#josef gens

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

The tomb of the Roman legionary Lucius Poblicius, built between 40 and 50 CE is one of the most impressive exhibits of the Römisch Germanisches Museum in Cologne. It is believed to be the best-preserved object of this type north of the Alps, and its rich decorations deserve attention: reliefs depicting the Roman god Pan and his priestesses, as well as floral motifs. In the upper part of the tomb, there is a sculpture of Polblicius himself wearing a toga – an attire that proves to belong to the higher social classes.

The object was found under unusual circumstances. It is not often that you come across something like this… in front of your own house. The story began in 1965 in the southern part of the old town of Cologne, when brothers Josef and Heinz Gens, twenty-something, went down to the basement to check the condition of the foundations before the planned expansion of their house, partially destroyed during the Second World War. When examining the ground, the young men first found a medieval well and elements of pottery. Intrigued, they dug deeper, and soon they saw the first stone block, on which they saw the figure of the Roman god – Pan. They announced their discovery to the Römisch Germanisches Museum but met with no interest. Moreover, they were forbidden to continue the excavations.

However, the youthful curiosity won out, and friends joined the brothers. A 7-person team has been completed and the search has started in full swing. As Josef Gens studied mechanical engineering, and there was also an architecture student in the group, the work under the house where the unaware Gens lived was perfectly prepared. First, a structure was built to secure the foundations, which the young men used a total of 10 tons of bricks, concrete, wood and iron. When the house was not in danger of collapsing, it was possible to start the laborious extraction of stone elements, which when arranged fit together like puzzles. When the inscription blocks were excavated, it became clear that the treasure under the Gens house was a Roman tomb. In total, in the years 1965-1967, 70 stone elements were excavated, often weighing more than a ton each. Raiders reached 9 meters into the ground. Each block was meticulously cataloged and the excavations were also filmed.

The time has come to reveal the Museum of the find. This time, the authorities ignored the previous search prohibition, and the tomb of Poblicius was made available to visitors. A total of 15,000 people visited the Gens brothers’ house, wanting to see the unusual object, and the young people were eager to show tours and talk about their treasure.

According to the law from the time, the tomb belonged to the Gens family, as it was found on their property. Many institutions around the world wanted to buy the property, offering large sums, but the brothers wanted it to stay in Cologne. The city purchased the tomb of Poblicius for half a million German marks. Since 1974, it can be admired at the Römisch Germanisches Museum.

Josef Gens, an elderly man today, eagerly returns to the adventure of his youth, appearing on radio and television. He also wrote a book in which he claims that the tomb was not completely reconstructed properly. The descent to the cellar more than half a century ago began the history of extraordinary searches, the fruit of which can be admired to this day.

Romano-Germanic Museum: Sepulcher of Poblicius 

Lucius Poblicius from Terentina in Italy was a veteran of the 5th Legion. Upon his discharge after 20-25 years of service with the Roman army he would have received the equivalent of 13 years salary to buy a farm or set up a business. It may also have paid for his funeral monument erected around 40 CE. He is depicted not as a former soldier but as a Roman citizen surrounded by his family.

(Museum info card)

Cologne, November 2017

[300yearschallenge]

Shortly after the fiasco at the priest's house, a letter arrived for Charles Elias written by his mother.

It read:

Dear Charles Elias,

My darling son! Thank you so much for your response to my letter, I was so happy to hear from you again.

I am, sadly, writing to you today with sad news.

Your great uncle Josef Olafsson has died.

He was getting on in years, and I'm told he didn't suffer before passing.

But it's still a great loss for us all.

We held the funeral for him a few days ago, and everyone who could come was there.

Both of Josef's children were there, and this is the first time in a long while that Anna has been back in the village since she moved away years ago.

I cannot imagine how hard it must be to lose a parent who you couldn't visit very often, and I hope she doesn't feel too devastated by the loss.

I think, however, that the one who is taking the loss the hardest is poor uncle Vilhelm.

He is now the last surviving sibling of seven, and I cannot begin to imagine how painful that must be.

Losing one sibling was painful enough for me, the pain of losing six must be devastating. How do you cope with such a loss?

I hope none of you ever have to lose a sibling for a long, long time to come.

But enough of my fretting! I will continue to pray for your continued well-being, and please give Theodore my regards.

Please do not feel bad about not being able to come to the funeral. I am sure that Uncle Josef understands, and you may send him your love by lighting a candle for him at your new church.

With love,

Théodora Park

1783

Rest in Peace Josef Olafsson

1729 - 1783

[necile]

Heard a bunch of random yelling outside as Precious was cleaning the house, and it turns out, it was this random acrobat. His antics attracted an old lady as well.

[sim-ply-lilacs]

Brindleton Bay, 1891

On a drizzling morning as the last cold fingers of winter dipped into the light of spring, Beatrice Fenton buried her father.

Beatrice wandered her way through the day. She stopped to chat to this relative and that, made her mother, Madeline as comfortable as she could, and smiled graciously through every saccharine message of consolation she received.

Eventually, though, her grief threatened to overwhelm her, and she slipped away to an isolated corner of her parents' property.

Beatrice had adored her father. The late-in-life only child of her parents, she had grown up indulged and doted on. The Fentons had lived a comfortable life in a home that boated both electricity and indoor plumbing, and had saved enough money over the years that Beatrice had been set to attend the University of Britechester in the fall to obtain her B.A. in literature. That dream was forced to die, however, when her father took ill. Madeline spent every penny—and then some—of their savings in a hopeless attempt to save the life of her beloved. He had passed anyway, and his family was destitute.

"Oh Papa!" Beatrice sobbed, "Oh Papa I don't know what to do! Mother and I have nothing left, save the house. Even that must be sold to settle the debts we owe the doctor, and then there's nothing left. I looked for a teaching position nearby, but there's nothing closer than Strangerville all the way across the country, and Mother refuses to be parted from Brindleton Bay."

"I-I'm trying so hard, Papa. I'm trying to be brave like you asked me to be, but I just have nothing left. We have no money, no relatives, no nothing. Perhaps some convent will take us on but oh how I wanted little babies of my own."

"How could we have come to this? Oh, what will I do?"

Beatrice spoke no more. The grief became too heavy to carry. Letting it roll over her like the waves of the bay where she'd had such a happy childhood, Beatrice let it pull her under, and finally gave in to tears. As an only child, she'd always been comfortable being alone, but never before had she felt so lonely.

And yet, that was not the only reason she was pleased to hear the soft, kind voice that approached and whispered, "Bea?"

Prev ~ Next ~ Beginning

[belovedstilldear]

THE SILLIES THE THE SILLY GUYS THE Silly art trade w/ @melodythebunny :3! Clip Studio didn't crash this time!!!!!!

[ewnextgen]

Hey Josef is okay to be small, in my family have 10 person and i'm the smallest,shortest and youngest in house it's very suck.*give Josef a piece of chocolate cake*i make this for you never give up buddy!

Geez...thanks! I'm going to have to hide it from Micheal though...

[melodythebunny]

So i caved in a made a next gen au for eddsworld :33

I decided to make my ships for that fandom a next gen. Also all my personal head canons exist in this au. Bc i can.

Like with my wordgirl next gen there are no canon ships for this au. Only their parents u-u

For design wise for These next gen kids i basically mashed classic eddsworld design along side legacy,beyond and from the kiddos mom designs together and got this.

@liloskull343 (tagged bc you did ask to see them when i drew them again)

Reblogs are appreciated :3

[thatsdemko]

something bout you - p. o'ward

masterlist | pairing: Pato o’ward x Rossi!fem!reader summary: your love for him is different and he couldn’t love it more. warnings: 18+ content + mentions of Indy500 results + fluff + angst(?) + minor errors a/n: hiiii! Im back :) I’ve been working on this since the results of indy500 and while it’s not perfect I hope you all enjoy!

where your brother was a dark cloud on rainy days, you were the thunder and lightning that boomed across the sky alongside him. its enticing to someone like him.

he’s drawn to the identical to dark like storm eyes, black hair that sways across your back. you were rossi’s identical down to the bone. zak brown used to swear it was traumatizing, now Pato finds it adoring.

where Alexander was millennial humor, and minimal smiles, you were nothing but witty gen z comebacks and a smile once a month. Pato found your personalities jarring in comparison, but made it his mission to brighten your clouds.

“woah.”

it sounded more like a whoosh of air exhaling from his lips. seeing you in a dark blue floor length gown truly took the air and words from his lungs. it threatens the muscles in your cheeks to tug upward, but you refuse to give pato the satisfaction of a smile.

“what?” you whip your head in his direction. navy blue suit jacket, a white shirt that was slightly unbuttoned, and matching pants. he looks heavenly. you hate that.

“you look gorgeous, amor.” the nickname rolls off his tongue, a smirk tugging his lips as he watches red flicker across your cheeks. you didn’t need to show any other signs of affection for him to know that subtle weakness for him.

“and you look like a buffoon. not even a suit can help your case.”

a chuckle escapes his lips, and for the first time since sunday morning he’s actually smiling. leave it to a rossi to lift his spirits.

“you brighten my day, Rossi.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Alex comes up behind you. his black suit and dark blue tie matching your dress like twins.

right, he reminds himself, siblings. she’s not for you.

“other Rossi,” you reply turning to your brother, “you think way too highly of yourself.”

—

a permanent scowl formed the second Josef took the stage. it was a common look for you, though you masked it well during most days, tonight was one of those moments you let it rip.

Josef drove a hell of a drive yesterday, but seeing him on stage was all but a reminder of what Pato lost and for some reason that angered you. having to watch your brother, his sister, and his own team members lift him up from another disappointing loss trickles into your memory. it was a well deserved win for Josef, but your heart ached for somebody else.

somebody you definitely shouldn’t have feelings for, but you find yourself having. someone who opened up the dark cloud and made it a little brighter.

when Pato finally took the stage, all he could see was you. the scowl loosening from your face to a contorted smile. all energy from earlier drained out of him. having to be reminded of his failed efforts, but he did enjoy the view of you practically envisioning what it would be like to strangle newgarden.

“that’s two smiles this month.” Pato whispered into your ear when he passed you to his seat. he could hear a low grumble come from you, and the scowl was back, but aimed at him.

he reveled in it. taking in all your features and how hard you work to keep your vulnerability inside that hard shell. because for a split second when he took that stage he saw you for what you truly were; a fool in love with him.

—

“I like when you get defensive of me.” he says, coming up from behind you. he rests his chin against your shoulder, the hairs that fell out his gel slicked back tickle your skin.

“the scowl was out of annoyance. don’t think too deep about it.” you say, attempting to fight his touch, but it’s too much strength to do so. you just relax your body into his and allow yourself to be held.

“I like to think you actually do love me.”

you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you feel his lips graze the sensitive part of neck. you can feel your knees weaken, ready to crumble into his arms.

love was a strong word and emotion, but it never felt big and scary with Pato. love was different with him. different was good, different was better than whatever you’d read in books. you didn’t need the fairytales, you just needed someone to remind you to smile once a month. or not attempt murder when he lost important races.

“say it,” he mumbles into your skin, teeth running across your flesh, you can feel goosebumps scatter across your skin, “say you love me.” he takes a piece of your skin in between your teeth, the sound of your sharp inhale fuels the fire in him.

“I do,” you swallow, trying to steady yourself against him, “I love you.” you spin around to face him, your dark eyes stare into his chocolate ones.

he nudges your body towards the bed and you comply. seating on the edge of the bed, you watch him remove his suit jacket. the most mundane task, was such a turn on for you. you unconsciously open your legs for him.

“I love you too,” he presses his knee in between your thighs, gently dropping your back onto the mattress, “even when you want to murder me.”

“I’d murder for you,” you say pulling him by the collar of his shirt, “but if you don’t fuck me, I will strangle you.” you growl into his ear before sinking your teeth into the outer edge of his lobe.

“you always seem to have a way with the words.”

[misiahasahardname]

i’ve had this long list of td surname headcanons (and i guess some of them are nationality headcanons) for a while and haven’t done much about them, so…

here are each generation’s surnames! (except for rr since i’m not too confident about them)

gen 1:

harold norbert cheever doris mcgrady V

cody emmett jameson anderson

lindsay tyson

noah könig (german)

eva barta (czech)

izzy clark

owen fraser

trent evans-grant

gwen kennedy

heather ryeo

bridgette summers

leshawna simelane (south african iirc)

beth spring

devon ‘dj’ joseph

alejandro burromuerto (spanish)

sierra kauffman (german)

tyler wilson

ezekiel miller

courtney cortez (spanish, or from somewhere where they speak spanish primarily)

duncan butcher

katie wan (malaysian)

sadie peterson (originally was gonna give her a romanian surname but here is peterson)

justin kāne (hawaiian)

geoff jasper

gen 2:

josef ‘jo’ kaczmarek (Polish)

brick macarthur

anne-maria chahuán (chilean)

michele ‘mike’ russo

cameron corduroy wilkins

rudolph ‘lightning’ jackson

staci sterling

zoey gates

dawn oakwood

scott brackin (irish)

dakota milton

sam stevens

beverly ‘b’ jones

gen 3:

ella ito-courtemanche (japanese and french)

scarlett montgomery

max mayhem (yes. i’m actually giving him that as his surname. get sillyed)

jasmine reynolds

shawn tremblay

dave korrapati (indian, more commonly in telugu-speaking areas)

sky sanderson (i was a bit uhm. stuck with this one. i looked up ‘cree surnames’ but found only three. i went for this one but i’m still uncertain.)

amy martin

samantha ‘samey’ martin

topher mccann

rodney rogers

sugar silo

beardo mbomio (equatoguinean)

leonard howe

gen 4:

nichelle ladonna (italian)

bowie davis

emma fletcher

julia hartwell-hughes

priya khan (indian)

millie carter

chase boonmee (thai. it means ‘reliable, generous, loyal’. ironic)

raj ghosh (indian)

wayne watterson

mary-kate ‘mk’ yí (chinese. in honour of fai yí, my beloved)

damien reid

hezekias ‘zee’ guzman (argentinian (it means ‘good man’ which is what he is!!!))

rhinffrew ‘ripper’ bowen (welsh (WELSH RIPPER REAL))

caleb garcia (hispanic)

axel sanchez-guðmundsdóttir (hispanic(?) and icelandic. yes, apparently ‘axel’ is an icelandic name!)

[simsbyjo]

Fae (Gen 5) & Nixie (Gen 6)

Fae, our 5th generation heir. Her occult also does not exist in sims, so we really have to play though some stories to make it more interesting. I saw some mods, but I don't think I can handle more glitch on the game, lol! She’s also another Spellcaster on the family, so I just thought of incorporating it within the story to capture the fairy aspect. Usually, the first guy they fell in love with is their love match, however, for Fae's generation we've added drama. Since I was thinking of a runaway and pregnant teenager, who wanted to escape her mother’s place. That’s why she ended up with Saoki, but it didn’t feel right. So, I thought of breaking them. And I was thankful I did, cos her husband, Albert by the @bakersimmer is the perfect match - i mean they clicked right away and got engaged automatically without my disruption so I think this is also one of those match made in heaven thing! They are perrrrfect!! And I really love them! (One of their daughters, is the legacy founder of another challenge - Cari) Nixie, she's one of the twins, I honestly had a hard time picking the heir between her and her twin, Wade. But I think Nixie really had the mermadic vibes for me. I had her go through University coz she graduated really early, like early. I think she only had 1 day at high school then graduated already. So we had a lot of time for her. While we finish Fae’s generation. We didn’t rushed through her lovelife, it took a while for her and Josef to be bf/gf - even though they have liked each other already.

I guess that's all of my Supernatural Legacy heirs! Now ready to move on to Generation 7!

[berrysphase]

tagged by @lazaefair and @astrabear. Thank you! I have been absolutely steamrollered by work recently, and it is nice to know that people still remember I occasionally write fic.

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness (The Old Guard, Joe/Nicky, Quynh, Andy)

"You didn't like the chestnuts," Nicolò murmured later. He was solid and warm against Yusuf, and their blankets were cozy, and Yusuf was starting to feel less grouchy about the lurking prospect of winter.

In some coming wind (The Old Guard, Joe/Nicky)

(I don't know why but this one has always been so hard to pick lines from. they all look flat to me when taken out. idk. this is from pretty close to halfway through chapter two)

"Sawda," Nicolò said, with the kind of relentless gentleness it was hard to turn aside, and Yusuf said, "We spent six weeks on the road because you asked for help. Don't tell us we cannot help you now."

cardinality (The Old Guard, ensemble gen)

"It's how I do, anyway," Josef said, bright eyes very sincere in the fading light. "Life by life, how else would you make the measure of man?"

How else? How else -- Sebastien knew plenty of safe, everyday ways to measure men. His -- he didn't know what to call them, his comrades in arms, he supposed -- they did not do too badly for dinner companions, now that they weren't awkwardly shifting around in their chairs and avoiding his wife's eyes.

A friend indeed (Silmarillion, Fingon/Maedhros)

"Oh -- politics!" Findekáno said, frustrated and dismayed. It was an unexpected sting, that Maitimo still felt the need to walk so carefully around their grandfather with him. "I came to you as a friend, I absolve you of politics."

Where there's smoke (The Old Guard meets Cadfael)

Startled, Cadfael glanced up, and was taken aback by the sheer fury in Nicolò's face.

"Ah," said Cadfael, and shifted Wadih so that his full weight fell onto Nicolò.

Across so wide a sea (Silmarillion, Finrod & Galadriel)

It was a perilous vision and very fair, and it had pulled at him, as if Artanis had caught his own breath up in it; and he did not know whether this was part of her art, or because he too had dreamt, from time to time, of greater glories than what might come to him in gentle summer days. But those were dreams, and he had never once thought of leaving.

A story for twilight (Silmarillion, Maedhros & Finarfin)

"Since we find," he was saying, "that this is the only way we can give our swords to their cause, which yet was first our own."

Fimbulwinter (Der Ring Das Nibelungen, Sieglinde)

"Traveller, I have not met your like," said the giantess. "You are dead, but not newly; you are mortal, but you stink of the gods."

"I had not thought," Sieglinde said, "that your mistress was choosy."

"It is true: death, fast or slow, is remorseless, and gods fall even as mortals do. Yet those whom the gods love seldom come up this road. State your name and business, or linger until you can."

The veins of a leaf (Les Mis, Grantaire & Combeferre, very very AU)

Sunlight woke her. She made a noise and rolled away, and sat up abruptly when she remembered it was not her bed. Sun streamed in through the open window, sun and with it the scent of grass, and the noisy morning argument of birds asserting their territory to the far corners of the world. Hyeon-su had already gone, and the duvet on his side of the bed was pulled neatly up.

A previous near-miss with history (Les Mis, Marius & Courfeyrac)

"Mmm," said Marius, with muddy, uncharitable reluctance. Prouvaire carelessly threw out in conversation the kind of lines that Marius had to stay up late at night to assemble painstakingly from pieces, and glowed with purpose besides; talking to him left Marius feeling wan and clumsy. Marius touched the coins in his pocket again, thinking, this, this is mine, I earned this with the fruit of my own thought; and said, impulsively, "But, Bossuet, Courfeyrac, forgive me, I couldn't help overhearing -- were you in need of money?"

As usual I am doing memes late and am not sure who would like to be tagged who hasn't been: here are some tags, if you want to play @robertawickham @circumference-pie @artificialities @undercat-overdog @clothonono

[aurevoirmonty]

Le pointeur de gamines Gérard Miller : l’effroyable effronterie du juif dans le mensonge

Après Adolf Hitler, le Docteur Josef Goebbels est certainement l’homme le plus diffamé de l’histoire. Dans cette ère de mensonges, rien de surprenant à que l’homme qui a fait de l’art de dire la vérité l’arme ultime contre le juif se voit accusé d’être le mensonge incarné.

Ainsi, on ne compte plus les idiots qui répètent cette citation :

C’est une déclaration sortie de son contexte.

Dans un discours du 12 janvier 1941 intitulé « L’usine à mensonges de Churchill », le Docteur Goebbels accusait justement les Britanniques de se livrer au mensonge sans aucune retenue :

Le principal secret des dirigeants anglais ne repose pas sur une intelligence particulière. Il dépend plutôt d’une remarquable stupidité. Les Anglais suivent le principe selon lequel lorsqu’on ment, il faut mentir gros et s’y tenir. Ils maintiennent leurs mensonges, même au risque de paraître ridicules.

Cet extrait, « lorsqu’on ment, il faut mentir gros », est devenu, « plus c’est gros, plus ça passe », avant d’être attribué au Docteur Goebbels comme une sorte de revendication cynique de sa volonté de mentir.

Cette accusation sans fondement, quoique convaincue d’inanité depuis longtemps, continue d’être reprise par tous les demi-débiles, activement ou passivement antifascistes.

Le Docteur Goebbels alertait sur l’art de mentir des démocraties derrière lesquelles se tient, inamovible, le juif. Le juif, avec son culot revendiqué, sa c’hutzpah, ment avec une telle insolence qu’il va jusqu’à accuser ceux qui dénoncent courageusement ses mensonges d’être les pires des menteurs.

Le héros devient le diffamé.

Le juif, de toutes les fibres de son corps, est menteur. Même si on le répète encore et toujours, le goy parvient difficilement à appréhender cette réalité d’une créature qui ne vit que par le mensonge, pour le mensonge.

Ici, nous avons entrepris d’éduquer les gens sur la nature du juif, une nature que la propagande juive cherche sans cesse à dissimuler en présentant le juif comme une éternelle victime immaculée.  Cinémas, télévisions, radios, librairies, écoles vrombissent tous les jours des proclamations de l’innocence absolue des juifs.

Hélas pour Jehovah, il ne résiste jamais à l’analyse scrupuleuse des faits.

On peut être sûr que les plus outranciers d’entre eux dans un registre sont également les plus englués dans leurs affres inavouables. Ainsi du juif Miller qui nous donne une parfaite représentation de ce dont le juif est capable pour donner le change.

Il s’érige en autorité morale si véhémente, ment avec un aplomb tel, s’emporte avec tant de rage, s’indigne si férocement, que le goy, désarçonné, se tait et écoute, pris de tournis.

Désolé j’avais loupé cet extrait 😂 L’imposture XXL, j’ai plus les mots…pic.twitter.com/POHWUoJ6T5 — Vautrin (@OuranosMK) March 2, 2024

Le juif est ainsi.

Gérard Miller: une femme qui accuse le psychanalyste de viol témoigne sur BFMTV pic.twitter.com/N1WYIWsJtD — BFMTV (@BFMTV) February 29, 2024

Affaire Gérard Miller: « Le mode opératoire est quasiment à chaque fois le même », affirme Carole Masliah (avocate de plusieurs plaignantes, dont l’une mineure) pic.twitter.com/lYNEmhsG8u — BFMTV (@BFMTV) February 29, 2024

Si le juif n’était qu’une sorte de rom repoussé en marge des villes, ce serait une chose, mais ce parasite contrôle la totalité des médias occidentaux d’une poigne de fer. Ses mensonges dégoulinent dans chaque foyer, pas une cervelle blanche n’échappe à ses manipulations les plus odieuses.

On ne peut pas combattre un tel ennemi par la feinte. On le combat frontalement, en le dévoilant nommément aux foules.

Il n’y a pas et ne peut y avoir de politique révolutionnaire qui ne désigne radicalement et irréversiblement le juif comme l’ennemi du genre humain, sa négation absolue.

Cela passe par la vérité.

Démocratie Participative

[300yearschallenge]

Dear Charles Elias,

I prayed for your safe passage through this bitter winter every day, and it warms my heart that my prayers were answered.

I am so relieved to hear you found Theodore alive and well, and that you are settling in well to your new life!

I hope you manage to continue settling in well and that you may be able to make some friends in your new home.

You asked how we all have been here.

After the initial shock of your departure settled life has continued mostly unchanged.

Your siblings miss you dearly, and Joseph is as he always has been.

We celebrated Eugene Anifas' birthday recently.

To think he is now no longer a boy, but a young man!

As is tradition we held a large celebration with the entire family invited.

The party was attended by several relatives. My uncles Joseph and Vilhelm attended, as did several of your cousins.

Constantine was, of course, there. And even Rosalie managed to travel over with her two daughters for the occassion. It continues to astonish me the rate at which your many cousins grow. Beau is already a young man himself, and Rosalie's youngest - Greta - is now walking around all on her own!

Although, I will say that your absence from the celebrations was sorely felt by me and your siblings.

As for the man of the hour - Eugene Anifas looks more mature and respectable than ever.

He is as kind and gentle as he has always been, and his foray into adulthood has done little to lessen this. I do so desperately wish we could have seen his twin grow up with him, to know what he may have been, but I must not dwell on such matters.

As the party came to an end a young sheperdess stopped by to give Eugene Anifas a gift in person.

I am, of course, not a gossip, but I do believe I saw the faint stirrings of romance between the two.

Lord knows it is about time at least one of you find someone you fancy! Iliana Dorothea seems to have already dismissed half the village, and every letter Émile Gustaf sends revolves around his work and his studies.

Hopefully you may meet someone who catches your eye soon, so that I may feel some hope that I see one of you marry before I am old and grey.

Do keep writing to your dear old mother so that I may know you are well, and give my regards to Theodore.

With love,

Théodora Park 1783

P.S. I have included your new address in my latest letter to Émile Gustaf in the hopes that he may write to you soon.

[simgrump]

Gen One, Day Eighty-Four

The family spent the night talking at the kitchen table. Robyn made them some tea and cookies and they talked about how Charlie had known. Talked about why Johnny had said he wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t planned on telling them about Josef, but they were so supportive of him that the topic came up. He left out some of the more...adult details of the whole ordeal, but when they found out what had happened, Johnny looked like he wanted to go beat up the other kid, while his Mom praised him for keeping such a level head during it all. 

It felt good to get those things off his chest. Felt good to know that his parents were behind him 100%. He wasn’t naive enough to think that everyone’s parents would be like this. Maybe that’s why Josef hadn’t come out, or had even done some of the things he’d done. But Charlie still couldn’t find it in himself to forgive him. Forget, yes. But the hurt would always be there. Would taint every relationship he had moving forward and for that, he’d never forgive Josef. 

As he and his Mom cleaned up after they were done talking, Charlie looked around at the dogs, his Mom and Dad, and thought of Eris off at college. Man, he had a great family. That’s all he could think of tonight. How wonderful and supportive they were of each other. He wished this kind of family connections on the whole world. Everyone should experience something like this, he decided. 

Legacy Page

[sim-ply-lilacs]

Bea's nausea didn't abate in the coming weeks. If anything, it worsened, and she often found herself ducking behind bushes or to the chamber pot in her mother's room to hide her sickness.

It wasn't that she didn't want to tell Josef about the possibility she was pregnant, it was the possibility part she was worried about. Now that she'd calmed herself down and realized that she wasn't deathly ill, she wanted to be certain that she was expecting and not, say, reacting to some questionable cheese before she shared her hopes with Josef. He so dearly wanted to be a father. Often, when he thought she wasn't looking, Bea spied Josef's sparkling eyes at playing children or mothers with babies. She wanted to fulfill that unspoken dream for the both of them. She just needed to find a moment to slip away to the midwife in town and see if her suspicions were correct.

Her opportunity presented itself one day when Josef had to attend a Grange meeting. He was to be gone all day, and offered some local boys a dollar each to complete the farm chores. In his quiet way, Josef was asking her to rest. Despite her efforts, Bea's pallor, lack of appetite, and exhaustion were evident. It was impossible for it not to be, so long as she was grimacing at the smell of eggs and falling asleep in her rocking chair in the middle of the day.

Relating all of this to the midwife later that day, Bea was almost embarrassed it had taken her so long to put two and two together—especially when she noticed the burgeoning swell to her abdomen during the quick examination. Still, it was with some measure of dazed awe which saw Bea leaving the midwife. There was no question; she was pregnant.

The rest of the day dragged on with agonizing sluggishness. Bea tried knitting, tidied the house, read, but after making dinner, nothing could keep her mind off of the news she was desperate to share with her husband. She couldn't even share the news with her mother. Madeline was out walking with a local widower (who she seemed to be growing closer with by the day), and said she would stay with friends in town that night.

Finally, while Bea was taking a walk to visit the animals the telltale clip-clop of the horses pulling the buggy sounded across the newly cobbled roadway near the house.

Bea shot forward across the yard and into her husband's arms. "Josef!" she cried, "Oh, my darling, I've been waiting for absolute ages for you to come home!"

Taken by surprise (but not exactly displeased by having his wife fling herself at him), Josef stumbled back. "Ah, Bea? Are you well, my dear? I only left this morning."

"Fine, everything's fine," Bea laughed, holding onto him, "I've been to see the midwife today, that's all."

Worry creasing his brow, Josef stepped back to look at her. "You are alright, ja? It is not something serious, is it?"

A full-throated laugh bounded up from Bea's throat and escaped into the air around them. "We're such worriers, the two of us. I'm quite well, I promise. I only hope," she intoned slowly, a sparkle in her eye, "that our baby doesn't suffer the same affliction."

Josef stood as one who had been struck by lightning. "B-baby?" He brought up his hands to cup Bea's face and she laughed again. "Do you mean...?"

Bea bit her lip and nodded, grinning. "Yes, Josef, I'm having a baby."

He pressed his forehead to hers, hands still cradling her face. "Bea. My darling, darling Bea. You have made me happier than I think I have any right to be. A baby. Truly?"

"Yes, Josef, truly. You're going to be a papa. It seems the crops and chickens aren't the only thing that have been growing on this farm," Bea teased.

Josef exhaled a watery chuckle. He pulled her in for a tighter embrace. "I do not say it enough," he began, his voice wavering, just barely, "It is not usually my way. But I love you. Very much."

"Oh, my dearest man, I love you, too."

They stood as one, swaying in an early spring breeze on the land they worked together, bound by love and the child between them.

As they always were, always would be, Bea and Josef were drawn to each other. Quietly, and without preamble, their lips met, sealing something between them. It was a kiss that spoke of hope, a kiss that tasted of promise.

"Thank you," he seemed to be saying with his kiss, "for giving me everything I've ever dreamt of."

"Thank you," she seemed to say with hers, "for giving me this life, for loving me, for making me your wife."

They broke apart, simply holding each other and whispering about their hopes for each other, for their child. Though a drizzle of rain began to fall, they stayed there, together, as though in the middle of a bright, sunny day. Bea tucked herself further into his arms, thanking God that this man was the father of her child.

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[docrotten]

ISLE OF THE DEAD (1945) – Episode 163 – Decades Of Horror: The Classic Era

“I meet my old familiar enemy, Death. I’ve fought him before. I’ve won, often. Now he wins. Let him come for me.” Yes, Death is a resident of this particular island. Join this episode’s Grue-Crew – Chad Hunt, Daphne Monary-Ernsdorff, Doc Rotten, and Jeff Mohr – as they journey to an island cemetery off the coast of Greece in Val Lewton’s Isle of the Dead (1945).

Decades of Horror: The Classic Era Episode 163 – Isle of the Dead (1945)

Join the Crew on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel! Subscribe today! And click the alert to get notified of new content! https://youtube.com/gruesomemagazine

ANNOUNCEMENT Decades of Horror The Classic Era is partnering with THE CLASSIC SCI-FI MOVIE CHANNEL, THE CLASSIC HORROR MOVIE CHANNEL, and WICKED HORROR TV CHANNEL Which all now include video episodes of The Classic Era! Available on Roku, AppleTV, Amazon FireTV, AndroidTV, Online Website. Across All OTT platforms, as well as mobile, tablet, and desktop. https://classicscifichannel.com/; https://classichorrorchannel.com/; https://wickedhorrortv.com/

On a Greek island during the 1912 war, several people are trapped by quarantine for the plague. If that isn’t enough worry, one of the people, a superstitious old peasant woman, suspects one young girl of being a vampiric kind of demon called a vorvolaka.

  Directed by: Mark Robson

Writing Credits: Ardel Wray; Val Lewton (uncredited), Josef Mischel (uncredited)

Produced by: Val Lewton (producer); Jack J. Gross (executive producer) 

Music by: Leigh Harline

Cinematography by: Jack MacKenzie (director of photography)

Selected Cast:

Boris Karloff as Gen. Nikolas Pherides

Ellen Drew as Thea

Marc Cramer as Oliver Davis

Katherine Emery as Mrs. Mary St. Aubyn

Helene Thimig as Madame Kyra

Alan Napier as St. Aubyn

Jason Robards Sr. as Albrecht (as Jason Robards)

Ernst Deutsch as Dr. Drossos (as Ernst Dorian)

Skelton Knaggs as Andrew Robbins (uncredited)

Sherry Hall as Col. Kobestes (uncredited)

Erick Hanson as Officer (uncredited)

Rose Hobart as Mrs. Mary St. Aubyn (in long shot) (uncredited)

The Grue-Crew join producer Val Lewton, director Mark Robson, and legend Boris Karloff for a quietly creepy and haunting masterpiece from RKO Radio Pictures, Isle of the Dead (1945). This is the second of three films Lewton and Karloff would make together (along with Bedlam and The Body Snatcher) and the fourth of five films Lewton would make with Robson. The tagline promises, “Will Keep You Screaming!” – and, this time, it just might. Check out what Chad, Daphne, and Jeff take away from this undeniable classic.

Here are the other Decades of Horror Classic Era episodes on Lewton-produced movies:

CAT PEOPLE (1942) – Episode 37 – Decades of Horror: The Classic Era

THE BODY SNATCHER (1945) – Episode 66 – Decades of Horror: The Classic Era

THE SEVENTH VICTIM (1943) – Episode 97 – Decades of Horror: The Classic Era

At the time of this writing, Isle of the Dead can be found streaming from multiple PPV sites and is currently available on disc as a Blu-ray from the Warner Archive Collection.

Gruesome Magazine’s Decades of Horror: The Classic Era records a new episode every two weeks. Up next in their very flexible schedule, as chosen by Daphne, is The Head (1959), a German film whose original title is Die Nackte und der Satan. Head transplants, a hunchbacked nun, and a sexy dancer. You definitely won’t want to miss this one!

Please let them know how they’re doing! They want to hear from you – the coolest, grooviest fans: leave them a message or leave a comment on the Gruesome Magazine YouTube channel, the site, or email the Decades of Horror: The Classic Era podcast hosts at feedback@gruesomemagazine.com

To each of you from each of them, “Thank you so much for watching and listening!”

Check out this episode!