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ladamedusoif · 1 year

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My Kiss, Only For You

The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader - One Shot

Pairing: The Thief x Museum Guide F!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: Explicit (18+; MDNI)

Content/warnings: oral (f receiving); theft (I mean, obviously); smut; did I mention theft; strong language

Summary: You've noticed a regular attendee on the guided tours you offer as part of your job at the museum - and one day, he decides to ask you for more information on a favourite exhibit.

Notes: I keep on getting sent to horny jail by @lunapascal and @julesonrecord. (P would be very disappointed in you two insisting on incarcerating me all the time.)

This time, for reasons I'm still not entirely sure about, I was sentenced to 'double jail' and have two punishment pieces to write to get myself free. This first one, chosen by @julesonrecord, involves The Thief (from the wine ads) and the prompt "stealing a kiss".

Please enjoy my first foray into writing smut about a (very sexy) man from an ad campaign.

I wrote this at like, 1am and am still worried there are sections I thought I wrote but that were actually happening in a dream. Bear that in mind as you read.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

“And we finish with the jewel - if you’ll permit me a little pun - of the collection, the remarkable Katarzyna’s Kiss ruby.”

The afternoon’s tour group is mostly teenagers on a school trip, and they couldn’t be less interested in the bright red gemstone illuminated in the case behind you if they tried. One of them lazily lifts their phone to snap a photo, apparently of the display. It’s only when you see them pouting for a selfie that you realise they’ve had a BeReal notification.

You keep going with the standard tour script, putting your heart into it as always. You notice a familiar face at the back of the group, listening attentively: a handsome, dark-eyed man you guess must be in his mid to late forties, who is a regular attendee of your tours in the museum. He seems to be particularly interested in the gemstones and jewellery collections, always turning up for those tours with a notebook and a random, specialist text on the subject.

“The story behind this gemstone and its unusual name is that a seventeenth-century Polish princess supposedly fell in love with the apprentice to the court jeweller. Now, as you can imagine, in those days an apprentice jeweller would never be considered an appropriate match for a princess, and their love was doomed from the start.”

The handsome man smiles at you, eyes twinkling behind his spectacles. You offer a little smile in return, noticing how the museum lighting catches the attractive patches of grey in his sparse beard.

“The poor young apprentice had never kissed his princess, and not because he didn’t want to - they were afraid they would be caught in the carefully-monitored world of the court.” Your expression turns sad as you move to the next part.

“One day, the young jeweller heard that his beloved was to be married - the next day, in fact. He was distraught. But when the princess woke on her wedding day, equally heartbroken, she found this ruby - so the story goes - in a gorgeous, handmade silver box, engraved with the words ‘My kiss, only for you’”.

One of the teenagers at the front yawns dramatically, setting the others off into fits of giggles. You sigh. “And that brings our tour to an end, I guess. Gift shop that way, toilets over there, if you want to find out more about the collections you can purchase a guidebook…”

Your voice trails as the group rapidly disperses. Only your handsome regular is left. You hadn’t noticed before how nicely dressed he is - not showy, not in the least, but his clothes have that unmistakable air of quality and expense. Today he’s wearing a dark green, beautifully cut casual jacket with a Nehru collar, combined with dark jeans and a pristine white grandfather shirt.

“Thank you for a wonderful tour, as usual.” His voice is warm and low, a pleasing sound in the near-empty gallery.

“Thank you,” you return the compliment. “You’re one of our regulars, aren’t you?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and nods. You notice he’s holding a small green notebook in one hand, and a pen in the other. “I must admit, though, that I prefer to go on your tours. You are a natural - truly, a joy to listen to. So knowledgeable!” He turns and looks at you out of the corner of his eye. “And, if you’ll forgive me for being forward, even lovelier to look at than Katarzyna’s Kiss.”

You raise your eyebrows. The closest thing to flirting you’d experienced in your time as a guide was when elderly men would corner you near the military history displays and wax lyrical at you about nineteenth-century battleships.

The man has moved closer, now, to you and to the display case. He appraises the ruby at close range. “I’d like to talk to you a little more about this beautiful thing - I’m fascinated by the story.” He turns and looks at you over the top of his glasses. “Would dinner tonight be a good time to talk about this kiss?”

To your surprise, he’d booked a table at the fanciest restaurant in the city. Dinner had been a delight, swapping stories of rare jewels and favourite galleries and museums around the world.

He had changed since this afternoon, and arrived dressed in an exquisite green and black check suit with a black shirt and tie. He was attractive, there was no way around it - but you preferred to keep your guard up a little longer.

You were about to order a cab when you realised you didn’t have your phone.

“Shit. I must have left it in the office.”

“It’s not too far away, is it?” He is the picture of concern. “I’ll gladly accompany you back to the museum.”

So he does, offering you his arm at one point like a man in an old movie. You huff a laugh at the gesture until you realise he’s serious.

“Oh, god. I’m sorry.”

He keeps his arm out, offered to you, and smiles at you with an eyebrow raised. “Chivalry isn’t quite dead yet, ma chérie.”

Maybe it’s the sneaking into the museum after hours, with its connotations of illicit shenanigans, maybe it’s the whiskey you had after dinner, or maybe it’s just the way his suit sits so perfectly over his broad frame, as if it’s begging to be touched and clung to.

Whatever it is, you’ve barely entered your small office when you’re pushing him against the wall and kissing him like your life depends on it. He groans into your mouth and it goes straight to your pussy.

He guides you back onto the desk and sits you on the edge, lowering you down carefully as he stands above you. He trails a long, thick finger across the neckline of your dress, slipping his fingertip under the fabric to trace the outline of your breasts.

You whine in pleasure and frustration as he kisses your body.

“Tell me more about Katarzyna’s Kiss, beautiful. Do you believe the story?”

He keeps kissing as you talk, through the fabric of your dress down to your thighs, where he hitches up the skirt and encourages you to open your legs a little wider. You moan as you feel his fingers tracing up the inside of your thighs.

“I want to kiss you, mi amor, but I will only do so if you say the word.”

You nod frantically, all thoughts of the bright red ruby forgotten.

He brings his torso down to meet yours, placing a soft, wet kiss to your lips. You hear the zipper of his pants come down and you know that he has taken his cock in his hand. With the other, he reaches past the top of your head, stretching his hand out along the desk and resting his fingers on the marass of papers and, you judge by the clicks going on behind you, your computer keyboard.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me again?” Your voice is heavy, confused. He’s kept one hand behind you, still resting on the keyboard, as he intersperses caressing and kissing your breasts with giving his cock a quick stroke.

“I am, chérie, be patient. The kiss I plan to steal now is more valuable than any ruby - tastes better, too.”

He drops to his knees and pulls your legs apart, dragging your panties down over your soft thighs and knees. He begins by literally kissing your cunt, placing soft, delicate kisses to the wet folds before his broad tongue strokes its way from your opening all the way to your clit. It elicits a muffled scream from you.

“You can’t be there already, beautiful thing.” You aren’t, but the way he’s ‘kissing’ your pussy, then driving his fingers inside you, is getting you very close.

When he begins to suck your clit you feel the pressure building, and soon your slick is coating his perfect nose, his mouth, his face - and his beard. It glistens in the soft light of your desk lamp.

“Fuck me,” you murmur quietly.

“Not tonight, dear one,” he says as he returns to standing, zipping back up his pants. “Stay put, I’ll get something to clean you up. Where are the bathrooms?”

You point him towards them, unable to stand up just yet. He’s made you feel completely boneless, fucked out with just his mouth and fingers on your own desk. It had been a while since anyone made you come at all, let alone like that.

You realise you don’t even know his name.

And soon, you realise he’s been gone a rather long time.

The museum’s back corridors are unsettling at night. You wander up and down, calling quietly into the darkness to see if you can find him.

The wail of the siren is deafening as you race back to your office, frantically trying to log back in to check where the alarm has been triggered. You try to contact the night security team, but there’s no response. The screen eventually lights up and you see it: the Kiss ruby. That’s what they’re after.

Security arrives in the exhibition gallery a few minutes after you, leaving it to you to reveal the carefully opened case and the empty plastic clasp that once held the ruby on display.

Where was he? Did he get stuck in part of the building and panic when the alarm went off?

You reach into your pocket to find your phone before you remember you don’t even have his number.

You find a crisp, folded piece of paper in your dress pocket. It had definitely not been there earlier.

You sneak off behind another display to open the note, before police arrived to question you. The handwriting is fanciful, rendered in pen and ink:

I have helped myself to Katarzyna’s, I’m afraid, but remember that the kiss I gave you tonight - my kiss - is only for you.

Adieu, chérie!

Your Gentleman Thief

#pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #the thief smut #the thief #the thief fanfic #the thief fanfiction #the thief x f!reader #the thief x you #the thief x reader #my kiss only for you fic

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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N, your last drabble!!! Dream falling in love with Hob’s domesticity, with the humanity he brings out in him!! Craving these brief moments between them where everything’s soft and mushy and quiet and crispy warm. Dream slowly noticing how lovingly Hob looks up at him. Dream drowning in his presence, drowning in Hob. Falling in love in the tranquility of one another.

I WILL cry…

I KNOW... i am already crying, cocoa, FOR REAL

have some domestic flirting <3333

It must be, Morpheus thinks, a particular quality of the light that streams in through Hob’s kitchen window, that it catches in his hair and brings out the little amber flecks in each strand just so. This is something Morpheus has never before had the opportunity to notice. The sources of illumination in the White Horse Tavern were too low to ever lend Hob such radiance, and those in the New Inn too electric. It must be a peculiar quality of Hob Gadling’s, that he is best suited to being lit up by the sun. The way it softens his edges and sets his skin to glowing nearly makes Morpheus envious of how unreservedly it bestows Hob with its favor. Hob is washing up the breakfast dishes in the sink—an activity so mundane and tedious and small that the Morpheus of six centuries ago would have scoffed at the very idea of finding it engrossing. How much time in their fleeting eyeblink of a life, thinks that vestige of Morpheus idly, do people spend simply soaping and rinsing and drying dishes? Yet today he sits at Hob’s little kitchen table and feels abjectly fascinated by every detail of the act. Hob Gadling, he supposes, has more time than most to spare for such follies. Hob does not own a dishwasher. The sleeves of his buttondown are pushed up to his elbows, and his arms are shiny-wet up to mid-forearm, and his hands disappear into a mountain of white suds as he scrubs at the inside of a frying pan with a green wiry sponge. The room smells bright and clean, the lemon zest scent of the dish liquid catching and holding Morpheus’ attention as much as the roll of Hob’s shoulders does when he turns to place the rinsed pan aside to drip dry. Morpheus remembers too late that humankind tends to dislike the sensation of being observed. But Hob only slants a crooked smile at him when he notes that he is watched; only says, “See something you like?” Instantly Hob’s eyes widen the barest fraction, and squeeze shut, and Morpheus spies the shadow that passes in the next moment over his face. It is the same sort of shadow, the same drawing inwards, that he has noted sometimes comes over Lucienne when she thinks she may have said something that will surely be ill-received. Morpheus cannot fathom what has troubled Hob now. He considers Hob’s question with care. What is before him? There is the ease with which Hob grins at him. The glinting sunshine that follows the soft fall of his hair out of the haphazard bun. The dark patches of denim where Hob has just wiped his dripping palms on his thighs. “Yes.” Morpheus answers simply, and knows it to be the truth. “I see... much that pleases me.” “Oh,” Hob says, his smile widening to show a flash of teeth. “Alright, then.” There is surprise in his voice, and pleasure, and... something else Morpheus does not decipher. He has not read the daydreams of Hob Gadling in many hundreds of years. He will not begin now. But a flush blooms across Hob’s cheeks then to accompany his words, the staining red of poppies, and Morpheus finds he enjoys this as well.

#the sandman #dreamling #hotcocoabuns #dreamling domestic vacation

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xtruss · 4 months

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Sicily Sold Homes For One Euro. This Is What Happened Next.

For more than a decade, Sicily has been trying to revive its villages by selling Vacant Houses. Writer Lisa Abend heads to the largest Island in the Mediterranean to see how life has changed.

— By Lisa Abend | April 30, 2024

Mussomeli is roughly 60 miles from Palermo. Photo by Julia Nimke

Like any small town that isn’t yours, Sambuca di Sicilia, located about an hour’s drive south of the Sicilian capital, Palermo, feels a little intimidating at first. Stroll its perimeter on a late afternoon in winter, when the sun sets the buildings alight, and eyes follow you. Order the town’s signature minni di virgini—breast-shaped cakes filled with cream, chocolate chips, and squash jam—and a hush silences the chatter in the local bakery. It’s not unfriendly, this exaggerated alertness, but it does make you, the visitor, feel a bit self-conscious.

By the time I walk into a small restaurant that first evening seeking dinner, my self-consciousness has reached an uncomfortable peak. The restaurant’s only other guests, a middle-aged couple, fall quiet as I make my way to a table. After the waiter and I stumble through my order, impeded by his poor English and my worse Italian, I pull out a book to hide my awkwardness while I wait for the food. But when the first course arrives—a heap of ocher-tinted pasta topped with crimson shrimp and shards of pistachios—I am so clearly delighted by the dish that the waiter then decides we are friends. He introduces himself by name, Giovanni, and when two women with their children enter the restaurant, he seats them next to me and introduces them as well. “La famiglia,” he says—his own, and that of the chef, who, stepping out from the kitchen to kiss his wife, also comes over to greet me.

Two hours later, I walk out into the night air, aloft on a wave of bonhomie and sturdy Sicilian wine. Oh yes, I think to myself. I could live here.

I’m not the only person to arrive at that revelation. In fact, I had come to Sicily to investigate a program that has attracted thousands with the same notion. A program that allows people, although they may not have the financial wherewithal to go full-bore Tuscan-villa-with-frescoed-ceilings-and-private-vineyard, to nevertheless live a different version of the dream. A program that promises them a house for a single euro.

About the size of New Hampshire, Sicily has 4.8 million residents. Photos by Julia Nimke

Since the 19th century, large numbers of villagers in the poorer parts of Italy have migrated to more prosperous regions and countries. The migration continues; in some places, populations have shrunk so dramatically that there are no longer enough patients to keep the local doctor in business, or enough children to fill the school. Young people who moved away to study or work didn’t want to return, and when their parents died, the family homes stood empty, sometimes for decades. Around 2010, the village of Salemi in western Sicily was one of the first towns to come up with an idea: What if you could fill them again by offering the properties for sale at a ridiculously low price?

I wasn’t in the market for a house, one euro or otherwise. But I wanted to know if the program worked. Though the rumors I’d heard about driving in Sicily gave me pause—highways that suddenly turn into rutted cow paths; drivers whose chosen passing method involves achieving the closest possible proximity to the fender of the car in front of them—I decided to set out in a rental car through villages in various stages of implementing the initiative. Were once-sepulchral towns reinvigorated by newcomers eager to put down roots? Were the new residents integrating into small-town life, or was an influx of new blood bringing unintended side effects? And did a town that drew enough newcomers lose the qualities that had attracted said newcomers in the first place?

From left: The population of Sambuca di Sicilia has declined because of a low birth rate, but the town gained media attention after The Sopranos actress Lorraine Bracco bought a home there; The Valley of the Temples has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1997. Photos by Julia Nimke

The morning after my dinner in Sambuca di Sicilia, I leave my home base to see my first one-euro house. Before that, I stop in the Valley of the Temples. Located in a national park, the valley preserves the remains of a Greek colony founded in the 6th century B.C.E. on land inhabited by the indigenous Sicani. A couple of millennia later, the original temples to Hercules and Hera survive, but so does evidence of Carthaginian rampage and Roman reconstruction. Those peoples would in time be followed by Vandals from northern Europe and Muslims from Africa, to say nothing of the French and Spanish. Standing there, looking at the gold-colored columns of once-grand temples set against the sparkling sea and flowering almond trees, time seemed to bend. Outsiders, I realize, have been making their homes here for a long time.

They’ve also been leaving. When I arrive in Cammarata, a steep jumble of a village whose mountains are dusted with snow, I can feel an absence. In the winter sunshine, it’s beautiful, but it’s also empty. In the 15 minutes I spend standing in front of a very sleepy-looking town hall, where I’ve arranged to meet architect Martina Giracello, not one person passes by.

The members of StreetTo want to rejuvenate Cammarata. Photo by Julia Nimke

Finally, Giracello arrives, her corkscrew curls bobbing, and explains the silence. “People here wanted to live in larger, more modern apartments,” she says. Many moved to neighboring San Giovanni Gemini, about half a mile away, where the gentler topography allows for larger buildings and better conveniences. Now, Giracello tells me, “the one real estate agency in the area doesn’t even handle houses in the historic center.”

Like other young people from the region, Giracello and her boyfriend, Gianluca, moved away for university and to start their professional careers. But as they approached the end of their 20s, they returned to Cammarata, yearning for a quieter life. They also wanted, however, some kind of cultural scene, and neighbors their own age. “We studied other towns with one-euro programs, saw that for a lot of buyers, once they are there, the house is just a vacation home, and they don’t have a relation to the people there,” she tells me. “We wanted to do something different. We wanted to create a community.”

“As We Slowly Make Our Way Up Cammarata’s Steep Streets, The Silence Gives Way To The Sound Of Hammers And Saws. ‘Hear That?’ Giracello Asks. ‘It’s Working.’”

They banded together with other professionals to form a volunteer association called StreetTo, which convinces the owners of abandoned properties to sell, then helps foreigners find their houses and navigate the inspections, paperwork, and renovations that follow. And, in the hopes of forging community, they also organize exhibitions, concerts, and gatherings for townspeople old and new. Driven by their desire to revive the Cammarata they love, StreetTo’s members offer these services free of charge. (“At the moment, it is a project geared toward foreigners, but what we want is to also bring Cammarata’s citizens back, just as Gianluca and I have come back,” Giracello says.)

It’s not pure altruism, though. Their town gets something in the way of revitalization. As we slowly make our way up Cammarata’s steep streets, the silence gives way to the sound of hammers and saws. “Hear that?” Giracello asks. “It’s working.”

Panting from the climb, we reach the first property, where Giracello introduces me to the reality of what one euro buys you: not much. The home, more vertically challenged shed than house, has what real estate ads might call “significant structural issues” and what I might call “a massive hole in the roof.”

For an extravagance like a ceiling, Giracello says, you’ll need to spend a bit more. We press on to another house. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, she mentions its price—just over $10,000. The tall, narrow home is built, like many older Sicilian dwellings, with a single room per floor, its stairwell is carpeted in debris, and the battered sink and laminate countertops make it look like the kitchen was outfitted sometime around World War II. But the floor is adorned with beautiful geometric tiles, and a view of the valley spills through the windows. “We try to find houses in not really good condition,” Giracello says. “Because the purpose of the project is to help the town get better.”

StreetTo has helped negotiate the sale of 18 houses so far, but contract negotiations and renovations are still in progress, and none of the buyers have been able to move into their homes yet. But Giracello is confident it won’t be long before her village swells with new life. She pulls out her phone to show me a video.

“When a German nurse and her husband bought a place, a local couple were so happy to see new people that they held a dinner for them, and invited us,” she says. “Even though the Germans didn’t speak Italian and the Italians didn’t speak German, now they are all friends.” She pauses. “We are all friends.”

Today a church and monastery, Santa Caterina d’Alessandria was home to nuns from 1311 to 2014. Photo by Julia Nimke

My next stop is Mussomeli, located nearly in the center of the island. Unlike many Sicilian towns, which drape themselves seductively across a ridge, Mussomeli is all about the vertical. On the morning I approach, the craggy volcanic outcroppings that rise from the valley below have trapped pools of mist, making the town appear to be floating on clouds. It feels like entering Middle Earth.

The illusion doesn’t last: With a population of nearly 11,000 people, Mussomeli is large enough to support a Carrefour supermarket and even a mini traffic jam. But as I push on to the town’s core, the fantasy returns. Mussomeli’s heart holds ancient churches, tiny squares where kids play ball, and views from its tangled streets of that mystical valley and a hilltop with the ruins of a 14th-century castle.

Streets so tangled, in fact, that I get lost, and ask for directions in a dark, tiny bakery selling nothing but focaccia. I pay for an oily square, and ask the elderly man behind the counter what he thinks about the foreigners moving to town. “There aren’t so many here now,” he says. “But in summer they buy a lot of focaccia.”

Seems a fair trade. Mussomeli doesn’t cater to tourism, but between its services and charm, more than 200 inexpensive homes have been bought by foreigners in the past few years. Australian Danny McCubbin owns one of them. Ready for a quieter life after 17 years of working in London for the chef Jamie Oliver, McCubbin was recruited by producers late in 2019 for a television show that planned to follow people on their one-euro adventures in Mussomeli. The pandemic intervened and the show was never finished, but McCubbin had found his purpose. By the end of 2020, he had decided to move permanently to Mussomeli and turn his home into a community kitchen to help people with inadequate access to food.

From left: The Good Kitchen rescues surplus food from supermarkets to provide for people in need; Australian Danny McCubbin moved to Mussomeli in 2020. Photos by Julia Nimke

After I make several wrong turns, I find McCubbin, clearing dishes from a long, communal table. He’d just served lunch to local residents and Ukrainian children welcomed by the town after fleeing the war. These days, the Good Kitchen also supplies weekly meals for the elderly and has taught some of Mussomeli’s youth to cook. A clutch of older men use the space as an afternoon hangout, and there’s also a free Sunday afternoon lunch. (The only requirement for those with means is that they bring something to share.) Not long ago, Mussomeli’s mayor told McCubbin that he had planted a seed, and that more in Mussomeli were now thinking about social projects. “My whole way of living is so simple and joyful now,” McCubbin says. “I don’t know where else I could have done this.”

Rubia Andrade Daniels has also adjusted her expectations. One of the earliest buyers in Mussomeli, she fell in love with a vibe that reminds her of the Brazil where she was born and spent her childhood, but that also seems open to the kind of diversity she’s found in California, where she has lived for the past 30 years. “For the first few days, I couldn’t figure out why people here were being so nice to me,” she says with a laugh. “Then I realized they’re like that to everyone.”

Andrade Daniels, who works for a renewable energy company, loved the town so much she purchased three one-euro houses on her first visit in 2019. Four years later, her enthusiasm remains undimmed, but her timetable has shifted: The kitchen in the house where she plans on living part time once she retires wasn’t finished until August 2023, and progress on the other two—an art gallery and a wellness center—has been pushed to an undetermined future, in part due to the pandemic and the delays in its wake. “You can’t have American expectations,” she says. “Here, things take the time they take.”

I Think About That Pace each day when I return to my base in Sambuca di Sicilia. There, too, there’s been such demand for the listed houses that one euro is no longer the final sale cost but rather the opening bid in an auction that could see prices rise into the thousands. Even then, the campaign was so popular that the municipality launched a second round in 2021, with an increase in the starting price—to two euros.

Margherita Licata, who has been summering in Sambuca since childhood and eventually settled here full time about 20 years ago, says that “99 percent” of Sambucans welcome the newcomers. The other 1 percent? “They worry they have been invaded by Americans,” says Licata, who works for a real estate agency in town. “If Sambuca one day has a thousand outsiders living here, of course it will change our lives. But it will maybe mean the young [people] can find a job and not go somewhere else. If we want that change, we must accept other changes too.”

Of course, it’s possible that Sambuca could become transfigured by take-out coffee joints and big-box stores and other supposed comforts that the town’s new residents like. Already, some Americans have complained about the local teenagers who cruise the streets on their motorbikes at night. And imported class divisions are also emerging: Among the more free-spirited DIYers who have purchased homes, rumors circulate that some of the wealthier buyers want to build an exclusive, members-only swimming pool.

From left: Margherita Licata has lived in Sambuca for roughly 20 years; Pasticceria Enrico Pendola is one of few bakeries in the small town. Photos by Julia Nimke

But for now, there’s little evidence of a non-Sicilian presence in Sambuca, and it remains difficult to find anyone who speaks English. What I did find was an archaeology museum where, after I inquired if it was open, a woman rushed out, turned on the lights, and marched me at breakneck speed through the antiquities on display while barking descriptions of them at me in Italian. I also found a market that popped up alongside the traffic circle where the fishmonger told me how to cook the sardines I bought from the back of his van, as well as a café whose arancini made me finally understand why anyone would want to eat fried balls of rice, and where the elderly man who glared at me as I drank my breakfast cappuccino turned out not to be annoyed with the foreigner invading his morning sanctuary, but just waiting for the opportunity to ask me if I knew his cousins in New Jersey.

I’d arrived in Sicily wondering if the one-euro initiative would ruin the towns that adopted it, replacing their traditional culture with more consumerist ones and destroying their lifestyle and easy sociability. And when that turned out not to be the case, I also wondered if it wasn’t simply a matter of time: Perhaps the pandemic had slowed an already slower way of doing business, and the reckoning would still surely come.

But as I sat again in that same restaurant from the first night, it seemed to me that Sicily would be just fine. Maybe the slower pace was not a flaw that would eventually be overcome, but instead a feature that would ensure Sicily remains alluringly and unequivocally itself. After all, I thought, as I remembered the

Valley of the Temples, different peoples have been arriving on these shores for millennia. They may leave an imprint; they may shape the culture. But it’s clear that a distinctively Sicilian spirit still dominates.

From left: Mussomeli is one of the most popular towns in Sicily for one-euro home programs; Sambuca di Sicilia was a prominent trading hub centuries ago. Photos by Julia Nimke

And so, just before my departure from the island, I went to visit Margherita Licata again, but this time for reasons slightly more personal. Because I had seen enough one-euro homes to know that my powers of imagination were no match for their state of decrepitude, we skipped right to a “premium” home. As soon as she pushed open the doors to the arched courtyard, I was entranced. The rooms were rundown and furnished with old-fashioned chandeliers and faded wallpaper. But they were also large and bright, with intact walls and floors covered with gorgeous patterned tiles. Downstairs, there was an attached space that would make a perfect rental apartment. Upstairs, two rooftop terraces offered views of the town center in one direction, and a lake in the other.

“Fifty thousand euros,” Licata told me with a wink. “But that’s just what the owner’s asking.”

The money in my bank account had not magically grown during my time in Sicily. But my imagination must have. Because in that moment, it all seemed possible.

— Lisa Abend is a Journalist based in Madrid and the Author of The Sorcerer’s Apprentices: A Season in the Kitchen at Ferran Adrià's elBulli. She is also a Contributing Writer at AFAR and Correspondent for Time magazine.

#Sicily #One Euro Homes 🏠#Vacant Houses 🏠 🏡 🏘️#Largest Island 🏝️ | Mediterranean #Afar.Com

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ivant1ll · 2 years

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sleepover headcanons for all the divisions ,, a/n : it's been.. a while!!! im sorry for taking such constant long breaks finding motivation to write has been getting quite hard as of recently. i tend to write more for fun than anything but i don't wanna be leaving my page dormant. here's the sillies as compensation for my absence ! word count : 1,437

01. BUSTER BROS

The brothers probably have a couple nights like this on weekends where they don't got much to do. Someone (that someone either being Ichiro or Jiro) would suggest they have a little sleepover where they whip out some sleeping bags and all chill out in the living room.

They'd pull out a couple of video games, Jiro and Saburo would begin arguing in the game, Ichiro ends up winning. They play a game on a console, Jiro and Saburo would begin arguing, Ichiro ends up winning. But when the pillow fight of the century happens, all hell breaks loose. Suddenly the living room is a war zone and the siblings are all out for blood

In the attempt at seeming as cool as can be for Ichiro, Jiro and Saburo probs don't realize that their older brother is landing all the big hits on them until they finally realize and team up on him. Ichiro is quite proud that they could work together even for such a thing like that

Winner of whatever board game they play chooses what they all order to eat

Ichiro can't help but excitedly show the others some cool clips from some new anime he's watched or a Miku mv (autistic ichiro cause i said so), at some point they'd all get together and probably laugh at shitty low quality shows

Jiro SWEARS that he will stay up the longest just to fall asleep the fastest, much to Ichiro and Saburo's humor

02. MAD TRIGGER CREW

One night the guys must have been out late and realized it would be most convenient to crash at whoever's place was closest, that being Jyuto's

Matching pajamas. Don't know who got them (maybe Rio tbh that would be adorable), don't know why. But matching pjs for everyone, Samatoki pretends to hate them but he can't help but like how soft and comfortable they are.

They'd end up chilling on some balcony in Jyuto's place as they have a smoke and just talk about whatever comes to mind.

They made sure that before getting there Samatoki suggested they ordered food so that they could hopefully avoid the inevitable cooking situation with Rio there seeing as he wouldn't wanna waste money on food. Thankfully Jyuto's fridge was just filled with cheese, so ordering food it is.

"How the fuck do you even make yourself meals???" Samatoki would ask with the most confused look ever.

"I tend to find some way to make it happen." Jyuto's response did nothing more than make things more confusing.

Best of all, they play Splatoon on Jyuto's Splatoon themed switch (i will not be convinced otherwise that at the MINIMUM 40% of the hypmic cast plays Splatoon

Honestly just a chill night overall, great bonding time for everyone other than the screaming in Splatoon

03. FLING POSSE

Literally like every little girls dream sleepover

Ramuda gets bored one day and gets the others to spend the night, to no protest of course cause how fun would an idea like that be

Ramuda whips out PILES of candy and snacks for everyone to dig in on throughout the night, more snacks than actual food is all I can imagine they'd eat

EVERYONE is given makeovers by Ramuda, it's almost like a whole fashion show, whether it's hairstyling, outfits, any of that. Ramuda is on it!!

Gentaro ends up telling scary stories at 1:30 in the morning which sends Ramuda and Dice into a frenzy and they almost ran outside in the cold and in their pajamas

Speaking of pajamas, Ramuda made custom made sanrio ones for everyone in preparation for an event like this, they're beyond fluffy and in tons of pretty colors just to the other members likings

Ramuda get's the most basic white girl idea and has Gentaro and Dice film tiktoks with him doing the most generic dances ever, cringe from the view of normal eyes, but funny as hell when seeing them film it

In response to the ghost stories Dice is first to fall asleep, he ended up hoping if he fell asleep the ghost wouldn't be able to get him since "If I can't see them, then they can't see me either!"

Ramuda and Gentaro made an art piece on the poor gamblers face

04. MATENROU

Doppo is quick to remind Hifumi to stash away all of their loose bottles of alcohol before Jakurai comes over to spend the night, both wouldn't want a near death experience during a harmless sleepover

Once Jakurai arrives, Hifumi is ecstatic to get to test out making some new meal plans for everyone to eat. It's almost like his ultimate test as the trained malewife he is, and he loves the chance to make a nice meal for everyone

It's normally quite hard to find a weekend where everyone isn't working to make plans like this, even during the week. So, during these kinds of nights the trio gets to take this time to just catch up with each other and talk about things

As quite the ongoing trend here, every division has one person that is the equivalent of that one mom at the mothers slumber party that happens once every century, Hifumi got them all matching pajamas

Jakurai always can find himself interested in the playful banter amongst Hifumi and Doppo, so there never really tends to be that dull of a moment amongst them all even if they're just talking

Hifumi ends up taking LOTS of selfies of everyone

Much to the others shock, Jakurai is actually quite the night owl and he is able to stay up impressively late with the others

Matenrou seems like that group of adults at parties that could be up until 4 in the morning just laughing obnoxiously loud at each others jokes until they suddenly realize time is a thing and they all finally decide to knock out for the night

05. DOTSUITARE HOMPO

Now, there is little variation of context as to how dh would get together for a sleepover. It's either they had spent the night at the bar and in Rosho's drunken state Sasara and Rei carry him back home and just decide to crash at his place, in that case not much happens for the night other than the vandalism of Rosho in his drunken sleep state. OR, on the other hand they all decide to just hang out at Rosho's place and stay the night which THEN leads to a night of drunken fun and banter.

The amount of teasing that would happen throughout the night, the perfect chill, laid back chaotic fun

Sometimes Sasara is able to convince Rosho to have little sketches with him in the house and put on little shows for Rei, it's quite interesting but it's hard to get Rosho to agree. Rei seems to really like them though

Don't know why, but it seems like they'd do funny dubbing over random low budget movies they can find

06. BADASS TEMPLE

Kuko and Jyushi already have their fair share of sleepovers in their own time, but at times if Hitoya isn't busy and he's forced coerced into coming, things tend to take quite the drastic turn

Jyushi has the matching onesies ready on deck for when any of his teammates tend to sleepover seeing as they always agree it'll happen at his house, Kuko likes them, Hitoya finds it quite hard to admit how much he likes them aswell

Jyushi's bed is COVERED in plushies

They'd jam out to Jyushi's cds and have screaming karaoke nights, once Hitoya joins in it's OVER. They all end up going off eventually having the most sore throats afterwards but damn is it fun as hell

It's all fun and games until Kuko and Jyushi suddenly turn to Hitoya revealing part of their motive for inviting him....

Hitoya orders them food

They all end up playing a bunch of switch games, some of which being.. Splatoon, the bane of everyones existence and cause for a new found rage in a casual round of rainmaker. Mario Party, a physical fight almost started. Mario Kart, Jyushi mains Lime Green Inkling girl, Kuko mains King Boo, and Hitoya mains Wario.

They all watch My Little Pony and enjoy it, don't ask me why I don't make the rules

Jyushi tries to convince Hitoya joining in as he whips out the nail polish and goes ham, usually Hitoya refuses but VERY rarely he'll agree and just take it off later

Jyushi makes little doodles of everyone in their onesies, Kuko joins in and draws all of them in their onesies on a monster truck. The truck is in a strange amount of detail

Very hectic but honestly fun night, I'd kill someone to have a sleepover with them

@ru1-png : please do not repost or claim my accounts as your own

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cozmonaughty · 1 month

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“Bambi” - The lost media of Yasuyuki Okamura

In honour of his 59th birthday - - -

youtube

This song has always been a topic that has interested me in Okamura’s works because it emerged during an awkward period in his career entering the 21st century. At this time in 1999, Okamura had partially returned from his brief hiatus where he produced songs for other artists, releasing The Forbidden Purpose of Life(禁じられた生きがい) album in the December of 1995 as well as the single Harenchi(ハレンチ) in 1996. But otherwise it was mostly radio silence and inactivity until the year of Bambi.

On the 14th of August, 25 years ago today, Bambi was released on the now discontinued music distribution site “Realrox.” The song was only aired once under the internet special program “Yasuyuki Okamura Summer Gift ‘99”

MP3 + lyrics under the cut ~

Because of this, only low quality rips of the song are available currently. These were taken from the website’s audio player, making it difficult to discern or transcribe the lyrics, but overall it’s pretty clear the song has a somber tone. Though it maintains the Okamura heavy funk style that he began to use around the early 2000s. Some fans compare the sound to “Sex (Old Version)” but personally it kinda reminds me of SOPHIA’s “Hard Worker” (which Okamura had also produced).

Either way, it’s really ‘distinctly Okamura’ in the way he uses SFX and sampling. There’s crow cawing throughout the entire track and engine sounds with reversed speaking weaving through the sections. What I like about Okamura’s music during this era was the very industrial and machine-like sound he produces, but it does feel incomplete here; especially when it transitions into an acoustic performance of “Ikenai Kotokai” … which sounds very different from its 1988 studio version. I don’t really know how to put it, but it feels so ominous and solemn. Though I guess it’s always been a sad song…

Looking into the actual lyrics for Bambi gives some insight, which were partially transcribed by an uploader on Nico Nico Douga (thank you!). Translations by me!

Bambi - Lyrics Translated

If I were Bambi,

Puppies and Pandas,

Rabbits and Ladybugs,

When they jump

They’ll smile and follow me around

But around us,

There are crows, crows

Crows surrounding us

They don’t even look aside, destroying only themselves

Their souls are corrupt

Hiding my hands, definitely a crow

[ Unintelligible ]

It’s my fault I can’t do live performances anymore

It’s my fault I can’t release records anymore

It’s my fault I’m pretentious

It’s because I’m brazen

It’s my fault I can’t do live performances anymore

It’s my fault I can’t release records anymore

It’s my fault I’m pretentious

It’s my brazenness

I’m brazen

—

Now this part is a bit speculative, but my reading of these lyrics is that they appear to be a personal reflection of Okamura’s struggles during the late 1990s. It’s expressed discreetly through the stark tonal contrast between the fairytale scene and the dark imagery of the crows, but then there’s the overt reference to his period of inactivity, where he blames himself. 1997-98 were pretty barren years, with no activity in the latter, so this must have been indicative of an intense struggle in Okamura’s life. From his debut he was able to release an album every year, as well as working on music for Misato Watanabe among other artists he had produced for. I’d hypothesise that during this period is when he would have started using stimulants, which he would later be arrested for. I can’t say for sure, however some fans attribute his significant weight gain to these drugs and excessive consumption of alcohol.

The song titled “Bambi” is perhaps an homage to Prince’s song sharing the name, as from the beginning of Okamura’s career he’s drawn heavy inspiration from the artist. Though the similarities are only surface level here as there’s no musical or lyrical similarities between the two.

—

25 years later, it all worked out. After his prison sentence was lifted, he returned to creating music and almost instantly returned to success. Since then, he’s announced his sobriety.

#lost media #Japanese lost media #japanese music #岡村靖幸 #jpop icons #my translations #jpop artists #1999 #Youtube

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gothicprep · 1 year

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the new statesman recently published dueling essays by richard dawkins and jacqueline rose. dawkins' essay is entitled "Why biological sex matters" and rose's is "The gender binary is false"

i'm not envious of rose's position here at all. dawkins, for all his issues, is a very clear science writer, which redounds to him being a better writer in general. but it's beyond frustrating to see someone defending a position i agree with with extremely low quality argumentation.

rose writes:

"What is a woman?” The formulation has the merit of suggesting that to be a woman, far from being obvious, is a question, and one susceptible to more than a single reply. This is encouraging at a time when the fight over the definition of what a woman is has taken on such virulence. Being a woman is at risk of becoming a protected category, as the binary man/woman hardens into place.

at risk... of becoming... a protected category... well, i have some news for you that you're not going to like. i'm not sure how it's evaded you for this long, but better late than never, huh?

i'm inferring here that rose is using it in a more colloquial sense than i'm reading this. but "protected category" has a very specific (and legal) definition so. i'm not sure why you'd verbalize your point this way. but even that colloquial usage doesn't work! rose is a feminist professor, and i'm sure she'd agree that women have to deal with some metric of vulnerability.

she continues:

This is happening even though it has always been a central goal of feminism to repudiate the very idea of womanhood, as a form of coercive control that means the end of freedom.

holy fuck, this is so stupid. or more fairly, this is highly debatable and it comes down to what she's talking about when she says "womanhood". and she never spells it out.

and. um. let's get to the "best" part...

In fact, the term “female”, as distinct from women, has its own tale. As the New York Magazine critic Andrea Long Chu has written in her book Females (2019), the biological category “female”, as it is understood today, was developed in the 19th century as a way of referring to black slaves. A female black slave was someone refused “the status of social and legal personhood”. To that extent, Chu observes, “a female has always been less than a person”. To assume that “female” is a neutral biological category is, therefore, historically naive and racially blind.

uh. alright. this isn't true. like at all. don't even get me started on andrea long chu dude. sure, she went to duke, but that doesn't exonerate her from being a bullshit artist. which she is. and from what i've read of her work, i seriously don't understand why she transitioned at all. in her mind, women are pretty much empty holes for the world to abuse. maybe she, like, hates herself and the "women are the lowest thing on earth, this is what i deserve" thing is an insane projection. who knows? you couldn't make me bother wanting to figure it out if you paid me.

but this also isn't an accurate reading of that part of chu's book either... this is what it actually says.

As far back as the 14th century, the word female was used to refer to women, with a particular emphasis on their childbearing capacity. But it arguably didn't acquire the technical sense of "a human mammal of the female sex" until the rise of the biological disciplines of the 19th century. In the United States, the man known as the father of gynecology, J. Marion Sims, built the field in the Antebellum South, operating on enslaved women in his backyard, often without anesthesia or, of course, consent. As C. Riley Snorton has recently documented, the distinction between biological females and women as a social category, far from a neutral scientific observation, developed precisely in order for the cap to block women from being recognized as female, making Sims' research applicable to his women patients in polite white society without being granted legal personhood. Sex was produced, in other words, precisely at the juncture that gender was denied. In this sense, a female has always been less than a person.

so, c riley snorton is a black trans scholar at uchicago. chu's referencing chapter 1 of his book called "Black on Both Sides: A Racial History of Trans Identity". i read that chapter, and i cannot for the life of me figure out where she got this idea that snorton is arguing that sims invented a new meaning for the term "female" for racist reasons or for any other reason. i don't speak theory, so maybe i missed it, but i think what's happening here is that jacqueline rose is misreading andrea long chu, who's misreading c rily snorton, who may very well be misreading j marion sims for all i know. snorton says in the introduction to his book, quote: "This is not a history per se, so much as it is a set of political propositions, theories of history, and writerly experiment." so there's that. and if you look up the etymology for the term female (which i did, i've gotten this far), it comes from the latin word for young woman or girl. so even in the 14th century, the term was applied to people.

this is just... laughable, honestly. is jacqueline rose going senile? are we human or are we dancer? i just wish people wouldn't throw up all this smoke to make these bullshit arguments. you can support trans rights without doing this shit.

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mahayanapilgrim · 2 years

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DOMBI HERUKA

Dombi Heruka, lived late of the eighth century to the ninth century, is one of the eighty-four mahasiddhas in India. He is also a holder of the Hevajra Tantra.

In the country of Magadha, there was a man of royal birth who had attained siddhi from Hevajra. He had been initiated by the guru Virupa, one of the 84 mahasiddhas in India and source the Sakya school, and having been granted the instructions, he experienced their meaning. Though he regarded his subjects as a father thinks of his only son, the people did not know that their king had entered the door of the Dharma. But he was kindly by nature, so all the people unanimously affirmed: “This king is indeed a pious man.”

One day the king said to his minister: “The people are suffering in our country. Thieves and robbers are destroying property, and because of the people’s little merit, there are increasing numbers of poor and indiginous. To deliver the land from fear and poverty hang a great bell on the trunk of a tree. If anyone witnesses a crime or sees poverty let him strike this bell.” The minister did as he was told and fear and poverty were bought to an end in Magadha.

A while later a group of low caste singers came to the capital offering to sing and dance for the king. One of the singers had a 12 year old daughter who was very attractive. She had a lovely face and a good complexion; furthermore she was unsullied by worldly thoughts and had all the qualities of a padmini. So the King said to the low caste singer, “Would you give your daughter to me?”

To this the singer replied, “Your majesty is a king of Magadha, you rule 800,000 cities. Because of your royal wealth you do not have to work for a living. We are of low caste, denigrated and shunned by other classes of people. It is not fitting for you to make such a request.”

The King made his request again, but in a more forceful way; he took the girl after giving her father a sum equal to her value from the treasury. For 12 years the people did not know that she was the King’s tantric consort, but eventually it was discovered. Soon it became known to everyone throughout Magadha, the king consorts with a low-caste woman.

So the king abdicated in favour of his son and with his low-caste consort went into the jungle. There in an idyllic hermitage in solitude they continued practicing their tantric yoga for twelve years.

Meanwhile the kingdom was misgoverned. The quality of life diminished as virtue ebbed to a low level. A council agreed to request the old king to return to govern, and a delegation was sent into the jungle to find him.

The king, in union with his consort, came riding out of the jungle on the back of a pregnant tigress, brandishing a deadly snake as a whip. After the people had overcome their fear and astonishment they begged him to take up the reigns of government again.

“I have lost my own caste status by consorting with an outcast woman,” the king told them. “It is not proper for me to resume my original position. However, since death ends all distinctions, burn us. In our rebirth we will have been absolved.”

A great pyre of cow-head sandalwood was constructed, and after the king and his consort had mounted it, it was ignited. The huge pyre burned for seven days, and when it was cool enough to approach, the people caught sight of the two of them shimmering, as if covered in dew drops, in the spontaneously arisen illusory form of the Buddha-deity Hevajra in union with his consort, in the heart of a fully-blown lotus.

Stepping out of the fire the king addressed the ministers and all of his people of the four castes. “If you emulate me, I shall stay to govern you. If you will not help yourselves, I shall not remain to govern you.”

“Political power is of little benefit and the retribution is great. Those who wield authority can do little good, and more often than not the damage that flows from their actions leads to misery for all in the long run. My kingdom is the kingdom of truth!”

He spoke, and in that instant of immortality he arrived in the Dakini’s Paradise, where he remains for the sake of perfect awareness and pure delight.

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legendsofmyriad · 2 months

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Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 29: Clan of the Banshee

Chapter 28 | Chapter 30

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

As they ascended the seemingly never-ending steps, Oscar craned his neck to marvel at the towering manor, its impressive architecture nudging the low cloud line. Bright and clean, the ivory brick alternated in pattern and formed helixes around the framework.

Arched windows absorbed the struggling sunrays and cast a kaleidoscope on the flagstones. From what he had already witnessed, he anticipated the rest of Lucarian to be perpetually dark, but the Banshee lands appeared as though they had been plucked from another, much livelier, realm and perched on the hillside. Based on Lysander’s suggestion about these vampyres, it may have been.

The open courtyard welcomed them with a sensory feast of alluring floral scents and static petal glows sprinkled along the straight-structured waterways. At the top of the slope leading up to the front entrance, two women stood engaged in conversation. With a sharp nail, the silver-haired woman directed the other to the approaching trio.

“Welcome to the Clan of the Banshee,” the younger said as they climbed the last set of stairs. “Your message came at the perfect time.”

“I’m glad,” Demetrius said, with a customary bow. “I feared we may have sent it a little too late.”

“Of course not. Everything arrived as it should and not a moment later.” Their gracious host extended an upturned palm to the door and the hulking oak creaked as it gave way.

“My name is Faye,” she said as she led them inside, “and this is my grandmother, Amelda. She occupies our first seat.”

“This is Lord Lysander, heir to the Phoenix second seat, and Oscar of Solgarde,” Demetrius replied, directing a flourishing gesture to each of his companions in turn. “It has been quite some time since I was last here, but I must say, Lady Amelda, you have not changed a bit.”

“You have the same charming qualities as your father, Lord Volkar,” Amelda laughed. “He always had a compliment waiting for his friends.”

Oscar listened to the cheery exchange as Faye and Demetrius spoke of his prior visits as a child and gaped at the extraordinary sights. He almost had to squint it was so bright. The additional windows flooded the room with even more light, painting the grey and white embellished tiles in a vivid display of colours. Surrounding it all, multiple storeys of pastel teal panels inlaid with metallic frames stretched upward to enclose the mirrored chandelier descending into the lobby.

In a private dining hall, Faye ushered them towards tiered trays laden with cakes and pots of fragrant tea at the other end of the trestle table. She poured each cup, her straightened, blonde hair draping over her left shoulder as she tilted with the tip of the teapot.

“Now,” she said, gracefully gathering the sweep of her grey gown beneath her as she sat, “what can the ghost vampyres assist you with?”

With a fleeting glance, Lysander and Demetrius silently communicated the challenge before them, questioning where to even begin describing their predicament.

“You have come here about the gateways,” Amelda said, cradling her warm refreshment. “Correct?”

“Yes,” Lysander confirmed. “We need to get Oscar home and find a way to assess any potential dangers the gateways pose. The only problem is, the one that our friend used is now out of order, and my patrol has reported that the others seem to be in the same condition.”

The lady of the first seat listened closely, raising her teacup to her lips and savouring the blend of spices and flowers. “Our lands have experienced similar issues. The gateways remained active for a short period, but now they are all inoperative. Although I was just a young girl when they closed all those centuries ago, I can sense something amiss with them.”

“What is it? What’s wrong with them?” Oscar asked, tone trembling with desperation, as though he teetered on the brink of uncovering the crucial answers that would lead him home.

“I’m afraid I do not know,” Amelda responded, lowering her head in apology. “I consulted my gifts, but all that came back were vague impressions. And these.” She reached into the depths of her long robe and produced a lengthy feather and a small rolled-up scroll, passing them to the mage.

Oscar unravelled the paper and read aloud, “a pulse of blood, a pule of the land, and a pulse of magic. Dark clouds break over white feathers. Almost gone. Almost extinct.”

“When I opened my eyes, that plume lay in front of me,” Amelda explained. “There are not a lot of birds around here, so I cannot be certain where it came from.”

Feather in hand, he lifted it up, analysing the pale fibres. A luminous sheen shimmered across the surface and sunk into the individual threads.

“The image I saw was clouded,” the seer continued as her hands fell to her lap. “It drained me like no vision ever has before. Whatever awaits you out there, you must proceed with caution. I fear something dreadful lurks on our horizon, and the choices you make with the gateways will determine the fate of us all.”

“Have you seen anything, Lady Faye?” Demetrius asked, his concern shifting to the granddaughter.

“No,” she replied. “Although my powers pale compared to my grandmother’s, I attempted multiple times but saw nothing.” Her voice dissolved into a contemplative whisper. “Not the slightest trace.”

The hall fell into an uncomfortable silence, but Oscar caught Faye’s eyes as they met his from the other side of the table. Even if he had sought to, he couldn’t avert her crimson focus. She captivated his attention in a tender, curious grasp. Her gaze held a profound empathy, a gentle assurance that stretched across the short wooden panels to comfort him in his quest to get home.

“I am sorry we could not be of more help,” Lady Amelda said. “If you wish, you are more than welcome to stay for as long as you’d like. This enigma could benefit from a fresh perspective.”

“We must return to our duties,” Demetrius answered, “but we will persist in our search for answers and keep you informed of any discoveries. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“I shall escort you out,” Amelda offered, rising from her seat and neatly pushing her chair back in place. “Faye, your work calls.”

Faye circled the head of the table to the visiting mage. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Oscar,” she said with a dip of her fair hair, her hands settling on her stomach. “I hope we cross paths again soon, and in more favourable circumstances.”

“I hope so too, my lady,” Oscar assured her, bowing low, his eyes lingering on her delicate departure and the comforting aura she carried with her as she retreated into the bright rays of the lobby.

* * *

Upon their return, the Phoenix courtyard appeared deserted, the tiered fountain trickling water into the basin and silver-feathered fowl dipping their beaks into the splash. As the trio passed, their little heads lifted, tilting in curiosity before returning to the refreshing spray.

“In the future, we are taking the carriage,” Demetrius groaned, his face contorting as he massaged the ache in his lower back. “Spending so much time on those horses is not good for my posture.”

“We weren’t on official business,” Lysander reasoned, securing the front door behind them and squinting in the welcoming candelabra glow. “The carriages would have been inappropriate for the occasion.”

“We are heirs of our clan. Anything we choose to do is official business.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Beg all you want, but I’m not budging on the matter. I’m using a carriage.”

“You’ll need to get permission first.”

“It won’t be an issue if I am quick enough.” Casting a satisfied glance at Lysander, Demetrius coasted to the mage in their midst and arched a mischievous eyebrow. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, my magical friend. You left quite an impression on Lady Faye.”

Oscar blinked. “What?” he all but spluttered.

“Quit feigning innocence,” Demetrius laughed. “She’s clearly interested in-”

“Okay, mister,” Lysander interrupted, prodding at him. “Our focus should be on assisting Oscar, not teasing him.”

“Can’t we do both?”

With an exasperated grumble, Lysander halted in his tracks, preparing to speak again before the call of their names drowned out his response.

“Where in Lucarian have you all been?” Alaric demanded, floating down the staircase in a swirl of lightweight robes and a whiff of cardinal flowers. “Do you realise I almost had a search party sent out looking for you?”

“Apologies, father,” Demetrius said, sobering from his jocular antics. “We were visiting the Banshee clan.”

“It would have been nice if you had let me know about your escapades before you gallivanted off, especially considering the circumstances.”

The three caught friends slumped into their shoulders like chastised school boys, attempting to appear as innocent as possible.

“What compelled you to visit the Banshees?” Bertram asked, sauntering around the first lord, curious to see which of them would offer a response and whether they would answer truthfully.

“We’re trying to search for a solution to reactivate the gateways and get Oscar back home, or at the very least establish a means for him to communicate with Professor Spark,” Lysander replied. “Since we’ve found nothing in our investigation so far, we sought the Banshees for their expertise.”

“Are you referring to Professor Bartholomew Amias Spark?” Alaric questioned. Bertram scoffed at the name, reflexively extending his palm for the drink that wasn’t there and grating his teeth.

“I’m conducting research for him,” Oscar replied.

“You mean he is awake?”

“Yes.”

The relieved lord visibly relaxed and his hand went to his still heart. “I suppose that explains the reactivation of the gateways. I warned him about that time sleep.”

Lysander’s gold-speckled bewilderment darted back and forth between his guardian and Alaric. “You knew there were other worlds out there and you mentioned nothing?”

“You never asked,” Bertram shrugged.

“It was assumed the portals would remain inactive,” Alaric interjected, his firm authority cutting off any potential rebuttal from Lysander. “To be completely frank, I haven’t given them a second thought in centuries.” His focus had been solely on Lucarian, the Phoenix territory and the community that thrived within it. The memories of those younger years, when he had immersed himself in unknown realms and savoured all they offered seemed distant and disconnected, belonging to another man and another lifetime.

“Did the Banshee clan provide any insight?” he asked.

Oscar handed over the crumpled scroll, edges frayed from the journey in his pocket, and he skimmed over the riddle.

“This section reminds me of something,” Alaric commented, tracking a sharp nail over the intriguing line. “‘A pulse of blood, a pulse of the land, and a pulse of magic’. I swear I know it from somewhere.” After a moment of contemplation, he took off towards the library, signalling for the others to join him. “Come. Come.”

Once amongst the towering shelves and scent of paper dust and paling ink, Alaric searched the rows. “Ah ha! There it is.” He wriggled the hefty book out from its snug spot between two dense tomes and balanced it in his palm, flipping through the pages until he arrived at the right section. “Centuries ago, there was a renowned hunter called Lonan Louvel. While he primarily wrote about his travels, he was also a keen poet and published a handful of collections. The puzzle you got brings to mind this one in particular.” He placed the weighty hardback into Lysander’s outstretched grasp.

“‘Fleeting but enduring, surviving, assuring, a pulse of blood, land, and magic,’” Lysander read. “It’s in the same order as the riddle.”

“That is what I thought.”

Watching the three become engrossed in their research, he motioned Bertram towards the rounded oak doors. “Let’s leave them to their investigations,” he said quietly, leading the way out of the library with a hushed step. “That inventory won’t sort itself.”

Bertram let out a disgruntled groan and trudged after him. “Lucky us.”

Throughout the night, the stack of books grew beside the library’s wide, mahogany table, pages explored and attentively examined.

“I’d hoped we were done scouring texts like this,” Demetrius complained.

“We are making progress,” Lysander said confidently. “Plus, we have a lead.”

“Even though the poem mentions the Heart of Lucarian, we are no closer to solving it.”

“Of course we are. It beats for every being, undead and alive. This indicates an immense wealth of power that may be capable of powering the gateways. We have the ‘pulse of blood’ part of the riddle deciphered.”

“That is probably a figure of speech,” Demetrius pointed out. “And we still haven’t connected it to the rest.”

The ageing legs of the seat creaked as Lysander leaned his weight against the spindled back. “What is your opinion on it?”

“I don’t know,” Demetrius admitted with a tired shake of his head. “Right now, I think we’re going round in circles. Lady Amelda struggled to understand it. What makes you assume we have the ability?”

“Oscar.”

Startled by the mention of his name, the mage peeked up from the book that had consumed his attention for the past hour, blinking between the disagreeing pair. “Huh?”

“Oscar managed to pass through the gateways, suggesting that they were still in working condition not too long ago,” Lysander said. “The riddle’s reference to dark clouds indicates an ominous presence looming over one of the greatest powers known to Lucarian. If a significant source of strength, potentially connected to the gateways or exerting influence over them, was fading, it would explain why they are now dormant.”

“Okay, your theory makes sense,” Demetrius granted, “but according to these journals, the Heart is merely a myth. We don’t have time to waste hunting an illusion.”

Focusing hard, Lysander controlled the rise and fall of his chest and rummaged through his mind. “Then we need to branch out,” he said, standing and shutting the book he had been studying. “There are many who may be able to help, but only one who would give us the answer knowing we would go looking for the Heart.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Demetrius questioned, not needing to ask who he meant.

“He’s aware I’ll discover it regardless,” Lysander said. “It would be best if we were both honest.”

In silent agreement to his plan, Demetrius rose to his feet and motioned for Oscar to come along.

Abandoning his books, the mage silently obeyed and trailed after his hosts. He felt a twinge of embarrassment, like he was out of the loop. Events were happening around him and he was being pulled in, as if he was a leaf snatched in a current, swirling deeper and deeper into a chaos he was yet to fully comprehend.

But the way Faye looked at him went beyond a simple crush, despite what Demetrius assumed. She spoke to him without words, without needing to say anything, her kind eyes locking onto him to convey his capacity to sway the future of Lucarian. Not because of the gateways or his status as a curious outsider, but because an unexplained air stirred. Restless and coiled, something writhed in the essence of the world, and he sensed an undeniable connection to it.

Dark panelled corridors expanded into bright hallways and narrowed again, the route taking them down tower staircases and across courtyards. Lysander led them like a man on a mission, purposeful and resolved on the path ahead.

They entered the manor at the quieter end of the estate and Lysander reached the room at the back of the building, forgoing knocking as he strode in.

“My boy,” Bertram greeted, swinging his legs down from his desk and setting aside his glass. “Demetrius. Oscar. To what do I owe this visit?”

Lysander eyed the half-empty bottle and the other two abandoned ones on the windowsill. He understood his guardian enjoyed the occasional drink, but he hadn’t seen him indulge to this extent. Not in a long time. “Is everything all right?” he asked, guiding Bertram back into his seat.

“Of course,” Bertram replied, his red-tinged lips curling into a wobbly grin. “Why wouldn’t it be?” He noted the fleeting peek between him and the bottles and dismissed his concern with rasped ‘pft’. “All is good, kid. Promise.”

Intending to talk, the Phoenix guard advanced. He had little hope of extracting any truth of Bertram’s well-being and felt reluctant to approach that discussion in front of their guest. “In that case, we need to know where we can find the Heart of Lucarian.”

Bertram snorted and hacked, taking a gulp of wine to relieve the splutters. “You’re not chasing after fairy stories, are you?”

“Do you have any inkling where it is?” Lysander pressed.

“It will find you,” the tipsy lord said with a feigned sense of wonder before his own jest got too much to contain, and he erupted into bellowing laughter. With the taste of fermented fruit dancing on his tongue, he polished off the last sips in the bottle. The amusement drowned in the crimson depths of his drink at the worried furrow in Lysander’s brow. It wasn’t the gateways driving lines into his youthful face, and a biting guilt gnawed at him.

Rather than grabbing for another drink, he folded his shaking hands in his lap.

“This is serious,” Lysander said, firm but calm. “The statement about dark clouds doesn’t bode well, and the safety of the Heart has implications for everyone.” Taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, he leaned forward, fixed on his guardian’s piercing, blood-red stare as it combed over the tattered rug. “Bertram?”

As Bertram confronted Lysander’s concern head-on, it reminded him of the way Francesca used to regard him, laden with worry and love all at once, those fair curls framing that kind face. But his eyes, he had his father’s eyes, inherited from cruelty but shaped by the loyal guard’s own compassion. To see that shade of gold again dredged up memories he would never dare reveal to Lysander, not even under the most excruciating torture. He couldn’t burden him with the knowledge of that part of himself. Better to keep it hidden, he had decided when he had adopted the boy. Better he doesn’t know.

“It was once believed the Heart of Lucarian could be discovered near the Bloodtide River, if it wishes to reveal itself,” he conceded, “but this is all folklore. People have searched that area extensively and left with nothing.”

“All legends have a kernel of truth,” Demetrius reasoned. “That’s what Lady Muriel used to say when she told me stories as a child.”

“You’re about to embark on a perilous mission,” Bertram warned, recalling his own youthful adventures and glancing at the three. Despite the elders’ efforts to control his adventurous spirit, it only made him more obstinate. Given the effect it had on him previously, he wouldn’t subject them to it now, but the apprehension was difficult to ignore. “I won’t stand in your way or discourage you, but please promise me you will be cautious. You are the only family I have left, and if anything happened to you…” His words dwindled. He couldn’t say it. Refused to contemplate the possibility.

As Lysander stood, he embraced him, the air surrounding him saturated with a blend of sweet wine and pungent liquor. “I’ll take care,” he vowed. “And I won’t be alone. I have Demetrius with me and magic on my side.”

The mage’s presence somewhat eased Bertram’s nerves. He had witnessed first-hand the astonishing feats performed by Solgardian mages. Even though Oscar was young and a student, he perceived an unyielding strength within him and the building bond with his ward. They would watch over one another, just as he, Alaric, and their tight-knit group of friends had done during their adventure-filled years.

“I’ll be back soon,” Lysander said. “Look after yourself while I’m gone.”

“Don’t worry about me, kiddo. Go on. Can’t keep your adventures waiting.”

Lysander dawdled close to the man who had provided him with a home and raised him. Leaving him in such a vulnerable state burdened his already swarming conscience.

“Go,” Bertram encouraged.

With a hint of a frown, Lysander committed himself to his current mission and tagged along after Oscar and Demetrius into the hallway.

“I’ll pass a message on to my father before we depart,” Demetrius said as they headed for the front entryway. “He’ll keep a close watch on him.”

Lysander suppressed the guilt of abandoning his guardian in that condition and forced himself to untense his jaw. In those vulnerable moments, his intuition kicked in, exposing every evasive step Bertram made to hide something from him. From time to time, he caught him watching him with an unfounded disquiet that he had at one time in his life mistook for pity. He had tried to piece together the reasons behind his guardian’s caution with no results, but once he returned, he would uncover whatever he was hiding, no matter how many arguments or tough conversations it took.

-- -- -- -- --

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#legends of myriad #story series #fantasy #fantasy writing #legendsofmyriad #fantasy story #writblr #fantasy series #writing #creative writing #writers on tumblr

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queerworldtravelers · 3 months

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Kotor, Montenegro

42°25'14"N, 18°46'5"E

Cats and goats and friends from Chicago!

vimeo

The distance from Palermo, Sicily to Kotor, Montenegro is a little under 600 miles. It is comparable to the distance from Portland, Oregon to San Francisco, California. Far, but not anything too wild. The night before we embarked on our grand adventure to Kotor a fellow dinner guest said “take the ferry to Montenegro.” Ah! A FERRY! A little too late for this trip. Instead we took a plane to Memmingen, Germany; another plane to Zagreb, Croatia; and yet another plane to Dubrovnik, Croatia; and finally a taxi from Dubrovnik to Kotor, Montenegro. It took us over 14 hours to make the journey.

Mary commented that we had crossed through a portal to a completely different way of life. She was absolutely right and we are grateful for the rattle to our perceived means of transportation.

We originally planned to spend some time in Croatia and then they joined the Schengen area on January 1, 2023. For those who are unfamiliar, a US passport buys you some restrictions in many European countries specifically if they are a part of the Schengen area. We have been gone long enough to bump up against the restrictions and had to head out. The entire town of Kotor, Montenegro is a UNESCO Heritage Site so we decided that would be a pretty awesome spot to hunker down for a bit. Unbeknownst to us, the city was under the control of the Venetian Republic from 1420 - 1797. This historical marker gives the city streets qualities that are reminiscent of Venice only with giant fortress walls built straight up the side of mountains instead of canals.

The city is also known for its domineering population of cats!

Legend has it that sailors brought cats to Kotor from all over the world and the folks in town celebrate the cats because they keep the mice, rats, and snakes in check. There are cats everywhere here! One of them is making her home in our hearts. They are a hilarious bunch and every adventure in town, or even just outside, is filled with cat antics.

We would be remiss if we neglected to mention the most epic part of Montenegro. Sara and Aaron! Our dear friends from Chicago flew ALL the way here to hang out for a week! Sara and Krystal have a pretty solid track record of bringing epically bad weather to wherever they gather in the world: Kona low in Hawaiʻi, days of rain in Joshua Tree, the epic storm that smashed the windows out of the Garfield Park Conservatory in Chicago - yup we were trying to have a picnic… It is an absolute gift to have people in your life that will go to the end of the earth to hang out even if the weather never cooperates. We had days of rain, but also days of delicious and warm sunshine. Interesting restaurant escapades were punctuated with epic home-cooked meals. One evening included an abrasive visit to the butcher shop and resulted in a glorious pot of goulash. Then Mary fired up the cast iron grill and we ate an entire kilo of ćevapčići, a form of Balkan meat sorcery inspired by the rebels and freedom fighters during the Ottoman Empire. Our meat-powered adventure comrades joined us on some epic feats against gravity!

Adventures not strewn with cats sent us directly uphill into the bosom of long-haired goats who skillfully tip toe across the craggy walls of the black mountains. One can walk the Fortress walls all the way to the top and admire the time-tested engineering. The city of Kotor was never conquered, so these walls have served as an impenetrable force since the 9th century BC. We noticed that the steps are easiest to traverse when moving at almost a running pace and watched in awe as locals floated up and down the 1,400 steps.

Across the river that runs just outside of the ramparts is a collection of switchbacks called the “Ladder of Kotor.” Google Maps showed a goat cheese house near the top, so we set out with the goal of being met with goat cheese and a drink at the top knowing that off-season may have left us nursing the ends of our water without any promised prize. We are elated to report that there is absolutely goat cheese and the goats will hike all the way up WITH you! In fact, it was the best goat cheese we have ever eaten. This is likely due to the diet of wild oregano, wild mint, and pomegranates. Seriously, it is a magic wonderland around here.

According to a quick Google search there are roughly 37 million churches in the world. There is no shortage of them in Kotor! Except the churches here are really extra super old and you can wander in, over the rubble, because lawsuit culture has yet to take hold in this part of the world. The churches here are smaller than the ones we have been wandering around in Italy. Smaller means mightier bell sounds. In fact, the place we are staying at is almost in the backyard of a smallish church where the bell tower is in line with our bedroom window. The bells ring 150 times at 6 am meaning we are up early..which is good because the internet is really slow and file uploads take a while.

MARCH 9, 2023

#Vimeo

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superhelthmedicines · 5 months

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A Renewed Lease on Life: My Experience with Black Ox Testosterone Booster

I used to be that guy. The one who felt a constant low hum of fatigue, struggled to maintain muscle mass, and whose libido had all but vanished. Let's just say, it wasn't exactly painting a picture of youthful vitality. Being in my late 40s, I chalked it all up to the inevitable decline that comes with age. But a conversation with a friend about his experience with natural testosterone boosters sparked a curiosity in me. He raved about a product called Black Ox, and after some research, I decided to give it a try.

Natural Ingredients, Real Results

One of the things that initially drew me to Black Ox was its focus on natural ingredients. The supplement is formulated with a blend of herbs, vitamins, and minerals known to support healthy testosterone levels, including Tribulus Terrestris, Ashwagandha, and Fenugreek. These ingredients have been used for centuries in traditional medicine for their purported benefits on male health, and I appreciated the lack of harsh chemicals or artificial additives.

Gradual But Noticeable Improvement

I wasn't expecting overnight miracles, but after a few weeks of taking Black Ox daily, I started to notice some positive changes. The fatigue that had become my constant companion began to lift. I had more energy throughout the day, and I found myself more motivated to hit the gym again. While the weight room results weren't lightning-fast, I did see a gradual increase in muscle definition and strength. Perhaps the most welcome change, however, was the return of a healthy libido.

More Than Just Physical Benefits

The improvements I experienced weren't purely physical. Black Ox seemed to have a positive impact on my overall well-being. Feeling more energetic and physically capable translated into a renewed sense of confidence. I had more patience for my family, and I found myself generally more optimistic and upbeat. It's hard to quantify these changes, but they were undeniable, and they made a significant difference in my quality of life.

A Safe and Effective Option

Of course, before starting any new supplement, it's always wise to consult with your doctor. I did this before taking Black Ox, and my doctor gave me the green light. It's important to note that everyone's body reacts differently, so what works for me might not work for everyone. However, based on my experience, I would highly recommend Black Ox to any man looking for a safe and effective way to support healthy testosterone levels and experience the benefits that come with it. If you're feeling the effects of age dragging you down, Black Ox might just be the natural boost you need to regain your vitality and live life to the fullest.

#A Renewed Lease on Life

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eclectic-pragmatist · 1 year

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Destiny

Destiny is defined as that which is predetermined. While this definition is not incorrect, it is also simplistic to a fault. Destiny actually represents a complex concept, and complexity is the domain of humans. Yes, other life forms exhibit their versions of complexity, but these are functionally simplified to primarily accommodate survival and reproduction. Conversely, the complexities of human intellectual processing have been developed and refined over a very long time.

While the complexities of human destiny are the inherent result of endless, ever more complex intellectual combinations over time, one of the most meaningful accompanying results is how we cope with these as societies and as individuals within these societies. Agreeing to what are good, questionable or unacceptable outcomes can be the bane of modernity. Even if we accept this reality of contradiction for what it is, it doesn't alter the challenges of coping with the inevitable tasks of doing so.

Modern societies embrace endless combinations of change that exponentially create advancement opportunities for citizens around the world. Hundreds of technologies in multitudes of endeavors create better lives for so many. Many, but not all, citizens take these for granted and have very high expectations for their futures. This, in itself, is reasonable and desirable. But sometimes goals and expectations can raise ethical and moral concerns about destinies that will likely benefit some but also prove detrimental to others.

Societies can and will find themselves confronting issues that can or will create strong disagreements. I'm thinking particularly of those issues that seem to be tampering with some fundamental aspects of human existence. On a planet with a multitude of serious issues related to the basic functioning of the earth's quality of life and even life itself, there are conflicts emerging between those who are facing a range of negative realities in coming decades and those who are more concerned with finding ways to increase human lifespans by years, perhaps decades.

Here are the realities. While there are more people living into their 80s/90s or even low 100s, they represent a modest percentage of planet inhabitants, whereas vastly more millions are doomed to far worse, shorter lives. Most of the now eight billion people on this planet are facing an array of large scale issues. The planet simply has run out of viable space to grow enough food for the current global population size, and the latest billion took only a half-dozen decades to come into existence. Birth rates actually need to be reduced significantly overall. Advanced economies average two to three children per family, or fewer, but the numbers are higher in too many developing/poor societies.

Human destiny has changed radically in the last two hundred years. All of the population growth and economic progress that has made modern life what it now is for many (but far from all) has also resulted in an array of significant problems. We actually know what it would require to slow and eventually reverse these issues, but how many want to actually accept the necessary changes. Perhaps not all of the changes are equally necessary, but some are absolutely critical. Climate change and population growth drive much of current critical issues.

Some say today's current problems originated in the mid to late twentieth century, but this is a naive assumption. It actually began with the industrial revolution and has simply accelerated at increasing rates from there. The last three plus decades have simply ramped up the rates of change in increasingly negative ways around the globe. This "destiny" was inevitable. There is reason to believe these issues will increase far longer because the rates of mitigation are nowhere near what is necessary. Future generations will have increased technology but also increased quality of life issues that will be even more negative.

It's very easy to ignore what doesn't happen to one's self — until it does. We all do this to varying degrees. Obviously differences in wealth, status, location and resources will affect how much we can mitigate circumstances. But in the long view societies need widely available mitigations because the successes of citizens literally determines destiny.

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frankdarling · 1 year

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Explore Stunning Hidden Halo, Oval Diamonds, and Asscher Cut Engagement Rings with Lab-Grown Diamonds

Arguably the hottest engagement ring trend of the early 2000s and still going strong, it’s a style that surrounds your center stone in a ring of light, brilliant diamonds that encircle diamonds, sometimes two rows deep! But the new kid on the block, for those who maybe want something a little less ostentatious, is the hidden halo engagement rings .

Oval engagement ring would be the perfect diamond. That’s right. Would. Their elongated, finger-flattering shape. Their shallow cut that gives you more stone for your money. Oval diamonds engagement rings give you all the sparkle of round brilliant cut diamond in a more affordable .

Engagement ring oval diamond Shaped might just be too fancy for their own good. In fact, they’re all wearing bow ties! While a distracting bow tie is the fastest way to turn a good oval bad, for better or worse, they all have them .

Well, a bezel is that super cool setting you see that’s got a thin rim of metal running all the way around your diamonds, keeping them super secure and extra low maintenance. Thin bezels are quite classic and beautiful but lately we’ve seen bigger, bolder bezel style beautiful engagement rings 2022 take off. One of our most popular rings has been The Radiator , which gives you maximum glamour with minimum fuss. Your center diamond is framed with stepped edges designed to catch light from every angle. Just know that this ultra-low-profile, ultra-chunky bezel setting does not share the spotlight or stack flush with other rings.

As we’ve said before grow diamonds in lab. Atomically, optically, and physically. While the diamond industry might refer to them as microwave diamonds, fake diamonds or any other string of insults the reality is that they are real diamonds – just born of a different origin.

Asscher cut diamonds , on the other hand, are uniquely difficult to find. Only 2% of diamonds are cut into Asschers, so finding one that has the perfect combination of carat, quality, and price is going to test your patience.

Rose cuts have a distinctive faceting pattern and a certain old world charm that can lead to irrational decisions. If you’re here, you’ve already fallen at least partially under their spell. But, you’re going to make some sacrifices if you choose a rose cut. You should know what tradeoffs you’re making before you get fully mesmerized by the bold triangular facets of this rare and unusual cut. While there are many things to love about rose cut ring diamonds, let’s cut to the chase and tell you how they disappoint.

A mainstay of the 18th and 19th centuries, old mine cut diamond , aka miner’s cut, are known as such because they came from “old mines” in India or Brazil, before newer mines started popping up in Africa. Each one was hand cut and polished to best use its diamond rough, before diamonds were machine-cut in the late 19th, early 20th centuries.

#diamond rings #engagement rings #wedding rings #rings

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readingsrantsrambles · 1 year

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'I Am Easy to Find' Album Review: Sad Love

The National Further Complicates Its Sadness

by Spencer Kornhaber

6–8 minutes

theatlantic.com

There oughta be a word for whatever emotion that The National has homed in on over eight excellent albums of gravel-voiced poetry and delicate-ferocious rock. Consulting Mental Floss’s 2016 guide “How to Tell Whether You’ve Got Angst, Ennui, or Weltschmerz,” one might hear all three highbrow, non-anglophone feelings on the band’s latest release, I Am Easy to Find:

Angst, that sourceless dread? “We have friends in good houses, we have kids in the trees / Now I have nothing but sleepless nights, about everything,” goes “So Far So Fast.” As if to illustrate the toss and turn, an arpeggiator duels with twitchy drums for three nearly wordless minutes at the end.

Ennui, that freighted listlessness? On “Quiet Light,” the band’s frontman, Matt Berninger, shrugs, “I’m not afraid of being alone / I just don’t know what to do with my time.” Violins peal like seagulls and guitars tremble like brambles in the wind as Berninger describes “learning to lie here in the quiet light / While I watch the sky go from black to gray.”

Weltschmerz, that pain at the state of the world? The album’s gentlest melody, surfacing and disappearing throughout “Not in Kansas,” reassures that “if … the failures of man make you sigh,” then “you can look to the time soon arriving” when humans go extinct. Among those prophecies, Berninger laments that “alt-right opium went viral” in his homeland of the Midwest and frets that he might not have the courage to punch a Nazi.

But those strains of bummed-ness comprise only part of The National’s vibe. The Cincinnati-Brooklyn quintet, arguably the band of this millennium to most consistently balance gut impact and brainy appeal, usually garnish their wallowing with a dignified strut. Previous albums had knotty and glowering arrangements stiffening into great crescendos that hinted at transcendence. For I Am Easy to Find, something else happens. New voices and unexpected directions beckon as ways out of darkness. A softer approach somehow renders the contours of Berninger’s crises more concrete.

The album arrives less than two years after 2017’s fidgety, political Sleep Well Beast and germinates from an unusual process. Around the time of Beast’s release, the filmmaker Mike Mills (Thumbsucker, Beginners, 20th Century Women) reached out to collaborate. Some songs once intended for that earlier album were rerouted to a new project, one that Mills contributed songwriting and arranging to. He also shot a short film with snippets of the resulting music. Starring Alicia Vikander, it compresses a woman’s journey from birth to death, Up-like.

The movie’s concept speaks to The National’s particular attention to the feminine on this album. In a rare move, the singular-sounding Berninger duets with other singers, all women—Gail Ann Dorsey, Mina Tindle, Lisa Hannigan, Sharon Van Etten, Kate Stables, Eve Owen—plus the Brooklyn Youth Chorus. Often, just when the listener expects a standard-issue rock climax, the female singers enter a song and guide it to a hymnlike denouement. Or they sing with Berninger, his low growl acting as the sturdy wire in a drape of fine gauze. Or the women lead the song from the start, rendering Berninger’s lyrical ideas as something other than those of a classic sad boy.

The way Berninger’s esoteric phrases repeat across kaleidoscopic tones recalls the modern classical composers that The National’s Aaron and Bryce Dessner hang out with. The effect is thoroughly beautiful, even if it frequently comes at the cost of The National’s anthemic qualities. The rangy, polyphonic approach fits with the album’s deeper shift, too. Ever self-interrogating, Berninger may lately be wondering whether scraping his own skull eventually yields diminishing returns. Even to a helpless fan of his like me, there’s something parodic and off-putting when, on “Not in Kansas,” his anxiety takes the form of listing artists he’s been digging lately (R.E.M., Hanne Darboven, Roberta Flack). The song’s saved by Dorsey, Hannigan, and Stables intruding to tenderly promise the apocalypse. The story, it’s clear, is bigger than Berninger.

Indeed, the story is often about wondering at someone else’s story: a lover’s, a child’s, a stranger’s. In Mills’s film, Vikander goes through rites of life—school, marriage, illness—as onscreen text notes milestones both tidy (“Learning to read, learning to write”) and abstract (“Aware that her body is separate”). Maybe there’s something softly condescending about this male filmmaker and this male band imagining and marveling at a female experience. But their greater interest is in the genderless arc of life, the epiphanies that everyone shares, and the inevitability of ups and downs.

“Hey Rosey, I think I know just what the feeling is,” goes one of the more hopeful-sounding choruses. It’s one of a few times that Berninger mentions some unnameable thing he aches to have in common with someone else. He gestures to and describes that thing, but never defines it. Over the fluttery kraut-rock of “Oblivions,” there’s this heart-stabbing verse:

It’s the way you say yes when I ask you to marry me You don’t know what you are doing Do you think you can carry me over this threshold Over and over again into oblivion? It’s the way that you’re gonna stop needing to tell me You want me as much as I want you to tell me I’m over the threshold Everything is gonna be totally okay into oblivion

Oblivion is another word for loss, which beckons constantly in these songs. But the outlook is the same as on Sleep Well Beast, an album putatively about divorce that was co-written (as was I Am Easy To Find) by Carin Besser, the woman Berninger’s happily married to. Fearing endings but also making peace with them, building relationships with the assurance of their deterioration—those are the paradoxes this band constantly turns over. “There’s a million little battles that I’m never gonna win anyway,” Berninger sings on the title track. “I’m still waiting for you every night with ticker tape.” What to call such wearied determination? Wabi-sabi? Sehnsucht? Maybe you don’t need a word, just a sound, and to that end The National has expanded the language.

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seoforindiam · 1 year

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2023 Guide: Importance Of Using WebP On Your Website

New Post has been published on https://www.justwebdevelopment.com/blog/2023-guide-importance-of-using-webp-on-your-website/

2023 Guide: Importance Of Using WebP On Your Website

The COVID pandemic made millions of traditional merchants realize the importance of having a digital existence in the 21st century.

In business, the customer is king, and in online marketing, content is king. Since content is king, many online firms are using effective content with supportive images and graphics as their preferred online strategy.

Why are images important on the website?

According to human psychology, humans find it easier to understand an image than text. And the image is so easy to understand; it requires no higher knowledge. Images are understandable by an illiterate person and even a child. People find it easy to understand and share the image with others. In ancient times, when our ancestors discovered no language. The people of ancient civilizations used to communicate with the

Graphic-based content is not only easier for people to remember, but it is also more likely to be shared. The first written language used by humans was developed by ancient people and preserved on cave walls as paintings. Throughout those ancient years, images have been the main form of communication.

The human brain is designed to absorb and understand visuals in a better way than textual content. An appropriately used design in the website, along with the content, can highlight every tiny detail and

Visuals are easier for the human brain to comprehend than words. An effective image strategy highlights design and aesthetics, which raises brand engagement. We can observe that the internet is currently swamped with images and graphics due to these causes.

Side Effects of Having Large Image File Sizes

With so much content available online nowadays, businesses are competing with each other for customers’ attention by cutting through the noise. As a result, the use of high-quality photographs has become crucial to online strategy, resulting in increasingly image-heavy current websites.

Nevertheless, employing a lot of images on the website might lead to the website performing slowly, which is one of the issues.

The file sizes of these images are different, especially those with many colors. Hence, these images are prone to consume your server’s huge amount of resources if the admin fails to optimize them from time to time. Furthermore, optimization failure can damage the website and cause multiple website issues, like slow page-loading speed and website crashing, as the server cannot bear the strain efficiently. All these factors deteriorate the website’s performance and can affect the customer’s shopping experience. An unsatisfactory customer shopping experience equals low SEO rankings, conversion rates, and store traffic; everything is low in short.

To avoid the earlier-mentioned scenarios, merchants can adopt different image formats that perfectly balance size and quality. Only 2 common image formats, JPEG and PNG, were used when the digital era was in its initial stage. JPEG was invented in 1992, and the PNG image format was invented in 1996. Until now, only these two formats were being used, but lately, a new image format called WebP crashed the popularity of traditional image formats and has gained a huge fan base since its invention.

So, in this, we will enlighten you on the importance of using WebP images for your website.

How to Convert Normal Images to WebP Images?

If you want to create a WebP image or convert an existing JPEG or PNG image, you must have CMS in which WebP is supported. Fortunately, many tools in the market and graphic software enable admins to create and convert images to WebP images.

Admins can use graphic tools like Adobe Photoshop, Google Photos, and many others. Along with that, admins are also facilitated with an amazing Magento 2 WebP Image Converter Plugin that can convert JPEG and PNG images to WebP images.

Besides this, even Google has some interesting software that can create WebP images and convert WebP images. Google provides tools like WebP precompiled conversion tool, which the admin must install on the computer device and use whenever an image needs to be converted to a WebP image. In addition to this, Google also provides a tool named libwebp API which the admins can use to decode or encode WebP files.

Benefits of Using WebP Images on Your Website

1. Increased website’s Page Loading Speed

Having attractive images and unique graphics is not enough to impress a customer. The website must have a speedy loading page. If the website’s page load speed is not that fast, the customer will leave the website immediately, and it will create a bad impression of your brand.

Various studies have concluded that the usage of WebP images on the website has sped up the website’s page loading speed from 5 seconds to just a fraction of a second, which ultimately increased the store’s traffic, conversion rates, revenue, brand impression, and customer loyalty.

2. Increased SEO Rankings

In 2021, Google released an update regarding its algorithm, that the website’s page-loading speed will also be considered a ranking factor. Hence, you may benefit your search engine optimization (SEO) by making your website’s page loading faster.

Along with this update, Google also included several page speed metrics as part of the page experience, which will affect rankings. Your ranking will also be impacted by user activity on your website, particularly bounce rate.

3. Save Up Your Server Storage

Saving storage space is made possible by smaller files. Your cost per unit of space will decrease as the compression on your image files gets reduced.

There is a limited amount of disc space available on a server for your website, and storage costs can increase depending on your website hosting. Not just media must be accommodated in your server, though. To maintain the functionality of your website, you might use JavaScript, CSS, and database themes.

Conclusion

One technique to improve the functionality of your website is image optimization. Low image sizes can accelerate your website’s performance via lazy loading graphics, better font loading, and preloading links.

Be a dynamic website that functions effectively on mobile devices and platforms. Make sure your images are optimized for mobile viewing, considering the likelihood of mobile browsers using slower connections. Select dependable, and speedy hosting. One technique to improve your website is image optimization.

You can expand your knowledge of website building with additional technologies, including WebP. It all comes down to designing a great user experience while building for the web. To do this, optimize your site, so users never have to think about loading it.

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