Captain Tenjin, who seemed to have a new resolve.

"Auto, Miss Iki found the plant again. Start the protocol." Tenjin gave the order and began driving away. Kouto stepped in front of him again with an out-stretched hand.

"Of course Captain. Give it to me, I'll see to it immediately." Kouto bowed a little with a smile. Hiyori stepped forward a bit, not wanting to defile her protocol but caring less and less at this point.

"Captain." They both looked to her, Tenjin a little impatient but confused. The Auto gave her the same look of contempt he gave Yato, eyes flashing a deep blood red. More machine than man.

"Eve," Kouto addressed Hiyori, "Your loyalty to Heaven's Sun is admirable, but your service here is no longer necessary. Please return to your commander." Kouto didn't look twice at her, turning back to Captain Tenjin.

"Now. Sir. The plant." He moved his hand closer. Tenjin looked at it, then at Hiyori as she stepped closer, then back at his co-pilot.

"Auto, I feel compelled to do it myself. As the captain of Heaven's Sun."

"That isn't necessary, sir. I promise you will receive full credit and I will be more than happy to take care of this matter myself."

"This isn't a matter of credit, Auto. People have become far too reliant on the luxury of having things done for them. I for one will no longer stand for it," Tenjin pushed past Kuoto again, "If we want to change things for the better, it's best to start with the change of mind." Tenjin asserted. Hiyori breathed a sigh of relief, feeling pride and gratefulness for her captain.

For a moment, Kouto remained still, eyes overcast as his back returned to being ram-rod straight. His arm then quickly stuck out, hand gripping the top of the captain's chair in a vice. Tenjin lurched backwards, chair rearing back dangerously. This time Hiyori did come forward, watching as the chair fought for a moment before sinking back to in front of the Auto. She caught Tenjin's shocked expression before he was spun around. Kouto kept a hand by the captain's head, other hand still outstretched.

"Captain, please, I insist. Hand over the plant to me." Kouto said. Hiyori came to the side of her captain, fixing Kouto with a glare as she put a hand in her gun.

"Kouto, what is the meaning of this? Explain yourself," Tenjin pressed at Kouto's silence, "That's an order." Tenjin brushed off his hand as Kouto straightend back up. The Auto stared down at his Captain, watching the plant get tucked away under Tenjin's coat.

"Aye, Aye Captain. This way, please." Kouto marched across the room to his own computer, typing in his password. He then pulled out an old key from under his uniform, hanging from a chain. Flipping up a plastic square cover, Kouto stuck the key into the motherboard. The computer went black, then the text 'A113' flashed in white letters. The screen went dark again until a dark red cartoon eye opened up on the screen.

"Subject 2. Access granted." said a voice that seemed to jump octaves. A video began playing. Front and center was a large man dressed in a long white lab coat with a black shirt underneath. He had scraggly, almost unkempt black hair that swept over his eyes. He sat as a desk, it's contents hard to make out due to the overall darkness of the room. The light that flicked from behind him, casted a glow over his upturned lips.

Hiyori and Tenjin sucked in a breath. Even with the poor lighting, they knew exactly who this was. A controversial man who's face and alias was in almost every text book.

"The Crafter." Hiyori let out a hushed whisper.

"Hello Heaven's Sun," The Crafter began, "I imagine if you're viewing this, a significant time has past since your departure from this lovely planet you destroyed." The Crafter sat back in his chair, letting it sway to the side, humorless grin still in place.

"The fact of the matter is, this planet is no longer capable of supporting human life. I realize the politicians told the public my creations- my army- would be able to clean up after us in five years. This was, is, a lie. In fact no creation on Earth can erase what we have done to this planet. So, just a few hours ago, before the grand departure, my closest confidants and I have issued 'A1-13'. The command that the ships will be cruising indefinitely."

"'Indefinitely'?" Tenjin cried in outrage. Kouto's attention did not waver from the man projected in front of them. The Crafter still stayed staring off somewhere above the camera, he brought his legs up on the table and crossed them at the ankles. He checked his watch then crossed his arms.

"All ships have been equipped to run for eternity. So long as all cyborgs do their job, humanity will be able to live happy, carefree lives on the ships forever," he waved his hands in fake cheer, "By now, all the space cruisers have left. Making me the last man on Earth," his smile finally disappeared as he mumbled, "Subject 1 should be leading out the other cleaners right at this very moment." The Crafter went silent. He then sat up at his desk, folding his arms one over the other.

"All of this has been set in motion. In correspondence to A1-13, 'Operation: Recolonized' is dismissed. No human shall return to this tarnished planet. Ever," he smiled again and stood up, "This is the last human on Earth, 'The Crafter', signing off." Yato's father said his goodbyes and his smile cut out from the screen, the blood-red eye symbol showing in his place. Kouto took out the key, placing it back around his neck and under his collar, then turned to the Captain.

"As you can see, Captain, our superiors have ordered us to remain in space. That plant is no longer necessary," The Auto held out his hand in a more exasperated fashion, "Now if you would just give it to me, I will properly dispose of it and everything can go back to locating the stowaway." Kouto stated. Tenjin moved backwards with suspicious eyes.

"No, wait a second. If he sent that out the day we departed, than that information is nearly 700 years old. Clearly he was wrong!" Tenjin waved the plant at the Auto. Red eyes flared up with a raging fire, but Kouto's face remained neutral.

"The Crafter was not wrong. You saw the video, those Wall-Es failed to clean up the planet, even after all this time. One measly vine does not mean an entire population can be sustained." Kouto's voice was heated as he kept his tight position. Tenjin was shocked by the demeanor his co-pilot emitted, backing up an inch more.

To both the men's surprise, Hiyori stepped between them. She took care not to fully block the Captain, but she fixed Kouto with a look of absolute fury.

"If The Crafter was the last human, the last man of great power on Earth, than that must be the last transmission to be sent out to any ship." Hiyori gouged the Auto's expression. His went wide for a moment, before shifting to a more puzzled look.

"Yes. That is correct. None of the cleaners had access to the motherboard." Kouto started to look a bit amused when this information riled up Hiyori even more. The captain called her name in question when she took a step towards Kouto, fist balled up at her side.

"Then how would knowledge of the Wall-Es dying off even reach the ship in the first place!" Hiyori raged. She never raised her voice, taught otherwise, but she never felt such anger before. Never felt like this before. In the short time she's known Yato, she's felt more emotions than she's ever felt in her entire life on this cushioned ship. All of them, real and strong. Alive. Just like Yato.

Hiyori continued to seethe, arms shaking at her side. She bared her teeth, waiting for the Co-pilot's denial that never came. Beside her, Tenjin moved forward, his face of equal outrage.

"The only way for that information to carry over was for it be pre-meditated. Auto, explain yourself! Was the Wall-Es' deaths your doing?" Tenjin roared. After a beat of silence, Kouto let out a sigh, a ghost of a smile coming across his face.

"Now captain, that is just ludicrous. I can assure you I had nothing to do with the deaths of the Wall-Es."

"But you knew about it." Hiyori demanded. Stepping forward again.

"Irrelevant. Operation: Clean-Up has failed," The Auto narrowed his eyes at the Eve, "We must follow directive."

"Now you listen here, Kouto," Tenjin came forward again, "If my research of our records is to be trusted, that planet is capable of holding thousands of magnificent species. Most of which cannot survive without our help. Our ancestors made this mess, but we have the power and the technology to help. Turning our backs for the sake of luxury is not a liable answer. It's an excuse," Tenjin glared up at Kouto, "We have to go back. As the 27th Captain of Heaven's Sun I order you to open up the hallow detector."

Captain Tenjin heaved a breath, eyes never wavering from his Co-pilot's. Hiyori looked at her captain once more, wanting to smile but too angry to do so. Kouto stared at Tenjin for what felt like centuries. Letting out another sigh, Kouto dispersed all the tension in the room.

"Very well," Kouto reached up to tap his own ear-piece, "Go-4 get in here." Hiyori let a breath of relief, holding her hand over her pounding heart. She was worried for nothing. Just because Yato didn't like the co-pilot, did not make him evil. After all, they were trained under the same man. Kouto was just doing his job.

"Miss Hiyori." Tenjin hissed urgently next to her. Hiyori looked over in question. Her captain gripped the arms of his chair tightly, teeth grinding together as his eyes flicked to the elevator door. Hiyori's heart jumped in her throat, the Go-4's sketchy aura and face creeped into her mind. Just as fear laced itself in her system, the elevator doors opened, and Kuguha stepped through. He approached the captain without prompt.

"This is mutiny!" Tenjin backed away with the plant but was too slow to hide it. Kuguha whipped out a hand from under his pancho, a red beam of light coming from a black dot at the center of his palm. The plant was tugged into a sphere of the red light and harshly yanked back to Kuguha.

"Eve, arrest them." Tenjin turned his eyes to Hiyori who nodded.

"Right." Hiyori equipped her blaster, pointing it at Kuguha, wiping off his smug grin.

"Go-4, surrender the plant," Hiyori held out her palm, "now." Kuguha's eyes locked into the gun and his one hand came up in peace. He took a step forward, awkward smile crawling back onto his face.

"All right, Miss Hiyori, there's no need for violence. A pretty young thing like you can't handle-" Once Kuguha got close enough, he tossed the plant over the Eve's shoulder. At the distraction, Hiyori couldn't react fast enough. Her arm below the gun was grabbed and a shot was fired up into the ceiling. Hiyori was whirled around, arm held between her shoulder blades, her back was pressed against his chest. She struggled against his hold, glaring up at the tanned cyborg then at the co-pilot. Kouto looked at her with a corrupt smile, eyes mocking her while she fought, he reached up to tap his ear piece again.

"Wall-H when's the next scheduled trash evacuation? Perfect," Kouto walked the plant over to the trash can, "No, no, everything is fine. I'm sending something down to be added to the next removal." The Auto thanked the worker, violently kicking the captain's chair away when he made a lunge for it, and let the bottle fall down the shoot. Hiyori cried out as the plant tumbled into darkness.

#noragami #noragami fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #wall-e #wall e

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igorbhaqvelq-blog · 5 years

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theplaguezine · 5 years

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STRATOVARIUS

Interview with Jens Johannson by Daniel Hinds

(conducted May 2003)

At the start of the 90s, it would have been folly to predict that power metal would be the big thing in the metal world by the end of the decade, yet that's just what happened. One of the bands leading that revolution was Finland's masters of bigger-than-life metal, Stratovarius. Their slick combination of melody, speed, orchestration and, yes dammit, metal has made them one of the biggest bands in the genre the world over. The thing that amazes me the most about the band is they somehow manage to make each new album even better than the previous ones and Elements Pt. 1 is utterly brilliant. Keyboard maestro Jens Johansson recently gave me the background on this phenomenal release… Prior to recording Elements, the band took an extended break. Do you think it helped to get away from it for a while? I think so. Of course, it's difficult to say how the album would have turned out if we had just forced it without the break. Maybe the listener wouldn't be able to tell the difference, but for us it was much nicer recording it this way. When we finally got back in the studio, everybody was really excited about the prospect. The problem was we did five records and five tours in five years, basically. It got very hectic and that's when we decided to take this break. Perhaps it shows in the record because everyone was confident that we had enough time. It gave us more time to do anything we wanted to do, explore every little avenue or waste time on stupid stuff in case it turns out better. So you got to experiment a little more this time then? A little bit. More in the sense of production or trying out different ideas. I wouldn't say it was a highly experimental record compared to the other ones, it's still well within the style. What did everyone do during the break? Did you work on other music or just totally get away from it? I think a couple of us did that. Timo the guitarist and Timo the singer made solo records, but that didn't take so much time. I think in the case of Timo the guitar player, it took maybe a couple of months at the most. I guess everybody just sort of relaxed and then this September 11th crap happened in the middle of everything, too. It was a good time to take a break. This is possibly the most diverse collection of songs you guys have done yet. Did it just work out that way? I don't know. It could maybe stem from the fact that the tempos are a little lower. The average tempo is maybe lower than the previous one, but beyond that I think maybe just because we had more time to work on the stuff. Of course, if you have very high tempos, you can't fill in with too many things because it becomes too cluttered. I think it's just a combination of everyone being happy to go back to work and having more than enough time. "Soul of a Vagabond" is quite possibly my favorite Stratovarius song ever. What are your thoughts on that track? It seems to have a little of everything. When you record something, you really don't know what's going to turn out good or bad, but I like it, too. A lot of those orchestral songs are very slow and I would say that is the fastest of the orchestral songs, the epic songs. It's got more of a driving pulse to it. A lot of people like it, but then they had this vote on the web page on which song people liked best and a lot of people voted for the first, very poppy song ["Eagleheart"], so you can never really second-guess what people will think, it's impossible. You can't really get inside people's heads…fortunately, I guess (laughs). You just have to throw shit against the wall and see what sticks. (laughs) Can you tell me a bit about the concept behind Elements and when we can expect a pt. 2? Actually, it's pretty close to being finished right now. It's not really a concept record, though. I think we have some sort of tradition that we name the album after one of the longer tracks - it doesn't really mean it's a concept album. That of course becomes a problem with Elements 2because that album has nothing to do with Elements whatsoever. I don't know why it's going to be called Elements 2 (laughs). I think, in my mind, it's more like a double-album; it's just released over the span of a year. When the first one was released, we were still working on the second one and we'll put that out as soon as it's finished, which should be at the end of this year. Did the band do anything new this time recording wise? Not as far as completely bold ideas. The only thing we did now that we haven't done is to be consciously aware of not compromising, because we had so much time. If there was some strange avenue to go down, more often it was explored than not. The songs are what they are - I mean, they're not going to be reggae songs or anything very experimental. Production-wise, technically and stuff like that, we really took care to make it sound as good as it can. And also arrangement-wise. Apart from that, there's not a huge difference. It's done in the same studio up in Helsinki as the other albums. There's more orchestral stuff, because of the slower songs, it makes sense to spend the money to have the full orchestra do a lot of the stuff. How hard is it to arrange all of the orchestral side of things? We delegate parts of that as well. There's this one guy who has very good contacts and I think he gets special prices. He's done it on a couple of the other records for us as well. We tell the guy approximately how it should sound, sometimes very specifically, and after that he works on making the orchestration, printing up all the parts for the guys to play it. If we didn't delegate that, I think it would be very messy. We'd have to learn a whole new process of interaction with these people. He's like our intermediary, which is very handy, and he's quite talented as well. Some of the ideas he came up with as well, with the arrangements, and some of it was too crazy so they ended up cutting it out. He's a cool guy. That's basically how we worked. He would have tapes and we would have meetings with him about stuff and then he would contact the orchestra to actually record the parts. It's like a very expensive and very sophisticated, thinking keyboard (laughs) that you can tell sometimes very vague things or hum things and all of sudden they appear in orchestral form. It's the best way to do it, I think. If you want to have that fine of control over it without knowing the mechanics in such detail, I think you'd be in a bit of trouble when the time comes to record. I think you'd be nervous and want to change things at the last minute. You'd be running around with a pencil and penciling things into people's scores and stuff. (laughs) I think it's worth it because you can sometimes make this kind of orchestral stuff with keyboards and samplers, but it doesn't sound as good. It doesn't sound as organic or living, basically - it's canned. You're always playing canned notes. It's like somebody else is recording the orchestra playing one note and then you're basically playing those back in different combinations. It's not as living as when you have all the people focusing on the parts at the same time in real time - it's a completely different sound. And it's fucking expensive. (laughs) They've gone to the conservatory for ten years, so they don't really play for pizza and beers, like in the rock world. Can you give me an idea of your involvement in the creative side of the band and how it has changed since you joined? I think that's where we spend most of the energy this time, in the rehearsals. We allowed ourselves a lot of rehearsal time, like a month or something, and that's where you hash out what goes where. You need to do that, just playing through the songs and thinking of new things, new approaches. That's still the time-tested and best way to deal with it, I think. It's like three guys in the bands that have even tried to write songs and that's me and the singer and Tolkki. We have decided that what we do is when the time comes around to make a new record, each one of us pull out what we have in terms of material at the time that could fit; then we let Timo Tolkki decide which songs we should rehearse and which we should record. It becomes very simple. I had maybe four or five songs that I thought could remotely fit on either of the albums and I think Timo the singer had two or something. In the end, it's just best if he decides because otherwise we would just argue too much about it (laughs). We would waste more time on that than recording. He's the longest-surviving member of the band, even though he's not an original member, but there's nobody left form the first line-up. So far, it's worked really well, really smooth recordings. The natural instinct when you start out is, 'Oh yeah, I have to have my songs on the album,' but as long as the albums are good, I don't really care who is writing the stuff. I try to make as much material as I can that might fit, but it's difficult. It has to be a certain style and I'm not so good at writing that style. Stratovarius has done a number of albums now. Is it hard to come up with new ideas? Yeah, a little bit. Of course, you have the old albums as baggage and the people who listen to those old albums, so you have in your mind that you don't want to make too much of a departure. Even if we completely became reggae fans, it would be very difficult to make a reggae record - people would be very angry. We would spend more time fending off our old fans than we would our brand new reggae album (laughs). I still can imagine that we can make more records without it being too much cliché, but who knows. It's very hard to say. It's a fine line to tread if you want to make something too different or too much like the old stuff. I saw you had a song you wrote called "Run Away" on the single - why is it not on the album? I don't know. I guess we had a limit on how long we could make it and had lots of songs that we could have thrown on there. It's also like, you need songs for a single, so we always record a few more than we need and they end up getting used somehow. What are some of the most challenging songs for you to play? I think the songs are quite easy to play, actually. They're a lot harder to write and record. Once that part is done, there is nothing technically difficult about them. I think any decent prog metal might be able to play this stuff half asleep. Some of the fast stuff might be difficult to play on the drums unless you're used to that type of stuff. The kids nowadays, the tempos that they play in death metal bands, they could probably do it completely drunk and with one foot amputated. (laughs) It's not technically challenging, none of it. But the writing and the production - you have to be inspired. Can you give me your idea of the personality of each member of Stratovarius? We all have a lot in common actually, which is why I think we've stayed together so long, like six years now. We have four Scandinavian guys and one German, the center of gravity is somewhere up in Scandinavia, which is in itself a bit strange with how many people up there a little weird. One of the central things with people up there is that people don't talk so much. There are good sides to that and bad sides as well, but people don't tend to waste words. I know that that has created problems in the past because if you are used to people communicating, you just don't understand why they don’t' say anything. If something is wrong, why don' they speak up? It's just a cultural thing that is sometimes very hard to understand for people who aren't used to it. Of course, I am completely used to it and in a sense it's good because there's not so much bullshit flying around. People speak when they need to. Apart from that, there are like different personalities, but in a sense everybody focuses on the big picture of the band. There's no really big fights or drug use or anything and I think that contributes to the stability. There are no really crazy people in the band. Everybody has a clear understanding of what needs to be done and everybody trusts Timo the guitar player with a lot of the decisions. Unlike some other bands I've been in where people are constantly fighting over control over the whole situation, whether it is money or creative-wise, you get these skirmishes or all-out wars on these things. It eats up a lot f the time you could spend doing other stuff. Everybody in this band is on the same page. The outside of the band is the drummer; of course because he's from Germany, but he's spent so much time in the band, he's turning into a Scandinavian guy as well. He's being poisoned by the sick shit going on up there (laughs). He was a normal talkative guy when he joined the band. (laughs) Do you enjoy touring? I actually like touring - it's the traveling I don't like. The playing part is very nice; the other 23 hours a day wears you down in the end. Living without a fixed point, cramped spaces, sometimes bad food, staying up late and having to wake up. But the playing of course is nice; we all still enjoy that bit. With this break behind us now, I think some of us might even be excited to go out traveling again, which is unheard of. Stratovarius at The Metal Archives

#Stratovarius #interview #may2003

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thehappiesthippie519-blog · 5 years

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Welcome!

First blog post on the third tubmlr page. I think I’m in for a little story typing. So here it goes everyone. (:

My name is Cortni. I got married a month ago today to the most wonderful man in the world. Chris is an absolute wonder. It’s a genuine shock how he deals with me some days. We’ve been together for about a year and a half, married for one month. We got married on our son Ronan’s birthday. Which leads me to my story. Chris and I found out I was pregnant with Ronan in the middle of January this year, and to say the least he was the most wonderful, welcomed surprise in our little world. Ronan was amazing from the moment we found out about him. We dreamed of a perfect little family with him. We had visions of our world, with the most handsome little guy in our arms. Well actually Chris wanted a girl and her name would have been Londyn, but I got my way and we ended up with our sweet Ronan. We had so much fun for the short time we had him. We felt ever made. I started feeling him move at eight weeks and most people don’t believe me. Rightfully so, I suppose, as most of the time women don’t feel their children move inside until roughly fourteen weeks. But from the first time I felt him move, however early it was, I knew I was carrying the love of my life, while standing next to the other love of my life. Every second of the time I had Ronan with me was the most amazing parts of my life. Te whole four months he was with me, I loved him more than I have ever loved myself. But fate had decided that motherhood wasn’t ready for me, and I wasn’t ready for it. At twenty weeks and six days I went into preterm labor with the little boy who changed my whole life. Chris and I had gone to dinner not far from where I worked. We were at Subway, and we had just sat down when I felt a very strange thing inside me. I felt almost like something dropped on the left side of my uterus. I thought it was just Ronan moving, because he was the most active little boy. As we were eating our dinner, the feeling didn’t go away, as a matter of fact it got worse and was accompanied by some pains that I didn’t realize until it was far too late. I begged him to take me home so we could just relax for the night and maybe that would make the pains stop. I went to the bathroom and I decided to take a shower. Chris let me shower alone because he thought I could use the space if I wasn’t feeling the best, he was afraid I was going to get sick and he had best habit of giving me the space I begged for every time I did get sick. He knows I don’t like getting sick with an audience. So, I took my shower. After that I got out, dried off, had a really sharp pain on the left side of my lower stomach, and I went to the bathroom. I noticed a little spotting and instantly called the one person I knew would know what to tell me. My Momma. I told her what was happening and she told me to get the emergency room and update her as soon as I could. So Chris started taking me to the emergency room. In the short five minute drive between my, then, apartment, and the hospital, I started contracting. I had no idea that’s what was happening. All I knew was that I was in pain and I was feeling utterly awful. It hurt so bad that I couldn’t speak. We walked into the hospital emergency room and Chris had to speak for me while I was filling out a form for the hospital. They decided that we needed to be in a triage room in the maternity ward. While they were taking information, almost out of nowhere, the nurse we had stopped and decided to check my cervix. She popped her head over the sheet that was over me, and she almost couldn’t speak. All she said to me was, “Oh honey... did you fall?”. I told her no and that we had just come from dinner. After she asked me that I started worrying. I still didn’t know what was going on with my own body, or the beautiful life inside me. Ronan was moving the whole time. He made the sweetest movements, almost as though he was assuring me everything would be okay in it’s own little way. He was kicking a storm inside, and he was making his sweet little movements. After a very long wait, what seemed like forever, we were finally informed that I was in preterm labor and already dilated to a four, almost five. They moved us into a room and left Chris and I alone, checking on us occasionally. The pain was so much, that at times I couldn’t breathe. They ordered the epidural because the rates alone warranted it, whether I wanted it or not and I most definitely did. They finally got it in, and it felt like an eternity until it kicked in. My heart kept breaking. Over and over and over again. I was eventually told I was dilated to a six, and that they thought Ronan would be able to make it out anyway because he was so small. The doctor that was on call that night was one of the last ones we had seen at our appointments monthly. Her name was Danielle Snyder. She was the most angelic person that night, aside from the one inside of me. We spent our whole night with Dr.Snyder. She comforted us the whole night, made sure we were safe and comfortable, and kept us going. She induced me. She told me there was a very small chance that Ronan would mkae it our crying, and if he did he wouldn’t be crying for long. But I hoped. I cried all night and hoped, and prayed all night that I would hear the littlest cry from the little boy that stole my heart. We went through hours of pushing, and screaming, and a fear that my epidural was wearing off. Eventually Dr.Snyder asked me if I would be comfortable getting incisions on my cervix to get Ronan out safely. He was stuck at the cervical opening. So we got the incisions done and about an hour of awful pushing, that felt like it would never end, he finally arrived. Way earlier than anyone anticipated, but he was laying next to me, in his own little swaddler, and in his own little crib at the hospital. We were broken. Torn apart. But our son was here. Ronan was so very peaceful, and believe it or not he came out smiling. We don’t know how, because normally babies don’t learn to smile inside until the end of the gestational period. But Ronan Finn was smiling at his new world, even though his eyes weren’t open to see it. That night he met his Oma Tami, his Grandma Lori, his Grandpa Denny, and his Auntie Ciera also known as Aunt BooBoo. Along with finally meeting his Mommy and Daddy. We all loved him so very much the room was filled with sadness, and admiration. He stole all of our hearts the moment he came out. I was told by many different nurses and doctors in the room that I should hold him. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it at the time. I talked about it, I thought it over, but I waited. Eventually my parents, my sister, and Chris’s mother all left and it was just us, the staff, and our son. I decided I asked everyone that was in the room to leave me alone holding Ronan. Even Chris was asked to leave. The only reason I asked him to go too was because I knew Chris seeing me hold Ronan would break him even more than he already was. Everyone left the room, and the nurse we had been with all night long was handing my son to me. Zoe was a wonderful woman and she was the one who helped me push all night. I held Ronan for what felt like hours, but was actually only twenty minutes or so. While I held him I cried, I kissed every part of the sweet little face I made with the love of my life, I sang to him the one song that meant the world to me in that one moment. For Good from the Musical Wicked. Thanks to high school performances in choir I know the whole song by memory. I sang it to him over and over until I had to give him back. I was told if I wanted him back any point later on that night I could have him, but I couldn’t do it to myself again. I couldn’t let Chris see me break the way that holding Ronan broke me. But Ronan breaking me was the most beautiful feeling in the world, even though he didn’t get to see me. His sweet little eyes never opened, but in our hearts we know that Ronan was the first love of our lives, and he knows he has forever touched our hearts. Ronan was cremated, and we have a beautiful box from the hospital that has a large number of things from then to us. Including his hand prints and foot prints, and a recording of his last heartbeat before the induction. Every so often I open up the box and I listen to it, praying he’d show me away that he’s still around, watching over his Mommy and Daddy. And every time I do, I get chills down my spine, and a warm feeling in my heart. And that’s how I know my little start is watching over us. This post isn’t a, “Feel sorry for me” kind of thing. It’s awareness towards something that isn’t discussed. It’s a cry for compassion in this cold, and cruel world. It’s a glimmer of hope that my story, and my son, can reach out and touch the hearts of anyone who’s willing to read what I have to say. Ronan forever means the world to me, and those who have made it this far in the post, with all luck Chris and I will be trying again very very soon, and maybe getting the Londyn we dreamed of before we knew about Ronan being, well Ronan. Maybe this time Daddy will be lucky enough to get the little girl of his dreams. My little boy is watching me from the stars, and keeping me safe. Thanks for reading anyone who made it this far. There’s more to come as soon as I can make it happen. (:

--The Happiest Hippie

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drawahophan1971 · 3 years

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angeliumjapan · 4 years

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Before getting started, you will need to get yourself a wallet. You can do this easily enough by registering with one of the exchanges which will host wallet for you. And, although I think you are going to want to have one or more exchange wallets eventually, you should start with one on your own computer both to get a better feel for bitcoin and because the exchanges are still experimental themselves. When we get to that stage of the discussion, I will be advising that you get in the habit of moving your money and coins off the exchanges or diversifying across exchanges to keep your money safe.

What is a Bitcoin wallet?

It is a way to store your bitcoins. Specifically, it is software that has been designed to store bitcoin. It can be run on your desktop computer, laptop, mobile device (except, as yet, Apple) and can also be made to store bitcoins on things like thumb drives. If you are concerned about being hacked, then that is a good option. Even the Winklevoss* twins, who have millions invested in bitcoin, put their investment on hard drives which they then put into a safety deposit box.

*The Winklevoss twins are the ones who originally had the idea for a social networking site that became Facebook. They hired Mark Zuckerberg who took their idea as his own and became immensely rich.

What do you need to know about having a bitcoin wallet on your computer?

Below you can download the original bitcoin wallet, or client, in Windows or Mac format. These are not just wallets, but are in fact part of the bitcoin network. They will receive, store, and send your bitcoins. You can create one or more addresses with a click (an address is a number that looks like this: 1LyFcQatbg4BvT9gGTz6VdqqHKpPn5QBuk). You will see a field where you can copy and paste a number like this from a person you want to send money to and off it will go directly into that person's wallet. You can even create a QR code which will let someone take a picture with an app on their phone and send you some bitcoin. It is perfectly safe to give these out - the address and QR code are both for my donations page. Feel free to donate!

NOTE: This type of wallet acts both as a wallet for you and as part of the bitcoin system. The reason bitcoin works is that every transaction is broadcast and recorded as a number across the entire system (meaning that every transaction is confirmed and made irreversible by the network itself). Any computer with the right software can be part of that system, checking and supporting the network. This wallet serves as your personal wallet and also as a support for that system. Therefore, be aware that it will take up 8-9 gigabytes of your computer's memory. After you install the wallet, it will take as much as a day for the wallet to sync with the network. This is normal, does not harm your computer, and makes the system as a whole more secure, so it's a good idea.

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Bitcoin Qt

The original wallet.

This is a full-featured wallet: create multiple addresses to receive bitcoins, send bitcoins easily, track transactions, and back up your wallet.

Outside of the time it takes to sync, this is a very easy to use option.

Search for Bitcoin Qt wallet download to find their site.

Armory

Runs on top of Bitcoi Qt, so it has all of the same syncing requirements.

Armory allows you to back up, encrypt, and the ability to store your bitcoins off line.

Search for Bitcoin Armory Wallet to find their site.

If you don't want to have that much memory used or don't want to wait for your wallet to sync, there are good wallets that do not make you sync the entire history of bitcocin:

Multibit

A lightweight wallet that syncs quickly. This is very good for new users.

Search for Bitcoin Multibit Wallet to find their site.

Electum

In addition to being quick and light, this wallet allows you to recover lost data using a passcode.

Search for Bitcoin Electum Wallet to find their site.

After you get the wallet set up, take a few minutes clicking around. Things to look for:

o There will be a page that shows you how many bitcoins are currently in your wallet. Keep in mind that bitcoins can be broken up into smaller pieces, so you may see a decimal with a lot of zeros after it. (Interesting note, 0.00000001 is one Satoshi, named after the pseudonymous creator of bitcoin).

o There will be an area showing what your recent transactions are.

o There will be an area where you can create an address and a QR code (like the one I have above). You don't need the QR code if you don't want it, but if you run a business and you want to accept bitcoin, then all you'll need to do to accept payment is to show someone the QR code, let them take a picture of it, and they will be able to send you some money. You will also be able to create as many addresses as you like, so if you want to track where the money is coming from, you could have a separately labeled address from each one of your payees.

o There will be an area with a box for you to paste a code when you want to send money to someone or to yourself on an exchange or different wallet.

There will be other options and features, but to start out with, these are the items that you should know about.

Getting Your First Bitcoins

Congratulations! You have just entered the bitcoin economy.

To get your feet a little wetter, you can go panning for gold. There are a number of services and websites out there that will pay you in bitcoin to do things like go to certain websites, fill out online surveys, or watch sponsored videos. These are harmless, and you can earn a few extra bitcoins this way, but it is important to remember that these are businesses that get paid when people click on the links on their sites. They are essentially kicking back a portion of what they get paid to you. There is nothing illegal, or even immoral about this (you might like what you see and make a purchase!), but they are frequently flashy and may not be completely straightforward. All the ones that I have tried (particularly site.angelium.net) have paid out as advertised. It is interesting to experiment with these, but even with the likely rise in the value of bitcoin, you won't become a millionaire doing this. So, unless you are an advertisement junkie, I would recommend you move on. If you would like to try, simply Google "free bitcoins" or something along those lines and you will find numerous sites.

Buying Bitcoin Hand-to-Hand

Finally, this is going to be the real test of bitcoin. Can people easily trade them back and forth? If this can't happen, then there can't really be a bitcoin economy because retailers won't be able to use it. If retailers can't use it, what earthly good is it? Fortunately, this is not really a problem. iPhone is a bit of a hold out, but many smartphones have apps (mobile wallets) that will read QR codes and allow you to send bitcoin to whomever you want. You can also display a QR code of your address, or even carry a card in your wallet with your QR code to let people send bitcoin to you. Depending on what kind of wallet you have, you can then check to see if the bitcoins have been received.

A couple of things to note:

You may have a bitcoin Meetup in your area.

You can check out site.angelium.net to find people near you who are interested in buying or selling.

Some are trying to start up local street exchanges across the world. These are called Buttonwoods after the first street exchange established on Wall Street in 1792 under a buttonwood tree. See if there is one, or start one, in your area.

See if you have any friends who would like to try bitcoins out. Actually, the more people who start using bitcoin, the larger and more successful it will be come. So please tell two friends!

Some people ask if it is possible to buy physical bitcoins. The answer to this is both a yes and a no. Bitcoin, by its very nature, is a digital currency and has no physical form. However, there are a couple of ways that you can practically hold a bitcoin in your hands:

Cascascius Coins: These are the brainchild of Mike Caldwell. He mints physical coins and then embeds the private keys for the bitcoins inside them. You can get the private key by peeling a hologram from the coin which will then clearly show that the coin has been tampered with. Mike has gone out of his way to ensure that he can be trusted. These are a good investment strategy as in the years to come it may be that these coins are huge collector's items.

Paper Wallets: A paper wallet just means that rather than keeping the information for your bitcoin stored in a digital wallet, you print the key information off along with a private key and keep it safe in a safe, in a drawer, or in your mattress (if you like). This is highly recommended and cost effective system for keeping your bitcoin safe. Keep in mind, though, that someone could steal them or if your house burns, they will go with the house and there will be no way to get them back. Really, no different than cash. Also, as with Casascius Coins, they will not really be good for spending until you put them back into the computer.

* There is software to make printing your paper wallets easier. site.angelium.net is one of the best and includes a good tutorial about how to use them.

* The bitcoins are not actually in the wallet, they are still on the web. In fact, the outside of the wallet will have a QR code that will allow you ship coins to the wallet any time you like.

* The sealed part of the wallet will have the private key without which you cannot access the coins. Therefore, only put as many coins on the wallet as you want to be inaccessible. You will not be able to whip this thing out and take out a few coins to buy a cup of coffee. Rather, think of it as a piggy bank. To get the money, you have to smash it. It is possible to take out smaller amounts, but at this point the security of the wallet is compromised and it would be easier for someone to steal the coins. Better to have them all in or out.

* People who use paper wallets are usually security conscious, and there are a number of ways for the nefarious in the world to hack your computer. Site.angelium.net gives a lot of good advice about how to print your wallets securely.

Some people have also asked about buying bitcoins on eBay. Yes, it is possible, but they will be far overpriced. So, selling on eBay might seem to be a better option given the extreme markup over market value you might see. But, as with anything that is too good to be true, this is too good to be true. As I will explain in the next section, selling bitcoin this way is just way too risky.

How Not to Buy Bitcoin

In the next section, I am going to explain a couple of key points about buying from Bitcoin Exchanges. Before I do, let me give you a warning.

A short history lesson: When people first started setting up actual business based on bitcoin, they used all of the tools available to any merchant. They sold by credit card and PayPal. The problem with this business model was quickly spotted: bitcoin transactions are not reversible by anyone except the recipient of the money. Credit cards and PayPal have strong buyer protection policies that make it relatively easy for people to request a chargeback. So, nefarious individuals realized this and began making purchases of bitcoin and then sooner or later requesting a chargeback. And, since bitcoin is a non-physical product, sent by new and poorly understood technological means, the sellers were not able to contest this. Because of this, sellers stopped accepting credit cards and PayPal.

This was a big problem for the currency: How to move money between buyers and seller? Some business emerged that would credit you with bitcoin if you wired them money. Very often these businesses would give addresses in Albania, Poland, or Russia. The fact is that many of these did work and there are a lot of stories on the forums of people who bought bitcoins this way. But it took a lot of time and in the meantime the buyer just had to bite his or her fingernails wondering if they would get their bitcoins or kiss their investment goodbye.

I expect that as bitcoin becomes more acceptable and valuable, we are going to see a version of the Nigerian Prince scam. So the warning is this: we now have exchanges and other businesses that allow for moving money easily onto and off of exchanges. Never wire money for bitcoin. It was a short-lived, and well-forgotten, moment in the history of bitcoin.

Official site

https://angelium.net

Angelium wallet

https://wallet.angelium.net

Facebook

https://www.facebook.com/angelium.official/

Twitter

https://twitter.com/AngeliumANL

Telegram (English)

https://github.com/angelium

Telegram (Chinese)

https://t.me/AngeliumChinese

Telegram (Japanese)

https://t.me/angelium_jp

Official Video

https://youtu.be/h61qO3ihoHA

Youtube channel

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCYhiGcIxJARA6u309Qt1lbA

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purrincesskittens · 7 years

Text

Marichat May: Day 31; Copy Cat

Adrien knew he was in for one hell of a day when Marinette came in to school wearing a new outfit instead of her usual pink, white and black ensemble. She had on what looked like a hand knitted Chat Noir sweater dress that reached mid thigh with tights with cat faces on the thighs. Her hair pulled back in it’s usual pigtails but with green ribbons and a hood attached to the back of the neck line of the dress with cat ears on it.

The dress itself was a simple long sleeve black with a green paw print in the middle and a hoodie pocket on it. The hood she had pulled up at first when she entered but put it down afterwards to show the green hair ribbons and green lipstick she wore.

She had some cute black sandals on her feet with a tiny heel to them. Around her neck she had one of the bell collars she made. He gulped when he saw her unable to help but stare at her. She was so frickin adorable! He was doomed.

He never could seem to find a good way of approaching her to compliment her outfit though. Chloe just would not leave him along today. She clung to his arm tightly coo at him or trashing Marinette despite him warning her that Mari was his friend too.

He couldn’t pay attention in class at all he kept cast glances over his shoulder hoping to get a peek at Marinette’s outfit. Unknown to him Marinette was very flustered over the peeks he sent her way.

“Alya do you think he likes it?” She whispers to her best friend who laughs softly. “Girl you are driving him crazy with it. He can’t get enough of you.” She reassures with a wicked smile.

“Then why hasn’t he said anything?” Marinette worries biting her lip which drew Adrien’s eyes to her neon green painted lips watching her teeth pull at the plump lower lip unable to turn away.

“Adrien Agreste would you mind telling me what I just said?” Miss Bustier asks with a knowing smile having seen the way the boy kept glancing at the girl behind him through out her class but it was a class and it was in session thus he should be paying attention to the discussion more then the girl.

“Umm we were discussing La Marquise de Sevigne and her letters in which she wrote to her daughter and the insight they provide to French Society. We uhh were focusing on discussing the execution of Madame de Brinvilliers.” Adrien stumbled a bit over his words but he had been listening partially so he had a vague idea of what was being said.

Miss Bustier nodded confirming that what he said was correct. She moved on with their discussion from there leaving Adrien to give a sigh of relief ignoring the few chuckles from the guys in class and the elbow to the ribs Nino gave him.

By the time lunch rolled around Adrien was seriously wishing J.J. would stop making him watch romantic comedies with her; not that he objected really as he kind of liked them too. Between the rom-coms and the shoujo manga and anime that she had a rather extensive collection of and was more then happy to share it with him, he now knew several new flirting techniques and some kissing techniques.

The flirting she let him try on on her but he avoided trying the kissing. She had kissed him once already a while ago as Lupine Alpha and him as Chat Noir neither one knowing who the other was at the time. She just kissed him because he was wearing lipstick having just come from a photo shoot. She then proceeded to kiss Corvus as well as Ladybug. Turns out she is bisexual and has no problem kissing females.

At lunch he was just working up the courage to go talk to Marinette when an akuma attack happened. He slipped away into the boys bathroom to transform. Closing the door behind him he turned to let Palgg out. Only to stop and stare.

J.J. stood calm as day in the middle of the boys bathroom her kwami Accalia floating beside her. “About time you showed up. I’ve noticed that this is where you go to transform the most. So then shall we get going?” She stood her hair loose instead of its usual ponytail she wore to school her eyes a mix of green and brown at the moment.

“J.J. this is the guys bathroom!!” He hisses at her looking around frantically. “Oh I know but not that many guys go to the bathroom during lunch unlike girls who all seem to congregate in front of the mirrors in the girls room to touch up their makeup or to chat so its easier to slip into the boys bathroom and transform then to wait for the girls to evacuate the restroom to transform.”

She was rather calm about it all really as she waited for him to get it together and transform. “Okay that makes a lot of sense in some ways but you’re a girl!! You can’t just walk right into the boys bathroom like that!!” He hisses keeping his voice down just in case anyone was passing by.

“Adrien my love you don’t have anything that I haven’t seen before. I have had sex before you know.” She said all this with a sly smile on her face one finger under his chin tilting his head up to meet her gaze.

He gulped and flushed red. He had somewhat wondered considering she was older then him after all and seemed to have some experience dating especially compared to him.

“Can we please focus, Tala? The akuma is still rampaging and Corvus is on his own out there!” Accalia barks peering out through the slightly open window. “Ladybug hasn’t shown up yet?” Adrien questions joining the kwami at the window. “Girls. Bathroom. Lunch. Makeup.” J.J. repeats to him.

He grimaced taking her words to mean who ever his lady was she was having a hard time finding somewhere to transform. “Plagg, Claws Out!” He calls at the same time as J.J. called out “Paws On, Accalia!” It was amazing and thrilling to transform along side someone; watching them transform was something truly amazing.

They both exited through the window taking off after the akuma. The akuma was male and a young male probably in his mid to late teens. Could be from their school who knew. But he was dressed like a male version of Ladybug.

“I am Beetle Bug!! Where are you my dear partner Chat Noire? It is time to stop those copycats of us once and for all!!” He cries with a evil laugh as he continued to seemingly search for a female Chat Noir.

“Okay that is different.” Lupine comments swinging to land on the lamp post beside her partner or rather hang from it her whip wrapped around the top of it while Corvus stood actually ontop of it having landed there to rest for a moment.

“Your telling me, Hime.” He mutters dark eyes following the akuma or at least they seemed to it was hard to tell with him having no whites to his eyes at all. His feathers ruffled slightly as Chat Noir landed off to the side of him perched on his baton.

“What are we dealing with here? This akuma does make a purr-itty paw-some copy of my lady for a male that is.” Chat asks giving a sneeze as he did while still managing to crack a few jokes. He dug around in his pockets for the medicine he kept there for when he was transformed and hanging out along side the crow miraculous holder.

He quickly swallowed the pills before looking back at the akuma frowning when he realized Ladybug still had yet to show up. Voices carried over from the school not far away drawing attention in that direction.

Marinette had tripped going down the stairs chasing Alya who had her phone out and was recording already. Alya had stopped to check on her friend Nino already was beside her helping her to her feet her hood having fallen into her face.

Chat Noir got a sickening feeling in his stomach as he watched the akuma turn towards the trio in front of the school and focus in on the girl in black. A heavy pause filled the air in that moment and a distorted waver of the air around Beetle Bug meant Deer Woman, Hawkmoth’s new partner and the arch enemy of Lupine Alpha and Corvus, was persuading him to do something.

Deer Woman had the ability to possess or hypnotize men and children. Only Lupine had the power to stop her but not alone. While Lupine was the main driving force behind stopping Deer Woman she needed Corvus’s help to do so just like Ladybug and him.

The ring of the black cat and the earrings of the ladybug were a matching pair two parts of a whole as were the collar of the wolf and the bangle of the crow. The two worked best when together.

Beetle Bug gave a triumphant cry turning and swinging his way quickly towards their three friends. “There you are Chat Noire!! My love, my partner come let us destroy these copy cats together once and for all!” He cries landing in front of the three.

Nino and Alya immediately formed a barrier between the akuma and Marinette trying to protect her. “Leave her alone!!” Chat Noir shouts angrily pole vaulting his way towards them with Corvus flying and Lupine Alpha swinging using her extendable whip.

“They wish to stop us from prevailing Chat Noire but fear not we are together again and nothing will stop us now. Come let us go and plot out how we will take down these filthy copy cats.”

With that Beetle Bug scooped up the girl pulling her close despite her struggles and swung away. “No!” Chat cried along side the girls best friend. A determined look on his face he gave chase after them determined not to lose his Princess to that fiend.

They chased Beetle Bug through most of Paris neither one stopping to rest for long racing across roof tops or swinging and vaulting through the streets. By then the news crews had gotten a hold of the story and were following along on the chase.

Alya had hitched a ride with the police in Officer Raincomprix’s cruiser. She was determined to get her best friend back as well as cover every detail of the fight.

Beetle Bug finally came to a halt in a busy crowded area dropping down into the middle of the crowd with one arm firmly locked around a struggling flailing Marinette.

“Corvus.” Lupine calls out to her partner needing no words as they each approached the crowd at different angles. The news crew had caught up and were blocking one street while the cops had blocked off another leaving the three super heroes to split up and block off the remaining streets leaving only one way open that they could filter.

“I really hate to do this on a crowd of this size but at least the affect will be diluted.” He mutters pulling back one feather covered arm the one that his miraculous was on, as he spoke.

“Chat get ready to get up close and purr-sonal with the akuma you’re going to have to use your cataclysm on him. I’ll protect the girl.” Chat Noir gave a nod of affirmative extending his baton ready to go the moment she gave the okay.

“Mayhem!!” Corvus screeches giving a sweep of his wing a dark purple bubbling wave of energy spread out from the sweeping motion it washed over the crowd and all who it touched immediately came under its effect including Beetle Bug. Marinette was spared from the full affects thanks to her miraculous.

Screams and panic set in and people with eyes wide with terror began to flee in all directions or collapse to the ground screaming and crying voices of madness echoing in their minds or just plain old feelings of terror and hopelessness. Chaos reined in the crowd as the outer edges of the crowd ran for the only open exit guarded by the heroes.

“Now!!” Lupine shouts quickly swinging towards the now visible akuma. Chat Noir vaulted on his baton towards the akuma landing in front of him immediately bringing his baton back up to block the wild throw of Beetle Bug’s yoyo.

Beetle Bug’s eyes were blown wide and his mind was in chaos complete mayhem ran free in his mind no one thought staying for long other then to drop a suggestion or hint adding to it all.

He fought with Chat Noir wildly not planning what he was going to do next just swinging his yoyo and fighting hand to hand combat style. It was hard for Chat to keep up unable to determine what he was going to do next.

Lupine Alpha in the mean time had dropped down to land beside the girl wrapping an arm around Mari her whip tied securely around her hips she raised both hands and calling out, “Sanctuary!!”

A golden bubble of light encompassed them surrounding them in it’s protective sphere. The remainder of the crowd that had been nearly trampling the poor girl, who was feeling panicked from the use of Mayhem, was now kept at bay as they either ran into the sphere and bounced off it or ran around it avoiding it.

“Lucky Charm!!” Beetle Bug cried raising a hand and tossing their yoyo in the air. A spotted version of Chat’s baton fell into their hand along with their yoyo. The yoyo went back around his waist while the two staff wielders fought it out.

Chat’s eyes darted between the yoyo and the earrings Beetle Bug wore. Unable to decide which item was where the akuma was hiding he gritted his teeth knowing he was going to have to take a chance and pick one.

A four winged boomerang made the decision for him as it came out of no where and smashed into the side of Beetle Bug’s head cracking one of the earrings causing it to break off.

The string attached to the boomerang was yanked and the weapon returned to its wielder Corvus. Beetle Bug gave a cry of pain clutching the side of his head turning now to face Corvus who threw his boomerang again.

He was far more careful then to just throw it and hope it hit its mark. No Corvus was the cool calm and collected one while Lupine was busy snapping her whip at all who dared approach her and the girl her Sanctuary spent snarling all the while.

He calculated the exact angle need for him to throw his boomerang at for it to curve back around and smash into Beetle Bug again as he had planned. With both earrings now broken and in pieces on the ground the only thing left was the yoyo.

“Cataclysm!!” Chat Noir yells his hand being surrounded in the signature black bubbling dark energy as it collided with the yoyo that was swung at him. The yoyo turned black upon contact and dissolved crumbling into black dust a purple butterfly emerging from it.

Lupine’s whip snapped up the akuma before it could get far. As her whip was recoiled back to her Lupine brought up a hand enclosing the butterfly in her fist still wrapped up in the tail end of her whip bringing it up to her miraculous. A gold light surrounded her hand coming from her miraculous and with a kiss pressed to her knuckles she opened her hand releasing a golden butterfly. “Fly away now little one. Go and be free” She calls softly to it; her miraculous down to one clawed black toe pad and the wide main black paw pad. She tossed her whip into the air with a howl a golden light emitting from it as everything returned to normal. “Wondrous Wolf!!”

Chat Noir ignored the beep of his own miraculous in favor of rushing over to wrap the stunned and confused girl up in his arms. Corvus already bidding them farewell after high fiveing Lupine quickly and giving her a kiss on the cheek before taking off his miraculous down to just one purple crows foot marking.

Lupine murmured softly to him letting him know she was taking off too and she would see him later as well as reminding him that he had to leave before his time ran out once he was through thoroughly rubbing his face against Marinette’s hair and squeezing her to death. He was quickly joined by Alya and Nino along with reporters and police officers surrounding him asking him for comments or details on what just happened no one paying much attention to the blonde haired boy sitting confused on the ground a few feet away.

#marichat may #marichat may day 31 #copy cat #marinette cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #adrinette #oc #wolf kwami #wolf miraculous holder #crow miraculous holder #male ladybug #purified akuma #someone else purifies the akuma other then ladybug #ladybug missing in action #marichat

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forresthom-blog · 5 years

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13/03/19 Making Sense of America’s Bloodiest Fields: Visiting Antietam and Fredericksburg

Many Civil War battlefields are now National Parks; they are maintained and protected for posterity and education. It is all well and good reading about the gentle slopes of Marye’s Heights at Fredericksburg - or the narrowness of Burnside’s Bridge at Antietam - but to really understand the lie of the land, these sites have to be experienced in person. Seeing, walking and immersing oneself in the historical geography of the battlefields allows one to begin to slowly piece together a deeper understanding and empathy towards the events that happened there over one-hundred-and-fifty years ago.

On Monday, I took a train ride an hour and a half south of Washington, DC to Fredericksburg, Virginia. Virginia seceded (the act of a state leaving the Union of the United States of America) and joined the Confederate States of America in May 1861. Fredericksburg had been a prosperous town of around five thousand inhabitants before the war. It was located almost precisely halfway between the two capital cities of the warring parties: Washington to the north, and Richmond to the south. Yet, between the 11th and 15th of December 1862, the town was not filled with the bustle of commerce. Instead, Fredericksburg was filled with the roar of battle; the smell of gunpowder, smoke and flesh; as the town’s pre-war order was shattered instaneously.

The Rappahannock River separated the Union from the Confederates before the battle. The river is wide twice as wide as this picture shows because the trees to the left of the river (the southside) are on an island in the middle of the water. On the 11th and 12th of December Union engineers struggled to establish pontoon bridges to allow troops and wagons to pass into the town. Confederate sharpshooters and artillery made their already difficult job much harder and very dangerous.

In friendly territory and on the defensive, by the 13th of December the Confederates (commanded by the famous General Robert E. Lee) were ready and waiting for the Union on the ridgeline of Marye’s Heights behind the town. The ridge is small but large enough to have been a formidable target for the Union. In front of the ridge is a road, sunken into the ground by decades of use by carts, horses and people - forming a ready-made trench for Confederate infantry to be concealed. In front of the infamous Sunken Road was an open field (it is now covered with houses). However, today it is still possible to see how challenging this open terrain would have been to cover. It spans two blocks and gently slopes upwards towards Marye’s Heights. A small dip in the middle offers some cover, but otherwise the men were in full view of the infantry in the Sunken Road and the artillery cannons placed atop Marye’s Heights.

The above photo is mine of the same view as that of the famous wartime photographer Matthew Brady’s. Brady’s picture shows the Confederate dead behind the wall of the Sunken Road. They had relentlessly witheld the Union from overrunning their positions and forced them into retreat. Yet, the ultimate price was paid nonetheless by the unfortunate men above.

Image Source: National Archives and Records Administration

Until visiting Frederckisburg, it was difficult to appreciate the nature of the open, gently sloping killing field across which the Union had to cross and the strength of the Confederate positions at the Sunken Road and Marye’s Heights. Furthermore, it helped me understand the difficulties the Amulance Corps will have faced in removing wounded men during the daylight and how during the night they will have had to refrain from using any light sources to avoid being easily spotted by sentinels along the high ground.

I also visited Chatham House on the northside of the Rappanhannock. It was where the military and medical departments set up their headquarters. The room where you can now watch a film about the history of the grand manor house was once used by surgeons tending the wounded of Fredericksburg. Poet Walt Whitman visited in search of his brother and wrote:

“Outdoors, at the foot of a tree, within ten yards of the front of the house, I noticed a heap of amputated feet, legs, arms, hands, etc. - about a load for a one-horse cart. Several dead bodies lie near, each covered with its brown woolen blanket... the house is quite crowded... all the wounds pretty bad, some frightful, the men in their old clothes, unclean and bloody”.

Time and time again, ambulances will have crossed the swaying pontoon bridges and raced up the winding track to Chatham House: carrying their sorry and broken load. Those lucky enough to survive their ordeals at Chatham will have endured a longer ambulance ride back to the hospitals at Alexandria and Washington.

On Tuesday, I visited the fantasticly well-curated and comprehensive National Museum of Civil War Medicine in Frederick, Maryland and then went to the site of the Battle of Antietam a short drive to the north-west. I would like to thank Terry Reimer from the museum for answering my questions and her handy pointers towards some extra sources to embellish my dissertation. I am also incredibly thankful to my expert guide, driver and friend Jeff Joyce for making the trip possible and talking me through the Antietam battlefield.

The museum recreated a scene of the loading of an ambulance by a ambulance corpsman and two hospital stewards. The hospital stewards are noticable with their green half chevron with yellow piping and cadeceus on their arm. They, like the ambulance corpsman, also have a green band around their cap. Unique uniform markers for medical personnel marks them out from the rest of the men. They are instantly recognisable as different to the ordinary soldier. Differences to their uniform and role gives them a specific identity, as defined by their membership of the Ambulance Corps or wider medical department.

The Battle of Antietam was fought on the 17th of September 1862. It was the end of summer and a warm day. The day before, the Union had repelled the Confederates from the South Mountain - pushing them back through gaps in the ridgeline. To simplify, the battle was fought on three individual fronts. The cornfield to the north, the Sunken Road in the middle (yes, another, but different Sunken Road!), and Burnside’s Bridge to the south.

This photo shows the edge of the North Woods and the cornfield beyond it. The Union advanced forwards from here towards the Confederates who were positioned at the otherside of the cornfield. In the summer of 1862, the corn was fully grown. Today’s corn grows to well-over head height. However, in 1862, corn grew to shoulder height. As the Union advanced, their heads were perfectly visible targets. Yet, by the end of the day, thousands of bullets had obliterated the corn and the field looked as though it had been harvested with a razor against the earth.

Antietam saw total casualties (killed, wounded and missing/captured) for both sides of 22,720. The 17th of September 1862 in the bloodiest day on American soil in history. For the entire twelve hours of battle, a man fell killed or wounded more than once every two seconds. It was the first time the Letterman System of ambulance provision was put into effect on a large scale since its introduction the month before. Letterman ordered hundreds of ambulances to make sure he would have enough. The extra preparation paid off. All wounded men who could be reached were removed within twenty four hours of battle.

The top photo shows Jeff and me at Burnside’s Bridge on the southern end of the battlefield. The bridge was seen as a key strategic target for the Union to seize from the Confederates. Jeff and I are stood on the hill the Confederates occupied. The bridge is very narrow and was a choke point that proved highly difficult to overcome. The bridge is named after General Ambrose E. Burnside, pictured in the lower photo. Burnside pressed head on at the bridge repeatedly until he took it. However, no sooner had he taken it, he was flanked by the Confederate forces of AP Hill and pushed right back across it again.

From the photo of Burnside, we can admire his highly enviable and fashionable facial hair! In fact, the sideburns he sports were not known as sideburns until he sported them. His iconic look led to the style of facial hair to be known as Burnsides. At the start of the 1900s, the name flipped to sideburns - which sticks to this day!

Image Source: Library of Congress (Prints and Photographs Division)

Being in the landcape where Civil War battles took place helps enormously in understanding and visualising the environment described by those who were there. It is possible to see how much courage it took to charge headlong into the flashing muskets of the enemy and how difficult it was to transport the wounded across undulating terrain, so close and in full view of hostile lines.

To finish, I will again show another pair of ‘now’ and ‘then’ photos. Being in the spots where terrible events occurred over a century and a half ago is powerful, but we are separated by the healing and numbing powers of time. When viewing such images and visiting such places it takes considerable effort to try and imagine the unimaginable suffering and sorrow felt in the past. The pictures of Brady and Gardner (the photographer of the photo below) were displayed at studios and in publications across the North. They showed war in a way the public at home had never seen it before. Friends and family were shocked and appalled by the distinct lack of beauty and honour in war. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s poem “Killed at the Ford” says:

That fatal bullet went speeding forth / Till it reached a town in the distant North

If the bullet that took the life of a soldier in the field could destroy the lives of loved ones in the North, the image that fell on a photographer’s plate could burn itself into the retina and form an unshakable memory in any observers who then demanded that soldiers be properly cared when wounded and dying to prevent further unnecessary loss.

Dunker Church, Antietam Battlefield. Confederate bodies lie waiting for burial in the days after the battle has finished.

Image Source: Library of Congress (Prints and Photographs Division)

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tillieolsenslists-blog · 5 years

Text

The Myth of the Archive of Everything

"The Web was not designed to be preserved," says Brewster Kahle, founder of the Internet Archive, a non-profit library of millions of free books, film, software, music, websites and more. "The average life of a Web page is about 100 days," he adds. Kahle is currently on the lookout for an old optical disc drive containing a copy the first ever webpage. It was lost at a conference in California in 1990. Around about the same time, the archaeologist George Xourmouziadis was digging at the site of a Neolithic lake settlement in Northern Greece. In 1993, he found the earliest known example of written text in the world, the Dispillio tablet, a chunk of inscribed wood that had lay buried in the mud for 7,500 years.

The tablet, however, in the absence of some sort of Rosetta stone, is indecipherable. In a way, it is like one of those old floppy discs you might find at the back of a drawer or in a box you stored at your dad’s if you went to university in the late 90s. It’s a strange yet familiar object, and you know it contains information, but you have no way of accessing it, of reading it. Of course, whilst it has taken many thousands of years for the text on the Dispillio tablet to become unreadable, my dissertation hasn’t even made it twenty years, unless I had access to what would by now be pretty specialist equipment.

“He went a long journey, was weary, worn out with labour, and returning engraved on a stone the whole story.”

So goes the world’s oldest known written story, the “Epic of Gilgamesh”, fragments of which have been dated to 2000 BCE. Perhaps other weary travellers returned home and told their story to a friend, which may seem less durable than stone. And yet, research has shown that some Pawnee stories document events that took place during the last glaciation, at least 11,000 years ago, and linguists and geographers have proven that Aboriginal Australians have stories that contain accurate oral histories stretching back 400 generations to over 10,000 years ago. It is therefore important to listen for stories that cannot be physically held in our hands, but that survive nonetheless, perhaps by virtue of the fact they can’t become buried in mud or lost at the back of a drawer. However, these stories do not survive by accident. Oral history keepers are not just saying whatever comes into their head. In Aboriginal Australian communities, for example, complex system of inter-generational kin-based responsibility and cross-checking of stories ensures they are retold and retold verbatim, much in the same way that a Babylonian scribe had to be trained to accurately write the complex cuneiform script.

But in ancient Babylonia, even if a scribe transcribed a text accurately, decisions made by archivists could still render a document unstable. Texts deemed important by the ruling class, such as legal documents, were recorded on clay tablets, while even more ‘important’ texts, such as royal decrees, were written on stone or precious metal. Meanwhile, the Babylonian language and the cuneiform script were generally used for stone or clay inscriptions, whereas Aramaic texts, used in day-to-day trade throughout the region, tended to be written on more perishable material such as parchment and leather. How documents were stored—in jars, boxes or bags or within stone temples, or on specially designed shelves within a royal compound, for example—also affected their longevity. However, even once-important clay tablets were often eventually disposed of, being written over or recycled into floor filling when they were deemed to be no longer of use. In fact, it is thought that many of the texts that survive to this day do so only because they were hidden in times of war by owners unable to ever return to them, grow bored of them, and use them as filler in the foundations of their new extension…

They say that the most important years of a person’s life are their first three years, during which time the very foundation of our being is formed; and yet during that time we are almost universally illiterate. What do babies dream about? What stories do they tell themselves? My six-year-old son is learning to read. “What does that say?” he asks, pointing to an advert for an investment bank. “See More, Be More,” I tell him, and then we unpick the meaning of the text in great detail until we get to Govan. I feel suddenly sad at his new desire to discover the world through text when only 4 years ago he felt it out with tongue and spit, took it into his mouth or fingered it greedily. Of course there are limits to what you can understand in this way, and so language; and there is something particular about written language, even in the way it reaches for a sort of representative neutrality which, of course, it can never contain.

This seeming neutrality is no more evident than on the internet, where we are presented with never-ending feeds of black text on white screens that seem to issue more from the ether than from any mouth. Web content is now overwhelmingly created by non-professionals—by people who go on a journey and returning, weary, worn out with labour, blog about it, tweet about it, write an email to their mother about it, post it on Facebook or Insta. Would they had chiselled it in stone! Because even though these stories and ideas, these projects and diaries, these poems and love letters appear on a screen and have the potential, indeed, to appear on any screen throughout the world, that doesn’t mean they are safely archived. As Jason Scott, an archivist and historian at the Internet Archive says of web-based material: “when it goes, it really goes[…] there is just zero recourse.”

Then there are the silences. In order to archive, an archivist must have material to work with. Yet 45% of the world has no internet access. And whereas in the past, anonymous was a woman, now they are more likely to be a middle-class, white Western man. The seemingly neutral black text on your screen that appears to have been almost communally created by a hive mentality, representative of everyone, leading some to argue that the internet is a platform that can break down barriers to communication, challenging, say, the classed and gendered world of publishing, the facts of the matter say otherwise. A recent American study showed that there are far fewer female bloggers, hackers and Wikipedia editors than there are male ones. Wiki is one of the most used websites in the world and often the first place people go for information, and yet in America only 25% of editors are female, and globally the figure drops to 20%. Women use the Internet much less than men too: globally 12% less, but in places like Africa, 25% less. Men publish more tutorials, podcasts comments and reviews than women and launch more petitions. Only 11% of open-source programmers are female. Class, race and nationality intersect to make these figures far starker in countries such as Palestine, Turkey or Brunei.[1]

The barriers to women’s online participation are multiple and include lower incomes as well as lower literacy and computer-literacy levels globally. Online discrimination, hate speech and harassment also makes it harder for women to participate, with a recent study showing more than 50% of women have received unsolicited offensive images. Much like in the world of paper journalism, online comments regarding female-generated content tends to focus less on the facts of the matter and more of the physical appearance of the women concerned. The Guardian reported that “articles written by women attract more abuse and dismissive trolling than those written by men, regardless of what the article is about.”

People of colour also face increased levels of harassment online. As Hannah Pool, a British-Eritrean journalist and blogger, commented, “I could post my shopping list and I’m pretty sure the thread beneath would include some variants of “go back to Africa”. Two recent studies looking at reactions to similar comments on race by both black and white authors showed that black authors faced significantly higher levels of negative reactions than white ones.[1] Another report showed that British Muslim women faced high levels of online trolling for wearing hijabs or other religious garments. In his book, Convergence culture: Where old and new media collide, Henry Jenkins states that online content creators are, ‘‘disproportionately white, male, middle-class and college-educated’’.

But we shouldn’t be surprised. After all, there has only been a digital revolution, rather than the cultural, philosophical, political and economic revolution that would bring genuine change. The biggest lie we are sold is that technology in and of itself can free us—that it is in the process of liberating us and of breaking down class, gender and racial inequalities. Meanwhile, Google promises us the ‘archive of everything’, insisting that if they develop the technology to capture and archive all digital content, alongside projects to digitise print books en-masse, they will have created an archive of the whole wide world. We must then question what is meant by ‘everything’, who is archiving it, and why. For even if issues of production were addressed, and we all became content providers, and even if Google managed to capture all of that content, and record every single story ever told, from the first to the last, someone or something still has to guide us to that content, sift through it, present it to us. As Walter Benjamin pointed out:

“Perhaps the most deeply hidden motive of the person who collects can be described this way: “he [sic] takes up the struggle against dispersion [Zerstreuung]. Right from the start, the great collecter is struck by the confusion, by the scatter [Zerstreutheit] in which the things in the world are found.”

The archive is therefore more about ordering than hoarding. Yet the archive of everything pretends to an objectivity that does not exist. It pretends that in collecting everything it makes everything available, or potentially available, and even that it records our history and culture in a fair and objective manner. It masks the politics of production on multiple levels: the production of knowledge (culture, education, language), of content (writers, speakers, listeners, readers), and of consumption (algorithms, advertising, canons).

For the world already contains ‘everything’, and this ‘everything’ is continually archived through language and stories, culture and memory, networks and systems, and currently, overwhelmingly, this ordering is filtered through process of valourisation in a world dominated by capitalism. We must therefore see every attempt to collect and order as a political act, one that is intricately tied up with power struggles: how do you produce, record and represent the history of a nation, a people, a language, a culture, a world, in an archive?

As people and institutions large and small—from the government and the BBC to your local labour history group; from Google, to your 15-year-old daughter—grapple with the Babelian project of how to capture everything, there is a further shift from a focus on (intellectual) production to that of consumption. And this shift imagines that archivists are now involved merely in a technical project of trying to collect the whole wide world, risking subsuming the politics of the archive, and the space therein for resistance, to the illusion of a totalising objectivity. It is only by re-politicising the productive function of the archive—its capacity to generate culture, ideas and history—that we can show that the archive of everything is nothing more than a myth about how stories are told, and about how they are remembered, or forgotten.

[1] https://www.psychologytoday.com/gb/blog/media-spotlight/201703/race-and-the-internet

[2] https://www.alumniportal-deutschland.org/en/global-goals/sdg-05-gender-equality/women-internet-digital-gap/ [accessed 19/02/19]

#myth #archive of everything #politics #stories #writing

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writerspink · 5 years

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K-12 Words

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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