live modestly

Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Petrov of the Soviet Air Defense Forces died in May and, in a sad testament to the world’s ingratitude, it was reported only this week.

Close readers will remember his story, which we’ve told several times. One evening in 1983, amid a war scare that had both sides on high alert, Colonel Petrov was running a Soviet early-warning system, watching for the American missiles that Moscow thought could come at any moment.


When his systems indicated exactly that, Colonel Petrov reported it as a false alarm, though all evidence suggested the attack was real. He knew that Soviet doctrine and the terrible logic of nuclear weapons would have compelled a massive Soviet launch before the American missiles could land, surely prompting an American retaliation in turn.


This act of courage and defiance — had Colonel Petrov been wrong, his act would have constituted treason — may have saved hundreds of millions of lives. Though his career had been dedicated to preparing for nuclear conflict, in the fateful moment he chose to avert it. […]


As Mr. Hoffman has written subsequently, Colonel Petrov was neither punished nor rewarded for his action. Like many Russian officers of his age, he lived modestly, put through hard times by his country’s 1990s economic collapse.


It is sadly fitting that Colonel Petrov, rather than made a hero for averting more deaths than perhaps any other person in history, was consigned to such obscurity that his death took months to become known.


The truth he exposed was perhaps too terrible for either side to confront: that their nuclear deadlock was built on the necessary lie that, if attacked, they would condemn millions more to die, though it would accomplish nothing. The truth, that we have created the circumstances of our own needless annihilation and put it on a hair trigger, was hidden away, as was Colonel Petrov.

—  The Most Important Person You’ve Never Heard Of Has Died, Max Fisher and Amanda Taub for The New York Times (20/09/2017)
Jamaica

This is a lil something I wrote because I watched BTA and it ruined me…special thanks to @sing-me-a-song-harry for helping me edit and sort it out!! Hope you all like it!! xx B

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The sunlight was blinding, the humidity making your skin sticky and already making your hair nearly unmanageable as you made your way off the tarmac. You squinted and pulled down your shades, your eyes darting everywhere until they landed on a curly head of hair about ten yards from you. Harry was bent over his cell phone, lips rolled into his mouth and a pair of black RayBans holding his hair back from his eyes. He looked as delicious as ever, and you swallowed as you admired the slight tan he’d acquired over the past couple of weeks. Harry had always held a soft spot in your heart; with his killer smile and charming personality, you often wanted nothing more than to get on your knees for him. That sort of thinking wasn’t appropriate though, especially since the pair of you had always been just friends, nothing more. You cleared your throat.
“Harry!” You called and his head popped up, a warm smile on his lips.
”‘Lo, love! ’Ve missed ya, glad yeh decided t'come down.“ His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing sweetly to your cheek, and you bit your lip as the scent of him flooded your senses. You loved the way he smelled. “Shall we?” Harry reached for your bags, leaving one arm draped casually over your shoulder.
“How’ve you been, H? How’s the writing?” Harry’s dimples deepened, and his eyes sparkled happily. He was well-rested for once, with no dark circles under his clear green eyes, and you smiled up at him as he began to ramble on about his album. Harry talked the entire way to the house he shared with his writing partners, his voice light and hands moving animatedly as he drove. The house itself was gorgeous, and when Harry showed you to your temporary room, you couldn’t help the snort that came from your lips.
“What happened to living modestly hidden in Jamaica?” A shrug and a half smile was his response as he set your bags down. He suddenly seemed close, very close, and his eyes had a new, unreadable look in them.
“’M glad yeh came, love, really. ’S been too long.” Harry gently tucked some of your hair behind your ear and out of your face, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Your tummy flipped when you watched his eyes dart quickly to your lips. If only he would just lean a little closer…..
“Harry? Y/N?” The pair of you jumped at Jeff’s voice calling through the house, your cheeks heating as Harry scratched the back of his neck.
“Yeh, um…get unpacked and settled, yeah? I think everyone wants t'go out t'night, yeh should go.” Harry turned to leave, his shoulders a little tense, and you frowned.
“Are you not going?” His head turned to look at you over his shoulder and he offered a small smile.
“Yeh know me, love; partying isn’t m'thing, is it?” Then he was out the door, leaving you to mull over going out or not.
Two hours later, everyone but you and Harry filed out of the house, taking all of the loud noise and talking with them. Harry’d taken to sitting by the dining table, a guitar in his hands and a glass of wine sitting in front of him as he strummed quietly.
“Mind if I join you?” His eyes flew to you, his lips curling into a smile. A large hand tunneled through his hair as he looked you over, taking in your pajama shorts and loose tank top. You could’ve sworn a flash of desire sparked in his eyes.
“Not at all. Wine?” He was already pouring you half a glass, sliding it over to you as you took the seat next to him. Thanking him with a nod, you took a sip, your gaze moving to the large windows to admire the view of the beach and beautiful sea beyond it.
“How’s everythin’ in your world? How’s..what’s his name?” You didn’t miss the way his lip curled down in distaste at the mention of your last fling.
“Wouldn’t know. I ended it just after you left…prick was sleeping with two other girls.” A grunt left Harry’s lips as he propped his guitar against the table, his hand coming to rest on your thigh.
“I’m sorry, love. Yeh too good fo’ him anyways.” You shrugged, draining the wine from your glass and setting it back on the table.
“I sure know how to pick them, eh?” A humorless laugh left your lips and Harry frowned, shaking his head.
“’S'alright, pet, he was the one with the problem, not you.” You rolled your head back, still hyper aware of Harry’s warm palm on your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bare skin.
“Where are all the good ones, H? The creeps and arseholes are always the ones I attract. Where are all the men like you?” Harry’s brows rose a little, a ball tightening in his stomach. All he’d wanted to do since you’d gotten off the plane was kiss you until your lips were swollen, and now here you were, asking him where men like him were hiding. He shifted a little closer to you, hand tightening on your thigh.
“Men like me?” The words were quiet, unfocused as Harry watched your throat move as you swallowed.
“You know, men who…are real. Who aren’t afraid to let you know what they want. Men who are loyal, good guys. Where do all of you hide out?” Now you were so close to each other that you could feel his warm breath puffing over your cheek. Harry’s tongue swept along his bottom lip, and you longed to kiss him. His fingers edged under the hem of your shorts, goosebumps raising on your skin.
“’M certainly not hidin’, angel.” A crooked smirk tugged at his lips and then Harry leaned in, his pink lips covering yours. You gasped, and it was enough of a space for his tongue to edge out, sweeping along your top lip as if to ask permission. You eagerly gave him more room to work, your hands going to fist in his white t-shirt as his tongue met yours, tentatively brushing over it. When the first tiny whimper bubbled from your throat, Harry pulled back, his forehead pressing against yours.
“D'yeh wan’ this?” Always so good, that was Harry. So, so good all the time. In response, you stood and leaned over him, taking his jaw in your hands and kissing him hotly. A surprised grunt rumbled through him as his hands grasped your hips, pushing you back as he stood. Your backside met the wall, and you moaned as Harry’s hands began to wander. His fingers worked to push your shirt up and over your head, revealing your tummy and chest to him. He tossed your shirt to the floor and his hands moved to cup your breasts over your bra.
“Harry,” you managed, hips bucking into his, moaning again once you felt the hard length of him pressing against your lower body.
“Yeh wet fo’ me? Hm, angel?” Your bra straps were tugged down your arms, and the clasp was undone before your bra joined your tank top on the floor.
“Yes, yes, I’m so wet.” It was true; your panties had been ruined since his hand first landed on your thigh. A growl left Harry’s lips at your words, his dark eyes dropping to your breasts.
“Jesus, pet. S'pretty.” His tongue lapped over one of your nipples, and you let out a garbled moan, your hands tangling in his hair as he wrapped his lips around your breast. Harry’s hips rutted into yours, desperate for any amount of pressure on his aching cock. Your hand slipped down to slide into his loose shorts, easily finding his cock. He groaned against your skin when you circled your hand around his thick length, enjoying the heavy weight of him. Harry worked to yank down your shorts and panties, lips moving heatedly over your exposed skin.
“Christ, darling, feels s'good.” His breath puffed against your collarbones as he thrusted his hips with each stroke of your hand, moaning each time you thumbed the tip of him. Your free hand went to pull down his shorts, thankful for the fact that he tended to go commando, and your mouth watered at the sight of his fully hard cock. It was flushed and pretty, little pearls of precum already beading on his head. “S'nough, pet,” Harry said darkly, one arm going to brace the wall beside your head and the other moving to grasp your thigh to wrap your leg around his hip. “Yeh ready?” He asked as your fingers twisted in the thin material of his shirt. You nodded as Harry mouthed along your jawline and crowded against you, one hand moving to guide himself into you.
“Big!” You gasped, reveling in the burning stretch that came as he buried himself to the hilt. A low, rumbling groan spread through Harry’s chest, his eyes squeezing shut as your walls clenched around him. His lips closed around your earlobe and he began to thrust, hips rutting into yours with smooth, measured strokes. You were so tight and warm around him, taking every inch of him gladly, and Harry was seeing stars by the time a curl of pleasure began to ball in his stomach.
“Yeh feel amazin’, pet…knew yeh would, wanted this fo’ so long.” His neck veins strained as he threw his head back, his words turning into long moans as your walls clenched around him. His thick cock brushed every nerve in you, goading you quickly to your orgasm as his lips lowered to your neck. Harry nibbled at your damp skin, tongue soothing the sting of his bite as you mewled loudly.
“Please, Harry!” You cried, hand slipping up to tug at his hair. Harry growled at the feeling, hips shifting to pound into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the otherwise quiet house, and you thanked whoever was watching out for you for sending your friends out of the house for the night.
“Can yeh feel me all up in yeh?” Harry’s hand circled your wrist and led it to rest on your lower belly, where he pressed it down until you could feel the tip of him brushing your walls. A loud moan ripped through you. Filthy. He was absolutely filthy with you, and you couldn’t help the garbled half-sentences that fell from your lips as his fingers went to circle your clit.
“Close! So close, baby, please.” Your voice was strangled as you fought for a decent breath, your throat dry from crying out. Harry’s lips covered yours, swallowing your moans and shouts as he moved faster, his cock beginning to twitch inside of you. The kiss was just as filthy as his words, sloppy and wet, all tongue meeting tongue and lips smacking against lips. Your hands fisted tighter in his shirt and hair as you barreled towards your orgasm, back arching.
“Yeh gonna cum fo’ me? Gonna b'good, pet?” Harry’s tongue licked down your throat and you screwed your eyes shut as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.
“Yes! Yes, I’ll be good, please, please, Harry. I’m so close,” you cried, head rolling back against the wall. Harry grunted in response, the vein that wrapped along the underside of him pulsing with pleasure as he neared his edge.
“Cum,” he puffed against your breast, “cum fo’ me. C'mon, angel, give it t'me.” Your mouth parted in a silent moan as your orgasm broke over you, white flooding your vision. Harry was quick to follow, spurting hot, sticky ropes of his seed deep inside of you. Sweat coated the both of you, and the Jamaican air wasn’t helping, almost suffocatingly hot as you fought for breaths. Harry’s head rested against your collarbones, his softening length still nestled inside of you. You pressed short kisses to his hairline, trembling still, and Harry huffed out a laugh.
“Well tha’s one way t’ welcome yeh.” You let out a shaky laugh as he withdrew, hands coming to cup your cheeks. “’Ve wanted yeh fo’ s'long, love.” A sweet, chaste kiss was pressed to your mouth and you smiled sleepily at him, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Now you’ve got me.” You replied. Harry’s response was a wicked, promising smirk that made heat coil in your belly again.
“C'mon, pet, there’s a king-sized bed with silk sheets that I need t’ see yeh writhing against.” And writhe you did.

3

I think Reverse/Mirror Bakura is cunning like canon Bakura. He could be manipulative if he wanted to, but prefers to give people a nudge in what he sees as the right direction and then let them do the rest. He gives a lot to charity, living fairly modestly himself. 

When it comes to Malik, he’s a soppy cheesy romantic, and NOT ashamed of it.

 I can also  imagine he’s more of a “fairy godmother” figure to Ryou. (even though the latter hates it.)

“Never be jealous of wealth. Always live modestly and humbly, without egotism. Egotism is a terrible sin. When you hear someone being accused, even though it may be true, never add more accusations, but always say something positive and be sorry for the person. Take care to always love the poor, the elderly, the orphans, the sick. Spend time with poor people and with those whom others humble. Earn your living with the honest sweat of your brow. Don’t forget to give alms. This is the path you must tread. Always think of what good thing you will do. These are the things that make up the life of a Christian.”

~Elder George of Drama (1901-1959)

(Taken from DeathToTheWorld)

* ♡. — LABELS; PART 01. A-F

Under the cut, you will find 32 unique labels that you can use for your characters ! All of the labels shown were gathered and alphabetized by myself. TW: mentions of drinking, religion + drugs.

If you find this useful, please like / reblog !

  • THE ACE – someone who is very good at what they do,  whatever that happens to be, and everyone knows it
  • THE ADORKABLE – someone who is shy / clumsy and dorky but somehow still cute
  • THE AFFLUENT ASCETIC –  someone who is financially well off but chooses to live modestly or even spartanly
  • THE ABSENT-MINDED – someone who’s head is always in the clouds; they are usually very forgetful
  • THE ANAXIPHILIA – someone who loves or is attracted to an unsuitable partner
  • THE BATHING BEAUTY – someone, typically a female, that seems to enjoy baths and showers a lot and is often shown bathing more frequently than any of the other characters; much like a neat freak
  • THE BEASTRESS –  a female who is big, strong, and intimidating, while showing primal or animalistic trait
  • THE BUG MANIAC – someone who loves bugs
  • THE BIBULOUS – someone who drinks excessively
  • THE BROKEN BIRD – someone who has been through tough times and has not yet recovered
  • THE BLANK CANVAS – someone who is some kind of artist but lacks muse
  • THE BAR HOPPER – someone who loves to drink
  • THE CASANOVAtypically a male, someone who is a smooth talker; they’ve likely mastered the art of meeting + seducing others
  • THE CASANOVA WANNABEtypically a male, someone who wants to be a smooth talker but may be too awkward or just simply can’t do it
  • THE CHURCH OWL – a religious person
  • THE CUPID – someone who aspires to be a matchmaker, whether they’re good at it or not
  • THE CUTENESS PROXIMITY –  someone who turns into a bowl of mush at the sight of something cute ( me af )
  • THE CROWD PLEASER – someone whose motivation is public approval and praise; likely a kiss ass
  • THE CELEBRITY – someone who is famous in some way
  • THE DREAMER – someone who has many ambitions and dreams
  • THE DESPONDENT – someone who isn’t very happy, is often at a loss for hope
  • THE DRUGGIE – someone who enjoys doing drugs + may be a dealer
  • THE DEMUREtypically a female, someone who is shy and reserved
  • THE DRINKING BUDDY – someone who is willing to go out with nearly anyone for a drink; they are always a good time
  • THE EPICURE – someone who loves food
  • THE EBULLIENT – someone who is very cheerful and optimistic
  • THE ECCENTRIC MENTOR – a wise person who seems to be strange and is likely foolish
  • THE ESCAPIST – someone who wishes (or does) escape from reality
  • THE FERVOR – someone who feels emotions very intensely
  • THE FAINEANT – someone who is usually very lazy and doesn’t feel like doing anything
  • THE FACADE – someone who is likely an introvert / fake / hides behind a mask
  • THE FACEBOOK GAMER – someone who is obsessed with facebook games and will likely send you many game requests
1969 Megan Draper Equals 1959 Betty Draper

You would think that slowly watching Megan Draper turn into Season 1 Betty Draper would teach us all to sympathize with poor Betts. 

When we first met Megan, she was a bubbly, sunny font of positivity and creative ambition. She had an active, buzzing social life, a good job, a carefree relationship to her own sexuality, and an active, curious, creative mind. She wanted to act. She told Don she loved to paint, and sing. Failing that, she wanted to work in an applied creative field, like advertising. She was model beautiful, stylish, vibrant and independent. 

Before she met Don, Betty was an independent, Seven Sisters educated model living and working in the city. She shared a tiny apartment with several other girls, lived modestly, and hopped from modeling job to modeling job. She had a creatively and emotionally charged relationship with a designer in Italy, to whom she served as muse. She traveled. She spoke, as she loves to remind us, Italian. 

Betty met Don while shooting an advertisement for the furrier where Don worked. “Why wait for a man to buy you a fur?” was the ad copy, written by Don. Yet it was Don who bought Betty a fur, shortly after the shoot, to woo her. Betty quit modeling almost immediately thereafter. Five years down the line and she was a sniping, bored, emotionally and psychologically unstable housewife. 

We have seen Megan follow the same sad trajectory. We have watched her career fall at Don’s feet, only to be propped up by his industry connections. We have seen her dive, dance, drink, and flail for his attention and affection in every conceivable way. We have seen Don withdraw from her, shut down, disappear, cheat, ridicule, and abuse her. The exact same way he treated Betty. 

It’s no surprise, therefore, that Megan is slowly turning into Betty. Early in their marriage, Megan was a nonsmoker; she opened up the car windows and coughed when Don lit up. A season later, she was a devoted, impulsive smoker, puffing almost as constantly as Betty, and always reaching for a cigarette at the drop of any emotional hat. Don calls her on the phone with bad news,and the first thing Megan does is reach for her pack. 

Megan has also shifted from an ebullient, child-loving step mom into the same kind of brittle, detached parental figure Betty was (and is). When they met, Megan was a Maria von Trapp-level angel, singing to the children in French (like Betty, Megan is a polyglot) and cleaning up spilled milkshakes with a reassuring smile. Since last season, though, she has been cold and removed from the children, and even disparaged Sally for being “screwed up”. Now she has zero interest in them at all. 

Megan’s career has torpedoed. Where once she was ambitious and tenacious, she is now desperate, hungry for any role, begging and fuming in parking lots. She’s getting haplessly drunk and sexually desperate. She’s telling Don he should just stay away. She’s becoming unhinged by her own insecurity. 

Sound familiar? If you’re paying attention, you’ll notice this is the same pattern of desperate, lonely behavior that defined season 1 Betty. Betty whose hands went numb and crashed her car, Betty who held her emotions in until they caused her to puke, Betty who sauntered around the house in a bikini, vying for Don’s eye, Betty who accepted any affection she could get, whether it was from a 9-year-old who wanted a lock of her hair, or a pilot in a random bar who just wanted to screw in the back room. 

Now look at this week’s Megan, standing coolly in the doorway, facing Stephanie. Megan who used to be all smile and hugs and open, friendly encouragement. She looks Stephanie up and down and icily pronounces her “beautiful”, her insecurities poking out like shards of glass beneath her skin. She forces herself to hug this woman, this relic from Don’s past, but it’s stifled and perfunctory. She tries desperately to be warm and welcoming, like when Betty used to host Don’s colleagues, but her face winces with sadness. When Don calls, she observes again that Stephanie is beautiful, egging Don on. She makes the pregnant, famished young women a steak. In season 1, when Roger dropped by the house unannounced, Betty gave him her steak. She went hungry. She sulked the whole night and next day. 

It’s no coincidence that the scene between Megan and Stephanie immediately follows Betty setting up for a dinner party at Henry’s. Betty used to force herself to entertain for Don’s sake, dressed herself up in bright, flouncy dresses, made pleasant chit chat, and then descended into a despairing, drunken mess the next day. Megan, too, is on the verge of collapse. She makes underhanded, hurt comments. Don didn’t tell Stephanie that Megan is an actress. Betty used to remind everyone that she used to be a model, you know.

Finally, at the first sign of threat (Stephanie’s comment that she “knows everything” about Don), Megan lashes out in pain. She launches a conniving little ploy to get the girl out of the house and away from her wandering husband. She makes herself out to be innocent. When Don asks her where Stephanie went, she plays the fool. Megan is hurting, and lost, and she’ll take whatever small, pathetic, petty wins she can get. Just like season 1 Betty, Megan is taking passive aggressive pot shots at innocent pigeons. 

We are watching Megan dissolve – in sanity, in independence, in her sense of self – the exact same way that Betty dissolved ten years ago. The culprit in both cases is the same. If that doesn’t give you massive pangs of sympathy for 1959 Betty (and even 1969 Betty), I don’t know what will. 

Miranda Hamilton’s war against England

I love Black Sails’ Lady Miranda Hamilton, because she is unapologetic and has the autonomy of a Jane Austen or Mary Wollstonecraft heroine. The witty, educated, literary, flirtatious salon hostess turned dissenter and rebel - that’s a trope I would like to see more of on television.

Miranda would have been at the centre of political and artistic life in London. She was wealthy, assumably respected despite the rumours of her affairs, and happily married. History is full of women trapped in horrible, violent, stifling marriages, but that of Miranda and Thomas seems to have been a true marriage of minds, based on actual love (in whatever form) as well as mutual respect and admiration.

Black Sails is preoccupied with narrative and story telling, and the power of a good story is frequently used to shift alliances and to create villains.

In the eyes of England - imperialist, patriarchal England, Miranda would be at her most admirable as an accomplished hostess, an undesirably intelligent woman perhaps, but she adhered to and upheld the rules of society, and if she ever deviated she did so quietly, in private. For instance, although she wants James to accompany her in public, she only kisses him in the carriage, once they are out of the public eye. She knows exactly what she is allowed to do, but also how she can discreetly manoeuvre her way to obtain something forbidden.

When James initially announces that he and Miranda will not settle in Europe, we get the sense that he intends to raise hell when he reaches New Providence. He does not. Instead he adapts and becomes the very thing he swore to fight and reform. In Nassau, Miranda becomes increasingly reckless and restless, meddling in the politics of the place by forging alliances, confronting and initiating sex with the pastor and she continuously urges James to keep Thomas’ legacy alive by evoking change, even if it is just change for the two of them. In England, James was the plain spoken lieutenant and she the witty, much admired and much adaptable socialite, but in Nassau their roles are reversed. James becomes the figure of adoration (or at least fear) and Miranda the rational dissenter, forever sparring the arguments of others, those of the pastor, the Guthries and James.

Why did Miranda settle in Nassau? She could have severed all ties to James, even spoken out against him to save her own skin, throwing herself on the mercy of Lord Alfred Hamilton. Less drastically, she could have started a new life in Amsterdam or Paris with the help of Lord Ashe. By assuming a new identity (which she does anyway), she could have lived modestly but comfortably as a governess, teaching music, literature, languages. She could have hid behind a personae, like James does with Flint, but even as Mrs Barlow, the pious, Purcell-loving recluse, she is very much the Miranda Hamilton she has always been, even if she does not fully realise it herself. Miranda settles in Nassau after making a ‘hard choice, to achieve the least awful outcome’, to use the wording Lord Ash later employs to excuse his own treachery. Miranda’s chooses to leave civilisation but to keep her integrity, an act of open rebellion against society. Miranda Hamilton declares war on England.

She has not yet realised the extent or the danger of her rebellion when she urges James to ask for a pardon. She laments the lack of company, art and music, and pleads with him to return to civilisation. James furiously refuses to take her advice and accept a pardon, stating that it would be equivalent to apologising to England. ‘The moment I sign that pardon,’ he gnarls; ‘the moment I ask for one, I proclaim to the world that they were right. This ends when I grant them my forgiveness not the other way around.

While on their way to Charlestown, Miranda confesses her astonishment to James on finding that Abigail has grown up. ‘It’s like she’s some sort of clock that’s finally struck its chime and woken me from this dream we’ve been living, reminded me how many years separate me from a world I still think of as home. How unrecognizable the woman I am now would be to the woman I was then,’ she states. As viewers, we are invited to view this as a poetic way of showing for just how long Miranda and James have been exiled, (and perhaps suggesting that mourns her own childlessness), but when James replies that he still recognises her, it is not just a kind reassurance, it demonstrates how little they have changed, despite everything. They are recognisable to each other because they are cut from the same cloth, because their integrity is still intact, because they tirelessly refuse to capitulate, because they are allies in the war against injustice and England.

Miranda inevitably realises the extent of her rebellion, because of the clock, her clock, which now stands in the home of Lord Ashe in Charlestown. It is at this moment that she realises how her values and those of the civilised world are at odds, how her autonomy makes it impossible for her to return to society. Civilisation comes at too high a price. Having been uncharacteristically quiet for the duration of their visit, Miranda raises her voice at a critical point. She demonstrates that at a moment when James is prepared to compromise, she is not. Compromise is capitulation, and capitulation is out of the question. 

Miranda, James and Lord Ashe have all had to make hard choices, but unlike the former, Lord Ashe lost his integrity the moment he de facto capitulated to Lord Alfred Hamilton by aiding him vilifying James. Lord Ashe considered the least awful outcome to be one where society persevered over scandal, where England triumphed over degenerates and the status quo was upheld. ‘You wish to return to civilisation,’ he scorns, ‘that is what civilisation is.’ Lord Ashe stands for civilisation, Thomas, in allegedly forgiving the treachery of his friend, stands for civilisation, Miranda and James stand for justice, integrity and freedom.

Miranda, which was as her most admirable to England as a polite socialite, raises her voice and becomes this raging, furious rebel, which makes her all the more admirable to the viewers. We half expect James to interfere, to cut Lord Ashe down then and there, as the camera zooms in on his face as the truth dawns on him, that he was almost tricked into capitulating to his greatest enemy. In a furious monologue which would not be out of place if delivered by James, Miranda states that she wants to see the Charlestown burned to the ground, and as she does so, she pleadingly turns to James.

We were initially told stories about the mysterious Mrs Barlow’s hold on Captain Flint and how she made him kill on her behalf. Later we hear her blaming herself for letting James know Lord Alfred Hamilton’s whereabouts, we hear her blaming herself for being an instrument in their murder. In truth, there is no way she could have resisted letting him know which ship he was on, it would not have been in her nature. As she tells James when they first meet: ‘Great men aren’t made great by politics. They aren’t made great by prudence or propriety. They are, every last one of them, made great by one thing and one thing only, the relentless pursuit of a better world.’ Miranda has an agency of her own and no means of quitting it. The narrative of Black Sails depicts Miranda’s transformation from villain, to an understandably bitter intermediary to murder and finally, in Lord Ashe’s dining room, to an autonomous rebel, outright promising destruction.

As Lady Hamilton, the hostess and socialite, she was tolerated. As Mrs Barlow, a nondescript exiled Englishwoman, she was tolerated. She might even have been tolerated in Charlestown, had she been submissive and repentant. As a plain spoken, vengeful - and more importantly, rebellious woman in open dissent of the values of civilised England, she could not be tolerated. Had she agreed to Lord Ashe’s plan, or fallen to her knees pleading for him to concoct another, less vile, she would have lived. But here we have an educated, cultivated, intelligent woman who once knew and followed the rules of society, who refuses to capitulated her integrity, who still thinks of England as home. A treason not to be borne! Lord Ashe acted to protect the status quo, but Miranda acts to protect herself in the face of hypocrisy, and this is what kills her. Miranda was a free spoken Englishwoman and her persistently unapologetic existence put her at constant war with civilisation. She was shot because she stood too close to Lord Ashe, too close to England. She refused to offer her country forgiveness of its treatment of her and was executed for her rebellion.

‘The danger here is real,’ she warns James in London. In Charlestown she finds herself in fearless in opposition. Miranda dies because she has realised that she is at war, because a  rational, autonomous, dissenting woman is too dangerous an enemy for England to let live.

During Bucky and Sam’s post-marriage 20/20 interview Sam takes them on a tour of their house. When asked about which interior decorator they hired Sam smiles and says, “That was all Bucky.”

Next thing you know Bucky’s got his own show on TLC where he redesigns and redecorates a room in people’s houses for them. The recipients have to enter a contest to be chosen. The show’s called “Bucky’s Lucky Few!”

Bucky’s often shown lifting giant pieces of metal with his bare hands and punching holes through walls. He’s praised left and right for the “sweet little touches” he adds to each and every room he gets ahold of. He’s a national sensation! Every few episodes Sam (who’s now captain America) will make an appearance looking handsome and heroic. He gives Bucky a sweet kiss on the cheek that makes everyone melt inside before praising Bucky on whatever he’s doing at the moment. Bucky eventually gets Sam to do an extra special episode with him. It breaks TV records for the network. They’re America’s sweethearts. Go into any department store and there’s at least one picture of Bucky and Sam sitting in a modestly-decorated living room.

OKAY BUT YALL

Headcanon that even after Jack’s already made it as a Super Famous Hockey Bro™, he and Bitty will always live very modestly. Like they’ll live in a pretty nice place but they’ll never flaunt their money or drive super expensive cars and at first everyone assumes that it’s because Jack doesn’t want to make Bitty uncomfortable but then it’ll become public somehow that Jack actually invests a huge amount of his salary into organizations like the Trevor Project and the SPTS because he knows first hand how it feels to get to such a dark place in his life and he NEVER wants any other kid to feel like that goodbye

2

Head Canon for a Modern AU Hungry Like a Wolf

*He’s found himself distracted from his writing and in a deep depression since his mother’s passing

*He is in town seeking a peaceful and quiet place to complete his book, away from family dramatics

*The book is about a injured Iraqi war veteran combating PTSD

*He is fast approaching his novel’s deadline, his publishers are breathing down his neck. The worst part of his day is reading his email

*He has always been fascinated with the military, the fact that his twisted legs and his disease have prevented him from following in his father’s footsteps, is a great source of pain for him

*People often mistakingly assume he is an injured vet, when hearing of the subject which he writes

*When Ragnar died, he had to drop out of college with a semester left. The chaos that followed Ragnar’s death had prevented him from going back to finish

*He lives off inheritance, yet lives modestly and knows the value of a dollar

*He chain smokes to calm his nerves

*He works out to relieve stress, his psychiatrist suggested it

*He has a two pot a day coffee habit

*He recently started taking low dose antidepressants

*He smokes cannabis to help him sleep at night

*He knows he really shouldn’t drink, but he has moments of weakness. Alcohol brings too many bad things to the surface, especially after Sigurd’s death

*Ever since their mother’s death, his relationship with his brothers has been fractured

*He is very self sufficient, stubbornly so even, downright refusing help from others

*He comes across as brash and has a quiet arrogance about him

*He is very good at hiding the fact that he is in constant pain

*His pain prevents him from using his crutches often, his chair is much more efficient

*He absolutely cannot cook

*He has never been in a relationship, but he is by no means inexperienced

*Women always seem to be attracted to him, that is… until he opens his mouth

*He would never admit how very, very lonely he truly is

==> Be The Enginseer


ART/DESIGN by http://anoneifanocs.tumblr.com/

Your name is FABIAH WILAVE  and you are a AURIC ENGINSEER.
A specialist in MECHANICS and PSIONICS. You hit up the DEATH DERBY, pretty often as that’s where your GRUBS (read:machines) find the most work. Pretty good show too. You have also occasional took part, normally as a WRENCH JOCKEY; an on vehicle mechanic designed to keep the QUARRY CAR running.Your machinations are aided by your PSIONIC: AUSPEX allowing you to weave AETHER and AURA together. Getting you a glimpse into trolls STRENGTH and BONDING them with your MACHINES. You especially enjoy SEEING YOUR WORK USED. Its a riot.
You are currently TWELVE SWEEPS OLD, and living life modestly in your GARAGE surrounded by the JUNKYARD and SHITE.

Name: FABIAH WILAVE
Age: 12 Sweeps
Dominant/Submissive: Not your shit.
Eye/Blood Color: Bronze
Worn Color: Bronze
Power(s): Auspex (Ability to see AETHER and AURA with the aid of your lense; Lets you WEAVE and GLIMPSE into a trolls power). GRAV BUMP: Uses the braces around her ankles to shift her gravity thanks to stored up psionic energy. Cannot be used excessively or else they’ll burn out once they run dry.
Birthday: OCT 1st
Sexuality: Nah.
Gender: Female
Height: 5’8
Guardian/Lusus:
Ancestor: The ????????
Pesterchum/Trollian: ???????????
Quirk: Pretty lax, punctuates with a smirk at times.

“the quick brown fox; like jumps over the LAZY fuckin’ dog like it ain’t shite. Its pretty good. ;)”

Interests:
-Death Derby
-Cash
-Food
-Weaving

Strife: OUO (One Use Only); Can use any weapon, but breaks immediately after use.
Personality: Lax, dedicated, and jokey. Enjoys just shooting the shit and watching events, be it theater, fights or races. A happy observer who takes most interest in how people use things rather than the things themselves.

anonymous asked:

Roy Mustang for the headcanon thing?

Alright!

A: Roy earns a lot of money but lives modestly. He’s a penny pincher because growing up around a bar, he’s seen how easy it is for someone to lose everything due to addiction or spending in excess.
B: Roy does not like cats, but cats love him. It’s like he’s the living embodiment of catnip+the sound of opening a tuna can. Like, any kind of cat, it doesn’t matter. Tiny house cat that’s generally friendly, big angry stray that hates people, wild cats like bobcats. They’ll leave him be if he shoos them away bit they’ll be back the next day. He avoids zoos because the big cats stare at him and it’s creepy as hell. Alphonse is jealous.
C: For a while after the war Roy lived with hughes, not because he didn’t have a place of his own to live, but because he knew he couldn’t be left alone without a high chance of something terrible happening to himself.
D: Just in general, I like the headcanons that Roy is distantly related to either ed (through Trisha’s family) or ling.

Feel free to send in more!

10 REASONS WE VEIL:

1-exalt the dignity of the Eucharist.

2-hide us in the world and reveal ourselves to God.

3-so that only the glory of God shows up and ours disappears.

4-a the Virgin Mary.

5-preserve the tradition of the holy mother church.

6-in submission of submission.

7-remember that the soul is the wife of Christ, “love espousal”.

8-to put us in worship with the angels.

9-to strip us of our wanting to offer a pleasing sacrifice to God.

10-to be pious in the sacred moments and live modestly.

sunkingdoms-deactivated20170403  asked:

omg i don't really have a specific prompt but could you write a fic about anything season 4 bellarke related?? really whatever you feel like writing i trust you

omg i’m so flattered you trust me but IDK IF YOU SHOULD??? okay here you go, babes.

darkness brings evil things, oh, the reckoning begins

(AO3)

Fandom: The 100
Pairing: Bellarke
Rating: T (for violent thoughts???)
Words: 1,480

Maybe it seems like there’s no rhyme or reason to what Octavia is doing, but there is. The rhyme is this: slash the throats, slice the veins, stab the hearts of those who do the same. Here’s the reason: Lincoln.

Octavia doesn’t particularly care why Echo approached her after A.L.I.E. was defeated.

To eliminate the leaders of the Thirteen Clans and help King Roan rise to power, Heda once and for all.

Whatever.

To kill Wanheda, take her power, use it to annihilate them.

Again, Octavia could not care less.

Still, she agrees to Echo’s proposition.

Wiping out your competitors, taking power, putting people in charge – it’s all politics. Possibly, if things were different, Octavia would have a vested interest in the state of the grounders and her people. As it is, she’s interested in one thing only: bringing vengeance upon anyone responsible, directly or indirectly, for the death of Lincoln.

The death of her soul.

And as far as Octavia is concerned, anyone in a seat of power held Pike’s hand and pulled the trigger with him. Now, thanks to Echo, she has a veiled excuse to kill them.

If Clarke Griffin happens to be one of the people she’s been contracted to murder, well. That’s tough.

Keep reading

Enneagram Type 3: The Achiever

The Adaptable, Excelling, Driven, Image-Conscious Person

Healthy. Healthy Threes are self-assured, feel desirable, and enjoy high self-esteem, believing in themselves and their own value. High-spirited, energetic, often attractive, charming, and popular. Ambitious to improve themselves, to be the best they can be: often become outstanding in some way, truly admirable, a human ideal, embodying widely admired qualities. Others want to be like them, to imitate their achievements. Highly competent, focused, and diligent in achieving goals — they meet challenges by being extremely adaptable. Can be excellent communicators, motivators, and promoters, know how to present something in an acceptable and compelling way. At their best: Self-accepting, inner-directed, genuine and authentic: everything they seem to be. Fully accept themselves, not feeling that they must become more successful in order to be worthwhile. Live modestly, within their own “center,” and treat others with gentle graciousness. Communicate with heartfelt simplicity. Can be profoundly moving and inspiring to others.

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Turbulence - Part 5

Rated: M (idk why - no swears or smut in this particlar part)
WC: 5400 aprox
KRISTANNA MODERN AU
- This will make up for part four, even though it gets worse before it gets better (Full discolure: I had to fix a glaring error with this from what I have written, to what I want to write, so forgive any wonky continuity)

Part One  /  Part Two  /  Part Three  /  Part Four


Kristoff rolled down the window to the cool morning breeze, shaking his head to try and wake himself up.    It had been a restless night, worrying and trying to weigh all his options.

Keep reading

Rose Grove Estate

Request: no

Warnings:mVictorian standards for women

Summary: The halls of Rose Grove Estate have experienced many sights and sounds over the years, but none more so than when something supernatural occurs. 

Tags: @lightthischickup @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @mishaohmygod @arian5a 

Originally posted by hiddlestonr

Nestled in the hills of Camberidge between a lazy creek lined with willows and and an ancient chapel was the hauntingly beautiful Rose Grove Estate. Known for its flourishing  gardens and grove of wild, twisting roses, the main house stood  a top the highest hill for miles, casting it’s granduer upon all those around it. The main house and it’s adjacent homes and cottages had served as the resting home of the Hiddleston family. 

Keep reading

Spread (2009)

Character: Harry

Director: David Mackenzie

Release Date: August 14, 2009 (US)

US Rating: R (for strong sexual content, nudity, and language)

Also starring: Margarita Levieva, Ashton Kutcher, Anne Heche, Ashley Johnson

Spoiler-free synopsis/character description:
Spread is about a guy named Nikki (Ashton Kutcher), who sleeps his way through Los Angeles, getting involved with the rich and the elite, and taking advantage of the lifestyle and resources that come with it. Harry (Sebastian) is his friend, and also his roommate when he’s not on an extended stay with one of his lovers. Harry is also down for a good time, but he is more down-to-earth than Nikki, with an actual job, and lives modestly in an apartment.

More information about this and other roles here.