#we can learn so much more about the domestication of dogs from ancient dogs coming out of the permafrost imo

[hsr-texts]

No, but the fact that belobogians never seen a chicken raises so many questions.

What farm animals they have and how do they keep them alive? Like the place has gotta be close to city, because it's simply easier to warm up the area this way. And just how big this farm area needs to be to provide for an entire city?

If they don't have chicken, what do they use instead of chicken eggs? If they don't use any substitutes, then they don't have cakes or other food like that. Or do they only have eggless recipes that don't require baking like some type of cheesecakes? I mean their planet is already like a giant freezer, they can use it.

Or they probably use other eggs, like idk duck eggs.

Does that create an even bigger divide between the overworld and the underground? Like most of the farm animals require plant-based food, so it would be very hard to keep them in the underground, especially after Cocolia ordered to close the border. But does this mean that some kids from the underworld never had milk?

omg hell yes i love discussions like this

this has sent me down a rabbit hole where i'd research belobogian cuisine ingame

(warning: this is a bit of a long post)

i'm looking at the flavor text lore for the dishes that you can get from belobog and i have this stone-grilled olm. i looked up what an olm is and yeah it's basically an amphibian

besides olms, they have crabs which interestingly enough also has interesting lore implications because apparently these crabs could "wreak havoc" in belobog before the eternal freeze and then became extinct so has hook just been eating an extinct species this whole time??

the answer to my question was in "Miners Weekly" where it talks about how the rock crab nests were destroyed so it seems like the extinction only happened recently

then we also have crystal lizards that are coldblooded and live in mines and apparently isn't even meant to be edible despite the fact that this is also something being sold by the food stall. i also wonder if that dialogue at the bottom saying how the crystal lizard satay tastes like chicken is from the trailblazer or march because it can't really be a belobogian

i checked the bookshelf if i had any books that could answer my question and lo and behold, here's a recipe for how the crystal lizard satay and some lore attached to it. apparently the dish was created out of necessity due to a mining accident and lack of rations. i guess desperation can be the best source of creativity.

note: according to the same book, they've eaten candied mushrooms.

so when it comes to farm animals, i found that they do have pork, rye bread soda(?), and yogurt

this implies that they have pigs and cows but we can't be sure if they're different from cows and pigs in our world. the sausage is considered a national delicacy though so perhaps pigs are common enough that they can be produced a lot since a hundred years ago.

i found the recipe for rye bread soda in my bookshelf as well!

then i found out they do have fish and jam which makes me wonder where they fish.

According to Lila, an NPC that's a zoologist, Belobog has dogs, cats, wolves and birds but in ancient times, Belobog had domesticated bears and direwolves in the wild. The bears and direwolves are no longer around though.

anyway yeah this is the info I've found on Belobogian food. I hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed researching this.

It's really cool to learn more about this kind of lore in hsr

[rabbitcruiser]

National Love Your Pet Day

Pets can offer unconditional love and help to make a home feel more welcoming and inviting. It’s only appropriate that owners take the time to show appreciation for them by celebrating on National Love Your Pet Day.

Pets can instantly put a smile on anyone’s face and bring joy to a household. Pet owners are busy people with jobs and families and may not always give a pet their full concentration. National Love Your Pet Day is a chance to give love and attention to any pet in the house, such as a dog, cat, and guinea pig. One trait that makes us all human is the ability and desire to love our pets, so it makes sense that we should all come together to celebrate their existence.

Learn about National Love Your Pet Day

It’s interesting to learn that most households in the United States have at least one pet present. It goes to show just how meaningful pets are to humans and that they share a unique and significant bond. Think along the lines of cats, dogs, birds, fish, and reptiles, for example. National Love Your Pet Day gives us all a reason to celebrate our pets and make them feel special.

Our furry and non-furry friends and pets have a very extraordinary place in all our hearts. Most would agree that it’s fun to celebrate this shared and matchless connection. Pet owners take pride in their pets and love to show them off and admire them. Humans and pets have meshed well together previously, and there’s no denying the fact that they continue to be a large part of your lives today.

The day is a time to embrace the idea that these pets are unique and special to us and have a place in our hearts. Love Your Pet day is a chance to show your pets extra love and your undivided attention. It’s about acknowledging the special relationship, and place pets hold in our lives and to pamper and admire them even more than we already do. It’s a chance to give back to pets everywhere since they’re known for helping to reduce stress and blood pressure in humans.

History of National Love Your Pet Day

Pets have been a part of human life for thousands of years, and it’s only becoming more popular and common to own one. Animals have been right by our side ever since the first moment of civilization. Consider the fact that wolves lived among humans for centuries, and there’s proof of humans and dogs and cats being together as long as 12,000 years ago.

In the 1600s, European royalty began keeping toy dog breeds. Pet birds were the pet of choice in Spain among all classes well into the 1960s. It may not be common knowledge regarding the person that started National Love Your Pet Day, but the masses began celebrating it and bringing it to light on a wide scale in the early 2000s.

National Love Your Pet Day Timeline

10,000 BC Wolves become domesticated

The first animal believed to transform from the wild state to the domesticated state is the wolf, the predecessor to the modern-day dog. It is believed that humans would find baby wolves and take them home to take care of them and train them.

7500 BC Cats may be domesticated

While it has been long believed that cats were domesticated in Ancient Egypt, recent information shows that it is much earlier and in the Near East.

3000 BC Parrots are domesticated

Colorful parrots are domesticated by Ancient Romans and also kept as pets in tropical places such as Brazil. They won’t be present in Europe until several hundred years later.

3100 BC Dogs are kept by people in Ancient Egypt

While their relationship is probably not as much like pets to humans but more like working dogs to owners, the Ancient Egyptians keep dogs nearby to help with tasks such as hunting and guarding. They may have even named them and put collars on them.

1850s Oldest-known photograph of a dog is taken

Ever since the invention of the camera, humans have enjoyed their pets by taking photos of them and with them. The first known photo of pet is titled Poodle with Bow, on Table and will later sell at a Sotheby’s auction for more than $8000 in 2009.

How to Celebrate National Love Your Pet Day

The best part about National Love Your Pet Day is that pet owners can pay extra attention to the animals they love so much. There are a variety of ways and options to choose from when it comes to celebrating National Love Your Pet Day. Pet owners should be encouraged to think outside the box and take actions that you know your pet will particularly adore.

A few ideas for what you can do include going for a walk or hike, playing with them and their toys, and snuggling and cuddling with them. As a dog owner, they may love going to the dog park, so be willing to take a trip there to have them play with the other dogs.

Many people find joy in taking pictures with their pets and sharing them on social media to let their networks know how much they love their furry friends. What’s most important and critical is that one purposely sets aside time to be with their pet on this special day. Pamper him or her with treats and show your pet that they mean the world to you.

Furthermore, take care of your pet’s health by making sure their vaccines are up to date and calling the vet to schedule their next appointment. Turn on the television and enjoy a feature film or video that includes a variety of pets to help cheer them up. Groom and pet your animal so that they look presentable and feel loved. Do them a favor by continuing to train them and practice commands with them on National Love Your Pet Day.

They’ll be better behaved, and it’ll keep them safe when you’re out and about walking them or in public. A pet owner might also want to celebrate by buying them a new toy that they know will excite them. Not only give it to them but then get on the floor and play with your pet. Also, wash their current bedding or give them a new bed that’s more comfortable for them.

Any non-pet owners don’t have to feel left out because there are plenty of options for this group to participate as well. For example, someone may want to donate money to a local shelter or adopt a pet themselves. One can also pitch in and help by offering to watch a friend or family member’s pet during the day while they are at work or need to travel.

Pet owners can rejoice knowing there’s a day designated for them and their pet of choice. Have fun celebrating and showing the household pet how much you adore them. One might even want to consider adding to the family on National Love Your Pet Day and getting another pet to enjoy.

Anyone participating in the day should take the time to admire how amazing their pet is and notice how happy he or she is that they’re receiving extra and special attention from their owner. There is a large community of pet owners out there so connect and share pictures with these individuals and ideas for how one can celebrate National Love Your Pet Day.

National Love Your Pet Day FAQs

How do you show love for your pets?

Everyone wants their pets to know they are loved! How to show this depends on the breed and kind of pet. Dogs like to be scratched behind the ears or on the belly. Cats enjoy hearing their voices mimicked. And rabbits like to spend quality time with their humans.

How are pets beneficial to humans?

National Love Your Pet Day is a perfect time to be reminded of the symbiotic relationship between pets and owners. All pets, but particularly cats and dogs, can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety and depression, provide companionship and teach children responsibility.

How to celebrate National Love Your Pet Day?

This is a great day to simply show pets they are loved by buying them treats, giving them an extra hug or scratch behind the ears, or just giving them extra attention.

When is National Love Your Pet Day?

Always occurring in late winter, National Love Your Pet Day falls on February 20 of each year.

Which pets live the longest?

Those who are looking to develop a relationship with a pet might wonder how long they can expect them to live. Pet tortoises are, by far, the longest living pet and can often outlive their owners as they can live approximately 50-100 years.

Source

[liminaltrainstation]

Cement, Heat and Radio

Day 4.

Many things have transpired since the last time I wrote - long, hot car and van drives through the city weaving in and out of sparsely populated roads to the wide streets near dated, yellowing government buildings. In the car next to me Forest and Nala speak slowly about their private lives, using formal words casually - ‘There’s a domestic issue I have to handle’ I look at her again wondering what serious issue is taking place at home. Later on she says ‘I have to drop off keys and feed the dogs’. 

In Kapuacha Market, one of the older market places from Lusaka that was erected in the 70’s we loiter around outside the market office, under the beating sun, smiling sheepishly at the vendors of the market. All of us clustered around the rubble of the path, looking like we were about to do something massive and important. We all speak quickly, debating how much money to give the market ‘manager’ to let us shoot videos of the vendors, and maybe even push it to ask them questions about the location. Forest is loud and abrasive about her discontent about shooting here ‘These people have been exploited for centuries, they will stone you if you go and start photographing them’. Fair. Fair Fair. I try to find a way to make it feel less icky - but it is hard. Class and color cuts through the country like a sharp knife, colonial ghosts linger everywhere. Who is poor? Who is even poorer? Rwandan refugees make up the market vendors in Obama Plaza, someone from Burundi owns the BIG DESIRE shop. Two Zambian woman with a baby walk by us asking casually for a job. I look at my feet with guilt, fingering my stupid iPhone in my stupid leather bag. 

Yesterday, Samba’s van parked outside Paul Ngozi’s house, the BBC radio blares loudly. 

US DIPLOMATS HAVE LANDED IN DAMASCUS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 10 YEARS. 

I lean over, feeling like a kid on the run, craning my neck to listen.

AFTER BASHAR AL ASSAD’S REGIME COLLAPSED, THE US GOVERNMENT IS IN TALKS WITH THE NEW HTS LED REGIME. 

I had not even known Assad’s regime had fallen in Syria. It feels strange, once upon a time this was a conflict I had followed so closely. Updated my internet daily, tracking the movements of ISIS through articles and news clips and YouTube comments, assuming that I would one day wind up on the border writing about the conflict. Now, sitting in van far more South than the ancient city of Damascus I am researching Zamrock in Lusaka. I am learning about KK, I am trying to read between the popular thought to find the weeds and the seeds. “She was a cult leader” Forest says about Lenshina while I look at a newspaper cutting about her. Self-proclaimed prophetess, anti-KK religious figure, Alice Lenshina started the Lumpa Church and rejected the authority of any "earthly government", refusing to pay taxes and establishing it’s own tribunals. Obviously, I am fascinated. I can feel that the project I am here to do is being led in many ways by a neoliberal figure - I can smell the inauthentic nature of her perspective. Or either, it is not inauthentic as much as it is one dimensional. Uncomplex. Excited to be telling the story of her country. But all places have secrets within secrets. Whose job Is it to uncover them? Sometimes the truth is delivered through and from unlikely agents. 

Later - or maybe earlier - the days are all mixing together, I sit outside the house in the dark. The sun has set and a light bobs in the distance coming closer. I feel as though I am within my own memory - or a story I have written. Ghost in the distance holding a lantern, brahmaraksha spirit passing through the forest and the hills, luring my great aunt towards her psychosis. I adjust my eyes in the darkness until a figure begins to emerge. It is aunty Mwonza, light strapped to her head like she’s a miner, black rubber boots on to crush through the insects, black and white dress blowing lightly in the cool central African wind.

‘Just checking on you’

She laughs and then turns back, flashlight on her forehead burning as she continues speaking Kaonde to her older sister on her phone. Here in Lusaka, everyone speaks Bemba and Nyanja. Standing beside Nala at the market as she rapidly chats with a vegetable vendor about the history of the building, I start to catch the feeling of the language. I realize that I love how Nyanja sounds. An older woman in the market flips off our fake ‘market guide’ when she takes our 50 Kwacha as payment for telling us the history of the market. Something about her inflections, the way she holds herself - it has this gravitas that I only find in Tamil. I secretly hope we can keep hearing more Nyanja on my trip instead of English. Something about the sound makes me feel excited and grounded all at once. Hearing it, i feel a warm liquid behind my ears and neck. Like i am inside an earthenware pot, fermenting.

[darkwood-sleddog]

Do you think trying to domesticate other canids is worth it?

No I don't. Dogs are not only the very first domesticated animal and the only animal domesticated in the Pleistocene, they are also the ONLY large carnivore that has been domesticated in all of human history. I do not believe the unique circumstances that led dogs to exist can happen again and that modern breeding programs trying to domesticate other wild canids will yield animals as suitable for human companionship.

Dogs are also one of the most genetically mutable animals on earth, their genetics mutate incredibly easily in comparison to other species, this is likely why they were not only able to be domesticated, but able to establish themselves as the being to evolve alongside humanity so easily. It's the reason why we can use them for SO many jobs and purposes. In comparison, other domesticated carnivores like cats and ferrets serve more limited purposes.

I don't see an empty niche that domestication of foxes, coyotes, jackles would fill and that means that their domestication would be not purposeful, but for human desire ALONE. Human beings did not see ancient wolves and decide they were going to create a breeding program to develop wolves into dogs, dogs did not exist yet. Dogs and humans evolved together over time and we have a coevolutionary relationship where dogs are now more genetically primed to be our companions and partners. I just don't think we can replicate that and no I don't think it is worth exploring "for science" because it would feasibly take thousands of years of dedicated breeding to get to that point.

[sakuatsu]

YELL 2 ME ABT SAKUATSU FIC RECS PLS

oh boy. oh boy do i have much to talk about

here’s a list of my sakuatsu must-reads under the cut! complete with links, word count, ratings, and occasional commentary because i’m incapable of shutting up. this isn’t in any particular order either 

(keeping this sfw and organized into canonverse/AUs. a * means i am on my hands and knees begging for you to read this)  

i’ll try to update this somewhat regularly :]

most recently updated august 25, 2020!

canonverse:

*your highs and lows (series) by astroeulogy 

a post-time skip canonverse series born from these two questions:

1. what if sakusa kiyoomi, known too-blunt jerk, is equally straightforward about his soft, tender feelings?

2. what if miya atsumu, resident big fat jerk who doesn't care if his teammates hate him, is too emotionally stunted to notice when his one of his teammates actually likes him?

this is like the sakuatsu series but it’s blasphemous to not recommend. the first fic in the series is all that you were (4.6k, T). mind the ratings on a few of the fics, but my personal favorite is #3: a masterpiece of domesticity called you have tamed me (5.7k, T). these make me ACHE 

*sakuatsu domesticity simulator by pseudoanalytics (T)

a vaguely interactive mixture of fic, art, and html, where you too can experience the inherent romance of a big fat jerk and a too-blunt jerk attempting intimacy

this fic...this fic...op is literally one of my favorite artists of all time but Did You Know that their writing is also off the charts. what a wonderful use of second person and the pacing is so good. too much skill in one person 

*The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets by isaksara (11.4k, M)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

i think this is the fic that got me into sakuatsu in the first place lol i was looking very specifically for msby socmed fics and now here we are. this fic is unbelievably funny

*liminal spaces by hhatsuna (25.9k, T)

Fuck you, Atsumu thinks, pointing at the pixelated Sakusa in the grainy team photo on his bedside table.

It’s easier than you’d think to ignore loving your teammate.

*Better For Us Both by abrandnewheart (15.7k, M)

Where “You already make me the happiest guy alive, babe," gives way to, “I’ve not been happy for a while now.”

Alternatively known as the ‘mug fic’.

yes this is a breakup fic. yes im going to recommend it anyway. breakup fics usually scare me a lot but this one is too good for me to not say anything about. nuanced and delicious. i look at the mug on my desk and feel pain

dog eat dog eat dog world by perennials (8.4k, T)

You are your first and only line of defense against the universe.

Koi no Yokan; 恋の予感 by ymra (15.3k, unrated)

Wherein Sakusa dreams of his future selves and discovers a little something along the way.

autumn ends, but we remain by wolfsbvne (5.3k, T)

atsumu stares at his ceiling at 2am. he stares until he can make out designs in his popcorn ceiling. a cat there, an onigiri here, and then something that suspiciously looks like a mop of hair, triangle eyebrows, and oh those two bumps are moles right above what atsumu just mapped out as an eye.

(or, atsumu is in kind of in love. sakusa is maybe in like.)

your fingertips, branding irons by Ceryna (5.8k, T)

Between the accidental touches he's reconciled, the deliberate ones he's endured, and, from those he's built years of trust with, obliged– Kiyoomi has never wanted to let someone indulge.

Never, until Atsumu.

take what’s yours and make it mine by claudusdiei (5.9k, T)

atsumu falls in love four times in his life

(or: in which atsumu gets his heart broken twice, has the self-awareness of a sober mule and really likes yellow tulips)

every action has an equal and opposite reaction by akanemnida (10.4k, T)

Miya Atsumu gets a modeling contract with Calvin Klein, which sets Kiyoomi's heart in motion.

(Or: Sakusa Kiyoomi realizes that the rules governing the universe are absolute rubbish at explaining matters of the heart.)

*where i want to be by tookumade (8.8k, G)

In the time they’ve been teammates at the MSBY Black Jackals, Sakusa has never been to Atsumu’s place, and Atsumu has only been to Sakusa’s a few times. There’s an unspoken understanding here: that Atsumu knows him well enough to know that nobody’s house or apartment would ever really meet his ridiculously high standards, and he is most comfortable in the home he’s made for himself.

That, and, Atsumu being over at Sakusa’s means that he has to host him and do the cleaning afterwards, while Atsumu can just flit off back to his own place. So. There’s that.

Tonight. Tonight is not business as usual. Tonight is not familiar.

*san'yō expressway, 6:17 pm by yamabato (8.1k, T)

Atsumu tilts his head to watch a slice of orange light bend over the impassive planes of Sakusa’s face. He is absolutely, ruthlessly beautiful. It makes Atsumu want to punch something—put his foot through the windshield—scream, maybe.

Kiss him again, maybe.

They have 344 kilometers to figure this one out.

parallax error: angle of inclination by min_mintobe (10.8k, T)

But now there's the one person Atsumu'd promised himself never to touch. His eyes leave Atsumu breathless with guilt at seventeen, and he spends the next six years safe in the satisfaction of making things right.

Feelings, of the physical kind, and one kiss.

ft. competitive spirit, childishness, and late night conversations.

Atsumu POV.

four leaf clover by vicari_us (5.9k, T)

Once, Ushijima claimed that they ‘got lucky’. If properly honed, their body types could become near invincible weapons.

However, unlike Ushijima, Kiyoomi’s weapon required a bit more care over the years to reach the condition it had become. He was born iron, not yet forged into steel.

Exploring what it might have taken to turn a genetic mistake into an athletic miracle.

*the 28 postcards you left me by wheelspokes (8.3k, T)

Atsumu takes texting your ex to a new level by sending Sakusa postcards in Animal Crossing instead.

such a unique premise & this is so beautifully structured. stunning flow and who knew animal crossing could convey so much longing...

AUs:

Pas De Deux by hhatsuna (dancer!sakusa au: 19.0k, T)

The mystery athlete gives Kiyoomi a once over in the mirror. “Yer pretty tall,” he observes, and the twang of an accent rasps low in his throat. His brazen eyes drift to Kiyoomi’s legs, and something like exhilaration glints gold in his gaze. “Good quads, too. Ya ever played volleyball?” Ah. So it’s volleyball.

“I’m a dancer. Ballet and contemporary, mostly.”

*my love, take your time by bastigod (archaeologist!sakusa au: 9.0k, T)

There was something sublime about wandering around an empty museum. Nothing could compare to the sound of his shoes clacking against the marble floor, the morning sunlight gently streaming through the lofty windows and the peaceful solitude of ancient stone kings overseeing their silent kingdoms.

A day in the life of Doctor Kiyoomi Sakusa, Archaeologist.

i’ve literally been thinking about this fic every day since it came out. you will not find a story like this anywhere else, i guarantee you. what a clear labor of love this fic is it’s truly something so special 

three roses and a smile by strawberrycitrus (surgeon!sakusa & microbiologist!atsumu au: 19.7k, T)

“I just got this job, I’m not givin’ it up for some moral boost ‘cause I actually need to pay my rent, ya insensitive -” Atsumu waves his hands around, trying and failing to come up with the right word to convey the amount of injustice that this gaunt motherfucker has brought into his relatively simple life thus far.

“If you can’t pay your rent, go get a job at the McDonald’s over by 8th Street,” Sakusa growls, “it’ll pay more than your researcher position.”

If you even attempt assault on a coworker, forget teaching about cells - you’ll fucking be in one, Atsumu.

*Dance of the Parallax by astroeulogy (ogre spirit!sakusa au: 6.7k, T)

For the last twenty years, Atsumu’s done all that he can to break his betrothal to the ogre spirit Sakusa. If he can just make it through one more night, he’ll be free.

honestly, just read everything by astroeulogy. i’m recommending this fic in particular because it has such an ethereal voice to it. magical

across oceans, across centuries by starstrikes (pacific rim au: 20.0k, T)

Six days ago, Osamu died and left Atsumu with this: Atsumu, you have to—

(Namikira rises with the tides and rips Osamu and Vulpis Empress away in one fell swoop. Six days later, Atsumu wakes up alone in a hospital bed and learns how to swim.)

you don’t actually need to know pacrim to appreciate this. a wonderful exploration of grief and recovery. also it’s exactly 20k words which is both satisfying and terrifying 

*Notte Stellata by awkwardedgeworth (ice skating/dancing au: 20.8k, T)

"Your partner doesn't need to hold anyone's hand other than yours," Sakusa's father crouches, "And you can wear gloves."

Sakusa ponders. He hears the other skaters of rink two whiz past as they launch themselves into lifts.

"Alright," He looks up from the ice, not knowing how he'll dedicate the next couple of decades to this sport, this partnership, this boy.

what a stunning fic. a beautiful progression of sakusa & atsumu’s relationship, rife with references to real skating programs, beautifully written and structured. so full of longing i’m in mild physical pain

[lesbiansabine]

Cracks knuckles . I am doing badly so I will focus all my energy into making a large ramble about the ecology of lothal before bed bc people gave me the go ahead and I havent spent my college education learning this much about this stuff for nothin

So first and foremost

1. Lothal doesn't make sense like many sw planets . We maybe see 3 different types of biomes max which is strides more than most star wars planets. Lothal is probably a small planet but none of the organisms are affected by the lesser gravity even though it's commented on . I will mostly be ignoring this and going as much off of canon just for fun

2. From what I can tell most of lothal is based off of North American badlands and grass prairies and that's what I'll base a lot of my other assumptions on . I'm no geologist but I will maybe talk a bit about that w some help from a friend

So-

Most of lothal we can see these mountains in varying size - probably some kind of sandstone . It could be weathered by water or precipitation but I doubt lothal gets much precipitation for a few reasons ill get into later, so they are more likely weathered by wind . This makes sense that 1. We know these mountains are fucking OLD and have a lot of weathering , and 2. Lots of open Prairie w no trees means High winds . Irl badlands work in p much similar ways- a lot of it is a transition zone between mountains and different prairie types

The mountains obviously served as the home for ancient people who we dont.. really know anything about ? I'm not going to speculate too much beyond that they were not human bc we know they had a developed culture by the time ancient jedi arrived on lothal

Animals in the mountains would probably be pretty scarce - I like to imagine there's a fantasy bighorned sheep out there, w the weird little lothal brand feets, probably also domesticated by the people who used to live there to use for wool, meat, ect. Most of the animals and the people probably lived or had the ability to climb or fly up to the mountains due to the frequent low intensity fires that would occur In the ecosystem . Probably a few birds of prey and small mammals that could climb . Otherwise a majority of the animals would burrow into the mountains or underground . Plants are scarce , we don't see much grows on the mountains themselves . Maybe little water or wind formed crevaces could create a place for some lichen or small hardy leafy plants to love but besides that most the vegetation is on the ground

(Edit: forgot about loth bats - I'm not an expert on bats but from what we know they probably live in very high wind shaped crevaces on mountains and go out on the prairie at night to get food . Shrug)

And now .. the prairie.. there would be so many different grasses you dont fucking know. People in irl north American prairies spend years just learning the hundreds of different grasses , can you imagine how many there would be on a whole planet full of them? Domesticated wise there's definetly a good chunk of domesticated grains considering the planet isn't good for.. much else . Probably have a corn-like cereal with enlargened seeds bc high winds spreading around small seeds would be a nightmare . Probably a lot of local foods based on fermenting grains or alcohol (think like .. injera(fermented Flatbread) or soups like żurek (fermented rye soups) or just like . Any alcohol in general). Animals on the Prairie would just be small mammals out the wazoo. So many fucking prairie dogs n like voles n shit . We haven't seen what a loth rat looks like (to my knowledge) but it was probably a prairie animal that got into cities and started to rely on people . Also there's For Sure huge alien Buffalo and elk and probably caribou in the more snowier regions . Like what else are the loth wolves gonna eat?? Prairie probably gets a lot of small frequent fires which is why the mining guild having the high intensity fires in Rebels is . Bad. A lot of burrowing animals, a lot of birds that live in the mountains come here to hunt, and probably some burrowing owl like creatures bc they're cool . I'm no expert on animals so I won't get too in depth on it but . Waves hand

Thinking about regional variants is . Weird. We know there's a large snowy region near the poles but we have no clue how seasons work ?? And we really only see one large body of water . Northern areas probably more tundra based which like. Is my area of expertise I could go on about but I won't. Lots of lichen in the mountains, and probably actual shrubs and trees even tho we don't see them . Also probably a lot of saturated wetlands around the planet instead of more open rivers n ect , or at least a lot of coastal wetlands near the few water bodies they have . This is why they probably don't get a lot of precipitation and mostly ground fed waterbodies, like bogs. kinda losing the plot at this point but if u read this far im kissing u on the cheek and I might design some aminals in the next day or 2. Muah . This did help me feel better

[isslibrary]

NEW LIBRARY MATERIAL September 2020 - February 2021

Bibliography

Sorted by Call Number / Author.

011.7 F

Fadiman, Clifton, 1904-1999. The new lifetime reading plan / : the classical guide to world literature, Revised and expanded. 4th ed. New York : HarperCollins Publishers, 1999, c1997.

155.2 G

Gladwell, Malcolm, 1963-. David and Goliath : underdogs, misfits, and the art of battling giants. First edition. Goliath : "Am I a dog that you should come to me with sticks?" -- The Advantages of Disadvantages (and the Disadvantages of Advantages). Vivek Ranadiv©♭: "It was really random. I mean, my father had never played basketball before." ; Teresa DeBrito: "My largest class was twenty-nine kids. Oh, it was fun." ; Caroline Sacks: "If I'd gone to the University of Maryland, I'd still be in science. -- The Theory of Desirable Difficulty. David Boies: You wouldn't wish dyslexia on your child. Or would you? ; Emil "Jay" Freireich: "How Jay did it, I don't know." ; Wyatt Walker: "De rabbit is de slickest o' all de animals de Lawd ever made." -- The Limits of Power. Rosemary Lawlor: "I wasn't born that way. This was forced upon me." ; Wilma Derksen: "We have all done something dreadful in our lives, or have felt the urge to." ; Andr©♭ Trocm©♭: "We feel obliged to tell you that there are among us a certain number of Jews.". This book uncovers the hidden rules that shape the balance between the weak and the mighty and the powerful and the dispossessed. In it the author challenges how we think about obstacles and disadvantages, offering a new interpretation of what it means to be discriminated against, or cope with a disability, or lose a parent, or attend a mediocre school, or suffer from any number of other apparent setbacks. He begins with the real story of what happened between the giant and the shepherd boy (David and Goliath) those many years ago. From there, the book examines Northern Ireland's Troubles, the minds of cancer researchers and civil rights leaders, murder and the high costs of revenge, and the dynamics of successful and unsuccessful classrooms, all to demonstrate how much of what is beautiful and important in the world arises from what looks like suffering and adversity. -- From book jacket.

170 H

Haidt, Jonathan, author. The happiness hypothesis : finding modern truth in ancient wisdom. Paperback edition. "The Happiness Hypothesis is a book about ten Great Ideas. Each chapter is an attempt to savor one idea that has been discovered by several of the world's civilizations--to question it in light of what we now know from scientific research, and to extract from it the lessons that still apply to our modern lives and illuminate the causes of human flourishing. Award-winning psychologist Jonathan Haidt shows how a deeper understanding of the world's philosophical wisdom and its enduring maxims--like "do unto others as you would have others do unto you," or "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"--can enrich and even transform our lives."--Back cover.

171 K

Kohn, Alfie. The brighter side of human nature : altruism and empathy in everyday life. New York : Basic Books, c1990.

305.5 W

Wilkerson, Isabel, author. Caste : the origins of our discontents. First edition. The man in the crowd -- Toxins in the permafrost and heat rising all around -- The arbitrary construction of human divisions -- The eight pillars of caste -- The tentacles of caste -- The consequences of caste -- Backlash -- Awakening -- Epilogue: A world without caste. "In this brilliant book, Isabel Wilkerson gives us a masterful portrait of an unseen phenomenon in America as she explores, through an immersive, deeply researched narrative and stories about real people, how America today and throughout its history has been shaped by a hidden caste system, a rigid hierarchy of human rankings. Beyond race, class, or other factors, there is a powerful caste system that influences people's lives and behavior and the nation's fate. Linking the caste systems of America, India, and Nazi Germany, Wilkerson explores eight pillars that underlie caste systems across civilizations, including divine will, bloodlines, stigma, and more. Using riveting stories about people--including Martin Luther King, Jr., baseball's Satchel Paige, a single father and his toddler son, Wilkerson herself, and many others--she shows the ways that the insidious undertow of caste is experienced every day. She documents how the Nazis studied the racial systems in America to plan their out-cast of the Jews; she discusses why the cruel logic of caste requires that there be a bottom rung for those in the middle to measure themselves against; she writes about the surprising health costs of caste, in depression and life expectancy, and the effects of this hierarchy on our culture and politics. Finally, she points forward to ways America can move beyond the artificial and destructive separations of human divisions, toward hope in our common humanity. Beautifully written, original, and revealing, Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents is an eye-opening story of people and history, and a reexamination of what lies under the surface of ordinary lives and of America life today."--.

305.8 W

Williamson, Joel. A rage for order : Black/White relations in the American South since emancipation. New York, NY : Oxford University Press, 1968. Full ed.: published as The crucible of race. 1984. Traces the history of race relations, examines changing public attitudes, and tells the stories of those involved in Civil Rights movement.

305.9 P

Pipher, Mary Bray. The middle of everywhere : the world's refugees come to our town. First edition. Cultural collisions on the Great Plains -- The beautiful laughing sisters-an arrival story -- Into the heart of the heartland -- All that glitters ... -- Children of hope, children of tears -- Teenagers--Mohammed meets Madonna -- Young adults--"Is there a marriage broker in Lincoln?"-- Family--"A bundle of sticks cannot be broken" -- African stories -- Healing in all times and places -- Home-a global positioning system for identity -- Building a village of kindness. Offers the tales of refugees who have escaped countries riddled by conflict and ripped apart by war to realize their dream of starting a new life in America, detailing their triumph over adversity.

306.4 P

Pollan, Michael. The botany of desire : a plant's-eye view of the world. Random House trade pbk. ed. New York : Random House, 2002. Desire : sweetness, plant : the apple (Malus domestica) -- Desire : beauty, plant : the tulip (Tulipa) -- Desire : intoxication, plant : marijuana (Cannabis sativa x indica) -- Desire : control, plant : the potato (Solanum tuberosum). Focusing on the human relationship with plants, the author of Second nature uses botany to explore four basic human desires, sweetness, beauty, intoxication, and control, through portraits of four plants that embody them, the apple, tulip, marijuana, and potato. Every school child learns about the mutually beneficial dance of honeybees and flowers; the bee collects nectar and pollen to make honey and, in the process, spreads the flowers' genes far and wide. In The botany of desire, Michael Pollan ingeniously demonstrates how people and domesticated plants have formed a similarly reciprocal relationship. In telling the stories of four familiar species that are deeply woven into the fabric of our lives, Pollan illustrates how the plants have evolved to satisfy humankind's most basic yearnings. And just as we've benefited from these plants, the plants have done well by us. So who is really domesticating whom?.

307.1 I

Immerwahr, Daniel, 1980-. Thinking small : the United States and the lure of community development. First Harvard University Press paperback edition 2018. Cambridge, MA : Harvard University Press, 2015. Preface: Modernization, development, and community -- Introduction: Actually existing localism -- When small was big -- Development without modernization -- Peasantville -- Grassroots empire -- Urban villages -- Epilogue: What is dead and what is undead in community development?.

323.60973 I

In the hands of the people : Thomas Jefferson on equality, faith, freedom, compromise, and the art of citizenship. First edition. New York, NY : Random House, 2020. "Thomas Jefferson believed in the covenant between a government and its citizens, in both the government's responsibilities to its people and also the people's responsibility to the republic. In this illuminating collection, a project of the Thomas Jefferson Foundation, #1 New York Times bestselling author Jon Meacham has gathered Jefferson's most powerful and provocative reflections on the subject, drawn from public speeches and documents as well as his private correspondence. Still relevant centuries later, Jefferson's words provide a manual for U.S. citizenship in the twenty-first century. His thoughts will re-shape and revitalize the way readers relate to concepts including Freedom: "Divided we stand, united we fall." The importance of a free press:"Were it left to me to decide whether we should have a government without newspapers, or newspapers without a government, I should not hesitate a moment to prefer the latter." Public education: "Enlighten the public generally, and tyranny and oppressions of body & mind will vanish like evil spirits at the dawn of day." Participation in government: A citizen should be "a participator in the government of affairs not merely at an election, one day in the year, but every day.""-- Provided by publisher.

324.6 P

Terborg-Penn, Rosalyn. African American women in the struggle for the vote, 1850-1920. Bloomington : Indiana University Press, c1998. Revisiting the question of race in the woman suffrage movement -- African American women in the first generation of woman suffragists : 1850-1869 -- African American woman suffragists finding their own voices : 1870s and 1880s -- Suffrage strategies and ideas : African American women leaders respond during "the nadir" -- Mobilizing to win the vote : African American women's organizations -- Anti-black woman suffrage tactics and African American women's responses -- African American women as voters and candidates -- The nineteenth amendment and its meaning for African American women. This study of African American women's roles in the suffrage movement breaks new ground. Rosalyn Terborg-Penn draws from many original documents to take a comprehensive look at the African American women who sought the right to vote. She discovers numerous Black suffragists previously unknown. Analyzing the women's own stories, she examines why they joined the woman suffrage movement in the United States and how they participated in it - with white women, Black men, as members of African American women's organizations, or simultaneously in all three. Terborg-Penn further discusses their various levels of interaction and types of feminist philosophy. Noting that not all African American woman suffragists were from elite circles, Terborg-Penn finds representation from working-class and professional women as well.They came from all parts of the nation. Some employed radical, others conservative means to gain the right to vote. Black women, however, were unified in working to use the ballot to improve not only their own status, but the lives of Black people in their communities. Drawing from innumerable sources, Terborg-Penn argues that sexism and racism prevented African American women from voting and from full participation in the national suffrage movement. Following the ratification of the Nineteenth Amendment, state governments in the South, enacted policies which disfranchised African American women, with many white suffragists closing their eyes to the discriminatory acts. Despite efforts to keep Black women politically powerless, Terborg-Penn contends that the Black suffrage was a source of empowerment. Every political and racial effort to keep African American women disfranchised met with their active resistance until Black women achieved full citizenship.

326.80922 B

Brands, H. W., author. The zealot and the emancipator : John Brown, Abraham Lincoln and the struggle for American freedom. First Edition. Pottawatomie -- Springfield -- Harpers Ferry -- The telegraph office. "What do moral people do when democracy countenances evil? The question, implicit in the idea that people can govern themselves, came to a head in America at the middle of the nineteenth century, in the struggle over slavery. John Brown's answer was violence--violence of a sort some in later generations would call terrorism. Brown was a deeply religious man who heard the God of the Old Testament speaking to him, telling him to do whatever was necessary to destroy slavery. When Congress opened Kansas territory to slavery, the eerily charismatic Brown raised a band of followers to wage war against the evil institution. One dark night his men tore several proslavery settlers from their homes and hacked them to death with broadswords, as a bloody warning to others. Three years later Brown and his men assaulted the federal arsenal at Harpers Ferry, Virginia, with the goal of furnishing slaves with weapons to murder their masters in a race war that would cleanse the nation of slavery once and for all. Abraham Lincoln's answer was politics. Lincoln was an ambitious lawyer and former office-holder who read the Bible not for moral guidance but as a writer's primer. He disliked slavery yet didn't consider it worth shedding blood over. He distanced himself from John Brown and joined the moderate wing of the new, antislavery Republican party. He spoke cautiously and dreamed big, plotting his path to Washington and perhaps the White House. Yet Lincoln's caution couldn't preserve him from the vortex of violence Brown set in motion. Arrested and sentenced to death, Brown comported himself with such conviction and dignity on the way to the gallows that he was canonized in the North as a martyr to liberty. Southerners responded in anger and horror that a terrorist was made into a saint. Lincoln shrewdly threaded the needle of the fracturing country and won election as president, still preaching moderation. But the time for moderation had passed. Slaveholders lumped Lincoln with Brown as an enemy of the Southern way of life; seven Southern states left the Union. Lincoln resisted secession, and the Civil War followed. At first a war for the Union, it became the war against slavery Brown had attempted to start. Before it was over, slavery had been destroyed, but so had Lincoln's faith that democracy can resolve its moral crises peacefully"--.

328.73 M

Meacham, Jon, author. His truth is marching on : John Lewis and the power of hope. First edition. Overture: the last march -- A hard life, a serious life -- The spirit of history -- Soul force -- In the image of God and democracy -- We are going to make you wish you was dead -- I'm going to die here -- This country don't run on love -- Epilogue: against the rulers of the darkness. "John Lewis, who at age twenty-five marched in Selma and was beaten on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, is a visionary and a man of faith. Using intimate interviews with Lewis and his family and deep research into the history of the civil rights movement, Meacham writes of how the activist and leader was inspired by the Bible, his mother's unbreakable spirit, his sharecropper father's tireless ambition, and his teachers in nonviolence, Reverend James Lawson and Martin Luther King, Jr. A believer in hope above all else, Lewis learned from a young age that nonviolence was not only a tactic but a philosophy, a biblical imperative, and a transforming reality. At the age of four, Lewis, ambitious to become a preacher, practiced by preaching to the chickens he took care of. When his mother cooked one of the chickens, the boy refused to eat it--his first act of non-violent protest. Integral to Lewis's commitment to bettering the nation was his faith in humanity and in God, and an unshakable belief in the power of hope. Meacham calls Lewis "as important to the founding of a modern and multiethnic twentieth- and twenty-first century America as Thomas Jefferson and James Madison and Samuel Adams were to the initial creation of the nation-state in the eighteenth century. He did what he did--risking limb and life to bear witness for the powerless in the face of the powerful--not in spite of America, but because of America, and not in spite of religion, but because of religion"--.

333.95 W

Wilson, Edward O. A window on eternity : a biologist's walk through Gorongosa National Park. First Simon & Schuster hardcover edition. Prologue: The Search for Eternity -- The Sacred Mountain of Mozambique -- Once There Were Giants -- War and Redemption -- Dung and Blood -- The Twenty-Foot Crocodile -- The Elephant Whisperer -- The House of Spiders -- The Clash of Insect Civilizations -- The Log of an Entomological Expedition -- The Struggle for Existence -- The Conservation of Eternity. "E.O. Wilson, one of the most celebrated scientists in the United States, shows why biodiversity is vital to the future of Earth and to our own species through the story of an African national park that may be the most diverse place on earth, in a gorgeously illustrated book"--. "The remarkable story of how one of the most biologically diverse habitats in the world was destroyed, restored, and continues to evolve--with stunning, full-color photographs by two of the world's best wildlife photographers. In 1976, Gorongosa National Park was the premier park in Mozambique, boasting one of the densest wildlife populations in all of Africa. Across 1,500 square miles of lush green floodplains, thick palm forests, swampy lakes, and vast plains roamed creatures great and small, from herds of wildebeest and elephant to countless bird species and insects yet to be classified. Then came the civil war of 1978-1992, when much of the ecosystem was destroyed, reducing some large animal populations by 90 percent or more. Due to a remarkable conservation effort sponsored by an American entrepreneur, the park was restored in the 1990s and is now evolving back to its former state. This is the story of that incredible transformation and why such biological diversity is so important. In A Window on Eternity, world-renowned biologist and two-time Pulitzer Prize-winner Edward O. Wilson shows why biodiversity is vital to the future of the Earth, including our human population. It is in places like Gorongosa in Africa, explains Wilson, that our own species evolved. Wilson takes readers to the forested groves of the park's watershed on sacred Mount Gorongosa, then far away to deep gorges along the edge of the Rift Valley, places previously unexplored by biologists, with the aim of discovering new species and assessing their ancient origins. He treats readers to a war between termites and raider ants, describes 'conversations' with elephant herds, and explains the importance of a one-day 'bioblitz.' Praised as 'one of the finest scientists writing today' (Los Angeles Times), Wilson uses the story of Gorongosa to show the significance of biodiversity to humankind"--.

340.092 S

Sligh, Clarissa T., artist. Transforming hate : an artist's book. First edition. "This book evolved from a project for which I folded origami cranes from pages of white supremacist books for the exhibition, Speaking Volumes: Transforming Hate ... I was trying to look at what it was like for me to turn hateful words into a beautiful art object. What actually evolved from that exploration helped me understand more fully the many levels of oppression and violence at the intersections of race, gender, class and sexual orientation." --inside front cover.

343.730 I

Internet law. Amenia, New York : Grey House Publishing, 2020.

345.73 C

Carter, Dan T. Scottsboro : a tragedy of the American South. Rev. ed. Fourth printing. Baton Rouge : Louisiana State University Press, 2007.

349.41 H

Honor©♭, Tony, 1921-2019. About law : an introduction. Reprint: 2013. Law -- History -- Government -- Property -- Contracts and treaties -- Crimes -- Torts -- Forms and procedures -- Interpretation -- Justice -- Does law matter? -- Glossary.

363.73 P

Pollution. New York, NY : Grey House Publishing, 2020.

371.102 A

Agarwal, Pooja K., author. Powerful teaching : unleash the science of learning. First edition. Introduction -- Discover the power behind power tools -- Build a foundation with retrieval practice -- Empower teaching with retrieval practice strategies -- Energize learning with spacing and interleaving -- Engage students with feedback-driven metacognition -- Combine power tools and harness your toolbox -- Keeping it real: use power tools to tackle challenges, not add to them -- Foster a supportive environment: use power tools to reduce anxiety and strengthen community -- Spark conversations with students about the science of learning -- Spark conversations with parents about the science of learning -- Powerful professional development for teachers and leaders -- Do-it-yourself retrieval guide -- Conclusion: unleash the science of learning.

512 G

Algebra. 2004. New York : Springer Science+Business Media, 2004.

575.1 A

Arney, Kat, author. How to code a human. Meet your genome -- Our genetic journey -- How do genes work? -- Under attack! -- Who do you think your are? -- People are not peas -- Genetic superheroes -- Turn me on -- Sticky notes -- The RNA world -- Building a baby -- Wiring the brain -- Compatibility genes -- X and Y -- The viruses that made us human -- When things go wrong -- Human 2.0. "How to Code a Human takes you on a mind-bending journey through the world of the double helix, revealing how our DNA encodes our genes and makes us unique. Covering all aspects of modern genetics from the evolution of our species to inherited diseases, "junk" DNA, genetic engineering and the intricacies of the molecular processes inside our cells, this is an astonishing and insightful guide to the code of life"--Back cover.

598 S

Sibley, David, 1961- author, illustrator. What it's like to be a bird : from flying to nesting, eating to singing -- what birds are doing, and why. How to use this book -- Introduction -- Portfolio of birds -- Birds in this book -- What to do if... -- Becoming a birder. Explore more than two hundred species, and more than 330 new illustrations by the author, in this special, large-format volume, where many of the primary illustrations are reproduced life-sized. While its focus is on familiar backyard birds -- blue jays, nuthatches, chickadees -- What It's Like to Be a Bird also examines certain species that can be fairly easily observed, such as the seashore-dwelling Atlantic Puffin. David Sibley's exacting artwork and wide-ranging expertise bring observed behaviors vividly to life. And while the text is aimed at adults -- including fascinating new scientific research on the myriad ways birds have adapted to environmental changes -- it is nontechnical, making it the perfect occasion for parents and grandparents to share their love of birds with young children, who will delight in the big, full-color illustrations of birds in action. -- back cover.

613.6 C

Bushcraft Illustrated: a visual guide. New York, NY : Simon & Schuster, Inc. (Adams Media: imprint of Simon & Schuster), 2019.

638.1 B

Michael Bush. The Practical beekeeper. Nehawka, Nebraska : X-Star Publishing Company, 2004-2011. V. 1 - The Practical Beekeeing Naturally; V.2 - Intermediate Beekeeping Naturally.

660.6 D

Druker, Steven M., author. Altered genes, twisted truth : how the venture to genetically engineer our food has subverted science, corrupted government, and systematically deceived the public.

709.2 A

Atalay, B©ơlent. Math and the Mona Lisa: : the art and science of Leonardo da Vinci. New York, NY : Smithsonian Books in association with HarperCollins Publishers, 2006. Leonardo was one of history's true geniuses, equally brilliant as an artist, scientist, and mathematician. Following Leonardo's own model, Atalay searches for the internal dynamics of art and science. He provides an overview of the development of science from the dawn of civilization to today's quantum mechanics. From this base, Atalay offers a view into Leonardo's restless intellect and modus operandi, allowing us to see the source of his ideas and to appreciate his art from a new perspective.

741.5 G

Greenberg, Isabel. The encyclopedia of early earth : a graphic novel. First American edition. Love in a very cold climate -- Part 1. The land of Nord. The three sisters of Summer Island ; Beyond the frozen sea ; The gods ; The odyssey begins -- Part 2. Britanitarka. Summer and winter ; Creation ; Medicine man ; The storytellers ; Creation ; Dag and Hal ; The old lady and the giant ; The time of the giants ; The children of the mountain ; The long night ; Dead towns & ghost men -- Part. 3. Migdal Bavel. Migdal Bavel ; The mapmaker of Migdal Bavel ; The bible of Birdman: Genesis ; Bible of Birdman, book of Kiddo: The great flood ; The tower of Migdal Bavel ; The palace of whispers ; The gods #2 -- Part 4. The South Pole. The gods #3 -- Appendices. A brief history of time ; The Nords ; Hunting and fishing ; The 1001 varieties of snow ; The invisible hunter ; Britanitarka ; Birds & beast from early Earth ; The moonstone ; The plucked firebird of Hoo. "Chronicles the explorations of a young man as he paddles from his home in the North Pole to the South Pole. There, he meets his true love, but their romance is ill-fated. Early Earth's unusual and finicky polarity means the lovers can never touch"--Publisher's website.

808.1 G

How poetry can change your heart. San Francisco, CA : Chronicle Books, 2019.

808.5 E

Franklin, Sharon. Essentials of speech communication. Evanston, Ill. : McDougal Littell, 2001.

808.53 H

Hanson, Jim. NTC's dictionary of debate. Lincolnwood, Ill., USA : National Textbook Co., c1990.

808.53 W

Strategic debate. Textbook. Columbus, OH : Glencoe/McGraw-Hill, 2006.

810.8 B

Lepucki, Edan, author. The best American nonrequired reading 2019. This anthology presents a selection of short works from mainstream and alternative American periodicals published in 2019, including nonfiction, screenplays, television writing, fiction, and alternative comics.

815 R

Representative American speeches, 2019-2020. Amenia, New York : Grey House, Publishing, 2020. "Selected from a diverse field of speakers and venues, this volume offers some of the most engaging American speeches of the year. Distinguished by its diversity, covering areas in politics, education, popular culture, as well as trending topics in the news, these speeches provide an interesting format to explore some of the year's most important stories."-Publisher.

909.09 D

Davis, Jack E., 1956- author. The Gulf : the making of an American sea. First edition. Prologue : history, nature, and a forgotten sea -- Introduction : birth -- Part one. Estuaries, and the lie of the land and sea : aborigines and colonizing Europeans. Mounds -- El golfo de M©♭xico -- Unnecessary death -- A most important river, and a "magnificent" bay -- Part two. Sea and sky : American debuts in the nineteenth century. Manifest destiny -- A fishy sea -- The wild fish that tamed the coast -- Birds of a feather, shot together -- Part three. Preludes to the future. From bayside to beachside -- Oil and the Texas toe dip -- Oil and the Louisiana plunge -- Islands, shifting sands of time -- Wind and water -- Part four. Saturation and loss : post-1945. The growth coast -- Florida worry, Texas slurry -- Rivers of stuff -- Runoff, and runaway -- Sand in the hourglass -- Losing the edge -- Epilogue : a success story amid so much else. Significant beyond tragic oil spills and hurricanes, the Gulf has historically been one of the world's most bounteous marine environments, supporting human life for millennia. Based on the premise that nature lies at the center of human existence, Davis takes readers on a compelling and, at times, wrenching journey from the Florida Keys to the Texas Rio Grande, along marshy shorelines and majestic estuarine bays, both beautiful and life-giving, though fated to exploitation by esurient oil men and real-estate developers. Davis shares previously untold stories, parading a vast array of historical characters past our view: sports-fishermen, presidents, Hollywood executives, New England fishers, the Tabasco king, a Texas shrimper, and a New York architect who caught the "big one". Sensitive to the imminent effects of climate change, and to the difficult task of rectifying the assaults of recent centuries, this book suggests how a penetrating examination of a single region's history can inform the country's path ahead. --.

910.92 I

Inskeep, Steve, author. Imperfect union : how Jessie and John Fr©♭mont mapped the West, invented celebrity, and helped cause the Civil War. Aid me with your influence -- The equal merits of differing peoples -- The current of important events -- Miseries that attend a separation -- I determined to make there a home -- The manifest purpose of providence -- A taste for danger and bold daring adventure -- The Spaniards were somewhat rude and inhospitable -- I am not going to let you write anything but your name -- Do not suppose I lightly interfere in a matter belonging to men -- We pressed onward with fatal resolution -- Jessie Benton Fr©♭mont was the better man of the two -- We thought money might come in handy -- All the stupid laurels that ever grew -- Decidedly, this ought to be struck out -- He throws away his heart. "Steve Inskeep tells the riveting story of John and Jessie Fr©♭mont, the husband and wife team who in the 1800s were instrumental in the westward expansion of the United States, and thus became America's first great political couple John Fr©♭mont grew up amid family tragedy and shame. Born out of wedlock in 1813, he went to work at age thirteen to help support his family in Charleston, South Carolina. He was a nobody. Yet, by the 1840s, he rose to become one of the most acclaimed people of the age -- known as a wilderness explorer, bestselling writer, gallant army officer, and latter-day conquistador, who in 1846 began the United States' takeover of California from Mexico. He was a celebrity who personified the country's westward expansion. Mountains, towns, ships, and streets were named after him. How did he climb so far? A vital factor was his wife, Jessie Benton Fr©♭mont, the daughter of a powerful United States senator. Jessie wanted to play roles in politics and exploration, which were then reserved for men. Frustrated, she threw her skill and passion into promoting her husband. Ordered by the US Army to map the Oregon Trail, John traveled thousands of miles on horseback, indifferent to his safety and that of the other members of his expeditions. When he returned home, Jessie helped him to shape dramatic reports of his adventures, which were reprinted in newspapers and bound as popular books. Jessie became his political adviser, and a power player in her own right. In 1856, the famous couple strategized as John became the first-ever presidential nominee of the newly established Republican Party. The party had been founded in opposition to slavery, and though both Fr©♭monts were Southerners they became symbols of the cause. With rare detail and in consummate style, Steve Inskeep tells the story of a couple whose joint ambitions and talents intertwined with those of the nascent United States itself. Americans linked the Fr©♭monts with not one but three great social movements of the time -- westward settlement, women's rights, and opposition to slavery. Theirs is a surprisingly modern story of ambition and fame; they lived in a time of globalization, technological disruption, and divisive politics that foreshadowed our own. The Fr©♭monts' adventures amount to nothing less than a tour of the early American soul"--.

940.54 S

Sledge, E. B. (Eugene Bondurant), 1923-. China marine. Oxford University Paperback, 2003. Tuscaloosa : University of Alabama Press, c2002. China Marine 1 -- Epilogue: I Am Not the Man I Would Have Been 149.

940.54 T

Terkel, Studs, 1912-2008. "The good war" : an oral history of World War Two. New York : New Press, [1997.

943.36 H

Hunt, Irmgard A. (Irmgard Albine), 1934-. On Hitler's mountain : overcoming the legacy of a Nazi childhood. First Harper Perennial edition. 2006. On writing a childhood memoir -- pt. 1. 1906-1934 : the P©œhlmanns. Roots of discontent ; In search of a future -- pt. 2. 1934-1939 : Hitler's willing followers. The rituals of life ; "Heil Hitler" ; Ominous undercurrents ; Meeting Hitler ; Gathering clouds -- pt. 3. 1939-1945 : war and surrender. Early sacrifice ; Learning to hate school ; Lessons from a wartime friendship ; A weary interlude in Selb ; Hardship and disintegration ; War comes to Berchtesgaden ; The end at last -- pt. 4. 1945-1948 : Bitter justice, or, Will justice be done? Survival under the Star-spangled Banner ; The curse of the past ; Escape from darkness. The author provides an account of her life growing up in Berchtesgaden, a Bavarian village at the foot of Hitler's mountain retreat, discussing a childhood encounter with the Nazi leader, and shedding light on why ordinary Germans, including her parents, tolerated and even supported the Nazis.

951.04 M

Mitter, Rana, 1969- author. Forgotten ally : China's World War II, 1937-1945. First U.S. Edition. The path to war: As close as lips and teeth : China's fall, Japan's rise ; A new revolution ; The path to confrontation -- Disaster: Thirty-seven days in summer : the outbreak of war ; The battle for Shanghai ; Refugees and resistance ; Massacre at Nanjing ; The battle of Taierzhuang ; The deadly river -- Resisting alone: "A sort of wartime normal" ; Flight into the unknown ; The road to Pearl Harbor -- The poisoned alliance ; Destination Burma ; Hunger in Henan ; States of terror ; Conference at Cairo ; One war, two fronts ; Showdown with Stilwell ; Unexpected victory ; Epilogue: The enduring war. "For decades, a major piece of World War II history has gone virtually unwritten. China was the fourth great ally, partner to the United States, the Soviet Union, and Great Britain, yet its drama of invasion, resistance, slaughter, and political intrigue remains little known in the West. In this emotionally gripping book, made possible through access to newly unsealed Chinese archives, Rana Mitter unfurls the story of China's World War II as never before and rewrites the larger history of the war in the process. He focuses his narrative on three towering leaders -- Chiang Kai-shek, Mao Zedong, and the lesser-known collaborator Wang Jingwei -- and extends the timeline of the war back to 1937, when Japanese and Chinese troops began to clash, fully two years before Hitler invaded Poland. Unparalleled in its research and scope, Forgotten Ally is a sweeping, character-driven history that will be essential reading not only for anyone with an interest in World War II, but also for those seeking to understand today's China, where, as Mitter reveals, the echoes of the war still reverberate"--.

952 J

Takada, Noriko. The Japanese way : aspects of behavior, attitudes, and customs of the Japanese. 2nd ed. Chicago : McGraw-Hill, c2011 . Abbreviations and contractions -- Addresses and street names -- Arts and crafts -- Asking directions -- Bathing and bathhouses -- Body language and gestures -- Borrowed words and acronyms -- Bowing -- Brand names and brand-name goods (burando-hin) -- Business cards (meish) -- Calendar -- Cherry blossoms and flower viewing -- Compliments -- Conversation -- Crime and safety -- Dating and marriage -- Death, funerals, and mourning -- Dialects -- Dining out -- Dinner invitations -- Directness -- Discussion and consensus -- Dress -- Drinking -- Driving -- Earthquakes -- Education -- English-language study -- Family -- The Jag and the national anthem -- Flowers and plants -- Food and eating -- Footwear -- Foreigners -- Gender roles -- Geography -- Gifts -- Government -- Hellos and good-byes -- Holidays and festivals -- Honorific speech (keigo) -- Hotels and inns -- Housing and furnishings -- Humor -- The Imperial family -- Individuals and couples -- Introductions and networking -- Karaoke -- Leisure (rgli) -- Letters, greeting cards, and postal services -- Love and affection -- Lucky and unlucky numbers -- Male/female speech -- Money -- Mt. Fuji -- Music and dance -- Myths, legends, and folklore -- Names, titles, and forms of address -- Numbers and counting -- Oriental medicine -- Pinball (pachinko) -- Politeness and rudeness -- Population -- Privacy -- Reading material -- Religion -- The seasons -- Shopping -- Shrines and temples -- Signatures and seals -- Social structure -- Sports -- Table etiquette -- Telephones -- Television/radio/movies -- Thank-yous and regrets -- Theater -- Time and punctuality -- Tipping and service charges -- Toilets -- Travel within Japan -- Vending machines -- Visiting private homes -- Weights, measures, and sizes -- Working hours -- The written language -- "Yes" and "no" -- "You first" -- Zoological calendar.

972.81 P

Proskouriakoff, Tatiana, 1909-1985. Maya history. First edition. Foreword / Gordon R. Wills -- Tatiana Proskouriakoff, 1909-1985 / Ian Graham -- Introduction / Rosemary A. Joyce -- 1. The Earliest Records: (A.D. 288-337) -- 2. The Arrival of Strangers: (A.D. 337-386) -- 3. The Maya Regain Tikal: (A.D. 386-435) -- 4. Some Ragged Pages: (A.D. 435-485) -- 5. Expansion of the Maya Tradition: (A.D. 485-534) -- 6. A Time of Troubles: (A.D. 534-583) -- 7. Recovery on the Frontiers: (A.D. 583-633) -- 8. Growth and Expansion: (A.D. 633-682) -- 9. Toward a Peak of Prosperity: (A.D. 682-736) -- 10. On the Crest of the Wave: (A.D. 731-780) -- 11. Prelude to Disaster: (A.D. 780-830) -- 12. The Final Years: (A.D. 831-909) -- 13. The Last Survivals: (A.D. 909-938). The ruins of Maya city-states occur throughout the Yucatan peninsula, Guatemala, Belize, and in parts of Honduras and El Salvador. But the people who built these sites remain imperfectly known. Though they covered standing monuments (stelae) and public buildings with hieroglyphic records of their deeds, no Rosetta Stone has yet turned up in Central America to help experts determine the exact meaning of these glyphs. Tatiana Proskouriakoff, a preeminent student of the Maya, made many breakthroughs in deciphering Maya writing, particularly in demonstrating that the glyphs record the deeds of actual human beings. This discovery opened the way for a history of the Maya, a monumental task that Proskouriakoff was engaged in before her death in 1985. Her work, Maya History, has been made ready for press by the able editorship of Rosemary Joyce. Maya History reconstructs the Classic Maya period (roughly A.D. 250-900) from the glyphic record on stelae at numerous sites, including Altar de Sacrificios, Copan, Dos Pilas, Naranjo, Piedras Negras, Quirigua, Tikal, and Yaxchilan. Proskouriakoff traces the spread of governmental institutions from the central Peten, especially from Tikal, to other city-states by conquest and intermarriage. And she also shows how the gradual introduction of foreign elements into Maya art mirrors the entry of outsiders who helped provoke the eventual collapse of the Classic Maya. Fourteen line drawings of monuments and over three hundred original drawings of glyphs amplify the text. Maya History has been long awaited by scholars in the field. It is sure to provoke lively debate and greater understanding of this important area in Mesoamerican studies.

973.04 A

Asian Americans : the movement and the moment. A wide-ranging collection of essays and material which documents the rich, little-known history of Asian American social activism during the years 1965-2001. This book examines the period not only through personal accounts and historical analysis, but through the visual record--utilizing historical prictorial materials developed at UCLA's Asian American Studies Center on Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, and Vietnamese Americans. Included are many reproductions of photos of the period, movement comics, demonstration flyers, newsletters, posters and much more.

973.0496 D

W.E.B. DuBois. The Souls of Black Folk. BIGFONTBOOKS.COM.

973.7 B

Barney, William L. Battleground for the Union : the era of the Civil War and Reconstruction, 1848-1877. Englewood Cliffs, N.J. : Prentice Hall, c1990.

973.9 I

Imani, Blair, author. Making our way home : the Great Migration and the Black American dream. First edition. Separate but equal: Reconstruction-1919 -- Beautiful -- and ugly, too: 1920-1929 -- I, too, am America: 1930-1939 -- Liberty and justice for all: 1940-1949 -- Trouble ahead: 1950-1959 -- The time is in the street, you know: 1960-1969 -- All poer to all the people: 1970-1979. "A powerful illustrated history of the Great Migration and its sweeping impact on Black and American culture, from Reconstruction to the rise of hip hop. Over the course of six decades, an unprecedented wave of Black Americans left the South and spread across the nation in search of a better life--a migration that sparked stunning demographic and cultural changes in twentieth-century America. Through gripping and accessible historical narrative paired with illustrations, author and activist Blair Imani examines the largely overlooked impact of The Great Migration and how it affected--and continues to affect--Black identity and America as a whole. Making Our Way Home explores issues like voting rights, domestic terrorism, discrimination, and segregation alongside the flourishing of arts and culture, activism, and civil rights. Imani shows how these influences shaped America's workforce and wealth distribution by featuring the stories of notable people and events, relevant data, and family histories. The experiences of prominent figures such as James Baldwin, Fannie Lou Hamer, El Hajj Malik El Shabazz (Malcolm X), Ella Baker, and others are woven into the larger historical and cultural narratives of the Great Migration to create a truly singular record of this powerful journey"--.

973.9 L

Longley, Kyle, author. LBJ's 1968 : power, politics, and the presidency in America's year of upheaval. A nation on the brink: the State of the Union Address, January 1968 -- Those dirty bastards, are they trying to embarrass us? The Pueblo Incident, January-December 1968 -- Tet: a very near thing, January-March 1968 -- As a result, I will not seek re-election: the March 31, 1968 speech -- The days the earth stood still: the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., April 1968 -- He hated him, but loved him: the assassination of Robert Kennedy, June 1968 -- The big stumble: the Fortas Affair, June-October 1968 -- The tanks are rolling: Czechoslovakia crushed, August 1968 -- The perfect disaster: the Democratic National Convention, August 1968 -- Is this treason?: the October surprise that wasn't, October-December 1968 -- The last dance, January 1969 -- Conclusion.

974.7 F

Feldman, Deborah, 1986-. Unorthodox : the scandalous rejection of my Hasidic roots. 1st Simon & Schuster trade pbk. ed. 2020. New York : Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2012. Traces the author's upbringing in a Hasidic community in Brooklyn, describing the strict rules that governed her life, arranged marriage at the age of seventeen, and the birth of her son, which led to her plan to leave and forge her own path in life.

975.7 B

Ball, Edward, 1959-. Slaves in the family. Paperback edition. Journalist Ball confronts the legacy of his family's slave-owning past, uncovering the story of the people, both black and white, who lived and worked on the Balls' South Carolina plantations. It is an unprecedented family record that reveals how the painful legacy of slavery continues to endure in America's collective memory and experience. Ball, a descendant of one of the largest slave-owning families in the South, discovered that his ancestors owned 25 plantations, worked by nearly 4,000 slaves. Through meticulous research and by interviewing scattered relatives, Ball contacted some 100,000 African-Americans who are all descendants of Ball slaves. In intimate conversations with them, he garnered information, hard words, and devastating family stories of precisely what it means to be enslaved. He found that the family plantation owners were far from benevolent patriarchs; instead there is a dark history of exploitation, interbreeding, and extreme violence.--From publisher description.

975.7 B

Ball, Edward, 1959-. The sweet hell inside : a family history. First edition. Preface -- Part 1-The Master and His Orphans-Part 2-High Yellow-Porch 3 -Eyes Sadder Then the Grave-Part 4-Nigger Rich-Part 5-The Orphans Dancers-Part 6-A Trunk in the Grass-Notes-Permission and Photography Credits-Acknowledgments-Index. If. Recounts the lives of the Harleston family of South Carolina, the progeny of a Southern gentleman and his slave who cast off their blemished roots and achieved affluence in part through a surprisingly successful funeral parlor business. Their wealth afforded the Harlestons the comfort of chauffeurs, tailored clothes, and servants whose skin was darker than theirs. It also launched the family into a generation of glory as painters, performers, and photographers in the "high yellow" society of America's colored upper class. The Harlestons' remarkable 100-year journey spans the waning days of Reconstruction, the precious art world of the early 1900s, the back alleys of the Jazz Age, and the dawn of the civil rights movement.--From publisher description.

DVD Gre

The Great debaters. 2-disc collector's edition; Widescreen [ed.]. [New York] : Weinstein Company, c2008. Denzel Washington, Nate Parker, Jurnee Smollett, Denzel Whitaker, Jermaine Williams, Forest Whitaker, Gina Ravera, John Heard, Kimberly Elise, Devyn Tyler, Trenton McClain Boyd. Melvin B. Tolson is a professor at Wiley College in Texas. Wiley is a small African-American college. In 1935, Tolson inspired students to form the school's first debate team. Tolson turns a group of underdog students into a historically elite debate team which goes on to challenge Harvard in the national championship. Inspired by a true story.

F Alb

Albertalli, Becky, author. What if it's us. Told in two voices, when Arthur, a summer intern from Georgia, and Ben, a native New Yorker, meet it seems like fate, but after three attempts at dating fail they wonder if the universe is pushing them together or apart.

F Arc

Astral Traveler's Daughter. First Simon & Schuster Trade Paperback edition, April 2019. New York, NY : Simon & Schuster, Inc, 2019. "Last year, Teddy Cannon discovered she was psychic. This year, her skills will be put to the test as she investigates a secretive case that will take her far from home--and deep into the past in the thrilling follow-up to School for Psychics"-- Provided by publisher.

F Chi

Chiaverini, Jennifer, author. Enchantress of numbers : a novel of Ada Lovelace. "The only legitimate child of Lord Byron, the most brilliant, revered, and scandalous of the Romantic poets, Ada was destined for fame long before her birth. Estranged from Ada's father, who was infamously "mad, bad, and dangerous to know," Ada's mathematician mother is determined to save her only child from her perilous Byron heritage. Banishing fairy tales and make-believe from the nursery, Ada's mother provides her daughter with a rigorous education grounded in mathematics and science. Any troubling spark of imagination--or worse yet, passion or poetry--is promptly extinguished. Or so her mother believes. When Ada is introduced into London society as a highly eligible young heiress, she at last discovers the intellectual and social circles she has craved all her life. Little does she realize that her delightful new friendship with inventor Charles Babbage--brilliant, charming, and occasionally curmudgeonly--will shape her destiny ..."--Jacket.

F Chr

Christie, Michael, 1976- author. Greenwood : a novel. First U.S. edition. "It's 2038 and Jake Greenwood is a storyteller and a liar, an overqualified tour guide babysitting ultra-rich vacationers in one of the world's last remaining forests. It's 2008 and Liam Greenwood is a carpenter, fallen from a ladder and sprawled on his broken back, calling out from the concrete floor of an empty mansion. It's 1974 and Willow Greenwood is out of jail, free after being locked up for one of her endless series of environmental protests: attempts at atonement for the sins of her father's once vast and violent timber empire. It's 1934 and Everett Greenwood is alone, as usual, in his maple syrup camp squat when he hears the cries of an abandoned infant and gets tangled up in the web of a crime that will cling to his family for decades. And throughout, there are trees: thrumming a steady, silent pulse beneath Christie's effortless sentences and working as a guiding metaphor for withering, weathering, and survival. A shining, intricate clockwork of a novel, Greenwood is a rain-soaked and sun-dappled story of the bonds and breaking points of money and love, wood and blood--and the hopeful, impossible task of growing toward the light"--.

F Cle

Memoirs of Fanny Hill. Published by arrangement with Edito-Service S. A., Geneva, Switzerland. New York, NY : Peebles Press International Inc, 1973.

F Col

Andre's Reboot. Birmingham, AL : Stephen B. Coleman, Publisher, 2019.

F Def

Moll Flanders. Reprint. 2020. Columbia, SC, : August 12, 2020.

F Def

Defoe, Daniel, 1661?-1731. The fortunes and misfortunes of the famous Moll Flanders ... A new edition.

F Fit

Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott), 1896-1940, author. The great Gatsby. Foreword to the seventy-fifth anniversary edition: F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby, and the House of Scribner ; Preface / by Matthew J. Bruccoli -- THE GREAT GATSBY -- The text of The Great Gatsby / by Matthew J. Bruccoli -- Publisher's afterword / Charles Scribner III -- FSF : life and career / James L.W. West III. Overview: The mysterious Jay Gatsby embodies the American notion that it is possible to redefine oneself and persuade the world to accept that definition. Gatsby's youthful neighbor, Nick Carraway, fascinated with the display of enormous wealth in which Gatsby revels, finds himself swept up in the lavish lifestyle of Long Island society during the Jazz Age. Considered Fitzgerald's best work, The Great Gatsby is a mystical, timeless story of integrity and cruelty, vision and despair. The timeless story of Jay Gatsby and his love for Daisy Buchanan is widely acknowledged to be the closest thing to the Great American Novel ever written.

F Jam

The Turn of the Screw, the Aspern Papers, and Two Stories. Barnes & Noble Classics, 2003; Intro. and notes by David L. Sweet. New York, NY : Barnes & Noble, 2003.

F Ora

Orange, Tommy, 1982- author. There there. First Vintage books edition. Here is a story of several people, each of whom has private reasons for travelling to the Big Oakland Powwow. Jacquie Red Feather is newly sober and trying to make it back to the family she left behind in shame. Dene Oxendene is pulling his life together after his uncle's death and has come to work at the powwow to honour his uncle's memory. Opal Viola Victoria Bear Shield has come to watch her nephew Orvil Red Feather, who has taught himself traditional Indian dance through YouTube videos and has come to the powwow to dance in public for the very first time. There will be glorious communion, and a spectacle of sacred tradition and pageantry. And there will be sacrifice, and heroism, and unspeakable loss.

F Pat

Patchett, Ann, author. The Dutch house : a novel. First edition. "Ann Patchett, the New York Times bestselling author of Commonwealth and State of Wonder, returns with her most powerful novel to date: a richly moving story that explores the indelible bond between two siblings, the house of their childhood, and a past that will not let them go"--.

F Rob

Roberts, Nora, author. The awakening. First edition. "#1 New York Times bestselling author of the epic Chronicles of The One trilogy returns with the first in a brand new series where parallel worlds clash over the struggle between good and evil"--.

F Row

Rowling, J. K. Harrius Potter et philosophi lapis. Cover illustration first pub. 2015. London : Bloomsbury, 2003, ℗♭1997. Latin translation, Peter Needham, 2003. Rescued from the outrageous neglect of his aunt and uncle, a young boy with a great destiny proves his worth while attending Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

F Rus

Russell, Karen, 1981-. Swamplandia! 1st ed (Borzoi Book). New York : Alfred A. Knopf, 2011. Twelve year old Ava must travel into the Underworld part of the swamp in order to save her family's dynasty of Bigtree alligator wresting. This novel takes us to the swamps of the Florida Everglades, and introduces us to Ava Bigtree, an unforgettable young heroine. The Bigtree alligator wrestling dynasty is in decline, and Swamplandia!, their island home and gator wrestling theme park, formerly no. 1 in the region, is swiftly being encroached upon by a fearsome and sophisticated competitor called the World of Darkness. Ava's mother, the park's indomitable headliner, has just died; her sister, Ossie, has fallen in love with a spooky character known as the Dredgeman, who may or may not be an actual ghost; and her brilliant big brother, Kiwi, who dreams of becoming a scholar, has just defected to the World of Darkness in a last ditch effort to keep their family business from going under. Ava's father, affectionately known as Chief Bigtree, is AWOL; and that leaves Ava, a resourceful but terrified thirteen, to manage ninety eight gators as well as her own grief. Against a backdrop of hauntingly fecund plant life animated by ancient lizards and lawless hungers, the author has written a novel about a family's struggle to stay afloat in a world that is inexorably sinking.

F Sha

Shaw, Irwin, 1913-1984. The young lions. Chicago : University of Chicago Press, 2000.

F Tol

The Hobbit. 75th Anniversary. The text of this edition is based on edition published by HarperCollins Publishers in 1995. Bilbo Baggins, a respectable, well-to-do hobbit, lives comfortably in his hobbit-hole until the day the wandering wizard Gandalf chooses him to take part in an adventure from which he may never return.

F Tow

Towles, Amor. Rules of civility. A chance encounter with a handsome banker in a jazz bar on New Year's Eve 1938 catapults Wall Street secretary Katey Kontent into the upper echelons of New York society, where she befriends a shy multi-millionaire, an Upper East Side ne'er-do-well, and a single-minded widow.

F Wat

Watson, Ren©♭e, author. Piecing me together. Tired of being singled out at her mostly-white private school as someone who needs support, high school junior Jade would rather participate in the school's amazing Study Abroad program than join Women to Women, a mentorship program for at-risk girls. "Acclaimed author Renee Watson offers a powerful story about a girl striving for success in a world that too often seems like it's trying to break her. Jade believes she must get out of her poor neighborhood if she's ever going to succeed. Her mother tells her to take advantage of every opportunity that comes her way. And Jade has: every day she rides the bus away from her friends and to the private school where she feels like an outsider, but where she has plenty of opportunities. But some opportunities she doesn't really welcome, like an invitation to join Women to Women, a mentorship program for "at-risk" girls. Just because her mentor is black and graduated from the same high school doesn't mean she understands where Jade is coming from. She's tired of being singled out as someone who needs help, someone people want to fix. Jade wants to speak, to create, to express her joys and sorrows, her pain and her hope. Maybe there are some things she could show other women about understanding the world and finding ways to be real, to make a difference.".

F Wil

Williams, Katie, 1978- author. Tell the machine goodnight. Pearl's job is to make people happy. Every day, she provides customers with personalized recommendations for greater contentment. She's good at her job, her office manager tells her, successful. But how does one measure an emotion? Meanwhile, there's Pearl's teenage son, Rhett. A sensitive kid who has forged an unconventional path through adolescence, Rhett seems to find greater satisfaction in being unhappy. The very rejection of joy is his own kind of "pursuit of happiness." As his mother, Pearl wants nothing more than to help Rhett--but is it for his sake or for hers? Certainly it would make Pearl happier. Regardless, her son is one person whose emotional life does not fall under the parameters of her job--not as happiness technician, and not as mother, either.-Amazon.

SC D

The Daniel Defoe Collection : The Life and strange surprising adventures of Robinson Crusoe, of York, Mariner; The farther adventures of Robinson Crusoe; A journal of the plague year; Moll Flanders. South Carolina, USA, : August 2020.

SC L

Link, Kelly, author. Get in trouble : stories. Random House trade paperback edition. The summer people -- I can see right through you -- Secret identity -- Valley of the girls -- Origin story -- The lesson -- The new boyfriend -- Two houses -- Light. A collection of short stories features tales of a young girl who plays caretaker to mysterious guests at the cottage behind her house and a former teen idol who becomes involved in a bizarre reality show.

SC P

Packer, ZZ. Drinking coffee elsewhere. 1st Riverhead trade pbk. ed. New York : Riverhead Books, 2004, ℗♭2003. Brownies -- Every tongue shall confess -- Our Lady of Peace -- The ant of the self -- Drinking coffee elsewhere -- Speaking in tongues -- Geese -- Doris is coming. Discovered by The New Yorker, Packer "forms a constellation of young black experience"* whether she's writing from the perspective of a church-going black woman who has a crisis in faith, a young college student at Yale, or a young black man unwillingly accompanying his father to the Million Man March. This universally appealing collection of short fiction has already established ZZ Packer as "a writer to watch.".

SC S

Sedaris, David, author. Calypso. First edition. When he buys a beach house on the Carolina coast, David Sedaris envisions long, relaxing vacations spent playing board games and lounging in the sun with those he loves most. And life at the Sea Section, as he names the vacation home, is exactly as idyllic as he imagined, except for one tiny, vexing realization: it's impossible to take a vacation from yourself. Sedaris sets his powers of observation toward middle age and mortality, that vertiginous moment when your own body betrays you and you realize that the story of your life is made up of more past than future.

SC S

Sedaris, David, author. Let's explore diabetes with owls. First Back Bay paperback edition, June 2014. From the perils of French dentistry to the eating habits of the Australian kookaburra, from the squat-style toilets of Beijing to the particular wilderness of a North Carolina Costco, we learn about the absurdity and delight of a curious traveler's experiences. Whether railing against the habits of litterers in the English countryside or marveling over a disembodied human arm in a taxidermist's shop, Sedaris takes us on side-splitting adventures that are not to be forgotten.

[scotiaeire]

We were all heathens once...

An article on ritual sacrifice and eating of dogs got me thinking. I do that sometimes. Think. Doesn’t always work out well but, meh. Old age allows for some meandering and blethering.

Besides. It’s my blog. I can say what I like, so...

Y’know, christianity is an incredibly young belief system. And for Europeans, it doesn’t actually belong to us. Since I’m not wasting time on a potted history of a belief system I was never raised in nor am particularly interested in, just know that. It doesn’t belong to, stem from, or align with, Europe. Even though they did manage to force a square  peg into a round hole...

There was a time the whole global population was pagan in one form or another and in the timespan of human history, that wasn’t so long ago, yet it *was* a very long time that we were just that..all pagans.

To identify myself if folks ask, I call myself “heathen”, a word that simply once meant “heath dweller”. Now it’s come to mean Scandinavian or Norse paganism. (unless you’re christian, in which case for you it means anyone not christian).

Other folks call themselves “pagan”. *shrug* Same diff. It means we’re attempting to live according to the belief systems of our ancestors, and having to (and in most cases struggling to) adapt their methods of ritual and lifestyle and mindsets for the world we live in today.

It shouldn’t be so hard tbh. Just “pretend” christianity never happened. Most of Europe would still be heathen. It would have evolved over time, with each passing generation and technological advancement, because of course nothing remains static, or it dies.

I’m not going to say I can tell you what the world would be like had the religions stemming from the Middle East not overrun the Western world. Sweden was the last European nation, if I remember rightly, to be forcibly converted to christianity, and still there are pockets of heathenism within the country that have never taken to the conquering faith.

In other nations, such as my own Scotland, a strange amalgamation of traditional Celtic paganism absorbed the church teachings and just got on with it. Thus, the goddess Bride became Saint Brigit, etc, and if you want a prime example of how all that works, take a read at the Carmina Gadelica and other literary collections of folklore up to and including the traditional songs of the Highlanders.

But I was never christian. I was born into a heathen family. It wasn’t a bed of roses. I had the bullying (which included a teacher spitting at me as she walked past) after my parents raged at the headmaster that in no manner was I to be included in morning prayer, lunch grace or assembly prayers.

At the time, it just embarrassed me and made of me an outcast. I hated it. As I grew and found my own heathen path, I was grateful. I see quite a few ex christians struggle with feelings of guilt for “leaving the faith behind” (hint: it was never *your* faith. It’s a foreign one, if you are European or Scots, English, Welsh or Irish) or who can’t quite shake the “sin” shit that was drummed into them.

I see others who, having no roots in heathenry or their native paganism, struggle to find out what they can learn from.

I’m not here to give advice but I’d advise going back to history books, removing the jaundiced eye of any christian authors from the facts if you can, and take it from there. Also, archaeology is your friend here. Folks and fairy tales. Sagas, Eddas, Old Irish Tales. Ancient songs that are traditional to your country. It’s a start. (So aye, I did give advice. Sorry. Ye can take it or leave it, no skin off my nose)

We can’t (sadly) live the lives of our ancestors because, frankly, the powers that be won’t let us. Whereas once, animals would be ritually sacrificed then feasted upon at certain times of year, now the animal cruelty folks’d be visiting your door and you’d be fined or arrested. (Another hint: you get round that by raising meat livestock. Vegetarian heathens, I have no advice for ye’s sorry. Heathenism is an animistic path that doesn’t preclude the consuming of sacred animals. And if you’re actively looking to your ancestors for inspiration, this *is* the type of thing they practiced)

We can’t go to war on our enemies, because governments got the Sole Right to do that, without us having an actual say in who our enemies really are.

Who, today, can *truly* erect a Nidthing Pole (curse pole) on the perimeter of your enemies property without being, again, arrested. Note also the interference of the State in just how pagan or heathen you can actually *be*....

So heathenry has to adapt and change to fit with how we are *allowed* to live these days. And therein lies the shame..the majority allow the minority to dictate how we can live, worship, and be spiritual.

So we do what we can. In quite a few countries, proclaiming yourself as heathen can be actually dangerous. So you keep on the down-low and keep your head down about it and practice quietly, or in secret.

Other places are more tolerant but I  have noticed that even though they are “on the outside”, the reality is that if you are openly heathen you will often encounter a backlash from christians or other faiths not pagan on more than one occasion.

And you’ll undoubtedly be painted as some kind of demon/devil/evil person. And it takes some kind of courage to stand against that, to tell people without it disintegrating into a pub brawl, that you’ve the fucking *right* to be who you are when it comes to your faith, and if that means following the faith of your ancestors, nobody has the right to prevent it.

Just, y’know, when you are following the faith of your ancestors, do them justice, eh? Make them proud of you. Let them see that you’re not defaming their ways.

Despite how my posts might appear, I’m a “live and let live” woman. You leave me be, and I’ll do the same for you.

My own personal mindset is that I don’t “do” eclecticism, simply because I feel it’s a bit of an insult if I’d been, say, performing rites to Thor then throwing in a bit of Dianic witchery (Italian) or the like. “Hello Thor, Big Fella. Meet Diana”. Nah. Not gonna work out there...

I’m no purist either though. If christianity hadn’t been forced on some of our ancestors, heathenry would have adapted, evolved and changed over time. But the *roots* of it would have remained. The pantheons would have been unlikely to have meshed with other pantheons, as did the Celtic and Roman deities in some parts of the British Isles. Chiefly, England.

The practices though, would have changed and so we shouldn’t feel downhearted when the State states (sorry) ye can’t go out and blood eagle your worst enemy or shove that Nidthing Pole up in your annoying neighbour’s back garden. If it’s hexery you’re into there are much more subtle ways, if you’re a woman. If you’re a heathen man, you might want to employ a woman to do the job for ye. Ergi, and all that...

Because times have changed we can sometimes feel adrift, not knowing quite how to *be* heathen in a modern world that increasingly shrinks our freedoms to even live.

But there are ways. The article I shared previously to this post spoke of sacrifice. In pre christian, pre nanny State days, sacrifices were serious matters and serious events. They *meant* something of note.

I have to be honest here, “sacrificing” a bowl of fruit or a bunch of flowers isn’t quite the same. Ye can say what you think about that but it’s not.

Because if you need to sacrifice anything to get a god’s attention, if you’re desperate (been there, done that) then what you give *has* to have meaning, *has* to be hard to give, and *has* to be worthy of that god. Or it means nothing.

No, I’m not advocating animal or human sacrifice. But if the thing you give has little meaning to you (and don’t tell me a bowl of fruit or bunch of flowers means the world to you...) then why should a god listen to you?

Anyway...heathenry was more than the rituals of sacrifice, hexing your enemies and going to war. In domestic life little daily rituals kept the household running smoothly. When the partner of a woman left on a journey, for example, she’d sew charms into his clothing for protection and safe return. The hearth of a home..the firepit or fireplace..has a wealth of rituals surrounding it, probably the most prolific of the domestic magics, perhaps apart from spinning and weaving. Charms to keep your children safe, spells to help older folks thrive, all were taken care of in fine heathen fashion.

So if nothing else, that, at least, we can return to.

[rabbitcruiser]

National Love Your Pet Day

Pets can offer unconditional love and help to make a home feel more welcoming and inviting. It’s only appropriate that owners take the time to show appreciation for them by celebrating on National Love Your Pet Day.

Pets can instantly put a smile on anyone’s face and bring joy to a household. Pet owners are busy people with jobs and families and may not always give a pet their full concentration. National Love Your Pet Day is a chance to give love and attention to any pet in the house, such as a dog, cat, and guinea pig. One trait that makes us all human is the ability and desire to love our pets, so it makes sense that we should all come together to celebrate their existence.

Learn about National Love Your Pet Day

It’s interesting to learn that most households in the United States have at least one pet present. It goes to show just how meaningful pets are to humans and that they share a unique and significant bond. Think along the lines of cats, dogs, birds, fish, and reptiles, for example. National Love Your Pet Day gives us all a reason to celebrate our pets and make them feel special.

Our furry and non-furry friends and pets have a very extraordinary place in all our hearts. Most would agree that it’s fun to celebrate this shared and matchless connection. Pet owners take pride in their pets and love to show them off and admire them. Humans and pets have meshed well together previously, and there’s no denying the fact that they continue to be a large part of your lives today.

The day is a time to embrace the idea that these pets are unique and special to us and have a place in our hearts. Love Your Pet day is a chance to show your pets extra love and your undivided attention. It’s about acknowledging the special relationship, and place pets hold in our lives and to pamper and admire them even more than we already do. It’s a chance to give back to pets everywhere since they’re known for helping to reduce stress and blood pressure in humans.

History of National Love Your Pet Day

Pets have been a part of human life for thousands of years, and it’s only becoming more popular and common to own one. Animals have been right by our side ever since the first moment of civilization. Consider the fact that wolves lived among humans for centuries, and there’s proof of humans and dogs and cats being together as long as 12,000 years ago.

In the 1600s, European royalty began keeping toy dog breeds. Pet birds were the pet of choice in Spain among all classes well into the 1960s. It may not be common knowledge regarding the person that started National Love Your Pet Day, but the masses began celebrating it and bringing it to light on a wide scale in the early 2000s.

National Love Your Pet Day Timeline

10,000 BC Wolves become domesticated

The first animal believed to transform from the wild state to the domesticated state is the wolf, the predecessor to the modern-day dog. It is believed that humans would find baby wolves and take them home to take care of them and train them.

7500 BC Cats may be domesticated

While it has been long believed that cats were domesticated in Ancient Egypt, recent information shows that it is much earlier and in the Near East.

3000 BC Parrots are domesticated

Colorful parrots are domesticated by Ancient Romans and also kept as pets in tropical places such as Brazil. They won’t be present in Europe until several hundred years later.

3100 BC Dogs are kept by people in Ancient Egypt

While their relationship is probably not as much like pets to humans but more like working dogs to owners, the Ancient Egyptians keep dogs nearby to help with tasks such as hunting and guarding. They may have even named them and put collars on them.

1850s Oldest-known photograph of a dog is taken

Ever since the invention of the camera, humans have enjoyed their pets by taking photos of them and with them. The first known photo of pet is titled Poodle with Bow, on Table and will later sell at a Sotheby’s auction for more than $8000 in 2009.

How to Celebrate National Love Your Pet Day

The best part about National Love Your Pet Day is that pet owners can pay extra attention to the animals they love so much. There are a variety of ways and options to choose from when it comes to celebrating National Love Your Pet Day. Pet owners should be encouraged to think outside the box and take actions that you know your pet will particularly adore.

A few ideas for what you can do include going for a walk or hike, playing with them and their toys, and snuggling and cuddling with them. As a dog owner, they may love going to the dog park, so be willing to take a trip there to have them play with the other dogs.

Many people find joy in taking pictures with their pets and sharing them on social media to let their networks know how much they love their furry friends. What’s most important and critical is that one purposely sets aside time to be with their pet on this special day. Pamper him or her with treats and show your pet that they mean the world to you.

Furthermore, take care of your pet’s health by making sure their vaccines are up to date and calling the vet to schedule their next appointment. Turn on the television and enjoy a feature film or video that includes a variety of pets to help cheer them up. Groom and pet your animal so that they look presentable and feel loved. Do them a favor by continuing to train them and practice commands with them on National Love Your Pet Day.

They’ll be better behaved, and it’ll keep them safe when you’re out and about walking them or in public. A pet owner might also want to celebrate by buying them a new toy that they know will excite them. Not only give it to them but then get on the floor and play with your pet. Also, wash their current bedding or give them a new bed that’s more comfortable for them.

Any non-pet owners don’t have to feel left out because there are plenty of options for this group to participate as well. For example, someone may want to donate money to a local shelter or adopt a pet themselves. One can also pitch in and help by offering to watch a friend or family member’s pet during the day while they are at work or need to travel.

Pet owners can rejoice knowing there’s a day designated for them and their pet of choice. Have fun celebrating and showing the household pet how much you adore them. One might even want to consider adding to the family on National Love Your Pet Day and getting another pet to enjoy.

Anyone participating in the day should take the time to admire how amazing their pet is and notice how happy he or she is that they’re receiving extra and special attention from their owner. There is a large community of pet owners out there so connect and share pictures with these individuals and ideas for how one can celebrate National Love Your Pet Day.

National Love Your Pet Day FAQs

How do you show love for your pets?

Everyone wants their pets to know they are loved! How to show this depends on the breed and kind of pet. Dogs like to be scratched behind the ears or on the belly. Cats enjoy hearing their voices mimicked. And rabbits like to spend quality time with their humans.

How are pets beneficial to humans?

National Love Your Pet Day is a perfect time to be reminded of the symbiotic relationship between pets and owners. All pets, but particularly cats and dogs, can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety and depression, provide companionship and teach children responsibility.

How to celebrate National Love Your Pet Day?

This is a great day to simply show pets they are loved by buying them treats, giving them an extra hug or scratch behind the ears, or just giving them extra attention.

When is National Love Your Pet Day?

Always occurring in late winter, National Love Your Pet Day falls on February 20 of each year.

Which pets live the longest?

Those who are looking to develop a relationship with a pet might wonder how long they can expect them to live. Pet tortoises are, by far, the longest living pet and can often outlive their owners as they can live approximately 50-100 years.

Source

[jewish-privilege]

In October 2015, I found myself in a frightening situation: My name and face on a Neo-Nazi website identifying me as a Jew along with several hundred other Jews in politics, civics, and philanthropy. The website, which I will not name, warned its readers that Jews were too influential in American life; that we were a corruptive influence on America. While it didn’t advocate actually killing me, I was marked as a person to be silenced.

“How likely are these people to actually kill me?” I asked the expert at the Southern Poverty Law Center, an anti-hate group that researches white supremacist groups. I had called them seeking answers. My husband was sitting beside me, his face full of fear. I felt a tiny kick, a flutter inside me, my hands dropping to my belly. “I should probably mention that I am 8 months pregnant.”

There was a pause at the end of the line. “It’s very rare for these threats to escalate offline,” the nice man began. “They want to scare you. They want to scare you so much you decide that you never want to write again. That’s their goal. What you decide to do next is a personal decision.”

You can see that I decided to keep writing. But thinking back on the advice he gave me, it almost seems quaint: In the four years since those threats, especially since the 2016 election, white supremacists spewing anti-Semitic hatred have marched in Charlottesville chanting “Jews will not replace us,” shot up synagogues in Pittsburgh and California, and murdered gay Jewish student Blaze Bernstein. Anti-Semitic assaults are up 105% since 2017, according to the Anti-Defamation League’s annual audit on American anti-Semitism. More Jews have been killed in anti-Semitic violence around the world in 2018 than in the last several decades, according to the Kantor Center, based out of Tel Aviv University, which researches and analyzes global anti-Semitism. In New York City, a major center of Jewish culture and life, the NYPD has reported an 82% spike in anti-Semitic hate crimes in 2019. In fact, Jews are reporting the highest number of religion-based hate crimes — this is particularly troubling given that Jews are only approximately 2.2% of the U.S. adult population.

And while the majority of incidents and assaults are committed by white supremacists on the right, there has been a concerning spike in incidents and rhetoric from the left wing, too...

As a child growing up in Boston, I knew anti-Semitism existed. I even experienced it from time to time — including when my childhood synagogue was defaced with a swastika. But overall I felt safe in America... I was grateful for a country that had provided Jews with peace and prosperity. America was a rare safe place for us.

Today, that’s different. The baby I was pregnant with is now a thriving, rambunctious toddler. But when we tour Jewish preschools, my first question isn’t about education philosophy, recess or student teacher ratios — it’s always about security. In just a few short years we’ve gone from history to fear.

To understand what can be done, first we need to understand what it is: Anti-Semitism is the hatred of Jews as a distinct people, as opposed to anti-Judaism that targets our religious beliefs and practices. Anti-semitism is a conspiracy theory. It depicts Jews as a cabal secretly controlling the world for evil ends, hurting innocent people to further greedy, cruel agendas. How those agendas manifest changes based on your worldview. If you are far left, it may be that Jews are imperialists who start wars to enrich themselves. If you’re a white nationalist, it’s that Jews are the ringleaders of the White Genocide. If you’re Minister Louis Farrakhan, it’s that Jews were the secret orchestrators of the trans-Atlantic slave trade.

Anti-Semitism is an ancient, chameleonic monster. It adapts to circumstances and seemingly new excuses for age-old prejudices to take hold. This is especially true in periods of political and economic insecurity.

...It doesn't help that we are also living in an era when conspiracy theories can so easily spread (from anti-Obama birtherism to Pizzagate to QAnon). President Trump and his cohorts on the far right capitalize and promote them, fomenting hatred and division through fake news and an assault on the truth. They accuse prominent Jews like George Soros of treacherous crimes, while consorting with and justifying white supremacists and their actions (“very fine people” Trump called them.). They act shocked and appalled when fear mongering, the mainstream legitimization of white nationalists, and dangerously lax gun control leave them with blood on their hands (as it did at Pittsburgh's Tree of Life synagogue).

And yet while I fear anti-Semitism on the right will lead to more violence, I fear anti-Semitism on the left will cause that violence and hate to go unchallenged. As American Jews face rising hate crimes and domestic terrorism, progressives have grappled with a string of unsettling scandals. At first, it was the way left wing groups downplayed anti-Semitism. In the wake of the 2016 election, for example, the Women’s March conspicuously left anti-Semitism off its unity principles, while left wing groups erased it as a core issue in Charlottesville, and were silent during hundreds of JCC bomb threats. Then it got worse. The anti-Semitism scandal surrounding Women’s March leadership unfolded over several tense months, during which they publicly associated with anti-Semitic Farrakhan and engaged in anti-Semitic dog whistling and bullying.

This controversy was followed by statements by freshman Representative Ilhan Omar, in which she fell into anti-Semitic tropes referencing dual loyalty, foreign allegiance, and Jewish money in her criticisms of Israel. Omar had many defenders who dismissed the charges because Omar herself faces Islamophobia and racism. But such tropes do feed the beast. As Ilhan Omar struggled to contain criticism and put forth multiple apologies for her comments, David Duke, the Grand Wizard of the KKK, came to her defense dubbing her the “Most Important Member of Congress.” It’s not to say that Omar should be held accountable for the words of David Duke. But it does indicate the way anti-Semitism — be it from the left or the right — can connect to amplify the threat.

While the Women’s March has taken positive steps to mend fences, like expanding Jewish leadership in the organization and including Jewish women in their Unity Principles, and Omar and the New York Times have apologized, the situations have led to increased division as anti-Semitism continues to spread, and becomes a political wedge issue, all of which creates increased danger for the Jewish community. In a time of increased concern about Jewish security, these scandals have had a devastating emotional impact on the Jewish community. We were taught by our grandmothers to watch for signs of danger — hateful words from across the political spectrum is one of them.

Over the past three years, I have seen anti-Semitism break and undermine strong community relationships and budding movements for justice. This what anti-Semitism does: It attacks democracy and transparency, giving authoritarian actors scapegoats for national problems. It endangers women, people of color, and immigrants as it strengthens and animates white nationalism, xenophobia, and extremist movements.

American Jews know this intrinsically and are frightened. The jump from hate speech to exterminatory violence has been a short one in the history of global Jewry. Many of us were taught about the dangers of anti-Semitism and how quickly it could rise against us from very young ages, especially for those of us who had family who were Holocaust survivors or who endured violence against Jews in the Middle East or Soviet Union. We need Americans to listen to our fear and take a stand.

The first step is to call it out when we see it in our houses of worship, living rooms, libraries, college campuses and kindergartens. This doesn’t mean we dismiss or “cancel” our friends, families, colleagues, and community leaders who engage in anti-Semitism. It means we tell them they are wrong. We educate. Jewish history is over 5,000 years old, and learning what narratives have been used to oppress Jews can be lifesaving. And then, let’s build relationships between communities that are under attack and frightened.

...This is what we need to do for each other: Come together to fight not just anti-Semitism but racism, misogyny, transphobia, homophobia, ableism, Islamophobia, and xenophobia. If we learn each other’s histories, warning signs and dangers and fight for each other, we can make the monsters afraid of us. 

[pondernce]

Behind Closed Doors

Hi!

So this is the first thing I’ve written in almost 5 years, and the first for Outlander. (be kind to me). I hope you like it, and much love to @julesbeauchamp for her support <3 

Jamie and Claire meet again in less than ideal circumstances...

Chapter 1

He could feel her hands on him, soft, delicate fingers tracing the planes of his back. They danced over scar tissue--the groves hewn into his skin by force--healing the wounds for him. Her mouth dipped to caress his jaw, the feathery brush of lips chased by soft, humid breath. A kiss on his neck. His Adam’s Apple. The juncture where sternocleidomastoid met trapezius. For a moment he let his eyes close, lost in the sensation. She found his mouth then, her legs winding over his hips and guiding him, urging him on.

Immersed in her, the gentle sound of the crashing waves was lost to him. He pressed up onto his hands, wrenching his mouth away because he needed to see her, needed to find those eyes…

Jamie woke up.

His heart raced, his skin was damp with sweat and he was uncomfortable stiff in his pants. As he was every time he remembered. And he always woke before he could see her face again. Aye, he could call her to his mind’s eye and he’d drawn her a dozen dozen times, but nothing so vivid as those dreams. The sketches were never quite right, and he knew that if he could only see her face in those dreams, he’d be able to capture her likeness completely.

With a sigh bordering on a groan, Jamie sat up and glanced at his phone. Five in the morning wasn’t too early, he supposed. At least it gave him time for a workout before he headed to university. A chance to get the nerves out. For some, perhaps, university was an unnerving step into adulthood. Leaving home, moving into a new place, the excitement of newfound independence. But Jamie had already made his move. From Highland Scotland to the Middle East, with the RAF. He couldn’t look forward to seeing what lads and lasses barely out of their A-levels would make of “adulthood” when they had no real responsibilities yet. And what would they make of him?

The streets of London were hardly quiet at this hour, but they were remarkably empty, and that’s what Jamie needed. A place to clear his head- to get her out of his head- before hustling through the crowded halls of King’s College, London. He jogged through the streets of Southwark, dodging the odd dog walker or early commuter. His route to King’s wouldn’t be long, thankfully. His military salary afforded him a nice enough flat close to the school, just across the river. He shared it with another Scot, Rupert, whom he’d served with in Afghanistan. It was a small mercy that Rupert spent almost all his time at his lass’ flat. The bloke was cheerful, but a bit too much sometimes.

Rounding the corner, Jamie checked the time on his FitBit and pushed his pace up, aiming to finish out five kilometers before he made it home. It wouldn’t due to be late for his first course though, even if his schedule for the day of Legal Philosophy and Medical Ethics hardly seemed interesting.

---

Legal philosophy could have been interesting, if the professor hadn’t put half the class to sleep. Jamie wasn’t surprised though, given that the majority couldn’t have been more than 18. High off being in Uni and hardly interested in what the ancient man before them had to say about the foundations of Legalism. The two girls next to him hardly paid attention, too busy giggling. He recognized the blonde from orientation, and she clearly recognized him.

Throughout the lecture he took diligent notes, only to avoid the girl’s eyes. The former soldier nearly bolted when the course ended.

He had nearly two hours before his next course, and plans to meet that bloke from the Rugby team. He’d gone out before orientation, trying to find some way to get involved. Many veterans struggled in university to find community, and he hoped he wouldn’t be another statistic.

“Fraser!”

He turned, smiling over a few startled students to see John Grey speed walking towards him. He was young, but Jamie found he didn’t mind that energy, John seemed a good person.

Smiling, he bumped the shorter man gently on the shoulder. “Good to see ye, I hope yer class wasn’t as boring…”

“Haven’t had class yet, just came early to grab lunch with you. We have practice this afternoon, you know? You’re welcome to come.”

Jamie glanced at his phone and shook his head. “Medical Ethics,” he sighed, “can ye tell I’m keen?” he laughed and shook his head. He wanted to get a background in law before he tried to leap into counter terrorism, and how did medicine relate to that?

“Pity. I hope it’s interesting.”

“I doubt it.”

Jamie didn’t mean to be cynical about university. It was supposed to be an opportunity to make something of himself after his medical discharge. Only, he found it overwhelmingly uncomfortable. And pointless. When he’d been in the war, reviewing briefings and in charge of his men, everything had been urgent. Learning on the fly, under pressure, where attention meant life or death. Here, he had the feeling he’d never need to attend to do well. It was disheartening.

His mind drifted as they ate. His fingers itched for his sketchbook, idle in his book bag. Jamie has taken up the hobby in the barracks, well before he met his muse. But the last two Moleskins had been interspersed with pages devoted to her. It had been a year, he knew he needed to let go. But he couldn’t yet.

“Jamie,” John’s voice cut into his thoughts, jarring the plans for how he’d shade the moonlight dappled on her skin from his thoughts.

“Och, Sorry. What was it ye we’re saying?”

John pursed his lips with that good natured shake of the head Jamie had already come to realize was a habit. “We should get going to class, where’s your head, man?”

The scot blushed, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck with a laugh. “Nothing, sorry. I didn’t sleep well, ye ken?” It wasn’t quite a lie, given he almost never slept well, or the medically recommended amount. With a small nod he grabbed their rubbish, scolding himself internally on the short walk to the bin.

Jamie knew better. He wanted to make something of himself that wasn’t available in the military, and that’s why he was here. He’d done the work, networked with other former soldiers already working for MI5 and in the government, learned what he needed to do if he wanted to work against domestic terrorism. But university should also be for himself, shouldn’t it? A change to live a bit of a normal life, to decompress after so much time at war. He knew he was lucky to even be back in the UK, let alone at a prestigious university. With a sigh and a quick shake of his head, he returned to John.

“I’ll be at practice after my class eh, make it up to you. Ye free for a pint after?” He grabbed his bag and fell into step alongside the shorter man, making a mental note of their plans as John went off about something on the news that morning. His brother was running for Parliament and the whole family had been in politics for centuries. Perhaps someday Jamie would be able to take advantage of such a connection, but presently he just needed the company.

They parted ways at one of the newer campus buildings, all shiny glass and stone. London was like that--an eclectic mix of modern and tradition that had Jamie missing Scotland more than foreign shores ever had. He’d not been home in years, and never truly wanted to go back. At least not yet.

“Excuse me,” he shoulder his way through a gaggle of students in the corridor, looking for the correct room. “104, 106… Christ.” 108 had to be the smallest room in the building, if not on the bloody campus. He’d failed to realize that the modern building connected to one of the oldest buildings, where the rooms became cramped cubicles of stone with sharply pointed windows, more reminiscent of a church than a university. The floor was old oak pitted and polished by centuries of steps, and Jamie could almost trace the path to one of the few available seats left. He was a large bloke--a fact which became abundantly clear as he settled behind the old fashioned desk. His knees knocked against the tabletop when he tried to sit up, forcing him to fold them awkwardly over the side. “Bit cramped, aye?” He joked quietly, meeting the eyes of a petite girl watching him. She flushed violently and nodded, stuttering over her reply.

“It-It’s a small course,” she shrugged finally, milky eyes darting back to her phone.

Jamie hummed, his own phone lost in the bottom of his bag after he got off the tube. After the military he apparently lacked the addiction to smartphones present in the rest of his generation. Or perhaps he was just old. Stretching his legs, he inadvertently cracked his back and sighed in relief, twisting to traction the other side just as another student walked in.

He froze, tracking her steps as she came into the small room. Slightly flustered, curls escaping her high bun and dragging over the material of her lightweight olive jumper, and her arms full of files and textbooks, she was unmistakably the same woman. His muse. Jamie traced every line of her, the smooth curves he knew with his hands and his pencil. He watched the long arc of her graceful neck, so pale and flawless against her dark hair. He couldn’t see her eyes, not yet, and the desire to almost had him squirming in his seat. So distracted was he that he failed to notice she hadn’t taken one of the available seats.

His muse had set down her books at the front of the room, shrugged off her camel overcoat and tossed it carelessly over the podium, carved her name into the ancient chalkboard in neat print, and now stood before them all, introducing the course.

His muse was a professor. His muse was his professor.

The name that had been absent from his syllabus and his memories stared mockingly back at him, stark white on deep green. Dr. Claire Beauchamp.

[herenortherenearnorfar]

The Development of Farming in Middle-Earth

An agricultural revolution is driven by multiple factors. Time is one of them, as is location, as is necessity. Therefore I would argue that Valinor lacked a farming culture and that large swathes of farming technology were innovated later, in the First Age and beyond.

First let’s establish that the Calaquendi were not farmers. Tolkien’s own anti-tech sensibilities, the emphasis within the text on farming and forests, and the presence of powerful nature spirits who would make the need for fields and crops redundant all suggest a more garden/foraging based society. Since Yavanna, Ulmo, Oromë can create food (plants, animals) they could eliminate the pressures (overhunting, hunger) that led to the advent of grain agriculture in the real world. They would also have motive to stick with a more hunter-gather society, since mono-crop farming and animal rearing would contradict Yavanna’s pro-tree agenda and Oromë’s interest in preserving the wild. And although elves have a bread-culture this doesn’t necessarily mean that they cultivated wheat-- wild grains like millet and barley were used by hunter-gathers to create flatbreads. Lothlorien, which is mostly forested, and wild Doriath also created bread, meaning that the presence of bread isn’t a sure indicator of big farming. 

This doesn’t mean Valinorean elves wouldn’t understand animal domestication and plant cultivation; just that they wouldn’t need to engage in these activities on a wide scale. We know from the text that elves keep dogs and horses, but we don’t get a lot of insight into their cattle raising, for example (there are extant elvish words for bull, but most other cow related words are from Gnomish or other early language iterations). The presence of weaving suggests that they may have bred woolly sheep (there is a Quenya word for sheep) but shepherding and sheep flocks aren’t mentioned until descriptions of the early Hadorians. For people with the ability to learn animal-speech keeping free range sheep would be much more feasible than for humans, allowing for a more flexible “hands off until shearing time” sheep relationship. Out of respect for Oromë, hunting seems to have taken over animal husbandry as a major source of protein. 

(This also ties into a theory of mine that elves are largely lactose intolerant past childhood. Without herding it’s hard to develop those enzymes.)

The same is true of plants. Valinorean elves probably experimented with plant hybridization and modification, kept private gardens or orchards, and prided themselves on growing new varietals, but may not have kept large scale fields. What would be the need, when you can just throw some seed down on the grassland (at all times of the year no less- thanks lembas essay) and trust Yavanna to make it all work? When the woods are full of infinite food and you have the gods of sea creatures and land dwelling beasts on your side there isn’t the same food pressure that faced early humans in real life. Food is everywhere, all you need to do is nurture and collect it. 

Of course not all elves were in Valinor. Middle-Earth elves would have developed certain technologies much faster than their more sheltered peers. At the same time, the Green-Elves of Ossiriand are noted to resent “hewers of trees and hunters of beasts” so they definitely weren’t clearing fields left and right. In fact, let’s split the Moriquendi up into groups based on location, to get a better sense of their respective farming styles. 

In Doriath was Melian, who has the potential to fulfill a Yavanna-like role as a forest nurturer. Again, you have to put less effort in when there’s a goddess on your side. The elves of Doriath were noted woodmen and hunters, and their descendants in the Greenwood and Lothlorien seem to have favored similarly naturalist approaches. Forest gardening isn’t out of the question. However two facts stand out. One: Menegroth was underground. This means that they had the potential to develop fungiculture (possibly developed with the help of dwarves). Two: prior to Morgoth’s awakening the elves of Doriath were less isolationist and wandered far. This means that they may have done some light plant propagation, moving seeds around and planting trees in more advantageous places. Your basic early Neolithic revolution behavior. 

In Ossiriand were the Nandor, who again, valued their trees a lot. This means that they’re going to be less willing to clear land or practice field farming. They may have still engaged in forest gardening, like the people of Doriath, encouraging food plants to grow and cultivating oak trees, fruit orchards, edible vines and shrubs, mushrooms, wild herbs, and other forest friendly food. 

Near lake Mithrim were Sindar elves who first met the Noldor. These are the most likely candidates for early field farming tech, since they had both deforested flatland and access to water sources. They’re also the most likely to have begun growing wild grains like wheat, barley, and millet.

The Falathrim is where things get interesting. We know that they kept “pools” in addition to their beaches and that they were dear to Ossë, an ocean Maia. This suggest a seafood based diet and the potential for pesciculture. Ancient forms of fish farming often worked in tandem with the sea and spawning habits of fish. Trenches would would be dug meeting the ocean, roe would be captured, and juvenile fish raised in fresh water. The Falathrim may have kept artifical tidal pools as well as raised fry. They may have also engaged in seaweed farming. The same goes for the Teleri across the sea, though again living in Valinor means that there’s much less need to stress over food. On Tol Eressea, seaweed farming and sea fishing will have proliferated, giving way to city gardens as the island population grew. 

The Avari are the most open for interpretation. We don’t know what these mystery suitors were doing on the other side of the continent. The Avari are said to have been more primitive than the Noldor but let’s look at the source here-- we can’t trust a Noldor account to be honest. Context clues can help us make guesses, however. For example, humans showed up in the middle of the First Age with domestic sheep, horses, donkeys, and goats (thanks random detail about the Hadorians from HoME). That isn’t something you figure out in a few hundred years. Given that we know early humans interacted with the Avari it’s entirely possible that they learned animal husbandry from them as well. So the Avari may have kept these animals! At the same time it’s mentioned that the Beorians “had no beasts of burden” so whatever animal technology later humans picked up from the Avari it took them a while to master it. 

Other technologies the Avari may have possessed include fungiculture (for they were long without the sun and preferred dark places), forest farming, and maybe some floodplain farming since many stayed near the lake where they originated. 

Now once the Noldor Exiles hit Beleriand they would have had to shift their food production methods drastically. No longer surrounded by greater and lesser spirits they faced much a much more serious potential for famine. Furthermore, encounters with the Mithrim and Falathrim, and later the elves of Doriath and Ossiriand, will have introduced new principles of agriculture. The combination of Noldor GMO technology (nurtured in an open sandbox of innovation) plus more necessity based Beleriand techniques, likely paved the way for a new flourishing of agriculture. The regions many of Fingolfin and Feanor’s kin moved into-- flat lands and mountainous regions with less forest to worry about-- will have also helped develop a more robust farming culture. 

They’re still elves so they’re going to be more hesitant to mess with nature but with the rise of the Noldor we’re more likely to see irrigation, fertilizer, and professional farming. Wild grains will have slowly become more domesticated. It’s mentioned in HoME that corn (grains) originated in Aman, were brought to Middle-Earth, but didn’t do well and was mostly kept by adherents of Yavanna (including some in Doriath, who grew grains in limited amounts in sunlit glades). There’s a sense that the elves have a lot of plants but are still figuring out what to do with them. Things they can grow: wild grasses, grapes (they have wine!), sturdy fruits and veggies willing to resist Morgoth. 

Dwarves are hard to judge because we don’t get a ton of insight into their material culture. Sure they love mountains but where does their food come from? They like it but how? Where? Nevertheless, we can attribute to dwarves mountain terraces, fungiculture, and indoor agriculture using reflected sunlight. In fact, dwarves might have invented greenhouses, which would give them a foot over their peers in early post-Sunrise Middle Earth. The petty-dwarves cultivated some sort of root-vegetable so other dwarves likely did as well. They also probably made big strides in pony-breeding, goat rearing, and some other types of animal husbandry.

Finally, the humans arrive. Now the agricultural innovations of non-Beleriand humans are really hard to judge. We know that they were big farmers within a few thousand years though, which again suggests some Avari help. In the east irrigation and complex water retention would have developed most quickly. They probably also further developed grain farming (important for a fast reproducing population) and your basic river valley techniques (flood control, fertilizer, plant breeding) within a fairly short time frame. Again, the Avar and non-Atani humans really don’t get the credit they deserve for speed running civilization without divine interference. 

Onto the Beleriand humans who we do know about. The Haladin had independent homesteads by Haleth’s time, a practice that’s pretty hard to maintain (early agricultural was communal for a reason). The Hadorians had animal husbandry. The Beorians were quick to take to farming and willing to learn from elves. All of this suggests an adaptable, innovative farming culture which might be a little more garden focused than medieval Europe but was still plenty productive. 

After the fall of Beleriand we meet even more humans. In Numenor sheep were kept, for example, in addition to various crops. Corn of Aman origin were favored and the Numenoreans spread these more developed grains across the world, leading to better farming for all men.  Widespread field agriculture developed in Arnor and Gondor. Milk was drunk among herding cultures and farming cultures (both Rohan and Gondor were probably full of milk drinkers), making animal farming more profitable. Cows are widespread by the period of LoTR, as are chickens, goats, cheese, and plants like tomatoes and potatoes. Beekeeping is also present in the Shire, suggesting that beekeeping has developed over the past few millenia.

The Woses, a more woodland based group, favored forest farming and cave living. Other human groups followed their lead, remaining more forest based until Numenor came and ripped their forests up. Numenorean imperialism in general can be seen as a force for field based farming, destroying earlier forest models. And exception would be in the far East, where again, humans seem to have figured things out on their own. 

Later elven groups include Silvan and Sindar communities (more likely to favour forest living) and Noldor communities (more likely to have cities, gardens, and some fields though not on a human scale.) Very late elf enclaves like Rivendell may have combined rooftop gardening with forest cultivation. 

All this probably sounds like a load of nonsense so I’ve summed up the development of Middle Earth farming in a few easy notes. 

Who Invented What?

Planting seeds and then harvesting them was recognized by all elf groups, roughly simultaneously

Gardens were invented by the Amanyar, Teleri (all groups), and Avari, later spread everywhere

Food forests were invented by the Nandor and Sindar, later practiced by the Woses and other human groups as well as Silvan/Sindar elves

Grain farming was invented by the Mithrim and Amanyar then later perfected by the Easterlings and Numenoreans

Organic Fertilizer was invented by the Nandor and later preferred in human settlements

Mass fertilization and nitrogen fertilizer was invented by the Noldor exiles and sometimes used in Numenor 

Chemical fertilizers and pollution were invented by The Forces of Darkness

Greenhouses were invented by the dwarves and Exile Noldor, later used in parts of Arnor and Gondor

Irrigation was developed by the Mithrim then further developed by the Noldor and friends. It was also practiced by the Avari and Easterlings

Fungiculture was invented by the dwarves and Avari, then later shared with the Sindar

Pesciculture was invented by the Teleri (all groups)

Seaweed farming was invented by the Falathrim and elves of Tol Eressea

Terrace farming was invented by the dwarves and later practiced by elves and humans

Horse riding is just about universal

General animal husbandry was invented by the Amanyar and Avari, later embraced by all humans

Raising animals for meat was developed by the Avari and later passed on to humans

Raising animals for milk is entirely on humans

GMO plants were invented by the Amanyar, improved on by combined elves of Beleriand, and dabbled in by Numenoreans. Also the Avari and Easterlings probably had them to some extent but who knows because we don’t have enough info on them.

[samhainrites-secretnights]

Chapter 1

warnings: the crime scene is described and well it includes a dead person (duh) and blood - will include a warning before it in the text so you can skip if needed! (also mentions of weed but no use)

word count: 10,5k

PROLOGUE 

Something deep down had told her she’d get her way. She usually did.

It didn’t match her usual demeanor at all: a reserved, distant looking person, her shyness was often mistaken for cold disdain and gave her an air of superiority. She didn’t like that image but it seemed to stick: it had followed her all the way from her previous life to her reincarnation as a village librarian, keeping colleagues and curious children at bay, maintaining visitors at arms’ length in spite of her otherwise polite attitude. Oh well. She had a few friends who knew her past that first impression, and for the rest she could make do with fiction and correspondence, appearing to the rest of the world as a semi ethereal, semi sleepwalking presence. She presented well (enough) and gave no cause for complaints. She was, as most would put it, an eccentric; there was a time she’d have been suspected of witchcraft. 

This amusing perspective was a big part of why she had moved to this little rural area of england, rather than staying in the suburban routine she had grown up and studied in. It started to occur to her that as a newly actualized adult, she was, in fact, in charge of such decisions: where to live, what to do, what to look like, and who to see, all those things that seemed to work themselves out in boring ways, and that she was now able to subvert and turn into something a little more interesting. What she didn’t expect was for wonder to become the norm, and normal to become extraordinary. 

***

Charlie Nelson had, against all expectations (including his), gotten perfectly used to country living. 

Upon his move two years prior, his friends and family had barely cared to hide their skepticism at the thought of this frankly a little uptight city mouse moving to an area of cottages and sheep, where the median age seemed to grow by a year with every passing day. Charlie was a Londoner by birth and had never expressed the slightest desire to change that: a young, health-conscious detective ready to dedicate his time to his work with little restriction, it seemed the lively character of the inner city fit him best. He had to admit he had been the first one surprised by his own enthusiasm as his superiors had offered him a position alongside a certain DCI Barnaby, whom he knew nothing about;  it had felt as if the words came out of his mouth on their own, and as he first set foot in the town of Causton, Oxfordshire, he surely started to question his own judgement. 

But that was two years ago. Two years of weathering his colleagues’ utter disbelief at some of his perfectly normal life choices, such as drinking green tea and going for early morning runs, of being resented for filling his predecessor’s shoes, although to be fair, that only lasted for a minute; two years of slowly becoming a part of the tight knit community he formed with the Barnabys as well as Dr Kate Wilding, forensic doctor and, to him, landlady. Two years of discovering things about himself he never had the chance to see before: his resourcefulness, his dedication to serving not only the greater good in childish spectacular fashion, but also the less than glamorous village folk that he had started to like in spite of a sting of bigotry that he did his best to ignore. His contentment with relative isolation, too. And something he didn’t care to admit just yet, though it did worry his adopted mentors slightly: a little void in the way he spoke of the future, a little longing at the thought of living with a colleague, like a college roommate at age 33, intangibly yearning for headquarters of his own. 

To his relief, there was no time to think of this when the urgency of cases brought him into a state of constant brainstorming. Not that he used the distress of others to drown the noise of his own shortcomings: he was sincere in all that he did, save for perhaps how he felt about other people -  he was, after all, an Englishman - and wouldn’t think of instrumentalizing his position for such mundane purposes. Would he go so far as to say it wasn’t a convenient corollary? Maybe not. However, and to his superior’s great relief, he was always professional when it came to separating his own inner turmoil (you could hardly call it that!) from the necessities of a high risk job; he was good at it, which meant he wasn’t allowing himself to be as clever as he could, leaving the credit to Barnaby and acting as his ever loyal right hand. He didn’t mind: he was watching and learning, remained an inestimable asset in terms of physicality (you wouldn’t see DCI Barnaby running like that, would you!), and formed a bond that grew grumpily somewhere between brotherhood and parenthood. 

It usually went like this: on regular days, they’d do their paperwork and go home in the evening, Barnaby to his wife, Sarah, baby daughter Betty, and dog, Sykes; Charlie to Kate’s first floor and occasional company, sharing chinese takeout and films, wondering if perhaps this was becoming domestic, albeit as far from matrimony as you could get. On the weekends they’d visit the Barnabys for tea, and if the weather was good, they’d collectively pick on Charlie for opting for long runs or bike rides before joining them, welcomed by the grownups’ consistent teasing and Betty’s enchanted cooing. She loved her detective-turned-babysitter: as Kate mockingly put it, Charlie was nothing short of a domestic goddess, unburdened by the masculine cliché of messiness and neglect that his landlady was all too happy to take on. 

Upon moving to Causton, Charlie discovered himself a bit too much of a homebody, took utter joy in cooking and cleaning, and found that his lack of interest for a company of his own age was often met with his mentor’s dismay. He had adapted swimmingly, but had gotten a little too comfortable and often relied on his cozy routine rather than to put himself “out there”, as they said, for such uncomfortable goals as meeting new friends or courting ladies. In the back of his mind, he knew the longing would become too strong to ignore: fortunately for him, it really hadn’t yet. He went on with his work, and time passed as calmly and erratically as it does when you live in the paradox of a picturesque village as an investigator of its worst possible crimes.

CHAPTER 1

To sit at work one morning, in the reassuring boredom of a rural police station, and to receive a phone call announcing someone’s violent murder was both absolutely baffling and mind-boggingly normal when your name was John Barnaby. On occasion, and if he was in the mood, he’d even roll his eyes (“that’s beetroot on your clothes, Mrs Oadby, not blood, for god’s sake”); but he was a professional and never failed to take a case seriously the second he detected anything fishy about it. And there wasn’t much to detect that morning, he thought: the sun was shining, he was in a rather good mood, the bakery had his favourite pastry in stock, and the only phone calls the station had answered concerned security matters for the upcoming kids’ halloween celebrations. 

He considered bothering Nelson for a coffee, since his young partner seemed to oscillate between sighs of boredom and the recognizable look of someone who’s dipping their toe in an introspection most definitely too cold to bathe in at this time of the year. Just as he really started to pity his colleague who turned his undivided attention to a nearby rubiks cube, a uniformed officer came trotting in their office, her hand clutching a scribbled note, her cheeks flushed from the rush. She all but pounced on Barnaby, holding on to his desk to keep from falling over while he raised his eyebrows in an inquiring expression, letting her catch her breath. 

“Well? What have you got for me, Patel?” 

“Sir… We have… A body has just been found in the Fairfield-under-Wychwood cemetery”, she panted. 

“I should hope so, it’s where we usually put those, isn’t it?” Barnaby’s sarcasm was met with officer Priya Patel’s most resigned eye roll. He continued: “Do tell me more. What exactly have we got?” 

“With all due respect, Sir, if you’re done showcasing your dad jokes,” - Charlie chuckled in the background - “the local vicar called us, utterly panicked - said he’d been rushed to the cemetery after he heard someone screaming. A local woman apparently found the body as she was visiting a grave - she was too shocked to tell him more, and he said we’d better come see for ourselves.” 

Barnaby sighed. Ah, civilians and their inability to control their emotions! Almost as bad as Nelson! 

“Very well, thank you, Patel - think Nelson and I will head down then, who are we to question the word of God?” 

They got up and grabbed their jackets, leaving officer Patel to her endeared consternation, and back to the task at hand. Seconds later, she could hear tires screeching from the station parking lot. 

*** 

Fairfield-under-Wychwood was everything you’d expect from a minuscule nook in the heart of Oxfordshire’s lush greenery. Everything, and perhaps a little more. 

You wouldn’t usually end up there unless you were specifically looking to, or had, by some sort of animist inspiration, summoned the right turns in a seemingly never ending network of eel-like forest roads. Snaking through the moss like a gondola under a canopy of spirits, you’d have to drive slow, or the lack of visibility would guarantee a frontal shock with any oncoming vehicle, animal, or apparently, frenzied murderer; moreover, you’d drive in silence. Not that it made any difference to your security as a motorist. You simply would, though, due to the reverence and hint of discomfort one usually feels when faced with the creeping of nature’s sinuous darkness, its ominous volutes of leaves and distant chirping, and the ancient moisture of its crumbling floors. If you slowed down, you’d remember your ancestors’ memories, and hear the roots hold your ankles in place. 

When the roads would decide they’ve caused you enough torment, they’d spit you out and, if you were reactive enough, you’d cling by the tip of your fingers to the edge of an invisible cliff, on top of which you’d land and finally catch a glimpse of your destination. Your confused gaze would linger on the gentle curves of a meadow, gorged with sheep like a tree heavy with ripe fruit; behind it, greyish shapes would suggest a range of mellow stone cottages, adorned with brambles and smoking chimneys. But as soon as your eyes would get used to their surroundings, they’d turn to their most prominent feature: under the greying skies stood the church tower, like a tired lighthouse in the autumn fog. 

So did Barnaby and Nelson discover their momentary workplace. The chief inspector’s demeanour remained as phlegmatic as his sergeant’s was becoming tense, Nelson’s big, delicate hands clutching the driving wheel as he slowed down to enter the village’s main street, that lead to the church in a barely perceptible slope. The car trembled over the wonky, somewhat charming cobblestones. As they progressed towards the heart of the village, nameless family cottages gave way to picturesque storefronts and hand painted signboards; vague faces appeared behind thick, steamy windows, slow like the morning errands of an aging community gathering for coffee and newspapers. 

The air was crystal sharp and thick with a lingering fog. Rays of sunlight dissolved like dust in the crisp autumn morning, brightening the orange palette of the trees but failing to provide enough warmth for pedestrians to walk without instinctively clutching their coats around themselves; so did Barnaby, slightly irritated at Nelson’s infuriating, sensible planning as the younger man put on his scarf. They had parked by the church garden wall and made their way to the entrance on a mossy, winding path that took them through the small green and to a wooden door. As they approached, it opened and gave way to an elderly man in religious dress, tortoiseshell glasses so thick they made his eyes appear nearly amphibious. His expression was one of utter disbelief, and he walked as though he was floating in confusion. 

Barnaby and Nelson routinely displayed their police badges as they introduced themselves to the man who, despite his apparent state of shock, had signaled the incident. He seemed to snap out of his trance as he shook their hands, seemingly hit by reality once more after having saturated. 

“Father Gregory, Alvin Gregory - please, if you’d follow me… I was standing right over there by the passage to my study, that’s this room at the back - i was right there when i heard a scream, and it didn’t sound anything like joking around or trying to get someone’s attention, no, it was truly a scream of terror, like you rarely hear, so naturally i hurried there and caught poor Mrs Tomkin right as she was fainting. And that’s when i saw it and -” 

He was interrupted by a tremor, halfway between retching and shivering, and had to steady himself by leaning against the nearby wall. 

“-and there she was. Dear God, as if murdering her wasn’t enough - her very soul was humiliated, inspector, i can’t believe this is real.” 

(WARNING - BLOOD / BODY HORROR, SKIP TO NEXT QUOTE) 

Nelson barely had time to catch father Gregory and help him to a chair before the old man’s legs gave in. The two detectives excused themselves and proceeded to the cemetery, where Kate and her team were already set up, their seriousness clashing in a surreal way with the golden highlights of the site’s nature, like a kaleidoscope carried by the threatening presence of the woods and moors beyond the village limits. Across the  safety line, their colleague’s blonde hair was tied in a bun above her usual blue protection blouse and gloves, and she was leaning over what looked more like an entire altar than a simple abandoned corpse. She was brought out of her focused examination by Charlie’s loud “HOLY F-” that he had the sensibility of interrupting before his own blasphemy added to the crime scene. 

“Take your time, why don’t you!” she started towards them, peeling off her gloves, and went on: “Victim is a sixty-eight years old female, Margaret Hawthorne, known locally and professionally as Sister Peggy.” 

“A nun?” Charlie asked, oblivious to the victim’s religious attire. 

“No, Nelson, a plumber, in fact-” Barnaby caught a glimpse of Kate’s piercing look. 

The doctor went on: “The cause of death would be… Well we’re kind of spoilt for choice actually. She received fatal cuts to the throat and wrists, all of which could have been lethal, and was left to bleed out for uh, obvious purposes, apparently. You’ll have to let me know whatever the hell this is.”

The two detectives stared at the scene in utter incredulity. Not only was Sister Peggy’s lifeless body carefully arranged, her stretched limbs were circled by sketches of browning blood, forming a sort of symbolic shrine around the nun’s corpse. Neither of them was all too familiar with the esoteric, so what they could gather from a first look was rather limited; however, Barnaby’s wife being a historian, the inspector had seen his share of dead languages and forgotten alphabets. From their unfamiliar, angular form, he could tell the drawings looked like norse runes: some of them combined, other simple, some repeated, none he recognized. 

Plants and twigs had been disposed between the runic shapes, and in the middle of it all, the elderly woman’s face had been messily painted, her eyes still wide and terrified. The thick smell of blood started to get to the two men as their gaze studied the dark display, Charlie wincing, Barnaby too deep in thought to notice his own frowning. The older detective had had his share of eccentrics, new age lunatics and everything in between; he had surprised the elderly community of a quiet village in full pagan attire, had seen parents killing children and children killing parents. He knew there would be more to it, and, metaphorically rolling up his sleeves, he sighed. 

Charlie, on the other hand, was a lot less experienced when it came to the peculiar rationality of isolated countryside murderers. Though he had seen his share of revolting crimes, there was a certain quality, a certain pragmatic originality of the country folk in the way they’d dispose of another person’s life - he had seen corpses washing off the Thames, but was a lot less used to seeing them emerging from manure stocks. A nun with her throat slit in the middle of some esoteric sigil, in a village that peaked at two or three hundred inhabitants on a good day, that was definitely a first. 

Barnaby raised his eyes to face his tall sergeant, who was holding his scarf in front of his nose and mouth; he let out a superior huff. 

“Thought you liked your black pudding, Nelson?” 

Charlie’s face got several shades paler. Kate, in a rare moment of motherly protectiveness, thought the time had come to give them the details of what she’d be expecting from the autopsy, stating that the contents of the blood and stomach would be scanned, as well as any trace of the culprit’s DNA on the victim and surrounding objects. For the rest, she said, they would have to search the villagers’ minds, which seemed to her an even more disturbing task. She’d much rather be in the safety of her lab, where she was sure her company wouldn’t disturb her, on account of being, you know, dead - although with this one, she wouldn’t risk it, she said with a semi-convinced smile. 

As the forensic team was proceeding with securing the body and site, pictures were taken from every angle, and the detectives knew they’d need to wait for any clues to be revealed from Sister Peggy’s wounds; focusing his attention away from the waves of nausea that kept hitting him with every reek of blood, Charlie copied the symbols in his notebook, determined to find out more. Barnaby, on the other hand, seemed to pay them little mind; instead, he turned away from the quarantine zone and scanned the area for any curious villagers. Behind them, unsteady and gripping the arm of a slightly younger nun, father Gregory had appeared outside the church door. Motioning for Nelson to follow him, Barnaby made his way back to the vicar, and spoke first.

(GORE BIT OVER) 

“If you don’t mind me asking, Father - we’re going to need to know every relation mrs Hawhtorne, uh, Sister Peggy had in the area… Or anywhere frankly, but let’s start there. How well did you know her?” 

“Personally, not very - although I have known her for a little while now, yes, she had been participating in the celebrations for several years… perhaps ten? Time passes strangely when you’re my age”, father Gregory answered, thinking out loud. “You see - starting today, the parish is holding the Allhallowtide celebration… As lots of churches do, but these days hold a special meaning to us here, since it’s also the time for us to celebrate our saint Nivel - and that’s been a source of concern recently, it might be our last year having her here”, the older man went on, his voice breaking. 

He noticed Barnaby’s inquisitive look and explained: “Our parish takes great pride in being the resting place of such a meaningful figure - you see, saint Nivel was one of the first female abbesses, who happened to be buried right here in this parish! Ever since I started officiating here, we’ve centered our Allhallowtide festivities around her, and have referred to her remarkable intelligence and scholarship for guidance. So to think our little village would be robbed of such a central part of who we are as a community… You see, the Oxford parish has been claiming her for the past months, and  that’s brought the occasional attention, both good and bad”, the vicar sighed. “Sister Peggy was part of a group of visitandines who come round every year as a pilgrimage, usually help out with the celebrations too. They’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and I’ve been here since… Well, for over seventy years, you could say.” He chuckled. “I was born just across the street, in the house where my nephew now runs the inn.” 

Nelson was frantically taking notes, his brow furrowed in concentration; next to him, Barnaby’s face betrayed his mental mapping of everything he knew up to this point, which really wasn’t much. He knew village folk to take lots of their daily circumstances for common knowledge, and knew he’d need to pry if he wanted a clearer view.

“Father, if I may - you did say your saint brought both good and bad attention, am I correct? I take it the visitandines sisters are the good part?”   

The vicar sighed, his afflicted face looking down. “Oh they’re alright, they’re certainly a great help, that they are. The bad part is… Well, you younger folk may know about that, but lately there’s been a certain enthusiasm for so-called… Paganism”, he bemoaned, his fingers tracing quotation marks as he said the last word. “Some self-proclaimed guru seems to have declared our village as somehow relevant to whatever it is they think they’re doing. It’s the second time now that they’ve come to bother us during this time of year. Between this and our st Nivel being ogled like some cheap tourist attraction - it’s been a bit of a circus already. And now poor sister Peggy… Punished for devoting herself to our celebrations? Dear God, how could I make it up to you?” 

As the realization seemed to sink in, father Gregory’s thick glasses went muddled with tears, and the two detectives were reminded of the presence of the nun that had stood by him earlier as she came rushing to take the old man’s arm and help him stand. Father Gregory excused himself, visibly weakened by the shock and exhaustion, and Charlie replaced the woman - who had been introduced as sister Meg - following her as she guided them back to the vicar’s house, where he’d get some rest and be questioned later on. Any information they’d need for immediate proceedings, they’d have to get elsewhere, and they opted to split up: Barnaby would accompany sister Meg and learn what he could from the three remaining nuns, while Nelson would go and find out what he could about, and from, the so-called pagans. He gulped upon receiving the order. 

Charlie liked to think of himself as open-minded: after all, he had grown up in one of the most cosmopolitan, culturally rich havens of eccentricity the western world had to offer, though he had managed to get out somewhat unscathed. In fact, he was probably most original in how ordinarily he carried himself. Though he was surprisingly handsome, he had a tendency to dress too old for his age, and sound too young; he was a mixture of naive all-boys school and barbour-wearing accountant, which was endearing enough but didn’t exactly match what you’d expect of a millenial from London. He felt too tame for the city and too urban for the country, but the truth was, and he knew it, that he went through life following the gentle pointing of his own compass. What he didn’t know, on the other hand, was how much his mentor valued that in him - give John Barnaby one extra glass of wine and he’d reluctantly mumble something about training a future proper chief inspector. He’d never admit it to his face, though: nothing worse than a detective who relies too much on his own talent. 

As sister Meg indicated him, the group he had written down as ‘pagans’ for lack of a better word had set their camp at the edge of the woods whose darkened weight bordered the moor-like cemetery. Behind the church lied a threatening, mossy murmur that appeared to warn humans not to try and expand too much: as the nun described it with hyperbolic intimidation, Nelson was struck by the way father Gregory did little to contradict her. Aside from the obvious restraint that one tends to exhibit when faced with a graphic assassination, it seemed to him they shared an unspoken agreement, giving nature the credit and authority it was due, taking the fear it instilled like a serious factor in the way they lead their lives: if Charlie had expected such things to take up more space as he dealt with the ingrained beliefs of remote villages, he now had to admit their reverence was contagious. As he made his way towards the outskirts of the cemetery, he felt like he was reaching the edge of the waking world. 

If Charlie (the man) was rather skeptical about everything dark, threatening and frankly uncomfortable, DS Nelson (the detective) had a job to do, and was capable of plunging in bone-chilling, slimy bodies of water for the single purpose of unearthing a less than impressive clue if he felt it was the right course of action. He did wince as the soles of his nice leather shoes gave an unpleasant suction noise when lifted from the muddy path, but quickly focused on looking for the visitors’ camping grounds that sister Meg had indicated in a scoff. He didn’t know what exactly he was looking for, or who; images of “the wicker man” bounced in his head as he carefully trod on the damp forest soil, spied on by peeking mushrooms and croaking birds, abandoned by sunlight and his courage. He puffed out his chest, suddenly very aware of being unarmed, and followed one of the many intuitive paths the footsteps of previous wanderers had shaped. 

After a while, he started to feel cold. The trees, the leaves, the ground, everything was damp and pervasive, his jacket clinging to his arms like a leech, his scarf only highlighting the gaps it couldn’t cover; the horror of the crime scene started to sink in, the old woman’s terrorized face and the lines painted on one of her cheeks, the time it must have taken to draw all those symbols, using someone’s blood while their life was coming to a pitiful end. Like a goldsmith crafting circumvoluted rings, Charlie compartmentalized each dimension of his work, packing death away in bundles of kraft paper to be shipped somewhere far away. Somewhere he’d visit one day, perhaps, but not now. Not while he was risking his own life all the time. He shivered and took a deep breath, scanning all his senses for any sign of the campers. Somewhat further away, carried by the wind, he heard voices. 

The gentle droplets of wind chimes mixed with the smell of fire and burning herbs as he got closer to the camping grounds. It reminded Charlie of those shops a girl he dated in college would buy incense in, before filling her apartment with it - mixed with mold and weed, it clung to his hair and clothes like she did until he realized he wasn’t particularly happy. He wondered if maybe she’d be there, or if not her, another one of the same breed he found himself too old for even back in those days, when he wore a necklace of wooden pearls that she gave him and it smelled like patchouli and it didn’t feel like him at all. He wondered if anyone would ever give him something that did feel like him; then he heard someone playing one of these saucepan-looking instruments and had to keep his eyes from rolling. Way to be impartial, he thought, but then again, someone’s literally died, lay off the bloody tambourine, will you. 

Rather than settling in a clearing, it seemed the campers had preferred limiting their own comfort by cramming their tarpaulin-covered dwellings between trees and stumps; they had somehow managed to dig a respectable fire pit, around which the tents were disposed in a circle. All in all, the site must have accommodated perhaps ten people; four of them were currently sitting in folding chairs, wrapped in shawls, pensive. The music stopped as the man holding the instrument noticed Charlie - soon the three others turned to him as well, unsure of whether or not they should start to their feet, nervously tightening their grips on their armrests. Although he hesitated and thought of joining them undercover, Charlie decided he might as well jump in - it’s not like he’d ever be credible anyway. He flashed his police ID and felt the tension in his interlocutors rise; it stung a little bit. They were about his age, but he had crossed the rubicon of cool long ago. 

“DS Nelson, Causton CID - don’t even panic about that, mate, that’s not what I’m here for”, he sighed as one of the men tried to put out his joint on a nearby tree stump. “I’d just like to ask you a few routine questions about what happened last night - i suppose you heard?” 

The group, two men and two women, exchanged concerned looks, seemingly unsure about who would talk and what they’d say. One of the women, her black hair braided in a complex network of tresses, cleared her throat.

“We heard. The rest of our group drove out this morning after they went into the village to get coffee - said they didn’t come here for this kind of negative energy”, she answered. “We weren’t sure we’d stay, either. But then we decided this was out of our control and we could do nothing but welcome it like we should any other overpowering circumstances. That’s kind of what we came here to celebrate, anyway.” 

Charlie raised an eyebrow at that last comment. “Could you perhaps give me your names… And where you were last night up until about 8 this morning?” They shifted in their seats, ready to defend themselves. “Just standard procedure. As of now, we aren’t accusing anybody, simply gathering information, you understand-” 

“Okay fine”, sighed the other woman, not bothering to hide her disdain. “But it’s funny how we’re always being targeted, just because we dare to live slightly differently… Doesn’t mean we’re criminals, unless exploring a peaceful alternative to modern society is a crime”, she paused, hoping to get the assent of her colleagues, who remained silent. Her ash blonde dreadlocks shook as she scanned them for any type of reaction, but they looked reserved, perhaps even a little embarrassed. 

“My name is Rosemary Cook”, said the first woman, “this is Maureen Kemp, and Ray Khan, and Chris Hughes - I mean, Christopher”, she added, as Nelson wrote the names down in his notebook. “We’re all from London, as were the rest of our group. Ray here is a musician, Maureen teaches meditation, and Chris and I run a boutique - we focus on alternative therapies. As for where we were last night…” she paused. “I was here at the camp, the entire time.” 

“Can anybody confirm that?” Nelson asked, repressing a sigh at the thought that they might all cover each other just in case. The musician, Ray, shifted uncomfortably. “He can”, said Rosemary, pointing at him. “He was with me.” Maureen scoffed in disbelief and let out a barely repressed “fuck OFF!”. Ray shook his head and added, “let’s discuss that later, right Maur?” to which she responded by mumbling something about how unbelievable it all was. Charlie raised his eyebrows, waiting for them to continue citing their alibis. 

“I was at the pub with some of our mates that drove back to London”, Chris went on, “i’ll give you their numbers, they’ll confirm I was there. Think I even got the receipt.” He searched his jeans pockets and extracted a crumpled piece of paper. “Got back here at about two o’clock. Then the others drove off around eight, and I went back to sleep.” 

“It’s true, I saw him when we got out to say bye”, said Rosemary. Charlie turned to Maureen, who was still visibly upset by her friends’ nightly activities. “Ms Kemp? What about you?” he tried, and she sighed deeply. “Mind if i tell you in private, Mr detective?” she answered in a mocking tone, while the others turned to her and started to get impatient; Rosemary and Ray spoke at the same time, something to the tune of what’s-so-secret-that-you-can’t-tell-us. “I don’t think having something to hide from your friends is a great look on someone present in a tiny community, the night of a murder”, Charlie said. “Just tell me where you were, and i’ll leave you to sort out whatever it is that’s going on with the four of you”. 

“Right, and you’ll run my business when I lose my main customers, too?” Maureen snapped. “You pigs are all the same! It’s not my fault you can’t find a killer in a village that’s even smaller than your d-” “THAT’S ENOUGH, MAUR!” Rosemary had risen to her feet and seemed ready to smack the other woman, who suddenly seemed a lot less confident. “You’re gonna make us all look bad, you fucking idiot! Just tell him where you were and let’s be done with this or we’ll start to think we have reasons to suspect you too!” 

“I take it you can’t vouch for her presence here at the camp, then?” Charlie tried. 

“Was kinda, uh, occupied”, Rosemary mumbled - Charlie blushed and mentally thanked the forest for being dark enough to conceal it. Chris shook his head and muttered something about how he wouldn’t have seen anyone regardless of who was here: after a night at the pub, he went directly to his tent and blacked out. Cornered, Maureen knew she could either lie and be discredited, or give her actual, corroborated alibi, and look a fool - but a free one. She had a certain pride, sure, but wasn’t about to be jailed for a crime she didn’t commit. 

“I was at the inn.” 

The group looked at her in confusion. “Like, for tea? Do you know someone there?” Ray tried, about as surprised as she had been upon hearing who he was with. 

“I was at the inn… In my room. I’ve been sleeping there and sneaking back in before you got up. Guys, i’m sorry, I couldn’t do this anymore.” She barely had the time to finish her sentence before starting to sob, in exceedingly theatrical fashion. “Happy now, detective? You’ll find me there, now that you’ve made me betray my cause”, she whined, got up, and trotted pathetically towards the village, leaving her three friends too confused to react -  Charlie didn’t bother to run after her,  all too certain he would indeed find her there. 

Ray had lit up his joint again, forgetting the reason for the detective’s presence. “Well fuck me! She was the one who insisted we’d ‘reconnect with nature’” - he mimicked quotation marks-  “and freeze our asses off while she was sleeping in a bed this whole time! Can you believe this!” 

“Actually Ray, I can”, sighed Rosemary. “I mean look at us. Are we even making any sense at this point, like would you reckon we’re making a point at all or just catching fucking pneumonia?” 

With the most defensive element gone, Charlie thought it was time to finally ask them what in the world they were actually doing - as much as it had seemed self evident to Sister Meg, who couldn’t look more irritated at what she called ‘blasphemy’, it truly wasn’t to him. In fact, he was getting more confused by the second. Those people always seemed to be defending something or other and he tended to lose interest as soon as the lack of scientific basis started to rear its ugly head. But now, seeing how he wasn’t exactly going anywhere with their discussion to this point, he might as well get to the bottom of it - after all, the entire dramatic setting of the crime scene was still painted in the back of his mind, and, as unlikely as it sounded at this point, he was going to have to associate it with someone.

“If i may, Mrs Cook…” “Miss.” “Miss Cook. Would you mind telling me a little about what it is that you’re doing out here? I haven’t exactly heard a… Constructive version of it from the clergy, you imagine”, Charlie tried, giving her a sympathetic look, and hoping his last comment would attract some sort of anti-religious complicity from his interlocutors. Indeed, the men exchanged a smirk - Rosemary, however, seemed less inclined to indulge in clan wars at such a time. Her face kept a serious expression. 

“We’re united, or were united, around our practice of what we call paganism”, she said, her voice dull. “We believe in reclaiming the pagan ways our ancestors lived by, and that implies a change in our lifestyle - abandoning modern comfort for a return to our natural cycle, a union to the natural world. You see, not only do we reject the exploitation of our earth as a resource for us to waste, we also wish to return to a more organic spirituality, one that would celebrate our symbiosis with nature rather than obedience and greed…” 

“-like the church of england would?” Charlie tried. Rosemary looked down. “Yeah. we did come here to make a statement about this village and their so-called saint Nivel, who’s actually more likely to have been one of ours, killed for her belief in our ways and not in theirs”, she sighed. “But that doesn’t mean we’d kill to get our point across. We strive for a union between mankind and the rest of the living world, not for mindless violence. We’re not them. They’re the ones that kill for their church, and are ready to appropriate a woman’s death for their own benefit, as if they weren’t rich enough,” she scoffed. 

“We’ve been coming here to demand that Nivel’s history be read as it should, as it was meant to, we’re asking for justice so that her memory becomes that of an independent thinker, you could even say a feminist! She’d have been accused of witchcraft rather than catholicism”, Ray added. “The church simply doesn’t want to hear the research, they think that saying it’s always been like that is enough of an argument. But you go to the village library and see - we’ve required a special section on local history, it’s all in there.” 

“Still doesn’t mean we’d kill for that,” Chris spat, visibly threatened by Charlie’s frantic note-taking. 

“Still you’re the first people i meet who seem rather familiar with the use of runes?” Nelson’s comment was met with a deep, ostentatious sigh from Rosemary and glares of utter disdain from both men. Indeed, the camp was surrounded with the type of art you’d expect from a group of self-appointed animists - except the usual tibetan garlands were replaced by painting on the surrounding trees and what could be apprehended as land art, and it just happened to form the same shapes that enshrined the body of sister Peggy. 

“Bet you use the alphabet too, does that mean you’re the fucking zodiac killer, sherlock?” Chris seemed to instantly regret his choice of words, as Charlie’s eyebrows rose in incredulity. “Sorry. Don’t mean to lose my temper, but - people here are constantly at our throats as if we were some sort of animal sacrificing satanists, it gets tiring. We’re non-violent. All we do is look for alternative ways of living, respect mother earth, hold our own rituals for each season…”

“...smoke weed in front of police officers…” Charlie snorted.

“Shit! When did i-” the rest of Chris’ composure had  definitely faded.  “Forget it, i’m just messing with you”, Charlie went on, “anyway, care to tell me what this is about?”

He pointed to an area behind the arranged tents: surrounded by more of what the campers described as protection runes, a rectangular shape had been dug out, at the bottom of which a plastic tarpaulin was collecting fallen leaves and rainwater. Knowing he’d hit a wall if he mentioned it right away, he’d diligently averted his gaze, afraid to look too accusatory to his already defiant interlocutors: it had to be said, however, that the zone did look like a grave, and that it was, as a matter of fact, surrounded by runes. The similarity was just too stupidly visible to be ignored any longer. In fact, charlie thought, as much as he was going for a subtle approach, it had started to make him look very stupid himself. Everyone present was aware of how absurdly incriminating it looked. 

Rosemary started to lose her patience. “Look, detective - i’ll explain, but you have to promise you haven’t already decided we were guilty, cause we haven’t done it, okay? I know it looks shit, i’m not an idiot, but it’s as Chris said. Runes are used by lots of people… Too many, if you want my opinion. Got no idea what they imply. Those are meaningful symbols, detective, not to be thrown around as if they were… Emojis or something.” Rosemary’s look of disgust didn’t go unnoticed, and Charlie made sure to keep a mental note of how animated she got while defending her point. It did sound like she was referring to a particular demographic, one that he had yet to see in the village… But still. He had lots to discover, and lots of connections to make. 

Rosemary walked towards the litigious site, motioning for Charlie to follow. “So you see, one of the things we believe is that our society is too wary of death, but sort of fetishize it at the same time, you know? What we’re trying to do is sort of an exercise in perspective, that’s… a way for you to reconnect with your surroundings and re-anchor yourself to the earth, while being aware of your mortality and escaping the hectic routine we’re so often trapped in. It’ll be more evident if you try it, really, but in general - it goes like so: if you have a problem that’s troubling you and you can’t seem to get past it, and you just feel like escaping the stress for a second, well, you lay in there, simple as that. Only rule is, you can’t stay less than an hour. You have to feel powerless in order to gain perspective and let go - don’t look at me like that! Honestly, don’t you think we get ridiculed enough, and here i am making an effort, it’s a risk for me to give you insight to our way of thinking, you realize that!” 

She looked so sincerely hurt that Charlie apologized, in part because he felt a fool, but mostly because she was basically blackmailing him and he absolutely needed more justification to this charade that, as far as he knew, might just have gotten someone killed. Rosemary was winning this, both of them were bad enough actors to know, and he swore he saw her smirk before she proceeded to get him exactly where she wanted - six feet under, indeed. “I was serious, you know. It WOULD be clearer if you tried. Not sure i’ll take your impartiality so seriously if you continue to proper disrespect my beliefs, detective.” Or we could keep that staring contest going, Nelson thought, it’s just as mortifying. 

“Alright”, he conceded, his irritation so clear he almost sounded like Barnaby - there went his last hope of fitting in with his age group. “I’ll do it. I admit i’ve let my prejudice obscure my judgement, but, miss Kemp, you’ll admit - the whole setup doesn’t exactly play in your favour, does it… Still it isn’t evidence. So, walk me through it, if you’d be so kind.” If she wasn’t turning her back to him, diligently trying to light up a bundle of dried sage, Charlie would have seen her victorious grin, but there was no need for that: he felt it perfectly. Good thing his ego was already reduced to the size of a frightened puppy, wary of his chief inspector’s snark. Joke’s on you, miss Kemp, anything an investigation requires, detective Nelson is willing to do, dignity be damned. 

“Kneel.”

Now there ARE limits. 

“Excuse me?” “Before you get in, there’s a purification ritual - the sage here provides clarity and wisdom, it has cleansing virtues and will help your mind get a fresh start, free of negative energies”, miss Kemp explained, walking around him waving the burning sage. “Now whether or not you’re open to this idea is up to you, but it does have antibacterial properties that you can hardly argue about, no matter how much of a skeptic.” Her round finished, she dug into her pocket and brandished what looked like a makeup crayon. “If you don’t mind - we usually draw a protection rune so that the person has a reminder they’re being watched over during the process,” she brushed charlie’s hair out of his forehead and applied the cold colour in a few strokes. 

“There you go.” He couldn’t help using his phone as a mirror just to make sure the drawing was at least civil. Then, as she waved for him to get back up and follow her, he proceeded to climb down the wonky wooden stool she’d placed in the mockup grave; he winced as she took it back out once he had reached the bottom. “Lay down, detective, and please, give this a chance - you might be surprised. I’ll get you in exactly one hour.” 

He was, indeed, surprised. He had expected them to wait at least a few minutes before running off. 

*** 

Charlie was cursing both his lack of climbing skills and his phone’s questionable battery power by the time the light footsteps came within earshot. “Hello?” he went, although perfectly aware whoever was approaching had heard him struggle already - he didn’t want to take any chances. If the cold he was feeling was any indication, he must have spent the best part of the afternoon stuck in a trap of his own making. He was positively freezing, and the humidity had long sunk into his skin; it left him trembling, strands of brown hair stuck to the blurred drawing on his forehead, and the end of his long, thin nose like a pink button above his hazel scruff gave him a boyish air that didn’t exactly help his case. In fact, the newcomer thought he looked like a puppy who’d have played in the mud for too long and strayed away from its family, and it was disarmingly endearing. 

She stood by the edge of the grave, taking in the sight with the face of someone who’s not trying hard enough not to laugh. In fact, she was positively chuckling, and Charlie would have been vexed if he wasn’t too busy deciphering what on earth he was feeling: there was definitely some fear in the mix. Upon arrival, he thought the village would be like their usual Oxfordshire unofficial retirement homes, parishes full of gossiping housewives and treacherous land-owners; but up to this point, all he had seen was a dead nun, a live one, a couple of disrespectful hippies, and what he was sure enough was a witch. 

She stood, gently shifting her weight from one leg to the other, and from the way she looked down at him, it took him way too long to nice she must be very small. Her round little teeth clashed like a hail storm against the burgundy velvet of her mouth, her cheeks shimmering with the cold; you could only tell her eyes from the black ash that enshrined them by how they shone like a riverbed in the spring. And she laughed, her dark eyes crinkled and wet, pools so deep he flinched; and her jawline shot from her scarf like a dove, and her hair, like pompeii’s pyroclastic flow, turned him to stone. One moment a menhir and the next just a fox, her presence hovered and sank to him all at once, and suddenly, peering from under layers of skirts and capes, her hand reached for him.

He didn’t know what to make of it. It was delicate, the colour of a peach, engraved with scriptures older than the world that ran from under her sleeves and dripped to her fingertips. In a breath he yearned to map her entire skin and marvel at the sensual kaleidoscope; in the next, he remembered he was being offered help, and her laughter doubled, dribbling along with the flows of her brown mane. “Silly me - what use will i be once i’m down there as well, right! Just let me toss you one of their stupid camping chairs first, don’t worry, i’ll be out of sight, not out of mind!” she spoke to him as though she had known him for years, reassuring like a bowl of soup. It appeared to Charlie she was making her footsteps purposefully louder so that he’d know she was still there and he could have shed a tear. As she rummaged through the camp for the appropriate rescue equipment, her wooly alto mumbles made his stomach stir; his heart soared on her accent, lifted from forest moss to snowy passes, and it dived back to her like direct current bolts shot through his fingernails. 

“Here,” she reappeared, and handed him a chair. “It still might not be enough… is it?” Charlie struggled, the slippery carpet of leaves and mud providing no solid grip from which he could pull himself up. “Okay wait” - she dug her leather boots into the ground until she was sure not to slip - “take my hands and try to walk up the wall. No really i think that’ll work, come on,” she leaned forward, and offered two tattooed palms for Charlie to grab. “Hold onto my wrists, feet against the wall, i’ll fall backwards and pull you up.” It sounded more like a pragmatic order than a suggestion, the way a tender yet resigned mother would address the child she’s getting out of trouble; though perhaps, as Charlie fell face first into the forest soil, he heard her deep voice fall into a laugh that somehow still sounded foreign. He pitifully failed at dusting himself off, stood and towered over her by at least one foot. 

And yet, somehow, she was looking down on him. 

And yet, somehow, he wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

He finally could take in her full form - the pale, oval face clouded by delicate dark makeup, and long, long hair falling all around it like endless rains; the way it shone out of her cloak like a full moon, how her body was draped in elegant black clothes and mystery, and how the only things about her that seemed a little real were her muddy boots. Her engraved hands had sunk back into her sleeves before he had had time to study them more closely, and just then he realized he had been staring, stunned, intrigued, mouth slightly agape in utter naive fashion. Her eyes crinkled as she burst out laughing again: he kept making a fool of himself. He stood there covered in mud after she had to drag him out of a fake grave where he had ended up like the silly wolf trapped by the clever fox from childrens’ stories, and he couldn’t control the intensity of his blushing. 

“They really did you dirty, eh?” she breathed between giggles. Then, like a manuscript summoned, her hand reappeared as she held it out for him to shake. “Luella Göldin. I live just over there,” she nodded towards the woods. He finally snapped out of it and, as he shook her hand, was caressed by a whiff of the most delicious perfume he’d ever smelled. “Charlie - DS Charlie Nelson, Causton CID”. 

“I thought so! Met your boss earlier, came by my work looking for the nuns - bit grumpy, is he? I heard him mention his colleague had gone talking to the hippies… didn’t think i’d still run into you on my way back, it’s been hours”, she thought out loud. “Nice to meet you, DS Nelson.” “Charlie.” he corrected her with no second thought, especially none about whether or not this familiarity was appropriate. The fact that she could not be ruled out of the list of potential murderers did not even cross his mind. “Oh. Charlie, then.” Her thumb brushed ever so gently over the back of his hand as she dropped it, neither of them quite sure how intentionally. It felt like she had wrapped it in silk, and from that little touch Charlie’s armed tickled, pumped full of cotton balls; his head was spinning, trying to figure out the provenance of her accent (german? nordic?), to bottle up her perfume and save it for later, to memorize the familiar-yet-strange patterns on her skin that he’d only gotten glimpses of. Her earrings were shaped like rose branches and he wanted those thorns to scratch him so badly. 

He felt like those skull-adorned moths had nestled in his throat and were giving him a surprising longing for irresponsibility. Is what what she’d taste like? Shouldn’t he be talking by now? 

“Well, miss…” “Göldin.” “miss Goldeen.” she chuckled. “That’ll work.” “Thank you. For getting me out of here. Gosh, this is ridiculous, isn’t it -” “yeah, Charlie, it is.” Her piercing eyes were reducing him to a helpless, boyish embarrassment. She continued: “but you know what it also is? Not your fault. And i won’t tell anyone, don’t worry about that chief inspector.” Shit! Barnaby! He had got to get back - he’d been without a phone for the best part of the afternoon and it was getting dark already, his superior was bound to be concerned, and his concern would absolutely turn into annoyance as he returned unscathed. Charlie sighed. 

“Bet he’ll find another reason to make fun of me, seems like it’s all the rage today…” Her mischievous smile showed a glint of compassion. “I’ll need to talk to you some more about today’s events, miss, if you don’t mind - that is, after I reported back about whatever idiocy i’m going to have to invent to justify being lost in the woods for half the day”, he added, rolling his eyes at his own misfortune. She nodded seriously: “you do know where I live, now - just follow the path you came from further into the woods, you’ll find the house, Mrs Brewster’s - that’s my lodger. She’ll likely be there as well, if you wanna question her too, which i suppose you do? Just come by tomorrow.” she paused.

Her eyes slowly, slowly went from the ground and up his legs, up his broad chest, caressing his shoulders, fluttering upon his lips and finally met his gaze - fearful or enthralled, she knew he didn’t know, and almost imperceptibly, her tongue darted out to the upper corner of her lips, disappearing as quickly as it had come. It looked as if she had been about to speak but had changed her mind and just breathed in softly. Charlie felt like she had just inhaled a little bit of his mind and he found himself willing to give her all the rest. 

Their exchanged look only lasted an instant, but God, were Charlie’s blue eyes the direct window to his helpless gentle soul. She found him to be so stupidly endearing, his wit tripping over his dorky exterior, sincere as an open book, yet clearly keeping something to himself - after all, he was still a detective, and she was very aware of how little she’d trust herself if she were to meet herself for the first time. As she started to realize just how tall he was, she did all she could to conceal the growing shallowness of her breathing; as her eyes gently brushed his messy long-ish brown hair and his pink, freckled cheekbones, she felt her heart growing warm and her stomach tender. He looked ripe and edible as a sun drenched peach and her hands twitched as she struggled to keep them from cupping his face and running over his charming stubble. 

He was the first to break the spell, because of course he was, lowering his eyes in embarrassment at just how choked up he was getting as he realized that the nauseating hot waves greedily licking at his feet were in fact the wildest, most primal desire he’d ever felt in his life. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint what had triggered it or what precisely he felt so strongly about, but he certainly was quite ashamed of it and hoped she didn’t pay his awkwardness any mind. 

Or perhaps, to his own astonishment, he did want her to notice. Quickly and furiously, he pushed aside the thought, excused himself, and all but ran off as he heard her chuckle at his clumsy haste; he’d question her later, in better dispositions, when he’d have collected his dignity and a presentable outfit. And perhaps some cologne. But that’d be excessive, she’d know, she’d make fun. Everyone would! But should he bring her something? God, he was spiraling, wasn’t he? 

As a matter of fact, as he got to the police car he had escalated all the way to scheming how to get some black roses past Barnaby, like a teen plotting to sneak out on a school night. His emotions had long gone past being all over the place: they were now leading revolutions, building barricades and firing at each other in hormonal fanfare, and he wasn’t sure by what miracle he managed to explain his afternoon’s activities to his superior - or perhaps he simply told the truth, as would be most typical. Either way, the chief inspector shot him a patronizing look, and as he buckled his seatbelt and focused on the road back to the police station, the woods that looked so scary that morning suddenly were synonymous with the lair of a peculiar little witch, and scary had become a promise, and nothing made sense anymore.

The drive back was rather silent, once both detectives had given each other accounts of what they had found out from their respective interviews; Barnaby had managed to get some bigoted ramblings out of the shocked nuns, but he was hoping to talk to them some more now that they knew who he was, and he counted on the shock to wear off and leave them more pragmatic. Between them and the pagans, that they had taken to calling ‘the hippies’ since most people did, the questionings were bound to be of the frustrating variety, as they always were whenever beliefs and rivalries were involved. Superstition was exhausting to both officers, and as most of their cases had to do with rural people more preoccupied with each other’s business than with scientific developments, they were confronted to all sorts of modern crusades, although this was their first encounter with blood runes - 

“-and witchcraft too! Did i mention the sisters are utterly convinced the librarian and her lodger are practicing black magic?” Barnaby’s expression was one of complete weariness. “I found them holding some sort of inquiry of their own in the public library earlier, doing their research on saint Nivel to try and prove the pagans wrong, while they’re doing just the same and the village’s book collection is taking a most specific turn… Seems to fit the curator just fine, though - black magic or not, she seems like quite the eccentric young woman, could see why the older crowd would think her a witch”, Barnaby added, seemingly doubting everything everyone had told him, as he tended to do. 

“Miss Göldin? Is she the librarian?” Charlie asked, suddenly very much interested in the conversation. Barnaby turned slowly. 

“Oh?” 

“I ran into her on the way back to the car, says i should come talk to her tomorrow, as well as mrs Brewster, that’s her landlady”, Charlie specified, trying his hardest to sound casual and focused. But you couldn’t fool John Barnaby, especially when you were the worst liar in England: the chief inspector noticed his subordinate’s blushing, fidgeting with the driving wheel, the tensing of his thighs, the nervous lip-biting. He turned back to the window, punctuating a sigh with one of his signature grumpy airs, and mockingly concluded: “well, reckon you’ll do that first thing, then, Nelson?” The teasing was, as intended, utterly lost on the younger man, who nodded in all his faked seriousness. 

As he got home after what seemed like a perfectly endless debrief at the station, Charlie found himself longing for the silence of his bedroom, for a chance to be alone with his looming thoughts and unruly feelings. He wasn’t one to succumb to someone’s charm at first glance - in fact, he wasn’t one to succumb to anything at all, and remained notoriously chaste and distant behind the apparent innocence. It was the classic tale of a sensitive heart that had been hurt before, and in his move to the country, he hadn’t been looking to reiterate the experience of attaching himself to someone that’d distract him from his work and take advantage of his good nature. He may not have had a plan, but he knew by all accounts that this, this wasn’t the plan at all. 

The more he thought of it, the more he found himself in a daze, unable to make sense of his emotions at all. Purely as a reflex, he let his jacket fall down on the floor and toed off his shoes before letting himself fall on his bed, trying to keep the ceiling from spinning, and only getting back up to lock the door in case - he could not handle any more information for today, thanks very much. He pressed his eyes shut and exhaled, desperate for his breathing to settle, but every breath made his veins tingle with a million sparks and his heart pump some more magic into his chest. 

The contrast of Luella’s deep voice and the light girlishness of her laugh were all he could think of - the mystery behind her accent and her cloak; he felt jealous of her tattoos because they got to run up her wrists and beneath her sleeves and god knew where else. Tomorrow she’d be there, and he’d need to stay strong; but tonight, and for many nights to come, he’d let himself yearn and dream, nestled in the palm of her bewitching patterned hand.

Patterns he’d caught a glimpse of, and knew they were definitely familiar but he’d been so enthralled that he didn’t think to connect them -or her- with anything else in the world.

And only then did it hit him: runes. 

Jesus. Again? 

[rabbitcruiser]

National Love Your Pet Day

Pets can offer unconditional love and help to make a home feel more welcoming and inviting. It’s only appropriate that owners take the time to show appreciation for them by celebrating on National Love Your Pet Day.

Pets can instantly put a smile on anyone’s face and bring joy to a household. Pet owners are busy people with jobs and families and may not always give a pet their full concentration. National Love Your Pet Day is a chance to give love and attention to any pet in the house, such as a dog, cat, and guinea pig. One trait that makes us all human is the ability and desire to love our pets, so it makes sense that we should all come together to celebrate their existence.

Learn about National Love Your Pet Day

It’s interesting to learn that most households in the United States have at least one pet present. It goes to show just how meaningful pets are to humans and that they share a unique and significant bond. Think along the lines of cats, dogs, birds, fish, and reptiles, for example. National Love Your Pet Day gives us all a reason to celebrate our pets and make them feel special.

Our furry and non-furry friends and pets have a very extraordinary place in all our hearts. Most would agree that it’s fun to celebrate this shared and matchless connection. Pet owners take pride in their pets and love to show them off and admire them. Humans and pets have meshed well together previously, and there’s no denying the fact that they continue to be a large part of your lives today.

The day is a time to embrace the idea that these pets are unique and special to us and have a place in our hearts. Love Your Pet day is a chance to show your pets extra love and your undivided attention. It’s about acknowledging the special relationship, and place pets hold in our lives and to pamper and admire them even more than we already do. It’s a chance to give back to pets everywhere since they’re known for helping to reduce stress and blood pressure in humans.

History of National Love Your Pet Day

Pets have been a part of human life for thousands of years, and it’s only becoming more popular and common to own one. Animals have been right by our side ever since the first moment of civilization. Consider the fact that wolves lived among humans for centuries, and there’s proof of humans and dogs and cats being together as long as 12,000 years ago.

In the 1600s, European royalty began keeping toy dog breeds. Pet birds were the pet of choice in Spain among all classes well into the 1960s. It may not be common knowledge regarding the person that started National Love Your Pet Day, but the masses began celebrating it and bringing it to light on a wide scale in the early 2000s.

National Love Your Pet Day Timeline

10,000 BC Wolves become domesticated

The first animal believed to transform from the wild state to the domesticated state is the wolf, the predecessor to the modern-day dog. It is believed that humans would find baby wolves and take them home to take care of them and train them.

7500 BC Cats may be domesticated

While it has been long believed that cats were domesticated in Ancient Egypt, recent information shows that it is much earlier and in the Near East.

3000 BC Parrots are domesticated

Colorful parrots are domesticated by Ancient Romans and also kept as pets in tropical places such as Brazil. They won’t be present in Europe until several hundred years later.

3100 BC Dogs are kept by people in Ancient Egypt

While their relationship is probably not as much like pets to humans but more like working dogs to owners, the Ancient Egyptians keep dogs nearby to help with tasks such as hunting and guarding. They may have even named them and put collars on them.

1850s Oldest-known photograph of a dog is taken

Ever since the invention of the camera, humans have enjoyed their pets by taking photos of them and with them. The first known photo of pet is titled Poodle with Bow, on Table and will later sell at a Sotheby’s auction for more than $8000 in 2009.

How to Celebrate National Love Your Pet Day

The best part about National Love Your Pet Day is that pet owners can pay extra attention to the animals they love so much. There are a variety of ways and options to choose from when it comes to celebrating National Love Your Pet Day. Pet owners should be encouraged to think outside the box and take actions that you know your pet will particularly adore.

A few ideas for what you can do include going for a walk or hike, playing with them and their toys, and snuggling and cuddling with them. As a dog owner, they may love going to the dog park, so be willing to take a trip there to have them play with the other dogs.

Many people find joy in taking pictures with their pets and sharing them on social media to let their networks know how much they love their furry friends. What’s most important and critical is that one purposely sets aside time to be with their pet on this special day. Pamper him or her with treats and show your pet that they mean the world to you.

Furthermore, take care of your pet’s health by making sure their vaccines are up to date and calling the vet to schedule their next appointment. Turn on the television and enjoy a feature film or video that includes a variety of pets to help cheer them up. Groom and pet your animal so that they look presentable and feel loved. Do them a favor by continuing to train them and practice commands with them on National Love Your Pet Day.

They’ll be better behaved, and it’ll keep them safe when you’re out and about walking them or in public. A pet owner might also want to celebrate by buying them a new toy that they know will excite them. Not only give it to them but then get on the floor and play with your pet. Also, wash their current bedding or give them a new bed that’s more comfortable for them.

Any non-pet owners don’t have to feel left out because there are plenty of options for this group to participate as well. For example, someone may want to donate money to a local shelter or adopt a pet themselves. One can also pitch in and help by offering to watch a friend or family member’s pet during the day while they are at work or need to travel.

Pet owners can rejoice knowing there’s a day designated for them and their pet of choice. Have fun celebrating and showing the household pet how much you adore them. One might even want to consider adding to the family on National Love Your Pet Day and getting another pet to enjoy.

Anyone participating in the day should take the time to admire how amazing their pet is and notice how happy he or she is that they’re receiving extra and special attention from their owner. There is a large community of pet owners out there so connect and share pictures with these individuals and ideas for how one can celebrate National Love Your Pet Day.

National Love Your Pet Day FAQs

How do you show love for your pets?

Everyone wants their pets to know they are loved! How to show this depends on the breed and kind of pet. Dogs like to be scratched behind the ears or on the belly. Cats enjoy hearing their voices mimicked. And rabbits like to spend quality time with their humans.

How are pets beneficial to humans?

National Love Your Pet Day is a perfect time to be reminded of the symbiotic relationship between pets and owners. All pets, but particularly cats and dogs, can lower blood pressure, reduce anxiety and depression, provide companionship and teach children responsibility.

How to celebrate National Love Your Pet Day?

This is a great day to simply show pets they are loved by buying them treats, giving them an extra hug or scratch behind the ears, or just giving them extra attention.

When is National Love Your Pet Day?

Always occurring in late winter, National Love Your Pet Day falls on February 20 of each year.

Which pets live the longest?

Those who are looking to develop a relationship with a pet might wonder how long they can expect them to live. Pet tortoises are, by far, the longest living pet and can often outlive their owners as they can live approximately 50-100 years.

Source

[pricefudge]

Avengers Endgame Rewatch - Spoilers!!!

So, I went and gave in to my baser desires and watched Endgame again. Beware, massive spoilers ahead, especially on the ending and my opinion on it. Because I need to shout it into the void. Long and Rambly.

I know a lot of people have a problem with how characters were treated (Thor’s depression as a joke? Not okay.), but I see the sense behind it. To be honest, and as much as I live in the timeline Thanos got out from and IW never happened, Tony Stark had to die. Because, we all know, we fans are craaaaazy sometimes. We would have bothered the creators so long until they revived the Iron Man Franchise with RDJ at the head and we would have lost our collective shit because it wasn’t what we wanted or expected (I mean, look at the whole Fantastic Beasts shitstorm) or worse gotten another actor - ha, no. Let’s let the poor actors retire. Same thing, but to a lesser extent, with Captain America and Black Widow. 

So. much.

foreshadowing

I mean, with Tony it was obvious from the beginning. Movie rule - every character that gets happiness and domesticity dies (a dog gets mentioned? Character dies. Kids to go home to? Character dies. I won’t risk everything! Character dies. That whole fucking Howard Stark the Greater Good Scene? Character. effing. dies.)  Believe me, the second time around I almost cried every time Tony was on Screen. That whole Morgan interaction? Cryyyyyyyyyyyyyy

Like every Tony fan, I felt vindicated at the beginning of the movie, the little argument he had with Steve. Yes. Tell him. First time around it was more cringe. Second time, YAS MAN. And, god, I can’t stop gushing about Dad!Tony. The growth. The love. The moment he was finally able to give Peter a hug. My heart was so open, my crops are watered (with my tears) and my skin is clear (due to tears washing away everything).

But I hadn’t expected the foreshadowing to hit so hard with Natasha. Like, whoaaaaa. Don’t do anything stupid. See you in a sec. Until later. Like whoaaaa, there were so many goodbyes directed at Nat and in my panic for Tony I completely missed it the first time. At least she got to say some kind of goodbye. Whoa.

And I imagine, Clint went back for her bones sometime. Or sent Carol. Because due to Soul Stone teleportation and very important goal, he couldn’t get her body back to the future, but like hell is he leaving his family there. She’s the girl he gave a second chance, the one he watched grow from machine to person, who pulled him out of the darkest spot he’s ever been in. The only reason she was even alive these last five years is bull-headed determination that there has to be something that can be done - she was the only one to stay at the Avengers compound. Did Not Move On. This was what she lived for and what she gave her live for. He probably interred her on compund grounds or next to the plot his family’s going to be resting in.

Now Captain America, Mister Steven G. Rogers. I do absolutely dislike his ending, but. BUT. Imagine the absolutely mind-boggling shenanigans he had to go through to keep the timeline intact. No, Sir, I am not Captain America. No you didn’t see me lift that car to get my son’s toy from under it. No, Peggy just married someone who looked extremely alike. No my name is Steve Rodgers, with a d, you see? Peggy probably took Howard Stark into the know, so he could hack all official files and exchange the picuters of Steve with some other dude. Probably explains his obsession with finding Steve, And their kids! Well kids, you’re gonna see Daddy in a lot of pictures and movies, but you must never tell anyone that he’s at home. And you’re gonna meet him at my funeral in the future, but don’t tell him anything! He doesn’t know yet he get’s the girl! It is a bit hilarious.

But people being mean on him for leaving behind Bucky - boy knew what Steve was gonna pull. “I’m gonna miss you, Bud! and “How could ? You’re taking all the stupid with you” for like the next five seconds? NAH. Bucky knew Steve wasn’t gonna come back spry and shiny. He was gonna pull some bull-headed thing. Bucky probably saw a picture of Older Peggy and Older Steve and thought - huh, she definitely got a type! - and suddenly time travel is a thing? Light-bulb moment! Ding ding ding! Get the girl :D. Don’t forget, Bucky was always right next to Steve during doing stupid things. He knew and approved. Don’t forget, he got a lot of healing done in Wakanda. Time for some healing for Steve.

On the other hand, Thor was just absolutely mistreated. I mean, props to Marvel for realizing emotions and trauma exist (again), minus points for handling. At least he is not magically healed and fit at the end through some heroic-fight-panacea. I loved Thor in Ragnarok. Why did you do this to him? I mean, I heard that Chris Hemsworth wasn’t interested in any more movies after Thor 2, understandably, so maybe it was in part to honour that decision. Shitty, but well........ And Bruce’s growth, puff. Where is it gone? Bye, Hulk, gonna miss your smashing. But at least he got in touch with his inner self. Even literally, hi Ancient One.

Every. Ducking. Character. Loved it. So many people, stories, faces, all together. 

And for all the very, very dedicated Loki stans out there - do it like me, live in timeline a) where Thanos left and nobody died or timeline b) where Loki got the Tesseract in NY, noped out of there and lived happily in shenanigans until Thanos went to get the Tesseract. Or timeline b.1) where Loki gave the Tesseract to Thanos and became one of his Children (like, Yikes). This evolves into b.1.1) where Thanos wins or b.1.2.) where the 1 in 14 million happens again and Loki also lives, because Hulk like Puny God and wants to redeem him. And to further these shenanigans let’s make b.1.2.1) where Loki long ago learned healing magic from his Mom, who Loves Him tm and manages to keep Tony alive, injured, but alive. Happy endings for all!

I mean, Endgame gives us ALL THE POSSIBILITIES. Endless timelines, endless headcanons, endless fic.

Once again, and louder for the ones in the back, THANK YOU TO ALL THE ACTORS, FILM CREW, SUPPORTERS, DIRECTORS, SCRIPT-WRITES, CATERERS AND EVERYONE ELSE WHO MADE THIS JOURNEY WITH US!!!!

[matrose]

None of Durin’s race would mine those caves for stones or ore, not if diamonds and gold could be got there. Do you cut down groves of blossoming trees in the springtime for firewood? We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them.

gimli says as much here to legolas: what dwarves feel for beautiful stone formations is what elves feel for beautiful forests. the deep bond between legolas and gimli partially comes from this understanding i think… they learn to appreciate what the other one loves so dearly through this

Gimli looked up and shook his head. ‘Caradhras has not forgiven us,’ he said. ‘He has more snow yet to fling at us, if we go on. The sooner we go back and down the better.’

& heres a good quote about caradhras: none but the dwarves seem to think about mountains and caves in terms of being willful and alive: gandalf says it is sarumans doing at first, while it becomes more and more apparent that it really does seem to be caradhras hindering them, like the old willow-man did in the ancient forest (those two parallel eachother quite nicely!)

No Dwarf would ever mount a horse willingly, nor did any ever harbour animals, not even dogs.

this is taken from "the peoples of middle-earth". i think its important that it simply says harbour; while the tolkien gateway entry states that they did not get along with animals at all which is inaccurate:

But the ravens are different. There used to be great friendship between them and the people of Thror; and they often brought us secret news, and were rewarded with such bright things as they coveted to hide in their dwellings. […] I knew many among the ravens of the rocks when I was a dwarf-lad.

balin says this in the hobbit. so i think the case can be made that while dwarves did not keep domesticated animals, they were certainly friendly with some! wild mountain goats maybe, or sheep, etc, depending on what their local fauna looked like

as much as dwarves shape and create out of their enviroment, they still very much work within its borders: they will not dig in the beautiful caves of aglarond to excavate but rather carefully tend to the rock like elves would to a garden, as gimli says. they dont keep domesticated animals but they have a friendly relation with the ravens of erebor. if caradhras bears them ill will and wants them off the mountain they will leave and take a different path. dwarves have as much respect and love for mountains and caves as elves do for trees