#cas x spirituality

[meirimerens]

(ran this reblog through a discussion with some people who have more experience in storytelling/gamedev than i do and some who are central asian indigenous [which i'm not] to get their point of view on the Kin so it's probably going to be long because I'm condensing multiple discussion pieces in one, it's gonna be one of them Long Posts)

while the Kin is obviously heavily inspired by the Buryat, including in its language which does contain a lot of Buryat words, but also a lot of not-Buryat words (Yargachin, pointedly incredibly important in the game, is Mongolian directly. as stated above, Yas & Merdrel are also Mongolian), I do not know if I agree that finding the other inspirations is "forgetting that and trying to match them to other cultures". The Kin is not "its own somewhat distinct culture", it is its own, imagined, invented, imaginary culture, which takes inspiration from (/plainly steals) from existing ones. It is an imaginary people with heavy foundational roots, in the same way the town is imaginary with heavy foundational roots, and the disease itself is imaginary with heavy foundational roots. It is obvious the game takes inspiration from the Buryats (and from others), but it also, in the name of storytelling, creates a religion which is almost an inverse of Buryat Tengrism (Tengrism, with Kyuk-Tengri, father-sky-god as head of the pantheon, being, from what i'm understanding, pantheistic [the Main God is in everything, and everything is a manifestation of him], polytheistic [while Tengri is the main one, there is a heap of other gods, goddesses and spirits under/around him, with great importance placed on those spirits [44/55 associated with different things]], and of course with a main head of a father-sky-god; whereas the Kin's religion, with Boddho, a mother-earth-goddess* [whose name seems to relate more to Mongolian], is pantheistic [mother Boddho is in everything and everything is a manifestation of her], monotheistic [she is the only one, the all-mother, all-creatoress] OR duotheistic [her + Bos Turokh are the only deities], and lacking in spirits entirely, which are so important to Tengrism), has an important spiritual caste of women (the Herb Brides) who have no resonance within Altaic/Mongolic/Turkic cultures because no culture has Naked, Dancing Young Pretty Women Whose Sole Job is Dancing For Harvest (some types of goddess-priestesses / witches / oracles have always existed, but the Herb Brides are a distinct, obvious invention, which deserves scruteny. you could argue that they correlates with shamans, but in the text it appears evident that is more the place of Burakh [father, then son], and the Herb Brides directly go against a widespread shamanic practice which is the wearing of many layers made of animal skins, bones, antlers, horns in order to disguise oneself, to wander between worlds, to trick the tricksters, etc), and also like. Worms. "crude", "unfinished". half-man half-dirt.

*the cult of an earth-mother/mother-earth exists in Buryat Tengrism with Umai, because earth-goddesses exist/have existed in most pantheons, especially before the advent of pastoralism; however, she is daughter of Tengri, whereas Boddho is all-mother. Mongolian Tengrism has her be named Etugen, and while she is said to have all control over the natural forces and all living forces be subordinate to her, Kyuk-Tengri is still "above" her, she is the "second highest" after him. the existence of a earth-goddess within two religions does not make them more similar than any others (the Greeks had an earth-goddess, Demeter, with theories that she was there before the advent of the hellenic pantheon as an all-mother... etc etc so on). there is also sources stating that at some point, Tengrist or proto-Tengrist peoples might have worshiped him/a sky-father exclusively or so majoritaly that the other deities were aside, but it could also come from biased or outside sources.

we are also unsure about your claim that the Kin represents the Buryats in "interesting and careful" ways. We do not know of your position wrt indigenity (and it's none of my business specifically, might be the business of those in the group who are indigenous but i'll let them decide if they want to contact you directly) and if you were doing research on the Buryats out of a reconnecting journey or intellectual curiosity/desire and personally feel that the Buryats are respectfully represented in P2 as one, but I have read many other Central Asian Indigenous people in this fandom write, since the release of P2 (and possibly before that about P1, as well as in the discussion we were Just Having about this ^) about how the Kin does not represent them faithfully, or even sometimes just kindly, and the treatment of it and its members being insulting in multiple ways (including the fact that their beliefs and language are a hodgepodge of languages and beliefs that feels to "steal" from multiple sources [=appropriative instead of appreciative] which itself is another discussion, do not represent any real-life religion while obviously being inspired by some, and on other levels just the fact that the Kin's clothes do not resemble the vibrant, intricate, and historically-significant clothing of the Buryats, or any of the peoples they are inspired by. That and the fact that they literally have non-human/in text sub-human members [the Worms]). Most of the discussions around the Kin that i've seen, from Central Asian Indigenous people, recognizes and celebrates the inspirations (plural) while still interrogating how callous, cruel, sexualizing and misogynistic the narrative and metanarrative treatment of the Kin is, a far cry from a "careful and interesting way" of representing the Buryats (or any of the other inspirations).

last thing: I am personally curious as to where/how you've found the "half Chinese" data piece, because I have not been able to find anything of the sort online (doesn't help that my grasp on Russian is nonexistent). I have seen it going around, without a source, and I also have seen (in the tags of this) the data of "1/16 Manchu or Han", which is a far cry from "half-" anything, and not related to Shenekhen Buryats. [deleted the rest to add:]

Dybowski, from his own mouth, is not half-chinese, and the tagger who mentioned it being 1/16 was right: on page 57 of [this interview], he mentions his grandfather's father (so great-grandfather) having married a Chinese woman (when he was 60 and her 20, but that's a whoooole other story), making him 1/16 chinese (possibly Han or Manchu as the tagger mentioned). I do not doubt this informs his view of the world and how he is treated, even if he mentions being "the only one in [his] family who really looks Russian", but it is a far-cry from "half-" anything. that does not change the general discussion i've read for years at this point around the Kin, which is that the inspirations are obvious and should be celebrated, but it is obviously imaginary/invented, and in the hazy lines of imagination lies a treatment of the Kin which is cruel, crude, sexist (more specifically misogynistic), often racist and feels more like appropriation for a morally gray ethnicity that pays lip-service to its inspiration but mistreats it nonetheless rather than full, hearty representation.

great discussion! 👍🫂 i'm genuinely glad we can exchange on this. but what is contained in your reblog is, from what i've seen and read, pretty far from the consensus on the Kin. we all can recognize (and we should appreciate and take good care in handling) the real-life inspirations while still seeing that, in the blurry lines of storytelling and "invention" for the sake of (technically) a ~fantasy~ ethnicity, lies like. a racist mistreatment with appropriative qualities. which i've seen people talk about for years at this point.

the pathologic Kin is largely fictionalized with a created language that takes from multiple sources to be its own, a cosmogony & spirituality that does not correlate to the faiths (mostly Tengrist & Buddhist) practiced by the peoples it takes inspirations from, has customs, mores and roles invented for the purposes of the game, and even just a style of dress that does not resemble any of these peoples', but it is fascinating looking into specifically to me the sigils and see where they come from... watch this:

P2 Layers glyphs take from the mongolian script:

while the in-game words for Blood, Bones and Nerves are mongolian directly, it is interesting to note that their glyphs do not have a phonetic affiliation to the words (ex. the "Yas" layer of Bones having for glyph the equivalent of the letter F, the "Medrel" layer of Nerves having a glyph the equivalent of the letter È,...)

the leatherworks on the Kayura models', with their uses of angles and extending lines, remind me of the Phags Pa Script (used for Tibetan, Mongolian, Chineses, Uyghur language, and others)

some of the sigils also look either in part or fully inspired by Phags Pa script letters...

some look closer to the mongolian or vagindra (buryat) script

looking at the Herb Brides & their concept art, we can see bodypainting that looks like vertical buryat or mongolian script (oh hi (crossed out: Mark) Phags Pa script):

shaped and reshaped...

[bullet-prooflove]

Saint Michael - Frank Castle x Reader

Part of @storiesofsvu Holiday Bingo! The square was Gift Exchange/Secret Santa!

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @withakindheartx @@purrrrfect @juliannatryon @beardedbarba @wooshwastaken @justreblogginfics @anime-weeb-4-life @pleasurebuttonwrites @annetje @adaydreamaway08 @est1887 @multiflixshelves @thanossexual @bonsaijoons @spookyboogyuniverse @ankhmutes @spaghettificationandpretzels @trublu2u @nu1freakshow @thebaileybugle

It’s a few days before Christmas that Frank realises the silver pendent around your throat is missing. In all the years he’s known you, he has never seen you without it. It’s an engraving of St Michael, the patron saint of police. He knows the history attached to it. Your father had given it to you upon your graduation from the academy. It had been his up until he’d retired, and you’d taken over the mantle.

You’re already in the shower when he gets in. It’s been a couple of weeks since he was last here, not much has changed except the Christmas tree in the corner and the modest decorations that adorn your mantlepiece. It’s pretty, he thinks. There’s a dulcet glow to the room, something soothing and sensual.

He can hear the running water as he sets his bag down alongside your front door before toeing off his boots. His clothes are already gone, tossed by the washing machine in the kitchen by the time he steps into the shower with you. You smile as he leans in close, his naked body brushing against yours under the heated stream. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, his lips ghosting over yours and you respond to him the same way you always do, a little desperate, a little needy because it's been too long since he last had you.

His palm trails down a little further, fingertips gracing over the slender chain only to find that it isn’t there. You feel him tense before he withdraws, his gaze lowering to the red welt against the hollow of your throat.

“What happened?” he asks, his dark eyebrows furrowing into a frown.

You sigh and he sees the sadness in your eyes because that piece of jewellery, it was the last tangible piece of your father.

“A perp.” You tell him, your palm lightly rubbing over the space where the pendant used to hang upon your chest. “He managed to get a hold on me, tore it off. I spent hours looking for it but…”

You shake your head.

“It’s long gone.”

It bothers him that the pendant’s missing. He doesn’t believe in a higher power, he hasn’t since before Maria and the kids were killed but you do. He knows that cops are a superstitious sort, that there is more to that medallion than just a piece of metal that hung around your neck. The protection it delivers, it’s spiritual, it connects to something deep inside. He thinks about that as he lays in bed beside you that night. It doesn’t feel right, you being out there without your faith to watch over you.

“I gotta go, angel.” He murmurs as he presses his lips to your forehead. You thread your fingers through his, mouth brushing over the back of his hand as you whisper.

“Stay safe.”

***

It’s Christmas Eve when he turns up again. You’re in the kitchen, washing the last of the dishes when he steps through the door, removing his boots and hanging his trench coat on the rack. You’re wearing a navy blue knit jumper that clings to your form and faded grey jeans, a pair of his socks are pulled up over the hems at the bottom. He will never admit that it does something to him to see you wearing his clothes, there’s a domesticity in it that resonates with him. You’re the closest thing to a wife that he’s had in years. The way he feels for you, it’s different from what he had with Maria. She was solid, dependable, the thing that kept him stable throughout all the shit he endured throughout his service.

You, you’re a force of nature. You’re the sunshine that graces his skin in the middle of winter, the light that shines in his otherwise dark existence. You’re the person that brought him back to life and he can never repay you for that.

He wraps his arms around your body, his chest tucking against your back as his lips brush over the curve of your shoulder. That welt he saw a few days ago, it’s already fading into a bruise he places a chaste kiss upon it before his breath ghosts in your ear.

“I’ve got something for you.”

“Oh, I know, I can feel it.” You tease and he smiles against your skin.

“Something else.” He tells you before withdrawing.

You turn to face him, and he reaches into the top pocket of his combats, withdrawing a slim silver chain. On the end of it hangs a pendent, your pendent.

“Let me help return it to the place it’s meant to be.” He tells you, indicating with his finger for you to turn around.

You do as you’re told, and he drapes it around your neck, fastening the chain so that it comes to rest in the space just above the swell of your breasts. Your thumb runs over the etching, and he can see how much it means to you to have the medallion back in your possession.

“I don’t know what to say.” You murmur as you turn and meet his gaze.

There’s so much emotion in your eyes, he finds it visceral. His palms clasp your features, his thumbs chasing way the tears that leak down your cheeks.

“I can’t have you out there without it,” He tells you softly. “I just can’t.”

You nod your head because you know exactly what he means. It’s your totem, the power that keeps you safe when all hell breaks loose, the thing that reminds you to be strong in your weakest moments. It’s your saving grace in the midst of the chaos that is your job, your life.

“Thank you.” You whisper as his forehead comes to rest upon yours. “Thank you so much.”

Love Frank Castle? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Connie Williams (seated) and a dancer at the Calypso on Macdougal Street in Greenwich Village, ca. 1945.

The Calypso was a Caribbean establishment run by Williams, a Trinidadian restaurateur, where musical performances, soul food, and intellectual banter mixed with a steady flow of liquor. It was a spiritual home of sorts for James Baldwin in his first years in the Village. He got a job there as a waiter, and when he wasn't working he'd be drinking with the artist Beauford Delaney or Marlon Brando, a lifelong friend and supporter. It was a space where races mixed freely, which was still unusual at the time, and on a given night you might have seen Paul Robeson or Henry Miller eating side by side with Burt Lancaster or, later, Malcolm X.

Text: NY Times Photo: Berenice Abbott via the NY Times

[dormireu]

Spiritualized® ‎– Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space (1997)

Gen X Soft Club aesthetics (1990s) ca. Early 1990s - Mid 2000s

[shallowseeker]

✍️✍️✍️✍️WRITERS' CHAIN✍️✍️✍️ Name something you like about your own writing, or post a snippet you've written lately that you liked! 🖊️🖊️🖊️Then pass this on anonymously to your writing friends!🖊️🖊️🖊️

“The spiritual council—the bene elohim—are mentioned in earlier texts, but they never fully individuate. So, like. Worst-case scenario, Cas was just a tool to advance the plot, a wavelength of Chuck’s celestial intent.” Sam looks up from his coffee, his expression wary, like he’s ready for Dean to crumple—like Dean’s an empty beer can awaiting a well-placed head butt.

And yeah. 

Just the thought of it, of Cas not being Cas, is the bang of a gun—a bullet with an exit wound the size of Texas. Through it all, Chuck is the clown in his mind, yanking out Dean’s guts, inflating them long and thick, twisting them into balloon animals. 

Then popping them, watching the blood burst. 

Dean’s not in the right headspace for this conversation. Maybe he never will be.

“That was a lot of words to say you don’t think Cas is real.”

x

[amadholes-lostre]

Religion: Califinidad(?)/Califinity

I created this fictional religion a few years ago in 2021, when I was obsessed with The Prom. Well, it is actually part of a crossover between BNHA and The Prom, then I added other series like Amphibia, The Owl House, and Attack on Titan (I know some people reading this are getting brain aneurysm lol). The idea was that, other than enriching the world, it will create a realistic scenario if people start developing powers. I would like to try add this in my dune fic, either as a minority religion or somewhat bi-worship like how Japan does with shintoism and Buddhism.

(Which willbe difficult since how the religion come to be).

The religion (depending on the denomination) focuses less on worshipping on said religion name (Califia) but more of what her and her... friends, disciples, group (?)'s beliefs are. It focuses on Califia's philosophy, spiritual belief, and ideology. The religion is imperative in quirk society (mainly in the Americas) because Califia and her group were first-generation quirk users. Califinity is frankly a quirk religion.

So the lore behind Calafia and her group is that Calafia :

1: was born in Central America (Guatemala likely), a Mestiza, and her family emigrated to California in mid-2040 (funny because the US was fucked at this point).

2: Form an academy/sanctuary for quirk children who were either abandoned by their parents or who came to learn how to control their power.

3: Is in a polygamous relationship with two women (lol, lmao even).

I based Califia on two characters: Xavier and Magento. She created the academy, Califia's Orphanage and Academy for the Gifted, to protect quirk children during a time when anti-quirk was horrific. However, unlike Professor X, she is very not a pacifist or the idea co-existing with non-quirks. She won't go antagonizing non-quirks society (or the government), but she is very "don't fuck with us and we won't fuck with you". Naturally, the government does so, and led a shadow war between them.

The academy, which is now a pro hero academy (federal-level), is located in Solano County, CA because I'm a California gal (and also California was like, one of the safest place to be a quirk during that time).

So, Califia's friends/disciples/group were quirks (naturally lol) and they were mostly either ciswomen or genderqueers (there is only one man and he is a transman). They were also non-white, either agonistic or not deeply religious, leftists, and educated. During a time when 1. People were developing powers that are coming out of nowhere; and 2. The US was just coming out of a horrific civil war. So they try to figure out why people were having powers. These will lead to the fundamental aspect of the religion.

They believe that people individually have energy, similar to souls/spirit. This energy helps form the universe and keep it stable. When a person dies, their energy/soul/spirit dissipated and merged with the universe. How quirks come to be is that quirks are the manifestation of a person's energy. The more powerful a quirk is, the greater the person's energy is. Sometimes, a person's energy, which is supposed to be nontangible, merged more directly to its host, and that is how mutation quirks are formed.

This helps scientifically explain when some quirks, like Momo, could defied thermodynamics.

Calafinity also suppose have a holy book, similar to The Bible. How the book were structured that it contains Califia's and her group 13 journals. The book is structured by beginning what Califia's belief how quirks come to be (explaining spiritually), then categorized Califia's early life (which is pitiful before her quirk awakening) chronologically. Then, it will lead into the 13 disciples' journals, each explaining their early life, their quirks awakening, and how they met Califia. Their journals will also explain how they believe how quirks and, by proxy, the main religion spirituality. So, the Books will likely come in 2 versions: one that is categorized by events, belief, and the disciples' views on Calafia; or, the Book separates the journals. However, there are important chapters in the Book: the final years of Calafia's. Actually, the chapter for the last days of Califia's, which she was killed in, is called "The Final Ballad" or "The Ballad of San Francisco.""

Califia has an archnemesis. The archnemesis isn't viewed as The Devil (though some denomination do view him as such), however, they view him as an antithesis of Califia's value. The archnemesis, named Dreadmond (he has many other aliases), is a quirk supremist, and by meta, I will view him as the Americas (or at least, in the US) counterpart of All for One. However, unlike him, Dreadmond does not work in the shadow. He is at the center of his legions (?), wnd is so in every battle. he makes sure that he is front and center. His philosophy is malleable depending on the era and followers, but he very much believes in might and Social Darwinism. He is charismatic, energetic, and authoritative, which allowed him to attract many meta-kinds (quirk-kinds). It also helped just how fucking awful having a quirk doing those time.

Califia and Dreadmond, initially, had informal agreement of not interfering with one another in their 30s (humans, by this time, double their lifespan). Both were already in a shadow war with the government, were at different coasts with Dreadmon and his followers being on the East Coast, and did not want to further weaken their cause. However, Califia utterly depised Dreadmond: even though Califia focused on quirk-kinds and hated the discrimination they face, she had no issue with non-quirks, especially ones who are sympathetic or helping their cause. Dreadmond, meanwhile, is a genocidal, eugenic tryant who believes non-quriks should, at best, be serfs that serve quirks. Later on, as quirk-kinds become the majority, Dreadmond starts changing this view, now harsher on weak quirks. Non-quirks, which he refers to as Roto (broken in Spanish), should be eradicated.

So, he is very much a horrible human being. Also, he is Puerto Rican lol.

So, while Dreadmond wants to dominate over the Americas (or, at least, the US), Califia wants to create a quirk society, locating on the West Coast, or at least California. Other than being a Cal-gal (and me being bias), California is isolated from the rest of the country thanks to the Sierra Mountains, the other side of the country, and far more tolerable compared to what going on past the Mississippi River.

How the conflict between them happened escalated suddenly and quickly. Dreadmond and his followers are, being bluntly, terrorists and though made life hellish in the East. His actions also increased anti-quirks sentiment and caused many quirks to migrated to the West Coast (by BNHA era, California has a population of 80 million, Oregon 9 million, and Washington (goes by different name) 13 million). There were some arguments between them, more in the likes of "can you maybe fucking chill for a moment?" "How 'bout you 🫵 chill." I don't know what really lead into this but one of Dreadmond's followers killed one of Califia's lover. All of a sudden, Califia and Dreadmond were in war. And Califia wants to kill him.

The war was short (lasting like six months), but it was brutal and bloody. Califia managed to create a truce with the US government (it more like "don't ever fuck with my people again and I will give you his head") which led into destructive battle. The final battle at San Francisco, which lasted for a day, destroyed almost half of it. Half of Sunset District, most of Market Street and the Financial District were just obliterate, leveled to the ground. The fight between Califia and Dreadmond pretty much ended not only the battle but the war itself and began the Dark Era (or Vigilantes Era, idfk anything about bhna history lol).

Califia was killed in the battle, and Dreadmond vanished, believing that he was either killed or went into hiding (he was actually hibernating beneath the Golden Gate Bridge waters). Her disciples were factual due to her; she was adhesive, the most important person of their group, and what held them together.

I didn't really talk about the disciples, mainly because I don't have a name for them (lol), but they're important in Calafinity, especially some who help disseminated Califia's teaching and belief, and one who mystified her. I gonna be referring them as their alias since it helps me. The most imperative figure was The Apostle, the youngest of the disciples (if Califia was in her mid-30s before her death, then The Apostle was likely in her late teen). When the disciples were factual, The Apostle spread about Califia, either her beliefs, her philosophy, her deeds, and even the possibility she was actually a deity (I also think the internet will be somewhat gone so she has to go it the old fashioned way). I would like to say that one of the denominations - one of the most popular ones, has a somewhat systematic structure (which is something Califia will actually hates lol), and it's dominanted in Northern California- will be named after The Apostle.

There is The Prophet, whose quirk is clairvoyance (though vaguely). There is The Man, and he is called that because I thought it was funny. Maybe The Lover for one of Califia's lover.

I don't know much about holidays. The Final Ballad will certainly be a holiday; ending the battle and war, stopping Dreadmond's tyranny, and for Califia's death/transcendence. However, do of how imperative quirk is to Califia and that Calafinity is a quir-religion, a child gaining their quirk will likely be one of the important day for them. For Japan, a quirk awakening will be a simple "Oh that great!" moment. For Califinitans, it is a celebration, a day where the community gathered at the local temple, throw a party, and formally welcome the child. Parents are required to mark the time and date when their child's quirk were awaken. Because of this, people usually celebrate two personal days for themselves: Birthday and Awakenday.

I certain I said this already, but Califinity superseded Christianity in the Americas, becoming the dominant religion both continents. However, this happened after The Great Blooming. The Great Blooming was an event a century (maybe half a century?) after the Final Ballad. It is similar to the Baby Bloom, except instead of having a population bloom, the ratio between non-quirks and quirks (1 quirk to every 4 non-quirks) flipped. Now, more than half of children were having a quirk awakening, and this led to another civil war, referred to as The Neo War (Human Purist teaming up with Neo-Confederates) (Also, the West Coast went mostly unscathed, lol)(also, Dreadmond was in). Doing a time where the majority are irreligious, horrific events occur, and the new generation were quirks, naturally Quirk-kinds will latch onto Califinity.

To be honest, I can't really think of anything else. There are other quir-religions in my bnha world au. There is a non-religious version of Califinity called Califinism, mostly about Califia's philosophy about quirks and how it should be used (she is a social individualist). All Might, Toshinori Yagi, is a Califinist.

Can't really think anything else, bye 👋.

[xtruss]

Mappa Mundi: The Greatest Medieval Map In The World

— By Anna Bressanin | Wednesday February 14, 2024

Credit: CalimaX/Alamy

From a small island in the Venetian lagoon, a 15th-Century monk somehow designed an astonishingly accurate planisphere of the world.

On the second floor of the Library of Saint Mark in Venice, a map of the world occupies an entire room – and rightfully so, considering its historical significance and imposing size (2.4m x 2.4m, bigger than a king size bed). Completed in 1459, the Mappa Mundi is the compendium of all the geographical knowledge of the time and is arguably the greatest medieval map of the world.

Almost twice as large as the famous English Hereford Mappa Mundi (ca 1300), this exquisitely decorated planisphere showcasing Europe, Africa and Asia was the masterpiece of Fra Mauro, a monk of the Camaldolese order who lived on the small Venetian island of San Michele.

Although the monk never set foot outside Venice, his Mappa Mundi is amazingly accurate in its depiction of cities, provinces, continents, rivers and mountains. America isn't on the map, since Christopher Columbus would take his trip across the ocean 33 years later; and nor is Australia. But Japan (or in Fra Mauro's words, "Cipango") is there, making its first appearance on a Western chart. Even more surprisingly, Africa is correctly drawn as circumnavigable, long before the Portuguese rounded the Cape of Good Hope in 1488.

"It's the oldest surviving medieval map," said Meredith Francesca Small, author of the book Here Begins the Dark Sea, also describing it as the most complete medieval map to survive into modernity. "It's the first map to be based on science more than religion. The Hereford map is all propaganda, religious propaganda."

While the Hereford map depicted Heaven and Hell and was designed to serve as a compendium of the world's knowledge from a spiritual perspective, Fra Mauro took a scientific approach to his cartography. He declared in his inscriptions that he would "verify the text by practical experience, investigating for many years and frequenting personas worthy of faith who have seen with their own eyes what I faithfully report here".

There's more than scientific and historical relevance to it, though. The most striking aspect of the map, which immediately catches your eye after ascending the white marble stairs of the Library of Saint Mark, where some of the world's most precious and ancient manuscripts are kept, is its sheer splendour.

"It's huge, beautiful, fantastically crafted," said historian Pieralvise Zorzi. Beyond the outlines of countries and continents, Fra Mauro's Mappa Mundi is a magnificent golden and blue painting composed of minute drawings of gorgeous palaces, bridges, sailing ships, rolling blue waves and outsized sea creatures, plus a total of 3,000 cartigli – red and blue annotations written in ancient Venetian that tell stories, anecdotes and legends.

In Norway, for instance, a cartiglio indicates the location where the Venetian merchant Pietro Querini came ashore after a shipwreck. As the tale goes, he not only survived the accident, but he brought stockfish back home, thus starting the Venetian passion for baccalà (the creamy fish spread you can find in every osteria).

The Exquisitely Decorated Mappa Mundi measures an impressive 2.4m x 2.4m. Credit: Bildagentur-online/Getty Images

Another cartiglioindicates Tharse, the "kingdom where the Magi came from", then thought to be located somewhere between China and Mongolia.

All these annotations are legible on the map, and are relatively easy to decipher for Venetian speakers since the current dialect is not dramatically different from the idiom of the 15th Century. However, the inscriptions are also translated into English on an interactive map created by the Galileo Institute and Museum in Florence. Displayed on a flat screen in the same exhibition space as the Mappa Mundi, it provides the somewhat peculiar experience of entering the mind of a savant monk and reading the world through his medieval eyes.

It was not a small world. Although Fra Mauro lived his entire life in his island monastery in the lagoon backwaters, he tapped into the knowledge of travellers and merchants who crossed paths in the flourishing trading city of Venice that was "the capital of cartography at the time", explained Saint Marks librarian Margherita Venturelli.

“Maps Were Fundamental For Trade Because If You Have A Good Map, You Can Go Everywhere”

"Maps were fundamental for trade because if you have a good map, you can go everywhere," added Zorzi. "Every innovation in terms of cartography was welcome in Venice, and well-paid."

The Library of Saint Mark is home to one of the world's most significant collections of classical texts. Credit: Mo Peerbacus/Alamy

Fra Mauro's main source for Asia was merchant and fellow Venetian Marco Polo, who had published his travel accounts more than 150 years earlier. On the map, 150 locations are directly traceable to Marco Polo's Travels; for instance, the Mount of Adam was placed in the island of Ceylon (today's Sri Lanka), where, according to legends recounted by Polo, the first man's body was believed to be buried, together with his teeth and even his bowl, which was supposed to have the magical property of multiplying food.

Besides Polo, Fra Mauro had numerous sources around the globe. The fact that the chart looks upside down to contemporary Western eyes, with the south on top, might indicate that he was inspired by Arab cartography, like a 12th-Century map by North African geographer Muhammad al-Idrisi. The numbers that Fra Mauro lists as "the Distance of Heavens" are from mathematician and astronomer Campanus de Novara. "From the centre of the world to the surface of the Earth there are 3,245 miles. From the centre of the world to the lower surface of the heavens of the Moon there are 107,936 miles," and so on, he writes in the top left corner of the Mappa Mundi.

Fra Mauro also displayed a healthy scepticism and wasn't shy of criticising – as well as sometimes using –the revered Ptolemy's Geography, a treaty written in Alexandria, Egypt, by Claudius Ptolemy in 150 CE and lost for centuries to the Western world until it was rediscovered and translated in Latin again in the 1400s.

Fra Mauro's main source for Asia was merchant and fellow Venetian Marco Polo. Credit: The History Collection/Alamy

This Renaissance rationalist attitude also showed in the way he placed Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden outside of the planisphere, making it clear that Heaven is not a place on Earth; a statement that separated religion and geography and was forward thinking for any medieval man, let alone a monk.

These novelties, and the fact that the map was completed few decades before Christopher Columbus sailed to America, contribute to Fra Mauro's Mappa Mundi being considered the geographical link between the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. To contemporary visitors, his map is a reminder of the fact that maps were once not only practical tools, but also a matter of beauty – and a way to tell the most extraordinary stories.

[harrelltut]

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[artisteclipsed]

"The Penitent Saint Jerome" ca. 1627-1630 — Antonio d'Enrico, often called Tanzio da Varallo, (1580 - ca. 1635)

Oil on Canvas 80.96 x 65.41 cm. or 31 7/8 x 25 3/4 in.

Technique:

Antonio d'Enrico, commonly known as Tanzio da Varallo, was an Italian painter from the Baroque period. His artwork often grapples with religious and spiritual themes, a feature conspicuously evident in this painting, "The Penitent Saint Jerome." Rendered in oil on canvas, the painting delves into the theme of penitence through a portrayal of Saint Jerome, a Christian scholar and translator known for his ascetic lifestyle and significant contributions to theology.

Paint Application and Color Palette

The painting likely utilizes the traditional Baroque palette that leans toward earthy and darker tones, punctuated by sharp contrasts and radiant highlights. Tanzio da Varallo's skill in applying paint would have involved both meticulous detailing and broader brushstrokes, allowing for the creation of multiple layers of varying transparency and opacity.

Technique Type

Given the Baroque era's predilection for dramatic scenes and intense emotional states, the technique of chiaroscuro is exemplified here. This involves using strong contrasts between light and dark to create volume and depth in a two-dimensional space.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere is deeply introspective and somber. The isolation and penitence of Saint Jerome is emphasized through atmospheric elements like subdued lighting and a secluded setting, and featuring a dark cave.

Perspective

Baroque artists often employed linear and atmospheric perspective to lend their works a three-dimensional effect. The figure of Saint Jerome is emphasized through foreshortening techniques, where the subject or other elements are portrayed in picture in depth, which is furthered by the linear shapes of the books.

Color Theory

Tanzio da Varallo utilized a carefully planned color scheme to harmonize or contrast the elements within the frame. Warm colors used for the saint's skin and attire to bring attention to the central figure, whereas cooler, muted colors might fill the background, accentuating the sense of isolation or penitence.

Proportions

In adherence with classical ideals, the proportions of the human figure and the surrounding elements is balanced and harmonious. The figure of Saint Jerome serves as the standard, around which other elements are scaled and positioned.

Texture

There is a meticulous rendering of textures, from the saint's wrinkled skin and coarse garments, as well as the books with their pages delineated in intricate detail. This textural depth is achieved through the layering of paint and nuanced brushwork; some of which is apparent in the cave walls.

Transitions

Transitions between light and shadow, as well as between different elements of the composition, is handled with subtle gradation to maintain a naturalistic appearance. This technique contributes to the overall unity and emotional gravity of the artwork.

Focal Points

The principal focal point is undoubtedly the figure of Saint Jerome. His positioning and the directional flow of other compositional elements would guide the viewer’s eye toward him. Secondary focal points cause the eye to move between objects like a crucifix ending with the book and skull, alluding to his scholarly contributions and a hint of the theme of memento mori.

Symbolism

Given the religious subject matter, symbolism is abundant. The skull represents mortality and redemption. The books serve as symbolic references to Jerome’s intellectual contributions to Christian theology. His line of sight could either represent a presentation or attention to god.

Layering

Multiple layers of paint, varying in opacity and texture, is instrumental in achieving the painting’s complexity and emotional depth. From base layers that set the tonal structure to final glazes that impart luminosity and depth, each layer would contribute to the painting’s overall visual and emotional impact.

The image above is what I used to analyze the work. The green line shows how I found my eye moving through the piece. The pink lines are implied or literal lines that reinforce the movement of the eyes. The blue lines enclose the negative spaces, which also reinforce the line of observation.

The line of Saint Jerome's vision also supports the movements as well, which helps bring a deeper sense of life and animation to the painting.

Artist History:

Antonio d'Enrico, better known as Tanzio da Varallo, was an Italian painter born around 1575-1580 in Alagna Valsesia, a town in the Piedmont region of Italy. He is most closely associated with the Baroque period, an era marked by the exploration of dramatic emotion, elaborate ornamentation, and intricate technique in art. Although comprehensive records of his life are scarce, what is known suggests a career deeply embedded in the religious and cultural milieu of 17th-century Italy.

Tanzio da Varallo apprenticed under Giovanni Battista Crespi, also known as Il Cerano, an established painter in Milan. This early phase would have been formative in shaping his artistic skills and exposure to the Mannerist and Baroque styles prevalent at the time. Crespi was instrumental in bringing the Counter-Reformation style to Lombardy, and this influence likely impacted Tanzio's own thematic focus on religious subjects and mystical experiences.

Around 1613, Tanzio went on a pilgrimage to Rome, an experience that further enriched his artistic vocabulary. Here, he was exposed to the works of Caravaggio and his followers, assimilating the Caravaggesque techniques of chiaroscuro and tenebrism into his own style. These techniques involve the dramatic use of light and shadow to create a heightened emotional tone.

In the years following his return from Rome, Tanzio spent most of his career in and around his native region. He is best known for his work on the Sacro Monte di Varallo, a complex of chapels in Varallo Sesia dedicated to the life of Christ. His contributions to this pilgrimage site included frescoes and panel paintings that were both spiritually evocative and artistically innovative. His work here is often cited as the pinnacle of his artistic achievement.

Despite his primary focus on religious themes, Tanzio also painted secular works and portraits. However, these are considerably less known compared to his religious art. Many of his works were destroyed or lost over time, and therefore the exact scope of his oeuvre remains uncertain.

Tanzio da Varallo passed away in 1633, but the specific circumstances of his death are not well-documented. His legacy lives on primarily through his contributions to the Sacro Monte di Varallo and other religious sites, where his art serves as a testament to the Baroque spirit of emotional intensity and technical mastery.

His name is sometimes confused with that of his brother Melchiorre, who was also an artist, but Antonio remains the more renowned of the two. Despite the scarcity of biographical information, Tanzio da Varallo’s surviving works offer valuable insight into the religious and artistic currents of 17th-century Italy, as well as the innovative techniques and thematic focus that characterized the Baroque period.

Time Period:

The period between 1627 and 1630 was an epoch of significant upheaval and transformation in Rome, both within its walls and beyond. This juncture is primarily positioned within the wider timeframe of the Baroque era, which spanned from the late 16th century into the 18th century. This was a time marked by exuberant art, grandiose architecture, and complex compositions in music; but also, it was a period of profound intellectual and sociopolitical changes that influenced various facets of life—economic, religious, and cultural alike.

Sociopolitical Climate

In a sociopolitical context, Rome was a focal point of power, being the seat of the Papal States. The papacy had vested interests not only in spiritual governance but also in political dominion. Urban VIII (Maffeo Barberini) was the reigning pope during this period, and his pontificate was marked by a degree of nepotism and an aggressive foreign policy. The Barberini family amassed wealth and influence, much to the chagrin of other Roman nobility and city-states in the Italian peninsula. Urban VIII's geopolitical machinations extended into conflicts such as the War of the Mantuan Succession, indirectly involving the Papal States in broader European affairs.

Economic Climate

Economically, the 17th century was not a period of unabated prosperity for Rome. While the city had its affluent nobility and clergy, there was a widening gap between the rich and the poor. The accumulation of capital through ecclesiastical avenues had led to an investment in monumental architecture and art, with men like Bernini and Borromini shaping the Roman cityscape. However, this did not necessarily translate into economic affluence for the common populace. Jobs were scarce, and many were dependent on ecclesiastical charity. In fact, Rome's economy was so deeply entwined with the Church that it could be said to have been a "pre-industrial" economy, lacking a robust commercial or manufacturing sector. The very grandeur of Rome’s architecture and art was partly a façade masking an underlying economic frailty.

Religious Climate

The Church’s Tridentine reforms, initiated in the mid-16th century, continued to reverberate. This was a time when the Counter-Reformation was in full swing, and Rome was its epicenter. The Roman Catholic Church was still reacting against the spread of Protestantism in Northern Europe, and this religious fervor had both positive and negative impacts. On one hand, it led to an unprecedented proliferation of art and architecture intended to glorify the Church and underscore the spiritual profundity of Catholicism. On the other hand, it also led to the increasing power of bodies like the Roman Inquisition, which pursued heretics with dogged determination. Fear of heresy and a rigid orthodoxy impacted academic and intellectual pursuits, notably in the case of Galileo Galilei, who faced an inquisition for his heliocentric views.

Cultural Climate

Culturally, Rome was a crucible of innovation and tradition. The Baroque style was flourishing, characterized by its emotional intensity and complexity. Artists like Caravaggio had already set the stage for a form of realism that imbued even religious scenes with a visceral, earthly quality. The presence of various academies like the Accademia di San Luca served as nuclei for artistic and intellectual discussions. Literature, too, was a crucial part of Roman cultural life. The epic poems and librettos of the period often displayed both religious fervor and a newfound interest in human psychology.

Daily Life and Events

As for events that impacted everyday life, the increased taxations and levies to support the Papal States' military involvements were deeply felt. In addition, the period was not devoid of plague and disease, with the risk of outbreaks often being a constant specter over the city. Public health was a significant concern, compounded by the limited understanding of medicine and sanitation at the time.

Natural disasters also had a role in shaping the Roman experience. For instance, the River Tiber was known to flood, and each flood brought not just the immediate destruction but also long-term economic repercussions. Food scarcity was another everyday issue, especially for the lower strata of society. Bread riots were not uncommon, and the Roman "annona," a grain dole similar to ancient practices, was often a critical aspect of urban stability.

Furthermore, religious festivals and public ceremonies were regular occurrences, impacting everything from traffic to business operations. These events were not merely religious in nature but were intricately tied to the city's political and social fabric. Participation was not just a matter of piety but also a declaration of civic allegiance.

Personal Note:

This piece is hung in the Nelson Atkins Museum of Art in Kansas City, Missouri. I first saw it when I was 14 years old and it has remained in my mind ever since. The book laying over the skull, marked by the clear disturbance of Saint Jerome who seems to be glancing at the heavens, in wait, as if interrupted. The calmness of the dark cave and the flowing fabric of his clothing contrast with his facial expression. 

[tilbageidanmark]

Movies I watched this Week #139 (Year 3/Week 35):

2 more back-to-back re-watches of Ron Fricke’s sublime non-narrative Head trip Samsara (“Impermanence”). Spiritual poetry, gorgeous visuals, breathtaking scope. A perfect film to watch while mushrooming. 10/10. (Photo Above).

🍿

First watch (no idea why I waited all these years) of William Friedkin’s Sorcerer, his ill-fated adaptation of Clouzot's 'The wages of fear'. Roy Scheider is a desperado transporting nitroglycerin in the Dominican jungle, together with 3 other unfortunate misfits.

🍿

A enchanting, classic 1974 French drama, Vincent, François, Paul and the Others, my second by Claude Sautet (after ‘The heart at winter’). A group of middle class 40-something friends, lovers, husbands and wives face a series of midlife crises. Among them Yves Montand, Michel Piccoli, Gérard Depardieu and Stéphane Audran. The camaraderie reminded me of the friendship in ‘Goodfellas’ (without the crimes, violence, and immorality). 7/10.

🍿

The big clock, my first Corporate Noir by John Farrow (father to Mia, husband to Maureen O'Sullivan). Ray Millard acts and sounds exactly like Cary Grant-Lite in this less-known thriller.

A curious visual: There's a very stylish shot at an empty executive boardroom with a giant conference table, and the only items on it are oversized personal ashtrays next to each chair.

🍿

Val Lawton X 2:

🍿 The best movie of the week, the documentary Val Lewton: The Man in the Shadows. Produced and narrated by Martin Scorsese. A terrific biography and assessment of this melancholic producer who had the potential to become one of the biggest auteurs, but who is now barely-remembered for a series of 1940's low-budget, B-movies from RKO studio. I previously only saw his 'I walked with a Zombie', but I'm going to watch as many of the others as I can.

🍿 "...My Goodness, ain't nobody likes chicken Gumbo?..."

Lewton's first project, after he was installed as head of RKO low-budget horror department, was Cat People. "A disturbed woman", a Serbian fashion illustrator [Not too many of those] turns into a ferocious panther, after she's shown at her very first scene, littering repeatedly by throwing her discarded drawings in the streets.

🍿

Our friend, my second film by Gabriela Cowperthwaite (After ‘Blackfish’). A sad, non-linear tearjerker, based on a real story. Dakota Johnson is dying of cancer, with her husband, two daughters, and their best friend, who selflessly stays by their side. The first film when I liked the role Casey Affleck plays. 7/10.

/ female /

🍿

The new gonzo documentary Telemarketers reminded me of a chapter from my own life that I'm not proud of. For about 3 years in the mid-90's I sold bogus investments, gold futures, and fake ostrich options (!) over the phones in exactly the same way as the conmen in this sleazy, seedy, funny, cynical story. Except that over in Jersey they sold $35 donations and got paid $10 an hour, while we in Costa Mesa, CA got a $3,500 commission for every time we fleeced $40,000 from someone, which happened very often. So much money, and so many regrets later!

🍿

4 more I can watch over and over again:

🍿 My 10th-15th rewatch of Edgar Wright’s brilliant Hot Fuzz.

1. If you know nothing about it beforehand, and watch it for the first time while stoned, it’s impossible to know what it’s really about until the end; the story changes style, intention, musical cue and genre from scene to scene.

2. Is the violent shoot-them-up climax, cartoonishly exaggerated, (where still, nobody dies) the most cliché-filled action scene ever?

3. The subtle musical score underlining every scene is sublime; I am going to listen/watch it again - without the pictures, just the sound!

4. Actually, the whole editing, visuals, sound editing, borrowing from dozens of prior movies, is extraordinary.

5. Every part of the dialogue - every single line - is highly quotable!

10/10.

And as always, How to do visual comedy, from ‘Every frame a picture’.

🍿 I just saw the trailer for The big Lebowski for the first time; It really ties the movie together pretty well. So I "had to" watch the movie itself again. A masterpiece on every level. Even the IMDb synopsis encapsulates it correctly: "Jeff 'The Dude' Lebowski, mistaken for a millionaire of the same name, seeks restitution for his ruined rug and enlists his bowling buddies to help get it."

I also like Wikipedia's chapter on its 'Use as social and political analysis'. With a magnificent score (which includes Dylan's 'The man in me', Gypsy Kings cover of 'Hotel California', Yma Sumac's Ataypura) and with Asia Carrera as Sherry, the porn actress.

The last sentence in it is 'Say, friend, you got any more of that good sarsaparilla?' Always 10/10.

🍿 Once again, Ali Wong’s first stand-up Baby Cobra. Funny, filthy, hardcore vulgar, very sexy; "Best pregnant comic".

🍿 Top banana, S1E2 episode from ‘Arrested Development’. From Vanity Fair’s ‘List of 25 perfect TV episodes’.

🍿

The source, another banal documentary about a spectacular human being, ultramarathoner Courtney Dauwalter, who just cemented her status as the greatest ultrarunner of all time by the unprecedented triple crown wins of the ‘Western States 100’, the ‘Hardrock 100’, and UTMB in the same summer. Emotionally inspirational.

🍿

The midnight gospel, an adult animated series, my first by Pendleton Ward. I saw the first episode yesterday, and I already can’t remember a single goddam thing from it.

🍿

From Dane Sitagi’s The ballerina project: Basia Rhoden dances in the city of Chicago.

🍿

Throw-back to the "Art project”:  

Ballerina Adora.

🍿  

(My complete movie list is here)

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Foxtail & Wolfsbane 31

Summary: Your lifelong obsession to hunt down the Nine-Tailed Fox has not gone as expected, and seventeen years later, you find yourself coming back to the place where it all started: Hogwarts. However, with Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and Headmaster Dumbledore’s hire of a certain Professor R. J. Lupin, you suddenly find yourself intertwined in the fates of those with whom you thought you had parted ways with long ago.

[Multi-Post Story] [Rowan Scamander x Reader] [Remus Lupin x Reader] [Young Sirius Black x Reader] [Tristan Graves x Reader] [Severus Snape x Reader] *Note: Rowan Scamander, Tristan Graves, Susana Holmes, Cas Carneirus, Henrietta Weiss, and Thomas Picquery are OC characters.

[Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Rough Sex.] [Warning: Possessiveness.] [Warning: Degradation.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Nonconsent.]

*Please do not repost or copy my work without my permission. Thank You!

☾ Click Here for Foxtail & Wolfsbane Home Page (All Chapter Links) ☾

“To think that Cas lost Sirius Black is honestly difficult to believe.”

How could Sirius Black have escaped? How could he have…?

You held your breath and reached out. Your hand touched the cold knob. You began to turn it – wham! A flurry of dark fur came barreling into you. You screamed as you fell back onto the floor.

“I’m what you would call a hellhound beast. A Grim. I transform every month. I can’t help it. When I do transform, I have… violent tendencies. Remus has been doing me a favor. He’s been staying in that tiny closet with me each time I transform and – Fuck!”

“You’re using Remus, your supposed best friend, as your chew toy?”

“It’s not like that!”

“What do you mean ‘it’s not like that’? Look at what you’ve done to Remus!”

“Stop!” 

“Remus! Remus, please, you can’t let Sirius do this to you anymore.”

“Just go. Please.”

You suddenly sat up, sweating and shaking all over.

Rowan sat up, too. Neither of you ever truly slept in the mythical realm – you didn’t need to, but you also couldn’t. The mystical realm was stronger than ever in its spiritual energy, now that the succubus draining the ice phoenix’s energy was gone and now that there were all of these new, incredibly magical creatures bounding around, both taking and giving energy from this mythical environment - and consequently, to sleep was to die. Still, the two of you sometimes managed a light doze, although you remained conscious of everything going on around you.

Groggily, Rowan mumbled out, “What’s going on?”

Your mind was in a frenzy, having come upon such an intense realization through your half-dreams.

I only now thought of it – the Grim might be Sirius’ version of the Nine-Tailed Fox, where it bursts out of him when he’s in trouble, just like the Nine-Tailed Fox bursts out of my soul and takes over my physical self when I’m threatened. That would explain how he escaped from Cas and the dementors. But the thing is, just as I need to satiate the Fox after a transformation, Sirius needs to satiate the Grim after his transformation. He told me so himself that he needs to rely on someone else to make it through the night and to overcome his violent tendencies. Which means he’s likely gone back to –  

You drew in a sharp breath as you realized: To Remus.

You leapt up to your feet. Remus might be in trouble!

Rowan tiredly got up off of the ground. “What’s wrong? Why are you suddenly so antsy?”

You nearly tripped over your own words as you were brimming over with impatience. “I just realized – I’d blocked that memory out but – Sirius, he can transform, he has another form. He likely used it to escape.” You had already pulled on your cloak and checked for your wand, making sure you were ready to go. “We have to go.”

You started to hurry away, when Rowan grabbed your shoulder. “Now, wait a minute,” he said sternly. “I don’t know what you’re going on about with Sirius right now, but if you leave, aren’t you at risk yourself? I’m not entirely sure what the risk is, but isn’t the whole reason we came to this strange place to somehow help you from becoming completely possessed by the Fox?”

Ah, that’s right. If I step foot outside of this realm, the clock will start ticking on the Fox’s age again. She’s almost nine hundred years old. When she gets her ninth tail…

I’ll devour your soul, the Fox whispered somberly. And there will be nothing left of you. I will overtake your body.

Seeing your reaction, Rowan pressed, “I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve got to think of yourself before you go racing off like this. You have to learn to take better care of yourself!”

You heard what Rowan was saying, but there was an equally strong voice in your mind, telling you: Remus is in danger.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I have to leave.” You looked Rowan directly in his eyes. “Right now.”

Knowing that you couldn’t leave without Rowan, you grabbed his hand in yours and you tugged him away. “Come on. Please, Rowan.”

“Wait! What about my creatures?”

Oh, the Fox thought sadly, realizing that Rowan intended to take them all away from here.    

“Don’t you think they would be happier here?” you asked.

“Can I come see them again?”

You hesitated. “Well, I don’t know. You know a lot about this world now.”

“And?”

“I told you. If you know too much, you can’t leave.” You gestured between the two of you. “The only reason I can leave is because I’m with you.”

Rowan closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his eyelids. “We absolutely have to go now?”

“Yes.” Seeing Rowan’s expression, however, you paused. Taking a moment to think it through, you suggested, “How’s this? You leave with me, but you come right back. That way, you can stay here as long as you like, and be with your creatures.”

Rowan shook his head at once. Opening his eyes, he looked up wearily at you. “No, I can’t let you go off by yourself.”

“Of course you can,” you replied, frustrated. “Rowan, I can take care of myself - ”

“I don’t doubt you,” Rowan retorted. “But when you’re up against myths and legends, you can’t trust yourself. No one can. Think about that succubus!”

You shivered. The mention of a succubus brought back the terrible memory of seeing her gaping mouth, fangs dripping with blood, as she leaned over her, and the feeling of her cold, sharp nails staring to pierce your chest.

Rowan stepped closer to you. “Sorry,” he said, speaking more gently. “I don’t mean to bring up bad memories. But I need you to understand the risk you’re in – at least, the risks I know about. I know for a fact that there are other risks you’re up against that you’re not telling me about. Like why you can’t get rid of the hollow in your soul.”

A terrible pang went off in your heart. I am keeping Rowan in the dark, aren’t I? I didn’t think of it that way, but it’s like I’m using him…

You sighed. With your other hand, you reached out and grasped the back Rowan’s hand, with which he was gripping onto your wrist.

“All right,” you said softly. “I’m sorry I’m rushing. But don’t you see how important this is? If Sirius Black has another form, Dumbledore needs to know about it.”

Rowan stared at you for a beat longer. “And you? What will happen to you if we leave this realm?”

“I will be at risk,” you admitted. “But I think, with the succubus gone and with you by my side – assuming you want to stay by my side, of course – I’ll be fine.”

Rowan felt uneasy. He felt he couldn’t trust you. He distinctly felt that he was missing some important piece of information. This was exactly how he had felt when you had told him to go back without you. But, just like back then, he didn’t know how to ask about the things he was uncertain of, and he knew that time was pressing and that he was getting in your way. Finally, he muttered, “Fine, then. Let’s go.”

“Your creatures?” you asked him.

Rowan looked for Frank, Nula, and Sil. Finding them all in the homes they had made in this world, he sighed. Gloomily, he said, “They look happy here. They should stay.”

The Nine-Tailed Fox’s heart lifted, but she looked with sympathetic eyes at Rowan. You’re putting him through the ringer, little one, the Fox told you.

I know, you agreed, feeling quite guilty. I’ll have to make it up to him somehow. But right now –

You pulled on Rowan’s hand. “Come on.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

“Hey. I said you’re going to be all right. So why so grim?” Tonks waved the dripping wet towel over Remus’ face, accidentally spattering him with water.

“Oops! Sorry!” Tonks quickly pulled the towel away and wiped Remus’ face with her sleeve.

“I’m fine,” Remus said, gently pushing her hand away. He reached up and wiped his face himself. “Anyways, shouldn’t you go home? It’s past midnight. You must be dead tired, doing Order shifts and Auror training every day.”

“Mm, yeah, it is a bit tiring,” Tonks agreed. “I can’t get my hair bubblegum pink anymore, I’m so tired. But it’s all right. I think the faded pink suits me better, anyways.”

Humming, Tonks reached over and made to apply ointment to Remus’ shoulder, where a good piece of his flesh had been clawed out by the other werewolves.

“Ouch, Remus, this looks bad,” Tonks muttered, in-between beats of her song.

Remus sat up. “I’ll take care of it.”

Tonks looked up at Remus, wide-eyed. “But why? I’m here to help you.”

“Yes. You’ve been very helpful,” Remus agreed. “But I - ”

“If I’m doing something wrong, tell me. I’ll change it!” Tonks was so enthusiastic that she waved her hand while talking and she accidentally hit the ointment tin with her hand. It went flying across the room and shattered against the wall.

“Aw, man!” she complained.

Before Remus could say anything, though, Tonks had already swished her wand, and the tin had repaired itself.

“Well,” she said brightly, “good thing I put it on you before I went and did that. Merlin, I’m so clumsy…”

“Nymphadora,” Remus begged, “please - ”

“It’s Tonks, Remus. Tonks.”

“Tonks, please go home.”

Tonks paused. Without looking at Remus, she suddenly said, as cheerfully as she could, “All righty, then. Guess you don’t need me anymore. I’m off!”

Seeing Tonks obviously putting on an act for him, Remus suddenly felt horrible. “Wait. That’s not what – I wasn’t trying to say that you weren’t helpful.”

Tonks glanced over her shoulder at him. Her pink hair turned slightly brighter. But then, it dimmed again, as she asked, “Then why do you hate me being here?”

“I don’t hate you being here. I never said that. It’s just…” Remus looked down at his scarred hands, his scarred arms, his scarred chest. “… You know that I’m a – a – a werewolf.” His voice dropped into a shameful whisper as he forced himself to use that word. In a pained voice, he asked, “Doesn’t that disgust you?”

“Mm… Nope!” Tonks replied as cheerfully as if Remus had asked her for her favorite ice cream flavor. Popping the “pe” at the end of “nope,” she shook her head back and forth.

Tonks came back to Remus’ bed and sat on the edge. Looking straight at Remus, she wheeled off, “If you really wanna know what I think about you, Remus, I think you’re quite attractive. You’re handsome, you’re kind, you’re brave, and you’ve got a wicked sense of humor, even if you like to hide it away and pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Remus’ mouth fell open.

Tonks smiled warmly at him. “So, I’d like to continue stopping by to see you, if that’s all right with you.”

Remus blinked at Tonks. Does she not understand what it means for somebody to be a werewolf? And even amongst werewolves, I’m the lowest of the low. How can I make her see that?

“You know who Fenrir Greyback is, don’t you?” Remus asked seriously.

“Yeah, I researched him a lot before I went after you.” Tonks shook her head ruefully. “Maybe too much. I should have gotten to you quicker. Damn it.”

In fact, Remus had been overwhelmingly impressed when he learned how much and cleverness it had required for Tonks to outsmart an entire werewolf organization at their own home base to successfully rescue him. But this was not the time for that.

Instead, Remus said hoarsely, “Well, then, you know all of the terrible things he did.”

Tonks’ brow furrowed. She didn’t see where he was going with this.

Remus began to speak slowly. “I used to think that the werewolf who created me did so accidentally and that he or she spent the rest of their life regretting what they did. My parents never told me otherwise, so I kept believing that. And I imagined that one day, if we were to meet, that they would apologize and I would forgive that person, and between us, some sort of humanity might be felt even when our only connection was a cursed one.”

Remus’ face began to crumple and his voice fell to a whisper, as he murmured, “What a pathetic fantasy.”

“When I was – When all this time I had been - ” Remus suddenly struggled to speak.

“Remus?” Tonks said, worried.

A dry gasp left Remus, before he confessed, in a deeply pained voice, “Fenrir Greyback was the one who created me. I was created by the will of a savage monster.”

Tonks’ heart dropped. Oh Merlin. This is what’s been bothering him. This is what’s been ripping him from the inside out.

Tonks slipped onto the bed, sitting right next to Remus. Remus had bowed his head and was crying silently.

Tonks put her hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look up, but he flinched.

Tonks spoke, with such warmth in her lovely voice, “But you’re not a monster, Remus. You’re not. And that’s what matters.”

“But how do you know that?” Remus croaked out in a hoarse voice.

“You don’t know, Remus. You choose.”

Hearing her words, Remus slowly lifted his head and looked up at Tonks.

She smiled at him. “Like my mother. She may have been out of her mind when she named me Nymphadora. But she was a pureblood, a Black, and she still chose to deny centuries of her family legacy to be her own person. She can’t change her past. She can’t change what she inherited from other people. But she choose what mattered to her – my father… and me.”

Tonks’ bright smile faded and her eyes turned watery. But, suddenly, she laughed at herself. “Look at me, taking any opportunity to talk about myself. Don’t listen to me, Remus.”

Remus stared at her, captivated by her strength. “Thanks, Nymphadora.”

This time, Tonks didn’t correct him. Instead, she nodded at him, accepting that he could call her that now – him and only him. But she warned him quickly, “You can’t call me ‘Nymphadora’ in front of other people, mind you. I don’t want folks getting the wrong idea. You can only call me that when it’s just the two of us, alone. Got it? Or else…” Tonks waved her wand in the air threateningly.

Remus smiled wanly at her. “Got it.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

The plan had been for you to go straight back to Hogwarts and to find Remus and report to Dumbledore, but that plan was immediately changed. As soon as you and Rowan exited the forest, a kelpie Patronus rose from the river at the foot of the mountains.

“Rowan. Whenever you see this, come home at once, please.”

The Patronus disappeared.

You looked over at Rowan. “What was that?”

“My father’s Patronus,” Rowan replied. “I wonder how long it’s been waiting for me…” He turned to you. “Mind making a quick stop in New York first?”

You hesitated.

“It’ll be very quick, I promise,” Rowan told you. “Besides, it might help us figure out what we’ve missed while we were in that mythical realm.”

“All right. Let’s go.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When you and Rowan arrived in New York City, you both got a huge shock when you realized that the newspapers now bore the year of 1995.

Rowan’s eyes went wide. “It’s been two years? There’s no way. It can’t have been that long. It felt like weeks, at the most.”

You let out a long breath. You weren’t quite as surprised, for the same time had happened to you the last time you had come back from the winterland. Nonetheless, it was a difficult thing to wrap one’s head around. Above all, you felt guilty about Rowan.

“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically. “You got dragged into this because of me. I made you lose two whole years.”

“Well, I didn’t lose them, exactly,” Rowan corrected you. “I was living them… with you.” He looked over at you. “We can’t say we got back together quickly anymore. Apparently, it took us two damn years.”

That got a chuckle out of you.

Rowan nudged your shoulder with his. “C’mon. If it’s really been that long, there’s no telling how long my father’s Patronus has been waiting for me.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

As you followed Rowan up the steps of his home, you stared up at the charming house with wondering eyes. I’ve never seen Rowan’s home before. It was a lovely place. It was a small, charming cottage house, half-covered in ivy and moonflowers.

When you came to the door, your gaze fell onto Rowan. As soon as his feet had touched the soil of the real world again, Rowan had started sliding back into his previous self. He became grimmer and warier. When the two of you came to New York, he seemed to fold up inside himself. It felt like the softness that had slowly arisen when he was in the spiritual realm had withdrawn entirely and instead, he was back to focusing on his external energy. It made him charismatic, but it also made him unreachable again.

Of course, you only noticed these things because you knew Rowan’s tells. To anyone else, Rowan still appeared as easy-going, yet lordly as ever.

Rowan took a deep breath. Without looking at you, he said quietly, “Just as a warning: my family can be a lot.”

You smiled a bit nervously. You tried to keep your voice light, as you replied, “Well, I reckon they won’t notice me, anyways. I’m sure they’ll just be relieved to see you home again.”

You thought about your own family. As much as you grumbled about your mother and as much as you felt guilty about your little brother, you honestly chose not to go back home because you didn’t want to be uncomfortable, but it wasn’t like this, where Rowan seemed to be silently gearing himself up to play the part of “son” in some strange, abstract way.

Finally, Rowan knocked on the front door.

The door opened.

“Son?” Newt’s hand flew to the back of his neck and his eyes went wide, as he found his son standing on his doorstep after two years. “Is that really y – oof!”

Newt went flying as Tina blasted past him at the door. She alternated between touching Rowan’s face to check that it was really her son, hugging Rowan as hard as she could because she had missed him so much, and punching him in the shoulder for all the grief he had caused her. “Rowan Jacob Scamander! Merlin, where have you been? How could you do this to your father and me? No owls, no Patronuses…! Are you hurt anywhere? Oh, dinner! You must be hungry. Queenie’s here. She can make something for you if you just give me a minute - ”

“Mum. Mum!” Rowan finally grabbed his mother gently by the shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Just then, a voice from inside called out loudly, “Oi, Newt! Escaped Niffler, coming your way!

Sure enough, Newt glimpsed an old, tired Niffler crawling out onto the front porch. “Teddy?”

Newt walked over and picked up his old friend. “Teddy, what is it?”

Teddy left out a gruff snort.

Immediately, an explosive squeal burst out of from the inside of Rowan’s cloak, and the pouch came flying out.

Newt, with incredible dexterity, snatched the pouch out of mid-air. He reached over and loosened the strings. Pumpernickel came flying out and – splat – landed tummy-first on Newt’s face.

Teddy suddenly leapt up on his back feet and stretched out his front paws – and Nick slid off of Newt’s face and into Teddy’s arms.

Newt looked down at the Nifflers. “Ah… They must’ve missed each other quite a bit.”

But even as Newt spoke, it became clear that as they hugged, Teddy was trying to steal Nick’s Sickle and Nick was trying to steal a ring from Teddy. The hug became more and more of a wrestling match, until little Niffler growls filled the air.

“You’d think Teddy would be old enough to behave himself,” Tina said, but her eyes were filled with fondness as she looked down at the Nifflers.

“They can’t help themselves,” Newt said knowingly. He reached down and grabbed the Nifflers each by the scruff of their necks. “Hey, now. Play nice.” Holding the Nifflers, who had suddenly gone glum and limp, in the air, so that they swayed back and forth from Newt’s hands, Newt went back into the house.

Rowan, taking the opportunity to escape his mother’s love (and wrath), came over to you. You had been taking everything in with an air of polite bemusement.

“Sorry about all that,” Rowan said to you.

Tina, suddenly noticing you, gasped. “It’s you! The Fox girl!”

“Ah, yes, that would be me. Hello again.” You raised your hand awkwardly.

“So you’re…” Tina hesitated. She looked over at her son, then back at you. “Well, you’re very welcome here.” She motioned towards the open front door. “Come inside. It’ll be best to hurry in before any more creatures get loose.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

You followed Tina and Rowan into the kitchen, where a blonde-haired witch, in a pink robe, was waving her wand expertly to cook a delicious-looking meal. Sitting at the table, a cheerful and smart-looking man sat, wearing Muggle clothing. The cuffs of his shirt had been rolled up, yet they were still powdered all over with what appeared to be flour.  

As soon as you walked in, the blonde-haired witch turned around. With wide eyes, she said, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

You paused. “Huh?”

Rowan shook his head at the witch.

The witch’s face relaxed and she giggled at your befuddled expression. “Never mind. Are you hungry? Have a seat.”

You looked over at Rowan.

“My aunt, Queenie,” Rowan said, by way of both introduction and explanation. He nodded over at the man and said, “And that’s my uncle, Jacob.”

Jacob waved cheerfully at you. “How’re you doing over there? Come sit. Come!”

What an interesting group of people, the Nine-Tailed Fox remarked from your soul. The Fox, of course, picked up on people’s energies far more quickly than you did.

Yes, you agreed. So, this is Rowan’s family.

At that moment, Queenie came up to you. She leaned down and peered rather abruptly into your face.

Startled, you leaned back and the front feet of the chair rose into the air.

Jacob hurriedly reached over and grabbed the back of your chair before you tipped over. “Uh, Queenie, honey, what’re you doing to the poor girl?”

Queenie ignored Jacob and instead asked you, “How come you’ve got so many thoughts?”

You blinked. “What…?”

Queenie cocked her head at you. She stared into your eyes, as if trying to read you.

You looked away, turning your head slightly and dropping your eyes to the floor. Trying not to appear too defensive, you joked weakly, “Actually, I’ve always been told I have too few thoughts. It’s how I get in trouble. Or so my mum says.”

Jacob laughed lightly. The soft sound broke the tension.

Queenie stepped back. She smiled at you. “Sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just curious.” With that, she flitted back to the stove to finish cooking.

“Rowan, can you please go get your father?” Tina asked, nodding at her son. “Tell him dinner’s almost ready.”

“Sure.” Rowan got up from the desk. He looked over at you. In a soft voice meant only for you, he murmured, “I’ll be right back.” Then, he got up and left the room.

You saw him take a flight of stairs that went down somewhere.

“I’m glad Rowan found you,” Queenie remarked. Her back was turned to you as she finished up the cooking. “He never said anything about you, ‘cept once, way back when he was still at Hogwarts, but he never did stop wondering about you.”

“Queenie…” Tina’s voice was gentle, but it nonetheless highlighted a need for caution.

“What? I’m just saying… They’re good friends, that’s all. It’s nice to see friends together.” Queenie waved her wand, and plates came swishing out of the cabinets. She walked over to the table, and the plates and food came with her.

Once at the table, everything came down gently into its proper place. Queenie looked over at you. “You know, back when he was at Hogwarts, Rowan wrote to Tina and me, asking for a favor. It was a rare thing. See, he never really asks for anything. But this one time, he took the trouble of writing to Tina and me.” Queenie blinked, and you suddenly realized how beautiful her eyes were. Then, she continued, “He’d written us to ask us to find a faux fox tail keychain. It had to be a fox tail. It just had to be. That’s what he said.”

Your mouth fell open slightly. That’s right. Before he left for Ilvermony, he gave me that fox keychain. That fox keychain that broke when Sirius and I fought over it and it flew out of our hands, only for the Whomping Willow to smash it into pieces…

“We wanted to know more about you, of course, but Rowan refused to tell us anything else,” Queenie informed you. “All we knew was that you were special to him and you liked foxes.” She laughed a little. “It was charming, to try to imagine you up…”

You didn’t meant to say it, but the words came spilling out of your mouth anyways. Rather bluntly, you blurted out, “I’m not what you expected, am I?”

Queenie gave you a smile that was almost sad. “No,” she lisped quietly. “You’re not. But maybe that’s for the best…”

“Queenie.” Tina shot her sister a sharp glance.

Queenie shook her head. Then, she sat down at the table. She started to cut the portion of food in front of Jacob. “There you go, honey,” she murmured sweetly. Leaning in, she gave Jacob a kiss on his cheek.

Jacob smiled warmly at her. “Thanks, sweetheart. It looks amazing, as usual.”

Meanwhile, Newt and Rowan appeared at the doorway. Newt was saying, rather distraughtly, “Well, son, it’s not that I don’t trust your judgment, but…”

Tina, sensing the tension at once, said, “What? What is it?”

Newt looked over at Rowan.

Rowan sighed. “It’s just that… Well, Nula, Sil, and Frank aren’t in my pouch at the moment. They’re… somewhere else.”

Tina’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

Rowan opened his mouth, but no words came out. You felt the the Nine-Tailed Fox’s tails swish warningly in your soul. You knew what Rowan was experiencing. You weren’t allowed to speak about the Nine-Tailed Fox’s realm.

You looked anxiously between Newt, Tina, and Rowan. You felt like you should say something.

“They’re safe. I promise you,” Rowan finally said. “Of course I didn’t leave them anywhere that would risk their safety.” He looked over at his father. “Please. Trust my judgment.”

Newt was fidgeting quite a bit. “Well,” he mumbled, “but Frank’s quite sensitive. You know he likes to have his talons trimmed a particular way. And Nuala – she gets lonely. I used to - ”

“Dad, I know,” Rowan said quietly. “They’re okay. I promise.”

A tense silence rang out between Rowan and his parents.

You awkwardly stood up from the table. “Um, it’s not Rowan’s fault.”

“Well,” Newt said worriedly, “regardless of fault, those are XXXXX-level creatures. They have to be kept safe somewhere. Or else they’ll be at risk, and humans will be at risk. ”

“They are somewhere safe,” you replied. You felt that silver hum began to ring through your mind and close up your throat, preventing you from describing the mythical realm any further. But you felt that you had to try to explain what the spiritual realm was, because Rowan had already sacrificed so much to be with you and keep you safe. You knew that Rowan struggled with his family already and the last thing you wanted was to be the cause of an argument between Rowan and his family. So, you pushed against the silver cloud gathering in your throat and whispered hoarsely, “See, there’s this other realm e-entirely, um, where the s-spiritual - ”

Stop, little one! The Nine-Tailed Fox called out loudly, bristling all over. Stop – what are you doing? Why are you saying these things?

Icicles were appearing at the back of your throat. It was becoming hard to breathe, let alone speak.

Stop!

“ – e-energy is v-very… strong…”

“Oh my goodness!” Tina cried aloud as you suddenly gasped and fell over.

“Watch it!” Rowan yelled, leaping forward. He managed to catch you in his arms. At once, he felt how freezing cold you were and he noticed a pair of soft shapes on top of your head.

Little one, why…? the Fox whispered, horrified.You shouldn’t push yourself this way. You already know your time is running out. Why are you making things harder for yourself?

Your mind was spinning. It was hard to think, and hard to breathe. Still, you thought, slowly, word by word: I don’t… want Rowan… to suffer… because of me.

Oh, little one, the Fox sighed, you’re not in a position to be helping anybody.

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

When you blinked awake, you found yourself nestled in Rowan’s warm arms. You paused, confused, and looked around.

You and Rowan were lying together in a bed in a cozy, small bedroom. Rowan was sleeping, but he had propped both you and him up against a bunch of stacked pillows, so that he could hold you against his chest and keep you warm.

Unbeknownst to you, your constant head movement meant that you were actually tickling Rowan underneath his chin with your fox ears.

Rowan mumbled, and then he slowly came to.

“Ah, sorry, did I wake you?”

Rowan looked down at you. “Yeah, you did. But never mind that. How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’ve got fox ears, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Rowan reached up and gently grasped one in his hand.

“Ah! Okay, I feel them!”

Rowan let go. He chuckled tiredly. “Y’know, you scared everybody, when you fainted.”

“Oh, Merlin. I’ll have to apologize to everybody. I didn’t even get to eat the dinner they made for me,” you realized.

“It’s fine. As long as you’re all right.”

“I am. I’m a little cold, but you’re doing a fine job of keeping me warm,” you said honestly. “I’m not complaining.”

“Mm… Good.” Rowan clutched you tighter in his arms and nuzzled his face against your head, flattening your ears on your head enough that you squirmed in his hug. He smiled. “Pipe down.”

“I can’t. They’re – They’re sensitive.”

Rowan dropped his arms around you. But the next second, you felt his hands slip under your shirt and up your body. “Shall we get rid of them, then?”

“We can’t. We’re at your parent’s house, you numpty.”

Rowan chuckled. “We are. But no one’s home.”

“Why not?”

“I asked for some privacy. Everyone’s at Aunt Queenie and Uncle Jacob’s. They’re just next-door, as it were.”

“Oh.” You paused. “But the house is empty?”

“Yeah.”

Reluctant to leave Rowan’s arms, you nudged yourself around without breaking Rowan’s hug.

Rowan smiled when he saw you turning around in his embrace. Finally, you managed to get your hands on his chest and to look up at him.

“Hello there,” he said softly.

“Hi.”

“You look very cute like that.”

You leaned forward and kissed Rowan. “Mm…”

After a sweet moment of simply trading soft kisses, you drew back to say, “Rowan. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t realize how many problems I was creating for you. You spending two years in another realm, having to leave your animals behind, and not being able to tell your father where they are now…”

Rowan gave you a hard gaze. “What are you doing?”

You hesitated. “What…?”

“It’s years too late to apologize to me. And me to you,” Rowan said bluntly. “We don’t need apologies or grand declarations of love. We’re past all that. We’ve always been. So, just, be comfortable with me… and don’t get hurt. Please.”

A sadness panged in your heart. Rowan, you shouldn’t be holding onto me like this. The way you love someone is full of sadness…

You leaned forward and kissed Rowan again. This time, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and hugged him back.

At the same time, you slowly folded your legs on either side of you, so that you could sit up a little on your knees. You sat on Rowan’s lap, and with your arms still wrapped tightly around him, you started to gently rock against him.

Rowan reached down and grasped your chin in his hand. “What’re you doing there, little one, hm? Are you trying to seduce me?”

You nodded, always the straightforward personality.

He chuckled. “Well, you look silly, moving about like that, with your fox ears flopping everywhere.”

You whispered back to him, “You say that, but I can feel you, Rowan.”

Rowan smirked. He suddenly anchored you against him and he roughly rubbed his face against the top of your head.

“Ack, Rowan – what’re you doing?”

Rowan paused and then –

“Ah!” you gasped out, as you felt Rowan biting lightly all up and down your ears.

Rowan felt your hands scrambling all over his chest and stomach. He laughed softly. “Fuck, I wish you could keep these ears somehow. They’re a perfect weak spot for someone as hot-tempered as you.”

“Hot-tempered? Me?” You finally poked your head between Rowan’s arms. “You’re projecting, Rowan Scamander.”

Rowan grasped your hips and sat you down properly on his lap.

You felt your breath leave you when you were pushed against Rowan’s hips and pelvis.

“Oh…”

Rowan smiled at you. “It takes so little to distract you, except from your Fox, of course.”

“I’m not distracted,” you retorted. “I just…” Your thighs twitched. “I just want you.”

Inside of your chest, the Fox purred happily and licked her paws. If it was up to her, she would gladly busy herself by feasting on Rowan’s soul every day.

“Show me,” Rowan murmured. Though his voice was gentle and his tone warm, the texture of his voice suddenly became much more gruff. “Show me how much you want me.”

In truth, Rowan was relieving the stress of being back in the real world and his family again by teasing you. However, seeing you safe and sound in his arms brought Rowan genuine happiness, and that was where the warmth was coming from.

Rowan was also trying to be careful with you. Normally, he’d grab you and flip you on the bed and have you panting desperately for him in mere minutes. But, while you seemed fine, gazing up at him with cute, glimmering eyes that were curious and alight, your body was still somewhat cold. Rowan didn’t want to push you accidentally.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Feeling lazy today?’

Rowan raised an eyebrow right back at you. “You sure you want to push that button? Even knowing what happens when I take charge?”

“Er – right, no,” you amended quickly. “Okay. You just sit tight, Rowan Scamander.”

Rowan made a face. “How come you use my full name so often?”

“I’m holding back from saying ‘Rowan Jacob Scamander,’ actually.”

“Why?”

“Ah, I don’t know. It just makes you seem cuter when I use your full name.”

Rowan’s grip on your hips tightened slightly. “Seem cuter?”

You laughed. “That’s right,” you said, not relenting. “You’re not cute at all, Rowan. You’re a big hulk of a man. But when I use your full name, it makes you a little more – um – pocket-size, see?”

Rowan stared at you. “When you get your fox ears, do you replace them with your capacity to reason?”

You rolled your eyes. “This is what I’m talking about. Not cute at all. Now shush. I want you inside me, and it’s not going to happen if you keep teasing me like this.”

Rowan sighed. But he kept quiet and let you go on.

A moment later, Rowan felt you clasp your hands on his shoulders. Then, he felt your knees starting to move and your thighs brush up against his hips and then – he felt you pushing yourself gently against him.

Soon, you reached down to struggle out of your pants. You slipped them down just enough that Rowan could make love to you. You undid Rowan’s pants and, with some effort, managed to get them down Rowan’s hips and thighs as well.

Rowan bit back a chuckle when he saw how hard you had to work to get the fabric down.

“You’re already all worn out,” he teased you, when you finally sat back on his thighs to catch your breath.

“I don’t get it,” you said, frowning. “We didn’t eat much at all in the spiritual realm. Why are our pants so tight?”

Rowan smiled. “We can think on that later, love. But for now…”

Rowan let his hands slip down, tracing your curves before he slid his hands under your plush little ass and held you up, just above his lap.

You reached down and guided Rowan to you. You shut your eyes tightly, as you always did, because Rowan had such a thick cock, that getting him inside you always made you feel very, very tight, and no matter how many times the two of you made love, it was always a little overwhelming.

“Relax,” Rowan reminded you, leaning forward to gently nuzzle your jaw with his nose. “You’ve got to relax.”

You nodded. But, in contrast to your agreement, you clutched onto Rowan’s shoulders harder as you slowly lowered yourself onto his cock.

The tip of his cock pushed against your pussyhole until… It pushed through.

“Ah,” you breathed out.

Rowan’s hands pressed harder against your ass. He also pushed his face harder against your neck. “Fuck,” he moaned out, in a slightly muffled voice. “Aren’t you all tight and warm tonight, hm?”

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed out, hardly aware of what you were saying. “Ah… Y-You’re so big… So thick…”

“And you’re so tight,” Rowan returned, nuzzling your neck with his nose. “Fuck, you feel so good… Wrapped around my cock like that… Mm… Sink down a little lower, baby.”

“I’m trying,” you breathed out. “Oh, God…”

You paused. Were you just imagining it, or was Rowan actually shifting a little to push himself up into you?

“Rowan,” you squeaked out in a soft voice. “Um, I think y-you’re - ”

“Shit! Sorry.” Rowan realized that he had lifted his hips slightly. He quickly sat himself back down on the bed. You felt his hands soften, too, though he continued holding you up.

“Sorry,” he apologized again. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head at him. “I’m okay.”

“Good. I just – You were so tight that I felt like you were going to push me out. I didn’t realize I was pushing in so much. Sorry, love.” Rowan kissed your neck as he whispered, almost to himself, “I know I’ve got to be careful with you tonight.”

“Mm, yeah, you can’t be such a bully to me tonight,” you agreed. You smiled teasingly up at him, and as you spoke, your fox ears twitched.

Rowan rolled his eyes at you. “Then, get to it. C’mon. Show me what a little slut you are for me.”

You rolled your eyes right back at him. But you couldn’t deny it – the way he spoke, coupled with the easy way in which he handled you, and the way his eyes glinted charmingly and also rather meanly, made you feel very fond of him.

Wrapping your hands once more around the back of his neck, you started to gently lower yourself back onto him. But you stuttered to a pause all too soon, when you felt his cock start to spread open your tight walls deep inside of your pussy.

“Rock your hips,” Rowan suggested. “Get yourself all wet for me first.”

You nodded. Putting your hands on top of his shoulders and pushing yourself up just a little, you started to bounce on the tip of Rowan’s cock.

Rowan moaned appreciatively. “Good girl,” he praised you.

“Mm, yeah,” you breathed out happily.

“There you go,” Rowan said. He grabbed your hips and helped you go up and down on his cock.

“Ah…” you breathed out happily, and you felt the Fox purring with pleasure inside of your chest, too. “Feels so good…”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you spread me out so well,” you told Rowan. “Feels amazing, Rowan…”

Your head nodded along with your hips as you bounced along on his cock. Your hips squirmed with pleasure as you felt his cock delve in and out of your pussy, filling you up so nicely now that the initial tightness of taking him in was over.

“Look at you,” Rowan whispered adoringly, “taking cock so well. Mm, you’re so pretty, baby.”

To his own surprise, Rowan enjoyed being lazy with you. He ran his hands slowly up and down your sides, almost tickling you, and he smiled when he saw you squirm a little on your way up and down.

You weren’t taking very much of him, but that was all right, Rowan thought, because you were working yourself so prettily on his cock. You were using your thighs and your hips so that even though you were just taking in the tip of his cock, you were milking the tip of his cock so well, making sure Rowan could feel how warm and soft and tight your pussy was.

Rowan watched the way your breasts bounced lightly as you fucked yourself on his cock, and he saw the way your strong thighs and tight little cunt were working desperately to ride his cock.

“Look at you,” Rowan whispered adoringly. He let his hand drift forward and gently graze over your tummy. “Taking me in so well. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Rowan liked, too, the feeling of you holding onto him like this – with your hands on his neck. He liked knowing that he could support you, and he felt close to you when you were clutching onto him like this.  

Rowan reached over and suddenly grasped the back of your neck and he brought you forward. You blinked, finding yourself abruptly tucked away against Rowan’s neck and shoulder. Your hips paused, too, as for a moment, you scrambled to hug Rowan, as your hands had fallen away from his neck when he brought you closer.

“Keep going,” Rowan murmured lovingly into your ear. He reached up and tucked your hair back for you, trapping it against the back of your neck, so he could hear you pant for him. With his other hand, he reached back down and pressed his fingers against your clit, where he rubbed tight, fast circles against you.

You moaned out softly. “Rowan…” Your tummy buckled inwards a moment later, as the sensation of his fingers massaging your clit while you bounced on his cock started to push you towards that higher sense of pleasure and tension.

“Don’t stop,” Rowan whispered back. He took a deep breath and then breathed out lovingly, “I want to feel my cock inside your tummy.” His hand drifted up a little, to touch your lower tummy. “Right…” He pressed down softly. “Here.”

You moaned again – this time low and wantingly. You pushed yourself down a little harder this time, making yourself take more of Rowan’s cock.

“Ah – yes!” You gasped when you felt him fill you up even more.

“There you go,” Rowan whispered, praising you not only with his words, but also by the way he looked at you – with such warm eyes. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?”

“H-Hm?” you stuttered out.

Rowan brought his hand up and gently touched your lips with his fingers. “Pant for me,” he murmured – and you did.

For a long time, you made love to Rowan in this way – holding onto him while softly bouncing on top of him, panting in soft, hurried breaths as you took him inside you over and over again, and ultimately letting yourself feel every sensation of this soft, slow, and pleasant sex with him.

Rowan kept lavishing your neck and chest with kisses, and though he kept one hand on your ass, to help hold you up, he let his other hand wander all up and down your body, leaving a trail of adoring warmth wrapped all around your silhouette.

You were a bit taken aback, but also quite happy, with how laid-back Rowan was today. He really does know how to be gentle with me, you thought.

You realized that you had deeply underestimated Rowan. Yes, he had such strong guards up that it was hard to reach him and he talked in such a harsh way that it sometimes put you off. But, at the end of the day, when you thought about what he’d done for you… coming with you to a land you purposefully told him nothing about, yet somehow knowing to come back and save your life; leaving his treasured and beloved creatures behind to stay by your side; and now, letting down his guards to let you have him any way you liked, to make sure you were safe with him…

His words can be cruel, and there’s a harshness to him, certainly… And I’m still not entirely sure where that comes from, but to me, he’s only ever been loyal and protective and true…

You heard yourself whisper, “More…”

“Hm?” Rowan reached up and gently caught your lower lip under his thumb. “What did you say?”

“Wan… more…” you managed to mumble out. Honestly, though, you weren’t sure what this ‘more’ was that you were speaking of. Was it about sex or was it about something else…? Maybe more time with Rowan, or more of this gentle love with Rowan, or more… more…

I don’t know what it is, or how to say it, you thought. But there’s something to Rowan that needs to be unlocked and brought back. I feel like I’m getting closer to seeing what that is.

But Rowan, of course, thought you were talking about making love. He murmured softly, “Of course you do. ‘Cause you’re a good little slut, aren’t you?”

Oh… I didn’t really explain myself, did I? you suddenly realized, feeling quite stupid.

You nodded, almost sheepishly.

“I’m glad you’re not pretending otherwise anymore,” Rowan told you. “I prefer you when you’re honest with me.”

As he spoke, Rowan let his hands drift to your middle, where he grasped your waist rather tightly in his hands.

“Ah,” you breathed out, feeling him squeeze your waist.

“You’re doing so well for me, love,” Rowan murmured. “And if you want more, then I think it’ll be even better if you just… if you just sit - ”

“Uh!” You gasped loudly as Rowan pushed down on you a little – and you felt his cock push through your walls.

It felt so good, but being filled up by such a thick cock made your pussy clench suddenly all around his cock. Instinctively, your thighs tightened, too, abruptly closing in around Rowan’s hips and throwing off your sense of balance.  

You fell forward, trapping Rowan in a tight hug, as you all but blubbered into his shoulder. “R-Rowan, I’m s-still – nngh – so t-tight… Ah…!”

Rowan shut his eyes. “Fuck,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “You are tight.”

“A-Ah,” you choked out. You could feel your pussy getting all feverish and throbbing away hotly on Rowan’s cock. Without realizing it, you were now hugging Rowan was all of your might.

Rowan moaned. “Fuck,” he spit out again. His grip around your waist tightened even more.

“Hah – Ah - Rowan,” you breathed out. Your voice was thin; your breath was even thinner.

“Sweetheart,” Rowan murmured, almost cutting you off. “I – I gotta have you now. Can you take me?”

“I don’t – Gimme a m-moment,” you mumbled.

“Okay. Okay,” Rowan huffed out. He was trying to calm himself, trying to ignore the fact that yours was the tightest, warmest pussy he’d ever been in, and you were gripping him like crazy right now.

Rowan glanced down at you, though his own face was scrunched up with the effort of waiting for you. He saw the way you’d buried your face against his neck and he saw the way your fox ears were going haywire – twitching furiously.

Rowan managed to slip his arm around your waist to hold you to him. Now that his other hand was freed up, he soothingly ran his hand down your back.

“You’re all right, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’re with me.”

You lifted your face and looked up at him.

Rowan blinked when he saw your flushed face. She looks so… She looks like she’s in love. He paused. I must be going out of my mind.

“I know,” you whispered. You also kept one arm around his shoulders, to hold yourself up, but you brought your other hand and pushed Rowan’s hair out of his eyes before pressing your palm warmly against Rowan’s cheek.

“I know,” you repeated, and the sincerity in your voice made it sound like a promise.

Rowan’s mouth fell open slightly. Then, he leaned down, and with you still sitting in his lap and his arm still around you, anchoring you to him, he kissed you.

You breathed out and returned his kiss.

The kiss, though slow and tender, became more and more passionate, until Rowan finally sat up and then gently toppled you over.

You held onto Rowan, hugging him around his neck, but when you felt his hand slip down, you let him gather your legs together and turn you gently to the side.

Turning, you reached over and grasped the sheets with both of your hands.

Rowan took his position, hovering above you, with one hand holding onto the bed frame, and his other hand placed on your ass, to make sure your little pussy was all opened up for him to push his thick, stiff cock back into.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Rowan told you. “I’ll go slow.”

You nodded.

Rowan leaned forward and began to gently push his cock back into you.

Your hands immediately tightened on the sheets.

Rowan slowly rocked his hips back and forth, working his cock deep inside of you.

“Ah, ah, ah…” Soft gasps left your lips as you felt him rocking into you like that. You were still being stretched out, but in such a pleasant way.

Rowan watched as your hips rocked with his, and how your breasts bounced lightly in time to his pushing into you. Besides that, your fox ears were curled slightly at the tips, as were your toes.

So lovely… he thought. She’s matured so much since we were in school together, and yet, she’s cuter than she was. I’m not sure how that happened, but she’s so very lovely… My fox girl… Who never noticed my feelings for her… Who was always too busy thinking of spirits and foxes to notice the people right beside her… But she has noticed me, now.

Rowan began to push into you harder.

She’s with me now. She’s let me stay with her.

Rowan’s grip on the bed frame tightened and he thrust his hips forward now.

“Uhn!” you cried out.

Rowan groaned. Yeah, she’s in my bed, taking my cock, and looking all cute for me. And she’s so good for me… So good, so good, so good…!

“U-Uh - ! Uh! Uhn!” You were trembling on the bed. Your thighs, gathered tightly together by Rowan, were now shivering badly enough that you instinctively wanted to split them apart. Rowan kept them tightly together, however, as his hand pressed harder and harder against your ass, pressing you down into the bed.

Finally, you cried out, “Ah! Rowan!” You let go of the sheets and reached down to grab Rowan’s hand. You slid his hand onto your tummy instead and then spread your shaking legs apart – and as soon as you finally managed to pull them apart, you came. You came heavily, right on Rowan’s cock, which was still fully buried inside of you.

“Oh, God,” Rowan moaned, when he felt your pussy grip on his cock and throb hotly.

Rowan’s hands slipped off of both the bed frame and off of your tummy at the same time. He fell over, nearly right on top of you, but he managed to catch himself at the last moment. His hands slammed down on the mattress on either side of you and he held himself up, hovering above you.

“Ah…!” you gasped out. Your head fell back and your back arched. Rowan felt your tummy press flush to his suddenly.

Rowan moaned and he reached down with one hand and fervently grasped your waist. Holding you in place like that, he slammed into you repeatedly with heavy, rough thrusts.

“Ah! A-Ah! Ahhh…!” You half-gasped and half-cried out in overwhelming ecstasy as Rowan rammed his cock into your pulsing, still cumming pussy.

Somehow, your head was now up against the top bed frame – you couldn’t remember how or when that happened – and Rowan was thrusting into you brutally, and you loved it, you loved it, you loved it –

“Uhnn!” With a loud, deep growl, Rowan thrust into you one last time – and he came.

Your mouth fell open when you felt his cock throb heavily in your tight, stretched-out pussy, and then you felt the heat of his cum fill up your pussy.

“Hah… Ah… Ah…!”

“Hah – Nngh – Ah… Hah…”

Your and Rowan’s breaths mingled as both of you panted for all you were worth.

You were both sweating so much.

“Oh, God,” you heard yourself whimper.

“Fuck,” Rowan panted out. “Fuck, that felt – you’re so – uhn…”

You raised a shaking hand and touched Rowan’s chest. He jolted, almost as if you had electrocuted him.

“R-Rowan…” you breathed out. “Look… at… me.”

Rowan opened his eyes.

You tried to smile at him, but it felt too serious of a moment to make light of, and you let your smile fade away quickly. Instead, you gave into the intense romantic sense of it all.

“Rowan…” you whispered. You opened your hand and pressed your palm and all five fingers against his warm chest. You could feel his heart beating furiously in his chest.

But then, your hand slipped off as Rowan rolled off of you, falling to your side and onto the bed.

Rowan stared up at the ceiling, dizzy with heat and with the intense feeling of cumming in you, the woman he felt so much for… It wasn’t just possessiveness anymore, was it? No, it couldn’t be, not when he was the one following you around like this. Rowan threw his arm over his face. He couldn’t explain to himself anymore… how much he felt for you.

Too tired to lift your head, you shifted onto your side to look at Rowan.

Rowan felt you gazing up at him. He didn’t look at you and he kept his arm over his face, but with his other hand, he reached over and gently patted your head.

“They’re gone,” he murmured. “Your fox ears…”

“I didn’t even notice,” you told him honestly. You repeated his words back to him, “We didn’t make love tonight just to get rid of the fox ears, did we?”

Rowan swallowed. “No.”

You scooted closer to him, sliding over bit by bit, until you were lightly pressed up against his side.

Rowan lifted his arm so you could press yourself against him.

You snuggled in beside him, and slid your head onto his shoulder. You reached up and gently pushed off his arm (the one he was using to cover his face) and stared up at his handsome face.

“What’re you gazing at me for?” Rowan asked you, still not looking at you. “You know what I look like.”

You didn’t reply, but you kept gazing up at him.

Something feels different about him tonight, you mused. Very different.

“Were you satisfied?” you wondered aloud. “When I made love to you, sitting in your lap and all, I wasn’t going too slow for you, was I?”

“No,” Rowan replied. “You were perfect.”

Perfect?

Rowan cleared his throat and said quickly, “Now, sleep, love. I know how tired you get after your transformations.”

“Ah, right – about that,” you said, “the Fox says, ‘thank you.’”

“Good,” Rowan murmured. “Now, sleep. And we’ll have to make sure you eat when you wake up. All right?”

You nodded. Closing your eyes, you let yourself enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by the warmth and scent of Rowan, of being as safe as you could ever be…

Just before you fell asleep, you mumbled aloud, “Y’know, Rowan, it’s a real shame… that you don’t believe… in love.”

Rowan didn’t react to you in that moment.

It was only after you’d fallen asleep that Rowan quietly turned his head to look at you. When he saw you sleeping besides him, looking so peaceful, he closed his own eyes. Just before he fell asleep, Rowan felt a wash of wistfulness come over him and tint his dreams with a sense of forgotten feelings.  

Inside of your soul, the Nine-Tailed Fox nodded approvingly, as she felt the subtle shift in Rowan’s energy. You’re coming home to yourself, Rowan Scamander. Slowly but surely, you’re remembering how to be yourself again. It will be painful, but don’t be afraid. You were not born to deny your own soul, sunchild.

As Rowan fell asleep, his arm curled around you and slipped down from your shoulders to your waist. Meanwhile, you shifted slightly and your hand slid up, until it was resting gently atop his chest.

The two of you slept like that all night, as comfortable as could be in each other’s embraces, and protective of one another even in your shared slumber.

Tagged Users: @areomalfoy @saltstacks

[livrelady]

#i often think of that one post that was like#all of dean's girlfriends/boyfriends in a room together#and cas says#''i won not because i'm the least insane out of all of you. i won because i'm the MOST insane''#this list is its spiritual successor#spn#also it's important to note that cas literally invented free will because he loves dean so much so like. yeah it ain't even close#everyone else is just chillin' compared to him (X)

Dean's boyfriends ranked by how normal they were about him (from most to least):

4. Lee Webb. As normal as one could get about Dean Winchester. Like yeah, he tried to kill him, but that was completely unrelated to them being exes. Even able to have a nice, friendly reunion with Dean, no hard feelings at all (again, until Lee tried to kill him).

3. Benny Lafitte. Genuinely probably the closest Dean got to a normal relationship with a man and they probably could have made it work if they weren't both hung up on other people. Benny did end up sacrificing his life for Dean, after Dean ghosted him even, but Dean was only partly the motivation there. Still, seeing the dynamic between Dean and Cas in Purgatory and willingly inserting yourself is kind of bonkers.

2. Crowley. Man started this relationship thinking he had the upper hand, then caught feelings and fully shattered himself on the altar of Dean Winchester. Went around telling people that Dean completes him after they had a regrettable summer fling, then sacrificed his life for him because that's just what falling in love with late-seasons Dean does to a motherfucker.

(Special mention of Chuck, who while completely abnormal about Dean was never his boyfriend, as much as he wishes.)

1. Castiel. And it's not even close. In this competition, Cas takes the gold, silver and bronze. Laid a hand on Dean in hell and never had a normal thought again. You just know he had fantasies for years about confessing his love for Dean while dying in his arms before it actually happened. Fortunately for him, Dean matches his freak perfectly.

[spiritual123]

Rudolf Steiner

Ga-4 – Filosofia libertății

Rezumat

#FilosofiaLibertatii #RudolfSteiner #Antroposofia #Антропософия #Anthroposophy #Anthroposophie

REALITATEA LIBERTĂȚII

X. FILOSOFIA LIBERTĂȚII ȘI MONISMUL

Omul naiv, care percepe realitatea doar prin simțuri, caută principii morale externe și perceptibile. Acesta acceptă autoritatea externă a altor oameni sau a unor entități divine pentru a-și ghida moralitatea. La un nivel mai avansat, omul percepe aceste principii morale ca fiind dictate de o conștiință interioară sau de o divinitate ipotetică, dar totuși externe lui.

În domeniul moralității, realismul naiv vede legile morale ca forțe independente și externe, fie ele divine sau sociale, iar libertatea umană este considerată o iluzie din cauza determinismului material sau spiritual. Materialismul și dualismul spiritualist exclud libertatea, fie prin constrângeri mecanice, fie prin voința unei ființe superioare.

Monismul, pe de altă parte, recunoaște parțial justificarea realismului naiv, dar susține că adevărata libertate vine din intuiția morală internă a individului. Omul este liber atunci când își urmează propriile idei morale intuitive și nu constrângerile externe sau metafizice. Concepția monistă respinge determinismul metafizic și recunoaște libertatea umană ca o realizare a spiritului liber prin evoluție.

Monismul vede moralitatea și libertatea ca fenomene specifice umane, determinate de natura omenească și nu de principii externe. Aceasta conduce la o filozofie a libertății, unde omul acționează conform voinței sale intuitive, contribuind la o ordine morală creată de el însuși și nu impusă de factori externi.

REALITATEA LIBERTĂȚII

XI. FINALITATEA UNIVERSALĂ ȘI FINALITATEA VIEȚII

(DETERMINAREA OMULUI)

Rudolf Steiner explorează conceptul de finalitate și determinare a omului în univers. El începe prin a distinge noțiunea de finalitate de cauzalitate. Finalitatea implică un fenomen ulterior ce influențează un fenomen anterior prin intermediul reprezentării, ceea ce se observă doar în acțiunile umane.

Steiner argumentează că în procesele naturale, percepția și noțiunea sunt separate; percepția cauzei precede percepția efectului și legătura dintre ele este realizată prin noțiuni conceptuale. El respinge ideea că finalitatea poate fi aplicată naturii sau universului în afara acțiunilor umane, deoarece aceasta ar implica existența unor scopuri perceptibile care nu există de fapt. El afirmă că noțiunea de finalitate este aplicabilă doar acțiunilor umane, deoarece numai omul poate realiza idei ca finalități.

Monismul, potrivit lui Steiner, respinge noțiunea de finalitate în natură și univers, căutând în schimb legi naturale. Finalitățile naturale sunt considerate ipoteze arbitrare, iar scopurile vieții omului sunt determinate doar de el însuși. Astfel, omul își stabilește propriul scop în viață și nu urmează un itinerar predeterminat.

Steiner critică utilizarea termenului de finalitate pentru a descrie evoluția istorică sau ordinea morală a lumii, considerând aceste idei nejustificate. În schimb, el subliniază că ideile pot fi realizate ca finalități numai de către oameni și nu de către natură sau istorie.

Se adaugă că respingerea finalității în acțiunile extraumane nu înseamnă că lumea exterioară este redusă la un fenomen natural. Steiner afirmă că în afara acțiunilor umane există un principiu superior finalității care se manifestă în umanitate, iar rezultatul activității totale a omenirii este o realitate superioară compusă din finalitățile umane individuale.

REALITATEA LIBERTĂȚII

XII. FANTEZIA MORALĂ

(DARWINISM ȘI MORALITATE)

Autorul explorează distincția dintre acțiunile spiritului liber și cele ale spiritului neliber. Spiritul liber acționează pe baza intuițiilor alese din lumea ideilor sale, determinând astfel deciziile în mod original și independent de influențe externe sau exemple anterioare. În contrast, spiritul neliber își derivă motivațiile din experiențele și percepțiile trecute, acționând conform regulilor sau exemplelor deja stabilite.

Steiner subliniază importanța fanteziei morale pentru spiritul liber, care transformă ideile abstracte în acțiuni concrete. Acest proces necesită creativitate și abilitatea de a aplica aceste idei în realitate, fără a încălca legile naturale existente. Tehnica morală, ce poate fi învățată asemenea științei, implică transformarea percepțiilor existente conform noțiunilor morale.

Steiner compară evoluția morală cu teoria evoluționistă, afirmând că ideile morale noi se dezvoltă din cele anterioare, însă fiecare individ trebuie să creeze și să își asume propriile idei morale. Astfel, individualismul etic nu contrazice evoluționismul, ci îl completează, arătând că omul, ca ființă morală, își dezvoltă propriile legi morale, așa cum natura dezvoltă forme noi de viață.

Libertatea adevărată înseamnă capacitatea de a genera și acționa conform propriilor intuiții morale, fără influențe externe, realizând astfel acțiuni libere și autentice.

[moochilatv]

Sam Blacky x Niniola presents: Ronaldinho

Electronic metts soccer

Sam Blacky Joins Forces With Acclaimed Grammy-nominated Nigerian Singer-Songwriter Niniola On Inspiring Vocal Afro-House Single "Ronaldinho." Out Now on Easier Said

Powerhouse LA-based DJ/producer Sam Blacky partners with Grammy-nominated African singer-songwriter hailing from Nigeria, Niniola, for their new single "Ronaldinho," which celebrates the former's love for afro house and the latter's Nigerian history in a dynamic, soulful sonic journey. Sam has long loved pushing the boundaries of dance music and breaking music genres' molds, and over the past few years, it's become apparent that her true passion lies in creating globally-inspired, dance-worthy records. "Ronaldinho" is a shining example of this with its undulating, deep basslines, percussive instrumentals, and ethereal melodies courtesy of Sam, while Niniola's shining vocals truly turn the song into a spiritual listening experience. With the summer festival season just heating up, "Ronaldinho" is about to be heard on the beach, the festival stage, and the club dance floors around the world. The track is out now on Easier Said, which finds Sam exercising her artistic freedom by once again joining a formidable roster of forward-thinking artists such as Barclay Crenshaw, Life on Planets, Maya Jane Coles, Party Pupils, and Todd Terry.

"As the years have passed, my passion has become more and more integrated with what we know as afro house. When the opportunity came up to work with one of the original, most iconic singers in that realm, all the way from Nigeria, there was no question. I heard what Niniola had done with the vocals for Ronaldinho and knew I had to make this song with her. Having someone who is such an amazing storyteller, with such an incredible voice, who has lived this life through and through brings an entirely different message and meaning to the music." - Sam Blacky

Sam Blacky's forthcoming dates:

May 26 - Brooklyn, NY - We Belong Here Jun 05 - Los Angeles, CA - Academy LA Jun 08 - Montréal, QC - New City Gas Jun 22 - San Diego, CA - Horizon Music Festival Jun 23 - Long Beach, CA - Day Trip Festival Jul 06 - Kristiansand, NO - Palmesus Festival

Niniola

Niniola participated in several social activities and competitions. She finished third runner-up in the sixth season of Project Fame West Africa. Niniola released her debut single - "Ibadi," on 19 March 2014. The song received positive reviews, topped national music charts, and gained extensive airplay. Her singles "Ibadi" and "Gbowode" were included in the soundtrack for season 2 of "Gidi Up." Niniola was nominated in the Most Promising Act to Watch category at the 2015 Nigeria Entertainment Awards. In 2017, Niniola went on to release another single titled "Maradona," which went on to become a global hit. "Maradona" enjoyed a good 13 weeks on the South African charts and was at the No.1 spot for over 6 weeks. It also earned Niniola a BET Awards and SAMA nominations. Since then, Niniola has gone on to receive nods from international heavyweights like Drake, Timbaland, and others. In 2019, elements of the single were sampled on "The Lion King: The Gift Album" by Beyoncé on the track "Find Your Way Back," where she also appeared as a songwriter and composer of the song, which has gone on to get Niniola a Grammy nomination. In April 2020 and later in June 2021, she received her 1st, 2nd Grammy nomination certificate for her work as a composer. In June 2021, she's got inducted into the Grammy Recording Academy Class of 2021. In July 2021, Niniola's single, "Maradona" was certified gold in South Africa by the Recording Industry of South Africa RISA.

Sam Blacky is a multitalented DJ, Producer, and Cultural Icon from San Diego, USA. She spent several years in Australia, where she first fell in love with producing music and performing live. Since moving back to the US, music, performing, and fashion have taken a front seat in her life. Performing since 2017, she's graced the stages from Mexico to Ibiza, Bali to Europe, and some of the world's premier electronic music festivals and clubs.

Since her first self-released EP in 2021, Sam has released on esteemed labels such as Repopulate Mars, Terms & Conditions, Easier Said, Thrive Music, and Hood Politics. Her standout remix of "Gaslight" for Grammy-nominated Inji was a viral sensation. Sam's signature style of blending Afro-House, Latin House, and everything in between is connecting with global audiences and has earned her the coveted 1001 Tracklists' "Future of Dance" producer list two years in a row. Her latest release - "Amor," was remixed by Brazilian producer Illusionize and cemented her place worldwide as a one to watch.

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[ashleysingermfablog]

Wk 1, Feb 15th, 2024 Research

Mysticism, the world made fresh

Having started looking into the many forms of fruits and flowers from nature, what are world views that intersect nature and spirituality? How can my viewers encounter work in ways that evoke the ancient and the mystical?

Reviewing the E-flux article: The Word Made Fresh: Mystical Encounter and the New Weird Divine by Elvia Wilk.

From the text: Many foundational mystical texts in the lineage of Nature Mysticism have been written by women (see image below). In the Middle Ages in particular, women’s access to theological knowledge (the explanation and interpretation of sacred texts) was limited by circumstance.Therefore, the knowledge about God and spiritualism that women produced was often empirical in the most literal sense: a kind of truth only obtained by firsthand, affective experience. Although not necessarily opposed to the religious theory or conventions of their time, given the radical authority implied by their often intimate communion with God, female mystics have at various points posed political threats to religious institutions; in these cases mystics become martyrs.

Together woman's writings amount to a lineage of female knowledge outside of dominant epistemologies of both religion and science. Their insistence on the possibility of encounter beyond reason—even beyond what the conscious mind can account for��is, weirdly, comparable to the type of revelation Annihilation proposes. As a literary category, New Weird holds potential to unearth and update mysticism according to contemporary knowledge, much of which points to an existential threat on the species level. In Western mysticism, the transformational (alien) force beyond the limits of human consciousness was God. In Area X, maybe the divine is literally alien, or maybe it’s simply nature at its most ecstatic, matter at its most vibrant, the nonhuman at its most alive—so alive it annihilates not only a single human self but the category of human altogether.

Could my work be moving towards trying to make matter more vibrant? What would that look like in sculpture using found matter and casting from life?

See below the poems taken from Canadian psychiatrist R. M. Bucke, who documented his own lapses of sanity into what he describes as“cosmic consciousness”:

The dark yet poetic language infers human spirituality with a sense of nature and mortality in languages such as "sinner, worms, dead, sun shining, fatal softness, blossom, seeds and decay". Here I see Bucke taking the motifs of nature and intersecting them with human emotional qualities to find acquiesce. In terms of image-building, this text creates in the mind the idea of nature and human emotions as intermingling across a style of stream of consciousness writing. Presented like a sermon or a religious warning/outcry, the text could be read in line with my questions above, that nature and spirituality intersect through human emotion.

Reviewing the Book of Flower Studies, ca. 1510–1515, Made in Tours, France (acc. no. 2019.197)

From the text:

Reflect fondly on summer with Met curator Griffith Mann and horiculturist Carly Still as they explore medieval flowers in the galleries and in the gardens at The Met Cloisters.Take a closer look at the Book of Flower Studies: met.org/2TAbL5K. The image of Dandelions, Iris and other French and European species of flowering plants from the Medieval period are cultivated in the Cloisters' garden at the MET in line with their illustration in the Cloisters' manuscript.

All of the species illustrated in the Manuscript is grown in the Met's Garden by horticulturists. By centring a garden around Medieval Manuscripts that depicts European Native species, like the Purple Iris which is a very spiritual symbol of many rituals in early Europe and the medicinal Dandelion, the garden practice at the Met brings to life ancient or historical landscapes. Unfortunately now seen as a weed, the dandelion plant is deeply healing and comes from the French word 'lion claws' (dande) because of the leaf shaping resembling the claws of the lion. The manuscript that is being opened and shown in the video that I have screenshot from, is an illuminated manuscript in a sense that it shows vegetation which would have been used as a reference to adorn the pages of manuscripts by Monks to evince messages of the texts they were transcribing by hand. The book comes from a time in human history that predates the printing press and shows the use of the hand drawn and hand written to communicate religious prose, scripture and the spiritual (Christian messages). Combining nature and the theology of early christian proverbs, this text shows evidences early forms of nature mysticism in the medieval period. To me, this book is a prime example of the overt combination between plants species and human theology.

See below, Iris Manuscript Illustration and the head horticulturist Carly Still holding native European plant varieties grown in the Cloister Gardens.

Stills from the Met Museum staff unpacking the gardens and the contents of the Cloister's manuscripts: access full video here: https://youtu.be/CKBCn34KZBU?si=m5sKWqr5n3oxJtEj

The Iris links to my practice as I have cast three Dutch Iris Bulbs from the local garden centre in bronze, each bulb a marker for growth in the Winter Season as this is when bulbs are planted for (further post showing this work in a mini crit with Ashley Lowe and Shady Moore.

[n1thaya]

Hornbuckle, Jenean, Eastern Band of Cherokee. Creation. Ca. 2003. Oil on canvas. 29 x 35. Smithsonian Institution, Washington D.C.

In Creation (2003), an oil painting by Jenean Hornbuckle, the contemporary Cherokee artist portrays a creation story provided through Cherokee oral traditions. She takes inspiration from the legend of “How The World Was Made”, illustrating the earth as “a great island floating in a sea of water” in which beings lived above the sky world, called the Galunlati. Many beings were sent down to explore the earth, but only the Great Buzzard, also known as a water beetle, came back successful:

“He flew all over the earth, low down near the ground, and it was still soft. When he reached the Cherokee country, he was very tired, and his wings began to flap and strike the ground. And where they turned up again there was a mountain… the Cherokee country remains full of mountains to this day.”In this painting, Hornbuckle portrays this moment of creation by superimposing a negative silhouette of the beetle both upon and within the sea, in which the creature reflects a glimpse into the landscape of earth. The window into this world illustrates mountains surrounded by water through the gaps of tall slender trees, in which the tree branches protrude outside of the frame of the body, seamlessly extending into the back legs of the beetle as he travels upon the water’s surface. By juxtaposing form and shape, the movement of the legs mirror the wind that sways in the trees, symbolizing the connection between the living and the land where “new life [is] emerging from its murky depths–a hopeful future with an unknown past”. This artwork is representative of the deeply rooted oral traditions in Cherokee cultures as these stories are generationally handed down. For instance, Southeastern indigenous communities have conceptualized the cosmos as a layered construction, each realm occupied by entities given symbolic value. By combining both physical and spiritual realms, the totality of the world is fit into complex patterns of existence and meaning, with great emphasis on balance and purity. In capturing the essence of this history, this artwork serves as a testament to the enduring legacy of Cherokee oral traditions and the community’s resilience towards settler colonial efforts to culturally assimilate and eliminate its history. Overall, the artist combats the prevalence of written practices in western culture by bringing back to light the very existence of oral traditions as an enduring practice.