#the link between soil soul and society

[baronicelebrityspring2024]

Week 6

1)Leah Thomas work is inspiring to me because of how she has combined environmentalism with racial justice. I find her introduction of " environmentalism" to be innovative because she talks about a form of environmentalism that digs into the connection of injustices affecting marginalized communities and our planet, and it’s a reminder of the importance of viewing justice and environmental sustainability. Regarding COP26, I believe Leah Thomas played a role even if it may not have received a lot of coverage. I feel that people like her are important in directing the conversation towards understanding that climate action must be equitable and inclusive and her presence and advocacy at events are important because they highlight the necessity of integrating justice into the effort for environmental sustainability.

2)I see it as an inclusive form of environmentalism because of how it show the connectedness of injustices that impact marginalized communities and the environment. To me it's a structure that digs into identity whether if it's race, class, gender or sexuality, and explores how they shape environmental policies and practices. From my point of view this doesn't only support protecting the planet but it also shows the significance of safeguarding people. It's important to acknowledge that the fight against degradation and the pursuit of justice are not separate battles.

In my opinion the link between Intersectional Environmentalism and Black Lives Matter underlines a core truth which is achieving justice is dependent on justice. It's truly saddening when considering the context of how Black communities and other communities of color have disproportionately faced hazards like pollution, toxic waste and lack of access to clean water and air. As I see it, BLMs efforts to dismantle racism and promote the rights and well being of individuals align with the objectives of Intersectional Environmentalism. I believe both these movements aim to uncover the underlying reasons for inequality and advocate for changes that benefit all of society. 

3)In my opinion Leah Penniman embodies the essence of innovation and progress in agriculture and the pursuit of food sovereignty. From where I stand, Soul Fire Farm guided by Pennimans leadership transforms into more than a traditional farm. It emerges as a center for BIPOC with a clear goal to address systemic racism in the food chain while promoting environmental justice and empowering communities.

I notice that the significance of Soul Fire Farm extends beyond its agricultural impact, it serves as an example of how regenerative farming methods can be utilized to combat climate change. By adopting practices that revitalize the soil support biodiversity and reduce carbon footprints the farm presents a contrast to agriculture. I also liked the commitment of Soul Fire Farm to educating and promoting shaping a wave of leaders who are prepared to address the interconnected challenges of societal inequality and the environmental crisis. 

4)I feel that Alexis Nikoles work is a bit whimsicle combined with having wisdom and I find this interesting because there's a deep respect for nature that runs through everything she does. She goes beyond teaching the basics of foraging exploring the sustainability aspects that often go unnoticed. When I watch her videos I can feel her passion and joy for the natural world, and whether if its plants like dandelions or unique finds like pawpaws or spicebush berries, there's always a sense of excitement and wonder in her content. One important point Alexis raises is the accessibility of natures gifts a conversation we should all engage in. She mentions that foraging isn't limited to a few with knowledge, instead she presents it as a sustainable practice open to everyone offering potential to bring communities closer not just to their surroundings but also, to each other. Her work also gives light on the cultural aspects of foraging how marginalized communities have historically relied on these practices for sustenance and healing.

5)I feel that food sovereignty transcends sustenance because it symbolizes a connection with the origins of my nutrition. For me it is not about eating, but about immersing myself in the journey starting from the very inception of a plants life. Once in a while, I think about whether I actively participate in growing my food, and I find that I do. I plant sometimes in my backyard (mostly fruits and flowers) and to me it serves connecting with nature. Composting has also become a part of my routine for the past 2 years because I don’t like to waste, and I also see things as a resource. The pandemic did shift how I approach food in some ways because it showed me how the food chain supply is, and because of this, my small garden and food preservation practices became more meaningful.

Im a very spiritual person so I most certainly believe that soil isn't dirt beneath our feet, but it's full with life and vital things needed for growth, energy and agriculture. Planting and nurturing gives me a sense of belonging and purpose and for me it signifies more than growing food but my deep connection with nature.

I personally never volunteered at a community garden, but I have helped some friends start thiei own mini gardens on the backs of their homes of rooftops. 

6)Alexandria Villaseñor is a known advocate and a key voice among young climate activists around the world. She was born in 2005 in California USA and her passion for activism was sparked in 2018 when she personally experienced the effects of wildfire smoke on her health during a visit to California. Encouraged by Greta Thunbergs actions, she started her weekly school strike outside the United Nations Headquarters in New York City to call for action on climate change. As one of the founders of the US Youth Climate Strike and Earth Uprising International, she focuses on promoting climate education shaping policies and empowering people to take action on climate issues. Her advocacy work has gained acclaim leading to speaking opportunities at events and recognition on Forbes 30 Under 30 list for her efforts towards environmental sustainability, and her ability to motivate and unite her peers establishes her as an influencer in the global battle against climate change.

[liquidlightandrunningtrees]

I want to reinstate a respect for soil. We must touch the soil. How many times do we touch our mobile phone every day? Maybe 100 times. How many times do we touch the soil? Hardly ever. We must give dignity to peasants, farmers and gardeners.We are all part of this healthy web of life maintained by soil. The Latin word humus means soil. The words human, humility and humus all come from the same root. When humans lose contact with soil, they are no longer humans.

Satish Kumar, The Link Between Soil, Soul and Society

#quote #satish kumar #the link between soil soul and society #reinstate #respect #soil #touch #phone #dignity #peasants #farmers #gardeners #healthy #web #life #maintained #latin #humus #human #humility #root #contact #quotes

[iamthenightcolormeblack]

Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre (hyper-simplified)

Random thoughts here on this symbol (also could serve as essay help). Feel free to correct me if anything's wrong, maybe add on stuff in fancier language because I'm too tired to do a detailed literary analysis here.

1. Thornfield as a Gothic literary element:

It's a spooky house that looks medieval and is mysterious! Therefore it's definitely gothic!

The significance of houses in Gothic literature: "the past never really goes away;" after all the history of the houses (hundreds of years old) makes them links to the past. The persistence of the houses over many generations is a reminder of the insignificance of human endeavors in the face of time/nature/the universe.

When the houses fall apart & deteriorate it's a representation of the consequences of sin (moral decay). Thornfield getting burned can be seen as punishment for Rochester's sin of locking up his wife and also for his everyday action of lying and deceiving people so he can run away from his dirty secrets.

Houses are representations of the soul; the outside is like the facade one puts on in polite society, while the inside contains the true person (the secrets!) that is hidden from society.

2. Thornfield as a representation of Rochester's character:

The source of Rochester's power and wealth (Rochester owns the house and all the money earned from the estate comes to him and he's an eligible bachelor because he's rich).

Forbidding on the outside but pretty cozy inside (unless you are the madwoman imprisoned in the attic). Mirrors how Rochester is mean but has a heart.

"'I like Thornfield, its antiquity, its retirement, its old crow-trees and thorn-trees, its grey facade, and lines of dark windows...how long have I abhorred the very thought of it, shunned it like a great plague-house?'"

Rochester has a love-hate relationship with the house: he gains comfort from its long history (which is a source of pride as it ensures his position as a gentleman with a treasured family home to maintain) but also hates it because it keeps all his secrets (the madwoman in the attic who "haunts" the house; her escapes and "hauntings" challenge his power over his surroundings).

3. Thornfield as a representation of British society:

Again, the house is the source of Rochester's power and wealth. Thus there's a hierarchy in the house to preserve his power:

The hierarchy (from top to bottom): Rochester, the housekeeper, the servants, and Jane, who exists in between the hierarchy (doesn't have a definite "place" because she's got the education of an aristocrat but is pretty much an employee who depends on Rochester paying her and of course Rochester can fire her easily).

Mrs. Fairfax the housekeeper enforces the social hierarchy when showing concern/disapproving of Rochester flirting with Jane (because masters usually use the governesses for sexual gratification; they don't defy social norms by marrying the governess). But of course we love that she shows some genuine concern for Jane when telling her to be careful because men can be abusive (unfortunately so true).

Every day she resides in the house Jane is reminded of her low social position as a servant to a master. After all, the room and board could be taken away from her at any time.

Bertha's imprisonment in the house is like the status of colonies in the British Empire: exploited for raw resources to enrich the mother country and then left to languish in poverty. After all, Rochester married Bertha for her wealth (to preserve Thornfield and keep the money in the family) and when she became insane he locked her up in his home. That's the marriage in highly simplified terms: from Rochester's side, he was deceived into marrying Bertha for her money and because he was sexually infatuated with her good looks he married her without question and regretted it because Bertha immediately cheated on him, emotionally abused everyone, and also had inherited mental illness from her mother. After trying to live with her for 5 years, he locked her in Thornfield because she was violent and would certainly have died in a mental asylum (because the mentally ill were treated very badly back then). One can argue it was necessary to lock Bertha up because she was violent and posed a threat to Rochester's life (and he thought he was nice to her because he didn't let her die even though he could have; how perverted are those morals) but all the same hiding her existence from the world (while having a human being locked up) is highly unethical.

But all the same, social boundaries are defied at Thornfield. Jane gets shocked when Rochester treats her as a friend from the beginning of their relationship by letting her speak to him (after she's been told all her life to remain silent by those in authority). Because this is Rochester's home he can break social norms (flirt with the governess) without facing the consequences.

4. Thornfield as a home:

"Wherever you are is my home--my only home."

Thornfield becomes home for Jane because she finds kindness there. Specifically, she finds a "family" there, since the people she serves under care for her (ex. she gets larger meals than the starvation diet she received at Lowood boarding school, Mrs. Fairfax gives Jane wise advice after Rochester's proposal). From the beginning, Rochester seems to treat Jane as his friend because he comes close to telling her his secrets and lets her talk to him. When she falls in love with Rochester she develops an attachment to Thornfield as part of her attachment to him.

"Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary banishment: you make a new acquaintance...you find in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates: you feel better days come back—higher wishes, purer feelings..."

Rochester has to return to Thornfield (home) to rest and recharge from the ravages of his hedonistic lifestyle. And when he discovers his One True Love there he definitely doesn't want to leave....

Home is a starting point for Rochester to redeem his morals. By returning to the place of his birth he wants to start a second life where he can forget about his degraded past and be revived (and saved) through the love of his "angel" Jane (who refuses to play that role). Kinda reminds me of Virginia Woolf's "Angel of the House" -- women as portrayed by men (they are morally pure, take care of the home and are passive beings whose main purpose is to raise good children and redeem the souls of men through their goodness).

5. Thornfield as a prison:

Remember how houses are links to the past? Rochester has to run away from Thornfield often because first he locked up his wife there and it reminds him of his selfish father and brother who deceived him into marrying Bertha! Plus the house is a reminder of his responsibility as a landowner to maintain it and he doesn't like responsibility (as shown by his hedonism).

Jane is trapped there because she can't leave without Rochester's permission (see the money scene where she literally has to ask him to leave to see her dying aunt and he demonstrates his power over her by showing her his cash while she reveals how little money she has). After all, her governess position as another form of servitude.

@appleinducedsleep @thatvermilionflycatcher

#jane eyre #mr rochester #edward x jane #edward rochester

[potter-imagines]

Meadow (George Weasley x Reader)

Prompt: Hi, maybe fred or george (you can choose) and the reader are spending the afternoon in a flower meadow together? (sorry for my english, it's not my first language)🙈😊

Notes: okay I'm sure spring break isn't a thing at hogwarts but for this write, it is . hope you enjoy !!

Warnings: none, just a lot of fluff cause everyone loves george

Word Count: 3.5k

Spring break was winding down to a close as early April broke through. New life was brought to fruition as the snow from the harsh winter evaporated into the ground. Outside the grounds of the Weasley’s home were fields and fields of open land. Flowers sprouted in every step creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Those tumbling plains seemed to extend for miles beyond the horizon. Just beyond those grassy hills and slopes was a large, secluded meadow.

It was the early hours of a Saturday morning when a pair invaded the area far before the sun began to rise. The meadow Y/n and George had been occupying seemed to be the perfect location to view the birth of the new season. The perfect spot to enjoy each other’s company. Soon they would be ushered back to Kings Cross and board the Hogwarts Express- George for his last time and Y/n, well it certainly wouldn’t be her last time, no matter how hard she dreamed it was. The topic of George leaving Hogwarts was one the couple tip-toed around. Break was only two weeks but that meant two extra weeks for the pair to be together. With the school year tumbling to an end, George would be leaving school soon with his brother to start his dream and Y/n would be stuck needing to finish her last year at Hogwarts alone. The girl was a year below her boyfriend and although it never caused any friction for the pair, the gap was finally giving them issues.

In George’s mind, arriving to his last school year was both an accomplishment, and a burden. As excited as he was to finally leave those stone walls that held him back, the last thing he wanted was to leave her behind. It didn’t make any of the pain easier knowing that he’d be leaving alongside Fred earlier than the rest of their classmates. Y/n had been the only other living soul Fred and George had filled in on their grand exit plan. They needed someone to keep guard and be a lookout so who better than the one person they trusted not to run their mouth.

There was a heavy smell of earth in the air, mixed with the faint odor of new growth. The vivid green leaves and the cheerful colors of the blossoms are a feast. Flowers popped up from the soiled ground and the fruit hanging from the trees were starting to come to life.

The couple had spent a good portion of their break at the secluded meadow. In a way, it became their little secret spot. Not that it was a secret location by any means. Fred and George had discovered the meadow a few years back when they had ventured miles away from the burrow. The boys were always adventurous, especially when Molly and Arthur finally allowed them free range outside the family home when they were eleven. There were miles and miles of tall grass and woodland that made it easy to get lost. Of course with Fred and George, losing their way was never a worry. When the boys stumbled upon the breathtaking meadow, George seemed to be the only one interested in their find. Fred had wandered off into the section of forest they entered through, his attention captured by a group of baby deer camouflage in the woods. For years George would wander back to the meadow on his own when he needed a break from the loudness of his siblings or grew tired of Ron trailing on his coattails every turn. He promised himself he would keep the spot to himself, let it be his own private sanctuary. This plan ran smooth for a few years before George made the exception to break the rule for one person only.

But for now, the two could only take advantage of the time they had together and they didn’t intend to spend a second apart. It looked as if Y/n and George had stepped straight into a storybook. The grass was Eden-green and thigh-high to a thrush. A neon-blue ribbon of river ran through the ground in a squiggle line. A party of bright yellow ducklings scattered in the calm water, small quacks filling the air. Chirping and sweet songs from the birds made that feeling of Spring become a reality. Buzzing bumble bees and wildflowers sprung along the land. The sounds of nature engulfed the girl whole as she melted into the soft grass.

“I could stay here for the rest of my life- away from people, away from the world. It’s peaceful.” Y/n hummed softly. Her large doe eyes observed the clouds that formed a perfect line-up in the baby blue sky, as if they were boats safely moored in celestial harbour. Peeks of sunlight seeped in through the cracks in the fluffy clouds casting a shimmering light as they danced slowly by in the sky. Just a moment before she was listing off all the animals and objects she saw in the sky. Now she was considering the thought of staring at them forever.

George stole a quick glance down where she laid in his lap. Strands of her h/c hair flowing across his legs and hands. It tickled against his skin as a light breeze swept past. Her abrupt words had caught him off guard. He had missed the sound of her voice for the last hour, although adored the trance-like state of happiness that she was in so he was constantly biting his tongue to keep his thoughts from pouring out. Now that she was somewhat back to earth, he was eager to chat. Tilting his head in her direction George raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah?” He questioned.

A smile graced her lips as she nodded in confirmation. The land was beautiful, unlike anything she had seen. There certainly weren’t any meadows with such serenity as this in the city of London. For once in her life she could hear the sound of her heart beating in the quietness of the open land and she loved it. No cars honking, no crabby cityfolk shoving their way through crowds, no taxi drivers screaming at pedestrians to move, no bright lights, just nature and all of its creations.

Extending her arm, Y/n pointed out to the land. George followed her direction to see she was gesturing to a small section of the meadow that was surrounded by an eyecatching army of poppies and bellflowers. A large willow tree stood towering over the side. In the middle was a bare section- large enough for a home to fit. Y/n grinned in excitement as she suddenly sat up straight.

“Yeah. Build a little cottage, start a garden, maybe even a family… I think it would be lovely.” She said dreamily. Her eyes looked up to George in wonder, silently asking him to share his opinion. Mirroring her previous actions, George scanned the meadow. He placed his hand against his chin, pretending to think long and hard about her idea. Y/n giggled besides him and shoved him lightly on the shoulder. He chuckled in response and leaned back into the log supporting him. George nodded in agreement to the pondering dream.

There was a casual grace to the meadow, as if it has a peripheral awareness of its own beauty yet would rather be at peace in this warm sun. It was quaint and humble yet glowing in - like a glorious mansion hidden away in a forest. A hidden gem that was to be kept away from the rest of society. Their own little happy place that opened and bloomed just for them. There was something so magical about the meadow that George couldn’t pass it up. It felt like fate leading him there- leading them.

“Think we could make that work. The family part is a definante- it’s just building a home that’ll take a bit of time. We could get started on making a family of our own right now-” George was cut off when a hand clamped over his mouth. Although he was only joking, he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea.

“George-” She warned playfully.

“Or in a few years. But living out here would be nice. ‘S not like I got to worry about commuting for work. It’d be a nice escape from the shop once we get business running, and once you graduate. Not to mention moving out here would mean I’d get to see more of you in that pretty dress. Flowers in your hair... you look so enchanting, darling.” A bashfulness struck Y/n to her core at his words. Her eyes instinctively shot down to the grass as a paint of red rose to her face. George’s heart quite literally stuttered at her reaction. Making her blush, seeing her smile because of something he said never failed to bring a sense of happiness to George. That damn smile, he thought to himself. He was sure she could convince him of anything when that innocent look took over. It was natural for her. Y/n was simply ethereal in every way.

His hand brushed as gently as a feather across the skin of her cheek. Pushing the daisy back in place behind her ear, George drew his hand down from her ear to her neck. Gripping her softly George pulled her towards his body, lessening the space between the pair. Dipping his head he leaned in towards the girl until their lips were only inches apart. He smirked teasingly, ready to make a remark when Y/n took matters into her own hands.

Linking her hand around his chin she pulled his face in hers with a deep kiss. Although she initiated the gesture, it was George’s response that made her lose all sense of control. His large hands moved from her face to her waist in an instant. Much to Y/n’s surprise he lifted her without warning, still holding her lips in his, and placed her in his lap so she was facing him. Her hands instinctively switched to wrap around his neck for stability. Fingers gripped at his short ginger locks as she adjusted her hips into his.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as her entire body got weaker. She could only focus on how soft he felt against her mouth, how addictively he invaded all her senses. Everytime their lips met a rush of adrenaline and love ran through her veins. The muscles in her body went limp at his touch, jelly like. George held a tight lock around her waist keeping her steady against him. He slipped his tongue against her mouth, visibly shuddering when she slid her tongue against his in return. Tension was pooling by the second as the kiss intensified. Y/n’s strawberry dress cascaded down the side of legs as she repositioned in his lap earning a groan from George. Hot breath fanned against her face briefly at her movements. His hand darted from the small of her back to the exposed skin on her upper thigh, pushing her further into his body. The vibration of his voice against her lips and the tight grip of his hands on her thighs sent shivers down her spine. His kiss was sweet, like a long awaited embrace. Stars blurred her vision as George gripped her against his chest. The moment was quickly turning into a not so innocent kiss causing Y/n to slowly detach her lips from his. As she pulled away she remained sat in his lap, fingers brushing along the skin of his face as she admired his beauty. A smug smile was displayed on his face while he repositioned his hands behind his body to hold the pair up. Still holding his face in her palms, Y/n pressed forward to scatter a line of kisses on his cheeks. He chuckled in amusement before her kiss latched to his mouth once more. Between short and passionate pecks she fought for words to tell him how much he meant to her. She wanted to tell him all the emotions of love and desire he brought onto her. Tell him how she could never live with another- how he was the only one she wanted for the rest of her life.

“You’re too good to me, George.” She whispered against his lips. The lack of space between them was intoxicating. Heat emanated from George’s cheeks as he desperately attempted to regain his breath and compose himself. His chest was light with air caused by the sweetness of the girl before him. A small smear of glitter lip gloss covered his bottom lip in a shine.

George tasted a hint of bubble gum as his tongue swept along the skin of his bottom lip.

“I’d give you the whole world if I could but I’m afraid I don’t have the coins for that yet, princess.” Pressing his forehead against hers, George hummed the words. Y/n shook her head with a smile as she countered his grand proposition with one of her own.

“All I need is a quaint, cozy cottage out here and you… well a dog or a kitten would be nice too.” She laughed.

George could only stare at her in that moment. Her words registered although the naturalness to her beauty was too much for him to process. The sun hit her back in with such purpose it was as if she were an angel breaking through the sky. Her strawberry midi dress flowed down her sides and pooled in between his legs. Pretty pink satin clung to her form. The sparkling red strawberries fitted her perfectly. The ruffles on her shoulders gave her the look of a cottage princess, a fairy even. Hair flowing freely in the wind, it was a sight he’d never grow tired of seeing. He’d never seen someone as breathtaking as her.

Taking advantage of his silence, Y/n looked up to George in seriousness. His large brown eyes stared lovingly back to her. Gesturing to the meadow surrounding them, Y/n asked him,

“Do you think you’d be happy out here?”

George tore his stare from the girl to scope out the land once more. All the years he spent wandering down here alone in his mind and looking for some sort of answer to life, now he had found it. He could already picture where he would build a playset for the children and where he’d be able to make a small Quidditch pitch to teach your future kids. Ideas were forming for the house and how many rooms you’d both want. George was thinking somewhere around eight- extra room for more kids. Mapped out where the house would go, where he’d build a garden for you, figured out what tree would be perfect for him to put together a treehouse with Fred for the kids, and where the path would go towards the lake. The layout was quickly forming and he wanted in.

Y/n watched in curiosity as the thoughts swarmed through her lover’s head. She could see him intently thinking things over, then smiling before tilting his face back down at the girl. His head moved down so his lips could press against the skin of her forehead as he kissed her.

“Darling, as long as I’m with you, I’ll be more than happy.” He reassured her.

Y/n melted into the warmth provided by his lips. Her body leaned into his, desperate for more of him. George wrapped his arm around her shoulder tightly and fixed his body so he was sitting tall. She clung to his frame like a koala to a tree, burying her face into the material of his hoodie.

“Once I graduate?” Her muffled voice vibrated against his sternum. George ran his fingers up and down her spine as he held her tight.

“Once you graduate.” George repeated sincerely. Although they’d gone over the conversation a million different times, Y/n couldn’t help the shadow of doubts that crept into her mind. She trusted George with all her heart- every inch of her being but they’d be living in two separate worlds for a year and she worried that was something he might not want. Maybe he would realize he wanted to be with a girl his age, or someone older, someone not stuck at Hogwarts. Even without reason for worry, it still came.

Remaining in his hold yet moving back slightly, Y/n’s eyes darted to the flower covered ground. Her fingers ran along the petals absentmindedly as she worked to find the courage to speak. Her shift in emotions did not go unnoticed by the boy. George focused on the look of contemplation adorning her. As adorable as she looked, he hated seeing her in the slightest bit of distress. This went for any situation whether Y/n was stressed about a class, feeling ill, or just sad because she’s hungry, George does everything in his control to fix it for her.

“You’ll wait for me?” The sudden question took George aback. Her tone was a mix of innocence and fear. His confusion arose for the grave manner of her inquiry. Even if her worries were astonishingly unworldly to George, he knew better than to shut down her insecurities brashly. If the topic at hand weren’t so significant to their relationship, he might even crack a joke. However the seriousness in her features was not to be ignored.

George reached out to interlock his fingers through her warm hands. That comforting smile of his graced his face as he brought her knuckles up to his lips and placed a trial of kisses along the bones.

“Of course I’ll wait, love. No other girl I’d want to spend the rest of my life with- no other girl I want to call my wife, the mother of my children. No one but you, my love.” George insisted. It seemed magical to Y/n the way he always knew exactly what to say. Always so heartfelt and honest in meaning. He never told her a lie to make her happy but somehow managed to piece together a perfect string of words to make her whole again. Something in the way he spoke, in his words, it made her believe nearly anything was plausible. Most of all, she trusted him and believed that he had every intention of sticking around, which brought a sneaking grin to Y/n’s face. All those worries washed away at his words. It was a part she loved deeply about him.

The feeling of George’s touch smoothing over the bottom of her pink dress pulled Y/n back to the meadow. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted past his nose from the perfume he had gifted her for Christmas. His fingers would skim against her bare leg in a teasing fashion as he smirked. Y/n let out a giggle at the tickling sensation of his touch. Her arms wrapped around his neck for support while her bashful grin never ceased.

“There’s that pretty smile.” George remarked with a chuckle. A sense of victory took hold of him at seeing her worries vanish. Arms locked around his neck, Y/n pulled him towards her as her head fell to his chest. Given their limited time, all the couple wanted to do for the next month was be in each other’s arms. George cherished every opportunity he got to hold her, knowing he’d spend the next year missing her everyday. It came in the little things as well like the way her hair always smelled like a basket of delicious fruits, or how she’d hum to herself while they were studying together. He already knew he’d spend most days babbling on to Fred about how much he missed Y/n. Break was almost over which meant the twins would be leaving Hogwarts for good within a few weeks. Y/n dreaded the idea of not seeing George every day, not getting to kiss him or hug him. George hated thinking about having to hear from her through letters and not getting to hear that sweet laughter every day. So for now, all George wanted was to hold his girl and enjoy the excitement for their future he felt budding inside of him.

The colors in the sky were starting to grow brighter by the minute and without saying it, the pair both knew they’d be needing to head back to The Burrow for lunch sooner then they’d care to admit. In the serenity of the meadows the couple found a sense of home. Y/n soaked in their last bits of time in the meadow before George mentioned them heading back. Although neither moved at his words but instead remained holding onto one another.

“I love you, George.”

“I love you more, princess.”

#george weasley imagine #George Weasley #George Weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #george weasley #fred weasly x reader #hp imagines #hp imagine #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter imagines #weasley twins #Weasley twins imagines #Weasley twins imagine #gryffindor #weasley #hp #harry potter #imagines #imagine

[kurojiri]

their silhouettes

Fandom: Harry Potter Pairing: Tom Riddle/Luna Lovegood Square Fill: Luna/Tom Summary: The longer he went on knowing of her existence, the more he wished he could see their silhouettes melting into one more frequently considering how sporadic the universe allowed for them to meet face to face. Word Count: 3,521 A/N: @rarehpbingo & for @tunavibes

Or read o:  ffnt | ao3

War had never scared him or gave him the same scars that most mortals were prone to.

He could never fully explain that there had always been a borderline fascination with that subject as he grew up. As if, there was a piece of him that had been born to learn all aspects regarding it. The subject was always able to be wined down to his soul with ease as he learned about its placement with humanity. The battlefield was a place where he could faintly belong to, let alone call home. A moment that made sense when all else didn’t. It may have split him with the rest of his comrades when he met them, but Tom didn’t care.

He just knew that he had a pull to walk in and register without a fuss when it was time for him to be drafted. Since it did give him a chance to examine and learn how it felt to be placed into the drums of war directly.

The war had dragged into the soils of his orphanage, seeing that the damage straggled most of the walls there. Luckily, most of the children and patrons hadn’t been there due to evacuation rounds. But it still shook the building and forced Tom to see first-hand of war; and the chaotic mess that he witnessed, he found that he had liked it. The madness painted a turn for his life. He, of course, knew of his mortality, but he had respected war. Understood it too as it had flashed its destruction in the steps of where his childhood once rested.

The moment his name had been called the letter had not burned. The simple order had been a waking call from his own blood. His goodbyes were short and unneeded. The pack of his clothes and small processions were less heavy after the evacuation. It had been a short journey with Tom getting registered, having filled with a new uniform and once again having to make pleasantries with strangers as his name had been processed. He may have been a boy, but war never cared about that little fact.

In the face of death, age and health made no significant changes. Tom had come around to that when he saw the range of ages, and generations that had been called. They had been nameless then, and even still now.

When he received a new bed and schedule for training Tom did his best to find why the call of war didn’t devastate him like the rest.

The average hours of when he spent on a quiet night had dwindled. And when his name and group had been called, he heard it again: the drums of death. They had grown into elusive instruments as they murmured into his ears when he stepped into the fields or towns. He could always capture the melody of bodies falling and fading. They were often louder in the beginnings and endings of each battle.

It had been a hauntingly beautiful experience for him. Like black veils made of silk touching his skin when Tom held his weapon and aimed when he felt another pair of eyes watching him. He always managed to soak in the earth’s wails when his opponents didn’t last long.

And as clock work, Tom went along his way listening to the world as platoons clashed with each other.

.

It had been an abnormal night, with the winds whipping his face as the rain had been relentless every time he walked out of any building. In the midst of his musing a war went on. Tom Riddle had believed that coincidences were not linked with destiny. Not since his long stay in Wool’s orphanage for the last seventeen years. Yes, he had been able to leave that place for good when he had been drafted, but somehow Tom couldn’t escape the way his memories dragged him back to those days. When Tom had wondered what and where the world would take him.  

Obviously, he hadn’t thought that the war would have been the exact form for him to explore the continent. Or when there had been time off for him to be allowed to explore the way his emotions were dragged when he met her.  

She was like if the sea and moon created a being from each other. Someone he knew that could and would spell for Tom to feel funny. Her laugh had been the first clue.  

He hadn’t caught her name the first time they met. But she had been ungodly distinct. Between the rest of perky faces and flirty pouts, her messy silver blond hair had been a sight. Her eyes, so lively and dreamy had been the embodiment when the moon hung out the bright stars at night. Tom couldn’t ever forget a face like hers.  

And he hoped that she wouldn’t forget him when he left town the following morning.  

Tom Riddle didn’t believe in destiny, but that didn’t mean that he stopped hoping for a chance of meeting in finding her again after the war was done.

.

Unworldly. She had a deadly charm about her when reminders of her came up to him. Each spilled in ill-timed moments.

Tom had been in the middle cleaning up his side and locating any injured company when a shade of silver hair pinned down by a white nurse hat flashed by him. His heart stopped. His teeth biting the side of his mouth.  

He didn’t turn around.

(But he had wanted to. Badly.)

Tom instead steeled himself to grab the closeted person that had been tucked inside a trench. Their pained groans and cold hands thanked him when he half carried him back to camp. He continued on, marched to the groove of when death sunk its teeth for a last slip of the fading bodies all around them.  

Just like clockwork.  

He needed to stop that tick of freezing when he caught that particular shade of blond in crowds. It could kill him. It would have if he did not have the reflexes that he trained himself to have. But how could someone blame him when she had been so incredibly rare species to find in this time and age.  

.

The meeting had been something that he couldn’t write off. He had tried. Oh, did he try when her figure vanished in front of him.

Tom had been minding his own business. Walking. Mourning for whatever he was supposed to do when half his platoon died off from the months of losing limbs from infection or the bullets that kept on hitting their targets like they were intended. Some had been taken away. By their own woes, by their own stupidities or by other factors Tom didn’t want to discuss. Because, what had been the point?

What had made them humans? Their sympathy and empathy? Or was it the conscious fact of wanting to prolong a force greater than them?

He didn’t know what to do then. When all the stars had been shining and where the sea and land united, she had been there. With no shoes, her dress had been discolored and tattered from being used too often near the sea. She had looked wild. Untouchable by man itself. It had intrigued him to find someone that had torn herself from the norm. From the society that didn’t understand him, and he to them.

She didn’t goad him to change. But she had been very open. So much he couldn’t fathom that he would ever be able to comprehend the utter nonsense she had told him.

Nonetheless, in her essence it was there!

The very secrets of his life that he wanted to explore. She held out her palm towards his hand. He hesitated his next move when their skin made contact.

(It had been very cold, colder than the ocean waves that soaked his ankles.

But when their skin touched, his veins felt so alive.)

.

The war went on.

Regardless if he had an inkling about what to do about his tomorrows. They weren’t promised as other civilians or rather, certain areas of countries that didn’t get attacked like his own home did. London would not be his first choice of coming back to, but when he needed to see something familiar, he had to admit that the nostalgia of it had been what he craved. Anything to let Tom have a sigh without the terminal loneliness of being without a home parted with him. He just needed that.

Anything tangible for him to grasp after he woke up from that night.

She had disappeared on first light, when the moon waned and the ocean waves pulled away from the rock, he slept in. His coat had kept him warm and with no sign left that he had met her but only in his memories. It had been a sad drink for his heart to see it unfold. A trait and feeling that had been agonizingly alien for him to undergo. It had ended up making him numb when he cleaned his knees and walked back to the path where civilization was.

Not that the trip there had done him any favors. They never did when he noticed how much he missed the smell of the salty air that the beaches could only give him when he remembered her silver eyes.

He hadn’t realized it when he aged again. Calendars were not as often provided to many soldiers, and he, well, Tom Riddle hadn’t bothered to keep track about how he stayed fighting like the rest. He had no letters to write for someone else to read them let alone, to wait for someone else’s response. He had no need to pose for photos either. All the months of trying not to die and listen to death’s sympathy had been what he needed to stay occupied when he didn’t think about her. She became a living ghost in his thoughts. Always managing to step into his focus.

Always making Tom wonder if he had gone mad long ago and had instead made her up. He couldn’t put it past him into running into a circle like that, he had never been a social person that could connect to strangers; and she, she had been far too interestingly alien to be a common girl he randomly met by pure fate.

No.

Tom must have finally got hit too many times by stray bullets and had instead been taken away to a remote hotel that had been hastily made into a low fund hospital for the mentally afflicted. If he concentrated long enough, maybe he could hear the flutter of a loose spine of a book being pressed to his hands. The wind would be far less harsh and the sunlight would be fanning the whole dull room that would have been temporarily his, as someone well-meaning would have pushed him into there as a forgotten decoration because not all soldiers were heroes that demanded first class treatment.

That would make sense after all his troubles that he collected when he wanted to listen to the devil orchestrate a whole rhapsody that no mortals but him alone could decipher.

But then. But then! Her ghost had touched his heart all too well. Like a siren roaming in the corners of his journeys and endlessly capturing his sanity. She had become a staple of his monologues. One day Tom would understand the insanity of him hearing the devil and death making a pact. He would see how it all connected with her.

But until then, Tom Riddle, supposed he would have to record everything eventually by the stray blank pages from a journal a comrade gave when he noticed how Tom kept muttering soft melodies he heard when they cleaned up their equipment after another skirmish between the major battles. That had been a start. And, a new beginning of itself when he saw a pattern of musical notes had clashed when her image came when he had a pen and ink ready to fill the pages.

It would all make sense, he told himself. It would.

.

On a warm spring day, just as he was coping in small intervals, Tom had seen that he had not been dreaming. The gun shot that hit his hip, had narrowly missed anything major as it had shocked his whole body. Most injuries prior had been small compared to the blood that had doused the earth now. It all seemed quite a sight. For him, a man now after living inside the war for most of his young years had grown accustomed to the smell of gunpowder and fresh iron that blood produced. His own forehead had been sweating, his eyes seemed to take into making everything appear to have a double reflection.

He knew that he could be saved.

Yet, that had not stopped for Tom to wonder if he would ever see her again. If, for some reason only that Death knew himself, would let him stay on the ground as the gunshots went on. He could not fully right himself up.

But he had wanted to. The gun had not fallen far away from him. He could stretch out for it, could bend to one side and press on the wound. A medic had heard him wail in pain; it all could work out.

(But then, why did Tom choose to sink down on the earth and listen as the earth danced to the beat of life and death wrestling for command?)

She did not appear beside him on his deathbed.

And simply, because, death didn’t want him either. The war zone left him cold, sweating but overall fine. The loss of blood had only made his light-headedness seem like he had been dragged on the soil for hours but eventually the darkness turned into light that came beyond his eyelids. If she were not a ghost, then surely, she would have visited? Or did that mean that his mind still liked to play tricks with himself?

He had been placed on bed rest for the remaining week, where the seconds went on longer than he thought were possible. It hadn’t been his favorite time ever given that he was not immune to the smell of infections and wounds that reopened by the screaming patients. Where the souls that had been cracked and wanted to be released from their world altogether. Tom never understood those individuals, but that hadn't meant that he didn’t scoff at their agony. Instead, he had listened to the inner clock that their bodies were made of; they got tangled, some were cut so suddenly and few were mended. But it had been in the ones that were silenced that he knew death had heard their wishes.

Most of those departures hadn’t been as swift or forgiving.

Nonetheless, it had been expected for people like Tom that had grown so much closer to death and war. From his youth where he wanted to gain a real home in those terrains, he had cultivated a type of wisdom. Inherently as he was mortal it did not rationalize his obsession over her. Nobody had ever gotten close to her beauty, to her eccentric behavior and imprint she had painted on his heart.

It had made sense why the sea borders always haunted him. When the rain hit his body they all reminded him when he saw her shadows, when he thought he heard her laughter behind him.

She had never spoken directly at him since that night.

And that had been hard to swallow, because it made him wonder what had been the point for her to grab his attention if she only wanted to taunt him. To make him crumble by the sound of her voice. It had been a cruel existence for him. To have lived for war and death and then to be infatuated by the moon and seas as they had been the extension of her.

If she commanded the seas the way she held over his sanity, Tom was sure that he would never be able to escape from her. Nor, did he want to. She was—Tom could see that a life without her meant that he could never see what laid beyond that.

Not that a normal life had suited him anyways.

.

When he was able again, by their standards he had his hair cut again. The clothes he borrowed were not perfectly trimmed for his thin figure, but it was something he could use for the time being. His mind was foggy though. The kind that felt like cotton was plugged to his ears and his mouth was dry no matter the cups of water he drank. Strange.

It had been a while since he took a stroll by the ocean.

Maybe that had been why no one wanted him near a body of water since it had been a place where he almost lost his life once. But what they didn’t know was that Tom had been prepared to see her. To have that iron taste become salt. To have the waves wash his wounds while he could soak in the sight of her sad smiles. Her slim hands would reach down to cup his face, and he would just listen to her, to death playing in the background.

It wouldn’t have scared him.

But then she hadn’t come then. And he had been wondering why they couldn’t hold one conversation where he didn’t feel like he was the only one invested into their futures. She had once told him that she longed for more todays than tomorrows. And he had not understood. Because wouldn’t anyone sane would want more tomorrows? But when she had looked at him, and when the ocean waves had circled to his feet, he almost understood the need to live in the present. With her, it felt like Tom wanted to rearrange his sensibilities.

If only to be closer to the way she lived. Contentions like that meant that he would have to compromise. That he would eventually come to the conclusion that he was never sane.

He may have been born a bastard son. A forgotten orphan and a broken soldier, but she had made him feel like he could take over the world if he wanted and succeed.

So he limped all the way back to the first sign of the beach. The same one from the town he first met her. Most buildings had been in the middle of construction. Or left to rot. They didn’t look at his direction. Not even when he slid down the rocky sections where the water was lively. The sand had become heavier in his socks, but he had ignored it when he closed his eyes patiently.

The wind had been kinder that afternoon.

No one bothered to call after him.

No one until he felt the waves hush. The salt dimmed for a second until it brushed and sloshed itself inside his nose. He was sure his nose wrinkled.

But before he could touch his own face another set of colder hands did. Softly at first that he was pretty sure it had been just a memory that often ridiculed him when his isolation posed a threat to his future. Yet what stopped his heart for one painful second was that when that hand urged for him to lean down a soft cheek had touched one side of his. The heat of another human being was there.

Her skin still stung his blood when he opened them to memorize the way she looked untouched by time.

When she pulled away, his eyes took in the grey of her eyes, how bleached and fair her hair was that it almost blended to his snow-white skin. Her clothes were moderately fixed. Still they clung in the direction that most clothes did when they were wet. He made the motion to strip off his jacket when she declined his offer. He should have been annoyed by that gesture; but when she was there again after a long period of separation he caved by clinging to the way she kissed his forehead. Tom leaned in to her embrace quickly after that.

If this encounter was all in his mind, then he would thank his insanity for producing such a lovely image before him.

Anything else would have destroyed him.

Which had been why he was an easy target for her, after all it didn't take much for him to follow her off the rocky surface. To be engulfed by the waves and not fear death when she was there. Singing to him softly in his ears as his lungs burned.

The ocean had never scared him before, and it still didn’t at that moment because she kept saying his name until he couldn’t remember how it felt to be alive before her existence. The last image he could conjure was the way her hair swayed with the water and her lips opening and opening for one more kiss.

#rarehpbingo #tom riddle x luna lovegood #tom x luna #Tom Riddle #Luna Lovegood #hp #TW: character death #TW: Drowning #wwii #CANON DIVERGENCE #siren luna #wc: 1-5k #tuna #ts: their silhouettes

[hedgewitchgarden]

'We are all part of this healthy web of life maintained by soil. The Latin word humus means soil. The words human, humility and humus all come from the same root. When humans lose contact with soil, they are no longer humans.

Trees, animals, plants, rocks, mountains, rivers, worms, butterflies, honeybees – all have intrinsic value. They have the right to be as they are. We talk about human rights, and that's fine. But nature also has rights. The trees have a right to exist. We have no right to cut them down without proper purpose. When we recognise the rights of nature, then we have understood the meaning of the word soil... '

#worldsoilday 

#guardian sustainable business #sustainability #health and wellbeing #soil

[a-stitch-in-time-and-space]

Various Feelings About ASIT Part 7: Things I Didn't Touch Upon

Also here’s the links to the rest:

1. Sentimental Garak

2. Soul of a Poet

3. Invisibility, Insincerity, and The Wire

4. Revenge or Redemption

5. Thoughts on Kira

6. Doctors (and Other Lovers) part 1 and part 2

This is just a series of points that I thought were fascinating, emotionally poignant, or just plain neat but at this moment don’t have the spoons to get into (tumblr refuses to place a read-more under this, but it’s not long so...): 

1. the interesting use of masks as metaphors, sometimes insidious, sometimes scared, sometimes misread, sometimes so ingrained that they're almost impossible to take off, sometimes – as in the case of the poet Hebitian – to tell the truth. But then, don't all masks tell some kind of truth? (You're making me feel things Andy!)

2. Ideas that tie strongly into my own reading of Garak as being at the heart of a lot of political and social change, but not wishing to be in charge of it/later thinking of himself and his trauma being unhelpful to the building of a new Cardassia

3. The fact that despite his issues about being involved in creating the new Cardassia Garak becomes involved with community and infrastructure building projects

4. In general the parallels between the slow, tentative beginnings of rebuilding on Cardassia and Garak relearning who he is!

5. The Hebitian culture!!!! Guys! This was so!!!! I touched upon it in the Soul Of A Poet post, but it didn't really mention how intensely into this introduction of spirituality, religion, and past cultures I was. It gave everything such a depth and also gave me ideas about how to tie these concepts to storylines involving Kira and Bajor, as well as open spirituality as a whole being a cornerstone of the new society versus the past where there was a cult-like obedience to the state and how that would affect things, just. Wow. Rich soil to play in!

6. The interlacing of concepts of redemption and sentiment and love that I've talked about and masks and family and sacrifice and finding ones place and art and spirituality and how it all gets put into tangible ideas like gardening and tailoring and doctors/healing and urgh rughrughurgh guys this bookxdfghjk dfg sjdfghlllljjjjj

7. This quote:

[Excerpt from the book: Careful, Elim. You know perfectly well that the surest way to your heart is through conversation.]

And that’s that, I am finished with this little series of metas. Time to go stare at a wall or cry about a lizard I guess

#a stitch in time #elim garak #asit #ds9 #st: ds9 #star trek #andy robinson #writing #meta

[theangrypokemaniac]

Ma adopts the classic pose of a Lady by gathering her hands together, for that speaks of breeding. Look at Renaissance portraiture and you'll find many a predecessor doing alike.

When at ease, Pa puts his hands behind him, as they teach a gentleman to behave. Prince Philip also follows the rule in part thanks to the hard discipline of a naval career.

On Ma her waist is a deeper red, as that's the shadow cast by her...blessings.

In a similar fashion, the ideal build of a man is a flat stomach and broad chest, and Pa's pecs extend so much the rest of him is thrown into darkness.

I told yer it was gym in the dungeon!

Let me make a comparison with Sinnoh's version of this scene.

Original picture:

You're too far away. I can't see properly.

Instead of staring out of the French window, maybe more concern ought to paid to the demonic apparitions in the background.

What's this, a party for the Beings Between Dimensions?

I kept thinking the second one is Angela Lansbury, busy blending in to solve another society murder.

This explains why James is confined to the immediate outside: well within observing distance but not too close, in case one of the guests consumes his soul.

How bloody evil is Sinnoh Ma there?

Look at her nasty face: she's like a furious mint imperial.

Her head is imploding under its own gravitational pull.

Even Sinnoh Pa's trousers are an affront to me. Gone is the proud protuberance and in comes a material arrangement implying he's trying not to soil himself whilst also hiding the truth, both in stance and spillage, hence turning his back to the crowd.

Worry not, Sinnoh Pa, you're wearing those special pads aren't you? Very absorbant.

I know the berks who wrote Sinnoh held Team Rocket in contempt but does that extend to their relatives too? Is there any reason why Sinnoh Ma and Sinnoh Pa have suffered the Palsied Touch Of Death wiping 'em down with its slimy appendage?

Perhaps it befell the pair on this very evening, so the boy was locked out for his own good.

Too late, his head's already had the sniff of it, that's why he resembles a midget version of his older self.

As I've commented previously, every single scene of The Treasure Is All Mine! featuring James's parents was lifted straight from Holy Matrimony! because the 'artists' are too busy picking their own arses to come up with anything new.

Why not? The plot's a copy, so might as well do the same with the animation. Flaunt those recycling credentials!

Some are exactly the same pose, albeit in poorer quality, but many are reversed, as if that disguises it, and when a picture is flipped, it seems twisted and misaligned, as shown above.

Yet even that wasn't enough, as their rendering of it is even worse, and given a scowling expression.

What are they trying to say? You think a wizened old dog like that could ever entice Pa's lust?

As if! Sinnoh Ma is blatantly older than him! Why would he put up with that?

He's rich! He can pull underwear models!

Sinnoh Pa would, because he's desperate. Appearances don't matter so much when you're in dire need of a bed bath.

I tremble with the fear that one day the writers might recall Ma and Pa's existence, and reintroduce 'em, as going by this progression the third showing will be even more shrivelled:

Next thing you know we'll be dealing with Link's nan from The Wind Waker!

What is this thing in anime when anyone over forty suddenly resembles a friendly walnut?

What colour is Sinnoh Ma's hair meant to be there? Mauve?

Mauve?!

Since when was she bloody mauve?

Her actual shade somewhat depends on where you get the image.

Google:

Serebii:

Both of these match the old cassette copy I cherish.

What's up with yer screen shots, Serebii? Did you take 'em through one of those blurring toilet windows?

Pokémon T.V. Crapp:

I can't trust it. Each update produces a slightly different version of the same scene. I don't know whether I'm coming or going.

What is it, claret? Maroon? Aubergine?

Hey, T.A.P. isn't on intimate terms with exact hues and all their airy-fairy appellations. In my day reciting the contents of a rainbow was impressive. Doing it in order ranked one as a genius.

It certainly isn't mauve. Apparently Sinnoh Ma wasn't withered enough, and required something to really wash out her complexion, implying greyness but not quite.

I'll tell you of what this reminds me:

Hey Arnold!

If I remember it correctly (and that's not guaranteed) there was an episode featuring a go-kart race, though I don't believe they really exist, as I've never seen such a spectacle.

Sid (the one with a penis for a nose and a nose for a penis) called his The Dark Avenger, whereas Eugene (the grinning one with ginger frizz) had The Mauve Storm.

After a mishap they were obliged to share an makeshift vehicle, but rather than combining names to form The Dark Storm, Knobnose got well annoyed as Pubehead insisted on christening it The Mauve Avenger.

You could call Sinnoh Ma that.

Well there's some bloody mauve avenging taking place tonight, though I don't deserve this insult.

Fun fact: mauve is entirely synthetic, invented by accident during the Industrial Revolution.

Well there you are then.

God is so opposed to the concept of Sinnoh Ma's barnet He refused to even make it possible, because God hates mauve, refusing to allow it in nature. 'Twas forged from the diabolical furnaces within those Dark Satanic Mills instead, emphasis on the Satanic.

But I thought you liked purple and all it's many varieties.

Quiet you. It's the principle.

Where was I?

The reason why Sinnoh Ma has the fan surgically grafted to her person is it makes an easy flat surface to draw, rather than having to bother with her beads, brooch and folded neckline.

Her bony exterior evokes female slebs who foolishly imagine being as thin as possible adds youth, when in fact it's deeply ageing.

As for Pa, none of his colours have been followed, and that waistcoat on Sinnoh Pa has a most angry cut.

His general dodderiness gives the impression his pockets are peppered with furry Werther's Originals, as pensioners love sucking a Werther. Everyone knows that.

But they break yer teeth!

S'okay. Sinnoh Pa has none.

Now what about the physiques?

Notice on Pa little red is visible, with his blazer hanging straight down for meeting no impediment, even drawing inwards at the end of chest.

You can see a lot more red on Sinnoh Pa, and the blazer has to part the further down it goes to accommodate the belly. The shadow is absent because this area exceeds the top.

They've warped Pa from being a fella who cared about his body enough to keep it trim, to one who let himself go.

How people deal with weight tells you about their personality. He can't be busy sweating it off and also not give a toss!

What, is Ma gonna tolerate the possibility of a conjugal crushing as it rolls over?

No way, she's got standards!

Why would she touch that when there's plenty of sexy beasts ready to snap 'er up?

Sinnoh Ma would. She needs a big container to store her favourite tipple of blood.

Bear in mind that Pa is the character when James is grown up, and Sinnoh Pa a recollection from childhood, meaning the old, fat, grey, decrepit vision is the younger incarnation. Make sense to me.

Sinnoh Pa ate all the pies, man!

#team rocket #ma james #pa james #ma and pa james #james's mom #james's dad #james's parents #kanto #sinnoh #holy matrimony! #the treasure is all mine! #hey arnold! #sid #eugene

[jayne-hecate-writer]

The Secret Commonwealth: A review of sorts-ish...

So on a cold fresh autumnal morn, I closed the cover of my book, sat back and almost wept. I have waited for this book for so long, I had had it on pre-order from the despicable Amazon (notorious for tax avoidance, low pay and bad working conditions) for so very long and yet, I cannot contain my disappointment.

This is a cold brutal book, filled with anger and sadness, as much a critique of our society as it is a fairy story. My friends, I present to you The Secret Commonwealth, the second in The Book of Dust trilogy and if you have not yet finished the book, be aware that I am about to discuss some events that could be classified as spoilers.

La Belle Savage was at times a dark book, revisiting the lives of Lyra's parents and explaining how she came to reside with in the walls of Jordan College, safely out of the hands of the Magisterium. It also contained a story of heroism as the young Malcolm Polstead struggles to maintain the safety of the infant Lyra during a catastrophic flood. Although it felt detached from the other stories given that it was in effect a prequel, it was complete and did not leave us with a bitter cliff hanger. Alas, I cannot say the same for the sequel, which is set several years after the events of both The Amber Spyglass and Lyra's Oxford.

The book opens with Lyra and Pantalaiman not speaking, during the episodes when they do speak, they communicate though angry argumentative exchanges and mutual misunderstanding. Pan resents Lyra's depression as she discovers the theories and philosophy of Nihilism, a system of thought that denies the existence of the Dǣmon and even of pleasure itself. Her adherence to the subject matter is fairly typical of every pretentious philosophy reading young adult and borders on the self denying extremes of Emo subculture, without stepping into the grotesque regions of cutting and self harm. There is throughout the book a feeling of abandonment and depression in the main character and it is linked directly to this bleak denial of light and goodness as she struggles to come to terms with her own feelings and knowledge, despite her having had first hand physical experience of the spiritual realm. This is an important part of her self denial that has led to the schism between Pan and herself, as she denies the existence of part of herself.

There is also a feeling of animosity towards the modern day society of Brytain which is clearly very similar in many ways to our own modern Britain, with self serving political posturing and power grabbing being clear goals for some of the characters. Gone is the clear evil and avarice of Mrs Coulter, replaced by the cold brutal spite and vengeance of her brother, Marcel Delamare. The main antagonists of this book are both motivated by revenge and power with the protagonists being somehow dirtied by modern life. The previously heroic Malcolm borders painfully close to the paedophilic with his obsession with a young woman who does not yet have adult status, being ten years his junior and whom he has nurtured since she was a child. In fact throughout the novel, there are many characters who it is implied may have flawed sexual relationships, starting with the loveless flirtations of Lyra herself and moving onto the strangely asexual Marcel, possibly even the Saint Simeon as he craves the touch of his boy, the shamed Princess who delved into lesbianism to satisfy the lusts of her own Dǣmon and finally the revolting actions of a group of rapist Turkish soldiers. Speaking of which, the sexual assault of Lyra is both heart breaking and brutal, it is described as a near rape, but it goes into enough detail to sicken the reader and if I am honest pulls too readily on the cliché of powerful men destroying the spirit of the young woman until she is rescued by another powerful man who berates her for daring to go out in public. This is in some ways  the commentary of a middle class academic man, who has tried to imagine what it is to be a marginalised woman and it does show. However, if you wanted to be less critical, you could see this as a brutal statement on the suffering of women not just in the middle east, but the world over as we struggle against sexism, religious persecution and the removal of our bodily self determination.

With the first trilogy, His Dark Materials, there was an innocence to the story telling, even during the vicious battles and violent murders committed by some of the most beloved characters. With this book, there is a bleak world weariness in the subtext, it is every miserable moment distilled and condensed from the twenty four hour news networks, from global war to Brexit and with the reading it does towards the end of the book grow tiring, if not actually despairing. After closing the dust cover, I am left wondering how Pullman can raise the tone of the next book and I wonder if it is even possible for him to give Lyra the sort of ending she deserves, given that she has silently saved mankind across the myriad of realities. Seeing her fall in love with Malcolm would feel somehow lazy, when given her status as the biblical Eve to Will's Adam and their eternal love.

I think that it has also been forgotten that Lyra and Will killed the self aggrandising deity known as the Authority during the last battle in The Amber Spyglass, she knows for a fact that the fortress of heaven is ruled by tyrants, having battled them both directly and indirectly. She is also aware of the presence of the soul having witnessed it first hand escaping from the land of the dead to the plains of land of the Mulefa. Making her a nihilist in everything but name seems somehow incongruous, but maybe this is a comment on the nature of where the world stands at the moment. After all, did not Star Wars do something very similar with the failure and then redemption of Luke Skywalker in the Last Jedi?

As I grew closer to the end of this novel, I knew that it would not and could not end happily. Pullman does not even give us the moment of reconciliation between Lyra and Pan, instead we are left with a cliff hanger and an obtuse poem and worst of all, the knowledge that it is going to be many more months if not years before we get the answers to our questions. Given that his book is nearly seven hundred pages long, there is a great deal in here that is drudgery, misery and depression; which frankly I found heart breaking. Lyra has been soiled by the things that she has done and which have been done to her. I only hope that for the next book she retains her autonomy, does not fall into the predatory arms of Malcolm and finds the reconciliation with Pan, because otherwise this trilogy is going to be bleak and will see the destruction of one of the most beloved characters created in the twentieth century. I also think that Pullman has sank a great deal of his own personal despair with modern society into this instalment, carefully skirting the more usual tired tropes and cliché.

Is the Secret Commonwealth a good book? I cannot answer this question because it has left me feeling unsettled and hurt. What I can say is that as the original readers of the first trilogy have aged, the tone of the second trilogy has aged with us. Where I would have no qualms about letting my ten year old niece read The Northern Lights, The Subtle Knife or The Amber Spyglass,  I would have some reservations about allowing this book to fall into her hands until she was significantly older. The tone of this book is just too dark at times and in some cases just too brutal. Do not forget that it is actually two of our beloved characters, both young women, who have been raped in this second trilogy and on each occasion they have been over powered and violated, while their struggle has been shown to be useless, there was nothing that they could do to prevent it. Yes, misogyny like this does exist, but do I want to encourage my niece to read such things or do I want to protect her from just how awful society can be?

I suppose that I shall just have to wait for two long damnable years to find out what is going to happen next to our dear Lyra, but while we wait we do have the new BBC show to look forwards to. There were moments while reading this book that I looked up from the page to discover my partner was watching the television and there before me was the young woman who had portrayed Lyra in the film of the Golden Compass. Her depiction of Lyra and all of her depth was remarkable for a child who had never acted before and it is uplifting to know that she was able to put the film behind her and continue with her career. I am bitter about that film because it feels like it was scuttled by the studio and the blame was placed at the feet of the religious bigots who had probably never ready the books. The shame of it was that much of the anti-catholic rhetoric had been removed and still the religiously indoctrinated were not satisfied until they had ruined it and stripped it of meaning and value. If anything, that just makes the making of this series even more important. I very much doubt though that should this series be a success, The Secret Commonwealth will also be filmed for this age group.

#the book of dust #the secret commonwealth #philip pullman #la belle sauvage #lyra's oxford #lyra silvertongue #lyra belacqua #pantalaimon #Dǣmon #the northern lights #the golden compass #the subtle knife #the amber spyglass

[reyofgreenplaces]

FIC RECS PART III

It's that time! It's been a while since I've made an update but I've got enough fics to recommend now and so many that I'm excited to share! Yay! This is a brand new list but I've included some fics you may recognize because they have either updated since my last list or finished. This list is extra long because I’ve decided to include a tiny synopsis of the types of story I have included so you know what you’re getting.Here are the links to Part I and Part II. The rules are the same: lots of smut, angst, and fluff. I’m including ones I’m currently reading and finished fics. The categories are the same: in-universe, AU, completed, and listed them in descending order of most recent update, so the top of the list means they’ve updated most recently. There are AU, ABO, movie crossovers, and a lot of smut. Like, a lot. In addition, I have strict non-con/dub-con rules; if consent is not enthusiastically given in a fic I won't read it so don't expect any in this list or any list of mine ever. I follow the Kylo Ren/Rey relationship tag on ao3 and following these blogs here on tumblr: a03feed-kylorey and ao3feed--reylo. Now as always stay hydrated, read this in private (for the smut), and happy reading!

In-Universe:

Songs of Innocence, Songs of Wisdom: Cosmogonika (26/?)

The Bond that Ties Us: moontear (93/?}

Unbidden: Perry_Downing (51/?)

Dangerous Connections: Nyaroon (17/30)

Footnotes: Camucia (18/22)

Landscape with a blur of conquerors: diasterisms (42/50)

Marked: NopeNotGonnaDoIt (20/24)

Guardian of the Night: way_of_the_pathfinder (8/?)

Steady as we Burn: Pacificwanderer (CNichole) (16/18)

If Only: Disney_Dreamers43 (2/?)

Obligation: Ernzo (15/17)

No one but you: faequeentitania (5/7)

Alternative Methods(of Pain Relief): Camucia (6/?)

Alternative Universe:

And just like that: resplendently (13/14)*

Boss/employee AU

Waiting for epilogue

The Haves and the Have Nots: MissHarper (6/?)

TA/student AU

Glory's Fray: avudvampirehunter (39/75)

Roman gladiator/servant girl AU

When the moon met the sun in the sky: RebelRebel (10/20)

Feudal Japan fantasy; childhood sweethearts/separated, emperor/samurai

This is where you left me: SageMcMae (9/?)

This Is Where You Left Me/Star Wars crossover between Phillip and Rey

Hit me with your best shot: SageMcMae (28/?)

Martial arts/enemies to friends to lovers AU

Two Truths & a Lie: SageMcMae (11/?)

Boss/employee AU

Parallel Lines: niteowl29 (11/?)

Student/teacher horse ranch AU

A truth universally acknowledged: Pride_And_Prejudice_In_Space (9/?)

Community theater/pride and prejudice AU

Find my nest of salt, everything's my fault: Like_A_Dove (8/?)*

Side story to We Could Plant A House from Ben’s POV

The Soiled Doves: fernybranca (27/29)

Pride & Prejudice/victorian era AU

Touched: ReyloRobyn2011 (59/60)

Ballet dancer/Instructor AU

Perfect Illusion: WinglessOne (21/25)

Vampire/witch AU

Forever Loyal: moonlightgisaeng (7/?)

mulan/samurai AU

Just as human: GoodnightMoon (MythologicalHoe) (6/?)

Dystopian future; Android cop/rogue android

Soul Rest: dark_and_terrible (26/?)

Witch/witch hunter AU

Rolling the Dice: MizuPheonix (10/26)

Dungeons and Dragons/online gaming AU

Genesis: Eris97 (4/?)

Zombie apocalypse/last people on earth AU

Into the great laugh of mankind: diasterisms (2/3)

Professor/grad student archaeology AU

General Incivility: Like_A_Dove (7/?)

Pride & Prejudice AU; boss/employee AU

Don't feed the bears: Ria84 (15/?)

Canadian mounties AU

Say it with sugar: fettaccini_alfreylo (13/17)

Chocolate shop/mental health and anxiety AU; very soft Ben/very soft Rey

Unravel: All_Hail_Reylo(McDanno50) (1/?)

college monsters AU

Heat in your gaze: Chibirini1 (10/?)

ABO; Clan leader Ben/independent Rey

The Only Exception: CartoonJessie (27/?)

Psychiatric ward/mental health AU

Permanent Changes: JustAnotherSailorScout (5/?)

Soulmate/tattoos AU

Stay Low: NewerConstellations (17/18)

Engineering student/Architect AU

Alluring Roomates: R3N_lotus (4/?)

New roommate AU

Something, anything: midnightdrives (2/?)

Music store/coffee shop AU

User not found: violethoure666 (2/3)

IT tech awkward Ben/needs computer help Rey; Dom/sub themes

Cabeceo: Lotuspadawan (4/?)

College Professor/student ballroom dancing AU

I wasn't expecting you: SuchaPrettyPoison (6/?)

College students/texting relationship AU

Chalk and Cheese: LoveofEscapism (11/?)

Childhood sweethearts/boss/employee AU

Effloresce: lovelydarkanddeep (14/?)

Flowershop/tattoo parlor AU

The sun never sets: asfragileasaword (3/?)

Professor/student AU

Wolves: AlbaStarGazer (19/34)

ABO 

How to save a life: kellybellefiction (3/?)

Hospital AU; doctor/nurse AU

Gehénnam: Hoodedmutt (2/?)

angels/demons AU

It's a match: sadboykylo (28/30)

Online dating/childhood enemies AU

Bringing the house down: ladydemelza (2/?)

Restaurant AU; Bartender Ben/Waitress Rey

How little were know: gopherbroke (12/?)

ABO; Professor Rey/Professor Ben

Temperature: arroways (9/?)

ABO; Alpha Doctor Ben/Confused Omega Rey

We transcend time and space: EdenMiasma (8/?)

star wars crossover through alternate realities

Algorithms: greyorchids (9/14)

ABO; IT tech/CEO AU

Muse: Circe87 (8/?)

artist/ballet dancer AU

Finished Fics:

Written in Chalk: wanderingbarks (18/18)

Professor/student AU

House arrest: animal (32/32)

Shy neighbor/felon neighbor AU

The Mating Service: AlbaStarGazer (32/34)*

Online dating/ABO AU

The Benefits of Research: AttackoftheDarkCurses, thebuildingsnotonfire (6/6)

Rey is a fanfic writer taking smut requests and kylo is available for research

Waiting by the sea: Reylorobyn2011 (10/10)

Pirate/lost at sea AU

The brightest hour: murakamism (22/22)

Professor/student AU; poetry

This is the sign you've been looking for: RebelRebel (9/10)*

salvage shop girl/artist AU

Creature of darkness: bunilicious (7/7)

sleepy hollow AU

Like red but not quite: KyloTrashForever (37/39)*

Punk rockstar/girl in pink AU

The lamb's thirst: animal (15/16)*

Dystopian society with socially awkward girl/quiet patient guy

Waiting for epilogue

Might I but moor tonight: dietplainlite (1/1)

spies on opposite sides/victorian era AU

Darling, so it goes: akosmia (12/12)

Pretend relationship/friends to lovers

Into the woods: KyloTrashForever (29/29)

Beauty and the Beast/ABO AU

Burnt Bacon: WaterlilyRose (3/3)

Logan Lucky/Star Wars crossover between Adam’s character Clyde and Rey

Shadow song: SageMcMae (12/12)

Demon/mechanic girl AU

Same eyes, different people: SageMcMae (20/20)

Anastasia AU, Jedi Ben/Jedi Rey

Go I know not whither and fetch I know not what: voicedimplosives (12/12)

1990′s Russia, Russian mobster/American tourist AU

Where is my mind?: Polkadotdotdot (14/14)

Mental health facility AU; Monitor/patient AU

The rebel side of heaven: jeeno2 (11/11)

Friends with benefits/virgins AU

The haunted heart: fedupwithfairytales (1/1)

Haunted house oneshot AU

Say my name: Graendoll (10/10)

Parole officer/ex-con AU

Firewater: Polkadotdotdot (30/30)

Logan Lucky/Star Wars crossover between Adam’s character and Rey

Fidelis ad mortem(faithful unto death): Reylorobyn2011 (18/18)

Lawyer Ben/Police Captain Rey; childhood sweethearts

Dreams of a throne: violethoure666 (1/1)

Dreaming force bond oneshot

Rainfall: dark_and_terrible (15/15)

Jane Austen/arranged marriage AU

One night stand: dark_and_terrible (18/18)

Childhood friends/ruined by one awkward night/reunited

Disparate pieces: aldeeraan (24/24)

Lawyers AU; Boss/employee AU

Murphy's law: Eskayrobot, Poaxath (1/1)

Road trip oneshot

Baby, it's just biology: Polkadotdotdot (32/32)

ABO; professor/student AU

Practice makes perfect: violethoure666 (3/3)

Pretend relationship/friends to lovers AU

#reylo #reylo fanfic #kylo ren #rey #star wars #the last jedi #star wars the last jedi #tlj #ben solo #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #kylo ren/rey #ben solo/rey

[architectuul]

Agriculture and Architecture: Saving Spaceship Earth

Sonja Dragović takes a closer look at the topics raised and conversations inspired by the exhibition Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side at the Lisbon Architecture Trienniale.

Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side exhibition is on display at the Garagem SulI until February 16. | Photo via Lisbon Architecture Triennale

The fifth edition of the Lisbon Architecture Triennale, entitled The Poetics of Reason and curated by the team led by architect and theorist Éric Lapierre, was opened in October 2019. Aimed at approaching, examining and presenting architectural rationality today from different vantage point, the program offered five main exhibitions: Economy of Means, curated by Lapierre himself, Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side, curated by philosopher and historian Sébastien Marot, Natural Beauty by Laurent Esmilaire and Tristan Chadney, What is Ornament? by Ambra Fabi and Giovanni Piovene and Inner Space by Mariabruna Fabrizi and Fosco Lucarelli. Related events – workshops, lectures, discussions – have been organized throughout the last fall, culminating with the end-of-November Talk, Talk, Talk: a three-day conference that brought academics, architects, designers and activists together for a weekend of lively conversation at the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation. 

Talk, Talk, Talk: Sébastien Marot, curator of the exhibition. | Photo via Lisbon Architecture Triennale

The first day of talks was devoted to the topics raised by the exhibition Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side, the only one from the Triennale’s program still on display (at the Garagem SulI, until February 16). The exhibition strives to be practical, to find answers to contemporary climate change challenges by reconnecting and reconciling agriculture and architecture and harnessing the knowledge resulting from this reunion. The questions emerging from such goal – about the realities of industrial development, the future of metropolis, the complexities of food production, the ethics of design – were some of those unpacked and discussed at the Talk, Talk, Talk conference by the exhibition curator Sébastien Marot, environmental designer and ecological educator David Holmgren, architects and writers Carolyn Steel and Colin Moorcraft, philosopher Joëlle Zask and their eager audience.

David Holmgren, one of the founders of the permaculture concept, joined the conference via Skype. | Photo by Sonja Dragović

David Holmgren joined the conference from Australia, just before the dawn; via Skype, we witnessed the sun rising on the other side of Earth as the evening conference in Lisbon was coming to a close. Best known as the co-founder of the permaculture concept, he described the way in which this idea that took shape in the mid-1970s at the University of Tasmania and at Mount Wellington, “at the sharp edge between the civilization and wilderness”, gained ground around the world and made it possible to imagine “climate chaos resistant design” on a global scale. Holmgren’s thinking and practice were inspired by indigenous practices in land use and agriculture, which understood and utilized ecosystems’ natural resilience and evolution. He emphasized the importance of dealing with the environmental crisis in large cities by upholding the practical thread of action and criticized the apathetic acceptance of the inevitability of status quo. For anyone interested in learning more about permaculture, his works Permaculture: Principles and Pathways Beyond Sustainability (2002) and RetroSuburbia: The Downshifter’s Guide to a Resilient Future (2018) will be a great start.

From Holmgren’s book on permaculture.  | Excerpt via Holmgren Design

Carolyn Steel, British architect, author of Hungry City: How Food Shapes Our Lives (2008) and leading thinker on food and cities, pointed out the “urban paradox” of people living in urban areas, thinking of themselves as urban – detached from the countryside, but still depending on land and not grasping the true value of food. According to her, evolving technologies of feeding ourselves might make it appear that the food is simple – too simple to worry about in our digital age. However, the fact that the complexity is obscured doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Steel calls the world shaped by the current food systems Sitopia (from Greek sitos, food and topos, place). She advocates for changing the ways in which we perceive food supply and for becoming more self-reliant and community-oriented in food production and consumption: “To build a better society, we have to embrace this complexity.” Steel’s recently written for Architectuul on the topic of shaping our future through food.

Forthcoming book by Carolyn Steel. | Photo via Amazon.com

Steel’s argument that food production should be brought closer to home was affirmed by Colin Moorcraft, British architect and writer on environmental affairs, author of Designing for Survival (Architectural Design, 1972). He reminded the audience of the work of R. Buckminster Fuller, an architect and inventor who in 1969, just after the world has for the first time ever seen the photograph of Earth from space, had published an Operational Manual for Spaceship Earth. In it, Fuller wrote: “We are all astronauts and ours is a vehicle that requires maintenance, and that will cease to function if it’s not kept in good order.” He was one of the pioneers shaping the new global awareness, making it clear that we’re all in this together; the other key figures in this movement were, according to Moorcraft, scientists Ludwig von Bertalanffly, Howard Odum and Eugene Odum and the economist Nicholas Georgescu-Roegen. 

Colin Moorcraft at Talk, Talk, Talk: Apollo 8′s greatest legacy - a single photograph of home. Sent to examine the Moon, humans instead discovered Earth. | Photo by Sonja Dragović

They contributed towards understanding and defining the interdependence between ecosystems, Earth’s resources and humans. In the beginning of 1970s, they have warned the humanity against the extensive use of fossil fuels and mineral resources – these warnings were outlined in Moorcraft’s Designing for Survival in 1972. As we all know, we didn’t listen, and our environment – inseparable, of course, from our communities – suffers the consequences. What we must do to mitigate these effects and improve our situation, Moorcraft advises, is bring the countryside into the city and design for agriculture to become an integral part of urban experience: “Architecture-and-agriculture is of central importance for improving the prospects of future generations of Spaceship passengers”, he concludes.

Buckminster Fuller: Making the world’s available resources serve one hundred percent of an exploding population can only be accomplished by a boldly accelerated design revolution.  | Quote and photo via pbs.org

The final talk of the evening was given by Joëlle Zask, French philosopher, author of La Démocratie aux champs (2016). She introduced the origins of democracy as “peasant affair”, starting in the fields rather than in cities. When the separation of food production from intellectual labor occurred, taking care of the body (the countryside) was separated from taking care of the soul (the city); the body was deemed less important. This separation persists, and Zask argues that repairing the link between architecture and agriculture is important because it would mean rediscovering and repairing this connection, entering the discussion with the soil, cultivating relationship with the nature, and developing oneself. Finally, it would lead to a more democratic society.

Talks after the talks: discussion with the audience at Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation. | Photo via Lisbon Architecture Triennale

Presentations by these four speakers, building upon topics outlined in the Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side exhibition, inspired an evening of lively discussion that spilled over into the next two days of the Talk, Talk, Talk conference. Now, this practical and hopeful stance towards the worrisome state of our environment should spill over into a bolder future action countering climate change. Our Spaceship needs repairs – and repairing the relationship between agriculture and architecture could be a great new start.

---

You still have a chance to see the Agriculture and Architecture: Taking the Country’s Side exhibition! This Saturday (Jan 25) at 5pm a guided tour will be organized, led by the professor and geographer Álvaro Domingues. More details available here.

#lisbon architecture triennale #archtecture #agriculture

[dicecast]

Intro to Vampires

Throughout the world, there are many different forms of blood sucking creatures who prowl in the night, so many that many suspect there might be some  larger link between them all.  If such a thing is true, the default though is vampire, creatures who are so legendary that other creatures are regularly mistaken for them.  These undead creatures are a scourge on the world, and even a single one can destroy an entire community through their transmutable bite. 

Strengths of all Vampires

Increased Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution.

 Vampires are extremely strong and fast. Claws: Vampires gain vicious looking claws which they can use to murder you. 

Undead; Vampires have all the immunities that vampires have, they can’t be affected by mind effecting spells, they are immune to poison and disease, resistant to cold, supernaturally tough. 

Can See Perfectly in the Dark: Vampires, regardless of what they were in life, are incredibly skilled Regeneration:

Vampires heal extremely quickly from most wounds, which makes defeating them extremely difficult. They can regrow limbs in a matter of mins. 

Damage Reduction: Normal Weapons don’t do much damage to Vampires, their flesh is supernaturally strong.   Powers (not all vampires have access to all these powers

Blood Drain: Vampires can heal themselves via drinking blood, and the more powerful ones can use blood to resemble enhance their own powers. They must drink blood from a living target and the process, while not painful for the victim, will leave them extremely exhausted at the end of it.

 Dominate: Vampires can mind control somebody by making eye contact with them, though the effect is temporary. How powerful the control is varies on the vampire in question. 

Slave: The most powerful vampires can have a specialized slave, called a Vorlog, a mortal who is utterly devoted to serving them. Vorlogs gain some special powers of their own.

Shapeshifting: Vampires can turn into a bat, a wolf, or a rat, more powerful ones can turn into Dire versions of each, or even swarms. Children of the Night: More powerful vampires can summon swarms of bats, rats, or wolves to serve them. 

Spider Climb: Vampires can climb on walls like spider man

Silence: More powerful vampires can suppress any noise that they make. 

Advanced Shapeshifting: The most powerful vampire vampires can turn into a shadow form or into a nightmare which can enter your sleep. 

Senses: Most powerful vampires have a freakishly good sense of smell, hearing, and smell. Weather Control: The most powerful vampires can control Mist Forms: Some vampires can turn into mist

Coffin: Some vampires when killed, don’t truly die, but instead take on a mist form when they die and return to their coffin. The coffin must have soil from the land of their birth scattered inside it, and if it is destroyed then the vampire will simply die. If They return to the coffin, they will be able to restore themselves in 3-9 nights of rest. To kill them permanently, you must go to the coffin, stake them, and burn them at least. 

Energy Drain: The touch of some vampires can drain peoples abilities (Stats) per hit, requiring a restoration spell to get them back. Every time they drain from you, the vampire gets more powerful

Life Drain: The most powerful vampire can drain life itself (Levels) from a target with a touch, becoming much more powerful in the process. Anybody killed from this power rises as a vampire Thrall. 

 Dust Form: Vampires can turn into Dust and harm everybody around them for a short period. Necromancy: More powerful vampires can create armies of zombies and ghouls as lesser undead bound to serve them

.Spells: The most powerful vampires can cast necromancer spells 

Weaknesses (More powerful vampires might not have all of these weaknesses)

Sunlight: Sunlight is universally damaging to all vampires, beams of light will burn their flesh and direct exposure will kill them in a matter of seconds. All but the most powerful vampires can last no more than a few mins in direct sunlight before being destroyed

.Fire: Vampires are extremely weak again fire, and their skin burns much easier than human flesh, due to their decayed form. Damage taken via fire cannot be regenerated.

 Silver: Silver is a holy metal and burns vampires in particular. A weapon with some silver alloy will hurt then just like a normal weapon, but a weapon made of silver is devastating to them (Deals double damage). The more powerful ones can’t be killed by this method but disabled.  Damage from silver weapons cannot be regenerated. 

Undead: They also have all the weaknesses of undead, positive energy, or Holy/Radiant/or Sacred damge. Future undead hunters be warned, they are resistant to Clerics ability to Turn undead. They also heal from negative energy. Holy, Positive, Radiant, or Sacred Damage cannot be regenerated.

 Stakes: A stake through the heart will kill lesser vampires and paralyze the more powerful. However getting a stake through the heart is difficult, and usually requires them to sit stii so you can hammer it (aka not like in buffy) 

Heart: A non stake weapon hrough the heart will paralyze any vampire, though only until it is removed.

 Deprecation: The weakest vampires can be killed if their head is cut off. 

Garlic Repels them but doesn’t harm them 

Mirrors: They lack a reflection and it’s a sure sign of their true intention. Invitation: They cannot enter a house without invitation from its owner. Doesn’t apply to public buildings

Water: Water burns lesser vampires like acid, more powerful cannot cross rushing water. Even vamprires who can shrug off having water splashed on them will die if totally submerged. 

Rest: Vampires must rest one day for every three full days they are active, for at least 12 hours. More powerful vampires might make this one day for every week, but Vampires do still need rest Blood addiction: If vampires cannot access blood, they slowly start to break down until they transform a feral monstrous vampiric creature. 

Holy Items: Holy Water, Holy Oil, holy wafers and holy symbols all burn their flesh

.Crosses and Crossraods: Crosses can drive a vampire back and vampires can be paralyzed at a crossroad. 

Sacred Music: It is said that there are some songs composed in the Heavens that when performed cause vampires to slowly burn from the inside. It is known that any chime made with a silver bell will hurt vampires, though not kill them. 

Roses: White Roses can burn a vampires flesh. 

Herbs: Healing herbs harm vampires. Vampires cannot easily pass a line of mustard seed, hawthorn can force them to reveal themselves, Holly bushes prevent a vampire form rising, and Foxglove can cure a victim of dominated. 

Moonlight: While not as harmful as sunlight, the light of the full moon can disable some vampire powers. Iron Spikes: If driven into their body, it causes them to slowly become paralyzed unless removed. 

Society and Reproduction

Vampires are undead, powered by Negative Energy and the spark of the Neverborn, and thus don’t have a true society as such. Instead they are pale imitations of the person they once were, and like most undead are extremely limited in terms of their psychology. As a rule, they don’t really grow as people and are usually trapped in the same mental framework as when they died, or they degenerate further into some sub human characteristics. Most vampires can put on a façade of humanity, but it is just that, a façade, and underneath that appealing looking mask is a soulless monster that exists only to feed. Unlike other vampire like creatures (Kindred, Cainites, Opir etc), “true” vampires are rarely subtle about their nature, as they are walking corpses kept moving by negative energy, with red eyes, corpse pale skin, and dark energy emerging from their pours. Vampires almost always dwell in hierarchy, each vampire usually has a group of lesser vampires serving it. Vampires are bound to serve their ‘sire’, in a general form of slavery. How vampire relate to humanity and servitude depends on the type, which will be summed up here. Vampires are created in one of four way, life drain, feeding, curse or  necromancy.  Sadly, vampires aren’t just limited to their bite in creating minions, those killed by their life drain power in combat will rise again as vampire spawn, semi-feral vampire slaves who exist only to serve their masters. Spawn aren’t mindless, but they effectively exist as extension of their masters, lacking even the self awareness to realize how horrible their own existence is. Should their sire die, spawn will go into a seizure, and they will either be destroyed or ascended to a full vampire Thrall. 

Vampire Thralls:

These are the least human of the vampires, created not through feeding but instead through direct exposure to negative energy. IF the “Create Greater Undead” spell is cast on a corpse, the soul is dragged back from the afterlife and trapped inside the body against their will. However to their horror, the negative energy that animates them takes on a life of their own and controls the body, leaving the soul trapped forever as the negative energy spirit pilfers through their memories and force them to witness their body being used for ill purposes. Any good person wishes to destroy thralls, as the spirit is trapped in what is their own form of hell forever without hope of release. Thralls are effectively a new personality, module on the most negative feelings of the host, and while they are intelligent, they are hardly subtle, appearing utterly inhuman. They lack any of the sophistication or charm of their greater brethren, instead they are openly dedication to the elimination of life.  Thralls actually don’t need to feed very frequently and can go into periods of hibernation that can last decades if they choose too. 

Standard Vampire (Sometimes called Master Vampire or Greater Vampire):

When one imagines a vampire, this is the standard. These vampires are created by having their blood drained by another, and are bound to their power.  When they are being drained, they have a choice, they can resist the process, or accept the vampirism. Those who resist become these, the original soul has been twisted against its own will to become some mirrored horrific version of itself. They can look superficially human but they can only maintain this disguise for a short period of time. They tend to come off an extremely unstable when they aren’t held in power by their masters, usually hunting down and torturing their loved ones to death in the most horrific way they can. However if one of them hasn’t drunk blood yet, a greater Restoration spell can cure them of their affliction. 

Elder Vampire

(an elder vampire and 2 vampire spawn)

These creatures embraced their curse and thus are the only vampires who still possess their own soul. Once they are transformed, they have some time to renege on the choice either through a greater restoration spell or suicide, but once they consume the blood of an innocence (Usually a child) they are toughly damned and can never be cured. Their existence is one of constant pain, only finding temporary reprieve when they drink the blood of the living, but this physical pain is nothing to the self-loathing that dominates their existence. This self-hatred is usually spat out upon the world and they are usually bitter, cruel, and egomaniacal, hoping to make mortals suffer as they suffer inside, for they hate mortals. Looking at the living, they can only see what they lost, and what they desire. In theory, Elder Vampires are Free Willed, though few take up this choice, instead choosing to embrace their curse by making sick “families” of other vampire slaves and ruining all that mortals value. These creatures have a reputation for being needlessly ego maniacal, and making mistakes that allow others to destroy them (monologue, letting enemies go) for perhaps, deep inside, they hope to be destroyed and hate what they have become.

Ancient Vampire

Most vampires are created by others, in a parasitic cycle of undeath and sorrow. Some however, embrace Vampirisms willingly. Though necromantic magics or dark pacts with entities, whatever the cause, these creatures knew sought out vampirisms and embraced it. It is they who first brought the curse and it is they who stand at the center of the worse vampire nests. Their goals vary but it almost always involves the mass enslavement of the living. Legends speak of an ancient ‘Empire of Night” where the Ancients ruled over mortals who existed only to provide blood for their masters. These creatures are toughly damned and seek to destroy goodness itself, raising themselves in opposition to any form of justice of righteousness. 

Other Species:There are other Forms of vampires who exist in the world, not tied to the hierarchy

Vampire Mist

If a vampire is staked for centuries without blood, their body rots away but their “essence” becomes a sentient hostile mindless mist which seeks out others in hopes of destroying them. Vampire LordAny time of vampire (Except spawn) who lives long enough will come to possess the powers of a vampire lord, as the negative energy within them grows more powerful. Not really a form of vampire so much as a greater version of what already exists.

Nosferatu

Nobody knows what creates these horrific monsters, but they the epicenters of diseases and plague. Hideous and utterly alone, these creatures dwell in dark places, resenting the world until they and their rat servants emerge to spread epidemics. They lust after the most virtuous of mortal women, but fear them, and it is said that the blood of a pure hearted women can destroy them (does not refer to virginity). 

Dracula

Legends speak of an ever older species of vampire, created before the Ancients themselves. These creatures are created by a Curse, one uttered in the time of greatest sin. The most powerful form of Vampire it is said (except maybe Nosferatu) these creatures are simply more hideous version of what they were in life, cursed to embody their own sins forever.

Final Notes

For any want to be vampire hunters, beware.  The world is vast and its mosntesr many, and there are many creatures who resemble vampires that are something else entirely.  Opirs for example might resemble vampires but they aren’t undead, instead they are exemplars who have taken over the hosts body, and are much weaker.  Kindred are cursed creatures who have an alien psychology and body from, while Vamypires are simply mortals afflicted with a disease.  Nothing is simple and the world resists reduction, always be wary about what it is your are truly fighting.  

#D&D stories #Vampires #Elder Vampire #Ancient Vampire #Vampire Thrall #Vampire Spawn

[secretsofthemasquerade]

What the fuck is happening with V5, neonazis, and shits.

So, first, terminology. Everything I am going to be talking about here concerns the company White Wolf Publishing, which is the Swedish company created by Paradox Interactive for when they bought back the IP from CCP. 

This DOES NOT include Onyx Path (with whom I have grievances, but they are mostly a question of taste and some of their business practices I am somewhat disapprove of, but this has nothing to do with them), and their classical authors, whom have nothing to do in the thing. So don’t go about telling Richard Thomas he’s a Nazi asshole okay? They’re clean in this matter and their statement is genuine and honest, and their statement matches their actions and publications. This also does not involve By Night Studios. 

Basically, White Wolf Publishing (new version, the one in Sweden, owned by Paradox) has released a preview for V5 (corebook, which is due in three weeks), and they presented neo-nazis in a way that is controversial to say the least, in the clanspread Brujah for V5, which is in their V5 preview.

Some see it as "wwp trying to make neo nazis play their game", some are saying "lol sjw are being sensitive and ruining everything", some are saying "it's ok to explore dark themes but this is poorly worded and looks like they're glorifying it", and some are all censorship and stuff. 

The spectrum of answers are very wide, with assholes on both sides, and death threats being sent to everyone by everyone. Including OPP people who are completely out of the loop on this one (altho some may argue that since they’re licensing the IP from WWP that makes them a level of complicit/quiet acceptance; that argument can be heard, but I am pragmatic and I understand they don’t want their company and their livelihood to sink into oblivion because Ethics are superior to Food)

Here’s the catch. People aren’t pissed just about the Brujah issue, that places neo-nazis at the same level as any other character concept and definition of the Brujah, without an ounce of self awareness, and using terminologies that clearly appeal to gamer gaters (the use of terms such as “fourth wave feminists” and others...). They’re pissed and worried because this isn’t the first WWP offense, they have multiple times allowed themselves to poke towards such people, more or less willingly. 

There's been plenty of other signs by the WWP crew that they may be integrating alt-right and neo nazi elements in their games, not because they are saying they're a thing, but also somewhat inserting (willingly or not) some propaganda elements, not as a way to criticize them, but normalizing them or even misrepresenting them as "rebels with a cause" (aka Brujah, which makes little sense nowadays, current day neo nazis and alt rights are in positions of power and are very much accepted if not encouraged by our political systems, much to my screaming French ass). 

They somewhat normalize and even glorify them. Despite being a game about monsters (lol u know what vamps are?? have said many people on those threads), it isn’t a game about BEING a monster. It is a game about Dealing with It and their Humanity. 

WWP says it's to "acknowledge the state of the world today" but other elements such as dog whistle elements for neonazis, as well as the use of hate groups types of phrasings (euphemisms, like, clearly derogating terms like "fourth wave feminism" mocking tone like) are pushing non-straight non-white, non-male players out of their base. And oddly, almost everyone defending their edge-approach are.. yes, regular white dudes.

Add in their hiring of Zak S for their video game from February 2017 and the overall lack of research, + their apology / non apology / defense about all of these issues altogether up to now about the whole ordeal when people bring out the issues, and you've got a massive shitstorm of suspicion about whether they are actually openly welcoming neo-nazis and alt-righters into the games, especially when public comments made by WWP staff implies "they are very fine people” and “both extremes are horrible”, putting into equal footing antifascists and neonazis. That in and out of itself is suspicious, but arguable to some degree. Plenty of comments have been made both by the horrid fanbase, but also by WWP staff on the matter, as such they cannot really deny their hands being dirty (looking at you, MR-H and Ericsson, receipts are provided all over reddit and the FB threads from WWP but also from the VtM groups, including this one).

Just because they state they condemn racism, sexism and xenophobia, doesn’t mean that their writings and actions match those statements. They still sign “Blood and Souls,” their letters and posts, which is ODDLY similar to “Blood and Soil”, a known Neo-Nazi chant. The integration of 1 4 8 8 as a dice roll result may be completely meaningless and a sad occurrence, but there are SO MANY other occurrences that giving them the benefit of the doubt is hard. Especially when you add the fact that the lead dev has written books about nazis (so has done research, and when you research, 1488 comes up easily). 

I’m always willing to blame ignorance and stupidity over Malice, and I am doing it for V5 write-ups, but their apologies and defense instead of listening to our concerns takes away their credibility. Their reaction should have been to listen and fix it.

In Game, there is also a BIG BIG PROBLEM that the authors didn’t even research. The Alt Right and neonazis are NOT in a marginal position of protesters anymore. They are in power. They are very much allowed, encouraged, protected by the system, at least in most Western Societies. They are no Brujah hunting ground, they are great Ventrue targets! 

There’s a difference between allowing the themes be used and explored very darkly and grimly and glorifying them as a good thing (the little red book or Leni Riefenstahl’s movies), and doing the same but with careful research, expert consulting and making sure your intent is clear as a content creator (like the Handmaiden’s tale or 1984). You can’t objectively say that Wolfenstein is a game that approves of nazis despite being all about nazis, nor Far Cry 5 about wtf is going on in Far Cry 5, or that Just Cause approves of American Intervention in island nations or Latin American countries, or that Tropico approves of banana island dictatorships. Cartel Ciudad Juarez or many modern warfare games, on the other hand, do not manage this and are clearly not aware of what their game is saying (not unlike a RPG like Fatal... :p).

Then the article archived and linked above was made and shared, and that’s where all shit hit the fan. I do not believe the author is fully right about everything in the contents, especially when it comes to Zak S (who is an asshole by all means, but he is neither a gamer gater nor an alt righter), but there are solid elements that put together some of the various “uh” moments. The article has since been removed due to the harassment, death threats and worse. 

Oddly, Reddit is doing okay (x, x) but Twitter has also given us frowny things about upcoming W5...

Do I think they are openly and willingly trying to pull one past us? No. Do I think the WoD has brought in lots of neonazis as players and has been a problem since the 1990s? Yes, for Vampire and Werewolf for sure. (Werewolf in particular is plagued with them despite the Revised attempts at fixing certain things...). Do I believe the 20th anniversary edition were made to glorify those days? No. Not at all. Do I think Ericsson and co are neonazis? No. They’re not. Do I think WWP is trying to be edgy to cater to anti-sjw and unapologetic show offs? Yes. Do I think WWP wants to openly cater to neonazis? No, but they’re not doing anything to make a stance against them buying and using their games. If their idea of Mature Themes is punching down and glorifying monsters, they are wrong and we should let them know. If a mature theme is exploring the dark sides of the world in a thoughtful manner, having Horror as a key component of VTM, then yes, that is what we want, but it has to be presented properly and fine-tuned. Right now, it’s “oh, wouldn’t it be cool/grim if...?”. They need to consult experts. They need to hire sociologists. Psychologists. Game Theorists. They need to SEE what Chaosium has done with Call of Cthulhu. They need to 

I’m just also going to say that the two FB WWP threads are insane (here and here), full of fanboys and fangirls defending WWP and telling them they shouldn’t apologize, they even made a petition saying they did nothing wrong. I do not want to give up, and I do not want to let my voice be silenced by these assholes for a game I love and care about even if I am such a critic of it.

Let me be very clear. The problem is -not- the inclusion of asshole character concepts in the write up, it is the WoD after all... The problem is that they are presenting them under a good, acceptable, apologetic light even. The problem isn’t exactly the content of the game, the problem is how little research and how little awareness they’ve had about their publication, and the responses that they have given when we have raised questions and concerns about these issues. The problem is Accidental Indoctrination. The problem is Propaganda Games. What are your mechanics saying? What are your actions saying? What is your game saying?

https://youtu.be/4jKsj345Jjw

https://youtu.be/UP4_bMhZ4gA

(Yes they’re video games but it’s he same thing)

And in opposition, extra credits did also an episode about the Shoah book for Wraith. https://youtu.be/EDEgXUqHL9Q

So, do we want great quality mature content, serious gaming material, or shock for shock value? Do we want This War of Mine, Papers Please, Dead of Winter, CupidVN, Spec Ops the Line, Bury Me My Love? Or do we want Hatred, DARK, WoD Preludes, Ciudad Juarez or even Dante’s inferno?

Games Matter.

Education Matters

We matter.

Tyvm

If you have any questions, they’re going to do an AMA on Twitch on July 13, here’s the info.

Let’s try and be numerous to voice our concerns. EDIT: Blood and Souls actually references Elric, it was my bad and I apologize for it, but you’ll understand that sometimes, when it sounds and moves like a horse, it’s hard to see it’s a zebra. Especially considering all past elements from the different eyebrow raising worth of edge for edge’s sake.

I still do not believe they’re deliberately calling neo-nazis but considering their AMA’s comments of people who just don’t want to be respectful and do basic research when treating mature content in an adult way, and be like “hell no, DARK STUFF, don’t steal my dark stuff!”, there’s honestly all the proof we need that that’s the kind of crowd they’ve accepted was using their games as entertainment. Jason’s answers were clear, and did not bite the whole “but what about antifaaaa”. I’m cautiously optimistic, and I’ve chosen, like many others, to keep publishing in the Vault to show them we can do better, and that it’s in the community’s best interest they listen.

They also confirmed Mark Rein Hagen was just a “consultant” and isn’t part of the team in anyway ;)

#vampire the masquerade #world of darkness #wod #v5 #drama #white wolf publishing #vtm #long post

[wolfieonatypewriter]

Bayonetta Week 4 “Freedom”

Summary: The life of a Witch only truly started with a pact and Jeanne had just seen history happen. Cereza, her Cereza, had crawled out of Inferno with a pact so coveted that the assembled Umbra were stunned to their core. 

And now, at long last, they could be free. 

Word count: 3466 A/N: And my biggest prompt for the week! A huge shoutout to @xall4one for always being so tireless in the Bayonetta fandom and to my so very lovely @maeday-gae for making sure this happened. This is technically a prequel to my AU prompt from the Bayojeanne week but can be read as a standalone 

And there it was.

Cereza emerged victorious from the pocket of Inferno she had clawed her way into in a storm of dark energy and the raw, unstoppable power of Madama Butterfly the Mistress of Atrocity.

Who else to forge a successful pact with one of the most powerful and unpredictable denizens of Hell if not her very own Cereza.

It was the most breathtaking moment of Jeanne's young life and it was all she could do to keep from jumping the veranda, away from her mother's stern gaze and into the arms of her lover.

There was no more taking it back, there was no more denying, no more casting doubt, no more censure or hindering. Cereza, her Cereza, the best friend she had, the only other Umbra she could trust, was now unmistakably, intrinsically Umbra and she had held fast to even the harshest of challenges.

She had a pact, a pact many a witch would have died to have ( many had, in fact) and it meant their society had witnessed such a thing, leaving them no choice but to offer respect.

Served them right.

Cereza was breathing hard, bleeding from a thousand holes, her glasses had since fallen to the wayside but still hadn't summoned the will to pick them back up.

The Elder and the gathered Umbra said nothing for the longest time, looking on with varying looks of apprehension and surprise. Finally, her mother put them all out of their misery. "Dismissed" was her only word and she turned back and disappeared through the dark building of their proving grounds.

She was loathe to leave her beloved when she was wounded and exhausted but despite everything, these were hallowed grounds and no harm would come to pass to her from her fellow Sisters. Jeanne couldn't tip her hand too soon or all of their hard work would be for nothing.

With feet as heavy as lead, she followed after her mother but as she looked back one more time, Cereza was looking at her and Jeanne smiled back so proud and so big her soul swirled with dark energy.

Her mother would retire to ponder on the turn of events she had created when she let her own misgivings lead her to thinking Cereza would perish attempting a contract. Not only had she returned but she came back triumphant like Inferno had accepted her as it's ruler, the Elder had plenty to think about and Jeanne would certainly use that to her advantage and squirrel Cereza back to her room to drench her in healing concoctions.

Cereza dragged herself upright as everyone streamed out of the arena, promptly falling back on her knees and barely keeping herself from collapsing back on the dirt and blood.

The first rays of sunshine hit her back and she sighed, rubbing her dirty face with an equally soiled glove. Madama Butterfly slithered through their link, a sort of phantom in the back of her mind and she wondered if she would ever feel truly alone ever again.

Jeanne and her mother had done their best to prepare her for her proving and yet the task had been both very similar yet nothing at all like what they had mentioned. Inferno wasn’t for the ill prepared and she had almost been a victim of it. The Mistress of Atrocity was brutal and harsh, far more so than many of the other demons whose domains she had briefly touched before being drawn into the Madama’s domains and she was still reeling from her trial.

As if sensing her thoughts, a dissonant chuckled breezed by her soul and Cereza bolted to her feet in fear. Sheba, what had she gotten herself into?

Her legs more or less cooperated with her, the dawning day not doing her any favours in terms of healing faster. Where was a full moon when you needed one?

She managed to stagger to her dwellings and all their ruins in disrepair charms but at least there was a modestly soft surface for her to collapse on and no one to harass her.

Not anymore.

Slumping on her bed, she felt the welling of a smug satisfaction at the way the other witches had looked at her on her way to her room - fear, reluctant respect and a newfound appreciation for her ability to inflict copious amounts of hurt.

A soft knock sounded at her door and she did a quick scan. Jeanne!

Cereza sprang out of bed, leg failing her landing and making her stumble into the piece of junk she called a desk with a pang. Uprighting herself with a wince, she padded to her door and dispelled her wards in one smooth gesture.

Jeanne was there, looking so lovely and Cereza did her best to not kiss her in plain sight. It seemed she didn't care either because the door was slammed open and Jeanne captured her lips in a fierce kiss that left her somewhat dazed and clutching her rickety bedroom door.

“I'm so proud of you, so so proud.” She started, gingerly touching the bleeding claw marks and bites on her Formal with worried gestures. “Come back to my room….I have a bathtub full of salve.”

“Enticing, I won't lie.” She felt Jeanne's body heat radiating in her freezing room and into her battered bones, a salve of it's own as she leaned against her body in a loose hug.

Her injuries caught up with her much faster than she would have liked but Jeanne's arms circled her closer and supported her weight in full. “I can carry you, the halls are clear and mother is...she's assessing and won't come anywhere near for the rest of the week I'm sure.”

Plus, no one dared to enter the heir’s room uninvited. With a contract, she was full Umbra and to trespass into another's vital space was a sin of the highest calibre. Sometimes she wondered if she couldn't convince Cereza to just...move in permanently.

Cereza hummed and blinked against her coat, making a big effort to keep her eyes open. With a feather light touch, she was lifted off her feet into a comfortable carry for her height and she surrendered to the plush comfort of Jeanne's front.

The trek between their rooms had been perfected by a decade of sneaking around and the vast, expansive wealth of abandoned tunnels, secret rooms and panic exits that existed around Luna. Cereza was fast asleep, occasionally mumbling something when Jeanne jostled her on some steps that she promptly soothed with a kiss to her fluffy, black hair.

A final door separated them from the large antechamber that gave way into the door to her bedroom. The floor was all hers and it had more secret entryways and exits than what she knew what to do with.

Paranoia ran deep it seemed, in their ruling class but she couldn't help but wonder - all that exited, also entered but so far she hadn't had any assassination attempts coming in through the old tunnels.

Fragrant herbs and comforting heat from the fireplace greeted them as Jeanne kicked open the door and deposited Cereza on her bed, despite her protests of not wanting to soil the luxurious duvet.

“Don't worry about my bed, just rest up for a while.”

Cereza cast a bleary eye her way and she still got up to take off her gross hood and shoes before slumping back with a happy sigh. “You have that look about you that tells me you're going to head off somewhere.”

Jeanne nodded with a reluctant motion. “ Just for a bit, I need to go do something... I'll join you for the bath when I return?”

She lifted her head and tried to keep her apprehension off her features. Jeanne wasn't exactly an elder Umbra, who knew who still thought they could just barge in there and if they found her sleeping like she belonged in the princess’ room, she would get shackled and thrown in with her mother.

It had happened before and she wasn't keen to repeat the experience. The thought of having annulment shackles slapped on again made her nauseous.

“I’ll put in the usual charms outside, anyone coming over to the floor will make about as much noise as an Umbra construct.” She approached the foot of the bed and leaned into Cereza with a sweet kiss. “Besides which, I'll lock it. Nobody will think it odd and I'll be back in under an hour.”

Cereza looked away briefly before returning the kiss, holding her close and letting her go just as promptly. “If you must.” She sassed and Jeanne smiled, a soft and caring thing that made Cereza's heart somersault in her ribcage. “Go then princess, I need my beauty sleep.” She finished, wincing at her hurt midsection.” Quite literally.”

“ Be safe, I'll be right back.”

Her heels clicked on the ancient stone floor with a methodical and driven cadence, the early hour discouraging any other witches from pottering about in her path.

She arrived at the dungeon and barely nodded at the gatekeeper. Nobody would dare ask her what her business was and she liked it like that.

The cages around her were of no interest to her despite the permanently agitated occupants and she soon reach the cell she had come to see.

“ She did it, better than anyone I have ever seen. Everyone was stunned stupid.” Pride bled into her tone and she didn't bother to hide it.

The witch in front of her was still for a long time, the shackles weighing her down to the floor and in between the her cowl and hood, she was barely distinguishable from the drab grey of the walls.

Jeanne didn't come down here by herself too often, the reality of their system became too hard to stomach in these days but she had to see this through.

“It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, it was historical! She came back, victorious and bloodied like a...a! An avenging avatar and the whole of the Umbra couldn't deal with it”

With a slow, ponderous deliberation, Rosa lifted her head as best as her position allowed her and locked her dark grey eyes straight into Jeanne's silver. “Who, little one?” She voiced, soft, too soft like a night breeze at a haunted cemetery.

“Madama Butterfly.”

Her eyebrows shot up well past her hood and even beneath the cowl, Jeanne could spot her surprise. Had she not been the daughter of a Lumen Sage, the feast in her honor would be grand after such a contract.

As it stood, only the cold comfort of the princess’ bedroom awaited her.

“Is she well? Has she been harmed?” Jeanne was almost taken aback by the vehemence of those words, of the display in strength she had never seen from Rosa before.

“She's…” she hesitated, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her top for a second. “ She's exhausted but she's safe, in the best place she can be and has everything she needs to feel better.”

The fight bled from Rosa's frame as soon as it had flashed with a grating noise from her chains. “I'm sure she's missing an important component. Thank you for letting me know.”

A dismissal that was subtle yet final in it's execution, though Jeanne still had something else to say before she went off to fix the missing piece.

“I'm going to present her!” She blurted out and all of a sudden Rosa was on her feet, standing tall with the full, imposing power of the Left Eye of Darkness upon her. “At the Winter solstice.” Jeanne said with a finality she wasn't quite sure of as it seemed. “I seek your blessing.”

Rosa was still for a long while, seemingly fixated on her and Jeanne squirmed under the scrutiny. “Do you understand the implications?” she started, the edge of her tone barbed and harsh. “do you know what this means, what you'll put her through?”

Jeanne took a step back and her embarrassment burned hot. She wasn't a child anymore, she knew what she was doing. “Did you? When you tangled with the sage?” She shot back and in the fraction of a second after she opened her mouth, she wished for Inferno to swallow her whole.

“I'm sorr-”

“You've your mother's argumentative capacities, little one, no doubt about that.” Rosa settled back down again, the strain on the chain relaxing and the tension on her body easing away. “I did, thoroughly and I hope you have as well.”

Jeanne looked hopeful, her heart racing on her chest like one of her prized horses, the wild beat of a deer that had narrowly escaped a wolf.

“You have my blessings, may darkness enrapture your promise to my daughter and may it be taken to fruition.”

She felt like going inside, hugging Rosa, crying, something. Would she have gone ahead without her blessing? Well, yes she would but it was better if her ( future?) mother in law agreed with what she was doing.

“Thank you, thank you!” Jeanne gripped the bars and grinned, catching herself and straightening her back. She was the Heir after all and soon she would fight for her right to rule, she'd better behave like her station demanded.

“I know you'll be handing in your letter of intent a few years down the line, Jeanne. I figure it's better to not stop you.” Rosa said, a smile ghosting her features and she couldn’t figure out if that was a certainty or a threat.

She nodded and Rosa winked at her, causing a blush to cast over her cheeks once more. “Moon's blessing, Matriarch.” She bowed, as was proper. “I will do my best.”

“Shoo now, I know someone who needs you more than I need to peacock my parental rights at you”

With one last bow, Jeanne was off the cell block with a definitive spring to her step. Sheba's eternal glory, it had been a great day!

After she was healed up enough to stand unaided and they had celebrated to Inferno and back several times, Cereza had to return to her life.

Jeanne ranted and raved about how this would make her accepted, a proper Umbra and that nobody would ever dare harm her again.

That this would be freedom...but Jeanne had also taught her that sometimes laws changed but people did not, of the fulcral difference between de jure and de facto. Maybe she could no longer be harassed under their laws but that didn’t mean the other witches would obey it.

Jeanne squinted and her from her luxuriously rumpled bed and whined, extending an arm in her direction. “Must you go?” she mumbled, knowing full well what the answer was.

“I’m afraid so, at least go tell mummy I’m still alive and well.” Cereza replied, gathering her ratty clothes and going to wash her face and hands in the richly decorated basin on the far side of the apartment.

Jeanne blushed a bit and covered up her embarrassment with a cough, covering herself with the sheet. “Might be pleasant that she knows, yes. Can I meet up with you later? I have something I want to give you but I need to fetch it first.” She commented, her breezy tone betraying the seriousness of what she was going to attempt but she didn’t want Cereza to panic.

Cereza looked at her with a slight furrow of her brow, she sounded way too casual but something about the tension in her body made her keen Jeanne-knowing senses ping. What was she up to? “Yes but I need to procure some more supplies from the outside so I’ll be out most of the day.”

Jeanne nodded, plotting her day to accommodate that and still have time to fetch the bracelet she had commissioned from the demon smith himself.

With one final kiss, Cereza went to the door and waved her goodbyes. She was curious on what the day had in store for her but for now she needed to focus on how to best steal some food for herself.

It was Winter and the fields were bare of anything remotely edible, which meant she had to break into storage facilities and snag whatever she could. As she plotted, the wards near her room blared in alarm and she nearly jumped out of skin.

Fuck. It had started.

She tapped into her magic and she realized who it was. A looming blonde Witch, solid like an ancient oak and taller than even her mummy was stock still at her door and she knew she was Cornelia, head Tribunal and the Elder’s personal protection detail as well as Jeanne’s main carer during her formative years.

As with all other witches, Cereza avoided her like the plague and she knew that meeting up with such an important Umbra could only be bad news, especially when it was the highest advocate of law in Luna.

“I am not here to harm you, sister.” Fat fucking chance but Cereza knew she was trapped. Her only thing she could do was see what was requested of her and pray that the kick wouldn’t be too brutal.

She opened the door, her heart racing on her chest as the tall expanse of heavy Formal came into view. The power she exuded was insane and Cereza only wanted to flinch away and slink far from view before it could be turned on her.

“Congratulations are in order.” Cornelia said, hands behind her back and spine perfectly straight. For such a praise, it was delivered with an impeccable lack of emotion. “You may now own property and be protected under our laws.” If she objected to it at all, Cereza couldn’t tell. “You have been assigned new dwellings that reflects your status as an Umbra witch, please direct to the proper wing as outlined in the documents provided.”

With that, she presented her with a simple wooden box bearing the sigil of their Clan and Cereza nearly dropped it after what she had said. Property, protection, a new home?! What…

“Meet with the quartermaster for your work assignment. As of tomorrow, you are to present to the fisheries for management work.” She continued, droning on while Cereza just looked on with her mouth agape. “Your compensation is monetary in accordance with your experience bracket as well as in the form of basic sustenance. For every month of work, you are awarded an extra share of the labour you produce, in this case fishing products. Should you have any doubts, please consult the appropriate documents I have just handed to you or their source that can be found in the library.”

Cereza looked back down at the box and then at Cornelia’s taller form and she was floored at not being able to hint at any form of joke or entrapment.

“Due to your status, you must present in two months time for an aptitude evaluation to see if you'd thrive in more specialized environments. Usually this is done before a work assignment, however it's best you have access to income and food before we can allocate you in a more appropriate position. Meal hall is open from 1 pm to 5 am.”

Apparently that was all she was required to say to Cereza but the whole of the information dump still had not cleared and there was a moment of long silence.

“Do you have any questions?” She tried, mask of distant politeness cracking a bit with her confusion. “Everything you need to know is in that box.”

“Yes! No I mean…” Cereza mumbled, yanking on the frayed end of her cowl in embarrassment. She just wanted this scrutiny to be over with soon. “Everything is fine.” She said but she remembered who she was talking too and hastily added. “Mistress? I uh go where darkness treads.” Jeanne had told her about the proper way to address an Umbra above her station before but she just had scoffed at that.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would ever need to have a neutral discussion with a full fledged Umbra Witch.

Cornelia nodded, if she was offended by her clunky formality she also did the favor of not showing. “I'll take my leave, sister.”

And with that, she was off the ancient and dilapidated section and Cereza was left alone.

Left alone with the key to her freedom among her Clan.

A job, wealth, legal protection... food! Food she didn't have to steal and maybe even a long, hot bath without having to break into the bathhouse or depend Jeanne's admittedly very consistent good will.

She was Umbra and she was finally free.

#Bayonetta #Bayonettaweek #bayonetta week #bayonetta/jeanne #jeanne

[zuziasuchor]

[miss-musings]

The Similarities between TBL’s Red and Mr. Rochester, a.k.a. A Classic Byronic Hero

Several in the Blacklist fandom, myself included, have compared our protagonist “Raymond (Red) Reddington” (James Spader’s character) to the likes of Edmond Dantes and Mr. Rochester.

The reasoning behind this, other than sharing some parallel plot points (such as being a sailor, being labeled a criminal by his government, going into exile, wanting revenge and/or relief, etc.) … Red shares a lot of the traits of a Byronic hero.

According to the Wikipedia entry for the Byronic hero, various iterations of the character-type are described as:

“a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection …a solitary figure, resigned to suffering … the “fallen angel” … [with a] violent temper and [capable of] seduction … [has] occasional outbreaks of remorse [that] reveal a tortured character, echoing a Byronic remorse … a remarkable blend of both villain and hero, and exploration of both sides of the Byronic character.”

Here are some other slides I found that give descriptions and examples of Byronic heroes. I take no credit for any of these slides:

Now, obviously, the Byronic hero is a bit fluid, meaning that not every single example of one fits every single characteristic in each description. But, I truly see Red as a Byronic hero. (I bolded all the traits in the description that I think fit him.) The Byronic hero is sometimes seen as the predecessor or primogenitor or at least the “cousin” of the modern-day anti-hero, which Red DEFINITELY falls into. He’s by all accounts a “bad guy” and yet we love him and we want him to win.

But in a recent post, I used the similarities between Red and a very early example of a Byronic hero, Mr. Rochester of “Jane Eyre,” as evidence for why I think Red is the romantic lead in our story, and why he and Liz getting together in some form or fashion (a.k.a. Lizzington) is the endgame.

Looking at it more closely, if we assume that Liz is Red’s love interest, as Jane is Rochester’s, more similarities and parallels become evident:

His love interest works for him in some regard

He is about twice her age

He sees her as his “second chance,” etc. (we’ll dive into that more in a second)

In comparison to the female protagonist and the other characters, he is considered to be very worldly and well-traveled

He travels, in part, to escape both his inner and outer demons

He was previously married and had several trysts and relationships with various women until meeting the protagonist

(Seemingly) flirts with his female acquaintances to make the protagonist jealous

Once meeting her, he becomes completely devoted to the protagonist, and has eyes for no other woman

One thing that has always struck me about Red on TBL is that, while we do get references to him being in relationships and having sex with women in the past, we REALLY don’t see Red engaging in relationships or trysts since meeting Liz in the pilot. Maybe he does it off-screen, and there is that shot of Luli in 1x05 where she walks through the room in one of Red’s shirts… but, other than that, NOTHING! Yes, he flirts. Yes, he makes sexy comments and allusions. Yes, he dances with Madeline seductively and closely in 1x14. But, for a man who admits that he views sex as a drug, and his FAVORITE AND GO-TO DRUG at that, he has been relatively chaste on-screen.

The show clearly has no problem showing couples hooking up so long as its “family-friendly”. They showed Ressler and Samar getting together. They’ve shown Liz and Tom having sexy times on several occasions. They insinuated sexual activity between Aram and his shitty girlfriend. …So, why have James Spader, who once played a character that said “Everything is sex,” be relatively celibate and not get in on the action???

If the show wanted to quell the whole “Lizzington” uproar, all the showrunners would have to do is have Red tell Liz he’s her dad or relative or father-figure or whatever, and then give him a nice, steady, likable love interest. Piece of cake.

Anyway, back to the Byronic hero.

While their backstories differ greatly, Red FEELS and SOUNDS a lot like Mr. Rochester, or other Byronic heroes in general. Like Dantes, he seems to have some kind of elaborate “long-game” of revenge that targets the people who did him wrong but who are also legitimately evil and are doing the world harm; while at the same time, he’s intent on protecting the lives of the innocent. Like Dantes, maybe Red has or soon will become too wrapped up in his mission of revenge and will need others to show him the light.

But, as for his similarities to Mr. Rochester, as I pointed out in the other post, Red has these long, grand monologues about what he has become, who he used to be, and who he wants (Liz to help him) to be again.

(EDIT: I previously had tried to embed videos before, but they didn’t come up on either mobile or desktop, so I’ve just added links to the YouTube videos instead.)

Examples include:

The Ugly Fish monologue in 2x09

The North Star monologue in 3x02

He also tends to wax philosophical about the guilt he feels, and how he is making or has tried to make amends, and how the life he leads has caused him to feel less-than-human, etc.

Examples include:

The “…just a nice gesture” monologue in 2x16

The “I’m a violent man” monologue in 3x12

And because of all this, he feels very much like a wandering, tortured soul… as we learn very vividly from the infamous “Parable of the Farmer” in 1x04.

All of these is, of course, very much like Mr. Rochester from “Jane Eyre.”

Here are some passages from “Jane Eyre” where Mr. Rochester is talking about the woman he loves. At the time, Jane is in love with him, but she believes he is in love with someone else (Blanche Ingram). In reality, though, Mr. Rochester has been in love with Jane since he first met her, and decided that jealousy would be the best way to 1) see whether Jane loved him, and 2) if she did, to make that love grow and become more apparent.

(BTW, just gonna put these two completely random pictures here:)

Here’s the first one, in which Rochester is talking to Jane after she saved him from a fire in his bedroom.

(BTW, the narration is written from Jane’s first-person perspective.)

[Rochester:] “But not without taking leave; not without a word or two of acknowledgment and good-will: not, in short, in that brief, dry fashion. Why, you have saved my life!—snatched me from a horrible and excruciating death! and you walk past me as if we were mutual strangers! At least shake hands.”

He held out his hand; I gave him mine: he took it first in one, them in both his own.

“You have saved my life: I have a pleasure in owing you so immense a debt. I cannot say more. Nothing else that has being would have been tolerable to me in the character of creditor for such an obligation: but you: it is different;—I feel your benefits no burden, Jane.”

He paused; gazed at me: words almost visible trembled on his lips,—but his voice was checked.

“Good-night again, sir. There is no debt, benefit, burden, obligation, in the case.”

“I knew,” he continued, “you would do me good in some way, at some time;—I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you: their expression and smile did not”—(again he stopped)—“did not” (he proceeded hastily) “strike delight to my very inmost heart so for nothing. People talk of natural sympathies; I have heard of good genii: there are grains of truth in the wildest fable. My cherished preserver, goodnight!”

And, now, in this second passage … this is after Rochester has been (sort of) “courting” Blanche in front of Jane, and Jane and he are sharing a quiet, peaceful moment together after a very strange and stressful night.

Here, Rochester starts talking VERY VAGUELY about the shitty things that have happened to him, how he’s tried to find solace in worldy things and ultimately, only now, has he found happiness and peace with the woman he loves. Jane ~assumes~ he’s talking about Blanche, when in reality he’s talking about Jane:

“Well then, Jane, call to aid your fancy:—suppose you were no longer a girl well reared and disciplined, but a wild boy indulged from childhood upwards; imagine yourself in a remote foreign land; conceive that you there commit a capital error, no matter of what nature or from what motives, but one whose consequences must follow you through life and taint all your existence. Mind, I don’t say a crime; I am not speaking of shedding of blood or any other guilty act, which might make the perpetrator amenable to the law: my word is error. The results of what you have done become in time to you utterly insupportable; you take measures to obtain relief: unusual measures, but neither unlawful nor culpable. Still you are miserable; for hope has quitted you on the very confines of life: your sun at noon darkens in an eclipse, which you feel will not leave it till the time of setting. Bitter and base associations have become the sole food of your memory: you wander here and there, seeking rest in exile: happiness in pleasure—I mean in heartless, sensual pleasure—such as dulls intellect and blights feeling. Heart-weary and soul-withered, you come home after years of voluntary banishment: you make a new acquaintance—how or where no matter: you find in this stranger much of the good and bright qualities which you have sought for twenty years, and never before encountered; and they are all fresh, healthy, without soil and without taint. Such society revives, regenerates: you feel better days come back—higher wishes, purer feelings; you desire to recommence your life, and to spend what remains to you of days in a way more worthy of an immortal being. To attain this end, are you justified in overleaping an obstacle of custom—a mere conventional impediment which neither your conscience sanctifies nor your judgment approves?…

“Is the wandering and sinful, but now rest-seeking and repentant, man justified in daring the world’s opinion, in order to attach to him for ever this gentle, gracious, genial stranger, thereby securing his own peace of mind and regeneration of life?”

“Sir,” I answered, “a wanderer’s repose or a sinner’s reformation should never depend on a fellow-creature. Men and women die; philosophers falter in wisdom, and Christians in goodness: if any one you know has suffered and erred, let him look higher than his equals for strength to amend and solace to heal.”

“But the instrument—the instrument!  God, who does the work, ordains the instrument. I have myself—I tell it you without parable—been a worldly, dissipated, restless man; and I believe I have found the instrument for my cure in—”

He paused: the birds went on carolling, the leaves lightly rustling.  I almost wondered they did not check their songs and whispers to catch the suspended revelation; but they would have had to wait many minutes—so long was the silence protracted.  At last I looked up at the tardy speaker: he was looking eagerly at me.

“Little friend,” said he, in quite a changed tone—while his face changed too, losing all its softness and gravity, and becoming harsh and sarcastic—“you have noticed my tender penchant for Miss Ingram: don’t you think if I married her she would regenerate me with a vengeance?”

Now…

(SPOILER WARNING FOR JANE EYRE)

What Rochester is ACTUALLY talking about, in reference to what he experienced as a young man, was – about 20 years before the events of the novel – he traveled from England to the West Indies and was convinced by his family and others into marrying a woman whom he later discovered was clinically insane. He tried to live with her initially, but later brought her back to England and paid a servant to watch her and not tell anyone about it, never told any of his friends or other servants he was married, and then runs off and roams about the world for 20-ish years having trysts and trying to find solace where he could. And then – after he meets Jane – he tries to marry her without informing her that he’s already married.

So, after Jane finds out during the ceremony – through the providence of someone outing Rochester for his treachery – the two have a discussion about where their relationship will go from here. Rochester wants to “marry” her or at least have her live with him, away from people; but, she’s not down for it. This is what he says as part of his long-ass explanation as to why he did what he did:

“Then you are mistaken, and you know nothing about me, and nothing about the sort of love of which I am capable. … After a youth and manhood passed half in unutterable misery and half in dreary solitude, I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel. I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you, and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.”

Just in these four phrases I bolded from Rochester’s monologue to Jane about what he did, I saw parallels to four very notable Red quotes: (in order) when he tells Fitch “you cannot possibly fathom how deep that well of my truly goes” in reference to his desire to protect the things and people he loves in 1x20; the “I have you” in 1x03; his description of Liz to Sam in 1x08; and the “love is having no control” moment in 2x08.

(End of Spoiler Warning)

This is all a very long way of saying that I have no idea whether the writers intended for Red to have parallels to the Byronic hero or to Mr. Rochester specifically.

But, he does.

Red is clearly keeping secrets from Liz the way Rochester kept them from Jane. We’re not yet sure what these secrets are (many, including myself, believe it’s that he stole the identity of Raymond Reddington, who is Liz’s biological father).

And, despite a very large age gap, these two have been set-up as the romantic couple of our show, as Rochester and Jane were. Right now (in S5a), Liz believes Red to be her dad; and, in Jane Eyre, Rochester remarks to Jane how he’s old enough to be her father. (He’s like 40 and she’s around 18-20.)

And, just as with Rochester, Red is hoping to find some kind of re-humanization with Liz... that she will restore him to what he once was. People don’t say things like that to friends or family members, so it becomes very strong evidence that Red and Liz are meant to be our end-game.

Another quick thing I’d like to point out is that, in the novel, Jane has very few friends, and as of S5a, the only friends Liz has ever had on the show… consistently … are people from work. (And I guess you could count Tom.) She’s an orphan, like Jane. She doesn’t really have anyone to call “family” or “home.” (Other than Tom, but he’s dead now.) In S1 through S2a, we saw how alone and isolated and tricked and manipulated she felt, just as Jane does throughout various points in the novel.

Now, obviously, there are PLENTY of differences. This is a crime-drama procedural after all. Liz is a full-grown woman with a child of her own. She’s not an 18-20 year old governess who has never gone beyond her schoolhouse and childhood home. She’s not completely naive; she’s not completely without family and friends. When compared to Jane, she’s seen and done plenty.

But the fact that Red and Liz have these strong individual parallels to Rochester and Jane, respectively, and the fact that there are so many parallels between them as couples – ie, he’s keeping secrets from her; he’s besotted with her and sees her as his redemption, etc. – makes me wonder whether this WAS intentional to some degree.

Even while many TBL fans have been watching and screaming at the screen, “JUST SAY HE’S HER DAD ALREADY!” and then breathed a long sigh of exasperation and annoyance when the question was finally answered in 4x22... I’ve been sitting over here with these weirdly intertwined images stuck in my head:

#mr. rochester #rochester #jane eyre #raymond reddington #elizabeth keen #masha rostova #red reddington #james spader #byronic hero #megan boone #the blacklist #nbc the blacklist #charlotte bronte