#><strong>wilderness</strong></span></a>

[megu-nya]

★·.·´ LET'S TAKE THIS BACK TO MY STUDIO `·.·★

★ ¦ ft: reo mikage :: rin itoshi :: yoichi isagi

★ ¦ tw: nsfw :: fem!reader :: cam girl!reader :: implied pro-player!rin :: kinda possessive!rin

★·.·´ REO MIKAGE `·.·★

He's always been your most genouros donator, giving you hundreds after hundreds and that every single one of your streams. It always seemed like he was somewhat obsessed with you, always being the first one to buy special pictures or videos you put up for sale, donating even more money in the next stream, telling you how pretty you looked in that lingerie.

And since he had always been like that you thought about a special gift for him — an irl meet up. So you opened your DM's and clicked on his profile, telling him the good news. It didn't even take a minute until he responded, immediately agreeing to the meet up under the condition he can buy you stuff from a lingerie and sex shop that you two will later on try out. Even though this was supposed to be a gift for him, all he could think about was spending money on you.

The day of the meet up came and for some reason you were nervous as hell, it wasn't the first time you met up with one of your followers, so why are your nerves on the edge right now?

"You are Reo, right?", you asked, approaching a purple haired man with trench coat that exactly fitted the description he gave you of himself. "Ah, y-yea, I am", he responded, cheeks taking on a rosy tint as he saw you, the dress you've been wearing sitting tight and hugging your features nicely. "Shall we?", you said, intertwining your arm with his as you two started to make your way into the mall.

"Wow, Reo! You're always spending so much one me, I can't tell you how thankful I am!", you told him as you looked through all the things he had bought you in the span of a few hours, sitting on your bed, admiring the purple lace lingerie you held in your hand, the purple haired man sitting on the bed as well, his body tense and stiff as he eyed your every movement.

"So, uhm", he began to say, breaking the silence between the two of you, swallowing hard as he felt your eyes on him. "Oh, yes! My bad", you chuckled, getting off of the bed and placing yourself in between his legs, stroking his crotch, able to feel his dick getting harder with every touch of yours. "Now let me spoil you, okay?"

★·.·´ RIN ITOSHI `·.·★

You chuckled as you could see your chat going wild, message after message getting spammed, the chat window bugging every so often. "As you can see, today, I am not alone. I brought someone who's very dear to me with me. He'll help me so you better donate even more money, it's not all day that you can see me getting fucked by an actual man", you told your viewers as you sat down on the hard on of Rin, a mewl escaping your mouth at the painful yet pleasurable stretch he gave you.

When you started dating Rin he was shocked to find out you make a living by posting porn on the Internet, but once he saw how much you actually made a month he became somewhat okay with it. As long as he's not around he didn't mind it but when you two moved together it became more and more frequently for him to be at home when you "worked". And today he wasn't okay with it at all.

"Ah, Rin!", you moaned, the chat going even wilder upon hearing you say the name of the mysterious mans dick you were bouncing on right now. In order to protect your boyfriend you placed the camera so that only everything from chest downwards could be seen of Rin, after all he was a pro player, you didn't want him to get exposed and land in the newspaper. "Just like that babe, keep saying my name", he whispered, those words only audible for you, too quiet for the microphone of the camera to be recognised.

His hands found their way onto your waist, grabbing it harshly, nails digging into your flesh, leaving marks for the next day. With his strong grib he halted your movements, making it unable for you to keep bouncing on him. In a swift movement he manhandled you to change positions, finding yourself now on all fours and Rin positioned behind you, pistoning his dick back into your tight and warm hole, picking up a merciless pace from the start.

"Rin -ah! the- the camera! They can't see my -ah! my face!", you said in between an endless string of moans, words falling onto deaf ears. "It's better like that", he grunted into your ear as he leaned over. "They shouldn't be allowed to see how pretty your fucked out face looks like, only I can", he said, punctiuating every few words with an even harsher thrust of his hips, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with every time his head hit your cervix.

★·.·´ YOICHI ISAGI `·.·★

"And the winner is...", you said, fondling in the little satin bag you were holding, grabbing onto one of the paper snippets and pulling it out, unfolding it and reading the words written on it outload. "Yo-1-Ichi! Congratulations! You have won the video call lottery!", you exclaimed, a big and bright smile adorning your face as you watched everyone in chat complaining that they didn't win the unique chance to have a video call with you.

On the other side of the screen sat Yoichi, his heart pounding heavily, cheeks and ears covered in a dark red hue. He couldn't believe what was happening right now. He had followed you since your debut, never missing any of your streams and donating as often as his ridiculously low salary would allow it. Of course he immediately applied for the Video Call Lottery once you announced it. Even if he didn't win, it was worth a shot. But now that he won, he couldn't believe his own two ears and eyes as you showed the paper with his user name into the camera to show you weren't lying.

"Well then, my dear darlings, I will go off now. See you to the next stream!", you said, turning off your camera and ending the stream, Yoichi's screen darkening, your typical "See You Soon!" header adorning it now. The blue haired male practically jumped and let his phone fall onto his bed when he felt it vibrate, a message from you popping up on his screen. With shaky hands he picked up his phone from the mattress, unlocking it and opening the DM you have sent him.

Yoichi was nervous as hell the whole time the two of you chatted, fingers trembling and shaking with every words he typed with his keyboard, often making spelling mistakes he hoped you wouldn't notice. It didn't take long for the two of you to agree on a date and time for the video call - because Yoichi wanted it now. No. He needed it now. He gulped down the knot in his throat when he picked up the call. "I'll get changed real quick!", you said, putting your phone down on your bed, screen going black.

You were quick to change into a set of dark blue lingerie, like he requested you to do, picking up the phone, laying on your bed and angling it so he could see you kept your promise. "You look stunning", he almost whispered when he saw the lace adorning your breasts, leaving little to his imagination. "Thank you", you chuckeled, a slight blush creeping onto your face. "Shall we start then?"

2023 © megu-nya — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, translate, modify or plagiarize in any form.

[chasingfictions]

yellowjackets so circular narrative so ouroboros literally we start in the worst of it we start with pit girl we start with the depths of winter we start with the height of the cult and the peak of desolation and the show and the pilot in particular is defined by telling their story — we open on the interviews trying to narrativize them from the outside, we allie , the woman on the border, who was almost there, who is on the outside but the inside too by being the first blood of the show, before pit girl’s sacrifice in the story but not in the discourse. my personal belief also is that pit girl is right before rescue. if we assume they crash in may, 19 months on from that is december. easily as snowy and desolate as the opening shot. the cult is so established there, the rituals so strong and steady, they know what they are doing. the first winter was so hard but the second winter they understand. and there are so few of them left there. so I think that pit girl is the last death of the wilderness. I think we open with the last blood and then hear the words of the first blood. we close the episode with shauna, looking at her journals. her blood spattered journals. she is trying to narrativize. the first episode is a circle that spans from before the crash, the moment of the crash, just before rescue, and years later. the first episode contains the whole of their story up to that point. and it will always open on blood. they are stuck in a circle. it will always have happened like this. we keep telling the story anyway. we keep telling the story to see if it will ever be different, and it won’t, and we tell the story because we want to see how it will be the same, again and again and again.

[nw-of-dark]

Vampire Clan: Gangrel

The Clan of the Beast, Animals, Bêtes, Outlanders, Outlaws, Wolf's-Heads, Beasts, Ferals

The Gangrel, a clan of nomads, maintain stronger connections to untamed landscapes compared to their urban-dwelling counterparts. They possess a profound affinity for the primal instincts of the Beast and excel in the art of fleshcrafting. Originally, they were among the seven clans that established the Camarilla, but as the Modern Nights unfolded, they grew disenchanted with the sect. Eventually, the Gangrel elders made the decision to sever their ties and forge a path as a predominantly independent clan.

Disciplines: Animalism, Fortitude, Protean

Bane - Bestial Features: In frenzy, these Gangrel gain one or more animal features: a physical trait, a smell, or a behavioral tic. These features last for one more night afterward, lingering like a hangover following debauchery.

Culture

The Gangrel, known for their feral and predatory nature, are considered the most solitary and unsociable among the Kindred. Preferring solitude over society, they exhibit reclusive tendencies, animalistic instincts, and a loose organizational structure. Their territorial and possessive nature is so intense that entering a Gangrel's domain without permission inevitably leads to certain death. While they are renowned as formidable warriors, convincing a Gangrel to collaborate, even with their own kind, proves to be an arduous and often impossible task.

The Clan's legends, myths, and methods of gaining prestige are predominantly passed down orally. Storytelling and the ability to captivate an audience hold significant social value, as gatherings in the wilderness offer little else besides entertaining one another with grand tales and songs. While most of these stories contain elements of truth, a satisfying and embellished narrative outweighs the importance of factual details. The Gangrel do not engage in outright deception but rather embellish the truth to appear more impressive, much like a cat fluffing its fur to appear more menacing. Honoring one's spoken word is highly esteemed, as the only barrier preventing another vampire from betraying you is their own sense of honor. This is not to say that socially inclined Gangrel cannot participate in the Jyhad. In fact, many of them derive some degree of enjoyment (or at least begrudging acceptance) from the grand masquerade of betrayal, conspiracy, and power struggles that characterizes much of Kindred existence.

The Gangrel also maintain strong ties with the Romani community and go to great lengths to protect and provide shelter for them, especially from other Kindred. However, the Ravnos claim a similar connection to the Romani, resulting in a deep-seated mutual hatred between the two clans that spans centuries.

Despite the Clan's rural nature, it may come as a surprise that even higher-generation Gangrel possess adeptness in managing modern technology such as cell phones, computers, and cutting-edge vehicles. Recognizing the importance of technological knowledge for survival in the modern nights, the Gangrel have adapted, and even the eldest among them possess the know-how to operate a microwave.

The Gangrel's emphasis on oral history and traditions, including tales of their Antediluvian progenitor, puts them at odds with the Camarilla's official stance that such ancient accounts do not exist.

[soulsuckrrs]

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Ulfred Woden Nickname(s): Ulli Age: 43-47 | true age unknown Date of Birth: April 13th Hometown: Sweden Current Location: varies & thread dependent. Species: Zlatorog (Goldhorn) Powers: from his blood Ulfred can bloom a beautiful flower that holds powerful magical healing properties, due to this he has rapid healing properties as well as super strength & senses (i.e. sight, smell, hearing). He has the magic for illusions & minor mental manipulation that comes with executing illusions. Most of his magic has to do with good fortune & healing but his true worth comes from his animal state. Gender: Genderfluid Pronouns: He/Him or They/Them Orientation: Pansexual, Panromantic & Polyamorous Religion: Pagan. Political Affiliation: n/a Occupation: Wildlife Photographer/Filmographer Living Arrangements: he has a small abode in the woods in Oregon but typically travels for work & stays wherever he is accommodated. Language(s) Spoken: Swedish, Norwegian, English, German, French, Spanish, multilingual. Can usually learn a language quickly. Accent: he does have a subtle Swedish accent. 

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Alexander Skarsgård Hair Color: blonde Eye Color: blue Height: 6’4 Weight: 172 lbs Build: strong, muscular, agile. Tattoos: none. Piercings: none. Clothing Style: comfortable & functional, he’s not the best in keeping up with styles or fashion but he knows what he likes & he wears what he wants. Typically warm colors, browns, greens, & blacks with smaller tones of color here & there. Very much looks like a man who travels in the wilderness for a living but not messily so. Distinguishing Characteristics: has several significant scars on his torso, one on the right side of his rib cage stretching six inches, another by his right ear spanning three inches & another by his clavicle only one inch long. Ulfred also has a birthmark on his left hip, it’s fairly noticeable but doesn’t particularly look like anything. 

HEALTH

Physical Ailments: none Neurological Conditions: none Allergies: none Sleeping Habits: Ulfred sleeps when he can, typically 4 to 6 hours a night or a few hours here & there when he is able to nap. Can last a little longer than normal people on less amounts of sleep. Eating Habits: He eats when he’s hungry & typically he is always hungry, Ulfred has an insatiable hunger & can eat quite a lot when he actually sits down to consume food. He is a vegetarian but has had fish before & would do so again if he needed to but typically stays away from eating animal meat. Exercise Habits: he works out regularly, whether it’s hiking or running, or some long trek required for his job, Ullie is constantly on the move. Emotional Stability: Ulfred doesn’t have a filter when it comes to his emotions, he expresses them freely without fear of consequences or how doing so might hurt someone. Sociability: he’s a bit introverted, prefers less people & certainly does not like large groups, he gets anxious while traveling usually & tries to avoid people if he can. Not that he doesn’t enjoy meeting new people, he’s just not used to the modern & human world quite yet. Body Temperature: warmer than average. Addictions: none. Drug Use: he’s not a big drug user. Had his time experimenting with them though. Alcohol Use: wine, he likes wine, but that’s about all he’s had outside of ale. Ulfred hasn’t acquired a taste for other alcohols like most would expect but he does like trying new things & would be willing to try new alcohols. 

PERSONALITY

Label: The Wanderer Positive Traits: curious, adaptable, protective, loyal, intelligent Negative Traits: stubborn, unfiltered, naive, mischievous, jealous Fears: big cats. Hobbies: spending his time in nature, taking photographs, drinking ale & tea, reading anything & everything, swimming, eating, botany, hiking & running, gardening. Habits: clicks his tongue against his teeth, huffs/scoffs when he’s thinking or lost in thought, hums absently when he’s reading or doing tasks.

FAVORITES

Weather: overcast/rainy. Color: gray, blue, gold. Music: classical Movies: he saw a movie… once. Sport: fighting, rugby. Beverage: tea, water, juice. Food: fruits, grains & salad Animal: ram, buck.

FAMILY

Father: unknown Mother: unknown Children: n/a Pet(s): n/a Financial Status: he makes enough to get what he needs in modern society.

EXTRA

Zodiac Sign: Aries MBTI: INTJ-T (the Architect) Enneagram: the Reformer Temperament: melancholic Moral Alignment: chaotic neutral Primary Vice: envy Primary Virtue: kindness Element: fire Kinks: edging, bondage, orgasm control/denial, oral & cunninglingus, fingering/handjobs, public/outdoors, hair pulling, scratching/marking/bruising/biting, roughness, passion, multiple partners, impact play, power play, choking/breath play, dirty talk (receiving), body worship, more tbd. Position: Switch, top leaning usually.

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi! I loved your post explaining all the different gifts and powers the man vampires have it really helped me understand a bit more about the characters because I haven't read the books yet I've just finished the show but the part you said about louis barely aving any gifts because lestat purposely wants to keep him as human as possible, what did you mean, why does lestat want louis to stay more human than vampire because i thought he wanted louis to embrace himself as a killer like he says in the show but in the book he tries to keep louis more human than vampire which i get like physically to overpower him but is there more oto that? Thanks :)

Hey nonny!

Glad you liked!

Yes, there IS more to it than just being stronger.

(big) BOOK SPOILERS (for The Vampire Lestat) ahead once more :)

Ok, so... in order to understand this I have to explain a bit about Lestat's state prior to IWTV first.

Lestat had been turned against his will, made quite strong, and had been literally ripped from his mortal life. He turned, more or less still reeling, first his mother Gabrielle, and then his lover Nicolas into vampires (there's more backstory in regards to all this, and Armand and Nicolas, but let's keep it relatively simple here).

Nicolas was already depressed and went mad, blaming Lestat. He later burnt himself.

Gabrielle left Paris with Lestat and went and traveled the world with him, but ultimately her wish for her life did not match with Lestat's so she left him, too. Lestat went on alone for a while, quite jaded, and also quite depressed, all the while searching for Marius, who he had heard about from Armand. Eventually the loneliness broke him down though, and he went to the earth, sleeping.

Marius ultimately came to him and raised him, and took him with himself to the island where he was caring for Those Who Must Be kept.

Telling Lestat of what he knew of the origins, and what he knew of the mysteries... and all the while insisting that Lestat could not stay, because he had not lived out a full human life-span yet. Lestat, impulsive as he always has been, goes and gives a private little violin concert to Akasha while Marius is out, more or less awakening her and she offers him her blood, and even completes the circle, but her husband, Enkil almost kills Lestat for it. Marius drags Lestat from the chamber, and hastily gets him off the island and sends him off towards the New World, but not before making him promise to "live a full human life-span"

"If you mean to survive, you must live out one complete lifetime as soon as you can. To forestall it may be to lose everything, to despair and to go into the earth again, never to rise. Or worse. . . "

and advising him to raise his fledglings as human as possible.

"But in this New World wilderness to which you're headed, this barbaric little city called New Orleans, you may enter into the world as never before. You may take up residence there as a mortal, just as you tried to do so many times in your wanderings with Gabrielle. There will be no old covens to bother you, no rogues to try to strike you down out of fear. And when you make others-and you will, out of loneliness, make others-make and keep them as human as you can. Keep them close to you as members of a family, not as members of a coven, and understand the age you live in, the decades you pass through. Understand the style of garment that adorns your body, the styles of dwellings in which you spend your leisure hours, the place in which you hunt. Understand what it means to feel the passage of time! "

And Marius extracts the promise from Lestat to NOT tell. Or else.

"If you tell even one part, " he said, "another will follow, and with every telling of the secret of Those Who Must Be Kept you increase the danger of their discovery. " "Yes, " I said. "But the legends, our origins . . . What about those children that I make? Can't I tell them- " "No. As I told you, tell part and you will end up telling all. Besides, if these fledglings are children of the Christian god, if they are poisoned as Nicolas was with the Christian notion of Original Sin and guilt, they will only be maddened and disappointed by these old tales. It will all be a horror to them that they cannot accept. Accidents, pagan gods they don't believe in, customs they cannot understand. One has to be ready for this knowledge, meager as it may be. Rather listen hard to their questions and tell them what you must to make them contented. And if you find you cannot lie to them, don't tell them anything at all. Try to make them strong as godless men today are strong. But mark my words, the old legends never. Those are mine and mine alone to tell. " "What will you do to me if I tell them? " I asked. This startled him. He lost his composure for almost a full second, and then he laughed. "You are the damnedest creature, Lestat, " he murmured. "The point is I can do anything I like to you if you tell. Surely you know that. I could crush you underfoot the way Akasha crushed the Elder. I could set you ablaze with the power of my mind. But I don't want to utter such threats. I want you to come back to me. But I will not have these secrets known. I will not have a band of immortals descend upon me again as they did in Venice. I will not be known to our kind. You must never-deliberately or accidentally-send anyone searching for Those Who Must Be Kept or for Marius. You will never utter my name to others. " "I understand, " I said.

And so Lestat comes to New Orleans, freshly powered up on Marius and Akasha's blood, with the rather strong impressions of their history and no sense whatsoever that this history has lent to their existence, and... tries to follow Marius' advice. Because he sees it as his only hope to find happiness in his existence (at that point).

Now, Lestat in the books doubts later (probably rightfully so) whether Marius would exact his revenge. But at this point that has just happened, he just met ancients, and he just doesn't know.

And he really doesn't want to risk it. Not with Louis.

And in regards to the "killer" aspect - Lestat does want Louis to be a vampire. But as a member of a family, closest to human as possible. But a vampire. A healthy vampire. He has seen / heard of what hunger does to vampires. Has seen the revenants. Has seen the mad ones of Les Innocents.

As his lover and maker with this knowledge seeing Louis starve himself, lose interest in sex, lose his mental and physical capacities to an extent must have been beyond frustrating.

And, as a last note: Lestat would have never needed to make an effort to keep Louis as human as possible to overpower him.

Because Lestat always was - book or show - much, much stronger than Louis. By sheer history, circumstance, and the very fact that he is his maker. So Lestat toning it down... does carry an immense effort on his part. He could have forced him (and Claudia) at any given moment, but chose not to. Which makes the moment he snaps in the show such a whiplash and brutal experience.

[29pageshomestuckeveryday]

Homestuck, page 3,086

==>

Author commentary: R.I.P. John Egbert. The death of John seems like a good note to end this book on and cap off roughly the first half of Act 5 Act 2. I'm guessing the next book should take us all the way through to [S] Cascade, or the End of Act 5. I sure hope it does, because having the second of two sub-acts end up spanning THREE books frankly sounds like the height of idiocy. And the LAST thing I want Homestuck to be associated with is the height of idiocy. As a closing thought, if I may remark upon the death of John here, some believed that killing off the protagonist of the story at this stage was quite a bold choice. And they were absolutely right. But it's one of those things you can only pull off if you're truly an avant garde storyteller who fearlessly defies narrative formula and all the safe choices in media. But as the loyal fans would see, it made perfect sense to kill John here. The surrounding narrative and cast are more than strong enough to stand without him. They use his memory as a motivating force to drive them to triumph, glory, personal growth, and overwhelmingly satisfying character arcs. At the end of the story, they would all look back on this moment, as would the readers, and see it as kind of an emotional turning point. A massive tone shift in the story, where it was casting off the safety of the known and charging deep into the thick underbrush of the storytelling wilderness. Every now and then we'd get a little flashback, of Rose for instance, remembering some heartfelt and uplifting advice John once gave her. It seemed so crazy to everyone that I would coldly take John out here, without ceremony or even much surrounding explanation. But in hindsight, you'll scarcely be able to find a single reader who wouldn't admit that when all was said and done, it just plain worked. Tune in next book, when we take our first cautious steps into this brave, new Johnless Homestuck. And if you feel nervous or afraid, just remember that I will be with you, holding your hand every step of the way down here in the laugh gutter. Except it won't be the laugh gutter anymore, because it's time to get serious. From now on, it will be the sobbing trough, a deep recess for our most potent feelings of melancholy and sorrow. No more jokes, no more goofs, just a bunch of stone-faced, hard-hitting shit, as Act 5 Act 2 hits a new tonal gear. I'm preparing myself as we speak. My life coach and priest have finally caught up with me, and they've brought along a brand-new friend: my exorcist. I hit the Yankee Candle store earlier and bought a few dozen wax fatties, borrowed a straightjacket from my former psychiatrist's widow, and now I'm ready for whatever happens next. Are you?

[weavercobra]

Encounters in the Jungle

A series of smaller, off screen events that happened during the last Pathfinder campaign. They take place over a span of time, so one doesn't directly follow the other.

Gnedaveeck Benyvoc, a gnome dressed in jungle gear with his smooth black hair squashed under a helmet, finished buttoning his shirt. Today was the day the expedition would officially start. Off to find lost Saventh-Yhi.

Of course, for Gnedaveeck, this was far from the start of his involvement with the whole affair. Between the accidents, the battles and the kidnapping, he had been quite busy as of late. But the gnome was not one to let anything get his mood down. Besides, he was an adventurer. People would balk at any adventurer that couldn't handle a little impromptu wilderness survival. And in Gnedaveeck's opinion, they'd be right to.

Leaving the hotel behind, he headed towards the meeting point, the sun-lit streets of the city swarming with people. The recent troubles had certainly done nothing to dampen the enthusiasm of the citizenry.

What did dampen the spring in the gnome's step however, was the sight that greeted him at the meeting point. Standing in the middle of the expedition giving out orders was a dragon and a dangerous looking one at that. Gnedaveeck had him pegged as a red one, but several things stood out as odd. The colour was far deeper in hue than was usual, the scales looked far bigger and even at a distance, a faint hint of brimstone was carried by the wind.

Yet everyone else was packing up supplies and getting stuff in order at the massive dragon's orders. Ergo, they were either supposed to be there or the dragon had assumed control and no one was objecting.

Either way, Gnedaveeck had a feeling he would know soon enough. “Hello there,” he announced, as he walked up to the ominous giant. “You're new around here, yes? I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed if you had been here earlier. I'm pretty good with faces, see.” The dragon chuckled. “Yes, I am new here,” he replied. “I am Ironhide. I have been sent to lead the expedition.” “Ironhide? Hmm, that does ring a bell.” Gnedaveeck crossed his arms. “I think HQ forgot to mention you'd be a dragon though. But where else have I heard that name?” “Does the Mystical Peacekeeping Society ring a bell?” “Right, right. That's you, then? Amazing. I've heard of your exploits in the news. People would never trust an adventurer that doesn't keep up with the news. And they'd be right to.” He nodded. “So how did you end up with this gig?” “Archaeological interest, really,” he responded. “I started looking for something and discovered a passion for the subject. Collaborated with the Pathfinders and ended up accepting a position among them.”

“Aren't the MPS also here?” “Yes, but they're supporting one of our allies here instead. I'm not here in an official capacity as a member.”

“I see. Quite fascinating.”

“By the way, I was looking for you. From the report, I gather you were essential in discovering the information on Saventh-Yhi,” Ironhide continued, before casually handing out some more instructions.

“Quite so. Though I was hardly the only one.” “What do you think we'll encounter?” “Eh, the usual,” the gnome responded. “Curses, ruins and a whole load of traps. Nothing people wouldn't expect adventurers like us to handle. And they'd be right to.”

“Yes. On a more personal note...” The dragon paused. “How was Vek last you saw him?”

“Vek? That lil' firestarter? He did great. But, ehm, how to put it? The whole ordeal did... Change him. He was way more... I dunno how to put it. I guess savage, maybe? Still nice, still polite, still cute as a button. But also more violent. Wasn't there for the whole thing, had to pick up a lot through the grapevine, but he did end up wrecking some idiots. Permanently.” Gnedaveeck nodded sombrely. “He's strong. Impressively so. But he was in a good mood when we parted.” Ironhide nodded. “That is good to hear.” “Why the interest?” “Well... He's my younger brother.” “Oh? Oh, I see.” The gnome rubbed his arm. “Right. No, don't worry. He's... Handling things. I had to have a serious talk with him, but he was managing.” “Serious talk?” “Ehm... I dunno how delicately I can put this, but... He was kinda freaked out by... How much he ended up liking... Hunting... People.” The gnome vaguely gestured with his arm. “I said that was probably normal for dragons. I'm not an expert, but... You guys can be pretty wild, you know?” “True. Well, he's returning home for the festival. I'm sure Mom and Dad will be able to help him if there's anything.” Ironhide nodded. “Alright then, thank you. For helping him. Shall we get going?” “Of course. People would expect a proper adventurer to be able to leave at a moment's notice.” “And they'd be right to?” “Why, most certainly.”

...

Julius examined his face in the mirror, letting the tip of his claw slide along the scar he had gotten. The sight filled him with a mixture of feelings. On one hand, he had gotten it from Ironhide, a subject which inherently roused the half-dragon's temper. On the other hand, he had gotten it from their newest duel. And while Julius had lost, he had pushed the dragon further than ever before. The gap between them had rapidly closed thanks to his new training. Soon, they'd be equals. And then Julius would exceed him in capability. The thought alone caused the paracount to smile, revealing his sharp teeth.

Just then, the flaps of his tent was disturbed as Harold poked his head in. “We have a guest.” Julius sighed. “Is it another dragon?” “Nope. It's Admiral Bridget.” He stared. “What in the blazes is she doing out here?” he inquired, as he got up from his stool and exited the tent.

Standing by the campfire was their visitor. She had heavily simian features, covered in light brown fur with a tail slowly swaying behind her. A cape of white hair marked her head and she was dressed in a blue uniform, a revolver by her side. Julius was aware of who she was. Her presence in the court was a well-known curiosity. One of the vanara from a mysterious island known as Monloon. His country had briefly entertained the idea of incorporating the land into their empire, but a thorough report on the vanaras' military capabilities had confirmed to all but the most stubborn warhawks that such an endeavor would have been too costly. Instead, an alliance had been struck, with several of the simian people's military personnel being attached to the army. Admiral Bridget had been one such case. Already a famed naval commander in her home, she had quickly proven to be an equal of any Chelish admiral and Her Majestrix had given her a position where she could use that.

So seeing her in the middle of the jungle was quite peculiar.

“Admiral,” Julius greeted her. “I was unaware you'd be visiting us.”

“Heard you were in the area, Julius. Involved with Sargava, of all things,” the vanara responded. “Unusual company for you.” “Not much company anymore,” Xavier remarked. “What with them being blown to bits by that phoenix.” “Indeed. Officially, this is a purely Chelish expedition now,” Julius agreed. “All finds are now solely the property of the Chelish crown.” “I see. Will do little to convince the Sargavans you didn't screw them over, but I hardly imagine you care. I, for one, don't.” She folded her arms. “What I care about, however, is this Ironhide business I heard about. You look like somebody's run you over.”

“To be fair, Ironhide wasn't looking much better,” Harold noted.

“At least he was still standing,” Wan commented.

“Yes, thank you for the observation,” Julius sharply noted. “Ironhide, in case you haven't heard, is an oversized lump of coal who has on several occasions interfered in official business. I have endeavoured to ensure that he will not be able to do so in the future.” She cocked her head, staring at him. “I see. And how do you feel that particular project is going?”

“It's advancing steadily.” “Right.” She sighed. “Julius, you're usually a very sensible man. I don't need to tell you that everything I've heard about Ironhide indicates you'll have about as much luck beating him as eating you way through a mountainside. You do realise this errand of yours is bound to get yourself hurt a lot more”

“Eh, no pain, no gain,” Lena noted. “Besides, those dragons think they can just pull all kinds of shit. It's about high time we took them down a peg, sir.”

“Right. Lena Spinello, yes?” Receiving an affirmative, Bridget continued: “You used to be assigned as a pirate hunter until you recently transferred to the Expedition because, and I quote what you wrote, you had to 'go beat the shit out of the dragon that stole your ship'.” “That's right. We even found her,” the pirate hunter affirmed.

“Well... She found us,” Lillian noted, stirring the camp's massive pot. “And then she ate you.” Lena scowled.

“To be fair, that fight was bullshit,” Wan noted. “I mean, she just covered the entire camp in fog. I couldn't see my hands, let alone anything I was supposed to shoot.” “Sounds like this operation is going splendidly,” the admiral noted, rubbing her temples. “And the dragon would be Vorelia, yes? Look, I'm currently assisting the MPS with the actual archaeology around here. And I happen to have seen her around. This place is far too dangerous and the last thing we need is everyone running around beating each other up. I don't have the authority to order you, but I would strongly suggest that you cease the personal vendettas until we're done with this city. I doubt we've dealt with the last of its dangers.” Julius' mouth became a thin line. “Do not worry, I had no intentions to pursue a second fight with Ironhide,” he noted. “We shall focus on canvassing the area and discovering more finds for now.” “Good to hear. Take care.” “Likewise.” The vanara turned around and shook her head as she walked off again.

“Well... That was unexpected,” Xavier noted. “So I take it from that she's going to shoot us if Lena runs off to try and stab her dragon?” “Most likely,” the pirate hunter grumbled. “Fine. So be it.” She poked Julius' chest. “But you promised me revenge and I now have a double-sized heaping of payback I'm gonna serve that bastard seabeast.”

“Yes, I quite understand,” the paracount noted, gently sweeping the finger aside. “You have my word that we will continue to support you in this endeavor.”

...

Night time had fallen over the jungle, cloaking it in deep shadows. Above, the cloud-less skies were a picturesque canvas of stars. A campfire gently billowed, illuminating the clearing. Harold, Lillian, Xavier and Lena were in the middle of a card game. Julius sat in his chair, thumbing through one of his books. And Wan scanned the darkness of the jungle, looking for dangers.

It was not the most exciting of jobs, but he was a sharpshooter for a reason. By far, he had the best eyesight of them all and it was only natural that he'd often be the team's lookout.

And it was a vital position, trying to differentiate between what was merely darkened shapes and what was the lurking forms of dangers unknown. It took a very specific set of skills not to miss the obvious threats, nor jump at every shadow.

Of course, even the most near-sighted bookworm would have been hard pressed to miss the series of crimson orbs currently staring at him.

Wan's rifle was in his hand in seconds, barrel aimed at the ominous shape. “We've got visitors,” he called to the others, keeping steady and not letting the observer out of sight.

The others were armed and on their feet the moment their sharpshooter had called out, each ready to face the danger. With a few large steps, Harold was next to their lookout, his big shield planted against the ground to safeguard his comrade if the unknown being charged.

“Is that how you greet old friends?” the dark shape inquired bemused.

The expeditionaries paused.

“Hey... That voice,” Xavier stated.

Branches slightly creaked, as the shape slithered down to the ground, revealing by firelight an arachnid shape, the finer details of their body lost in their black colouration. The numerous red eyes stood out, as did a notable red dot on her abdomen. But otherwise, her shape was blurry, the edges of her form wavering like gently flowing water.

Lillian paused. “Fulla?” she finally asked.

“Right, Fulla. There's the name,” Xavier said, snapping his finger. “How's it going? You're blacker than I remember.” “Yes, well, it's been a while,” the spider noted. “On that note, Julius, what did you go and do to yourself?” “I was born,” he noted dryly.

“Hang on, timeout,” Lena interjected. “Is anyone gonna tell me what the fuck is going on here, or am I just supposed to guess?” “Apologies. Lena Spinello this is Fulla. A mercenary whom we had the pleasure of working with some time ago.” He turned his attention back to her. “Though as my associate noted, you have changed.” “Got infused with the power of darkness. Was kidnapped by a rakshasa. Turned tables on his furry ass,” she explained. “Fun times. But, eh, don't care much to repeat myself. Where's Bogdan?” Immediately, an awkward silence descended over the camp.

“Oh. I see,” she noted quietly. “I am sorry to hear that.”

“It's fine,” Julius sighed. “You couldn't know.” He shook his head. “Nevermind. I don't much care to think of it. What brings you to the jungle?”

“I was following a... How to put it, a gut feeling,” she remarked. “Comes with this new body. I can sense things. And something about this place just called me.” “So you found Saventh-Yhi before us, huh?” Harold asked.

“Her and everybody bloody else,” Wan remarked, rolling his eyes. “How many people have we discovered live here now?” “Plenty.”

“I live over in the residential district. Been there for a while,” Fulla noted. “It's been nice.”

“So you've just moved in here?” Xavier asked.

“Pretty much. Haven't found what drew me in yet, but maybe with everyone here, I'll figure it out.” The group arranged themselves around the campfire, as Wan returned to watching the jungle. “I'm helping those MPS guys out right now, but I'll try to keep you all in the loop.” “Much appreciated,” Lillian noted with a grateful bow.

“No problem. Seriously, Julius, what happened to you?” “His mother banged a hermaphrodite dragon and that just kinda blew up recently like a very late onset of puberty,” Xavier explained. “It was awesome.” “I don't remember having to have my body wrapped in gauze for months being awesome,” Julius noted.

“Well, no, but the part where you spat fire was cool.”

“You're actually a half-dragon? For real?” Fulla asked. “Guess that explains why you like collecting things.” “I doubt that has anything to do with it,” Julius replied, after a moment of hesitant consideration.

“And the scars?” “Ironhide. A dragon whom I've... Clashed with on numerous occasions.” He steepled his fingers. “But I've entered a harsh training program to leverage my newly gained draconic powers. I should soon be able to best him.”

“It's a thing they've got going,” Harold noted. “Ironhide got mad because we... Kinda robbed his hoard.” “That's both very brave and very stupid,” Fulla noted.

“Yeah.” Harold went quiet. “That's also when... You know...” “I see,” she replied sombrely.

“So since then, we've been cursed,” Wan noted. “Bloody fucking dragons won't leave us alone. Ironhide constantly shows up to fuck us over or just kidnap Harold for a lark. I got shot by that tunnel-dwelling stick figure of an half-dragon elf, right before that lil' rugrat kobold ran off with my hat. And Lena here keeps getting eaten by this other dragon.” He spat. “I've had it from here to fucking Aucturn with dragons.”

“Wow. Sounds like you guys got stuck with all the bad luck,” Fulla remarked.

“I choose to see it in a less negative light,” Julius commented. “Lord Asmodeus has allowed these things to befall us for a reason. Overcoming these challenges are no doubt part of his design for us.”

“And yes, he really believes that,” Lena commented.

The paracount rolled his eyes. “We'll turn it around soon enough. Our work here discovering Saventh-Yhi is just part of it.” He paused, before admitting: “For a given value of discovering, that is.”

“And afterwards?” “We will continue to get stronger. We will overcome this.” Fulla watched him quietly. “I hope you will,” she remarked. “Anyway, it was fun catching up. I'll probably drop by again soon.” “Yeah, see you around,” Harold noted, as the shadowy spider walked off.

“Don't be a stranger,” Lillian called.

“She's strange enough as is,” Xavier remarked.

The elf paused, before she returned to the card game with the others. “That is not untrue.”

Julius kept staring into the fire, lost in thought.

“What's on your mind?” Wan asked.

“Just... Thinking about how we got here,” the paracount noted. “Before we met Ironhide, I thought I had things figured out. We'd continue digging up amazing finds, travelling the globe, earning honour and accolades. And now... Everything has been turned upside down.”

“Well, prophecy is dead. The future doesn't exist yet.” Wan sighed. “Who knows where we'll end up?” Julius peered deep into the flames, his eyes easily adjusting to the light. He thought back to the things Nashandra had said. “Who indeed,” he quietly echoed.

[doomedandstoned]

UK Rockers FROGLORD Groove on ‘Sons of Froglord’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

Since the dawn of time, Mystics have foretold the coming of the Froglord An ancient amphibian with death ray vision and ectoplasm slime...

Behold, the mighty FROGLORD has returned! We first met the Bristol bunch in these pages when they split an album with Bog Wizard, then again for our compilation, Doomed & Stoned in England, Vol. II. Now they're back with 11 new tracks, 'Sons of Froglord' (2023), each one linked to overarching plot (the saga now spanning four records):

500 years before ascension, Froglord tires of wordly trappings and so departs into the wilderness. There, the great Wizard Gonk awaits, a mighty guide through this garden. Together they seek its forbidden fruit: the Road Raisins. Once found, the flesh is consumed, giving way to visions of a coming collapse. The sound of The Amphibian can be heard, calling to the sage, and the Froglady's embrace guides him back to earth. Returning to the world on a Wednesday, he knows he must hold on till the lord cometh. Till that time, the mind must be honed and create a swamp of its own.

The content really delivers on the storyline, too. "Wizard Gonk" is a riff-driven romp with foot-shuffling stride and deadpan, shoegazy vocals on the order of Depeche Mode. "Garden" is a dank one for sure, donning bluesy guitar, strident rhythm, and a fist-raising chorus. "Road Raisin" couples humid Kyuss guitar tone with an easy-going desert rock tempo and mysterious, doomy vox. Speaking of singing, "Collapse" features grisly pipes that remind me of Neal Fallon's early work. Many tokes will be taken, surely, early on in this album.

It's not all an anuran fantasy, however. "Wednesday" is an ultra cool rocker a la Velvet Revolver about riding through the midweek blues. And the album closes with a nod to the CCR classic, "Born On The Bayou," giving it the Froglord treatment with gutsy drumming, smooooooth bass work, stinging guitar, and crooning that tells us we're deep into marsh country now and there ain't no returning.

Sons of Froglord is an up-beat romp through the swamp, ideal for baking on your favorite lilly pad. Look for the Froglord's latest release on Friday, July 7th (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist with Deep Purple, Clutch, Merlin, Geezer, and Forming The Void.

Give ear...

FROGLORD - Sons of Froglord

SOME BUZZ

During the pandemic as a one-man project, Froglord released their first EP in 2020, followed soon after by a full-length album 'Amphibian Ascending.' Through their infectious grooves, storytelling, and DIY music videos, Froglord quickly amassed an online cult-like following. After the release of their second album 'The Mystic Toad' a year later, Froglord developed into a full 4-piece band as live venues began to reopen.

Since then, Froglord have released a further EP, split record, a single, and two more full-length albums: 'Army of Frogs' and 'Sons of Froglord.' During this time, Froglord has quickly gained a reputation for their commanding and theatrical stage performances.

Photo by April Marie

Whilst Froglord's sound leans primarily toward stoner doom, they have been characterised for their genre-bending sound, with each album taking on it's own distinct style, taking strong influences from psychedelia, prog, sludge, grunge, groove and blues to deliver the tale of The Froglord through a concept-based discography.

Rooted also in environmentalism, Froglord has worked closely with Save The Frogs, the world's largest amphibian-based conservation charity, raising over £2500 through 'Save The Frogs' EP sales and campaigning, as well as £300 for the Human Dignity Trust through merch sales.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[funkymbtifiction]

Here to ask about the potential type of another random person (as based on his description in an article)—specifically, June Huh, who recently won the Fields Medal. Through the article, I was first thinking ISFP, but toward the end I was re-directed to INTP. Some elements also give me pretty strong sp/so 9 impressions.

Article link: https://www.quantamagazine.org/june-huh-high-school-dropout-wins-the-fields-medal-20220705/

-He likes to go on long walks in the wilderness, "get lost," and is good at spotting and identifying animals.

-Does ~3 hrs of focused work per day, then is exhausted, because "doing something that's valuable... takes away a lot of your energy" (introvert, intuitive, 9?)

-"Doesn’t usually have much control over what he decides to focus on in those three hours" which means there's long spans of time where he doesn't do any "real work."

-Forcing himself to do things when he's not in the mood to (even things he usually likes) "never works." Thinks that intention and willpower are thus overrated and that you rarely achieve anything with them.

-Hated school because he found it impossible to focus/absorb information in the classroom; read voraciously instead, explored a local mountain (but still managed to get lost after becoming very familiar with it.) Used to hate math workbooks and would copy the solutions from the back.

-Dropped out of high school to become a poet, but never finished his work because he found writing "too focused on the self"/painful/depressing. Said he could "physically cry after listening to good music." Now prefers the loss of self in mathematics (searching for objective truths in the universe.) Also enjoys the suspense of trying to discover things no one has before. (Enjoying loss of self is what made me lose Fi-dom as a possibility. Now sounds more NTP.)

-"Almost all of my days are exactly the same... I have a very high tolerance for repetition." Learned to cook a simple pasta dish by doing it the same way for six months; never learned to cook anything else. (Si somewhere)

-Doesn't like quiet places, they make him sleepy (9?)

-"He needed a blanket. But when he looked up how to get to the local mall, he found it too logistically difficult... Instead, he walked to a nearby CVS drugstore, bought 10 squares of fabric and a giant stapler, and stapled the squares together to make a blanket... He lived off frozen pizza for months at a time because he didn’t want to deal with getting groceries and cooking. He just wanted to do math." He only really spoke with another person once a week during this time (his advisor.) (Withdrawn type)

-After getting married and having children, learned to do basic logistical tasks better (even though he still dislikes them.) His wife says of their relationship: "I'm a real worker, he's a thinker."

-Usually doesn't have "eureka" moments when he's discovered something new; rather, realizes he didn't know something before, and now he does. Discoveries feel subconscious. (Intuitive of some kind?)

Yup, that's an sp/so 9w1 INTP.

[jessread-s]

✩🍼🌴Review:

“Babymoon or Bust” is a romance reader’s paradise!

After a wild night with a handsome mountain man leaves Tessie Truelove pregnant, she vows to raise the baby all by herself. But when Solomon Wilder, her brooding baby daddy, crashes her carefully planned babymoon determined to be a constant in his child’s life, Tessie has no choice but to strike up a deal: spend three days together to figure out how to co-parent their son. Three days turn into a week and suddenly Tessie begins to wonder if she has found what she has spent her entire life avoiding—true love. 

This. Book. Is. Everything. I’ve never devoured something so fast. It isn’t easy to execute the unexpected pregnancy trope well partly because it is very formulaic and typically follows the same plot. I LOVED Hunter’s take on it because she zeroes in on Tessie’s babymoon, which I haven’t seen done before. “Babymoon or Bust” is also dual pov and I loved being able to see how Tessie and Soloman’s feelings for each other grow across the span of the three days that they spend together. 

Additionally, I thought that both Tessie and Solomon’s respective internal conflicts added complexity to their characters. Tessie’s emotional wall derives from years of heartbreak. Solomon feels an immense amount of guilt over the death of his first wife. I appreciated that both characters independently worked through their issues while still supporting and uplifting each other.

If you love the “there’s only one bed” trope, steamy moments of intimacy, overprotective grumps, and strong, independent FMCs then I could not recommend this book enough!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[mediaevalmusereads]

Wuthering Heights. By Emily Bronte. Dover Thrift Editions, 1996 (originally published 1847).

Rating: 4.5/5 stars

Genre: literary fiction, 19th century English literature

Part of a Series? No

Summary: Considered lurid and shocking by mid-19th-century standards, Wuthering Heights was initially thought to be such a publishing risk that its author, Emily Brontë, was asked to pay some of the publication costs. A somber tale of consuming passions and vengeance played out against the lonely moors of northern England, the book proved to be one of the most enduring classics of English literature.

The turbulent and tempestuous love story of Cathy and Heathcliff spans two generations — from the time Heathcliff, a strange, coarse young boy, is brought to live on the Earnshaws' windswept estate, through Cathy's marriage to Edgar Linton and Heathcliff's plans for revenge, to Cathy's death years later and the eventual union of the surviving Earnshaw and Linton heirs.

***Full review below***

Content Warnings: domestic violence/abuse, animal torture/death, misogynistic language, incest

Overview: I first read this book... oh... more than 15 years ago, so I decided it was time for a re-read. It’s hard to rate “a classic,” but there really is something special about the Bronte sisters, including Emily. I love the way she crafts a dark, twisted narrative, using the remote setting of the Yorkshire moors to bring out the “apartness” of characters I love to hate (yet also pity). While 19th century prose might not be for everyone, this is definitely a book to check out if you’re someone who can’t look away from unhealthy relationships, unlikeable protagonists, and decades-long obsession with revenge, and I can’t praise the author enough for doing so with such mastery.

Writing: Bronte’s prose is extremely evocative, utilizing the atmosphere of the wilderness and the forceful, dramatic declarations in the dialogue to make this book feel almost wild and untamed. I adored the descriptions of the settings, from Wuthering Heights (the home of the Earnshaw family) to the surrounding wilderness to the haven-like bubble around Thrushcross Grange (the home of the Linton family). I also very much enjoyed the way Bronte evoked certain regionalisms in her characters’ speech as well as the tiny details that made a scene feel... not quite right. Combined, all of these things came together to produce a novel with a stunning sense of place - albeit a place away from the balls and tea rooms of your typical Victorian upper-class society.

Plot: The plot of this novel can be broken into two parts; the first follows Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw from childhood to marriage, as they grow up together and eventually part, only to reunite years later. The second part follows Catherine’s daughter, Cathy, as she is tormented by Heathcliff as well as her cousins Hareton and Linton. Both parts are told from the perspective of Nelly Dean, a servant who has worked for the family since her childhood, and Mr. Lockwood, a tenant who rents out the property of Thrushcross Grange from Heathcliff.

Part one was perhaps the most entrancing for me because of the strong connection between Catherine and Heathcliff. Bronte describes Heathcliff as being brought to Wuthering Heights as an orphan child, and from the outset, everyone takes a disliking to him except for Catherine. As a result, the two form a relationship that is almost obsessive, and by no means serves as an example of a healthy, romantic tale. What made this compelling was not just the heightened emotion around the relationship, but the complex feelings it evokes in the reader. As I was reading, I found myself sometimes pitying Heathcliff, but then he would do something completely unforgiveable, which made me contemplate things like cycles of violence, nature vs nurture, and the like. Being so remote, the characters have little chance to experience the wider world, so these questions become even more interesting the more variables are eliminated.

Part two was likewise entrancing, though personally, I missed the relationship between Heathcliff and Catherine. Part two does follow Catherine’s daughter, however, and continues to put Heathcliff’s obsession on full display, further prompting me to think about generational trauma and cycles of violence. Because Cathy is a little more likable than her mother, her plight evokes a little more sympathy, and I felt distressed whenever Heathcliff would do something horrid to her. I did read the ending as somewhat bittersweet; though there is a promise of hope and escape, I had a hard time getting on board with Cathy’s relationship with Hareton, especially after how they treated one another.

Characters: The most famous characters in this book are Heathcliff and Catherine Earnshaw, though Catherine only appears in part one. Heathcliff is extremely compelling as an unlikeable character; it’s easy to waffle back and forth on whether he should be pitied, though I 100% disagree with any assessment that positions him as a romantic hero. I liked that Heathcliff was presented as simultaneously tormenter and tormented, and his antics were so wild that it was difficult to anticipate what he’d do next. Of course, none of this means his actions are good, per se - some readers might have a lot of problems with his physical abuse, but I’d argue that Bronte doesn’t glorify it in the slightest. Instead, she asks us to contemplate how Heathcliff came to be, though she never settles on a definite answer (much to my delight).

Catherine Earnshaw is likewise deeply flawed, and I loved watching her antics with an almost perverse enjoyment. From a young age, Catherine is a terror to everyone around her, acting selfishly yet is charming enough to ensnare the affections of both Heathcliff and Edgar Linton. I liked the way Bronte walked the line between making Catherine utterly unbearable and utterly captivating; though there were many times where I wanted to see Catherine reaps what she sowed, she never did anything as extreme as Heathcliff (re: violence, abuse, etc), which meant that I always wanted to see what she would do next and how the people around her would react.

Cathy, Catherine’s daughter, is a little calmer and more kind-hearted than her mother. I enjoyed the balance of passion and compassion in her character, and I found it admirable that Cathy would go to such lengths to care for people she loved. This is not to say Cathy is a saint; there are definitely moments in which she does the wrong thing and creates problems because she does not check her passions, but I found her story more interesting than if she had been a perfect angel, and her character was another useful tool for examining questions like whether evil in people is inherent or created through circumstance.

Supporting characters were varied and well-realized, and most of them were memorable in their own way. Nelly, our narrator, was a good storyteller, and I liked that she had a personality of her own, interjecting her own thoughts and feelings while also talking back to her employers, rather than just serving as a kind of faceless mouthpiece for Bronte. Hareton, Cathy’s older cousin, is interesting for his genuine devotion to Heathcliff, despite the fact that he was essentially robbed of his birthright and was mistreated by everyone around him. Linton, Cathy’s younger, sickly cousin, is both infuriating and pitiable in that he never really had a chance to become anything other than a sad, scared boy, and I thought he was yet another interesting example of the dialogue between nature and nurture in the book. The only character I feel like I can’t comment on fully is Joseph, the servant with the thick Yorkshire accent. To be honest, I had some trouble reading and understanding his lines, though I did get the sense that his zealous Christianity was hypocritical, since he hated just about everyone else. Perhaps he’s also some kind of commentary, but I didn’t grow accustomed to his dialect.

TL;DR: Wuthering Heights is a tale about how “evil” is made, yet does so without really offering any definitive answers. Featuring a cast of deeply flawed characters and a setting that evokes a sense of remoteness and wildness, this book is sure to prompt readers to reflect on things like class, nature vs nurture, obsession, and cycles of violence while also thrilling them with dramatic narrative twists and memorable declarations of love and hate.

[criterioncollectionashaiku]

Godard le Fou

The apocryphal version of this story goes like this: It was 2012, I was heartbroken, and I suddenly found myself with a lot of spare time on my hands. To distract myself from the break-up, I dove into movies. Not just any movies, but the Criterion Collection in particular. The first Criterion I watched after the break-up was Jean-Luc Godard’s 1965 doomed romance/road movie, Pierrot le fou. I immediately fell in love, both with the film and with Criterion. And unlike the relationship with my ex, this one has continued to flourish.

All of the above is more or less true, except for two big exceptions: One, I actually watched Pierrot le fou before the break-up, and two, while my love of Criterion has held strong these past 10 years, my affection for Godard has waned. That’s why when I woke up today to the news that Godard had died at the age of 91, I was sad but not heartbroken.

As with most people, my first experience with Godard was in college. A roommate suggested we watch Breathless, Godard’s 1960 debut film that basically rewrote the rulebook when it came to moviemaking. I have only the haziest memory of specific scenes and shots. Mostly I think I was unimpressed — or, more accurately, I was too ignorant to really understand why what I was seeing was so groundbreaking.

Fast forward another eight or so years to 2012. I had been hearing more and more about this Godard fellow, and I was also starting to get into the Criterion Collection, a boutique home-movie distribution company that focuses largely on arthouse/world cinema. If the average movie-goer is more interested in Hollywood summer blockbusters, the average Criterion aficionado is your run-of-the-mill film school student, for better or for worse.

The thing is, I never went to film school. I never even took a film appreciation class in college. For a long time I was one of those average movie-goers. My idea of movies was limited to American-made films in English, more or less from the ‘90s on. Sure, I had seen a handful of those black and white movies that were supposedly classics, but those never really interested me. (With the exception of Billy Wilder’s 1959 comedy Some Like It Hot — that one I enjoyed a lot the first time I saw it.)

But by 2012 my tastes were subtly changing. I was shifting from Kevin Smith to Wim Wenders, from David Fincher to Andrei Tarkovsky. And one of the biggest directors to help me make that transition was Jean-Luc Godard.

The first time I watched Pierrot le fou was on my computer over the span of two days. It was on YouTube, broken up into something like eight ~12 minute segments. Those breaks didn’t match any kind of narrative structure in the movie, it was more like: 12 minutes have passed, so it’s time to end that segment and start a new one. In hindsight, it was a very Godard way of watching a Godard movie.

Also, I lied: I first watched Pierrot le fou in late 2011, not 2012. (The apocryphal version has already started to replace reality.) I saw half the movie at night and the remaining part of the movie the following afternoon. The two things I remember most from that viewing experience were: One, near the beginning, there’s a party sequence where Pierrot (Jean-Paul Belmondo) is standing with his back against the wall. To his right is a young woman and to his left is the American director Samuel Fuller. The three of them have a conversation, and in the middle of their conversation — for no apparent reason other than that it’s incredibly jarring — the color of the film changes. It goes from having natural tones to being bathed in red. Or a light green. These are more than mere flashes, as they stick around just long enough for you to think, Why is this happening? 

The second thing I remember is closer to the end of the film. There’s a short scene that takes place in a bowling alley. I can’t remember now if it’s Pierrot or if it’s Marianne (Anna Karina), but one of them rolls a bowling ball down the lane and the camera tracks back diagonally as it follows the bowling ball’s trajectory. Then, without cutting, we see the ball return on its track and the camera dollies forward to mirror the ball’s motion. It’s a simple effect that blew me away.

Still, by the end of the movie I was left more confused than entertained. I didn’t get what all the fuss was about. So I kept thinking about it. It’s true that the further into the movie I got the easier it was to watch — you grow accustomed to Godard’s film grammar, which is often as disorienting as reading Faulkner for the first time. And I did like it. There were some really great lines of dialogue, some fun scenes. I think I understood the plot, more or less.

It was this process of going over the movie in my head that made me want to give it another try. So maybe a week later — maybe even less — I sat down and rewatched Pierrot le fou, this time in one chunk instead of two. That combined with knowing what I was getting myself into made the second viewing a completely different experience. I appreciated how playful and downright weird Godard’s choices were sometimes. I found myself paying more attention to the dialogue and how it foreshadowed Pierrot and Marianne’s doomed romance.

I walked away loving the movie. From there I went on to see many of Godard’s other films from the ‘60s, including Vivre sa vie (1962), Weekend (1967), A Woman Is a Woman (1961), Contempt (1963), and Masculin féminin (1966). And while I enjoyed elements of each of those movies, they never grabbed me the same way as Pierrot le fou. I think it’s very likely that your first Godard is going to be your favorite Godard, if only because, like a magician, his tricks don’t have quite the same impact the second, third, or fourth time you see them. He finds new ways of remixing, but at the end of the day it’s still the same song.

I think this largely explains why, in the past 10 years or so, I’ve grown a little less enamored with Godard. The thrill and disorientation that comes from his stylistic choices largely lacks any real purpose other than to shock or provoke. And while many other filmmakers try their best to create that suspension of disbelief, to strive for verisimilitude, Godard is so confident/arrogant/self-obsessed that he doesn’t even try. Now, sure, that’s exhilarating in its own way, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as a viewer — at least for me. Because it isn’t hard to remind the audience that they’re watching a movie. The harder trick is to succeed in making them forget.

Around the same time Godard was making movies in France as part of the French New Wave, Japanese filmmakers like Seijun Suzuki, Hiroshi Teshigahara, and Masahiro Shinoda were part of the Japanese New Wave. Both film movements are notable for their unique use of visuals (be it shots or compositions), music/sound, and overall chaos/meta-ness. At the end of the day I’d take a Suzuki over a Truffaut, a Teshigahara over a Rohmer, a Shinoda over a Godard. Japanese New Wave feels fresher, more fun, and more entertaining than the French New Wave, which, maybe just because it’s French, has always felt more pretentious to me.

I don’t mean to shit all over Godard now that he’s gone. To be fair, he’s been vastly, hugely, astronomically influential in the world of film. I doubt there’s a single filmmaker from the ‘70s onward who wasn’t influenced in some way by Godard. His cultural reach is staggering. I just happen to think that more modern filmmakers have taken his tricks and improved upon them. One example that comes to mind: The silent ballet sequence near the end of Charlie Kaufman’s I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020). It’s a weird moment that totally takes you out of the film. It’s very different stylistically than anything we have seen before. It lasts maybe a little longer than it should. All of these feel like Godard-esque trademarks, but Kaufman uses them to tell the story in a different way, to enhance the plot rather than detract from it. In short, there’s a purpose and reason behind the choice, and that’s what I think separates it from some of Godard’s flashy shocks.

Still, if it weren’t for Pierrot le fou, I don’t know if I would’ve gone in so deep with Criterion. And if I hadn’t gotten into Criterion, then I would probably have a much narrower scope of film knowledge and appreciation. There are so many amazing movies I’ve seen in the past 10 years all because Godard opened a door to an entirely new world of cinema. It’s a bit like going from a tricycle to a bicycle with training wheels to then riding a bike all on your own — at a certain point you no longer need the training wheels, even if they were an integral part of how you got to where you are now.

There is a fun coda to this story: In May 2016, I went to a screening of Pierrot le fou at the Museum of the Moving Image. Anna Karina was there in person, and she gave an interview on stage after the film. This was a few years before she died. (Somehow — I’m still not sure how — Godard outlived everyone.) I didn’t go to this screening alone — I took my then girlfriend, now wife. Thus, the film that marked the end of one relationship (at least apocryphally) also marked the start of another.

[yoomiii123]

Recollections - Chapter 4

Recollections is a collection of interconnected OneShots that span Jasper's life with Alice. They are in the same continuity, but can be read as stand-alones.

You can also find this fanfiction AO3 or FF.net.

Summary: After their first meeting, Alice and Jasper leave Philadelphia and move north, deep into the snowy planes of the Canadian wilderness. Unsure about what to make of the strange companion he found himself with, Jasper is determined to learn more about her. An unexpected conversation about Alice's past then leads to a first turn for the pair [aka the first time Jasper initiated touch].

Timeline for this chapter: This takes place a few days after Alice and Jasper's first meeting, in 1948, pre-twilight.

Word Count for this chapter: 2'895

Trigger Warnings: none

Rating: PG

--------

October 31, 1948 - Fort George, QC.

Alice and I had run tirelessly during the night. She wasn’t able to match my top speed with her short legs, but we still made good progress, passing through New York, Vermont, and Maine under the cover of darkness before eventually crossing into Canada just before twilight. She was determined to head farther north. Away from humans, where I could try this whole animal blood thing without temptation. And I couldn’t find a reason to object.

Running felt strange at first. I hadn’t travelled far during the last years, never having a particular destination in mind. Thirst and death were the same everywhere, burning my throat and mangling my brain. There was no point in running away or towards anything.

Alice, however, knew exactly where she was going. She hadn’t shared it with me but then, I hadn’t asked. I wondered if she’d planned this. If she’d seen all of this. The diner, our meeting, the wolf. Did she know I would agree to go along? Had she picked out exactly where she would lead me years ago, when I hadn’t even considered that leaving the war was a possibility yet?

The thought of just how easy it would be for her to lead me into a trap chased a shiver down my back. I stopped myself from turning my head towards her. Instead, I concentrated on my gift for a moment.

The ball of emotions swirling around us hit me like the stuffy diner air. Filled with endless different scents, overwhelming at first. I hadn’t cared much about it before but ever since meeting Alice 51 hours ago, I regretted having neglected my talent. I missed the preciseness with which I was able to determine the smallest changes in Maria’s emotional compass, the ease with which I had been able to soothe our newborns and encourage in-fighting among our opponents.

The emotional dexterity I possessed back then would have come in handy now. But despite my best efforts, I couldn’t detangle my emotions from hers nor get a strong enough grip on a single one of the sentiments to test them. I had to rely on her lack of hostility and my fighting skills to assume that she was not a threat for me. Her height and delicate build helped with that as well. Even though I no longer doubted that she could reach my neck if she wanted to.

There was a good amount of spring in her steps, and I suspected that she would feel very comfortable lunging at me. But her stride wasn’t aggressive. This was not her demonstrating how powerful she was. This was her trying to keep up with me while at the same time almost exploding from joy. A joy that made it almost impossible to think rationally for more than a few seconds.

I had to work on shielding myself from her influence if I truly were to stay with her.

xxxx

The air grew colder and the blanket of snow thicker the farther north we got. When Alice finally slowed down, the cold mass reached well over my knee, soaking the fabric of my trousers.

“We’re here,” she announced, pointing towards the clifftop in the distance. Night had fallen again, and it took me a moment to discern a geometric shape between the trees. A cabin, well-hidden underneath a thick layer of snow. Shut off from humanity by the forces of winter, probably lacking all amenities. But we didn’t need them anyway.  

I followed a few feet behind her, suppressing an eye roll at how her bag scraped across the snow as she approached the wooden build. She had stubbornly turned down all my offers to carry it. I had no idea why.

When I finally entered the cabin, after doing my best to leave most of the snow and ice that had set on my clothes and in my hair outside, she was rummaging through its contents and eventually produced a candle and a box of matches. It was unnecessary, vampires could see in the dark. But Alice apparently didn’t care.

It took my eyes a second to adjust to the sudden flare of light. The candle threw shadows on the walls and made the small ice crystals in her hair sparkle, bathing her face in a warm glow that perfectly reflected her vibrant joy. 

Even a monster like me could appreciate the stunning picture the flame painted.

I let my eyes wander through the room. A thin layer of dust covered everything, a nod to the fact that its owners probably hadn’t been here for a while. There was a chimney to our right, facing it stood a solitary rocking chair. I was naturally drawn to it. For a flash, the piece of furniture no longer gathered dust in an abandoned cabin in the middle of the Canadian wilderness but stood on a big veranda instead. The familiar heat of the Texan sun was burning down on my shoulders. Home, I recalled. There was a chair just like it in front of the house I’d grown up in.

Alice placed herself in my line of sight, quickly returning me to reality and dissipating the memory. She was holding another neatly folded stack of clothing. Male clothing.

“You should change. I was hoping to get a fire going and you’ll drip—”

“No fire,” I interrupted her. It was rude, I knew. But I was already putting too much trust into her based on nothing but my currently very unreliable gift. I couldn’t allow her to start a fire too.

Disappointment nagged at me. Hers, not mine. However, Alice didn’t object. “Fine. You should still change.”

She placed the pile of garments into my arms and turned back to her bag. I hesitated for a moment before leaving her to it and searching the back of the cabin for some privacy. There was a small storage room filled with firewood, two bedrooms and a sparsely equipped bathroom. I chose the latter since it was the only one whose door would reliably close. 

Changing into new clothes already felt like a waste and I promised myself not to let Alice get her hands on the discarded pile like she had previously. They were barely worn and still more or less clean. Definitely not ready for the trash can. 

I had just finished buttoning up the earth-toned cotton shirt when I caught a glimpse of myself in the slightly distorted mirror on the wall. It was strange to see my hair soft like that again; no knots, leaves or dirt left. Just a few stray ice crystals. But the honey-blond locks weren’t my primary interest.

My eyes were still red. And I was simultaneously relieved—and slightly disappointed?

The liquid gold of her eyes had been one of the first things I noticed about Alice. They felt natural on her, perfectly fitting in with the warm personality and soft glow of happiness she carried around so effortlessly. They wouldn’t suit me, I had no doubt about that. And still, there was a part of me that craved them. That longed for the peaceful ease that surrounded the golden-eyed rendition of myself I had seen in her drawing.

“It’s going to take a while for them to change.” 

I turned around to find Alice in the door that apparently wasn’t as reliable as I had thought. Who could blame it? The wood was old, warped by the harsh changing of seasons up here.

“How long?” I asked.

“A few months, I think. There’s a lot of factors but I’ve had some visions of you with golden eyes in spring.”

I tried my best to hide my bewilderment, knowing very well that she had probably felt it at the same time I did. But there was still a chance, she hadn’t noticed.

Alice blinked, then held out her hand towards me. A comb rested on her alabaster palm. “I wanted to bring you this. After all, we don’t want my work to go to waste. Even though I enjoyed it.”

I took it hesitantly, ducking my head. “Thank you.”

Her smile grew wider. “You’re welcome, Jasper.” And with these words, she turned around and left me.

Confused, I followed her with my eyes until she disappeared behind the corner. And when I turned back to the mirror, the pile of worn clothes, I had placed on the dresser beside it, was gone. 

Damn, I really need to get myself together. I was already missing her movements even though she had just talked about starting a fire a few minutes earlier. That was unacceptable.

xxxx

Alice had complied with my request—more or less, at least. There was no fire burning in the chimney when I returned to the main room. However, there were candles everywhere, painting the interior in a warm golden shine, occasionally flickering when a gust of wind found its way through the old wooden front. Alice was sitting on a chair behind the dining table, sketching eagerly on the paper in front of her. Shapes and faces. The Cullens again, I guessed.

I waited for a moment, silently watching her work, but eventually crossed the room and sat down in the rocking chair when she didn’t react to my presence. From here, I could see that her eyes were half-shut and her face was motionless like a porcelain doll’s. 

The emotions that filled the room, however, were constantly changing. I felt comparably calm, the dulling remnants of my kill weighing on my already lethargic brain. It had to be her. Was this what it was like when she was having a vision?

I tried to recall the few instances in which her talent had shown earlier. They had just been short flashes, coming out of nowhere and disappearing before I could pick up on any emotional fluctuations. 

This was different, but a good kind of different. She was distracted, so into whatever she was doing, that she seemed even less threatening. And this meant that I could allow myself to focus on something else for a moment. 

I didn’t take my eyes off her yet but shifted most of my attention back to the ever-changing emotional climate in the room. If there ever existed a perfect exercise for recognizing and separating different sentiments, this was it. And I was in dire need of some training.

xxxx

The constant scratching of her pen on paper, accompanied by the smell of worn wood and burning candles became the backdrop of my next days. And as the hours flew by, my initial doubts about her posing a threat dissipated and eventually completely vanished. I still had no idea what to make of her and the intense emotions she was exhibiting whenever her eyes rested on me, but at least she wasn’t dangerous. I felt comfortable enough to leave it at that. For now.

Alice brought me outside to hunt twice. The first endeavour ended with me spitting out more hair and blood than actually made it down my throat. She was still proud. And her unstoppable sense of accomplishment transferred to me, strong enough to make me agree to the second trip. It was a disaster as well. And the foul stench just wouldn’t disappear, even hours later, when we were back at the cabin.

I let myself sink into the rocking chair, swallowing dryly for what felt like the hundredth time. It didn’t help. I could smell it every time I opened my mouth. And I needed to open it if I ever wanted to stop the endless stream of Cullen tales she was reciting as if she was holding a Sunday mass.

“When Edward returned–”

“Alice,” I interrupted her. 

She looked up without stopping to rummage through the stack of papers on the table. 

“Hearing about how easily these people I don’t—” care about. I stopped myself and quickly reconsidered my words, “—know about, adapted isn’t helping.” 

I had been too slow, but the frown on her face was nothing more than a flash. It seemed to be almost impossible to darken her sunny composure for long. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you something else instead,” she apologised and pulled a paper from the pile. “Oh, I know! So, do you remember how I told you about the house Esme has been restoring? It’s finished now and buyers are coming to look at it. She’s so excited! Rosalie agreed to show them around and…”

My thoughts scattered as the familiar sound of scraping pencil lead and her voice filled the room. However, they didn’t wander too far, still revolving around her small head and enormous heart, when it suddenly occurred to me that due to her tales, I now knew more about a group of random golden-eyed vampires somewhere on the West-Coast than the peculiar companion I had found myself with. 

“Tell me about yourself,” I interrupted her mid-flow again. 

Her hand froze and an eerie silence suddenly filled the cabin. I shivered—not at the temperature, but at the shadows which were suddenly growing longer, throwing distorted shapes onto the walls. The room seemed to expand, the chimney and Alice getting farther and farther away every second as the floor beneath my feet darkened. The wind picked up and— 

Fear.

I gasped, pulling myself behind the small emotional shield I had started to build. It was tiny, not strong enough to keep her feelings from influencing me or from me affecting her. But at least solid enough to help me determine that this was not me. She was the one being anxious. And my question had caused her to be this way.

Alice composed herself quickly as she noticed me staring at her and lowered her eyes to the paper. She tried to play it off, a fake smile on her lips. But I could still feel the fear seething just beneath her skin. 

“W-why?” she asked. “Believe me, the way Rosalie told that poor man off for having the audacity to comment on Esme’s design is much more entertaining than—”

“You seem to know everything about me. It’s only fair for you to share something about yourself as well.”

She halted again as the fear crept back in. It didn’t come as a tidal wave like before. More like a slow drizzle, emanating from somewhere deep within the core of her being and greedily clinging to whatever it could get its claws on. 

“There isn’t much to tell. You already know that I remember nothing of my human life.”

I turned the chair away from the empty chimney so I could face her. “I know. But that was 28 years ago. What happened after you woke up? After I told you your name?” It was strange to mention something I had never done as if I had. As if it was a fact. But it was to her, and so I just went with it.

“I waited.” Her voice had grown softer, colder. It was brittle, like ice crystals shattering on the frozen ground. “But the thirst eventually drew me away. I-I killed an elderly couple on their stroll through the countryside.”

She paused again and the air in the room just grew gloomier.

“I saw Carlisle for the first time after that. My visions were very confusing back then, always coming out of nowhere. I thought I was going crazy, I-I tried asking for help but— Everyone was afraid of me. And those that didn’t run immediately… I couldn’t stop myself.”

It was as if a hole had opened in her chest, exuding an emotional composition so much darker than what I expected from her. She had been a constant ray of sunshine ever since I met her, but seeing her like this now, I had no doubts that somewhere deep down there was something broken inside of her. Maybe even as broken as me.

“I went back to the shed I had woken up in eventually, hoping that whoever left me there would come back. But they never did…” She swallowed dryly and I suspected that she was trying to keep herself from sobbing.

I wanted to run away, escape the thick, horrible cloud of negativity that slowly floated over the floor in my direction. But I couldn’t. Feeling what she did and knowing how hard such emotions could weigh on someone, I felt responsible to help her. Console her. She had been good to me, pulled me from one of my blackest pits. I at least had to try to do the same for her.

My gift wouldn’t be of any help. All the sentiments flooding the room were too much, I could barely keep myself from falling into the darkness with her. But luckily, that wasn’t the only way. She had saved me with a single touch. Who said I couldn’t do the same?

Alice didn’t react as I got closer, completely lost in her memories. Her trembling hand was aimlessly drawing jagged lines. I carefully wrapped my scarred fingers around it.

She blinked as I called her name, her big golden eyes suddenly staring straight into mine.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

Relief washed over me as the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure if it originated from me or her, but I honestly didn’t care.

“No,” she affirmed. “I’m not.”

[ratstuckinamarble]

barbarian is a very direct, straight-forward dnd class, capable of brief but extreme outbursts of determination and strength, allowing them to ignore personal harm when their passion is roused- they resilient even without any protection from the world, often paired with the outlander background, and usually have ideals that tie them deeply to the natural world and keep them in-tune with their own emotions and desires, making them loners connected to some bigger sense of self, like a family or the wilderness they were raised on

druids also has a focus on the natural world and accepting or maintain balance within it, to the point of rejecting distance from it- (they won't wear armor or shields made of metal) and are often paired with the insightful hermit background, but they also have an inner community among themselves including a secret language and a society spanning all other human boundaries- even if an individual rarely or never actively participate in it's gatherings, they still think of themselves as part of that tradition

monks and paladins both have a focus on self control and improvement, as well as service to their community

monks are often given the hermit background with the idea of having been raised in a strict but close social environment focused on disciplining the spirit and body, which they now have incredible control over, allowing them to preform superhuman acts without the help of any outside power or gift- they are often thought of as people who's ties to blood family were severed early in life and replaced with a new sense of purpose

paladins are driven by the idea of an oath taken, which they will dedicate their lives trying to keep, and use to guide how they help the people and world around them- they can sense evil and heal with a touch, but can choose to focus on retribution or violent judgment, and usually they come from a noble background, privileged but maybe with a strong sense of duty or responsibility

make of all that what you will

Oh, well, thank you! Nifty to get a quick overview like this ^-^

Though anon, I must say, you mystify me. You go through the trouble of letting me know all this, yet you prefer for me not to know who you are? Fascinating.

I can see some connections with the barbarian class, actually. The rest... I'm not so sure.

Either way, thanks a bunch :D

[adinathgirhe-blog]

Dean Schneider Net Worth 2024-Age, Wife, Family and More

Dean Schneider is a name that resonates with wildlife enthusiasts and conservationists around the globe. With an estimated net worth of $5 million, Schneider represents the epitome of a successful transition from a career in finance to a life dedicated to animal welfare and environmental education. As the founder of the Hakuna Mipaka sanctuary in South Africa, he has become a social media sensation, using his platform to advocate for a deeper connection between humans and the animal kingdom. This article will delve into the life of Dean Schneider, exploring his journey from a Swiss financier to a beloved figure in wildlife conservation.

Dean Schneider Biography:

- NameDean Schneider - Birth DateOctober 3, 1992 - Age31 years old (as of 2024) - Height1.85 meters (6 feet 0.8 inches) - NationalitySwiss - EducationStudied finance and became an entrepreneur at 21 - Dean Schneider WifeEli - Dean Schneider ParentsA mother from the Balkan region, Father is Swiss - Net WorthEstimated around $5 million (as of 2024) - ResidenceSouth Africa - CareerFormer banker and financial planner, now a wildlife conservationist and social media personality - AchievementsFounder of Hakuna Mipaka, a wildlife sanctuary and rehabilitation center - ContributionsAdvocate for wildlife conservation, creating a global community for animal protection

Early Life and Education

Dean Schneider was born on October 3, 1992, in Zurich, Switzerland. From a young age, he was enchanted by the wild, a passion that was ignited by the legendary conservationist Steve Irwin. This early love for wildlife led him to pursue a career that would allow him to make a significant impact on animal conservation. Education and Early Career Schneider’s educational journey was rooted in finance, a field in which he showed remarkable promise. By the age of 21, he had already become an entrepreneur, establishing himself as a banker and financial planner in Switzerland. His early career was marked by success, but the call of the wild was too strong to ignore.

Career Shift and Hakuna Mipaka

Dean Schneider’s career shift to founding Hakuna Mipaka is a testament to his dedication to wildlife conservation. After a successful start in the finance sector as a banker and financial planner, Schneider felt compelled to follow his passion for animals and the environment. In 2017, he made the bold decision to leave his life in Switzerland behind and move to South Africa. The name ‘Hakuna Mipaka’ translates to ‘No Limits’ in Swahili, embodying Schneider’s philosophy that there should be no boundaries in our relationship with nature. The sanctuary spans approximately 400 hectares in the South African wilderness and serves as a home to thousands of wild animal species. Hakuna Mipaka is not just a sanctuary; it’s a rehabilitation center and a lifelong home for animals born in captivity. It’s a place where animals like lions, hyenas, giraffes, zebras, and many others can live without the threat of poaching or habitat loss. Schneider’s commitment to the sanctuary is profound. He lives there among the animals, sharing his daily life with them and the world through social media. His mission goes beyond just caring for animals; it’s about educating people on the importance of conservation and the beauty of wildlife. While Schneider may be the face of Hakuna Mipaka, he emphasizes that it’s a collective effort. A dedicated team supports the sanctuary’s operations, each member playing a crucial role in the mission to protect wildlife and promote a harmonious coexistence.

Dean Schneider Net Worth and Financial Ventures

Dean Schneider’s journey from a financial entrepreneur to a wildlife conservationist is not only inspiring but also financially significant. His net worth, estimated to be $5 million, reflects his success in both the finance and conservation sectors. Schneider’s financial acumen was evident early on when he founded a successful financial advisory company at the age of 20 in Switzerland. His expertise in finance laid the groundwork for his future ventures. In 2017, Schneider sold his company and invested his resources into creating the Hakuna Mipaka Oasis, a wildlife reserve in South Africa. This bold move marked a significant shift from his previous career, but it also opened up new avenues for financial growth through conservation. With a massive following on social media, Schneider has faced challenges in monetizing his online presence. Despite the common misconception that a large following equates to financial success, Schneider emphasizes that his focus is on passion rather than profit. The sanctuary relies on various funding sources to maintain its operations. While donations play a role, Schneider’s entrepreneurial spirit continues to explore sustainable financial models to support his conservation efforts. Also Read: Ivana Alawi Net Worth 2024- Age, Bio, Real Name, Height & More Cong TV Net Worth, Real Name, Age, Wife & More

Dean Schneider's Personal Life

Dean Schneider’s personal life, while not as publicly documented as his professional endeavors, offers a glimpse into the man behind the mission. Born on October 3, 1992, in Zurich, Switzerland, Schneider’s early fascination with wildlife was influenced by the legendary Steve Irwin, who later became the driving force behind his career shift.

Schneider has recently made headlines with his engagement to Eli, a development he joyously shared with his followers on social media. The couple’s commitment to each other seems to mirror Schneider’s dedication to his cause, adding a personal chapter to his public narrative. Schneider’s day-to-day life at the Hakuna Mipaka sanctuary is a unique blend of personal and professional. He lives on-site, fully immersed in the environment he has created for the animals he protects. This proximity allows him to form deep bonds with the wildlife, which is evident in the content he shares with the world. Beyond his work, Schneider enjoys a range of activities that align with his love for nature. Whether it’s exploring the South African wilderness or engaging in wildlife photography, his hobbies reflect his passion for the natural world. As Schneider continues to build his legacy through conservation efforts, his personal life remains a testament to his belief in living harmoniously with nature. His story is one of inspiration, showing that a single individual’s dedication can indeed make a difference in the world.

Dean Schneider's Social Media Presence

Dean Schneider’s social media presence is a cornerstone of his influence and outreach. With over 11 million followers on Instagram as of 2024, he has become the most successful Swiss social media personality, surpassing even renowned athletes like Roger Federer. His platforms are filled with captivating images and videos that document his intimate life with the animals at Hakuna Mipaka, allowing him to inspire and educate people globally about wildlife conservation. Schneider’s content is not just about showcasing the beauty of the animals but also about telling their stories. He brings animals into people’s hearts by sharing his daily interactions with them, which range from playful moments to educational insights. Through social media, Schneider has created a global classroom, teaching his audience about the importance of respecting and protecting wildlife. His posts often include informative captions that provide context and encourage conservation efforts. Schneider’s social media influence extends beyond entertainment; it’s a powerful tool for change. By sharing his life with wildlife, he motivates others to consider their impact on the environment and how they can contribute to conservation efforts.

Dean Schneider Controversies and Public Perception

Dean Schneider has faced controversies that have impacted public perception of his work. In 2020, he was the subject of an animal abuse investigation by South Africa’s animal welfare agency due to a video showing him striking a lion cub. This incident raised questions about the ethical treatment of animals in his care and sparked discussions on the responsibilities of wildlife caretakers. The public’s reaction to the controversy was mixed. Some defended Schneider, citing his dedication to animal conservation, while others criticized his actions as abusive and exploitative. The incident highlighted the fine line between animal interaction and exploitation in conservation efforts. The media coverage of the incident was extensive, with various outlets reporting on the investigation and the broader implications for animal sanctuaries. The controversy brought to light the need for transparency and ethical practices in wildlife conservation. In response to the allegations, Schneider defended his actions as part of his interaction with the animals and stated that the incident was taken out of context. He emphasized his commitment to the welfare of the animals at Hakuna Mipaka and continued to advocate for conservation through his social media platforms. Despite the controversy, Schneider remains a prominent figure in wildlife conservation. His social media presence continues to grow, and he uses his platform to educate and inspire people about the importance of protecting wildlife. FAQs: What is the net worth of Dean Schneider?As of 2024, Dean Schneider’s net worth is estimated to be around $5 million. This figure reflects his success as a wildlife conservationist and social media personality, as well as his previous career in finance.Who is Dean Schneider's wife?Dean Schneider is engaged to his girlfriend, Eli.Is Dean Schneider married?Yes, Dean Schneider got married to his long-time girlfriend Eli on 22 Oct 2023.Who are Dean Schneider's parents?His mother is from the Balkan region of Southeastern Europe, and his father is a Swiss national.How old is Dean Schneider?Dean Schneider was born on October 3, 1992, making him 31 years old as of now.What is the height of Dean Schneider?He stands at a height of approximately 1.85 meters (6 feet 0.8 inches).Where does Dean Schneider live now?He is based in South Africa, where he runs the Hakuna Mipaka Wildlife Sanctuary.How did Dean Schneider make his money?Dean Schneider made his money through a career as an entrepreneur and animal rights activist, among other investments. He was a banker and financial planner before moving to South Africa in 2017 to establish the Hakuna Mipaka sanctuary. Conclusion: Dean Schneider’s story is a compelling narrative of transformation and dedication. From the financial boardrooms of Switzerland to the open plains of South Africa, Schneider has redefined what it means to be successful. His estimated net worth of $5 million is a testament to his entrepreneurial spirit and his ability to monetize his passion for wildlife conservation. However, it is his profound impact on animal welfare and environmental education that truly defines his wealth. Schneider’s journey reminds us that following one’s passion can lead to meaningful and fulfilling work. His life is a beacon for those who seek to make a difference, proving that with determination and heart, one can not only achieve personal success but also contribute to a greater cause. As he continues to share his life with the world, Dean Schneider will undoubtedly inspire future generations to pursue their dreams and, in doing so, protect the natural world we all share. Read the full article