temptress in the dark

Witch affermations
  • I am the witch queen; the empress of the night, a magickal being. 
  • Don’t fuck with me, I am more powerful than you know.
  • I can manipulate the universe around me whichever way I please; the world is at my blessed fingertips.
  • I am powerful, my magick is strong.
  • I know the past, the present, and the future.
  • What I will do with my magick does not concern you. My magick is for me.
  • I am the dark temptress of your dreams.
MBTI types as Albus Dumbledore Books Quotes

ENTJ:
- It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be
- As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all. The trouble is, humans do have a knack of choosing precisely those things that are the worst for them

ESTJ:
- It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends
- Indifference and neglect often do much more damage than outright dislike

ESFJ:
- Where your treasure is, there will be also your heart
- We are only strong as se are united, as weak as ed are divided

ENFJ:
- Happiness can be found even in the darkest of time, if one remembers to turn in the light
- Difference of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open

ISTJ:
- It is our choise that show us what we truly are far more than our abilities - Perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it

INTJ:
- Words are our most inexaustible source of magic, capable of both inflicting injury and remedying it
- The truth is a beautiful and terrible thing, and therefore should be treated with caution

ISFJ:
- You think the dead we loved truly ever leaves us? You think that se don’t recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?
- Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin.

INFJ:
- Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living and above all, those who live without love
- For in dreams we enter a world that is enterely our own. Let him swim in the deepest ocean or glide over the highest cloud

ENTP:
- To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure
- We’ve got both light and dark inside us, what matters la the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are

ESTP:
- Keep your face to the sun, never look back at your shadows
-People find it far easier forgive others for being wrong than being right

ESFP:
- It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live
- Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse, when you finally feel it

ENFP:
- Life is either a daring adventure or it is nothing at all
- There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry. On the contrary… the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength

ISFP:
- We all must face the choise between what is right and what is easy
- Ah music… A magic far beyond all we do here

INFP:
- You do care. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death to the pain of it
- Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry. But why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

ISTP:
- Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse, when you finally feel it
- Sadly accidental rudeness occurs alarmingly. Often best to say nothing at all

INTP:
- Let us sleep into the night and pursue that flighty temptress adventure
- It’s the unknown we fear, when we look upon death and darkness, nothing more

(Hope you like it)

BLACK MAGIC WOMAN

(a playlist about girls who eat boys for breakfast)

Paint it Black // the rolling stones

Bad Woman // arctic monkeys

The Killing Moon // echo & the bunnymen 

Unfinished Business // white lies

Still as the Night // crystal stilts

Black Magic Women // santana

The Gambling Priest // danger mouse

Nightcrawlers // widowspeak

When the Lights Go Out // the black keys

Planet Caravan // black sabbath

Dangerous Animals // arctic monkeys

listen to at: http://8tracks.com/moonrise-kingdom/black-magic-women

[hello, says summer, dark-eyed temptress,
the promise of tempests rolling up
the left side of her mouth
and her gaze all bone-shrinking heat.]

every day she rides in on a gust of sun-baked wind,
yesterday’s flowers letting dried petals loose
from the bramble of her hair. every day
she leaves a smoke-haze in her wake

and you do not know if she is mirage
or memory; you do not know
if the heaviness in your lungs is born
from the moisture weighing down the air
or from the thought of her hands on your skin,
slick and smooth and ephemeral.

and when the sky finally yields and
the storm whisks away the wobbling
shape of her, you cannot tell
whether the raindrops are sizzling
on your flesh or only on the pavement.

you press your fists to the cooling ground
and think if she comes back
she will consume me
, remember the feel
of her furnace hold and think i would let her,
remember her void-dark eyes
and think i want her to.

[summer comes back and takes you by both hands
and you do not know
whether she means to drown you
or fly you to the sun. you only know
she does not mean to say goodbye.]

abstractedfocus

[dr]OUTLANDER Fic: Pirate Claire.

Anonymous said:

Imagine Jamie seeing Claire in yoga pants for the first time.

I just took your idea and ran with it, like a wild stallion. I hope you don’t mind too much, anon. enjoy <3


“Have ye no’ heard, Jamie! They’ve caught one…” Rabbie yelled, an obscene smile plastered upon his face as he managed to stop without tripping over his own feet, “They’ve caught one o’ the *pirates*…

His voice belayed the excitement young Rabbie felt at being witness to such a momentous occasion and he rushed off as soon as he’d imparted the news, impatient to be where the action was.

“Alec!” Jamie yelled to his stable-master, “do ye ken about this? Who have they caught?” he asked, worry lacing his tone.

Beneath his shirt, his heart picked up pace and his palms began to sweat.

He had a feeling he knew the answer, but he needed to hear the words spoken.

“Ach, I dinna ken the fuss. But it’s like the laddie says. The British found her…”

Her.

There it was.

The truth of it.

Alec, still rattling on about the wanted criminal who’d be brought to rightful justice, was unaware of Jamie’s petrified trance.

“Will they hang her?” he managed to choke out, his throat stinging painfully as he said the words.

“I dinna doubt it, lad,” Alec answered, confusion running amok at Jamie’s sullen tone. “Captain Randall willna be easy on her just because she’s a lassie. She’s wanted for high treason, ye ken that don’t ye? Ye’ve seen the posters…heard the tales.”

“Aye…” he replied, remembering the salty tang of the sea spray against her soft, supple skin as he’d run his tongue down the length of her neck, across her collarbone and down….

Those couldn’t be the last memories he had of her, he reasoned with some force. He wouldn’t let them be.

“Where, man…” he barked, springing to action. “Where are they holding her?”

Scrunching his brows, Alec looked his young boss up and down, a hint of wonder hiding behind his aged eyes. Something was certainly amiss.

“Inverness, boy. She’ll be held for public trial, left at their mercy for her crimes…” Alec paused for just a moment, wiping his filthy hands across the stained length of his work trews, “then taken to the noose.”

Not stopping to thank the man, Jamie sped away, eager to be on the road as soon as possible. It was a good two day ride into Inverness and he couldn’t leave her to the mercy of the English dragoons.

The thought of her, trussed up and alone at the brutal hands of Randall made him shudder. Known for his cruel nature, the vile guard had taken the life of many a criminal. Most suffered long and arduous trials, many brutally torn apart by the whip before being allowed to draw their last breath.

Jamie had only come across the man once, and for that he was grateful. Saved by his father’s quick intervention, he had nearly been on the receiving end of that man’s lash.

“Take Donas, lad,” Alec spoke, tearing Jamie from his memories, as he finally put the pieces together, deducing that Jamie and the condemned pirate lass had certainly been well acquainted prior to her capture. “He’s the only one I trust to get ye there in one piece.” Thrusting a bag of copper coins into his hands, he gripped him solidly, making Jamie look him directly in the eye. “And be careful, boy. Dinna dishonour yer father by getting yer neck stretched aside her, aye?”

“Thank ye, Alec,” he returned, bowing before the auld man in a very courtly gesture. “I promise to be careful.”


The crowds had begun to grow the closer he got to the city, their idle mumblings chilling him to the core as he tied Donas at a stables close to the outskirts and crept into the centre.

Being tall certainly had its advantages, and Jamie could see directly onto the raised plinth ahead, it’s boards empty for the time being.

He shuffled his feet nervously, the dust settling on the damp tops of his boots, coating them in a fine mist of dirt.

“Holy mother, please keep her safe. See that she isna harmed. Protect her, Lord, please…” he prayed, the words toppling from his lips in a distant hum as they blew away on the wind, lost in the gentle buzz of the Scots gathered.

“Claire…” he whispered, horror flowing through his body from feet to head as the crowd began to part. He just caught a glimpse of the top of her head, her bonnie curls bouncing free as the two large redcoats dragged her by the arms.

Her mouth, defiant and strong, was clenched shut; her head held firm and her back straight as the gathered masses began hurling insults and rotten food in her direction.

Randall paced behind her, a malicious smile tugging at his weatherbeaten face.

Jamie baulked. He could already see the temptation for extreme violence taking root in the man.

“Oh, Claire…why?” he sighed, her final words to him floating around his subconscious as the deep boom of heavy boots on light wood ceased and the baying crowd fell silent.

“We have before us,” Randall began, no emotion in his voice as he gestured towards Claire.

Her face, stern and still, glared towards her audience as she ground her teeth together.

“A wanted thief and murderer. She has committed atrocity on the seas: theft of his majesty’s personal effects, commanding men to raid and loot any village and township they passed. I,” he stated, twisting his hands in her hair, pulling her head back towards his shoulder, “have borne witness to the aftermath of these terrible events. I have seen the dark mark this…*temptress* has left on the men she seeks. As a man compelled by the courts and acting on order of the British government…”

Stopping, he dragged Claire’s head to and fro as if it illustrate his point, causing her eyes to water as she stood defiant, an obstinate glint behind her stony glare.

In that moment, torn between fight or flight, Jamie stood stock still. His ears heard the words, but his brain couldn’t process them and his hands shook by his sides as he fought to keep his feet rooted to the spot.

He recalled with vivid clarity the first time she’d come back onto land after fleeing Scotland. Trussed up in breeks and a man’s shirt, she scaled the rocks down by the water, her nimble hands pulling her up and back onto solid ground once more.

Whatever had compelled her to a life of piracy, she couldn’t resist the lure of Jamie’s arms and he’d stared longingly at her supple form. The tight grip of the trousers clung to her thighs and he could see every inch of her arse as she turned to view her ship before turning back towards him.

He remembered the neat line where her shirt tucked into the waistband, the wee rouche of fabric bunched at her hips but still form-fitting enough for him to gaze upon the sleek lines of her.

She had let him take her there and then, exposed for anyone to see as he’d stripped her bare and laid himself over her, her back laying neatly on the damp ground.

“Therefore,” Randall’s harsh voice cut through Jamie’s memories, slicing apart the last intimacies he’d had with Claire and replacing them with his bleak damnation “I conclude that there can be only one fate to befall the most foul of seducers. I condemn you, Mistress,” he spat, an evil spark behind his eyes as he relayed his final verdict, “Claire Beauchamp, to death by hanging!”

The villagers surrounding the raised plinth, goaded by the slow, steady release of the statement all screamed in triumph, concluding, loudly, that the correct punishment had been levied to the accused.

Jamie’s heart smashed into pieces, his chest aching with the weight of the words as they rattled around his skull long after they’d been delivered.

Death.

Watching on, Jamie stood, his face a mask of horror, as her guards thrust her to her knees and bound her to the boards. Leaving her to the mercy of passers-by as they retreated back inside their lodgings. Thick chains circled her ankles and wrists, but only her arms were connected to the large bolt that had been affixed to the centre of the plinth.


Don’t look at him, she had told herself upon seeing Jamie bear witness to her downfall. Tears had gathered in her eyes; nothing to do with her fate, and everything to do with the tall, red-headed Scot who had been there to see it all.

If you don’t look, he’ll go. He won’t stay to see it happen.

He won’t.

She tried to tell herself these things over and over, always conscious of the British soldiers that rested, one to the left and one to the right of her, ever alert to the call of danger.

That’s what she was, she recalled. Dangerous. Captain Randall had told her as much as he’d had her bound and gagged at his feet.

A simple mistake had been her downfall. Her burning need to see Jamie…*just one last time*.

All of the whisky had been brought from her ship to the shore and offloaded in the caves, ready for the local merchant to collect when the watchmen were caught unawares. Everything had gone to plan.

She should have just left, she told herself. What was so important that she needed to come back –one *last* time?

Hunching her shoulders, she let the moisture fall down her dirt-stained cheeks as the light around her faded. No longer did she pay attention to the merciless jeers that flew around her from the vitriolic passers-by. She didn’t even dare to look up and see whether he still stood there, waiting for her acknowledgement of his presence. Instead, lost to the whirlwind of her impending doom, she remembered how he’d loved her, passionately and secretly, just as she’d wished him to. It was only then, shaking under the new moon, tied hand and ankle in a grim Scottish village, that she realised what she should have known all along.

She loved him, wholly and completely.


The hood covered her head, sealing her mouth and filling it with the stale scent of bread and meat. Grappling, she tried to fling her neck backwards, her lungs constricting painfully as they begged for oxygen.

Rape or beatings? she thought, her eyes squeezed shut beneath the black fabric as she assessed the likelihood of each.

Whatever the outcome, she reasoned, she would not struggle. She would not scream.

It was what he wanted, what he *always* wanted.

His hands against her skin flooded her thoughts, the black, murky stains of his touch overtook everything else and Claire had to still her spine in order to stop herself from crying out.

She *would not* scream.

Strong arms pulled her from the frozen wood beneath her, gripping her tight and dragging her from the raised platform. Claire could feel the splinters piercing her skin as her feet slid across the steps.

She *would not* struggle.

Gaelic.

She was sure of it.

The dulcet tones of the foreign tongue reached her ears just as she was hauled over the back of a horse, her head dangling one side, her legs the other.

Not an English lilt, but a Scots burr that rattled through her bones, warming her insides. Settling in, Claire allowed herself to go limp, burrowing her still-covered face into the heated thighs that lay beside her.

‘Please God,’ she prayed, silently, ‘please God, I will not forsake him again.’

Chanting the same prayer over and over, she offered up everything but her soul for the chance at a clean slate, certain now she knew her true course.


The ride was hard and long, but Jamie would not rest until he was sure they weren’t being followed. Murtagh had come to his aid, deep into the evening, bringing Rupert and Angus –and a set of lockpicks– to assist him in his quest.

He would not allow her to hang.

Still clinging to the potion he’d procured from a nearby apothecary, he crossed himself in thanks as the vision of the slumped guards flashed before his eyes. Safely dealt with, Jamie and Murtagh could now access Claire without (hopefully) buying them a date with the hangman, also.

Angus had suggested keeping Claire blindfolded, certain it would be in her best interest to be unaware of the fuss springing up around her.

As the forest slipped by them, the blurs of green and brown caught Jamie’s eyes as he pushed Donas onwards, deeper and deeper into the wilderness. The further north they travelled, the less likely they were to come across any stray redcoats.

Rupert and Murtagh followed behind, circling around the rear of him as protection.

As dawn approached and the sun rose, eagerly, through the boughs, Jamie finally called them all to a stop with one hand signal.

Dismounting, he gathered Claire in his arms and carried her, as gently as he was able, into the tiny cottage, closing the door solidly behind him.


Light flooded her eyes as the hood was removed and she breathed unsullied air for the first time in hours.

“J-Jamie…” she stammered, a croaky lilt to her voice as she tried to speak clearly. “Please, Jamie, tell me it’s you.”

“Aye,” he returned.

She could hear the anger he was withholding as she finally blinked away the haze that clouded her vision and his true shape came into focus.

“Tis me, Claire.”

She heaved out a huge sigh of relief, her breath catching in her raw throat as she re-grounded herself.

“I needed to see you,” Claire began, sensing Jamie’s restless need to understand how she’d come to be trussed up on a tiny gibbet in Inverness in the company of half the British army. “I *had* to. They were waiting, rows of them lined up on the beach. I saw them standing there and thought I’d skirted around them…”

“But?” Jamie interrupted, the word distinctly flung at her in an ill-tempered manner.

“But I hadn’t. Captain Randall had me before I could even…” she stumbled, a clear rattle of fear falling from her lips as she dragged in another ragged breath, her ribs shaking beneath her torn shirt, “before I’d even managed to stand.

”Pacing now, Jamie willed himself to calm, sensing Claire’s rising distress at his furor. “I love ye, Claire Beauchamp. And ye *promised* me, ye looked me right in the eye and…”

“I know!” she cried out, the chains that still linked her wrists clinking as she brought them up towards him, a staunch reminder of her predicament. “I know, Jamie and I’m sorry…”

Claire trailed off, letting her chin fall to her chest, her greasy hair swinging around her face as she whispered lowly at the floor, “I’m sorry and I love you too, James Fraser.”

“Ye ken that we canna go back, Claire. No’ to Lallybroch. I dinna think anyone saw us take ye, but yer well known now he’s unmasked ye.”

“I know,” she returned, her voice painfully quiet.

“Have ye quashed that almighty need, Claire? I need ye to be honest wi’ me, alright?”

She nodded, the manacles clinking as she did so.

“Am I enough for ye now?”

Silence filled the room as Jamie waited. If a life at sea was what she desired he would take her back, he decided, swallowing back the anguish that thought brought to him. He wouldn’t fight her. He could still go home. But he would no longer play second fiddle to her reckless choices. 

Wind whistled through the faint gaps in the walls, its high-pitched call sending shivers down Claire’s back as she pulled her head up to meet Jamie, eye to eye.

“Y-yes…” she sighed, her knees knocking together as she tried to stand and failed. “Yes, Jamie. Please believe me.”

Relief flowed through him as his gaze softened, his heart fluttering at her words.

“Nay more running away, Claire Beauchamp?”

“No more running away, James Fraser.”

Ms. Darkness

She kissed me death
With her mercury lips.
Screaming murder
with her eyes,
under Moon lit skies.
Who knew death wore
A black satin dress.
Oh dear Ms. Darkness
Put my soul to rest.
Every word she spoke
was laced in lies.
Her touch was a peril lullaby .
She was seduction in high heels,
The temptress of despair.
Dear Ms. Darkness
Treat my soul fair.

2

Coffee Break 

From Vivi: Fall 2017 is here and we can somewhat feel it in the air here in Chicago. For this look I wanted to serve you my quintessential fall look.  I’m wearing a pair of tailored brown checked trousers, a black knit turtleneck, and a sand colored suede coat, all from H&M. The look is very urban business girl, meets dark temptress.  

Keep reading

About Killian Jones and the path he is on...

Just a friendly reminder in the face of all this Dark Hook nonsense circulating: A&E are still crafting Killian Jones’ ENTIRE ARC ON THE SHOW to perfectly fit the Hero’s Journey.

Not Villain Journey.

HERO JOURNEY.

Just take a look at the point our Captain is at in the established steps of the famous Hero’s Journey (or monomyth):

The Road of Trials

The road of trials is a series of tests that the person must undergo to begin the transformation to hero. Often the person fails one or more of these tests, which often occur in threes. 

Emma Swan inspired Killian to reject the darkness that he was living in as a villain and begin to reach for the light once more: 

  • Enchanted Forest: first meeting, willing to help her while he achieves his own goals, she betrays him, he switches back to bad side. Fails this test.
  • Storybrooke: arrives with Cora as villain, eventually aligns again with heroes. Given opportunity to escape adn save himself with a bean, starts to, has change of heart, returns to help. Passes trial.
  • Neverland: freely volunteers to sail heroes to his personal purgatory in an effort to aid Emma, upon arriving faces temptations and demons of past. Stays on path, helps them save Henry and Return. Pass.
  • Separation/New York: When cursed back to EF and away from the woman he has growing feelings for, Killian breaks free from group to cross realms and find Emma, reuniting her to her loved ones to save them all. Passedddddddd.
  • Storybrooke: Killian remains steadfastly by Emma’s side, helping to fight a Wicked Witch, even as she pushes him away. Passed.
  • Enchanted Forest: Killian follows Emma through the time portal back to the EF, and helps her to save her family and herself while asking for nothing in return. After, Emma reveals she returns his growing feelings. PASS TEST WITH FLYING COLORS.

(I’m working broadly here but you get the picture)

Which leads us to:

The Meeting with the Goddess

This is the point when the person experiences a love that has the power and significance of the all-powerful, all encompassing, unconditional love that a fortunate infant may experience with his mother. This is a very important step in the process and is often represented by the person finding the other person that he or she loves most completely.

I don’t even really need to delve into this one too much, do I? I MEAN REALLY.

Captain Swan falls in love. Everything is groovy. Lots of kissing and fuck yes.

But then the Darkness starts creeping back in. Rumple targets Emma, which after a series of dramatic events, leads to her taking in the Darkness. He works to save her. More drama. Killian faces death. Emma loves him too completely to let him go, so she “saves” him by tethering him to the one thing he’s fought to overcome his entire Hero Journey…

Hello Darkness, my old friend.

Woman as Temptress

In this step, the hero faces those temptations, often of a physical or pleasurable nature, that may lead him to abandon or stray from his quest, which does not necessarily have to be represented by a woman. Woman is a metaphor for the temptations of life, since the hero-knight was often tempted by lust from his spiritual journey.

Blah blah blah, Killian retastes Dark Power, gets hella drunk, and goes on a bender. Temptations left and right: revenge, magic, sassy quips to enemies, more revenge. He has power now and it feels real good.

And this is where we currently are on the show.

So let’s look at what is next in a Hero’s Journey and see if it fits to spoilers and such we may know, shall we?

First up:

Atonement with the Father

In this step the person must confront and be initiated by whatever holds the ultimate power in his life. In many myths and stories this is the father, or a father figure who has life and death power. This is the center point of the journey. All the previous steps have been moving into this place, all that follow will move out from it. Although this step is most frequently symbolized by an encounter with a male entity, it does not have to be a male; just someone or thing with incredible power.

So Killian is going to have to decide what he ultimately wants most in life: revenge or love? 

Ok. Cool. Much shock, definitely NO foreshadowing for that nope. 

Oh, what’s that? His ACTUAL FATHER will also be appearing in the episode this week? HOW CONVENIENT. 

*knowing look*

Now all the papa jazz leads to:

Apotheosis (Death)

When someone dies a physical death, or dies to the self to live in spirit, he moves beyond the pairs of opposites to a state of divine knowledge, love, compassion and bliss. A more mundane way of looking at this step is that it is a period of rest, peace and fulfillment before the hero begins the return.

Whoomp there it is. THE HERO MUST DIE. 

This means he will be granted *drumroll*

The Ultimate Boon

The ultimate boon is the achievement of the goal of the quest. It is what the person went on the journey to get. All the previous steps serve to prepare and purify the person for this step, since in many myths the boon is something transcendent like the elixir of life itself, or a plant that supplies immortality, or the holy grail.

Killian will destroy the darkness and save Emma. He will get his revenge and save the love of his life. He will achieve his ultimate goals. 

My personal feeling is then he will receive his “boon”, which I hope is confirmation of Emma being his True Love. (This would also kinda have a road of trials fit in the way of TLKs for them…they often come in threes and Captain Swan has two failed TLK tests. THIRD TIMES’S THE CHARM!)

So. There is is. Now given, the Hero’s Journey is wildly open to the author’s interpretation. Not all laid out steps must be used. But I just find it EXTREMELY fascinating just how perfectly our supposed Super Le Evil Captain Dark One’s story still aligns perfectly with it. 

TL;DR: KILLIAN JONES IS STILL A DAMN HERO.

Hope that maybe helped you feel a little better? Maybe? 

Two reasons why Phryne Fisher is a heroine I love so much

[Phryne playing tennis. The image will make more sense later in this post.]

I have been thinking more about Phryne Fisher and why I love her so much, and I have two more things I want to add (to my first post of why I love Phryne Fisher so much). Both concern what Phryne Fisher IS NOT – how she is something completely different to some old standard cultural patterns or models about femininity.

1) The female sexuality

One of the things that struck me first when I started to watch Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries was Phryne’s free sexuality and enjoyment of the sensual, and how she is never ever punished for it. This is a wonderful part of the show. She is never punished for it – and further, she is never even defined by it. Sex is something Phryne has, with different men and at her own pleasure, but it doesn’t decide her character or limit who she is. This matters so much, and the consistency of this must be due to the female and very conscious producers and writers behind the show and the novels.

This means that in MFMM the sexuality is not a dark source for things evil and revolting, it is not something shameful that needs to be suppressed and hidden. It is not something that is first defined as a sin and then defined as inherent in woman. To get a feeling of that at times quite insistent view, Franz von Stuck’s painting “Die Sünde” (”The Sin”, 1893) can suffice as an exemplary image. 

[Image from Wikipedia: Franz von Stuck, “Die Sünde”.  Woman depicted as the sin, with a snake around her neck.]

This model I would interpret as follows: the woman is dark and tempting, the man succumbs. The woman is a kind of blank (albeit dark and tempting) page where the man can first inscribe his pleasures, his distate of his own pleasures and his double standards, then he can love the woman as she is defined by him, and when he has had enough he can see the temptations as an inherent part of her and loathe her while he himself can move on, clean and virtuous. The woman is the body, the flesh, that which symbolizes sexuality, sin, decay and mortality, and the man can put a distance towards this by renouncing the woman.

Ok, that was probably enough ranting about that, but it is an old cultural meme (so to speak) and it is something that is so very much not in question in Miss Fisher’s universe. MFMM has an extremely healthy rendering of sexuality, not allowing it to have any of those images and connotations, but at the same time without ever turning it into something boring or too proper. It is healthy AND hot.

In MFMM, the woman is not a passive blank page for a man to inscribe his ideas about sexuality and femininity. She is a vibrant, active, self-conscious person with her own thoughts and aspirations. Sexuality is a play, but the metaphor is competely turned upside down: Sexuality is not the man playing on the woman as on an instrument; it is not a woman playing a man to tempt him into something he does not want. Instead, it is two people engaging in a play as equal playing partners. Phryne is a witty flirt, not a dark temptress. When she presents herself as sexually available, it is as an invitation to this kind of play. It is like a serve in tennis, and if the other person doesn’t want to play, he just doesn’t return the ball – no harm is done, there is no shame or deprecation, just a tennis game that could have been fun but never was to be (see image above).

2) Luxuriating in the beautiful and the sensual

The comment above I have thought about for a while, the second struck me forcefully as I today went to the cinema and watched an opera from the Met, Puccini’s “Manon Lescaut" (some months ago I also saw Massenet’s version, “Manon”). Manon is a young girl, in her teens, who is sent off by her father to a convent. On the way there, she instead captures men with her beauty, and ends up eloping with one of them. She is young and immature and in love with beautiful things, and (a bit differently in the two versions) chooses a rich man she does not love in order to enjoy being celebrated and given expensive clothes and jewelry. Of course this is a tragedy, and she dies in the end. My point here is that she is presented as a foolish girl, and her love of beautiful things is her downfall. (Her foolishness then is seen as the cause, though for me as a modern viewer, the problem is rather that she is a girl that is seen as a possession, a beautiful toy to own; that she has never had any education in how she could be an independent person; and that her only way to have any possessions at all must go through a man. The opera is interesting, beautifully sung, and very well staged, and it allows more nuances to Manon than I give it credit for here, even though this is the central characterisation, and the opera is of course a child of its time.)

[Latvian soprano Kristine Opolais as Manon, promotional picture from the Met.]

Manon might, if one concentrates on her looks in the second act when she is at her height in Puccini’s version, resemble Phryne Fisher a little on the surface. A beautiful and self-assured woman, with beautiful clothes and admirers, living a leisurely life (here is one song on Youtube where you can see her beautiful clothes). Yet she is as far from Phryne Fisher as is possible to be. Manon is completely at the will of the men in her life. She has no power, no possibility to have ideas of her own. She has in a sense been sold by her brother to her lover. As soon as she doesn’t please the man, she has nothing, and even gets sent away into exile where she dies. Phryne Fisher has the same love of beauty and beautiful things and clothes in opulent materials, but nothing in her life is lived only on the surface, in nothing is she dependent on a man, and never would she not follow her own ideas and ideals. This is wonderfully done, and the fact that she combines her own agency, intelligence, wealth, competence and humour with this part of the old female pattern of loving the sensual and beautiful I would say makes it thrice as wonderful: her competence and agency become more powerful and important because she also has some recognizable things in common with this older female pattern, but inverts everything that would speak of passivity, compliance, or loss of control.

I think this is also an important part of why I love the fact that when Jack is giving Phryne presents in season 3 (a swallow brooch, a pin), it is things that have no pecuniary value whatsoever, they only have sentimental value and value in what they are saying and representing. This is to me the fulfilment of Phryne not being Manon.

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[I hope the PirArt girls of Collingwood and all my other clever readers don’t think I messed up my art part too much in this post :-)]

2

I actually like Erza and Mirajane’s design the most (next to Levy and Gajeel’s Berserker Form)

in this witchAU, a lot of witches, wizards, sorcerers, mage, etc dont wear traditional witch/wizard hats (some do if they’re old fashioned). The hat takes in their personality like Erza’s witch hat is a helmet because her power is requipping magic (and her helmet takes diff appearance). Another reason is how she doesnt like her outside appearance and wants to come off strong…so she closes herself a lot (and I decided to keep her eye scar cz she is so badass).

Mirajane, I think of her as a very temptress hat but she started to wear dark clothing when her sister died. She somehow became happy and beautiful person but hides a lot of sadness and burden on her death of her sister.

I’ll be adding more witches (like Lisanna’s re-design as well as Gajeel) \ o /

Making God Bleed or, How Legend of Korra Nails Handling Its Main Character

We’ve all been extremely vocal for quite some time about the way Asami, Mako, Bolin, and others have been handled throughout the seasons.  However, one character who has been consistently handled nearly flawlessly has been Korra herself. Below I’ll map out and describe the processes involved in molding her, but here are three words (in order) to summarize it: event, choice, consequences. 

 “The narrator cannot escape the consequences of the story he is telling.” – Anton Chekov

Keep reading

steps

There are exactly twenty three steps between his room at Granny’s Inn and Emma’s.

Step counting is something he picked up when he was quite young, trailing slowly behind his mother and Liam as they strolled down by the river or through their village’s market stalls. It drove Liam mad, often to the point where he would stop walking all together and hold his arm out for Killian to take his hand so he could pull him along faster.

“Would you stop counting your bloody steps and just keep up, Killian!” Liam would yell and their mother would always look down disapprovingly and tell him not to use that kind of language. Sometimes he felt like Liam was larger than life, more of a father figure than an older brother, but when their mother raised her voice like that it would remind him that Liam was only a few years older than himself.

But alas, he’s getting off topic.

It’s twenty three steps to her room.

A few weeks ago it felt closer to twenty three miles, what with the Wicked Witch running about and danger lurking around practically every corner. He was never able to call on her for good news, always taking Henry for the afternoon to get him out of town (danger) or secret meetings with her parents in the den.  

Then things…changed.

It’s not that he’s surprised that they shared a kiss the night they came back to the present but he is surprised at how often it’s happened since then. Emma is quite the little minx (something he whispered in her ear one night as he pressed her up against his door, her breath hot on his neck) and she somehow manages to sneak them away from the rest of their group often.

He’s already walking a thin line with her father, who like any father is under the impression that no man is worthy of his daughter, and he certainly doesn’t think David would appreciate the way his daughter’s hand will sometimes travel up his thigh under the diner table at breakfast.

She’s alone in her room tonight. He knows this because she mentioned that Henry would be at Regina’s for the rest of the week (Regina being a sore subject that has Emma on edge most of the time) before throwing him a ridiculously sexy grin over the dinner table that had him wishing they were anywhere but her parent’s home. Her parents home that happens to house a prince and princess that share a fondness for large swords. 

The ride to Regina’s to drop off the boy feels like it takes a lifetime. The ride back to Granny’s with this woman in that red leather coat he loves so damn much takes an eternity. 

Her hands are in his hair and she’s pulling him towards her before the door to her room is even shut. There’s an urgency to her actions that he hasn’t seen before and he pulls away to take a breath, his thumb tracing lazy circles on the side of her neck.

“What’s your rush, Swan?” He asks with a grin and she returns it before hauling his mouth back down to hers. It’s a full minute before she tears her lips away to speak.

“We’ve waited long enough,” she whispers against the shell of his ear and he’s certain that this temptress will be the death of him.

They lay quietly in the dark later that night, their legs intertwined under the thin sheets and she asks him quietly if he’ll stay. He just nods as he presses a kiss to her temple because how can he ever put into words that he never wants to be anywhere that’s not her side? His room is only steps away but…

Twenty three steps away from her is twenty three steps too many.

2

Agents of Artifice: A Planeswalker Novel

In this struggle for influence and power, for the keys to magical knowledge, everything you knew about novels based on Magic: The Gathering® is changing … 

Jace Beleren is a planeswalker who has taken the path of least resistance. He is gifted and powerful, but chooses not to push himself. Part of an inter-planar consortium that deals in magical artifacts, Jace has some power and influence. He also has a certain amount of security. That’s all about to change.

When Liliana, a dark temptress with demons of her own (quite literally), comes into his life, she brings with her more possibilities, but also more problems. 

Under attack from external interests, a friend dies because of decisions Jace made. Upset with himself and fearing for his life, Jace sets out to find who is behind this new threat. What he uncovers along the way, an inter-planar chase filled with peril, will alter everything he knows.

Available in hardcover, digital, and mass market paperback.

“Emma you don’t want to do this,” Regina protests as Emma holds her heart in her palms. She knows what Emma’s going through right now. Rumple manipulated Emma the same way he manipulated her - taunting her with darkness to tempt her to dark magic. 

She doesn’t want that for Emma. Dark magic is a cruel temptress and it bring nothing but pain and misery. Rumple wants Emma’s power and she knows it but he won’t let her drag Emma down into his plans. 

Her heart aches at the thought of him putting Emma through the same hell she went through. 

“Why not?” Emma sneers, “It’ll be easy." 

"Yes,” Regina agrees, “But it won’t be worth it." 

"Power is worth everything,” Emma says coldly clearly repeating something he has told her. 

Regina shakes her head, “Is it? Is it worth losing Henry? Is it worth losing your family? Is it worth being alone living with just your regrets?" 

Emma frowns clearly faltering, "I need to control my magic Regina and he showed me how." 

"He’s showing you the wrong way,” Regina replies confidently, “He saw you were afraid and he used that to his advantage. He doesn’t care about your control. He cares about tainting you and your magic for his own gain.”

“You’re wrong!" 

"Am I?” Regina asks wincing as her heart shakes in Emma’s grasp, “Think about it Emma. Did he ever encourage your light magic?" 

Emma frowns, "No." 

"No,” Regina repeats, “Because he doesn’t believe in you. You are good Emma. You have light magic in you Emma and you can use it for wonderful things. You can control it Emma, you just need to have faith in yourself. You can be good and you can use your magic to be the person you want to be. I know you Emma and you don’t want this. Look at my heart. Look at that blackness, do you want that?" 

"No,” Emma admits quietly before adding, “There’s red in here too.”

Regina nods, “That’s Henry and that’s our family and that’s you. I worked hard to fight for that red Emma. I fight and I fight against the darkness but I keep doing it because I don’t want to sink into that blackness again. You deserve so much more than this Emma.”

“I’m one of these red spots?” Emma asks. 

“You are,” Regina replies. 

“How?" 

Regina smiles, "For so many reasons. You believe in me. You and Henry are two people who always make me believe in myself. You give me strength, courage, support and hope when I need it most. I can’t let you lose your light." 

Emma tilts her head loosening her grip on Regina’s heart as she looks deep into caramel eyes. She can feel the darkness slipping away from her as she anchors herself in Regina’s gaze. Regina’s heart beats in her hands and brings her back to reality. She can’t help but stare down at those light spots and looks back up at Regina, "Why does it hurt you so much for me to fall into darkness?" 

Regina stares back at her, "Because I love you,” she replies. It’s simple but those four words take Emma’s breath away. She walks forward and slips Regina’s heart back into her chest where it belongs. Regina takes a deep gulping breath as she stumbles back. She smiles at Emma, “Come back with me Emma." 

She offers her hand and Emma’s lip quivers, "I can’t. I’m dangerous, I’ll hurt you. You just saw it yourself Regina, I can be swayed into darkness and I cannot hurt the ones I love." 

Regina smiles at her stepping forward and placing her hands gently on Emma’s cheeks, "Look at me Emma. Focus on that love. Focus on Henry. Focus on me. Do you feel that?" 

Emma nods feeling the warmth, love, hope and joy in her heart, "I can feel that." 

Regina nods back at her as Emma’s hand clasps onto her own, "That feeling Emma is how you choose light. All you have to do is come back with me." 

Emma smiles as she holds onto Regina’s hand. She can feel the warmth and light flooding her at the loose touch and she knows why she can’t follow Rumple. She grips Regina’s hand tightly thinking of how close she came to losing someone she loves so much. This is their beginning. It’s complicated and fucked up but it all starts with one step towards the light, to what Emma truly wants. 

She holds onto Regina’s hand and they walk back into town and Emma knows which path to follow. Emma looks at Regina and smiles. Regina smiles back. It’s simple. It’s sweet and it’s all she needs to keep going. 

Rumple told her power was everything but he’s wrong, so wrong. Emma can feel it in that hand in her own, in Regina’s faith and love, in her hope in her and she knows that queen of darkness is not a title she will ever want, not when she can be Henry’s Mom and Regina’s true love. 

She squeezes Regina’s hand tightly letting that hold anchor her to the light like she knows it always will.

Hello Darklings,

In our original announcement, we stated that the show would follow three siblings who are heirs to the elite of the supernatural world. Our story focuses on their trials as they face rivals, destiny, and the worst threat of all: their father’s bizarre ideas about childrearing. Now, let’s meet these three somewhat sinister souls:

Dr. Roland Caliban, the eldest child of Professor Vincent Caliban, and heir to the family’s seat on the Council of 13. “Guided” from an early age to be a mad scientist like his father, Roland is resistant to his preordained life path and would prefer to be left to his own devices, and just commit the occasional felony.

Maila Caliban, Vincent’s middle child. For as long as anyone can remember, Maila has had one goal in life: follow in her Great Great Grandmother’s footsteps and become Vampire Witch Queen. (After Nana steps down, that is.)  She has pursued this goal to the exclusion of all else, and has nearly completed the required double doctorate in Vampirism and Witchcraft. However, she finds some of the remaining coursework extremely vexing.

Cassandra Caliban, Vincent’s youngest child. Much more carefree than her older siblings, Cassandra has decided to follow in her late mother’s footsteps and become a dark temptress. If she has other ambitions, well, that’s not really anyone else’s business, now is it? If only she could figure out why she keeps losing track of time …

What else would you like to know about as we prepare to bring Family Skeletons to you? The ask box is open, but we reserve the right to postpone answers that might be spoilers!

Until next time …

anonymous asked:

Hey there! I have a prince and a female demon. She was sent to dethrone him and get him to commit suicide, and he's the only one that can see her. After ruining his life a bit, she begins to pity him, and the two strike a companionship. Any prompts?

Hey nonny. Here’s a couple snatches of dialogue for you. 
  • “If you listen to that advisor, you’ll be at war with eleven other countries within the year.”  "Are you… helping me?“
  • "Isn’t a triple-execution kind of dark, for you?” “Sure. Says the diabolical temptress.”

Hope those help!

xx Candy