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castielcampbell · 6 years

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I've been watching shadow hunters and I have some observations.

I'm only a couple episodes into season 3, so please no spoilers.

1. Where are the hets? Like, I keep on expecting them to do a DNA test on Clary & Jace and for there to be a big "VALENTINE IS NOT THE FATHER" moment... But ... I'm not complaining... seriously not complaining.

2. If warlocks can't have kids how did the little warlock child in season one come to be? Also, I totally felt my heart getting ripped out of my chest when Magnus laid into Camille for having HUNDREDS of children, but not being able to have any himself because he's a warlock. "You can make 100's of children, but as a warlock I can't have any! So I take in downworlders, they become my family!" (Not an exact quote.)

But it ripped my heart right of my chest. He doesn't want to be alone, and Alec has made his hardened heart beat again. He's watches everyone around him wither and die and the only two companions he's allowed himself to get close too are Ragnor Fell, and Camille. With Ragnor dead it must have been his worst nightmare to have to send Camille to the clave. She kept him from jumping off a brigde. (Can immortals commit suicide?)

3) Alec, my poor misunderstood gay boy. His sister, bless her, is so supportive and just wants him to be comfortable in his own skin. I've watched that scene where he lends Magnus his strength so many times that free form prolly wants to ask if I'm having a gay crisis.

4) Jace, who is more emotionally stressed than anyone in the existence of the world's, this poor kid. There is one bit of confusion I have... Were Jace and Clary babies when the Valentine went gonzo? The timeline is weird. Did she run away with them both and then Valentine burnt down the place she was hiding out?

Also, this poor kid kissed his sister. This show is weird, but I like it, so I forgive. And he loves her so much, and he wants to protect her. This poor dude needs a hug and a therapist.

5) Valentine can suck a dick.

6) Simon makes me anxious when he starts rambling. I just mute and read closed captioning until it's over.

7) Rafael, he too needs a hug.

8) Izzy. I love her. I wish she could be with her seele. I liked little elvened eared bb whose name I cannot spell. She's a good supportive sister that did a little happy dance any time Magnus flirted with her bro.

9) Maryse. Dis bish. Calling her son a disgrace. Shaming her daughter. Saying taking in Jace had been a mistake and her kids being all protective of their pastey brother. (Also I have questions about how thier youngest is so.... White¿?) She obviously does not win mother of the year in my book.

And last, but not least, queen of the hot messes: Ms. Clari herself. half the time I think she's extra and needs grounded, locked away in an ivory tower for the protection of both herself and the institute. The other half of the time.... No, I generally think she needs locked up most of the time!

Look, hear me out. I realize that this is Clari's story, but honestly, I'm more invensted in Magnus' wayword downworlders, knowing more about Izzy, and teaching Jace about self care than I am this privileged white girl running around the institute as though she owns the place.

I know I left out Jocelyn. I'm mad at her FOR TRYING TO SHOOT HER SON WITH AN ARROW.

#shadow hunters #Shadowhunters #my post #im still alive #spending most my time on teh twitter #and attempting to write this avengers fanfic

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vigilante7657 · 7 years

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Honeymoon Pleasure

Guess what, a Shay Cormac x Reader fic! A request from a wattpad user.

There is Lemon, for once....

New York looks sacred, out on the patio in the bedroom upstairs. The New York air blows your (your hair color) hair, it dances in the wind and sunset. The rays on the light gleam on to your beautiful (Color of your wedding dress) wedding dress, it shakes into the wind. You look at your hand, your symbol of commitment rests on your ring finger. It shines and twinkles, just like the twinkle of your husband, as he kissed at the ceremony. Your husband said he had a surprise for you, as much as he didn’t want to keep you waiting, he insisted he get it for you. Your husband was none other than the broad shouldered and muscled, Shay Patrick Cormac. His tux was nicely tailored, marrying in front of a beautiful lake with rose petals and water lilies. You two had been the worst of times, and even the best, and the two of you have never grown apart. So, when Shay presented the ring that now sits on your finger, you knew you couldn’t tell him no. You felt a destiny with the Colonial Templar. When you two met at the dinner party, when he first saved your life from the thugs in the alley, tp when you needed a place to stay away from your abusive former husband.

Your mind replays back to the wedding. Your mind keeps replaying your new identity: Mrs. Cormac. The wedding was in white color, the traditional standard. All of Shay’s “contacts” where there. Haytham Kenway was Shay’s best man, he led him down the aisle. You were nervous, but your sister kept you calm, you didn’t want to embarrass the man in front of his boss. You watched as Shay’s friend, Charles Lee struggled to get the other Templars to behave themselves, they wanted to already get drunk. Or, at least Thomas Hickey wanted to get drunk, Shay hated him. You and Shay eventually laughed it off. Who invited that drunkard anyway? You laughed as he William Johnson eventually kicked Hickey out. John Pitcairn arranging the vows with the clergyman. The two of you eventually met, face to face. Shay smiled, trying to make sure you were calm. Today was a big day for you. “Do you, Shay Patrick Cormac, take (Your full name.) as you loving wife? To be there for her, in sickness and in health?” You looked at Shay, you were a little nervous. He smiled, and held your hand, “I do.” You take Shay’s hand as well. “And do you, (your name), do you take Shay Patrick Cormac, as your beloved husband. And to be with him, through sickness and in health?” You smile, Shay’s brown eyes gleam. “I do.” “You may now kiss.” Hickey whistled. Johnson literally throws the man out, shoves him down the creek. The two of you share a laugh, and you kiss. The kiss is out of affection, not of of desperation and need. It is gentle, and soft. Unlike your last husband.

You hear the door open and close behind you, you pick your head out of the clouds. “Shay?” “Hello beloved.” He’s excited, like a child. It’s why you feel in love with him. The look of a man, but the heart of a loving child. He’s hiding something behind his back. “Close your eyes, beautiful.” You tilt your head confused, but you close your eyes, trying to sneak a peek though. “No peeking, sweet (your first name).” He chuckles. Then he places something in your hands, it’s light, and it has a handle. He then kisses you on the lips, his tongue swirling with yours. He pulls out, and you open your eyes. It’s a fine handbag, the one you sold to afford money for a stay. You remember it well, kicked out by your divorced ex, staying on the streets, selling your belongings to stay alive and have food. It’s the same purse. “Do you like it? You told me you sold your grandmother’s purse for the money, I know it’s a family tradition. Well, I found a man with the purse, and I bought it from him. “In all honesty, I haven’t actually been on missions for the Order lately, I’ve been trying to look for the purse for you, because I know it means a lot to you. You're in disbelieve, you’ve been constantly on Shay’s mind that he temporarily stopped doing his duties as a Templar? “Shay,” you gasp, “It’s so beautiful, but this must have cost a fortune. How do I accept this?” “Just be at my side, dear, like you’ve always had.” The two of you start kissing, day has turned to night now. The stars twinkle and dance. Shay deepens the kiss, it is soft and smooth. For an aggressive and masculine templar, Shay sure was delicate and gentle with you. You kissed back, you needed the man. Especially on your honeymoon.

Shay interrupts this kiss, there’s a bright light and a loud boom. “Pitcairn pulled through! Go look outside, I have another surprise for you!” The two of you rush outside on the patio, lights burst in the sky. They’re fireworks from China. “Fireworks?!?” You always loved seeing the lights at fancy dinner parties, you remember first meeting Shay at the ball, where you ex husband left you. “Hello Ms. but it looks like you might be lost here without a guide.” Those where Shay’s first words to you. The sky erupts with bursts of blue, green, red, and lavender. “I love you so much, (your name).” His eyes sparkle as bright as the fireworks themselves.

You don’t know what happened then, but you quickly found yourself on the bed, seemingly grappling with Shay. Moaning and kissing filling the room with the sound of elaborate passion and lust. The Butler would be having a field day when he came to clean the room. As Shay positions himself above you, his smooth and yet firm hands crest your cheek. The tender hand brushed into your hair, it is delicate, yet with a hint of dominance. You need Shay, more than you ever thought you would. “Please, Shay.” You moan, as Shay starts sucking on your neck. “OH,” you moan, Shay starts rubbing and feeling your legs. He places a kiss on your right leg. The bed starts creaking, and bouncing as the frame want to fly away. “I want a family with you, (your name), let me be like home to you.” Shay begs. “Please, Shay.” You moan. “Shay’s already undressed, your clothes ripped and thrown on the floor. Shay enters inside you, your walls closing in on you. “So tight,” Shay moans. He starts thrusting, and rocking back and forth. You’ve never felt so much pleasure, he goes in deep and all the way. You grasp his hips, pulling him in closer. Your hair is all directions. He thrusts slow, and deep. Your breath is quick and uncontrollable. Shay kisses your neck, your sweet spot. Shay then clutches your shoulders, and deepens his kiss. Shay doesn’t want to have sex, he wants to make love to you. Shay feels your torso, and kissed your bosom. You moan as Shay slowly slides his tongue in your mouth. Shay speeds up, your moans coming out as moans of pleasure. “I’m close,” you shriek, as Shay hits your g-spot. “Please, Shay, right there!” Shay smiles, and sucks on your breasts, he thrusts in the same spot, over and over and over. Slow, and deep. You don’t know how much more you can take. “Shay!” You scream as you have your orgasm. Shay fills you with his seed soon after.

By the morning, when Shay brings you breakfast in bed. You slightly struggle to get to your feet. Shay blushes, knowing to be mostly responsible.

@shay-makes-my-luck@waterbird-loves-pasteis@imakemyownblog@freedomaboveallelse@bunnyyumyum@afterglowingassassin@liamobrienswife @thefangirl-that-waited @rooks-and-blighters@writingsofawaywardnerd@callingalltrash@ladysokolov@katey76762

#what have i created #what have i done #shay cormac x reader #shay patrick cormac #shay cormac defense squad!#Shay Cormac #assassin's creed rogue

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portalmunicipiosbaianos-blog · 6 years

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Mulheres tiram renda e empoderamento dos frutos do Cerrado

A barraca das mulheres do grupo Baru é uma das mais movimentadas da feira da agricultura familiar, realizada toda sexta-feira na praça Garibaldi Medeiros, região central do município de Anastácio, em Mato Grosso do Sul. Ali os fregueses encontram pasteis de massa caseira, coxinhas de mandioca produzida no assentamento São Manoel – onde vivem as cinco integrantes – e uma linha de castanhas, farinhas, pães, bolos, doces, bombons, sorvetes e outros subprodutos do baru, do coco bocaiúva, do jatobá e pequi.

Típicos do Cerrado, esses frutos são coletados pelo grupo no próprio assentamento ou comprados de outros assentados, que fazem do extrativismo em Anastácio uma fonte de renda. Os frutos são processados e transformados em farinhas e conservas e armazenadas em uma cozinha construída há dois anos, em uma área do assentamento, com recursos obtidos com a venda desses alimentos e de doações. Assim haverá matéria prima para todo o ano, mesmo na época em que não há colheita.

Aos poucos, o mercado vai sendo ampliado, chegando a empreendimentos da economia solidária no município de Bonito e em Campo Grande. “A ideia é poder vender em muitos outros pontos e aumentar os ganhos, hoje em torno de um salário mínimo para cada uma todo mês”, conta dona Maria Lúcia de Morais Lima, agricultora e integrante do grupo. As cascas do baru, porém, já são vendidas para uma empresa de São Paulo, que as utiliza na fabricação de substrato para orquídeas.

Empoderamento

Embora a feira no centro de Anastácio seja semanal, dona Maria Lúcia e suas companheiras têm trabalho diário, para o dia todo, seja na produção para atender aos pedidos, na gestão ou no planejamento de novos produtos e mercados. Mas nem sempre foi assim.

“Antes a gente não tinha renda”, afirma dona Maria Lúcia. Composto por cinco agricultoras, o grupo toma todas as decisões em conjunto. As atividades são planejadas em reunião anual, e toda semana se reúnem para discutir assuntos internos, fazer as contas, dividir o lucro e planejar a semana.

O empoderamento dessas mulheres e a mudança em suas vidas são frutos de uma experiência em que a persistência fez toda a diferença. Em 2009, a Agência de Desenvolvimento Agrário e Extensão Rural (Agraer), vinculada ao governo do Mato Grosso do Sul, obteve recursos junto ao Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico (CNPq) para capacitar produtores rurais para o processamento e comercialização das castanhas – ou amêndoas – extraídas do fruto da árvore do cumbaru.

Era uma época em que o então Ministério da Ciência e Tecnologia destinava recursos para projetos de desenvolvimento agrícola e extrativista articulados com o desenvolvimento social, estimulando a geração de renda alinhada com a preservação ambiental de biomas como o Cerrado. Segundo maior do país – só perde para a Floresta Amazônica – tem sido engolido pelo avanço do agronegócio, com seus latifúndios que derrubam árvores nativas para estender a monocultura de soja e cana.

Parte nobre do fruto, as amêndoas do baru têm sido cada vez mais valorizadas devido ao valor nutricional. Ricas em proteínas, vitamina E, minerais como o zinco e gorduras insaturadas, ajudam a equilibrar o colesterol, além de fortalecer o organismo contra outras doenças.

O projeto pioneiro começou com a participação de 19 agricultores do assentamento São Manoel, que colhiam e pesavam os frutos, tiravam a polpa, que é usada em ração animal, quebravam o caroço e extraíam a amêndoa. No decorrer dos dois anos da pesquisa, foram desenvolvidos equipamentos, outros adaptados. Houve ainda avaliação da produção de árvores de cumbaru, bem como da relação tempo e produção e da composição nutricional.

Como muitos deles não acreditavam que a pesquisa traria bons resultados, acabaram desistindo. Ficaram apenas as cinco mulheres, que quando começaram a produzir comercialmente, criaram o grupo que batizaram com o nome do fruto. "Tenho comigo que não posso começar e desistir. Temos de insistir para dar certo", diz dona Maria Lúcia. Deu tão certo que ela e suas companheiras resolveram ampliar a linha de produtos, incluindo os outros frutos do Cerrado.

Cooperativa

O grupo é informal. Para comercializar produtos por meio do Programa Nacional de Alimentação Escolar (Pnae) e Programa de Aquisição de Alimentos (PAA), as mulheres se associaram à Cooperativa dos Produtores Rurais da Região do Pulador de Anastácio (Copran), na qual duas delas participam da gestão.

"Apesar das dificuldades iniciais, elas seguiram firmes no projeto, até o fim, e foram pioneiras no beneficiamento do baru em Anastácio e em todo o estado. Além de emancipação financeira e empoderamento, o trabalho delas trouxe melhorias para a comunidade como um todo", diz a estudante de Agronomia Mayara Winie de Lima Bissoli, autora da monografia "Coleta e beneficiamento de frutos do cerrado brasileiro: o caso das mulheres agricultoras de Anastácio (MS)".

O relato da experiência vitoriosa é igualmente bem sucedido: tirou o primeiro lugar na categoria relatos de caso da 3ª Conferência Internacional Agricultura e Alimentação em uma Sociedade Urbanizada (III AgUrb), realizada de 17 a 21 de setembro, na Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS). Nesta categoria foram inscritos trabalhos de mais de 30 países, inclusive de pesquisadores com alta titulação.

A conferência foi realizada por pesquisadores, acadêmicos, organizações da sociedade civil e formuladores de políticas de diversos países, que trabalham para colocar a questão alimentar no cerne das problemáticas que desafiam a humanidade, como as mudanças climáticas e suas repercussões sobre a água e a biodiversidade, a busca por fontes alternativas de energia e as transformações demográficas.

Assentada da reforma agrária em São Manoel assim como as mulheres do grupo Baru, Mayara estuda no Instituto Educar, localizado município de Pontão (RS). A entidade tem parceria com a Universidade Federal da Fronteira Sul (UFFS), uma das 18 universidades criadas no Brasil durante a expansão da rede federal de ensino superior promovida pelo então ministro da Educação Fernando Haddad, durante o governo de Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva.

O convênio foi firmado pela UFFS por meio do Programa Nacional de Educação na Reforma Agrária (Pronera), do Instituto Nacional de Colonização e Reforma Agrária (Incra).

"O baru tornou-se mais conhecido e valorizado na região, trazendo oportunidades de trabalho e renda também para outras pessoas. Foram criadas redes de comercialização e de preservação de árvores de cumbaru, que antes eram derrubadas pelos agricultores. Essa experiência local contribui para o empoderamento feminino, o fortalecimento das experiências associativas, a preservação ambiental, a valorização dos produtos do Cerrado e para a construção de sistemas alimentares mais sustentáveis", diz Mayara.

Inspiração

Orientador e coautor do trabalho, o agrônomo e doutorando em Desenvolvimento Rural na Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul, Vanderlei Franck Thies não tem dúvidas de que, além da disciplina de Mayara, o diferencial do relato vencedor é o trabalho do grupo Baru.

"Uma experiência extraordinariamente interessante de ser analisada, ser difundida, de ser divulgada, porque o trabalho dessas mulheres no assentamento e no Cerrado brasileiro, nas condições mais adversas que elas enfrentam, é algo extremamente positivo e inspirador. Uma alegria que a gente sente é poder dar visibilidade para essa experiência".

Fonte: RBA

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alexandra-corral · 7 years

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on n'ork

September 24, 2017

This could be a figment of my imagination or falsification, but I remember a poem that was written by one of the cute boys from the brother school to my all girls school, about Newark. It was titled N’ork.

The poem was in the school’s literary magazine. I remember thinking how professionally their magazine looked, with its thick, crisp matte paper compared to our plainly printed one. My brother’s school had generous alumni, with one man in particular, whose name escapes me at the moment, giving every student from Saint Benedict’s Prep and Saint Vincent Academy a generous monetary gift for Christmas. It was a blessed time.

I don’t remember the content of the poem itself, but the title always floated in my head whenever I turned my thoughts to my home city.

N’ork is a pronouncer; a perfunctory one at that.

Even though I was born and bred in Newark, New Jersey, I never pronounced it in such a cursory way. I did the opposite.

Whenever I introduced myself to someone new, I would slowly enunciate, “I’m from New-WARK.” Usually, people who weren’t from New Jersey would say something along the lines of, “That’s awesome, New York is such a great city. What’s it like living there?” I would then have to correct them and say, “No, New-Wark. Like the airport.”

Usually, the face would scrunch up, and an “Oh” would form on the lips.

Newark does not have a good reputation. The airport has been consistently named one of the worst airports in America, Jelani Cobb of the New Yorker did an investigation on the Newark police department for FRONTLINE, and the catalyst that caused the 1967 riots was based on a rumor that a black cab driver was shot by a police officer (the driver was arrested and injured). The riots ultimately ‘shaped and haunted’ Newark, according to the New York Times. We also can’t forget to mention the scandalous years of former Mayor Sharpe James.

Whenever a profile was written about former Mayor — now Senator — Cory Booker, and his campaign to become Newark’s mayor, he would often be described as the White Knight saving the corrupt Gotham City.

The lasting notion was that the Brick City is a dangerous and broken place; a true urban decay.

“I’m so sorry that you grew up in Newark,” one of my co-workers told me one day.

“I can’t imagine living in Newark,” said another.

“You don’t seem like someone who was born in Newark” was always the one that bothered me. What is someone from Newark supposed to be like?

I would think that a city that bred greats like Paul Simon and Sarah Vaughan and Philip Roth would warrant a little more respect.

My early years in Newark were spent eating Portuguese rolls from Seabra’s and pasteis de natas, walks down that stretch of Ferry Street from Andros Diner to Newark Penn Station, Saint Lucy Filippini Academy jump-roping competitions, Catholic schoolgirl burgundy and grey and being called “ching chong, ching chong ching” by total strangers when I walked with my classmates during the Portuguese Day parade.

The demarcating line was Newark Penn Station, and that’s where my teenage years began.

On the other side were years filled with guys and dolls and dulce de leches, comedies and errors, Straylight Runs and unrequited crushes. It was filled with hours in research labs, dreams of being a doctor and advanced calculus classes after school. Navy and grey were more my colors, more Catholic nuns, science explorations, and constant disappointments for not getting into an Ivy League school.

My schools never had the extra programs that looked good on college applications, but my classmates and I worked with what we had, and teachers gave us everything they could. Howard Zinn’s A People History of the United States was our bible. Sister Noreen is still the only person who could teach chemistry with so much clarity and common sense. Ms. Lim taught me AP Biology (the single AP class we had) and helped with my initial foray into medicine. And the freshman teachers introduced me to life-changing books like The House on Mango Street and The Bluest Eye.

Newark wasn’t a particularly safe city to live in, yet we all always walked down Broad and Market Street or took buses and went to shady bodegas as if it were the norm. We had heard stories of people getting jumped and girls getting pregnant, but we kept trudging through the streets of Newark by ourselves, wholly fearless and always together or alone.

Growing up in Newark on both sides of the demarcating line gave us a practical and street-smart mentality, but it also provided many of us a ‘we have to get out of Newark’ one.

It’s incredible how time causes mentality shifts.

Growing up in Newark made me aware of how different I was from the other suburbanites at my college. It made me realize how different I was from my London and DC peers. To say that I am grateful for growing up in the Brick City with my friends, family and everyone else in my life journey so far is an understatement.

I used to be ashamed, but now I proudly tell people that I’m from N’ork.

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