allan lorde

Notice what happens in this scene, which represents every character perfectly:

Draco is afraid. He looks at Charity and knows that if he won’t do as Voldemort says, he will be killed. This scene is the first time when Draco actually understands the full power of the dark lord.

Voldemort is determined, ready to kill, fearless about the damage.

Narcissa tries to hold herself. She is worried about Lucius, can’t help but wondering if it will happen to him.

Lucius doesn’t even look. He is afraid that whatever he’ll do, say or act, will backfire at him.

Bellatrix? She doesn’t give a fuck. Ok, so people die, what’s the big deal?

But the best character is Snape. A normal person will think that like Bellatrix, he just doesn’t care. But no. If you look at his body language- he leans back. He keeps himself away from it. He doesn’t want to do it.

So yes, ladies and gentlemen, Severus Snape is a good actor. But Allan Rickman is a brilliant one.

Dream-Land

By Edgar Allan Poe


By a route obscure and lonely,   

Haunted by ill angels only, 

Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,   

On a black throne reigns upright, 

I have reached these lands but newly   

From an ultimate dim Thule— 

From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, 

       Out of SPACE—Out of TIME. 


Bottomless vales and boundless floods,   

And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,   

With forms that no man can discover   

For the tears that drip all over;   

Mountains toppling evermore   

Into seas without a shore;   

Seas that restlessly aspire,   

Surging, unto skies of fire;   

Lakes that endlessly outspread   

Their lone waters—lone and dead,—   

Their still waters—still and chilly   

With the snows of the lolling lily. 


By the lakes that thus outspread 

Their lone waters, lone and dead,— 

Their sad waters, sad and chilly 

With the snows of the lolling lily,— 

By the mountains—near the river   

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—   

By the grey woods,—by the swamp   

Where the toad and the newt encamp,—   

By the dismal tarns and pools 

   Where dwell the Ghouls,—   

By each spot the most unholy—   

In each nook most melancholy,—   

There the traveller meets, aghast,   

Sheeted Memories of the Past—   

Shrouded forms that start and sigh   

As they pass the wanderer by—   

White-robed forms of friends long given,   

In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven. 


For the heart whose woes are legion   

’T is a peaceful, soothing region—   

For the spirit that walks in shadow   

’T is—oh, ’t is an Eldorado! 

But the traveller, travelling through it,   

May not—dare not openly view it;   

Never its mysteries are exposed   

To the weak human eye unclosed;   

So wills its King, who hath forbid   

The uplifting of the fring’d lid;   

And thus the sad Soul that here passes   

Beholds it but through darkened glasses. 


By a route obscure and lonely,   

Haunted by ill angels only, 

Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT, 

On a black throne reigns upright,   

I have wandered home but newly   

From this ultimate dim Thule.

By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have reached these lands but newly
    From an ultimate dim Thule –
    From a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime,
          Out of SPACE – out of TIME.

    Bottomless vales and boundless floods,
    And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods,
    With forms that no man can discover
    For the dews that drip all over;
    Mountains toppling evermore
    Into seas without a shore;
    Seas that restlessly aspire,
    Surging, unto skies of fire;
    Lakes that endlessly outspread
    Their lone waters – lone and dead, –
    Their still waters – still and chilly
    With the snows of the lolling lily.


    By the lakes that thus outspread
    Their lone waters, lone and dead, –
    Their sad waters, sad and chilly
    With the snows of the lolling lily, –
    By the mountains – near the river
    Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever, –
    By the grey woods, – by the swamp
    Where the toad and the newt encamp, –
    By the dismal tarns and pools
            Where dwell the Ghouls, –
    By each spot the most unholy –
    In each nook most melancholy, –
    There the traveller meets aghast
    Sheeted Memories of the Past –
    Shrouded forms that start and sigh
    As they pass the wanderer by –
    White-robed forms of friends long given,
    In agony, to the Earth – and Heaven.


    For the heart whose woes are legion
    ‘Tis a peaceful, soothing region –
    For the spirit that walks in shadow
    'Tis – oh 'tis an Eldorado!
    But the traveller, travelling through it,
    May not – dare not openly view it;
    Never its mysteries are exposed
    To the weak human eye unclosed;
    So wills its King, who hath forbid
    The uplifting of the fringed lid;
    And thus the sad Soul that here passes
    Beholds it but through darkened glasses.


    By a route obscure and lonely,
    Haunted by ill angels only,
    Where an Eidolon, named NIGHT,
    On a black throne reigns upright,
    I have wandered home but newly
    From this ultimate dim Thule.

—  Dreamland, The Complete Poems and Stories of Edgar Allan Poe (1946)
CotIG Author Ask Meme

J. R. R. Tolkien – A book with world building you love

C. S. Lewis – A book from your childhood

Charles Williams – A book no one else seems to know about

Edgar Allan Poe – A book you can’t figure out how to explain

Jules Verne – A book with a ridiculously intricate plot

H. G. Wells – A book that inspired your writing style

Charles Dickens – A book you picked up by mistake

Percy Shelley – A first book in a series that made you want to burn it

Mary Shelley – A second book in a series that redeemed the first one

George Gordon, Lord Byron – A book you threw at a wall

Geoffrey Chaucer – A book you love but sometimes forget about

Geoffrey of Monmouth – A book which heavily fictionalized history

Roger Bacon – A book you rediscovered

James Barrie – A book you didn’t finish

William Shakespeare – A well- known book you didn’t expect to be as good as it was

Mark Twain – A book you made your friends read

Rudyard Kipling – A book full of moral complexities

A thought

So the original Harry Hotspur, may he rest in peaces(s), was one of five children, according to that source of all knowledge, Wikipedia. His siblings were, respectively, Sir Thomas, Sir Ralph, Margaret, and the baby of the family, Alan.

And that nose has got to be genetic, right?

All of which leads me to only one possible conclusion.

Alan Percy has run away from home, is larking around in Sherwood forest, and is the bane of his older brother’s existence. He’d better hope Kate doesn’t find him

The realities of the world affected me as visions, and as visions only, while the wild ideas of the land of dreams became, in turn, not the material of my everyday existence, but in very deed that existence utterly and solely in itself.
— 

Berenice, Edgar Allan Poe

Poe got me before I got me…

5

Tag yourself, I’m third.